Mrs. Weasley was put in charge of the service, with a lot of help from Lupin, because of the fact that she often broke into hysterics, unable to function at all. No one else was much better off. Hagrid hadn’t spoken to anybody, keeping to his tent in the Weasley’s yard, watching the gnomes dart across the garden. Mr. Weasley and Lupin were solemn and withdrawn, and they kept their mourning to the long night hours when all was quiet, trying to be the strong ones to keep everyone else together. Arthur had taken off work, abandoning his new post as Minister of Magic for the time being to be with his family. Tonks kept herself busy when she wasn’t with Lupin, helping in the kitchen or clearing up after everyone who seemed too distraught to do so for themselves. Even Fred and George were subdued. With the loss of their usual jokes, the house was almost eerie.
Ginny was the worst, except for Ron and Hermione. She had taken to sitting in her room for long periods of time, and then coming out for a few minutes, only to dash back in when something would remind her of Harry. Fred and George had tried their best to cheer her up, but nothing seemed to console her. It was as if a black cloud had engulfed her, and the harder they tried to pull her out, the deeper she would descend into it. The most recent picture taken of Harry was tacked above her bed, and she was often seen staring at it, as if willing the Harry in the picture to jump out, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her everything would be okay.
Ron and Hermione were left alone by most of the family. They spent most of their time in the garden, Hermione sobbing against Ron’s shoulder as Ron held her tightly and stroked her hair, tears running silently down his own cheeks. Once or twice Ron broke down completely, trembling with silent sobs, holding Hermione more tightly as a child might hold a favorite blanket for comfort. Whenever they were with everyone else eating dinner, they would sit next to each other, holding hands, each drawing reassurance from the other. Ron slept on the floor in Fred and George’s room, not wanting to be alone in the attic room he and Harry had shared for so many summers. Hermione slept with Ginny, the two of them staying up late and talking freely with one another about what might happen in the future. Beyond the memorial service, neither could even come close to predicting what might come about, but they knew without having to say it that nothing would really ever be the same.
* * *
The day of the service dawned warm and bright, the sunlight streaming through the windows and waking the inhabitants of the Burrow. At first, as on every morning, there was a moment of peace at the beginning of the new day, and then the realization of what had happened, that Harry was dead, crashed down upon them like icy water. Today was worse than ever before, because after today there was no turning back. It was final.
They all left the Burrow together: the Weasley’s, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid. The early morning sun beating on their necks, they hiked to Stoatshead Hill, where a portkey was waiting to take them all to Godric’s Hollow. They had unanimously decided that a tribute to Harry’s life should be held nest to his parents, and any memorial should there. Amos Diggory was at the top of the hill waiting for them, his tears showing that though he was sorry for the death of Harry, all of this reminded him of the death of his son, Cedric, a mere three years ago. Wordlessly, they all put a finger on the old rubber tire, felt the well-known sensation of being jerked forward, and then as they dusted off their robes and picked themselves up, a familiar voice echoed through the silence.
“Molly, Arthur, we didn’t expect you for another hour or so.” Minerva McGonagall hurried toward them, followed closely be the former Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.
McGonagall was dressed all in black, and Ron noticed a few more deep lines etched in her face from the gloom of the past few years, from the ones they knew and loved, gone. All the casualties of the second war, every one of them remembered today: brave, handsome Cedric; murdered in his innocence; headstrong and loyal Sirius who fought to save his dignity; wise and loving Dumbledore, who died for those he loved most: his students. Percy was lost to the Weasley’s, not by death, but by pride. Neville’s grandmother, Amelia Bones, Luna and her father, Ernie Macmillan, Dean Thomas, Emmeline Vance, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and countless others, all gone from this world forever. And what was it all for? It was a question that had been running through Ron’s mind since he had turned to see Harry shoving Voldemort into the veil and Voldemort, in a last attempt to save himself, grabbing the hem of Harry’s robes and pulling him in behind him. He could still remember Harry’s triumphant look changing from shocked to stunned realization in seconds, then the silence. Complete silence. Everyone, Death Eaters, Order members, Ministry wizards, DA students, all of them stared in shock as both the Lord of all Evil and the boy who was destined to destroy him fell to their deaths.
Ron shook his head and pushed the scene from his mind. Now was not the time to contemplate that horrible night, not when he had other things to worry about. He reached for Hermione’s hand, and she squeezed it tighter, knowing he needed her right now. He took a deep breath and turned to McGonagall.
“We came to help with the...” his voice broke, and he closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “...with the service.” It took him a great deal of effort to get that much out, as it was a reminder of why they were all there.
“Everything is perfectly in order; we set it all up yesterday. We are just here to make sure no Muggles turn up, but I think the protection spells are doing their job. Arthur, if you’ll just come with me, we’ll look over your speech. The rest of you, well, the service starts in about three hours, so, make sure you’re back here before then. Amos, Hagrid, I would like you to join us, if you would be willing.” And with a twirl of her robes, she set off across the grass toward a sea of chairs stretched across an open meadow, where a large piece of granite stood behind a podium.
The others turned and walked off toward a fountain in a nearby park. They all sat there, the silence feeling almost normal to them, and waited.
* * *
The amount of people gathered at Harry Potter’s memorial service would have rivaled Dumbledore’s funeral. Most of the Hogwarts students that Harry had known were there with their families, as well as the entire Order of the Phoenix, the Hogwarts staff, and countless witches and wizards who had never even laid eyes on Harry, wanting to pay their last respects to the boy who had given them their hope, their joy, and their lives back to them. Ron noticed Draco Malfoy slip in and scurry towards the back, and Petunia Dursley was spotted by Fred and George sitting in the center, trying unsuccessfully to blend in with the masses of people. At precisely noon, Mr. Weasley stood up, and the crowd silenced immediately.
