[ ooc; drabble: marchin' on ]
Title: Marchin' On
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4977
Warnings: None.
Summary: There were forces stronger in the world than Dark Magic or hatred or the desire for power - there was love, and then there was love lost. And it was impossible not to cower before it.
Notes: I wrote this when I had a fever of 105 so it's kind of terrible. Sorry. ;;
Off in the distance, a high pitched ringing noise had Harry's nerves on edge. It was vaguely familiar like a dream he'd just woken up from, but with all the vivid details of the memory that came with it. Lungs heavy with thick dust floating about the air, vision blurred from the force of impact, and barely audible screaming filtering through that ear splitting ringing.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice snapped him from his reverie, the far-off glaze of the still fresh memory fading from his eyes as he turned to look at his best friends. Hand in hand, they were, but Ron wasn't looking Harry's way. His eyes were focused on what lay in front of them: rows and rows of chairs, many of which were already occupied; a then-vacant stone tablet centerplace in the forefront; and the small fire of the characteristic Weasley red hair huddled together off to the side of it all. Harry took the scene in with a sense of dissonance, as though that dreamlike state had yet to wear off and he wasn't certain any of this was real. It wasn't until he felt the warmth of another's hand slipping into his that the ringing settled and he was pulled back into reality, Ginny standing at his side with her head lowered. He could feel her hand trembling - he suspected she took his out of fear that her whole body would be sent into spasms had she not - and he gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring squeeze before the four of them made their way to the first row of seats.
Fred Weasley's funeral was quickly under way.
It took a moment longer for the procession to begin on account of some mishap between members of the family. George wouldn't say a word, hadn't in longer than anyone really cared to recount, but in this particular setting, he lost it at the sight of his older brother, Percy. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had already taken their seats by the time George leapt to his feet and made a grab for him, Bill, Charlie and Arthur doing what they could to restrain him as Molly did her best not to break into hysterics. He was shouting hurtful, cruel things, words he didn't mean but stung with all the bitterness of a twin scorned and left as half of a whole. Fred was meant to the rash and angry one, not George, but that space was left unoccupied and someone had to fill it. Harry thought he ought to do something and made to move when Hermione put a hand on his knee, eyes lowered to the ground in an unspoken 'don't.' It was Ron who got up and stood between his brothers, tired circles dark beneath his already red eyes as he looked up to the painfully spitting image of the man they'd all lost.
"Come on, mate. You don't want to do this." His voice sounded dead tired, and something inside Harry's chest felt swollen at the sound of it catching before he continued. "He wouldn't want you to do this."
George sobbed weakly, his fight dissipating as he sank into the arms restraining him and broke into choked tears. He let them ease him back into his place next to his mother and father, leaving Percy standing uncomfortable and alone before them. It almost seemed as though he meant to leave, the guilt and anger and pain written as though in ink across his face, when Ginny was then the next to speak up.
"Perce!" The family nickname, one they hadn't heard used since -- and he looked over to her with bleary eyes. Always his weak spot, the little sister he adored more than the Sun and the Moon, and she forced a smile that hurt more than the sight of her tears as she held a hand out to him, an invitation to take the seat beside her. "Please."
And so it was that everyone found their seats, the Weasley family (including Harry and Hermione) taking up the entirety of the front row as a band of friends, distant family, former classmates and professors, admirers - and just about every person that'd ever run across the lost twin in his time - filled the rows behind them. Even Peeves had ventured out of the castle for this one, no doubt to recognize a shared knack for the devious, and he wasn't the only deceased among them. As Harry surveyed the crowd, he noted a total of one hundred and forty-six attendants, all come to honor one of the smartest, most wicked talented wizards to live. It brought a light sense of ease to the bundle of nerves that had become of his stomach. He thought Fred'd quite like to know he'd amassed such a party for his funeral. Which, he also noted, had yet to start even after things had settled down a bit.
People were beginning to murmur, wondering if something had gone amiss, when suddenly the crackling of flames igniting the tablet garnered everyone's attention. A mild state of panic erupted but just as quickly as they'd come, the flames faded away and left Fred's body upon the tablet in their wake, along with a bed of flowers and roses, a large moving portrait of him, and a pedestal upon which stood a thin man in black formal robes with a silly bowtie. There was an audible sigh of relief amongst the mourners, including some applause from those that fondly remembered Fred's flare for the theatrics. Hermione was shaking her head, tears lingering in her eyes as she smiled feebly and muttered 'honestly.' Even George seemed to have gotten a kick out of it, his eyes glowing with a love that burnt as brightly and as strongly as the flames that presented him his twin.
Harry, on the otherhand, was once again thrown back into a memory. The bright flashing lights of spells being cast haphazardly across the school's grounds, exploding chunks of debris flying in every which direction and only just remembering to duck before it all took off his head. Percy's painfully white grip on Fred's body as he tried so desperately to protect him from further harm, despite the damage done and still being done. An echo of someone calling his name, crying, screaming, 'Harry!', a flash of green light--
"--rry. Harry!" came the hushed voice of Hermione once more, a look of concern and confusion on her face. He realized he must've been shaking, as Ginny was also looking to him with tear stained eyes that'd been broken for far longer than was really fair. He blinked the screaming away and nodded.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine, really. Just...deep in thought, you know."
