10. Memorial

Every muscle and bone he had ached. His head throbbed and if he opened his eyes pain stabbed through them like knives. It didn’t hurt this much to die. That was how he knew he was alive.

“Harry,” he heard a soft voice, “Harry, can you hear me?” Harry groaned and felt a warm touch on his cheek. He tried to open his eyes but it hurt too much. He heard the voice again and leaned into the hand that was stroking his cheek.

“Mum is he going to be okay?”

“M-Mum?” groaned Harry.

“Can you look at me, Harry?” the soft voice asked again. “Can you open your eyes and look at me?” Harry tried to open his eyes but the light hurt his eyes. He shook his head instead but that hurt more and he moaned in pain.

“It’s okay Harry. Don’t try to move. You just lay there. It’s okay to sleep if you want to,” said the soft voice.

“Mum?” he whispered.

“Shhh, yes I’m here, it’s okay now, just sleep.” And Harry drifted off, comforted by the soft voice whispering to him and the warm hand stroking his face.

*****************

When Harry awoke again the pain had receded. He was able to open his eyes and the soft candlelight that illuminated the room showed he was in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, the covers tucked neatly around him, a tray of food kept warm on the bedside table and Mrs Weasley asleep in the chair pulled up to his bed. Harry put on his glasses and eased himself up on the pillows.

In her sleep Mrs Weasley looked careworn and troubled. Harry could see the grief she was suffering; and only sometimes managing to hide when awake, laid bare on her sleeping face. He realised that hers was the warm hand and soft voice he had heard earlier when he’d awoken in pain and that she was the one who had whispered she would stay with him. And she had.

Carefully, he could feel no less than four recently repaired bones, and wincing only slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and took the coverlet from it and draped it over Mrs Weasley. He didn’t feel hungry; he still felt rather nauseous and as such chose to ignore the food on the bedside table. After making it to the door without incident he stepped out of the dormitory in search of company. He could hear a low rumble coming from the Common Room and hoped that he would not have to go any further to find Ginny. He needed to see her and if he had looked as bad as he had felt earlier she needed to see him, preferably upright.

As Harry entered the Common Room unnoticed, he saw George in front of the fireplace, surrounded by the rest of their team, clutching what looked suspiciously like a chipped plaster statue of Fred, wildly gesticulating to the assembled audience. Judging by the look on Ron’s face and the barely concealed laughter on Ginny, Bill and Charlie’s, the subject of George’s discourse was probably a trick he and Fred had once played on Ron.

“I’m going to miss him,” he heard George say quietly as the crowd in the Common Room grew silent. “Anyway, time to be all solemn tomorrow. Here’s to Fred, and Quidditch and to the best Seeker Gryffindor’s ever seen - not Charlie Weasley!”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Charlie, “but does he always fall off his broom?”

“Yes!” came a chorus of voices.

“Hey! I do not!” exclaimed Harry. “There’s usually at least one game a year I manage to stay upright!”

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione, “how did you get past Mrs Weasley? Are you alright? Should you be out of bed? How are you feeling?” She fired off her questions in a fair imitation of a Muggle machine gun.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” said Harry as a red blur came hurtling across the room, throwing herself at him.

“You’re awake!” Ginny threw her arms around his neck and he had to throw an arm out to the wall behind him to ensure he stayed on his feet. “Are you really okay? Mum shooed me out about half an hour ago so I could have dinner, she said she’d tell me when you were up!” Harry wound his arms around her waist.

“I’m fine,” murmured Harry, “especially now.” And he buried his face in her neck, planting kisses along her collarbone.

“He’s doing that to annoy us you know,” Charlie’s conversational tone cut through his senses.

“It’s working,” stated Ron matter of factly.

“And what are you going to do about it then?” asked Bill with amusement.

“Absolutely nothing,” George simpered in falsetto. “Do you know who that is?”

“Yes,” replied Percy, “the best Seeker Gryffindor has ever seen!” The occupants of the Gryffindor Common Room burst out laughing and face and Harry directed a rude hand gesture at George behind Ginny’s back, his lips still on her skin.

“I zink eet ees sweet,” Fleur said dreamily as Harry wound his hand into Ginny’s hair, she arched her neck, exposing her throat for him to kiss before he moved up to her lips.

“I told them not to do that in front of me – I swear, they are doing that on purpose!” Ron whined before Hermione shushed him loudly. Harry pulled away from Ginny and grinned at her.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “It’s a good thing your mum is asleep or she would probably have kept me prisoner up there in my bed. But I needed to see you.”

“I needed to see you too,” Ginny whispered back. “Come sit with me?” Harry nodded. He let her lead him over to a chair by the fireplace and they sat in it together, curled around each other like a pair of cats. Harry played drowsily with Ginny’s hair as he let the conversation of others wash over him, eventually succumbing to sleep in her arms.

******************

When Harry awoke from a fitful night’s sleep filled with echoing green flashes and piercing red eyes he was back in his own bed with Ron and Neville snoring loudly in their own beds. Mrs Weasley had gone, along with the dinner tray, and a pristine set of black robes were laid out across the foot of his bed. He did not want to think on how he had been returned to his bed (again!) but the prospect of thinking about why he had a set of new black robes was even less appealing.

