"Bittersweet"
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or most places in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and other companies. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: The much awaited, super-sad Chapter 17 of BsT! Yes, that is the official abbreviation! Yay story! Yay me! I added a little fluff/humor at the end in a flashback. Fun.....
Chapter 17: Through the Rain
"I hold tight to my faith; I can make it through the rain."
-Mariah Cary, 'Through the Rain'
His midnight black formal robes rippled gently in the breeze. His posture was a slouch, a clear reminder of the guilt he felt that he deserved to live with. One foot scuffed at the ground. He slowly looked up at the slate headstone, revealing sparkling green eyes sunken deep from fatigue. He looked around slowly, registering the sea of red heads punctuated by the occasional brunette or blonde. Slipping a hand into Ginny's, he gave her a reassuring smile that didn't light up his face, and that she returned quickly through her tears. He looked to his other side, viewing his two best friends, who took comfort in one another. He squeezed Hermione's hand, though her head already rested on Ron's shoulder. The four friends stood, viewing the grave of one so dear.
Albus Dumbledore slipped into place at the podium. He surveyed the mourners with tired and saddened eyes. Though asked to speak at many funerals, Albus would never get used to living through this much pain so many times.
"Today, we gather, to mourn the death of a loved one. But, one might say, that we do not mourn." he paused. "We celebrate, and we say good-bye, we have closure, though the wound may never truly heal." He cleared his throat.
"Arthur Weasley was an inspiration. A hard worker, a father, a husband, a mentor. A friend. He stood up for what he believed in, no matter what the consequences may have been. It's so difficult to say this in the past tense, for Arthur Weasley with never truly be gone. His death is some of the first in many- but we'll make it through the rain, like we always have, and always will."
Harry's red rimmed eyes flicked over the gravestone, reading the words he already knew by heart.
"Why do you mourn?
I am not gone.
I am the love in your hearts,
The warm breeze at your back.
I am the comforting hand on your shoulder.
Stand not at my grave,
But live your life.
Why do you mourn?
I am not gone."
~*~
"Why are after funeral parties called parties?" Hermione muttered bitterly to herself. Getting no answer, she let out a short breath of frustration, and glanced at the boy next to her.
Ron had never been much of a puzzle to Hermione. She'd always been able to tell what he was thinking, what he was going through, and today was no different.
Though Ron shook hands of relatives and friends, said he was ok, and dealt out rather shaky smiles, Hermione knew he was just the opposite of 'ok'. Ron was anything but ok. Hermione sighed lightly. The Burrow just wasn't the same without Mr. Weasley. She was just waiting for him to pop up and ask her about the telly or another fascinating muggle artifact.
She glanced to her other side, where she saw Harry. Harry had always been a complete mystery to her. Though she'd seen what he'd gone through at the Third Task within his mind, Hermione had very vague ideas as to how Harry was dealing with last year, and with everything else strewn over his shoulders. Harry walked with a slightly slumped posture, unmasking the pressure he was under. But you could never tell what Harry was thinking. His face was a closed door with no handle in sight.
~*~
Flashback
(A/N: just a cute lil ficlet that was bugging me. It takes place just after Harry and Hermione came to the Burrow. Ron and Harry have just told the Weasley Brothers that Harry likes Ginny. Twin humor alert!)
Harry sat, slouched on the porch swing, lost in thought. His troubled mind was interrupted when he heard a soft thump on the seat next to him. He turned is head to see Ginny sitting next to him. Before he could speak, two identical bodies walked out onto the porch. Fred and George tilted their heads in perfect unison, as if studying something. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the heir of eviiiiil." said Fred, or maybe George, drawing the 'I' out.
"Stop, Harry's not evil." Ginny snapped.
"What, you don't want to be the Queen of Evil? After all, Harry'll be the king."
Harry's cheeks tinged red, and Ginny's jaw dropped.
"Come along, your highness and your queen-ness. Dinner awaits."
"Fred, George, stop!" Harry hissed, face red.
Ginny turned to him in surprise. Harry had sounded like....
~*~
Same Flashback (slight fluff, mwahahaha)
Harry trotted outside to what had become his favorite place of peace and quiet at the Burrow. He stood, and watched the sun set over the horizon. He looked down at the ground.
At dinner, a newscaster on the Wizarding Wireless had called him a hero. He wasn't a hero. He was just some kid with a scar on his forehead. If it weren't for him, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to come back.
He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Ron or Hermione, and jumped slightly, turning red, when he saw Ginny.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" she asked abruptly.
"I haven't been avoiding you." he responded evasively.
"Yes, you have."
"Well, just because I don't make who I like painfully obvious, doesn't mean I'm avoiding you!" he cried. Ginny looked confused. "What?"
Harry didn't answer. He just looked at her. Then, he turned towards the sun again. He dropped his head, and looked at her again.
"I don't-" he cut himself off, looking into her eyes. He reached out, and tentatively took her hand, and squeezed it gently. She blinked, rather confused. They stood there for a moment or two. And, before he knew it, Harry was tilting his head forward, and Ginny was pushing up on her toes. Just as their eyes closed, and they were barely a fraction apart, Harry jerked back abruptly, and ran to the house.
Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "What's going on, Harry?" she whispered.
