A Prelude to Nothing
There were few that recognized those wings of shadow as they embraced our world and smothered who we were. Those courageous and valiant, whose light cut through the darkness, are now extinguished. Their names will be forgotten as they return to dust and their deeds shall be remembered as heinous acts of terrorism: for it is the victors that scribe history. Only here shall they be remembered in good favor. Here, in this sleepy glen lie my allies, my friends, my family. If I could have lived half as well as you…
A ring of trees stood guard over the pasture and a multitude of budding wildflowers adorned it. Their new stalks shooting up through the thin layer of the last winter snow and their new buds, brilliant reds and yellows, lay in stark contrast to the white ground. An occasional gust of wind would find those babes of nature swaying in rhythm with the branches of the ancient guardians above and around them and would release snow from those branches carrying it to the cold earth below.
The pristine snow that blanketed the Earth had but one flaw, a trail of footprints. A soft crunch was audible as the black leather boots stepped once more into the white covering, and again, and again until the man had reached his destination: the middle of the glen. There, standing tall and proud like monoliths over the newly born flowers were nine stone tablets in a half circle. Carved upon each were a name and an inscription.
The cloaked owner of those boots bent down to one knee before entering that small graveyard, muttering quiet apologies to those that lay buried ahead in their earthen tombs before approaching the first and once again dropping to a knee as a gloved hand was placed upon the surface of the tombstone tracing over the name and inscription.
A stiff breeze suddenly pulled the stranger's hood back, revealing a masculine facial structure and short raven hair. His skin was pale and his closed eyes were sunk slightly back into their sockets, giving him the look of one who had suffered more than any man should have to.
His head remained bent down and he did not attempt to fix his hood. Had anyone approached he would be unaware in such a position and to any possible observer it would be obvious that the man was caught up in a memory.
The group surged forward into that ancient mansion pursuing the Death Eaters. It had been easy, almost too easy, but those thoughts were put down to good tactics and teamwork. Quickly we entered those twin doors and so sealed our fate. As soon as our party was within the doors were magically shut and sealed and we instantly became aware of the trap. How had they known of our ambush?
Assessing the situation took mere seconds, and it wasn't good. The entry hall had a railed second level, which was being lined by black-cloaked wizards even as I noticed it, and provided very little cover on the ground floor except by way of several columns supporting each second level balcony. I dove behind one pillar as a red blast of light scorched the ground where I had been standing seconds before. Adrenaline began pumping through my veins I suppressed panic and began issuing orders to my squad.
I gulped. My squad. These were not only my friends, but also my charges. I had to get us out of the situation I had gotten us into. I guessed that we were outnumbered at least two to one in the fight that followed, odds that given the situation were impossible to overcome. Our only hope was escape.
From behind cover we took potshots at the Death Eaters upstairs. An occasional thump would alert us of a hit. Already though we had lost three, and another three were injured. From behind me I heard a woman's voice curse as a tripping jinx hit her, exposing her for a brief moment. A quickly placed shield saved her from a barrage of cutting and bludgeoning curses aimed a split second later and she returned behind the stone pillar that was beginning to look unstable due to the force of the constant stream of spells hitting it.
I remember the question and fear in that voice so vividly even after these many years. "How are we going to get out of here sir?"
It was a new recruit; she was trapped with me behind our pillar. She was one of the ones already injured and I had given her the more secure spot behind the pillar as a result. Her left arm was sporting a rather nasty scar, testament to my poor medimagic skills. I was unable, unfortunately, to repair the muscle underneath however, and thus that limb was hanging limply at her side.
I grimaced and set the plan. Working with the new recruit to silently dismantle the spells sealing the main doors I ordered that on my command we would rush for it. I would remain behind and cause a sufficient distraction for my team to escape. I could see the eyes of my friends boring into me at my pronouncement and I expected there to be objections. There were none, until my wand arm was broken by a stray bludgeoning curse seconds before I was to enact the plan.
Questions of my ability now flew through our communicators. I assured them that I was still able to hold off the Death Eaters for the little time that was required, but she would have none of it. I heard her voice clearly through my earpiece.