Today was not going to be an easy day.

He got ready for the day slowly, the rest of the dormitory’s occupants rousing slowly from sleep. Dean and Seamus had also been asleep behind their curtains and for a few moments Harry could almost capture the spirit that had echoed throughout his years at Hogwarts as Neville poked Ron to stop him snoring, Ron grumbled back at him before lumbering out of bed and into the bathroom, Seamus looked in vain for socks and Dean straightened out a rather faded looking West Ham poster that had obviously been left up since sixth year.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed after tying his shoes, staring into space.

“You alright mate?” asked Ron. Harry sighed. What was the answer to that question anyway? He wasn’t dead from the battle or falling from a broomstick. He was safe and cozy tucked up in the castle. He wasn’t going hungry. He had finished the task he’d been set by Dumbledore. His whole life stretched out in front of him, Voldemort free and unfettered. So many things that had not been alright over the past year were now alright but that didn’t mean he was alright, not today. Today was going to be a difficult day. He looked at Ron.

“Not today, I’m not, but soon,” he said. “Soon I’ll be alright.” He got up, sighed heavily and turned to go down to breakfast.

The mood in the Great Hall was somber. Ron and Harry joined the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione at the Gryffindor table for breakfast but nobody was really eating anything. George and Mrs Weasley both looked pale, the latter showing the beginnings of dark smudges under her eyes. Eventually even Ron gave up the pretence of eating and they simply sat there, the murmur of Mr and Mrs Weasley’s conversation about returning to The Burrow a low hum in the background. It seemed as though Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy were planning to return to the Burrow that morning to ensure all was in readiness for the family’s return the next day.

The Memorial Service for those who had fallen during the Battle of Hogwarts was not due to start until late afternoon and Harry had little to occupy his thoughts until that time. He had just begun to think that he could not simply sit in the Great Hall all day and should do something, anything would do, when he noticed Professor McGonagall approaching, Kingsley Shacklebolt trailing in her wake.

“A word with you if we may, Mr Potter,” the Professor asked. She did not sound nearly as severe as she usually did, the sorrow around her eyes making her look less severe also. Harry shrugged and stood up.

“Do you know the charm required for – for this afternoon, Harry?” Harry nodded, his memory of the last time he had carved words into stone making it too difficult to speak.

“Oh good,” Professor McGonagall sighed in relief. “Mr Creevey hasn’t yet learnt it. I am afraid it had not occurred to anyone that his education had not advanced far enough. Ms Granger, I don’t suppose you have time to teach it to him?” Hermione nodded and made to get up but George stopped her.

“I’ll go,” he said. “I need something to do.” As Harry watched George leave a sudden thought occurred to him, one that had not occurred to him before. Snape’s body was probably still in the Shrieking Shack. Did any of the Order grasp his true role or what he had ultimately done? Whose side he was really on? Had anyone understood the nature of his bravery during that confrontation with Voldemort? Was Snape’s name going to be carved into the gleaming white monument?

“Kingsley!” he said breathlessly, “Snape! Has anyone retrieved Professor Snape’s body? Who’s carving his name on the monument?”

“He has been retrieved,” Kingsley rumbled in his deep voice. “We have been unable to find his next of kin. It appears he doesn’t have any magical family left. At present I do not know who will carve his name, most likely a Ministry Official or perhaps a member of the Order will volunteer.”

“I’ll do it,” Harry said firmly, Kingsley nodded. “Er, what was it you came to see me about?”

“Perhaps we could use my office, Minister?” suggested Professor McGonagall. Harry glanced at Ron, Hermione and Ginny before he turned to go, telling them wordlessly that he would come and find them when he had finished. Then he turned and followed the temporary Minister for Magic and Interim Headmistress from the room.

When they got to McGonagall’s office Kingsley wasted no time in turning to Harry and getting straight to the point.

“People are clamouring for an awards ceremony,” he began. “More than one person has asked why I haven’t scheduled one to give you the Order of Merlin. It’s obvious they want to see you.” Harry stared at Kingsley, aghast.

“I haven’t even buried those I lost!” he spat. “I don’t want some stupid awards ceremony and people gawking at me! I won’t do it!”

“I’m not asking you to Harry,” Kingsley’s deep voice was placating. “I just thought perhaps we could make a statement in the Daily Prophet to satisfy people for now. I wouldn’t want to put your name on anything without speaking to you first though. Will you speak to someone from the newspaper, just briefly?” Harry glowered.

“Can’t you just release a statement that I’m busy mourning the dead right now and they can all wait until I’m ready?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that would be sufficient, but you can’t dodge this forever, Harry,” sighed Kingsley.

“I know I can’t,” Harry replied, “but I can put it off. I’ll come and see you next week.” Kingsley made arrangements for Harry to contact his secretary and left, saying he would see them that afternoon. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry.

“We’re all here for you Harry, no one will let you go through this alone,” she paused as Harry studied the floor. “Take your time, you have time.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered. He had not yet reckoned on the impact to his fame. It’s not that he was stupid and thought it wouldn’t impact but he hadn’t exactly had time to reflect on it. His life could turn into a circus.

