Disclaimer: Unless you have been sitting on Mars for the last six years
with your eyes glued shut and your fingers in your ears, you will be aware
that nearly none of the characters, places, spells and other named things
in this piece of writing, their past histories and characteristics, belong
to me. Unfortunately. They belong to the genius mind of J.k.Rowling; also
to all the things she attributes the name origins to, such as her past
acquaintances, some British towns, Greek Myths and Latin Vocabulary. So
there.
The sun rose one summer's morning, to reveal a dreary and dismal day. The world seemed to have changed completely overnight. Contrary to the season, and to the lack of work and difficulties, the world seemed to awake with a frown and a tear. There was not a bird to be seen in the sky, the early risers seemed to venture out as silently as they could, so as not to disturb the others. The ambiance of, well, everywhere was so silently gloomy and tearful, that anyone who didn't understand what was going on, would find the atmosphere so tense, they would not dare ask why it was so.
---x---
Hermione Granger woke to the sun beating down on her face, she turned over and groaned. She felt as though she couldn't face the pressure of the day, especially after so little sleep - she was awoken by three nightmares during the night. Although, the nightmares were subsiding a little - just over a week ago, when it happened, she had no less than twelve nightmares a night and that was with the little sleep she got.
"Hermione...?" Her mum poked her head around the door. Hermione looked up, her eyes red from the silent tears that had rolled down her face so frequently in the last week. Her face looked white and drained. Her hair was damp and matted from sweating, her last nightmare had only been half an hour ago - yet it seemed like so long she had almost forgotten about it. Every minute was starting to seem like an eternity. "Are you..." Mrs Granger hesitated on the sentence.
"I'm fine" muttered Hermione through gritted teeth. Hermione's voice was indignant, but her mum could tell she was far from fine, as Hermione's answer was strained. Worried, her mum decided to drop the subject and move on, quickly changing her pattern of conversation, so her daughter would think she hadn't noticed the strangeness of her answer.
"Well good... good. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes - remember you've got to go to that, I mean his, erm... you know... today. So get ready quickly". Mrs Granger looked once again at her daughter, with a look of pure worry and sadness for her, before walking quickly back out of the room.
Hermione lay back down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She knew her mum was just worried about her, but she couldn't help but feeling annoyed and frustrated with her. "Why can't she just leave me alone?" she thought aloud, before concluding that, "She just doesn't understand.". And with that, she pulled herself off the bed, and walked downstairs, savouring every thought. Her mum was right, she did have a long day, and, however unwilling she was, she had to go through with it. "Just be strong", she thought finally as she walked into the kitchen where her mum and dad were sitting, "Just be strong...."
---x---
Ron Weasley was one person who could have done with Hermione's words of self-encouragement. He, himself, felt at his weakest, but it was at this moment in time that he had to be strong, so strong as to hold together everyone who was falling apart around him. He just wasn't up to it at all.
He had been up since the break of dawn, it was the eighth night in the row that he had spent a night sleepless, and it was killing him. He had sat up in his room at the very top of his house, which was pet-named "The Burrow", and stared complacently out of the window for hours on end. It was only when he heard a door slam some floors below him that he came to his senses, and it was also then that he realised that it was morning.
His room looked a lot different from the summer before. The minute he got home after his seventh and final year of Hogwarts, he disappeared straight to his room and tore down every Chudley Cannons poster on his wall and threw it into the bin. His room was now, not the violent shade of orange it had once been, but an indistinct colour that could once have been described as blue, his shabbily papered wallpaper was tearing at the edges; and he didn't care at all. His sister, Ginny, upset as she was, thought he was going insane, and hid from him for nearly two complete days after that. His mum and dad were, understandably, worried, but they reassured themselves that it was "just a phase", and he was going to get "better" as time went on.
The door shutting downstairs, had, in fact, been Ron's dad, Mr Arthur Weasley. He had gone outside for a bit of fresh air, he having, as well, missed almost a complete night of sleep through worry and grief. His nerves were jittery and he needed to pull himself together.
Ron silently left his room and walked downstairs. The hallways, which were usually bustling with the nine members of the Weasley family, were empty. It was a slightly eerie ambiance. The deathly silence was something that The Burrow was just not used to, even at night. Quietly creeping, Ron looked around himself as he reached the final floor, he was sure he had heard somebody downstairs and all this quiet was making him nervous. He walked hesitantly into the small kitchen when someone called his name. He spun around agitatedly, but expectantly, and saw that the person behind the voice was standing in the garden, and looking in through a small window.
