So…you see how long this post is, and you’re probably thinking, she’s already broken the resolution she made just yesterday.  But this is an exception.  I’ve been intending to post this story since last Thursday, when I had a rare dispensation of writing inspiration.  That night, I wrote a short story about a guy who finds some of his lost confidence in a bakery (I’m looking for a more traditional distribution channel for that one), and I still had enough leftover writing high to dash off another quick story before I went to bed.  This second one is a Harry Potter fan fiction.  But put images of a Draco/Harry romance out of your mind; this one is in good taste, and nobody acts out of character.  Be warned, though: you might cry.  A few readers already have.

Fred Weasley’s funeral was eventful, something no funeral should be.  They had it in the back yard of the Burrow, exactly where Bill’s wedding had been a year before.  Charlie walked in late because he had forgotten how to get to the house, which made his mother cry even harder than she was already crying.  Ron didn’t say a word all day; he just stared out into the middle distance with red-rimmed eyes.  George wouldn’t look in the casket, and people kept starting when they saw him, as if they’d seen a ghost.  He kept his head down during the funeral and completely disappeared during the part when everybody came up and greeted the family.

Percy disappeared in the middle of the funeral itself; his dad eventually found him sitting on the kitchen floor, sobbing about how he shouldn’t be there and nobody wanted him there, and how that explosion should have killed him instead of Fred.  Mr. Weasley didn’t know what to say, so he waited until Percy stopped crying and then led him bodily out to where the funeral was still going on.

Ginny, who seemed the most composed of the family, made a brief speech about how lucky she was to have so many brothers, and how she loved them all, but Fred had taught her how to play Quidditch, and how he’d always said to her, “Be safe and be good, little sister,” and she’d say, “You too,” and they’d said it not even an hour before he’d died.  Ginny had inserted oblique messages into her speech for certain brothers, but Percy wasn’t even there when she said the part about putting the past behind them, and Ron was completely checked out when she talked about trying to get along better with her brothers and not argue so much.

Bill felt torn between Fleur, who felt like an outsider even though she had the proper surname, and his mother, who looked very alone when Arthur was off chasing down their missing sons.  The people who didn’t have the proper surname felt extraordinarily out of place.  Harry had wanted to sit with Ginny, but Hermione thought the front row should be family only, so the two of them hovered restlessly in the second row.  There were only a few others: some random extended family members; the awkward neighbors, the Lovegoods; Angelina Johnson, an old Quidditch teammate who had gone out with Fred once or twice.  All the others who would have come were busy with losses of their own, or reluctant to leave their loved ones.

At the end of the day, everyone was so tired they didn’t even want to eat.  Mrs. Weasley cooked anyway.