Disclaimer: Jo is awesome, I'm not worthy...
There was pain. It wasn't so much physical pain, though there was still some of that, as it was emotional. So many good people gone, because they hadn't gotten to the Horcruxes quickly enough, because they weren't smart enough, fast enough, to end it before he got to Hogwarts. Teddy was only a few months old, and he would be growing up without his parents – because of them, because of her. She was the one that everyone relied on to figure it out – but she had been too slow to stop it. They were dead, and it was their – no, her - fault. Professor Snape was dead – the man that had protected Harry, protected all of them from harm for the six years that they were at Hogwarts – the man that had protected countless students from the Carrows whenever he could – the man who had endured taunting and hatred from those he worked so hard to protect – the man who had loved Lily Evans so strongly that his Patronus was her until the day he died. Gone. Because she wasn't fast enough to see how to end it. Fred. She forced herself to remember that, if she had been stronger, smarter, Fred Weasley – brilliant, funny, charming, confident Fred – would still be here to make them laugh, and she wouldn't be getting dressed in plain black dress robes, staring blankly into space while she tried to prepare herself for the funeral of one of the best wizards she had ever been fortunate enough to meet. Her fault...
When Hermione left Ginny's room, Ron was waiting for her. She had to hold it together – he needed her still. She gave him a long hug on the landing as she worked desperately to banish her guilt for the time being. There would be time enough to deal with it later, and he needed her to be strong so that he had some support when he broke apart.
"Are you ready?" she asked him quietly, noticing that the tears were already flowing freely down his face. He didn't answer her, only looked at her blankly, and she sighed, irritated with herself. What a stupid question, she berated herself. Of course he's not ready. Who is ever ready to bury their nineteen-year-old brother? She reached up and wiped away his tears, then kissed him softly. "Let's go."
She started down the steps, and he stood there watching her, looking lost. She reached out her hand and clasped his, and continued down, with him following her this time. Harry and Ginny were sitting in the kitchen quietly when they walked in, her head on his shoulder, their hands clasped, their eyes red. Hermione and Ron sat down next to them silently. The four of them took what little comfort they could from the company of their friends, until a noise from outside forced their eyes to the window. There was a tent set up in the yard, similar to the one that had been erected for Bill and Fleur's wedding less than a year ago, only there would be no laughing or dancing under this one. In the bright sunlight, under this tent, hundreds of people would gather to say good-bye to Fred – suddenly she felt as though the weather were mocking their grief. It should be storming, to match the maelstrom of emotions boiling inside of her. Ron's breath hitched a bit, and she turned from the window, grateful that he needed her enough to allow her the respite from her thoughts. She could feel his tears running down into her hair, and her heart broke a little more for him. Her fault.
"Where is George?" Harry asked, the threat of tears present in his voice.
"Upstairs - he hasn't left his room for the past week." Ginny looked at her hand, entwined with Harry's, and sighed. "We've been taking it in turns to go up and sit with him, talk with him. He's- he's not well. He hasn't eaten since the battle. He blames himself for not saving F- Fred." Harry had been in and out all week, to the Ministry, and press conferences, and funerals. He felt guilty over each and every person that the Death Eaters had killed, and went to as many of the funerals as he could. As a result, he wasn't quite as in-the-loop as the rest of them were about happenings in the Burrow.
"There was nothing that he could -" Harry began.
"We know, Harry. He's been told that I don't know how many times. But he feels that he should've been there. He thinks it would have ended - differently if he was there." Ginny's voice hitched a bit as she spoke, and Harry gathered her into a tight hug, both of them closing their eyes and letting the tears fall. They sat that way for a moment, and then Ginny sat up, wiped her eyes, and said, "I reckon one of us should go get him."
Hermione looked at Ron, and then at Ginny and Harry. "I'll go get him,"she said quietly. She kissed Ron on the cheek, and left the room. When she was out of everyone's sight, she stopped for a moment and leaned against the wall. Great Merlin, that was hard. How was she supposed to get through today, knowing what she knew? My fault.
She took a breath, locked away her guilt again, and started up the stairs. Quietly, she knocked on the door of the room that George had once shared with Fred. She couldn't imagine the pain he was in right now. She heard a muffled "It's open" come from inside, and opened the door, unsure of what she would find.
