Hey, to all those that are reading. This is an interesting little oneshot that I thought of one day when I was bored during English. Then I elaborated on it… and, well, here it is.
The letter is quite vague, and my author's note at the end explains what was going through my mind as I wrote.
Interesting thing, this, as I own everything in this story except the very basic, underlying concept JK Rowling created, the names that lie on the headstones, and the name 'Weasley.'
I feel so awesome right now…
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Nameless
Among the flowers, there were graves. The four headstones sat in a line, old and weathered. They seemed not to fit with the rest of the scene. Everything seemed so happy, so perfect. And then there were the graves…
The flowers swirled noiselessly in the breeze, sending soft petals onto the graves that had been forgotten long ago. It seemed as though the field had been forgotten with them. If you looked for long enough, you could almost see the outlines of a garden… but it seemed as though that were long ago.
But somehow, even though they were obviously forgotten, the knowledge that these people would have been happy in this moment was present. Perhaps it was because anyone would be in the serenity and calm that this field emitted. Or maybe it was because even though these people had obviously been dead for a long while, their graves still seemed very much alive.
The names had long ago worn off the weathered heads. It looked as though, much like the field, these graves were once cared for. They were once loved, but now their only love came from the flowers surrounding them, the petals on their lonely graves.
Upon getting closer to the graves, one can see there is one symbol of love left, a crumpled piece of parchment, a letter, with undeniably old words.
'I think I am the last to know the way. I tried to teach them, I truly did, for my Dad. He seemed adamant that I continue to tend these graves, and I have. They have become like family to me. But I am old now. My white hair hangs in my face; my worn back and legs can hardly make the journey to this patch of heaven anymore. How I wish I could see my vibrant red hair one more time, how I wish I could get on my broom and whisk away my sorrows as I used to. How I wish I looked into the mirror each morning and saw the girl I was, instead of the old woman I am.
For the girl I was, no mountain was too tall, no feat too challenging, no beast too wild. For the old woman I am now, even the short hike to this field is much for my aging body. To see the world through innocent eyes once again would be a precious joy. To go back to the castle and see him one last time, lie in the bed that always felt to me the most familiar, fall into the couches in the commons that always felt so much more wonderful than those at home, would be my greatest pleasure and realest joy. I can almost see myself as I was, young, happy, impossibly naïve. I can almost feel it, almost taste it. And even as I sit here, all these years later, I can still smell the distinct smell of Gryffindor.
I can smell my home.
I wonder, was it their home, too?
But, I of course, have begun to dream about things that are long past. I sit here today as an old woman, about to say goodbye to one of the most special places in my life. I did try to teach them. Four children, ten grandchildren, but not one can find the way without me. This, this is the end of a Weasley family era. It has become so much a legend that we do not know the names on these stones any longer. Vainly, I have tried to make it known to me. Always, it remains covered, shrouded in un-foretold mystery.
Perhaps it is not my place to know. But I wonder, who were they to be so great that our family cares for them, perhaps a hundred years after their deaths, yet so insignificant that even their names are unknown to us? How were these people so immensely important, but at the same time so frighteningly inconsequential? Why do they have no families to attend to their graves? I sense that they were loved, but the only one who loves them now is me. And soon, even my love will be a long-forgotten memory to these lonely graves.
Yet, somehow, I'm not sure that it matters. I fear that it would not be the worst thing in death to be forgotten.
One last time, I will try to imagine who these people were. For this once, I will look at these graves for me, not for them, and I will try to picture them. I will know their lives. I will know their stories, their secrets, for I have loved them as family, and as my dying wish, I would like to know something about them. Alas, it is in vain that I seek this empty knowledge, as it always has been.
Perhaps I will know on the other side. Yes, perhaps I will. Let that be my peace in death, knowing who these mysterious graves belonged to.
I am coming. I am coming to know who you were. Your past, no matter how gruesome or tragic, I will know. I will know you as I have always wished to know you. And I will forever be devoted to you.
I will watch as the ideals that I have created for you fall. I will laugh at them. I do not want them. I want the knowledge of you, you who I have loved so dearly, you who I have turned to for advice for so long. Your graves are, in fact, better friends to me than many of my mortal acquaintances.
I am coming…
Love for the Last My Dear Friends,
Lily Weasley'
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Okay, so here's my explanation. In the 7th book, Harry is allowed to bury Sirius in the place where he wished to be buried because his name has been cleared. Remus tells Harry where his parents are buried, in a meadow beyond Hogsmeade. Originally, the bodies were placed in a normal cemetery, but Dumbledore eventually decided it would be best to take their graves out of public access.
Harry goes to visit the graves, having been told how to get there by Remus, and finds that the meadow reminds him deeply of his lost Godfather. When the Order asks him where to bury Sirius, he shows them the meadow. They all agree that it would be the best place for him, away from a very torn and disgruntled public.
During the war, Draco Malfoy kills Voldemort in a strange change of heart, but Harry is killed, and the last of the Potter's die out. There were only three people besides Harry knew where the graves of Lily and James Potter were: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Remus Lupin. As his last wish, Harry asked for Ron and Hermione to tend to the graves of his parents and Godfather. They willingly obliged.
As the years passed, there were more and more people who came to the graves to vandalize the final resting spot of Sirius Black. In order to stop this, the now married Ron and Hermione placed a charm around the field stopping most people from finding the location.
When Remus died, he joined his friends in the meadow, finishing up the four graves.
When Ron and Hermione had children, their first daughter, Lily, named after Lily Potter in honor of Harry, was the only one who could go to the field on her own. This continued for generations, and the Weasley's eventually lost the names of the Marauders (and wife). However, the tradition continued until Lily (now a family name) Weasley, the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Ron and Hermione Weasley could not find a Weasley to take her place as the keeper of the graves. On what she knew would be her final trip to the graves, she left the note for the inhabitants of the graves.
Three days after leaving the note, she died. None of her predecessors ever reached the meadow.
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Okay, so I don't really expect much feedback on this, as it was written purely out of boredom. I think it was a nice little break from what I have been writing, which is depressing stuff. So here it is…
Thanks for reading, review if you'd like, but as I said, I don't expect much feedback on this.
Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore!"