The funeral home in Godric's Hollow was small; much too small to comfortably seat the dozens upon dozens of attendees that had arrived to pay their respects. The pews were all stuffed full, and the aisles were all crowded with people who hadn't arrived early enough to get a seat. Every surviving member of the Order of the Phoenix was there, though now that the war was over, we didn't really account for much.

I suppose I was lucky; as an usher, I was seated in the front row. The service was closed casket, as both bodies had been badly mangled when the house collapsed, and photographs of the deceased were placed on top of their respective caskets. Every time I looked up, the images of my friends would smile at me, so I soon resolved to keep my gaze pinned to the floor.

I didn't feel lucky. In twenty-four hours, I had lost my four dearest friends, and this was the third funeral I had attended in as many days. First was Caradoc Dearborn, who had disappeared months before; his body was never found, and his family had finally given up hope. Later that evening, I attended the funeral of Peter Pettigrew, one of my closest friends. It wasn't an extravagant service – attended only by myself, Peter's mother, and a few others – but that's how he would have wanted it. And now, at last, it was time for Lily and James.

I quickly got bored of the floor – the disgusting paisley print made me feel dizzy – and turned my attention to the pamphlet. I had thrown them together myself, so there wasn't anything special about them. Just words stamped onto a piece of paper, folded in half. The inside of the booklet read:

James Potter
Born March 27th, 1960
Died October 31st, 1981

Lily Potter
Born January 30th, 1960
Died October 31st, 1981

The Potters were both brutally murdered by Lord Voldemort in their home in Godric's Hollow, on Halloween night, 1981. They are both survived by their only son, Harry James Potter, whom they died to defend, and Petunia Dursley, Lily's elder sister. They were both twenty-one years old.

I had never been very creative; James and Lily deserved better than that. Peter would have been able to come up with something better, if he hadn't been so inclined to chase after Sirius when he found out he had been the one who handed the Potters over to Voldemort. Sirius himself probably would have been able to give a lovely eulogy; at least, the person we all thought he was could have done such a thing.

I was so lost inside my thoughts that I didn't notice that Albus Dumbledore had stepped up to the podium. Today, he seemed even older than usual, with dark circles under his eyes that could rival even my own. He had exchanged his colorful robes for black ones.

"I've never liked funerals," he said, and I glanced up from my pamphlet quickly, hoping that no one noticed. They didn't, of course; their attention was focused on Dumbledore. "They always remind me of the first time I broke my nose," he smiled at us, touching the tip of his finger to his crooked snout.

A loud coughing sound came from somewhere in the crowd, and Dumbledore looked out across the room, as if he hoped to find the culprit. After a few seconds, he seemed satisfied, and continued with his speech, "But I digress. Many great witches and wizards have been killed in this terrible war, and – while their deaths are a very tragic event – I am pleased to say that James and Lily Potter will be the last."

There was some applause, but I didn't feel like clapping. Dumbledore glanced over at me, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to be searching my soul. I could only look at him for a few moments before I had to turn away.

"And now," he said, halting the applause almost instantly. "A personal friend of the deceased, Remus Lupin, will say a few words."

I swallowed, nearly tripping as I stepped up to the podium. Right away, I noticed that the section we had reserved for Lily's family was empty. Dumbledore stood off to the side, watching me intently as I pulled a piece of parchment from my pocket.

They were all watching me, I realized as I looked out across the crowd. They were all waiting for me to say something. Something profound. Something that would wipe all their grief away. I knew I would disappoint them.

"Hello," I said, surprised at how loud my voice sounded with the aid of the microphone. "Lily and James were both dear friends of mine, and…"

I trailed off, swallowing my tears before too many of them managed to escape. I knew I wouldn't be able to say everything I wanted to say, even if I could put it into words. I would have fall apart if I had even tried.

I cleared my throat, "I… I have a poem I'd like to read. It was written by a muggle poet called John Donne; it was one of Lily's favorites…"

I unfolded the paper, which I had scrolled the poem on earlier that day. Once again, I cleared my throat before I spoke:

"Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die."

I folded up the poem, knowing that I'd probably never be able to read it again. It was a shame; it was one of my favorites as well. "James and Lily may be gone… But they'll never be forgotten. Thank you."

The room was quiet as I returned to my place in the first row, neatly fitting back into the crowd. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, suddenly feeling very cold.

