Burial at the Burrow

~ Burial at the Burrow ~

It was the day of Fred's funeral, and Ginny had rarely ever felt this tired. Her eyes were sore and tight from all the tears she'd shed and from a terrible lack of sleep, and nothing seemed as though it would ever feel completely right again. Fred was gone. Gone, just like that. George had taken his twin's death incredibly hard, as might be expected, and everyone in her family was keeping an eye on him, waiting for a reaction that as of yet had not come.

The pallbearers and a few other participants were standing together in a tight knot off to the side, seeking shade from a large willow tree on the side of her parent's property. The Burrow was several yards distant, and the sun was beating down on everyone almost vengefully. Ginny could not believe how hot it was. Part of her wondered whether or not the sun was trying to burn the feelings of grief and pain from her system, but the notion seemed odd to her, even ludicrous, and Ginny shook her head at herself for having such wild fancies at a time like this. She only realized that someone was nearby when a shadow fell over her, shading her from the heat of the day.

"Ginny?"

His voice had probably been her favourite voice in all the world until recently. It had a kindness to it, a softness, even though it could be fierce and powerful and undeniably masculine.

"Are you all right?" he spoke again, even more faintly, and Ginny peered up at him, using a hand to block the brightness of the scorching sunlight. She opened her mouth to answer him, but a sudden obstruction at the base of her throat kept any sound from leaving her. She swallowed and glanced away, embarrassed. She couldn't even look at him anymore.

"Ginny, please," he whispered beseechingly, and she felt a hand on her shoulder as he knelt in front of her. Looking back later, she decided that it must have been his tone that did it. She couldn't remember ever hearing Harry beg before. She could feel the torrent coming now, she knew there was nothing left within her that would stop it. And then, she fell weeping, almost wailing, from the chair that was still part of a neat white row and into his arms.

Out it came beyond her control; the grief, the loss, the realization that she would never hear Fred's specific laugh, that sardonic voice, his joking sarcasm ever again - her brother was truly dead. She could not believe that she was showing this kind of weakness in front of Harry, but part of her was thankful he was holding her, despite how angry she had been with him.

It had happened two days after the defeat of Voldemort. Harry had been sound asleep in his four-poster for the past forty-eight hours and Ginny did not begrudge him this time in the least, knowing that he had suffered and obviously needed to recuperate. But when Harry had awakened to find her in his dormitory with him, his first response to her had not been, "Hi," "How are you?" "I love you," or even "What's new?" His first question had been an irritated, albeit worried, "Why the hell did you have to leave that hallway?" and Ginny had nearly exploded.

"Leave the hallway? Leave the hallway? God, Harry, people were dying all around me, walls were crumbling, killing spells were flying and you ask me why I left the bloody hallway!" She had grabbed her wand out of her back pocket and had pointed it directly into Harry's face, feeling absolutely livid. How dare he ask her such an inane question after all their time apart. Red and gold sparks erupted out of the end of her wand in her temper, and it took all of her self-control to keep from hexing him so thoroughly that he wouldn't be able to walk upright for quite some time.

"Yeah," Harry had uttered irately, but he was eyeing her wand slightly warily all the same. "You could have been killed, Ginny. What were you thinking? You aren't even of age."

"You're one to talk! You have been 'of age' for hardly any of your own death-defying stunts and yet you think you can lecture me . . . I thought you were dead, you great prat! I heard Voldemort's voice . . . I saw your dead body . . . I was sure that . . . MERLIN!" Ginny screamed, at her wit's end. She had been annoyed at Harry before, but this fury she was feeling at the moment was something entirely new. "You know what, Harry Potter, you can take your heroic concern and your 'of age' nonsense and shove it right up your stupidly noble arse!"

She had stalked off then, afraid of what she felt capable of doing to him. Harry had chased after her, had followed her panting all the way down to the gates of Hogwarts. And next, just to show him she could, she had Apparated away right in front of him, happy to have had the last word. They hadn't spoken since, until this particular second. It now seemed somewhat silly given her current situation.

