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Summary
Fred's funeral turns out to be quite lovely, Harry thinks, in spite of how heartbroken they all feel. Everyone says something nice or funny about Fred, trying to remember the good moments. Harry can’t get the words out, but Ron is by his side, the back of his hand pressed against Harry’s, his eyebrows scrunched up as he sobs quietly.
“Stay,” Ron whispers after dinner, when everyone gets ready for bed, pale faces looking empty and wiped out. “Don’t go back to Grimmauld Place. Stay here, Harry. Please…”
Harry nods, then follows Ron upstairs, to the room where they’ve spent countless summer evenings, chatting in bed with a laugh and a cheeky grin on their faces.
They lie in the dark in silence this time, and Harry feels so cold.