Hogwarts and Hogsmeade had turned into the hub of all Wizarding activity in the day that Harry slept away. News that Voldemort had been vanquished spread quickly all over England and then the rest of the magical world. Sixteen years before, when the Dark Lord had been rumored to have disappeared, Magicians shot off fireworks and celebrated in the streets. This time, after months of persecution, proving lineage, torture, death, constant fear for life, and upon hearing that scores of people witnessed Harry Potter obliterate He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, happy magicians were completely riotous. Out a window next to the stone staircase, Harry could see the grounds of Hogwarts were swimming with people.
"The reporters and others who came for the ceremony have been asked to stay outside," Ginny told him. Harry instinctively felt for his invisibility cloak beneath his robes. "Hogwarts has been made into a kind of hotel in the last few days for families of those who had...who needed a refuge. Anyway, you're safe in here."
He and Ginny descended to the main floor and dozens of eyes of loved ones were upon them. A large crowd had gathered within the walls, waiting to exit the school together. Everyone looked tired and thoughtful, many had visible wounds. A battle weary Seamus was standing with an equally haggard Dean. Cho and Lavender were dutifully, if not amorously, assisting Terry Boot with his crutches. Ernie MacMillan and Michael Coroner were huddled with the Patils, Parvati had a fresh gash on her arm. Katie Bell was attempting to cheer a deflated Lee Jordan. Apart from the mass of friends, Harry spotted George, alone, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, head on his knees.
"I'm going to—" began Ginny motioning toward her brother.
"Yeah," said Harry, releasing her hand. Harry watched her walk over to George, who did not acknowledge her presence. Ginny sat on the cold floor beside him and laid her head upon his shoulder. They sat in silence. Harry's stomach began to churn again.
"Give him time," said a small, familiar voice from behind Harry. He turned to see Luna. Harry smiled despite his grief and hugged her fiercely.
"It's good to see you," he told her. "And thanks for the distraction the other day. And the Patronus. You always seem to know just how to help."
Oblivious to the niceties, she said, "George will come out of this okay. You and I have managed to go on living despite all we have endured, and after some time, he'll be back to his old self."
"I hope you're right," said Harry looking toward the two Weasleys again, thinking for George to 'act like his old self' he would need to be joking around with Fred... "Hey, Luna, how's your dad?"
"I'm getting ready to see him for the first time when we go outside!" she couldn't contain her excitement, although the mood in the entryway was somber. "He's well. He left Azkaban yesterday, and my owl said he'd meet me here this morning!"
"I'm really glad he's okay." Harry and Luna were joined by a silent Ron, Hermione, and Neville; only the best of friends can be comfortable in silence. The crowd was shuffling and the doors were opening. Harry thought about Luna's painting and felt proud to be facing whatever came next with these friends.
"No one would blame you if you put on your cloak," Hermione whispered to Harry as they saw the flash of bulbs hit the first exiting down the grand marble staircase.
"Thanks, but I'm quite done with hiding," Harry said resolutely.
To his surprise, the crowd was not as exploitative as he feared. Sure, Harry saw those with cameras crane to get his picture (tall Ron and Neville foiled many clear shots). He even thought he heard Rita Skeeter talking loudly to her quill. But most were just common magicians who came to pay their respects to the fifty-seven who stood up to Voldemort and died at The Battle of Hogwarts. Complete strangers pushed through to shake Harry's hand. Women were crying, and hugging their children, and yelling their thanks to him. Still others just recognized him from his Undesirable Number One posters, and pointed and whispered that this must be the Harry Potter. Harry was relieved to see a few familiar faces as they filed into their seats: Mrs. Figg, Rosemerta, Mundungus Fletcher, Mr. Olivander. Aberforth, Mr. & Mrs. Cattermole. Harry smiled at Hesita Jones and Dedalus Diggle, the Dursleys' protectors, as he passed. What a long year they must have had. And Luna ran into the arms of Xenophilis, who apparently thought yellow was also the color for funerals.