“Thank you all for joining us today. If you would please take your seats...” He paused for a moment, allowing a few stragglers to place themselves along the edges of the back row. People all around the meadow could be heard shushing their children and repositioning themselves so as to be more comfortable for the long ceremony. The little group of Harry’s closest relations was sitting in the front row, a wad of tissues clutched in every set of hands, ready for the tears to spill. Hermione kept shifting in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position, and finally settled with her head rested in the crook of Ron’s shoulder and his arm wrapped protectively around her waist Ginny linked arms with George, who was sitting next to her, and grabbed Ron’s free hand on the other side. Smiling through the pain etched on his face, George patted her gently on the head and turned to face his father on the stand.
Arthur cleared his throat and began speaking, captivating the audience from the first word out of his mouth. “As many of you know, I knew Harry Potter well. He stayed at my house just as often as my own sons, and I considered him as such. You should realize that my family has taken the death of Harry Potter as the loss of one of our own kin, and you can imagine it has been hard for the lot of them, including me. However, we are not only here to mourn over the death of Harry Potter, but to celebrate the accomplishments of his life.
“At the age of eleven he fought through a series of enchantments cast by some of the greatest witches and wizards of the age which led up to the Sorcerer’s Stone, saved it from none other than Lord Voldemort.” Several people in the audience flinched at the sound of the name, and scattered whispers broke out from around the crowd as people discussed this new bit of information that their beloved Daily Prophet had not revealed to them. Arthur ignored all of this and continued, silencing everyone instantly.
“When Harry was only twelve he found his way into the Chamber of Secrets, slaughtered a basilisk with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, and destroyed a small piece of Voldemort, saving my only daughter, Ginny in the process. At thirteen Harry successfully produced a corporal patronus and repelled hundreds of dementors. In his fourth year he made it through every task in the Triwizard Tournament, a feat many grown wizards couldn’t achieve. And then, he watched one of his classmates being tragically murdered and witnessed Voldemort’s return to power. As if this weren’t enough, after informing the wizarding community about the return of Voldemort, he was outcast and forced to endure ridicule from many prominent members of the Ministry, as well as from his teachers, classmates, and friends. You all know the rest of the story, for it was printed most accurately, surprisingly enough, in the Daily Prophet.
“Not only was Harry an extremely exceptional wizard, he was an overall good person. Although he grew up in less than pleasant conditions, he was a good boy, and grew into a good man. He was honest and brave, treated his friends with respect and loyalty, and was one of the most determined people I’ve ever met. There were few who were extremely close to him in his life as he had little family, but those he loved, he loved fiercely, and he paid the ultimate sacrifice to protect those he loved. It was my greatest pleasure to have known him.
“These are the things to remember, to celebrate: his achievements, not his death. We must remember that Harry Potter was a good boy who grew into an even better man, and who in the end saved us all from a certain terrible destruction, not of our lives, but of our freedom and beliefs. He saved us from one of the most evil wizards that ever was, and ever will be. But that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Good versus evil. And it’s the attitude of the people that decides who triumphs, their attitude and sense of unity with each other. Albus Dumbledore once said, ‘We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.’ Harry helped us unite during this age when it was so easy to fight amongst ourselves, which in turn helped to capture many supporters of Voldemort, saving many lives. In the end, that’s why he and many others died, to bring us together in a peaceful world.” Ron looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. Somehow his father had known that's what had been bothering him, and a wave of affection rushed over him for this crazy man who always seemed to know what he was thinking.
“The accomplishments of Harry Potter were great, but we should not mourn him, because he would not have wanted us to. Celebrate him, remember him, but do not mourn him.” He paused for a moment, glancing over the silent crowd, tears dripping off his nose. His last statement was barely whispered as his voice cracked with emotion. “Farwell Harry Potter. We thank you.”
* * *
Ron and Hermione were standing by the memorial, darkens falling rapidly all around them, their cloaks swirling in the rushing wind. On Hermione’s left hand was a beautiful engagement ring, and through his tears Ron could be seen with a sheepish smile on his face. He leaned over to kiss her gently on the forehead and they turned to leave, but stopped as they head the soft rustling of wings coming toward them. Suddenly, a burst of sad and yet beautiful music filled the air, reaching deep into their souls, searching for their strongest emotions and turning them into a song that portrayed what they were feeling perfectly.
“Fawkes,” Hermione whispered in wonder.
The song turned into a song of hope, of new beginnings, filling their hearts with comfort and joy. Fawkes appeared in the night, circling over the monument, a glow radiating from him that forced Ron and Hermione to squint in order to look at him. Slowly Fawkes came to a halt, hovering over the monument, the glow becoming brighter until unexpectedly, he burst into flames, falling onto the beautifully engraved granite. For a moment the ball of flame rested on the monument, and then vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
The couple walked forward slowly, wanting to see what tribute to Harry the Phoenix had left behind. They both gasped. On the granite was a Gryffindor lion, its mouth open wide in a powerful roar, standing in front of a lightning bolt. A very familiar lightning bolt. Ron smiled and tipped his face toward the sky.
“Thank you Fawkes,” he whispered to the twinkling stars, and they seemed to shine more brightly than they had ever seen them before, telling him Harry was still and always would be, watching over them.
Ron and Hermione each laid a hand on the granite, running their fingers over the lightning bolt, remembering silently the boy who had sported that well-known scar.
No Turning Back by aliweasley
Chapter Notes: I really want to hear from everyone. If you love it, hate it, or are somewhere in the middle, let me know!!