Chapter 6: Don't Call It That

It hurt more than the now purple bruise spread over his chest. It throbbed and burned inside his heart, each beat coming with an aching sense of loss. A simple casket made of oak stood before him, and to Harry, nothing surrounding it existed. He couldn't hear anything above the roaring and pounding of blood in his ears, and he couldn't take his eyes off the pale wood panelling in front of him. Vaguely he knew that he was surrounded by the Weasleys, their family members, people from Hogwarts. A huge amount of Gryffindors and members of Dumbledore's Army had come to pay their respects. Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood being the expected ones, but so too came Dean, Seamus, Neville, Luna and many others that Harry couldn't put names to. Several people that Harry recognised as old Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had made an appearance as well. There were well over seventy people in attendance, including Aunt Muriel. The Weasleys had been extremely worried about inviting her, due to the less than tactful comments she usually made, but so far, she had not uttered a single word.

Despite Percy and Molly's wishes to have the same man from the memorial take the service, Charlie and Ron had adamantly argued against it. George had offered no input in the matter. So another wizard who specialised in this area was called upon, though Ron still demanded to have someone who had participated in the fight to speak. Kingsley Shacklebolt, therefore, would be taking the service. Service. That's what everybody had been calling it. Harry himself, who had argued since speaking to Dumbledore at the age of twelve that fear of a name created fear of the thing itself, refused to say what it really was.

Kingsley stood at the front, leaning heavily against the golden engraved lectern that Fleur had insisted they acquire for the day, as if waiting for the utterly silent guests to settle down. His expression was sunken, tired. Sighing heavily, he began to speak.

"Fred Weasley. I am personally honoured to have known that man, even if only for a couple of years. Fred Weasley had many of the qualities that I personally favour: a good sense of humour, daring, loyalty, and most importantly, bravery. From the age of seventeen he was clamouring to become a member of the Order of the Phoenix, wanting to play his own part in the battle against Voldemort. A battle that would, eventually, take his life." Staring at his hands, Harry caught a glimpse of Ginny beside him. Her eyes glistened, and tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was all Harry could do to stop them from forming in his own.

"From what I've heard about Fred's time in school, it was mostly spent doing anything other than schoolwork," A couple of people chuckled, "But, contrary to his OWL results, he was a very skilled wizard, as proved to us by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, along with his twin, George. Their ingenious ideas brought much laughter to us in pretty dark times, but both seemed to enjoy taunting Death Eaters a little too much, with their vibrant advertising of 'the constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!' Even though the shop was eventually ransacked by Death Eaters, they continued to run the business by owl order, from the back rooms of their Great Aunt's house. Courage and determination rarely comes greater than that." Kingsley paused and looked around at the people gathered before him. The same expression was on everyone's face. An expression of whole hearted agreement.

"Fred Weasley is someone this world will miss dearly. Tears should be shed for his loss, and he should be remem-"

"Stop." Ron had stood up, and was looking straight at the minister. "Please, all this stuff you're saying, it's great, all true, but it's not right." He looked around at the faces turned towards him uncertainly. "It's not Fred," he finished quietly. A few people were nodding slightly. Ron looked at George.

"And you," he said. "You're his twin! His best friend, and even though you knew he wouldn't want this, you just sat back and let it happen! For Merlin's sake, George! He wouldn't want you to be acting like this; he'd hate it. He'd never want us to be like this," Ron gestured at the tearstained faces of friends and family. "Or have you all forgotten who Fred was in the time he's been gone? If he were here he'd be telling us that life goes on, and that we should stop all this moping! And if anyone here is blaming themselves," he looked directly at Harry, who tried not to shrink away from the icy glare he was given, "Then he would personally tell you to stop stealing his thunder. So would Fred Weasley want a drab funeral, on which a ridiculous amount of money was spent, where people wore black dress robes, and sobbed into handkerchiefs? Last summer, at Bill's wedding, he said that when he got married, everyone could wear whatever they wanted, and there would be none of this fancy tent stuff. Well, he's never going to get married, but the least we can do is send him off in a way that he would have approved of. And George, if you're not going to see sense, then I'm hoping Lee will. Lee?"

