Don't tell me if I'm dying

'Cause I don't wanna know

If I can't see the sun, maybe I should go

Don't wake me 'cause I'm dreaming

Of Angels on the Moon

Where everyone you know

Never leaves too soon

Angels on the Moon- Thriving Ivory

…

First, of course, was James.

One could say it was ironic, but it wasn't. Not in that sense, at least.

He died with a retort on his lips and a fire in his eyes. James Potter wasn't one to go without a fight.

Not when his family was behind him.

When he fell to the ground, the last thing James Potter saw was a photograph on the mantle; framed with macaroni and baby laughs.

-THE MEMORY-

The day Harry James Potter was born.

…

I frowned at the man standing above him, and took the soul in my arms, comforted that he would be Home at last. War hardens people, but not James. He cared too much to let a single day go to waste.

The room shook with thunder.

I followed Voldemort up the stairs.

…

Next, Lily.

Her last words were sobs, clutching her last family in her arms.

It was the same night, in the same house. I stood behind her as the curse hit her heart. When it was finished, I picked up her warm soul, and placed it beside her husbands, safe in my arms. Tom Riddle turned around, as if he saw me; but then faced her son; Lily Evans son, and chose to kill the spare.

Harry Potters green eyes burned with something I almost couldn't identify; something that was stubbornly rare for humans. In his eyes, I saw a cocktail of curiosity and plain fear. He was terrified, and it took everything in me not to save him.

But it wasn't my place.

Because Death's choices are cruel.

So I stood beside him and held his hand, waiting for the inevitable.

-A MOMENT OF CONFUSION-

This wasn't going to be the first time Harry Potter was supposed to be dead.

Technically, he was murdered three times.

The second happened in a graveyard.

The third in a forest.

The last however, will not happen for decades.

And Harry James Potter, no matter how many people are around, will not feel love for another ten, lonely years.

…

Thirdly, was Sirius.

This was many years later, fourteen, actually, and in the meantime, another Marauder had escaped Death's grasp, while Sirius was in Azkaban.

But don't worry, in this time, he didn't ever forget.

Sirius Orion Black died with a smirk on his face, his godson by his side.

It was a shame, how it ended for him.

He had come to the rescue, you see. His family was at risk and nothing was worth not responding, no matter the orders he was on. His godson had seen enough, heaven knows, and not helping was the last thing he would do.

You could call it stubbornness, but I don't agree.

He was determined, steadfast, and cowardice was what he would die to diminish.

It was Bella who did it.

…

Yes,

Bellatrix.

In another's words, she was a witch with prodigious skill and no conscious. A soul who takes pleasure in the demeaning and slaughter of harmless humans.

I'm told she takes fancy to a knife.

As I said before, I was there also, hovering above the scene. I watched him with pride, because, if he didn't care, he would've lived.

-A QUESTION-

But would it be worth it? To live with that?

No,

Of course not.

Because all in all, Sirius was nothing if not courageous.

…

As he fell into the veil, he fell softly into my arms; like a raindrop that'll never reach the ground.

I heard sobbing in the background.

His slate eyes fell,

And Sirius Orion Black was no more.

…

The next happened in a basement cell.

It was Peter this time.

It was an exchange of shouts, a merciless debate among two people who should've been friends.

Harry Potter,

I'm sure you know him.

He had a mission, you see. Rid the spare that had triumphed over Death himself; because to Lord Voldemort, he was nothing short of his underlying embarrassment.

Peter held on a little longer than anyone would have expected. For a person named for a rat, he had courage all right. A Gryffindor through and through.

But in the end, all it took was a reminder to set things straight again. Peter Pettigrew hesitated to kill his best friend's son, so therefore, he was weak- a traitor

He died with a strangle in his heart and a hand on his throat.

Harry Potter watched him as he fell.

…

-A SMALL OBSERVATION-

One thing that I've noticed about Tom Riddle was this:

His ideology for loyalty was the result of a heartbreak seventy years ago.

His own, actually.

He did it himself; splitting the remnants into seven even pieces.

Seven pieces, seven ways in which he could outsmart Death.

It didn't work.

…

The next wouldn't happen for years,

And Lily and James' son was never quite the same.

It was Remus this time,

The first Marauder.

It was the middle of the war, and his wife, Nymphadora, had nearly gotten hit.

I was standing amongst them, as I often do in tragedies, because being me, I had seen it all. I picked up souls on my track, kissing the sweaty tears off their cheeks. I stood beside Remus when the worst happened.

His wife had just been killed.

Remus looked me in the eye, stared me down with a question:

-MY RESPONSE-

It was meant to be this way.

…

The next question, however, was inevitable.

This is the end, isn't it? You know- I know you do.

Yes.

I did know.

Personally, I've never fully understood Death's motives. He comes too quick, or too early. I come just when they need me most.

I'm there when they receive the blow.

One by one, I stand at their sides.

James.

Sirius.

Peter.

Remus.

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

Backwards, however it may be, I was always there, ready to finally welcome them home.

…

I hope you liked it, and many apologies for the late start. It was very hard to write.

If any of you are wondering who 'I' is, it depends how you look at it.

Love,

Silence Nevermore

P.S.

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