Chapter 1
Death has been around Harry since the beginning, whether that has been in the form of the people dying in the wars or the passing of his friends and family. It has always been around.
It was there when his parents died 18 years ago whilst they were protecting him, there while Sirius fell into the veil when Bellatrix Lestrange shot a spell at him, They were even there as Professor Snape killed Dumbledore at the Astronomy Tower, and He will be there as Harry Potter dies at 19 years old.
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**1999 - 2 Years After the War**
This all began with an unexpected event that shouldn't have transpired, yet it did. Let’s rewind a few hours to uncover what that pivotal moment was.
**1999 - 1 ½ Hours Earlier**
Harry Potter sat at his desk, glancing at the clock as he had about five minutes left on duty for the day. He mentally counted down the seconds, feeling the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. *4 minutes, 41 seconds... 3 minutes, 36 seconds...* Each tick of the clock was a reminder of the time that had passed and the losses he had endured. As he sat there, he reflected, *I can’t believe it’s been two years since the war.* It often felt like a fever dream, each memory oscillating between vivid clarity and blurring into shadows.
*2 minutes, 12 seconds...* The thought of the lives lost struck him hard. *So many people have died: parents, children, friends, family.* 56 seconds... *Tonks, Lavender...* 12 seconds... *Colin, Crabbe, Fred, Moon—* His thoughts tangled into a web of sorrow until his wand vibrated, its subtle hum reminding him it was time to wrap things up and head home.
Given that he was at the war memorial, most people left early to honor their loved ones. Harry stood up and began to methodically pack his belongings—his quill, parchment, and a few personal trinkets—preparing for the quiet solitude of his evening. *Maybe I should visit George and see how he’s holding up after everything,* he contemplated as he walked over to the Floo network, planning a quick trip to Diagon Alley before returning home.
As he strolled past a charming florist shop, a thought struck him. *Perhaps I should bring something for Molly,* he mused, remembering how deeply the loss of Fred had affected her. Drawn in by the vibrant splashes of color and the fragrant aromas, he stepped inside the shop, allowing the soothing scent of fresh blooms to envelop him and ease his troubled mind. He gazed at the assortment of flowers, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and variety. *What would she appreciate?* he wondered silently, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Who are you getting them for?” a deep voice suddenly asked, startling him out of his reverie.
“Oh, um, I’m buying flowers for my mother-in-law,” Harry stammered, regaining his composure. “She lost a son in the war, and I thought I’d bring her some flowers to lift her spirits. Do you have any recommendations, Mr...?” He trailed off, unsure of the man’s name.
“Paul Tunderhil,” he responded with a warm smile. “And yes, I do have some suggestions.” With that, he walked confidently deeper into the shop, selecting a few flowers along the way. “These should work nicely: the white ones are ‘White Lilies’ and the yellow ones are ‘Chrysanthemums.’ Lilies symbolize purity and the rebirth of the soul, while Chrysanthemums are often associated with sorrow and grief, making them particularly fitting for your situation,” Paul explained, offering a gentle nod as he handed the flowers to Harry.
“Uh, I’ll take them! How much do I owe you?” Harry asked, recovering from the emotional moment.
“1 Galleon and 3 Sickles,” Paul replied, glancing at the blossoms approvingly.
Harry quickly fished out the coins, handing them over with a grateful smile before exiting the shop. He cradled the flowers carefully, the delicate stems and vibrant petals a reminder of both loss and the beauty of remembrance. With a determined heart, he made his way toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, eager to check on George, hoping to share a moment of connection amidst the lingering shadows of the past.