Final Farewell
Fred’s funeral arrived far too quickly for anyone to process. The thought of burying his little brother and saying goodbye felt impossible. Percy had long mourned the loss of their relationship, but to mourn Fred’s life itself felt unreal.
Family friends helped with preparations, as none of the Weasleys were in the right state of mind to handle it. His mother had been inconsolable, at first trying to put on a brave face and bring order to the chaos, but as the day approached, her façade crumpled. Arthur tended to her, his etched with lines of worry and sadness, Fred’s death weighing on him just as heavily.
Bill sat in the corner, nursing a whiskey in one hand while rubbing Fleur's back with the other. Charlie, who rarely stepped foot inside the Burrow since leaving, sat smack dab in the middle of the dining room table staring off into the distance. Ron busied himself with the funeral preparations, desperate for a distraction. Ginny had hidden herself away in her room flipping through photo albums, as silent tears streamed down her face.
But George took it the hardest. He swung between fits of anger and hollow numbness, a complete 360 of his usual playful self.
And then there was Percy. Standing among them felt wrong. He had missed so much of Fred’s final years, and the guilt sat heavily on his chest. The glare George kept shooting in his direction made it painfully clear he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
Sitting in the front row with his family, Percy stared at his brother’s well-dressed corpse. his heart ached at the sight. He had no right to claim he knew Fred well, not anymore, but even he knew his little brother would have hated the stiff suit and the heavy, solemn atmosphere. It didn’t feel like Fred at all. It was as if he were looking at a mannequin, a hollow imitation of the boy who once lit up every room he stepped foot in.
Fred’s eyes used to remind him of stars, always glinting with mischief, always alive and animated. But now they were blank. Empty. No light left in them.
They carried his casket to the family burial ground. The last to be buried there had been Fabian and Gideon, their mother’s older brothers. Now, Fred would rest alongside them.
Fabian and Gideon, twins, just like Fred and George, had perished during the First Wizarding War. It was cruel of fate to take Fred at the very end of the second when all was supposed to heal. Percy supposed he should be grateful that George had been spared from such fate.
He remembered how his mother had coped with the loss the first time around, how she attempted to mask her pain from them all. They had been very young at the time, but Percy had always been observant. He noticed things. He remembered the hollow look in her eyes, the way she moved through mindless tasks in a daze. He remembered the way she would glance at him, a fleeting expression of pain and something else, something unreadable at the time. He had only felt the sting of it, not understanding why.
Years later, it clicked. He had been the most like Gideon. His mannerisms, his ambitions, a haunting reflection of the brother his mother had lost.
But what stayed with him the most weren’t the looks or the dazed expressions. It was the sound of her quiet, muffled sobs in the living room after she thought everyone was asleep. Now she was suffering all over again. Watching her break this time was a pain unlike any other.
The funeral passed in a blur for Percy. he couldn’t process the words being spoken, couldn’t grasp their meaning. All he could do was stare ahead at the body being displayed before him.
It wasn’t right.
It should have been him. He should have been the one crushed by the wall.
Fred had been distracted because of him.
A selfish part of him clung to the fact that he had been the last to see Fred alive, to see him whole before it was all ripped away. But the guilt swallowed that thought just as quickly.
Would his family have been this devastated if it had been him instead?
Probably not.
No one was ready to say goodbye when the time came for the burial. To accept that they would never see Fred again.
As the casket was prepared to be lowered into the grave, George abruptly lunged forward, flinging himself onto it, grasping desperately at his twin. A strangled cry tore from his throat as he clung to the lifeless body, his fingers digging into the stiff fabric of Fred’s suit. He knew, he knew, there was no heartbeat to hear, no warmth to feel, but he pressed against Fred’s chest anyway, as if sheer will alone could bring him back.
The idea of living apart from Fred was unbearable. They had been inseparable from the very start. Fred had often joked that they would be together “from the womb to the tomb”, but that was supposed to be decades from now. Not like this. Not now.
No one moved to pry George away. They couldn’t take this moment from it him. It was his goodbye, no matter how painful it was to witness.
Minutes stretched on. Maybe half an hour. Maybe longer. George didn’t move, didn’t let go, until finally, his body gave in. His grip slackened and he crumpled to the ground, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Percy had to look away. It felt to raw, too intimate, something meant for family. And he no longer felt like he truly belonged.
Exhaustion overtook George as he slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. Bill was the one to step in, kneeling beside him and placing a firm hand on his shoulder before gently guiding him to a chair. Bill had always been the steady one, like a third parent to them all.
Fred was finally laid to rest, hours after they had planned.
Night fell, and everyone resided in their respective rooms.
Charlie, instead of rooming with Bill as he had when they were younger, chose to stay with George. No one felt comfortable to leave George alone in such a state of disarray.
Fleur had secured an international Portkey to reassure her family that given the circumstances, things were as well as they could be. That left Percy alone with Bill.
It felt awkward. Wrong.
In a way, Percy felt like he had betrayed Bill too, even though his older brother hadn’t been there to witness the argument that had torn everything apart.
“Perce, I’m glad you’re okay” Bill murmured, his voice quiet in the stillness of the room. He turned slightly, his gaze settling on Percy's silhouette, outlined by the soft glow of the moon.
Percy stiffened at the sudden sound. He didn’t know how to respond.
He had yearned to hear those words from someone, anyone, but now that they had been spoken, it felt wrong.
Maybe he would have preferred to be yelled at, to be condemned for his choices. To be reminded of what he had done. Because he didn’t deserve this kindness.
Sure, Percy believed that not everything he had said or done was misguided. Not all of it had been wrong.
But that didn’t change the fact that he had betrayed the people he loved. That he had made mistakes, convinced at the time that they were the right choices.
Lost in thought, he didn’t realize how long he had gone without responding. Instead, he simply nodded, avoiding Bill’s gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to meet his brother's eyes, not now. Because if he did, if hew saw even a flicker of warmth or understanding in Bill’s expression, the dam he had built around his emotions would shatter completely.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Perce, but for what it's worth it’s nice to have you here” Bill went on.
Bill had always been the one to see right through Percy when they were younger. He could tell when Percy was upset or angry. Over time, Percy had grown adept at masking his emotions so well that even Bill could no longer discern what he was feeling.
He couldn’t blame Bill for that. Yet, hearing those words felt like reopening an old wound. So much time had passed that Bill might have even felt like a stranger. but Percy knew the truth, there was no one else to blame. Bill hadn’t pushed him away as much as the rest of his siblings. It was Percy who had closed himself off. He hadn’t reached out, sent an owl, or asked to meet up.
Bill leaned over and closed the curtains, blocking the moonlight. In the sudden darkness, Percy felt more trapped than ever by his own thoughts.