SPOILERS: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, QA, FB
Squick Warning! If you don’t like the main characters dying, do NOT read this!
Ron smoothed his black dress robes out as he stood outside the small chapel. His mother stood next to him, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a crumpled tissue. Ginny stood near her with her arms wrapped around her mother’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Both she and Ron knew that their Mum wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
He looked up as Seamus and Dean made their way towards him, and nodded curtly in greeting. Their faces were somber as they returned his nod, and each of them planted a small kiss in turn on his sister’s cheek.
For once, Ron wasn’t upset that boys were putting their lips near his sister.
He was standing just outside the front door of the small chapel, waiting to greet the mourners as they came. A coffin lay inside the small building, and he was none too eager to get back inside and be faced with it. He’d been faced with too many of them in the last week, and all of the death and decay was starting to take its toll on him.
This funeral, though, was the one he’d been dreading most of all.
The church bells let out a loud, doleful peal, and he turned and herded his mother and sister inside the building. They took a seat in the very front aisle, and Molly Weasley burst into bitter tears as soon as her eyes fell on the open coffin. A wizened witch in velvet robes the color of the midnight sky made her way to the podium that stood scant feet away from the coffin, and she cleared her throat.
“I just wanted to say a quick word of thanks for everyone who has shown up today. We’re all having a difficult go of things, and it really means so much that so many people came to offer their kind words of sympathy, and offer their support to the others who are hurting. We’re going to depart from the norm, a bit,” she said, her normally austere expression slipping slightly. “Anyone who would like to come up here and say something, please do so.” With that, she moved from the podium and took her seat in the front row near the Weasleys.
Surprisingly enough, or unsurprisingly enough; depending on what you had seen during the final battle, a tall blonde-haired man strode down the aisle first. Tongues wagged as he pushed white-blonde strands away from his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I was never Harry Potter’s biggest fan,” he drawled softly, his eyes flitting towards the gaggle of redheads in front of him. “But in the final battle, he saved my life. He is the reason I am now free to live my life the way I want to.” There was an awed silence as Draco left the podium quickly and made his way back to his seat, his face turning expressionless. A few moments later, Ginny made her way slowly to the podium.
“Harry was one of my closest friends, and my first crush,” she began quietly. A few uneasy titters arose from the crowd. “He was extremely loyal to his friends, always there when anyone needed a shoulder to cry on, or to lend an ear. He used to help me with my Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. I can,” she paused, a sob catching in her throat. “I can still see him sometimes, sitting on Ron’s bed and playing exploding snap,” hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she shook her head.
“I’m s-sorry, I thought I could do this, but I can’t,” she stepped away from the podium and sat down in the chair beside her mother, welcoming the ample woman’s embrace. Dean Thomas stood at the podium.
“Harry was one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. He was definitely one of the most powerful wizards that has ever lived. Who else could have done in their lifetime what he did in the nine years I knew him? He was an amazing person, and I’m going to miss him very much.” The room was deathly quiet as Ron stood and shook Dean’s hand, then took his turn behind the podium. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably.
He hated standing in front of people on an occasion like this, but some things just needed to be said. They all had to know, and there was no one else to tell them. He smiled faintly as he heard Hermione’s voice in his head, urging him on, and an unspeakable ache filled him as he realized he would never hear that sweet voice again.
“Harry Potter was one of the two best friends I’ve ever had in my entire life. We had our share of bad times, but we had plenty of good times, too. Every day was one adventure after another, and I don’t regret a moment of it.” He took a deep breath to steady himself.
“Harry had this amazing ability to be able to look at someone and know what kind of a person they were. He was very forgiving, as well,” he gave a pointed look to Malfoy, who was still staring blankly in front of him. “He knew that everyone deserved a second chance, which was something that he was never given.” A small surprised gasp went up from the crowd.
“Harry never wanted his fame and notoriety. All he wanted was to be a normal wizard, and have normal experiences. He wanted to fall in love,” he gave his sister a pointed look, and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “He wanted to become an Auror. He wanted to be able to walk around without being mobbed by people. Unfortunately, he never got to have that, and now he’ll never get a chance to.”
