A soft drizzle fell from the grey skies onto the earth below, running off the umbrellas of the collected group. The preacher finished his sermon, bowing his head and clasping the holy tome to his chest. From all around the gathered circle of mourners, muffled sobs escaped into the quiet morning. As the first shovels of earth fell upon the coffin, the deceased mother was led away to her waiting car. Pain from losing a child, even one that long had since flown her nest and made carved his place into the world, etched her face.
With a forced smile upon her face, the widow nodded in acknowledgement of the whispered words of sadness and empty comfort as friends slowly withdrew from the grave side. Empty not of fondness or genuine loss, but empty without her companion at her side. Words spoken not far in the past, a lifetime of love and plans of growing old whisper in her ear. The rawness of the pain has been numbed, pushed aside like an unwanted memory as she struggles to remain strong on the outside - playing a part on the world's stage as the eyes of millions watch.
She knows they are watching her, judging her. For the spectators in the crowd are the children who boo'd the villainous wizard and envied the Boy-Who-Lived. Women across the globe shed their own tears, deprived of the sight of him gracing the Silver Screen with his genius and any other future fantasy brought on by his performance. With one eternal look once more upon the disappearing coffin beneath the earth's green carpet, she turned with a stiff back and made her way past the markers of the past and towards the battles of tomorrow. Behind her, she left a piece of her heart.
In ones or small groups the figures beneath the tree watched the mourners part from the graveside and each others' sides. They watched in silence as the grave diggers gathered the tools of their trade and with a final salute, they too left the City of the Dead to it's silence once more.
Slowly unbending his knees and straightening, Colonel Brandon folded his arms across his chest. Scuffing his polished boot toe across the dew draped grass, "at least his suffering has come to an end."
"Indeed," Alexander replied as wiped away a tear. "a great actor he was." Turning to watch the last of the funeral party's car drive off, "I brought him a reminder of his roots, you know."
"He gave life to all of us and us life to him." Metatron replied absentmindedly staring at the fresh mound of earth. "Through our lives, we in return give him immortality." The multitude agreed as they descended upon the unmarked grave.
"The family, the legions of fans have said good-bye, my friends." Harry whispered as he stood looking into the grave, "now it is our turn."
With nods of agreement, they filed slowly past the man who had brought them all to life, the one who given them form and voice upon the Silver Screen. "He was a marvelous Thespian actor," Hans whispered.
"A masterful villain in the night and gentleman under the rays of the sun." Turpin murmured as he too filed past, "my death he portrayed like none other has."
"My love of myself and vices, the pleasure I took during the short stint I reigned supreme in Nottingham. None has equaled his mastery of me, like him." The Sheriff proclaimed to the others, "my final glory. My death this man made into legend."
A lone figure lingered long after the others had passed by and departed back into the world of fiction, where all characters live and never truly die. The wind teased the hem of the black robe that hung from his bony frame. Onyx eyes stared down upon the upturned soil covering the grave. "J.K. Rowling created me, but through you I lived. For an all too brief time I lived. There have been many great characters from many great stories that have come to life due in part to you, sir. I find though that my character is cantankerous and sardonic, the role my creator chose for me, I find that I have been granted the greatest gift one can bestow upon such as myself. Thus I cannot find it in my fictional heart to stay in character." Sighing, "my heart hurt from grief and guilt because my creator made me kill my friend. Now it hurts because without you, I would not be me."
Raking his fingers through his greasy black hair, "it was because of you that the world beyond fiction and imagination looks upon this wreck of a man as a dark hero. It is because of you, the women across the globe swoon when they conjure me into their minds and their own tales." Glancing skyward, "without you I would not be me." Turning, he gathered his cloak about him and followed in the footsteps of those before him. "Thank you,Alan Rickman."
A/N
There are many wonderful characters that Mr. Rickman brought to life during his all too short career. Too many, to have given a chance to speak. Therefore, I selected the ones that stood out - my favorite Heroes and Villians from all the roles he has played over the years. Colonel Brandon (Sense & Sensibility), Metatron - the Voice of God (Dogma), Harry (Love Actually), Alexander Dane (Galaxy Quest), Hans Gruber (Die Hard), Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street), the Sheriff (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) and my number one Dark Hero of all time - Severus Tobias Snape (Harry Potter).
My heartfelt condolences to Mr. Rickman's family, he was too young even at 69, to lose. You have lost a precious piece of your heart and the world has lost one of it's greatest gems - one of it's greatest actors of all time.
Rest in peace, Mr. Rickman