Title: Miracle
Author: Cerulean Asphodel
Rating: PG
Summary: Weeks after his godfather's death and during said godfather's funeral, Harry is struggling to find a reason to live. He finds his reasons, oddly enough, from the dedication on a dead stranger's tombstone. One-Shot by Cerulean Asphodel.
"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
- Albert Einstein (1879-1955)
Only his own footsteps echoed in his ears. The soft pattering of rain failed to reach his brain. He did not notice that all were quiet, except for Mrs. Weasley, who was sobbing in a white handkerchief. He didn't notice the worried glances his best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, were shooting at his direction.
Harry Potter couldn't notice them.
He was a bit preoccupied with the elaborate tombstone that was being carried off far to his left. From what he could see with his blurred vision, the design on the cold marble was intricately carved. But those were not what he paid his utmost attention to. The words he struggled to read withslightly squinted eyesimpacted him like none other.
She lived with grace, though suffered plenty. She offered joy to those that wished for it. She was kind to all, enemies with few, and is lovingly remembered. She died doing what she loved, protecting those she cherished. Though she has passed, in our hearts, forever, she lives.
The words repeated in his head, ripping him into an almost dream-like trance.
The ceremony had been beautifully done, almost too perfect for such a grieving environment. It had been run smoothly without major interruptions, or unfortunate mishaps. The rain had only started up when the service finished with a flourish. It seemed as ifMother Natureherself mourned the loss of such a soul. Harry had listened keenly to each individual as he or she stepped up onto the raised podium with a heavy heart. Each word uttered from their lips reached his brain, and coursed through his veins to his heart. Silent tears were shed from everybody present in that room. They dripped onto the ground in a flimsy fashion, and mixed with the moisture already on the ground. They didn't flow in rivers. It fell like a gentle rain – softly and slowly. Each shed were filled with genuine agony.
It was not Dumbledore's speech that brought him over the rim. It was Tonks's – or Dora, as she had asked select few to call her. Dora was Sirius's cousin, an actual blood relation to Harry's godfather. Dora's words rang true with each syllable, and Harry found he himself could relate quite clearly. Sirius had been an older brother of sorts to Dora as she was growing up, and she, too, mourned his death quietly with the same fond remembrance, the same grief.
"Harry," Hermione murmured quietly to him. He heard the word, but it went in through one ear and flying out the other. His concentration was focused on the words imprinted on this stranger's tombstone. The people around him gave him sympathetic glances, none of which he noticed, as they made their way around him.
She lived with grace, though suffered plenty...
As did Sirius. Sirius had suffered in Azkaban for twelve years waiting for his revenge. Though he did so, Sirius still managed to ignite a light in the darkest of places. At Christmastime, even though his godfather was trapped in the house that had tortured him through his childhood, Sirius still managed to stay jolly. The interruptions had cut into his happiness, but he had spread a bit of warmth at the very least.
... She offered joy to those that wished for it...
Oh yes. Harry had bee miserable many a day. Sometimes, his only consolation was the subtle love that radiated from Sirius's letters. Harry had dug up old letters Sirius had sent him before and had shed a few tears when he realized the protectiveness Sirius had displayed was just a hint that Sirius cared for him. His heart ached with emptiness at the loss of one so close to him.
...She was kind to all, enemies with few, and is lovingly remembered...
Harry snorted with bitter amusement, barely registering the looks of slight surprise on his friends' faces at this odd timing of the sound. Perhaps his godfather wasn't kind to all, nor lovingly remembered by most because of his reputation and hardened attitude.
...She died doing what she loved, protecting those she cherished...
That, however, Sirius could very well relate to. Harry reluctantly admitted that Sirius did have great protectiveness over everything that he treasured. The mention of death sent a pang through Harry's heart, but it wasn't as strong as before. Perhaps this was the start of healing...
...Though she has passed, in our hearts, forever, she lives.
Harry wiped a stray tear from his strained face. Momentarily, his eyes cleared of his grief and filled with reluctant acceptance. A line that had creased his forehead for ages smoothed, and the corners of his mouth tipped upwards slightly as he read the last words.
"Live your life to the fullest, because you never know when it's going to end. When the time comes that you might live or die, don't give up the battle without a fight." -her last words
As the silent entourage moved on to its destination, Harry thought to himself. If I can't live for myself, why not live for Sirius? His parents? His friends? The world?
'Don't worry, miss, your message isn't going to be lost. I won't go down... If they manage to take me down, proclaim it a miracle. I'm going to fight. I'm going to fight hard.'
Author's Notes: I'm actually very proud of this one-shot, even though it lacks in size. I needed some closure myself after a family death, and I figured the best way to get it is to find a fictional character to relate with.
- Cerulean Asphodel