“Harry was one of the most giving, open people that I have ever had the pleasure to meet,” Ron’s voice began to waver. “He never judged people on how much money they did or didn’t have. He didn’t care what they looked like. All that mattered to him was that they treat him decently, and so many times, he didn’t even get that.” He closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten, trying to calm his racing pulse.
“Harry never had a real family, to speak of. His parents were taken away when he was one. His godfather was taken away when he was fifteen. His last links to his family were killed in front of him as a means of torturing him,” he clenched his teeth as his sister’s wail rose from the front row. She had seen the torturing as well; she and Malfoy had both been bound and forced to watch along with Harry as the Death Eaters had viciously attacked Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger.
“Harry was strong. Even after he’d been forced to watch his loved ones being murdered, he was able to gather the last of his strength and fight back, and he wound up saving all of us. And what has happened?” his voice turned hard and angry, and he ignored the rising din of the people present.
“The press,” he said the word scathingly. “Has decided that it would be a great angle to make waves over the things that they think happened during the battle. They weren’t there and they haven’t spoken to anyone who was there – I know, because none of us will talk about it to anyone who didn’t endure it – and they have managed to twist what Harry’s done into something dark and ugly.”
“Harry did nothing wrong. Yes, he used Cruciatus. Yes, he used the killing curse. He used them on people who didn’t think twice about using them on other people, and he only did it to save our necks. So to those bloody reporters, I say fuck off.” A loud gasp rose from the throngs of people present. Ron’s cheeks turned scarlet as he focused his eyes on Rita Skeeter in the third row, looking as though she wanted nothing better than to turn into her animagus form and fly away.
“And as for those of you who just came to this funeral because it was the so-called biggest event of the year, where the hell have you people been for the last year? There’s been a war going on- a war! People fought and died for you, and what do I hear when I walk through the streets? ‘I heard Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were lovers,’” he said, his voice clipped with the barely controlled hatred he felt.
“Who the bloody hell cares who was sleeping with who? They’re dead now, and they’re not coming back! Why can’t you let them be? Give Harry the peace in death that you vultures never allowed him in life! Quit fucking talking about him! He’s not the Boy Who Lived anymore – he’s the Boy Who Lived to give his life for a bunch of ungrateful, spiteful twits!” His chest was heaving with emotion.
He watched in silence as people began to stand and leave the chapel, disgust and insult clearly written on their faces. He watched as several of his fellow Gryffindors used this to their advantage, and moved towards the front of the room in a huddled mass. They sat down in front of Ron, and waited for him to start speaking again.
“I was going through some of Harry’s things,” he said, his voice softer now. The angry edge was gone, and his expression was pained. He noticed that Malfoy was now sitting next to Ginny and his mother, whispering something that made Molly shoot him a teary smile. “And I found a book of Muggle-written poetry. Fittingly enough, it was a Christmas gift from Hermione last year.” He held up a small leather-bound book.
“Harry and Hermione would sometimes talk about their common Muggle roots, and I was lucky enough to be there during their, er, heated conversation,” he paused as a few of the Gryffindors snickered half-heartedly. “About their favorite passages from this book. One of the poems was circled as being a mutual favorite of theirs, and it’s-“ his voice broke, and he had to turn his back while he regained some semblance of composure.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He glanced up and saw nothing but understanding radiating from the tear-streaked faces that stared back at him, and it heartened him enough to go on. He opened the book and flipped to a certain page, then cleared his throat to read.
“I loved my friend. He went away from me. There’s nothing more to say. The poem ends, soft as it began, I loved my friend.” Parvati wailed and clutched Dean’s arm. Ron saw Malfoy wrap his arms around Ginny, and watched without malice as she sobbed into his chest. He understood.
Everyone needed someone to help ease the pain.
He turned to the coffin and gazed down on Harry’s face, which looking disturbingly calm and natural in the wake of the horrible events he’d had to endure in the last moments of his precious life. He reached down and pushed Harry’s dark hair over to cover the jagged scar on his forehead that had become his curse, and allowed a single tear to slide down his cheek.
“Goodbye, mate. Take care of Mione for me, until we can have adventures again.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He gripped the side of the casket tightly, giving Harry one final look and committing everything to memory, before he turned and walked away.
FIN