A/N: Hello. My Uncle passed away two years ago from lung cancer. His name was Tom Pine and he was allergic to everything (including pine trees). He could never put down a good book, especially if it made him question things he'd never thought to question before. He told jokes at the worst times but could always get people laughing. My Grandpa passed away just a couple days ago. He was 100 years old. His name was Howard Williams and he loved trains and books and learning new things about his grandkids. He didn't always understand what people were talking about when things like technology came up but he was so clever he could always figure it out.
I really don't think either of them ever read Harry Potter and they wouldn't know who Arthur Weasley is, but I think that they would have liked to meet him. So this story is for both of them. It's short, I know it's short. But like I said, even if I could find the right words, there's not really ever enough of them.
So many years and so many deaths. There were never really enough words to say, even if they could find the right ones to start with. Words never really made up for the loss.
The Daily Prophet reported it, of course, and they used plenty of words. But they used words like "survived by his wife, his children, his grandchildren, and his great grandchildren." They used words like "a tragic loss for everyone who knew him."
They didn't say that Christmas wasn't the same without Arthur Weasley sitting in the corner, beaming at his family. He always gave everyone Muggle gifts and they always smiled like they understood. They never remembered the gifts after that though, and most of them had turned into junk or knick knacks. No one remembered what Arthur gave for Christmas. He was Christmas.
They didn't say that the whole day was different. That time of day when everyone is quiet, waiting for dinner but not quite hungry enough to say anything yet. That time of day when friends and family start reminiscing. Arthur would tell a story about his days with the Ministry and his grandchildren would sit and listen, enraptured by his voice and his strength. He was always so strong. Some of them sat on the floor, some of them sat on his lap, and still others leaned against the wall, not sure if they wanted to appear as if they were really listening.
Arthur always had something to read. Sometimes it was a newspaper, sometimes it was something for work, but it was always something to learn from. Even when he had time off he enjoyed reading. His favorite gifts were the books about trains that muggles wrote, where all the pictures stayed still. He loved trains.
They didn't say that King's Cross wasn't the same without the beaming Weasley patriarch smiling and waving off the next generation of Hogwarts students, more than a handful of which were his own descendants.
He passed quietly, in his sleep.
They didn't say how hard it was for everyone else to sleep after that. Thinking of Molly, sleeping alone. Thinking of a world that used rubber ducks without questions. Thinking of a world without a very special man who would laugh when it wasn't funny just to make you feel better about your joke, and who would ask a question before he'd assume anything. He was a good man, that one.
"It was a tragedy for the Wizarding World," they said. But they never say what a tragedy it is for my own world.