Chapter O1
The Funeral
Disclaimer- For this entire fanfic, I have no control or authorization over Rowling's characters and ideas.
Sorrow crept between somber faces as an ebon coffin made it's slow precession up the hillside. The October chill set an eerie tone, people shivering in their bundles of clothing. Tears stung the cheeks of one man, the fiancée' of the casket. Inside held Ginny Weasley, a red-headed woman with a rebellious attitude and beautiful eyes. But those eyes had been set to sleep. The man's name was Harry Potter, whose stunning emerald eyes were creating pools of shock and despair. He had planned to be wed to Ginny Weasley in a mere month. The boy had been dreaming of that day for years, and still imagined seeing his own children one day leave on the scarlet Hogwarts Express train to the ancient school where he had so many memories. Harry remembered his first kiss with Ginny, together in the center of both the Gryffindor common room, and the attention of all onlookers.
Harry knew that day that he would never see Ginny Weasley again. That her grave marker was a turning point in his life, and an obvious omen that she was not the woman that would be his love. The tears stopped, and the raven-haired man hung his head solemnly as the box was lowered into the grave. It was too much; the shock alone could kill a man. It would take years for him to truly understand what had happened, and to realize that this was the beginning of the epilogue.
The coffin disappeared from sight as dirt slowly covered it. People dispersed, and one of the most independent and powerful witches of the age was gone from anything but memory.
xvxvx
Rain slowly shook itself onto the window panes of Harry Potter's house. The lights were off, and the house was dark, except for one dull lamp shining unwillingly onto the coffee table. The glass top was adorned with a simple stone cup-stand, and on it, a mug. The mug held the remains of coffee that had turned cold hours ago. Harry lounged, asleep on the couch. He had sipped for comfort, but instead made himself paranoid, and the caffeine kept him up late into the night.
The clock struck 3 in the morning, exactly 12 hours from the funeral's start. Green eyes opened, startled awake. Harry sat up, and rubbed his hand through his hair, giving out a moan. It wasn't a dream. Suddenly, his eyes wandered to a painting that hung on the wall. It held a small boy by a river and a field. The boy winked at him, being a magical painting, and having the ability to wink. Harry slowly progressed from his perch on the sofa.
The only noise was the soft creaking of the old floorboards beneath his feet and the soft tapping of rain on the windows. "Just one last time…" escaped his barely opened lips. Rough hands reached out, and grabbed the masterpiece gently. Addressing the child focused upon in the painting, Harry whispered an ominous riddle.
"Let all who guide their futures past
And all who speak their names last
Enter from the lands unknown
To speak upon the hidden stone."
The boy winked again, and leaned forward with a squeal of old hinges. Harry sighed; that spell was similar to the one that the portraits in Hogwarts were sealed with. If the Fat Lady held the Gryffindor Common room, then what did unnamed masterpieces hold? There were many secret rooms in Hogwarts, certainly they were the keepers of many of the collection? Shaking his sleepy head slightly, Harry reached into the small circle, which had been magically hidden in the wall, and grabbed a velveteen box. Its purpose was to hold an engagement ring, but the treasure inside had more meaning and value than a diamond.
An excited Harry Potter flipped over the top of the box. Inside was a ring, with a split stone on the top. Harry had worked endlessly to preserve the Resurrection Stone, but it was eternally scarred from Tom Riddle's curse. Throwing the package carelessly back into the vault, the young man cradled the rock in his palm, longingly whispering inaudibly to it.
"Ginny… Please… Please Ginny let me say goodbye… I won't keep you long… Ginny…"
He pleaded for a quarter of an hour before the stone-embedded ring did it's job. The faded form of Ginerva Weasley took shape before his eyes, but her colorful face did not hold the same liveliness.
"Please Ginny, I won't keep you long… I just… I just wanted to say goodbye." Tears formed in Harry's eyes again as he reached out for Ginny, but his outstretched hand went straight through her ghostly body. Tears began to pool in his emerald eyes again, and he wanted to turn away, to not let her see him cry, but he couldn't. He feared that if he looked away, she would be lost forever. He only wanted her now, he wouldn't keep her.
"You need to do this without me, Harry. You need to go."
