Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all that is included in his universe belong to and were created by J.K. Rowling, bless her. I'm just writing this for fun, and apparently because I have nothing better to do with my time.

This story assumes the events and conversations of my earlier fic, Chapter 37, are canonical. Not that it makes that much of a difference, really.

Lastly, I'd just like to say, as to the title of this chapter, I would bet a million dollars I'm not the first person to think of it, but I'm not about to search the entire internet to check. Hell, it's possible I actually saw it somewhere and subconsciously remembered when I was coming up with a title. If so, let's call it an homage and leave it at that. Also, there's a character in here that some fanfictionados (totally my word) will likely recognize. That one is deliberate.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

CHAPTER ONE

The Boy Who Laughed

It was a hot, muggy day in the middle of July, and Harry Potter was looking across the road at the one place he'd hoped he'd never have to see again: Number Four, Privet Drive. The war was over, Voldemort was dead, and he was free to do what he wanted for the first time in his life. With this newfound freedom, he and his friends had made the prudent decision of returning to school for their final year, as they had been busy with...other things the year before. Unfortunately, this meant he needed to collect all of his old school things he'd left behind.

It was a reunion he wasn't exactly looking forward to. He and the Dursleys had not exactly parted on good terms (not that they'd ever been on good terms to begin with), and he was sure they wouldn't be any more pleased than he was to see each other again after supposedly parting forever.

His best friends Ron and Hermione had offered to come with him for moral support, and he'd been extremely tempted. Ginny, in her capacity as his girlfriend, had also offered, and he'd been even more tempted. However, in the end he decided that – amusing though having them along undoubtedly would have been – it would be better to just do it as quickly and painlessly as possible, with minimal interaction. And so, here he was, crossing Privet Drive, wondering for the hundredth time why he hadn't just gone to Diagon Alley to buy new things.

The house was exactly as it had always been. Evidently Aunt Petunia had been busy since coming out of hiding, because there were no signs that her flowers, hedges or Uncle Vernon's precious lawn had been neglected for any length of time, let alone nearly a year. Steeling himself, Harry trudged up to the front door and rang the bell.

'Just a moment, I'm coming,' came the unmistakable bellow of Uncle Vernon, though somehow his tone seemed a lot lighter than Harry could ever remember hearing it before. Perhaps it was a subconscious reaction to the knowledge that he'd never have to see his nephew again. Harry couldn't resist a smirk; this might still be amusing after all.

The door swung open and Harry had to catch himself to keep from laughing. The immediate drop in his Uncle's expression was extremely comical, and he suddenly resembled nothing more than a large fish with bulging eyes watching people tap on its tank.

'Y-you!' he stammered. 'YOU!' He pointed a shaking, sausage-like finger at Harry, seemingly unable to blink or say anything else.

'Who is it, Vernon?' came Aunt Petunia's voice from the kitchen. A moment later she appeared behind Uncle Vernon and froze, her expression giving the impression that she was suddenly choking on something.

'Nice to see you both, too,' remarked Harry dryly. 'Can I come in, or are you just going to stare at me all day?'

Uncle Vernon seemed to regain his senses at this, because his face became a very familiar shade of purple and he regained the power of speech.

'"Come in"?' he repeated incredulously. 'Of course you can't come in! You told us we'd be rid of you, boy! That protection thingy or whatever it was doesn't work anymore, does it? So you have no business being anywhere near this house!'

'Keep your trousers on, I didn't come by to catch up on old times,' said Harry impatiently. 'I just wanted to get the rest of my things that I left here last summer.'

'Is that so?' bellowed Uncle Vernon. 'Well, what would you do if I said we'd gotten rid of all of your rubbish, eh?'

'Have you?' asked Harry, arching an eyebrow. He imagined it would've taken the Dursleys some time to remove his things, owing chiefly to the fact that they would first need to work up the nerve to actually go near them.

For whatever reason, Uncle Vernon didn't seem able to conceal the truth, and after a few moments of stammering incoherently, he stepped aside to allow Harry into the house.

'Very well,' he said angrily. 'Go and collect your ruddy things then and be quick about it. And clean up the room while you're at it so Dudley can move his spare things back in there.'