“Anything else, Professor?” he asked McGonagall.

“No, nothing else, Mr Potter,” she shook her head sadly. She paused for a moment, clearly considering if she should say something. “When Albus left you at the Dursley’s I argued with him. He convinced me that you’d be better off away from the fame, until you were ready. I wish I could spare you now, Harry, but I think now you are ready. As a child you were far better off, growing up away from all that, but we can’t and shouldn’t shield you any longer, you’re not a child anymore.” Professor McGonagall paused, “that’s not going to stop Molly Weasley mothering you though. You should let her.” She patted him on the shoulder and ushered him out the door. Harry spared her half a smile before striding off down the corridors in search of Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

On the way out of the Great Hall, after failing to find any Weasleys or Hermione, he found Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood and if he wasn’t mistaken they had just been snogging behind a suit of armour that had been set back crookedly on its plinth.

“Hello Harry,” sang Luna. “Ginny said to tell you they’ve gone up to the Common Room. Mrs Tonks was with them. I think she wants to talk to you. I expect a lot of people want to talk to you don’t they Harry?” Harry just nodded.

“Well, we don’t, do we Luna?” said Dean. “Er, not that we don’t like you or anything mate but well, you see, things to do, you know…” He trailed off and Harry failed to hide a smirk.

“Oh yes, come on I was going to show you my pictures of Flibbering Flobgobblers,” and Luna began tugging on his hand. Harry was not at all convinced that Dean followed her because he wanted to look at Flibbering Flobgobblers. He gave Dean a wink and a little salute as the other man trailed after Luna and then continued up the Grand Staircase, heading for the Common Room. It was a lengthy procedure because it seemed the portraits were among those who wanted to talk to him. At first he politely accepted their congratulations and effusive thanks but by the fifth floor he was nodding curtly and striding past, muttering a general thanks to four or five portraits at a time.

Harry reached the portrait of the Fat Lady who, without looking up, droned,

“Password?”

“Er,” Harry began, he realised that he had no idea. The first morning he, Ron and Hermione had found the portrait hanging drunkenly open and the Fat Lady fled and they had simply crawled through. Since then, he realised, he’d been carried up there unconscious or asleep or someone else had opened it. “I don’t know it.” The Fat Lady looked up startled.

“Oh it’s you, you don’t need it!” and the Fat Lady began an effusive shower of thanks that lasted for several minutes. Finally managing to get her to stop Harry ventured,

“So d’you think I could go in?” The Fat Lady, who had begun crying with joy (Harry hoped it was joy) sniffed rather loudly, blew her nose with a noise and a handkerchief that would put Hagrid to shame and swung open. Harry climbed awkwardly through and then stopped, transfixed at the sight that greeted him.

Ginny Weasley was sitting in a squashy armchair by the fireplace, Teddy Lupin cradled in her arms, talking animatedly to him. Sunlight streaming through the window reflected off her hair and Ginny’s face lit up as she spoke softly to the baby who was looking up at her and smiling. Harry leaned against the wall, at the entrance to the Common Room and watched her. He had no desire to disturb the tableau because it was one of the most beautiful things he had seen in quite some while.

Harry watched as Ginny made faces at the baby, would she one day cradle his baby, their baby, and talk lovingly to them? Would she make those faces at his son? As he watched her bring her face right up to Teddy’s and rub noses with his and then blow a raspberry on his neck before moving down to do the same to his fat little tummy, Harry knew without a doubt that one day he wanted her to do that to his son. To their baby.

He was so caught up in watching Ginny that he did not notice Mrs Tonks join him. He realised she was standing at his side only when she said softly,

“She’s quite a picture isn’t she?” Harry felt a blush grace his cheeks at being caught staring at his girlfriend. It felt wonderful to think that. She hadn’t been his girlfriend for a year, but she was now and Mrs Tonks was right, she was a picture.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “she’s beautiful.” Harry turned back to watch Ginny with the baby once more.

“Harry, could we have a talk? There’s a few things I’d like to say,” Mrs Tonks said hesitantly, as if she feared Harry would refuse.

“Sure,” began Harry, “I wanted to talk to you the other night but, well there were a few issues.” Harry looked sheepishly at the floor.

“Oh yes, issues like shouting matches with young Mr Weasley,” Mrs Tonks was looking at him kindly although he could see the sorrow etched on her features. She inclined her head towards a small table near one of the windows and the two of them made their way there, Harry waving at Ginny as she looked up and saw him. Ginny did not attempt to get up but simply smiled at him and nodded briefly before turning back to Teddy and stroking his downy head.

“I’m sorry about Ted and about Dora, Mrs Tonks,” Harry said as he sat down.

“Thank you, please Harry, call me Andromeda. I think perhaps that we shall be getting well acquainted in the coming years. It wouldn’t do to stand on ceremony,” she smiled a sad smile at him. “Dora and Remus told me that they had made you Teddy’s godfather.” She paused and it seemed as if she wanted him to speak.

“Yeah, Remus asked me the night he came to tell us Teddy was born,” Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I don’t know a lot about being a godfather because I never really had mine, but that just means I want Teddy to have me around. I have no idea what I am doing but I want to be around for him.

