Disclaimer: Don't own anything Harry Potter, never will. I wish I did, but dream on.
Warning: Some character deaths. DMHG, HPGW. Post- school.
Author's Note: Short lil one shot. Please review!
The scar on his head speaks for the rest of him. Courageous, brave, amazing, death defying scar. Courageous as a year old baby. How is that possible though? I will always wonder, but will never know, since no one does. Dumbledore has his theories, but God knows if they are true. His ruffled black hair looked as if he was in a constant Quidditch match, him against Voldemort in a one on one game. Both fighting for the Snitch of life. According to Dumbledore, there was a prophecy that stated that one would die in their last struggle.
Now I see his eyes, green emeralds that sparkled in the most dreadful times. I remember down in the chamber, our first intimate moment together, and his eyes were filled with hope, a small tear trickling down his face when I opened my eyes, free of possession. I hear his voice, a beckon of bravery. I recall the first time I hear his voice, as a small child waiting impatiently for her brothers to leave on the Hogwarts Express so the year could start and she could count down until it was her turn to ride the train, learn the magic, fly away. I remember him defending me, who was constantly terrorized by Draco Malfoy as a youth. Who knew he would end up on our side, in the Order of the Phoenix? Who could guess he would find love in a Muggle born witch from Gryffindor, of all houses? Draco was cute, for a Slytherin, but his personality as an underage wizard was abysmal. Not until seventh year did he come out decent, to the horror of his cronies, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Bulstrode, and especially Parkinson. She was crushed that her long time love could act this way, throwing away his pureblood beliefs. I can't believe Draco became Harry's best friend after Ron died.
Ron, my older brother and bother, fell at the hands of the Death Eaters in sixth year, his last adventure. His last, unless you count heaven or hell as one. Hopefully Ron went to heaven. After killing Bellatrix Lestrange, he should. He murdered the one who killed Sirius.
Now I see Harry's hands, grasping a quill, holding his broom, dancing with Parvati Patil at the Yule Ball. How jealous I was that day, especially when Neville stepped on my feet. I have nothing against Neville, of course, not after what's he's done for me and Harry, but he could use a few dancing lessons.
Harry's smile replaces the hands I picture. The toothy grin he possesses, smiling at a goal in Quidditch, smirking at Snape, laughing with Ron and Hermione. His laugh was adorable, filling the hearer with cheerfulness. I loved hearing it, loved making him laugh. His lips appear before my eyes. How I loved his kiss, how sweet and gentle it was. How could anyone not?
Why did it have to be Harry risking his life for everyone? I respect that he did, it made him more of a hero than he already was. But why did it have to be him risking his life for everyone he had some respect for? He saved lives. He saved me, Hermione, Neville, and even Draco. Draco, his enemy of six years. Draco, who called him "Potty" and insulted him and his parents. Draco, son of a Death Eater who was on an Imperius since the age of 2. Draco, who's Imperius Hermione removed in the sixth year. How did she see the good in him? How could anyone? All the Slytherin house saw was his blood line and his obvious hotness, his love for teasing. Once the curse was removed though, you could see his good streak. His love for teasing became his romantic side, his looks were a plus.
I smoothed the folds in my dress and looked up from my tears. Draco and Hermione were holding hands, Hermione's head on Draco's shoulder. What a cute couple they made once Draco got over his curse. Glancing behind me I saw the remaining seven Weasleys. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George. I stood at the front of them, Ginerva Weasley, youngest of the Weasley family and the only girl. Also here stood several couples. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. Percy and Penelope Clearwater- Weasley stood side by side, hand in hand, a large bulge in her stomach due to her upcoming child. George stood with Alicia Spinnet. Hagrid held hands with Madame Maxime, the two's "big bones" distinguishing them from the rest of the crowd. Several stood alone. Minister Cornelius Fudge, Rita Skeeter, whose quill was in mid air scribbling on a bit of parchment; Dedalus Diggle, Harry's biggest fan; Severus Snape and many others joined the small, tranquil crowd.
The War had caused many casualties. The Ministry estimated over two thousand Muggle deaths so far, and over one hundred prominent English wizards and witches had died as of the present time. Voldemort was still active; his Dark hand trying to creep over England, but good pushed it back. The Order of the Phoenix's small efforts kept many of Voldemort's larger goals at bay, and we had many successful raids. The raid of Malfoy Manor, to Lucius Malfoy's horror, was a success. With Dumbledore's advice, Muggle security devices kept prisoners from escaping since the dementors joined the Dark side. With a couple jinxes and loss of wands, it was successful. None had escaped in the two years the mechanisms had been in use, which called for an appreciation for Muggles throughout England on the good side. They were ordinary people, after all, and I didn't understand how people could torture them for their way of life. It was like American segregation and slavery in the early 1800s.
"Ginny?"
I walked over, no longer lost in thoughts and reminisce, and looked at the closing casket. Never again would I see this in real life, only in memory. I grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing it over the block of wood and marble descending into the six foot hole. Harry James Potter, July 31 1980 – August 13, 2000. Why did he have to die?
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