This used to be the first chapter. Well, it's been reworked and some stuff has been added, but I posted this, a long time ago, as the first chapter of this fic.

I hope the tragic aspect of this chapter won't be too jarring. It all comes from the person's perspective. This is someone who has suffered immensely. Additionally, it's set only a week after the end of the war. That means everyone is still very much in mourning.

Westlife's Why Did You Leave Me strikes me as a very evocative song; I listened to it after writing this chapter, but still. You should give it a try. It's beautiful.

Disclaimer: Everything is JK Rowling's.

Chapter 3

The Play Is Over

10th May, 1998

It was too soon. The memories were still fresh in everyone's mind. It hurt to even be standing here, and yet so many people had come – everyone who had lost someone was here. There had to be hundreds of wizards present, but he doubted they were here to witness the award-giving. Kingsley himself rushed through the introduction, knowing that there was something more important to get to, quickly. But he still slowed down when it was time to hand out the first reward.

"Miss Luna Lovegood," he read out. "For her brave participation in three battles against Death Eaters and on one occasion, Voldemort himself, and for having led Dumbledore's Army: the Civil Actions Medal."

Luna glanced at him, let go of his hand, and lightly made her way through the crowd and up the steps to the stage set up in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds. She shook Kingsley's hand and stood still as he symbolically placed the medal around her neck. There was a brief applause, and then Luna was back, next to him, holding his hand again. Or maybe he was holding hers, clinging to her like he couldn't live without her.

He hated feeling like this.

"Mr Neville Longbottom," Kingsley said next. "For having been a loyal and steadfast friend as well as a leader of Dumbledore's Army, and for the bravery displayed before Voldemort himself – the Civil Actions Medal."

Neville's grandmother was beaming as her grandson made his way up the steps, and she clapped louder than anyone else when Kingsley hung the medal around his neck. And then it was Ginny's turn, and he almost felt like smiling as Kingsley praised his sister for being a troublemaker when the Carrows ruled the school. On the stage, it was obvious that Hermione was struggling to keep her tears in check as, in turn, Aberforth Dumbledore ("resistance... resourcefulness... aid"), all the Hogwarts professors ("… for leading the school with unwavering loyalty, from darkness into light"), and the remaining members of the Order received the same award.

Then Kingsley cleared his throat, as though uncomfortable with what he had to say next. He guessed what was coming and winced, his hand suddenly clenching around Luna's.

"Not all bravery is recognised in time," Kingsley said. "Some of the bravest people I knew sacrificed their lives for the wizarding world. Everyone here can claim a lost brother, mother, cousin or friend. And these people – ordinary people – were the very definition of bravery.

"To Nymphadora and Remus Lupin," he began, "for being members of the Order of the Phoenix and for their bravery in every battle they fought – The Ministerial Medal of Honour." He looked out at the crowd, meeting everyone's eyes with his open, honest gaze. "Andromeda Tonks will receive the awards for them."

Andromeda headed forward, her shoulders bowed by sorrow but her eye fierce, her head proudly held up as she took the award from Kingsley.

"To Professor Albus Dumbledore, already Order of Merlin, First Class. For his countless services to the wizarding world, for being a member of the Order of the Phoenix and for greatly contributing to the eventual defeat of Voldemort – the Ministerial Medal of Honour. Minerva McGonagall will receive the award for him. It will remain in the castle of Hogwarts, along with his portrait."

"To Mr Alastor Moody," he said, "Also known as 'Mad-Eye.' For being an excellent Auror for years, and for finally giving his life to preserve Harry Potter's – the Order of Merlin, Third Class."

In the crowd, Fleur gave a sob and clung to Bill. Hermione herself could feel the lump rise in her throat.

"To Mr Fred Weasley," Kingsley said then. "For his loyalty to Harry Potter and for his never-ending laughter and courage in the face of danger and until his death – the Civil Actions Medal. George Weasley will receive the award for him."

George was not stepping forward. He had frozen at the naming of his name. And until his death...

Luna gave him a little push forward, and the crowd imitated her until he was face-to-face with Kingsley. He didn't burst down into tears, and he didn't scream or run away. He accepted the medal in silence, and went down the steps in silence, and detached himself from the crowd in silence, and made his way back to Luna in silence.

"To Mr Regulus Black –" Hermione started, and glanced out of the corner of her eye at Harry – "For fighting Voldemort in his own way, and because accepting one's mistakes and righting a wrong are two of the hardest things to do – the Ministerial Medal of Honour. And to his brother Mr Sirius Black –" here Hermione saw people turn to each other and murmur their confusion – "for being a loyal friend, for giving his life at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and to right the Ministry's own wrongs – the Ministerial Medal of Honour. Andromeda Tonks and Harry Potter will receive the awards for them."

