48. The Strangest Grave

It was the strangest grave she'd ever seen.

The headstone was normal. Harry had paid for it, and she knew it was expensive. Black marble, that Fred would have approved of. She knew that Harry, originally, had considered white marble, but Ginny knew Fred would have hated that. White symbolised innocence and purity, and Fred would have hated people to think of him as pure and innocent.

The actual plot was crowded. Not with flowers. Fred wasn't a flowers person. No, instead balloons, in red and gold, were attached to the headstone. Petals, brightly coloured and various shapes and sizes, were scattered over the plot, littered between and over the other offerings. A fake wand – one of his own, Ginny thought, with a lump in her throat. A few more WWW products, as though he'd need them in death. A family portrait, taken a few years ago, that Fred and George had kept at their flat. A little model broomstick, that gently circled a tiny toy lion that appeared to be sleeping.

There were other things, but Ginny painfully noticed a small, brand new, pristine blue teddy bear she knew her mother had bought for the grave. Fred, she thought, would have rolled his eyes and said he wasn't a child, but really he'd have loved it.

When something else caught her gaze, she frowned. There was a thick book, with a dull cover and Latin title, lain on the plot. Obviously it was a recent addition – the petals that covered everything else were absent. Still frowning, she knelt down and picked it up, opening the cover curiously.

George's name was written inside the cover. For a moment it puzzled her, before she drew the conclusion that it was a private joke.

It broke her heart.

"Bet you like the grave, huh?" She muttered. "Wish I'd brought flowers now, just 'cause no one else has. I'd like to be different."

She sat back on her heels, looking at the headstone. It was beautiful, but the very fact that it was Fred's made her hate it. Perfectly carved, with gold writing. Fred's names and dates. Beloved son, brother, twin, and friend. Eternally loved, never forgotten.

That was all. Her brother was reduced to a few words and numbers? That was all?

She closed her eyes to calm the burst of anger. What else would be written? They would hardly describe him, his hopes and dreams, his jokes and laughter, his life.

God. He was really gone.

"How could you?" She whispered, slowly opening her eyes, her vision blurring as tears gathered. "How could you do this to me? To George? To all of us? Damn it, I hate you!"

Her words were low, though filled with emotion. "You should have stayed, you should have lived, you should have fought it! I need you!"

She swallowed, forced back the tears. She didn't cry, remember?

She cast her gaze over the grave again, searching for composure. "George...George is doing OK. Considering. Some days, some days he'll be telling jokes constantly, like he wants to make us all laugh, cheer us all up. Some days – the bad days – he doesn't even smile. He – sometimes if he's relaxed, or really into a conversation, not really concentrating, I guess, he - he'll stop talking half way through a sentence, like he – like he's waiting for you to finish..."

She trailed off again as her voice rose in pitch, and breathed slowly to control herself.

"Mum, she's in pieces. Dad looks so lost. Ron's trying to help everyone, but he's hurting too. Harry's all guilty, Percy's...it's like he's trying to suck up to us all, but I know that's not what he's doing. Bill's trying to stay strong, and Charlie...I think he's wanting to go back to Romania and his dragons, but he doesn't want to leave mum and dad."

She paused again, picked up a petal and began rubbing it between her fingers. "I guess you don't really want to hear it all. Don't want to know that me and Harry are getting back together, or that Ron and Hermione are always making out. It's gross, really. You'd have found it gross. But I guess it's kinda sweet too. But you don't care, do you? You didn't care enough to stay alive..."

Tears threatened yet again, and she fought them back. She hadn't yet cried over this, over the war. Didn't plan to. What would it fix, after all?

"Probably should have visited earlier, huh? Sorry 'bout that. Been busy. Funerals. Way too many funerals. And trials. For the Death Eaters. Been testifying a little, because some are denying it and by law we have to give them a trial. It's stupid. We all know they're guilty, and there's no way they'll get off, 'cause half the aurors fought them. Umbridge, she's been locked up, for what she did to the muggle-borns."

She lapsed into silence, unsure what else to say. She closed her eyes again, because it was such a bright, sunny day, and it shouldn't be. The sky should be dark and clouded, the sun hiding in shame. The world should reflect her mood, because her pain was that bad.

She fought back the anger again, not wanting to start shouting in a cemetery. It seemed disrespectful somehow.

"I just, I can't deal with it." She murmured, opening her eyes. "I don't understand how you could do this, how you could leave us. I thought...I thought you'd always be there for me. And I know that's selfish, but I don't care. I'm being really selfish lately." She laughed bitterly.

"I keep thinking that, even though everyone's got their own stuff to deal with, that someone should spare me a minute, just to – I don't know, hug me and tell me everything's alright." Another bitter laugh. "I guess, really, I'm too old for all that. And I know it wouldn't really help anything. But...But when I was younger, that's how it worked. I guess it's not easy to accept that you're all grown up, huh?"

The sun was bright. She glared at it, until her eyes started to sting, because how dare the sun shine so bright when she felt so broken?

"And you know right now? Right now I'm not even wishing the war never happened, or wishing you back alive. Right now, I'm just wishing you could answer me, just tell me why. Why you didn't fight it, why you let yourself die. Why you thought we could manage. Why you left us."

She raised her knees, folded her arms over them, lay her head on her arms, and cried.

Because it might not fix anything, might not give her any answers, but what else was she supposed to do?

It was the strangest grave she'd ever seen.

Fred would have loved it.