"Definitely." called the twin's dread-locked friend, standing up. Ron raised his wand into the air, an expression of intense concentration on his face. From the house there was the sound of breaking glass; Ron winced slightly. Into the tent flew about a dozen multi coloured objects that Harry instantly recognized at Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Lee too brought out his wand, and began igniting them each in turn. Within seconds the area under the canopy was filled with colourful sparks as the fireworks exploded. Several of the shocking pink catherine wheels that Harry remembered from his fifth year whirled through the air, accompanied by their usual shrill whistling. The profanity-spelling sparklers danced around Aunt Muriel, who was loudly protesting to such nonsense. Silver stars trailed behind large rockets, and several smaller versions of the fire breathing dragons snapped their flaming jaws at the open mouthed guests. Everyone was getting out of their seats, staring in awe and surprise at the vibrant display. Percy and Muriel looked outraged, but the rest of the Weasleys were beaming through their tears (save Mrs Weasley, whose expression was unreadable, and George, who was staring unseeingly at the large oak box before him) as if they had suddenly come to their senses.

The fireworks began to move off towards the deep freshly dug hole in the ground, with the tombstone reading 'Fred Weasley, April 1st 1978 – May 2nd 1998, Loving brother and son' sat in the ground at the head of it. Harry stood behind Ron and Hermione, who were the first to reach it. Ron leant over and whispered something to her. Hermione lifted her wand and pointed it at the stone. Much in the same way that Harry had done so for Dobby, but far more elegantly, the words "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." carved themselves into the marble.

"He would be glad you did that," Harry muttered quietly to his friends. They smiled in response.

Bill joined them by the headstone, and the rest of the Weasleys soon joined, Aunt Muriel supported by a rather annoyed Mr Weasley. With a flick of his wand, the wooden casket lifted itself off the ornate table it lay on, and drifted over to them. Tears were returning to the guests' eyes, welling up and spilling over. They didn't want to say goodbye, not before they had even come to terms with what had happened. It still felt like a bad dream.

The coffin was lowered gently into the grave. Harry put and arm around Ginny; she seemed almost unable to hold herself up any longer. Mrs Weasley began sobbing in earnest, and tears slid silently down Fleur's beautiful face. The same gut wrenching, chest splitting pain that had been haunting Harry since Sunday roared back into full flare, and this time he couldn't hold back the wetness in his eyes. He couldn't be gone...

They each took handfuls of earth, Harry squeezing his until it had compressed itself into a mould of the inside of his fist. Kingsley spoke a few words, but Harry wasn't listening; they seemed so unimportant.

"Harry," Ginny's cracked voice whispered in his ear. Harry glanced around. Dirt sprinkled the lid of the casket. Harry lifted his arm, and let his handful trickle into the grave. He turned his head away as the earth at the side of the grave was lifted up, and poured in.

Silence descended as everyone paid their final respects to their fallen friend.

"We won't mourn his death, not now," Ron spoke in a hoarse voice. "Let's celebrate his life."

"And a great life it was," Lee commented, to a few calls of "Hear, hear!" Chatter broke out again, a mixture of joyous and despondent. Harry glanced over his shoulder to find George. Eventually he found him. He was pushing his way back through the crowd, head down. Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head in his brother's direction. Ron looked concerned, but with a slight shake of his head indicated that talking to George was going to have to wait until later.

Harry decided that it was probably time to head in. The party was still in full flare, but he felt that for him, it was finished. After hugging Luna goodbye and swiftly kissing Ginny goodnight, he headed back to the house.

Quietly shutting the backdoor behind him, he crept across the kitchen before halting in his tracks. There were raised voices coming from the living room.

"So why did you leave?" Ron demanded.

"I don't know, Ron!"

"Yeah, you do! Quit lying, George!" There was a sigh of exasperation, and is his mind Harry saw George running his hands through his hair.

"It's none of your business!" he yelled.

"You're my brother, it is my business." Ron snapped back.

"You're too nosy, you know that?"

"And you're too closed off. You think you're the only one suffering in this family? The way you're acting, you would think that you were the only one who's lost a sibling, or even a son." George stayed silent. "I thought that you, of all of us, would be able to fight for him, know what he would have wanted for his own funeral, speak out. Obviously, I was wrong." Footsteps sounded across the wooden floor, and Harry shrank back into the shadows, holding his breath. Just as the footsteps reached the living room door, George spoke again.

"You could do it. I was his twin, we were like... two parts of the same person, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't say what I thought should be done, what I knew he'd want, but you managed. You even put that engraving on the stone... How could you do it, and me not be able to?" He asked weakly.

"Because I knew you wouldn't be able to. I don't blame you for it, George, I really don't. But do you honestly think that separating yourself off from the rest of us is going to help anything? You need us, and we need you. Night, George."

Harry remained with his back pressed against the wall as Ron retreated up to his bedroom, soon after followed by George.

Ron was right; they all needed each other.