The Slytherin common room had been almost transformed entirely from its old appearance. Many of the Death Eaters were and had been Slytherin; and in their time ruling over the school under Snape, they'd brought several of their home comforts to their old house gathering place. The room was now draped in sumptuous fabric that stank of old pureblood money. The chairs were upholstered in rich satins, forest green leathers, and real silver snakes now found themselves as legs for a few of the chairs. The wizarding chess sets now had marble and onyx squares, with pieces of enchanted quartz. Everything that could have been upgraded to what was 'more suitable for a pureblood' had been. The green haze that overpowered the lights the candles gave out remained oppressive, but somehow even colder than before, as though the poisonous ideals of those who had so often strolled into the common room had now deposited their venom into the very walls. The tapestries of famous Slytherins failed to entertain Draco in the way they had the first time he'd been in his houses common room; his disappointment with his father not being on the walls recorded in a letter he'd sent home, only to be told in a harsh reply that a 'Malfoy had a different kind of power, a useful power, that didn't require ridiculous feats to earn respect.' Draco hadn't fully understood what his father had meant at the time, until he'd begun complaining of things to his parents, and soon found those simple complaints vanishing.

Draco was laid out over one of the leather sofas, gazing at a tapestry that for some reason depicted a man on a hippogriff waving his wand at a giant. The sound of the water of the lake running as the creatures disturbed it was the only noise in the room other than the sound of his breathing. Moments ago, he'd been shouting and screaming again, throwing the intricately carved figurines from the chess sets against the stone walls; flinging the newspapers about, and smashing a stool to pieces without the use of his wand. The physical exertion had been surprisingly therapeutic, and he didn't mean to destroy so much, yet the satisfying tinkle of smashed glass, the ear splitting shatter of wood splintering and the rip of leather was doing much for his mental state. He'd torn up most of the overly decadent room that reminded him just a little too much of his manor, until he'd lost his balance and stumbled over the back of the sofa, it was how he had come to find himself panting and suddenly feeling rather drained. The couch was now unbearably comfortable, and he had no desire to move any part of him ever again. Unfortunately, his thoughts were more than happy with the decision to stop moving; the agonised screams of Hermione Granger now sliced through his consciousness like molten lava, scorching any other stream of thought that dared to pass through his mind.

He let out an angry grunt as he thought of Hermione, her face wide eyed and pale staring at him as his aunt pawed over her, repeating an unforgivable as if it were a compliment. Now she swanned about stealing potions materials for some unknown reason, and shoving her business where it didn't belong, like his trial for one. The thought of her attending his trial sent a strange thrill up his spine. Both Hermione and Harry were to be there as his defence, and Potter was required to speak. He bristled at the thought, two of the Golden Trio would be there to keep him out of Azkaban, and he faced a life sentence. If he went then he'd lose the entire Malfoy inheritance to the Ministry, centuries worth of investments, galleons and lands acquired gone from one stupid belief they had followed. His current status was still as the heir, but it seemed futile to believe that his father would escape Azkaban; his mother wouldn't inherit, but would become a ward of his instead. He'd have to keep her financially happy and provide her with a place to stay. He would have the power to kick her out of the Manor should he choose. Draco rolled over slightly, pressing his back to the sofa, and changing his gaze to the window hoping to see a glimpse of the Giant Squid, he inwardly debated what he'd actually do if he managed to escape Azkaban, and gain his inheritance. His mother would of course be well homed, and it wasn't like she needed the money; she had the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black to fall back on. She was of course, the lone surviving daughter that hadn't been blasted off the family tree. He sighed again, realising that this was all dependant on Narcissa Malfoy managing to be free of the Dementors of Azkaban also. Otherwise, his inheritance would double, and both families' inheritances would pass to him; or should his new home be in the middle of the sea, the ministry would become several million galleons richer. Money they would no doubt be using to redecorate again. A guttural snarl came from him unbidden; his thoughts had lingered on trials again, for just a little too long. He was due to attend his father's trial in a couple of hours; at least he would see how a Death Eater trail would be carried out, and see if he even stood a chance. He knew intrinsically that he did hold a better chance than his father did. His run in with Granger had proved it.

