(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
After Moody had finished his breakfast ("can't work on an empty stomach, now can you?"), the six of them trekked into the entrance hall, and was handed six cloaks. This time, they were Invisibility Cloaks, and they all six disappeared from sight.
"Diggle," Moody informed the violet top hat that had handed them to him, as he wrapped it around his body. His head floated in mid air, "Tell Jeremiah that we will be meeting him in his office in two minutes."
Then, while the five recruits walked towards the doors, Moody sped into the living room, and headed for the fireplace.
"Follow me," he growled as they stared at his floating head. He was placing a bowler hat over his eye, "That way is too risky."
Sirius groaned again, but followed his four friends to the living room. Moody's hand was protruding from the Cloak as he took a handful of Floo Powder. The others followed his example, and Moody said, "Now keep your cloaks on at all times. We don't want anyone seeing you if they're watching. Remember, you all are recruits. They know you're not strong enough yet. They'll pick you off faster than you can say 'Aveda Kedavra.'"
Moody cleared his throat, and stepped into the fire, "Jeremiah's office, Ministry of Magic."
And then in a flame of light, he was gone.
James stepped forward into the hearth, and shouted, "Jeremiah's office, Ministry of Magic." He dropped the Powder into the ash, and a fire engulfed him. He felt himself whizzing through thousands of fireplaces, the insides of houses flying before his eyes. Finally, right before he was going to hurl, he fell headfirst into a very large and very official looking office.
"Ah, James," Moody was dusting himself off as he took a seat in a chair facing a rather formally dressed desk. He could see the pictures of the inhabitant's family smiling, and waving to him, "Come sit. It will only be a few minutes."
Just as James stood, another body rolled out of the fireplace. It was Lily. She coughed, and pushed her hair out of her face. James helped her up, and they walked together to a couch in the corner. Just as they were sitting, a howling Peter emerged from the hearth. Followed by Remus, and finally Sirius. All of their cloaks had gotten lost in the ride.
The three of them clambered onto the couch next to James and Lily, and then waited for an explanation from Moody. But Moody had gone to drinking from his hip flask again, and humming to himself.
Sirius gave Remus a look that said, Told you he was nutters.
The door opened, and a official looking wizard in a pinstriped robe came gliding into the room. He was pale, with sandy blond hair that practically stood on end. He had a small beard that had begun to gray, and beady eyes that blinked very rapidly. He looked to Moody, and then smiled broadly.
"Ah, Alastor," he said in the lowest voice that any one of them had ever heard, "Good to see you again. These are the recruits, I'm guessing?"
Moody stood, and waved his hand to him, "Yeah, they are. Showing them the way things are done for a few months before they actually get started. So they don't blow themselves up the first day on the job," then he turned to the five and said, "This is Jeremiah Toddles, the Minister of Magic. He supports our Order very much."
"As I always will," Toddles said, extending his hand to James, who had stood to face him. He peered at him for a moment, and then said, "Ah, you're the Potter boy. Didn't you give us all quite a scare?" then he turned to Moody, "It's him that is to do it, I'm guessing?"
"Yes," Moody said, turning very solemn, "All three of us believe that he's the one who has the right to it. Frank, Albus, and me."
"Good, good," Toddles patted James on the back, "Good."
"Come on, children," Moody said, herding them out of the room and after him and Toddles, "It's time to find out what happens to real heroes."
They followed the two adults out of the office, and down a long dark corridor. Finally, they came to the end, where an elevator was waiting for them.
The doors opened, and the seven of them walked inside.
"Now, which floor is it on again?" Toddles asked.
"Second," Moody said, "Crouch should be waiting for us."
"Right," Toddles said, and the elevator sped to the second floor. The five of them had no idea where they were going. What was waiting for them?
The door opened, and they saw a shorter man with a sour look on his face glaring at them. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and looked very sharp. He saw Moody, and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst look someone could give another person.
"Ah, the recruits and their nanny," the man said, sniggering under his glare.
