|George Fabian Weasley (his_evil_twin) wrote in eighth_rpg,|
@ 2010-12-30 11:08:00
|Entry tags:||george weasley, ginny weasley, hermione granger, ron weasley|
Who: Family and friends of Molly and Arthur Weasley
What: The wake
Where: The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
When: Early afternoon on 30th December, following the funeral and burial
Rating: Unknown. Language possible.
The outside of the program
The inside of the program
The funeral had passed in a haze. Words of comfort were spoken, rehearsed lines about the dead never truely leaving and how the departed had gone to live a blessed life with the angels. Small bits of comfort meant to make the grieving feel better about their loss, but it never worked. Those of the Weasley children who had wished to speak had their say. George had gone up, prepared to give his carefully planned speech about how much his parents had meant to him, and how he had never managed to show them that. He could not get the words out, and instead wished aloud that they could find peace reunited with their lost son.
Those gathered on the rain-soaked lawn of the Burrow had been to far too many funerals this year. Some were more festive than others, Fred's had included fireworks and pranks on the guests, but this was certainly the most dreary. The weather matched the mood of everyone in attendance, grey and miserable, but no one seemed to notice. Some stood under umbrellas, while others let the light rain roll down their backs and shoulders without a care.
George leaned himself against the back of the house, a bottle of butterbeer clenched in his hand. He was holding true to his decision to swear off anything stronger, but today was making it very hard. It was all he could do to keep his composure as images of his last looks upon his parents' faces swam in his memory. Before they had been lowered into the earth, forever to rest side by side, each of the children had been able to say a private goodbye. George, when it was his turn, had plucked a small glass vial from beneath his robes. He tucked this tiny bit of his lost twin's remains into his mother's hand, hoping that, even if they couldn't be reunited in the afterlife, at least they could be together in the grave. The rest of the ashes remained in the shop where George felt they belonged. He had plans for them in the future, but he hoped that was a long way off.
He took a sip of the butterbeer, not really tasting it, and watched the crowd. The year was drawing to a close, and he hoped it would take all the sadness with it. Lord knows this family needed some bright days.