Living After the Dead

He looked up again, and for a split second, his emerald green eyes met those beautiful brown ones. Before he could say anything, she turned her face away.

"Gin—"

"Harry—"

Both of them spoke at the same time, and stopped almost instantly. Green met brown again, and caused only rain. He leaned forward and wiped off the stray tear that had escaped her eyes, but it only triggered the streaks of wet that lined across her cheeks. Before he could stop himself, his tear-ducts deceived him.

Shifting, he sat down beside her. Her red hair matted his shoulder, his head atop hers, the two crying the gloom away.

"You know, I never gave up on you," he whispered. Her lips curled up in a small smile, as she remembered the day she had said the same words to him. Today, and the day they had parted—both had enveloped everyone in a sadness that was darker than the darkest of clouds. It was something which only those who had experienced, could know about. But these small moments stolen out of their blasted up lives were the things that joined together to lighten up the darkness that threatened to spread everywhere.

Just like tiny candles that lit up the spacious Great Hall.

Just like the little herbs that covered the rocky Hogwarts grounds.

Just like the stars that dotted the never-ending skies.

Just like all those witches and wizards who had united together to pushed back the darkness of the Dark Lord into oblivion

There was strength in unity.

Unity was strength. Unity is strength. Unity will always be strength.

And at this moment, two bodies, two hearts, and two souls were uniting as he captured her lips with his, and forced away the darkness with the gift of light.

As she buried her face in his chest, he whispered, "Fred is gone," scared to speak those words aloud, but pushed by the need to make the fact known—to her—and to himself.

She stood up, and turning around, looked directly into his eyes. "Voldemort is gone," she spoke, the fierceness clearly visible even though her tone was soft.

"Voldemort is gone!" he repeated, to let the trees, the spirits, the ghosts, the men and women, the nargles and the wrackspurts know, that the man who had been the reason behind all the misery, was gone.

With the fear of the truth out of their systems, and their minds considerably lighter, they made their way out of Hagrid's hut—where luck had brought them together, an hour ago—two people wanting to be alone for a while, away from family and friends. But as they had found each other at the doorstep, neither had felt the need to move away.

As the couple walked across the grounds, a silvery being materialised before them, causing them to halt. The unearthly creature was just a wisp of smoke, so familiar, yet so different. And as it spoke, it was in a voice they knew all too well. The quivering and shaking voice of Fleur Delacour.

"Come too ze Tonks reseedence fast, 'arry." With these seven words, the patronus disappeared.

"So . . . see you later, Gin?" he said, sighing.

"Harry James Potter!" she said, her voice raising with each syllable. "I got you back five minutes ago, and you think I'm letting you go—Merlin knows where—alone?"

He sighed again. "Ginny, look, I don't know why I'm going there, and I don't know what is waiting there for me. I'll go alone."

"You said the same thing to us when we went to the Ministry. You said the same thing to Ron and Hermione before you three left." Before he could say something, to apologise for leaving her, she continued, "—yes, I know that. And, you said the same thing to the DA before the battle commenced. So, yes, I'm coming with you."

As could be expected, he gave in.

She held his hand, and the two Disapparated away.

.oOo.

Gone.

This was the one word that had been haunting his mind, the echoes getting only louder and louder.

Every time he closed his eyes, that dreadful scene flashed before him.

Crabbe shouted out the Killing Curse again. His shouts of 'Don't kill Potter' meant nothing to Crabbe—Malfoys had lost their authority. Granger charged at them, shooting Stunning Spells one after the another. He cowered behind a three legged wardrobe as a spell hit Goyle.

And then, suddenly, he was running for his life—dragging an unconscious Goyle with him—away from the flames of abnormal size, that were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

The more he tried to outrun the blazing fire, the faster it chased him. Ahead him, he saw a tower of battered desks. Without giving a second thought to it, he climbed to the top, his arms around Goyle.

As the beastly fire ate the wood away—charring those centuries old desks, he knew they had no chance. He was wandless, helpless, hopeless. Closing his eyes, he waited for his life to close—prepared to embrace death. The flames grew higher and higher, reaching to his feet—like cords trying to bind him—and then, there was help, and a hope to survive.

The person he had so passionately bestowed death wish upon, a time too many, had come for his rescue. He raised his arm, and Potter—The Harry Potter, who had once rejected taking that very hand—grasped it. His and Crabbe's weight was too heavy for Potter, the sweat covered palm deceived him—and Harry's hand slid out of his, as did hope.

But then, there it was again. Weasley and Granger dragged Goyle onto their broom, and rose into the air once more, and he clambered on behind Harry. He sighed in relief as he found himself out of the reach of those monstrous flames.

He fell off the broom and lay facedown, gasping, coughing, and retching. He looked up at Goyle, who was still unconscious. "C-Crabbe," he choked as finally he found his voice. "C-Crabbe . . ."

"He's dead," Weasley spat.

They continued talking, but he couldn't hear a word of what they said. All his senses were numb. He could hear only one word. 'Dead'.

Reliving the horrors, he felt. Draco Malfoy felt for his deeds. Death was something that had been synonymous to 'fun' for him. He was the son of a Death Eater. He was a Death Eater.

But now, when he had tasted the horror himself, he realised that there was nothing sweet in there. He repented on how many times he had had a laugh out of calling Harry Potter an orphan. How he had wanted the mudbloods to be wiped off the face of the earth. How he had wanted to kill.

