Disclaimer, None of the characters or concepts associated with J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter novels belong to me, everything else does.
Death of a friend.
They walked between the graves, so many names he recognized. They paused at some of them, holding hands, remembering them. There had been so many deaths that they had to bury them randomly, hero beside spy beside innocent witness. But all of them had been victims of the Dark Lord, one way or another. They reached a simple grave covered with momentums.
Dumbledore, his teacher, his hero. He missed the old wizard so much, his lemon sherbets, his all-knowing twinkling eyes. He died, giving his life to keep Hogwarts save. He would have loved to teach under him, but the Hogwarts staff had changed almost completely since he was a student. Only Minerva had stayed.
They walked on until they reached a grave in the middle of the field. Dog, a wolf and a stag were playing. they stood still for a long time, her hand left his and she placed a red rose on the grave. It had been His tradition, no other colour, no other flower, but a Gryffindor-red rose. She had taken over after he was gone.
Sirius, the godfather he always wished for. He admired the man more than anybody. Sirius had hated his family with passion. He always had so much passion, both in anger and joy. He had been the first in this war to go and, unfortunately, not the last. Sirius would always be the person of firsts, the first Black in Gryffindor, the first Animagus at fifteen, the first Black to be thrown in to Azkaban, the first to escape Azkaban, the first to die. And, although there had not been a body, the first to be buried here.
They walked on in silence, neither wanting to speak a word. A grave, black as the night, stood alone between the others.
Snape, he did not want to admit it but he missed the cynical teacher. They got to know each other the last years; they had fought side by side. He did not like him, but he had great admiration for the man who lived divided for so many years. Death had been a welcome change for him. Peace at last.
They walked on, past more names he knew. Then they walked past a grave, beautiful carved with roses.
Ginny, he had loved her as a brother is supposed to love his sister. She had become so beautiful, so bright, a strong witch. But he always remembered an eleven-year-old girl ready for her first day at school.
He felt a hand touch his face and caress him softly, wetness spread over his cheek under her gentle touch .
Tears. He knew that if he could, he would bring her back, bring all of them back.
They walked on. The list of friends, death friends grew. They stopped in front of a grave, the biggest one, the best-kept one and the one with the most flowers. The Quidditch player was still chasing the snitch.
He had been his best friend and he still missed him. After 5 years he still missed playing chess with him and beating him at it too. Playing tag on broomsticks all over the Quidditch pitch. Laughing at Hermione because she was reading again. Sneaking out of the tower at night to save the world. He had finally died doing just that and Ron Weasley had been beside him, seeing him fall. He remembered his empty eyes when he held him in his arms.
They were no longer alone; voices talked about The Boy Who Lived. It was ironic, talking about The Boy Who Lived while standing at his grave. But that was how they saw him, a hero. Perfect in every way, but to him Harry had not been perfect He was like a brother to him, sometimes annoying, sometimes stubborn, sometimes closed off, but above all a very good friend. Beside him Hermione gave a soft sob, she had heard them too and he felt her pain. He walked, on leaving her behind. This was his journey. There was one other grave left for him to visit. There it was, a little secluded from the rest. Just as if they wanted to say it did not belong here.
They all had said he did not belong here. He had not the right to be buried here. This was a place of remembrance and they did not find him worth remembering. But he was worth it, Ron's had saved his life. He had not thought it possible, but he had saved his life, only to pay with his own. He had never used his given name, he had found him annoying and now he was death. And only he mourned about him.
He walked back to her, his love, his life. He looked back at the grave one last time and read:
Pig
My hero
1994-1998
A/N: This is the second version I wrote of this story, in the first one I killed everybody except Ron. I hated doing it to Ron so I brought Hermione back to life. The first version was written before Order of the Phoenix and had Pig do what Fawkes did in OotP.