Chapter Four: To Say Farewell To Brothers
Tomorrow arrived, bright and sunny and not at all reflecting the mood of those in the Burrow. Ron trudged down the stairs before nine o'clock, unable to justify laying in bed sleeplessly any longer. Despite only getting, at best, five hours of sleep, he didn't think his lack of rest was to blame for his sluggishness.
He entered an empty kitchen and paused in the doorway. His feet had taken him there out of habit, his brain not fully forming an expectation but still feeling disappointed when he got there. Guilt tugged at his growling belly. Did he really expect his mum to cook a full breakfast today of all days?
Merlin, he wasn't helpless. Fleur had stocked the kitchen well, and Ron set to work making a simple breakfast. At first, he planned on just making something small for himself, then he added some eggs for his mum, then some more for Hermione, then a few more Harry and Ginny and his dad and Charlie and everyone else who would at the Burrow before the funeral. He toasted a whole loaf of bread and fried over half the bacon in the cupboard, his own appetite guiding him.
"Whoa," Harry said, walking in as Ron set the last serving plate on the table.
"Do you think I made too much?" Ron asked, glancing around and realizing he might have gotten carried away.
"Uh, no. Just wasn't expecting to wake up to... all this." Harry motioned to the spread of food, but Ron knew what he meant.
"Can't compare to what Mum can do, but it's better than nothing." Ron shrugged as he handed Harry a plate. They both took generous helpings out of habit but mostly picked at the food as they sat together. Harry complimented his cooking abilities, but Ron didn't need the reassurance. Even the most gifted chef couldn't prepare a meal that wouldn't sit heavily in their stomachs today.
Ron glanced towards the window, another habit of being back home and waiting for the morning's paper. "S'pose we haven't subscribed to the Prophet again yet. Shame. It'd be nice to know what's going on out there."
"I kind of like not knowing," Harry said.
It didn't take long for Hermione and Ginny to join them, the latter surprisingly not saying a word about Ron's cooking. The lack of teasing only solidified his sullen mood.
Hermione sat beside him, looking even more tired than she had the morning before with less hair to hide behind. He liked that she seemed more transparent, but he didn't like what he saw. If Bellatrix weren't already dead, he'd be out hunting her down.
She must have felt his eyes on her as she looked up and gave him a shy confused smile. No matter his worries, he couldn't help but smile back, even if it was just a small one. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to this, of being able to stare at her all he wanted and not try to hide it. Maybe one day she'd get sick of it, but at least for now, she smiled back.
"Oh," Ginny said in a mocking tone with a hand over her heart as she leaned over to Harry, "remember when we used to look at each other like that?"
Harry, who'd been staring deeply into his plate, looked up to now see Hermione blushing and Ron glaring at his sister. "Um… sure."
Ginny patted his arm. "You are the most oblivious wizard I have ever met. Don't ever change."
Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed down the spark of jealousy that had jumped into his throat out of nowhere. He remembered why it was so easy to accept Harry and Ginny as a couple; they were just so damn natural about it. They made it look so easy. And here he was, fumbling over how to even sit next to Hermione. He didn't know how to be around her in normal everyday situations when all he could think about was how he could take her hand or kiss her cheek or any other small acts of affection on a whim. How was he supposed to have a casual conversation with other people in the room with that thought in the back of his mind? Dammit, when had her hand ended up in his?
The four of them gave up on their half-hearted attempts to eat in order to get ready for the day. Hermione managed to sneak Ron a quick kiss before they separated, and it gave him the motivation he needed to shower and dress and not think too hard about where he'd be headed. Neither he nor Harry had much choice when it came to clothes. Whatever hadn't been packed in Hermione's beaded bag had either been damaged when the Burrow had been searched and thrown away by Fleur or was still packed away in one of the trunks that they didn't have time to search through. Ron didn't feel completely right wearing a dingy button-down shirt, but he doubted he would have felt right in perfectly tailored black robes either. Nothing was going to feel right today.
When he and Harry returned downstairs, his mum bear-hugged them both, already quietly weeping. "I love you both, so much," she said between sniffles. She put a hand on each of their cheeks and looked straight in their eyes. "You know that, right?"
"Of course, Mum." Ron squeezed her hand.
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
She took a deep breath as if mustering up the strength to gain control of herself again. She patted their cheeks one more time and said, "Alright."
