IN THE STREET, BYRON BAY
"Erm," said Harry, blinking.
"Pretty much," said Ron, taking a big lick of chocolate ice cream, "Do we break it up?"
"Erm," said Harry again, swapping his own ice cream to his left hand, just in case he needed his wand.
"You think you're the only one that cares about Fred!" Ginny was bellowing, red with emotion, hot tears spitting off her cheeks.
"You're not a twin, you don't know what it's like-" George sounded impatient, annoyed.
"I lost my brother, you total arse-"
"My twin, you selfish, stupid-"
"How DARE you-"
"Don't even think you understand what it's like-"
"Your grief isn't more important than mine! You don't know what he means to me, he was the only one who understood-"
"HE WAS MY TWIN. I FELT IT WHEN HE DIED, GINNY, I FELT WHAT HE FELT. SO JUST SHUT UP, OK, YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING."
George's voice was booming all of a sudden, his face red and scrunched up, rage and grief shaking though him, making him seem taller, broader, somehow more normal than he'd been in months, but also more monstrous.
Tears streamed down Ginny's face.
"You felt-"
"Just shut up." George gave her a look of loathing, dumped his uneaten ice cream in a nearby bin and strode off.
Ginny looked like she'd just been punched in the face.
Ron took another hasty lick of ice cream to stop it dribbling onto his fingers.
"Tell you what," he said lightly, "You deal with Ginny, I'll go keep an eye on George,"
"Er… right. Yes, ok…"
Ron loped off after George, ducking his head on the way past Ginny to say, in an urgent tone:
"You've got an ice cream emergency there, Gin, quick, before it melts everywhere,"
To Harry's surprise, Ginny's focus shifted promptly from the middle distance where George had been, back onto the fast-melting ice cream in her hand. Harry seized what he assumed was a temporary hiatus to steer her away from the ice cream shop, down the street towards the park by the beach.
He found a nice bench for them to sit on, under what he assumed was the Australian equivalent of a pine tree. It was sort of bedraggled and scruffy, with dark greenish grey needles, and hard, spiky little seedpods that littered the grass and meant walking bare foot was a bad idea.
Sniffles and tears were the quiet sound track, overlaid on the sounds of the sea, and children playing, and cars parking, and Australian accents mingled with international tourist languages. They ate their ice creams, wiped their sticky fingers on serviettes, and Harry got up to put the remains in the bin. He came back and crouched down in front of Ginny, looking up at her, concern all over his face.
Ginny bit her lip.
"He used to sneak me sweets," she said, her voice barely audible, "When I was little. And he helped me… He helped… I miss him so much…"
Tears welled in her eyes, and Harry leant forward, kneeling, to hug her tightly as grief and anguish took hold and she cried as though… well, as though her brother had been killed.