Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This story is meant purely in tribute to the original work.
It was a mostly sunny day, with scattered low and mid-level clouds drifting lazily through the sky. There was a cool breeze that helped keep the temperature pleasant. Neville reflected that just about anyone would have thought that it was an absolutely beautiful day. However, he found it difficult to harbor any such thoughts on this day, because this day was Alexander McIntyre's funeral. Neville had just been released from St. Mungo's the day before. He was glad to be home, even if it was just in time to attend Alex's funeral. As it was, he was still very fatigued and unsteady on his feet. Walking with a cane was going to take some getting used to and he had just started two days earlier. Thankfully, Luna was there to help him along.
Alex's father, Robert McIntyre, was a Muggle and a distinguished veteran of the famed Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders infantry regiment of the Scottish Division of the British Army. Alex's mother, Lorraine, was a witch and had informed her husband of that fact before they had been married. He had taken to news of the wizarding world with surprising calm and ease. Robert was also understanding regarding his son's manifestation of magical abilities and supportive of Alex attending Hogwarts. He was initially, slightly disappointed when his son had chosen not to follow the family legacy of service in the British Army. However, his opinion changed when he discovered that aurors were the closest equivalent to a standing military in the wizarding world and that Alex had decided to join their ranks. Robert was filled with pride that his son had chosen to serve his country and that was more than good enough for him. On this day however, Robert could not help but feel a slight sense of regret since he now had to do what no parent should ever have to. Today, he had to bury one of his own children. With help from the chief inspector of the division Alex served in, Robert made every effort for his son to be buried with as close to full military honors as possible.
Neville felt somewhat out of place in front of a seat when so many others would remain standing. The available seats had been reserved for members of the McIntyre family. However, the McIntyre's would not accept him standing in his current condition and insisted that he sit. Neville accepted to avoid offending their hospitality while Luna took up a position behind him. As he watched the casket being removed from the horse-drawn caisson, Neville thought back to the church service only minutes earlier. Neville thought that the minister at Alex's childhood church had summed it best when he began by stating that this was the sort of service one wishes that they will never have to attend. By the time the clergyman finished, there was hardly a dry eye in the church. A detail of bagpipers skirled "Balmoral Retreat" as the group of aurors serving as pallbearers, led by the minister, carried Alex to his final resting place. Neville knew that were it not for his recovering injuries, he probably would have been one of the pallbearers. He knew the casket was relatively light, it had remained closed throughout the service. There had not been much left of Alex and was left was not fit for viewing. A few sandbags had been added as ballast to balance out the load on the pallbearers. A bright Union Jack flag was draped over the casket while a floral arrangement, adorned with a small blue flag with a white St. Andrew's cross, rested on top. The pallbearers set the casket above the gravesite as the minister took up his position to begin the gravesite service and the mourners took their seats.
As the minister delivered the final prayers at the gravesite, Neville found his thoughts drifting as he looked over to Alex's family. It was not an overly sunny day but Neville, like many others, wore sunglasses. They were not necessary but everyone knew that the real reason they were wearing them had nothing to do with solar intensity. Neville hoped that his tinted lenses hid his observation or at least made it less obvious. Alex's widow, Karen, was a mask of barely suppressed grief. Alex's young son, Gavin, fidgeted in his seat next to her while Robert and Lorraine sat on either side of them. As the minister concluded, Neville realized that he not heard much of his words. "It's alright", Neville thought, "I've heard similar ones at similar occasions enough times already. The words and even the language may differ but the sentiment is always the same: 'Dear God, we are sending a good man back to you. Thanks for letting us have him for a while.'"