Bill and Fleur arrived at that moment, and a fresh stream of tears slid down his mum's face as she grabbed Bill into a tight hug as well. More of the same followed as Hermione and Ginny and Charlie came downstairs. When Hermione came to his side, she automatically took his hand and leaned her head against his arm. Merlin, he was lucky to have her.
Five minutes before the carriages were set to arrive, they moved out to the front garden, a nervousness setting over them with the absence of Percy and George. "They'll be here, dear," his dad said as he patted his mum's arm. "Don't worry."
Percy apparated at the end of the path, his feet heavy and slow as he walked toward them. Before they could ask, he went to his mum and said, "I'm sorry. I tried."
She burst into tears more intense than before, embracing Percy and telling him it was okay. Ron watched his toe as he scuffed it against the ground. It wasn't okay. Not really. Not that he really blamed George. It wasn't like Ron really wanted to be going himself, but he was. For his family.
At exactly quarter till, a pair of dark wood carriages pulled by chestnut horses arrived right outside of the protective barriers, driven by a pair of black-robed witches. The group walked up the hill to them, silently splitting up. Ron followed Hermione into the second carriage with Harry, Ginny, and Charlie. "Seems a bit flashy, doesn't it?" Charlie grumbled as they set off.
"Oh, shut up, Charlie," Ginny said, and to Ron's surprise, he listened and sulked in silence for the rest of the ride.
Their journey was short, winding around a few hills before stopping in front of a worn iron-wrought gate that appeared to be padlocked. The chains shimmered away and the gates opened with a creak as they approached. The carriages rode along the dirt path. Ron recognized his late uncles' graves as soon as they stopped in front of them, though it had been years since his mother had dragged them all out to the graveyard to see them. He'd never been all that interested in hearing their story, but as he stepped out of the carriage, he couldn't take his eyes away from their headstones.
At least not until he saw the casket.
Only a few paces away from Gideon and Fabian's headstones stood the box that contained Fred's body. It sat on a raised slab of stone and covered by two sheets: one red with a golden Gryffindor lion and the other magenta and emblazoned with a large Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo.
Fleur marched past, greeting a pair of people Ron hadn't even noticed standing just to the side of the casket. She shook hands with a white-haired wizard in black robes then, to Ron's surprise, Professor McGonagall. She quickly accepted Fleur's thanks for helping arrange the funeral then made her way towards the family, hugging each of them in turn but holding on to Ron's mum a few moments longer. "He was an amazing boy, Molly," she said, holding on to his mum's shoulders. "I don't regret a single detention I spent with him."
His mum was able to chuckle through her tears, but she continued to lean against both Professor McGonagall and Ron's dad as guests started arriving. A queue formed in front of them as everyone gave their condolences. The group of attendees resembled a thinned out version of the crowd that came to Bill and Fleur's wedding. The Order was there minus a few notable faces, along with close family members rather than the dozens of distant aunts and uncles and cousins. Then there were the Hogwarts students and alumni, including most of the DA. Out of everyone, they asked the least about George's absence. Except for Angelina, who muttered quite a few choice words when Ginny told her George had decided not to come.
Ron, who had shared that anger earlier that morning, felt differently now. It was hard enough for him to shake all these hands and accept all these hugs; how much worse it would have been for George? Not to mention, all of the memorial pictures. Not one of them didn't include George right next to Fred. Without him here, the funeral felt like it was for both of them.
At the end of the exhaustingly long line was Kingsley. Instead of offering empty but well-meant words that everyone else had, he simply ushered them to their seats. Ron didn't have the energy to question the directions, letting Hermione's hand lead him to his seat. He heard his mum at the end of row say to his dad, "Who would have guessed? The Minister of Magic… for our boy."
He put an arm around her as Kingsley stepped behind the casket and cleared his throat. It took several moments after he started speaking for Ron to realize Kingsley hadn't just come as a guest; he had come to officiate.
"There are many who are more qualified to speak of Fred Weasley's life than I, but I think anyone who met him would be able to tell you of his charisma, bravery, kindness, and mischief. He held little regard for rules, and in a time when the rules often did not make sense, his ability to get into trouble helped fight a war. He is a hero, not because of where he died, but because of all he achieved in life. Whether you remember him as a son or a brother, a troublesome student or successful businessman, a friend in times of peace or in times of turmoil, he will be remembered as a great man taken in our darkest hour. And with some distance, let us all be able to think of Fred Weasley with a smile."
