Journey to You
Chapter 2: Funerals
Hermione awoke with a jolt, breathing heavy. Ginny's room was dark, but thankfully she had the moon to comfort her. She wiped the sweat off of her forehead and burned a candle with the tip of her wand. Mrs. Weasley made sure everyone in the house took a Dreamless Sleep potion before bed, but sometimes, one nightmare crept into Hermione's dreams. Figuring it was futile to try to go back to bed, she opted to read.
This sensation of insomnia was not new to her. There were times at school in which she would be found in the Library buried in notes and revision until Madam Pince forced her out. From there, she remembered pacing the Gryffindor Common Room, unable to turn off her brain, knowing that sleep was important. In her fifth year, she decided to knit scarves and hats, which coincidentally helped with her S.P.E.W. campaign.
Hermione bit her nails while she read her book on Memory Charm Reversal. She had read many books on this particular magic in the past, but this information has never been as important as it was now. Every time she finished a book, she'd want to start all over. She did not want her parents ending up like Gilderoy Lockhart. She wouldn't forgive herself if it did.
"Hermione?" Ginny yawned.
Hermione shot her head up to look at her well-rested friend. "Morning."
"Have you been up all night?"
"No," she lied quickly.
The two girls looked at each other for a moment; Ginny's suspiciousness made Hermione's heart pound. She didn't want to be questioned so early in the morning, especially with the funerals they endured all this week. After all that has happened, everybody came to a quiet consensus that now is not a good time to talk. They didn't know when, but they knew it would have to happen soon.
Ginny nodded and plopped back down onto her pillow. "I don't want to get up," she admitted.
Hermione responded by turning a page.
"I don't want to deal with anymore sad people. I don't want to see my mother cry again for the third day in a row." She gave a big sigh. "I don't want Aunt Muriel telling me that Fred was her favorite. We all know he wasn't."
They both smiled to themselves.
"Who do you reckon is her favorite?" Hermione chanced, finally putting her book down.
"Funnily enough," she said slowly. "I think it might be Ron."
Hermione chuckled softly. "He can't stand her."
"Exactly." Ginny sat up again, a small mischievous grin sliding onto her lips. "She dotes on that boy so much, it's probably insufferable for him. But I always had a feeling she knows he avoids her, and all of us voluntarily say hello. She likes the chase, that old bat."
They laughed a little more. Anything to get rid of the hurt that both of them were feeling inside. It felt like a normal day, but it wasn't.
There was a knock at the door. "Girls, breakfast is ready if you want it," came Bill's deep voice from the other side.
Never did Hermione think she'd thank Fleur for helping out while the family grieved. Mrs. Weasley, forever the strong nurturer, couldn't handle so many people at the Burrow after such a tragedy. When Fleur offered to help, Hermione and everyone else thought Mrs. Weasley would put up a stubborn fight. Surprisingly on the contrary, she hugged her daughter-in-law and retired to her bedroom. There was a definite shift in mood when that happened; everyone looked up to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for guidance and support. When they were grieving, it was like the whole house lost hope. Eventually, Bill and Fleur kept up the morale for the week, and everyone seemed grateful.
As the girls walked down the stairs, Ginny joked, "Bet you two galleons she's made some crazy French breakfast."
Mr. Weasley was sitting at the head of the table, staring down at his cup of tea. Honestly, they weren't expecting anyone else to come down, except maybe Harry.
"Morning, Dad," Ginny chanced.
Mr. Weasley looked up as if he was just awoken from a dreamless daydream. He forced a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "Morning, ladies." He resumed his sad position as Fleur turned around.
"Good Morning!" Fleur breathed, trying to keep up morale. She brandished a tray of assorted croissants, of which Ginny and Hermione took one. "Manger. And eef you do not like zis, I 'ave made eggs."
The girls sat down and Fleur went back to the stove. Ginny examined her croissant; she banged it against the table to see if it was too hard to eat.
"You've eaten a croissant before," Hermione whispered, picking off a piece of her own.
"I know," she mumbled, shifty-eyed. "Just making sure it's edible."
Ginny tried to spark some conversation with her father, but he excused himself not long after. He kissed the top of her head and uttered, "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the shed."
The three women ate in silence.
Hermione enjoyed the peace and quiet but could tell Ginny needed a distraction. "Do you think you'll get Quidditch Captain this year?"
