In Continuation

Chapter two! Which is pretty obvious, really. Glad to see so many reviews, but not nearly as many hits as 'One Month Later' ... probably because the summary had to be so secretive. Hmm. In a week or so's time I'll put more detail into it. That should give the slow readers time to FINISH THE BOOK! If not, well - I'll put the word 'Spoiler' there so I can't be blamed. Ha!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Harry woke the next morning to a feeling of dread surrounding him like a shroud. As it slowly dawned on him what this dread meant, he pulled his duvet over his head and failed to suppress a loud moan.

"Harry?" came a voice. Ron was awake too.

"Morning," Harry yawned, face buried in his pillow, "How are you feeling?"

"Well ... all right, really. As good as you'd expect from someone whose brother's funeral is hours away."

"Don't worry about it," Harry told him, surfacing from his stuffy sanctuary, "I know everyone always says this, but Fred wouldn't want you to be upset, would he? Though I suppose you've got to be at some point. So - what I think I'm trying to say is, do what you feel is right. Everyone'll understand if you're upset."

Ron smiled shakily.

"In that case, if I break down at any point today, just leave me. Hermione'll sort me out."

"Aww..." Harry also smiled, despite himself, "She's brilliant with feelings and stuff, isn't she?"

"Not like me," Ron sighed. He looked at the clock beside his bed, "What time is it, anyway ...? Woah, we've slept in ... we must've needed that ..."

He climbed out of bed. Harry did the same, with another yawn.

The door creaked open, and Hermione peered in, fully dressed.

"Morning," she whispered, "Can I come in?"

"I suppose so," Ron said, "We're not dressed yet, though."

"I am," Harry pointed out. He thought back to the previous night and found that he couldn't remember changing into his pyjamas.

Hermione was already in her dress robes. She'd even taken the trouble to somehow make her hair shiny and straight.

"You look ..." Ron looked her up and down, "...beautiful. You really do."

"Thanks," she beamed at him, "I sort of wish I'd left my hair alone, though. It's making me think of the Yule Ball and Bill and Fleur's wedding and all those other happy times ..."

"I'm sure Fred would appreciate the effort you've put in for him."

"Really? I'm not sure if it looks too dressy, you know ..."

"Hermione, it doesn't matter," Ron told her," Remember, no-one's allowed to dress like it's a funeral. Fred was never all depressed, was he? That's why we're wearing dress robes."

"Speaking of dress robes, you two had better change into yours," Hermione said, "Your mum sent me to get you both up, Ron, you've missed breakfast and the funeral starts in about two hours."

"I don't care, I'm not hungry," Ron started looking for his dress robes as Harry found his own.

"all right, then," Hermione said, and left the room.

They dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to find all of the Weasleys, Hermione and Fleur gathered in the living room. Everyone was ready.

"Hello, you two," Mrs Weasley sighed, hurrying forward to give her son a bone-crushing hug, "Are you both OK?"

"Mmm," Ron mumbled. Clearly, the sight of his family looking so upset had made him feel the same.

"Right then, we need to go through everything so we're all clear," Mrs Weasley said, addressing the room, "You know we're having the funeral outside, don't you? Fred's coffin will be arriving soon, Bill, Charlie, Percy and George -"

"We're the bearers,," George finished for her, "Yes, Mum, it's fine, we know what we're all doing."

"I'm only checking," Mrs Weasley sounded flustered, "We're all going to follow you in and sit at the front."

"Sounds fine, Molly, now come and sit down," Mr Weasley said gently, "Fussing like this is the last thing you need."

Mrs Weasley sank into an armchair beside her husband. She looked pale and tired, though Harry could not blame her.

"You're right, Arthur," she sighed, "I just - I want everything to be p-perfect for - for -"

And she broke down completely. Her family rushed to her side, offering her words of comfort, reassuring pats on the back.

"C'mon," Harry muttered to Hermione, and together they walked into the kitchen. Fleur followed them; she set about making tea.

"Where exactly are we burying him?" Harry asked quietly.

"We're walking down to the graveyard," Hermione replied, "It's not far. It'll only take about five minutes to get there."

"But - isn't that quite a way for the bearers?"

"Oh, I expect they'll use magic ..."

Hermione looked sadly out of the window.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"When Ron's mum said we were all sitting at the front - did she mean we're sitting there, too?"

Harry hadn't thought about this. He turned to Fleur, but she left the room, carrying a tray of tea.

"I dunno," he muttered, "I just presumed she meant family. We'll be sat behind them or something, I suppose."

"I don't feel like I should be here," Hermione groaned suddenly, "I know we were both friends with Fred, but - do you really think we should be staying with his family right now, at such a hard time?"

