Summary: It's never easy letting go.
Author's Notes: I wanted to try and keep this entire story in Harry's POV, but I just wasn't sure of a way to do it for this chapter, so this will be told from Ginny's POV instead.
Ginny swallowed hard as she stared straight ahead, focused on the casket that hovered lightly over a freshly hollowed grave, but without really seeing it. She didn't want to see it. She heard her mother's muffled sobs from beside her, but they somehow didn't register in Ginny's mind. She was numb to her surroundings, to the funeral taking place.
This isn't funny anymore, Fred, she thought vehemently, because surely Fred wasn't gone. Surely it wasn't his casket that hovered over the grave, and surely it wasn't his funeral. It was nothing more than Fred's idea of a sick practical joke, one that he had not even let George in on. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the casket, waiting for the moment when Fred would push back the lid and pronounce his joke to everyone and expect raucous laughter.
But nothing happened, and Ginny felt her cheeks flush in anger. Not her typical hex-now-ask-questions-later anger, but an anger that ran much deeper and tore at her insides until she was too numb to really feel the pain and sorrow that came as a result of that anger. She watched as the hovering casket carrying Fred's body was slowly lowered into the ground, and opened her mouth to protest, because how dare anyone take her brother away from her, the only brother who had ever fully understood her and her personality and her ability to think and make decisions for herself, and not only had he understood it, but he encouraged it and did his best to guide her as she did because she really was so much like him, but the words she needed caught somewhere in her throat.
There was so much she still didn't understand. Why had it been Fred? He hadn't chosen a career as a curse breaker, and he didn't spend his life working with dragons. He hadn't been attacked by a werewolf, and he certainly hadn't gone out in search of Horcruxes in order to destroy Voldemort, and he hadn't put himself in danger by working in a compromised Ministry of Magic. He had gone with everyone else to fight in the battle that night, but Fred lived for danger. The more dangerous the situation, the better. It was the risk and the challenge that he loved. And it had taken his life. And there was so much that she still didn't understand about how Harry had escaped death for a second time, but why her brother had remained lifeless. If Harry could survive, surely Fred could have survived, too?
Her throat burned as her thoughts rushed around inside her mind. She fought desperately to dismiss them because there was no way that she would ever truly be able to wrap her mind around the thought that she would never hear Fred's laughter again, or see the twinkle in his eye when he and George were obviously up to no good, which was most of the time anyway. He would never be there to turn to when she needed a talk, and she couldn't go to any of her other brothers, because they would just dismiss her as a silly little sister, and Hermione would be busy with her own matters. For the first time in her life, Ginny felt isolated. There were people all around her, and she should have felt smothered, but how could she when they were all wrapped up in their own grief and sorrow too much to worry about hers?
Ginny looked away to George. She had never seen him look so broken before, but understood why he did. He'd lost more than anyone else in that battle; he'd lost half of himself in an instant and how does someone go about shouldering the burden of making themselves whole again after something like that? She was doing her best not to think about it because she couldn't.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dirt that had been piled just to the side of the grave was whisked from the ground and blanketed over Fred's casket until the grave was completely covered and turned from George back to where the casket had hovered only moments ago. Her mother's sobs had grown louder and now saw that her father and all of her brothers were crying too, though Ron was doing his damndest to try and hide it.
Ginny felt her resolve beginning to crumble as she inhaled a sharp breath and cringed at the pain she felt. Fred had always called her the strong one, stubborn even, and he was half right; she was as stubborn as they come, but she doubted right now that she would ever be as strong as she had once been. Fred had been her strength, and that strength had gone with him.
She closed her eyes tightly as a warm and familiar hand slid onto her shoulder and then around her, drawing her back toward them. She had forgotten that Harry had chosen to stand behind her instead of beside her, which, she thought, was where he ought to have been, but she knew that he was having just as much of a difficult time with Fred's death as she was, even if he wasn't showing it, owing to the fact that he felt largely responsible for what had happened. He felt responsible for everyone that had died that night, but Fred had hit him especially hard.
Ginny grasped the arm Harry had put around her with both hands, grateful for something to hold onto. Her legs were starting to fail her, and in all honesty, she wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to keep standing when her knees had felt weak and wobbly during the entire funeral. She leaned more closely against Harry to keep from crumbling to the ground. She turned until her back was to the grave, unable to look at it any longer, and buried her head against Harry's shoulder.
Ginny felt the burning sensation in her throat increase and swallowed hard against it. She wanted to cry, to feel something, but she just felt completely numb and there were no more tears left in her to cry. It had been only a matter of days since Fred had fallen victim to that final battle, but she had grown tired of crying. It wouldn't bring Fred back.
Nothing would.
If you liked, please review with any comments or constructive criticism. It would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!