"Ron... what's up? You look a mess." Ron acknowledged this with a small nod, and then managed a weak smile. His father was right. Ron's face was white and sickly pale, and contrasted extremely with his shocking red hair and freckles. He looked weak, and extremely ill. Arthur Weasley looked sadly at his son, and, without hesitation, walked into his house and gave him a hug. He was extremely angry with himself for not helping his youngest son through this time, and just wallowing in self-pity - how could he have been so selfish? For it was Ron who this must affect the most.
Ron wanted to cry, but he just didn't have the energy. So he just stood there and gulped down all the hard feelings.
"Ron..." said his father, whose voice made it sound like he was on the edge of crying." Ron, I... I want you to know that your mother and I are here for you and that your whole family loves you. It's okay to be upset, it's normal to be upset - but you must remember that none of this is your fault. None of this, you hear me?" Mr Weasley's voice broke at the end; he had to refrain from crying. Ron looked sadly up at his father, his face expressionless.
"But it is..."
Just then, the conversation was ended by the high-pitched screech of Mrs Weasley, who was banging on the doors of each of the Weasley children and screaming at them to get up. This was not something she usually did in the holidays, unless there was something important that they had to go to. Suddenly, Rom realised what today was.
"Is today the...?" He couldn't say it, he couldn't face it. Mr Weasley nodded sadly, and then turned away. He couldn't let Ron see him so upset. Unknowingly, he repeated the words that Hermione had said over and over in her head. "Just be strong..."
Slowly and sadly, each member of the Weasley family came downstairs for breakfast. They each sat, not speaking to each other, with Mrs Weasley forcing conversation between them all, trying to cheer everybody up and to persuade them all to eat. But even Fred and George, who would normally see the best in a bad situation, sat silently. It was not until Ginny's silent weeping began to become heard, that Mrs Weasley finally called an end to breakfast, realising that no-one was really up to it. "This," she thought, "is going to be a long day."
---x---
Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood in the small chapel and looked around. Standing around him were various other teachers from his school, and other magical officials. Minerva McGonnagal, professor of Transfiguration, was being comforted by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, as she wept uncontrollably. Dumbledore shook his great head sadly, his white beard shimmering in the red lights of the church. "What a waste of a life..." he thought, "what a waste...".
The minister, dressed in purple robes, walked slowly up to Dumbledore. He was scared of the great and powerful looking man with the expensive robes and the long white hair and beard. But as he coughed slightly behind him in order to receive his attention, and Dumbledore turned around to face the minister, he realised, with a slight sadness which he could later put down to nothing, that he looked very old and frail, powerful still, yes, but yet in a very weak way.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry Professor Dumbledore, sir," squeaked the Minister uncertainly, "but some of the guests are starting to arrive and I wondered.... I wondered, you see, if you'd like to go and greet them." Dumbledore smiled at his unsurity, and hoped to reassure him.
"I would, I would indeed. Please lead the way." Dumbledore smiled again. "Minerva! Severus! We are going to meet the guests. Would you care to join me?"
---x---
Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonnagal, and some others, stood out side on the wet grey asphalt - waiting patiently for people to arrive. First to arrive were undoubtedly, the Weasleys.
"Arthur! Molly! I'm so delighted to see you, and yet so saddened for you..." Dumbledore greeted them eloquently and shook Mr Weasley's hand. Mr Weasley took it, and nodded briefly in return. "Would you like to go into the chapel, the service will undoubtedly be started quite soon...." Mr Weasley, once again, nodded in response and allowed himself to be led into the small, white chapel.
As the rest of his family followed, Dumbledore acknowledged each of them. Mrs Weasley, although she had on a consistent brave face, looked very pale and it was not unnoticed that she stayed unusually close to her husbands side. Bill, Charlie and Percy Weasley, the oldest of the Weasley brothers, all looked very solemn and bowed their heads respectfully. The twins, Fred and George Weasley, both looked very sallow and shaken, there was not a joke in sight and they both were strangely silent, a sight no-one who ever met them could believe. Next, the youngest of the lot, Ginny Weasley walked up to the chapel. She was wearing a plain black dress, and acknowledged Dumbledore with a smile. Her eyes were unmistakably red from crying and her complexion was pasty, she was trying to put on a brave face, just like her mothers, yet hers was not nearly so convincing. Finally, and with great reluctance, Ron Weasley climbed the steps towards the small chapel. He paused for a minute just outside the door, which gave Dumbledore just enough time to fully take in how old and depressed he looked for such a young boy, of just eighteen, before Ron uneasily pulled open the heavy oak door and walked into the chapel with a great sombreness.