His hands moved up to his face, covering it from the outside world, as if there were people around to view the humiliation that had carved its way forward. He'd planned to intimidate her, make her wish she was sorry for ever being born, somehow, for throwing everything he ever had away by putting him into Azkaban. It had seemed like the only logical option, the childhood bully continuing to bully when she fought back in a way that would see him fall into insanity with the Dementors his only company. He hadn't anything to lose. He would be going to Azkaban, might as well make sure her last memories of him were filled with the hatred he felt for her, even if he couldn't actually muster up the real emotion for her, or use a wand. He'd never hated Granger; he'd been jealous, spiteful, and most certainly disliked her, but not hatred. He'd never had enough of a cause to hate her. Her revealing that she was due to be his defence had blown his pre-conceptions apart and shocked him to his very core, the fibres that made up his being ringing in surprise. A grudging amount of respect had nestled itself in the back of his mind, after everything that he'd done towards her she was still willing to see past that and help keep him out of a hell on earth. She was most certainly a better person than he was. Then she had said she pitied him, and said he obviously hadn't a friend who was a real friend; his brain racked his memories thinking of actions that proved he had people who loved him for 'him' as she had said and had come up null. Crabbe and Goyle had followed him because they were too thick to do otherwise, they were easy to push around and put Draco in the metaphorical place he'd been brought up to believe he belonged in; first. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini had been smarter, and not so easy to push around. They were easier to talk to about things with weight behind them than Crabbe and Goyle had been, but the ever present reminder that things revealed were bargaining chips and blackmail toys was all too clear. His flings with Pansy were vapid, and only because she were a good possible marriage prospect, a good looking woman from one of the sacred twenty eight families, rich, and not intelligent enough to ever cause much of an issue, but clever enough to not say anything that may cause one. No, he had no real friends. His parents love was obviously conditional and they were too appearance based for anything to really be displayed, no tender proud words had ever been said to him. Only reminders on how a Malfoy should act. It hadn't even occurred to Draco that there might have been another way of life that was out there. He'd believed fully that that was the only way social interactions were supposed to happen. With blackmail and distrust. It had been why the other houses were so awful, all their public displays of affection, the inability to properly get what they needed out of someone, so much public drama. It had, now Draco realised, gone hand in hand with the belief that pure-blooded was the best way to be. The behaviours of the other houses, that were so mixed blooded with the occasional pure-blooded scion appearing, that it had re-enforced everything his parents had raised him to believe, with such different behaviours on show, how could they have been wrong. Then Granger comes in, and says something so honestly it had nagged at him for the hours after the event. Surely, his way of life was the only way of life, how could there be others?

The wall to the school opened, and Draco shot up straight, flattening down the creases in his suits jacket.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall greeted, casting a stern eye over the wreck of her schools house common room.

"Professor," He returned, a slight nod of his head given to indicate his begrudging respect of the woman. She may be the Gryffindor house head, but her reputation for being fair was well documented.

"I see you have kept yourself occupied," she said, gesturing for him to leave with her, "The time of your fathers trial nears and it is best to be there early."

"I see." He replied, his voice flat as he made to leave the common room with her, away from the over bearing presence of the mistakes his acquaintances had made. He walked briskly into the exiting tunnel, missing the concerned features of his headmistress settle upon his back.

"Hermione," a warm voice said above her, "I've got one, I know you told me not too, but I was right about it and I've got one." The voice was excited, but oddly dulled, as though the life had been blasted right out of it.

"George," she groaned, rolling over and pulling her bed's blankets up over her head before his words could fully sink in. "Oh no." She said, sitting bolt upright and staring him straight in the face.

"Oh yes," he affirmed, a dull sparkle in his eye. "Harry is helping me set it up now in fact."