Harry nodded as civilly as he could and began climbing up the stairs. Aunt Petunia remained rooted to the spot where she'd first appeared, and hadn't taken her eyes off him. He could feel her gaze following him up the stairs, but chose to ignore it. When he reached the landing, he was about to head over to his old room when a door opened down the hall and his cousin stepped out, just as shocked to see him as his aunt and uncle had been.

'I thought I heard you,' Dudley said simply. 'What are you doing back here?' His question held none of the malice Harry had grown accustomed to in his years growing up with Dudley; it sounded as though he was honestly just curious.

Just as odd was Dudley's appearance: he retained the muscular form he'd developed over years of boxing, but somehow he didn't seem quite as large and brutish as before. Harry couldn't put his finger on why that would be, since his cousin certainly hadn't shrunk.

'I came for my stuff,' Harry explained, pointing to his old bedroom door. 'I didn't have time to pack it all last time, and I didn't need a lot of it anyway. But I'm going back to school now, so I thought I should come and get it.'

'You're going back to school?' Dudley asked. 'So what Hestia said was true? The war really is over?'

Harry was slightly surprised to hear Dudley refer to Hestia by name, but he didn't comment on it. Rather, he just nodded in response to the question.

'Blimey,' said Dudley. 'So you really did all that stuff, did you? Fought Lord Whatsisname and everything?'

'Lord Voldemort, yeah,' Harry answered, not sure which took him aback more: Dudley taking an interest in anything to do with magic, or Dudley taking an interest in anything to do with him. A somewhat civil parting a year ago hadn't undone seventeen years' instinct when it came to his burly cousin.

Dudley let out a low whistle, evidently impressed, and then stood for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. It was a rather odd sight, really. After a short pause, Dudley shook himself out of his reverie and addressed Harry again.

'So did you need any help or anything?'

The unprecedented nature of this question made Harry quite sure he had misheard, and he had to master an impulse to clean out his ear with his finger, thinking that might be tactless. Instead, he said, 'What?'

'With your stuff,' Dudley elaborated. 'You've got a lot in there; I saw when Mum was cleaning the house when we got back last month.'

Harry's first instinct was to say no. After all, he'd never intentionally sought Dudley's company before, and indeed had avoided it whenever possible. Also, he didn't really need any help at all, since he could put just about everything into his trunk with one wave of his wand, then Apparate out with it. As he opened his mouth to refuse, however, he noticed that Dudley's expression was still just one of polite interest, and he seemed to genuinely want to help. He didn't know whether it was due to not wanting to discourage the first real act of kindness he'd ever seen Dudley make or out of sheer morbid curiosity, but he decided to accept the offer.

'Sure, Dud,' he said. 'Thanks.'

The two of them entered Harry's old room and set to work. It wasn't difficult; he'd left most of what he hadn't taken with him either neatly stacked or piled in his cauldron. It was only a matter of hefting it all back into his trunk, which still lay open from when he'd emptied it one year before.

'So when did you say you all got back?' Harry asked as he packed volumes one through six of The Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk.

'About a month ago,' Dudley replied, piling bottles of potion ingredients into Harry's cauldron. The very idea of such an image gave Harry a strong urge to laugh. 'Just before my birthday, which was too bad because I was hoping…well, never mind.' Though Harry was sure that what his cousin had been about to say involved wishing they'd gotten back earlier so as to have had enough time to plan a big party for his eighteenth birthday.

'At least you didn't have to celebrate your birthday on the run,' Harry supplied, trying to buck Dudley up. It didn't seem to work though, as Dudley just heaved a great sigh and said, 'Yeah.'

An awkward pause followed, in which Harry decided to check under the bed to see if they'd missed anything, though he was quite sure there was nothing there. Carrying on a conversation with Dudley was proving difficult; not surprising as they'd never really tried it before.

When he emerged again it was to find Dudley studying him. Before he could say anything, though, Dudley asked, 'So your lot come of age at seventeen, do you?'

'Yeah,' Harry said, wondering where that question had come from.

'Weird,' Dudley whispered. 'And you're allowed to do…you know…whenever you want?'

Harry was used to Dudley avoiding saying the word 'magic', so he paid it no mind. 'Well, not whenever we want,' he said. 'We can't do it in front of Muggles, say. Most Muggles, anyway. I could probably get away with doing it in front of you or your parents because you already know it exists.'

