We Will Become Silhouettes

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Not even the computer I wrote it on.

Summary: She stares at the clock in the Burrow all day wondering when all the hands will be where Fred's is.

Feedback: Reviews are fun. Like a barrel of monkeys. Why anyone would put monkeys in a barrel…I don't know, but it's supposedly a lot of fun

--.

Every time she saw one of their names pointed toward 'moral peril', this same thing danced around in the back of her mind. It wasn't something she ever sat and pondered, or something she even really wanted to know. It was just something that was always there.

For the first month and a half she was content just watching his name spin around and around, not knowing where to stop, because at least she had something to hold on to.

Then the whispers started. And she spent less time watching and more time listening.

They sat in the kitchen and whispered amongst themselves about the amount of time she spent in front of her clock. About how she hadn't cried since that night at Hogwarts. About how she'd stopped living when Fred died.

But they could say what they wanted. Because Arthur didn't sleep. And Bill refused to go home. And Charlie wouldn't leave his younger brother's side. Percy cried at night. George didn't laugh. Ron started leaving the dinner table after only one helping. Ginny wouldn't talk about him. Fleur stared at the grave anytime she was near a window or door that faced that way. Harry blamed himself to the point that he couldn't even look at George. And Hermione hadn't picked up a single book since the funeral.

But the number wasn't right and she suddenly couldn't stop herself from matching names to faces. Over and over. Hoping she was wrong. But no matter how many times she counted them, she was always one short.

And she couldn't keep pretending he wasn't gone.

So she lifted her wand, pointed it at the clock, and nine became eight.

Every time she saw one of their names pointed toward 'moral peril', this same thing danced around in the back of her mind. It wasn't something she ever sat and pondered, or something she even really wanted to know. It was just something that was always there.

But as she sits, running her fingers over the engraving in the gold hand, she know that this is never how she wanted to find out.