Author's Notes: I'm feeling angsty (in a writing style way, mind!) and so here is another short ficlet that came from the idea of Fred's death. I love Fred, and am still really bothered by the fact that he was killed. In this story, so is Oliver. Oliver/Fred actually used to be a favorite pairing of mine way back in the day. I was inspired when I read the less-than-decent stories I wrote years ago, and wanted to do something with a little more depth to it. Please let me know what you think by reviewing! I would greatly appreciate everyone's opinions, especially fellow Oliver and Fred lovers. :)

Oliver remembers the exact moment he felt his heart break.

It was when he brought Colin Creevey's body into the Great Hall, and saw all of the Weasleys surrounding one small section of the House tables. He didn't need to see the body around which they gathered, because Fred was nowhere to be seen. He doesn't know how he had managed to get Colin's body safely put down. All he knows, all he remembers is that the sight of Fred's soulless smile tore him right in two.

Everything between then and now is a blur for him. The battle, the bodies, the burials—all of it blends together in his head, a seemingly never-ending stream of chaos. He remembers the tears, the embraces. They lost Professor Lupin and Tonks, too, among countless others.

He misses Fred the most.

Arthur and Molly agreed upon setting up the funeral procession shortly after the battle. Oliver decided to stay at the Burrow to help out however he could. Nobody knows about him and Fred. After all, it had only come into being some few months ago. But he was a close family friend, and they didn't object to his presence. The funeral is today, and despite his every attempt to be cheerful for George's sake, the pain in his heart chokes his spirit and brings him down.

Oliver sits with the Weasleys during the eulogy, close to George and Percy. He thinks on how unfortunate it is that in gaining back one son, Arthur and Molly lose another. Fate is cruel, Oliver decides bitterly. Cruel enough to fuck with a family that has already been through hell and back.

Somehow he manages to remain stoic through the eulogy to the wake. People mingle, floating around and talking to one another, recalling the good times, the jokes and Fred's successes, among other things. Oliver breaks off from his friends and ends up wandering, eventually finding himself at the casket. Strangely, all of the sounds occurring around him begin to fade out, as if he'd cast Silencio. He doesn't mind it. He needs some peace and quiet.

He stares at the handsome casket, thankful for the Weasleys' decision to keep it closed. In this respect, Oliver figures it will be easier to let Fred go.

For some time he stands there, taking a rare stroll down memory lane. He recalls how everything came to be—how he and Fred finally decided that enough was enough, and that they were going to give their love a shot. It was funny how it had all come to be over a game of cards, but he supposed that not every love story began with an epic declaration of desire. Still, this fit the bill for a tragic ending, like some piece of romantic literature.

Not that he would know about that, or anything.

Oliver starts at the sound of a gentle voice behind him.

"It's a beautiful casket, isn't it?"

He turns, finding Molly Weasley before him. She looks hauntingly lovely in her black dress robes, the veil of her hat draped to the side. The skin around her eyes is red and slightly puffy, but dry. Despite all that has happened, she remains unwaveringly composed. Oliver admires her strength.

"It really is."

He doesn't really know what else to say.

Molly comes to stand beside him. The two share a moment of silence.

"He admired you so," the Weasley matriarch says, with a fondness in her voice. "Called you nutters a few times, but I could see he looked up to you in so many ways."

Oliver's throat burns and constricts with the threat of oncoming tears. He manages to say, "He was always a flatterer."

Molly offers a murmur of agreement, again falling silent. Oliver knows that if he looks at her, he'll lose it. He can't explain why. But his instincts tell him to do so, and he's never strayed from listening to them.

When he does, he finds her staring. In that fleeting moment he realizes something: Mollyknows. Her eyes are telling—something inside them just says: I know.

He doesn't object when she comes close to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He doesn't stop her from burying her face against his chest, hugging him tightly. He hugs her back with every fiber of his being, knowing at that moment that the pain of losing the one he loved could never compare to the pain of losing your child.

Before he knows it, hot tears streak his cheeks. His chest burns with longing, something he is sure to deal with for many years to come.

Oliver has always liked Molly, but never truly knew what she would do when she found out he and her son had been together. Part of him wishes it hadn't come to the surface now, but there's nothing they can do—nothing aside from hold each other and commiserate over the loss of someone near and dear to both of their hearts.

Fred is gone. And Oliver's life will never be the same again.