'So you're not allowed to mix with normal peo- er, Muggles?' Dudley asked.

'No, that's not true,' Harry said, somewhat confused as to where the conversation was going now. 'There are certainly some wizards who think that Muggles are a waste of time and space – that's a lot of what the war was about, actually – but there's nothing outside of prejudice saying we can't talk to you or anything. A lot of wizards and witches are Muggle-born after all, so you can hardly expect them to cut off ties with their own families. And lots of people marry Muggles, too.'

'Do they?'

'Well, yeah. If you fancy someone you fancy them; what's it matter whether they can do magic or not?'

'Heh,' snorted Dudley. 'I bet for some people it matters.'

'Well, yeah. On both sides, really. There are wizards who don't like Muggles just like there are Muggles who don't like wizards.' He tried not to stare pointedly at Dudley when he said this – he really did – but something about his tone must have come across, because Dudley scowled viciously.

'Look, I know what you're talking about, all right?' he said. 'I'm not completely stupid, you know. It must have been hell for you growing up here, and I…well, I didn't really help, did I? So I guess…I'm sorry.'

He held out his hand and Harry was so stunned he didn't do anything except stare at it for several seconds. Finally, he took his cousin's hand and said, 'Don't worry about it.' He wasn't sure he meant it, but he wanted to acknowledge Dudley's apology in some way and didn't know what else to say. He just hoped Dudley realized the scope of what exactly he was apologising for.

'You're letting me off easy, you know,' Dudley said, hinting that perhaps he did. 'You could hold this over me forever; I wouldn't blame you. I probably would.'

Harry pondered that. It was the sort of thing Dudley himself might have done – the old Dudley, anyway – but there didn't seem to be any real point to it.

'Yeah, well, eventually you get to a point where you realize there are more important things to worry about in life,' Harry said. 'What good is holding a grudge going to do me?' Releasing Dudley's hand, he closed up his fully packed trunk and cast a Featherweight Charm on it. Lifting it up by one of its handles, he prepared to Disapparate.

'See you around, Big D,' he said, repeating his words from their supposed final farewell the summer before, the one where Dudley had first shown signs of thinking for himself.

'Are you leaving from here?' Dudley asked.

'I was going to,' Harry answered, perplexed.

'I don't think that's a good idea,' Dudley said. 'You should let Mum and Dad see you go so they don't think you're messing around up here.'

Seeing his aunt and uncle again wasn't high on his list of priorities, and in the past he would have been more than happy to leave Dudley to deal with them, but he was feeling uncommonly charitable toward his cousin at the moment, who did after all make a good point.

'All right, I will,' he said. He left the room and made for the stairs, and when Dudley didn't follow he turned and asked, 'You coming?'

'I don't think I should,' Dudley answered. 'It'd be best if they didn't know I was talking to you; they're not too happy with me right now as it is.'

This surprised Harry as much as anything else he'd heard that day He'd never known Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to do anything less than dote on Dudley's every whim, much less be upset with him over anything. Rather than ask what the problem was – he was sure he didn't want to know anyway – he merely nodded. 'Okay. Bye, then.'

When he made it to the bottom of the stairs Uncle Vernon was waiting for him, Aunt Petunia hovering in the background.

'So,' his uncle said. 'Have everything do you?' Harry nodded. 'So there'll be no need for you to call again, isn't that right?' Harry nodded again. 'Excellent. Be off with you then, boy.' He gestured to the front door, but Harry had something else in mind. An idea had just struck him – a rather mean one – and it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Dudley was one thing, but regardless of what he'd told his cousin, he'd probably nurse a grudge against his former guardians for the rest of his life whether he wanted to or not.

'So long for good this time,' Harry said. 'Thanks for letting me come back for my stuff.' He hefted the trunk. 'I'll definitely be needing it. This is my last year at Hogwarts, after all. Sorry you can't come, Tuney.'

