Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't have named Snape … well, Snape. I feel the slightest amount of pity for him. It's just a little too close to snap. snaps fingers maniacal laughter Yes, well, I don't own Harry Potter. Have a chapter.
Chapter Four
Grave Dangers
"Sirius?" Hermione said the next afternoon as she lightly knocked on the man's door and then pushed it slightly open. Dumbledore had arranged for him to stay in a room at the Leaky Cauldron until different accommodations could be provided.
"Hermione?" Sirius looked up at the door hopefully. "Is that really you?" Sirius saw his godson's friend and began to wonder if what he had been told the previous day, what he had cried himself to sleep over, what he had had nightmares of, had been a lie, a prank, or even a horrible dream.
"Uh-huh. How are you?" Hermione looked nervous. She was kneading the material of her coat, wringing her hands, and flexing her fingers in turn. Sirius's climbing hopes came to a crashing stop.
"How long?" he rasped as she made to sit on one of the two chairs in the room. She froze as he asked.
"What?"
"Hermione! You know what I mean!" Sirius cried in anguish, trying to hold back the tears. "How long – has Harry been dead?"
"Oh, Sirius," Hermione moaned as she collapsed in a heap onto the chair, her face hidden in her hands. "Four years," she sobbed.
"What?" Sirius said in stunned reverence.
"He's been gone for four and ½ years," Hermione whispered as she lowered her hands to reveal her red swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks.
Sirius could feel the tears welling up and spilling over, but didn't try to check them. "How?" he asked quietly averting his eyes from her gaze of empathetic pity.
"At the beginning of our sixth year Harry didn't show up on the train to Hogwarts. Before that, he hadn't shown up at Diagon Alley when we invited him to come get supplies with us, either. We got a letter from him saying that he had already been there and that he'd see us on the train. I think that it was a fake and I think that Dumbledore and Ron and the others agree with me. Anyway, he didn't show up on the train and he wasn't at the feast either. McGonagall called us to her office to ask if we knew where he was. We gave her the letter that said that he'd be on the train and that if the Dursley's caught him sending owls, they wouldn't let him come. We thought that he might just be there, waiting for someone to come get him and bring him to Hogwarts. The next morning he still wasn't back. There was apparently a story all over the Muggle news about a customer at some diner in London calling the police about screams heard in the alley between it and another building. When the police got there, they found an empty birdcage and a puddle of blood. Ron and I didn't know about that story for a while. The same day, after breakfast Dumbledore and McGonagall took us up to the Headmaster's chambers. Hedwig was there, but she was covered in blood and a lot of it wasn't even hers. I knew that something bad had happened to Harry then. I knew it, and I think that Ron did too, by the way we both walked around the rest of the day and a while afterwards too.
"Dumbledore himself went to the Dursley's to find out if they knew where Harry was. I don't know how he did it, or what he did to them, but he found out. That story was about Harry; the Muggle blood tests confirmed that with the blood. They told him that on Harry's birthday they got a call from a man, probably a Death Eater, and he told them to take Harry to King's Cross and take him to the back of the parking lot and give them to five people wearing long black coats and masks. The Dursley's did it. They did it and may they be condemned for it!" Hermione spat vehemently.
"Voldemort gave them 50,000 pounds for it. Dumbledore cursed each one of them. It's actually rather humorous, in a grim, malicious sort of way. He told Petunia that for every pence of the money that the household spent she would get one more wrinkle on her face, another gray hair would appear, and a quarter-hour of her life would vanish. And that pig cousin of his." She laughed ruthlessly, a cruel gleam in her eyes. "For every pound he gained he would experience the exact same harassment and beatings that he gave Harry, both waking and unconscious. And the cruel Uncle Vernon. Every time that so much as thought an ill word against Harry, he would relive all the pain that Harry had experienced during his death. I don't care if anyone calls it cruel and unusual punishment, I think that it's justice!" Hermione declared, her eyes still streaming. "It'll serve them right for what they did to Harry all his life!