"Nonsense, you cannot expect to be able to hold off the near twenty that there are with a broken wand arm. Why I'd be surprised if you could properly duel one in your situation. I will remain behind. The rest of you are to get our fallen and escape." I tried to argue, she stunned me.
The plan was enacted a mere second later, they all knew that I would be able to fight through the stunning spell within a minute and it needed to happen while I was out. I was scooped up in the powerful arms of one of my closest friends and carried through the doors outside. She had set the ceiling of the first level, floor of the second, on fire. The resulting panic of the Death Eaters was just enough to get out, though two more of my squad took injuries.
I am told that she fought like the Spartans at Thermopile. None present had ever seen spells of such magnitude before. The pillars holding up the balconies above were transfigured into life. They sprouted legs and arms that reached up and crushed any Death Eater they could get a hold on. Just as we were passing through the anti-apparition jinx I woke and saw the flash of green light that ended her life. In her brilliance she had tied a recognition spell to a rune of destruction. Upon passing her shield the killing curse had set off both. The resulting explosion eliminated the threat that there would be enough Death Eaters to come after us.
We judged it safe enough to return and recover her body before apparating back to headquarters. Tears were everywhere. She had taught many of us. Even in sleep she remained the strict teacher we all remembered, lips pursed. However, her eyes showed something of a smile hiding behind the mask.
The man's head was lifted from its prone position and a single tear ran down his cheek. He opened his eyes revealing orbs that were once a magnificent emerald green, but had dulled until they were little more brilliant than the color of the evergreens surrounding him. Quietly he brushed his gloved hand over the inscribed words:
Minerva McGonagall
1925 - 2001
Teacher, Friend, and Mother to the Resistance
May you always be remembered fondly
Rest in Peace
Without saying a thing the man rose and proceeded to the next grave. Once again he knelt and was lost in the memory.
Snape stumbled into the Great Hall bloodied, his robes torn almost to rags. Students were screaming as Dumbledore rose from his position at the head table and rushed down to meet the loathed potions professor. No one could find it in his or her hearts to loathe him after that night. He delivered in a voice that was high pitched and raspy that Voldemort was to attack Hogwarts that night. He had been revealed as a spy and had been locked in a cell at Voldemort's stronghold. He had escaped to warn us.
Dumbledore immediately sent students to their respective common rooms with the orders that they would be sealed in by the house elves so that none would be able to get out, nor would any be able to get in. In the event of the failure of the defenders the floo passages would be opened and the children would attempt to floo to safety.
Shaking, we had no choice but to agree. Well, almost all of us, I couldn't. I approached Dumbledore and told him that I would fight and that there would be no stopping me from participating. After all, the prophecy stated that either Voldemort or I must go. Dumbledore had almost refused, but I was adamant, I had trained for this for the past two years, and he was forced to let me participate, much to the worry of many of the faculty and my friends. He refused to let them participate on my request.
The battle began at dusk. The sun was completed its graceful arc and its dying rays illuminated the castle. In the sky the harvest moon showered the battlefield with its blood red light and nearby Mars burned brighter than I had ever seen it burn before. The Roman God of War was eager for the battle to commence.
I will never forget the fear I felt as I heard the roar of those three Welsh Greens. We never did find how Voldemort had either recruited or forced them into his service. Dumbledore sent Charlie Weasley and Hagrid on the job. They were to be assisted by several others with whom I was not familiar.
The dragons it turned out were simply a distraction, effective as they were. After pulling some of our recourses to the other side of the castle some forty Death Eaters emerged from the forest. The two giants that came with them started the combat as they charged towards our position, closing the gap alarmingly fast. One was brought down before he could finish his sprint but the other managed to club three Order members before Dumbledore managed to knock it out cold.
The roar of the dragons could be heard as the Death Eaters threw their first volley of spells, nearly half of them were green. A number of the Order fell to the onslaught; those that didn't returned curses. The battle descended in formality from there and soon both sides were so close that physical blows were thrown as often as curses. I would have taken the time to gawk at Dumbledore's display of power had I not been involved in a mortal struggle with Macnair.
