Title: Father's Day
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are owned by people richer than I. If I ever become that rich, you can be sure I'll retire and write full-time.
Warnings: This contains a character death (Ron's), as well as some major angst. It's rated PG-13, and will most likely stay that way, so stop the begging in advance. Also, this is an AU story, mainly because I sincerely doubt Rowling would end the series like this. At any rate, enjoy.
Chapter 1: Cruel Homecoming
"Sons are put on this earth to trouble their fathers" - Road to Perdition.
A long time had passed since Harry Potter stepped foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Years had passed since he'd even been in England. Such was the life of an Auror. It was the life he chose, and for the most part he had no complaints.
For the most part.
It was bittersweet occasion that would bring the 28-year-old to his former alma mater. A sour taste rose in his throat as he scanned his surroundings. Witches and wizards - some formerly friends; others, unknown - were gathered about in small groups, chatting quietly amongst themselves. There was no sign of any of the Weasleys, though Harry had not expected it. Most likely they were in seclusion until the ceremony begun. It was an event Harry did not want to attend, no matter how much duty called for his presence.
He had returned for the funeral of his best friend, Ronald Weasley.
Harry tugged the hood of his dark cloak over his head, carefully shielding his features. His presence here would not go unnoticed - he was still too famous for his defeat of Voldemort the last time he'd been at Hogwarts - more than a decade ago. Still, he hoped to stave off the attention until after the ceremony. He was here for his friend, nothing more.
His right hand squeezed into a fist as he fought back the tears that had threatened to erupt since he received the news a week ago. He had been deep under cover in South Africa at the time, chasing the remnants of Voldemort's Deatheaters, but Kingsley had ordered him home.
"What is it, Kingsley? I've almost finished here. You're breaking my cover."
"Sorry, Harry, I just needed to tell you to come home."
"Home? Why now? I'm almost finished here. I can't just leave."
"Harry, this is not a request. It's an order. Come home. You have business to attend to."
"What business?"
"Harry, your friend Ron has just died."
And so Harry had begun the long journey home. Since he'd received the news a sort of numbness had settled in on his stomach. He'd yet to cry, mourn, or show any other emotion. The news seemed so surreal.
Harry's mind flickered back to the memories he had of him, Ron, and Hermione laughing in the Gryffindor common room over this joke or that story. It was a memory he kept close to his heart - closer than all others. Well, there was another one he kept closer - but he tried not to think about that one.
And now Ron was dead. Harry shook his head. It seemed less than a year ago that Ron's wife, the late Luna Lovegood Weasley, had died after a Deatheater attack flattened the headquarters of The Quibbler, which she was the president of. She had left behind Ron, who at the time had been playing for the Chudley Cannon's as keeper, and their son, Arthur Ronald Weasley II, or Artie, as they liked to call him.
Harry stepped inside the Great Hall. Replacing the long columns of tables were rows of chairs. An ornate wooden casket rested at the front of the room, flanked by maroon flowers. A few people were seated already, but most of the guests had yet to arrive. Harry stepped to the side, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he swallowed a lump in his throat. He could feel the pain resonating off the stone walls of the Great Hall, and if he wasn't careful, he'd lose his composure before the ceremony even began.
"Harry?"
At the familiar voice Harry's head jerked around, his eyes leveling on the silver-haired figure of his former professor. Remus Lupin stepped towards him, favoring his left leg as he wrapped his arms around Harry and drew the younger man into a hug. Harry gladly returned the comforting gesture, relieved at the sight of the familiar face.
"It's good to see you, Harry," Lupin said. "Work keeps you far too busy."
Harry nodded, casting a longing gaze towards the front of the room. "I couldn't keep away from this one," he said, his voice catching in his throat at the last word. Blinking back tears he turned his gaze to Lupin's. "It's hard to believe he's gone."
Lupin nodded, not bothering to conceal the tears in his eyes as he reached up with his right hand and clasped Harry's shoulder. "He was a good man, and a fine friend. I'll be giving the eulogy."
