A/N to the wise: I don't advise reading this when in a state of sadness. I'm bawling writing this. Also, I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I have come to the conclusion that I will never be 100% happy with this, so I'm posting it as is. And so, ladies and gents, I give you, Fred's funeral
Three months had passed since that bloody night of battle. Three months of tears, pain, and grief. Three months of still expecting to hear awful news, of wishing I had a clock like Mrs. Weasley's, so that I would know where all my loved ones were at any given time. Most importantly, three months of paperwork and waiting.
No dead bodies were allowed to be removed from the Great Hall until Kingsley had done a thorough check. Apparently, there had been a new spell that the Death Eaters had been using that somehow killed the person temporarily. I'll admit, I'm a very bright witch, but I didn't completely follow the logic. In short, the heart stopped for a total of one minute. After that one minute, though, the heart started again, but very, very faintly; just enough to sustain life, but not enough that it could really be detected. That beat would stay for a total of a month and half. By that point, the Death Eaters figured, the person would be buried. After a month and a half, the beat would return to normal, but the person would be buried alive, doomed to death anyway. Very dark magic. But easily traced. Kingsley went over every body in the Great Hall, then beyond in the castle, ensuring this hadn't occurred. Unfortunately, it hadn't with Fred.
Because of the death toll, however, funerals were plentiful. That's where the paperwork came in. You had to register the death of your loved one, then they would set a date for you. The most important individuals were given the first dates, slowly working down in the list. Fred was fairly high up on the list, with everything considering. The little Creevey boy's funeral wasn't for another three months after Fred's. The family had had no choice but to cremate him, as there was no way, magical or not, to keep his body from degrading for that long.
In the three months of waiting, I'd attended many funerals. Snape's came very early on in the order, as did Lupin and Tonks'. Still, nothing really prepared me for Fred's. Mrs. Weasley had asked if I would speak. I was shocked. Surely there was someone else who was closer to him, had meant more to him? But, no, Mrs. Weasley insisted. She'd said she could tell we'd had a very special relationship, that she knew it was what he would have wanted. And then she looked at me with those very sad eyes and I had had no choice but to agree.
Three months. Three months of drafts, of re-writing, of bawling my eyes out and falling asleep on drafts that didn't sound right. And then it worked. It took me until four in the morning the night before the funeral, but it worked.
And so the day finally arrived. I woke at nine, magicking myself some coffee to help with the "I've looked like I'm on the edge of a breakdown for days, and I've only gotten five hours of sleep" look. A simple black dress, nipped slightly at the waist, with short, fluttery sleeves. He'd said I looked nice in it, that one New Years where everyone was supposed to get dressed up. Sensible black shoes, with just the slightest heel. I'd worn these around him a lot, so that I didn't seem as short. I couldn't bring myself to bother with Sleek-Easy today, so I just threw it in a ponytail. It looked like a lion's mane, but he'd always joked he liked it like that. House pride and all that. It was going to be a long day if every little thing would remind me of him.
Harry arrived at my house at exactly ten to eleven. He wore simple black wizard's robes, with the burgundy tie I knew was sold for Gryffindors at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He looked like he'd gotten even less sleep than I had. We didn't speak, he just offered his arm. And we apparated.
The Burrow, usually a sight of chaos and cheer, was instead a sight of order and grief. Redheads were spotted all over the back lawn- Weasley relatives I'd never bothered to remember the names of- and everywhere, there were remnants of Gryffindor pride items sold at WWW. Harry held my hand, pulling me through the throng of people to our spots in the second row. I'd been to lots of funerals in the past three months, but I hadn't seen one so packed since Dumbledore's. There must have been over 100 chairs, and yet, still, there were people standing in the back. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley were standing up by the front, next to the open coffin. Before we sat, Harry glanced at me, then the coffin. I shook my head. I couldn't do it. I wanted to remember his beautiful face in it's natural state, not the preserved state of the dead. And so we sat. Mrs. Weasley nodded to me, tears already pouring so heavily down her cheeks they obscured some of her facial features. Slowly, the front row started filling. Bill and Fleur, with tiny Victoire, bundled in a black scarf. Charlie, whose handsome features were skewed and stretched as he fought tears. Percy, who's features showed a mix of grief and responsibility that killed him. Ginny, who chanced a glance at Harry for comfort. She picked the wrong person. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat. There were two seats left.
