Title: Eulogy
Author: Wiremess
Rating: PG-14
Dislaimer: I own nothing, not even the idea. I'm so deprived.
Summary: Even after war, death is inevitable.
A/N: R&R please! I'd much appreciate it.
The Gryffindor Common room was dark and empty. The only light came from the few embers still flickering in the fireplace from ealier that evening. The place that had once brought him so much joy and had been the place for so many years before was now cold and isolating. There was not laughter of students, no loud sudden bangs as some random joke or trick was played... There was nothing now.
He felt his way over to a table in the center of the room and sat down, placing the contents of his small napsack on the table. He looked at the parchment and quill for a moment and hesitated before reaching for them.
But he had to leave them something.
The embers flickered a bit more and with a distant prod from the young man's wand, a fire roared, illuminating the common room. The parchment was neat and clean. For a moment he just sat there looking at it's mocking perfection. Then he picked up his qill, dipped it in the ink and brought it down to crush the illusion.
He didn't know what to write. How does anyone know what to write at a moment like this? All the things he had planned to say were gone, replaced by an oddly sick feeling and complete confusion. He just wanted things to make sense for once.
After a moment, he was able to compose himself.
Starting at the parchment once more, he placed the quill back down and began to write. He smiled a bit as his looping handwriting flowed across the page, his feelings flooding on to paper showing the cold, blunt truth of his life.
Looking down at his completed composition, he wondered what had gone wrong in his life. What had he ever done to deserve all of this? Why did all the people he knew have to keep dying? He just couldn't grasp the concept of his miserable existance. He could not grasp any reason to bother with it.
He'd found it in his uncle's home years after the other man's death.
At first, he had been alarmed, uncertain what to do with it. He had simply come to collect some of his uncle's effects and instead found it.
Now it sat on the table before him above the parchment.
Any muggle would have feared it, shown it the proper respect it deserved.
For the moment, he disregarded it completely. He grabbed an envelope and folded his letter neatly before placing it gently into the envelope and sealing it with a simple stamp. He was not compelled to hurry, there was no reason to hurry.
He placed the envelope on the mantle, securing it between a number of pictures and small keepsakes that had assembled there over the summer. There were pictures of the beach, of the forests with Firenze, and of the Keep down on the grounds. Several shells, a couple of unusually shaped and colored rocks from the forests, one of Dobby's old hats...
He regarded them all in turn.
What few good memories there were to counter the others.
Too few.
He checked to make sure the letter was safely on the mantle before returning to the table. He took a moment to place the spare parchment as well as the quill and ink away in a cupboard by the stairs. Then he came back and calmly sat back down at the table.
There it was.
The answer to everything.
He smiled and picked it up, regarding it now with the respect it deserved.
It could solve all the problems.
It only took a moment.
Severus Snape heard the sharp crack from down the corridor. For a moment, he was uncertain as to where exactly the sound had come from. However, looking about him, he quickly realized that he was near the Gryffindor Common Room. He ran to the place where he found the picture of the Fat Lady. She seemed rather shocked, curious and confused.
"Let me by woman!" he growled.
"Oh... oh, Professor, I'm afraid I'll need a-"
"Damn your ruddy password!" Snape shouted. "Let me in, damn you!"
Despite his remarks, the Fat Lady regarded, swinging open to allow him to enter the common room.
The momen the had entered he began to hope she had not given in.
"Harry?" A woman yelled down the steps of the men's dormitories. "Harry? Harry, what's going-"
Her sentence was interrupted by her own piercing scream. The infant Snape could now see in her arms was balling uncontrolably, obviously quite frightened by the loud sound that had awakened him. He didn't understand what his mother did.
Snape rushed to them, take the woman and child into his arms and holding them back.
"Harry!" she sobbed as the greasey professor held her back. "Nooo! Harry!"
A moment later, Dumbledore rushed in and upon seeing the young man's body, immediately knew what had happened. His face was downcast and weary and his eyes showed a great pain they had never known before.
And, though they hadn't noticed, the letter still remained securely amongst the pictures and keepsakes on the mantel.
It was a large ceremony, the largest that the great wizardy cemetary had ever seen. They say over one hundred thousand people came to his funeral. It seemed everyone wanted to be a part of history, to send off the great Harry Potter; no longer the boy that lived, he was now the boy that died and everyone wanted to see it. For the most part, the crowd was just random patrons - tourists.
But there were some more prominent faces to the front. In all the pictures plastered about on papers and magazine covers, they're downcast faces and teary expressions would stand out, drawing more attention than the actual text of the stories.
There were, of course, the family. Minister Arthur Weasley had stopped all the workings of the Ministry to set up the funeral service. He was now in attendence, burying yet another son. His wife stood with him with the strong, determined face of a woman who had done this far too many times before.
With them were their surviving sons. Fred and George stood together, engulfed in each other's sorrow. Their usual dragon skin suits were discarded and exchanged for these plain black outfits. Charlie stood with them, his wife hanging onto his arm trying not to breakdown in tears once again. Their children were home with her mother. They hadn't wanted them to be here for this.
Dennis Creevey stood out amongst the many. Originally such a small, thin boy, he now measured over six feet in height and, though he hated to admt it, his width was beginning to slowly increase. He stood with several other recognizable faces. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley. There was Alicia Spinnet with Katie Bell and Lee Jordan to their right.
The surviving members of Dumbledore's Army, too, had done this before.
All too often before.
Hermione was towards the front, trying her best to avoid the rest of them. Her young dauther, Ella Weasley, was happily mounted upon the shoulders of her stepfather. She giggled and shreiked in joy as he raised her onto his shoulders. With a quick whisper, Draco took the girl down and instead held the five year old in his arms a moment. His wife was right. This was a time for mourning.
They had all lost a dear friend.
But the most prominent face was that of young Miss Ginny Weasley. But even more so was the of the last surviving Potter. Ronald James Potter rested peacefully in his mother's arms for the moment, well eaten and now resting. She stood with Dumbledore and Snape but said nothing. There was no need.
Everyone knew.
She had known she would never have been able to say anything. Dumbledore had know it too. He didn't trust even himself to speak. Instead, he had called on one of Harry's dearest friends to prepare the eulogy. She was was amply suited for the task. Luna Lovegood was no longer the disillusioned young girl she had once been. She had grown in the past years into one of the greatest historians to ever live and she had turned the Daily Prophet into a respectable print once again in her current tenure as editor.
As she approached the pulpit, everyone quieted. Everyone wanted to know what she would say, what she could say to make this all okay. Because it wasn't okay. It wasn't acceptable.
None of it was.
As Luna began to speak, no one really listened. Her words washed over them, lulling them into a false sense of serenity. For Harry Potter, there had never been any serenity, no peace, no comfort. Perhaps they were meant to believe there finally was now.
Regardless, the attendees and historians would only remember one prhase. "For, in death, eternal peace let's heroes finally lay down the weight of their world."
And as she finished, Ronald James Potter stirred in his mother's arms. But he did not start and he did not cry. Instead, he watched as his father's coffin was slowly lowered into the earth. Though he did not understand, that was the last image he would ever have of his father.
And everyone knows little boys always want to grow up to follow in their father's footsteps.
"...And when all is said and done, will you even remember who I was? Write me a book and fill it with facts. But forget who I am because I'm not worth remembering. Remember everyone I caused to suffer. Remember everyone who I drove into death and pain. Remember them because they are the heroes.
"I am no hero."
- Harry Potter
(1981-2001)