I
Won the War
By
Luff the Hufflepuff
Prologue
It was the brightest, most possibly beautiful day the whole year had supplied. The roses were full in bloom, the grounds were covered in late summer color, the sky was a startling blue with no cloud in sight. Currently, people all over the world enjoyed the great weather, soaking in the peace the day gave off, grateful everything was so still. Everything was safe, perfect, and fine. Nothing could have been better. Nothing could ruin the peacefulness that today brought.
But it was the darkest day he had ever endured.
Many people had gathered there and sat in neat, little rows. Almost everyone had their heads bowed, and quite a few were crying with black handkerchiefs clutched in their hands as they listened to some man he recognized babble on about death and the afterlife. But he wasn't going to cry. He wouldn't. Not now, not in front of everyone. He hadn't deserved to cry. He didn't even deserve to be here...But he was.
It had been a blur when they had died. They hadn't deserved it, they had been heroes, and they brought down a considerable force of evil. It had been awful to see all those he respected fall. The justice of those who killed them was severed, and all of them were planted six feet under. It hurt to watch all those people die, but they had all been avenged. But this...this was indescribable. Incomparable. And no amount of deaths could change it, fix it, to make it even remotely okay.
He supposed the speaker stopped talking, for everyone had begun to stand. Little talking was transpired as they, one by one, rose from their seats and walked in a simple formation. He stood behind everyone, for many reasons, no one noticing him as they all walked slowly and mournfully towards the mound of dirt. Each of them had grabbed a handful of dirt and dropped it onto the grave, saying a quick prayer or good-bye before leaving. Some laid down flowers or other tokens of grief onto the grave and even one placed down a sweater that he recognized that once had been his own.
He waited until they all had left, waiting even past Mrs. Weasley collapsing to the ground in hysterics. He waited for what seemed hours for the Mrs. Weasley's husband to collect her and comfort her. He couldn't reach out to her, it would be inappropriate. It was his fault that another one of her children died. No noticed him though, their grief too great for the hero they had lost.
And then he was all alone.
He walked to the grave, the day feeling more like December than August. He shivered involuntarily at the thought and shut his eyes. This was getting harder the longer he waited.
With a bruised hand, he grabbed a fistful of earth, looking slightly misty-eyed at the stone tablet at the head of the grave. He dropped it on top of the pile others had started, revealing a gold band on his left hand, gleaming in the sunlight. It sill bore its original script she had placed on it last March and tracing the letters seemed to bring tears to his bright green eyes. She had looked so lovely that day, much more than he had noticed that day. Why hadn't he told her everything right there? Why had he been so stupid to wait for so long? They could have had months, years...but now, they would never have that chance. He would never have the chance to make it right. And that was the worst part of it all.
He sighed, looking away from the band, took a deep breath and said:
"I won the war, Gin. I won the war because you died. And it was my fault."
