Sooo... Sorry guys. I basically dropped off the face of the planet there for awhile. Grad school does that to you, I guess. Here is a chapter in honor of the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. I actually have been writing this on my phone for quite awhile in my nonexistent spare time, but I finished it in time to post today! I hope you enjoy it! Please review with what you like or dislike and I will try to answer all reviews left while logged in.
May third dawned bright and sunny, a brilliant spring day. Tonks hated this day, she thought as she pinned a small bunch of poppies to the lapel of her black robes. The red and purple of the flowers were the only spot of color she had, and it made her think of a grotesque spot of blood and gore just above her heart. She hated this day, but she would hate it even more if it passed unnoticed.
The memorial ceremony would take place on the Hogwarts grounds, beside the lake where Dumbledore had been laid to rest twelve years before. A large monument had since been erected there, etched with the names of all who had died in both wars against Voldemort. She sat in the front row, between Kingsley and Harry. She fidgeted as the seats filled up, sweltering in her mourning robes, neck prickling with her back turned on so many in a space that never failed to take her mind to the time when to turn your back was to be dead. Her security detail was being vigilant on her behalf, but that knowledge didn't really help all that much.
She turned to search the crowd, her eyes landing on Remus, Teddy, and her mum all sitting in a row. Her mum was steadfastly not looking at Remus, and had not spoken a word to him all day to Tonks' knowledge. Teddy shifted uncomfortably between them, taking it in turns talking to his dad and grandmum.
When the chairs were filled, Kingsley approached the podium, clearing his throat. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending the eleventh remembrance ceremony of the Battle of Hogwarts. We are gathered here today, not only to mourn those we have lost, but also to appreciate what they died to save. I and the rest of the ministry would like to extend a warm welcome and our sincerest thanks to those among us who fought during the first and second wars. We also extend our deepest sympathies to those who lost a loved one to the wars. We would like everyone to observe a minute of silent, respectful silence."
The soft hum of the crowd fell silent, and the only sound to be heard was the occasional birdsong.
"Thank you," Kingsley said, "I will now read the names of our departed ones. We ask that the families of each of the fallen come to collect a memorial wreath, and set it out over the lake."
This was the longest part of the ceremony, the most important, and Tonks' least favorite. Over eight hundred names of men, women, and children were called, summoning families that still mourned after all these years. Tonks knew; she was one of them.
"Regulus Black" was shortly followed by "Sirius Black". Tonks, her mum, Teddy, Harry and Remus went forward to collect the two wreaths of purple poppies and set them out on the Black lake. The delicate petals fluttered gently in the breeze. Later, Denis Creevy collected his brother's memorial. Tonks remembered that funeral with aching sadness. Colin should not have been at the battle at all. She had never even met him when he was alive. One of her first engagements as a high ranking ministry official was a string of funerals, and Colin was not the only child warrior she saw buried.
"Albus Dumbledore" was called with no more or less prescience than any other, in alphabetical order. Minerva and Aberforth went forward to take his wreath. It was decided early on-and Tonks agreed-that he would have preferred it that way.
The call of "Alastor Moody" summoned her from her chair to collect a flower arrangement for the least flowery person she knew. She went forward alone, as he did not have any remaining family besides her, his protégée and surrogate daughter. She held back her tears. Moody would have only scolded her for letting her guard down in public anyway. The only time he condoned crying was after Sirius died. He had been uncharacteristically gentle, patting her shoulders with a "There now, lass." He had let her cry herself out then, and never thought less of her for it. It was with that thought that she let a few silent tears fall for her mentor and friend.
Not long after, "Lily and James Potter" we're called. Harry met his family in the aisle and walked forward with Ginny, who was balancing Lily on her hip with Albus and James trailing behind. The quiet reverence grew even deeper, more still. Every eye seemed to follow the Potters to honor two generations that had effectively brought about Voldemort's end with magic few knew and fewer understood.
When "Severus Snape" was called, there were still murmurs through the crowd, though his name had been on the rolls of the allied dead for five years now. The harder issue was finding someone to accept his wreath. Minerva and Harry stepped forward to take it. Harry carried Albus Severus in his arms.
"Edward 'Ted' Tonks" caused a familiar clench in Tonks' gut. She met her mum and Teddy at the front of the aisle and wrapped her arms around their shoulders before walking to accept her dad's wreath. Her mother was shaking with her sobs. This was why Tonks hated this day. It was like picking at the scab of a partially healed wound. She, too, wept, clutching Teddy to her side. They watched the wreath float away from them over the lake until it joined the others. They found their seats, and after about thirty more names, Kingsley lowered his list. "Thank you," he said softly, "Hear Auror Nymphadora Tonks will now give some closing remarks."
Tonks approached the podium slowly, clutching cue cards in her hand. She tried not to look at the crowd of eyes looking at her expectantly, instead focusing on her family, sitting close in solidarity. She drew a deep breath. "For years, I expected this day to be easier, for the blow of remembering to land softer, for the sting of loss to be numbed by time. As the years go by, I hope less that this will happen. This ceremony does not bring me comfort, and I doubt it ever will. But, I do not think that is the purpose of it. We gather to remember and to mourn and to renew our resolve that nothing like this shall occur again in our lifetimes. There are eight hundred and twenty-seven wreaths on the lake today, representing eight hundred and twenty-seven friends and loved ones who gave their lives fighting against the darkness. We owe it to them to continue in the fight, to destroy prejudice, to overwhelm hatred with love. That is their legacy. Before the war's end, I laid my son in his crib fearing for his future. I did not go a day without fearing that I would lose him. That loss is a reality that many mothers had to face. Now, my fears are much more mundane, the comparatively small anxieties all mothers feel. It is because of the people we remember today, living and dead, that is possible. That is what comforts me. It makes me have faith that one day our world's deepest wound will heal. The pain will no longer be acute. For all our sakes, I hope it scars. That way, we will always remember the gift that was given us by those who fought and we will never see the like of this again. I ask you all now, to please raise your wands, reflecting on what we have lost," Tonks raises her wand, the action mirrored more than a thousand times over, "Commonere dabimus votum," she murmured. Threads of light emerged from the the raised wands, and encircled the wreaths. They floated on the streams of light heavenward, dissolving into a soft glow that bathed the gathered crowd and shone on the clouds. Tonks rejoined her family to watch the display, joining the crowd in silent reflection. Slowly, groups began to depart to their own private ways of observing the day. The Order and their families were gathering at the Burrow for lunch.
On the way to the apparation point, Remus briefly brushed her hand. "Your speech was beautiful," he said quietly, seemingly hesitant to break the silence that still hung heavy over the mass of people walking toward the gates, "The whole ceremony actually... It was quite the thing. Peaceful and sad, just as it should be." It was then that Tonks realized that this was the first year Remus had participated in any of it. He had probably spent this day alone with his grief for over a decade. That was the purpose of this ceremony, she realized. It would always be a day of mourning, whether or not the ministry observed it as such with a service. Since they did, though, no one had to mourn alone. She took his hand briefly. "I'm glad you came today, Remus," she said softly, "It is not good for you to be alone."