Harry pulled his hand out of Hermione's and stepped forward to receive Sirius' award. Kingsley leaned forward an inch and said something, but no one heard what.

"To Professor Severus Snape," Kingsley went on as the Ministry official behind him handed him the next award. "For being the bravest of spies during eighteen years, and for being a member of the Order of the Phoenix – the Order of Merlin, Third Class." He paused. "The award will remain here at the castle in the Headmaster's office."

"And lastly, to Miss Hermione Granger, Mr Ron Weasley and Mr Harry Potter, for their bravery despite their age, for their repeated actions against Voldemort, for risking everything to destroy him and for freeing the wizarding world of his evil for good – the Order of Merlin, First Class for each of them."

So that was the award giving. But not a single person who had been rewarded had wanted it, and the others could have cared less. George himself had hardly listened during the speeches, until he heard his own name being called and Luna had pushed him toward the stage. Now, hearing the memorial mentioned, he snapped to attention.

"… and it is with great honour and much greater sadness that I present to you this monument to the deceased," Kingsley was saying. "They fought bravely; they fought, not for their lives, but for yours, and for freedom; they fought when hope surged through them and they fought when all seemed lost, and not once did they hesitate, not once did any of them think to save themselves. They were our friends, our family, our neighbours – but above all, they were heroes. As such they will be remembered."

It was a beautiful, honest speech, with just the right amount of flowery phrasing. It was made even more beautiful and honest by Kingsley's deep voice, which was the type everyone always associated with honesty. If it had been under any other circumstances, the Interim Minister would have been applauded. But there, and then, no one had really listened. The words had floated into one ear and left by the other, if they had been heard at all. No one could afford to pay attention to anything but their own grief. There were tears, there were flowers, there were black cloaks – everywhere, nothing but black. Except Luna, who, dressed in blindingly white robes, was a refreshing ray of sunlight in this sea of darkness. She was also attracting offended glances from all around, but she didn't seem to notice. She was standing next to him, her head high, looking at Kingsley. Maybe she had listened.

And maybe Harry had, too. Harry, standing straight and tall next to "the monument," a sort of obelisk carved with the names of all the deceased (why did the word sound so cold?). His face emotionless. And George knew it wasn't because that he didn't feel, it was that he couldn't afford to show it. Every so often his glance would leave Kingsley and go to them, to his friends. His family. It was impossible to tell who exactly he was looking at. It might have been Ginny, but the entire Weasley family was huddled so close together that it could just as well have been Fleur or Percy. It couldn't be Hermione or Ron, because they were also standing on the stage, one on either side of him, supporting him.

Harry had already made his speech. It had probably been beautiful as well, but he couldn't remember what had been said. Something about not forgetting and being thankful. Had it really only been a week since he'd lost Fred? It seemed like more. Every second without him was an excruciatingly long one.

A few people seemed to rouse themselves and notice that the speech was over. They bowed their heads, and a fraction of a second later, everyone imitated them. Luna slipped her hand into his, and a fraction of a second later, everyone imitated them, reaching out to strangers, grasping hands, standing, like a wall against everything that had befallen them.

They stayed there in silence, unmoving, for Merlin knew how long. It seemed like an eternity to him, but then, lately, everything seemed to last an eternity.

And then Hermione stepped forward and spoke up. She wasn't speaking as loudly as Kingsley, but her voice easily carried over the silent crowd. "Thank you to every family who agreed to let their lost one b – buried here on the Hogwarts grounds."

Her voice was hesitant, her words were genuine and concrete. This wasn't a vague, abstract speech about memory. There were no metaphors, no embellishments.

Strangely, everyone was listening.

"Here is where they will be best remembered. Every new generation of wizards to come here will see and remember their names." She smiled, and it wasn't even a sad smile. It was a strong, brave smile. " And maybe some of them will decide to pay attention in History of Magic lessons."

Why was it this sentence that broke him? He had managed to remain stoic during Harry, Ron and Kingsley's respective speeches. Even when Ron had choked up and blinked back tears. But Hermione's short, direct speech had drilled into him and driven the knife in, straight to the heart. And her last sentence – almost a joke. Maybe that was it. The jokes he had spent his childhood with. Was he now condemned to hate them forever? Why was it making him cry? Why was he crying, damn it?

"George," Luna said suddenly. "You're squeezing my hand right off."

He gave a small half-laugh, half-sob, and relaxed his grip on her hand. "Sorry."

"I think..." She paused. "Harry lent me his cloak. We thought it might come in handy. Come over to the edge with me. No one will notice."

She led him out of the crowd, then handed him the cloak, and without thinking twice George flung it over them both.

