Although the battle was over, and the threat of Voldemort was diminished, mourning still existed for those who lost loved ones in that final battle. After quickly excusing himself, George Weasley walked out the front door of his home, the Burrow, with a fake hop in his walk. Once out of sight, he slowed to a rather funeral-like walk, and allowed an exasperated sigh pass his chapped lips. Sweat blossomed upon his furrowed brow and dripped down upon his downturned lip and unshavend chin, but he made no movement to shake off the cold, dripping moisture. He held his emotions inside him until he reached a small thicket of trees, where he quickened his pace to fall under the dark protection of the gnarled branches. Thorns caught under his skin and the leaves ripped upon his clothing; but all physical feeling was lost as the overwhelming pain of his loss hit him like a ton of bricks. Salty tears leaked from the corners of his pale blue eyes and traveled into the dry moisture of the earth. Two days until the funeral and George hadn't the slightest idea if he could even suck it up enough to go to that final goodbye; for that's what it was, the last time he would ever see his beloved twin again. It had been merely 48 hours since Fred's last laugh had died away; a short period of time to forget the passing of the one that understood you as he lived in your own mind. It still stuck in George's heart; like a giant hole had gauged itself where Fred had once lived; comfortably housed in George's embodiment. A branch broke in front of him and George opened one tightly squinted eye to see a mop of uncombed red hair and a shower of freckles lying in the same position he now found himself. A mere semblance of a child's fetal position. George roughly pulled himself up and rolled his calloused hands into fists and rubbed his sore, bloodshot eyes, drying the tears that had made themselves part of who George had quickly become. He dropped his arms only to shove apart the thorned branches to see no one less than his own little sister Ginny. This had come as a shock to George, though it shouldn't have, he never took into account that he hadn't seen Ginny since Fred's rather hasty death. The small girl lay, shoulders shuddering under quick gasps and large, fat, tear drops falling through Fred's rolled up quidditch robes. George fingered the scarlet and gold Gryffindor colored polyester. Ginny's eyes burst open as the material tugged underneath her pale white cheeks. "Oh…" A smile tugged at his lips that wasn't his own, one that Ginny had never seen on George's now too old face. It showed no happiness, no hope of a future, it showed only a semblance of what George wanted her too see. It was a ghost of George's old reflection. Ginny looked in George's eyes and saw her own pain, but in twenty-fold. He lost part of himself, and Ginny wasn't sure he would ever recover that part; especially when it was due to be buried in two days. Ginny opened her mouth to say what George had now heard a million times. George shook his head and crawled through the thickets branches to her small form on the other side. He pulled her into his chest and nestled her head against him folding his arms tightly across her small shoulders. Her quaint apology was lost in his thin patched robes. Ginny's shrill sobs raked at his heart and tore open his soul; Ginny lost an older brother, he lost a twin, neither could be regained, not now, not ever. They sat there in the comfort of each other's warmth and love, feeling each other's pain, misery and hate for whom had stolen away an eternity of love. No words were spoken; none had to be. Understanding simply flooded their beings.
After what seemed like an eternity of tears, and their hearts feeling none the lighter, George let go of Ginny and held her a shoulders length out, using one hand to wipe away the liquid grief that filled her still pulsing eyes. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks puffy, her forehead was blotchy and her hair plastered to her face by cold sweat. "C'mon Gin, it's getting a bit late and the midnight's air is bringing us dew which has irritated our faces and caused our clothes to be soaked." George winked and put on his fake smile again. Ginny only cried harder. George stood and pulled Ginny to her feet, picking up Fred's wrinkled robes and shook out the creases. A small Polaroid fell loose of the robes grasp and fell to the thicket's ground. George picked it up and put it in his pocket for later examination; but now he had Ginny to tend to. He wrapped the Gryffindor gloried robes around her stature and smiled weakly. "You have his looks you know, never looked a lick like me. His nose, his lips, even his bedraggled red hair, you have his whole damned appearance you do." A watery, half hearted laugh echoed through her stuffy nose. "George, what am I gonna do now?" The words hurt, they shouldn't have, but they did. "Well sprout, we're gonna walk on up to the burrow and face the music. We'll get our stories straight as we walk." George wrapped an arm around Ginny's frail shoulders and urged her to walk, she did, reluctantly.
