After the Battle – Chapter 4

Fred was buried the next day. It was done very quietly, with only the Weasleys and Harry present. There was no big funeral. As George had said; 'The last thing he'd want was everyone crying over him.'

So with that in mind, a small private burial was conducted in the garden of The Burrow, where he was laid to rest under a weeping willow. He had no coffin; his body was put in the ground as it was. He could have almost been sleeping. For a few moments Harry was able to convince himself that he was. A trick of the light as the sun emerged from behind a wisp of cloud made it seem for a second that his eyelids had flickered open.

From the day of the battle, and of Fred's death, George had been very introverted, but had not given any real sign of how he was feeling. He has barely spoken or eaten. In fact he seemed incapable of doing anything other than sitting in silence, stock still, staring blandly at his brother's body.

Now he was shaking uncontrollably, as tears poured relentlessly down his face. It was around two years ago that Fred and George had flown out of Hogwarts to the sound of animated cheering. They were flying out to freedom, and to an uninhibited future. Now one was weeping as he watched the dirt fall onto his brother's body as he was buried. It was heartbreaking to see.

Once they had said their goodbyes, they retreated into the house where they drank to his memory, after which they sat in an awkward silence for some unknown expanse of time.

Harry spent this time staring blandly at the tabletop. He traced the patterns that were etched into the woodwork with his index finger. As the time passed, he began to think. Almost unconsciously, he found himself replaying every memory that he had of Fred. Harry couldn't recall a single moment of the time he had known him when the carefree grin on his face had faltered. He had taken it for granted when he was alive, but he now realised just what an impact he had on those around him. He was always happy; always laughing. It was impossible to feel down in his presence. He didn't deserve to die.

Over the last two days, Harry hadn't allowed himself to think of the losses of the battle, but it was finally beginning to hit him. For the first time in a very long time, he felt hot tears building in his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the others. Each of them had tears cascading down their cheeks. Feeling again that his grief was infinitely inferior to theirs, he gulped, took a deep breath, and tried vainly to disguise the wiping of his eyes.

It could have been anything from a few minutes to several hours, It was impossible to tell how long they had been sat there for, before George eventually spoke. "He'd hate this, you know"

Ron looked up. "Hate what?"

"This. Silence; crying. It's not what he would have wanted."

Mrs Weasley nodded. "You're right dear. He'd have wanted us to remember the good times."