Warning: Slash. Death. Horrid grammar and spelling.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Anytime. Anywhere. Any universe.
In Memory
The weather was cold, as it always is in late autumn.
Leaves were scattered round. Red. Yellow. Brown. Gold. A splash of warm colors across the gray stone pavement, littered haphazardly around by some zany artist.
The sky overhead was gray, cloudy and fraught with colorful rays of light from the rising sun. They served to make the graveyard look far less gloomy, pleasant even.
The graveyard looked as though no one had visited it for a long time, ancient and weather-tested. Ivy (and fungus) had grown over the tombstones, obliterating any names which might have been carved on the crumbling marble.
No candles, not even wax from long burned-out ones… no flowers except for the wilting blooms of wildflowers which stubbornly stuck themselves in the rocky soil… no garbage which inevitably comes along with frisky six-year-old descendants…
Fawkes Memorial, the old stone marker at the entrance would say, if anyone would bother to decipher the faded writing. But it was never discovered who or what Fawkes was.
The story goes that no one even knows for sure how that old cemetery came to be. It just crept up from out of nowhere and settled there. The nearby residents, when they first glanced upon the newly erected graves, simply shrugged (as if it were a normal everyday occurrence for sprawling new structures to appear) and went on with their lives. Every year or so, children would dare each other to explore the site and carry back gruesome tales of bloodthirsty beasts or violent spirits.
They would always come back disappointed though, for the cemetery was a peaceful one. A peaceful final resting place for those buried there.
"Harry! Behind you!" a shrill cry pierced through the echo of battle. The dark-haired fighter, perhaps only in his early twenties, ducked just in time to avoid a fatal curse. His striking green eyes hardened with resolve as he retaliated with a killing curse of his own.
"Thanks, Ginny…" He spared a second of crucial time to give her a wan smile. And moved on to the front, where an Auror was dueling with two Death Eaters simultaneously.
The redhead, both beautiful and battle worn, hardly heard him, being inexorably engaged in melee combat with a lycan. It took advantage of her momentary distraction and went for her throat.
Ginny Weasley's eyes widened at the sudden attack, too late for defenses. She had no regrets about distracting herself, if it meant to save Harry. She would do it again without reservation, none at all, and not because of a life-debt. It didn't matter that her love was unrequited. Not at all.
"Stupefy!" the werewolf jumped back to avoid the wayward spell sent by an Order member, then went for the kill again.
Ginny braced herself, regaining battle stance…
A grave, a little to the left of the entrance archway, was teemed with violets (quite surprising for the place and weather). A stone angel, looking magnificently like a warrior, perched on top, was oddly fitting for some unknown reason.
In Memory
Ginevra Prewett Weasley
Beloved Daughter and Sister…Exalted member, Order of the Phoenix…
Celebrated heroine of the Calais Encounter…
died honorably in defense of Hogwarts School in the Final Stand…
Rest in Peace, Gin-Gin
"That, Harry, is why we must not settle for Unforgivables when much better curses are available," A faint hint of a smirk graced Albus Dumbledore's lined face. The old Headmaster's invention of a curse, the darkest he's ever done, would eternally deem the victim unable to cast magic except to conjure up butterflies. Pink Butterflies.
"And I do so hate to kill a man's spirit," The old man sighed, eyes devoid of twinkle, at the pitiful sight of the mangled body. The poor Death Eater had absolutely no way to defend himself from the onslaught of curses from comrades and enemies alike.
He and Harry were fighting back-to-back against mostly 'elite' Death Eaters, among them Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback...
Bodies on the ground indicated an especially vicious and bloody battle, with especially high stakes.
Dumbledore gave his wand another subtle flick and a jet of faint pink light destroyed another enemy.
"This, apart from lemon drops of course, may be my greatest discovery yet," He chuckled gravely, making humor of the situation.
A grave near the back made the villagers wonder what insanely senile person would approve of such eccentricity on his/her burial place. A cluster of stars, crescent moons and other astrological symbols adorned the mausoleum, making it look like some incomprehensible universe.
In memory
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Cherished Friend, Mentor and Leader…Prominent Scholar and Fighter…Order of Merlin, First Class…Defeater of Grindelwald, 1945…Headmaster, Hogwarts School… Founder, Order of the Phoenix…Died by Voldemort's hand in the Final Stand…
Rest in Peace, Albus. Enjoy your next great adventure.
"Ronald, you idiot!" Hermione screeched as her husband of for months appeared suddenly in the Hospital Wing.
Harry Potter, who had apparated Ron in, cringed. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the stinging potion Healer Granger-Weasley had mercilessly dabbed on his lacerations or the stream of allegations she showered on his bestfriend.
"Mione, let me explain…" Ron protested weakly, turning quite red at the things Hermione was shouting ("not even thinking!...staggeringly stupid…reckless…what if you've…") It was amazing how Ron – Auror, master of strategy, Braveheart extraordinaire – would cower at 5"6 worth of enraged Hermione.