The answer seemed satisfactory enough, though he knew something was faltering within him, and they all turned their attention back to the man who was nearing the end of his speech by recounting the various crimes and misdeeds done throughout Fred's career in mischief. Funerals are hardly meant to be the most joyous of occasions, but the man hired for the job was to make it comedic and light hearted, working short jokes and grand gestures in to keep the spirit of Fred's nature alive. Even the portrait of him was grinning like a wolf, ear to ear with a touch of deviance that was once a telltale sign of pranks unseen. Every now and then, he'd stop to roll his eyes and smirk a little, as if to say 'What're you all crying about, you big babies?,' before going back to grinning and applauding his accomplishments. It was strange and surreal, having so much of his character still very much alive in all the nit picky details woven into the commemoration of his death. It was just so Fred that hardly anyone could've expected anything less.
It was something of a comfort in a time when comfort was most needed.
"And now for some words from the family of the deceased. Though I'm told I'm not allowed to let all of you speak, lest we be here till mid-July," the man said sweetly, stepping down from the podium. Arthur turned to offer the speech to the one person who knew Fred the best and deserved to send him off the most.
"George?"
Up until this point, George had managed to keep himself relatively composed (disregarding, of course, the event's earlier outburst). He'd even laughed once or twice at the jokes he knew Fred specifically outlined, because they were things that only made sense between the two of them, as so many other things did. It only seemed right that he be the one the speak, and not a soul in the world aimed to disagree. But as they sat in wait for him to take his place on the pedestal, he stayed stone still, hardly even seemed to be breathing. Harry wasn't even sure it was actually George when he spoke and not a whisper on the wind, it was so faint.
"I won't."
"What?" his father asked, startled at the unexpected response.
"You heard me. I said I won't," he repeated again, louder this time, though only those closest could probably hear him. Molly clutched her hand over her heart, then moved to place it on his shoulder.
"Dear..."
"No!" he shouted, jumping out of his seat before she could make contact. "What d'you want me to say, huh? What, that Fred is - was - the most brilliant wizard I ever met? That together, we'd caused enough property damage to be scrubbing the floor of Gringott's for the rest of eternity? Or, what, that-that I miss him? 'cause I think you bloody well know that already." The very wind itself seemed to have stopped for George's venting, an unbreakable silence filling the air between everyone as tears fell relentlessly in his anger stricken grief. Percy tentatively had his arms wrapped around Ginny's shoulders as she quietly cried into one hand, the other wrapped around her body as if to protect herself from the way his words cut deep on everyone's minds. Harry kept his eyes on George though, despite the vitriol seeping from the man's pores, because he could see he was mourning. Only he didn't know how.
Slightly quieter, not quite as harsh, George looked up to face the crowd as he continued. "You lot expect me to get up there and talk about my brother, my twin, like he's gone. Like that's right and natural, how it should be done. But I won't give a speech about him. I won't talk about everything we did together, I won't bring up memories of our childhood. I won't refer to him in the past tense like he's gone, because for me, he won't ever be. I'll see him every time I glance at a mirror, hear his voice every time I speak a word. He's everywhere and nowhere and you expect me to give a speech about him? I've only got one thing to say and I'll have it on Merlin's word: he's a right proper git." He stopped there with a shuddering exhale, wiping his eyes on the edge of his sleeve before turning over his shoulder on instinct.
"Come on, Freddie, let's get--."
'--out of here' lingered unsaid in the air as George realize Fred wasn't behind him the way he always was, the way he should be, but was instead laying on a tablet with his hands folded atop his chest and his eyes shut, never to open again. That seemed to be the last straw for him, and he stormed away from the procession with a hand covering his mouth as though he'd said something foul and might be ill. Things fell apart from there, several of the guests collapsing against each other in loud sobs and sore attempts at consolation. Even Fred had abandoned his frame. No one was really certain what to do. George wouldn't Apparate to Macedonia or anything crazy like that; they knew he cared too much to really leave. But no one knew how to approach him either, and there was no carrying on without him.
This time, it was Harry who stood to intervene.
As he walked over to where George stood by the edge of the nearby lake, the feeling of rubble and stones beneath his feet came to mind. He was running, breathless with hardly enough time to think, and he'd only just joined Percy and Fred in time to see it all happen. The sudden force of being blown sidewards, Ron screaming Fred's name, blood. So much blood. No one was left perfectly unscathed. The explosion caught them unawares, and it was a miracle they weren't all lost to it. But that thought brought absolutely no comfort to his mind as he took to George's side, both men standing with their hands in their pockets and looking out over the water. It stood still and undisturbed, peaceful, serene - soothing. George spoke first.
"He always wanted to be buried here, you know. First place we ever used magic. Family trip to the lake, just before Ron was born, and we were...ecstatic." Harry turned to watch him as he spoke, his eyes and tone remaining fond and distant. Like in a dream. "Only two years old and already wildly out of hand. We wanted to push Perce in but we ended up falling ourselves. He ran to get Mum but she was already so pregnant, she couldn't move too fast, and by the time Dad made it 'round, we'd already sunk pretty far in.
"But Fred, he. He didn't panic like me. He wasn't afraid. Just took my hand and we both reached up toward the surface - then exploded out of the water like a bottle rocket. We landed on the grass without so much as a scratch and just howled with laughter. Even asked Dad if we could have another go. Mum still says Ron was born early on account of our nearly giving her a heart attack."
A story like this ought to have been one shared with everyone, Harry thought idly, but he didn't say anything. He wanted George to say his piece. Another moment passed in silence before the older man's wits failed him and he lowered his head, voice tightening a little with each word.
"I should've been there with him."
"I know," said Harry calmly.
"He shouldn't've died."
"I know."
"It isn't fair."