The younger man nodded, grimacing. Presenting the eulogy should have been his job. Not for the first time Harry cursed himself for the life he had chosen. If he'd known what he was going to be giving up as an Auror, he would have never become one.
No, that's not true, Harry thought to himself as he shook his head miserably. He had taken care of Voldemort, but he would never rest easy until every last one of his Deatheaters was rotting in Azkaban. He owed it to his friends. And he owed it to her.
As if sensing the train of his thoughts, Remus gave his shoulder a light squeeze, gesturing to the front of the room. "Would you like to sit with the Weasleys? I'm sure they'd be grateful for your support."
Harry grimaced, contemplating the suggestion for a moment before shaking his head. "I'll just draw a crowd if I'm up there. People should be here for Ron, not me. I'll see them at the burial."
The burial was scheduled to take place at 2 o'clock, in a cemetery on a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole. That ceremony was restricted to friends and family.
Remus nodded, squeezing Harry's shoulder one more time before dropping his hand. "I'll leave you to find your seat then. I will see you later."
Harry nodded and watched as Lupin disappeared into the crowd. He focused his attention on finding a seat and was able to secure a place on the outskirts of the Great Hall in middle. It afforded him a clear view of the stage, but also gave him enough leeway to escape in case someone from the press recognized him. The crowds began to fill the Great Hall, and Harry allowed himself to be momentarily amazed by the number of people who had turned out for Ron's funeral. Off in the distance he could see the members of the Chudley Cannons. He recognized several people from the ministry present, including all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. He could also pick out a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, including Parvati and Neville. He couldn't see anyone from Slytherin present, save for Professor Snape, who had a muted scowl on his face.
A hush fell over the crowd and Harry's chin tilted up, his gaze flickering over the front of the room as the Weasleys began to come in. First was Molly, escorted by Bill and Percy. Harry felt his heart breaking at the side of her ruffled hair, her puffy eyes, and the handkerchief in her hand. She looked as if she'd lost quite a bit of weight, and it did not look healthy. Bill and Percy had solemn expressions on their faces, and were dressed in matching black robes. Following those three were Arthur, Fred, and George. Fred and George looked uncharacteristically glum, and Mr. Weasley's shoulders seemed to hunch over a bit. He looked as if he were leaning on Fred and George for support - as though he could not hold up his own shoulders.
Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as Remus brought up the rear, with Fleur, Bill's wife, and Hermione in tow. Trailing behind her was a small, red-headed little boy. But Harry paid him no heed at the moment. His attention was focused on her.
Hermione.
Harry's attention perked up as Hermione came in, and he allowed his gaze to drift over her diminutive features. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and she was wringing a set of tissues in her hands as she walked quickly across the room. Her frizzy brown hair, so unruly that Harry had joked nothing short of axle grease could tame it, was pulled behind her head in a ponytail. Harry watched as they filed in, taking their seats on the front row. He quickly noted that Ginny wasn't there, though that didn't surprise him. Ginny had not been on good terms with any of her family since she'd married Draco Malfoy.
Shoving that thought out of his mind, Harry focused his attention on the ceremony. A hush fell over the crowd. Remus made his way up to a marble podium behind Ron's casket. After the silence hovered for a few moments, he began to speak.
"I'm glad to see so many familiar faces gathered here today to celebrate the life of one of Hogwart's finest." Remus said, his voice cracking on the last note. He glanced down, regaining his composure, before continuing.
"Ronald Weasley was not a punctual wizard. From the time he was born, and stretched poor Molly Weasley to ten months, he was always running late. He ran late to his first class at Hogwarts and held the school record for number of detentions received due to tardies."
There was a muffled laughter rolling through the crowd, and even Harry couldn't help but crack a smile at the title Ron had been presented with at their graduation. Remus cracked a faint smile, before continuing.
"In fact, I often told him that the only reason he ever turned in any of his assignments on time was because Ms. Granger did it for him while he and Harry were out on the Quidditch Pitch."
