Harry lay in his bed, listening to the house creaking around him. Although the last week had left him emotionally exhausted, Harry had spent the whole night watching the shadows change as the Moon gave way to the morning. The sun started to rise and Harry found small comfort knowing that the ordeal was nearly over. Today was the last funeral.

Harry felt strangely empty, as though he simply didn't have enough energy to grieve. The week had been long and arduous, starting with a beautiful Monday morning, when Harry had helped bury Lupin and Tonks.

On a secluded hill, a few miles from Andromada's house, Harry and Ron had held their wands aloft, to place the young couple side by side, hand in hand, in the ground. It had been decided that Teddy should have the chance to grow up with his parents nearby, so he could visit them whenever he liked. Harry felt that Lupin would have wanted to be close to his son.
Teddy had slept through the whole service, nestled in the relative warmth of his Godfathers' arms. He opened his eyes once when Dromada had placed a single rose on his Parents joint grave.

Tuesday had been Mad-eye's memorial service, the first chance they had had to openly morn his death. They couldn't bury him as no one had ever recovered the body, but they all sat in a dingy pub afterwards and shared stories of him.

Wednesday had been the cremation service of a 5th year Ravenclaw girl who had sacrificed herself to save Neville and Luna, who had risked their own lives as the leaders of the resistance inside the castle over that year. The parents had asked Harry to be there. "What she would have wanted" they had said.
Thursday had been Colin Creavey. Harry sat next to Nigel Wolport, as Denis gave a brief, tearful eulogy about his big brother. His parents talked about how proud they were that Colin had died for something he had believed in, a comment that caused a few strange looks from the Muggles present. Harry had been one of the pole bearers, along with Denis, Nigel and Mr Creavey.

As he walked out of the church Harry was suddenly struck by how small the coffin was, much smaller, he was sure, than Colin had been in life. Harry's eyes had burned furiously as he thought of how tiny Colin had been in death.

The wake had been easier. After all the muggle relatives left; Harry, Neville, Denis and Mr and Mrs Creavey looked through a shoe box of all of Collin's pictures. There were so many of Harry! All through his second year, his Quiditch matches, Harry in the dining hall, Harry in the common room. Denis managed to dig out an envelope marked "Down with Umbridge!" inside which were many pictures of their DA meetings. Harry couldn't even remember Colin bringing his camera! But there they were, flying across the room into piles of cushions. Neville found a picture of the first time he had successfully performed a disarming spell. Over and over, Neville disarmed Hermione, gapped on in shock before being surrounded and cheered on by the rest of the DA.
And now it was Friday, which meant Fred's funeral and once again Harry felt the numb grief that had plagued him since the battle of Hogwarts. The week had been filled with too much grief and pain. Harry both craved and dreaded for ordeal to be over.
Over the week Harry had been staying with the Weasleys in the burrow. It had been a strange experience being out of the house all day and only returning at night, almost as strange as thinking that he would never again hear Mrs Weasley shouting at Fred for winding up Ron, or leaving a fake wand lying around. Mr Weasley, Bill and Charlie were helping Kingsley, who was now the acting Minister for Magic, search out the last of Voldermort's supporters and all those under the imperious charm in the Ministry. It was a task that had broken Charlie's nose twice, locked Bill in a ministry cupboard for 12 hours and had kept Mr Weasley from the house for nearly the whole week.

Harry hadn't seen much of Ron and Ginny either, as they had been helping Mrs Weasley organise the funeral for Fred. George on the other hand had been in the house the whole time, but had disappeared into his room and hadn't been seen for days.
Hermione had only managed to send one Owl since the battle. She was currently attempting to relocate her parents who, as it turned out, had moved to Australia.
In fact the only person who Harry had really spoken with over the last few weeks had been Neville. After taking over Dumbledore's Army in Hogwarts during the war, he had been both the leader and protector of all those who chose to fight Voldemort's control in Hogwarts. Harry knew that Neville felt partly responsible for the deaths of those students who had followed him into the fight during the battle of Hogwarts, a sentiment Harry understood all too well.
Harry stared at the ceiling, faintly lit by the pre-dawn glow. He could tell, by the lack of snoring, that Ron was also awake, but Harry didn't say anything. They had barely talked these last few days. More often than not they would both retreat to Ron's room together and lie on their separate beds in silence.