That one had his voice breaking on the last word, and Harry spoke softly when he said once more, "I know."
George nodded his head, tears falling endlessly even as he made an effort to wipe them away. Harry caught flashes of the Great Hall, lined with the bodies of fallen comrades and foes, the injured and the weak. He felt his entire being, from toes to soul, shaking under the weight of it all. He stood at the center of The End, felt the cold, harsh embrace of Death, and then he opened his eyes.
"Did you see Fred over there?" Harry asked brusquely, and George looked at him as though he'd gone barmy. Staying true, he continued. "D'you notice anything a bit...peculiar, about him? Go on then, have a look." He stepped out of the way to give George a decent line of view to his brother.
"Look at his face." The stiff inhale he heard meant he'd caught on to what he was getting at. "He's smiling, mate. That's not a clever bit of work, that's just. That's Fred." Glancing back over to each other, George couldn't hold Harry's gaze for too long before he gasped, something that sounded like the mangled cousin of a laugh, and look down at their feet. Smiling just a little, Harry went on.
"When we got there, just before, he'd been fighting beside Percy, as you already know. Percy'd just done in Thicknesse, and made a joke about resigning." That had George looking back up quickly. No one'd told him the details, only that there'd been an explosion while they were fighting. They couldn't stomach to say. But Harry kept his tone soft and gentle, his eyes on his friend the whole time as he let him know, let him see it with his mind - let him be there with him.
"Fred laughed. You'd've thought we weren't in the middle of a war, stopping to poke fun at him like that. But he took the time to, and that was when the wall being blown apart took us by surprise. It was a bloody mess - literally, even - but not Fred. He was just laying there, like he'd gone to sleep in the thick of it, and Percy was shaking him, trying to wake him up because he didn't want to believe it.
"He died with a smile on his face." George shook his head and turned away, running both hands through his hair and undoubtedly calling Fred all sorts of unpleasant names in his head. But it was such a relief to hear, to know he past without too much pain, went smiling like the damned fool he was. George felt strange for smiling while crying, but he supposed it was only fair since his twin smiled while dying. Harry gave him a moment before pacing off a bit to the side a little and adding more.
"I honestly couldn't tell you the definition of a hero if it were put on my Auror's exam a few months from now. I'm sure Hermione's got about fifty of them stored in her head, and Dobby probably would've had one that mentioned socks of some sort. But putting it into words, like a cookie cutter definition of what it means to be a 'hero?' I don't think it can be done. I've had my fair share of run ins with the word, and I've sort of begun to fashion my own for it.
"See, I don't believe it's some...grand act of bravery or feat of impossible strength or any of that nonsense that warrants someone called a 'hero.' It's something much simpler, more internal. Something that comes from in here." He said shortly, tapping the center of his chest lightly as he turned to face George again. To his surprise, the twin's eyes were already glued to him, hanging onto every word. Harry wavered for just a moment, something about the intense gaze batting at his heart, and his smile trembled a little when he continued.
"It's simply doing the right thing, not because of a debt owed or because it's the right thing, but doing it because deep down, at the very core of your being, that's just who you are. That's why, though he was head git of all gits, Snape is a hero to me. He was a man so full of...love, and devotion to one, above all else, that it didn't matter what he lost, what he gave, because, above all else, he loved so deeply. And that was worth fighting for.
"And that's why Fred," he inhaled a little, the sight of Percy clinging to his unmoving body as they tried to get away - Fred's eternal smile - burning at the back of his mind and bringing heat to his eyes. "Fred, who always laughs and jokes and brings humour into the world because that's just who he is--. And he was dead scared, we all were, but he charged in head on with a smile on his face and for him to go with a grin was just so bloody proper--."
Dabbing at some unshed tears, tears he'd held in for far too long and still refused to let go of, Harry shook his head and composed himself again. This was about consoling George, not falling to pieces. Not letting the blasting of the castle wall shake the earth and send him flying across the hall. Not letting the coarseness of the Weasleys' shouts for Fred crush his spirit into dust. Not letting that damned ringing drown out all coherent thought. Harry swallowed and nodded his head, looking back into George's eyes.
"I'm not going to tell you who your brother is. But for what it's worth, he's a hero to me."
Before he'd even really gotten the last word off, George'd tossed himself against Harry, arms wrapped around his neck. The younger man blinked, completely caught off guard, before slowly raising his arms to hug him back. George didn't even try to contain his sobs then, just let them out in heaves all over Harry's robes, but he didn't mind. Maybe it was the fact he'd come to steel him; maybe it was the fact he'd divulged the details no one else could; maybe it was the fact he'd spoken about his lost brother the way he wanted him to be spoken of: as though he were still with them. Maybe it was for painting the perfect image of hero beneath his brother's name. But George started whispering 'thank you, thank you,' over and over, clinging to Harry's shoulders, for a good long while.
Silence washed over the ceremony in a wave with their return, all eyes passing back and forth between the two, and any stragglers that'd gotten up out of restlessness found their way back to their seats quickly to watch. To everyone's surprise, George didn't stop at his seat or move towards the podium, but rather to stand before where Percy sat white faced and near-panic.
"Do it with me," he murmured. Then he lifted his head to meet his older brother's shaken gaze, his eyes apologetic and pleading. George swallowed hard before holding out his hand and adding, "Please."