At this there was a muffled sobbing from the front row. It sounded like Hermione. Harry tilted his head, straining to see his friend, but his attempt was futile. Instead, he turned his attention to Remus, who had tears strolling freely down his cheeks.
"Today, Ron was the first one here," he continued, his gaze flickering to the casket. "That's how I know he is truly gone."
Harry brushed a tear out of his eye, gritting his teeth as Remus' words faded into the distance. He focused his attention on the small, red-headed boy that sat on the front row, his gaze cast to the floor. Several years had passed since he'd seen Artie, but he looked like he was the spitting image of Ron at that age. His face was dotted with freckles and he wore a suit that appeared three sizes too small at the leg. His sneakered feet kicked back and forth over the ground. But what really caught Harry's eye was how miserable the child appeared. This was to be expected, Harry realized. But not one tear was visible in young Artie's eyes. It was as if he'd turned himself off from the world and disappeared into a place where only he existed.
The raven-haired wizard continued to watch him, trying to remember himself at that age, trying to remember what it was like to be eleven and to have no parents. It was a feeling he recalled all too well.
Time seemed to fly by and pretty soon Harry found himself shuffling out the door, making his way to off the Hogwarts grounds to an apparation point that led to the car that would take them to the cemetery. He walked alone, allowing himself to mull over his thoughts as he walked along. A few times he choked back angry tears, siphoning off that wasted energy into anger instead. By the time he arrived at the graveyard, his eyes were dry.
A small crowd, no more than twenty people, had gathered under a makeshift tent that covered a small number of chairs. Ron's casket had been transported to its burial site and closed - something for which Harry was grateful. Seeing Ron at the funeral had threatened to undo all the careful work of concealing his emotions. Ron had appeared peaceful, but it didn't look like Ron … at least not the Ron that Harry remembered. This Ron's hair had darkened somewhat, settling into a deeper shade of red. Although the freckles had not faded, Ron had apparently taken the time to grow a moustache and goatee. While Harry occasionally donned facial hair for an undercover assignment, he wasn't sure he liked the change on Ron. It made it harder to remember him as he was.
Everyone had arrived by the time Harry's car - a loaner from the Ministry of Magic - had arrived. Harry quietly stepped out of the car, glancing over the crowd. He recognized the Weasleys, of course, and other members from the Order. Hermione was also there, along with Lupin and a few of the other Hogwarts teachers. And Ginny was standing in the corner.
Ginny Malfoy.
Harry arched an eyebrow at the youngest Weasley. He had not seen her in many years, and was surprised at how much she appeared to have grown in his absence. Her body was no longer the thin, freckly specter that he remembered. Ginny now had curves in all the right places and Harry couldn't see a freckle in sight. She still sported her hair in a shoulder-length cut, and she was still a bit on the short side, but she appeared to have grown up overnight. Her eyes were rimmed from what appeared to be crying, and she appeared thoroughly miserable.
Inhaling deeply, Harry slowly pulled back the hood of his cloak and began walking towards the group. Absently he ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that had plagued him since his youth. He had scarcely made it three steps when a woman's shrill voice called to him across the lawn.
"Harry!"
The raven-headed wizard forced a smile to his mouth, embracing the shorter Molly Weasley in a hug. The older woman squeezed Harry in a death grip, as if she were scared he'd disappear if she let go for even a moment.
"It's good to see you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, stepping up beside Harry and giving him a pat on the back. Harry nodded, allowing Mrs. Weasley to hang onto him as he kissed her on the forehead. She was the closest thing he had to a mother, and he felt bad that he hadn't visited more often on his time off.
"Harry, welcome back," Fred, or was it George, said. It was impossible to tell since the twins were dressed in identical, and expensive, black suits. Apparently Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was doing well. Bill and Charlie smiled at Harry and Percy gave him a dignified, unperturbed, nod.
