Final Farewell

The gray, moss-covered stones lay barren, the grass-sown ground lifeless, cold. No voices rang, no children spoke, no one was near. Where once an ancient castle stood, now rises a city of the dead. The eldest of grave markers lay haggard, broken, the winds and rain having played with them far too long. The newer ones, separated by thin and breaking paths of cobblestone, seemed far more out of place. Crumbling stretches of the original walls still stood, here, there... comparatively new brick-laid fence filled in the gaps some places, it too looking old, creating a perimeter out of the outermost stretch of walls. On no grave a candle lay, a flower; no fragrance or soot from within the fortress-like enclosure came. It felt like winter there, though outside the sun may radiate of summer heat, though outside birds may merrily chirp. No bird ever entered there.

Upon closer inspection the man could not help but cringe. Bottles lay about the graves, coming of some faithless drunkards who sought in this abandoned place of mourning a place to drink hard ale. Trash of all sorts littered the floor as well; the unchanged trashcans never emptied, never cleaned. Candy wrappers too, probably off some juvenile hooligans with no better place to raid after lessons let out. Seemingly, the only reason they'd come here, anyone, was to be alone. A secret meeting place for evil deeds, a place of refuge for those who held society at fault for all the evils in their lives...

Forgive them. Please.

One grave, no different from the rest called the man forth, radiating with something the man knew unknown. He'd never come here if he could, but he could not keep away... not anymore. This is where his best friend lay; forgotten, abandoned, cold. Where were the flashes? The lights? The gifts? Where were all those that in life loved him so, that in life praised him so? It was he who saved them, after all.

They had all forgotten all too soon. The boy who died for them, the boy who saved them, the boy who was loved by his family, the boy who brought happiness to all his friends... the boy who never had a chance to ask his girlfriend to marry him. She laid here too, Right there. See? Hermione Granger; died at seventeen. Same day as he. Same day as most who now lay here.

Same day as most but him.

"Forgive me, friend... I never wanted this." His voice whispered softly, regret emanating from every fiber of his being, drenched only in the man's undying sorrow. It was he who should have been there, not his friends, but him. "I... I never meant for any of this. Why couldn't you just let me die? It was what I was destined for..." His voice came louder, slightly, "I should lay there, not you... you hear me? Me! Why did you leave me all alone?" A tear fell, followed by another, then a next, "You had family Ron... you had everything! What of me? What bloody good did I do Ron? You saved them all... you saved them, them and me. You should have let me end it there. Both I and he could have been dead and gone... both you and she would live! I'm sorry Ron, so sorry... " Ron had won fame, the fame he so desperately sought in life, by dying for them all. Hogwarts fell that day... it was so long ago, but it felt like yesterday. Ron and Harry were fighting, as were all other students... even first years fought. They had to, they all did. But Ron wouldn't let Harry go, he wouldn't let him carry out the plan he had though up so long ago. Ron took the blasted thing himself, charging Voldemort like a fool. He was, they all were... the whole world was nothing but fools. He did it though... the blast killed him and Voldemort... some Death Eaters too.

But not before the entire castle lay ablaze.

There was nothing left by the time they quenched the magic flame... it had burned the very mortar off the stones, allowing the ancient towers to fall, the timeless walls to crumble. The very suits of armor that lined the halls had been left as pools of steel, melted into liquid form. All those lost were buried here, where they fought and died. Harry would join them- soon; he could feel it in his bones. He welcomed it. Every day he welcomed it. He was old. His life had been so empty after that day, so very dead and cold. His soul had died that day, with them, but no one understood. They couldn't, he doubted he'd even want them to. Dumbledore had lived to be almost four hundred... Harry had beaten him by a few dozen. He wished he hadn't. It was his time and that was the only thing that made him smile.

When he did, it would all be over. No more magic. The war had killed off most... even pureblood children almost always turning out to be squibs. The society had collapsed soon after the war, the very magic seeming to have been destroyed in the blast. It's ability to be passed on at least. Harry was called a sorcerer now, by the few who knew, the last true wizard. Even the magical beasts were gone now; extinct and faded from existence. The world would be real then... no more hidden societies of Wizards, no more lies. The muggles would have what they always believed they had, and Harry would finally have what he wanted. Peace.