The walk to the burrow was much of the same as the walk down, both walked slowly, George hastily drying away his tears, Ginny crying harder than ever. "C'mon now Gin… Be strong… for Mum and Dad." George reached into his pockets for a kerchief but found none. "Here…" He reached into Fred's Quidditch robes and pulled out a tissue. "Fred always had a backup… bit of… crusty blood… should be alright…." He wiped away at Ginny's cheeks but the tears still came. "Ah, its okay, you're the baby of the family, I suppose they expect it from YOU." Anger peaked from deep inside and it took all of his strength to suppress it. How dare those bastards steal his twin. How dare they make Ginny cry like this… How… how… HOW DARE THEY! Another hand pulled on his sleeve and he peeked out of the corner of his right eye. It was Ron, a vision of his own tears imprinted across his face. George looked at his sad face and the deep bruised bags under his blue eyes. Ron's eyes bulged at the interrogation George was concluded and he put his head down, looking at the ground, drawing invisible circles in the grass. "Is Ginny alright?" His voice came out strong, though his stature proved weakened. George put his other arm tightly around Ron's shoulders and brought both of his siblings into his sides and rubbed their arms. "She is, now that you're here Ickle Ronnikins." They both looked up at George with sad eyes and they all felt it. At least they had each other, but it wasn't enough. They all needed Fred too.
As they entered the burrow the first thing noticed was a table set for eight; as if one child had never left her motherly clutches. Molly sat in an old mismatched wooden chair, her back facing them. As the door slammed behind them she switched her position and looked at the grieving trio. "Oh you guys are late for dinner again, and with this darned clock broken I never know what to think. Who knows if your father and Percy are truly at work! Fred, its been two days and your arm is STILL pointing at DEATH, as if you weren't standing right there! What utter NONSENSE!" George shook his head sadly and wiped a dirty hand through his tangled red hair with angst. "Ginny, I SAY, get Fred's robes off this INSTANT, you'll ruin them and we haven't the galleons to buy new ones!" Molly hastily got out of the chair and starting tugging the robes off of her daughter. "No Mummy let GO! LET GO!" Molly got the robes off of her daughter and dropped them across her chair. Ginny covered her mouth and held back her sobs. She danced out of her mother's grasp and ran up the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. "Well… What on earth's gotten into your sister you two? And where's George at?" Ron raised his hands pathetically and brought them down into his face cursing broadly and loudly. Tears sparkled in his eyes and George looked up under his eyelashes. "Go check on Ginny, Ronnikins…" Thankful for the escape Ron ran up the stairs. "Fred, I made your favorite for dinner… lasagna and mashed potatoes, if…." "MUM, JUST… jUST STOP ALREADY!" George yelled loudly across the room at his delirious mother. He looked her in the eyes and saw that deep down she had to know. Her eyes were bloodshot and deep rings wrinkled her cheeks. Crowsfeet peeked from under her eyeshadow and her red hair was now thoroughly streaked with gray strands. "HE'S GONE MUM… GONE. YOU'VE STILL GOT ME, BUT HONESTLY WOMAN, HE'S GONE!" Molly smiled. "Oh honestly darling, what on earth are you talking about. Go find your brother and wash up for dinner, you look like you've been playing in the garden, come along dearie." Molly turned her back and marched past the clock, the she stopped. She turned around and stood in the wake of the clock. She stared up at it sadly. Without another word she took Fred's Quidditch robes and threw them over the clock. "No need to see a broken clock I suspect." Molly smiled broadly and set to work on the kitchen table, fresh tears dripping from her eyes. George cursed softly and crossed the room in two long strides. He grabbed hold of Molly and brought her short stature to his chest and whispered into her red hair. "Mum… pretending he's still here won't bring him back. Please Mum. Please stop pretending."
Up in his best friend's dull orange bedroom, Harry Potter sat at the foot of his makeshift bed, his bloodshot eyes hovering on the vivid, moving photo that showed a scarred man with his magenta haired wife and metamorph son, all smiling up at him. Remus Lupin held his child's hand, waving it back and forth. So serene… so happy were they. Harry still vividly remembered the moment the picture slid across the cold stone floor as Remus had run forth to aid his fellow comrades. How he had risked his life, him and Tonks, for them. For him. Harry fought against the urge to let his emotions flow forth, though he knew nothing would happen anyways; all his tears had been wasted on previous heartbreaks. His guilty conscience then swiftly overtook his emotions; it was his fault. Another Harry Potter was growing up in the form of Teddy Lupin. His fault that Remus and Tonks had left their son to aid him in his own personal battle. His fault they were dead. Personally his fault that so many had died along with them.