"The poor, poor boy", Minerva McGonnagal wept beside him. "To lose a friend at such a young age, it's heartbreaking, it really is." Dumbledore took her hand in comfort.
"Don't worry Minerva, do not worry. It's a long and painful healing process, but he'll get through it. That Mister Weasley is a strong young lad, despite how it looks. Time will heal all pain, and the worst is behind us now."
"You can't expect him to get over something like this, he witnessed it all as well. It's so...so..." Minerva McGonnagal was sobbing her heart out for the boy. No matter how strict she acted, nobody in the world could say that Minerva McGonnagal had anything but a heart of gold.
"I do not expect anything, from anyone, anymore, Minerva, and you well know it". He looked at her with great pity in his eyes, his eyes had lost there usual shine, and had been replaced with a look of great sadness and age. "I know how you feel Minerva, but you will have to keep yourself together, for everybody's sake. More guests are arriving."
"I will Albus, I promise, for the sake of everyone". She wiped her eyes with a tissue Dumbledore handed her. "I will".
And, with a great distressed feeling between them, they meeted and greeted every guest who arrived to the small chapel.
Next to arrive was young Hermione Granger, at the height of her existence, but beaten down by stress and grief, she was almost carried inside. Her pretty face was grievous and deplorable and Dumbledore was immensely saddened for her loss.
Arriving in small groups were the many other people who came to solemnly pay their last respects, and grieve over their loss. There came people on their own, such as Hagrid, who was crying loudly for the loss, Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Sirius Black, who was recently reconciled after the death of Peter Pettigrew, and Dobby the House-elf. Other people who came included people who, like Hermione and Ron, had just concluded their time at Hogwarts. Neville Longbottom looked like he was about to faint, and he had to be escorted up the stairs by best friends Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, who both hung their heads in respect and sorrow. Also arriving from that year of Hogwarts, were Parvarti Patil and Lavender Brown, who were both nearly in hysterics, and, to almost everybody's surprise, Draco Malfoy, who looked up at Dumbledore coldly before walking into church to pay his last respects to the one he treated with nothing but malice as long as he knew him.
The biggest surprise on the guest list, however, arrived last; Dumbledore had not expected them to come, especially as they would be the only muggles. Petunia Dursley stepped out of a car door, held open for her by her husband Vernon Dursley. An eighteen-year-old Dudley awkwardly squeezed out of the back seat, and looked up at the chapel, sniffing. Petunia, her blond hair and distinguishable face covered by a black veil looked extremely solemn and upset as she climbed the steps to make her entrance. Dumbledore smiled at the family.
"Glad you could make it, I didn't think you were going to..." Vernon Dursley looked up at him sheepishly and grunted in response, before leading Dudley into the chapel. "I think that's everybody Minerva, don't you?" asked Dumbledore, eyeing her questionably.
"Dumbledore! I thought they hated us.... I thought they... you know... hated him."
"Well I think they tried their hardest to, I really do. Despite all showings, I guess they didn't really deep, deep, down." Dumbledore smiled at her, the sparkle in his eye gaining a little power over his grief. "So... like I asked, is that everyone?"
"Well..." Minerva checked her list. "Yes, I mean everybody on the guest list. You still have all of those reporters and well wishers over there". Dumbledore followed her gaze, knowing who she meant. Standing several hundred metres from the chapel, stood hundreds of witches and wizards from across the globe, hoping to get a chance to attend and say their goodbyes. At the front was Rita Skeeter, wearing black robes and looking like she would go mad if she couldn't get in.
"Ignore them. I mean, most of them only mean well, but some...." He surveyed Rita Skeeter through his half-moon spectacles. "Well, I think you know what I mean. Let's get inside and begin the service shall we?"
---x---
Inside the chapel, everybody looked cheerless and despondent - some more so than others. As Dumbledore and McGonnagal took their seats in the front pew, the Minister slowly and uncertainly walked in front of the alter, which was covered in white. Laid on top of the alter was a large casket covered in golden cloths and all types of flowers - although over fifty percent of these were white and red roses. The minister looked around the congregation nervously, hesitated and began.