“I don’t know anything about babies Mrs – Andromeda, I’m surprised I didn’t break him the other day. I don‘t really know him. I want to though. Can I come and visit sometimes, so that me and Teddy, we can get to know each other?”

“Oh, of course you can! Anytime you want to,” Andromeda looked wistfully at her grandson. “He’s all I’ve got left. Sometimes I can’t believe he’s all I’ve got left.”

“If you or Teddy need anything you know you can ask me,” Harry stated. It was not a question. “If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.” Andromeda looked at him.

“There isn’t a lot that isn’t within your power, Harry Potter.” Harry blushed. He was not going to let Teddy down. He didn’t blame Sirius for anything that had happened to him but he was also determined that Teddy would know his godfather and he was going to give him all that he could. And he needed to start by actually picking him up voluntarily.

“Can I - can I hold him?” he asked hesitantly. Andromeda smiled.

“I think if you can pry him away from your lovely young lady you can hold him as long as you like.”

Harry spent the rest of the morning with his godson. It hadn’t taken Harry long to pry the baby away from Ginny, it seemed Ginny liked watching Harry with a baby as much as Harry liked watching Ginny with one.

Teddy had a little crease in his forehead that mimicked the one Harry had often seen on Remus when he was trying to figure something out and when Teddy changed his hair pink and his little eyes crossed involuntarily he was the image of his mother. He was fascinated by Harry’s glasses and whenever he saw Ginny it wasn’t long before he changed his hair to a lovely shade of red. It seemed as though he had a fondness for dragons because that was the toy he most avidly followed when Harry charmed the stuffed toys in his pram to fly around him.

“Well, I’m not going to introduce him to Hagrid then,” said Harry. “Not if he likes dangerous things!”

“Maybe he just likes it because it’s red?” said Ginny thoughtfully.

“Do you think so?” Harry tilted his head to the side and watched Teddy for a moment.

“He likes my hair too,” answered Ginny. Harry waved his wand and charmed all the toys red and little Teddy was mesmerised.

“His favourite colour is red,” Harry smiled as he picked him and nestled him in the crook of his arm. “It’s a good choice mate, I like red too. Red hair is simply marvelous, especially when it’s all shiny and it smells good.” Teddy stared up at Harry. He’d just had a bottle, Andromeda had changed his nappy and he was looking a little drowsy. Harry reached out a finger to trail down Teddy’s cheek and the baby’s eyes fluttered shut. A few moments later Teddy was squirming so Harry patted him on his back. He was sure he’d seen Aunt Petunia do that with a visiting baby once when he was small. It seemed to help calm him so Harry lay back semi reclined on the couch he was sitting on and shifted little Teddy to lie with his chest on Harry’s so that he could more easily pat his back. Teddy lifted up his head and gazed at Harry, making a soft cooing sound.

“It’s okay little guy,” Harry crooned. “You can go to sleep, I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Teddy laid his head down on Harry’s chest and Harry began patting his back. The baby sighed and snuggled closer to Harry, shifting slightly to situate himself over Harry’s heartbeat. Harry watched Teddy drift off and then his eyes drifted shut as well and the two of them slumbered on the couch in front of the fire.

*******************

“Awwww isn’t that cute.”

“Stop it!”

Harry opened his eyes to find Teddy awake but still cradled on his chest and Ron sniggering a few feet away while Hermione remonstrated with him.

“Hey Ron, have you met my godson?” Harry rose from the couch, walked to Ron and handed little Teddy to him, stifling a snort as Ron paled and held the baby most awkwardly. Teddy gazed up at Ron, a look of fascination on his tiny features, before turning his hair a fetching shade of red.

“Well he’s a bit of a midget, Harry,” said Ron. Hermione made impatient clucking noises with her mouth and proceeded to sit Ron down in a nearby chair and instruct him on how to hold a baby. Harry was stunned to see Ron go along without complaint.

“Girls go all mushy when they see a baby,” came a voice from his elbow and Harry turned to see Charlie watching Ron and Hermione as Ron cradled the infant in the crook of one arm while he pulled faces at him. “Especially a bloke holding a baby.”Charlie looked sideways at Harry.

“I reckon a bloke can go all mushy for a girl if they see her holding one too, Charlie,” Harry said, without missing a beat. He turned to Charlie and grinned evilly. “Ginny has been holding Teddy most of the morning.” Charlie shot him a disgusted look. Harry just smiled as he recalled exactly how Ginny had looked that morning, unaware that Charlie was now looking, shocked, at the expression on Harry’s face.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” said Charlie so softly Harry barely heard him. Harry turned to look at Charlie then.

“Yeah, I reckon I am.” Charlie was silent for a moment before he said,

“She’s in love with you. She has been for years,” he paused and smiled. “You should thank Bill and me. We bought her a picture book for her fifth birthday. I reckon she’s had her heart set on you since then.”

“What was the book called?” asked Harry, curious and yet dreading the answer at the same time.

“The Boy Who Lived, the Harry Potter Story,” grinned Charlie. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to see Hermione remonstrating Ron who appeared to be trying to sing the Chudley Canons theme song to a protesting Teddy.