And, as quickly as it began, it was over. The witches and wizards that had been battling the dragons came back to the main battle, and their numbers were sufficient to turn the tide. The Death Eaters, recognizing failure apparated away. I quickly looked around for casualties and immediately wished I hadn't. Professors Vector and Grubbly-Plank lay dead in the field of battle as well as Melcher Prewitt and five other order members.
Then I saw the other. His body was being floated from the battle with the dragons. I broke down into tears as I made my way to him. I cried into his beard as I hugged his neck. I could not bring myself to look at the wound that had proved fatal. His stomach was slashed open all the way across, blood was flowing rampant and his innards were clearly visible..
What is it to be different? To be different is to be unique, and that can be said about so few in these times when conformity is the norm, but he was as different as they come. I shall always remember my first true friend, his smiles and his giant hugs. I will never forget my first gift, which was from him, nor shall I forget his birthday presents which he had sent since my eleventh birthday.
As the man raised his head once again he fingered the inscription. As he did so another entered the glen. The soft crunching of the snow was the only indication that they approached. The raven-haired man turned in the direction of the noise briefly and upon seeing the stranger turned back to the gravestone. The other knelt next to him and let their cloak hood fall back. Straight, brown hair that fell just below the shoulders revealed a woman that appeared no younger than the man she knelt next to. Quietly, she too ran her naked fingers over the name engraved on the stone.
Rubeus Hagrid
1929 - 1998
A giant among mortals,
Your loyalty never wavered
Your friendship never faltered.
Through rough times you were always there
You will be sorely missed.
Rest in Peace
The two stood and the woman hugged the man, tears shining in her eyes. The man returned the hug and for a minute the two stood there in the snow surrounded by wildflowers and evergreens. They thought about the past and all the love for each other that they had was put into that single hug. Slowly they released each other and with a sniff the woman indicated with a nod of her head that she would be starting her rotation. The man nodded and stepped over the next tomb until he was between two. Putting one hand upon each stone he bowed his head and another memory resurfaced.
The feast was excellent, everyone had exactly what and as much as they wanted. That was the norm at these gatherings. We always dined in this way before a mission. It was possible that it would be our last meal in this life. No one ever thought they would be the next to go, and such meals were never somber. They were festive occasions and conversation and laughter was commonplace. I remember the taste of the roast duck, the pies, tarts and pumpkin juice. I always chose this meal.
I sat amongst friends so close I considered them family. Every single person at that table was one I would trust my life with. We recounted stories of our school day adventures and reminisced on better times. After the meal we left the dining hall to the house elves and proceeded to the mission room. There, we were briefed of our priorities. Everything was set.
The following morn found every member of the Order present in full uniform and ready to die in the line of duty. I could only hope that we wouldn't.
The portkeys activated and we found ourselves on Azkaban, the island on which was built the most feared wizard's prison of the age. It had been taken by Death Eater's near a year before and was a major staging point for attacks. It was also the holding ground of our allies who had been imprisoned.
My group was in charge of taking and holding the prison entrance. It was a dangerous assignment as Death Eater reinforcements were expected to be plentiful. Hiding in the early morning mist I led the way to the guardhouse. My magical contacts revealed that there were five targets inside. I reported their positions to my team via communicator then led the charge through the door, blasting it apart with a reduction curse. The Death Eaters were caught unawares and apprehended with minimal effort.
From the gatehouse we opened the giant portcullis that blocked the entrance and the other teams swarmed through. Two I knew very well gave me a salute as they descended into the depths. I never imagined that I would never see them alive again.
My group took position outside the prison awaiting the enemy reinforcements. They came in numbers no more than expected and we were well prepared. During the course of the raid we suffered but one casualty, and no fatalities. Most groups that resurfaced from the mouth of the prison reported something similar. There were three total fatalities until the last group resurfaced. The number doubled.
It was in that group's charge to descend deepest into the wizarding prison and free those most valued by our cause. In this they succeeded. Kingsley Shaklebolt, Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones all emerged looking worse for wear but alive. Blaise Zabini was kissed before he could be rescued. Zabini and Snape were the only two Slytherins that I knew of that joined our side openly. I was saddened terribly by his loss.
