Prologue:
A thunderclap reverberated through the very bones of those who dared brave the storm, Zeus was losing his temper. Below, in the human realm, the sky wore a mourning grey, mirroring the lone grave sat on the isolated cliff top, watching the tempest brewing in the sea. Three men trudged towards it in silence, the bitter wind biting at their faces. The walk was long and sombre.
When the men had reached the grave, they read the headstone: "Here lies the noble Harry James Potter. Hero of the Second War, Legendary Auror, Proud Husband, Martyr of the Final Conflict."
The lead male stooped low, his vivid violet eyes watering. It was still heartbreaking for Blaise Zabini to visit the grave, it served as a final reminder of everything he held dear, everything he had lost. People would say visiting the grave would enable him to remember Harry; but he remembered him every day, full of life and that Gryffindor recklessness he loved so much, coming here just reminded him that he would never see that mischievous smile again, never run his fingers through those untamable ebony tresses, never again kiss those lips. Harry James Potter was dead. Gone. The only thing buried here was a rotting corpse. He laid a purple rose on the grave.
Draco turned away from the grave, turning up the collar of his long black trench coat. Why did it have to end like this? It's been a long 20 years without Harry, his goofy Harry. Why Harry and not him? He deserved to die, not Harry. Harry was pure, courageous, everything Draco wished he could be but never could, not when it mattered the most. And now Harry was dead, and he was here.
Theodore Nott looked out over the raging sea as he openly cried, his companions were deaf to the heart-wrenching sobs, letting him cry just this once. He only cried here, no one would ever know how much Theodore Nott still hurt, that he was empty inside yet simultaneously full of grief, anger and hate. Draco and Blaise knew, but they would never say anything because they still carried the pain with them too. No words were spoken as there were none to be said.