A/N: Hi, me again. Yep, another one of these. This time, it's the beautiful Magic, by Ben Folds. You should definitely check it out. Absolutely beautiful.
About the fic, not exactly canon, as you'll see. 'Cause you're going to read it, right?
And review, if you're so inclined. I'll just keep churning out this kind of crap it you don't. Win win, yes? =)
Disclaimer: This? Oh, it's entirely mine. Oh yes. Pinkie promise. What was that, it isn't? Well Dang...
Magic.
I was the first to reach her that night, the first to make my way down into the crater that now scarred the earth. I knew as soon as I saw her, but I didn't want to believe it. Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-annoy-the-fuck-out-of-me, was no longer there. Nowhere to be seen. Nor, indeed, was Voldemort.
Was that it? Had we won?
I knew as soon as I looked at her.
From the back of your big brown eyes,
I knew you'd be gone as soon as you could,
And I hoped you would.
She was staring at the place where they had stood, before that almighty surge of raw energy and magic and power had erupted from them. She was dirty, blood-streaked from the battle. She was on her knees, just staring. Not talking, not moving, not anything. Just looking, tears streaming from her eyes, leaving a clean, wet streak down her cheeks.
Even as I wiped them away, I could see. I knew.
We could see that you weren't yourself,
And the lines on your face did tell,
It's just as well,
You'd never be yourself… again.
Three days later, we held the funerals. All of them took place at Hogwarts, of course, as it was the place where the nightmare began. And the place where it ended. She was there, of course, dressed appropriately in a black muggle dress, sensible muggle shoes, that stupid muggle make-up the Weasley hen-mother insisted she wore.
But none of it helped. Nothing hid the look in her eyes. The fear. The loss. The hopelessness.
She lost both her best friends that night. Potty and the Weasel. Ha, I haven't called them that in the longest time.
She was called upon to deliver the eulogies. Just to look at her, you could see the change. Gone was the bright-eyed, passionate young witch. Instead, a lifeless, ghost-like little girl. She somehow manages to look both younger and older than her own 21 years simultaneously. And why shouldn't she? She, who has suffered more than any of us know. She, who was tortured at the hands of my father and aunt. She, who is here now, burying the bodies of her two oldest, greatest friends, and many more. Oh, so many more.
The funerals go on for hours, well into the night. A blur of people walking up to the crystal podium in their own time, a steady stream of mourners, offering words of comfort, sharing memories about their dearly departed, or simply looking out over the sea of people, to find the shadows of their own guilt and grief echoed on the faces of all those gazing back.
Saw you last night,
Dance by the light of the moon.
Stars in your eyes, free from the life that you knew.
After the coffins have been laid into the ground, and final, fond farewells have been whispered, caught on the wind and taken far, far away, the Hogwarts Grounds start to empty. She's still here though, she, like me, has nowhere else to go, nowhere else where we truly belong. We're staying here. At Hogwarts.
I go to the top of the Astronomy Tower, where it all really started for me. I look over the railings, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over the forest, lighting up the grounds, and I see her. Standing, looking directly up at the moon. She's changed – she's wearing a white cotton sundress now. She must be freezing. It's November, for crying out loud.
I'm tempted to go down to her. I turn on the spot, about to do just that, when a blur of white catches the corner of my eye. I look at her – she's dancing. Twirling, and leaping, graceful movements that look so out of sorts in the moonlight – she looks magnificent.
She's beautiful.
This is all wrong. I should be one of those dead – Potter and Weasley should still be here, with her. They'd know what to do. They'd know how to help her.
You're the magic that holds the sky up from the ground,
You're the breath that blows these cool winds 'round,
Trading places with an angel, now…
She's gone. Shit. Where is she?
Why is it my duty to watch out for her now?
This isn't fair. This isn't me. This isn't her. She needs Potty. She needs Weasel. She doesn't need me, she's never needed me, I've always been the arrogant ferret bastard. Why, Potter. Why did you ask me to look out for her, to watch over her, to love her?
She'll never love me.
She'll never love anything again.
She's here. Why is she here? Merlin, she's beautiful. Even with those haunted eyes of hers, those lips that will never again smile, that hair she cut short two days ago.
She looks at me. I know why she's here. She knows why she's here.
And she knows I won't do anything to stop her.
It's not fair, that those two got to die and weren't left behind. I know that. She was left behind by everyone she loved, Harry, Ron, her parents, the werewolf, McGonagall, Dumbledore...
Saw you last night, dance by the light, of the moon
Stars in your eyes, free from the life, that you knew.
She looked at me, cocking her head slightly. And so it's come to this. Am I failing Potter by letting her have what she wants?
Saw you last night,
Stars in the sky
Smiled in my room…
With that last smile, that small, sad smile, she runs, towards the edge of the tower, and in one magnificent leap, she jumps...