This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction. Yes, I'm a fanfiction 'virgin'.
And of course, it being my first HP story, it's going to revolve around my favourite character - George Weasley

So anyways, the timeline for the start of this story will be the Summer of 1995,
and it will be revolving around the fifth book. I wanted the fourth book to be the main focus, but it seems the timeline doesn't really fit well.
So yeap. This is getting so awkward. Alright.

neoncrayons.

Death.

The one word that rolled off of our tongues so easily was not as easy as a five-letter word could seemingly be. It was the period, the full stop to one's life, be it famous or ordinary, rich or poor, kind or evil. It is equal and non-negotiable. It knows not to choose its victims, but instead swoops down on it like an eagle do to its pretty when the time arrives.

Death, however, could be manipulated. It could be altered in the way of bringing forth the process on someone.

Forcibly.

Intentionally.

Ruthlessly.

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"Today, we're joined together in the…"

The words melted away into unintelligible murmurs as the sound of rain pelting onto the open umbrellas won the non-existent battle of being heard. The continuous falling raindrops cast a misty backdrop against the surroundings as the group gathered in front of the two freshly marked co-joined marble gravestones.

It was uncommon for the weather to be so cold and dreary when the sun was expected to be beating down on the country torturously, drying up the lakes and killing the lush greenery that was now, used-to-be. The harsh weather had sent the people reclining into the comfort of their own homes as air-conditioners blasted away at the lowest temperature possible and ice was now a need in the household to ensure survival. Although the heavy rain wasn't exactly desirable, it was definitely not unwelcomed by the people who had been experiencing the hottest summer for the past decade. And it was definitely craved by the parched land on the beautiful city of Paris.

But even so, the downcast weather was not the only somber thing weighing on the group's hearts. It could not take away the pain of why the quiet group of people were gathered in the celebrated Cimetière du Père Lachaise on a pouring Monday morning. The weather only seemed to emphasize the point that two treasured lives had been lost, and Heaven was now weeping for the living's unfortunate loss.

A 'pop' sounded somewhere behind the crowd as a tall and willowy old man clad in a long black cloak appeared quite unexpectedly. It was something out of the ordinary for a man to simply materialize out of thin air, but to Albus Dumbledore and his kind, such situations were as normal as hearing the rooster crow every morning.

Dumbledore's signature half-moon glasses stayed perched on the bridge of his weathered nose, sliding down only a tad bit as he opened the black umbrella in his hand. He brought it up and over his head, offering himself some shelter before the pouring rain drenched him. Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes scanned the crowd swiftly, taking in the uniformed frowns and tear stained cheeks. His eyes stopped every now and then when he spotted familiar faces and paused for a second to smile at a particular red-haired lady who had been staring at him with blood-shot eyes. Dumbledore watched as she managed a watery greeting back before a sob tore through her tightly pursed lips and she buried her head in the chest of her husband, shoulders shaking uncontrollably from the force of her grief. Resuming his previous act of accessing the people, his blue eyes finally landed on a slender figure standing beside the identical rosewood coffins, clutching an umbrella in her left hand and a bunch of white Edelweiss flowers in her right. His gaze shifted to the middle-aged lady standing right next to the young girl, holding a toddler girl in her arms as she sniffled into a used handkerchief.

Heaving a sigh, Dumbledore waited as the Father ended his prayers and gestured for the family and friends to come forth and offer their last words before the coffins were buried and the funeral was officially over. Slowly, each person at present walked up to the gravestones with their bouquets of flowers, and offered their last words before walking up to hug the young girl or to offer words of condolences and regret. A blank expression passed on her fair features as she nodded numbly to the guests, forcing a tight smile when need be. Soon enough, it was just Dumbledore and the family of the deceased left while all the others made their way back to their own homes.

Walking forward in heavy strides, the aged wizard bent low over the marked marble slabs, something that proved to be a challenge to people his age and raked his eyes over the cursive gold letterings carved into the dark stone.

In Loving Memory of

William Matthew Beau Delacroix
10th May 1957 – 1st August 1995

and his beloved wife,

Isabella Adele Delacroix (née Aldo)
20th September 1956 – 1st August 1995

For their noble courage and unwavering belief in their friends,
For their timeless love and care for their daughters, Audrey and Adora,
For their never-ending faith and loyalty to the Good,
You will be in our hearts, always.

Placing his own bouquet of flowers onto the gravestones, Dumbledore said a last silent farewell to one of his closest mates and allowed a single tear to slip out of his weathered eye. Straightening his back, the old wizard realized the rain had stopped, and the first sign of summertime was back as the sun peaked out of the dark clouds ever so noticeably. Closing his umbrella, he held it in his hands loosely and walked over to the tired girl.

"I'd assume you've had your fair share of condolences to last you a lifetime, so I'm going to spare you my expected cliché words." The girl smiled, genuinely this time and muttered a soft thank-you in return. Dumbledore patted the girl on the shoulder lightly and offered a cheeky smile to the toddler held in the nanny's arms, causing the baby girl to babble away happily.

"I'd like to speak with you about the arrangements after this... memorial," The girl looked up and stared at Dumbledore in a hard way before nodding. With another smile, the old wizard walked off towards the side to allow the girl a few moments with her family. He watched as she too, placed her own bouquet of flowers on the gravestones before kissing her fingertips and brushing them against the pictures lightly. Her lips curled back into a hateful snarl and as she whispered to the souls of the deceased, her eyes flashing determinedly.

Once again, Albus Dumbledore heaved another sigh, knowing another's life has been altered almost cruelly, by the same evil that had ruined other families a few years back.

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Death.

It was in itself, a type of invisible bond that brought people together. It was a situation that pulled even the most strained relationships of the affected people closer, as they grieved over a common loss. It was this shared pain and regret experienced during a death that allow others to put their guard down and actually be there for one another just this once.

Although it could bring out the good in others, death could sometimes, bring out the hidden side of individuals. The dark side that was kept locked away until an event that was as traumatizing as one could take happened, and became the catalyst of a changed person. It could bring out the hate and thirst for revenge in instances when death was forced intentionally on the deceased, and turn even the most respectable man into a despicable character that would resort to doing extreme measures in avenging their loved ones.

Into someone like the evil that had everyone held in fear lately.

Hmm, comments anyone?
I'd really love it if you guys reviewed me about your feelings about this.
Love it? Hate it?

xx.