I see a line of cars and they're all painted black with flowers and my love both never to come back
Snape, once again concealed under his invisibility cloak, followed the funeral procession to the cemetery. This was her muggle funeral, where he knew there were few wizards welcome, among them: Potter. He didn't care. He no longer regarded anyone's opinions other than Dumbledore's.
Her grave was to be under a tree, near a lake. All had gathered there, waiting for the last words from the minister.
"Several years ago, this lovely young lady confided in me that she'd want the following Sonnet read when this day came:
'No longer mourn for me when I am gone
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I have fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell;
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if (I say) you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.' "
Snape had been glaring at Potter the entire time. He was standing near her parents who handed him a baby. Ah, her little brother, he thought, remembering all the times he's seen here with pictures of him. She'd carried one everywhere she went. Potter looked quite at home amongst her family, especially her little brother. Snape couldn't help but sneer.
As the minister finished the sonnet, several people began throwing white lilies onto her casket. One woman stopped abruptly, staring at Snape.
"Look over there," she whispered to her friend. "That looks like one of her . . . schoolmates. I thought they were having their own ceremony tonight. Her parental didn't want them near her body and I certainly don't blame them. I can't believe this one had the nerve to even show up." Noticing that Snape was glaring at her, she stopped speaking and immediately moved her stare.
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away. Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day.
Soon after the burial, people quickly began filing out. Snape growled at himself: Potter had remained. And, it appeared he was approaching him, still clutching the baby.
"You're not welcome here, nape. I'm on to you. I know your hand was in on this. Don't show your face at the service tonight either."
"Or what?"
"Do you want everyone to know you're in love with a Gryffindor mudblood? Your precious Slytherins? Or would you rather everyone know about your involvement with Voldemort?"
Snape frowned, "Where I go, Potter, is of no concern to you. Fortunately for you, however, I had not intended to attend the service tonight. And I honestly don't know what sort of potions you've been on, but I assure you that I am neither involved with Voldemort nor in love with anyone."
"Good, I don't want you ruining it." He brushed past him.
Something very peculiar caught Snape's ear: "That mean old man will disgrace your mother with his presence no longer. We'll come back up here tonight to have some time alone with her."
*Potter . . . that boy . . . that was their son.* Snape was putting the pieces together in his head. He didn't say anything to Potter, not yet. Later would be better.
Snape slowly approached her grave as he watched Potter walk out of view. "Here lies she who loved all," was all her gravestone read.
"It appears no one approves of my love for you. Potter doesn't want you near you and Voldemort . . . oh, what you must think!" He stifled a cry. "I swear to you . . . those threats . . . I thought they were for me. Had I known . . . I love you more than my life has ever been worth to me." He sighed. "I swear to you, I'll never love anyone again. No one. No more. Voldemort was right: my world is black now." I look inside myself and see my heart is black.
"I, uh, forgot to bring you something. I'll bring it back to you tonight." He mounted his broom and began the long flight back to Hogwarts.
A/N: I'm not talented enough to write a sonnet, let alone one in iambic pentameter. The one featured in this story belongs to the Immortal Bard. Shakespeare's sonnet number 70.
