Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I'm sure you've seen hundreds of disclaimers. And to be
completely honest, I never read them, and I'm sure you don't either. So, let's
skip all the usual hooey, and I'll end with.No, I do not own Harry Potter.
However, Devon Murray/Seamus Finnigan is -mine-. So, deal with it. *grin*
So, would you like to know what this crap is about? Crap being the operative word. *Ahem* Let's see. Ginny Weasley visits a cemetery, following the destruction of Voldemort. It's sad, and it might suck. *tear* Review when you're finished. ***
Sleep Soundly Now, My Cherished Friend
'Chapter 1'
The crisp, white snow had just begun to fall as she made her way past the wrought iron gate and into Godric's Hollow Cemetery. The flakes came down slowly, and clung to the sunset-red hair that curled in perfect tendrils down her back. She was clad in a deep-purple, velvet robe, and in her hand she held a basket filled with black and white roses. Purity and Impurity, brought together by petals of silk and thorns of warning.
Ginny made her way through the cemetery, passing clusters of weathered headstones, worn smooth over hundreds of years. She lingered a bit when she saw what she had come for: Four groups of gravestones, arranged around a central group. Ginny knew what this was, even before she read the commemoration. An ivory plaque, engraved in red writing bore the eulogy.
Lay peacefully, dear friends
The fight was noble, and ever brave.
For your valiance made amends
To this world, may your courage be not contained in graves.
Know you are missed, and always on mind
The past is a closed chapter, full of night and doom
Left behind is a world more peaceful and kind.
Let a new episode be written, and let it bloom.
A new day has come, and darkness now fills with light
Rest now, you have come to journey's end
Your memory is cherished, as is your plight.
Sleep soundly now, my cherished friend
In Deepest, and Fondest Memory of Those Who Lost Their Lives Fighting for the
Freedom We Now Possess:
Hogwarts Students, Staff and Friends.
October Thirty-First, Nineteen-Hundred Ninety-Seven
Ginny knew the poem. Everyone did. She put it to memory the first time it was printed in the Daily Prophet. The first time the paper was printed since that fateful Halloween. The first time anything had seemed normal since that day.
She made her way past the ivory slab and stood in front of the collection of stones. They were organized by house, and each stone was in its' respective colours. She went, almost instinctively, to her house. The house everyone in her family had been in since, well, forever. Each headstone was a deep shade of ruby, and inscribed with gold. The first she came upon brought tears to her eyes. It was his. The same 'him' she had been infatuated with since first year. His stone seemed to stand out from the rest, possibly from being visited more than any others, or maybe because something from within it-or possibly below, radiated an immense energy.
Harry James Potter
July 31, 1980 - October 31, 1997
The boy that lives forever in our hearts.
Harry had died after delivering a fatal blow to Lord Voldemort, via Godric Gryffindor's sword. The immense pain that Voldemort felt pulsed through Harry's body, and it is said that when The Lord died, Harry's soul was ripped from his body, bound to the Dark Lord, bound to his fate. Destined to meet a similar fate. So was the end to Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the Boy That Lived. The boy that seemed to live to tease her. Taunt her. Make her wish that she was more like Hermione, or Cho, or even Fleur Delacour, the snooty Beauxbatons girl who was part veela, and part perfection. Ginny had become infatuated, well, borderline-obsessed with Harry when she first saw him at King's Cross. Pre-pubescent charm, untidy mop of hair and emerald green eyes. Those eyes. Deep pools of pigment that you could just lose yourself in.
"GINNY!" she quickly scolded herself for thinking about Harry like that. He had fought bravely, and died honorably. However, she was not about to start thinking of him like that again, it had taken her five years to forget her feelings. Five long years, years that she would rather not put to waste.
She looked to the plot beside Harry's. She felt the tears burn her eyes, and she made no attempt to hold them back. Opalescent tears poured from her eyes, and ran down her copiously freckled cheeks. The drops froze almost instantly in the cold, and they made little indentations in the crystalline powder that now generously coated the ground.
Ronald Weasley
March 1, 1980 - October 31, 1997
The bravest, from a long line of Lions.
Upon seeing those words etched in stone, Ginny's mind flashed back to that day. The last day she saw any of her friends, the last day she saw him.
