This one's a bit longer. Thank Merlin Ron's finally back to himself - somewhat. And this is where the discussion about Snape's funeral takes place. I hope you like it! Please leave reviews if you can; they're very much appreciated, since it's my first time writing a long one. :) Enjoy!
"Fred's funeral is this Saturday," said Mr Weasley wearily over the breakfast table. A sob broke free from Mrs Weasley and she spilled a little milk on the table.
George was out in the garden again, talking to the gnomes. It seemed strange to them, why he would talk to the gnomes; but they contented themselves with the explanation that that was where Fred and he spent most of their childhoods. Ginny trembled a little as Mr Weasley made that announcement. Ron simply slowed down his meal, as if eating it slower could delay the funeral.
Bill and Fleur lived in the Shell Cottage now and Charlie returned to Romania to continue his work on dragons. Mrs Weasley had sent them messages describing the date and place of the funeral; they had all replied within a day, saying that they would come the day before. It was to happen at The Burrow, the funeral, and they had invited all his friends and relatives; "Fred always liked the crowd," mumbled George when Mrs Weasley was deciding on the guest list.
Not able to stand his mother sobbing anymore, Ron exchanged looks with Harry and Hermione, and the three returned to Ron's bedroom. "How's Snape's funeral coming along?" It was the first time Ron had asked them about it.
"Well, we've got the guest list. It's basically just the Order, Hogwarts staff and some of his students. I mean, he didn't really have any friends," replied Hermione as she took out her parchment again.
"Can you imagine? Living like he did? Without any friends, with everyone suspicious of him, and then having to kill his own master? Blimey, I know I couldn't have stood it." Ron mused. Harry had described to him once more about Snape's life, when Ron had become more accepting of Fred's death and was willing to listen. Hermione was thankful for this change in Ron's demeanour; she was actually afraid that he would remain sullen and depressed for the rest of his life.
"I know this sounds kind of narcissistic and morbid and what not, but at least I survived. I mean, if I had died, he would actually have no reason to live. There would be no trace of my mum left." They chuckled dryly, both at the seeming ridiculousness of the statement and the sheer truth of it.
"Do.. do you reckon that's even possible though? Loving a person for that long without any hope of being together at all?" Hermione's face turned pink as she asked the question, determined not to look at either of them, least of all Ron. Instead, she seemed to have found the bedsheet an extremely interesting object to observe.
Awkward silence permeated in the room as all three of them contemplated this, and at last, Hermione dared a lift of her head and saw that Ron was looking at her intensely, whilst Harry was standing beside the window, gazing out. "Yeah, I guess so," came Harry's voice. She knew who he was thinking of and knew that he really did believe so.
Meeting Ron's eyes, she saw his face turning into the same shade as his hair, and knew that her own was not far from it. The memory of their kiss suddenly flew back into her mind. In that moment of devastation, the kiss had felt like a safe haven. Everything around them had blurred and there was only the two of them. His lips on hers, taking as much as he was giving. She knew that Ron was not exactly the most sensitive of guys; and at that moment, his consideration for her passions had touched her. The red on her cheeks deepened – if that was ever possible – as she remembered the way she had lost control over her own impulses. Ron, it seemed, was reliving the same moment as she, and he too turned a shade redder.
"Oi Ron. Mum said that if you don't take care of the ghoul soon, you'll never see the dawn again," Ginny's voice sounded at the door, where she stood, observing the three of them. Hermione, broke her eye contact with Ron, embarrassed by the colour of her face, busied herself with sorting out the parchments. She stole a look at Harry, who had turned around and looked as though a bludger had hit him in the stomach. Ginny seemed to have noticed as well, for her face turned very red and she quickly left the room.
"Mate, you look like you just ate a fat lot of Puking Pastilles," Ron's voice broke the silence. Hermione punched his arm at this, which resulted in an indignant yelp from Ron. Harry sat back down on the bed and pulled out his lot of parchments. Hermione smiled when she heard Harry mutter under his breath, "Bloody Weasleys."
"So, as I was saying – about twenty minutes ago – the guest list. As for the attendance of these guests… well, no one, except for the Order, actually knows about the truth. So I was thinking that we could approach the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler and tell them the truth," said Hermione, looking at the list in front of her.
"Oh Merlin, no. There is no way in hell I'm going to talk to Skeeter again," Harry replied immediately, horrified at the prospect of having to talk to the very person who described him to be a moody, sensitive, two-years-younger-than-he-actually-was boy.
"But Hermione's right… if we don't tell everyone, they'd just think that Snape was an ugly, greasy Death Eater." Hermione smiled at Ron's support, though she knew that he wanted to placate her more than actually believing her words.
"Unless we demand the Daily Prophet for another writer. I mean, Skeeter can barely feel rejected, can she? Her skin's as thick as Grawp's," said Hermione with disgust. Both Harry and Ron threw her approving smiles, wonderfully glad that poisonous words could come out of her mouth as well.
"Well, I guess we could manage that. Xenophilius would be easy enough. He loves us. As for the Prophet, like you said, we'll just demand for someone else," said Harry.
"Yeah, I mean, we're practically heroes now, aren't we? Defeating Voldemort and all? Surely, the Prophet could spare us another writer." a smug smile curved Ron's lips as he emphasised the word heroes. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Well, I was thinking that we could just accept one of the million interview invitations we get from the Daily Prophet everyday and instead of talking about ourselves, we'll just talk about Snape. I mean, a bit of trickery goes a long way."
"Hermione, that's brilliant! That's exactly what we'll do. And we'll take care to not reply to the ones with Skeeter's name on it," Harry exclaimed, now hopeful of the prospect of revealing the story of Snape. Hermione, upon mutual agreement to this, crossed out the other options on her list. Then, she moved the parchment to the bottom of the pile, revealing the guest list.
"Well, for the guest list, I guess Draco has to be invited," Hermione's voice was reduced to a quiet mumble, for she knew the mention of Malfoy's name would provoke the other two. And she was right.
"Malfoy?" both of the boys turned on her, fuming.
"Hermione, have you lost that brilliant head of yours? Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore! He hurt Katie and he almost killed Ron!"
"Me, Hermione! He almost killed me! And Dumbledore! Does that mean nothing to you?"
"Do you honestly think that we should not include Draco, who was Snape's favourite student, in his funeral guest list? Draco adored him – no, worshipped him! And Snape, as we all know - though unpleasantly - , favoured Draco above any other student! We all knew that Draco was just following orders out of fear with all those incidents; even you, Harry, said that he had lowered his wand at the Tower!" snapped Hermione, who was determined to make them see the inevitability of it.
"Still! Don't you think it's just a bit too much of a stretch to invite a Death Eater to the bloody funeral?" cried Ron, resolved against giving up.
"The Malfoys have gone to the Ministry the day after the Battle and turned themselves in. Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban now on full terms, and Draco's condemned to service at St Mungo's everyday for two years. He's going to feel dreadful having to try to save those whom his father had intended to kill. Telling him to come to Snape's funeral will add to his guilt. And surely, a little bit more guilt would do him a lot of good?" Hermione knew she was right. The logic rang true. And she knew that Harry and Ron would relish the opportunity to see guilt on Malfoy's complexion, for it was so seldom evident on that pale face.
"Fine," said they in unison.
She knew she had won them when she saw hints of a snigger on their faces at the thought of making Malfoy guilty; she shook her head. Boys would always be boys.