"Before the Christmas holidays, Ron and I begged our families to let us go with Dumbledore and the aurors on a search for Harry. After a while they gave in, as long as we stayed with them, and Ron's family was going too. Then we asked Dumbledore. He was a bit easier to convince, but not much. Then at Christmas, we left with them and took off to some sort of desert terrain in the states. After about a week of searching we got a lead on Harry, and acted on it. Early the next morning, we left for the place where he had been sighted. Tonks saw something black sticking out from under a rock. Ron and I ran over to it. Ron got there first and pulled it out." Her voice broke and she buried her face again. "Oh Sirius! It was Harry's skeleton. It had some really ragged Hogwart's clothes on it and it was black. Voldemort burned him to death Sirius! His skeleton was pitch black and there was only one whole tooth left. Molly Weasley took Ron and me away while the others searched around. Under the rock, they found Harry's glasses, his wand, and a note. After a bit more searching, they found his trunk with all of his belongings." The note said: 'Here's your savior, Dumbledore.' in green ink.
Sirius stood up, startling Hermione. He just stared at the door with a dumbfounded look etched on his face. Sirius knew that he was in denial, not willing to accept all of this horrid information that had just been flooded upon him. He knew that he was in shock, but he didn't care and he didn't try to do anything to bring himself back to the present and reality. He was reliving in his mind everything that had happened with himself and his beloved godson. When Lily and James had told them that they were going to have a baby; when they had asked Sirius to be their child's godfather; when they had brought the new baby boy home; he remembered Harry's first birthday. And he remembered when he had had to hand Harry over to Hagrid that horrible Halloween night. He remembered knowing that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to Lily and James of taking care of Harry and protecting him when Peter killed all those people and vanished into the sewer. Then, twelve years later, he recalled seeing a clone of James with Lily's eyes that night on Magnolia Crescent; he recalled seeing Harry playing Quidditch and recognizing that he was just as good a Seeker as his father had been. He remembered their reunion in the shrieking shack and when Harry had finally believed Sirius when he said that he would have died to save his parents. He remembered Harry's gallant rescue of him, and all of the letters that they had exchanged over the two years previous to his disappearance and Harry's death. He recollected on when he had felt such passionate relief when the boy had emerged from the maze and the final test of the Triwizard Tournament, which turned to profound concern when he saw Harry's condition. He recalled his intense worry when he heard that Harry had gone to the Ministry of Magic of a rescue mission once again for him. He remembered falling through the black void beyond the veil and distantly hearing Harry's anguished cry for him and then a shout that vibrated through his whole being, a shout that spoke all of Harry's sorrow and hatred in just three words: "SHE KILLED SIRIUS!"
He didn't know how he had migrated over to the window or when, and he wasn't at all aware that Hermione had followed him and was now hovering worriedly by him. He only became aware of the world around him when three sincere words came unbidden to his lips. "Forgive me James."
Six Months Later
"What can I say about Harry?" Ron said gravely to the listening crowd, his eyes already glistening. It looked like almost the entire wizarding world had turned out for the funeral. "He was my best friend. The only person who ever came close was Hermione. Harry was the most courageous man I ever knew. Even though he never lived to reach that manhood, he was more of a man than so many in our society who claim that title. He never did anything for himself, really. In his first year at Hogwarts, at only eleven years old, he saved the entirety of the school, and possibly even the world, from the return of Lord Vol- well He-Who-Mus- Ah screw it! Harry had the will power to say it and the Dark Lord did more to him than to anyone else. Voldemort." A ripple of shudders passed through the entire audience when Ron spoke the name that no one dared. "In his second year," Ron continued on defiantly towards the crowd, as if speaking an ancient ballad, "he braved the Chamber of Secrets to save my little sister, Ginny, from the memory of V-V-Voldemort's sixteen-year-old self as Tom Marvolo Riddle. He faced a basilisk alone, with nothing but a sword, an old hat, and Fawks, the phoenix. In his third year, Harry had to face dementors that were sent to guard the school. The effect that the dementors had on him was worse than it could have ever been. Every time one got near him, he heard his father tell his mother to take Harry and run since V-Voldemort had found them. He heard his mother's last wish as she pleaded with V-Voldemort to kill her and spare Harry. The dementors almost succeeded in administering the Kiss on him while he tried to produce a corporeal Patronous powerful enough to ward off the dementors who were advancing on him, Hermione, his godfather Sirius, and me. He was forced to enter the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year when a servant of his enemy placed his name in the Goblet of Fire in an attempt to deliver him into Voldemort's hands. I was guilty of jealousy at this point. I thought that Harry had placed his name in the Goblet because he wanted more attention. The truth is Harry never wanted all the attention he got. He hated his scar and everyone's gawking because the only reason that he got all of it was because his parents and so many others had died and he hadn't. Still in his fourth year, he had to watch Cedric Diggory die and then witness the return of Voldemort. Then in his fifth and his final year at Hogwarts, he had to endure everyone calling him a liar about his testimony of V-Voldemort's return. Then he selflessly went to the Ministry to try to save his godfather, whom Voldemort had tricked Harry into thinking was a captive. Then he had to watch as Sirius died, falling through the veil, never to return, at least in his lifetime. I don't care if everyone calls it Harry's need to 'play hero,' because it wasn't. Harry was just the kind of person who did things for others without thinking of himself. And that's what it was. If it had been anybody else, Harry would have gone after 'em just to rescue 'em, without another thought for himself or the publicity and popularity gained by the deed. And I say shame on anyone who thinks so.
