A/N: Hey, guys. I'm putting my note up here for a change because I don't want the ending to be ruined by having a post-script. This is - emotional. This is powerful. I really worked hard on this, trying to get it just right. Four months later, it's the way I want it to be.
There are italics. If it's not something you recognize, it's me filling in the blanks - you'll see what I mean. And if there are italics that aren't filling in blanks (there are), it's Harry's thoughts as events unfold. Those are the phrases at the starting with...well, I'm not giving it all away. They're all strung together, you'll know.
Here we go.
"It is truly wonderful to see you all here, and in such good health in such poor times. However, we come today not for an assignment, but to remember a great life. One of our number was killed in an attack."
Everyone knew this already. Why else would they gather so urgently - even their most sporadic meetings had some form of a plan, some regular schedule.
"Marlene McKinnon was killed at her parents' home this past Thursday, just home from her mission abroad to gather support for the cause."
People were bowing their heads in her memory as tears escaped their eyes. Sirius, Remus, Peter, James and Lily, Alice and Frank. All in shock. They had known what they were getting into, but dying wasn't supposed to happen. That was a worst-case scenario, that was a thing to never be mentioned as if it could be stopped by the refusal to think of it - but Marlene was Lily's best friend, next to Alice and Mary, Mary having been murdered straight out of Hogwarts.
Dying was only for the old. This wasn't supposed to happen, it was one of them, a classmate, this wasn't fair ohgodohgodohgod -
Marlene McKinnon was young, just turned 22. She had been three years older than the Marauders, but being a sarcastic and witty Hufflepuff, so much more than the docile worker everyone stereotyped her as, she had turned heads everywhere she went.
She was a far better person than most. She had fought for the rights of werewolves - something Remus was grateful for -, giants, Muggleborns. She had protected each of them equally. She was full of life and vigor and love.
Marlene McKinnon was not the first to die, but after her death everything went downhill.
OoO
RISING STARS IN AUROR OFFICE DRIVEN TO INSANITY, LESTRANGES EARN LIFE SENTENCE IN AZKABAN read the headline of the Daily Prophet on August 17th, 1981.
When Sirius saw it, he swore violently and crumpled it into a ball before lighting it on fire and reaching for a bottle of Firewhiskey.
When James and Lily saw it, James choked on his next words. Lily stared into nothingness. She was the only one of her close friends left fully alive, and even that wouldn't be so for much longer. They had been in hiding for so long - it couldn't last forever, could it?
When Dumbledore saw it, he felt regret that he didn't do more, never mind the fact that he hadn't known, that there was nothing that could have been done - Alice and Frank were supposed to be safe! They were under his watch! What had gone wrong?
Minerva McGonagall locked herself in her office and canceled Transfiguration for the day as she remembered two of her brightest students.
Remus Lupin joined Sirius for a drink - or nine.
Godnopleaseno -
Alice and Frank Longbottom were young. They were young and in love and just had a son, Neville, who was now a year old and left with no one save his slightly batty grandmother. They were some of the best Aurors, biggest blood traitors in the Wizarding World. They were insanely talented and used their drive to help defeat the monster that was tearing their lives apart and stomping all over the pieces.
The Longbottoms were tortured into insanity and given a permanent residence in the insanity ward of Saint Mungo's while Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rudolphus were given lodging in the darkest and dankest of cells in Azkaban.
They were not the first to suffer such a fate, but they were the sign that everything was becoming more personal - that the pressure was going to build and build and one day, explode.
OoO
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl...Stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -"
"This is my last warning -"
"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything!"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"
No one knew what really happened the night that the Potters died. No one really cared. They were all too busy celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord.
Well, mostly.
Dumbledore and McGonagall had sworn never to care so much again - time after time, death after death...
Sirius was rotting in Azkaban, cursing the rat.
Peter Pettigrew was in the sewer, cursing himself to kingdom come. How could he have done that to his best friends?
Remus Lupin was sitting at home, empty of all life and emotion. He was alone.
And Harry was left at the Dursleys' without a second thought, not to know for many years the truth behind his parents' death, his life, and the curiously shaped scar.