Though their mission was successful it was at the cost of their lives. Both were killed in the heavy fighting in the lower levels of the prison. It appeared that there was heavy Death Eater presence due to a spontaneous information session. They had had no warning. I suppose that they would have wanted to perish together. They had married in secret seven months before.
Quietly the man dug his fingers into the soft ground between the two graves, unearthing two interlocked rings that he knew would be there. He once again placed them on the ground between the stones, knowing that he would do the same the next year. He then slowly read each inscription.
Nymphadora Tonks
1973 – 2002
Energetic and youthful
There was never a dull moment with you
You've made a lasting impression upon us all
Rest in Peace
Charlie Weasley
1974 – 2002
Compassionate and loving
As a brother, son, and husband
May the zest for life you had inspire others
Rest in Peace
Standing he glanced to his left and saw that the woman was still at the first grave. She had been very close with Minerva and had also participated in the raid that resulted in her death. It had been a very hard time for everyone in the Order.
Closing his eyes once again to rid his mind of the images of McGonagall's last seconds he moved to the next grave, the center of the semicircle.
I never enjoyed responsibility, I tortured myself with 'what ifs' and 'maybes' when something went wrong. And yet everyone agreed that I had a knack for the leader thing. Even he told me as much with that annoying twinkle in his eye. He conditioned me to be a leader; I suppose he knew what was in store for him. He never claimed to be a seer, or to have any idea what the future held, but many times I felt that he knew much of what was to transpire before it actually occurred.
The duel was the most intense that any of us had ever witnessed. It was a duel of giants, sorcerers who had perfected their crafts. At one end was a student of magic itself. He had studied many a form and his titles and accomplishments were evidence of his superiority over lesser wizards. He was unchallenged in his mastery of the forces. On the other hand was the undisputed master of combat. That brain held more knowledge of damaging charms, deadly curses, and combat jinxes than any other.
A curse took off the older wizard's hat and his long white hair flailed about in the most graceful of manner. He responded to fire with water, and counterattacked with air. He used sly tricks in an attempt to overcome brute force, force that he could no longer match in his old age. Animated statues jumped in front of unblockable curses, sacrificing their marble forms for him.
The duel was reaching a climax as dialogue began to flow forth. Words could be used as weapons as often as swords could he had taught me.
"You threw it all away Tom, you had such promise. You could have gone far."
"I've gone farther than I've ever dreamed old man, and soon I will have achieved the impossible." A round of hexes and curses followed this short spout.
"You can't win Tom, you will never be able to rule. The people will reject you. None stand in the shadow of fear for long."
"Not only will they live under my rule, they will thrive! There will be such prosperity as there never was before. The people will know fear, yes, but they will not want anything else!" More curses, another statue exploded into rubble.
"What you speak of is impossible Tom."
"I've had enough! Don't call me that! Avada Kedavra!" A piece of sheet metal met the curse in mid-air and was blown to shards. "I deserve respect!"
"Respect is earned Tom, and lost. You have lost mine."
"Then I will take respect by force! Imperio!"
I screamed a warning as the curse impacted with him. For a second I thought that it had not worked, surely he would be strong enough to throw off the curse. But then his eyes glazed over and his wand arm went slack.
"Bow to me, give me your respect!" Voldemort commanded, his high-pitched voice gleeful.
Never before have I wanted more to interfere within a wizard's duel, but I was unable, restrained by the magic by which the duel was being held.
"Bow to me! Call me Master!" Screamed Voldemort, incensed that his first order had been fought.
He simply stood there. It was clear to me that he was fighting the curse, his muscle spasms were evidence of that. Voldemort was growing extremely agitated at his failed attempts. "BOW TO ME YOU OLD FOOL!" he screamed.
He found himself unable to shake off the curse in its entirety, but through tremendous effort I could see him turn as Voldemort's command was issued and instead of lowering his body to Voldemort, he bent to me. I was astonished; Voldemort was livid. With a single curse and a flash of green light, the greatest man I knew expired. Strangely enough, when we took his body there was not an expression of terror so common upon the faces of those killed by that curse. Instead, his face held a smile, and his eyes held one last twinkle.
