Disclaimer: The characters that belong to J.K. Rowling, actually belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: So, I'm really glad I got some responses from people for this story. I hope you enjoy this second chapter. Thanks a lot.
August 5
Dear Harry,
We had your funeral today and they buried your wand. I woke myself up around dawn so I could mentally prepare myself for this, for actually admitting that you're gone. Mrs. Weasley came and got your wand from me, giving me an apologetic smile like that was supposed to be comforting. I mean, I love Mrs. Weasley to death, but I was so mad at the moment.
We all wore black, of course, but it felt all wrong, you know? I mean, I know you hate funerals and such (who doesn't?) but it just didn't seem right. This was you who we were losing, not some old person or sick person. This was Harry Potter who was gone, an eighteen-year-old boy who still had so much life to live, so much more to do, who loved to laugh, and who loved to play Quidditch nonstop. It just didn't seem natural that we sit here and cry the whole way through. And all the people who got up there to talk about only talked about the things you had done. Oh sure, they mentioned that you were a lovely boy, a kind boy, but none of them actually said anything about who you were. When it was my turn to talk, I took as long as I could, telling them all the fun stuff we, you me, Ron, and Hermione did, the things we used to talk about. I told them that there was more to you than just The Chosen One, The Boy-Who-Lived. In front of all that was the most caring, wonderful, most special person I had ever known. And that you'd be sorely missed.
They lowered your wand into the ground. I held Hermione while she cried. Your tombstone read: Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Saved-The-World. I almost laughed when I saw it, imagining how much you'd have been blushing, embarrassed. I suppose at least it wasn't something generic like 'loving friend, loving person', or something, though I would have rather had that then the ever popular The Boy-Who-blah-blah-blah (no offense).
I still hadn't cried yet, though the tears were there. I didn't think anyone would notice, but Mrs. Weasley did. She came up to me after the funeral, during the reception. I had on my little smile (you know, the smile I have that looks as if I'm slightly demented), and I was thanking people for their condolences and for their empathy. She came up to me and she said, "People often believe that in order to be strong, it means they have to keep their feelings hidden, their fear, their hurt, and their sadness. But I believe that the strongest of people know when it is right for them to feel fear or to let their tears fall. And sometimes, being strong for others means letting your self feel weak first, if only for a moment."
And so, after the reception, after everyone had gone, I went to mine, Hermione, and Ginny's room, took off that ugly, black dress and I cried. I cried for you and I cried for myself. I cried because I didn't know where or what I was going to do now that you were gone. I cried because I was scared to actually say out loud that you had . . . died. I cried because I love you.
Hermione and Ginny came into the room about an hour later. They stayed quiet while I continued to cry, Hermione sitting on my bed with me, rubbing my back. Ginny left for a moment and returned with some hot chocolate in attempts to make me feel better I suppose, but my throat was so clogged up with hidden sobs that it was hard to breathe properly.
They are gone now, downstairs with everyone else and I've finally stopped crying. It was after I stopped that I decided to write to you again. I'm not sure how many more letters I'll write in the days to come. Part of me keeps saying it's pointless, that it won't matter how many letters I write because you'll never read them or respond. But another part of me, and I'd like to think it's a bigger part, doesn't care. That part keeps telling me that maybe somehow, some way, you know that I'm talking to you and that, in your own way, you'll respond some how.
I suppose the real reason I write these letters is because in a way it makes it feel like you're still here, listening to every word I say, reading every word I write. I suppose that's pretty unhealthy and like I said, I'm not sure how many more letters I'll write. Maybe I'll write just until I know I can finally let you go. Maybe I'll write until I'm gone. I just know, for the moment, these letters, my thoughts of you are the only things keeping me sane, keeping me moving from day to day.
One thing for sure is, I love you, Harry, and I always will. That's never changing, no matter what.
Love,
Katrina.