James and Lily were young, only 21 years old. They had spent over a year in hiding, moving from safehouse to safehouse so Voldemort would never find them. James died to give Lily a few more seconds. Lily died to give Harry an entire life.
They were good to the core.
And now they too were gone.
And Remus and Sirius and Peter - and Harry - were alone.
OoO
Years of peace passed. Life went back to normal and the deaths, the tragedies, the disappearances were all a thing of the past.
Everyone was complacent. Everyone was happy.
And then slowly, hardly even noticeably, a Muggle or two died here or there, natural causes...
The warning signs, exactly as they were before.
OoO
"You heard everything, Muggle?"
"What's that you're calling me?"
Frank Bryce was old. Frank Bryce was a Muggle. Frank Bryce was a man who was too curious for his own good and paid the price. But even in death, even in the face of certain danger, he was bold. And just like the Riddle family, just as instantly and just as mysteriously, he was gone.
OoO
"Wands out, do you reckon?"
"Kill the spare!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Cedric Diggory was the perfect model of what a Hufflepuff ought to be. He was kind, he was brave, he was loyal and hardworking and fair. He was a seventeen-year-old whose only crime was tying Harry to the Triwizard Cup. Blasted out of life without the puppet or the master giving a damn because he was just in the way of the far more attainable goal.
He had just won the bloody Triwizard Tournament, he was going to propose to Cho as soon as he could -
And after all his hopes and dreams, he was just another obstacle on Lord Voldemort's rise to power.
What chance did Cedric Diggory stand?
As soon as his feet hit ground in that graveyard, he was gone.
It'sstartingagainandthere'snothingwecandotostopitwhywo n'ttheybelieveme-
OoO
"Stay away from my godson."
"Nice one, James!"
Sirius Black was young, not yet reached forty years. But he was old in mind and behavior, having the fun-loving youth sucked out of him along with his happy memories. He escaped Azkaban to avenge his brother and sister on the rat that betrayed them all, he escaped to see Harry, to save him and tell him how much he looked like his father, except for the eyes - Lily's eyes. He spent two years in hiding in the house of the Most Ancient and Noble, just to be there in case Harry needed him. When Harry needed him most, he gave his life to defend Harry once more, just like he wished he could have done fifteen years ago. He was falling, falling, falling -
And he was gone like a vapor in the wind.
SiriuswhydidyouleaveIwassuch afoolandI'llkillher-
OoO
"Severus...please."
"Avada Kedavra."
Dumbledore...much could be said of Albus Dumbledore. His regrets, his mistakes, his guilt. He was by no means young. He might not have always been good - but he always had tried.
With one Petrificus Totalus, he doomed the plan to go awry, just as he had doomed his life with the seemingly innocuous action of slipping on a ring.
He left Harry alone and in the dark, his biggest regret.
But nothing could be done about it now, because he too was gone.
I'maloneandIhavenocluewheretog onextit'suptousnowguysI'msoscared-
OoO
"I never signed up for this! I'm outta here!"
"Damn you, Fletch-"
"It's not Potter! Kill 'im!"
"Good luck, Potter."
Alastor Moody was a consummate survivor. The consummate survivor. It was incomprehensible that he would ever be defeated. He was the most decorated Dark wizard catcher of his time. How could a pathetic weakling, a coward take him down?
He was never defeated, not even in death. Those who survived that night understood Moody thrived during war, lived on the rush of adrenaline and newfound strength battle could bring. Once Potter won the war - and he was certain if anyone could win the war, it would be Potter - he wouldn't be needed anymore. He had done what he needed to do. He had protected Potter the last time such a thing would be necessary.
He knew he would die. And he was not once defeated. He was not once broken. He was proud and strong to the finish.
But he was finished. The consummate survivor was gone.
Hediedformeit'snotsafetobenearmewhyme-
OoO
"You're going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"
Peter Pettigrew was not good. He had, for his own cowardly gain, sacrificed his best friends and his own life. But when it most counted, he had repaid the mercy the boy had once shown him.