The spark of a conversation relieved Ginny, and she gave a cheeky smile. "Most definitely. The last time we played, I won the Quidditch Cup for us. If it's given to McLaggen or Klein, you might mysteriously see them in the hospital wing a few days before the first match. Then, they'd realize what a mistake they've made. I'd never pansy out if I got two broken bones and inching powder in my robes."
"Sounds like Quidditch in here." Bill came in, grabbing a croissant from the food tray and kissing Fleur's temple.
"I 'ave never played," said Fleur, stuffing some scrambled eggs in her mouth. "But I would like to learn."
Ginny's eyes lit up. "You could take Hermione's place, she's rubbish. No offense, Hermione."
"None taken," she said dully. It was true she wasn't the best Quidditch player, especially compared to Harry and the Weasley's. She could barely keep herself steady on a broomstick. She would gladly sit out a game and watch Fleur make a fool out of herself.
They heard feet blundering down the steps. "Whatever's cooking smells delightful," muffled Ron's unmistakable voice. Hermione's heart leapt but was reminded of his constant forceful gallantry. She still did not want him to travel with her, if only to make his family not worry about his well-being anymore.
Fleur picked up her food tray and offered a croissant to a sullen Ron and to Harry, whose eyes looked lidded and completely sunken in. Hermione huffed at his obvious lack of sleep. But she couldn't blame him.
Remus and Tonks' funeral was three days ago, and Harry was a bit worse for wear. They were buried in Godric's Hallow, a few feet away from Harry's parents. Although it was what Harry thought was appropriate, it also seemed too much for him emotionally. Putting aside their argument about Australia, Ron and Hermione stayed close to one another. They were there for Harry when he gave a speech on Remus and Tonks' behalf, and they understood when he silently excused himself from the congregation afterwards.
They all ate breakfast, knowing that Percy was most likely busying himself with cleaning the joke shop, Charlie was distracting himself with work, and George was probably still asleep. With all the alcohol he's consumed in the last three days alone, it would alarm anyone. No one could really tell him off for it except Ginny. And sometimes, she would even join him.
This would be the first time Hermione has seen him in days since he locked himself up in his room. She would ask Ginny how he was, but she'd say the same thing: "I don't know."
George's state troubled everyone, and they were all anxious to see how he would behave during his twin's funeral.
Hermione's thoughts were stifled by Ron's moan. "These are really great, Fleur," he said. "What is this one?" He pointed at a round pastry with little brown specks on the sides.
Fleur smiled. "Pains au chocolat."
"I don't know what that is, but I heard chocolate." He took a bite and emitted another moan of delight.
"Must you do that at the table?" Hermione couldn't help herself from criticizing.
Ron swallowed and drowned it down with some orange juice. "What, eat? Yes, I must."
"No," she exasperated. "That… sound."
"If something is good, I compliment the chef. What's so bad about giving out a compliment?"
"Nothing." She regretted saying anything. There was no point in picking fights when they know the real argument they've been having for the last two weeks has been nothing but about Australia. They looked at each other. "What?" she asked rather harshly, hoping to just get their daily fight over with.
He looked a bit concerned as he furrowed his brow at her. Still, he mumbled, "Nothing."
The exchange was a bit more than awkward for everyone, so Hermione took this time to leave the table, wash up and get ready for the day's gloomy events. This was not a time to fight. She had to be there for Ron; he was probably covering up his hurt, just like Ginny and Bill had been.
She was combing the knots out of her wet hair when Ginny came in. She seemed a lot more somber than she had when she woke up.
"Mum came down," she said, looking into her wardrobe.
Hermione looked up and saw Ginny's shoulders shake up and down. She immediately dropped her comb and ran to her friend's side.
"Ginny…" she faded, not knowing exactly what to say to make her feel better.
Hermione has only ever seen Ginny cry once, when she broke her ankle in the Department of Mysteries two years ago. She was always very strong in front of other people. Hermione didn't know how to comfort someone who rarely showed weakness. But Ginny didn't seem to care. She put all of her strong walls down for a second and held onto Hermione tight as she let her tears fall freely.
They stood there quietly for a while, Ginny heaving silent cries and Hermione squeezing her with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. This was definitely not a time to be brave or embarrassed.
She felt Ginny begin to wiggle out of Hermione's grasp. Ginny wiped her tears and sniffled. "Thank you," she croaked.