He was laying on the bed that had been Fred's, curled into a tight ball, his face buried in Fred's pillow. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and she could see the hole where his ear used to be. He smelled unwashed, and she was relatively certain that the robes he was wearing had not been changed since they got back to the burrow after the battle. "George?" she said quietly, sitting down next to him on Fred's bed. "Is there anything that I can do to make you feel better?"
"I can't do this, Hermione. I'm so angry -" My fault. "Why him, Hermione? Why wasn't it me? It would have been so much better for everyone if it had been me! I can't stand it! Why did -" Hermione pulled George upright and hugged him tight, ignoring the smell of neglected hygiene that permeated everything in the room.
"George, listen to me. Look at me." He looked up unwillingly and opened his mouth to say something. "No. It's my turn. Listen to me." She waited until he closed his mouth again before continuing. "I know that none of us have the slightest idea of what you're going through right now. He was your twin, your other half. I know. But, George, the rest of us lost something important, too. A brother, a son, a friend. Please understand, that I know you want to be alone. I know you feel like you should have saved him. But you can't do this. We need you. We need to know that we didn't lose you, as well. Your mother is so worried about you, she can't grieve for her son. And she needs to grieve, George, we all do. But we need you to be there for us, and to let us be there for you. This is how we're going to get through this, George. Together."
George looked through her for a moment, then his eyes focused on her, and he nodded. "You're right. I need to get it together. Freddie wouldn't want this. Wait for me here?"
"Of -of course," Hermione said faintly, astounded. Nothing else had gotten through to him all week. How had she done it?
She was still wondering what she had said right when he came back into the room, smelling clean and wearing his dress robes. His nose wrinkled and he opened the window. "Sorry," he muttered.
"George. Don't be a prat. It's all right."
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he said, pulling her into a hug. It was a much more pleasant hug this time – he smelled of toothpaste and soap and something that she couldn't immediately identify.
"Anytime." she said softly, hugging him back. She leaned into him and felt him lean his head on the top of hers, and she started to cry softly. My fault.
"Hermione..." George put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up to look at him. "I know, Hermione." He kissed her forehead softly. "We'll – we'll be all right." She looked into George's eyes and was surprised to see something there along with the pain. Did he – was he -?
No. That was stupid. He was like a brother to her, and they were getting ready to bury his twin. Whatever she thought she saw there, she was wrong.
"Let's go down, George. It's almost time." Her voice trailed off to a whisper at the end. "Are you all right?"
He looked at her thoughtfully, seeming to know what she was really asking. Are you ready to face hundreds of people who are coming to give their condolences to you? Are you ready to smile, because Freddie would have wanted it that way, and set off an entire Conflagration Deluxe, because he would have expected it of you? Are you ready to lock away your feelings for now, to come back to them when the guests are gone?
"No," he told her honestly. "But I will be, eventually."
The funeral, despite the hundreds of people in attendance, was a modest, personal service. The yard had been trimmed quite nicely, and two hundred chairs set up under the tent. Even still, Hermione estimated that about a hundred people had Transfigured rocks to give themselves somewhere to sit, and there were many people standing. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, said a few words, as he had gotten to know Fred and George quite well during their work for the Order of the Phoenix. After Kingsley sat down, various people stood up and shared memories of Fred. George sat quietly, listening to everyone's memories, Hermione holding his hand and Ron's. Several hours later, when no one else had anything to say, the casket was moved to the cemetery at Hogwarts for the burial, and people started lining up to take the Portkeys that had been set up in advance. Hermione, Ron and George caught the first one with Molly and Arthur. Hermione noticed that the cemetery had expanded drastically in the last week, and she felt her breath catch a bit. My fault. She looked at Ron, who was staring blankly into the grave, and then turned to George, who was looking down at her. He squeezed her hand briefly, tears streaming down his face. "It's all right," he whispered. "Together."
