A/N- I have no idea where this fic came from. I'm in an angst mood. I may
or may not post this. I hope you enjoy it. Warning, tissue alert, there is
a lot of character death in this fic. This is a semi sequel to On the Eve
of Adulthood.
Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. She stood there, looking across the distance, looking at something only she could see. She was looking back in time, and was waiting for something. No one knew. Everyone thought that she had learned to deal with it. After all, he was never really hers. Not in the way the others were. But she missed him. Even now, over thirty years later, she missed him. She missed him and the three who had died with him, along with so many others that day. She had once been part of a large family. No longer. Not as large as it should be, anyway.
I am the thousand winds that blow; I am the diamond glint on snow.
He was so young, when she first saw him. He was just another little boy going to Hogwarts. He got on the train with Ron, and she didn't see him again. Not until the summertime, when he came to visit. Oh, she heard about him. Ron's letters were always packed. And she nearly had a fit when she heard that he was Ron's best friend. When that happened, he became hers. He just didn't know it yet. And on days like this, she could almost hear him talking, a light tenor to match the other voices in the house. His laughter. She had only heard it a precious few times. The boy had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the man succumbed to destiny. It hurt.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain.
He was always so sure of himself. Or so he liked to appear. No one knew except her about his few moments of weakness, and of indecision. He had cried on her shoulder, and she had tried to comfort him. It was awkward, but eventually the tears would dry, and he would go back to bed. Only once did it not work. Only once did it not happen quite like that. It had started out normal enough. And then he had one his nightmares, and the cool grey light of false dawn met him on the porch. He possessed the face of a man. He had the gift and the curse of seeing his godfather die, of hearing his last words, words of love to himself. And the boy was gone, and a man replaced him. Tears were no more.
When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush of the quite birds in circled flight.
She should be mourning the ones that were really hers, she thought dully. And she did- every single moment that the places at the table were not sat in, she felt a twist in her heart. Every time she looked at the men that were left, their visages haunted by the past, she mourned the ones who would never come home again. But one day they would join those lost, and all would sit together again. She went upstairs once, and wandered into their rooms. She had sat in Ron's the longest. Stroking faded Chudley Cannon's posters, staring bitterly at the corner where Scabbers's cage used sit. Ron being himself, he had pitched it out as soon as he found out who the rat really was. They were still there, she thought sometimes. Still near her. She could only hope that when her time came, they would be there to meet her.
I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry.
Molly looked at the hill where her children sat so long ago. Where Ron had proposed to Hermione, and where Harry had bared his soul only a few months before the end. Where Ginny had come running in from after hearing the bittersweet letters, crying for the need of comfort at the thought of having no parents. She chuckled, although it was not a pleasant sound. She remembered consoling her daughter, explaining it was the way of things for parents to die, and for children to carry on. It was humans way of grasping immortality. Yes, it was the normal way of things. But it wasn't what happened that time. Her babies, and her adopted babies, were gone. Long ago, now. Weasley red hair had populated Hogwarts again, and was currently starting on yet another round. But there should have been more. Far, far more then what there was. Voldemort had claimed the two youngest. Harry had claimed Voldemort in retribution, and the final effort consumed him. He too, was gone. Ginny, bleeding all her power as one of the most powerful sorceresses in this century to back the powerful curse Harry needed burnt out and died with him. They had only found each other a few weeks before.
She shook her head once more, this time to clear the images of the babies she had raised laying lifeless on the ground. She still could not remove the image of a dark haired boy and a red haired girl, arms entwined on the ground.
Silver trails ran down wizened cheeks, and she started as someone came up behind her. "Tears, Mum?" The gentle voice asked. The very same words he had asked those many years ago, when he tried so desperately not to admit how much he was hurting. "I don't want to believe it's been thirty years. Today. They celebrate. But why? We lost, Percy. We lost." Her serious son held her as her sobs racked her body. As she quieted, he spoke soothingly to her, pointing out the stars that were slowly emerging from the sky.
"The kids are up there, mum. We'll see them when it's our time. Would they want you to be this sad?" She just looked at him, and he sighed. Obviously, this wasn't going to work this time. It never did. She had to work this out on her own.
"Come to bed, Mum. Penny and the kids need me at home. Astor is visiting, and he's bringing a girl home." Molly wrapped her now frail arms around him and gave him a bone cracking hug. She smoothed a bit of the once bright hair from his temple, privately marvelling at the grey streaks starting to touch it. He would be OK. They all would.