It wasn't like the usual bouts of their cease of communication with each other. Rather than being angry, they both craved the company of one another. Harry and Ron both knew that they would not be forced to pretend that they were coping when they were with each other. They both needed to be with each other. They both were dealing with their grief in the same way and needed to be with the only other person who understood. Hermione was great at understanding their emotions, sometimes better than they could themselves, but what Harry and Ron needed was time to come to terms with what they had lost.

Despite the fact they had barely spoken 2 word to each other since arriving at the burrow, Harry felt that the two of them were closer than ever.
As the shadows cast by the rising sun started to creep across Harry's bed, Ron asked quietly "Breakfast?"

Harry rolled out of bed as his response.

The two best friends both rose and donned their dressing gowns, before creeping down the stairs into the kitchen.
The whole of downstairs had been transformed the previous evening. The usual joyful clutter of mayhem had been transformed into a stark empty space. The table that usually sat right in the middle of the kitchen was now pushed up against the wall, plates and cutlery laid out ready for the wake. On a table placed in-between the living area and the kitchen were a vast array of pictures of Fred and George. Mrs Weasley had struggled to find a single picture of Fred without his twin and when she had occasionally came across one of them alone she hadn't been able to tell which one it was.
Ron dug around in the larder before emerging with some bacon and bread. Harry cooked the bacon in silence wile Ron buttered bread and made two mugs of tea. Once they had made their breakfast, Ron headed into the garden and Harry followed. They sat on the low wall surrounding the Burrow and watched in silence as a Gnome tried to sneak back into the garden through a break in the stones.
It was about 6 o'clock in the morning when Hermione apparated next to them, causing Ron to fall off the wall, spilling his cold tea all down himself. Harry smiled at the both of them.
"You two are up early." She quipped as she smiled down at Ron.

"So are you!" Ron retorted as he pulled himself to his feet.
Hermione held out her hand and helped him over the wall. "Well maybe I wanted to spend some time with my beloved boyfriend."

Ron grunted, a smile pulling at his mouth, and muttered "Come on. I'll make you some breakfast."

Harry noticed, as Ron walked back to the house hand in hand with Hermione, that Ron's ears were gradually turning their usual shade of red.

About half an hour later the back door opened and Ginny walked out of the house. Looking up at her, Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Ginny was wearing a knee length pale yellow dress that was giving Harry heart palpitations. The material flowed in all directions from a line of Knut sized Lilac stones from just under her bust to around her navel. Two petal shapes spread from the line of stones across her chest thinning up to her shoulders. Her vibrant red hair was pulled up into a lose bun, tendrils of scarlet falling down to frame her face. She looked so beautiful.
As she turned to sit next to Harry, he saw that the petals knotted at the back of her neck and two long strips, studded with thin flowing lines of the same Lilac stone, fell down past the low v-shaped back and sat just above the curve of her behind, showing a lot of smooth pale skin. She sat next to Harry on the wall and rested her head on his shoulder. Their fingers entwined without any conscience thought, as Harry lent his head on top of hers.
"You look amazing." He said quietly.
Ginny shook with a silent laugh. "Fred would have killed me if I had worn black. He bought this for me and said I should wear it at the victory party once we 'kicked Voldy's ass'."

Harry ran his thumb along her index finger, marvelling at the smoothness of her skin.
They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other's presence, until a red eyed Mrs Weasley rushed into the Garden. Her eyes lit up briefly at the sight of the two of them sat there before the familiar look of inconsolable grief flooded back in.
"Harry dear, you really should go and get changed. All the family needs to be at the church by eight to be ready to meet everyone."

Harry smiled and rose from his seat and he and Ginny walked into the house, still holding hands.
Everyone was gathered in silence in the kitchen. George was wearing his Green Dragon scale suit. He was drifting around the room leaving scraps of parchment on every surface, under plates and behind pillows. He even hid one in the curtains.
Mr Weasley, Bill and Charlie were standing in the kitchen drinking tea, not talking. Mr Weasley was watching George very carefully, a frown pulling at his lips. The house was unbearably quiet.
Harry kissed Ginny gently on the check before disappearing upstairs. He passed Percy on the way. He was sat on the top step, in his black dress robes, his face pale, huge bags under his eyes. Clutched to his chest was one of the fake wands Fred and George had created, and pinned to his chest was his old Prefect badge that Fred had bewitched to read "Prat". Percy's blank gaze didn't move as Harry passed.
Ron was in his room wrestling into his dress robes. He glared at Harry when he walked in. "They're too big for me!" he mumbled accusingly at Harry.
Harry grinned. "And that is my fault, how?"
Ron's glare lost some of its power as the corners of his mouth started to twitch. "It's your fault because you didn't think to bring a chef with you when we were Horcrux hunting!"