The man fought back tears fought back tears and tried to remain strong. The death of this man had thrown the wizarding world into chaotic confusion. No longer would he be there to guide the masses of wizards into the future, and they turned to another who felt he was not ready for the responsibility. The inscription was a pitiful attempt to honor the man, for it was something that words alone could not do.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
1840 – 2002
A man who could not be normal
Adored by many, loved by few
Teacher, mentor, friend, and father of the resistance
You fought for justice when all seemed lost
May we be half of who you were.
Rest in Peace.
Another entered the glen wearing the same garb as those present. Only the man gave the stranger a glance, the woman was lost in thought at the grave of Hagrid. Quietly the stranger approached and as the green-eyed man stood he turned and embraced the newcomer. Words were not exchanged; nothing needed to be said. The stranger lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal signature red hair and freckles.
As the black-haired man stepped back he looked, slightly up, the other in the eye to communicate wordlessly. The other nodded and the two stepped towards another set of gravestones. Each fell to a knee between the graves and their respective memories resurfaced.
I'm told it was a joyous affair, their anniversary, and it would have stayed so, had it not happened.
Some say that I am an expert at travel; they say I can fly faster than any other upon a broom; I can apparate farther as well. I'm not sure about the validity of these statements, but many take them as fact. That night, no matter how fast they say I am, I wasn't fast enough.
I was on a scouting mission near the town of Triberg, Germany. It had been reported that there was possible Death Eater activity in the depths of the Black Forest, which surrounded the town. I was not able to conduct a meticulous enough search to assess that report. As I flew through the forest I at first dismissed the tickling sensation as rogue branches drawing across my skin, but it was soon apparent that my Order watch was alerting me to a Death Eater attack. Quickly I glanced at the watch and a few seconds later the location of the attack was broadcasted: The Burrow. My blood froze in my veins as fear coursed through my body. How had the broken the wards?
None can apparate across the ocean, not even the English Channel. There is just something about the huge quantity of water that distorts magic, which is probably the reason that no magical ship has ever been invented. That night I proved that it was possible, somewhat. I succeeded through sheer willpower to force myself across the Channel, but could not direct completely the destination. I ended up near Inverness in Scotland, far from the Burrow.
Unfortunately, for apparition to work one needs to know one's current location, as well as the destination. I once again mounted my Firebolt and began to look for a recognizable landmark. It took me twenty minutes to find a town and assess its location. My relief over knowing I was in Great Britain was superseded by my fear for the Weasleys. It took my twenty seconds to complete the journey to the Burrow, but as I feared, the battle was already over.
They lay dead in the living room, Ron and Ginny crying over their bodies. Bill was off in a corner, a blank look upon his face. Other members of the Order were attempting to repair damage and weeping at the same time. The Weasleys were very prominent within the Order, no doubt the reason that they had been targeted, and were well loved. The wizarding world in whole would be saddened immensely by their loss. None so much as we present.
I approached Ron; tears graced my own face. My family was broken. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't here," I apologized pitifully.
Ron turned to me with a tear-stained face. "You will help me get him for this right?" he asked through a sob.
"Of course Ron," I answered through my own tears. "Of course I'll help you get Voldemort."
Ron turned away. "Not Voldemort," he whispered, and then in a low voice as though what he was to say next he didn't want to be true, "Percy."
Color must have drained from my face even more than it already had. I was stupefied. Anger and confusion dominated my emotions. I knew that he had had different views, but I had never thought that in his pursuit of power he would turn to Voldemort. It was betrayal of the worst kind, and a common initiation test. If one could kill their family, they could do whatever the Dark Lord required.
Perhaps he would have reconsidered if he had known that in his foolish pursuit of power he would put himself at the top of each of the remaining members of his family's hit list, and replace Pettigrew at the top of mine.
They died together, much as my real parents had. I felt as if I'd lost my family all over again, and the look of pain that was written across their faces because of the betrayal ignited in me a rage so powerful that it was later said that one could feel the power emanating from my body. Percy Weasley was a dead man; I would see him sent to Hell.
