Muggles & Spark Plugs - Arthur Weasley

Epilogue

Arthur Weasley felt numb and much rather dead inside. The first time this had happened had been at the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts when he had watched his son, the late Fred Weasley, be crushed beneath a wall. Now, he had watched as the twin of him had murdered Andrew, the née Muggle. He had not known at the time that Andrew was a wizard - if only he had been a Muggle, maybe he would not have gotten caught up in this mess! But he had and he was dead now.

He watched, eyes unblinking, as two men from the Ministry lowered the casket into the ground. He had already said his teary-eyed goodbyes and still looking at the body he had only realized then that he was truly dead and nothing could make him return. He had not wanted to touch the casket himself, but it pained him to see someone else do the work. Still, he sat next to Molly, who was weeping into a handkerchief. Next to her was George with Angelina's face buried into his shoulder. She had not met the boy, but she would miss him terribly nevertheless as her fiancé had been happy, cheerful for a few years until it had all come crashing down and he had ended it himself.

The gravedigger helped the two men lower the casket, though it was not a big one. The moment the box landed on the ground with a dull thud was when the tears crept out on Arthur's face. He had tried to stay strong for his family, but that had been a weak wall that would break as easily as a wood chipper would break wood. His vision blurred. He heard the sound of a shovel scraping against the casket slightly and he wanted to yell out to not do so. Instead, he stayed quiet and made himself watch the burial of his son. He heard the family members and friends around him begin crying too. A slight pouring of rain drifted down from the heavens. It seemed even the sky was crying for their loss.

As soon as the last shovelful of dirt was placed and patted down, the rain stopped. It was a bizarre thing, and it did not help with the tears streaming down his own face. He was sure those tears would not leave as quickly.

He hardly noticed Molly was leading him towards the grave itself. Intertwined in their hands was a bouquet of flowers. They tickled his hand slightly. Glistening drops of rain clung to the petals and leaves. They too fell like tears and streamed down the inside sleeve of his suit. His hand sealed shut around both his wife's hand and the flowers. He knew he was slowly crushing the stems and the flowers themselves unconsciously. When it came to when it was time to deposit the flowers onto the freshly covered grave, his hand would not open properly to drop the flowers. It took Molly's hand to pry it open with her own hands and slowly help him drop the flowers onto the dirty ground he could barely see.

Trails of tears were still on his face when he returned to the Burrow. His voice had been a mess of tears and sobs when he had attempted to use Floo Powder; he had walked out at a place ten miles from the Burrow and George had to Apparate there and back with him. The two sobbing men had barely made it into the house when another wave of tears came on. Now, George had gone to his flat in Diagon, leaving a sobbing Arthur to almost drift off to sleep.

He was still thinking about Andrew. How could he be dead? He had seen the body, saw the casket, and had even spoken words about him. For an instant then, he had his joker son back. He truly had because he was dead just like the first. Arthur pulled the pillow onto his face, muffling the sobs. He fell asleep soon afterwards, tears still falling silent in the dead of night. For once, not a single soul's dream involved the Aquila morte.