Harry hung his head in mock shame. "I'm sorry Ron. I should have remembered how important you're extra stuffing is. Next time I will bring a chef."

"Damn straight!" Ron responded, grinning briefly.
Once Harry and Ron were dressed, Harry in his bottle green robes and Ron in the Royal Blue ones that Fred and George had bought him years ago, Harry headed towards the door. Ron put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.
"George says we have to wear those." He pointed to two white flowers lying on Ron's bed. They looked like small elongated lily's.

Harry picked one up and used a sticking charm to pin it to his robes, just over his heart. Ron did the same.

Harry was about to leave when Ron stopped him again with a hand on his shoulder.
Ron looked very awkward, his ears turning red once more, and it took him a few tries to find his voice.

"I just wanted to say, mate... That er... I'm glad you're here."

Harry stared back at his best friend, his throat suddenly burning uncomfortably. "Erm... you're welcome Ron. I er... I wanted to be here. You know?"
"Yeah." Ron responded, nodding gravely. "You've made it easier. For me I mean."
Harry nodded back. "Me too, mate."

They pulled each other into a brief hug.

"You two are hopeless." Hermione's voice muttered a little hoarsely from just outside the open door. She strode into the room and throw her arms around the both of them. When she pulled away her bottom lip was shaking just a little.
Ron stepped back and looked at the ground. His eyes widened and very slowly he looked back up as he took Hermione's appearance in. His ears were getting to a dangerous shade of red.

Hermione was wearing a simple sleeveless lilac floor length dress with a pale yellow sash around her waist that tied at the back and fell to the floor. She had straightened her bushy hair so it fell in gentle waves past her shoulders.
Ron stuttered "Where'd you get that dress from?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Fred and George got it for me. Fred said he wanted Ginny and I to match at the victory party when we defeated Voldermort. I decided to wear it today for him."

When the trio finally got downstairs, everyone was waiting in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley had now joined Mr Weasley in shooting worried looks at George, who was now staring out of the window, a slightly manic grin on his face, his eyes glinting with a desperate crazed look.

Kingsley arrived at half past seven with Professor McGonagall. This cued everyone to make their way down to the church.

Kingsley was wearing a colourful long robe that looked like it might be some sort of traditional African garb. Around his throat was a long wooden chain with different coloured stones dangling down. He was walking with Mr Weasley, Charlie and Bill, McGonagall strolling arm in arm with Mrs Weasley. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny walked altogether, with George trailing just behind. Somewhere far behind them, Percy was following, still clutching the fake wand.
The Church in the village was tiny, so the service was being held outside in the graveyard to accommodate for the relatively large mourning party that would be attending.

Mrs Weasley left Harry, Ron, Bill and Charlie at the entrance to the small Chapel to direct mourners when they arrived. After a valiant attempt at barking orders to them in her usual fashion, she then walked off, into the Chapel and up to the alter to stand beside George. They both stared at the long wooden box that was sat upon a mountain of flowers.
There were so many varieties of Lilies, Roses, Daises and every other flower under the sun, each one a different colour, that Harry was sure that no two were the same. The coffin's lid was open, showing a vivid purple plush lining, gently supporting Fred's perfectly still body. In one of his hands, so delicately folded across his chest, was his wand. In the other was his beater club. His vivid red hair clashed so magnificently with both the army of flowers and his Green Dragon-scale suit that Harry couldn't help but smile.

But Harry suddenly stopped smiling, as what little of George's composer that was left snapped, and he threw himself at the foot of the flower pyre. Bill flinched at the sound of George's sobs, and closed the door, his eye glistening. Before the door closed, Harry caught one last glimpse of Fred. Pain lanced his heart and his lungs constricted as he stared at the ghost of Fred's last laugh.