The raven-haired man opened his eyes again and swallowed to attempt to relieve the pain of that loss. Every adult he ever became close to it seemed was ripped from him. It hurt so much, even to this day years later. He let his eyes graze over the inscriptions.
Molly Weasley
1950 – 2002
Temperamental but loving
Harsh but caring
Busy but willing
Everything a mother should be
Rest in Peace.
Arthur Weasley
1948 – 2002
Fond of those things different
True to himself and others
Loving and indulgent with his children
A model father
Rest in Peace.
The man stood and bent over each grave, kissing the roof of each stone. It was an attempt to display his affection for those that lay beneath the earth there, but they were not there to return it. How he wished they could be. Beside him the other rose and repeated the gesture that the man before him had done before giving a weak smile and proceeding to the graves of Charlie Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks. There he embraced the woman as she continued on to honor the memory of Dumbledore. The smaller man continued to the next grave.
After the deaths of the Weasleys the situation deteriorated quickly. How could they not? Dumbledore was already gone, and the Weasleys were the strongest supporters of our side left. Now they lay broken, battered, and bruised. Three of their numbers were gone for good, and another had turned. The people lost heart.
We fought on the right side, but it was clear that from that point on we were fighting a losing battle. Fate was too cruel. Soon after their deaths Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil were murdered at one of our safe houses. It became clear that we were infiltrated. The two of them sent ten Death Eaters to Hell before falling themselves, one of which was Avery, the one in charge of the raid.
Their bodies were displayed briefly before being taken down and disposed of only the Death Eaters know where. They had been broken, tortured before the end. Entire sections of flesh had been burned off or charred black. Rope burns had been evident around the ankles and wrists. Their jaws had been broken and tongues had been cut out. It was reported that they had drowned in their own blood.
Their deaths had fuelled a passion in Ron so furious that I began to fear he would do something rash. Their deaths succeeded in what they were supposed to do. They caused division and distrust within the Order. It was clear to the members that once we had lost Dumbledore the decline had begun. We existed now without a real leader and it was the un-organization caused by this that led to the deaths of my former classmates.
The situation deteriorated until we were fighting guerilla warfare. It was the only thing we could do. The ministry had fallen a mere two months after the deaths of the Weasleys. The aurors had put up a valiant fight, but were unable to hold the waves of Death Eaters that Voldemort had lured into his service with promises of wealth and power. They fought to the end; each and every one perished in the fight. Tallyrand, Rennault, Buckley, Tokeville. I knew them all.
The unspeakables too perished. They completed the destruction of the Department of Mysteries minutes before the Death Eaters broke in and slaughtered them with numbers. The body count was fifteen unspeakables, seventy-two Death Eaters.
We knew this only through an intercepted missive from Lucius Malfoy to Voldemort. Officially it was reported that only twenty-three Death Eaters had died in the fight, the rest were either those that wouldn't be missed or were foreign fighters. Voldemort had promised the people that the Ministry had lied about him and that in truth he fought the ministry because of its corruption. He promised to make wizarding Britain great, and I thought people might have believed him.
It only took three months to gather the majority of wizards favor. I'll admit that the propaganda campaign was convincing, but how could people forget the bloodshed? How could they forget the fallen so easily? Not everyone had of course, but those objectors were silenced. It was reported that we were terrorists set on dismantling the new government to bring back the corrupt old. We lost Flitwick, who was too easily recognizable to a secret civilian informant, in those tumultuous months.
Ron suggested in a fit of rage that we teach the people a lesson, but what he proposed would have been true terrorism. I vetoed the idea telling him to think rationally. We couldn't garner public support if we acted exactly the way that Voldemort was claiming we would.
A few months later there were but a few of us left. Neville, once so clumsy and scared, had developed into a wandsman almost as feared as Ron and myself. He worked well with Bill, who along with Ginny and Ron were the last of the openly rebellious Weasleys. Fred and George were our public informants, but heavily watched as they ran Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Hermione was our brilliant researcher. It was thanks to her that we had a safe house at all. In her research she found a reference to a maze of ancient tunnels below Diagon Alley. The only problem was that all the entrances were long since lost. No one could figure out how to get down there.
