Harry Potter stalked through the corridors at the Ministry of Magic, earning a few curious glances from his colleagues.
But especially from Draco Malfoy.
"What happened to you, Potter?" He asked with a sneer. "Did that little imaginary world you live in fall apart?"
Harry turned his steely glare towards Draco.
"Yes." Harry said through clenched teeth and stalked away without another word.
"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked a co-worker in the same tone with which he had asked Harry the same question.
"Ya remember Ron Weasley?" The man asked, chewing gum in what Draco considered the most annoying way possible.
"It bothers me when people answer questions with questions." Draco said testily. "But yes, unfortunately I failed to wipe that bloody weasel from my memory. Why?"
"He died of unknown causes, just last night."
The guy sounded more fascinated by that fact then saddened by it.
"Hermione Granger was given a months paid vacation, she says she needs to grieve."
"And Potter didn't?" Draco asked.
"Nope, I heard he turned it down, says that he wants to try to live his life."
Draco walked away without another word.
"The funerals next Sunday!" He yelled after Draco.
Draco turned around for a moment.
"And I care, why?"
"All of the people that worked with Ron are invited."
"Oh goodie, I get to go see them stick a weasel in the dirt. Like I give a rubbish." And walked toward his cubicle.
That Sunday
"Stupid lousy Potter." Draco muttered angrily as he walked through the graveyard towards the crowd gathered around a casket about to be lowered into a grave.
His boss had said that everyone should show up.
Everyone knew what that meant.
So Draco showed up, at the very end. Draco came to a stop as Granger dropped the first Rose on Weasleys casket and they began to lower it.
Granger was in tears, and Potter looked damn close to it.
"It'll be alright Hermione," Harry said softly.
Hermione turned and glanced at Ginny, and Draco thought he saw a glare cross her face.
"I know it will," Hermione replied tearfully, turning and facing her friend again. "It just doesn't feel like it."
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Ginny Weasley stepped into her apartment and tears immediately flooded her eyes.
The funeral had been awful, her mother had cried through the whole thing and Ginny had barely been able the keep herself together.
She closed the door behind her and headed for the kitchen, and the ever-loyal bottle of brandy she kept, eyeing her cats soiled litter box momentarily.
She decided she'd deal with that later, and reached for brandy instead, but just as she got the bottle in her hand, she heard a knocking at the door.
Ginny sighed.
"Crap." She muttered, and wiped her eyes clear before answering the door.
It was Hermione.
"I'm sorry Ginny, I don't mean to intrude but when I went home he was... he was just everywhere..." She sobbed.
"Oh no Herm, you're not intruding!" Ginny said, taking Hermione into her arms. " You're like a sister to me and I know you must be hurting."
They walked into the apartment and Ginny sat Hermione down in a chair before reaching for two wine glasses out of a cabinet.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Ginny asked as she poured the brandy and handed Hermione a glass.
"I just walked in and he was laying on the floor..." Hermione's voice cracked, and she broke into tears again.
As Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione, she could've sworn she felt Hermione's muscle clench tightly as though she felt uncomfortable.
'That's strange...' Ginny thought as she pulled back and looked at Hermione.
Hermione looked at Ginny oddly for a moment before taking a sip of the brandy.
"What just happened?" Ginny asked, something felt wrong.
"Oh nothing." Hermione said. "You don't have to baby me Ginny, you're younger than I am."
Ginny arched a brow and sat down.
"I was just trying to make you feel better..." Ginny started.
"Well you don't have to, I killed Ron I think I can take the after-affects." Hermione said, as if she were stating the next days weather.
"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, as she stood back up.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Ginny dear. I killed Ron, I can tell by the look on your face that you know it's true." Hermione replied coolly, standing up.
Ginny took a few steps back, backing into her kitchen counter as she saw Hermione raise her wand.
"Imperio." She muttered and Ginny stiffened.
Hermione quickly pulled out a piece of paper and a quill, and set them on the counter.
"Write the following words in your own handwriting." She ordered.
A few minutes later Hermione ended the spell.
Ginny looked around, momentarily confused then looked at the paper on the counter.
" ' To whomever may be reading this' " She read aloud " ' I have decided to take my own life. If someone as innocent as my brother can be killed in this world, I see no reason to stay in it. The world is cruel, and I don't think I can take any more. I love you mom, and I'm sorry. All my love, Ginny.' What the hell!"
She swiveled around and saw Hermione standing behind her holding a dagger in her right hand.
The phone rang, Hermione saw "Potter, Harry" on the caller ID.
" 'Yea noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!' " Before Ginny had time to react, Hermione's arm thrust forward, driving the dagger into Ginnys chest. " ' This is thy sheath.' "
Ginny slid slowly down the counter.
"Hermione..." She said, her voice raspy.
Hermione leaned forward and pecked Ginny on the forehead.
"Goodbye my little sister, sleep well." She said softly, before grabbing her wine glass and apparating away.
The last words Ginny heard were from the answering machine.
"Hi Gin, this is Harry. Anytime you need to talk, just give me a call. I'm always here for you..."
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Ginevra Weasley's funeral was a rather small, personal affair. One that Harry Potter did not attend.
He sat at his desk staring at a picture, which held Ron, Hermione, Ginny and himself forever in its frames. Suddenly, he was very much disturbed by the thought of that picture.
Both Ron and Ginny were captured there, forever young with no idea that either of them would die at such a young age. Everyone in the photograph was smiling and laughing.
Harry wondered if their picture-selves would want to know. Or if he could tell them if they did? Or if they knew sign language so he could tell them?
Harry slumped forward onto his desk, he had reached a new level of low. He was considering learning sign language so he could talk to photographs of dead people.
The door opened.
"Harry..." It was the minister, Harry's head snapped up. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah... I'm fine." Harry replied in an entirely unconvincing tone.
The minister's eyebrow arched as he crossed his arms.
"No," Harry suddenly announced. "No, I'm not alright, I think I'm going to take that vacation now."
"Alright Mr. Potter, don't let me stand in your way." The Minister said with an extravagant wave of his arms, motioning the door and grabbing Harry's cloak in one swoop.
Harry almost grinned.
"Thanks sir." Harry said, standing up and taking his cloak.
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"DAMN THAT PHONE!" Harry yelled, it was bloody nine o'clock at night, couldn't people call at a decent hour these days?
He picked it up.
"What?"
"Mr. Potter?"
"That's what it says on my license, who's this?" Harry asked irritably.
"This is Mr. Davis from the crime lab. I called to tell you the results of the autopsy on Ms.Weasely."
"Okay... But why me and not her parents?"
"Her parents weren't available at this time and your phone number was the only one on the list that got an answer." Mr. Davis from the crime lab explained.
"Okay, now. What about the autopsy?" Harry asked, he was hoping to get this conversation through with as quickly as physically possible.
"The angle of the puncture wound was disproportionate to signify a suicide." He said all that very quickly, as if trying to break it to him in the fastest way possible
"English!" Harry snapped, this didn't sound good.
"The angle of the stab wound wasn't at the right angle to actually be a suicide." Mr. Davis explained, slower this time.
"So you're saying...?"
"It wasn't suicide, it was murder."