"I just wish it could have been under better circumstances," Molly said, her eyes brightening with tears. Harry nodded, fighting back his own emotions as she pulled out her handkerchief began dabbing at her eyes. Harry looked away uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, when his gaze came upon a familiar mahogany one. Hermione was staring at him, her lips drawn into a tight line, as if she were making a noticeable effort to hide her anger. Her fists were bunched up tightly at her sides and she stood deathly still. If Harry had not met her before he would have sworn she was a statue.
At Molly's insistent tug on his arm Harry shifted his focus to the shorter woman, forcing a weak smile across his features.
"I'm sorry I haven't been around much. Work has been hectic," Harry said apologetically. If Molly seemed to harbor any grudge, she didn't show it. Mr. Weasley nodded.
"Do you have a place to stay Harry?" he asked. At Harry's shaking head, he continued, "Well then, you shall have to stay with us."
"Oh," Harry said, blushing furiously. "I was thinking about getting a room on Diagon Alley."
"I won't have that. You must stay with us, Harry. We've so much to talk about." Mrs. Weasley was rambling, but Harry nodded in understanding. For too long she'd been used to having children under her roof, and now with Ginny estranged and Ron dead, she was facing the grim reality of an empty nest.
"Of course he will, mum," Fred piped up. Harry nodded and Molly's eyes immediately brightened with tears again. Artie, who was standing behind Fred and George, said nothing, pawing the toe of one of his sneakers into the dirt.
When Harry glanced back up, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He sat down next to Molly Weasley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Albus Dumbledore, now retired from Hogwarts but still very much alive, began the graveside ceremony.
"Ronald Weasley was a devoted father. After his wife died, he gave up Quidditch to pursue a career as a business partner in his brother's enterprise, so he could spend more time with his son. He even accepted a position at Hogwarts so he could play an active role in his son's first year. He was a loyal friend, often paying special visits to Hogwarts to visit his former classmates. He will be sorely missed," Dumbledore paused, looking up to the sky. "We will miss you, Ron Weasley. For us, it seems like the end, but you have just begun your next great adventure." All too soon it seemed like they were filing past the closed casket, paying their last respects to the youngest Weasley boy.
Harry's turn arrived; and he hesitated only briefly by the side of his friend's final resting place. He leaned down and began to whisper softly. "Hey mate. I'm sorry I wasn't here more often," he paused, frowning as his mind struggled to wrap around the words that seemed to elude him. "I've made some real progress against those Deatheaters," he frowned, looking down. It all seemed so trite now.
"Look, I know I wasn't around much, but I thought about you and Hermione every day. I promise to come around more and I'll take good care of your mum and dad - Artie too, if you want me to. That's a promise."
He slowly rose to his feet, having said all he needed to say, and filed past the casket. Harry wandered aimlessly among the chairs, ignoring quiet sobs. He searched desperately for Hermione but could not see her anywhere. She must have apparated home, he thought. Tucking back the nagging idea that she didn't want to be around him, Harry slowly made his way to a tearful Ginny, who was standing against one of the tent posts.
The younger woman flung herself into his arms, sobbing against Harry's shoulder. Harry felt flustered, not prepared to deal with such an open display of emotions from the one who had chosen Draco Malfoy over her own family; but he held here nonetheless, trying to comfort her as best as possible. After what seemed like hours her sobs finally subsided, and she drew back, sniffling noisily.
"Sorry, Harry, it's just …" Ginny allowed her voice to trail back. "It's hard to believe he's gone. And murdered, no less. It's … just …" her voice broke off as her eyes began to water again.
Ron had been found a week ago on the floor of his brother's store, his body frozen in a state of shock that made it all too clear what had happened. Harry had screamed bloody murder for two solid hours after he'd received the news of the Avada Kedavra curse. He would find the person who did that to Ron. And he would make them pay.
Harry gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing. "I will find the person who did that to him. They will pay for their crimes."
"I'd start with that bloody husband of hers," George's voice piped up behind them. Ginny froze and Harry glanced over his shoulder to the remaining Weasleys, who were quickly approaching. For a moment there was a tense silence, and then Ginny whispered a hurried goodbye before disappearing with a pop.
"Come on Harry," Fred muttered. "Let's go home."