Cold, was how Ron could describe this day, it was raining cats and dogs, as if the heavens were also mourning the loss of that great man and father.

To his left was his sister, who despite always having a fiery attitude was shivering uncontrollably as she cowered as much as possible, next to her was his older brother Bill, putting an arm around her as he tried to appear strong in front of the whole family, Fleur his fiancée on the other side of him with her head resting on his shoulder.

The twins were a few places away from Ron, it was so bizarre not to see them with their mischievous eyes and their perpetual smile, both as pale as snow holding each other's feet.

Charlie was heartbroken, among the Weasley brothers, he and Ron were the ones who always wore their emotions on their sleeves, their howl-like cries filling the graveyard. The part of Charlie that always hated that his passion for dragons took him away from his family consumed him completely, apart from the short time he spent last year at the tournament Charlie had never been able to spend time with his father, knowing that he could never make up for that mistake hurt him completely.

His mother stood in front of everyone, her eyes that always reflected her infinite love were opaque, her eyes swollen from so much crying, the man who had been the centre of her universe had been brutally murdered at work, at the Ministry of Magic no less.

All the siblings knew that a large part of their mother had followed their father to the afterlife.

An empty chair sat in the front row of the funeral, the brother who preferred his job to his family hadn't bothered to attend at any point after the news was made public.

Ron knew that on that day the family had lost not only his father forever, but Percy as well.

On Ron's right hand side was Harry Potter, his best friend for five long years now, by a cruel twist of fate he was the one who last saw Arthur Weasley alive through the eyes of the snake that ended his life. Harry was in a bad way, shaking his head from side to side and muttering things like "My fault" "I killed him" "Forgive me".

On any other day Ron would try to talk some sense into Harry that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't a snake in the Ministry, that he was just He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named trying to destroy his already diminished sanity as he had done all this year.

But Ron thought that if he was allowed to stop being Harry's best friend for one day, this day would be the perfect day.

Ron couldn't help it, a thousand feelings were running through his head: fear, sadness, loneliness, hopelessness.

But only two stood out among the others.

A feeling of pure emptiness.

And a hatred like he had never felt before for the people who had taken his beloved father from her.

The ceremony was coming to an end, unlike muggles, wizards had no religion, the witch burnings performed by muggles in the names of their gods had left the community with a distaste for religion, one of the few things that both the more conservative families and the more progressive families like the Weasleys agreed on. The ceremony present was only his father's family and friends who wanted to say a final farewell to the man they all greatly respected.

As it was his turn to say his final goodbye, Ron, who by then had not shed a single tear, still in a state of shock and denial, at his father's corpse for the last time could not stop his mind from sending him on a walk through his many memories with him.

Four year old Ron watching his father move the chess pieces as they tried to give him suggestions or complaining that he should grip them less tightly, all the while with a smile on his face he explained to his youngest son how the game of strategy was played. For Ron, it was that moment alone with his father that had sparked his love of the game.

Seven year old Ron accompanied his father to a professional quidditch game, his father had been given two tickets to see the Chudley Cannons and Puddlemere United play, his older brothers had made fun of the game, mentioning that they would only see Puddlemere warm up for a real challenge, but for Ron this would be his first time at an official game. Standing next to his father cheering with him, as he lifted him on his shoulders while the players from both teams did stunts for the entertainment of the crowd, as at the end of the game although the Cannons lost as usual, each player was seen wearing a smile of satisfaction at having had fun at the game and having put on a show for their fans, sharing those moments with his father had made Ron a lifelong fan of the Chudley Cannons.

Ron at his eleventh birthday party with his Hogwarts letter in his hand, watching his father look at him with pure pride, no matter that this was the sixth time Arthur had seen one of his children be happy because of the letter.

Moments like the first time they went fishing, when he taught Ginny and him how to cast the gnomes in the garden, when he gave him some sweets behind his mother's back, every time that even though he was late from work he took the time to ask him about his day and spend time with him. All those memories, among others, surrounded her head.

Seeing his father for the last time, lying down as if he was taking a little nap before going to work finally made the torrent of emotions come to life, once the tears welled up there seemed to be no end to them, his legs lost all strength making him have to hold on to the sarcophagus to not lose sight of his father's corpse.

Her wailing could be heard clearly despite the heavy rain that afternoon, causing her mother to lose what little control she still had as she desperately called out the name of the man who had given her everything in this life for nothing.

Ginny was the first to approach him, giving him a desperate hug, reminding him of when she would go to his room to shelter them together from the stormy nights. George and Fred were each clutching his shoulder, trying to give their little brothers words of comfort they didn't even believe, while Charlie and Bill were helping Molly who had finally succumbed to her own despair.

Harry could only watch the scene with tears in his eyes, convinced that it only brought misfortune to the family that had given him everything.

...

At last the funeral was over, each member of the family went to their own room, each mourning individually.

For Ron this meant destroying everything in sight, those possessions that had been inherited from his older brothers were broken into dozens of pieces, no one mentioned anything as they knew that Ron needed that and that a simple spell would eventually fix everything.

Ron couldn't contain his rage, cursing the Dark Lord, dark families like the Malfoy's, the corrupt minister and for a brief moment, his best friend.

A friend who was in the living room at the moment, talking to Sirius by the fireplace, trying to extinguish the guilt he felt.

Ron no longer thought about the good times he had with his father, only the future times that were taken away from him, he would never see Ron reach adulthood, see him graduate from Hogwarts, get married, start a family, Ron would never see his father retire to spend all his time with his collection of Muggle artefacts and flirting with his mum.

So many things that were taken away from him just because of some idiots and their superiority complex, seeing his father and the rest of his family simply as pawns to get to his best friend.

Those people (Ron hated to even name them as such) would right now be laughing about the Blood traitor getting what he deserved, telling jokes about their poverty while smoking their imported cigars and drinking their liquor aged hundreds of years.

That was what Ron hated most at the moment.

That these death eaters felt that their actions were of no consequence.

Ron looked at the mirror in his room, in it he saw only a weak teenage boy, tall and lanky, red-faced and puffy-eyed, covered in tears and snot.

And in that moment he decided everything.

He would not let the bastards go unpunished, he would see to that.

He would pay them back for a fraction of the damage they caused to his entire family.

With his newfound conviction and still needing that destruction to his belongings, he let out a sharp jab at the mirror, he could feel the glass piercing the skin of his knuckles and blood gushing from them, but in his current state he welcomed the pain.

His gaze fell to what was left of the mirror which now only reflected in its various pieces the look of hatred and conviction that his blue eyes held.