Rows stood completely in black, there were hundreds of them; all of Hogwarts and many red-headed wizards had come to pay their respects.
He was the first casualty of the Wizarding War. The first death before many others.
The Burrow had died and he had too. He had gone down with his childhood home.
They were attacked by Death Eaters; the first Pure-Blood "traitors" to be attacked. No one, not even Dumbledore, had seen it coming, it was just too early.
He had gone back in to save Harry Potter but Harry had already been out, no one had told him that. He had risked his life for his best friend and the future saviour of the World. He had paid the highest penalty of all.
His family had screamed for him to stay back in safety but he hadn't cared. He'd run in without hesitation. He had to save Harry Potter; he was no one but that boy was someone.
They think his murderer is Dolohov, who had quickly gone missing after the attack. He was the only one they didn't catch.
His face and body was destroyed from all recognition; his hair charred black and his features were smashed to oblivion. But they knew it was him; it had to be him. He was the only one not standing at the end.
Tears flowed freely as Dumbledore gave a speech; he had never really known the boy, more Hermione and Harry, but he gave a speech which sounded personal. Every house sat and listened intently while the grounds filled with grieving sobs. They'd already lost so much and now they'd lost him.
The War would just spiral upwards and out of control from here. They had no hope now. He had kept the Golden Trio going through everything and without him all their laughter and smiles were gone. He could have made even Snape smile.
But now no one would laugh.
This was personal.
And when they found Dolohov they would show him how much he had hurt them and why you don't mess with a Weasley.
You don't kill Ronald Weasley and get away with it.
A smirking, lanky figure lay stretched out on a towel on a beautiful, warm beach, a drink in one hand and a small fan in the other. And as he lay in muggle Spain, a sudden thought came into his head.
'Why didn't I die before?'