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Word Count - 480

Not This One

Ron sat in his seat on the front row, his sight blurry with tears that refused to fall. On one side of him sat Percy, on the other, Ginny. Hermione and Harry were directly behind him, and he could already hear Hermione sniffing delicately.

Part of him wanted to be back there with them, comforting her and clinging for comfort himself.

He couldn't though. He belonged on the front row with the rest of his family. For George. For Fred.

The eulogies were nice, the bits he heard of them. It didn't sound like they were describing Fred though, because Fred was a hellion and as likely to cause an explosion as he was to make you laugh. The people up there on the podium, they didn't know Fred. Not like he did.

Not like his family did.

Ron chanced a glance at George, and saw the narrowed eyes and red ears and he sighed. George was so angry—understandably so—and he didn't need these fools making him even more angry.

Ron reached around Percy and squeezed George's clenched fist. When George looked at him, Ron shook his head a little. George glared at him for a moment and then slumped a little, the anger leaving him.

George raging wasn't what their parents needed at the moment. Especially not this moment.

Fred was lowered into the ground, and the last words were spoken. The wake would be held at the Burrow, and George planned to set off some new fireworks that he and Fred had been working on before—

Just before.

"How are you holding up?" Hermione asked, when they were finally free to move from the graveside.

Ron shrugged and tugged her into his arms, pressing his face into her neck for a long moment. Just the scent of her perfume was enough to comfort him a little. When he pulled back, it was to see Ginny doing the same thing with Harry.

Ron smiled at his best friend. He'd been worried about Ginny, but he knew Harry would look after her.

"I hate funerals," he whispered into Hermione's skin.

"I know, me too," she replied, her voice choked with emotion.

They'd been to so many of them over the last two weeks… Ron swore that he wouldn't wear black again for the next year.

"I guess… I guess I thought I'd be numb to them now," he admitted, as he pulled away from her a little, still keeping her in his arms but with enough distance so he could see her face.

Hermione smiled sadly. "Not this one."

He nodded. "I know. Not this one."

The other funerals had been sad, of course they had but… this was his brother. His big brother that picked on him and picked him up in equal measure. Fresh tears filled his eyes and he tried to blink them away.

"Not this one."

Written for;

Auction - Ron Weasley

365 - 93. Explosion

1000 - 149. A funeral