And as he turned to Disapparate, Harry caught the look on his aunt's face at his parting words. It was absolutely priceless.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Harry appeared a moment later on the lane leading to the Burrow, and as always when he set sight upon the house, his face broke into a smile. Though he was officially living at Grimmauld place now, he had been spending much more time at the Weasleys' than at his own home. The memories of Sirius weren't nearly as painful as they once had been, but the house still possessed a rather spooky ambiance to it that he found slightly unsettling. It didn't help that a dust corpse of his old headmaster still rose from the floor every time he walked in the front door, either.

Harry walked slowly up the lane toward the house, a feeling of anticipation in his chest swelling at the thought of seeing all his favourite people – even though he'd seen them all the day before. He couldn't help it; it was as if his grief for all those he'd lost was being beaten back by the happiness he felt that so many of them were still alive. He was sure Professor Dumbledore would have had something cryptic and inspiring to say about it.

He approached the house and knocked on the front door. He could hear through it the bustle of activity going on inside; Fred's funeral – a very long time coming – was that afternoon.

'Harry, dear!' Mrs Weasley exclaimed as she answered the door. 'How are you? Any trouble on the way here? You know I worry about you wandering around out there on your own. It's still so soon, and there are plenty of people-'

'It's all right, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, cutting her off with a smile. 'I Apparated right at the property line. Didn't even take me a minute to get to the house.'

'Yes, well, be that as it may…' but Harry didn't get to hear the rest of Mrs Weasley's concerns, because at that moment he was crashed into by someone short and fast, and was quite distracted by the pair of soft, warm lips pressing into his.

'Hey, you,' Ginny purred, beaming at him once they'd parted. Mrs Weasley had apparently decided to leave them be, since he could now hear her voice coming from the kitchen ('No, Ron, don't put that in the fire!'), but all he could focus on were the brilliant, sparkling brown eyes blazing into his own. That is, until a gigantic FOOM!, followed by a loud crash, several curses and a scream of frustration burst from the kitchen.

'Should we…should we help?' Harry asked, not sure whether to be concerned or amused. Ginny took on a more serious expression as she shook her head.

'I already tried,' she said. 'Mum's really on edge over this funeral, you know. She wants everything to be just perfect, and it's not like I blame her at all, but she's been a bit hard on the rest of us. Why Ron hasn't given up trying to help is beyond me. Even George said she's best left to do it alone at this point.'

'At least it's finally happening,' said Harry. 'Putting it off for so long can't have been easy for her.' For any of us.

'It wasn't,' said Ginny, 'but it might have been worth it in the end if the governors and the ministry had given way.' She sighed heavily. 'Nothing to be done about it now.'

'Well, let's just hope this is the only funeral like this she ever has to plan,' Harry said, unsure of what else he could say on the matter that hadn't already been said. Ginny nodded solemnly, then turned her attention to his trunk, which he'd dropped abruptly upon her enthusiastic greeting.

'Is that your school stuff?' she asked. He nodded. 'I'm glad you're going back,' she said, looking back at him. 'Hogwarts was so weird without you. It just felt…wrong.' Harry grinned somewhat humorlessly.

'I think there might have been a few other things going on last year that would have made it seem wrong whether I was there or not,' he said.

She shoved him lightly. 'You know what I mean. No matter how bad things ever got at Hogwarts, I could always count on you to be there. Last year I was on my own.'

'You did quite all right for yourself from what I hear,' he said, smiling earnestly now. 'And you weren't on your own. Neville and Luna were there with you.'

'You're right,' she sighed again. 'It just would've been nice to have someone to cuddle sometimes.' She wrapped her arms against him again and hugged him tightly. He hugged back, knowing exactly what she meant.

'Let's go out back,' she said after a few minutes of the two of them just holding each other silently. 'I want to show you the plot where we're burying him.' She let go of him and took his hand, leading him through the house to the back door that was seldom used (in order to avoid the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley was still going at Ron).

'So it's definitely been decided, then?' Harry asked, referring to the question of where Fred was going to be buried. The entire Weasley family had been debating it for weeks, ever since it became clear a local burial might become necessary, and the pressure was getting to everyone. It had been over two months now since Fred's death; the only thing everyone seemed to agree on was they had waited far too long.

'Yeah,' said Ginny. 'The only other place that would have made sense was the church cemetery down in the village, but barely anyone knew him there. This way he'll be surrounded by people he knew and who loved him.'

