Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter... not... All characters and quotes belong to their respective owners.
This story is very similar to one titled the same by whydoyouneedtoknow. She gave me the basic concept, so go check it out. It's very good.
This fanfiction is based upon The Band Perry's If I Die Young. Listen to the song while reading for an enhanced experience.
Molly Weasley was empty. The war was over. People were celebrating, but she couldn't. She couldn't even bring herself to get out of bed most days now, but today she had to.
Today was the day that her two youngest children were being buried. They were going to be layed to rest together, just like they fell. Ginny, the youngest, went first. She had just survived a duel with Bellatrix Lestrange, when Voldemort himself cursed her. Molly would never be able to escape the feeling of horrible emptiness that came over her when she saw her baby fall, limp and lifeless.
She heard that emptiness echoed in Harry's cry. Harry, that poor sweet boy, had screamed just one word, her daughter's name, as he cast the greatest spell in his life. Nobody ever knew just what spell he had used, but it completely vaporized whatever was left of Tom Riddle. Unfortunately, he didn't see Lucious Malfoy standing behind him with a sharp knife. Harry had stood there, staring at the burn where Riddle had stood, when a look of strange confusion had come over his features. He had then crumpled, with Malfoy's dagger in his back. Molly had been the closest, and she had rushed to Harry's side. "Don't worry, mom, I'm going to be with Ginny now..." he had whispered.
Molly had cried then. Harry had gone through so much. He had never known a life outside of his fame for defeating Voldemort, not once, but a total of four times. Molly thought that Harry could finally rest easy, knowing that Voldemort was dead and gone. Permanently this time.
Molly laughed, a bleak sound. Harry always had had it rough, with people either constantly focusing on the fame that he never wanted, or ridiculing him for something that wasn't his fault. They'd even accused him of being an aspiring Dark Lord, once. Now, only after he was dead, did the Wizarding public actually want to meet the young man who was behind the scar. The Weasleys, Lovegoods, and the Longbottoms were constantly bombarded with requests to tell about the quiet boy with black hair and green eyes that they knew. Ron and Hermione in particular pulled no punches with their recollections. They told the public exactly how they had treated their quiet savior, who asked for no acclaim, nor for any reward.
They wanted to have a state funeral, at first. Even when those who knew Harry insisted that he would not have wanted the honor, the Ministry was insistent. It was only after the entire Weasley clan came together, and told that Minister he'd have to send Aurors in to get the body, that Harry finally was allowed to be put to rest where he would have wanted, in the small Weasley family plot, behind the Burrow.
It was going to be a big funeral. Molly normally would have been in a planning frenzy at the amount of people that were going to descend upon the Burrow. The entire surviving DA and Order of the Phoenix where going to be coming, plus the Minister of Magic, and some of his officials. Everybody who knew Harry or Ginny wanted to pay their last respects. Molly smiled a watery smile at the thought of what Harry would have said about all the fuss people were making about him, and Ginny's angry response telling him that he was worth it.
"Mom, it's almost time for the funeral. You coming?" Molly heard the voice, but it took a moment for the words to register. She got up, and walked down the stairs, and looked at her waiting youngest son. "Let's go, Ron." He looked concerned, but then he nodded, and walked out the door. Molly followed slowly. She didn't know how she'd keep going with the emptiness inside, but she would somehow. She had to, for the young man and woman who had sacrificed themselves, for her and the world.