"We have come to celebrate the life of Harry Potter. He was a boy who everybody knew; his life was one full of people looking up at him," Here the minister looked over at the Creevey brothers, sitting in one of the middle pews, "and people who wanted to be him. He was famous by any standards, but for something he could not remember, something which then haunted him for the rest of his short-lived life. His life may have been easier if he had never become famous, perhaps he would have still been with us... but we can't go around speculating on what-ifs, because it can't change the past, and it can't bring anyone back. He lived a happy but somewhat precarious life, he faced many dangers and hardships over his life, and I'm sure his family", a glance at the Dursleys, "and his friends", a sad look at Hermione and Ron, "would agree. In some cases he was our saviour", Ginny Weasley let out a small sob which echoed around the chapel, "and not a single person alive now cannot thank him for their lives. For if it wasn't for this brave young hero, who risked his life and lost at the hands of Lord Voldemort," many people gasped, but the Minister carried on gaining confidence as he spoke, ", many of us would have fallen to our peril at the hands of the same evil. This boy, the "boy who lived", managed to sacrifice himself for our lives, and we thank him for this. Lord Voldemort is gone forever, consequently, and to the great sadness of millions of witches and wizards worldwide, so is Harry Potter."
---x---
At the party after the funeral, most people had eased slightly and were discussing the funeral, and what each could remember of the life of Harry Potter, whilst Mrs Weasley handed out coffee. During her travels, Mrs Weasley walked over to the Dursleys to offer them some coffee and perhaps some consolation. She had disliked them whilst Harry was alive, but with him dead that made them somehow united and she felt an urge to go and see them. They were standing alone in the furthest corner of the room, looking and feeling incredible out of place.
"Coffee?" Mrs Weasley ventured, handing Mr and Mrs Dursley a cup.
"Yes," replied Petunia Dursley, her voice strained. "Thank you." She lowered her eyes as she clasped the mug with shaky hands and she started to cry.
"Is everything okay?" asked Mrs Weasley delicately, she didn't want to bring up a sore subject.
"Yes", replied Vernon Dursley indignantly. "Everything is just fine, thank you for asking."
"NO!" Cried Petunia, looking like she had kept something in for a long time. "Everything is not okay. How can you say that? Your only nephew is dead, and you never said one nice word to him in your life. He didn't deserve that and you know it. It's not his fault he came from the background he came from. He hated us so much, and now he's dead and we can't do anything about it." And with that she broke down in uncontrollable sobs on her husband's arm.
"And... er... are you okay Dudley?" Asked Mrs Weasley kindly over Petunia's wails.
"Er....."
"Well...?"
"Yes." He replied. Indignant like his father, he would never admit he missed having Harry around, but Mrs Weasley saw his indignance and smiled.
"Don't worry; everything is going to be okay."
Outside, in the darkness of the night, it didn't seem so. Sat on opposite sides of a bench, both distressed and very shaken, sat Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, best friends of the late Harry Potter and the only living witnesses of his death.
"I can't believe it," said Ron quietly, his voice barely reaching over a whisper, "I just can't believe he's gone."
"I know", said Hermione sadly and, for not the first time today, she began to cry tears for her lost friend.
"He was the best friend I ever had," Ron muttered shaking his head. "Now he's gone.... I just feel, empty."
"So do I", sobbed Hermione quietly, "So do I. I haven't had a proper sleep since it's happened; I keep having these terrible nightmares. It's horrible, just horrible."
"I haven't slept at all. The only way I can stop myself remembering... remembering what happened is by blocking it out. If I fall asleep, I can't stop it all coming back, and I just don't want to have to think about what happened, not yet anyway."
"It's so sad, if only it could have been someone else. Why Harry? He never asked for any of it. He never looked for trouble, it came to him. It's just not fair, not fair at all."
"I know.... I know...." Uneasily they settled back into silence as the moon watched peacefully from the dark night-time sky.
Authors Note: Hiya all! Many of you will know me as that little annoying girl who reviews every Harry potter fanfic in sight. Yup, that's me! Well, I'm writing in this box appealing to all you beautiful reviewers out there to REVIEW MY FIC! Please!!! If any of you have any ideas of how I can go from here - they would be greatly appreciated. I'm also going to write some more fanfics - because I'm good at writing and I love it, I'm just low in the ideas department. So please give me some! Please! Just review it, ok? Even flamers will be appreciated, anything!!! Although, I would prefer constructive criticism, instead of something along the lines of "You're a complete and utter freak and a pathetic excuse for a writer, please stop reviewing my fics - your useless rambling is just confusing me". I get that a lot. Come on people - I promise to review your fics if you just had the courtesy to review mine! Please!