So, would you like to know what this crap is about? Crap being the operative word. *Ahem* Let's see. Ginny Weasley visits a cemetery, following the destruction of Voldemort. It's sad, and it might suck. *tear* Review when you're finished. ***
Sleep Soundly Now, My Cherished Friend
'Chapter 1'
The crisp, white snow had just begun to fall as she made her way past the wrought iron gate and into Godric's Hollow Cemetery. The flakes came down slowly, and clung to the sunset-red hair that curled in perfect tendrils down her back. She was clad in a deep-purple, velvet robe, and in her hand she held a basket filled with black and white roses. Purity and Impurity, brought together by petals of silk and thorns of warning.
Ginny made her way through the cemetery, passing clusters of weathered headstones, worn smooth over hundreds of years. She lingered a bit when she saw what she had come for: Four groups of gravestones, arranged around a central group. Ginny knew what this was, even before she read the commemoration. An ivory plaque, engraved in red writing bore the eulogy.
Lay peacefully, dear friends
The fight was noble, and ever brave.
For your valiance made amends
To this world, may your courage be not contained in graves.
Know you are missed, and always on mind
The past is a closed chapter, full of night and doom
Left behind is a world more peaceful and kind.
Let a new episode be written, and let it bloom.
A new day has come, and darkness now fills with light
Rest now, you have come to journey's end
Your memory is cherished, as is your plight.
Sleep soundly now, my cherished friend
In Deepest, and Fondest Memory of Those Who Lost Their Lives Fighting for the
Freedom We Now Possess:
Hogwarts Students, Staff and Friends.
October Thirty-First, Nineteen-Hundred Ninety-Seven
Ginny knew the poem. Everyone did. She put it to memory the first time it was printed in the Daily Prophet. The first time the paper was printed since that fateful Halloween. The first time anything had seemed normal since that day.
She made her way past the ivory slab and stood in front of the collection of stones. They were organized by house, and each stone was in its' respective colours. She went, almost instinctively, to her house. The house everyone in her family had been in since, well, forever. Each headstone was a deep shade of ruby, and inscribed with gold. The first she came upon brought tears to her eyes. It was his. The same 'him' she had been infatuated with since first year. His stone seemed to stand out from the rest, possibly from being visited more than any others, or maybe because something from within it-or possibly below, radiated an immense energy.
Harry James Potter
July 31, 1980 - October 31, 1997
The boy that lives forever in our hearts.
Harry had died after delivering a fatal blow to Lord Voldemort, via Godric Gryffindor's sword. The immense pain that Voldemort felt pulsed through Harry's body, and it is said that when The Lord died, Harry's soul was ripped from his body, bound to the Dark Lord, bound to his fate. Destined to meet a similar fate. So was the end to Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the Boy That Lived. The boy that seemed to live to tease her. Taunt her. Make her wish that she was more like Hermione, or Cho, or even Fleur Delacour, the snooty Beauxbatons girl who was part veela, and part perfection. Ginny had become infatuated, well, borderline-obsessed with Harry when she first saw him at King's Cross. Pre-pubescent charm, untidy mop of hair and emerald green eyes. Those eyes. Deep pools of pigment that you could just lose yourself in.
"GINNY!" she quickly scolded herself for thinking about Harry like that. He had fought bravely, and died honorably. However, she was not about to start thinking of him like that again, it had taken her five years to forget her feelings. Five long years, years that she would rather not put to waste.
She looked to the plot beside Harry's. She felt the tears burn her eyes, and she made no attempt to hold them back. Opalescent tears poured from her eyes, and ran down her copiously freckled cheeks. The drops froze almost instantly in the cold, and they made little indentations in the crystalline powder that now generously coated the ground.
Ronald Weasley
March 1, 1980 - October 31, 1997
The bravest, from a long line of Lions.
Upon seeing those words etched in stone, Ginny's mind flashed back to that day. The last day she saw any of her friends, the last day she saw him.
***
Eh? How was that! *Hides from the angry readers because she stopped so
abruptly.* Don't worry; there's more to come! Hmmm, maybe review? If I get some
nice reviews, I'll post the next chapter(s). Until then, CONSTANT VIGILIANCE!