Hesitantly, unsure of whether or not he even deserved to be acknowledged, let alone invited to take part in such a gesture, Percy slowly raised a quivering hand to place into George's. He pulled him up to his feet and the two met in a crushing embrace, squeezing each other tighter than any hug they'd had before because for once, they'd found an understanding. A light round of applause erupted among the procession, tearful smiles at the reconciliation and affection. Ginny once again took the freshly reseated Harry's hand, though this time out of affection rather than the need for stability. She had no clue what he said to George by the lake, but he brought back her brother, brothers, and for that, not even her grief was enough to restrain the love she held for him. After a short while, they clapped each other on the back and nodded, then made their way to the pedestal to stand side by side, though George was the only one to actually speak.
"So, as I was saying," gesturing a hand toward Fred's corpse, "my brother, the git, ladies and gentlemen." Morbid laughter broke the tension in the air and George smiled softly, a weak ghost of the wily grins the twins were known for, but the first real smile the man'd made since they stopped being 'the twins' and became 'the twin.' He seemed to realize it, too, because he got a bit choked up and had to clear his throat before he could continue on to talk about the things that made Fred insufferable. Like how he had a penchant for starting trouble even in his sleep, and that sometimes they'd wake up to trigger a booby trap he didn't remember setting. Or how he was both the brilliant one that conjured up most of their bad ideas and the pillock that got them caught half the time, and never really seemed to mind. Or how more than anything, Fred was loyal, faithful to his family and those that he loved, every person that'd come to honor his memory today - but that there wasn't a one among them he wouldn't've put dung beetles into their food while they weren't looking. People were laughing near the whole time, even Percy, and it wasn't until George stopped to take a breathe that everyone realized the portrait had been filled again - this time with the both of them in the middle of wrestling with each other. He turned to watch it for a moment as the images laughed and paused with fistfuls of each other's hair and clothes to turn and grin, wag their eyebrows playfully, and return to beating each other senseless. Only those in the first couple of rows noticed when George dropped one of his hands to slip it into Percy's, a sudden weight crushing his chest that had him internally begging for some sort of solid ground to stand on. He looked to Harry.
"Everyone's got their heroes. I reckon Fred's was probably Filibuster or Zonko," a beat as his humor defense mechanism faltered him and he did his best not to cry - and failed, "but he was always mine. Before we were even born, he was mine. We came into this world together, you know, two bodies, one bleeding chaotic, out of control soul. And that was all I needed. Take the store, every Galleon to my name, my arms and my legs. Take anything. All I need is Fred."
Voice thinning to near nothing at his name that time, George bit his tongue and looked skywards to try and blink back the tears. It was like now that he'd let himself speak, let himself put into words the way he felt about his brother, a gateway had been opened and an unstoppable whirlwind of emotion was flowing free. There were forces stronger in the world than Dark Magic or hatred or the desire for power - there was love, and then there was love lost. And it was impossible not to cower before it. George turned to Fred's body with reddened eyes that knew a suffering beyond torture, a pain beyond death. He stared into the face of love and was made to let go. But he couldn't.
"You're my bloody hero, mate. I don't know how I'm supposed to make it through this mess without you. Freddie. God, hell, Fred. I love you."
He could take no more, and the tears took over as he turned to wrap himself around Percy, shaking with the force of it, his older brother trying in vain to comfort him. Soon the entire Weasley family stood and joined them, the clan enclosing George in a massive hug laced with grief spoken only in hushed cries. The ceremony could move no further, and slowly, the guests stood to pay their final farewell to Fred by touching his hands, telling him a joke or two, conjuring flowers among the rest. In the case of the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, he tucked a gold Galleon in Fred's breast pocket and told him he'd need it to buy his way out of whatever mischief he's causing on the other side. Angelina Johnson, in a rare form of softness, wept loudly for only a moment before adding prat to the list of names for the evening. For the most part, it was relatively peaceful and quiet, each person making their way from Fred's side to the Weasleys for a short offer of consolation, then back to their seats.
But Harry's head was pounding, deafened by the noise of it all. Feet running in every which direction over wood and dirt and bodies. People screaming and crying and talking in low voices or loudly to try and mask the shaking. Madness and chaos, bodies everywhere, and he absentmindedly thought that he should get to his feet following Hermione. The roaring came with him, even as he watched her lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, and then he was alone, staring down at the face of yet another lost family member. He heard a shout of his name, caught flashes of green light, the faces of so many people so dear, and the return of that unbearable ringing.
It all went quiet at the touch of Harry's hand to Fred's forehead. A moment suspended in time, a split second where the explosion had knocked out his hearing and left him disoriented, but not so much so he couldn't see Fred laying there with a smile. At peace. Content. Gone. It confused him, it made no sense. How could Fred be dead? The man who once all but defined what it meant to be alive. Who filled the air with laughter and charm in a place that would otherwise have nothing but despair. The Battle had changed them all, some more than others - but not Fred. He was true to himself to the very end, and it was that that had Harry's face peculiarly wet and feeling trapped in a dream.
If he'd only acted faster, gone to Voldemort when he was meant to, succumbed to that god-awful ringing--.
Before he could register what was happening, Harry found himself surrounded by bodies - but not the motionless ones of his nightmares or the screaming ones of his memories. He found himself surrounded by family: the Weasleys, Ron and Hermione, his very best friends, and Harry thought back to his own final moments. Alone in dark and dangerous woods that stood impossibly still, surrounded by loved ones long past that reminded him they never really left him at all. And that they never really would. Sirius' last words to him came to mind, and suddenly there was only one thing Harry could think to say. Perfect and succinct, the summation of all that this funeral meant for him, for everyone. He smiled.