"No!" He didn't realize the vehemence in his shout until he said it. The pale woman embraced him in a hug, and for a moment, he was sure it was all a dream. Two years out of Hogwarts, and it was all a dream. They were going to get married soon, and nothing was going to be wrong. Right?
Suddenly, a dreamy, soft voice rang out in the house. Where had he heard that before? Ginny turned, startled, but knowing. Harry looked around. The voice was coming from everywhere. Where was this woman that called out?
"Ginny… It's time to say goodbye." Who was that? He knew that voice!
"Harry, I need to go. It's okay. It'll be fine. You need to let go of me, though. I can't hold you back from what you need to do." Ginny looked up at the raven-haired boy. She knew that Harry wasn't ready to lose someone this close after the war.
"Ginny…" The voice called out again.
"She's waiting for me. Don't be afraid of her, Harry. She will never harm you." Ginny smiled, and gave the shocked male one last, loving hug before walking wordlessly into the kitchen, opening the front door, and walking out.
Mindlessly hoping to follow her, Harry ran out the front door. He blinked. There was nothing to see except for the puddles. There were no more hugs, only the cold wind swirling, howling. Who was that woman? The one with the airy voice?
Harry knew her. He knew he did.
xvxvx
The next few days breezed by. The Resurrection Stone was safely hidden, never to be used again, and Harry Potter had returned to his job in the Ministry of Magic. Although many wished him to be Minister, Harry had turned down the offer, explaining that he was too young, too inexperienced, and that there were many other eligible wizards and witches for the position. The Daily Prophet lapped up his rejection like a thirsty dog. Articles on Harry's stubbornness were the cover-news for weeks. Recently, he had been filtering through the cabinets in the back of his closet, where he kept snippets of articles that either upset him or meant a lot to him. A few were scattered across the floor.
"He claims he's too young for the job, but he didn't claim to be too inexperienced last spring when he defeated You-Know-Who!" scowled a horrified anonymous reader when I, Rita Skeeter, interviewed some of the citizens in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade. "Harry Potter's a coward. He just doesn't want any more pressure after the incident with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" said another livid citizen. It's obvious that he's going through some very emotional points in his life, and is having some problems getting over the death of his beloved Headmaster over a year ago. The poor child is having a very rough time getting over his tantrums during his school year, and refuses to have a private discussion with the Daily Prophet to fill in the details about his decision on turning down the Ministry of Magic's most prized position.
The witch, Rita Skeeter, had kept her place in the Daily Prophet. Both Harry and Ron constantly tried to convince Hermione to blackmail the journalist again, using her animagus secret to keep her from spreading nasty rumors, but she wouldn't oblige. Lately, though, Hermione wouldn't do anything Ron asked her to. In fact, they weren't on speaking terms. Harry seemed like a bridge between them, and this one seemed like it'd be there a long time. Hermione and Ron had seemed so excited to be dating during their year after defeating Voldemort, but within weeks of seeing each other, none of the stormy-rain cloud feeling had left them. The bickering never stopped, and every time they confronted one another, it would end in tears.
Harry vividly remembered the horrifying night that the doorbell on his flat rang softly. It only sung once, and it seemed lonelier than before, as if something had happened. He knew who it was before the door opened. The moment the wooden wall swung forward, a sobbing Hermione fell into his arms, dampening his sleeves. Her tears stained Harry's sweater, which was currently sprawled on the floor, aimlessly thrown aside the next day.
"Harry! Ron… he just… I knew it was coming… Didn't think… hard…" Hermione's sentence fragments managed to slip out between sobs, portraying her obvious pain. About an hour later, the brunette left the apartment, still sad, but no longer crying. Ron had called later that night.
The phone had an eerie sharpness to it that night. Harry picked it up, but he knew it was either from Ron or Hermione. He hated being the bridge in their relationship.
"Hello?" Oh God, he didn't mean to sound impatient.
"Harry?" muttered the unmistakable voice of Ronald Weasley.
"Yes?"
"Oi, Harry, mate, I can't believe I did this."
The line stayed silent.
"She went over to you, didn't she?"
"Hermione?"
