Disclaimer:The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the equally wonderful J.k.Rowling, and without her astounding imagination, I would have remained bored and nto have been able to write this, I OWN NOTHING ! (except maybe that growing-grave stone thing in this chapter...)

A/N: So, basically, the goth side of me decided to take over and make me want to write a fanfiction in whihc one of the characters becomes a vampire, which is quite strange, because I normally avoid reading fanfictions of such a nature, but anyways...yes...I just really wanted to. I totally understand if you don't want to read it, because frankly, I probably wouldn't, but give it a try. I actually thought up this stroy even before I made an account here, I dunno, it just sort of came to me. And unfourtunatly, writing depressing fanfictions is practically second nature for me, and frankly, I was bored, so I just decided to write it and just see what happens. Because school's back, however, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update...

But reviews are always a good modivator...

The cemetery was enormous, thought to have gone on for miles. Down across a black forest of wonders, which the inhabitants of a small tight-knit muggle town stood far clear from, for they knew anyone who went in, for better or for worse, never returned, and down straight Aubrey Lane for 130 kms or so, the slightly twisted chipping black iron gates stood a dreary 10 feet, locked by dozens of over-lapping muggle chains and spells, with the surrounding twisted fences that went on for acres around the lot.

From a distance, one could see a line of solemn red specks arriving around a bend of al large hill leading up to the menacing fences. Near them, was a similar speck that shinned a platinum gold, and one like a rough ink-blot of raven, with an unruly brown mess at its side.

The visitors had come to the fence. The eldest, a once cheerful tall man with hair bright as flames, which had more curiosity than a toddler on things of other, simpler worlds, had now seemed to age almost ten years. His eyes were cold and desolate, stripped o their once joyful shimmer. He walked to the crooked gates, and holding up what appeared to be a long, hardwood baton, glumly muttered a few words, and after a flash of bright white light, the gates dragged themselves open, their warped ends lugging through the dry, rocky ground. They entered slowly. The other with him was no better.

And older woman, who's once bright red hair had turned gray with worry in rapidly short time was crying in agonizing fits into her husband, the aged man's, shoulder. A big, well built man, who shared the red hair, had swollen eyes from previously shed tears.

Behind him, came two identical twins, their shoulders slumped, whispering to each other. Though both their spirits had lessened immensely, there was simply too much joy in the two for them to loose all hope. "Cheery place we picked isn't it?" whispered one named Fred, who was followed but by his brother's reply "Yeah, ball of sunshine, this one is."

A younger girl, Ginny, who was solemn with silent tears, could not keep the fire in her personality from quickly correcting them "It looked so beautiful and serene in the day, he would have," she stopped, to keep her voice from quivering "…loved it in the summer.", though, as she noted, that now was a time of spring, early May, yet no rustling of the trees, or sounds of melancholy birds chirping. Time almost feel still, there was not a sound other than the group's moans and mutters, it seemed almost like everything was waiting, for something unexplainable.

A beautiful blonde followed behind, her fingers entwined with another man of the almost infectious blazing red hair, which, was slightly longer, and neatly pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. The two lovers, named Bill and Fleur, walked slowly, with Fleur's occasional sobs, and muttering almost incoherent sentences about "how ei was just too young…" The beautiful young couple was planned to be wed after the dark and gruesome war that had brought them to this very graveyard, though with the death of their loved one, it seemed almost a necessity to wait and grieve before jumping into such a joyous occasion.

Lastly came a solemn young man, who appeared to be in his late teens. His messy, ebony hair was tussled and untidy, and his round, almost cheap looking glasses framed his piercing and mesmerizing green eyes, which were focused down on the floor. His heart felt as though it had sunk down into a pool of black, and he cried silent, smooth tears that tricked down his lowered face, falling down off his nose, and down, plopping on to the floor, leaving pitter-patters of wet as he dragged his feet through the muddy graveyard. Most thought the great Harry Potter, who had now defeated even the great and all powerful Dark Lord Voldemort, was void of emotion, although he himself was only a young man. But these expectations were entirely false, proven by the droplets of pure pain flooding out of his eyes.

Beside him, a girl Hermione, walked just as slowly, if not slower. Of all those to have lost this cherished man, none had felt the utter loss and destruction to the soul it had caused quite like her. But she had changed matured over the years, and outside now, she seemed clam and centered to a stranger. But one who was especially close the brilliant witch could plainly see that she was in inner chaos. The girl gave little clues to her disposition. Her eyes had a glazed-over and watery look, and her chin was quivering and tight, her arms cradling each other, crossed and grabbing at the upper arm of it's opposite. Her tangled and ruthless hair was clipped back. The only tears she cried were to herself, behind closed doors, where she ranted and raved and went into hysterical fits safely and privately, so that none could call her week, or helpless.

All of the party was dressed in clothes of black, muggle outfits, in the event that they were to run across any who may be taking a midnight jog.

They walked silently, quietly, until they finally reached their destination. A large, great grave, under a twisted and turned oak tree. It's branches, hung over the grave, it's leaves provided shade over the great statue grave underneath it.

Underneath these curling branches, was a statue, of about eleven or twelve feet.

A large angel, elegant in it's glory. Carved out of stone, it stood, graceful, yet planted firmly, ready for battle. It was almost poetic, looking like a sort of depiction of the Archangel Micheal, ready for combat against Satan. He stood, tall and proud, ready to defend peace and justice against evil and malice, the true second-in-hand. His arm outstretched up to heaven, clutching a large stone sword, pointing up, to the sky. His other arm at his side, clenched in a fist. His chest was bare, looking like his robes had torn away, and showing off the angel's toned physique. Opened and outstretched, his beautiful wings were like that of a romantic bald eagle, furious, but lovely in their trodden state. With a foot forward, and the other back to the side to support him, he stood tall and prud, ready to defend all good and righteousness.

However, to anyone who knew the man whom this monument was built to commemorate, as the group who had arrived at it's foot did, they would notice the eloquent face. For on the body of this strong guardian, was carved a bright face of youth, his hair just below his ear, with bright, gleaming courageous eyes, and a few carved specks, looking like diminutive freckles from below where the soeaktater would strand to pay their respects. With it's strong chin, and charming features, it was a stone likeness to the man who lay below it's magnificence.

The older redhead, Molly, broke out into a fresh batch of sobs on her husbands shoulder, seing the glorious image that had appeared there naturally.

In the wizarding world, a tomb stone grew up from under the ground after the body had been buried at the sight. Nature's magic would wind up and produce a tomb that suited the magical beings life, and death, in a mere few days. The Greatness, the goodness, or the Wickedness of the person lived forever after their death, in these unbreakable stones. Mediocre lives resulted in smaller, humbler stones, or figureines, and great large statues and shapes resulted in those of greatness.

This man, had lost his life, to protect those around them. He had been pure of heart and simple of mind. And for it, he was commemorated, with this memorial of his unconditional bravery and faith.

And carved,onto the foot of the statue was carved

"In Loving Memory of

Ronald Bilius Weasley

"I'm not afraid to die,

Not if it means redemption for others,

Then my death will be vindicated"

These were his last words, to the crowd of people, ready to fight the war to end all magical wars. The crowd had cheered, and he, along side his friends, lead on the battle to his doom.

Or was it?

Like a newborn phoenix, arising from the ashes of its old life, this man was to be reborn.

He was to be given his vindication.

A/N: Please review if possible and tell me how I did. Should I stick to the vampire plot? Should I abandon it totally, what do you think?