She nodded, squeezed his hand back, and attempted to smile. "Together," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
When they got back to the Burrow that night, Hermione watched as George hugged his mother fiercely. She knew that he would be all right. Ron, though... He was still staring blankly, walking when led and staying still otherwise. He was in shock, she knew – it had been easy, in the day after the battle, to believe that a mistake had been made, that Fred would wake up. He had seemed fine that day, grieving, of course, but he could do what he had to. Now, he was a mess. She took his hand, and when he looked at her blankly, she said, "Let's go." She took him out to the Quidditch pitch in the yard and sat him on the ground, then knelt next to him. "Ron," she started, "I love you. I know that this is hard for you, but I need you right now. Please, Ron." She hugged him tight and leaned her head against his. Tears were running down her face, and she could feel herself breaking. "Ron..." He just stared blankly at the ground in front of him. "All right," she said quietly through her tears, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. She led him in the house and left him in the kitchen. Then she went back out to the Quidditch pitch and laid down on the grass, sobbing and screaming in turns. My fault. It's all my fault, Fred. I'm so sorry...
She laid there for what felt like hours, screaming and crying. She knew she was far enough away from the house that they wouldn't be able to hear her, so she took the opportunity to let everything out without worrying anyone. Finally, around dawn, she cried herself out and laid there, watching the sunrise.
"It's pretty. It doesn't really feel like it should be so pretty, now, but it is."
Hermione gasped and turned around. George was sitting a few meters away, watching the sunrise with red eyes. "I didn't hear you. When did you come out?" she asked, hoping that he hadn't heard her crying.
"Er, a while ago, actually. You seemed to need the time to yourself, so I left you alone. I wanted to be here if you needed me, though."
Hermione shuddered. "Th-Thank you."
George looked at her. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Can I?" he asked her, his voice full of pain. She nodded. "This was not your fault, you know. It was Voldemort's fault, no one else's. Not mine, not yours, not Harry's. It's not your fault. Fred knew what he was getting into, he wanted nothing more than to take Voldemort down. He helped with that. He didn't die in vain, and it was not your fault." The tears started coming again, and she positively howled in misery.
"George, you don't understand! It was my fault! We knew how to take Voldemort down, we were working on it, but I wasn't smart enough! If I had managed to figure out what I was supposed to, the battle at Hogwarts might never have happened! That cemetery wouldn't be four times the size it was last week, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Snape and everyone else who died there would not be dead if I had been just a little bit smarter, a bit quicker – if I had been better-" she choked out the last word, "we could have finished him off before he ever came to Hogwarts. But I failed. I – I failed."
"Hermione. You, and Harry and Ron, are the reason that Voldemort is dead. You three are the reason that the entire Wizarding community no longer has to worry about their loved ones when they go to bed. You need to listen to me, love," - he gently moved her face so that he was looking in her eyes - "this is not your fault."
Hermione collapsed on the ground again, crying so hard that she couldn't hear the words she knew George was saying. He kept running his fingers through her hair, wanting to let her know that he was there for her. After a while, he picked her up, and started back towards the house. The unexpected movement jolted Hermione out of her latest crying jag. "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked him, her breath still coming in short gasps.
"I'm taking you back to the house," George replied. "You need a bed – you were up all night."
"I-I need to calm down before I go back – Ron needs m-me to be strong."
George studied her face for a moment, then nodded. He put her down and turned towards the house, and she saw something silver shoot towards it. At the questioning look she gave him, he said, "I'm letting them know where we are so they won't be worried."
He glanced back towards the house, and Hermione heard George mutter something under his breath that sounded like, "Ron, you prat."
"No, he's just grieving – like you were, like I am. He just has to deal with it his way."
"By shutting you out and making you go through it alone?" George looked angry.
"George," Hermione said gently. "Until about eighteen hours ago, that's how you dealt with it, too. He's been like this for two days, not nearly as long as you were."
"But I didn't have someone who needed me to comfort her like you obviously need him!" There was a look in George's eyes that she couldn't quite place.
"George, I don't need him to comfort me. I can take care of myself, you know – I'm a big girl." She smiled thinly. "But thank you for the concern. I'll head up in a minute – I just need a moment to myself."
"Yeah." George looked into her eyes, and the need that she saw there made her gasp out loud. Ron had never looked at her like that before. "Hermione, I think... I think I -"
Hermione's heart was racing. "Yes?"
He slumped. "I think I need to get back to the house."
