Love is stronger than death even though it can't stop death from happening, but no matter how hard death tries it can't separate people from love. It can't take away our memories either. In the end, love is stronger than death.
The two men appeared out of thin air, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a moment they stood still, wands directed at each other's chests. Upon recognizing each other, they lowered their weapons and turned briskly to walk to the same predetermined location.
Wordlessly, they approached the large wrought-iron gate and, without breaking their step, passed through it as if it were made of smoke. The exquisite manor grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight path, lights glinting from the diamond-paned windows downstairs. The gravel crackled beneath their feet as they strode to the front door, which swung inward without a single touch.
The hallway was dark and sumptuously decorated with a rich carpet covering a stretch of the marble flooring. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits followed the two men as they came to stop at a large heavy wooden door leading to the next room. They hesitated for nearly a moment before Alaric turned the bronze handle.
The drawing room was full of silence as well as people as they sat frigid at a long polished table. The only source of warmth came from the roaring fire at the end of the hall. Alaric sat down in the chair to the right of the head, his gaze not leaving Snape's as he sat.
As Snape's eyes grew accustomed to the lack of lighting, he began to see the details of the human forms in the chairs. Snape broke eye contact to peer at a figure floating above the table. His attention was pulled down to the head of the table when the Dark Lord began speaking.
"Ah, Severus, we were worried you had… lost your way"
/
Harry's POV
I struggled to my bedroom, holding my bleeding hand with my left one. It was stupid, pointless, and just plain irritating that I still have four days until I can perform magic… but I have to admit, the jagged cut on my finger would have defeated me. I had never learned how to repair wounds and, now that I think of it, in light of my immediate plans, it seemed to be a serious flaw in my magical education. I'll have to ask Jenny to teach me, I thought as I ran my hands under the tap, washing away the blood.
I had spent the morning cleaning out my trunk, which I had, until this point, only switched out the top half of every year to replace clothes and such. The bottom was full of debris, such as old quills or beetle's eyes. Only minutes ago, I had plunged my hand into it to grab something from the bottom, when I felt a stabbing pain in my finger and pulled it out to see a lot of blood. Now that I had cleaned up, I proceeded a bit more cautiously.
I pulled out an old button that flicked from SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY to POTTER STINKS, a cracked Sneakoscope, and the fake locket inside which a note from R.A.B. was hidden. Finally, I found the blade that had done the damage- a fragment of the enchanted mirror that Sirius gave me. I laid it aside and felt around for the other pieces, but they were broken into tiny pieces, a mere powder layering the base of the trunk. I put the shard on top of my Daily Prophet and continued emptying my trunk in an attempt to avoid stirring up feelings of regret and guilt.
I sorted everything into two piles. One pile contained my school and Quidditch robes, my cauldron, parchment, and quills- the pile to be left behind. The other pile, one with muggle clothing, the invisibility cloak, the photo album Hagrid gave me years ago, a stack of letters, my wand, and Jenny's journal. She'd given it to me just over a year ago when we'd parted for the summer. It was filled with things I had never thought of: her poems, her songs, her thoughts- her feelings.
I repacked these essential items into my rucksack, a much more versatile travelling bag. I reached out, only to find a particular article: Albus Dumbledore Remembered, by Elphias Dodge. I picked it up, flipping open to a random page- my eyes widened at what was written inside. I was surprised to find I knew almost nothing about his past. It made me wish immediately that I had taken more time to know who he truly was before he died. I wish I'd gotten to know Sirius better, too. I'd known him half the time I'd known Dumbledore. What else have I been kept in the dark about? Did everyone have to die in order for me to find out more about them?
/
Jenny's POV
"I'm coming, too!" my face curled in frustration as Mr. Weasley, Ron, and the twins gathered together, making sure I wasn't close to them. Mrs. Weasley dropped the pan she was washing and scurried over to hold my arms comfortingly, but also to make sure I didn't try to jump at the last moment.
"Jenny, dear, you know why you can't go," she comforted, trying to get me to calm down again. The last time I'd been angry was when I found out why I couldn't go. If I left the house, I'd be without its protection. I'm "too important" to be put at risk. I'm still underage, and therefore i'd be a loose cannon in the mission: the Ministry could track me- Voldemort could track me.
"I don't trust him, Mrs. Weasley," I spoke, even though I had no intent of going. Once I was reminded that I would be putting everyone in danger, I stood down. However, that didn't make me feel any more comfortable about letting Mundungas take part in this. "He's not committed and everyone knows it!"
"We don't have any other choice… Mad-eye is sure he will do as he is told"
Was I to speak against Mad-eye?
I looked up at the four of them, all ready to risk their lives for Harry. No- this was bigger than that. They were risking their lives for me, for Ginny, for Mrs. Weasley- for everyone. I ran forward, giving Mr. Weasley a big hug.
"Hey, it'll be alright!" Ron said in attempt to comfort me.
"Yeah, nothing to worry about, Jenny" Fred said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"If a couple of death eaters show up, we'll just take a swing at 'em and send 'em flying!" George said, taking a mock beater's bat and swinging it at George's arm. He pretended to be hurt, and managed to squeeze a laugh out of me.