~*~
Author's Note: *shudders* fluff. *shudders again*
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or most places in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and other companies. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: The much awaited, super-sad Chapter 17 of BsT! Yes, that is the official abbreviation! Yay story! Yay me! I added a little fluff/humor at the end in a flashback. Fun.....
Chapter 17: Through the Rain
"I hold tight to my faith; I can make it through the rain."
-Mariah Cary, 'Through the Rain'
His midnight black formal robes rippled gently in the breeze. His posture was a slouch, a clear reminder of the guilt he felt that he deserved to live with. One foot scuffed at the ground. He slowly looked up at the slate headstone, revealing sparkling green eyes sunken deep from fatigue. He looked around slowly, registering the sea of red heads punctuated by the occasional brunette or blonde. Slipping a hand into Ginny's, he gave her a reassuring smile that didn't light up his face, and that she returned quickly through her tears. He looked to his other side, viewing his two best friends, who took comfort in one another. He squeezed Hermione's hand, though her head already rested on Ron's shoulder. The four friends stood, viewing the grave of one so dear.
Albus Dumbledore slipped into place at the podium. He surveyed the mourners with tired and saddened eyes. Though asked to speak at many funerals, Albus would never get used to living through this much pain so many times.
"Today, we gather, to mourn the death of a loved one. But, one might say, that we do not mourn." he paused. "We celebrate, and we say good-bye, we have closure, though the wound may never truly heal." He cleared his throat.
"Arthur Weasley was an inspiration. A hard worker, a father, a husband, a mentor. A friend. He stood up for what he believed in, no matter what the consequences may have been. It's so difficult to say this in the past tense, for Arthur Weasley with never truly be gone. His death is some of the first in many- but we'll make it through the rain, like we always have, and always will."
Harry's red rimmed eyes flicked over the gravestone, reading the words he already knew by heart.
"Why do you mourn?
I am not gone.
I am the love in your hearts,
The warm breeze at your back.
I am the comforting hand on your shoulder.
Stand not at my grave,
But live your life.
Why do you mourn?
I am not gone."
~*~
"Why are after funeral parties called parties?" Hermione muttered bitterly to herself. Getting no answer, she let out a short breath of frustration, and glanced at the boy next to her.
Ron had never been much of a puzzle to Hermione. She'd always been able to tell what he was thinking, what he was going through, and today was no different.
Though Ron shook hands of relatives and friends, said he was ok, and dealt out rather shaky smiles, Hermione knew he was just the opposite of 'ok'. Ron was anything but ok. Hermione sighed lightly. The Burrow just wasn't the same without Mr. Weasley. She was just waiting for him to pop up and ask her about the telly or another fascinating muggle artifact.
She glanced to her other side, where she saw Harry. Harry had always been a complete mystery to her. Though she'd seen what he'd gone through at the Third Task within his mind, Hermione had very vague ideas as to how Harry was dealing with last year, and with everything else strewn over his shoulders. Harry walked with a slightly slumped posture, unmasking the pressure he was under. But you could never tell what Harry was thinking. His face was a closed door with no handle in sight.
~*~
Flashback
(A/N: just a cute lil ficlet that was bugging me. It takes place just after Harry and Hermione came to the Burrow. Ron and Harry have just told the Weasley Brothers that Harry likes Ginny. Twin humor alert!)
Harry sat, slouched on the porch swing, lost in thought. His troubled mind was interrupted when he heard a soft thump on the seat next to him. He turned is head to see Ginny sitting next to him. Before he could speak, two identical bodies walked out onto the porch. Fred and George tilted their heads in perfect unison, as if studying something. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the heir of eviiiiil." said Fred, or maybe George, drawing the 'I' out.
"Stop, Harry's not evil." Ginny snapped.
"What, you don't want to be the Queen of Evil? After all, Harry'll be the king."
Harry's cheeks tinged red, and Ginny's jaw dropped.
"Come along, your highness and your queen-ness. Dinner awaits."
"Fred, George, stop!" Harry hissed, face red.
Ginny turned to him in surprise. Harry had sounded like....
~*~
Same Flashback (slight fluff, mwahahaha)
Harry trotted outside to what had become his favorite place of peace and quiet at the Burrow. He stood, and watched the sun set over the horizon. He looked down at the ground.
At dinner, a newscaster on the Wizarding Wireless had called him a hero. He wasn't a hero. He was just some kid with a scar on his forehead. If it weren't for him, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to come back.
He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Ron or Hermione, and jumped slightly, turning red, when he saw Ginny.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" she asked abruptly.
"I haven't been avoiding you." he responded evasively.
"Yes, you have."
"Well, just because I don't make who I like painfully obvious, doesn't mean I'm avoiding you!" he cried. Ginny looked confused. "What?"
Harry didn't answer. He just looked at her. Then, he turned towards the sun again. He dropped his head, and looked at her again.
"I don't-" he cut himself off, looking into her eyes. He reached out, and tentatively took her hand, and squeezed it gently. She blinked, rather confused. They stood there for a moment or two. And, before he knew it, Harry was tilting his head forward, and Ginny was pushing up on her toes. Just as their eyes closed, and they were barely a fraction apart, Harry jerked back abruptly, and ran to the house.
Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "What's going on, Harry?" she whispered.
~*~
Author's Note: *shudders* fluff. *shudders again*