"It's no trouble," a voice said: Harry looked up to see that Ron had just entered the room, clutching a cup of steaming tea. His eyes were bloodshot and slightly damp, "I need someone here to keep me sane."

Hermione looked as though the only thing stopping her from throwing her arms around Ron was the scorching hot tea.

"Are you OK, mate?" Harry asked him.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

He drank from his tea shakily. Hermione watched him sadly.

"Ron, if you want Harry and I to -"

"No!" Ron said, so fiercely that tea went splashing onto the floor, "Look, if I didn't want you two here, I wouldn't have asked you to stay. You have to be here. Haven't you seen the seating plans for the funeral?"

Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads.

"At the front and to the left, Dad's sitting on the aisle, and from there it goes Mum, Ginny me, you, Hermione, then you."

He was looking pointedly at Harry.

"And d'you know why? I asked if you two could be with me."

There was a second in which Hermione looked as if she was about to burst into tears, then the cup fell to the floor. Tea and broken pottery flew everywhere; a dark stain spread across the hem of Ron's dress robes but he didn't seem to care. He had his face buried in his hands and was shivering violently.

"Oh -" Hermione bit her lip, "Harry, could you -?"

She gestured to the mess on the floor. Harry sighed, crouched down, pulled out his wand and muttered 'Reparo'. The cup fixed itself, though there was still tea all over the floor.

"Hermione, what do I use to -?"

"Scourgify!" Hermione hissed. Harry glanced up at her - she had an arm around Ron and was trying to get him to talk.

"Scourgify," Harry said; the liquid disappeared from Ron and the floor, and he stood up.

"I c-can't do this," Ron stammered, "I really c-can't."

"Come on, now," Hermione whispered, but Ron removed his face from his hands, glaring at her.

"Hermione, you d-don't understand how this f-feels! I don't want to g-go to the funeral, I'm g-going to s-stay in my room until it's all d-done ..."

He was starting to worry Harry. This wasn't just grief: Ron was having some sort of breakdown. He caught Hermione's eye with relief. She knew what she was doing.

"Ron, I understand a lot more than you migt think," she said quietly, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "The only funeral I've been to apart from Dumbledore's was my cousin's. He was killed in a car accident ... and believe me, Ron, I didn't think I could go to his funeral either. Looking back, I don't know why. But I went, and it was lovely. There weren't even many people crying, because a funeral is supposed to celebrate someone's life, not really mourn their death."

"You're right, as always," Ron said eventually, with a hint of a smile, "What would I do without you?"

Hermione merely blushed, and Harry wished he wasn't there.

"We're going to get you through this," Hermione told Ron, "It's not going to be easy."

It certainly wasn't. The wait for the funeral was agonizing. Harry half wanted to talk to Ginny, but she was always on her own, looking as though this were on purpose. There would be time later.

Finally, it was time to begin.

The coffin arrived just before the funeral. It was beautiful; mahogany, with gold handles, and decorated with various arrangements of flowers. Harry particularly like one made of white flowers, spelling out the word 'Son'. There was a card with every arrangement, too. Harry spent a few minutes reading every single one, even when doing so brought a lump to his throat.

'Dearest Fred,

It is cruel that you were taken from us so soon, but you will be in our minds and hearts forever. We'll never forget you, son.

All our love, Mum and Dad.'

Hermione had her lips pressed tightly together as she, too, read the notes. Ron was looking slightly happier.

"It's brilliant," he whispered, "So many people have remembered him!"

There were a lot of floral memorials. Thinking about it, Harry realised it should be something to be happy about. Fred had evidently touched a lot of lives. On the other hand, this meant that more people were going to be saddened by losing him.

The procession started. Fred's four eldest brothers carried his coffin into one of the fields. It was set up as if it were a huge, airy room: chairs, flowers, a carpet down the middle. The chairs were full. Harry was surprised to see how many people he recognised - everyone was there, from Luna and Neville to Verity from the shop. He tried not to look at anyone as he walked slowly down the aisle with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

They took their seats. Fred's coffin was gently set down on a magnificent stand.

Hermione had, of course, been right. The ceremony was a wonderful celebration of Fred's life. There were tales of his childhood antics told by his family. There were poems. There were songs. And everything made Harry feel slightly warmer inside: Fred Weasley had lived, and though his life had been short, it had not been dull. He had done so much.

Hermione was sniffing, but her eyes were dry. It was only when Mr Weasley was talking about the Weasleys as a family that she let a small sob escape. Quickly, she stifled it, winding her arm around Ron's and squeezing his hand tight.

All too soon, it was over. Everyone was asked to stand and those who would be attending the burial followed the Weasleys out of the field gates. Most people were leaving - Harry supposed that the next part would be more personal, with close friends and family only.

Hermione had also been right about moving the coffin. Together, the bearers were levitating it in front of them, four wands pointing at their brother.

