A/N: This is a fairly short chapter as I'm just setting it up. And I will only say it once, Harry Potter and his world does not belong to me. No need to repeat it every chapter, hm?

Oh, and so I don't get idiots flaming me later because of their narrow-minded views, this story will contain SLASH hears the gasps. If you don't like boy/boy, girl/girl, or anything beyond straight relationships, (though there will be them too) I'd advise you to not bother reading this story. Any flames I get will be used to cook scrumptious goodies to share with everyone else.

Now, enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Funeral

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It was a balmy summer afternoon on the normally quiet street of Privet Drive. Summer was just coming into its own power but the heat had not become so fierce that it drove the residents to be inside to bask in the air conditioning. The previous year of drought was gone, thanks to a forgiving rainy season, and the watering restrictions had long been removed, a fact that left neighbours without much to gossip about anymore.

Well, except for the smoldering remains of a house where Number Four Privet Drive had once stood.

It had been a fire started by a group of arsonists that had started the blaze, and as it had been at night, most everyone in the neighbourhood already had curtains drawn and couldn't see the flames. The Longview's, who had been having a bit of a late party going on inside their own home were the first to notice the blaze when bidding a leaving guest good night and ran out to help. But the fire's heat was so intense it was melting the asphalt of the road, making it treacherous and downright impossible to cross safely. So all they could do was call for help that arrived too late to save anyone inside.

It was then a large lot of funny-looking people began showing up, and questioning just about everyone in the vicinity who had seen it. They assumed it was some special task force from the police, though with such odd uniforms, the majority of neighbours were glad when they had finally left. The one the Longview's remembered the most, as they told their neighbours who asked for a recount, was a fair-haired man all donned in raggy clothes digging through the rubble. He was the one who came out clutching the body of that Potter boy.

"The look on his face, you might 'ave thought he was a relative of that troublemaker," said Blaine Longview. "And then some old woman showed up and led 'im off. Not one of 'em even bothered asking about the Dursley's. Left it to the police, they did. A very weird lot... Lucky thing the family was out for the night, the brat had it coming to 'im..."

That comment would be the bearer of more gossip, since Arabella Figg had been standing nearby and heard it. People, if not speaking about the fire, were discussing old Mrs Figg's vicious right hook that knocked Blaine Longview out.

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Remus Lupin just sat next to his old schoolmate in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place along with most of the house in the room. Everyone seemed to have shown up for the Portkey to the funeral of one Harry Potter, though most of the adults were ingesting a fair amount of alcohol to drown themselves out of sorrows. Remus, indeed, was sloshed, but not enough to where he did not notice the looks he received, or those Ron and Hermione were getting over the tops of their Butterbeer. To everyone, their grief merely appeared because they had all been close friends. No one knew the deeper reason behind Remus' heartache that threatened to consume him, the ties to the Marauders that could never be broken.

'Lily, I failed you once more,' he thought, looking forlornly at his half-empty glass. 'I couldn't protect you and now I couldn't protect Harry...'

"It's time to go, everyone," came McGonagall's voice from the doorway, catching many people by surprise. Remus, though heavily intoxicated, still managed to get to his own feet and joined everyone over at the Portkey: Harry's old Firebolt, an object he had left behind with Ron along with his most precious belongings at the end of the school year. As his friends remembered the last time seeing him with a smile, he apparently didn't want to risk bringing them home to the Dursley's this year, in case they found out about Sirius...

"Harry always disliked Portkeys," murmured Hermione, the statement followed by the accompaniment of the body-wracking sobs she had been dealing with ever since they had told her and Ron the news and they had seen the body of their dear, defeated friend. They knew that in war, especially with the prophesy, it was likely their friend was going to die, but... not like this. Not in some twist of fate that was so mundane compared to what he had been up against; the reality of it was too much. Ron simply wrapped an arm about her shoulder and touched the Portkey for her, when all the Order members vanished to the lawns of Hogwarts. Not by the lake with Dumbledore, no. Here, out by the Quidditch Pitch, was where their friend would be laid to rest, at his home and close to where he had found freedom and serenity despite the heavy burden on his shoulders.