The sun rose one summer's morning, to reveal a dreary and dismal day. The world seemed to have changed completely overnight. Contrary to the season, and to the lack of work and difficulties, the world seemed to awake with a frown and a tear. There was not a bird to be seen in the sky, the early risers seemed to venture out as silently as they could, so as not to disturb the others. The ambiance of, well, everywhere was so silently gloomy and tearful, that anyone who didn't understand what was going on, would find the atmosphere so tense, they would not dare ask why it was so.
---x---
Hermione Granger woke to the sun beating down on her face, she turned over and groaned. She felt as though she couldn't face the pressure of the day, especially after so little sleep - she was awoken by three nightmares during the night. Although, the nightmares were subsiding a little - just over a week ago, when it happened, she had no less than twelve nightmares a night and that was with the little sleep she got.
"Hermione...?" Her mum poked her head around the door. Hermione looked up, her eyes red from the silent tears that had rolled down her face so frequently in the last week. Her face looked white and drained. Her hair was damp and matted from sweating, her last nightmare had only been half an hour ago - yet it seemed like so long she had almost forgotten about it. Every minute was starting to seem like an eternity. "Are you..." Mrs Granger hesitated on the sentence.
"I'm fine" muttered Hermione through gritted teeth. Hermione's voice was indignant, but her mum could tell she was far from fine, as Hermione's answer was strained. Worried, her mum decided to drop the subject and move on, quickly changing her pattern of conversation, so her daughter would think she hadn't noticed the strangeness of her answer.
"Well good... good. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes - remember you've got to go to that, I mean his, erm... you know... today. So get ready quickly". Mrs Granger looked once again at her daughter, with a look of pure worry and sadness for her, before walking quickly back out of the room.
Hermione lay back down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She knew her mum was just worried about her, but she couldn't help but feeling annoyed and frustrated with her. "Why can't she just leave me alone?" she thought aloud, before concluding that, "She just doesn't understand.". And with that, she pulled herself off the bed, and walked downstairs, savouring every thought. Her mum was right, she did have a long day, and, however unwilling she was, she had to go through with it. "Just be strong", she thought finally as she walked into the kitchen where her mum and dad were sitting, "Just be strong...."
---x---
Ron Weasley was one person who could have done with Hermione's words of self-encouragement. He, himself, felt at his weakest, but it was at this moment in time that he had to be strong, so strong as to hold together everyone who was falling apart around him. He just wasn't up to it at all.
He had been up since the break of dawn, it was the eighth night in the row that he had spent a night sleepless, and it was killing him. He had sat up in his room at the very top of his house, which was pet-named "The Burrow", and stared complacently out of the window for hours on end. It was only when he heard a door slam some floors below him that he came to his senses, and it was also then that he realised that it was morning.
His room looked a lot different from the summer before. The minute he got home after his seventh and final year of Hogwarts, he disappeared straight to his room and tore down every Chudley Cannons poster on his wall and threw it into the bin. His room was now, not the violent shade of orange it had once been, but an indistinct colour that could once have been described as blue, his shabbily papered wallpaper was tearing at the edges; and he didn't care at all. His sister, Ginny, upset as she was, thought he was going insane, and hid from him for nearly two complete days after that. His mum and dad were, understandably, worried, but they reassured themselves that it was "just a phase", and he was going to get "better" as time went on.
The door shutting downstairs, had, in fact, been Ron's dad, Mr Arthur Weasley. He had gone outside for a bit of fresh air, he having, as well, missed almost a complete night of sleep through worry and grief. His nerves were jittery and he needed to pull himself together.
Ron silently left his room and walked downstairs. The hallways, which were usually bustling with the nine members of the Weasley family, were empty. It was a slightly eerie ambiance. The deathly silence was something that The Burrow was just not used to, even at night. Quietly creeping, Ron looked around himself as he reached the final floor, he was sure he had heard somebody downstairs and all this quiet was making him nervous. He walked hesitantly into the small kitchen when someone called his name. He spun around agitatedly, but expectantly, and saw that the person behind the voice was standing in the garden, and looking in through a small window.