His guilty thoughts were scattered, random, and left just as hastily as they had come when Harry heard heavy footsteps grow louder from outside, approaching the wooden door to the bedroom. The door slammed open, and even though Harry knew the noise was coming, he felt himself jump up off the bed as Ron burst through, a fresh flow of tears trickling into his half open mouth. He was not expecting Harry to be there, and at sight of his friend, he cast his face downward and coughed, wiping his face with a maroon wool sleeve. "Hey…" he muttered quietly, a cocky tone attempting to cover for his reddened face. Harry nodded his hello and quickly but gently shoved the picture into the moleskin pouch tied around his neck, hanging so close to his still pulsing heart as Ron's gaze was averted. Harry tried to ignore his best friend's unsightly appearance and quickly attempted a conversation. "Say… that sweater's a might big on you Ron, I think maybe you should eat more… dinner is ready isn't it?" Ron lifted his face and looked at Harry, "It's… Fred's… Mum sewed it for him last Christmas." Harry's eyes widended and Ron uncrossed his arms. He now noticed the large, yellow, 'F' labeled harshly acrossed his abs. The tears that Ron had learned to cover up so well over the years now peaked forth yet again. Harry walked towards his friend and put his hand as to pat him on the back, console him, Ron did the same for Harry as he noticed Harry's own eyes take a new glistening appearance. Deep down they both knew consolance for any but Hermione and Ginny was impossible. At last Harry grasped Ron's shoulder and walked forth with Ron in the tow. "Come along Ron. Your mum's finished with dinner, been listening to her holler for Fred… errr…. Us… last few minutes…" With that the duo walked out the room and to the top of the stairs, but stopped harshly. At the end of the staircase it was easy to see that George sat on the sofa, cradling his mother's softly weeping form deep in the cradle of his arms. They both bowed their heads respectfully and decided to change their path and go check on Ginny instead. They ventured slowly down the hall and came almost to the wooden door that had several pock marks in the door where Fred and George had once played with whiz bangers. As they came nearer they heard a watery giggle and Hermione's own soft laugh. Harry hesitated as he placed his hand upon the door knob. Ron's own voice approached his hearing. "C'mon mate. Open it." Harry turned the knob and cracked the door and just… listened. Ginny's soft voice could be heard, amplified with her cries. "I re-remember when I wa-wanted to g-go to hog-hogwarts with you gu-guys and mum sa-said n-no, that I would get my ch-chance next year. Fred and Ge-George said they'd send me a to-toilet seat." Ginny stopped and smiled, tears still flooding her face, but the old Ginny gleaming in her blue eyes. Ron walked into the room and sat down next to Ginny. Harry followed him in and sat down beside Hermione. For what seemed like hours they just sat around and told stories of what they all came to know as the good ole days.
A sudden and happy forgetfulness seemed to pass over the four teenagers as they left Ginny's bedroom. Both Harry and Ron had forgotten the state in which they had left the kitchen in, and as they entered, were surprised to see that the mood had lifted. Mr. Weasley had come home, and was discussing with Molly about the latest happenings at his work; an imprudent navy-robed wizard had again blown up a toilet or two in the restrooms on the Improper Use of Magic floor, and apparently Mundungus Fletcher had finally stolen that yellow rubber ducky he himself had been so oddly bemused by in past years. As Arthur saw Harry walk in and gasped. "Ah Harry, just the man I was about to seek. I got this… this… duck, and would just adore for you to show me how it works." Harry looked up into Arthur's face for a sign of a joke but saw none. Arthur's face was carved with hard lines that had never before been there until recently, his eyes were bloodshot and large sunken rings lye deep on his cheeks. The same gray hair that had plagued Molly, plagued Arthur as well, sure as his hair was receding. "W-well Mr. Weasley, it's difficult to explain… errr… I guess you just put it in the water and…err…. Watch it float. It really isn't anything special…" At the look of shock that crossed Arthur's face because of Harry's opinion on whether or not this was a find, Harry subdued and quickly revoked his opinion. "I, I mean, its wonderfully…. Cute…. But… you know… it's a…. a child's toy really…. A bath toy…" "AH! SPLENDID! I really must take a bath tonight and try out Dung's find." Arthur continued to walk away muttering a small "Splendid, simply splendid!" on occasion.