The wind whipped around the small gathering, pressing closes against their wearers even as it caused cloaks to blow back. Those gathered shivered as the chilliness of the breeze cut into them, those with robes gathering them tighter to themselves. Muffled sobs could be heard from a fair portion of the group, most of which are teenagers. An old man, with a long silver beard and long grey hair, looked shattered, that anywhere else would have caused a fair bit of panic. Beside him sat eight redheads, all bearing a family resemblence, the two females in the group, one middle-aged adult and one teen, were openly crying, as the males around them, the other middle-aged adult and three younger adults, as well as two more teens, tried to comfort them and hide their own grief. On the other side of the old man, a woman with bushy brown hair, was being held by her husband. Further down were a group of three, one middle-aged fat man, one middle-aged skinny woman, and a fat male teen. Surrounding the one group was a vast number of teens, most only a year older than the youngest red-haired girl, and all in nearly the same shape as the group. All watched on as the funeral finished, and the coffin began lowering into the ground, causing a fresh wave of crying from the females, and a few silent tears from the males. They'd all already been to one funeral, that of the cause of this funeral and the one to follow. By the end of the day, three new tombstones were erected:

Ronald Weasley

March 1, 1980- July 15, 1995

Harry Potter

July 31, 1980- July 15, 1995

A true hero, a true friend, and a good man. You will be missed greatly.

Hermione Granger

September 19, 1980-July 15, 1995

A hero, a brilliant witch, the world is lesser for your loss.

The vast group dissapated, leaving only the core group, before they too returned to their homes. Each with the events of the past week on their minds.

**July 10**

Harry's scar started to burn, and he turned wide eyes to his two friends. "Run. Run, now!" He ordered, "He's here! Move it, Ron!" Harry said when Ron hadn't moved. Ron had a wide evil smile on his face.

"I win, Harry. Now, I get it all. So be a good little boy and wait the arrival of my master." Ron said, smiling. "You too Hermione."



"You Son of a Bitch!" Hermione roared, drawing back her fist and letting loose a left hook that knocked Ron and the chair he was on over. Harry felt utterly betrayed, and his anger soared. He picked up the lazy boy and held it over Ron.

"Traitor!" Harry roared, all rational thought gone from his mind. Behind him the door exploded, sending a chunk of wood into his upper arm. Ron barely got out a yell as the recliner fell, one leg of it puncturing his left lung as another plunged into his groin.

Voldemort looked at the dying redhead and shrugged, kid was annoying and he just didn't care. He grinned, and snapped his wand out, the "Avada Kedavra" rolling off his tongue faster than Harry could get a spell off and cause priori Incantem. A second one followed right after, and Voldemort laughed insanely. He skipped out of the house, past the sheilds that branding Ron with the Dark Mark had allowed him to pass, and grinned manically as he saw Dumbledore appartating in. He apparted out after giving a childish display by sticking his tongue out at the old man.

Dumbledore arrived at the house where Harry and Hermione laying dead, and Ron screaming from the pain of the legs of the recliner. There on Ron's arm was the mark.

**end**