As Kinglsey stepped back, the white-haired wizard raised his wand, and the casket erupted into bright red, smokeless flames. When they dissipated, only a gleaming headstone stood with a gold plaque, Fred's name displayed on the front.
And that was it. It was over.
"Ron?" Hermione's whisper felt like a shout. He looked over to see her tugging him out of his seat to follow the rest of his family as they stood. Everyone else behind them stayed in their seats until the family cleared out of the front row, then they all started to disperse. Some apparated away immediately, including Angelina. Those that stayed meandered towards the tent of refreshments set up in the centre of the small cemetery.
Ron's family lingered behind. After exchanging a few words with the white-haired wizard, Kingsley joined them, not having a choice when it came to embraces this time. Ron's mum practically tackled him. "What a beautiful speech," she said. "Thank you, Kingsley. No one could have said better words."
"I was honoured to do it," Kinglsey replied, patting her back. "He was an exceptional wizard."
"One that would have hated being called a hero so many times today," Ron's dad said with a smile as his mum passed Kingsley on to him.
"Oh, he would have loved it," Bill chimed in. "Basked in the glory and made a badge for himself."
Everyone chuckled half-heartedly, which was as cheerful as any of them could be. Kingsley hugged the rest of them, saying that he wished he could stay but the Ministry needed him. "And though now is not the most appropriate time, Harry," Kinglsey said when he reached him, "I can't pass up the opportunity to say, formally as Minister, that the entire Wizarding community of Britain will forever be in your debt. And informally, as a friend and fellow member of the Order, I never doubted you for a moment." He gave Harry a hearty pat on the back, knocking Harry's glasses askew.
"And of course," Kingsley continued, turning to Ron and Hermione, "the war wouldn't be over without the two of you as well. You've proven the difference that loyal friends can make."
Ron felt the tips of his ears grow hot with embarrassment. He didn't deserve that title. "Yeah, well, we did our best."
"We never doubted him either," Hermione said, giving his hand an extra-long squeeze as she seemed to know exactly where his mind had jumped to.
Ron glanced at Harry, a tinge of fear that he would call him out in front of Kingsley. Instead, Harry just nodded and said, "I can't imagine better friends."
Despite still feeling a small bit of shame, their words comforted him. Maybe one day the guilt would completely go away, but for now, at least he knew he was forgiven.
"One last thing before I leave," Kingsley said, pulling an envelope from his pocket. "Now is not the best time, but I promised Andromeda I would give this to you as soon as I could." He handed over the envelope that was addressed to 'The Burrow'. "She's arranged a small ceremony for Sunday and would like to keep it as private as possible. I believe there's a separate note in there just for you, Harry." Harry nodded solemnly as he took it, clutching it tightly.
Kingsley glanced at his watch. "I've already stayed longer than I said I would. I would like to have a real conversation with you, all three of you, sometime soon, but for now, it can wait. I'll see you again soon."
As he turned to walk away, Harry called after him. "Kingsley, before you go, I need to ask… Bill and Charlie mentioned there's a lot of Voldemort's followers still out there hurting people. I want to help. Just tell me where to go and what to do."
Kingsley cut him off by putting a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, I have plans for you and will be asking too much of you soon. But not now." He squeezed Harry's shoulder, nodded a goodbye to Ron and Hermione, then finally left, walking off a few feet before disapparating.
Harry looked down at the envelope in his hands, his shoulders sagging. "This is only the first of many, isn't it?" he asked. Ron and Hermione didn't have to answer.
"We should all get a drink," Ginny said, jumping in and dragging them away towards the tables of finger sandwiches and biscuits. "I hear there's wine."
The four of them grabbed a glass and secluded themselves away from the crowd as quick as possible. Everyone there was respectful enough not to approach Harry, but they could all feel the stares and hear the whispers as they walked past. Unfortunately, none of them were in the mood to make a joke of it. They quietly sipped their wine, not enjoying it very much. Ron's nose scrunched up every time he forced himself to take a sip.
"Are there more people here than before?" Harry asked, his eyes on the crowd.
Ron, who'd been preoccupied thinking about how Fred would've preferred Firewhiskey being served than the bitter wine, followed Harry's gaze and noticed he had a point. Most everyone he'd seen at the ceremony had been a familiar face or at least introduced themselves as they went through the receiving line. There were a few faces bobbing through the crowd that Ron didn't know at all. "Maybe they showed up late?" he asked, trying to keep an optimistic mindset.
