Harry and I sat opposite one another, steaming mugs blurring the space between us.
"You can't hate him for this." My voice was brittle and I used the tea to punctuate my sentence, "Dumbledore made the choice. He locked door. He gave him the spell and the wand-"
"If he gave him all that then he gave him a choice too." Harry's blood shot eyes searched the mug for answers, "he didnt have to..." his voice caught and he sank into himself.
"There was no choice. To defy him was to die."
"I wouldnt have done it. I'd have gladly died to-"
My hands tightened around my mug, the truth was strangling me, "we're not all so brave." There was too much to explain, too many ways for him to take it, but Harry was as simple as he was brave and my slip went unnoticed.
"The service will starting soon." Mrs. Weasley's voice was calming and I was a reminded that young adulthood brought as much self discovery as childhood. Her dull, orange hair was piled atop her head, pinned to submission with a hundred hair pins.
I felt my hands flattening the folds of my wool skirt, trying to find something worth hanging on to.
"It's best to get it over with." My voice felt small as I tried to remember myself. Funerals could only last so long.
X x X*
I was wrong. Only was the wrong way to view it and I paid the price the moment I was faced with the Late Headmaster's corpse. He'd been dressed in rich violet robes, his beard tied at the tip with a matching bow.
Harry's speech had curdled my insides, making it difficult to keep my anguish to myself. Phrases like 'the father I'd never known' and 'gentle spirit' beat at my heart like hammers. Loss swirled within my chest like a typhoon until, finally, tears came. They rolled sparsely at first, dripping down my chin and decorating my palms, and then it was a torrent. Several people offered me a comforting hand, whispering nonsense about choice and a better place and I felt grief wracking through me like a natural disaster.
My time came too soon and I rushed forward a shaking, sniffling mess. "He was willing to protect us when no one else could." The eyes on me helped me glue my pieces back together. "But beyond that he was eccentric and kind. Many days after classes he would share his Sugar Quill collection, insisting that I could buy the next batch." My lips itched upwards. It was easier from there. Nonsense flowed freely from my lips until finally ...applause filled the clearing and I was free to rush back to my seat. Ron's testament was much like mine, plastic, and so i focused on the way Mrs. Weasley chose to decorate. I admired how closely muggle and wizard funerals mirrored each other.
Harry's calloused hands were warm around my own, filling me with something akin to comfort. And when the tourment finally ended I raced past the Home Going Party, past the mourners and climbed the creaking stairs of the Burrow.
I fell into my desk chair, ripping paper free of my notepad. My hand slid across the tear stained page like a hot rock on ice, reckless and desperate, and I spilled my heart within the confines of the page. Knowing that this emotional shit show would do nothing for my cause I set it a flame and wrote something more concise.
I cant keep quiet. Obliviate me.
-G2S
My hands still shook as the owl dove into the undotted sky. This was against the rules. To send an owl in brought day light was dumb, anyone could track it, and yet I didnt regret it.