Neville struggled to his feet along with the mourners who had been seated but were veterans or on active duty (Muggle and wizard), as the flag was lifted off the casket and pulled taut by the pallbearers. The floral arrangement had been removed and presented to Alex's mother. A detail of riflemen from the Royal Regiment of Scotland, the descendent unit of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, came to attention and readied their weapons. "Robert really thought of everything", Neville thought, "Right down to the last detail." He mentally braced himself, for he knew what was coming next. The bull roar of the colour sergeant's commands moved the riflemen into action and the first report of the rifle salvo echoed across the cemetery. Most of the assembled mourners had never heard gunfire before and visibly started at the sound. Neville felt Luna's hand tighten around his own as she did so. He noticed that Alex's father did not. He also noticed Karen's shoulders jerk slightly with each of the three salvoes. To Gavin's credit, the thundering reports merely caused him to grip his mother's arm and lean into her. After the last salvo, a lone bugler brought his instrument to his lips and began sounding "Last Post", the traditional bugle call to signify the end of a duty day and, when necessary, the end of life. The flag was folded neatly during this time and the Director of the Auror Service himself knelt before Karen and placed the folded flag in her hands. He voice was a mere whisper but Neville was close enough to hear his words, "On behalf of Her Majesty's government, the Minister of Magic, and a grateful nation, we present this flag to you with our most sincere condolences and deepest sympathies." Neville knew the words had been whispered to avoid mentioning magic any louder than absolutely necessary. Besides, traditionally, those words were very quiet anyways.
The service was over. Most of the mourners began filing silently away but Alex's fellow aurors lingered behind for one last tradition. As the aurors filed past, Neville watched as Karen buried her face into the flag cradled in her arms, as her shoulders began to shake with her muffled sobs. Neville joined the queue and as his place came up, he handed his cane to Luna (Neville had informed her and she knew what needed to be done), and knelt next to the polished casket. He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small lapel pin of the insignia of the Auror Service. He placed it on the lid of Alex's casket and, with a tap of his wand, the pin embedded itself into the polished wood, alongside more than a dozen others. As Neville struggled back to his feet, Luna helped him up and handed his cane back to him. The two of them had walked a short distance away when Neville paused to look back. Robert was kneeling at the head of Alex's casket, his forehead resting on the polished wood. After a moment, Robert slowly drew himself up to a position of attention and snapped out his best parade ground salute to his fallen son. Neville turned away, he didn't want to watch what would happen next, and he especially could not bear to watch Karen's face any longer. The two of them continued toward the gates of the cemetery, their progress was slow due to Neville's awkward gait. His leg was still stiff and walking with a cane was going to take some getting used to.
Luna could not help but wonder exactly what thoughts her husband was surely torturing himself with in his mind. Since Neville had opened up to her, she had seen more of the weight upon his mind and the darkness that had touched his soul through his experiences. Therefore, she had an idea of what was troubling him but she had to admit that she had not ever seen him in this state before. Luna had seen him when he had the passage of time to deal with the loss of friends and comrades. She had never seen him when the loss was fresh. Luna found that she was slightly apprehensive at how Neville might react, what she could do in response, and if her efforts would be enough. Neville paused before a stone statue of an angel. Luna had thought he might have wanted to rest his leg for a moment until his voice abruptly shook her out of her thoughts, "It's started out as such a nice day. It's such a shame it had to rain."
Luna was slightly confused. For a moment she thought that was usually Neville's role and it was usually her words that were the cause. She recovered quickly and realized the sun was still shining brightly with only a few clouds in the sky. As Luna turned to address her husband, what she saw quickly made sense to her mind and pulled at her heart. Trails of tears streamed out from underneath Neville's tinted lenses and ran down his cheeks. Luna found she had to worry her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as she felt her own eyes well up. Neville had made his comment for obvious reasons and Luna now felt she had to find a way to answer without sounding trite or ignoring his emotions. She knew he was trying to be strong and she wanted to let him know that his grief was perfectly normal. Luna tightened her arm around his, rested her other hand on his upper arm, and leaned her head against him as they stood before the angel statue. She felt her own tears begin to spill down her cheeks as she finally found her voice. "Yes, it is a shame it had to rain today."
Author's Note: This chapter is for my friends who answered the call to defend our nation, headed downrange, and didn't make it back.