"Maybe." Harry's shoulders were stiff, and he already had his hand reaching for his wand. "I don't recognize any of them."
Ron immediately knew what Harry meant: they didn't look like any DeathEaters they knew. His fingers gripped the handle of his wand. "Could've used Polyjuice Potion or a glamour spell," he said as he stepped next to Harry, not so subtly putting himself in front of Hermione.
He expected her to stand next to him and offer some sort of enlightening statement that would conclude whether they should be worried or not, but she stayed back with a hand in the crook of his arm.
"I know who they are," Ginny said, all three of their gazes shooting to her. Unlike their battle-ready faces, she simply wore the face of someone about to cast a Bat-Bogey Hex. "That one there is Colleen Hillcrest. She writes for Witch Weekly."
The life-or-death anxiety deflated Ron's nerves, but another sinking nervousness filled him instead. "Reporters? Here?"
"Of course they'd be here," Hermione muttered bitterly. "They've probably been counting down the days, hoping Harry would be here."
"You save the Wizarding World once and you can't even go to a funeral anymore," Harry muttered, jamming his hands deep into his pockets and turning away from the reporters. Ron followed his lead, ducking his head in the hopes to blend in with the rest of the redheads. Hermione quickly withdrew her hand from his arm to cross them over her chest and hide her bushy hair behind his shoulder. These movements to hide their identities came so naturally, Ron didn't even notice what they were doing until he saw Ginny watching them with a slightly confused but also understanding face.
"Dad and Fleur said they tried to keep it as private as possible," Ginny said, stepping next to Harry to finish off their group formation into a small horseshoe. Both she and Hermione could see over the boys' shoulders while remaining out of sight. "Too bad Kingsley isn't here anymore, though I doubt even being thrown out the Minister of Magic would have much of an effect on these people."
"Oh, I think your mum's seen," Hermione said.
Ron turned and watched his mum break away from the crowd around her to approach the reporter who had completely dropped her cover and held a notebook in her hand. Though too far away to hear the conversation, his mum didn't seem confrontational. Actually, she seemed… welcoming. She read enough Witch Weekly to recognize whoever this Colleen Hillcrest was, and maybe she thought the half a dozen reporters were here to cover the funerals of the more well-known. And maybe they were. It wasn't like Fred hadn't made a name for himself before dying. His and George's business had been successful enough to earn a few articles in the Prophet and magazines that cared more about consumerism than celebrities. The reporter's being here for Fred wasn't a completely unfathomable possibility.
Then Colleen Hillcrest caught sight of Harry and his optimism burned up like a phoenix.
She brushed off his mother to march straight towards them, and Ron was glad Bill stepped in her path or else he might've hit her when she reached them. Even from his distance, he could see his mum's face fall into despair before picking back up into a motherly rage. Red in the face with tears still in her eyes, she marched up to the reporter and started in on a lecture that would have any of her children cowering.
"I should just go talk to them," Harry said, already walking towards them. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all reached out a hand to stop him. He brushed them off as if he'd been expecting them to protest. "They're going to be hunting me down everywhere I go until I do."
"Even if you talk to them now, they won't stop hunting you down in the future," Hermione argued. "All of Britain is talking about you. They'd interview you every day if they could."
Harry only seemed partially convinced, so Ginny added, "Do you really want your first interview to be with a second-rate Rita Skeeter?"
That named reeled Harry in. He nodded his acceptance but was still watching the commotion as it grew louder and rowdier as the reporter's lost patience and more family members and guests had to step in to stop them. "Maybe we should sneak away while they're somewhat distracted," Ron suggested, not wanting to stay any longer himself.
The others slowly nodded agreement, but they dragged their feet moving away until the cameras started flashing. "Feels like they're winning," Ginny grumbled, voicing all of their thoughts. "It's my brother's bloody funeral. I should be hexing them to next Tuesday!"
"Let's not make an enemy of the press already," Hermione said. Ron gave her a bewildered look. He would've thought with all of her history with Rita Skeeter, she'd be the first to back up Ginny's plan. "They'll be writing about all of us no matter what, and if we tick them off, they'll be writing nasty things about us for months."
"They'll be writing nasty things anyway," Harry said.
"Probably." Hermione sighed. "But let's not give them anything right away."
Once behind a pair of trees, Harry and Ginny took out their wands and took turns Apparating back to the Burrow. When Ron prepared to do the same, Hermione rushed to take his hand. "Do you mind if I Side-Along?"
