Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Is it weird that I was looking forward to writing the Harry/Ginny chapter, but when I was finished with it, I missed George? I think I'm getting attached to him… or to writing him, at least. And so… on to this one. Woohoo for long chapters! … even if they're sad ones. (I am apologizing in advance to ncis-lady, Dodger Gilmore, and KrystalB2003.)

When Ginny awoke on Saturday morning, she forgot for a moment where she was. Then she turned and saw Harry watching her with a bemused expression on his face, and she felt complete peace wash over her. She was home.

"Morning," she said sleepily, and he smiled, leaning over to kiss her nose.

"Morning yourself," he said.

They lay there in silence for a moment, but it wasn't an easy silence, and Ginny could feel Harry's unasked questions lying beside her. But she said nothing. She knew what was coming, and she had no problem waiting for it. No need to rush uncomfortable conversations.

After another few minutes of silence, Harry asked the question that had been on his mind since he'd woken up ten minutes earlier.

"Are you going to go today?"

She sighed, turning over to face him. "I don't think so," she said slowly. She registered his look of surprise and tried to explain. "I'm going to see him at my parents' house tomorrow night for dinner. I already told Mum I'd come for that. I'd rather… I'd rather talk to him there than at the shop."

Harry nodded, understanding. "I guess that makes sense. But don't you think it might be easier to talk to him without your parents around?"

A faint smile crossed her face. "Harry, I grew up with the twins. You really don't think George and I can avoid my parents if we want to?"

He smiled too, but it faded quickly. The twins… it reminded him that they still hadn't seen that day's Prophet, and with only two days left until Hogwarts, Fred's article was bound to be in there this day or the next. He didn't say anything to Ginny, though.

"Breakfast?" he asked, trying to inject a note of cheer into his voice. It fell flat, but Ginny merely nodded, and they got out of bed, got dressed, and made their way down to the kitchen. Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be found, but Kreacher appeared almost instantly, bowing to them and rushing off to make their food. Ginny marveled at the change that had come over this elf that used to call her Blood Traitor at any and every opportunity. It was small, but it was a measure of the change that had come over the world thanks to Harry's defeat of Voldemort. She smiled at Harry, but her smile faded when she saw the look on his face.

He had stopped at the front door to get the Prophet, and he was looking at it now. As much as he tried to keep his face neutral, Ginny knew that something was very, very wrong, and she felt a chill course down her spine. There was only one other picture that could make Harry look as miserable as he had when she'd found him staring at Remus and Tonks. Slowly, without speaking, she reached out her hand for the paper.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw her shaking hand, and he wished he could protect her from this, but he knew better than to try. But he didn't hand it to her. Instead, he got out of his own seat and came around to sit beside her so they could read together. Ginny wouldn't look into his face, but when he sat in the chair next to hers and held the paper before them, she leaned against him almost against her will. He wrapped an arm around her as he held the paper with his other hand, and they both stared into the grinning face of Ginny's older brother. Still without speaking, they both started to read.

If anyone were to hear the name Fred Weasley by itself, it's quite possible he wouldn't know who the other person was talking about. Better known as the "Fred" of "Fred and George," Fred Weasley was one half of the team of the most notorious pranksters in Hogwarts history. One of the many sons of Arthur and Molly Weasley, he was one of the twins who is most well known for a daring escape during the years of Dolores Umbridge's now-infamous reign of terror. It is impossible for anyone to speak of Fred without a smile appearing on his face because Fred dedicated his life to making people laugh. And yet… it still seems odd to write merely Fred because he did not do this alone. According to many sources close to this family, Fred was really most himself when he was with his twin brother George, who now operates the shop he co-founded with Fred, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. (Their younger brother Ron now runs the business with George.)

As the many people who witnessed the fighting at Hogwarts attested, Fred died the only way he would have wanted to. He was fighting beside not only his brother Ron and Harry Potter, himself, but Percy Weasley, an officer at the Ministry, had apparently returned to the family after a long absence. As many eye witnesses reported, Fred had just been surprised and delighted by a rare joke made by the normally-serious Percy when the explosion occurred. As difficult as it must be for this very close family to come to terms with the loss of one of their most important members, it must bring some small measure of comfort that Fred had not only reconciled with Percy, but he died with a smile. It was the way he had lived, and it was the only way for him to die.

The article went on to describe Fred's childhood, but Harry was no longer reading. He was aware of Ginny's rigid body against him, and he pulled back to look at her. She was staring at the paper still, but he was willing to bet that she wasn't reading a word of it. Her expression was vacant, and her eyes were dry, but she was breathing heavily.

"Gin?" he asked hesitantly, pushing her hair out of her face. "Are you…?"

He trailed off as she turned to look at him, but her eyes retained their dull stare.

"I'm fine," she responded mechanically. She shrugged and dropped the paper on the table. "Let's go upstairs. I want to go to Diagon Alley and do some shopping today."