“I doubt anyone fell in love with anyone else over a picture book, Charlie,” he said.

“I know what I see, Harry,” Charlie said, grinning.

“They made picture books? That’s mad,” Harry paused. “D’you reckon she still has it?” Charlie stifled a laugh.

“Positive mate. I watched her pack it when we went to Muriel’s!” Harry resolved to examine this curious artefact from Ginny’s childhood as soon as possible. Teddy was fussing in Ron’s grasp and Harry stepped forward to relieve him of the burden.

“Come on, let’s go and find grandma little one,” he crooned, his stomach rumbled. “And maybe some lunch.”

Harry felt the eyes in the Great Hall on him as he strode in, holding a screaming baby. He noted thankfully that he had indeed found Andromeda and handed the infant over quickly when the woman came hurrying towards him. He noticed that Mrs Weasley was looking at him rather thoughtfully and he quickly found a seat next to Ginny, pulling a plate of sandwiches towards himself. Ginny herself seemed to have been staring at him with a distant smile on her face and Harry recalled with a jolt what Charlie had said about girls falling for blokes with babies and then about her childhood book.

“Hey Ginny,” he said casually, “I was thinking about getting Teddy a book, what sort of wizard storybooks did you read when you were little?” Ron and George choked on their food and coughed, Bill turned to look at Charlie a questioning grin on his face and Ginny turned bright red.

“Oh, well a few different ones, you know, Beedle the Bard, Maida the Muse,” Ginny trailed off and hastily stuffed a sandwich in her mouth.

“Yeah, we know Beedle,” muttered Hermione. “Bit more intimately than we ever wanted to really. Say Ginny, did you guys ever have one of the picture books about Harry? I’ve never read one and well, there’s bound to be new editions now I’d love to know if you’ve still got an old one tucked away somewhere. It’d be fascinating to compare them.” Ginny’s brothers, including Percy burst out laughing and Mr Weasley looked bemused. Ginny turned a deeper shade of maroon and turned beseechingly to her mother.

“I know there was one,” sad Mrs Weasley thoughtfully, not seeing her daughter at all. “I expect it’s somewhere in the attic now.” Ron stopped laughing with some difficulty and looked at Harry who winked at him.

“Mum, I think I know exactly where to find that book,” Ron proclaimed. “As soon as we get Ginny’s stuff back from Auntie Muriel’s she can get it for you.” Ginny made a noise like a strangled cat and leapt from her chair but Harry caught her wrist and pulled her back down into his lap. When she failed to pull herself away from the arms that snaked their way around her waist Ginny simply buried her face in Harry’s chest in embarrassment.

“Shame on you, teasing Ginny like that,” he grinned at the assembled red heads. “I think it’s endearing that she’s got a Harry Potter storybook and she’s kept it all these years.” Ginny’s head shot up and she looked him in the eyes.

“You knew? Which one of them told you?” her eyes narrowed as she looked at her brothers in turn who studiously began collectively studying the ceiling of the Great Hall which showed a perfectly clear, cloudless day. Harry nudged his head into Ginny’s neck, nuzzling her ear and said softly,

“Don’t be embarrassed, Ginny, I think it’s dreadfully sweet.” She grinned evilly at him before switching her attention to Ron.

“Don’t worry Ron, when I packed my precious childhood possessions in case of impending doom I also packed all your comics and all your letters from Hermione, you know the ones in the box marked ‘Letters from the future Mrs Ronald Weasley’”, said Ginny, watching Ron turn a spectacular shade of red and turn to growl at her. He looked ready to lunge across the table at her. Ginny’s eyes were dancing with laughter in a way they had not been for quite some time and Hermione, faintly pink, was holding onto Ron’s arm and whispering something that was hopefully calming in his ear.

“That’s enough, you lot,” said Mr Weasley mildly. “I’m afraid we need to finish up and get ready for this afternoon. What did Kingsley want this morning, Harry? Anything of concern?”

“Only if you count increased fame and an Order of Merlin of concern,” sighed Harry. “There’s too much going on to worry about that now. I managed to put him off but I’m going to have to deal with it sooner or later. I need to say good-goodbye first.” He blinked, willing the tears that were threatening to vanish. He’d been having a good day under the circumstances but now he just felt sad again and he tightened his hold on Ginny’s waist.

His words seemed to sober the group at the table and they all returned silently to eating contemplating the difficult afternoon ahead.

********************

As Harry headed out of the castle he saw hundreds of chairs set out in rows facing Dumbledore’s white marble tomb, a large white marble slab had been erected next to it, etched with a border of swirling vines. The sun that hung over the beautiful summer’s day caressed his face as he walked across the grass. He was horribly reminded of Dumbledore’s funeral. Filch standing silently near the castle doors in the same mothball scented suit did not do much to change that.

Gripping Ginny’s hand, Harry followed Mr and Mrs Weasley slowly up the aisle between the seats to a row near the front where they filed in and took their places, George and Harry sat on the edge of the aisle so that they could exit easily when their part of the service was scheduled. Harry, noticing a buzz had erupted nearby and catching a few words that sounded like ‘Harry Potter’ slouched in his seat and reflexively flattened his fringe over his scar. He then concluded that he wasn’t fooling anybody by doing it and he’d better start getting used to it. He let out a lengthy sigh.