"If I didn't step in, Hermione, Neville would've long-gone by now," Ron finally managed to say in an unnaturally quiet voice.
Hermione, on the verge of ranting again, broke off, torn between concern for a friend and protectiveness for a spouse.
"I know I can't ask you to stay safe, Ron. It would be selfish of me." Hermione sniffed, wiping silent tears on her lime robes. "I'm scared. I don't know what I'd do without you…"
Ron got up and hugged his wife, with much difficulty because a large chunk of his arm had been blasted off.
Harry looked away in anguish.
There was a tomb, quite near Albus', which looked arbitrarily mismatched. One part of the sculpture adorning it appeared thoroughly academe, but the crumbling bottom looked as though it had once been…a ball?...a chess piece? How odd.
In Memory
Ronald Prewett Weasley
Beloved son, brother, husband and friend…Distinguished member, Auror Office,
Order of the Phoenix…Died willingly for the destruction of the sixth Horcrux…
Rest in Peace, Ron
Hermione Granger-Weasley
Treasured wife and friend…War Healer, St. Mungo's…Defense officer, Order of the Phoenix…Inventor, anti-lycanthropy potion…Head Girl, Hogwarts School…
Died in defense of Hogwarts School in the Final Stand…
Rest in Peace, Mione
"Potter! What do you think you're doing?!" Snape (paler, thinner, more imposing but as hawk-nosed as ever) roared while restrained a grief-wracked teenager from throwing himself in the thick of things and get them both killed. "It would be of no use to go after him now while the Death Eaters are still going strong. Though I wouldn't put it past Gryffindor stupidity to do so…"He said bitterly in an afterthought.
"No!" Harry shouted, sobbing and clawing at the invisible restraints. "I'm gonna make the bastard pay! I hate him! I will kill him!"
"That has been established already, I believe," Snape snapped icily. "You'll gain nothing, idiot Potter, if you rush in on him now. He's in a dangerous power frenzy. Your time would be better used helping us diminish his army."
"But…but…he was…and…" Harry rummaged his mind for any reason, rational or irrational, to attack the Dark Lord.
"And what?!" Snape snarled viciously. "Get yourself killed?! Waste their sacrifices?! I care for them as much as you do but blind rage is simply not my style…They knew what they were getting into, Potter! And they did their parts well! And I promised Dumbledore that you will too! I will make sure you'll finish what they started!"
Harry stopped struggling. He hadn't seen Snape this livid since, well, last week? But there was something different with this anger. A hint of pain. A touch of despair. Fear.
He nodded, and steeled himself. Grieving would be for later. If there was one.
Beneath the yew tree, which looked very out-of-place indeed, was small simple crypt. The owner apparently didn't like paraphernalia embellishing his final resting place.
In Memory
Severus Snape
Distinguished friend and mentor… Head of Espionage, Order of the Phoenix…
Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, Hogwarts School…
Died at Voldemort's hand in the Final Stand…
Rest in Peace, Severus
"Harry! Run! Get away from here!" A young blond boy shouted hoarsely, running behind the remains of a fallen tower to shield himself from a barrage of Dark Curses.
"No! I won't leave you!" Harry yelled back, also ducking behind the ruins (which had once been Gryffindor Tower, if he wasn't' mistaken).
"Don't be so sentimental, you stubborn ass," Draco Malfoy sneered as soon as Harry joined him. His voice turned grim, ominous. "My father is out there – "
"I thought an Auror had killed your father in the Hogsmeade Onslaught –"
"That was my uncle," Draco spat bitterly; he was always touchy at the mention of his family. "All of them Death Eaters…I'm disgusted."
"Don't stop me, Harry." He turned his stormy gray eyes to the Boy-who-Lived (worn, sweaty, bloody and absolutely magnificent). "This is my battle. I'll never be free if I don't face it. You understand that."
Harry didn't say anything. He looked back at Draco, as torn and weary-looking as himself, though still retaining that insufferable air of pride and elegance. Pfft.
Not three meters from where they were crouched, a jet of eerie orange light blew apart a mound of stone. (There goes the fireplace…)
"They're nearly here," Draco said, more to himself, as they retreated farther away. "I have to do this, Harry. Just as you have to face the Dark Lord." He allowed himself a wry smile. "No prophecy about it though."
"I'm not leaving. Draco, why can't we –"
Harry's words were brutally cut off by lips closing over his own. The kiss, firm and gentle, full of joy and sadness, expressing hope and encouragement, ended as abruptly as it started. But it was enough for an eternity.
"I'm so proud of you, Harry," Draco whispered. "I hope you'll be proud of me too."
"Don't talk like that,"
Harry met his eyes. They spoke of love, hope, anguish, pain, fear…
"We're not going anywhere," His words, thought spoken with resolve, somehow seemed empty.