"Mischief managed."
'Thank you.'
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4977
Warnings: None.
Summary: There were forces stronger in the world than Dark Magic or hatred or the desire for power - there was love, and then there was love lost. And it was impossible not to cower before it.
Notes: I wrote this when I had a fever of 105 so it's kind of terrible. Sorry. ;;
Off in the distance, a high pitched ringing noise had Harry's nerves on edge. It was vaguely familiar like a dream he'd just woken up from, but with all the vivid details of the memory that came with it. Lungs heavy with thick dust floating about the air, vision blurred from the force of impact, and barely audible screaming filtering through that ear splitting ringing.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice snapped him from his reverie, the far-off glaze of the still fresh memory fading from his eyes as he turned to look at his best friends. Hand in hand, they were, but Ron wasn't looking Harry's way. His eyes were focused on what lay in front of them: rows and rows of chairs, many of which were already occupied; a then-vacant stone tablet centerplace in the forefront; and the small fire of the characteristic Weasley red hair huddled together off to the side of it all. Harry took the scene in with a sense of dissonance, as though that dreamlike state had yet to wear off and he wasn't certain any of this was real. It wasn't until he felt the warmth of another's hand slipping into his that the ringing settled and he was pulled back into reality, Ginny standing at his side with her head lowered. He could feel her hand trembling - he suspected she took his out of fear that her whole body would be sent into spasms had she not - and he gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring squeeze before the four of them made their way to the first row of seats.
Fred Weasley's funeral was quickly under way.
It took a moment longer for the procession to begin on account of some mishap between members of the family. George wouldn't say a word, hadn't in longer than anyone really cared to recount, but in this particular setting, he lost it at the sight of his older brother, Percy. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had already taken their seats by the time George leapt to his feet and made a grab for him, Bill, Charlie and Arthur doing what they could to restrain him as Molly did her best not to break into hysterics. He was shouting hurtful, cruel things, words he didn't mean but stung with all the bitterness of a twin scorned and left as half of a whole. Fred was meant to the rash and angry one, not George, but that space was left unoccupied and someone had to fill it. Harry thought he ought to do something and made to move when Hermione put a hand on his knee, eyes lowered to the ground in an unspoken 'don't.' It was Ron who got up and stood between his brothers, tired circles dark beneath his already red eyes as he looked up to the painfully spitting image of the man they'd all lost.
"Come on, mate. You don't want to do this." His voice sounded dead tired, and something inside Harry's chest felt swollen at the sound of it catching before he continued. "He wouldn't want you to do this."
George sobbed weakly, his fight dissipating as he sank into the arms restraining him and broke into choked tears. He let them ease him back into his place next to his mother and father, leaving Percy standing uncomfortable and alone before them. It almost seemed as though he meant to leave, the guilt and anger and pain written as though in ink across his face, when Ginny was then the next to speak up.
"Perce!" The family nickname, one they hadn't heard used since -- and he looked over to her with bleary eyes. Always his weak spot, the little sister he adored more than the Sun and the Moon, and she forced a smile that hurt more than the sight of her tears as she held a hand out to him, an invitation to take the seat beside her. "Please."
And so it was that everyone found their seats, the Weasley family (including Harry and Hermione) taking up the entirety of the front row as a band of friends, distant family, former classmates and professors, admirers - and just about every person that'd ever run across the lost twin in his time - filled the rows behind them. Even Peeves had ventured out of the castle for this one, no doubt to recognize a shared knack for the devious, and he wasn't the only deceased among them. As Harry surveyed the crowd, he noted a total of one hundred and forty-six attendants, all come to honor one of the smartest, most wicked talented wizards to live. It brought a light sense of ease to the bundle of nerves that had become of his stomach. He thought Fred'd quite like to know he'd amassed such a party for his funeral. Which, he also noted, had yet to start even after things had settled down a bit.
People were beginning to murmur, wondering if something had gone amiss, when suddenly the crackling of flames igniting the tablet garnered everyone's attention. A mild state of panic erupted but just as quickly as they'd come, the flames faded away and left Fred's body upon the tablet in their wake, along with a bed of flowers and roses, a large moving portrait of him, and a pedestal upon which stood a thin man in black formal robes with a silly bowtie. There was an audible sigh of relief amongst the mourners, including some applause from those that fondly remembered Fred's flare for the theatrics. Hermione was shaking her head, tears lingering in her eyes as she smiled feebly and muttered 'honestly.' Even George seemed to have gotten a kick out of it, his eyes glowing with a love that burnt as brightly and as strongly as the flames that presented him his twin.
Harry, on the otherhand, was once again thrown back into a memory. The bright flashing lights of spells being cast haphazardly across the school's grounds, exploding chunks of debris flying in every which direction and only just remembering to duck before it all took off his head. Percy's painfully white grip on Fred's body as he tried so desperately to protect him from further harm, despite the damage done and still being done. An echo of someone calling his name, crying, screaming, 'Harry!', a flash of green light--
"--rry. Harry!" came the hushed voice of Hermione once more, a look of concern and confusion on her face. He realized he must've been shaking, as Ginny was also looking to him with tear stained eyes that'd been broken for far longer than was really fair. He blinked the screaming away and nodded.
"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine, really. Just...deep in thought, you know."