“Yeah, I know,” said George quietly his eyes fixed on the blank white slab. “I don’t know if Dennis is going to hold it together. He was a mess earlier today.” Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand tighter in his grip and clasped his other hand on George’s shoulder. The chairs were filling up slowly and on the small raised dais Kingsley and Professor McGonagall had taken their seats but it wasn’t going quickly enough for Harry. Every minute he sat there dragged on and with every minute he heard more and more whispers that sounded like his name.

Dennis Creevey came slowly up the aisle, his footsteps dragging as he got closer to the front. As he stopped hesitantly near George and Harry, staring at the great white slab, members of the DA stepped silently up behind him. Neville slung an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders and as the rest of the DA filed into the row in front of Harry, Neville held Dennis while he cried. Harry shifted his gaze to stare fixedly at the lone tentacle that the Giant Squid was waving out of the Lake in an effort to stop the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. A quiet sniff from George indicated that he had not managed the same. As Harry slipped his arm awkwardly around George’s shoulders Dennis pulled himself from Neville’s grasp and flung himself at George who hugged the younger boy. For a few moments the three of them huddled together and simply cried, Harry losing his battle with the falling tears.

Soon Dennis had been seated between George and Harry, the Weasleys having all moved up a seat to make room. The younger boy was pale and shaky, making no attempt to stop the stream of tears that ran like rivulets down his face. Harry remained almost motionless, one hand resting in Ginny’s and the other arm along the back of Dennis’s chair. George appeared to be staring fixedly at the back of Neville’s head, one foot tapping a silent but nervous rhythm on the grass. The low hum of conversation ceased as Kingsley Shacklebolt rose on the dais and cast a Sonorous charm on his throat.

Harry didn’t hear what Kingsley said, mostly. He heard that they were there to remember those who had died in the battle four days ago. He heard that they had fought valiantly and were brave. He heard that the cause they died for was good. And he heard that the world was safe and their deaths not in vain. He could also hear the contradictory sound of birds chirping in the trees, the creaking of the Whomping Willow’s branches and the lazy splash of the Giant Squid. He heard Hagrid as he blew his nose on his tablecloth sized handkerchief. He heard muffled sobs and sniffles and the occasional splash as a tear dripped from Dennis’s face and landed on the chair with a soft ‘plink!’ Harry forced his concentration back to Kingsley.

“-and we honour their sacrifice as we remember them and as we live our lives fully, doing all the things that they died to give to us. They did not die to see us mourn, they died to see us live. So let us mourn for a time, so that they will not be forgotten and then live as they would have us live. For in becoming the people that they wished for us to become we do their memory the greatest honour.

“For all those who fought at this battle, for all those who fought in this war and the last and for all those who have laid down their lives so that our children can grow up in a safe world, we live. And our lives will stand as a monument to those who gave theirs.”

Professor McGonagall rose as Kingsley sat down, a scroll in her hands. For a moment it looked absurdly as though she was about to commence the sorting, a notion that was momentarily served when she unrolled it and began reading, alphabetically, the names of those who had perished in this, the last battle. One by one the closest kin of those who had died defending Hogwarts and in defiance of Voldemort came forward, most being supported by family members, to carve the names on the memorial and as they did so a minutes silence was observed for each of the fallen.

Creevey wasn’t very far down the list but when Colin’s name was read out, Dennis did not move. He remained shaking and pale perched on the seat between Harry and George. Harry nudged him with his arm but this did nothing to move Dennis who simply looked, petrified, at Harry. As Harry gazed at the younger boy he didn’t stop to think as he tightened him arm around his shoulders and pulled Dennis with him as he stood up. He had taken two steps when he realised that George had risen also. The two older wizards flanked the younger, arms around him as they walked slowly up to the monument.

Harry and George held Dennis upright as, through his tears, he carved ‘Colin Creevey’ on the monument, an everlasting reminder of the enthusiastic young photographer. Harry stood there, his eyes reading over the people who had been lost before he, George and Dennis turned around and still holding one another up returned to their seats.

Harry watched as Andromeda Tonks, tears streaming down her face, stepped quietly up to the monument and carved her daughter’s name there. And then McGonagall was reading out Remus John Lupin and Harry numbly got to his feet once more. Somehow, he didn’t know how, Harry found his way to the monument once again, this time alone, and raising his wand etched the name of the last of his parents’ friends beneath ‘Nymphadora Tonks Lupin’, tears streaming down his cheeks. His heart ached as he read the words he had carved and his mind flashed back to Shell Cottage and Dobby, his name carved on a headstone there.

Blindly he made his way back to his seat and Professor McGonagall read on, down her list. The names of people he’d never heard of etching themselves on his memory as surely as they were being etched into the stone. Miles Midgley…Rudolph Pemberton…Enid Plaskett…Mary Romily…Elias Scriven…

Severus Snape.