Charlie clasped his brother's shoulder, and Bill clung to Charlie's forearm. For a few moments they stood like that, heads bowed, each leaning on the other, till Bill threw back his head and blinked rapidly at the sky, taking a shuddering deep breath. Bill gently threw off Charlie's reassuring hand and rubbed his own arm across his eyes. Looking around the relatively empty street, Bill nudged his brother in the ribs.

His voice thick, he said "Hey Charlie. There's a pretty lady."

Bill nodded across the road where a young dark haired woman was walking in front of a small cottage, covertly peeking through the curtains into the house. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was, as Bill had pointed out, quite beautiful. Her long face was too sharp to be pretty, her cheek bones too defined, but her large blue eyes added a softness that made the whole effect quite lovely. Her long shining hair, which seemed to be such a dark shade of red that it was very nearly black, fell straight down past her breasts and flowed in the wind behind her. She wore a pair of low cut skinny jeans and a particularly short baggy vest top that left a lot of midriff bare. Harry thought he could see the tip of a dark tattoo poking out from the bottom of her shirt, but she was too far away for him to make out.

Charlie examined her briefly then shook his head as if to clear it.

"Dude..." He said simply.
Bill grinned and held up his hands. "Hey! You know all Fred ever wanted you to do was find a woman! Always wanted Nephews and Nieces learning to ride Dragons."

Charlie tried to remain serious but was rapidly losing control of his scowl. "I am not picking up a woman at his funeral!"

Ron grinned at his big brother. "Fair play Charlie, it's what he would have wanted."
Bill and Ron both placed a hand on Charlie's back and roughly pushed him onto the road, towards the woman.

Turning only to pull a face at the three of them, Charlie sauntered over to the woman.

Harry nudged Ron, slightly confused. "Has Charlie ever had a girlfriend?"

Ron blinked at him in surprise. "Oh masses. He had loads of girlfriends in school. But then he found his true love..."

"Who?"

Bill grinned. "Dragons!"

Harry looked back across the road where Charlie had just caught up to the woman. He was whispering something in her ear. Suddenly she threw back her head and roared with laughter. She kissed Charlie quickly on the cheek, said something to him, and then walked off, still laughing.
"What she say?" Quizzed Ron as soon as Charlie arrived back.

"Well..." he said rubbing the spot she had kissed, "I asked her if she liked magic and if she would like to see some of my wand work. She laughed, kissed me and said it was the best pick up line she'd ever heard. Then she walked off..." He looked after, amused frustration written across his face.

Bill clapped him on the shoulder consolingly. "Maybe Fred was right. I guess only Dragons are attracted to you."

Harry and Ron laughed.


Harry peaked out of the church doors to the small stage laid by the grave, where Professor Mcgonagall was looking out across the sea of guests. Harry was pretty sure that everyone who had ever met Fred and Geroge were gathered in that graveyard. Alicia Splitt had turned up supporting a teary Angelina Johnson, who had been a great friend to, and even briefly dated, Fred. They were soon followed by a very pale and red eyed Lee Jordan, who was wearing robes the brightest shade of orange Harry had ever seen. Over the morning Harry seated Professor Flitwick, Dean Thomas and a still rather battered looking Seamus Finnegan, Oliver Wood, Penelope Clearwater and a sniffling Hagrid, who was once again wearing his hideous furry suit.

All of the one hundred chairs had been filled with well over another hundred standing opposite them.

With a small nod in Harry's direction way back at the back entrance to the chapel, McGonagall signalled the start of the service.

Harry, along with Ron, Bill, Charlie, Percy and George, pointed their wands at the coffin and muttered "Levicorpus".

Lid now closed, Fred's coffin rose into the air and hovered above them. Then, in step, they all marched slowly out into the graveyard.

Hagrid, who was towering over Professor McGonagall despite the fact that he was sat down, started to play a gently mournful tune on the small wooden flute he had brought with him.

The crowd of mourners moved to create a path to let the six wand bearers through. Ahead of him Harry could see the mass of seated people waiting the other side of the soul sucking hole in the ground and the mound of earth beside it.

Suddenly his chest constricted so much that he couldn't breathe. His field of vision blurred, and he blinked furiously to clear it. Through the fog of his tears Harry spotted Ginny, sat beside her weeping mother, holding her hand tightly. Harry fixed his eyes on her and willed himself forward, forward through the blinding grief towards her, towards his wonderful, strong, beautiful Ginny.

