Wot In The Harri Potter?

3 - Funeral

"Oh, for fuck's sake! I wish she'd take that thing down!" George seethes. "It's not Fred. He's not coming back and nothing can replace him."

"I know," I say soothingly. "It's why I've stepped outside. But maybe if it helps your mother, then we should respect that?"

"She's not grieving properly," George says, driving a hand through his hair. "Percy has been over to say that she's coming across as manic."

I roll my eyes. Percy has an opinion on everything these days it seems. He has even taken over all the details of the funeral, completely pushing aside any of my suggestions on what Fred would like ("I'm not being funny," Percy muttered after I suggested that an eco coffin would be fitting. "But you and he were hardly serious. You broke up and then were only engaged for five minutes before he died.").

"Maybe things will change," I shrug heavily, "after the funeral, I mean."

And then I close my eyes, because the idea of having to endure life beyond today is an unbearably painful thought.

A hand presses against my lower back. "I know, Harri," George says, his own voice heavy with pain. "I know."

And as we look into each other's eyes, it is with a shared grief so deep, the knowledge that our lives will be forever scarred by the loss of our Fred.

*****

The sun is shining brightly in the graveyard. It's too much and does not match my mood.

I can't tear my eyes away from the mahogany coffin, thinking about the boy who lies inside. He's just there, my Fred with his heart shaped freckle and arms which used to hold me all through the night.

But his heart is no longer beating and his soul has long since moved on. What we're burying is the shell of him, rotting and lifeless, about to become worm food.

I don't realise I'm crying until arms go around me. George smells like Fred, and I take huge comfort in this.

"Fred," I whisper, sobbing in George's arms as everything inside of me breaks. "Don't leave me, Fred. Don't go."

And George never lets me go. Even afterwards when we go to the wake at the Burrow, he Apparates the both of us and stays by my side the entire time.

"Will you come back with me to the shop?" George asks when the guests start to leave. "I want to show you the room Fred saved for you."

I nod, because suddenly I don't want to be anywhere else and I cannot stand listening to Molly talk to Fred's portrait, telling him what a lovely day it has been.

George Apparates us there. And, for the first ever time, I step through the door which has sign on saying 'Closed due to family bereavement'.

"Wow," I breathe, looking around and actually smiling. "This is exactly how I pictured it, and more."

Even George smiles as he takes my hand and leads me down the aisles, pointing out things as we pass. He sounds animated, and as I listen to him and watch him, it's almost like I'm back with Fred.

By the time we get to the back of the shop, my heart feels lifted and full again. I no longer feel so broken, and I know it's because of the shop which brought Fred so much joy in his last years.

"Here," George murmurs, leading me up some stairs. "Welcome to our little but cosy flat above the shop."

His face instantly falls, and I realise its because for a split second he'd forgotten there was no longer an 'our'.

Just poor George all alone in his flat built for two.

"We were going to invite you to live with us after the war," George says dully, "on account of you two being engaged. I suppose you still can, but I'll understand if it'll be too strange for you."

For a fraction of a second, I can see it: running the shop in Fred's place, my side by George.

But then I instantly dismiss it, this feeling inside of me telling me this would be just as unhealthy as talking daily to portraits of the dead.

George looks sadly back at me and I can tell he's thinking the same thing.

"Come on," George says, and he leads me down a small landing to a door which he slowly opens.

I step inside after him and gasp. It is small, but perfect - a dark green velvet sofa beneath the window, a small round table containing a vase of fresh white lilies. Against the wall there is a bookcase and as I peruse it I see it's filled with my favourite books. And there are boxes of products - many, many boxes - all piled up.

"Harri's room, Fred called it." George murmurs, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles. "Each and every new product we received, he would place one in those boxes. He wanted you to have everything. It's all yours. All of this."

I look up at him, tears in my eyes. "It's too much, I can't take it."

"We wouldn't be here if you hadn't given us those winnings."

"Yes, you would," I say moving closer to him, closing the gap, "you and Fred are both brilliant. You deserve this."

I reach up to touch his face, looking intensely into his eyes, needing him to believe in himself. "You're brilliant." I whisper.

He smiles, curling his fingers around my wrist and turning his face to kiss my hand. When he looks back at me, the breath evacuates my lungs, because it's not George's eyes I see, but Fred's.

"I miss you," I sob, "I miss you so much."

"Oh, Harri," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against mine, "I miss you, too."

And then we are kissing, urgent and hungry. My heart soars in my chest and my blood pumps frantically in my veins.

He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, and I let him carry me over to the sofa where we hurriedly undress one another.

"Fred," I gasp against his lips as he pushes inside of me, my whole body shaking in bliss at being this close to him again.

"Harri," he moans, threading his hand through my hair as he gently rocks in and out of me, "I love you, Harri. I love you."

He kisses away my tears and fucks me sweetly right there on the sofa in 'Harri's room' above the shop, my nostrils filled with the strong scent of lillies.

There is nothing but the sound of our frenzied moans and skin slapping against skin until we eventually cry out in ecstacy. I moan out Fred's name as I chase my pleasure and gasp when he comes inside of me with one last shuddering thrust.

Afterwards, we lie panting in each other's arms, a tangle of limbs and hot skin damp with sweat.

As my heart rate eventually slows, I begin to quietly sob.

When George falls asleep, I carefully slide out of his arms and quietly get dressed.

Before I go, I slip off the engagement ring Fred borrowed for me, and leave it on the table by the vase of lillies.

Then I whisper a goodbye to George and leave.

******