…and when he looked closely enough…
"Aaah!" The portkey Draco had slipped into his pocket activated, whisking him off to Snape. The young Malfoy was certain Snape would take care of Harry…if anything happened.
…he could see his own in them.
The grave was, though this description may be inappropriate, beautiful, in its simplicity and elegance. Expensive white marble, bought from the remains of his trust fund, undecorated except from the small white carving, in the shape of a familiar lightning scar, right in the center.
In Memory
Draco Black Malfoy
Dearly missed friend…Member, Espionage, Order of the Phoenix…
Rest in Peace, Draco
"It is time, Harry," Harry Potter said to himself, holding his head high and stunning Death Eaters along, as he made his way to the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort was expecting him. Expecting this moment as much as Harry did.
A dome of golden magic enclosed them. A trill of a Phoenix could be heard in the distance. Fawkes.
It was tail-feather against tail-feather.
"Tom Riddle," Harry said. No emotion behind the words. No malevolence. No malice.
"Harry Potter," His voice, though more like a hiss, reflected his opponent's. Flat.
Sixteen-year-old Tom had been right. They were similar. In a lot of twisted ways.
They were both tied down by the same prophecy. A duty they did not care about placed on their shoulders. They were both trapped by it. No escape.
They both did not know real freedom. Harry had realized this shortly before this final duel. They were both pawns of fate, to be pitied rather than hated. Tom, of course, realized this too late. By trying to fight the trappings (and in the process, nearly destroying the world), he had gotten himself and Harry wedged in even more tightly.
It was inevitable, if you think about it. Damned if you do, Damned if you don't.
And they were both tired. Tired of being played by fate, that juicy little vixen, no matter how much power or fame she offered.
Freedom, the only thing she could not offer, was what they craved.
They were destined to give it to each other.
"Avada Kedavra"
Fatigue, physical and spiritual, seeped inside and he stumbled. Swirling. Colors. Flashes of light. Memories. Joy. Sadness. Confusion. Fear. Loss. Emptiness.
Then a sudden blessed darkness.
"Because, it appears, I could love amazingly well, only I could give you what you've always been craving for." Harry bent down to the corpse. "Power over your, well, certainly not life... You're no longer a slave, Tom."
Then, without warning…
"Why couldn't you have done the same to me?!" He sobbed, rattling the dead body. Tom, no longer looking like a snake but like a handsome 80-year old, just smiled peacefully in return.
"You know what you have to do" a voice from far inside his consciousness answered. "They'll forgive you. It is your reward."
"Who are you?"
"I am fate," it answered serenely. "Neither can live while the other survives. You can live, and truly love, now, Harry Potter, in the eternal life."
The golden dome dissipated as Death smiled upon one Harry Potter, taking him home at last.
It was in the middle of the burial grounds. People had insisted on it, no matter how much Prime Minister Longbottom asserted that Harry would've preferred a less prominent plot.
Relatively simple, (here, Neville just had to put his foot down) with the cracked remains of a broomstick (a Firebolt?) and a snake (or a reptile of sorts) of all things, compared to what is expected of a 'savior'.
In Memory
Harry James Potter
Beloved friend…Head Boy, Hogwarts School…Co-Head, Order of the Phoenix…
Esteemed member, Auror Office…Order of Merlin, First Class…
Defeater of Voldemort…Savior of the Wizarding World…
Rest in Peace, Harry
Finally, someone had tried to etch, Fred probably. Harry wouldn't have minded in the least.
It was said that sometimes, in the light of the moon, the graveyard could be seen in all its former glory. Restored as if by magic.
No sprigs of ivy. No cracked headstones. The grass wonderfully green. Flowers all around. Candles burning. All practically brimming with vitality.
And dozens of spirits, pearly white and translucent, would appear.
Hermione reading a book propped against her own epitaph while Ron played Quidditch with his sister.
Dumbledore laughing with Hagrid and Snape while McGonagall tsk-tsked with a small smile playing upon her lips.
George, pining for Fred, while chasing Percy's non-arrogant ectoplasm around. ("Oy, Fred, hurry up, will ya?")
Harry and Draco happily sitting on white marble together, while the snake bounded happily around them.
(No incessant attention was paid to them. No glory was heaped (to Draco's displeasure. Everyone played a part after all.)
Bunches of families drifting together, chatting about the oddest things. Not so broken anymore.
Wizards and witches long gone…Moody, Fleur, Seamus, Cho, Mundungus and many others who perished as the Wizarding World evolved…floated past.
Younger. Less war-worn. Happy. Carefree. Hopeful.
At peace at last.
And sometimes, if he cared to show, Tom Riddle just might join in the heavenly gala.
End. I would've posted this before November (Halloween!) but sadly, I'm not as able as I like to think.