"George! It's a muggle weapon! I thought Harry knew better! Why have you even the need for one anyway?" She exclaimed, throwing the covers off her and standing up.

"For…Fred." He replied, almost unable to.

"What?"

"For…for his funeral."

"George…" Hermione began.

"No, hear me out Hermione, ages ago we heard about some Muggle, who was fired out of a cannon when he died. We thought that was well…pretty wicked, and decided when we died that was how we wanted to do at our own funeral."

"Please tell me you would be cremated first?" Hermione groaned after listening to George with a twisted expression on her face.

"What? Of course," George replied, wondering if Hermione was crazy for thinking such a thing. "Look, I only came here to tell you because Harry said he needs help. Mum also says we need to look respectable because Andromeda is coming over with Teddy too."

Hermione paled, finally pulling herself up into a sitting position, swallowing the sudden rather large lump in her throat that seemed to be doing everything possible to constrict her breathing.

"Hermione?" George asked carefully, peering at his brother's best friend through concerned, grief stricken eyes. Hermione's own brown gaze was rapidly filling up with unspent tears, her mouth parting slightly as if she were about to say something.

"I can't do this George," she whispered, closing her eyes and expelling the tears finally, "I was deluding myself since battle finished. Trying to keep myself busy, shopping, the castle, potions…I can't deal with this. I can't see Teddy." Hermione sobbed quietly; letting the tears spill little silver streams over her cheeks, her eyes now sparkling as she searched Georges' face for some kind of acknowledgement and understanding. To her relief, his expression matched hers, his own eyes tormented and grief written over the wry twist he gave his mouth.

"I can't do this without Fred." He gasped, and Hermione threw her arms around him, pulling the redhead onto the bed with her, cradled in her tearful embrace. Together they sobbed quietly; she rocked him like she would rock an infant, slow and gentle, their movements soothing the storms they'd been trying to block out. George's arms were wrapped tightly about her chest, she was held so close that her breath was long and deep, his hands entangled in the wildness of her hair, his head buried into her neck. She ran her own hands over his back, absently tracing patterns as she rocked them from side to side. Eventually, a sound at her door made her look up, only to meet the confused grimace of Ron.

"Mum says the both of you need to get downstairs. Andromeda's here." He managed to say, forcing George to let go of her as if she was toxic, and stood up immediately. Hermione nodded to Ron, and threw the blankets off her completely, swinging her legs as if to stand herself. Ron watched her for a moment, flicking his eyes between his brother and her a few times before his footsteps echoed down the stairs. George took her hand in his for a brief moment, squeezing it tight before letting it drop.

"Thank you," he whispered, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand, before following Ron down the stairs. "Andromeda!" he could be heard greeting, his voice abnormally loud and cheery. Hermione swallowed again, and changed into fresh clothes, breathing in the completely clean scent they failed to emit, a stark difference to all her clothes having a pungent tang to them before she'd thrown them all out. The action seemed to steady her mind and she walked downstairs her eyes falling onto Harry with a tiny child within his grasp. His green eyes were wide and staring, transfixed upon the minute fingers clasped about his little finger, his skin was whiter than white, the lightning bolt scar the only colour to his figure. Hearing Hermione on the stairs, he looked up, only to realise he wasn't alone. Ginny was to his right, whilst Andromeda, George and Molly were huddled together by the door, Ron was lounging on a chair, his face still a picture of confusion and anger; eyes continually flicking to the lone twin brother of his.

"It's my fault," Harry said eventually to the gathered crowd.

"What's your fault?" Andromeda asked eventually as it became evident no one was going to answer Harry's peculiar declaration.

"That Teddy is like me. No parents. I'm sorry."

"Harry James Potter!" Ginny shrieked, causing him to jump slightly, and Teddy to loose a wail that caused Molly to sigh and automatically take the babe from Harry's arms to calm him. "How stupid can you get?!" Ginny continued her anger crackling about her like fire.