Ginny continued to cry into Harry's shoulder, but she paused temporarily when she felt Harry's chest heaving against hers a little while later. She glimpsed upwards at him. He was dressed in his navy blue dress robes; they were the same robes he had bought in Diagon Alley at the beginning of her fifth year. She remembered how handsome they had looked on him at Dumbledore's funeral; she had been too heartsick to notice them this time around, even though he had been leading the procession as one of Fred's pallbearers.

It was only then that she realized that Harry was sobbing quietly into her long hair. She found herself wondering if he was trying to hide behind it; Harry had never been one bent to displaying what he considered excessive emotion.

"I'm sorry, Ginny . . . s-so sorry . . ." he was saying in a murmur, and Ginny pulled back farther so she could see him properly. "I n-never ever meant for anyone else to get hurt. I never meant for anyone to die, especially n-not . . . not Fred."

Ginny saw plainly the horrible anguish behind those bright green eyes, and in that instant, all of her rage evaporated like it had never existed. Harry had suffered more grief than anyone had a right to she knew, and she refused to add any more to it. So Ginny hugged him to her with all her might, wanting him to know that he was forgiven, wanting him to feel what she felt toward him, wanting to communicate with him as she often did - saying what she needed to say without actually having to speak at all.

Ginny sighed tremulously; it was the best she could manage just then. She saw Bill and Fleur flanking her mother and father, all four of them had tears running visibly down their faces. Charlie and Percy had taken on the task of sitting next to George, who was sitting strangely quiet between them. The three Weasley men did not seem to be succumbing to their feelings at the moment, but both Percy and Charlie kept turning in their chairs, rubbing at the corners of their eyes surreptitiously. Ron and Hermione were sitting in the same row as the rest of the Weasleys, and Hermione was holding onto Ron so tightly that it was as if she was fearful that he might fly to pieces. Their faces were hidden, just like Harry's was, but Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that their cheeks would be wet the next time she saw them.

Ginny was surprised by what happened next. George had appeared abruptly at the front, close to where Fred had been laid to rest. His expression was pinched, as if something was attempting to escape that he was determined to hold back. He stared down at the dry grassy lawn and sniffed once before addressing the audience at large.

"This is for Fred!" he shouted loudly, and out of his wand appeared a huge emerald ring that encompassed everyone there. It floated sedately before zooming up into the heavens with a zipping sound that caused each of them to gasp. Slowly, twirling above them, a picture formed as though on a screen. One eye appeared and then another; a nose, mouth, two ears, and then the blazing red hair that all of them recognized and most of them wore. Fred Weasley was smiling down on them serenely, as happily as he had in life, and Ginny found herself smiling back despite herself - gladdened despite her grief, comforted despite the fact that she knew she would mourn her brother for a long time to come. The image stayed in the sky for several minutes, but no one looked away - they all stared as though drinking it in; as if it were providing them with a balm and a solace that nothing else could.

Once it had faded, Ginny chanced a peek around at everyone once more. Although many remained teary-eyed, their smiles stayed in place as well, and Ginny knew that peace would come to them eventually.

Harry was gazing at her. He seemed to be memorizing the lines of her face. Ginny looked back into his eyes and was amazed at what she was seeing. There was so much depth there to explore, so many secrets held behind those round glasses, so much pain, sorrow, and torment, but there were good things there, too - hopeful things that gleamed beneath the surface like an unbreakable bubble rising higher and higher.

Ginny knew somehow that everything was going to be all right now. The world, Hogwarts, her family, she and Harry - everything, everything was falling into place like pieces in a vast puzzle that was not of her own making. And without thinking about where they were and whether or not such behavior was strictly appropriate, Ginny kissed the man she loved - kissed him with all that resided inside of her. She didn't care that they were each sniffling or that their tears were intermingling, she didn't care that they were at a funeral and were anything but alone, she didn't care that she had been so furious at his former overprotective attitude and mollycoddling - all that mattered was that everyone here was alive; Harry was alive, and she understood without being able to say how that wherever Fred was, he was definitely cheering her on.