Roll Out the Barrel

The small graveyard was eerily silent as the pallbearers carried the dark wooden coffin, covered by a red and gold Gryffindor flag, towards its final resting place.

Hermione sighed softly as she thought of the dozens of other cemeteries they had visited in the past week. Tonks and Remus' funeral had been two days past; Colin Creevy's the day before that. It seemed that the entombment of the revered war dead would never end.

A loud sniffle brought Hermione back to the present. Mrs. Weasley had blown her nose into her husband's handkerchief.

"And now it's Fred's turn," she thought with a cringe. Much as she had outwardly loathed his and George's rule breaking during her tenure as a Gryffindor prefect, Hermione had secretly admired their free spirits and complete disregard for the rules.

"How can Fate be so cruel?" she wondered as she followed the grieving Weasley family to their ancestral grave plot.

She watched Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Lee Jordan and Oliver Wood as they carried Fred's coffin up the wide pebble path towards the wooden gate. There was George, one ear gone and now half his heart too as he led the family behind his twin's body. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed, clutching each other for dear life, sobbing into one another's shoulders. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione walked behind, Ginny in the middle, grasping Harry's hand so tightly her knuckles had lost all colour. Hermione wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder and squeezed it gently. Even Aunt Muriel had the good grace to be on her best behavior, wobbling on in silence at the back of the Weasley clan, supported by Fleur.

As they entered the cemetery, Hermione recognized the middle-aged minister from the village. He waited for the small group to come to a standstill at the grave before he began to speak. For once, Hermione let her mind wander as the minister addressed Fred's "thirst for life, warmth, and beloved sense of humour." Her eyes flitted over the funeral party.

Earlier that afternoon, the village church had overflowed with mourners paying their respects to Fred. The Weasleys had wanted the burial to be a private affair, so few people other than the family were asked to attend. Fred's old Quidditch teammates Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet stood arm in arm, failing to fight the tears streaming silently down their cheeks. Verity, the pretty girl who had helped in the twins' shop dabbed at her eyes. Hagrid's lower lip quivered as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hairy suit.

The soft breeze tousled Hermione's heavy curls, bringing with it the scent of the lilac shrubs that had grown wild over the stone fence surrounding the small cemetery. She inhaled deeply, and realized that if she were not at Fred's funeral, she would have thought it a lovely day. The sun glowed cheerfully, unaware of the tragedy its light shone down upon. The breeze made the leaves of the copse of birch trees surrounding the front of the cemetery flutter and dance to its silent tune. The tall grass of the wide, open field to the back of the cemetery swayed with breeze as well, rippling back and forth like waves. To Hermione it looked rather like the sea. It was, despite the sorrow, Hermione decided, a beautiful day.

Her gaze returned to the flag draped coffin, resting on the ground next to the deep hole in which it would soon be placed. George had insisted that Fred be buried with a Gryffindor flag. It seemed fitting to Hermione, for Fred had been the definition of a Gryffindor: brave, rather reckless, and always willing to fight for his friends.

The minister had finally finished speaking, and Fred's flag adorned coffin was lowered into the grave. Mrs. Weasley cried harder than ever as the grave was filled, her husband's silent tears mingling with hers as they held each other. Fleur wrapped her arm around Bill's waist as he wept into her golden hair. Charlie and Ron wrapped their arms around Percy as he removed his glasses and sobbed unabashedly. George remained painfully stoic; his fists clenched and lower lip so firmly between his teeth that Hermione knew it had to be bleeding. Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders and cried in silence.

The minister excused himself to leave the grieving family alone and left the cemetery. The Weasleys stood in a semi circle around the grave, clutching one another in open grief. Hermione stood alone among the family, and she wondered if she should move back with the others. She looked up at rounded headstone.

Fredrick Fabian Weasley

1 April 1978- 2 May 1998

I think laughter may be

a form of courage. As

humans we sometimes stand

tall and look into the sun

and laugh, and I think we

are never more brave than

when we do that.

"How fitting," Hermione mused. "Fred would have liked that."

One by one, the mourners conjured small bouquets of flowers and lay them on the freshly turned earth. Hermione waved her wand and a small spray of white posies appeared in front of her. She reached out and took them, and gently placed them on the large pile of flowers.

After everyone had placed flowers on the grave, they stood in painful silence. Suddenly, someone began to quietly sing.

"There's a garden, what a garden,
Only happy faces bloom there,
And there's never any room,
For a worry or a gloom..."

Hermione turned and realized it was Ginny. She had moved away from Harry and stood alone at the foot of Fred's grave with a look of determination blazing in her tear filled eyes.

"There's music, and there's dancing,
And a lot of sweet romancing,
When they play the polka,
They all get in the swing..."

George had joined his sister, their hands clasped together as they sang. Hermione felt fresh tears well in her eyes as she they began singing louder.

"Everytime you hear that Oom-pah-pah,
Everbody feels so tra-la-la-la,
They only want to come back for one thing,
They crowd around and sing trolly-olly-ay..."

Bill, Ron, and Charlie moved to join their brother and sister, and all five wrapped their arms about each other's shoulders as they sang even louder than before.

"And you hear that rumble on the floor,
It's a big surprise you're waiting for,
Then all at once everybody, everybody, forms a ring,
For miles around, you'll hear them sing..."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and a sobbing Percy began to sing as the family united and grasped at one another in grief. Hermione found herself singing along and heard Harry join in beside her. Behind her, the small knot of friends chimed in, and the entire group sang the chorus of the song at the top of their lungs.

"Roll out the barrel, We'll have a barrel of fun,
Roll out the barrel, we've got the blues on the run,
Zing Boom Terraral,
Join in a glass of good cheer,
Now it's time to roll the barrel,
For the gang's all here!"

By the song's end everyone was sobbing and clutching one another for support. After several minutes of nose blowing, eye wiping, and heavy embraces, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat.

"I know you all must be hungry after all of this," she said shakily. "So we'll all go back to the Burrow and have some sandwiches." She linked arms with Mr. Weasley and they slowly led the group out of the cemetery and down the pebble path through the birch trees and back to the house.

Hermione caught up with Ginny and Harry and squeezed her friend's hand.

"That was perfect," Hermione told her. Ginny smiled back at Hermione, tears still in her eyes. Hermione put her arm around Ginny's shoulder and they followed the others to the Burrow.

Hermione felt a familiar hand slide around her waist. It was Ron, his eyes red rimmed and pained as he looked down at her in silence. She wrapped her free arm around his waist and Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, linked together by one another's arms, walked away from the cemetery in silence.

* the lyrics of the "Beer Barrel Polka/ Roll Out the Barrel" were composed by Jaromir Vejvoda, a Czech musician and translated into English by Will Glahe. The song was extremely popular worldwide during the Second World War. There are a few different versions with some changes in the words, but this is my favorite.

*the quote on Fred's headstone was made by Linda Ellerbee, a journalist.