He watched in disbelief as he took in his surroundings.

When he was younger, he would’ve given his right arm to be able to read minds. Yet as he sat in the chair, starring at the mournful faces, he realized that the ability isn’t what he thought it would be.

Percy kept a stern expression on his face. He had noticed that Percy stayed in that mood ever since his death. Percy looked older and unkempt, letting a beard grow.

“It’s my fault.” Percy would say over again. “We were together in the hall. I should have protected him; shielded him or something!!”

“How can you blame yourself? We were trying to protect each other! Don’t beat yourself up, man.” He tried to reach for him but felt a disturbance in air.

“Why do I still feel you?” he whispered.

“I’m still with you,” Fred yelled to him. George’s face turned around but saw nothing. “We’ll always be together, George.” He gazed into his mirror image, desperate for recognition.

“You can’t be gone. You can’t be, cause why am I here if you’re not? That doesn’t make sense. We go everywhere together. So how can I be here if you’re not?” George shook his head irritably as he tried to rationalize this.

“You can’t follow me this time, mate.” Fred tried to move closer to him but a loud shout drew his attention.

The despondent cry came from the front audience. A crazed woman threw herself on top of the casket, lashing at everyone who tried to stop her. “NO, NO!! THAT’S MY SON! MY SON! DON’T TAKE HIM! TAKE ME! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

“Mother, please!” Fred ran to her side, desperately trying to hold her. But his ghostly arms came up empty.

He fell to his knees next to Molly, both sobbing beside the casket that his physical body laid in. Fred looked to his father wondering why he had not come for his wife. But he could see that the man was not in better shape then she.

Arthur was slumped in his chair, looking pale and very lean like he hadn’t eaten (or bathed) in days. Arthur did not look up to watch her hysterics nor did he watch the procession of his son’s body. It was as if a Dementor had control, cause all Arthur did was sit there…motionless…. showing no feeling at all.

“What’s happening to this family?” Fred pleaded.

“It’s gonna be alright.” The gentle voice came from Ron, who gathered his mother into his consoling embrace. “Fred wouldn’t want you like this. He’d want you to be strong.” He watched him take his father’s hand. “We will be strong together. Won’t we, father?”

“Thank you, little brother,” Fred said, feeling overcome with peace as he watched his family gather around Ron for strength.