Harry rose wearily to his feet once more unable to know if he was capable of going up there one more time. He gripped Ginny’s hand and squeezed it tightly before letting go and turning to make his way back to the monument, his heart heavy, the beat pounding relentlessly through his ears. His hands shook and he gripped the chair in front of him. Suddenly a strong arm grasped his shoulders and he was pulled into a rough hug. Ron guided him back up to the monument and held him up while he carved the name of their once hated potions master into the monument. Ron and Harry had not left the monument when Professor McGonagall’s clear voice shook as she read the final name on her scroll.

Fred Weasley.

They stayed, motionless at the monument as George rose slowly and stepped out into the aisle. Harry could hear Mrs Weasley sobbing into her husband’s shoulder and see Ginny clinging to Hermione as George made the short, solitary journey to the monument. A wand gripped tightly in his white knuckled hand George stood before the monument, his head bowed, fighting the tears that threatened to cascade down his cheeks. He raised the wand, and Harry realised it was Fred’s, and began to shakily carve the name. He got only as far as the first ‘e’ when he faltered, nearly dropping the wand as he sank to his knees. And then Ron was there, kneeling beside his older brother, holding George’s hand up, steady in his own, to finish carving their brother’s name. Then Harry and Ron wrapped their arms around George, pulling him to his feet and the three walked together back to their chairs.

The sun was beginning to sink by the time the service finished, bathing Hogwarts in a yellow light and softening the jagged edges still to be repaired. People moved quietly across the lawns but Harry sat silently in his chair looking at the monument, its carved list of names making permanent the lives lost.

*******************

Dinner in the Great Hall was a quiet affair that night. People seemed too spent to expend much energy and despite their swelled ranks, as those who had arrived from Hogsmeade and the Ministry remained for a meal, it was quiet and somber.

Mrs Weasley appeared to have dropped any pretense that she had been holding onto the past few days and carried her grief openly on her face rather than concealed behind carefully schooled expressions and guarded features. She ate little and remained in her husband’s embrace as he ate one handed. George seemed to have regained his composure somewhat although he was still quiet. The silence at the end of the table where the Weasleys were sitting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and several Aurors was broken by Percy.

“I must say, Minister, that was a wonderful speech you gave this afternoon,” he said. “I too think the best memorial we can give to those who are gone is to live, now that we can do so without fear. I should be most happy to offer my services to help rebuild the Ministry, and our world, in any way that you can make use of me.”

“Blimey Perce, was that a job application?” enquired George. “Fred would be glad to know your ambition’s not changed!” Ron snorted.

“Make fun of him more like,” he said. “Are you making a joke or a job application Percy?” Percy looked at Ron thoughtfully, his chin on his hand.

“Well I did submit my resignation after all. D’you think it still stands if you deliver it to a sea urchin or should I put it in writing?”

“Sea urchin?” enquired Kingsley with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, I sort of ah, turned Minister Thicknesse into one right before the Acromantulas broke through,” Percy paused. “Only I am pretty sure Fred hit him with something too after you three stunned his Death Eater.” Percy gestured to Harry, Ron and Hermione. “Who knows what exactly the Minister looked like after that.” Harry shook involuntarily as images of the moment Fred had died swam through his mind.

“You alright mate?” Ron asked quietly. Harry shook his head wordlessly and put down the goblet he had been holding before he spilled its entire contents all over himself. He clenched his hands into fists in an effort to stop the shaking and closed his eyes only to see streaks of green light behind the lids. Green light streaking towards his father, his mother, Cedric, Dumbledore, himself, missing Ginny by an inch. He snapped his eyes open to find everyone watching him.

“I’m fine,” he said but he knew that Bill did not believe him and he was sure, from the look on her face, that Hermione shared his scepticism.

“So what happened next,” he heard George ask quietly and Ron gulped audibly.

“Well, the Minister went down –“ began Percy but George interrupted him.

“To Fred,” he said abruptly. “I want to know what happened to Fred.” There was a deathly silence. Finally Ron broke it.

“He congratulated Percy on his joke,” he said. “He was pretty chuffed that Percy had managed a joke. It was a good gift to give him Perce, at the-the end.” Ron stumbled over the last few words and fell silent.

“And then what?” George’s voice was harsh in the stillness. Mrs Weasley reached a hand out to him but he shrugged away from her. “I want to know what happened to Fred.” Percy opened and closed his mouth, Ron looked away before burying his face in his hands and Hermione was white and clearly unable to speak.

“George,” began Bill, “don’t do this – “

“No! I wasn’t there, I don’t know what happened. I need to know,” George pleaded. “I keep imagining all sorts of things and it’s all horrible and terrifying and every time I shut my eyes it’s something new, something different. And none of its real, because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there and he died without me.” He trailed off brokenly and the tears that filled his eyes threatened to course down his cheeks at any moment.

“It was the walls,” said Hermione softly. “The walls blew apart.”

“He was smiling,” whispered Ron.

“He was laughing at me,” said Percy.

As he looked into George’s pained eyes Harry watched his father, his mother, Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore all fall again.

“The world fell apart,” he said quietly to George. “That’s what happens next. The world falls apart.”