The answer seemed satisfactory enough, though he knew something was faltering within him, and they all turned their attention back to the man who was nearing the end of his speech by recounting the various crimes and misdeeds done throughout Fred's career in mischief. Funerals are hardly meant to be the most joyous of occasions, but the man hired for the job was to make it comedic and light hearted, working short jokes and grand gestures in to keep the spirit of Fred's nature alive. Even the portrait of him was grinning like a wolf, ear to ear with a touch of deviance that was once a telltale sign of pranks unseen. Every now and then, he'd stop to roll his eyes and smirk a little, as if to say 'What're you all crying about, you big babies?,' before going back to grinning and applauding his accomplishments. It was strange and surreal, having so much of his character still very much alive in all the nit picky details woven into the commemoration of his death. It was just so Fred that hardly anyone could've expected anything less.
It was something of a comfort in a time when comfort was most needed.
"And now for some words from the family of the deceased. Though I'm told I'm not allowed to let all of you speak, lest we be here till mid-July," the man said sweetly, stepping down from the podium. Arthur turned to offer the speech to the one person who knew Fred the best and deserved to send him off the most.
"George?"
Up until this point, George had managed to keep himself relatively composed (disregarding, of course, the event's earlier outburst). He'd even laughed once or twice at the jokes he knew Fred specifically outlined, because they were things that only made sense between the two of them, as so many other things did. It only seemed right that he be the one the speak, and not a soul in the world aimed to disagree. But as they sat in wait for him to take his place on the pedestal, he stayed stone still, hardly even seemed to be breathing. Harry wasn't even sure it was actually George when he spoke and not a whisper on the wind, it was so faint.
"I won't."
"What?" his father asked, startled at the unexpected response.
"You heard me. I said I won't," he repeated again, louder this time, though only those closest could probably hear him. Molly clutched her hand over her heart, then moved to place it on his shoulder.
"Dear..."
"No!" he shouted, jumping out of his seat before she could make contact. "What d'you want me to say, huh? What, that Fred is - was - the most brilliant wizard I ever met? That together, we'd caused enough property damage to be scrubbing the floor of Gringott's for the rest of eternity? Or, what, that-that I miss him? 'cause I think you bloody well know that already." The very wind itself seemed to have stopped for George's venting, an unbreakable silence filling the air between everyone as tears fell relentlessly in his anger stricken grief. Percy tentatively had his arms wrapped around Ginny's shoulders as she quietly cried into one hand, the other wrapped around her body as if to protect herself from the way his words cut deep on everyone's minds. Harry kept his eyes on George though, despite the vitriol seeping from the man's pores, because he could see he was mourning. Only he didn't know how.
Slightly quieter, not quite as harsh, George looked up to face the crowd as he continued. "You lot expect me to get up there and talk about my brother, my twin, like he's gone. Like that's right and natural, how it should be done. But I won't give a speech about him. I won't talk about everything we did together, I won't bring up memories of our childhood. I won't refer to him in the past tense like he's gone, because for me, he won't ever be. I'll see him every time I glance at a mirror, hear his voice every time I speak a word. He's everywhere and nowhere and you expect me to give a speech about him? I've only got one thing to say and I'll have it on Merlin's word: he's a right proper git." He stopped there with a shuddering exhale, wiping his eyes on the edge of his sleeve before turning over his shoulder on instinct.
"Come on, Freddie, let's get--."
'--out of here' lingered unsaid in the air as George realize Fred wasn't behind him the way he always was, the way he should be, but was instead laying on a tablet with his hands folded atop his chest and his eyes shut, never to open again. That seemed to be the last straw for him, and he stormed away from the procession with a hand covering his mouth as though he'd said something foul and might be ill. Things fell apart from there, several of the guests collapsing against each other in loud sobs and sore attempts at consolation. Even Fred had abandoned his frame. No one was really certain what to do. George wouldn't Apparate to Macedonia or anything crazy like that; they knew he cared too much to really leave. But no one knew how to approach him either, and there was no carrying on without him.
This time, it was Harry who stood to intervene.
As he walked over to where George stood by the edge of the nearby lake, the feeling of rubble and stones beneath his feet came to mind. He was running, breathless with hardly enough time to think, and he'd only just joined Percy and Fred in time to see it all happen. The sudden force of being blown sidewards, Ron screaming Fred's name, blood. So much blood. No one was left perfectly unscathed. The explosion caught them unawares, and it was a miracle they weren't all lost to it. But that thought brought absolutely no comfort to his mind as he took to George's side, both men standing with their hands in their pockets and looking out over the water. It stood still and undisturbed, peaceful, serene - soothing. George spoke first.
"He always wanted to be buried here, you know. First place we ever used magic. Family trip to the lake, just before Ron was born, and we were...ecstatic." Harry turned to watch him as he spoke, his eyes and tone remaining fond and distant. Like in a dream. "Only two years old and already wildly out of hand. We wanted to push Perce in but we ended up falling ourselves. He ran to get Mum but she was already so pregnant, she couldn't move too fast, and by the time Dad made it 'round, we'd already sunk pretty far in.
"But Fred, he. He didn't panic like me. He wasn't afraid. Just took my hand and we both reached up toward the surface - then exploded out of the water like a bottle rocket. We landed on the grass without so much as a scratch and just howled with laughter. Even asked Dad if we could have another go. Mum still says Ron was born early on account of our nearly giving her a heart attack."
A story like this ought to have been one shared with everyone, Harry thought idly, but he didn't say anything. He wanted George to say his piece. Another moment passed in silence before the older man's wits failed him and he lowered his head, voice tightening a little with each word.
"I should've been there with him."
"I know," said Harry calmly.
"He shouldn't've died."
"I know."
"It isn't fair."
