Terry Boot thought that death really, really, sucked. And remembering the dead? That sucked even more.
The bloody one year memorial service was a fucking funeral all over again. The weeping families of the so called 'honored dead' converged on Hogwarts like a swarm of bees, buzzing with grief. When Harry read out the names on the memorial, you could tell which family that person belonged to by the sudden upswing in moaning from that portion of the crowd.
Fucking memorial service. Fucking dead people. Fucking dead dead dead.
People said he was angry, too angry now. Passive, clever Terry was a thing of the past. They were right. Terry never wanted to be passive ever, ever again. The fucking healer said that he was 'dealing with everything very poorly'. Fuck them.
"Lisa Marie Turpin."
No one fucking moaned. No cries went up from the crowd. There was respectful silence and nothing else. Terry came to this goddam thing for her. Because he knew no one would be there for her. Because he thought that Lisa should have at least one person that remembered her today.
They weren't close. Hell, they weren't even friends. They shared a house and nothing more. Lisa was nice, but they didn't run with the same friend group.
That fucking god awful night he didn't find her body, he didn't watch her die. He didn't comfort her mother, or hold her best friends hair while she vomited into the bushes outside the Great Hall (he couldn't do any of that-they were all dead…)
But Lisa had always been around. He had known her since they were eleven years old. And today, at this god awful, fucking one year anniversary, Lisa Marie Turpin should have someone in the audience who gives a shit that she's dead.