Chapter 2

The Funeral

Angelina was on her third outfit of the morning; she couldn't decide what to wear to Fred's funeral. It was ridiculous; this wasn't even the first funeral she'd been to this week. Besides, it's not like anyone would be paying her any mind. And yet, she couldn't find the right thing to wear.

She stared at herself in her mirror, dressed in a simple black camisole dress. It was just like the other dresses she had tried on and was fine for a funeral. But it didn't feel right. She thought possibly it was because it was black. Black clothing could be fierce and beautiful, but for a funeral, it just felt sad. She didn't mind black in itself, in fact, it was a staple in her closet, much to her mum's dismay. Her mum would constantly admonish her for wearing black; it wasn't flattering, she was meant to wear colours, not something so drab. And, as any rebellious child would do; she had only bought black clothes for years out of protest.

But it wasn't that. It was the entire idea of a funeral. Of darkness, and sadness, and misery. It simply wasn't Fred. He would have wanted something much more spectacular, full of celebration, and life. No, that's not right either, she thought. He would have wanted to be alive.

She huffed at the thought, trying not to cry prematurely and decided that her outfit was good enough. She headed downstairs, where her friends were gathering to head to the solemn affair. One by one, the entered the slightly-too-small fireplace and floo'd to the burrow.

Fred was to be buried in the Weasley's back garden, next to their makeshift quidditch pitch. They had the option of burying him at Hogwarts, but since he wasn't the biggest fan of academics, the burrow felt like a better fit.

Time seemed to pass unevenly, Angelina moving through moments quickly and then ever so slowly. She knew that time had passed, as she was sitting between Oliver and Alicia on a pew, but she couldn't remember getting there. Then, she saw Fred's casket and it was like time stopped; she couldn't look away. She couldn't help but thank god that it was a closed casket. The idea of seeing him there, but not really there, made her feel queasy.

The funeral began, and just like earlier, time sped by. Angelina had no idea what the minister was saying, she was only aware of her own breathing; unsteady and uneven. She couldn't help glancing at George throughout the procession. He stared blankly ahead, not reacting to what was being said or moving in the slightest. Normally, Angelina would be impressed; George was not one to sit still. But now- now it was painful to see. A part of her wished he was crying- feeling in some way, no matter how cruel the thought was. At least he would be present.

She was distracted from her concern over George when the ground started to lightly move. Her eyes were directed back to Fred's coffin, which was now slowly descending into the ground. She seized Oliver's hand, not sure that she could take the sight. It didn't help that the quiet sobs which were echoing the grounds were now full wails, mostly emitted from Molly.

Angelina found herself standing outside of the funeral tent with a glass of wine in her hand. She wasn't sure how she ended up with the wine, though she vaguely recalled leaving the tent, giving hugs and wishes to the Weasleys as she did. However, there was one Weasley who she didn't get to well-wish. George had barreled out of the tent the second the funeral was over, rushing out of the doors and into the unknown.

"Some of us are going to the Leaky," she heard Alicia say.

Angelina nodded her head absentmindedly, with no intention of joining them. She ached to get as far away from others as much as possible. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and try to forget her reality.

"Someone should check on George," Angelina stated, as her friends were gathering to leave. She hoped that someone else would volunteer. As much as she cared for George, the thought of looking into his mournful eyes filled her with dread.

"I'll go," Lee volunteered. He was George's closest friends (outside of Fred), so it made sense that he would feel an obligation to help George. "I'll catch up with you later," he said to the group before turning to head into the burrow.

Alicia reached out to take Angelina's hand, but she shook it off.

"I'll join you guys later," Angelina lied.

Alicia looked concerned but nevertheless disapparated with the rest of her friends.

Angelina had been sitting on the back steps outside of the burrow for what felt like an eternity. It had been so long that the funeral workers were beginning to pack up the things from the funeral. Most of the Weasleys had headed back to the burrow or joined her friends at the pub. The only Weasley she that she didn't know the whereabouts of was George. She also didn't know where Lee was. For all she knew, he could have apparated away a while ago. He may not have even found George at all. The last she saw of Lee, he was heading into the burrow, and she knew she had to check. She had to check on George. Not that he was alright, she knew he wasn't, but that he was okay. Not stuck somewhere unable to get out. Not splinched or injured or...

She made up her mind and stood, feeling dizzy as she did. After waiting minutes for the vertigo to pass, she headed through the back door of the burrow. At that moment, she felt like she had made a mistake.

She had been to the burrow before, over the long summer holiday, when it was sunny, bright, and full of life. Now, it felt like she was intruding. And she supposed she was technically intruding. The room was dark and uninviting; the exact opposite of what she remembered. There were no enchanted pots cooking, no red-headed people running around, no mess. Still, she had made her mind up, and now she was determined to find George.

So, she carefully tiptoed to the staircase, finally getting to George's door. Outside of his door sat Lee, who motioned for Angelina to join him.

"Now you've got to let me in," Lee said to the door. "Ange is here. Did you see what she was wearing?", he asked, as if Angelina wasn't sitting next to him. "A small slinky black thing. You know how I like my women in black."

Angelina shoved him playfully.

"If I wasn't seeing Katie...," he said in a mock-sad tone.

"You'd have no chance," Angelina responded, forgetting for a moment that a door rested between them and George.

"Well, if you don't let us in," Lee said, "I'm going to head out, I'm famished. Though you could always join me," he said, waiting for a response. Since there was none, he stood to leave.

"Bye mate, I'll see you soon," he said, his voice sounding dejected. "Bye Ange," he said before disapparating.

Now, Angelina was alone with George, not sure of what to do or say. She wasn't sure George was even in his room.

"Are you really there?", she asked. "Or do I need to have Lee checked out?" she added, trying to lighten the mood.

She heard nothing, she began to worry that she was talking to herself.

"I'm here," she heard, it sounded muffled, but it definitely came from George.

"Good," she said. "Do you want me to stay?", she asked cautiously. "Unlike Lee, I don't mind sitting on the floor."

Again, she didn't hear a response, and took the silence as him wanting her to leave, until she heard the click of his lock unlocking. She cautiously opened the door and was taken aback by the sight.

George's room was filled with dusty boxes, some stacked as tall as Angelina. There were so many, that Angelina didn't see George right away. She could just make out a lump on one of the beds, a tuft of ginger hair poking out of the covers.

"Hey," she said softly, to no response. Angelina continued to stand in the doorframe, unsure of what to do. After moments of consideration, she decided to make the trek to George's bed. It took athleticism to manoeuvre between the boxes. She almost tripped over one, and as she did something printed on top of it caught her eye. Leaning down, she had to squint in order to read the writing, as the room was dark with the curtains closed shut. She could make out a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes emblem on the box. She realised that the boxes were all from the shop, likely from when it was ransacked by death eaters and the twins had to sell discreetly from the burrow.

She finally made it to her friend's bedside and placed a hand on George's back. Since he didn't protest to her touch, she sat beside him, keeping her hand gently pressed to him. She didn't know what to say but thought perhaps she didn't need to say anything. George's breathing became uneven, and soon Angelina could tell he was crying. He did his best to hide it, shaking silently. She gently laid her head on his shoulder, facing away from him, and held him like that until the shaking stopped.

As difficult as it was, during that time, all of Angelina's desire to disappear- to be alone in her hopelessness, left her. She felt like here, with George, was where she was supposed to be. And, at that moment, she decided that she was going to focus on helping him- on making sure he didn't get lost in his sadness. He was her friend, and she was going to make sure he didn't go through this alone.