Now it was Ronald's turn to be silent.
"Yea, she came over."
"Was it bad?"
"She was crying, pretty hard."
"I feel horrible."
"It's for the best in the end, I suppose."
"I guess. I wanted to make sure you knew."
"Thanks?"
"Bye."
Harry and Ron talked like nothing was wrong past that day. They chatted about Quidditch and work, topics that guys enjoyed talking to each other about. But then again, Harry did still talk to Hermione. Neither of them mentioned one another, and the few times they all went someplace for `old time's sake', Hermione would leave, crying, and Ron would be more red than fried bacon by the end. Catastrophe.
xvxvx
Harry Potter stormed into his room, the door knob slamming against the wall. He ran his fingers through his own black hair, closing his eyes in fury. He knew that voice! That dreamy, airy voice! It had haunted him for the past four days, not letting him focus on work. Damn it. (He's a 19 year old guy, mom. He. Will. Sware. Occasionally. =P) Harry launched himself onto the bed, and leaned over the side at the newspaper slips that were strewn across the carpet. His fingers sifted through the waste, until they found a battered photo. One corner had been burned, and fold lines bent the page, but the characters still smiled. From right to left were his best friends, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, himself, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood.
It hit him then and there. The blonde in the torn photo winked at him, and gave her usual knowing smile, before turning to Hermione, and laughing with the rest of the gang. They were all dirty, scarred, and wearing ripped clothes. It was directly after the War, and the six of them were grateful that there weren't any more serial killers threatening to destroy humanity. Of course, that was before the dementor attacks.
The hooded figures were banished by wizarding law, and some fool decided to poof them away with a wave of his wand. Blumbering idiot. Ministry twirp no doubt. The dementors were apparently slain. This only added to the feasting and partying after the war. But coldness came. Winter crept upon the shores of England early that year. Icy chills grappled the northern isle, freezing flowers and putting patterns on windows. And the gloom.
The impending doom feeling that rumbled up from one's stomach as they waited for it to happen. Like they'd never see a sunny day again. Uncanny fog swept over the land, and snow buried cars. The wizards knew what was happening. For the muggles, it was just another dragging day. Just another long, long day at work, and an even longer day at home. Dinner seemed more gray than usual. But for the wizards, it was the beginning of the aftermath.
Screams of terror shook the flat. Harry stood up, shaken from his thoughts, and pressed his fingers against the windowpane, staring wide-eyed out onto the streets below. The glass began to fog, and little spider webs formed on it in winter patterns. He flung the window open, knowing that it would freeze shut in a matter of minutes.
A blast of arctic air greeted him, and more shouts of helplessness from down below. A massive cloud of dark frost was parading about the town, wreaking havoc. Families fled for shelter. Suddenly, Harry found himself ducking beneath his bed, grabbing tightly onto the ragged picture from before, and a blast of dark energy splintering the flat.
Ah well, good thing I'm moving out in the spring.
But there was something more on the raven-haired boy's mind at the moment. A wailing widow hung out of her window, screaming helplessly as more of the dark forms entered the streets.
"The Asuras! The Asuras!"
The people of the wizarding world had begun to know them as the Hindu demons, the Asuras. They were dementors, no doubt, but they were recharged, monsters beyond belief. Another energy strike hit the woman's house, crumbling the architecture.
The Asuras chanted something that Harry couldn't decipher at the moment, but he knew would be important later. Scrambling on hand and knee, Potter hurriedly took a notecard and pencil.
Feles, noctis lussus nos hic.
Nos adveho per haud sanguis.
Nos reverto ut Urbs, Nemus.
Quod ut superstes calx nos vado.
Hmm, seems like Latin?
Luna would know. Luna Lovegood currently worked in the Unspeakables department in the Ministry of Magic, and knew over 40 languages, dead, and active. Latin would be easy. Another black energy blast shook the apartment. Time to go.
Harry felt guilty, apparating away from the terrorized muggles around him, but it was the Ministry of Magic's job to obliviate them, not his, and besides, he was retired now.
In a matter of milliseconds, the apartment was vacated, with only a photograph, two pairs of pants, a shirt, three socks, and a 19 year old man missing.
-->