Harry spotted a row of red-heads near the front, and followed Ron and Hermione to sit with them. He gave a weak smile to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and nodded toward Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and Percy; this was his family. Harry sat in a white folding chair beside the lake and remembered how one year ago he had been in this very spot for the funeral of Albus Dumbledore. He knew Dumbledore was not contained within his tomb; a brief image of him sitting on mounds of woolen socks flashed in Harry's mind, and he knew Dumbledore was happy in the Beyond, whatever he was doing.
"He won't come," said an exasperated Ginny to the entire row as she fell into the seat next to Harry. Mrs. Weasley wailed loudly.
"What do you mean he won't come?" asked Percy.
"I mean, I can't get George to move," said Ginny in a forced whisper. They all looked back toward Hogwarts in hopes she was wrong.
"I'll go," said Charlie standing.
"Leave him." said Mr. Weasley firmly. "We should let him deal with this his own way." And then softly he said, "We all have to deal with it our own way. George doesn't have to be with us at all times to know we love him."
Numbness settled back over Harry. Music from nowhere began playing, and the immense crowd quieted as if a silencing spell had been cast. Ginny nestled under his arm, her way of preparing for what she was about to see and hear. He saw Hermione do the same to Ron, though Harry knew that the wise Hermione was probably bracing Ron as well as herself. Again, the little man with tufty hair and plain black robes rose to address the crowd. Harry wondered who would ever choose such a miserable job. He hoped the weddings outnumbered funerals.
He only listened to parts of the commendable speech, his own thoughts were too loud for the little man to drown out. Harry was lost to his own narrative of the previous days. Nonetheless, Harry's ears perked up when he heard words the little man with tufty hair had never used before: "Harry Potter." The entire crowd seemed to find Harry in an instant. The man in plain black robes was no longer speaking, but looking directly at Harry.
Seeing his dumbfounded expression, Ron whispered, "He asked you to come to the front and say a few words... Sorry, mate." The power of speech eluded Harry at that moment. Why him? Why did no one give him warning? What would he say? Harry rose to his feet, simultaneously wishing he had instead given the little man some gesture that said he was not prepared for the task. Harry felt like the insecure 11 year old boy with the lightning bolt scar who was afraid he wouldn't be good with magic.
With each step toward the front, Harry quickly thought of things he should say. What did the people want to hear from him? What did the people need to hear? His thoughts were jumbled, and he could only think in half-sentences. Why was this so difficult? Had he not walked toward Death itself only days ago? This thought steadied him; he thought of Sirius, Lupin, and his mother and father who had walked with him. Yes, he knew what the wizarding world should hear.
As he passed her, a small witch in the front row lifted her wand and said "Forteo" with the flick of her wand toward Harry. Inside his robes, Harry had gripped his own wand, ready to shoot a counter-jinx at the witch. Luckily, before he hurt her and made a fool of himself in front of every wizard on the planet, Harry realized she was only enhancing his voice. It would take months before Harry was no longer on the defensive.
Harry nodded sheepishly toward the little man in plain black robes and took his place at the center of the podium. He looked out at the group of people gathered there, and did not see the criticizing eyes of a world who had read lies about him in The Daily Prophet. Their expression was familiar: sorrow was momentarily suspended, and the entire grounds looked at him the way Neville and the rest of Dumbledore's Army had before the battle in the Room of Requirement. They were hopeful; they wanted him to lead.
"Sometimes," Harry began. The booming volume of his own voice startled him. The fact that he had never done any kind of public speaking came rushing back to him, but he pressed on.
"Sometimes, the history books get it wrong." Harry said to the crowd. He saw the Weasleys, no longer slumped in their chairs, but attentive and leaning forward. "We are all here today at Hogwarts to honor and remember the brave wizards and witches who gave their lives in a battle against dark magic. We cannot forget their sacrifice; we will not. But, I think those who have passed on, and their families, would want us to be reminded that this battle did not begin a few days ago at this school." Harry was speaking slowly and clearly now, with confidence. "This battle did not even begin last year when Voldemort" (many in the crowd gasped, but Harry ignored it) "returned to full strength. This battle began decades ago, ten full years before I was even born! I am standing before you today to make sure that you all remember, and tell your children, this was never a battle between two wizards.