"His plaque is over there," Luna whispered, tilting her head towards the Forbidden Forest.

"I know."

He had specifically asked that it be placed there. His family had favoured a "happier" place near the lake, but George had been unrelenting. Fred would have understood the joke.

And besides, no-one else was buried in that area. And right now, privacy was what George craved the most.

They made their way to the very edge of the forest and Luna stopped to look at the ground, but George tugged at her hand.

"It's deeper in," he said. "You can stay here if you like."

She didn't answer and he took that to mean she would follow him. It was strange, but since the end of the war they hadn't left each other. George suspected his sister had something to do with it; she had probably "suggested" to Luna that she support him. But he didn't mind. Luna was comforting in an odd way. She didn't try to get him to talk about Fred, she didn't talk to him like he was about to explode and she acted different around everyone, not just him.

The war and her imprisonment had taken their toll on Luna. That, and her father's betrayal of Harry. Even though it had been for her sake, she hated the thought that all could have been lost because of him – and, indirectly, her. Her dirty-blond hair was permanently tangled and unkempt, her grey eyes were strangely dull, and her expression was tired. Her white robes were the only thing even vaguely outlandish about her clothing. No radish earrings or Spectrespecs or jewellery of any kind. She had changed, but she still treated George like she treated everyone else. That was the main thing.

The plaque was made of gold; bronze may have been more discreet against the earth but gold was Gryffindor. It was large, shiny, and the following words were engraved on it in fancy script:

Fred Weasley

Son of Molly & Arthur Weasley

died

1st April 1978 – 2nd May 1998

Abiit nemine salutato

"That doesn't look like Fred's grave," Luna said quietly, uncharacteristically serious as George let the Civil Actions Medal fall to the ground, where it hit the plaque with a joyful clink.

"What do you mean?"

"It's too sad," she said, and when she looked at him, her eyes were bright with tears. "'He left without saying goodbye...' It's true, but Fred wouldn't have liked it. You know he wouldn't."

It was true. Fred would have hated it. The Latin bit at the end was typical of pureblood wizards' graves, drab and traditional, a sort of catchphrase that worked in most situations (how many people said good-bye before dying, anyway?). Fred would never have wanted that on his grave.

"I didn't get a say." In truth, he hadn't been capable of doing anything but cry at the time the words had been engraved.

Luna suddenly knelt and drew her wand. Quietly, she started tracing new words into the gold, right beneath the Latin Abiit nemine salutato. George wanted to stop her, but that would have left Fred's plaque unfinished; the beginning of a word, never completed. Something open, something that wasn't over. And whatever Fred had ever been, there was one thing he definitely was now: over.

Luna straightened and looked down at her handiwork proudly. Now, in addition to the impersonal, stiff words at the beginning, George could read a new line:

Acta est fabula, plaudite!

Latin was a language he and Fred had spent some time studying (the only thing they'd ever been serious about), because it was great for inventing spells (and other things). So George knew what the sentence meant; it was a rather famous quote. It was almost funny in a grim way, and so completely Fred that George wished he had thought of it. The play is over, applaud!

"Thank you," he heard himself say, and then he dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and started crying. Luna's slight hand settled on his shoulder, a comforting weight he was only barely aware of.

The play was over, Fred was dead, and George was alone.

I've set up a blog for my fanfiction and will be posting The Cost of Victory there too for no particular reason except that it allows me to have fun with the format (theseriesthatneverends - wordpress – com). No spaces, dashes replaced by dots and there you have it. I'll eventually post some fanart on there, and the occasional link to a song/picture which inspired something from this fic, but right now it's nothing, really.

This third chapter sets one of the main themes for the first two or three years after the war, that is to say, George dealing with Fred's death. I've never gone through anything like this, so I can only hope I've portrayed George passably enough. You'll see, I suppose.

Another difficult chapter, then; except this one is the first I wrote. It stood as the first chapter for months and months, actually; until the story evolved and started having more and more characters and it just made more sense to give Harry the opening chapter. After all, he was the main character in the books.

I found writing George not that difficult; once I started, the words practically came flowing. But Luna isn't easy. Luna is the hardest character to write in the Harry Potter series in my opinion. For that reason, I've never minded too much when she was portrayed a little OOC, as opposed to most other characters; still, if you have advice/complaints concerning her, I'm all ears.

Reviews are appreciated because:

○ I'm so far from perfect it hurts

○ If I get exactly 2 reviews per chapter on this fic, I'll hit 100 reviews. That is, all at once, an astronomical yet totally reasonable (… or not) goal. Help me reach it?

PS: I just ran this chapter through spellcheck one final time, and I was horrified to see I hadn't yet added Nymphadora to the dictionary. Kingsley was already there, at least.