Whoever said "Older men declare wars, but it's the youth who must fight," would have looked down on the cemetery with a knowing and sad face. Three people stood before three tombstones, the ground that lay before the stones still soft and overturned.

A thick mist hung in the sky, deepening the already morose atmosphere. A muggle car drove past, it's headlight's glinting off the water caught in the lettering.

The W.

The same W that was cut into each grave marker.

The W for each Weasley that was put into the ground.

Three other Weasleys had been put to rest that past year. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been killed when a large group of Death Eaters had surprised them at The Burrow. The house was set ablaze before the Dark Mark had even been summoned to the sky. Their bodies were gone, but two memorial markers stood down the row. Between them and the new stones was another, marked Percy Ignatius Weasley. The victim of another Death Eater attack, this one a blatant and aggressive one in the Ministry of Magic offices.

These three graves were brand new, young like the bodies they held. George, Ron, and Ginny, respectively. Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter stood before them, respectively. Looking at the people who meant the most to them.

None of them spoke. The only sound hanging in the air was a harsh intake of breath they frequently took to help hold back the tears they refused to let out.

After a quarter of an hour, unable to stand the silence any longer:

"So now what do we do?"

Fred started at the sound, and looked at Hermione. "I dunno," he replied quietly, eyes rimmed red and glassy.

"Are you doing okay?"

He nodded his head quickly. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He cleared his throat and swallowed harshly. "I got owls from Bill and Charlie. They said they're sorry they missed the burial, but it's too dangerous for them to just up and leave right now."

He turned to his twin's grave and sat down on the dirt, his back resting on the stone. "I hope they're alright," he whispered, his voice breaking. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Hermione turned to Harry. "How about you? How're you holding up?"

Harry didn't answer. He stood there, arms crossed and glasses wet, staring at Ginny's headstone. His eyes weren't red nor did his lips quiver; Hermione wasn't sure she'd seen him shed a tear at all.

"Harry?"

He down on the ground. "I was going to ask her to marry me. I know we're too young, but I wanted an answer for after the War ended." His voice was low and monotone. "I love her so much. I just want her to know how much."

Hermione crouched next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. He didn't seem to notice.

He reached out suddenly and wiped the water off the Weasley inscription. "Ginevra Potter has a nice little ring to it," he said to no one, tracing an e with his finger.

Fred broke completely and let out a sob, covering his face with hands. The sound was so completely heartbreaking that tears sprung to Hermione's eyes. She let go of Harry and crawled over to him.

"Hey, it's okay. Shh... let it go, it's alright." She brushed the hair from his forehead.

He jerked away from her hand and glared at her. "It is not okay, Hermione!" he cried throatily. His blue eyes shone with anger and sadness, tears clinging to his ginger lashes. "They are killing off my family! I've lost my little sister; my only sister. I'm her older brother and I couldn't EVEN PROTECT HER!"

His voice echoed through the graveyard, bouncing off the statues and tombstones until it died at the gates.

"My little brother is dead! He's another one I should have been able to take care of. I promised Mum and Dad that I would take care of the family no matter what. And the two people I should have been protected above everyone else are gone!

"And Percy! He was finally coming around. Mum and Dad's death had made him realize what was important. But they got him, too."

His voice broke again, and he wiped his nose as he inhaled to calm his quavering voice.

"George is dead. He is right here." He patted the ground beneath him. "I'm not a twin anymore, Hermione. I'm just Fred; the days of FredAndGeorge are gone. I used to able to feel him, in the back of him mind. I could feel what he was thinking. I knew where he was."

Tears rolled to his lips; he licked them away and kept going.

"But now... now it's so empty up there. You have no idea what it's like to have someone always there, always knowing exactly what you were feeling exactly when you were feeling it, and then just having them gone. You may think it's the same with you and Ron, but it's nowhere near that.

"I can never replace that. I can't just go out to a pub or to a show and find a new twin. My entire life stopped when George's heart did. So do not tell me it's bloody alright. Because you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Tears escaped from Hermione's eyes, and she brushed them away quickly. "Fred, I'm not trying to say that it's okay what they're doing to your family. I would never think that. I... I just don't know what to say." She grabbed his hand trembling hand. "I haven't read any books on this yet," she laughed weakly.

He offered a small smile and squeezed her hand. She sat down too. "So what do we do about Harry?"

Fred looked over at him still tracing the letters on the headstone. "I'm not sure. He's got to feel awful. You know, he blames himself for every death in the Weasley clan. He says that if he'd never met us, we might still all be here." He sighed and shook his head. "I tried to tell him we were all involved in the War before he was even born, but he won't listen."

They were quiet again, stewing over all that had happened.

"We should get going; it's getting dark." Fred pushed himself and wiped himself off. "And I don't know about you, but I am starving." He offered his hand to Hermione, who took it.

"Yeah, I could use a bite to eat," she answered as she was pulled to her feet. "Do you want to come with us, Harry?"

He looked up at her, eyes still dry. "I think I'll stay here for a bit longer. I'll meet up with you guys later."

"Alright, don't stay here alone too long though," she warned.

"See you later, mate," Fred said. He put his hand on the small of Hermione's back and led her toward the gate.

As they walked away, they heard a broken cry from behind them. Hermione started to turn, but Fred stopped her.

"No. He wants to be alone for this."

"Why doesn't he cry in front of us," she asked as they started moving again. "He can't think we'd mind."

"The thing with Harry is that he's always been the guy who's come out more or less in the battles while people around him are hurt and killed. Hell, he's The Boy Who Lived; it's what he's famous for. You can only do that so many times before it breaks you. And now they're hurting him through the people he cares about, and they've been doing it all his life in the public eye. He needs privacy every once in awhile."

Hermione sighed and pulled open the steel gate. "I hate this." She looked back at Harry, who was leaning on the tombstone, visibly racked with sobs. "I hate that I can't do anything to help him."

"I know," Fred answered as he held the gate open for her. "No one ever likes war, but not too many people know what it's like to be the cause of one. So all we can do is be there for him."

He closed the gate behind him, and they walked to the restaurant at the end of the street.

In the cemetery, Harry's tortured cries hung in the air, heavier than the mist.