"That was beautiful, Remus," Sturgis Podmore, a wizard with straw colored hair said, rubbing my shoulder in a way that was too rough to be comforting.

"Yes," Emmeline Vance, who was sitting behind me, agreed. "That was such a lovely poem; I think Lily would have liked it."

"I t-thought so, too," I said, offering her a half-hearted smile.

It would be so much easier to get through this if Peter and Sirius were here, I couldn't help but think as the service continued. Several more spoke, including Emmeline and the famous Auror Alastor Moody. By the time Sturgis, the rest of the ushers, and I brought the caskets out to the cemetery, it felt as though the funeral had lasted for half a lifetime.

But after the caskets were in the ground and the last words were said, I found myself unable to leave. Even as the crowd broke, and Emmeline begged me to return to her house for the wake, I couldn't bring myself to abandon the fresh graves.

Others lingered, but even that group eroded away as the hours past. I knew I should join them; it was late, and the fleshed-out moon began to make its appearance as the sun sunk lower and lower in the sky. Eventually, there were only two of us left.

"You have no right to be here," I said, meaning to sound menacing, yet still surprised at the venom in my own voice. I'd never heard myself sound like that before, and I wasn't sure if I liked it.

"I did everything I could to save her," Severus Snape said. There was no sadness in his voice, not a hint of remorse; it was merely a statement of fact. I'm sure his facial expression was equally emotionless, though I couldn't read it through his curtain of black hair.

"Your lord isn't exactly a merciful one," I said dryly.

"I don't have to justify myself to you, Lupin," he said, his voice suddenly bordering on the edge of hysteria. "I did everything I could to save her!"

"But she's still dead, isn't she?" I spat back at him. "They're all dead, Severus. All of my closest friends are dead!"

Snape inhaled sharply, and for a second I thought he would draw his wand. I began to reach for mine as well, knowing from experience that he wasn't an advocate of fighting fair. I don't think anything could have prepared me for what Snape did next.

He walked away. No threats, no curses, not even a final spiteful comment. Severus Snape turned his back on me, and I swear I heard a soft sob escape his lips as he left me alone in Godric's Hollow cemetery.

"Such a shameful sight," a calm voice said. "Two grown men fighting like children…"

I spun around quickly, drawing my wand out of habit. I was positive that Snape and I had been alone, but somehow, I must have missed the young girl. She had long, blond hair that tumbled around her shoulders in a way that suggested that she had been playing in the nearby woods. She wore a beautiful blue dress, which I quickly realized wasn't from the present century.

"Who are you?" I demanded, lowering my wand slowly. Surely I didn't have anything to fear from a little girl…

"My name is Ariana," she said, swaying back and forth on the balls of her feet. "What's yours?"

"Lupin," I replied, genuinely smiling for the first time in several days. "Remus Lupin."

"That's an interesting name," she said, sitting down on a nearby tombstone. "You don't happen to have a twin brother named Romulus, do you? If you do, I'd watch out for him."

"You shouldn't sit on someone's grave like that," I told her. "It's very disrespectful."

Ariana giggled, "But it's my own. See for yourself."

Of course, I didn't believe her – Ariana appeared too solid to be a ghost – but as she moved her legs, the aged carvings on the old marble were revealed, and I feel over backwards with shock as I read:

Ariana Josephine Leona Winifred Dumbledore
1885 – 1899
Gone, but never forgotten

"It's not possible…" I mouthed, my words carried away by a sudden gust of wind. I held my arms up over my face, protecting my eyes from the dead leaves that were sent flying through the air. The sound of Ariana's laughter danced around me until the wind died down.

When I looked up, she was gone. I scrambled to my feet, my back aching from the fall as I looked behind each surrounding gravestone for the little girl. But it was no use; she had vanished.

"Ariana?" I called out, cupping my hands over my mouth. There was no response.

The cemetery is haunted, James had told me once, on one of the many occasions Sirius, Peter and I visited him in the summer during our school days. There are all kinds of spirits running around in there. I used to see them all the time, when I was a little kid.

I shook my head, forcing the thought out of my mind. That was preposterous; the girl I had seen was a solid human being, I was sure of it.

"Snape!" I shouted, suddenly concerned that he was playing some cruel joke on me. "Severus, if this is some kind of prank, I swear…"

It was no use, I knew. If there really had been someone in that graveyard with me, they were gone. I was alone.

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I rubbed the bridge of my nose, "I'm going mad, aren't I? Look, I'm even talking to myself…"