Greet Me Life, for I Have Sinned
HARRY JAMES POTTER was dead. Deceased against the bloody concrete that was beneath his body. His body lay mangled, his normally sun kissed skin pale. His green eyes glazed over, not a hue of life surfacing. People cried, screamed. They were wailing loudly — war was over. But, their savior was one of the fallen. His clothes were torn, his skin ripped, and chest still. Harry Potter was dead. His name would be remembered for centuries to come. A tragic hero, so the story would say. Seventeen years was short, for a boy made a martyr; a slave to a war he didn’t want to fight in.
A mother’s love beyond the grave was not enough to save him once more.
Molly Weasley had just lost her own boy, Fred, a soldier amongst the fallen. His body laid still, chest not breathing a sign of life. Her boy was dead, her children circling around their fallen brother. They were gripping each other with tightness, firm hand placed themselves on her body as she wailed. Her six remaining children stood before her, their once innocent faces crumpled with guilt and sorrow. Fred, a jokester through and through, part of a duo that was never meant to be apart. George had been standing still, but his sobs were not contained. Losing Fabian and Gideon at once gave her peace of mind; they would be together in the afterlife, causing havoc and running amok. But, her Georgie would be left without his other half and the thought alone made her clutch her crying child.
But, that’s when the wailing of loss got louder. Voices made their way to the Weasley family, “Harry Potter is dead!” Cries grew louder, almost deafening her. Oh, Harry. It was Ron that sprinted after the commotion happening — his red mop tossing around as he ran towards what people were looking at. Molly Weasley wouldn’t believe it herself, had Ron not collapsed to the floor, his knees hitting the concrete below him. His best friend, who had been there since the beginning of Hogwarts. He wasn’t the-boy-who-lived, not to the Weasleys. Harry was her child, a boy that wanted love, protection.
But, a mother’s love was not enough to save the boy who saved them all.
Ron’s crying reached her ears. She had never heard something so painful. Despite the tragedy the Weasleys faced, there was no denying that Harry Potter’s death also took a piece of them all. A savior who couldn’t be saved. A sacrifice that was too agonizing to bear. Another child, one of her children, dead.
When Molly reached Ron’s sobbing, crouched body, she heard the words, “He died with his eyes opened, mum.” His nose was nestled in her neck as he held his mum like a lifeline, “He couldn’t see without his glasses.” She couldn’t bear to look at Harry’s face, she wouldn’t look. Molly Weasley’s eyes frantically danced around, attempting to look anywhere but Harry Potter’s face and found the eyes of Minerva McGonagall — the women herself had tears breaching her cheeks, leaking down to her clothing. She had held it together, leading a revolution of children in a war that was not meant for them. But, Harry’s death must have broken something within the woman that so, so strong.
Nobody ever wanted another child dead. Not one that gave everything to the magical world, even his life. She wonders if Lily Potter was waiting, open arms as she greeted her child she left sixteen years ago. She wonders if James was waiting, a grin on his face as he kissed Harry on the forehead.
Oh, Harry. Ron continued to sob, mumbling about Harry’s glasses.
•••••
MOLLY WEASLEY FINDS out later on that Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Severus Snape were amongst the fallen. Andromeda Tonks buries her daughter and son-in-law next to her deceased husband. Her tears have not stopped since their deaths, but Teddy Lupin lives on as a reminder; a new generation of love, protection, and peace. His parents gave everything for their infant son and Teddy Lupin brings a smile to a tragedy.
Fred’s funeral had also been an endeavor she never thought to even think about. Eulogies are given by both George and herself. Arthur grips her hand with love and affection.
Ginny stands, approaching the casket, the vacant expression of Fred’s face is almost too much to bear for her youngest, but Molly can see the fight in her child’s face as she lays a note gently beside Fred’s body. There are hundreds of people, celebrating her son’s fight and feat. He may have not lived long, but Fred made an impact that he probably would have laughed at. In true Fred fashion, of course.
Severus’ funeral is held only a few days after her son’s. A man that played two sides of the coin, who took a risk that was braver than anyone. Ronald hated the man, but her son showed a gratitude that she wasn’t expecting. Ron had tentatively approached the grave and said something she couldn’t hear, but Ron had smiled afterwards. Then she heard a faint, “Thank you.” Whispered from his lips. Minerva had taken the time to dedicate a speech; somebody who she had taught and watched grow. Somebody‘s whose demons surfaced more often than not, but in the end, Severus Snape tangoed with death and faced it with the upmost respect. Within that week, Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey’s funerals were held as well. Molly held a crying Mrs. Brown, who collapsed in her arms.
It wasn’t fair.
The final funeral was the hardest. Not because of who he was or what he did. Harry Potter’s funeral brought in over a thousand people. The reformed Ministry held a public service, but allowed Molly and Arthur, as well as Minerva control over the majority. Wizarding people from all over the world came in support. It was…rough to say the least. The highly publicized Wake was not what Harry would have wanted. Even after death, Harry could not catch a break from the fame that followed him. Flowers were sent from Ilvermony, Beauxbaton, and Durmstrang. A fellow Wizarding student murdered during a war caused outrage. Critics from all around the world flew in, just to make show of their displeasure known.
It made Molly angry at the Ministry, made her angry about the fact that Harry couldn’t rest properly. The boy had been dead for nearly two weeks and still, people focussed on his status. His status didn’t matter. He was just a boy — forced into a war he had no choice but to fight in.
Hermione’s speech sent shivers down her spine. A way with words that no other witch could write. Hermione would change the world and Molly was forever grateful that Ron had somebody like that in his corner. Poor Ronald, she thought to herself. The boy hadn’t been the same these past few weeks. Her normally bubbly, starving boy hadn’t eaten or spoken in a while. He was more irritable, more volatile. Fred and Harry’s death took away something from her youngest son, something they would never get back.
Burying Harry Potter made everything more real. The reality of the situation finally set in, Harry Potter was dead. She had, since the first war, grown used to deceased faces. Young ones, old ones. But Harry’s face did not look real — his boisterous expressions was now still. No laughs or jokes, no green eyes lighting up with giggles of excitement. His quidditch jersey was tucked neatly within his casket, the broom Sirius had gotten him also there, along with his wand. His eyes were closed and facial expressions no longer there.
Carrying the casket was Rubeus Hagrid, George and Ron, Viktor Krum, Neville Longbottom, and Oliver Wood. Following behind them was a nation united. Minerva lead a charge once more. Thousands of people flooded the streets, following their path to Godric’s Hollow. Sobs were muted as Molly Weasley clutched her daughter’s hand, the other one firmly around Hermione’s waist. Arthur was step behind them, ready to protect at any given moment. When they finally reached their destination, things quieted. They all watched as Harry’s casket was levitated into the ground, right next to Lily and James Potter’s headstone.
“Raise your wands.”
It wasn’t fair.
•••••
HARRY’S EYES PEEL OPEN and he’s greeted with a wooden door.
No, not a door.
A coffin.