Harry looked at her, confused. "I thought you didn't want to talk to —," but Ginny cut him off impatiently.

"Did I say I wanted to talk to George? I just said I wanted to do some shopping. You can come or not. If you don't want to, I'll go alone."

Without another word, she stood and walked out of the room. Harry stared after her for a moment before following her. He couldn't remember ever being so confused by the girl he loved.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Harry and Ginny left quietly, and Ron didn't wake until two hours after they'd gone. He found his solitary way to the kitchen, yawning as he glanced at the clock and realized Hermione would probably be back at any time. She had already gone to the ministry, but she'd claimed she'd only work a half day this Saturday and would be back in time for lunch.

Sitting alone at the table, he rubbed his eyes, yawning as he told Kreacher what he'd like for breakfast. Glancing down the table, he realized Harry had left the day's copy of the Prophet facedown in front of his own chair. He picked it up and flipped it over, but it was a moment before he registered what he was seeing – and then suddenly he wasn't seeing a newspaper at all.

Images of Hogwarts swam in front of his eyes, and he was being thrown with the force of an explosion, only regaining his bearings to realize that he was watching Percy cry for the first time and not having any idea why. And then he was staring at Fred's body, that grin eternally on his face, and he was trying to pull Percy to safety even as the tears ran down his own face. Then Percy was racing to finish Rookwood and Hermione had her arms wrapped around him as he tried to do the same, as he shook with sobs and rage and emotions he'd never thought he'd experience.

Hermione apparated into the kitchen, took one look at the Prophet and at Ron, and gasped, rushing forward to hold him against the nightmares that had now suddenly invaded the day time. It took a moment for Ron to realize that the Hermione now holding him wasn't the girl of a year ago, and he blinked as he crashed back into the present.

"You're home," he mumbled into her shoulder, vaguely noticing wetness on his face.

"Yes," she said, pulling back, her own eyes full. She glanced at his face and saw that he wasn't even aware of his own tears. She sniffled and swallowed hard. "So I guess you saw it?"

Ron looked at her blankly, and she gestured to the copy of the Prophet on the table, now with Fred's article face-up. He stared at it for a moment, then nodded.

"Didn't read it yet," he muttered, avoiding her eyes as he started to regain his composure. He glanced away from her and brushed quickly at his face, knowing that she'd seen the tears but hoping that she wouldn't say anything. Neither of them spoke for a minute and then Hermione said tremulously, "I though they did a nice job."

Ron glanced at the article once more and shrugged. "I'm sure it's fine," he said dismissively. Hermione stared at him for a moment. This was obviously not going to be a topic of conversation.

"Ok," she said slowly. She was torn for a moment and then she said quickly, "I just wanted to tell you that maybe you should check in on George later. His name's all over…" She trailed off when Ron shook his head.

"Ginny's home. She said she'd talk to him."

Hermione felt her temper rising, and she bit her lip, not wanting to sound as aggravated as she was starting to feel.

"Well, I hope she does. But I just don't think you should leave it all on her now that she's back. This can't be easy for her either…"

Ron shook his head but didn't answer. He'd turned the page of the Prophet to a new article and was now reading about the Chudley Cannons. Hermione sighed with exasperation. She'd have to talk to Harry about this later. It was obvious she wasn't going to get anywhere with Ron.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

George was in his room, but he wasn't sitting on his bed, and he wasn't inventing anything. He was on Fred's bed, and he had his face buried in his brother's pillow. As much as he'd known that what he'd told Ron was true… that nothing smelled like Fred anymore, that the smell had gone with everything else that had made his twin alive … he couldn't stop himself from trying.

The Prophet was on the floor next to the bed. He'd known the minute he'd seen it that he shouldn't read it. He did anyway. Now he couldn't do another thing. The only thought that occurred to him after he'd been lying there for what seemed like hours was one he'd never expected to have… why hadn't his parents or any of his siblings contacted him? It wasn't that he wanted to talk to anyone right now. In fact, he was pretty sure his voice wouldn't work properly no matter how hard he tried. But he was pretty sure someone should be checking on him. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling before finally getting out of the bed. If it were the day for unhealthy decisions, then this compulsion to visit the mirror fit nicely, he mused, as he walked over to it.

But once he looked at himself, his eyes filled with unexpected tears, and he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to erase them before they fell. No. He wanted to look at Fred right now, and Fred wouldn't cry.

It was no use, though. He stared miserably at the boy with one ear and red eyes until the vision blurred too much to see any more, and he stumbled back to the bed, once again shoving his face into the pillow that now smelled like nothing more than his own tears, and he closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. He couldn't believe this, and he certainly wasn't going to tell anyone else, but … he was almost looking forward to dinner at the Burrow the next night. He suddenly felt more alone than he had in a year.