She settled into sleep for the last time, a smile on her lips as she rejoined her youngest babies at last. She would be waiting for the others along with them.
I am not there. I did not die.
Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. She stood there, looking across the distance, looking at something only she could see. She was looking back in time, and was waiting for something. No one knew. Everyone thought that she had learned to deal with it. After all, he was never really hers. Not in the way the others were. But she missed him. Even now, over thirty years later, she missed him. She missed him and the three who had died with him, along with so many others that day. She had once been part of a large family. No longer. Not as large as it should be, anyway.
I am the thousand winds that blow; I am the diamond glint on snow.
He was so young, when she first saw him. He was just another little boy going to Hogwarts. He got on the train with Ron, and she didn't see him again. Not until the summertime, when he came to visit. Oh, she heard about him. Ron's letters were always packed. And she nearly had a fit when she heard that he was Ron's best friend. When that happened, he became hers. He just didn't know it yet. And on days like this, she could almost hear him talking, a light tenor to match the other voices in the house. His laughter. She had only heard it a precious few times. The boy had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the man succumbed to destiny. It hurt.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain.
He was always so sure of himself. Or so he liked to appear. No one knew except her about his few moments of weakness, and of indecision. He had cried on her shoulder, and she had tried to comfort him. It was awkward, but eventually the tears would dry, and he would go back to bed. Only once did it not work. Only once did it not happen quite like that. It had started out normal enough. And then he had one his nightmares, and the cool grey light of false dawn met him on the porch. He possessed the face of a man. He had the gift and the curse of seeing his godfather die, of hearing his last words, words of love to himself. And the boy was gone, and a man replaced him. Tears were no more.
When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush of the quite birds in circled flight.
She should be mourning the ones that were really hers, she thought dully. And she did- every single moment that the places at the table were not sat in, she felt a twist in her heart. Every time she looked at the men that were left, their visages haunted by the past, she mourned the ones who would never come home again. But one day they would join those lost, and all would sit together again. She went upstairs once, and wandered into their rooms. She had sat in Ron's the longest. Stroking faded Chudley Cannon's posters, staring bitterly at the corner where Scabbers's cage used sit. Ron being himself, he had pitched it out as soon as he found out who the rat really was. They were still there, she thought sometimes. Still near her. She could only hope that when her time came, they would be there to meet her.
I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry.
Molly looked at the hill where her children sat so long ago. Where Ron had proposed to Hermione, and where Harry had bared his soul only a few months before the end. Where Ginny had come running in from after hearing the bittersweet letters, crying for the need of comfort at the thought of having no parents. She chuckled, although it was not a pleasant sound. She remembered consoling her daughter, explaining it was the way of things for parents to die, and for children to carry on. It was humans way of grasping immortality. Yes, it was the normal way of things. But it wasn't what happened that time. Her babies, and her adopted babies, were gone. Long ago, now. Weasley red hair had populated Hogwarts again, and was currently starting on yet another round. But there should have been more. Far, far more then what there was. Voldemort had claimed the two youngest. Harry had claimed Voldemort in retribution, and the final effort consumed him. He too, was gone. Ginny, bleeding all her power as one of the most powerful sorceresses in this century to back the powerful curse Harry needed burnt out and died with him. They had only found each other a few weeks before.
She shook her head once more, this time to clear the images of the babies she had raised laying lifeless on the ground. She still could not remove the image of a dark haired boy and a red haired girl, arms entwined on the ground.
Silver trails ran down wizened cheeks, and she started as someone came up behind her. "Tears, Mum?" The gentle voice asked. The very same words he had asked those many years ago, when he tried so desperately not to admit how much he was hurting. "I don't want to believe it's been thirty years. Today. They celebrate. But why? We lost, Percy. We lost." Her serious son held her as her sobs racked her body. As she quieted, he spoke soothingly to her, pointing out the stars that were slowly emerging from the sky.
"The kids are up there, mum. We'll see them when it's our time. Would they want you to be this sad?" She just looked at him, and he sighed. Obviously, this wasn't going to work this time. It never did. She had to work this out on her own.
"Come to bed, Mum. Penny and the kids need me at home. Astor is visiting, and he's bringing a girl home." Molly wrapped her now frail arms around him and gave him a bone cracking hug. She smoothed a bit of the once bright hair from his temple, privately marvelling at the grey streaks starting to touch it. He would be OK. They all would.
She settled into sleep for the last time, a smile on her lips as she rejoined her youngest babies at last. She would be waiting for the others along with them.
I am not there. I did not die.