'That makes sense, I guess,' said Harry, who'd never really thought much about the significance of where one was buried, except perhaps regarding Dumbledore. He was glad to have been able to give Dobby a proper resting place, but he regretted not being able to do more for Mad-Eye Moody. He couldn't even remember what forest they were in when he'd buried the eye. He'd have to ask Hermione if she remembered. She probably did.

Ginny led him to the small pond past the garden, and around it so they were on the opposite bank from the house. Placed under an old willow tree there was a small dais, which would be supporting Fred's body in only a few hours.

'We're not doing a tomb or anything like Dumbledore,' Ginny explained when she saw Harry eyeing the small alter. 'This is just so people can see him before we bury him. It's been so long since the wake.' There was an edge of bitterness in her voice at that last remark. He knew she, like everyone else, was still upset at the final ruling against war burials at Hogwarts, and was perhaps now regretting pushing for it for so long.

'It's nice,' said Harry, admiring it. It really was a beautiful spot; the way the angle was set up, anyone visiting the grave at dawn would be greeted with the rising sun reflecting off the pond and through the branches of the willow tree. He knew this, having seen it himself only a few weeks before, sitting in this same spot with Ginny. Of course they would have to find a new spot now; while it probably would have amused Fred to no end to have the two of them snogging right next to his tombstone, he somehow didn't think Mr and Mrs Weasley would appreciate it very much.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

By two o'clock that afternoon, people had begun to show up for the service. The same tufty-haired wizard who'd spoken at both Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding showed up around half-past, and Harry wondered if this man didn't preside over every magical funeral in the country, having already had to sit through him again at Lupin and Tonks' funeral a few days previously. He got the feeling it wasn't the sort of thing Fred would want at his own funeral, which was why his left hand was currently gripped around the stash of Weasleys' Wildfire Whizbangs hidden in his pocket. He'd promised George he'd set them off as soon as the proceedings got 'too solemn for their own good' which, judging from past experience, would be as soon as the wheezy little man opened his mouth.

It was, as all funerals he'd yet been to, a unique experience. Whereas Dumbledore's had been a large and public affair, and Lupin and Tonks' had been very small with only close family, friends, and members of the Order in attendance, Fred's was a mix between the two. It was hardly the headline-grabbing event of Dumbledore's, but many more people he recognised had come than at Lupin and Tonks'.

Aside from all the members of the Order and most of the Weasley relatives Harry remembered from Bill and Fleur's wedding the previous summer, many others had come to pay their respects as well. Lee Jordan was of course one of the first to arrive, along with everyone from the old Gryffindor Quiddich team like Angenlina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Oliver Wood. There were a few other people whom Harry knew by sight but not by name as people who'd been in the twins' year at Hogwarts.

Verity, the young witch from the twins' shop was there, crying heavily, as were a couple of girls Harry had seen down in the village of Ottery St Catchpole on the rare occasions he'd been there. Luna and her father had come, as well as Mr and Mrs Diggory and – to Harry's great surprise – Filch, the surly caretaker from Hogwarts who'd been at war with Fred and George since they first set foot inside the castle.

Most of the rest of the Hogwarts staff had come as well, along with a number of people Harry recognised from Hogsmeade. One of the last people to arrive was a tall, dark-haired girl in expensive-looking black robes who looked vaguely familiar, but whom Harry couldn't place.

'Who's that?' he asked George once everyone had arrived and taken their seats. He indicated the dark-haired girl who had chosen a seat off on her own and had at least two empty chairs between her and anybody else in every direction. She was crying silently, but gave no indication that she knew anyone else present, and the rest of the guests were treating her with an equal amount of indifference.

'That's Iris,' George said. 'Parkinson,' he clarified at Harry's puzzled look.

'Parkinson?' asked Harry, shocked. 'You don't mean…'

'I mean the one whose little sister tried to rat you out during the last battle, yeah,' said George, nodding. 'She and Fred have been on and off for years. Bet it's tough on her. They had a row only a couple of days before we went into hiding, and she didn't see him again before he died.'

Harry was having trouble swallowing this unexpected new bit of information. 'Fred was going out with…with Pansy Parkinson's sister?' he stammered. 'How come none of us ever knew about it? And what did he see in her, anyway?'