Hermione nodded, frightened that Ginny was holding in her hurt despite her breakdown. Ginny took a deep breath and they prepared for the funeral in silence. They knew people had arrived already; their hushed voices bumbled from below.
"What do you think?" Ginny asked, twirling around. She wore such bright colors; you'd think she was going to a party.
Hermione smiled, knowing that Ginny wanted to best personify her brother's memory. "Perfect."
They opened the door to go downstairs, but they were greeted with George standing at the top of the first floor staircase. He was leaning against the wall, staring down at the landing.
Ginny walked up to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Looking good, big bro," she tried. He did nothing but breathe in and out slowly. "Why don't we go down together?"
"The speaker sounds like a small frog who swallowed a huge fly," he commented, his voice low and more unusual than what Hermione was used to.
Ginny snorted, "He kind of does."
"We should get going," Hermione suggested behind them. She didn't mean to sound insensitive, but it was nearly time for the service to start.
Ginny shot her a harsh glance, and said, "Whenever you're ready, George. We're right behind you."
"No, she's right," he said. "It's time to get this show on the road."
'Show?' Hermione thought as they walked down and out to the garden.
Many people stared at George as if he was a porcelain figure on display, afraid he would break at anyone's touch or words. But Ginny was George's feisty protector. Even though Ginny was a puddle in Hermione's arms not too long ago, she spoke to everyone so George didn't have to. She even tried to get George to laugh by asking their relatives uncomfortable questions. Try as she might, George's lips didn't even twitch.
Hermione glanced around at the sea of redheads before her, trying her best to spot Ron and Harry. Remembering what Ginny said this morning about her Aunt Muriel, her search narrowed greatly. She followed the heavy voice of a talkative woman through the garden. Lo and behold, she found Ron looking as if he was suffering to get out of a conversation with this woman, who was currently blowing her nose so loud it sounded like a brass trumpet.
"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted her. Ron looked relieved to she her. "You're Mum asked me to fetch you, Ron. Something about extra gnomes hiding in the barn…"
And with that, the two of them snuck off to where she left Ginny and George. They all found seats in front, closest to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. As much as they probably would have preferred to sit in the back, they wanted to represent Fred in the best light.
"Where's Harry?" Hermione whispered. No one answered as the speaker started the service.
"Thank you all for coming," croaked the speaker. "It is with great sorry and deepest sympathy to be gathered here on such an unfortunate occasion…"
Hermione heard Ron sniffle next to her; tears ran down the long of his nose and onto his lap. Choking up, she held on to Ron's hand tight as the service progressed. They didn't look at each other, but Ron would give Hermione faint squeezes to return the affection. Although they might be fighting, they knew it was because they cared about each other. She was crying herself, but she could only imagine how Ron felt.
The serviceman kept going on and on about Fred's many accomplishments in life, most of them embellishments from the truth. Hermione assumed it was to ease Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's minds. But, George couldn't take it.
"No," he grumbled, letting go of Ginny's hand. "No, no, this is all wrong."
"George…" Ginny began, but her brother was already up and storming off, kicking his chair over for good measure. Ginny followed after him. All eyes were on them until the serviceman cleared his gloppy throat and continued on.
Hermione turned to see if the two were okay. She did not see George, but Ginny was still in the back near the big oak tree. She was halted in her tracks, it seemed, for Harry was leaning against the trunk. This was the first time Hermione had seen them look at each other since the battle, and it didn't seem like they were going to look away any time soon.
She looked back at Ron, who hastily wiped his tears away on the hem of his robes. They looked into each other's bloodshot eyes, and seemed to be on the same wavelength. They both knew, in that moment, that they were going to stick by each other, no matter the hardship.
Suddenly, a loud bang erupted into the sky. Hermione jolted and was about to reach for her wand when the sky read in red lights: This is Fred speaking from the great beyond. Another firework erupted below it: Aunt Muriel, that hat looks hideous from up here.
Some people chuckled, knowing that it was as good of a sendoff for Fred than they could have hoped for. The service was disrupted by loud and bright fireworks jumping around the congregation. Many of them erupted crude words and gestures into the sky.
The speaker attempted to continue, but he was hit with a curse that made him croak like an actual frog every time he opened his mouth to speak. If no one was laughing yet, they were now.
Hermione knew this was most definitely George's doing. For George, it was probably just something he had to do. For everyone else, it was a symbol of hope that things would get better.