"Ron... what's up? You look a mess." Ron acknowledged this with a small nod, and then managed a weak smile. His father was right. Ron's face was white and sickly pale, and contrasted extremely with his shocking red hair and freckles. He looked weak, and extremely ill. Arthur Weasley looked sadly at his son, and, without hesitation, walked into his house and gave him a hug. He was extremely angry with himself for not helping his youngest son through this time, and just wallowing in self-pity - how could he have been so selfish? For it was Ron who this must affect the most.
Ron wanted to cry, but he just didn't have the energy. So he just stood there and gulped down all the hard feelings.
"Ron..." said his father, whose voice made it sound like he was on the edge of crying." Ron, I... I want you to know that your mother and I are here for you and that your whole family loves you. It's okay to be upset, it's normal to be upset - but you must remember that none of this is your fault. None of this, you hear me?" Mr Weasley's voice broke at the end; he had to refrain from crying. Ron looked sadly up at his father, his face expressionless.
"But it is..."
Just then, the conversation was ended by the high-pitched screech of Mrs Weasley, who was banging on the doors of each of the Weasley children and screaming at them to get up. This was not something she usually did in the holidays, unless there was something important that they had to go to. Suddenly, Rom realised what today was.
"Is today the...?" He couldn't say it, he couldn't face it. Mr Weasley nodded sadly, and then turned away. He couldn't let Ron see him so upset. Unknowingly, he repeated the words that Hermione had said over and over in her head. "Just be strong..."
Slowly and sadly, each member of the Weasley family came downstairs for breakfast. They each sat, not speaking to each other, with Mrs Weasley forcing conversation between them all, trying to cheer everybody up and to persuade them all to eat. But even Fred and George, who would normally see the best in a bad situation, sat silently. It was not until Ginny's silent weeping began to become heard, that Mrs Weasley finally called an end to breakfast, realising that no-one was really up to it. "This," she thought, "is going to be a long day."
---x---
Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood in the small chapel and looked around. Standing around him were various other teachers from his school, and other magical officials. Minerva McGonnagal, professor of Transfiguration, was being comforted by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, as she wept uncontrollably. Dumbledore shook his great head sadly, his white beard shimmering in the red lights of the church. "What a waste of a life..." he thought, "what a waste...".
The minister, dressed in purple robes, walked slowly up to Dumbledore. He was scared of the great and powerful looking man with the expensive robes and the long white hair and beard. But as he coughed slightly behind him in order to receive his attention, and Dumbledore turned around to face the minister, he realised, with a slight sadness which he could later put down to nothing, that he looked very old and frail, powerful still, yes, but yet in a very weak way.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry Professor Dumbledore, sir," squeaked the Minister uncertainly, "but some of the guests are starting to arrive and I wondered.... I wondered, you see, if you'd like to go and greet them." Dumbledore smiled at his unsurity, and hoped to reassure him.
"I would, I would indeed. Please lead the way." Dumbledore smiled again. "Minerva! Severus! We are going to meet the guests. Would you care to join me?"
---x---
Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonnagal, and some others, stood out side on the wet grey asphalt - waiting patiently for people to arrive. First to arrive were undoubtedly, the Weasleys.
"Arthur! Molly! I'm so delighted to see you, and yet so saddened for you..." Dumbledore greeted them eloquently and shook Mr Weasley's hand. Mr Weasley took it, and nodded briefly in return. "Would you like to go into the chapel, the service will undoubtedly be started quite soon...." Mr Weasley, once again, nodded in response and allowed himself to be led into the small, white chapel.
As the rest of his family followed, Dumbledore acknowledged each of them. Mrs Weasley, although she had on a consistent brave face, looked very pale and it was not unnoticed that she stayed unusually close to her husbands side. Bill, Charlie and Percy Weasley, the oldest of the Weasley brothers, all looked very solemn and bowed their heads respectfully. The twins, Fred and George Weasley, both looked very sallow and shaken, there was not a joke in sight and they both were strangely silent, a sight no-one who ever met them could believe. Next, the youngest of the lot, Ginny Weasley walked up to the chapel. She was wearing a plain black dress, and acknowledged Dumbledore with a smile. Her eyes were unmistakably red from crying and her complexion was pasty, she was trying to put on a brave face, just like her mothers, yet hers was not nearly so convincing. Finally, and with great reluctance, Ron Weasley climbed the steps towards the small chapel. He paused for a minute just outside the door, which gave Dumbledore just enough time to fully take in how old and depressed he looked for such a young boy, of just eighteen, before Ron uneasily pulled open the heavy oak door and walked into the chapel with a great sombreness.