'Well, dear Iris didn't exactly want it to be public knowledge, now did she?' George said wryly. 'You know her sister; that should give you some idea of what her family's like. Not as bad as the Malfoys or Sirius's family, but they still would have been right furious with her for going out with a filthy blood traitor like Fred.'

'So she wanted to keep it a secret?' Harry asked. George nodded. 'I can't imagine Fred being too happy about that.' He himself wouldn't have been, either, come to that. It would have to hurt for someone you cared about to feel ashamed to be with you.

'No, he wasn't,' said George ruefully. 'Half the time when they were "off", that's what they were rowing about. But they always ended up back together. He even said he was thinking of proposing to her when the war was over – force her hand.' A sad smile crossed George's face, and it was such a poignant expression on someone who was usually so jovial that Harry had to look away to choke back a sob. 'As for what he saw in her,' George shrugged, 'only he knew. He got pretty shirty with me whenever I asked him about it.'

'Well, she can't be all bad if Fred was thinking about marrying her,' Harry reasoned, though he still found it difficult to believe. 'How did she know the funeral was today? Did you tell her?'

George nodded again. 'I knew nobody else would think to invite her. Hell, no one else would even know she'd want to come, would they?' He paused to look at his watch. 'It's about time to start. You've got the Whizbangs, right?'

'Right here,' Harry said, pulling them out of his pocket just enough for George to see.

'Excellent,' George smiled. 'Thanks a million, Harry.'

'Don't mention it.'

With that, George walked away to his seat up front, and Harry walked over to where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were talking.

'George says it's just about time,' Harry told them. 'Reckon we should find some seats.'

'Okay,' the three of them said, and began moving up toward the front.

'You coming, Harry?' Ron turned and asked when Harry didn't follow them.

'Um, actually, I was thinking…I'd rather sit near the back.' He felt like a berk just saying it, but he knew he'd never manage to pull off George's request sitting up front. Or with his friends, for that matter, but he was in enough hot water as it was without claiming he wanted to be alone. If he was lucky, one problem would take care of the other.

'What for, Harry?' Hermione asked. She seemed honestly curious, but Ron and Ginny looked rather annoyed. Ginny opened her mouth, perhaps to tell him off, and Ron wasn't far behind her.

'It's just…it feels less awkward from back here,' he babbled, knowing it would be an unacceptable excuse.

'Oh, is that it?' Ron asked. 'Sorry if my brother's funeral is too awkward for you, mate. You didn't seem to mind sitting up front for Tonks and Lupin.' Harry cringed; they had him on that one.

'Ron!' Hermione yelled. 'Don't go getting all defensive! You know Harry cared about Fred; how could you even say something like that? If he wants to sit in the back, I'm sure he has a good reason.' To her credit, Hermione sounded as though she really believed what she was saying, though Harry was certain she was wondering about his decision as well.

'Look,' he said. 'I'd like to sit with you lot, but if you want to sit up front, I understand.'

'Well good, I'm glad you do,' Ginny snapped, 'because that's where we'll be.' She spun around and stormed up toward the front row of seats; Ron spared him a rueful glance before following in her wake. The anger in her voice had been nothing compared to the hurt expression on her face, and despite the fact he was sure they'd forgive him later, it didn't make it any easier to deal with in the moment. Hermione gave him a non-committal shrug before following the other two.

Trying hard not to worry too much about their reactions, Harry forced himself to remember that he had a job to do. He sat down in the second to last row, across the isle from Iris Parkinson. The area around him was almost as deserted as it was around her. He pulled out his wand, ready to ignite the fireworks still sitting snugly in his left pocket.

The procession started off much as he'd expected it to, with the tufty-haired old wizard (whom Harry doubted had ever even met Fred, let alone known him as well as his speech was letting on) droning on about how 'noble' and 'brave' Fred had been, and how he would be glad to know that his sacrifice had not been in vain – that the rest of his family had survived. It was when the man began talking about what a pure spirit Fred had possessed, and all the good he could have done in the world, that Harry knew the time had come. He pulled the fireworks from his pocket, and without giving anyone any time to notice what he was doing (not that they were looking at him anyway), he touched his wand to the fuses, igniting them, and then used a levitation spell to send them about ten feet into the air before they took off.

