I don't own the World of Harry Potter.
The funeral was short. There were no real precepts to it, most just wore scraps of black cloth tied around their twists or forearms. Very few words were spoken; no one wanted the service to linger. The dead were thanked for their courage and bravery in the battle and lowered into the damp earth to rest for eternity. Near to a hundred caskets simmered in the light that afternoon, each one containing the icy body of someone who had given everything so the world might be free of voldemort's evil. Their burial ground was amply placed just north of the castle and east of Hogsmeade in the soft, grassy plains just visible from Hogwarts. The rows of white marble head stones, each marked with a personal grievance, would forever stand as a reminder of the impact of the war and of those who stood to fight against it. Thousands sat weepy eyed and somber as the names of the dead were read aloud. Mothers wept openly for their children, brothers and sisters clung to each other for support, Aunts, Uncles, teachers, best friends, grandparents, business partners, estranged family members, friends made only in passing, all mourned those who had perished.
As the afternoon grew darker and the congregation drew apart, family and friends began to place flowers upon the graves. Ron dragged his feet along the marshy grass as he made his way to place the long stemmed rose, dangling between his thumb and middle finger, on his brother's grave. He read the inscription for that was sure to be the first of many times, -Fred Weasley- 1978-1998-beloved son, caring brother, devoted friend, and eternal prankster. Those words didn't describe Fred. No, those words were cold, lonely, used too often, they were meaning less. Someone reading this wouldn't understand Fred. They wouldn't love Fred the way they should. A hundred years from now the brother Ron new would cease to exist, he would be just another "beloved son, caring brother, devoted friend", one among the masses. This eulogy, forever embossed in stone, would never, could never be Fred.
He knelt down into the recently unearth peat and set the rose upon it, backing away as his family did the same. In an instance they were all back at the burrow. From the very moment his feet touched the floor it felt of home. His lungs breathed in the familiar sent as his legs tremble with the relief of his journey's completion. He was home.