I don't know why but I can't finish any of my stories. Either I'm too lazy or too busy, either way I'm having a hard time making nay progress with what I'm writing. So, I've decided to do a one shot. Then at least I can say that I finished at least one fanfic.

Here you go guys. :D

The sky that day was gray, devoid of any other color, devoid of any life. It was like the heavens were mourning, and their tears, made of droplets of rain, were ready to flow. The countryside was quiet, only a few cars could be seen moving lazily along the road. There weren't much people around except for a small group trudging towards a hill a few meters away. To the untrained eye the group looked much like any other normal group of people. The only thing that gave them away was their long, dark, flowing robes. These people were wizards.

There were about five of them, and they huddled together for warmth against the cold, biting wind that threatened to pull their robes away from them. They were all quiet, barely a whisper passed between them. Their eyes were puffy and red, like they had been crying. The group reached the hill in a matter of minutes. Together they walked towards the only thing worth seeing on the green landscape: an old, beaten shoe that stood in stark contrast against the dreary landscape. The five figures bent slowly towards the shoe and in seconds they had vanished into thin air, taking the only object on the hill with them.

A thousand miles away, in a large, green, pasture, more than a hundred people were gathered 'round. The people stood huddled together, almost as if seeking comfort from an invisible force. Some of them stood stoically, not a word uttered from their lips, while others gritted their teeth against the cold. Most of them though, clearly, had been crying, their eyes red, their noses buried in handkerchiefs as they listened to a man in a white collared, black robe, standing in front of a dark, black coffin, talk. From behind, five men appeared, one of them tossing an old shoe onto a pile of other strange, and useless things.

A young boy with red hair turned towards the late-comers. He raised his hand, gesturing for them to come over. The five men parted the crowd easily; the people had made way for them, some bowing in respect, others patting the backs of the figures. The priest talked on as the men reached the young ginger. One of them, the same one who had thrown the shoe carelessly away, put a hand on the boy. The boy forced a smile as the man nodded in greeting, his red hair exactly like that of the boy's.

"Dad, where's Mum?" George Weasley, the red-headed boy, asked.

Arthur Weasley shook his head, "Kingsley, Slughorn, Aberforth, Hagrid, and I have taken her back to the Burrow. She said she wasn't feeling well, but you know your Mum. She just needs space to mourn, and there are just too much people here."

"Well Fred would've loved the attention. After all, it was clear that he was jealous of my being holey. Get it, Dad? Holey-" George replied, trying to continue, but his throat had gone dry, and his eyes had filled up with tears. He turned away quickly from his father as he tried to wipe away the salty, droplets of water with the back of his sleeve. In front of them, the priest was talking about Fred. He was talking about his bravery. He was talking about his sacrifice. But it was too late; he wasn't there to hear any of it anymore.

Arthur started to say something, but was interrupted by the look on George's face.

"Son-" He started to say, but George was already standing up, mumbling a flimsy excuse as he steered his way outside the crowd.

"George," Arthur said trying to follow, but a hand held him back. It was Kingsley Shacklebot. "Let him be, Arthur. The boy needs time to sort things out for himself."

With a reluctant sigh, Arthur took heed of Kingsley's advice and returned his attention back to the ceremony at hand, all the while glancing over his shoulder to see if his son had returned. But George never did.

As soon as the ceremony was over, Arthur headed towards the direction his son had taken. He searched for at least thirty minutes until he found a lonesome figure, sitting on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the gray, stormy sea. Arthur approached his son cautiously, he knew that George wouldn't do anything to put himself in danger, but the events of the week before had shaken him up so terribly that Arthur wasn't so sure anymore.

"George…" Arthur said, his hand coming to rest on the boy's shoulder. George turned around to look at his father. He looked defeated and the words that came out of his mouth almost broke Arthur Weasley's heart.

"I could have saved him, Dad. I was there and I didn't even…" George choked back a sob, but much as he tried he couldn't hold back his tears. Everything that he had been holding back for the past few weeks came out of him as he spoke once more.

"I- I don't even remember the last thing I said to him," he said as he broke down, crying in his father's arms.

Have any of you watched DH 2?

Reviews? Suggestions?