Funeral
I really shouldn't be starting a new story right now (I already basically have 3 going) but I couldn't get this one out of my head! So, I decided to write it and see where it goes. Read, review, tell me what you think!
George stood in the front of the large group of people that had assembled, dressed all in black, which brought out the pallor in his cheeks. This is not happening, he kept repeating to himself. He turned his face up to the bright sky above him, cursing it. It was as if the sun was mocking him, laughing at his pain.
The man speaking had droned on for what seemed like hours, though never even breaching the subject of who Fred really had been. Don't think in past tense, George reprimanded himself. His hand was clenched in his pocket, gripping something no one else could see. He would follow through, he had promised Fred this.
One by one, his family members walked forward, scooped a handful of dirt and sprinkled it gingerly on George's twin's grave. Molly had sobbed so hard the dirt had turned to mud in her hand as she and Arthur had approached the site. Charlie had stayed up there a long time, staring down at the grave of the brother he would never see again. Bill had walked up, arm around a tearful Fleur, and murmured a few choked words before turning away. Percy's grief had seemed beyond words.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry had advanced toward Fred's grave as a single unit. Harry supported Ginny, who had phased alternatively throughout the day from sobbing to screaming at anyone who came near her. Ron and Hermione walked hand in hand, tears streaming down both their faces.
Too soon, everyone turned to face George, the last to say his goodbye's to Fred. He stuck one foot out in front of him, unsure if it would hold his weight. He stumbled slightly, but was able to continue walking, if slightly off balance. George grabbed a handful of dirt, ever so slightly larger than the rest of the families. It was cool and moist in his clammy hand. Looking down at the plain black grave that held his brother, adorned only with the symbol of those who lost their lives fighting Lord Voldemort, George found it easier to complete his task. Fred wouldn't have wanted to go out this way, all silence and tears and darkness. He would have wanted to go out with a bang, and a bang George would give him.
He dropped the dirt on the grave, and removed the object from his pocket. "For you, bro," he said before pulling out his wand and aiming it at the thing in his hand.
Bang! It sounded like the exploding of hundreds of guns as George released the Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bangs. People around him screamed as they lit up in the bright sky. Catherine-wheels, dragons, phoenixes, every shape imaginable illuminated above them, and George laughed hysterically. He sank to his knees, laughing until he couldn't breathe, until he realized that the laughter had turned to tears.
The grief ripped through him, then, as he realized Fred wasn't here to share this moment with him. George couldn't remember a prank ever pulled without Fred, and couldn't grasp the fact that he never would again. He gripped his stomach as he sobbed, glad most people didn't notice him over the commotion the fireworks caused. Why Fred? He asked miserably. Why his twin? His other half, almost literally? No more tears leaked from George's eyes, the sobs that racked his body silent, but he felt it all the more on the inside.
Suddenly, a cool hand reached for his, pulling him upward and leading him away from the dense crowd. George saw the slim, dark figure of Angelina Johnson in front of him, her black braids swinging slightly as she walked. He allowed himself to be led away, finding no desire to be on his on at this moment.
She pulled him out of sight of the crowd, around a corner and into a small room. When she stopped, George was able to take in the sight of his brother's once-girlfriend. He noticed mascara smudges underneath her deep eyes, revealing that she too had been crying, though, like George, the tears had stopped coming. Her hair was frizzing slightly from her braids, and her once pristine black dress now bore signs of wear. She fixed those wide, dark eyes on him, and George felt as if she were looking into his soul.
He thought she might go into a speech about how Fred was in a better place, or how he would've wanted everyone to be happy, all of those clichés. Instead, she laid a head on George's shoulder and said, "This sucks, I know."
George laughed a choked laugh. "Yeah, it does."