Several people had turned out for the event, but the atmosphere was not so much a grieving one as a foreboding feeling which made the newly arrived members get the chills. The death of Harry Potter, though not at the hands of the Dark Lord, was a great blow to the war effort. After all, Harry had been the icon of light for the wizards as Fawkes was for the Order. Without him having bound everyone together for a common cause, people who thought they had been on the winning side were heading off to Voldemort, certain now he would win. In their minds, Albus Dumbledore had shown his age in the past few years, and wouldn't be around long enough to defeat You-Know-Who. But now Harry Potter, who had been the last straw, was gone.

"Really, disgraceful how they placed all their hopes on one boy," Remus said disgustedly, clearly showing dislike that figures such as the recently booted Fudge and Rita Skeeter were here, two people who did not even like Harry. McGonagall, who was accompanying him, only blew her nose in assent and sat down in the nearest chair. Remus, knowing his escort would not be getting up to sit closer, sighed and sat down with the other staff, former and present. After all, no one perceived him as any more than Harry's professor and possibly James' friend.

The shock of that night was perhaps still ongoing even now for Remus, of learning everything he had, seeing everything he had. Like for one, that no one inside Grimmauld place even knew what wards were going off. It took Remus arriving from a mission to finally recognize them for what they were. Then they had to get everyone together, send some to alert the Aurors, others to get a Healer down there, and finally set up a task force. All the while, Remus knew something was terribly amiss and several times had to be stopped from just Apparating down there by himself, damned Deatheaters or not!

By the time they had run from the Apparition point a few blocks away from the residence, the sight of the collapsed house was all they had. No Dark Mark hung over the ruins, no gloating masked figures terrorizing the neighbours, just... an accident. Remus could still smell the smoke in his sensitive nose, and the sickening smell of fumes from heated Muggle household cleaners and gas. That nauseating feeling stepped up when he did not see Harry around here amongst the Muggles. Even a singed Harry would have been a welcome sight, but no. Instead, he headed towards the house's ruins and began digging through the burning hot wood and brick, feeling a gut-wrenching deja vu of that night sixteen years ago.

And there, after turning over a door with ten different locks and broken beams, was Harry. He immediately knew something was the matter when he went to pick up the pale boy when things began bending directions they shouldn't have bent, and immediately made a stretcher, bringing him back out, looking lost for everything as McGonagall ushered him and the stretcher away.

Surely, surely Harry would be okay. It only looked like he'd been knocked out and burned, that was it...

'But he wasn't,' thought Remus as the eulogy took place, tears flowing down his cheeks. 'He won't ever be...' His thoughts drifted, not paying attention to the first words as one person after another got up and said their piece about Harry. While the first words and speeches had been from officials and politicians who spoke of the Boy Who Lived, it was only the speeches from his former classmates that did him justice.

The ones who could look past the mask the boy had been forced to wear. They had only seen Harry, and that was who they were crying for.

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Hermione and Ron moved away after the main funeral, where now people were talking generally. Harry's casket of rich mahogany was buried, the white marble marker already magically moved over the spot so one would forever know who rested beneath. It had been more than difficult for the two to sit there and watch that box be buried and listen to Fawkes' mournful songs while people spoke, for the bird had shown back up after weeks of disappearing. They were offered apologies and sympathies by their classmates who had shown up. The Weasleys, seen as Harry's unofficial family, were receiving them which had allowed the two this small escape over to a nearby tree. Hermione leaned into it, Ron in front of her, holding her hands in his.

"Thank goodness it was a closed casket," Hermione said finally, using her already damp handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Ron agreed. Harry's body after clearing it off ash was found badly burned and so broken he might as well have been a smashed doll.

"He wouldn't have wanted everyone gawking at him, even in death would he?" he joked weakly, and both gave a little chuckle. Somewhere, Harry was rolling his eyes at all the attention he was getting for just dying, they were sure of it. Probably amongst being prodded by Sirius and hopefully, his parents.

They were silent for a while, each thinking over memories, and of the last three days. Harry was supposed to have been safe at Privet Drive, and yet... both knew he never had been.

"I can't believe Dumbledore sent him back there so many years, after knowing how they mistreated him! Or why McGonagall let him go back this time! What point is there being defended from Deatheaters if your own family..." he finally said in a vehement voice, eyes shutting tight in their sadness and fury. He wouldn't cry. "And all those injuries..."

They went on discussing it for a while, before they finally were just too exhausted. By that point, they were called back over by the patriarch of the redheads to go back. Neither of them saw a hooded figure that immerged from the other side of the tree where they had just been.