Chapter 1- Hermione's Point of View.
It was over. Voldemort had lost. He lay crumpled on the ground, Harry stood triumphantly over him. It should have been a time of celebration and many people had realised that. Cheering and patting Harry on the back. I was tempted to join in myself, perhaps even shoot some multicoloured sparks from my wand.
I didn't though. The whole reality of the situation was slowly dawning on me. People had died tonight. Not just Voldemort, but those on our side; fighting for our cause. Remus, Tonks, Colin….
My breath hitched in my throat as Ron squeezed my hand. A strangled, heart-wrenching cry sounded from just behind us.
I had never imagined that such a noise could come from George Weasley. He had thrown himself down on top of his brother, refusing to move as other member of the Weasley family attempted to drag him away.
That did it. The sight of one pf the happiest people I had ever known falling apart in front of me broke down my emotional barrier. Hot, silent tears cascaded down my cheeks. Fred could not be gone. It was impossible. But it had somehow happened; the inseparable had been separated.
Fred's body laid on the ground, a ghost of a laugh still visible on his face. His mirror-image still curled around his unmoving body.
I felt strong arms encircle me and looked up into the tear stained face of Ron. He gave me a small watery smile and lead me out of the Great Hall.
Truthfully, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. We had won, but so many great people had lost their lives in the process.
The resulting noise that escaped my lips was a mixture of the two causing Ron to give me a concerned look, probably thinking I was on the brink of going insane. I felt like I was.
We both slid down the rough stone wall into a sitting position. If I was feeling like this, I could only imagine how Ron was feeling. He had lost his brother; my family were tucked away safe and sound in Australia somewhere.
I laid my head down on Ron's chest. He gently curled my hair around his fingers, a gesture that was comforting to both of us.
Every time I heard footsteps, I looked up, half expecting it to be one of the fallen soldiers. I prayed that Fred was going to waltz around the corner, laughing "I fooled you! Should have seen the looks on your faces,"
Perhaps, if I went to sleep, I would wake up and this would all have been a terribly twisted and confusing nightmare. With this thought on my mind, I let myself drift off on Ron's arms.
As it happened, when I woke up, it hadn't been a dream.
A week had passed and everyone was trying their best to move on and pick up the pieces after the war. I had been staying at the Burrow, attempting to find the whereabouts of my parents. Hopefully, I could reinstall their memories, but in the mean time, I was welcome to stay at the Weasley residence.
The day before had been the joint funeral of Lupin and Tonks. They had been buried together in a beautiful, yet sad ceremony. Harry had sat bouncing a happily oblivious Teddy on his lap.
The sight had pulled on my heartstrings, thinking of how history had a cruel way of repeating itself.
It was now the day of Fred's funeral. The Burrow was unusually sombre as everyone did their best to get ready.
At one point, as I was going to use the shower, I had found George staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. His hand was touching the glass as if to reach out to the reflection inside.
It was strange seeing George without his customary smile or the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Then again, it was strange to see George without Fred.
He caught me watching in the reflection and immediately bowed his head. I cautiously approached him,
"Why did it have to be him?" he asked. It was the first time I had heard him speak since the final battle. His voice was croaky from both disuse and the emotion that threatened to spill over any second.
I didn't answer, because truthfully, I didn't have an answer. Instead, I took him in my arms, rubbing his back in an attempt to be reassuring as he let himself fall apart in front of me.
Eventually, George had calmed down enough to allow himself to finish getting ready, reverting back to the same emotionless state that he had been in all week.
The actual funeral was not as I expected. Although I knew it was going to be an upsetting experience, I thought that it would have reflected Fred's personality in some way. I was half expecting brightly coloured streamers, balloons and perhaps even some fireworks, however, none of these made an appearance.
I sat between Ron and George. I laced my fingers between Ron's and gave him what I hoped was a supportive smile. I thought about taking George's hand as well, but when I glanced at him, his head as bowed, eyes scrunched tight as if he was trying to block out his surroundings.
Once everyone was seated, a small man with white fluffy hair stood up on the podium. He opened his mouth to start speaking, when out of my peripheral vision, I saw sudden movement.
George had stood up. He opened his mouth a couple of times and closed it again, swallowing.
"I can't do this," he muttered, loud enough for only those close by to hear him.
With that, he turned on the spot and with a loud crack, he was gone.