No one spoke for several minutes after that. Mrs Weasley’s sobs were the only noise to break the silence as the moment stretched on forever. Eventually George spoke.

“We have to put it back together again. We have to pick up the pieces and go on.” Harry looked away, he didn’t know how anymore, there were so many pieces missing now.

“Everybody leaves something behind,” Mr Weasley said, as if he read Harry’s mind. “Soon the missing pieces will seem smaller, when we remember and embrace the pieces that are left, the parts they left behind.” His words seemed to energise George who suddenly leapt from his chair.

“Then let’s go and find some of Fred,” he said. “Let’s do something he’d love. Everybody outside!” He grabbed Ginny’s hand as he strode towards the doors of the Great Hall, the rest of their siblings, Harry, Hermione, Fleur and Lee Jordan hurried behind.

“Come on mum, dad!” called Charlie. Mr Weasley seemed to make a decision then and he urged his wife to her feet and they followed their family out, the rest of the occupants of the Great Hall spilling after them.

George was tearing down to the Quidditch pitch, Lee, Ron and Bill in his wake. Harry watched as the four of them aimed their wands at the four towers of the pitch and set off the first of the fireworks that had been placed there the day before. The lawns were filled with people making noises of awe and wonder at the spectacular display of dazzling lights that began streaking across the heavens.

Enormous flourescent Catherine wheels, sparkling green and red dragons, rockets trailing gold and silver stars and multi coloured firecrackers erupted from the Quidditch pitch, hurling themselves into the night sky and exploding over the lawns. Harry recognized the same sorts he had seen during his fifth year but Fred and George had obviously produced a few more varieties before hiding them and escaping the school and Umbridge. He could also see enormous winged horses that cycled the colours of the rainbow and soaring, sparkling bullets that exploded in mid air to let out a shower of miniature lions in red and gold. In the midst of the spectacular light show Harry saw George release sparklers that wrote huge letters in the sky.

‘FIREWORKS FOR FRED’, they spelled out over and over in red across the night sky. And then another set were writing in gold, a message that said it was time to live, to celebrate. The crowd gasped and oooooooohed and ahhhhhhhed. The last shot of writing sparklers shot out high into the night sky, surrounded by fire breathing dragons and scores of miniature lions and they wrote in green across the sky, ‘THANKS HARRY!’

As the cheers erupted around him Harry felt his eyes fixed on the green streaks of light as the sparklers wrote his name over and over again. He felt the world receding, knew he had slumped to the ground, saw Hermione look at him concernedly, Ron swimming into view, Ginny hovering over him but then he could only see the green flashes, his name written in green light and then the green light was shooting towards his father, towards his mother, towards Cedric. The green flashes threw Dumbledore off the tower, missed Ginny by an inch and headed straight for him. Sound broke through his consciousness, they were calling his name but he couldn’t respond there was only the green light flashing towards him over and over again.

He wrenched his eyes shut but the green flashes of light did not go away, they were streaking again towards his father, his mother, Cedric, Dumbledore, himself, Ginny.

“NO!” he pulled the rasping sound desperately from his throat. “Stop!” He felt like he had to claw away from the green light and fighting desperately with the images in his brain he felt strong hands on his face. He forced his eyes open to look straight into Bill’s. Harry grasped Bill’s forearms as if holding onto the one thing that would stop him from drowning.

“Make it stop,” he forced out. “Make it stop.” Bill looked him steadily in the eyes.

“Harry, it’s okay,” he spoke softly, calmly. “I’ve got you. Hang on to me. What do you need to stop? Tell me what you need to stop.” Harry felt his grip on Bill loosening.

“Flashing – stop – lights –dying –,” he breathed out before his energy was spent and his eyes slid shut.

“Stay with me Harry, I’ve got you,” he heard the desperation in Bill’s voice and tightened his hands around the older man’s forearms. Hermione’s shriek came piercing through his head as he fought the panic and fear that was overtaking his body. Fighting to continue the deep measured breaths needed to sustain life.

“Green flashing lights! George, stop the green sparklers!” Harry could hear scrambling and cursing around him and he willed his eyes open to find Bill still holding his gaze, the green writing in the sky framing Bill’s head. Harry gripped Bill’s arms tighter, his fingernails digging into the other man’s flesh, fighting down wave after wave of rising panic, his breathing coming in short jerking gasps.

“You’re okay Harry. Stay with me. We’re making it stop,” Bill said. “Breathe, Harry!” And Bill told him when to breathe in and when to breathe out and Harry, looking into Bill’s eyes, obeyed. He focused on Bill, breathing in and out slowly and listening to his voice softly telling him he was safe. As he looked into Bill’s eyes the green flashing faded away and the waves of panic subsided, replaced by ghostlike glimpses of green on the edges of his vision and a shaking he was unable to control.

Harry closed his eyes, still breathing slowly in and out and clutching Bill’s forearms as if they were his lifeline and did not protest when Mrs Weasley insisted they take him home right that minute. Harry didn’t say anything when Bill and Ron hoisted him to his feet, half carrying him back inside. He didn’t argue with anyone when they held out a Portkey for him to take and soon he felt a jerk behind his navel that whisked him away from Hogwarts and death and green flashing lights.