"It's really a disgrace to Harry that it's been almost four years since his death and now we're having the funeral. It's complete idiocy that the Ministry confiscated his body – er, well, his remains – and didn't let us honor Harry's memory for this long. But now we can, and we will. I don't know about the rest of you lot, but I intend to honor the name of Harry James Potter for the rest of my life, since Harry can't do it for his." At this point Ron's voice broke into racking sobs that were previously checked. He tried to control it, but couldn't. He managed to swallow one down long enough to croak out a husky 'Thank you' and, with red eyes streaming, stepped off of the raised podium and into the crowd who made way for him. Hermione caught him as he stumbled up to her and bent his head to cry into her hair. She leaned into his chest and cried just as hard while they awkwardly tried to comfort each other. Neither paid much mind when one of their party left to venture up to the now vacated dais.
Ron vaguely became aware of the speaker as Albus Dumbledore said, "I had the pride, privilege, and pleasure of serving as Headmaster to Hogwarts during Harry's time there. He was a man of many virtues and talents. But he, like all of us, was only human. He had faults and flaws in his being, as do we all." The crowd began to murmur quietly as the Professor said this. Ron knew exactly what they were thinking, having similar thoughts himself as he raised his head in disbelieving protest. Was he going to give a eulogy for Harry that focused on his imperfections?
Dumbledore knew what was running threw his audience's minds and held up a hand to subdue them. "As previously mentioned in Mr. Ronald Weasley's speech in Harry's name, Mr. Potter usually only thought of the benefit of others. Most of his acts were done without thought to his own needs and wants. He selflessly braved the endeavor to protect the Sorcerer's Stone, boldly ventured into the bowels of the Hogwarts castle into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue a fellow student, endured the tortures the dementors faced him with, dueled bravely with Lord Voldemort upon his return to full power, and once again heedless to his own situations, strode purposefully into the Minsitry of Magic to rescue his only family left from the Dark Lord. It was a very rare occasion that Harry stopped to consider himself.
"Harry was a proud man. He would automatically defend the memory of anyone and also defend a friend for her or his benefit. He did not take insults to himself or anyone lightly, boldly and without delay speaking out. Even when the times were hard and the odds were against him, Harry always stayed beside those whom he valued.
"He was also conniving, resourceful, and quick-witted. He would use whatever means were given him to achieve his end. He would also strike up plans and bargains and instantly catch on to his surroundings and circumstances. Depending on the person, these can be dangerous attributes, but with Harry, they were a benefit to all around him. The only fault I can give to these qualities is that they are some of those that Lord Voldemort himself prizes." Another ripple spread throughout the on looking crowd of rapt listeners at the mention of the name.
"And now I will not hesitate to brag about Harry's virtues and talents, because I daresay he had enough of them to comment on. He was an exceptional pupil; average in some ways, but exceeding and leaving behind expectations in many, many others. In Harry's first year, he rose superbly to the challenges presented against him and he once again came to clash – much sooner than I could have ever anticipated – with Lord Voldemort. He not only prevailed in his struggle against the Dark Lord, but also deferred his return. In Harry's second year, Harry once again met confrontations that full-grown wizards had not triumphed over. He altruistically went into the Chamber of Secrets to save a dear companion. And then, as we entered Harry's third year at Hogwarts, Harry fought to resist the dementors and their horrendous effect upon him and so doing topped his year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He reunited with his godfather Sirius and learned the truth about how and why his parents died and who was truly to blame. In his fourth year Harry exceeded all expectations by, not only surviving the Triwizard Tournament, but also winning, even though he gives all credit to Cedric Diggory, who agreed to call the match a draw, split the winnings, and still claim a Hogwarts victory. Harry showed his true integrity after witnessing his fellow classmate's murder. In his fifth year, when the teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts failed to provide any hands-on experiences, he set up a little club that met at various times to teach the students of Houses Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw the materials that they needed to know. He and his friends flatteringly dubbed it the D.A., or Dumbledore's Army. He had the valor and fortitude to travel to the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic to save a dear friend whom he had come to recognize as both father and brother. He also had to witness this man's – for lack of a better word – death – for you see him here before you. Harry also learned a gruesome, bitter truth that year which I will not impart for the fact that it was Harry's and Harry's alone to tell.
