Disclamer: I do not own Harry Potter, I just enjoy to play with the characters. I promise to give them back to their owner when I have finished.
AN: A big thank you to Maaja M Lyberth, who took the time to beta this fic and hunt down all my mistake and that wasn't an easy task.
Tale of Bloody roses
There is no blood in a battle. The art of magic is clean. People can be murdered, tortured, or worse without spilling a drop of blood. There were several bodies lying on the hard floor. The Death Eaters with the members of the Order… There is no side in death... He had searched for hours, forgetting about his own injuries and pain. All thoughts were on him. Then he had found him. Lying on the grass, eyes glazed by death.
The funeral took place four days later. The cemetery was drowned by a sea of people, all wearing black, all crying. How were they able to cry when He didn't have any tears left? Why were they crying, when they hadn't even known him? He stared hard at the hole where the coffin lay, willing something to happen that would end this nightmare. But nothing happens… just the ministry representative that went on in the longer and the most annoying speech he had ever heard. He talked, and talked… only stopping for breath or to take dramatic pause.
They had drugged him, making him take a calming potion out of fear that he wouldn't behave. He was known for doing the stupidest thing at the stupidest time. She was there too, She-who-wont-be-remembered-for-her-betrayal. She was there right across him, face pale and stricken, hair unkempt, masking her expression, her body shaking in the most heartbreaking sob. How could she dare to be there? How could she spoil the last time he could spend with his best friend by her presence? She had taken his sole friend from him. They had all stole him with their stupid war, their stupid political game, their stupid prophesy. And then they are all here, now he is dead… all crying when they believed in their heart that his death stopped the war. One by one, people stopped by the grave, dropping a single red rose onto the coffin as wanted by the tradition. His friend had tried to explain, had tried to tell him that death was what awaited him at the end, that he had had always known that his fate was sealed. But he hadn't listened, hadn't wanted to believe, and hadn't wanted to lose. And in the end, he couldn't make it, couldn't help, couldn't protect, and couldn't be there as he had promised. He hadn't even been able to do that small thing for him. She had been there, had helped him in a way. She had been able to kill him, been there for his last words; And now she is here, totally free, when in fact she was a murderer and a traitor. And nobody seemed to care; on the contrary, they almost worshipped the ground she walked on, She-who-had-killed-The-Boy-who-lived. And he was left alone trying to figure life on his own. Though he didn't understand why it had to happen, why there had been so many deaths, why he was alive now that Harry was dead.