Mr. Tamert goes to the morgue alone. His wife can no longer get out of bed and he does not have the strength to try coaxing her to move today. Not today.
He walks to St. Mungos (they live close by) and joined the hundreds of other relatives and friends of the fallen waiting in the Lobby.
It takes a long time for his name to be called but finally,
"Tamert, John?"
He stands and goes to the front.
"Right thing way Mr. Tamert." The healer's false cheeriness is more off putting then he can ever describe. He almost recoils under the man's guiding hand. But he doesn't. He straightens and follows the healer down the hall.
They walk together through a set of swinging doors and suddenly- there she is. Hannah. His little Fidget. Lying still on a cold hard sheet of metal. Lying still in a way she could have never done in life (because she was so bouncy so fidgety).
All he ever wanted was to hold her, protect her. And now she is still.
"You have a daughter."
"Look daddy, look what I found!"
"Ravenclaw, just like you!"
"I love you, daddy."
"Hannah stop fidgeting! Be still!"
Move, move movemovemoveovemove.
It's a buzzing in his ears. It's a pounding in his heart. He stands beside his daughter and wonders how it came to this. Fourteen years. He'd only managed to do his job for fourteen years. He had failed.
And now she will never fidget again.