"Alright you half-wits- get a move on! Harry's waiting for you," I managed a grin. Upon seeing my smile, they closed their circle and disappeared from sight. I found my grin fading as a knot formed in my stomach, presaging something dark in the near future.
I turned on my heel and marched toward the fireplace.
"Where are you going?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly, following me across the room.
"I'm going to Meghan's. I need to see him when he arrives. I have to make sure he's safe. I won't leave the house, I promise," I said, assuring her of my safety as I threw a fistful of floo powder into the flames.
I stepped out of the fireplace and kicked the ashes from my feet before stepping onto the carpet. I looked around, taking in the scene. I had never been to Meghan's house, and had never put much thought into what it would look like. It was cleaner than the Weasleys', no competition there, but it wasn't organized by any means. I walked along the wall, viewing the porcelain vases and paintings along it. Most were asleep or absent from their portraits, none of them taking much notice to my presence. I found myself in the kitchen and followed my feet to the sink. In attempt to control my uneasiness, I busied myself with dishes- lots and lots of dishes.
"You've washed that plate twice already," Meghan said, striding toward me. I jumped a little, but I hardly stopped scrubbing.
"I can't help it. I've got this feeling, Meghan. It won't go away. Not until they're back," I said, buffing the plate until it showed my concerned reflection. I frowned, noticing with distaste that my hair was frazzled about and my face creased with worry.
"Put the plate down and sit," she said with a mother's command in her voice. I set the plate in the cupboard and sat down on a cushioned chair. She pulled my hair behind my shoulders and began stroking it with a silver-handled brush. The soft caress of the brush bristles soothed me, bringing back memories of my mother.
I sat down in the wicker chair mom had woven from the willow tree in our backyard. It was the beautiful work of an angel with nimble fingers of gold. She gathered my golden locks and brushed in long gentle strokes as her voice melted into a song.
Your baby blues
So full of wonder
Your curly cues
Your contagious smile
And as I watch
You start to grow up
All I can do is hold you tight
Knowing clouds will rage
And storms will race in
But you will be safe in my arms
Rains will pour down
Waves will crash all around
But you will be safe in my arms
Storybooks full of fairy tales
Of kings and queens and the bluest skies
My heart is torn just in knowing
You'll someday see the truth from lies
Knowing clouds will rage
And storms will race in
But you will be safe in my arms
Rains will pour down
Waves will crash all around
But you will be safe in my arms
Castles they might crumble
Dreams may not come true
But you are never all alone
Because I will always
Always love you
"That's a lovely song," Meghan said, reminding me of her presence.
I opened my eyes, confused, "Sorry?"
"You were singing," she said, humming the tune I recognized from my childhood.
"It was a song my mother used to sing to me when she brushed my hair… or when I was sad…" I looked down, the memory of her bright smile caressing my mind's eye. No… it was the smile in one of Sirius' photos of her, not from a memory of mine. "Meghan… I'm afraid I'm forgetting her"
"That's nonsense. She's your mum," she said as I pulled out a photo I had taken from Sirius' chest. She had that same brilliant smile I had remembered. If only it had been from my own memory and not someone else's.
"What was she like?"
"Oh, she was brilliant. She had a sharp wit, sharp tongue, strong mind, and a delicate touch. She was a healer, you know, your mum. Like a green thumb for gardening, she had a golden touch for healing. If it weren't for her, I would have never met Remus"
"He said I have her heart," I said tenderly, my eyes growing moist at the memory.
"Sirius, did you, by any chance, know my parents?"
"Ah," he stopped and fished around in his robes for a few moments, before pulling out a piece of parchment.
"What's this?" I unfolded it to see a picture of maybe thirty people.
"This is the original Order of the Phoenix. That's Karen, right there," he pointed at a thin woman with large brown curls, "and right there is your mum"
"She's beautiful," I ran my fingers over the page, "I wish I was more like her"
"You are like your mother. So much," he smiled at me, as if he was reminiscing a memory with her.
"How?" I looked down at her, the face of an angel gazing back at me.
"Michelle had more heart than anyone I knew"
"Knew?"
He smiled, "you have your mother's heart"
I felt like crying. Sirius had given me the most important information I had about my mom. Being told I was so much like her was like being compared to the person you idolize the most, only, better. Much better.
That was two years ago, he said that. Not long before he died. This past Christmas, Lupin had said nearly the same thing.
"It was Greyback who bit me."
"When you were a child?" I asked softly, with such a delicate subject.
"Yes, my father had offended him. For the longest time I thought a man with no control of his condition bit me. I even felt pity, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback isn't like that- he plans his attacks. Positions himself closely enough to ensure that he can strike. And this is the man whom Voldemort has leading the werewolves. I can't exactly pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood. That we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people-"
"But you are normal! You just-"
"Just have a condition? Sirius was right, Jenny. You have your mother's heart," he smiled thoughtfully, as if remembering some sobering memory.
"Michelle was there for Remus when no one else was…" she said, as if a recollection of memories had only just surfaced. Suddenly, the brushing stopped and she froze. "There! All finished. Not a single stray hair or knot," she said, setting the brush down on the table. I ran my thumb over the old photo, trying to remember more, but struggling.
"You're so much like your mother. Your hair is the same- forever glowing in the moonlight… Come on, I have something to show you," she said, walking toward the hall. I folded the photo and put it in my pocket, following quickly behind her.