Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns this world, I just play here.
Ritual
It is late November and violent gusts of wind rattle the skeletal trees, whose leaves have long since abandoned their branches. The sky is a lifeless gray, cloudy and blank. The grass is long dead, lying in sharp shriveled strands across the round hillside of the graveyard.
A lone figure stands just inside the tall iron gate. Brilliant red roses dangle from one hand, contrasting greatly with the dull look of the world. He is tall but his shoulders droop and he slouches. The wind ruffles his black hair, which has premature shocks of silver running through it. His green eyes are dull and there are dark circles below them.
Another man makes his way slowly and deliberately toward the first man. His head hangs and he watches his feet as he walks. Only when he reaches the first man does he look up. White roses are clutched tightly in his hand. His hair is red and gray, a confusing oxymoron of color. His eyes are brown and ringed with wrinkles.
"Harry," he says quietly.
"Ron," Harry nods back.
They set off together slowly navigating a path though the forest of smooth marble headstones, the half-frozen brown stalks crackle beneath their feet. At the crest of the hill they stop and lay their flowers down.
They do not kneel or bow or clasp their hands they just stand. For a long while they stand not speaking, not moving, just listening to the sharp silence. Then, without a word they turn away. Treading tightly on the graves they head for the rusty gate.
When they reach the cracked pavement of the sidewalk they meet each other's eyes.
"How is your family?" Harry asks quietly.
"Fine. How is Remus?"
"He is okay."
They stand for an awkward moment, shuffling their feet and rubbing their hands.
"Are you still with the Ministry?" Harry asks after a few moments.
"Yes," Ron pauses. "What have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know. This and that, just...living."
Ron nods.
"Well," he forces a wan smile. "See you around then."
"See you around." Harry echoes.
They turn their backs and walk off in different directions away from where Hermione Granger lies below the browning roses of red and white.
A/N: This is back up, to anyone who read it, is it better? Worse? Suggestions? I'm going for a different feel here and I know the language is unnatural but it is supposed to be. This is a stand-alone so there is no story here...it is moot. Anyway, more SMC soon...I swear! ~Comedia
Ritual
It is late November and violent gusts of wind rattle the skeletal trees, whose leaves have long since abandoned their branches. The sky is a lifeless gray, cloudy and blank. The grass is long dead, lying in sharp shriveled strands across the round hillside of the graveyard.
A lone figure stands just inside the tall iron gate. Brilliant red roses dangle from one hand, contrasting greatly with the dull look of the world. He is tall but his shoulders droop and he slouches. The wind ruffles his black hair, which has premature shocks of silver running through it. His green eyes are dull and there are dark circles below them.
Another man makes his way slowly and deliberately toward the first man. His head hangs and he watches his feet as he walks. Only when he reaches the first man does he look up. White roses are clutched tightly in his hand. His hair is red and gray, a confusing oxymoron of color. His eyes are brown and ringed with wrinkles.
"Harry," he says quietly.
"Ron," Harry nods back.
They set off together slowly navigating a path though the forest of smooth marble headstones, the half-frozen brown stalks crackle beneath their feet. At the crest of the hill they stop and lay their flowers down.
They do not kneel or bow or clasp their hands they just stand. For a long while they stand not speaking, not moving, just listening to the sharp silence. Then, without a word they turn away. Treading tightly on the graves they head for the rusty gate.
When they reach the cracked pavement of the sidewalk they meet each other's eyes.
"How is your family?" Harry asks quietly.
"Fine. How is Remus?"
"He is okay."
They stand for an awkward moment, shuffling their feet and rubbing their hands.
"Are you still with the Ministry?" Harry asks after a few moments.
"Yes," Ron pauses. "What have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know. This and that, just...living."
Ron nods.
"Well," he forces a wan smile. "See you around then."
"See you around." Harry echoes.
They turn their backs and walk off in different directions away from where Hermione Granger lies below the browning roses of red and white.
A/N: This is back up, to anyone who read it, is it better? Worse? Suggestions? I'm going for a different feel here and I know the language is unnatural but it is supposed to be. This is a stand-alone so there is no story here...it is moot. Anyway, more SMC soon...I swear! ~Comedia