The memories of his attempts to kill Albus Dumbledore surfaced. He regretted not going over to the right side when he had a chance. He wished he could be dead.

.oOo.

As Harry Apparated in front of the Tonks residence, Ginny beside him, he knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the air. An eerie silence was spread over the area, and swept them away into the dead sea of gloom.

Cautiously, he made his way to the door and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice said from the inside.

He opened the door, and the scene that unfolded in front of his eyes devastated him.

There was Teddy, who lay in his crib, oblivious to what was happening around him—not knowing that the couple who had given birth to him, wasn't there anymore.

There was Fleur, sitting on the ground, sobbing heavily.

There was someone who lay sprawled across the floor, the hue of blood-red leaving her skin by minute. The brown eyes that stared at the ceiling held no life in them. The lady, who Harry had once mistaken to be Bellatrix Lestrange, had left—only the empty shell of her body remained behind.

Another life sucked away by the monster christened Tom Riddle. Another child made an orphan before he could even know who his family was.

"Fleur—Oh Fleur!" Ginny cried, sitting down behind her and rubbing her back. He had totally forgotten that she was there as well.

"L-Letter—from Meeneestry—T-To-Tonks—and R-Remus—d-d-dead," Fleur whispered between her sobs. "M-Mrs. T-Tonk-ks had a s-stroke," she said, and broke down completely.

Tears started to roll down Ginny's eyes.

Harry could see only red. Come what may, the Ministry's methods would never change! Swallowing back a sob, he stormed out of the house, ignoring Ginny and Fleur as they called after him.

.oOo.

Finally, Draco had mustered up enough courage to come to this place—The Memorial Park—where all those who had died in the battle were buried. Converting the Shrieking Shack into a War Memorial—how very fitting! There were tombstones all around him, making this place more haunted than ever before. But there was one grave that stood out, for him at least. He stared at the gravestone, his eyes re-reading the words that had been already engraved in his heart.

VINCENT CRABBE

5 May 1980 - 2 May 1998

That was all it said. He was not a war hero, after all. The sound of footsteps behind him pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned around to see Harry Potter and his Weasley girlfriend making their way over to the other side—to the War Heroes. She was carrying a small boy in her arms—a very peculiar boy with turquoise hair. Turning back, he sat down cross-legged, facing Crabbe's grave, doing something he had never done before. Draco Malfoy sat there, praying.

Harry and Ginny entered the Memorial, hearts heavy—feeling for those who had lost their lives in the war, from each side.

"Teddy, your parents lie here," she whispered to the boy she held in her arms, pointing to the two graves in front of them.

Moving along, they halted in front of a grave which made them smile and shed tears at the same time.

FRED WEASLEY

1 April 1978 - 2 May 1998

"Should I die first, the place at my left should be left empty. I'll wait for Forge to join me."

—The Hotter Twin

These words had been taken from his will—both Fred and George had written theirs the previous year—as a joke of course. Wiping her tears away, Ginny looked at Teddy, a small smile on her face.

"This is uncle Fred, Ted. Funny how your names rhyme, isn't it?" The baby giggled. "I seriously hope you won't turn out like him."

They continued to walk around the memorial, leaving flowers on the graves. As they turned around to leave, they came face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Well, if this isn't Voldemort's ferret," Ginny sneered.

Draco ignored her. "Harry Potter," he said, in a way of greeting.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Uh . . . can we talk?"

Before Harry could answer, Ginny spoke again. "No. Now leave. You have until the count of three . . ."

"Ginny, wait," Harry said, and she looked at him incredulously. He motioned for Draco to speak.

"Uh . . . thanks?" he tried.

"For what?" Harry asked, surprised that Malfoy could even say that word.

"For saving my life the other day."

Harry gave him a solemn nod. Before he could move away, Draco spoke again. "Who is he?"

After a second of pause, Harry replied, "He's Ted. Teddy Remus Lupin."

"M-My n-nephew?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"Yes."

He extended his hand towards the baby boy, who caught hold of his index finger, and started giggling. The innocence on his face made Draco's heart melt..

"Po—Harry, will you—will you let me stay in contact with him?" he asked nervously, gesturing towards Teddy.

Harry exchanged a glance with Ginny. "Sure," he said.

"Thanks. You should bring him over sometimes. My mother would like to meet her sister's grandson."

"Uh, Malfoy—" Ginny started. "—Mrs. Tonks is . . . dead."

A look of horror crossed Draco's face. "Dead," he whispered to himself, turning around. "Dead."

He walked away.

.oOo.

A/N

Written as a present on a very special occasion for a person who has given me help, support, motivation, and a lot of other things that I could never repay her for. This is for you, the lovely, fair, amazing Lady Arturia!

Word Count: 1999

This is also a submission for Assignment #9, Herbology, for the forum, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments).

Task: Write about a character regretting someone's death.

Notes: They don't have to regret the death itself, but something relating to the death.

Word Count: 200-2000

Extra Prompts:

(word) gravestone

(genre) angst

(word) dead

Also written for Hogwarts House Challenges:

The Quidditch Pitch

Prompt: Dialogue: "You have until the count of three..."

The Drabble Club

Prompt: Broom (word)