That one had his voice breaking on the last word, and Harry spoke softly when he said once more, "I know."
George nodded his head, tears falling endlessly even as he made an effort to wipe them away. Harry caught flashes of the Great Hall, lined with the bodies of fallen comrades and foes, the injured and the weak. He felt his entire being, from toes to soul, shaking under the weight of it all. He stood at the center of The End, felt the cold, harsh embrace of Death, and then he opened his eyes.
"Did you see Fred over there?" Harry asked brusquely, and George looked at him as though he'd gone barmy. Staying true, he continued. "D'you notice anything a bit...peculiar, about him? Go on then, have a look." He stepped out of the way to give George a decent line of view to his brother.
"Look at his face." The stiff inhale he heard meant he'd caught on to what he was getting at. "He's smiling, mate. That's not a clever bit of work, that's just. That's Fred." Glancing back over to each other, George couldn't hold Harry's gaze for too long before he gasped, something that sounded like the mangled cousin of a laugh, and look down at their feet. Smiling just a little, Harry went on.
"When we got there, just before, he'd been fighting beside Percy, as you already know. Percy'd just done in Thicknesse, and made a joke about resigning." That had George looking back up quickly. No one'd told him the details, only that there'd been an explosion while they were fighting. They couldn't stomach to say. But Harry kept his tone soft and gentle, his eyes on his friend the whole time as he let him know, let him see it with his mind - let him be there with him.
"Fred laughed. You'd've thought we weren't in the middle of a war, stopping to poke fun at him like that. But he took the time to, and that was when the wall being blown apart took us by surprise. It was a bloody mess - literally, even - but not Fred. He was just laying there, like he'd gone to sleep in the thick of it, and Percy was shaking him, trying to wake him up because he didn't want to believe it.
"He died with a smile on his face." George shook his head and turned away, running both hands through his hair and undoubtedly calling Fred all sorts of unpleasant names in his head. But it was such a relief to hear, to know he past without too much pain, went smiling like the damned fool he was. George felt strange for smiling while crying, but he supposed it was only fair since his twin smiled while dying. Harry gave him a moment before pacing off a bit to the side a little and adding more.
"I honestly couldn't tell you the definition of a hero if it were put on my Auror's exam a few months from now. I'm sure Hermione's got about fifty of them stored in her head, and Dobby probably would've had one that mentioned socks of some sort. But putting it into words, like a cookie cutter definition of what it means to be a 'hero?' I don't think it can be done. I've had my fair share of run ins with the word, and I've sort of begun to fashion my own for it.
"See, I don't believe it's some...grand act of bravery or feat of impossible strength or any of that nonsense that warrants someone called a 'hero.' It's something much simpler, more internal. Something that comes from in here." He said shortly, tapping the center of his chest lightly as he turned to face George again. To his surprise, the twin's eyes were already glued to him, hanging onto every word. Harry wavered for just a moment, something about the intense gaze batting at his heart, and his smile trembled a little when he continued.
"It's simply doing the right thing, not because of a debt owed or because it's the right thing, but doing it because deep down, at the very core of your being, that's just who you are. That's why, though he was head git of all gits, Snape is a hero to me. He was a man so full of...love, and devotion to one, above all else, that it didn't matter what he lost, what he gave, because, above all else, he loved so deeply. And that was worth fighting for.
"And that's why Fred," he inhaled a little, the sight of Percy clinging to his unmoving body as they tried to get away - Fred's eternal smile - burning at the back of his mind and bringing heat to his eyes. "Fred, who always laughs and jokes and brings humour into the world because that's just who he is--. And he was dead scared, we all were, but he charged in head on with a smile on his face and for him to go with a grin was just so bloody proper--."
Dabbing at some unshed tears, tears he'd held in for far too long and still refused to let go of, Harry shook his head and composed himself again. This was about consoling George, not falling to pieces. Not letting the blasting of the castle wall shake the earth and send him flying across the hall. Not letting the coarseness of the Weasleys' shouts for Fred crush his spirit into dust. Not letting that damned ringing drown out all coherent thought. Harry swallowed and nodded his head, looking back into George's eyes.
"I'm not going to tell you who your brother is. But for what it's worth, he's a hero to me."
Before he'd even really gotten the last word off, George'd tossed himself against Harry, arms wrapped around his neck. The younger man blinked, completely caught off guard, before slowly raising his arms to hug him back. George didn't even try to contain his sobs then, just let them out in heaves all over Harry's robes, but he didn't mind. Maybe it was the fact he'd come to steel him; maybe it was the fact he'd divulged the details no one else could; maybe it was the fact he'd spoken about his lost brother the way he wanted him to be spoken of: as though he were still with them. Maybe it was for painting the perfect image of hero beneath his brother's name. But George started whispering 'thank you, thank you,' over and over, clinging to Harry's shoulders, for a good long while.
Silence washed over the ceremony in a wave with their return, all eyes passing back and forth between the two, and any stragglers that'd gotten up out of restlessness found their way back to their seats quickly to watch. To everyone's surprise, George didn't stop at his seat or move towards the podium, but rather to stand before where Percy sat white faced and near-panic.
"Do it with me," he murmured. Then he lifted his head to meet his older brother's shaken gaze, his eyes apologetic and pleading. George swallowed hard before holding out his hand and adding, "Please."