Moody's shoulders grew stiff, and he cleared his throat, "Nice to see you again as well, Crouch."
"The pleasure's mine," he said shortly, and then looked to Toddles, "They came for the name-engraving?"
"Yes," Toddles said, "That one . . . he's his son."
He pointed to James, and James felt his stomach lurch.
"We'll be coming with him," Moody said, and pushed James ahead of them, "Show him where the room is."
Crouch turned, and sauntered into the office that lay behind him. Aurors were in their cubicles, working away. Some of them nodded to Moody as they passed their "offices." Others scanned the faces of the recruits.
"Who are they, Alastor?" one pudgy man asked as they crossed his path.
"Students from Hogwarts," Moody said, "Here for a summer assignment. Looking into journalists for the Daily Prophet."
"God help them," the man retorted, and him and Moody shared a laugh.
To the very back of the room they went. On the cubicle walls, Sirius could see papers with faces printed out on them. One of them was of the face that James and Remus had seen in the park, in the middle of the Death Eaters' circle.
His face was the most one posted.
"Here we are," Crouch said, taking out his wand, and pointing it at a door's knob. The door was on the far back wall, and almost seemed invisible in the large room. Yet a large plaque stood on top of the door, reading "MEMORIAL OF THE FALLEN."
The door opened, and the seven of them walked into a lit room with marble walls, floor, and ceiling. There were four torches, set in their holders in each corner. They illuminated the room, dancing on the dark marble.
James looked closer at the walls, and felt his heart drop into his stomach. It wasn't just any ordinary room.
The walls were covered from top to bottom with engraved names. Each one spelled out perfectly in capital letters, one after the other in long lines. On the floor, there were more names. He looked up to the ceiling, and read the large words that towered over them.
IN MEMORIUM
TO THOSE WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
AND SUFFERED
DURING THE GREAT WAR
1972- ____
THEY WILL LIVE ON IN FREEDOM'S SPIRIT
"These are the names of people who have died for our cause," Moody said solemnly, removing his bowler hat and placing it over his heart. He lowered his head, "All of them."
James scanned the closest wall, and noticed a name that he recognized.
Mister Frederick William Snorks.
"Look," Lily said, pointing at a name, "Jonathon Richard June," she looked at Moody, "Professor June's son really is dead."
"You think I lied to you?" Moody snarled, and then turned to James, "Every time that we lose a member of the Order, I come here to this room, and I add their name to the growing list. No, not all of these names were in the Order. But a good deal of them were. I knew all of them. And I watched all of them die horrible deaths. And I put each of their names on this memorial. But I believe that it is your duty to do the honors this time, James."
He handed Toddles's wand to James, and pointed out a spot on the wall, "Aim the wand, and say their names, James. They died for a cause. They deserve to be remembered."
James swallowed.
He could still see his parents. He could see their faces.
He raised the wand, and the names he pointed at magically scooted out of the way to make room for the upcoming engravings. He took a breath.
His mother. Her rosy cheeks and her bouncing arms came back to him. They had rocked him as a child, hugged him, fed him, loved him.
Voldemort had taken that away from him. He had taken his mother away from him.
"Olivia Winnifred Potter," he said, and the letters came spilling out the end of his wand, and pasted themselves to the wall between "Mitchell Ethan Porter," and "Edna Katherine Pottington."
The kind face of his uncle came to mind, and he felt himself choke on his own tears, "Charles Landen Potter."
And then the happy memories of Klipooraks and bedtime stories. The open casket. The funeral that wouldn't end.
"Wendy Olivia Potter," he said, and the name found its way underneath Uncle Charlie's and Mum's.
His father. Staring at him in the Headmaster's office. Not wanting for James to see. James telling him that pride wasn't worth fighting for. His disappointed face as his only son marched off, away from the Order.
And now his father wasn't here to see that he was a member. His father would never see him and Lily. He wouldn't be there at his wedding. He wouldn't see his son or daughter. He wouldn't see any of that.
Because of Voldemort.
