Another funeral.  There was always another funeral.

Ron stared down into the grave, more solemn than most had ever seen him.  Except for the other funeral he had attended.  He was solemn then, too.

He pulled his cloak closer, fighting off the bitter January wind.  The new year had arrived with death on its doorstep.

He knew he was close to tears but he couldn’t shed them here.  Wouldn’t.

The graveside was empty as he stared down at the coffin.  This will just kill him.  This death will just kill him.

He felt hands on him, one at the small of his back and one on his arm.  “Ron?  Come on, Ron, let’s go to the Burrow.  Seamus is going to show us how to have a good, old-fashioned Irish wake.”

Ron’s lips quirked.  “With plenty of alcohol, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” came the laughing reply.

Ron turned, brushed a kiss over her forehead and said, “And we have to be there for him.”

It didn’t need to be said who he was.  It was an understanding between them.

Her smile was wistful and sad, but she nodded.  “Always the Trio.”  She glanced back at the grave.  “Rest peacefully, Remus.”