Hey my one reviewer! and possibly (I hope so!) an invisible reader or two :)
here's another chapter, a short one I must say, but anyways, enjoy 3

Chapter Two

The next day was the funerals, Harry felt like an outsider even thinking about them, he knew that there were people that blamed him, even though no-one would admit it to him. Standing in the shower cubicle in the old seventh year dorm in which he would have been staying that year if he hadn't had to go out and kill the most dangerous man the world had ever seen, Harry leant his palms on the hard tiled walls and let the soothing water fall over his bruised and scarred muscles. The pain he felt even with moving was intense, almost irrationally so. The mark on his chest was by far the worst, just over his sternum lay a black and yellow bruise that had blossomed to cover most of his chest and burned to the touch. Even the healing spells Hermione had tried had done nothing, he was worried that the mark would be with him forever, a constant reminder of the pain that comes with victory.

Stepping out of the shower he ran his hand through the raven mess on his head, breathing deeply he laughed at his reflection in the mirror, 'Hardly the face of a hero,' he spat at his grimacing reflection 'you're a mess Potter, sort it.' Harshly, he span away from the mirror and fumbled amongst the fresh pile of clothes he had been given by Kreacher for something that could be classed as suitable for the sixty-odd funerals he had to attend that day. Personally, he felt that having the funerals at Hogwarts was a good idea, at least the dead would be honoured forever for protecting the school in their final hours, but it wasn't his place to say anything, it had been hard enough comforting his beautiful Ginny through his own grief, never mind making another hugely public speech.

The robes he picked were dark, black and simple, he wore a white shirt underneath and pair of what he would have previously called 'school pants', somehow dressing simply made him feel that perhaps, he would fade into the background and that he'd be allowed to mourn just as anyone else would be. He just wanted to be Harry, not the boy-who-fucking-lived.

Finally collecting his pride he held his head high and descended the stairs of the Gryffindor tower, breathing deeply and watching his steps, fearful of rolling into the common room and making even more of an ass of himself than he already felt. Then, he stopped in the doorway, enthralled by the fire-headed enchantress that stood before him. 'Ginny,' He breathed, wrapping his arms around her slim figure and taking a lungful of her perfect scent.

'Harry!' She smiled, 'I was just coming to get you, we're going to have to make our way down to the grounds soon, they're beginning with a service to honour everyone that fought, the living too.' she was chocking slightly and he eyes were filled with fear as she returned his hug, so vigorously that she even shocked herself. 'By the way Harry, I'm so glad you're here, even just that fact that you're coming to the funerals means so much to every family, to every person here, thank you.' She said quietly before walking over to where the Weasleys were sitting on one of the squishy sofa sets in the common room, taking her mother's hand and beckoning him over.
'Harry,' Mr Weasley said, smiling through his obvious despair, 'please feel welcome to attend the funerals today with our family, after all, you are a big part of us and we really do count you as our son.'
Harry exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, 'Mr Weasley, I would love to attend with you all, I couldn't pick a better family to call my own.'
Mrs Weasley stood up and enveloped Harry in one of her motherly hugs that drained him of all his fears of not being accepted. Just being pressed into her chest like a baby to their mother made him feel loved, happy and more content than he had ever felt, except perhaps for when he was with Ginny. 'We'll have to be leaving now though m'dears,' she said, 'wouldn't want to be late.'

With that, the Weasleys and their honorary members, Hermione and Harry, quietly made their way down the grounds, each individually content to be silent in their own thoughts of their loved and lost, primarily their fallen brother and son, Fred.

When they reached the field above Hagrid's cabin where the service was going to be, Mrs Weasley stopped and stood, looking down towards the Forbidden Forest, she looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to her family, who had paused too, worried about why she had paused in such a place. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again, pausing again for thought. When she eventually spoke, the emotion in her voice was something that no one in that field had ever heard, even Arthur, her husband of so many years was shocked by the words she spoke. 'How can it be so beautiful?' She asked, indicating toward the bright sunshine breaking over the canopy of trees before her, 'when so many have had to leave us, when the aftermath of what that vile man did will haunt us forever? How is beauty justified when so much evil still lives on in this world?'

The silence after her words was bottomless for what felt like hours, days, forever, before Arthur made his move, he moved so he was facing his wife, the wife that even broken with grief was still the most beautiful thing he had ever set his eyes upon, and with one of his hands he took hers, tilting her head to face him with the other. He took a deep breath and then spoke, 'Molly, it's because of love.'

Sorry it's so short, but i felt this had to be said before i came to the massive issue of saying goodbye to the dead, i could only imaging Molly Weasley coping the worst with the deaths after the books and i just needed to have a little bit of Molly and Arthur's relationship in here :)

thank you for reading, i appreciate ALL feedback, good or bad!

Becca x