"And so you see that Harry – goodness, I can't believe that I must finally speak it after all this time – was one of the best people that one could ever find, even if the entire world was searched. He may be gone from this world, but he is not gone from our minds and I for one know that he will, personally, always be an influence on my life. Thank you," Dumbledore finished, and he stepped down from the pedestal with bright, glistening eyes.
Sirius's eyes were overflowing with the tears that spoke his sorrow. He wanted to leave, to curl up in a corner and cry and sob and wail, unrestrained by the formalities and poise required in public. He wanted to disappear, to fall into the empty void of darkness that he had so recently escaped from. He wanted to return, to not feel anything, to join up with Harry once again in the afterlife. But he couldn't. He had fought so hard while in the boundary of life and death to come back to be with Harry, but it was all to no avail. Every ounce of energy that he had spent to return to life and his body had been wasted; they were worthless, meaningless items and specks of his foolish stalwartness. If he had only given up, Harry would have been there and he could be with him right now. He would not be feeling such a deep, penetrating anguish that seemed to engulf his entire body. He had never been so acutely aware of the weight of his heart and there seemed to be a deep, menacing blackness that threatened to devour him from within, which Sirius would have presently accepted with welcome. Anything would be better than the total despair he was experiencing.
There had been so many eulogies for Harry, and Sirius would have gladly shouted to the world the love that he felt for his godson, but if he so much as inched toward the momentarily vacated plinth, he would burst into fresh, enlivened tears of anguish and grief. Everyone who knew who he was who was close enough to see would look at him with such fresh, genuine pity that it would only hearten his tears into more activity and throw into an even sharper relief his raw, gaping wounds of agony and loss.
He now stood in front of the open gravesite, rubbing his already dripping hands across his soaked, gaunt face, only to have it replaced by the free flowing tears. He stared uncomprehending at the headstone, reading it over and over again, not really seeing the writing etched in stone that made it all definite. His eyes at long last linked with his brain:
Here lies
Harry James Potter
The Boy Who Lived
July 31, 1990 – December 23, 2006 (?)
Murdered by the Dark Lord
Beloved friend, pupil, and godson
Always remembered in our lives, minds, and hearts
Rest In Peace
Sirius continued to stare at the headstone, thinking that something about it wasn't right. What could it be? Hadn't Ron, Hermione, the Weasley family, Tonks, Moody, Remus, Shacklebolt, and Dumbledore gone over the appropriate wording and style and every detail with precision? What could possibly be wrong with it after all that deliberation? Ah, yes, Sirius realized after long last. 'Dark Lord' should not be there. Harry called him by his chosen, grisly name. It should be Voldemort. And so, even though metal and stone – especially marble – were extremely hard to channel magic through because of their unwieldy physical state, Sirius thrust his hand into a pocket and extracted his new 13" oak wand with Unicorn hair at its heart. Bringing it to bear at the gravestone, Sirius mumbled an incantation that he was sure he had never heard before and then rumbled, "Voldemort." There was a thundering boom that vibrated his very core and a sudden wind rose up from the ground to play havoc with his newly cut, shoulder length hair, making each lock and tress swirl around him in an intricate dance. And before his eyes, Sirius saw the engraved writing of 'Dark Lord' lift and fill itself in, becoming smooth and flawless with the rest of the uncut marble stone. Then, in the same curving script, 'Voldmort' etched itself in the erased writing's place. Sirius looked upon the marble with satisfaction.
Here lies
Harry James Potter
The Boy Who Lived
July 31, 1990 – December 23, 2006 (?)
Murdered by Voldemort
Beloved friend, pupil, and godson
Always remembered in our lives, minds, and hearts
Rest In Peace
That's better, Sirius thought, eyes still streaming and his hair settling. Harry would have wanted it like that. He was startled out of his reverie when a beautiful snowy owl suddenly lighted on the peak of the marble headstone. "Hedwig," Sirius whispered as he took a small step forward to retrieve the bird from her grim perch. She screeched defiantly at him, halting his progress toward her. She then looked sorrowfully down at the coffin and gave a plaintive cry. She repeated her summons again and again, unfurling her wings more each time in earnest, commanding the hidden body below to rise and return to her. But there was no response. She lifted from her roost and glided softly down to rest on the coffin's edge. She piped and nibbled at the wood, trying to open it herself.