"Uh, sure." Ron would never dislike having Hermione's hand in his, but something felt off. He pushed his distracting intuition away so he wouldn't Splinch either of them, but as soon as they popped up outside of the Burrow's defences, his brain started piecing it together. "Hermione, wait," he said, keeping her from following Ginny and Harry, who had Apparated quite a bit closer and were waiting for them by the pile of rubble that used to be the garage. As soon as Hermione turned, though, he saw Harry and Ginny exchange a look then head inside on their own.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.
"Did you not bring a wand with you?" Hermione's concern froze into a tight-lipped frown, and though she didn't answer, the fact that she didn't immediately deny it was enough confirmation for Ron. "I can't remember the last time I saw you use magic. What happened to the wand you used in the battle?"
"I used her wand." The venom she put into her words could only mean one person. "And I'm not using it again."
"You can't just go around wandless–"
"I survived my first eleven years being wandless. I think I'll be fine."
"And what if something had happened today? What if those reporters had been Death Eaters?"
"They weren't."
"We weren't inside any sort of wards. Anyone could have shown up. If reporters could find us, why not Death Eaters? Shit, we shouldn't just be standing out here in the open." He grabbed her hand and hurried towards the Burrow's wards, dragging her behind him.
"Ron, let me go!" She yanked herself out of his grip. "You're being insane."
"You're being insane! Not having a wand; have you gone mad?"
"You're blowing this completely out of proportion. I'll get another one."
"When?"
"I don't know! Soon. I'll write to Ollivander or find an open wand shop."
"And how are you going to get to a wand shop without magic?"
"I thought I would ask you."
"Well, of course, you can ask me." Ron's drive to fight drained away as he saw the hurt flash across Hermione's face. "But I still don't like that you're going around completely defenceless."
"But I'm not completely defenceless. I have you." She took his hand and looked up at him with those stupidly beautiful brown eyes of hers. "Besides, the war is over. We shouldn't have to keep thinking like that."
Ron nodded and absentmindedly took her other hand. "It doesn't always feel over though."
"No, it doesn't."
Being this close to her and able to just stare at her without interruptions, Ron noticed the dark circles under her eyes were darker than yesterday. He'd been trying to leave it alone and let her deal with her nightmares on her own, but dammit he couldn't just say nothing. "Have you been sleeping alright?"
Her face clouded over. "I've been fine."
"Are you sure? You look dreadfully tired."
"You can be so insensitive."
"I'm being honest. I'm… I'm worried about you." He didn't think he'd ever said those words to her before. Though he'd felt it often enough with the way she confidently charged through the world without caring who would stand in her way, he felt silly saying it out loud. She was Hermione Granger. She could take care of herself.
Tears shone in her eyes and gathered in the corners, ready to fall. "You shouldn't be worried about me. Not to today. It's… it's Fred's funeral. I should be helping you, not the other way around."
"You have been there for me." He tugged on her hands to bring her closer and rest their joined fingers between their stomachs. "We can be there for each other at the same time, right? No need to take turns."
Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest but must have lost her nerve because she simply nodded in defeat instead. "So," Ron said, "We should go inside, find you some Calming Draught, and take a kip."
"No." Hermione pulled her hands out of his and crossed her arms over herself. "I don't want any Calming Draught."
"Why not?" His tone came out harsh, but he was tired of this fight.
"Because I shouldn't still need it." Her knuckles went white as she gripped her arms, a tremor in her voice.
"We all need it now," Ron said, remembering how much he'd needed to get to sleep last night.
"I don't want to have to rely on it," she said, taking a new tactic. "Do you know how addicting it can be?"
"You're not going to become addicted. You won't let yourself. I won't let you." He took her by the shoulders, trying to break through to her. Whatever excuses she came up with, he wasn't going to let it go. "Just because you need it right now doesn't mean you'll need it forever. The nightmares will go away."
A single tear escaped her eye, and he wiped it away. "They're back, aren't they?"
She nodded, shaking loose a few more tears. "Worse than before. Like they were right after…" Her lips quivered until she couldn't finish her sentence, and Ron pulled her into him. She buried her face into his chest and squeezed herself to him.
"It's okay," he said, resting his cheek against the top of her head. Though she wasn't quite crying, her body shook with fear.