"But he's all alone, like me."

A sharp resounding crack split Hermione's ear drums as the sudden silence that followed it dropped on them with the weight of several sphinxes.

"How dare you." Ginny hissed at Harry, a red mark on his cheek where she had hit him, abruptly she turned on her heal and fled through the house, doors slamming as she left, her rage still sparking in the room despite her absence. No one made to follow her, experience had taught them well to leave her to her mood until it died, lest be hit with a bat-bogey hex that was increasing with power each year she grew older.

"Harry…" Hermione said unsure, her insides churning with the shock at what he had just said.

"No, I get it." George stopped her, his eyes fixed on Harry and he nodded once, a genuine understanding shared between the look they gave each other.

"Well I'm fucking glad someone does, because what he just said was-"

"Ron!" Molly chided immediately, "I'm sure Harry didn't mean it that way."

"He didn't." George defended as Harry began to look ashamed.

"I really didn't Mrs Weasley." He spoke quietly, wringing his hands in front of him as he looked at the floor.

"He has a family Harry, he has his Grandmother at least, and he'll always have us; you his God-father, and Hermione. I've always had two daughters and seven sons, and now it's two daughters and eight sons, you can't choose who your family are but sometimes you're lucky enough to pick them." Mrs Weasley told him gently as Hermione started, her lower lip wobbling for the second time that day, and unable to contain it she cried openly. George nodded to her sympathetically, as Molly handed Andromeda back her grandchild, and went to embrace Hermione. Ron had started to openly scowl at his brother, a move not unnoticed by Hermione and the now extremely familiar emotion of confusion settled over her shoulders as she leant into Molly's hug.

"The war has been difficult on us all," Andromeda spoke quietly, rocking Teddy gently as his hair rocketed through Harry's black shade, to Hermione's brown, and the different red hues of the Weasleys before changing again to the grey tones of his Grandmothers. Teddy looked with uncomprehending eyes at the warm but grieved expression on his guardians face and wailed again. A silence save for Teddy's cries lingered upon the family, all accepting the truth of Andromeda's words before anyone could think to say anything else.

"He just meant that Teddy doesn't have blood parent's alive, not that he isn't part of this family, just that his blood relatives will always be somewhat a mystery to him." George said quietly, staring at Teddy with wide, sorrowful eyes. Harry nodded, the shame creeping back onto his cheeks once more.

Eventually, they settled into the living room in full, Molly having summoned a heaped tray of sandwiches for them all as Arthur arrived looking slightly harassed.

"Hello all," he greeted, leaning over his wife to pick up a beef sandwich, returning to vertical with a kiss for Molly's cheek. "It's been a nightmare at the ministry." He sighed, biting into the bread with a gusto Ron had clearly inherited.

"More so than usual?" Andromeda asked curiously, as Teddy fell into a slumber in her arms.

"Malfoy Trial," Arthur replied as a way of explanation, "I knew the Malfoys were awful people but…"

"But what?" Molly asked this time, as Arthur's disposition seemed to stop him from speaking; darkness had flittered over his being, mottled with the sweet tang of sadness, his hand clapped onto Molly's shoulders, his sandwich finished. His gaze seemed to linger on all gathered and he sighed, shaking his head.

"I'll explain what I can, as I'm only here for an hour, we're on lunch break; but it's bad." He started, walking around to sit next to his wife, as the gathered group seemed to unconsciously lean in to hear him better. Hermione walked around to sit herself next to Harry, her curiosity bubbling beneath her skin in a way she wasn't used to. "Shacklebolt wants the Death Eaters tried well and fully. Everything they may have done to break the law brought up for question. There are memories being shown that are years old. It's why I'm involved, I'm to speak about his involvement with Voldemort from years ago – the diary in particular, Ginny." He sighed, squeezing his wife's hand. "He makes you think that every time you have failed as a parent, you haven't." Arthur said bizarrely, his voice trailing off as his gaze seemed to fixate on a point on the floor.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione found herself saying, as Harry gripped the chair he was sitting on tightly.