It could have been minutes or hours, Harry couldn't tell. All that existed in the universe for those few moments was the crushing pain he held aloft above him and those warm brown eyes.

In unison with the others, Harry lowered his wand and rested the coffin next to the looming hole in the ground.

Once Harry and the others had stepped back to stand at the front of the crowd, McGonagall began to speak.

"There have been too many funerals this week. Too many final goodbyes. Too much grief."

She looked across the crowd gathered around the grave. She looked regal, dressed in a pair of Emerald robes that sparkled in the sun. Having discarded her usual tall pointed hat, Professor McGonagall instead wore a white lily, like the ones Harry and the rest of the polebarers wore, on the side of her tight bun, an item that was uncharacteristically frilly and girly for her.

"In the aftermath of a war," she continued "it is easy to forget what we were fighting for in the first place. Even during a war, losses start to take their toll. But it's when the dust has settled, the enemy defeated and the fight won, you start to count the bodies. Its then that you truly realise what is the cost of freedom, the cost of life. You begin to wonder if anything could have been worth the loss of so many."

The graveyard was completely silent, except for the quiet sobs of Mrs Weasley.

McGonagall raised herself to her full and considerable height and spoke in a clear and carrying voice.

"Fred Weasley never forgot what he was fighting for. He never doubted his convictions, never questioned his friends, and never paused in his fight. He knew with every fibre of his being that fighting against Lord Voldemort was right, and threw himself headlong into the war, for the sake of others."

She paused, staring down at the long wooden coffin, smiling. Gently touching the flower in her hair she continued.

"Fred was not only a person of considerable moral strength, but also one of exceptional skill. The flower I'm wearing in my hair, has grown from a plant that is threatening to take over the whole east wing of Hogwarts, where Fred and his brother once set off a portable swam of their own design, during the tyranny of Dolorous Umbridge's reign. Never have I seen such exceptional magic as that. A wonderful creation of life, born in a moment of laughter..." McGonagall stopped and swallowed.

Hermione took one look at Professor McGonagall's crack in composer, and burst into tears.

After a few seconds McGonagall carried on.

"He was never the model student, nor did he ever try to be. Fred walked the thin line separating mischief and real trouble, but he always knew where and when to step over that line. Although a prankster through and through, he was never inconsiderate. He cared deeply for others, especially his brother. He would have walked through the seven circles of hell if it meant he could help a friend. I shall always treasure my memories of Fred, even if most of them are from his detentions with me."

There was a quiet snort of laughter from Lee Jordan, and a general grin across the mourners. Pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket, McGonagall spoke again.

"The poem I am about to read was left in an envelope by a muggle soldier, and was given to his parents after his death in the muggle Great War. I believe it is appropriate to read it now, after the death of a young man who was a great soldier, and so much more as well."

Harry looked up at the sky, trying to maintain his composure. This funeral was so much harder than the others. Even Lupin's had been easier than this. At least with Lupin he had had the chance to say goodbye to him in the forbidden forest.

Harry was pulled from his memories by two Swallows that were flirting around each other in the sky above them, dipping, souring and diving, chirping quietly. Harry watched them dart around the vast blue sky and waited for McGonagall to begin.

She took a quiet shuddering breath and read the poem quietly.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep."

The Swallows darted towards the ground before soaring into the sky again, almost in complete unison, a gentle dance of two. Harry wondered idly if the two were mates. A gentle breeze picked up and rustled the trees around the graveyard, sending three more Swallows into the air.

"I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain."
Harry thought of the not so gentle rain that Fred, George and he had spent so many times training in over the years. While he grinned up at the Swallows weaving their intricate dance above them all, he thought of the abuse Fred would hurl at Oliver, and later Angelina for keeping him out in the rain. One of the Swallows broke out of the dance and started to weave its way high into the sky and away from the grave yard.

"When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night."

Some part of Harry's mind registered that Ron was shaking with quiet sobs beside him, and that Harry had placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was probably the same part that realised that a tear was trickling down his face, but Harry didn't care. He was lost in his memories, every moment he'd spent with Fred.

"Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die." McGonagall's voice was horse as she finished.

The Swallows darted high into the air and soared off, above and to beyond the graveyard. Ron placed his hand over Harry's, clinging to it, desperately trying to stop his tears. But Harry just stared at the disappearing Swallows, letting his tears dry on his face, and said a quiet goodbye to Fred.