"This was a deadly battle between two ideas: One idea of absolute hierarchy—that wizards are superior to every other being, and that only those wizards with so-called-pure-blood were worthy to live in a world ruled by one powerful and brutal magician. And the other idea that many of you fought for, that many died for, and that I hope we can begin to build upon again: that all creatures deserve liberty and equality.
"This battle has been raging since Tom Riddle lived within those walls and began practicing dark and powerful magic. This battle has also been raging since heroic and selfless people like Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, James and Lily Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Severus Snape, and Albus Dumbledore recognized Death Eaters were supporting an increasingly powerful Riddle and united to fight them, no matter the cost.
"A new generation of freedom fighters arose when Voldemort returned. Many of you would call them children, but if you, like me, have seen the fearlessness and skill these warriors demonstrated, you would know that they are far from childlike. Children like Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and many others who relentlessly fought Death Eaters posing as professors. Children like Lee Jordan and Fred and George Weasley who used a radio program to give hope to those who were lonely and persecuted. Children like Colin Creevy who, only 15 years old, died fighting wickedness. Children like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger who," Harry was choking up now, "repeatedly faced danger and shielded and saved their friend without once thinking of themselves."
Harry paused, and looked at the crowd. "Voldemort is finished; never again will he rise to power and threaten our homes, but we must always be on the watch for evil. Fifty-seven people died here at Hogwarts two days ago, some were children and some left children behind. They died to defeat him, and they died to protect you and me and all the wizards and Muggles to come after us. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten. Let us also remember the sacrifices of those who went on before in the same fight for liberty and equality. All of these deaths should make us as free wizarding people feel honored. So honored we have to live our lives as a testament to their love and to the cause for which they died."
Applause broke out as Harry filed back to his seat, flashes of light began again, but Harry did not care. They needed to know this, to hear truth, and for once he didn't mind being in the spotlight if it meant people would actually listen.
When Harry reached his seat, his family was beaming at him. Ron clapped him on the back, as Hermione whispered, "Brilliant." Harry looked at the ground embarrassed, but felt as happy as he had when he first woke up.
After thinking for a second, Harry shot a look at Hermione, "Did you...?" She shrugged her shoulders and showed him her upturned hands. Harry grinned and shook his head.
Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt rose to the podium and immediately the crowd was again silent. "The families who have lost loved ones each arranged for burials at their homes or in family cemeteries after this ceremony. However, many of us thought it was important that this crowd see the faces of those who died fighting against Lord Voldemort. Though their bodies will not remain at Hogwarts, a memorial in their honor will stand here." Kingsley flourished his wand toward the edge of the lake. From that point, a long processional of bodies, floating as Dumbledore had, seemed to come from high in the sky and each land on their feet in a line by the water's edge.
The number of those who had died seemed enormous; the entire bank of the lake was almost full. These bodies were not still as Dumbledore had been. Harry did not know what kind of magic animated the dead, but they all looked happy and like themselves, not at all like Inferi. Harry saw Lupin holding the hand of a smiling Tonks with wild pink hair. He saw Fred wearing his black dragon-skin jacket and laughing. Colin was the shortest by far. So many faces he recognized...
"At least Fred doesn't have on his magenta store robes," whispered a crying Ginny. Harry smiled at her, happy she could joke, and looked back at the lake.
A soft rumbling noise began, and it grew louder. The entire group of fallen soldiers around the lake once again rose back into the air, this time all at once, and then disappeared. Harry knew that Fred's body was being taken safely to the Burrow. Next, the bank of the lake where the people had been seemed to be on fire. The hot fire blazed higher and higher, and then died down again as quickly as it came. Harry looked at his friends, each of them a bit confused. From out of the ashes of the great fire, came a small bird which was growing larger and more beautiful. Harry understood the memorial. He could see now that the bird was a phoenix—to symbolize Dumbledore, the Order, and even rebirth—and it began to fly away singing a sad lament. Moments later, the fire reappeared.
The crowd at the funeral was dismissed and began to clear, but many, including Harry, stood watching the fire and the bird over and over again.