Dust was settling, quite literally. It fell in whisper-soft curtains from the vaulted ceiling- no enchantments now, just scorch marks from spells that had missed their mark, and crumbling moulding from broken buttresses. It coated her hair and dress and even the inside of her mouth and nose, but she paid no attention. Her knees had long ago gone stiff, and the muscles of her legs screamed in protest, begging her to change positions, but she knelt without moving. Moving might make it hurt more, and already she was in such agony.
Her son, her handsome, witty, brave son, lay beside her, his red hair close enough to touch. He looked for all the world to be asleep there on the floor of the Great Hall, but he was not sleeping. He was dead.
All around her there was noise, but it all seemed very far away from the loose circle made by her family, their own little private hell. She had looked up once, when Andromeda Tonks had run into the hall like a madwoman, clutching a bewildered Teddy in her arms, and fell screaming over her daughter's body. Even that, though, seemed to be happening on a different plane of existence.
The events of the day had fallen into a past so far behind they might has well have occurred in a different century. She had gone from feeling like a part of her had died to a part of her had vanished, had been pushed out and evaporated as she cried over the body of her son, never to return.
Author's Note: Hi. This might be one of those things where the author's note is longer than the story, but I just watched the latest DH2 trailer and seeing Ron and Molly weeping over Fred's body made me get all misty... I don't know. It's no Fred's Funeral, which, if you ask me, is the best thing I've ever written, but I digress.
Does anyone have any ideas for an HP story they'd like to see? I'm up for a challenge but short on ideas right now. And whatever it is will be an appropriate length, none of this four paragraph-ness. Any suggestions welcome.