Because of him.
"Harold Wenrick Potter," he said, and the letters found their way above his mother's name. They would lay there, engraved in the stone, until the end of the world.
"Good show," Toddles said, holding his hand out to retrieve his wand. But James didn't give it back. There was one last name to add.
"Potter?" Moody inquired of him.
James raised the wand one last time, and whispered through tears, "Sprite Potter."
And the name rushed out of his wand, and resided in the midst of the other fallen members of the Potter family. The treasures that Voldemort had stolen from James. The people that he would never see again.
There was a silence as the others stared at the newly glistening names on the wall. Sirius's eyes were set on Sprite. So was Crouch's. He looked disgusted.
"A house-elf on my memorial," he huffed, "What is the world coming to."
The elevator door shut behind them as they said good-day to Toddles and Crouch. Moody was standing next to James, and placed his bowler hat back onto his head. The other four were quietly standing behind them. James was trying not to cry in front of them.
He had done too much of that.
"That is what happens to real heroes," Moody said, "Real heroes don't live to tell their battle stories. They die alone and cold, never to talk again. Never to brag. Never to gloat over their own skill and wits. They end up on that wall, just one name in the midst of thousands. That's what a real hero is, children."
No one argued with him.
"So if you were getting any thoughts about coming out of this smelling like a rose and getting accilades from the world, you were wrong," he said darkly, not looking at any of them. His eye had stopped swiveling, "Even if you do live through this war, your name will be forgotten. You may find yourself in a blurb in the paper, or mentioned during a poker night, but no one will thank you for your sacrifices. No one will throw a parade in your name, and no one will ever think another thought about you. All you will get out of being a real hero is the satisfaction that you did what was right. Are you all clear on that fact?"
They nodded quietly, and then the elevator began to speed back to the entrance of the Ministry.
"And that was a very noble thing you did back there, Potter," Moody said, his eye looking to him, "She deserved to be on that wall as well, with her family."
James nodded again, and not another word was exchanged as the elevator doors opened.
After Moody had finished his breakfast ("can't work on an empty stomach, now can you?"), the six of them trekked into the entrance hall, and was handed six cloaks. This time, they were Invisibility Cloaks, and they all six disappeared from sight.
"Diggle," Moody informed the violet top hat that had handed them to him, as he wrapped it around his body. His head floated in mid air, "Tell Jeremiah that we will be meeting him in his office in two minutes."
Then, while the five recruits walked towards the doors, Moody sped into the living room, and headed for the fireplace.
"Follow me," he growled as they stared at his floating head. He was placing a bowler hat over his eye, "That way is too risky."
Sirius groaned again, but followed his four friends to the living room. Moody's hand was protruding from the Cloak as he took a handful of Floo Powder. The others followed his example, and Moody said, "Now keep your cloaks on at all times. We don't want anyone seeing you if they're watching. Remember, you all are recruits. They know you're not strong enough yet. They'll pick you off faster than you can say 'Aveda Kedavra.'"
Moody cleared his throat, and stepped into the fire, "Jeremiah's office, Ministry of Magic."
And then in a flame of light, he was gone.
James stepped forward into the hearth, and shouted, "Jeremiah's office, Ministry of Magic." He dropped the Powder into the ash, and a fire engulfed him. He felt himself whizzing through thousands of fireplaces, the insides of houses flying before his eyes. Finally, right before he was going to hurl, he fell headfirst into a very large and very official looking office.
"Ah, James," Moody was dusting himself off as he took a seat in a chair facing a rather formally dressed desk. He could see the pictures of the inhabitant's family smiling, and waving to him, "Come sit. It will only be a few minutes."
Just as James stood, another body rolled out of the fireplace. It was Lily. She coughed, and pushed her hair out of her face. James helped her up, and they walked together to a couch in the corner. Just as they were sitting, a howling Peter emerged from the hearth. Followed by Remus, and finally Sirius. All of their cloaks had gotten lost in the ride.