This was the death that Harry Potter had secretly longed for the most. Everything stemmed back to the rat.
Death after death after death -
Finally.
OoO
"Look...at...me..."
Severus Snape was not young, nor was he old - he was in the middle stages of life. He was a classmate of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, and therefore was not yet forty.
He was not a good person - the crucial point. He had spied for Dumbledore and begged forgiveness, but he was bitter to the end and avenged his own blood on an innocent eleven year old boy.
No one would miss this man. He was rude, and demeaning, and hurtful, and made many bad decisions in his life.
But he would be respected by all who heard his story, because he did what no one else had managed to do.
He was brave enough to help save the world, so it seemed.
And he was gone.
I'msosorryIneverunderstoodyout hankyouforsavingme-
OoO
"You are joking, Perce, I don't think I've heard you joke since -"
Fred Weasley was wicked. There was simply no other word to describe him. He was devious and funny and wild and just turned nineteen. He was difficult and stubborn and a family man and a twin and utterly, utterly loved. His death was horribly unfair - Molly and Arthur had found one son again only to lose another, the first one to extend the hand of welcome home. But he had chosen to fight. He knew the risks. George knew that, but he cursed the man who separated they-who-should-not-be-apart. He cursed Percy for telling a joke during a bloody battle, of all the times to get a sense of humor, causing them to stop fighting just for a moment. He cursed himself for making his parents cry because he was just a reminder of what once was, for looking so much like his brother.
They had stood still too long, they were being foolish, it was their fault, itwasGeorgeitwasGeorgeitwasG eorgeandGeorgealone -
Weasleys always come back, but Fred can't, because he's gone. Because Percy told a joke. And George can't find anyone else to blame.
Howcantheylookmeinthefacethi sisallmyfault-
OoO
"Dora, what are you doing here?"
"I'm helping you!"
"Go! Get safe!"
"I'm not leaving you!"
"Nymphad-"
"No! Remus! No!"
"Look at the little ickle Nymphie, all alone without her werewolf lover-"
"Don't talk about him like that."
"Any last words, niece?"
"Aunt Bella, go to hell."
"Avada Kedavra!"
Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks found each other late in their lives. Once they had each other, they never let the other go. Not even death could part them.
They had given so much and had so little to show for it.
One, forever shunned and ostracized for a curse he couldn't control.
The other, a young bumbling Auror who had a future and a career ahead of her.
They had no regrets. They lived as they died. Together.
Finally, the Marauders were reunited, together and whole once again. Once again in their prime. Healthy and well.
But out of Moony and Lily and Padfoot and Prongs and Tonks, they only had one regret.
That they were gone. And Harry and Teddy were not, and they would not see them for many more years, never quite complete without them.
Theyhadasonandhe'sjustlikemealonealonealone-
OoO
"Does it hurt?"
"Dying? Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep."
"And it will be quick. He wants it to be over."
Harry Potter was the worst casualty of the war. He was young, not even eighteen. He was good, even better than Dumbledore. He would sacrifice himself to save someone he didn't know, someone who had mistreated him all his life. And his death was the final tremor that would finallyrelease the explosion building since Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured into insanity.
"You'll stay with me?"
"Until the very end."
And he had known that this walk- this final walk straight to the embrace of death - was the last path he'd take in his life.
"I was, it seems...mistaken."
"You weren't."
He had so much still to live for, so much still to fight for - but this was the final fight, the final defeat of evil and tyranny and destruction and he was willing to do whatever it took to finally end this.
"I don't want anyone else to try to help. It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."
He faced death with his wand in his pocket and his head held high as he looked Voldemort in the face and watched the green light -
"Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good."
This was the fate that was given him ever since Voldemort stood over him when he was one and gave him a scar. This is the fate that would save the world, even though the world didn't often deserve it.
This was the final breath of the greatest wizard, the greatest man who had given so much and given more and more and it stillwasn't enough until he gave his life.
"He'll be alright."
"I know he will."
Yes, indeed. Of all the war stories, Harry Potter's was the most tragic.
The scar had not pained him for nineteen years.
But then again, he didn't really die at all.
All was well.