The solution? A picture. It was up to me to apparate based off a picture. I had said my good-byes just in case, but everything went smoothly. We had 30 km of tunnels and rooms for our use. To be absolutely certain there would be no leaks involving our last safe area we clued in only myself, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Bill, Padma Patil, and Lucien Knightly, a home schooled wizard of repute, to the truth of that safe house.
"Lucien, you know what the objective is?" It was a stupid question, of course he knew, but he answered it anyway with a nod. "I've no need to remind you how dangerous this is, I'm sure you know." Again he nodded. "I just want you to know that if things get sticky, get out. The information be damned, we need you." Once again he nodded his understanding.
Quietly we each wished him luck on the mission and before he parted he left each of us with his thanks for being great friends and loyal comrades. He then switched off the safeties on his two muggle pistols and apparated to the Ministry of Magic. Lucien was fond of muggle weaponry, and because he was home schooled his identity was not well known. In the papers he was reported as 'the ghost.' It was seldom that there was a survivor to report what they knew of him. We would not see him again.
It was hours later that we knew something had gone wrong. I could only hope that he had followed my advice and made for the nearest exit as quickly as possible. Lucien was our lifeline in the Ministry. He was known publicly as a muggle weapons expert, but between us it was known that he was a master at remaining undetected. Often he would retrieve an important document from right under the new Minister of Magic's nose. Needless to say Voldemort was not happy with Lucius when important documents went missing off his desk.
It was the following morning when we found what had happened to Lucien. As we had feared, he was caught. Lucius had had a silent alarm on the door to his office to alert him to when someone entered, and of the person's identity. When Lucien entered the elder Malfoy responded and apparated there. Lucien was killed in the fighting that followed. Lucius Malfoy had to have his arms and head reattached for his funeral and public viewing. Lucien had always had a problem with their common name and found a way to show his displeasure before he was killed.
Draco Malfoy vowed revenge, so did we. Lucien Malfoy was quartered and his head was displayed in Hogsmede as a warning to dissenters and would-be revolutionaries.
The raven-haired man read the inscription, then bowed to grave, and its unloving inhabitant.
Lucien Knightly
1979-2003
Quiet but strong,
Proud but loyal,
A better comrade in arms there could not be.
Rest in Peace.
The two had moved to other graves and were silently remembering times with those people now gone. The man moved on to the last grave and turned his head away from the name written upon the headstone. It was hard to believe that he was gone now. It had once not ever been considered. Sure, he had embarked on dangerous missions before, but he should have been invincible. The man took a knee by the last headstone and as it was every year tears began to flow from his eyes unbidden.
The ambush had taken weeks to plan. For a year since the collapse of the Ministry of Magic we were unable to participate in battles anymore. Even guerilla warfare was few and far between. We were involved in the petty crimes of stealing books and manuscripts and transporting them to the tunnels for safekeeping. Voldemort was putting into a plan that if it worked would change history, literally. He wished to wipe out record of his previous failure at a rise to power.
But that night there was something worth rising out of hiding for. Voldemort was going to move the Veil. We didn't know the exact purpose of the move, but I had my suspicions, and I suspected necromancy. It was supposed to be impossible, but magic could sometimes accomplish impossible things. Our core group of seven was assisted by five others that were trustworthy, including Fred and George Weasley who were only recruited because of the utmost importance of the mission.
We waited outside of Hogsmede on the route that we decided Voldemort would have the veil taken. It took us a half-hour to figure out that we were wrong. The 'pops' of our apparition alerted the enemy to our presence, but they were still overall unprepared. We killed seven before they could effectively counter our attack.
One of the Death Eaters sent up the Dark Mark with a cry of "Morsmordre!" signaling the danger that the caravan was in and we knew that we had but minutes to make the plan work. The fighting was vicious and I found myself wishing that Lucien was still with us as the battle proceeded to close quarters. The Death Eaters lost three more but Ginny and Padma were wounded now. Bill was furiously fighting off three of the enemy single-handedly and was as of yet uninjured.
