A/N: In memory of Alex.
One Red Rose
Harry knew that curse was incurable. After Lestrange hit him with it three months ago, he was growing increasingly weaker, but had managed to keep it covered through invigorating potions and increasingly, Felix Felicis. With a hint of a smile, he realized he appeared even too eager. Either way, Hermione could not possibly know. He might tell Ron. Yet, their whole effort depended on the entire Order staying psychologically stable and determined. He was essentially the personification of the whole organization...hopefully that would not impact them too badly. Well, maybe looking at his own death in such a darkly humorous way was not the most productive of ways to prepare those who would miss him...
Maybe he needed more missions to handle by himself. That way he could discreetly begin disentangling himself from the Order's dependence on him, but that was a process which would take time he did not quite have. He could take Ron and Hermione in his confidence. They would cover it up until he was dead, and from there, become the natural leaders of the Order...
These ideas chased each other around his mind without effect and in the end, only succeeded in frustrating him further. Still, he settled on bringing in only Ron and Hermione on this sensitive information. A best friend and girlfriend could be trusted with anything. He needed the Order to work efficiently after all.
In the meanwhile, he would do his best to focus on his job as a leader, participate in as many missions as he could and maximize the time he had left to fight.
**
The frosty February Saturday somehow amplified the hopelessness in the procession. The news of Harry's demise had spread and amazingly, the Order's enemies had found it respectable to give heed. No attacks had been reported today.
The bearers had carried the coffin from the church and as they passed through the courtyard, the snow fell more thickly. Large snowflakes accumulated on the black jackets of Death's messengers and the mahogany lid of the coffin. Bundled white-beige roses adorned the leading end of the casket.
Ron and Hermione were the first to follow after. Hermione was shaking, tears were streaming down her face and Ron supported her, even if he was on the edge of tears himself. At least, his eyes were shining and his jaw betrayed a hint of a tremor.
The Ministry cars were parked in front of the church. The casket was loaded into the back of the lead car and soon enough the convoy started towards the chosen graveyard.
**
Godric's Hollow lay as abandoned as before. The village had been in perpetual decline for a long time, and Harry's parents' home looked even more decrepit than before. Yet, once best friends and mourners assembled in the backyard, two neatly maintained graves stood out under the ancient oak tree; the mounds on top of them seemed fresh and the grass around them was trimmed; not a blemish was to be found on the white headstones. A third grave had been dug. An identical pure white stone adorned it.
Harry James Potter
In Loving Memory
1981-2010
Throughout the assembled crowd, women cried openly, men wept quietly, young children stood quietly, uncomprehending, but realizing the immense sadness of the occasion.
"We've come together today," began to priest, "to honour the memory of an amazing, remarkable individual. Harry Potter. A character of immense depth, complexity, magnetism and intelligence - he was selfless, devoted and loving. Famous, but always down to earth and true to himself, he remains an example to us all. I can go at length about Harry Potter. He is a true legend. I think, for the sake of his peace, I will let each and every one of you come up for a final, personal goodbye."
The snow kept falling. It was a peaceful quiet, yet deeply painful, cavernous and hopeless. What could one say? A line formed around Harry's coffin, with each attendee going up, saying a prayer, letting the tears fall...only the bearers themselves remained with cold, indifferent expressions, fixed on the frozen ground, unmoving, masking the searing pain each felt inside...
Ron and Hermione were the last. Hermione had stopped trembling, but her brown eyes revealed the intensity of her own suffering. Beside her, Ron kept his own stare trained on the coffin. Hand in hand they walked up, and silently, each placed a single red rose on the mahogany cover.
The red roses looked hauntingly beautiful in the wintry covering that had begun to accumulate around them.
It was a final goodbye, as the coffin was lowered into the earth. Harry was home, with his parents.
And the snow, still, kept falling.
Fin.
A/N: Rest in peace, my friend.
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