At first no one seemed to realise what was happening. There was a loud whistling noise that made it hard to hear the wheezy voice extolling the virtues of Fred's 'Honorable and generous soul', and then all of a sudden there came three mighty explosions in rapid succession directly above the ceremony.

The way everyone's head snapped up at the exact same moment was almost comical, but as Harry's followed them a half-second later he didn't really have the time to appreciate it. More explosions followed the first three, and bursts of light in all colours imaginable were illuminating the partially shaded garden. Small flame dragons were flying about breathing their own fire in turn, Catherine wheels laden with sparklers were spinning wildly, and an almost celebratory music filled the afternoon air. George had certainly outdone himself on this batch.

All around him, Harry could hear the astonished gasps of the funeral guests; some were clearly scandalized, some merely shocked, and he was sure he actually heard a few people cheering. On impulse, he glanced over at Iris Parkinson, who like everyone else was focusing her gaze on the light show above, but there was something else in her expression that caught Harry's attention: tears were still leaking from her eyes, but now she was laughing through her sobs and was smiling so brightly that Harry couldn't help but smile with her. His attention remained on her until the loudest explosion yet made him jump, and he looked up to see Fred's image grinning down at them all, floating above the words:

WHY SO GLUM, CHUMS?

Now it wasn't just a few people cheering. The whole garden was alive with people yelling, whooping, and laughing. Another glance at Iris showed her to be somewhere between bawling and guffawing; perhaps unable to decide on one or the other, she had simply settled on both. Harry himself couldn't keep an enormous grin from splitting his face in two, and his heart felt lighter than it had in over a year. Even with one of them gone, the twins truly had a gift.

There was another loud bang from up near the dais, and Harry looked to see George standing there with his wand pointed at the sky, obviously having just made the noise. He had apparently turned the wheezy old man into a duck, and commandeered the position of key speaker. The volume died down quickly, but not the exuberance brought on by the fireworks display; few people retook their seats as George began to speak.

'Fred and I want to thank you all for coming,' he said loudly, for not all the noise had yet vanished. 'And since we all know that if Fred were really as righteous and gallant as this bloke was making him out to be then he would've at least told Filch where we hid his toupee, let's all stop pretending and send him off in style.' A couple of people clapped at this, and he heard a whistle or two, and Iris let out another laughing sob.

'Fred Weasley was a joking, pranking, conniving, sneaky, right pain in the arse,' George said matter-of-factly. 'And we wouldn't have had him any other way. When I lost my ear, and everyone else was so worried sick about me, Fred gave me a right bollocking for not making a good enough joke. I know for a fact he'd be trying to hex us all if we didn't do him right at his own funeral.

'Yes, Fred died fighting Voldemort.' (A shiver went through the crowd at the mention of the name, but George pretended not to notice). 'Yes, he was never afraid to do what was right, and carried that to the very end. But that's not what I'll remember. I'll remember my brother who helped me invent Puking Pastilles and Fever Fudge. I'll remember playing jokes on Mum, acting like she couldn't tell us apart. I'll remember the first member of our family to welcome back my brother Percy,' there was a slight hitch in George's voice, but he powered on, 'after everything he'd done. And wouldn't you know it, it turned out to be the shock of Percy actually telling a joke that finally did him in. Way to go, Perce.' George smiled at his older brother, and though it was difficult for Harry to see from where he was, he thought he saw Percy smiling back with tears in his eyes.

'So let's get to work and bury this wanker, who may be gone forever but will never be forgotten. He asks only that you don't step on him when you come to visit, though Filch, you're welcome to have a dance or two if you like.' Another ripple went through the crowd, this time one of appreciative laughter. For a final tribute, George conjured himself a flagon of mead and raised it into the air with the toast: 'To Fred Weasley, the Boy Who Laughed!'

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

END NOTES: Many people familiar with HP fanfiction might recognize Iris Parkinson. Her appearance was an homage to one of my favourite fics of all time (HP or otherwise).

As for the long wait between Fred's death and his burial, it is certainly unusual but not unheard of. A number of circumstances can lead to delays in situations like this. I couldn't possibly have had any of those in mind when writing this. Will it even come up again? Who knows?