Harry walked beside Ron. His hand was still gripping Hermione's as if they depended on each other for survival.

"How're you doing?" Harry asked him.

"Not so bad, really," Ron replied with a brave smile. Harry clapped a hand on his back.

"You're doing well," he said, "Really well. Well done."

"I didn't find that too sad, did you?" Ron remarked, "I'd forgotten half that stuff about him."

"I thought it was lovely," Hermione joined in with a comment, "But at my cousin's funeral it was the burial that got to me."

"It would be," Ron nodded, "That's when it'll have hit you hard. I can imagine ..."

"Which means this is likely to be the hard part now." Hermione swallowed, "For all of us."

She looked at Harry.

Ron drew breath heavily.

"But we'll get through this, won't we?" He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Us three. Together."

Hermione tightened her grip on Ron's other hand with a small sniff.

The procession arrived at the graveyard a few minutes later. There was a lined, neat, freshly dug hole in the ground ready for the coffin. The sight made Harry shudder. Fred was going to be in there in a minute, and he'd stay there forever. Harry hadn;t quite come to terms with the idea of Fred as a body yet - he still thought of him as a living, breathing person. The way everyone talked about him ... Fred ... his name ... it was as if he was living among them and they were waiting for him to pop round for tea.

This was not the case. He was dead.

It sounded so obvious to Harry now, but that didn't stop it hitting him like a cannon as everyone gathered round. He barely heard the stranger talking. He could not feel the cold gradually setting in around them. He didn't pay attention to any of the people around him.

Fred Weasley was dead.

How long he stood there like that, he wasn't sure. Ginny was at his side, her face streaked with tears, and Harry had no idea how or when she had got there. He wiped his eyes, causing him to realise that they were brimming over, his face wet. It was an odd feeling; time had obviously passed, while he had been suspended in it. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt, either. Grief was overcoming him, apart from a little bit of guilt which was surfacing from deep inside him.

This whole ceremony was his fault.

"Ginny," he choked, "Ginny, I am so - so sorry -"

Tears came splashing down onto the ground again and he made no effort to stop them as Ginny wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back tightly, trying to talk to her, trying to apologise for the damage he had done that was beyond repair.

"Harry," Ginny began, and she was crying, too, "Nobody b-blames you. It's n-not your fault ..."

A sudden hush split them apart. Wondering what the cause was, Harry, rubbing his eyes fiercely on his sleeved, turned to the grave.

Fred's coffin was being lowered slowly into the ground. Mr and Mrs Weasley were standing together at the foot of the grave, shaking with sobs. It struck Harry suddenly just how many crying relatives there were.

A couple of metres to his left, Ron and Hermione were watching the scene huddled more closely together than they ever were as friends. Nobody yet knew of their relationship, but nobody was really paying them attention, so this hardly mattered. Harry kept an eye on them: as the coffin sank below the soil, Hermione gave a shuddering sob, and Ron a low moan. Simultaneously, they reached their arms out and held each other tightly. Harry wanted to go over to them, to offer words of comfort; at the same time, however, he knew that he could not say anything to make things better. And, he thought, this looked like another personal moment of theirs.

"I've g-got to go," Ginny hiccoughed suddenly, "I'm going t-to see Mum and D-Dad ..."

She gave him a watery smile before turning and leaving him alone.

The scene around Harry was too much. He closed his eyes, blocking out the crowd of people. Their voices echoed in his ears, mainly sobs ... he recognised Hermione's, even Ron's ... and he, Harry, had caused this upset.

It was a while before Harry thought about anything again. He stood on his own, numb with sorrow, until the people around him started moving. Someone took his left hand, someone else his right - he opened his eyes to see Ginny and Hermione looking at him, their eyes red, bloodshot, and concerned. On Hermione's other side, Ron was looking exactly the same.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione muttered, her voice high, "It's going to be all right ... we're going back ..."

He didn't speak: instead, Harry let them lead him back up the hill to The Burrow in silence. They reached the front door before anyone else. Ron let them in, and he and Ginny led Harry inside. Hermione stayed in the front garden. Harry didn't know what she was doing, but, as no one else questioned her, he kept his mouth shut.

He only realised where he was going when he sank onto something soft and found himself sitting on Ron's bed. Ginny perched beside him.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

Harry nodded. He wasn't all right. All he wanted to do was fall asleep.

There was a creak as the door opened slowly. Hermione came in, holding what appeared to be a Muggle mobile phone. Her bottom lip was trembling, and Harry noticed her glance fix on Ron slightly longer than on anyone else.

"There's been a change of plan," she said, her voice shaking, "I'm leaving tonight."

Sorry, this chapter took me a bit longer than I thought it would. Please review!