Hermione had never fancied flying, whether it be on broomstick, thestral, hippogriff, or Muggle mode of airborne transportation. Her stomach was unpleasantly jittery from the airplane, not to mention the thought of what she was finally going to do.
Apparation seemed very unappealing to her at the moment; temporary asphyxiation on top of nausea and nerves. As anxious as she was to get to her parents, as difficult as waiting any longer might be, she just couldn’t get enough control of herself to do anything. The agitation was preventing her from functioning normally. She took a deep breath, but still felt tense, and reluctantly decided to wait awhile and calm down a bit. Legs trembling slightly, she walked outside the airport doors and almost immediately found an old wooden bench, so she sat down, rummaging for a book in the depths of her tiny beaded bag.
After three quick chapters of A History of Magic, Hermione felt much better. She shoved the book back into her bag, stood up, and headed back inside the airport. It was far from crowded, and the few other travelers took no notice of her, but just to be safe she located the ladies’ room and strolled into an empty stall before Disapparating.
For a few moments she spun through a tunnel-like vacuum, and then she stepped out, landing steadily on her feet behind a eucalyptus tree on the edge of a suburban street. Considering that this was in Australia, it didn’t look terribly different from her own neighborhood. Her old neighborhood, she reminded herself. That house had been sold.
She walked down the edge of the road, checking house numbers as she did so: 22, 29… A simple Arithmancy calculation told her that number 43 would be the pretty brick split-level coming up on her right.
The small front yard was green spotted with yellow dandelions, and the garden was well-kept and blooming; she recognized many of the flowers from the garden back home--no, the garden at back at her old home. There was a rocking chair on the little porch, and painted in neat white letters on the front door, right beneath an ornamental gold knocker, was the name –Wilkins.â€
Hermione wiped a solitary tear off her cheek, then surreptitiously pulled out her wand, checking to make sure there was nobody on the street to see her. She thought the words Homenum revelio, making a tiny motion with her wand towards the house as she did so, and momentarily felt something warm radiate from the house. Satisfied, she stowed away her wand and rang the doorbell.
A few moments passed. She could hear herself breathing, and told herself what they had always told her--be strong. She watched as a figure appeared in the window by the door. An instant later, a woman with dark hair almost as bushy as Hermione’s opened the door and said, –Hello?†with a smile but not a trace of recognition.
Hermione sadly smiled back, looking at her mother’s uncomprehending face. She took out her wand again and thought Reconsciate! as the woman who thought she was Monica Wilkins watched blankly. Several silent seconds passed as the woman’s eyes regained the bright quality Hermione remembered, and then, for the first time in almost a year, Mrs. Granger saw her daughter.
–Hello, Mum,†Hermione choked, and embraced her mother, who hugged her back just as tightly.
Mrs. Granger’s mouth found words. –Hermione! Oh, my goodness, Hermione, what--why did we--what happened?â€
Hermione opened her mouth as if to speak, but before she could find the words to respond, a familiar voice said, –Monica?â€
Just as the man with graying brown hair and glasses came into view, Hermione cast the Memory Charm counterspell again. After a few moments his eyes, too, became visibly sharper. –Hermione?†Mr. Granger said wonderingly, and she rushed to hug him too. The three-person embrace was snug, warm, bittersweet, and salty with Hermione’s tears. They weren’t angry with her, she could already tell.
Through her sobs, she answered her mother, –I--I protected you.â€
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Ginny woke up. Actually, she wasn’t sure she had ever really managed to fall asleep. The night had been permeated with what might have been either scary remembrances or nightmares, about the Carrows, about Harry lying dead in Hagrid’s arms, about--
Morning won’t help with that one, she thought, rolling over to push her face into her pillow, which was still wet with tears and snot.
She might have stayed like that forever, but she heard Charlie’s voice calling her name as if from a million miles away.
–Ginny … Ginny … â€
He knocked on her door. She sighed, and said through the huge lump that had recently made a home in her throat, –Come in.â€
Charlie opened the door, and the sorrowful expression in his usually cheery face made the lump grow, if possible, even bigger. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and came over and sat on the bed.
She gazed at him out of her brown eyes. For a while nothing was said, because nothing needed to be. She looked around her room for the millionth time, but it was just as it had always been, before--
She shut her eyes. –I don’t want to get up.â€
Charlie’s voice said wearily, –Ginny…I know. We’re all like that. But you have to…this is important.â€
Important, she thought. If anything had ever been important, this was. She had to get up. She had to pick herself up and walk over to that door.
She looked up. –I can’t.†(Strictly speaking, she could, but she didn’t want to.) She offered her arms. –Pick me up.â€
The faint trace of a smile appeared on his face, and he lifted her up and carried her out the door. Any of her brothers would carry her if she asked, although she wasn’t sure she had ever asked Ron. And one of them never will again…
She closed her eyes again and rested her head against her big brother’s shoulder, safe in his strong, scarred arms. She was being jostled up and down a little as he descended the steps. She tried to remember the last time one of her big brothers had carried her anywhere. It had been a few years at least; by third year or so she thought herself too old for it, too dignified to not just walk herself, even when she was tired.