Hesitantly, unsure of whether or not he even deserved to be acknowledged, let alone invited to take part in such a gesture, Percy slowly raised a quivering hand to place into George's. He pulled him up to his feet and the two met in a crushing embrace, squeezing each other tighter than any hug they'd had before because for once, they'd found an understanding. A light round of applause erupted among the procession, tearful smiles at the reconciliation and affection. Ginny once again took the freshly reseated Harry's hand, though this time out of affection rather than the need for stability. She had no clue what he said to George by the lake, but he brought back her brother, brothers, and for that, not even her grief was enough to restrain the love she held for him. After a short while, they clapped each other on the back and nodded, then made their way to the pedestal to stand side by side, though George was the only one to actually speak.
"So, as I was saying," gesturing a hand toward Fred's corpse, "my brother, the git, ladies and gentlemen." Morbid laughter broke the tension in the air and George smiled softly, a weak ghost of the wily grins the twins were known for, but the first real smile the man'd made since they stopped being 'the twins' and became 'the twin.' He seemed to realize it, too, because he got a bit choked up and had to clear his throat before he could continue on to talk about the things that made Fred insufferable. Like how he had a penchant for starting trouble even in his sleep, and that sometimes they'd wake up to trigger a booby trap he didn't remember setting. Or how he was both the brilliant one that conjured up most of their bad ideas and the pillock that got them caught half the time, and never really seemed to mind. Or how more than anything, Fred was loyal, faithful to his family and those that he loved, every person that'd come to honor his memory today - but that there wasn't a one among them he wouldn't've put dung beetles into their food while they weren't looking. People were laughing near the whole time, even Percy, and it wasn't until George stopped to take a breathe that everyone realized the portrait had been filled again - this time with the both of them in the middle of wrestling with each other. He turned to watch it for a moment as the images laughed and paused with fistfuls of each other's hair and clothes to turn and grin, wag their eyebrows playfully, and return to beating each other senseless. Only those in the first couple of rows noticed when George dropped one of his hands to slip it into Percy's, a sudden weight crushing his chest that had him internally begging for some sort of solid ground to stand on. He looked to Harry.
"Everyone's got their heroes. I reckon Fred's was probably Filibuster or Zonko," a beat as his humor defense mechanism faltered him and he did his best not to cry - and failed, "but he was always mine. Before we were even born, he was mine. We came into this world together, you know, two bodies, one bleeding chaotic, out of control soul. And that was all I needed. Take the store, every Galleon to my name, my arms and my legs. Take anything. All I need is Fred."
Voice thinning to near nothing at his name that time, George bit his tongue and looked skywards to try and blink back the tears. It was like now that he'd let himself speak, let himself put into words the way he felt about his brother, a gateway had been opened and an unstoppable whirlwind of emotion was flowing free. There were forces stronger in the world than Dark Magic or hatred or the desire for power - there was love, and then there was love lost. And it was impossible not to cower before it. George turned to Fred's body with reddened eyes that knew a suffering beyond torture, a pain beyond death. He stared into the face of love and was made to let go. But he couldn't.
"You're my bloody hero, mate. I don't know how I'm supposed to make it through this mess without you. Freddie. God, hell, Fred. I love you."
He could take no more, and the tears took over as he turned to wrap himself around Percy, shaking with the force of it, his older brother trying in vain to comfort him. Soon the entire Weasley family stood and joined them, the clan enclosing George in a massive hug laced with grief spoken only in hushed cries. The ceremony could move no further, and slowly, the guests stood to pay their final farewell to Fred by touching his hands, telling him a joke or two, conjuring flowers among the rest. In the case of the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, he tucked a gold Galleon in Fred's breast pocket and told him he'd need it to buy his way out of whatever mischief he's causing on the other side. Angelina Johnson, in a rare form of softness, wept loudly for only a moment before adding prat to the list of names for the evening. For the most part, it was relatively peaceful and quiet, each person making their way from Fred's side to the Weasleys for a short offer of consolation, then back to their seats.
But Harry's head was pounding, deafened by the noise of it all. Feet running in every which direction over wood and dirt and bodies. People screaming and crying and talking in low voices or loudly to try and mask the shaking. Madness and chaos, bodies everywhere, and he absentmindedly thought that he should get to his feet following Hermione. The roaring came with him, even as he watched her lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, and then he was alone, staring down at the face of yet another lost family member. He heard a shout of his name, caught flashes of green light, the faces of so many people so dear, and the return of that unbearable ringing.
It all went quiet at the touch of Harry's hand to Fred's forehead. A moment suspended in time, a split second where the explosion had knocked out his hearing and left him disoriented, but not so much so he couldn't see Fred laying there with a smile. At peace. Content. Gone. It confused him, it made no sense. How could Fred be dead? The man who once all but defined what it meant to be alive. Who filled the air with laughter and charm in a place that would otherwise have nothing but despair. The Battle had changed them all, some more than others - but not Fred. He was true to himself to the very end, and it was that that had Harry's face peculiarly wet and feeling trapped in a dream.
If he'd only acted faster, gone to Voldemort when he was meant to, succumbed to that god-awful ringing--.
Before he could register what was happening, Harry found himself surrounded by bodies - but not the motionless ones of his nightmares or the screaming ones of his memories. He found himself surrounded by family: the Weasleys, Ron and Hermione, his very best friends, and Harry thought back to his own final moments. Alone in dark and dangerous woods that stood impossibly still, surrounded by loved ones long past that reminded him they never really left him at all. And that they never really would. Sirius' last words to him came to mind, and suddenly there was only one thing Harry could think to say. Perfect and succinct, the summation of all that this funeral meant for him, for everyone. He smiled.
"Mischief managed."
'Thank you.'