Grieving
It was a dull and dreary summer day, not at all the kind of weather fit for an August afternoon. As Harry Apparated a few feet away from the Burrow, he realized how horrible the weather really was. It was only a small reflection of what the atmosphere would be like inside the Weasley house. As he walked slowly up to the door, Harry took a deep breath and braced himself for what he was almost certain he would find inside.
It was only a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, the slaughter of Nagini, and the defeat of Lord Voldemort. It was also fresh in the minds of the Weasley's of the death of their son and brother. Today was the day of the funeral, and Harry had arrived early to see if he could help with any preparations. All of the Weasley's had seemed rather distant ever since Fred's death, and Harry didn't blame them. Nevertheless, he was still a bit timid about going inside. He knew he shouldn't, but he felt incredibly guilty and entirely at fault for Fred's bereavement, though none of the Weasley's acknowledged this. He reached the door, took a deep breath, and walked inside.
Harry strode into the small kitchen and gave it a once-over. No different from usual, he thought to himself. The dishes in the sink, which Harry was so used to seeing clean themselves, looked as though nobody had given them a second glance in days. The kitchen, which usually had an air of comfort and solace, now somewhat resembled a dirty pub in Knockturn Alley. And then, sitting alone at the kitchen table, he saw Mrs. Weasley.
She was perched on a chair, red hair looking disheveled, and she was staring ahead at nothing in particular. Her eyes were red, though no tears seemed to be coming out of them. She was holding a small mug in her hand, and though steam was issuing out of it, it seemed full, as though she hadn't drunk it at all.
Harry felt a horrible pang of guilt and pity, and he knew that anywhere in the house he went, he would find the same scene with all the members of the Weasley family.
He walked up to her slowly and sat down next to her. She hadn't seemed to notice him there and until Harry put a hand on hers and asked rather reluctantly, "Mrs. Weasley?" did she make any movement at all.
Mrs. Weasley gave a small start and, looking surprised, said, "Oh, hello Harry, dear." It was evident that she hadn't slept in a while, due to the dark circles under her eyes and the ever-growing stress lines on her forehead.
"How is Gin – er – how is everyone?" Harry had lately been trying to avoid the question and had almost let it slip out on numerous occasions. Luckily, Mrs. Weasley hadn't seemed to notice.
"Oh, I guess you could say we're… coping," Mrs. Weasley said rather forlornly. She continued, "It's just been so hard. Every morning, when I wake up, it seems as though I've forgotten what happened and I think it was just a horrible dream. And then," she let out a stifled sob and didn't continue. Harry grabbed her and embraced her. Mrs. Weasley shook slightly while she cried.
From where Harry sat, he could see the amazing clock poised on the wall that he had enjoyed looking at on his many vacation visits to the Burrow. All hands, as usual, were pointed at "home". Harry didn't have to look to know who's hand magically went missing. He wanted to give Mrs. Weasley some words of sympathy, but he couldn't think of a thing to say.
"Mrs. Weasley," he started, mustering up all the courage he could while Mrs. Weasley's sobs were muffled in his shoulder, "I know it's hard. We all miss Fred." It was all he could say, but it seemed to be enough.
"Thank you, dear," she said dismally, and slowly let go of Harry. She then stood up and said, "You may want to go upstairs and talk to Ron. I'm sure he'd like some comfort right about now." She then walked toward the sink and began waving her wand at the dirty dishes in the sink, making them clean themselves.
"Yeah, I think I will. But first, I've got to talk to someone else."
As Harry climbed the stairs, he wondered if this was the right thing to do. Yes, he told himself. You've waited too long. His feet walked his body almost automatically towards the door on the first floor landing. He raised his hand to knock on the door. For a second, he waited, again questioning his judgment, and then decided to do it. Heart hammering, he knocked.
He waited several seconds and heard no call of entrance. Feeling risky, he turned the knob and entered the room.
There was the nicely made and comfortable-looking bed; the desk facing the window; the posters of the Weird Sisters and the Holyhead Harpies on the wall. And then, he saw Ginny, with her back against the wall. Her knees were curled up to her chest and she was hugging them. Though she looked weary and frail, Harry thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Again, he was reminded of those stolen moments in the abandoned halls of Hogwarts, neither Harry nor Ginny having a care in the world. Those days seemed so distant, when there was now a weight on all of their shoulders.
Ginny looked up at him as he entered the room. She didn't smile, gave no sign of recognition, just watched him slowly cross over to where she sat and joined her, mimicking her position.
For several minutes they sat like this, staring into each other's eyes. The way Ginny looked at him, it seemed as though she were searching for something and would find it in the emerald abyss that were Harry' eyes. Then, for what seemed the first time, Ginny cried. Really cried. She bawled for a while, all the time Harry repeating the caress on her back and the occasional, "It's ok. It's all going to be ok."
"It's j-just that," she started, "it's s-so unfair! Why F-Fred? Why?" Then she began to sob again. Harry was sure Ginny was aware of how childish she sounded, but he knew that she did not care.
"I know it was all f-for the greater g-good, but I just miss him s-so much!"
She continued to cry and Harry again felt completely responsible for the pain he was causing the Weasley's. He told her, "I know, Ginny, I know." He really couldn't think of anything else to say. After a while, though, Ginny's sobs turned into little sharp intakes of breath and Harry knew she had calmed down.
"Ginny, I really wish it were different. I can't bear the fact that Fred's really gone. And Lupin and Tonks, too. It's horrible," he whispered.
When Ginny spoke again, her voice was barely audible. "And now he'll never see a free wizarding world. That was all he wanted, you know? Freedom." Harry hugged her and felt that he didn't have to say anything. As though reading his mind, Ginny nodded. Then she did something that took him by complete surprise. She kissed him passionately, and Harry was yet again reminded of how wonderful she was, the lukewarm feeling of her arms around his neck.
When she finally pulled back, she said, "I love you."
"I love you, too, Ginny."
"I just… well, I realize that I didn't appreciate my time with Fred enough. And I need to make sure that I do for everyone else. If I lose you…"
"No, Ginny," Harry said firmly. "Everything is fine now. You won't lose me."
She smiled. "I knew you would say something wonderful like that." She sighed. "Well, I'd better get ready for the funeral."
