Req•ui•em (rek' wē •em), n. 2. musical service, hymn, or dirge for the repose of the dead.
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a letter
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Harry Potter used to have dreams, Neville remembered. You don't share your life and bedroom with someone for seven years (not to mention all the near-death experiences) and not get to know them a bit. He knew Harry dreamed about You-Know-Who---what he was doing, planning, feeling.
What Neville would give for that kind of intuition right now. Or even just Harry's company, his advice. Harry never thought of himself as much of a decision maker; he didn't like leading anyone else into danger, but he was the sort of person others would follow, stand behind to the end. And after.
Sometimes Neville thought about the night when Harry died. He remembered the screaming---Harry's and his own---Voldemort's sadistic delight---Ginny's terrified face. She hadn't spoken since then. Scarcely anyone did. Albus and Harry, in the same week? How could they be expected to continue?
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" He whispered to no one. Things were falling apart fast. "I guess," he mused, "things have been falling apart since fifth year."
Seven years after the return of the Dark Lord, it seems that the world has met its downfall. The majority of witches and wizards want no part in the new battle. In their eyes, the return of You-Know-Who was not their fault. That leaves a small (and growing smaller) group of people, from Aurors, to jokeshop owners, to children straight out of school, with the task of standing up to Voldemort and his numerous forces. Never before has a household item, such as a mirror, held such importance….
They walked down the stairs tensely. There was no danger of course, at least not much. Dennis Creevy had assured them the other entries were sealed. Not an easy feat, but Dennis was skilled at Charms.
Filing cabinets, some thirty feet high and going back until they vanished into darkness, spread out around them. They put out their wands, for the torchlight, reflected off of so much wood, gave the vast room a golden glow. It was cool, like a basement. The air smelled faintly of musty papers.
"We do know what we're looking for, right?" Tonks asked. "I mean. . .there's so much here. . . ." Her quiet voice echoed off the nearest row of filing cabinets.
Kingsley raised a finger to his lips. It was more than enough to silence their small group. "Hermione and Neville, go take care of the theory, and be quick. We'll cover you, but be on the lookout, okay?"
Hermione and Neville nodded solemnly, and went off in separate directions. Kinglsey and Tonks shared a glance before they turned their attention to the door they had entered by: the only door, the only means of entrance and the only means of escape.
"Maybe we should shut it," Tonks murmured.
"No one in their right mind would be down here this late at night."
"Exactly."
Kingsley nodded and went to shut the door, then hesitated.
"What?" Tonks asked. She twirled her wand in her fingers nervously.
"Footsteps."
Seven for a secret
Never to be told. . . .
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After the Requiem – coming soon
The new Harry Potter story from the writers of "Big Dark Room" and "The Girl Who Loved You Know Who"
The more reviews, the faster it'll be up!