Seeing her futile effort of loyalty, Sirius felt his heart stir and flutter. Compassion rose up in Sirius when the bird pleadingly looked up at him, bidding him to help her rouse her beloved master. He walked up to the edge and bent down, holding out his forearm for her to hop onto. She looked doubtfully up at him and then her yellow gaze returned to the black coffin.
"Come on, Hedwig," Sirius whispered huskily. "He's gone where you can't follow." Hedwig gave a soft trill of dismay, rubbing her black speckled, white head on the polished surface. "Come on, Hedwig," Sirius repeated as one of his tears splattered on the glinting black exterior, followed by several others. "I'll take care of you, girl, I promise. You're the only real part of Harry I have left." She looked up at Sirius again, regarding him with eyes brimming with sadness. She then looked back at the black shell of Harry's coffin with an expression of pure devotion. She gave a soft chirp of farewell and the hopped onto Sirius's outstretched arm, clutching it with such intensity that Sirius winced and fleetingly contemplated letting her fly alongside him or up above him. But then she ventured up his arm and onto his shoulder and rubbed her head against his wet cheek and temple and buried her beak and face in his hair, seeking comfort from the only person that her prior master had considered family.
He walked along, back up to where everyone was gathered under red and gold awnings, both giving comfort to the new addition to his life and taking from. Even though he still felt so despondent, he felt a new sense of duty to his godson. He couldn't explain what it was. Was it to take care of Hedwig since Harry couldn't? Well, that was only part of it. I'll have to think about it later, Sirius thought as he lightly caressed Hedwig, who could only be described as crying. The Weasley family, the Order's aurors, Dumbledore, Hermione, Remus, and McGonagall had seen him coming and were standing at the entrance as a bleak welcoming party. When he reached their ranks Tonks walked tentatively up to him ruffling her short raspberry maroon hair and asked softly, "Are you all right Sirius?" He nodded dumbly, not totally recovered from the loss of Harry. Then again, he probably never would be. "We knew that you were over with – with Harry," Tonks continued, sad herself, but anxious about something. "We all heard the – well, I guess it was thunder – that came from over there. What was it?" she finally asked, relenting to the urge to just ask instead of being subtle.
For the first time since Sirius had learned about Harry's death, he smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, for Sirius felt that being as happy as he had been when he had finally flown away from the clutching grasp from beyond the veil was a dreadfully far shot from his current state. It was more a smile of grim satisfaction and contentedness. "I just went over to see him; to be alone with him one last time. I did make a little change to the gravesite though." Sirius finished on the high note.
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked in a voice that was as close to a snap that any there had ever heard. Sirius was taken aback by the sudden harshness in the old man's tone. Oh, he thought, as realization dawned on him.
"Don't worry, Dumbledore," Sirius said quietly. "I wouldn't destroy my godson's resting place. I made an addition to his headstone, one that Harry would have wanted. I don't know why you all were content to have 'Dark Lord' as the murdering name etched on the stone for as long as the marble stands. Especially when Harry would have screamed at you for doing so if he was here. I changed it to 'Voldemort'."
Dumbledore smiled at him. "I didn't know that you knew the stone cutter's spell Sirius. It is a very difficult incantation and only covered briefly at Hogwarts. It's very rarely used and therefore in very few books." Sirius was about to interject and explain that he had just said the spell; that he didn't know it, but the Headmaster forestalled him. "I would have done the same Sirius," he reassured.
"Black, is that Potter's owl?" McGonagall asked abruptly. Sirius nodded. "We've been trying to locate her for – oh, I don't remember, it's been so long. Where did you find her?"
"After I put Voldemort's name on the grave marker, she landed on it," Sirius replied monotonously. "She started screaming at the coffin, like she was ordering Harry to get up. When nothing happened, she flew down and started nipping the edge, trying to open it. When she couldn't, she looked to me, imploring that I open it for her and let Harry out." Sirius thought back to the scant minutes beforehand. The fresh memory was so heart wrenching that he felt a new torrent coming on. "She was so absolutely dedicated to him," he whispered gutturally. He looked up with blurry eyes and saw that Hermione, Molly and Ginny Weasley, and Tonks were crying silently. Professor McGonagall had a handkerchief pressed to her mouth and nose and her eyes were brimming with her unshed tears. Dumbledore gently brushed away the tears from his eyes and sniffled lightly. The other men of the group, which included Kingsley Shaklebolt, Alastor Moody, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron Weasley, and Remus Lupin, were all gruffly clearing their throats, shuffling their feet, and casting their eyes skyward. Apparently he was not the only one moved by Hedwid's act of devotion.
