The Death of the Greatest Wizard

Who Ever Lived

I didn't even need to open my eyes to know where I was. It had been less than a week since I had left, and I hadn't been hoping to return for quite a while. I suppose I could give Harry Potter a run for his money on how often I'd been in the hospital wing. Or perhaps, since I'm his senior by over twenty years, it is he who would be trying my title. I knew there was no sense in putting it off, and so I opened my eyes.

Even though I knew it was coming, the startling light that is always present in this white hell made me close my eyes immediately. By the time I had managed to sit up, Poppy was upon me, forcing a spoon of medicine down my throat and beginning her check-up with a vigorous passion. I swallowed, smiling slightly. "Good day to you as well, Poppy."

The nurse fixed me with her glare and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud at her. But the urge died quickly when I realized that all of the other beds in the wing were occupied. Events suddenly rushed at me, and I cautiously peered out at the other patients.

There was Severus, hair remarkably clean. And there was the trademark bushy hair of Hermione Granger. Slumped over her was the long form of Ron Weasley. He grew into quite the young man.

Neville Longbottom was over treating what looked to be Luna Lovegood, though I couldn't tell for sure from my angle. When he turned, I saw the red around his eyes. I realized it had to be hard, treating so many. It was then that I remembered. His girlfriend, Cho Chang, who Harry had dated, she had died. Of course. I was there.

There were others I knew. Bill and Fleur Weasley were sitting together in the corner. Collin Creevey silently sobbing over his brother. Parvati and Padma Patil, still asleep, or unconscious. There was Dean Thomas, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Tonks, Jamila Vector, and so many more.

But he wasn't in here. I tried to tell myself that he was somewhere else. Being treated separately. Or that he was already done, he'd fully recovered. He always did heal fast. But I couldn't fool myself for very long. Ron had stirred as I made note that he was still wearing his battle robes, complete with blood and tares.

As soon as he appeared fully functioning, he looked over at me, apparently checking to see if I was awake. I knew as soon as I saw his eyes. There was no doubt. Still he stood, walked over to me. I suppose he saw the fear in my eyes, because he dropped to his knees as he reached me.

"No." It was all I could manage to get out. I didn't sound like myself, where minutes ago I had jested with Poppy. Ron simply looked at me.

"Yes," he whispered. I stared, blank, un-accepting as Ron's hands began to shake. He was reduced to sobs in an instant. I tried to reach out to grasp his shoulder. But my hand weighed far too much to move.

Had I had food in my stomach, I most assuredly would have made quite a mess on the white linen sheets. As it was, I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I remember looking back at Ron. And this time I succeeded in touching him. I pulled him up to me, clutching to him with all of my power.

He and Hermione were like my niece and nephew now. I knew them so well. I sometimes wondered, if James and Lily and Sirius had lived, would I know these two like I do? I always felt guilty. Of course I would much rather have them alive than to know Ron and Hermione. But I'm not so sure anymore. Not now. With so many gone.

Poppy seemed hesitant to break Ron and myself apart, but she gave me a clean bill of health. I immediately vacated the bed I was in. There were enough patients in there without her and Neville having to worry about me.

Ron tried to stop me, but I just walked out of the hospital wing. I knew he would not follow me. Hermione had yet to awaken, and he would not desert her. He needed her. Now more than ever before.

I don't know where I intended to go. I didn't have an office here anymore. I almost went to Dumbledore's office. Before I remembered he would be with Minerva. Filius had been released from the hospital wing, as Poppy had told me. But he and his wife would already be gone to be with their children. Rowena, if I knew her, would be on the Quidditch pitch, forcing her pain and frustration out on the quaffe or a bludger.

I found myself walking there despite myself. I summoned his broom on the way out. I had been right. Rowena was on the pitch, only with her were Fred and George Weasley along with the Hufflepuff keeper, Ahila Balba.

"Hullo," Fred called in subdued greeting. The others stopped their half-game.

"Good. Get on that broom," Rowena ordered. "You and I can give Balba a good work-out."

I nodded, easily kicking the Firebolt into the air. I pulled up to George as Rowena went to fetch the balls. He glanced at me, as if afraid to look.

"Been in his stuff yet?" he asked softly. "I thought you were in the hospital wing." I shrugged. It would do me no good to pretend I didn't know who George was talking about.

"Poppy gave me a clean bill. Figured I was just taking up space," I muttered. I hesitated before going on. "I just summoned the broom. First thing that came to mind, you know?"

"Yeah," Fred said, having flown up on my right. "Quidditch is what I think of to relieve stress. Suppose that's why George and I never wanted to go professional. Would take the fun out of it."

"And you're quite the businessmen." I couldn't help but feel proud of them. After all, they were some of the richest wizards in the world, and had never even taken N.E.W.T.s.

We played quidditch nearly all day. Eventually we had to eat something. And so we headed back.

I got my food from Winky. She was quite distressed over loosing Dobby, but still as hardworking as ever. I didn't feel much like being social. I thought, at first, of going through his things, but Ron and Hermione were just as much family, not to mention the rest of the Weasleys. We would do it all together. It was only right.

So I went through the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, the only untouched building in Hogsmeade's remains.

And as I sat in that room, surrounded by dust and furniture I myself had ripped, I let myself sob, as Ron had done just that morning. I curled myself into a little ball on the floor, for once out of sorrow. I can't remember how long I sat there. Ron told me later that Hermione had been so worried I'd done something stupid, as if I'd gone and killed myself.

It was Severus who had found me. He'd known where to look. I suppose that since my friends are long dead, it is he, my enemy, who knows me the best. But somehow we have changed. For Severus is my friend now, though he will not admit it. We are so alike in so many ways. And yet we are so different.

Severus sat next to me, as I lay hopeless on the floor. He didn't mock me, didn't comfort me. We were there in a silence filled with old tensions and new knowledge. He, the loyal, cunning viper. And I, the brilliant, brave wolf. Slytherin and Gryffindor. I looked at him, and he looked back at me. And for once, we could not fight. Because we both felt this entirely annoying, persistent pain.

The death of the greatest wizard we had ever known. A mere boy, really. Only seventeen. And yet, he was a greater man than either of us ever hoped to be. We both loved him, in our own way. Mine much more conventional than a spiteful, twisted form of patterned hate.

Neither of us would be the same. And perhaps it is this that has led us here. Sitting together, he and I, as we write this sad tale of a lucky boy, who, in the end ran out of luck. It is odd to me. He has left them all confused. After all, the boy took on the world. What are we to do now that he has been crushed by it? It is most tragic. In the end, he could not save himself, only the rest of us.

I suppose he was a Gryffindor till his death. And yet, he is such a Slytherin, bringing Severus and I together as friends. Maybe it is fate after all, not the working of Harry Potter.

But Harry was an amazing wizard. One can never guess what little tricks he left for us. The best of Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle rolled into one.

And there you have it. A more tragic tale you will never hear, than the boy who lived to die, so as to save us all.

Sincerely

Remus J. Lupin