"The poor, poor boy", Minerva McGonnagal wept beside him. "To lose a friend at such a young age, it's heartbreaking, it really is." Dumbledore took her hand in comfort.
"Don't worry Minerva, do not worry. It's a long and painful healing process, but he'll get through it. That Mister Weasley is a strong young lad, despite how it looks. Time will heal all pain, and the worst is behind us now."
"You can't expect him to get over something like this, he witnessed it all as well. It's so...so..." Minerva McGonnagal was sobbing her heart out for the boy. No matter how strict she acted, nobody in the world could say that Minerva McGonnagal had anything but a heart of gold.
"I do not expect anything, from anyone, anymore, Minerva, and you well know it". He looked at her with great pity in his eyes, his eyes had lost there usual shine, and had been replaced with a look of great sadness and age. "I know how you feel Minerva, but you will have to keep yourself together, for everybody's sake. More guests are arriving."
"I will Albus, I promise, for the sake of everyone". She wiped her eyes with a tissue Dumbledore handed her. "I will".
And, with a great distressed feeling between them, they meeted and greeted every guest who arrived to the small chapel.
Next to arrive was young Hermione Granger, at the height of her existence, but beaten down by stress and grief, she was almost carried inside. Her pretty face was grievous and deplorable and Dumbledore was immensely saddened for her loss.
Arriving in small groups were the many other people who came to solemnly pay their last respects, and grieve over their loss. There came people on their own, such as Hagrid, who was crying loudly for the loss, Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Sirius Black, who was recently reconciled after the death of Peter Pettigrew, and Dobby the House-elf. Other people who came included people who, like Hermione and Ron, had just concluded their time at Hogwarts. Neville Longbottom looked like he was about to faint, and he had to be escorted up the stairs by best friends Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, who both hung their heads in respect and sorrow. Also arriving from that year of Hogwarts, were Parvarti Patil and Lavender Brown, who were both nearly in hysterics, and, to almost everybody's surprise, Draco Malfoy, who looked up at Dumbledore coldly before walking into church to pay his last respects to the one he treated with nothing but malice as long as he knew him.
The biggest surprise on the guest list, however, arrived last; Dumbledore had not expected them to come, especially as they would be the only muggles. Petunia Dursley stepped out of a car door, held open for her by her husband Vernon Dursley. An eighteen-year-old Dudley awkwardly squeezed out of the back seat, and looked up at the chapel, sniffing. Petunia, her blond hair and distinguishable face covered by a black veil looked extremely solemn and upset as she climbed the steps to make her entrance. Dumbledore smiled at the family.
"Glad you could make it, I didn't think you were going to..." Vernon Dursley looked up at him sheepishly and grunted in response, before leading Dudley into the chapel. "I think that's everybody Minerva, don't you?" asked Dumbledore, eyeing her questionably.
"Dumbledore! I thought they hated us.... I thought they... you know... hated him."
"Well I think they tried their hardest to, I really do. Despite all showings, I guess they didn't really deep, deep, down." Dumbledore smiled at her, the sparkle in his eye gaining a little power over his grief. "So... like I asked, is that everyone?"
"Well..." Minerva checked her list. "Yes, I mean everybody on the guest list. You still have all of those reporters and well wishers over there". Dumbledore followed her gaze, knowing who she meant. Standing several hundred metres from the chapel, stood hundreds of witches and wizards from across the globe, hoping to get a chance to attend and say their goodbyes. At the front was Rita Skeeter, wearing black robes and looking like she would go mad if she couldn't get in.
"Ignore them. I mean, most of them only mean well, but some...." He surveyed Rita Skeeter through his half-moon spectacles. "Well, I think you know what I mean. Let's get inside and begin the service shall we?"
---x---
Inside the chapel, everybody looked cheerless and despondent - some more so than others. As Dumbledore and McGonnagal took their seats in the front pew, the Minister slowly and uncertainly walked in front of the alter, which was covered in white. Laid on top of the alter was a large casket covered in golden cloths and all types of flowers - although over fifty percent of these were white and red roses. The minister looked around the congregation nervously, hesitated and began.
