A/N: First fanfic ever... please review
Chapter 1
Hermione's POV - May 6, 1998 (4 days after the Last Battle)
Today Ron, Harry and I attended the mass funeral for Fred, Snape, Lupin, and Tonks, and 50 others that were killed in the Last Battle. It's been hard on Mrs. Weasley and George especially, and right before we left the Gryffindor common room, Ron and I were discussing how they would hold up.
"Mum will just start crying and never be able to stop," Ron said glumly.
"Give her some credit; she's done nothing but cry the past 4 days. Fred would've wanted her to remember the good times at his funeral." I replied.
"Bet you George won't even come." Ginny walked into the Gryffindor common room to join us.
"Ginny!" I exclaimed, being completely exasperated.
"What? He hasn't said a word or eaten a bite since it happened. He's writing poetry. I read some from the dust bin; it's pretty morbid – and he's got awful writing style." She answered bluntly.
As she finished talking, Harry walked in. He looked at her with a solemn gaze that caused her to trail off at the end.
"Since we're all dressed, I say we go have a marvelous time at several back to back funerals now!" George exclaimed in a fake voice as he walked down the stairs, unseen by Ginny.
Ginny blushed and muttered something before quickly exiting to the corridor, dragging me out of the portrait hole with her.
"There's nothing worse than seeing George fake happiness." She said glumly.
"Maybe it helps him deal with things."
She rolled her eyes.
"I've never seen him this bad;" Ron said, as he climbed out of the portrait hole to join us in the corridor, "you should hear him now, he's rambling about Fred like a madman."
I glared at him, but I stopped as soon as Harry and George climbed out.
"Let's get going, we'll want to sit in front, in the families section," I squeaked slightly at the end because Ginny had started glaring at me and Ron rolled his eyes in my direction.
"What're you two so glum about? There's nothing more-" George's voice broke, "exciting than hearing stories about your dead family and friends."
At this we began walking downstairs, avoiding each others' eyes and settling into an awkward silence. When we arrived outside, I think we were all stunned at what we saw.
There was a huge line of open coffins and at least five thousand wizards and witches walking from coffin to coffin, crying, and offering condolences to the family members by each one.
"We'd better go join Mum and Dad…." Ron muttered and released my hand for Ginny's wrist. George happily trailed after, starting up with another "magnificent" story about Fred.
Harry and I were left. He took a deep breath, and then spoke.
"I suppose we should start at the front of the line then," he said with a grim look.
"Yes…." I murmured, following him to the first coffin.
As the day progressed, Mrs. Weasley cried more, we all stared glumly at the new cemetery behind Hogwarts exclusively for victims of the Last Battle being filled with coffins, and George began telling drunken stories about him and Fred as if they were thirty years old and both still alive. I think it was truly the saddest part of the whole day.
George's POV - May 7, 1998
Without you I am missing my other half,
And nearly my entire old laugh.
Through one of my ears, all I can hear
Is the shriek of the witch who killed you,
I've become so drunk I can't sleep
And all Mum's done is weep
The others don't know what to say
So I imagine you and me, just like yesterday
Death took so many that day
And now I feel as though I may
Die alone.
Ginny's POV - May 8, 1998
"Really, the 'happier' and drunker he gets, the more he misses Fred. If he knew how to be properly sad, he wouldn't be in such a state."
"Ginny, we can't force him to go cry in a corner," Hermione whispered, "though I do think it'd be wise to take away his fire whiskey." She glanced over at him, laughing and telling another story about their old joke shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"What I want to know is what's with the crackpot stories. He's driven himself mad!" Ron said a little too loudly.
Mum stomped over to the three in the corner and shushed them, explaining that George would be perfectly fine once everyone stopped whispering about him.
"Mum, he's too drunk to understand us." I said.
"You hush up too! Grieving the death of a sibling is hard."
"Mum, we're both sad too! But you don't see us constantly drunk. Fred would want us to go on with our lives." I snapped back.
"Oh no…." Hermione muttered.
George had perked up at his twin's name. He stood and stumbled over to them, so drunk he clearly couldn't even see where he was going.
"Fred?" He slurred it out so badly, I swear I saw Mum wince. "That's my brother! He lives upstairs, 3rd room on your left! Right across from me!"
Ron and Hermione glanced at me strangely. I realized that the 3rd door on the left was just a broom cupboard.
"Well, I think I'll start supper now!" Mum announced, "George, sweetie, don't you want to lie down before supper? Just for a bit?"
"No, Mum. I'll be-" he belched, "perfectly fine. Now, let's celebrate with some fire whiskey! Where'd I put that?"
He stumbled over to his chair and promptly passed out. We all flinched, but didn't get up to help him. I guess at that point nobody knew what we could do to help.
Ron's POV - May 9, 1998
Mum and Dad finally admitted George has a "problem". Dad threw out all of the fire whiskey, and after he saw George rummaging for it in a dust bin, decided just to burn it all up. George cried. Mum started sobbing at "what the world's come to," then signed George up for grief counseling at the Ministry with a Mental Healer. He'll just go to work with Percy and Dad, sob in some office, and go home with Percy on his lunch break. Percy complained a lot about having his lunch shortened with "babysitting," but a glare from Mum shut him right up.
I've yet to talk to my parents about Hermione. They don't have any clue about us and Hermione says it's just awkward to walk around holding hands for no particular reason. But I'm just afraid Mum would sob some more about how I'm practically an adult or something like that. She still hasn't realized I'm technically of age.
George's POV - May 10, 1998
My grief counseling started today. My counselor, Healer Fluxton, wants me to start keeping a journal. I told her there's nothing to write. Then she asked why everyone in my family reported that I had been writing "morbid" poetry. It couldn't have been everyone, just Ginny. She saw one and pulled it out of the dust bin to read. Of course, she thinks I was so drunk I didn't notice all of them, but I used a head-clearing spell every hour to stay alert enough to survive. But back to Healer Fluxton –
"The poetry was just drunken ramblings." I said.
"I'll admit, most of it shows signs that you were incredibly drunk at the time, but some of it simply sounds like a tortured soul. Have you ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe?" She asked.
"Yeah, that's me, a 'tortured soul'. And no, what did he do?" I muttered.
"He had a very, erm – difficult life. He was also an alcoholic and he wrote poetry much like yours – and while drunk. He ended up being a relatively well-known Muggle." She smiled.
"I am not an alcoholic!" I shouted as I left the room.
Bill's POV - May 11, 1998
Oh my Merlin. Fleur's pregnant. Her sister, Gabrielle, who's like 12 years old, is going to stay with us. I am going to be a father. I don't think I'm ready. And how's the child going to turn out?
Mrs. Weasley's POV - May 12, 1998
Fleur's pregnant! This should hopefully bring everyone out of their funk. If we're lucky, a pretty redhead little girl will be the first of my grandchildren and our first new child around after the Last Battle. And if we're not lucky……. All I can say is that Bill will be devastated if the werewolf venom in him affects the child.