A short and DARK fanfic! Do not read if you are triggered by suicide or graphic images of death. I was in an angsty mood when I wrote this, so this is the kind of paths my brain goes down when that happens.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Ginny was the first to go.

It was a warm summer day and the sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the red, black, blonde, and brown hair of the teenagers in the yard. Hermione, Harry, and I were staying there because my father was out of town, so we decided I would stay with the Weasleys for the week.

We were so happy. The boys were throwing gnomes and Hermione and Percy were reading while I sketched a few magnificent creatures in my sketchbook.

A scream shattered the serene atmosphere.

As one, we all shot to our feet, bolted inside, and thundered up the stairs, right behind Mrs. Weasley.

We found fourteen year old Ron standing in the bathroom, his blue eyes wide in horror, and we followed his gaze to the horrifying sight before us.

My best friend- hell, my only friend- Ginny, was lying on the floor, her eyes closed and her chest still. Blood splayed around her in angel wings and while the others all cried and screeched their hearts out, I sat there and prayed that she was finally happy.

Once my father returned, I went back home while Harry and Hermione went to stay with her parents after the funeral. I didn't see hair nor hide of any of the Weasleys for an entire year.

When I did, it wasn't a happy sight.

Ron had called me, Harry, Hermione, and Neville, telling us to come by the house while his parents weren't home that night. We made the mistake of doing so.

For a long five minutes, we waited in the living room before finally, the four of us climbed the stairs to Ron's room.

Harry was the first to walk in. As if he hadn't seen enough horrible things in his life.

The raven haired boy fell into Neville's arms, too shocked to support himself, and the slightly pudgy boy stumbled, steadied by Hermione. Thank the gods; one more step back and he and Harry would have been tumbling down the stairs.

Ron was lying on his bed, his eyes wide open and a slight smile gracing his lips. In his limp hand, his wand rested and I knew that if I checked, the last spell he cast would've been the killing curse.

I was the first to realize it. Next thing I knew, I was sprinting in the direction of the twins' room, followed closely by an alarmed Hermione, a traumatized Neville, and a stumbling and stunned Harry.

George was there, suspended from the ceiling with his blue eyes open and a smile stretched across his face. His feet dangled at head level and I didn't have to turn around to know that one of the others had fallen into the door frame. In a way, seeing George just hanging there was worse than seeing Ron with his wand in his grasp.

I heard a sob and followed it into the bathroom, where Neville had wandered, trying to get away from the terrifying scene in the bedroom, only to walk into another.

Fred was lying, fully clothed, under the water in the bath tub. His eyes were open and bloodshot from the bath water, his skin pale as snow.

Finally, Hermione bolted into Percy's room and at first, it appeared as if he were sleeping. But his still chest and the three vials of sleeping draught on the bed side table suggested otherwise.

The others sprinted from the house, but I remained.

Traveling back to Ron's room, I took his wand from his hand and placed it on the nightstand. I closed his eyes, folded his hands on his chest, and covered him with his Cudley Cannons blanket. At first glance, he looked like he was sleeping peacefully.

Next came George, who I cut down using his wand (I don't think he would mind; he actually might appreciate it). I placed the rope on the bed at his feet before closing his brown eyes and covering him with his comforter.

Thirdly, I helped Fred by using George's wand to dry him off and change his clothes, so that he no longer looked like a drowned doll (even though, technically, the first part was true). Then, I levitated him into his bedroom and laid him in his bed, closing his eyes, covering him, and walking away.

Percy was easy. I left the vials, so that people would know how he died instead of having to search for the cause of death. His eyes were already closed, so all I did was cover him with his blanket.

Then, I took a deep breath and left the Burrow. There was nothing else I could do.

On the way out, there were a few metallic clangs as the handles of Percy, the twins, and Ron clattered to the floor, where Ginny's had landed a year ago.

I never saw Mr. or Mrs. Weasley again- or Bill and Charlie for that matter. I suppose that their home held too many memories of the children they'd lost, so they left. Harry and Hermione and... well, a lot of people really missed the Weasley parents dearly, but we all understood.

After I attended the funeral of my friends, I only visited their graves on the anniversary of their deaths. I didn't want to be like Harry and Hermione, who spent every waking moment at the cemetery. I could not let the dead control my life as it did their's- and I'm not just talking about the Boy Who Lived and the brightest witch of the age.

We lost over half of the Wealsey family in less than a year to death and the others to grief.

And I, Luna Lovegood, remember it all.

I know Luna's reactions to their deaths may sound a little cruel, but she's a very calm person and sounds like someone that knows that death is inevitable. I think she would be the one to take care of their bodies, unlike the others, who would be so lost in grief, they wouldn't even consider it. Anyway, thanks for reading.