of Written Words to the Wizarding World is a compilation of random works that I have written when inspiration hits. It is a collection of drabbles, poems, and short stories that may come to mind throughout the year. It ranges from works about the characters of the Marauder's era, to the Golden Trio's era, and to the Next Generation.
For the Golden Trio
Characters: Harry Potter
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: K+
Prompt: "Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." - Vicki Harrison
'There is no true victory in war,' Harry Potter mused as he observed the destruction in front of him, his eyes wandering from the people left behind to the bodies of people lost. Despite the loud chattering of voices around him, Harry heard nothing but the echoes of ghostly whispers. People glanced towards him with tentative smiles and murmured gratitude, but Harry could only walk away with a pained smile before he was finally alone in the familiar office of the late Albus Dumbledore.
He recalled the image of Remus Lupin, the last of the Marauders, and wondered if Remus was truly at peace to be reunited with his lost brothers. The last true Marauder after the death of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. He recalled the joy Remus felt after holding his son, and Harry felt sorrow thinking about his freshly orphaned godson, Edward Remus Lupin.
The love of a father...
There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Remus Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, 'So -'ow eez leetle Teddy?'
Remus blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying, like ice.
'I - oh yes - he's fine!' Remus said loudly. 'Yes, Tonks is with him - at her mother's.'
Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen.
'Here, I've got a picture!' Remus shouted proudly, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry, who saw a tiny baby with a tuff of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the camera. Remus couldn't keep his proud smile off his face as he looked at the image of his son.
The love of a mother...
'And this is Nymphadora—'
'Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus,' said the young witch with a shudder. 'It's Tonks.'
'Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only,' finished Remus.
'So would you if your fool of a mother had called you Nymphadora,' muttered Tonks.
The death of any loved parent is an incalculable lasting blow. Because no one ever loves you again like that. Harry knew this by heart. After all, it was his mother's love that allowed him to become the boy who lived.
As Ginny and Hermione moved closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.
Like a reflection of his own life, Teddy will never truly know the love of his parents. He will hear stories of their bravery and heroics, but he will never experience the warmth of their embrace or their soothing words of comfort.
He thought of Fred Weasley, Collin Creevey, and all the other victims of this war. Like the wave of an ocean, Harry felt exhaustion rippling through him.
George will forever feel the empty space of his other half.
Fred and George turned to each other and said together, 'Wow, we're identical!'
'I dunno though, I think I'm still better looking,' said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.
To lose a brother is to lose someone with whom you can share the experience of growing old with. Losing a twin brother was a painful scar even Harry would never fully comprehend, and his guilt worsened.
'No!' someone was shouting. 'No! Fred! No!' And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred's eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face."
Collin Creevey will never capture another beautiful moment with his camera. It was with those thoughts that Harry was reminded of the overwhelming loss of his childhood, and it consumed him.
'All right, Harry? I–I'm Colin Creevey,' he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. 'I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think—would it be all right if—can I have a picture?' He said, raising the camera hopefully.
Harry sat against the steps of the office, as the memories grew unbearable.
Neville nearly walked into him. He was one half of a pair that was carrying a body in from the grounds. Harry glanced down, and felt another dull blow to his stomach: Colin Creevey, though under-age, must have sneaked back just as Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had done. He was tiny in death. 'You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville,' said Oliver Wood, and he heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him into the Great Hall.
Colin Creevey's death was devastating not simply because it was the death of someone so young, but because it was the death of a single pure soul; a muggleborn untouched by greed, hate or cruelty. He remained, throughout his time at Hogwarts, the same breathless embodiment of joy he was on his first day. Whether it be meeting a celebrity wizard or his brother getting pushed into the Hogwarts lake, everything to Colin was met with such exquisite excitement. But now, he was gone and his innocence and joy was forever lost to the great unknown.
"I shouldn't have survived. It was my destiny to die, even Dumbledore thought so, and yet I lived. I beat Voldemort. All these people—all these people—my parents, Fred, the Fallen Fifty—and it's me that gets to live? How is that? All this damage, and it's my fault," Harry felt his whole body shudder from the cold, empty feeling of a chasm growing within in his heart. Consumed by the feeling of loss and guilt, he did not hear the footsteps of his two best friends who had entered the office. Hermione and Ron glanced at each-other before they wrapped their arms in comfort around the broken spirit of the boy who lived. The savior of the wizarding world who will forever carry the world on his shoulders.
In war, death is not the only kind of loss the survivors experience. The loss of love, innocence, and childhood are the cross that the survivors must bear in their hearts and in their souls. Because in the end, it is easier to raise stronger children than to repair broken people, and the war left no one unscathed. They were all victims of war. In the end, they can only hope that all will be well in time.
I accept prompts and requests, so feel free to review or privately message me. There is no age restriction to my works, so the ratings will range from K to M with warnings ahead of time to what the chapters may contain.