He is lost, cast adrift upon a sea of grief. He sees his friends, huddled together in a desperate attempt to ward off the bitter chill of death, expressions of defeat and determination on their faces. He looks for his family, a crimson beacon amidst the sorrow and tragedy threatening to overwhelm his heart. A dark thought strikes him, and he falters for fear of discovering something he does not want to know.

Yet, he walks forward, head held as high as his crumbling spirit will allow, eyes searching for the people he most wants to see.

A flash of red catches his eye. It is not the evil glow of any curse, but the dirt-streaked mop of hair on his younger brother. He advances to meet him, and notices the others around him. One by one, he recognizes his siblings, and his heart swells with relief and love knowing they are alive and unhurt.

Then, he sees the body.

His heart seems to stop for a terrifying moment. His pace quickens. He pushes someone aside in a mad frenzy to see the limp figure, and an ineffable sense of loss descends upon him.

No…It can’t be…this is impossible….

Slowly, disbelievingly—because he wishes beyond reason it is not true—he realizes Fred Weasley is dead.