The three of them clambered onto the couch next to James and Lily, and then waited for an explanation from Moody. But Moody had gone to drinking from his hip flask again, and humming to himself.
Sirius gave Remus a look that said, Told you he was nutters.
The door opened, and a official looking wizard in a pinstriped robe came gliding into the room. He was pale, with sandy blond hair that practically stood on end. He had a small beard that had begun to gray, and beady eyes that blinked very rapidly. He looked to Moody, and then smiled broadly.
"Ah, Alastor," he said in the lowest voice that any one of them had ever heard, "Good to see you again. These are the recruits, I'm guessing?"
Moody stood, and waved his hand to him, "Yeah, they are. Showing them the way things are done for a few months before they actually get started. So they don't blow themselves up the first day on the job," then he turned to the five and said, "This is Jeremiah Toddles, the Minister of Magic. He supports our Order very much."
"As I always will," Toddles said, extending his hand to James, who had stood to face him. He peered at him for a moment, and then said, "Ah, you're the Potter boy. Didn't you give us all quite a scare?" then he turned to Moody, "It's him that is to do it, I'm guessing?"
"Yes," Moody said, turning very solemn, "All three of us believe that he's the one who has the right to it. Frank, Albus, and me."
"Good, good," Toddles patted James on the back, "Good."
"Come on, children," Moody said, herding them out of the room and after him and Toddles, "It's time to find out what happens to real heroes."
They followed the two adults out of the office, and down a long dark corridor. Finally, they came to the end, where an elevator was waiting for them.
The doors opened, and the seven of them walked inside.
"Now, which floor is it on again?" Toddles asked.
"Second," Moody said, "Crouch should be waiting for us."
"Right," Toddles said, and the elevator sped to the second floor. The five of them had no idea where they were going. What was waiting for them?
The door opened, and they saw a shorter man with a sour look on his face glaring at them. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and looked very sharp. He saw Moody, and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst look someone could give another person.
"Ah, the recruits and their nanny," the man said, sniggering under his glare.
Moody's shoulders grew stiff, and he cleared his throat, "Nice to see you again as well, Crouch."
"The pleasure's mine," he said shortly, and then looked to Toddles, "They came for the name-engraving?"
"Yes," Toddles said, "That one . . . he's his son."
He pointed to James, and James felt his stomach lurch.
"We'll be coming with him," Moody said, and pushed James ahead of them, "Show him where the room is."
Crouch turned, and sauntered into the office that lay behind him. Aurors were in their cubicles, working away. Some of them nodded to Moody as they passed their "offices." Others scanned the faces of the recruits.
"Who are they, Alastor?" one pudgy man asked as they crossed his path.
"Students from Hogwarts," Moody said, "Here for a summer assignment. Looking into journalists for the Daily Prophet."
"God help them," the man retorted, and him and Moody shared a laugh.
To the very back of the room they went. On the cubicle walls, Sirius could see papers with faces printed out on them. One of them was of the face that James and Remus had seen in the park, in the middle of the Death Eaters' circle.
His face was the most one posted.
"Here we are," Crouch said, taking out his wand, and pointing it at a door's knob. The door was on the far back wall, and almost seemed invisible in the large room. Yet a large plaque stood on top of the door, reading "MEMORIAL OF THE FALLEN."
The door opened, and the seven of them walked into a lit room with marble walls, floor, and ceiling. There were four torches, set in their holders in each corner. They illuminated the room, dancing on the dark marble.
James looked closer at the walls, and felt his heart drop into his stomach. It wasn't just any ordinary room.
The walls were covered from top to bottom with engraved names. Each one spelled out perfectly in capital letters, one after the other in long lines. On the floor, there were more names. He looked up to the ceiling, and read the large words that towered over them.
IN MEMORIUM
TO THOSE WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
AND SUFFERED
DURING THE GREAT WAR
1972- ____
THEY WILL LIVE ON IN FREEDOM'S SPIRIT
"These are the names of people who have died for our cause," Moody said solemnly, removing his bowler hat and placing it over his heart. He lowered his head, "All of them."
