I thought this up while i was in the shower today. Havn't had a story up in a long time so I may be a tad rusty, but give me some time and some reviews and I'll warm up to my keyboard again. This is just a prologue to the actual story, it might jump back every once in a while. Hope you enjoy. Oh, Original characters to Ms. Rowling and any credit needed to be given is now given. I don't own anything, and I'm not trying to. I just want people to read something because i'm tired of waiting for stories.
Prologue:
It was late September, the rust colored leaves which gingerly clung to the branches of trees rustled as a gust of cold wind flew by. In the still soft hours after dawn a mist gently blanked the ground. It was the perfect atmosphere for the small gathering. Only a handful of people remained, hardly anybody would remember the truth from so long ago. There was an elderly man staring off into what seemed to be nothing, yet the lone tear that slowly made its way down his cheek said more for his feelings and memories than any word could ever attempt. The young woman next to him gave his hand an extra squeeze of reassurance, "It's going to be alright."
She stood up before the handful gathered before her. Her curly brown locks cascading down her back from her porcelain skin made her the image of some Greek goddess or angel. The simple black gown she wore mirrored the wardrobe of the others as she smoothed her skirt and began to address her audience.
"Thank you all for being here today," she started "I know what a trouble it can be to come on such short notice. Yet what happens, happens. That's life. So here we are again. I'm sure you all remember the far too recent passing of Harry Potter and those memories are still close to the surface."
She looked to Harry's wife, Ginny, to make sure she hadn't struck a nerve too soon. The widow nodded her approval, eyes brimming with tears of sadness.
"Good friends and family are always missed more than anything in the world. All we can hope for is to keep a hold of them long enough to have more good memories than bad in the end."
"I have never been too good at speeches; my husband can vouch for that." She snuck a glance at her red headed husband who stood next to the elderly man, as he held the hands her two beautiful children. A small smile perked at the edge of his lips.
"So today I'm not going to give you a speech. I'm not going to keep telling you how much we miss the ones we love, we all know too well. So instead of death I am going to tell you of life. I am going to tell you a story that some of you may remember. It's a story of how one amazing woman can change fate and bring us all to where we are today. A story which defines the phrase 'Life is what you make of it; you are your own God.' I am going to tell you of the most wonderful and loved person I have ever known."
The elderly man seemed to focus more clearly, his gray eyes sharp of his age. He knew more of this love and wonder than any other.
"My mother, Hermione."