Harry -?
Harry hated reporters with a passion. Of all the things he was feeling today that was the one thing that was easiest to concentrate on. Even now, when they were burying three of their family members, they were there, like vultures, taking pictures. And yet today he was too numb to even care if they got good shots of him. He was sure he was going to regret tomorrow when his face was plastered all over the papers. At least no one would complain that he wasn't smiling at the cameras.
Gideon he hardly knew. Angie had been a dear friend even before she became a relative. Her death hurt. And then there was Arthur. In some ways Arthur had been like a father to him. Not like a real father, of course, but he'd been there, guiding him - or trying to in his own unintrusive way. He'd given him advice before the wedding, helped him not to panic when Jamie was being born, showed him how to hold him when he cried (before they discovered that brooms were the best way to get him to sleep).
He stayed close to Ginny and the rest of the family, keeping an eye on both his sons while trying not to be pained by the large absence that was his daughter. He knew he could never be the kind of father that Arthur was, that he could never be as good, that he'd always come up short. That didn't mean he couldn't try, though he wasn't sure how he'd try when his little girl wasn't even here.