DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and not me. I am just using it to satisfy my addiction for more HP books. :D
CHAPTER ONE: THE RED ROSESoothing cool wind caressed the towering trees in the cemetery. The leaves rustled playfully. The branches waved to the visitors, but they were too overwhelmed with grief to notice the haunting beauty that surrounded this place. If there was a thing people can find here, it will certainly be peace. And yet in stark contrast, a crowd of people in black had gathered around a headstone and wept as little birds sang sweetly in the warm summer morning. A beam of sunlight penetrated the leafy canopies and illuminated the words on the cold, hard stone. It read, in beautiful cursive letters: In Loving Memory, Harry James Potter.
"No… no… Harry… you can't go…" a young lady cried, with tears streaming down her face.
Her eyes were bloodshot and her bushy brown hair was very messy. Her face was half-buried in her hands. A young man with flaming red hair pulled her closer to him and hugged her in his warm, protecting arms. He rested her head on his broad shoulder, while she continued weeping.
He kissed her forehead gently, saying, "Hermione, please – please be strong. Harry – he – he is in a better place." As he said this, he closed his eyes for a moment and a single tear ran down his pale freckled-cheek. His voice was raw with emotion.
"Ron, I can't…."
"Oh, he's so young – not quite eighteen!" whispered an old man loudly to his companion, stroking his long silver beard knowingly. He looked at Hermione and Ron and the rest of Harry's schoolmates, who stood about two meters away from him.
"What did he do to deserve all of this? He had suffered too much in his life to die such a horrible death," replied the old man's companion, who was a kind-looking old lady. She was clearly feeling very emotional, as she was about to take out her handkerchief to blow her nose.
"Poor boy, parents died, sent to those horrible Muggles, fought You-Know-Who and burnt to death…" the old man counted.
"So badly burnt that they couldn't recognize him, could they?" she said, blowing her nose again.
"There, there, shhh…. Dumbledore is going to say something…."
A calm-looking old man stood in front the rest of them. His long silver beard shone in the sunlight. His eyes, framed by a pair of half-moon glasses that rested on his long crooked nose, caught the reflection of the sun above. He possessed an aura of a leader, which demanded respect and attention from the people around him.
"We gather here today to honour a fine young man, who deserves our respect, for all the deeds to his name. Harry James Potter was an exceptional student – a talented Quidditch player. Although he was a little rebellious at heart, he was still a kind young man who was willing to go the extra mile to help friends in need," Dumbledore's voice was clear and yet had a sad tone to it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry's friends mourning – Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus and other students from Hogwarts. Their faces were solemn. None of them seemed want to speak.
"We lost Harry two nights ago in Godric's Hollow when he fought with Voldemort" – some people flinched at the sound of the name – "and he bravely lost the battle to win the war. He had saved us from the depths of darkness and despair. Remember, when there's any of you who is tempted to take the Dark path, remember Harry James Potter – the young man who had sacrificed himself to save us all."
All of those present bowed down their heads for a few moments in silent prayer – in remembrance of Harry.
Then, one by one passed by the gravestone, for each had a final gift for Harry. Strangers placed white roses on the lush green grass. Even little children seemed to grasp what is happening to their world, as they rested their beautifully handwritten cards with Harry.
Hermione fell to her knees beside Harry's gravestone when most people had left the cemetery. She picked up one pink card. On that card, it was written in childish handwriting: We all love you, Harry. Angels will be with you. There was a drawing of Harry playing with a group of little angels.
Just when Hermione had calmed down a bit, she burst into tears again. "N-no, H-Harry…." Ron slowly pulled her up and embraced her.
Dumbledore, who still hadn't left, walked towards them. "All of you should head back home now. You deserve some rest," he advised Ron and Hermione.
"But professor…" Ron intercepted. To which Dumbledore replied, "Auror training is to start anytime soon, I suppose?" He eyed Ron seriously through his half-moon glasses before he added, "It's best."
They turned their back towards the main entrance, albeit unwillingly, as they wanted to spend a little more time there. The old man was the last one to leave. As he closed the gate behind him, he turned around to look again for someone who wasn't there, to reflect on stale memories. And a drop of clear crystal streamed down his long silver beard, unnoticed.
Once again, the cemetery was being left the way it was before: serene and peaceful. Except for the rustling leaves and birds chirping in the vicinity, there was silence. However, not long after, the silence was shattered as an unexpected visitor came along. The big heavy gates that guarded the cemetery were swung open. Her pale, porcelain hands touched the rusty bars as she stepped in. Where the sun spilled gold, the birds sang sweetly. And her sky-blue eyes started to glisten with tears. Her young face reflected her pain because she had seen too many and felt too much.
"How can all of you be so happy? How?" she whispered to no one in particular. She passed by other graves, oblivious to them. Then, her steps came to a halt where a small mound of white roses and cards lay.
She sat beside the grave, whispering in her soft, dreamy voice, "I know you will find peace, Harry. Peace at last." Her lips curled into a smile, bitterly. Her warm, cherry lips touched the cold hard stone beside her. Crystals of tear fell onto the white roses like morning dew. She wiped her cheeks and put her straggly blonde hair behind her ears. With that, she walked away. On top of hundreds of white roses, there it lay where it had never been – a single red rose.
Author's note: This is my second fic. To anybody who is reading this, please be kind to review!!!