"His boy, Draco, he's there watching this. He's not allowed to speak due to his own trial but he has to come observe. I never knew how they raised him Molly…awful. He can't have known any better." He trailed off again, and Molly shook him gently, as Arthur seemed completely able to ignore the baited silence in the room, and the way everybody seemed to hang off his every word. "They used unforgivable curses on that boy, right from when he was little. They wouldn't let him learn about Muggles other than they were filthy creatures. Told him he was the same as royalty, that he should never interact with muggles because they were below him, told him muggle-borns were just as bad. Sure they spoiled him that child had more toys than any kid should have, but, seems like it was just a public front. No actual love for the boy. When the Malfoy boys own task was called into question, Lucius didn't care. He didn't care Molly. He didn't care that his own son was essentially being punished for his own failure."

"You need to explain that for me Mr Weasley." Harry's tight voice spoke into the shocked silence; he looked strained, angry and conflicted.

"His task to kill Dumbledore; Harry, was given to him by Voldemort hoping to punish Lucius for not getting the prophecy from you boys and girls. Voldemort knew that Draco would fail it, how could a sixteen year old kill a man as experienced and powerful as Dumbledore? Lucius didn't care that should Draco fail, he'd be killed by Voldemort." He explained to Harry gently, and at the end of those words, Harry got up and left the room following the actions of Ginny not even fifteen minutes earlier. Hermione sat shell shocked. Her words to Malfoy in the classroom he'd pulled her into started to thunder against the insides of her skull, slamming into the bone and causing her an instant headache. She'd hit the nail on the head telling him he'd never had a real friend. No one to ever really love him. Arthur was talking again, but the words washed over her like an ocean, she was too busy drowning to realise what he was saying. Eventually, the white noise of his voice stopped again, and she found herself able to focus on the conversation again.

"What about my sister?" Andromeda spoke, peering at Arthur warily, as if she'd dread what he'd have to say.

"Narcissa was never a death eater, she simply agreed with what they were going to do, but as she essentially homed Voldemort she will be on trial – and for child abuse; Shacklebolt decided." He told her softly, as Andromeda hung her head.

"Oh Cissy," she breathed, shame leeching into her cheeks as they flushed. "I suppose I should be happy. She was still my sister though, the silly girl." She spoke to herself more than anyone else, but Molly patted her knee fondly offering her a sympathetic look.

"Hermione, you will have to speak at Draco Malfoy's trial now, you will be questioned, there is too much…conflicting evidence." Arthur told her, taking her by surprise.

"I have to speak?" She squeaked, and shook slightly, distressed at the way she was suddenly so unable to control herself.

"I'm sorry." Arthur replied, confirming what he'd said once more. He looked at the clock and stood up steeling himself again. "I have to go back, have to see this done; I'll be back in time tonight." He said to his wife, as Molly's features began to wobble as her eyes began to flood with tears.

"Tonight?" Ron asked quietly as Arthur apparated out, turning to look at his now crying mother.

"We are burying Fred." She told him, and rushed upstairs, her cries still clear as her grief ruined her.

"That's today?" Ron asked obliviously, as George threw him a filthy scowl.