Ron could only imagine the things she experiences in her dreams. He had his own share of nightmares, especially after the Battle. The fire and crumbling castle and bodies on top of bodies had haunted him that first night in the Gryffindor common room, and when he'd woken up to Hermione missing, that same fear he'd felt at Malfoy Manor came back. During their time at Shell Cottage, her nightmares faded with every day that passed, then the Battle happened. He'd been an idiot to think the nightmares were a thing of the past.
"Come on," he said once her breaths had steadied again. With an arm around her shoulders, he guided her back to the Burrow, thankful that the rest of his family hadn't returned yet. Maybe the reporters had disappeared once they'd realized they weren't getting the story they had wanted.
In the living room, Harry and Ginny were sorting through the trunks of all their possessions. "Thought we might at least make ourselves useful," Ginny explained as Ron and Hermione came in.
"I think we still have some things to sort through upstairs," Ron said, nudging Hermione in the direction of the stairs. He didn't want her to get dragged into helping right now. "I just need to grab something from the kitchen."
He jogged into the kitchen but heard Ginny comment, "Yes, I'm sure you have plenty to 'sort through' up there by yourselves."
"It's nothing like that," Hermione said quickly. "We never completely unpacked our things. There's a lot to sort through."
Ginny's disbelieving scoff motivated Ron to quicken his search. Like he thought, the bottle of Calming Draught hadn't made it very far. It sat on the counter underneath the window. He grabbed it and tossed it into the pocket of his trousers before returning to save Hermione from Ginny's teasing.
"Let's go." He shot Ginny a glare as he followed Hermione upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Either she knew exactly what he was thinking or she sincerely thought they were going to finish unpacking her beaded bag, but she went straight to his room.
Once inside, he swung the door so there was only a small gap then pulled the potion out of his pocket. "You were being serious, weren't you?" Hermione said as she eyed it.
"Yep," he said simply, unstopping it and handing it to her. "You can't just not sleep."
She wore her argumentative face, and he would have loved to see her try to fight him on that, but even she couldn't argue that statement. Instead, she took the bottle and glared down at it. He thought he might need to say something more convincing, but with a defeated sigh, she finally took a generous gulp. Thank Merlin.
When she handed it back to him, he took a quick drink more out of camaraderie than needing it himself. He would never tell her, but he was glad to be focusing on her. When he was worrying over her, his mind couldn't focus on the loss of Fred.
He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of his bed, watching Hermione do the same. Maybe he should have felt some kind of tension being alone in his room with her, but this wasn't an unfamiliar scene and everything hurt too much to think of the kind of things a bed implied in a romantic relationship. Today, even a kiss seemed like too much.
"There isn't much room," he said, glancing at his twin-sized bed that often felt too small for just him. "I can take Harry's cot."
"It's fine," Hermione said, grabbing his hand before he could stand up.
He nodded, feeling the effects of the potion beginning to seep in and fog his already tired mind. As he laid down as close to the wall as he could to give Hermione room, whatever awkwardness or nervousness he might have normally felt were numbed out. Even Hermione curling into his side and resting her head on his chest brought only feelings of warmth and comfort.
The Calming Draught worked slower on Hermione. She moved around as she settled herself, her shoulders shaking when she took a deep breath. Ron squeezed her with the arm around her shoulders and took her trembling hand in his other. After a few moments, the potion finally stilled her. He could feel her body grow heavy with sleep, the tight grip of her fingers holding his going slack.
He almost regretted taking a sip of the Calming Draught. If he hadn't, maybe he would have been able to stay awake a little longer. He would have liked to sit in that moment for as long as he could.
Author's Note: And we are back on schedule! :) A huge chocolate-covered thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited, and reviewed this story so far, especially those of you who have reviewed multiple chapters as they come out. Shout out to LilyMay77, closetcannons, FantasyGirl20, mellyfan, and Bluest Witch for all of your kind and encouraging words!
I apologize if Fred's funeral seemed a little rushed or boring. I feel like I've written is funeral so many times that trying to come up with something new was simply beyond me. If you really want to cry, you can always check out On The Verge Of Happy Endings:Chapter 3 or Fireworks. I cried writing both of them and feel like those are closer to my actual headcanon. However, I didn't want to repeat the same story for a third time, so hence the paparazzi. I still can't see George ever attending a funeral-like funeral for Fred, so at least that hasn't changed.
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this more melancholy chapter. If you're a bit starved for some more Romione action, all I can say is wait for the next chapter. ;)