"Well," Remus abruptly gulped. He cast a quick glance at Sirius and managed a forged smile. "I suppose that I should take you to your new home then, Sirius?" He politely inquired in a manly crusty voice. "If you're ready, that is," he added hastily. Sirius once again nodded and then gently untangled Hedwig from his hair and tenderly transitioned her to his wrist. She rapidly averted her gaze from him and the rest of the group. "Are you sure about this, Hedwig?" he asked. She turned her bright yellow eyes on him fiercely, as if daring him to give her a reason not to be sure. She ruffled her feathers and squawked haughtily at him, momentarily forgetting Harry. He smiled somnolently at her and followed Remus as he led the way.
A jolting stab of electric current shooting through him resurrected Harry. This had happened many times before. Every time Voldemort or his minions killed Harry during his torture, they either violently summoned him back to life with their newly discovered incantation (which could only revive those within a few minutes of death at most) or by actual electrocution which Voldemort had become quite affectionate of. And they seemed affectionate of killing him quite frequently also. Cursing venomously at Voldemort, Harry swore that when he finally got the chance, he would rend Voldemort into pieces so small they could pass through the eye of the needle without brushing the sides.
"Harry, Harry. You would not be suffering to this extent if you had revealed to me the true prophecy and not that condescending little quip of your own design," Voldemort sneered cruelly. He stood beside Harry, who was lying bare-chested on a crude table that wobbled with every movement. Voldemort had acquired a variety of Muggle devices used for electrocuting someone. Depending on his mood, he would use the executioners chair, place Harry in a tub of water with an electric current about to be woven through it, or do as he had done now: hook wires to Harry's upper body and send electric currents through those. At the moment, Harry had one on each temple, four on his abdomen, two on either side of his chest, and one on each of the upper arms. He couldn't move at all because Voldemort had completely immobilized him to prevent thrashing about.
"Do you feel like telling me now?" Voldemort asked patiently. "Or do you need another experience in the afterlife you seemed so keen on visiting in your cryptic message?" Without waiting for an answer, he nodded curtly to one of his henchmen, who promptly ignited the flow.
It was the worst sensation that Harry had ever been through. The pain and absolute agony flowed coarsely through him, ripping his body. And then, the now familiar heavenly floating sense would wash over him. He was finally free from everything. It was like being caught in a fast flowing stream. He knew that he was moving but there was no evidence to suggest or prove the sensation. But he didn't know where to go. As far as he could tell, there was no white light. But then, without any warning, he stopped. It was like he had been grabbed. He could still feel the invisible, chilling water pulling at him, silently urging him to follow its path. But something was restricting him, though he could feel nothing except the tug to follow the course. He could hear whispers emerging from all around him. But wasn't he alone? He didn't know; there was no life or color or shade to this place. And then he was jerked back to his severe reality.
"How about now?"
AN So…. You like? Tear jerker, isn't it?
Sorry about Ron's eulogy, it's kinda spasmodic. And when he goes and hugs Hermione and cries into her hair, I just get this image of it, wel, basically eating him. And when Dumbledore says 'pride, privilege, and pleasure' I see Geoffrey Chauser (or whatever his name is) from A Knight's Tale saying that, and I almost expect him to add: 'Thank you! Thank you, I'll be here all week!"
Didn't you just love the part about Sirius and Hedwig! I'll admit to you that I was almost crying while I wrote that part, and I actually did make "Twitchet" cry. I'm not sure if I should be proud of that or not.
Oh, and by the way, MAJOR, MAJOR, MAJOR, DOUBLED, TRIPLED, QUADRIPLED, GINORMOUS FORESHADOWING IN THIS CHAPTER!
And since I got chewed out for not mentioning her, I'll do her the biggest favor that I can think for her to make up for it. If you're into Draco/Hermione fics, you should check out Lilia Lasia. Her story, Nature's Debt, is really very good, and she's always complaining to me about how she never gets any reviews. So, if you like my stuff and want to do me a favor, shut her up. Hehe, LOVES!
I also feel that I should let you know that I'm lovin' all the reviews! I check them, like, constantly. And you know, more would always be nice for a starving author. wink, wink