The hours rolled on, and soon all members of the family arrived, along with friends who had known Fred, or simply wished to show some support. Molly had decided to stay in the kitchen, her hands busy at all times as food began to leave the room in a steady stream. Guests were filling up the garden, and many were beginning to ask questions about the cannon that was taking pride of place. Ron and Ginny were fending the guests off with a simple 'ask George,' the moment they were approached by someone with an inquisitive expression. Harry had stayed away from Ginny the entire time, instead leaning against the Burrow's wall with Hermione as they watched their school friends arrive if they could. Harry's old Quidditch team were there, both Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet looking distressed and tearful, as Angelina's strong figure kept them both up. George throwing glances at Angelina when he thought she wasn't looking. Oliver Wood was there too, his face a mask of a blank emotion, Lee Jordan had arrived his arms full of butterbeer. He'd handed one to George and slapped him on the back, before leaving to seemingly walk endless circles about the garden. The members of the D.A had been slowly arriving many with injuries that Hermione hadn't noticed at the time, Cho –her arm in a sling, and Ernie had a large bandage across his face. Hannah and Neville had arrived both splattered with pale bruises and were overheard thanking George for the bruise paste. There were no chairs set out, but no one seemed to mind. Eventually, Molly left the kitchen as the sun set, blooming its pinks and golds over the sky; the orange hues that seemed to linger a moment longer than the other shades, a love song to the lost Weasley. Bill and Charlie seemed to stare at the cannon with an anguished expression on each face as Fluer sang quietly to her infant daughter, the silver of her hair rippling in the rising moonlight. The sun finally vanished beneath the skyline, and Percy began to light candles, setting them up to float above their heads, bathing them all in soft tangerine glow, as the flowers seemed to be illuminated, and threw intricate shadows over the grounds. Andromeda gently passed Hermione Teddy, as she went to drape an arm over Molly's shoulders as Minerva McGonagall arrived.

"Miss Granger," She greeted, "Mr Potter." She nodded to the pair of them, black tartan robes swirling about her as she also went to comfort Molly who seemed to be inconsolable. Two final cracks broke through the chatter, as Shacklebolt and Arthur arrived.

"Sorry for holding you up Molly," Kingsley said, dipping his head as he apologised.

"No matter, no matter, let us…" she replied, waving her arms as tears streamed down her face, gesturing for people to gather each side of the cannon. "George," she said, handing over the ceremony to her son.

George cleared his throat, standing behind the cannon, he stared off to where it was aimed, and took a deep breath. His red hair fell into his eyes as his head fell, his gaze to the floor.

"I don't know what to say," he finally said quietly, his voice carried by the gentle night breeze, "You were my brother, best friend, business partner and now you're gone. I know we always agreed that when we died we'd go out like this so…" He tapped his wand to the base of the cannon, and it went off.

The explosion was beautiful. Streams of red, orange, yellow, purple, blues, greens and pinks flew out of the cannon as the famed Weasleys Whiz-bangs carved spirals and stars against the back drop of the night, silver dust shimmered in front of them, seeming to dance in the sky. The gathered crowd gasped, murmuring in surprise and approval.

"I think I know what to say George; your brother: he was brave." Shacklebolt said as he watched the firework display. His wand was raised, and all of a sudden his lynx patronus burst from its tip, running up into the fray of colour; jumping with glee.

"Intelligent, although you were both loathe to admit it," McGonagall added, as her tabby cat slipped forth and pounced onto Shacklebolts lynx.

"Kind." Hermione heard her own voice say, hypnotised by the beautiful and unexpected funeral George was holding for his twin. Her otter shook itself off, before swimming upwards and paddling around a blue stream of sparks.

"Loyal," Harry's voice joined from beside her, his stag effortlessly proud as it cantered towards the playing lynx and tabby.

Before long, the patronuses of those gathered swam about the night, shimmering different colours on their backs from the seemingly never ending pops of fireworks. Chos' swan played with Hermione's otter, whilst Ginny's horse galloped with Harry's stag. Ron's terrier nipped at the heels of McGonagalls cat, and chased Luna's hare. The kind words for Fred had stopped as the crowed watched the scene being played out for them. Just as the fireworks started to fade, Harry raised his wand, the lumos charm pulsating at its tip. He hung his head in remembrance, and soon others followed. Their lights lit up the garden as Percy blew the candles out, and the coloured streams faded. The patronuses were the last to shimmer out, Arthurs weasel chasing Hermione's otter until it fizzled out. It sat there, as the others faded, and finally vanished too.

The last patronus remaining was George's owl, who flew off into the night, and slowly, the wands went out.