James scanned the closest wall, and noticed a name that he recognized.
Mister Frederick William Snorks.
"Look," Lily said, pointing at a name, "Jonathon Richard June," she looked at Moody, "Professor June's son really is dead."
"You think I lied to you?" Moody snarled, and then turned to James, "Every time that we lose a member of the Order, I come here to this room, and I add their name to the growing list. No, not all of these names were in the Order. But a good deal of them were. I knew all of them. And I watched all of them die horrible deaths. And I put each of their names on this memorial. But I believe that it is your duty to do the honors this time, James."
He handed Toddles's wand to James, and pointed out a spot on the wall, "Aim the wand, and say their names, James. They died for a cause. They deserve to be remembered."
James swallowed.
He could still see his parents. He could see their faces.
He raised the wand, and the names he pointed at magically scooted out of the way to make room for the upcoming engravings. He took a breath.
His mother. Her rosy cheeks and her bouncing arms came back to him. They had rocked him as a child, hugged him, fed him, loved him.
Voldemort had taken that away from him. He had taken his mother away from him.
"Olivia Winnifred Potter," he said, and the letters came spilling out the end of his wand, and pasted themselves to the wall between "Mitchell Ethan Porter," and "Edna Katherine Pottington."
The kind face of his uncle came to mind, and he felt himself choke on his own tears, "Charles Landen Potter."
And then the happy memories of Klipooraks and bedtime stories. The open casket. The funeral that wouldn't end.
"Wendy Olivia Potter," he said, and the name found its way underneath Uncle Charlie's and Mum's.
His father. Staring at him in the Headmaster's office. Not wanting for James to see. James telling him that pride wasn't worth fighting for. His disappointed face as his only son marched off, away from the Order.
And now his father wasn't here to see that he was a member. His father would never see him and Lily. He wouldn't be there at his wedding. He wouldn't see his son or daughter. He wouldn't see any of that.
Because of Voldemort.
Because of him.
"Harold Wenrick Potter," he said, and the letters found their way above his mother's name. They would lay there, engraved in the stone, until the end of the world.
"Good show," Toddles said, holding his hand out to retrieve his wand. But James didn't give it back. There was one last name to add.
"Potter?" Moody inquired of him.
James raised the wand one last time, and whispered through tears, "Sprite Potter."
And the name rushed out of his wand, and resided in the midst of the other fallen members of the Potter family. The treasures that Voldemort had stolen from James. The people that he would never see again.
There was a silence as the others stared at the newly glistening names on the wall. Sirius's eyes were set on Sprite. So was Crouch's. He looked disgusted.
"A house-elf on my memorial," he huffed, "What is the world coming to."
The elevator door shut behind them as they said good-day to Toddles and Crouch. Moody was standing next to James, and placed his bowler hat back onto his head. The other four were quietly standing behind them. James was trying not to cry in front of them.
He had done too much of that.
"That is what happens to real heroes," Moody said, "Real heroes don't live to tell their battle stories. They die alone and cold, never to talk again. Never to brag. Never to gloat over their own skill and wits. They end up on that wall, just one name in the midst of thousands. That's what a real hero is, children."
No one argued with him.
"So if you were getting any thoughts about coming out of this smelling like a rose and getting accilades from the world, you were wrong," he said darkly, not looking at any of them. His eye had stopped swiveling, "Even if you do live through this war, your name will be forgotten. You may find yourself in a blurb in the paper, or mentioned during a poker night, but no one will thank you for your sacrifices. No one will throw a parade in your name, and no one will ever think another thought about you. All you will get out of being a real hero is the satisfaction that you did what was right. Are you all clear on that fact?"
They nodded quietly, and then the elevator began to speed back to the entrance of the Ministry.
"And that was a very noble thing you did back there, Potter," Moody said, his eye looking to him, "She deserved to be on that wall as well, with her family."
James nodded again, and not another word was exchanged as the elevator doors opened.