"We have come to celebrate the life of Harry Potter. He was a boy who everybody knew; his life was one full of people looking up at him," Here the minister looked over at the Creevey brothers, sitting in one of the middle pews, "and people who wanted to be him. He was famous by any standards, but for something he could not remember, something which then haunted him for the rest of his short-lived life. His life may have been easier if he had never become famous, perhaps he would have still been with us... but we can't go around speculating on what-ifs, because it can't change the past, and it can't bring anyone back. He lived a happy but somewhat precarious life, he faced many dangers and hardships over his life, and I'm sure his family", a glance at the Dursleys, "and his friends", a sad look at Hermione and Ron, "would agree. In some cases he was our saviour", Ginny Weasley let out a small sob which echoed around the chapel, "and not a single person alive now cannot thank him for their lives. For if it wasn't for this brave young hero, who risked his life and lost at the hands of Lord Voldemort," many people gasped, but the Minister carried on gaining confidence as he spoke, ", many of us would have fallen to our peril at the hands of the same evil. This boy, the "boy who lived", managed to sacrifice himself for our lives, and we thank him for this. Lord Voldemort is gone forever, consequently, and to the great sadness of millions of witches and wizards worldwide, so is Harry Potter."
---x---
At the party after the funeral, most people had eased slightly and were discussing the funeral, and what each could remember of the life of Harry Potter, whilst Mrs Weasley handed out coffee. During her travels, Mrs Weasley walked over to the Dursleys to offer them some coffee and perhaps some consolation. She had disliked them whilst Harry was alive, but with him dead that made them somehow united and she felt an urge to go and see them. They were standing alone in the furthest corner of the room, looking and feeling incredible out of place.
"Coffee?" Mrs Weasley ventured, handing Mr and Mrs Dursley a cup.
"Yes," replied Petunia Dursley, her voice strained. "Thank you." She lowered her eyes as she clasped the mug with shaky hands and she started to cry.
"Is everything okay?" asked Mrs Weasley delicately, she didn't want to bring up a sore subject.
"Yes", replied Vernon Dursley indignantly. "Everything is just fine, thank you for asking."
"NO!" Cried Petunia, looking like she had kept something in for a long time. "Everything is not okay. How can you say that? Your only nephew is dead, and you never said one nice word to him in your life. He didn't deserve that and you know it. It's not his fault he came from the background he came from. He hated us so much, and now he's dead and we can't do anything about it." And with that she broke down in uncontrollable sobs on her husband's arm.
"And... er... are you okay Dudley?" Asked Mrs Weasley kindly over Petunia's wails.
"Er....."
"Well...?"
"Yes." He replied. Indignant like his father, he would never admit he missed having Harry around, but Mrs Weasley saw his indignance and smiled.
"Don't worry; everything is going to be okay."
Outside, in the darkness of the night, it didn't seem so. Sat on opposite sides of a bench, both distressed and very shaken, sat Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, best friends of the late Harry Potter and the only living witnesses of his death.
"I can't believe it," said Ron quietly, his voice barely reaching over a whisper, "I just can't believe he's gone."
"I know", said Hermione sadly and, for not the first time today, she began to cry tears for her lost friend.
"He was the best friend I ever had," Ron muttered shaking his head. "Now he's gone.... I just feel, empty."
"So do I", sobbed Hermione quietly, "So do I. I haven't had a proper sleep since it's happened; I keep having these terrible nightmares. It's horrible, just horrible."
"I haven't slept at all. The only way I can stop myself remembering... remembering what happened is by blocking it out. If I fall asleep, I can't stop it all coming back, and I just don't want to have to think about what happened, not yet anyway."
"It's so sad, if only it could have been someone else. Why Harry? He never asked for any of it. He never looked for trouble, it came to him. It's just not fair, not fair at all."
"I know.... I know...." Uneasily they settled back into silence as the moon watched peacefully from the dark night-time sky.
Authors Note: Hiya all! Many of you will know me as that little annoying girl who reviews every Harry potter fanfic in sight. Yup, that's me! Well, I'm writing in this box appealing to all you beautiful reviewers out there to REVIEW MY FIC! Please!!! If any of you have any ideas of how I can go from here - they would be greatly appreciated. I'm also going to write some more fanfics - because I'm good at writing and I love it, I'm just low in the ideas department. So please give me some! Please! Just review it, ok? Even flamers will be appreciated, anything!!! Although, I would prefer constructive criticism, instead of something along the lines of "You're a complete and utter freak and a pathetic excuse for a writer, please stop reviewing my fics - your useless rambling is just confusing me". I get that a lot. Come on people - I promise to review your fics if you just had the courtesy to review mine! Please!