One of the last times had been at the Quidditch World Cup. She had fallen asleep at the little kitchen table in the tent, and Fred had picked her up and carried her into her bed. She had been just conscious enough to say –thanks.†She was so glad now that she had thanked him then.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, where Ginny could see through blurry eyes the rest of her family and Harry sitting at the table. Charlie set her down, and she rubbed her eyes, blindly taking a seat between Percy and Mum at the table.
She noticed that George wasn’t there, but this hardly surprised her. She looked around at the others’ faces, but they were all so full of pain that she directed her gaze at the food instead. Bacon, toast, and oranges. The bacon was burnt, and she could see that the toast had far too much butter on it, but not even Ron was complaining. Nobody was talking at all. The silence was disconcerting.
She sat there for a while, looking at the food but not feeling hungry. Everyone had red eyes, and Mum was crying. Ginny picked absently at the frayed lining of her old cerulean nightgown. One thread. Two threads. She realized what she was doing, and ripped the threads out with a slight yank, accidentally elbowing Percy’s arm as he reached for a napkin. –Sorry,†she half-whispered.
–Oh--it’s fine,†Percy said haltingly. She could hear that he had a lump in his throat too.
She caught Harry watching her, and she stared back at him. She and Mum had both absolutely insisted that he come to stay at the Burrow, for the time being at least. They were the only family he had; he’d said so himself.
Dad stood up, his chair making a loud noise against the wooden floor. He started to clear dishes, and Percy and Harry got up to help him. Ron and Charlie were finishing their oranges, and Mum was still crying.
Ginny turned and put her arms around Mum, who hugged her back. That was when she noticed that something was strange about the clock on the wall. There were only eight hands. She started weeping again, burying her face in her mum’s orange-gray hair, but the tears dried up quickly, as she had spent so much of the previous afternoon crying already.
Finally Ginny got up, and headed back up the stairs to her room to get dressed. What would she wear? Not her black dress--Fred hadn’t liked black, and he had always hated to dress up. She’d just wear a random old T-shirt and jeans. She tossed her nightgown on the floor instead of putting it in the laundry bin.
Instead of going back down, she went further up, to the twins’ room. She opened the closed door without knocking. There was George, sitting on his bed. His face looked even more terrible than she felt. He wasn’t wearing black either--in fact, he dressed from head to toe in bright orange. Using what little control of her facial muscles she had left, she managed a smile.
Then George stood up and said, –I’m coming, Ginny,†bravely trying to sound normal. He walked towards her, out the door of his old room, and they began to descend the staircase together, one step at a time.
" " " " " " "
–…a noble, courageous man…died protecting his loved ones…always working towards a better world… spirited and dignified…â€
Perhaps it would be polite to listen in earnest, but Luna didn’t think Fred would have minded any if she paid no attention to the little old wizard speaking. She was quite sure he would have agreed that what she should really be doing is just helping her grieving friends in any way she could, and right now that meant putting little braids in Ginny’s hair. Ginny loved it when people played with her hair; her mum used to do that for her.
Luna didn’t remember if her own mum had played with her hair, although she remembered that Mum used to comb it every day, very gently, until it was very smooth and felt nice. She felt sad for a moment, missing her mum. Then she realized that Mum must be meeting Fred right now, and she smiled. Mum would like Fred.
That smile had not been a comfort for Ginny on purpose, but Luna was glad it turned into one, because now Ginny was weakly smiling back--smiling even through the tears running down her face. Luna took three more small bunches of red hair and began another braid.
The little wizard finished his speech, and now Mr. Weasley was walking up to the front of the hall, seeming very old, much older than Luna remembered. He began to speak, and this time, Luna listened.
–All of you who are here today…know what a great man Fred was. From his first performance of magic at the age of five--†Mr. Weasley smiled sadly. –When he turned his Brussels sprouts into chocolate, he shared them with his brothers and sister…he was always happiest when he could make others happy. He lightened the days of others, even in dark times. His greatest gift to the world was laughter…and joy. He was creative--his success in the joke shop business speaks for itself. And he was determined, and very, very brave. He fought--always, for his family and friends. And he died--†his voice cracked on the word, and he began again. –He died fighting for us, for all of us.