Ron came last, choosing to sit next to Harry instead of the spot next to his mum. Harry chose the same "using body language instead of talking" thing he'd done with me. Still one Weasley missing. The small wizard who officiated went to the front, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him start.
Finally, the last Weasley came out. The tears that poured down his face did nothing to obscure the mask of pain. He was trying so hard to be strong. So hard not to completely collapse in pain. It seemed to take him ages to reach the front. And when he sat, I wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get up again.
The officiant closed the coffin and began his speech. This one was short, as Fred's accomplishments would be shared instead by the multiple speakers. The order was interesting. Bill first, who shared a few things from Fleur as well. Then Charlie. Mr. Weasley. Percy, who could barely finish his speech. Lee Jordan. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, who each shared a few memories. Oliver. Mrs. Weasley. Ron, who's speech was very short and poignant. Ginny. Harry, who's speech, like Ron's was short. In reality, it was probably longer, but if this was anything like Lupin's funeral, he hadn't been able to get through the whole thing. Then me. The last before George.
"I can honestly say that my life would have never been any bit as near as exciting if not for the magical stylings of one Fred Weasley. His goal in life was to see a smile on everyone's face, no matter how much pain they were in. He wanted to save the world through a joke. And he damn near did it, too.
The first time I met Fred, he mistook me for one of the more gullible first years, and did his best to convince me that there really was a lion in the Gryffindor common room. When I told him I knew he was lying, he put on the smirk we've all become all too familiar with, picked up a lock from my hair, and said, 'Well, there will be one once you get in there.'
If I'm being honest, I was confused as to why Mrs. Weasley asked me to speak today. I was always Ron's friend, which resulted in me, many times, being the younger sibling's friend that got on Fred's nerves. I was good at that. My every instinct always screamed 'obey the rules,' whereas Fred's said 'Push the rules until they threaten to break.' It resulted in some tension during my time as Prefect. But he rubbed off on me. Slowly, I became more and more willing to break rules. To test the waters and really have some fun. Because that's what Fred was best at- fun. Breaking down people's boundaries and opening them up to the beauty of life. Which is why, I believe, this is so painful." The sobs threatened to start. My body was shaking. I lay my head down on the podium, fighting the pain with every ounce of strength I had. I had to go on. I couldn't quit now. I heard movement behind me, and felt an arm over my shoulder. Deep breaths. Keep going, Hermione. It took all the strength I had to lift my head. And there was George. He hadn't moved during the entire ceremony, but he'd come here to help me. Or maybe to get me away. Maybe my memorial to Fred wasn't doing him justice and George wanted to get to his piece. I started to move away, but George shook his head. One more deep breath. Keep going.
"This is so painful because Fred consistently had renewed leases on life, and shared them always. Dumbledore once told us that darkness could be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembered to turn on the light. Fred never turned the light off. Even when times were most grim, when nothing seemed right or beautiful, Fred would find it. It seems fitting to me that the last time I saw him before the battle was at the wedding. Because that was the most joyous time in all that darkness. And I'll never forget the last thing that Fred said to me. I'd never gotten to speak to him during the battle, but I'm glad for that fact. It would have tarnished my memory of him, all that darkness around his glowing light. The last time we spoke was at the wedding. Just before everything went to shambles. And he told me keep pushing my boundaries until they broke. I'd be much more fun that way." I stepped back from the podium, allowing the tears to flow, but holding the sobbing in. I moved to leave, but George held me in place, pleading with his eyes for me to stay. He stepped to the podium, I held his hand, and allowed the emotion he didn't want to feel to flow through me instead.