Ron and I charged the carriage that was holding the Veil. Silvery-Blond hair appeared out of a side window and the thin mouth uttered a curse that dissipated upon my shield. Ron recognized the figure and two words flew from his lips. The figure of Draco Malfoy fell from the carriage and hit the ground, dead. Ron stopped short to spit on Malfoy's corpse.
I didn't hear the words that fired the curse, but I saw the emerald green glow. Everything seemed to snap into slow motion as I dove for Ron to knock him out of the way. I wasn't fast enough. The curse hit him between the shoulder blades and he fell. I couldn't believe it. It was impossible. He was my best mate.
Across the field of battle I saw Bill scream in renewed fury and finish off the last Death Eater he was fighting with the cruciatus curse. The pain generated by such intense anger fried the man's brain instantly. I turned to see where that lethal curse had originated from and had to roll to the left in order to avoid another on path for me. As I came up from the roll I saw the perpetrator, a madly grinning Percy Weasley.
"YOU BASTARD! YOUR PARENTS… AND NOW YOUR BROTHER?" He only laughed in return. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" I screamed and made a bull rush for the red haired boy who had once been prefect at Hogwarts and the pride of his mother. I took two stunning spells but in my rage I shook them off and continued on.
When I reached him I jumped forward and took him to the dirt with a flying tackle. We wrestled on the ground for a full minute before I found myself atop him and I threw a right hook into Percy's jaw. The sickening crunch of breaking bone rewarded my efforts. A follow-up jab broke his nose.
Blood was running freely off his face as my hands gripped his throat and my thumbs pushed in on his windpipe. I can still remember the feeling of his cold neck in my hands as I crushed the life out of him. The entire time I was slamming his head into the ground and asking 'why?' repeatedly.
Before his thrashing ceased and his heart stopped he managed to mouth, "You could never understand."
Never could I hear silent words so well.
The man struggled to read the inscription on the headstone through his tears. It wasn't long before the other two joined him at that final grave. Each shedding tears.
Ronald Bilius Weasley
1980 – 2004
A true friend, there in times of need
A soldier, fighting so others could be freed
A brother, always honest and true
A better person could not be found than you
Rest in Peace.
The funeral had been short, and small. There were but thirteen attendees. Tears had run down every face as Ron was laid in this small forest glen along with others that had done much for the cause including his brother Charlie and his parents.
There were celebrations in the street because of his death. It was a sore point in that he had lost the Veil, but it was still a victory for Voldemort. The number two man for the resistance was dead. It didn't matter to him that he had lost fifteen followers in the raid, including Draco and the traitor Weasley. Every one of us that he killed brought us one closer to extinction. He knew as well as we that there were no more wizards or witches willing to risk it all by joining the resistance. He made too good of an example of those that did.
It was after that funeral that we decided to quit working in dangerous attacks. There was no point in dying for those who hate you and want opposite of what they need. It took losing a best friend, a brother, to teach us that. From that day on we existed only in the underground, but each year we returned here to honor those fallen.
Quietly Harry Potter walked towards the edge of the glen, the graveyard. Wistfully he reflected that unlike those wildflowers, those buried would not come up again. Soon, Hermione Granger walked to his side and took his hand, tears still welling in her eyes. Finally Bill Weasley finished his mourning and returned to his friends' side. The three embraced in a hug before they resumed the walk out of the glen, towards those ancient evergreens. As they exited the quiet field of wildflowers Harry Potter suddenly stopped and turned before bowing to those nine headstones that were now somewhat off in the distance.
"I'm sorry, my friends," he whispered before rising again and catching up with the others.
As the human presence left the glen nature worked its unique kind of magic. The wind picked up again blowing soft flurries of snow onto the ground, covering the tracks that scared the surface, once again making the covering perfect, pristine. As time passed spring took full hold upon the land and the snow melted. Those flowers that had been budding were now in full bloom and the glen was a mix of vibrant reds, oranges, violets, yellows, and blues. Birds arrived home from abroad and lined the trees singing their tunes, some happy, some sad. A deer found its way into the glen and grazed upon the wild grasses there and two young foxes playfully tussled amongst the flowers at the foot of those stone monoliths, blissfully unaware of the tears that were spilt there every year as winter ebbed away.