Ravenclaw, Themed (goodbye), Take Me to Church (song prompt), WC: 658
Definitely AU, or at least not canon-compliant. In a world where Draco and Hermione are together, and there has been enough time following the war for the group of people to bond and spend time together.
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The snow settles thinly on the ground as we begin the short pilgrimage from the house to the small church in the village. Pale yellow lights reflect back at me, the roads slick with wet from the rain, and the snow, and the damp evening air. I turn to glance in Hermione's direction, as she leads the group of us up ahead. I would have liked to have been up there with her, but it's truly not my place. Harry Potter is dead, and I cannot be selfish for her love while she is grieving. She would only ask that why am I, a bad person, still living when Potter is dead.
It is somewhat an unspeakable truth in our home that I'm a disappointment to society. Having lived off the Dark Lord's means in the war, unable to bring around any change in the Manor, I am an outcast. Not one by trial, however. My name was cleared by Harry Potter. The Great and Good Harry Potter. Defeated by a Toyota Yaris in the middle of a supposedly abandoned London street. Not even magic can bring back victims killed on impact.
And here we are. The funeral march pounding inside our own heads, determined to ignore the cold on the outside, and focus on the expanding chill on our insides. Hermione is devastated. Even more than ever, I can feel them talking about me; sense their disapproval of me. It's something we don't talk about. The fresh poison each week, curses sent in the mail, and malicious looks I receive from the general public. Even muggles, stumbling through the street, seem to glare in my direction. Hermione beside me, holding my hand, smiling unconsciously into the terrifying open waters of life.
She'd be the metaphorical giggle at a funeral. A burning, bright light, thrust into my darkness. My sunlight.
I have thought about dying. Several times over. Thought about venturing into Diagon Alley, announcing my sins and letting the world sharpen their knife. Maybe that's the way to repent, to let them fight their way through me, hurt me, and to let the world have their turn at taking me apart.
The church is larger than I expected. Filled with that same yellow light that emanates from the street lamps outside, and just as cold as the night air. We close the doors behind us, black robes trailing along the floor atop muggle clothing, carving lines through the dust.
Hermione says she wasn't brought up religious, although I don't completely understand the sentiment either way. A figure up above who judges all and loves all, depending on which way you read it. The Dark Lord sounded like the prophet to me. He promised things, and performed magical tasks, and made people believe certain things. But unlike the Dark Lord, the prophet promised good things, and performed wonderful miracles – although both came back from the dead, only to disappear or die again. Although Harry Potter also did not believe in God, or any other omnipotent benevolent creature, we are in here. In God's House, as they say.
Maybe the expanse of space is oppressing because it holds meaning for so many people, or maybe it feels this way because Harry Potter is dead. I shouldn't still be here if he is gone. It makes no sense. I wonder whether others feel that too, that their lives are worth less and certainly should have ended before the Chosen One's did.
I stand at the back of the group as the casket is brought in through the side of the church, carried by able volunteers. They set it down at the altar, and the man at the front of the hall begins to speak.
Not having had to say this kind of goodbye before, it's more difficult than I had first anticipated. My eyes sting, and my chest aches, and Hermione holds onto Ron up ahead of me.
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Thanks all for reading!