–Fred was a light in darkness and a force for good in the world. I could not have asked for a better son. He should have had--many more years of life than he did. His very essence was life. I will--always love him, and always miss him. But Fred would know better than anyone--that life is to be enjoyed to the fullest. He did. And--so should we.â€
Luna applauded quietly. So did a few others, including Ginny. Mr. Weasley was returning to his seat. Now there was a wizard in black robes with his wand leading a long, dark brown casket down between the rows of folding chairs. He stopped at the front, and the casket came gently to rest. It was open, and Luna caught a glimpse of red hair before she noticed Ginny hunch over and put her hands over her eyes. She turned to comfort Ginny, who choked out, –I don’t want to see him like that. That’s not how he looks.â€
Luna decided to close her eyes too, although when she heard a strangled, sobbing noise coming from her left she opened her eyes again. She didn’t turn around to look at him--that would be very rude. She felt so sorry for him, for Fred, for all of them. The casket lid was closed now, and as it was being slowly lowered into the ground, Luna held on to her best friend, trying to think of something comforting to say. She could remind Ginny remembered how Fred used to stand up to Umbridge back in fourth year, how he played such funny jokes on her when she became headmistress, how he took leadership quickly and easily on the night of the battle--but somehow she didn’t think Ginny needed any more memories of Fred right now. She was sobbing into Luna’s shoulder, shaking, and reminding Luna very much of herself at her mum’s funeral--and then Luna knew what to say.
–That’s right, get it all out now. You’ll be okay. You’re a very strong girl. It’ll be okay. My mum died, you know, and I’m all right. The pain does go away.â€
Ginny nodded, squeezing Luna’s hand, then opening her mouth and saying –Thanks, Luna,†in a cracked voice.
It was done. He was buried. People were crying all around--Bill and Charlie, in quiet heaves; Percy, and next to him, George--lots of other redheaded cousins and uncles and aunts--Ron, who Harry was patting on the back, through his own silent tears. Tears had been running down Luna’s cheek for a while now, but she couldn’t let herself feel too sad right now, because she was here for Ginny.
But then George and that tall boy with dreadlocks--Lee, she thought his name was--walked up to the front of the room, carrying a huge white box embossed with three W’s. Next to her, Ginny breathed in sharply, then exhaled with a little hiccup that sounded almost like a giggle as George and Lee pointed their wands at the white box and it exploded into sparkling lights with an enormous bang that echoed throughout the hall.
Fireworks of every color flew all over the place, crackling and whistling. A bright green one that looked very much like a nargle zoomed past Luna’s left ear. Laughing, she turned to watch it ascend into the rafters, and then beheld quite an amazing sight: in front of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a pair of blue lights were whirling around each other so fast that they could hardly be distinguished from one another, until they both went off like bombs and sprayed golden sparks everywhere. An ancient, unpleasant-looking woman was screeching, –Disgraceful! I’m a hundred and eight and never have I--†but she cut herself off when a hot pink sparkler whizzed straight at her. She managed to duck it, but the sparkler merely turned around and headed back for her again.
Luna turned to watch the front of the room, where a dozen or so fireworks had congregated and formed a rotating wheel of explosions. Another bunch of firecrackers were arranging themselves into a face mildly reminiscent of Peeves, which was sticking its tongue out at the crowd. The fireworks were even more energetic and colorful than the ones Luna remembered from her fourth year, and they were clearly lifting people’s spirits a great deal. Luna thought it was extremely smart and kind of George and Lee to do something that (in Luna’s opinion) honored Fred’s memory much more than the little wizard’s speeches, and cheered everyone up at the same time.
The little wizard in black robes began to fold up the chairs with his wand, but almost all of the funeral-goers remained to stare at the fireworks, which showed no sign of ever wanting to fizzle out. Ginny was breathing easier than she had been before. Percy, Ron and Harry walked over, and Ginny slipped the hand that wasn’t being held by Luna into one of Harry’s hands. Luna saw Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie a little ways off, being given flowers and condolences by their many relatives and friends--Mrs. Weasley was with them too, but she didn’t seem to be in any state to receive condolences, and Luna hoped for her sake that everyone would go home soon.
Ron and Percy were just standing with them now. Luna gazed up at them and said simply, –I’m very sorry about Fred,†making a silent prayer that the Wrackspurts would come and visit the Weasley family for a while, so that their minds could have a reprieve from some of the sadness. Beyond that, Luna knew, only the passage of time would heal them.
The Beginning of After by 1000timesingoldenink
Chapter Notes: So it would be nice if Hermione could have come to Fred's funeral and been there for what is essentially her family too (the Weasleys), but it did not occur to me when I was writing this chapter that the funeral could have taken place after Hermione returns from Australia--a week after the battle, say--because, me being Jewish, the only funerals I've ever been to took place the day right after the person died.
Also, I have been told that 'hippogriff' and 'thestral' are supposed to be capitalized, but I'm pretty sure Rowling doesn't capitalize hippogriff or thestral in the books...will double-check as soon as I have time.
Disclaimer: Either I'm not JKR or there have been some serious memory modifications going on...
Chapter Endnotes: Mr. Weasley's speech was hard! :( Please review.