Whispers of Death

Delicate white snowflakes fell gracefully on to the gravel path. Ginevra Weasley, with a bouquet of white roses in hand, watched them land before her feet and melt into nothingness as though they had never been there at all. She made her way along the rows of marked headstones--each one had a story. She tried to imagine where the house had stood before it was destroyed twenty-two years ago. Perhaps she was standing in the middle of where the kitchen had once been--she did not know. Harry had only lived there a little over a year, back when he was just the son of James and Lily Potter, before he was "The Boy-Who-Lived."

It had to have been a beautiful house. Ginevra couldn't imagine it any other way: a pale yellow house with a wrap-around porch and a wooden swing where Lily and James could watch the sun set as Lily rocked Harry back and forth until he fell asleep.

But now all Ginevra could see were endless rows of graves. Only three years ago, right after the end of the war, Professor McGonagall had proposed the construction of a cemetery in honour of the witches and wizards who fought in the war against Voldemort.

Ginevra stopped in the middle of the path and looked around, realising how many deaths there had been. The cemetery contained headstones with so many names: names of members of the Order, Aurors, even reformed Death Eaters.

Looking down, Ginevra realised she had reached her first headstone stop.

Hermione Jane Weasley-Granger

September 19, 1979-December 4, 1999

To love and be loved in return--that is true perfection.

Ginevra breathed in the dry, cold scent of winter as she bent down and placed a rose in front of her headstone. She suspected Ron had chosen the inscription. Life was unbearable for him after he lost Hermione at the hand of Macnair, which was why the headstone next to Hermione's read:

Ronald Bilius Weasley

March 1, 1980-February 14, 2000

I did it because I love her.

Those were the last words written in his suicide note. Somehow not living at all was better than living without Hermione. Ginevra couldn't quite find the logic in that. Maybe love really does make you do crazy things--like kill yourself--but maybe it was crazier that she was still living when she had lost so many. She didn't know.

She took a second rose and placed it in front of his headstone. A sob caught in her throat, but her eyes remained dry against the sold air. She had been the one to find his cold, lifeless body lying in his bed, his wand on the floor next to the bed. The image of his body would forever be embedded in her memory.

'No,' she muttered to herself, stepping further down the row. She knew not to think of that. Too many times had she frozen in the middle of the day, just thinking about it. Too many times had she cried over her memories. She had to finish what she was doing before crying.

Further down the row, though not too far away, she stopped again. This headstone was very difficult for her, only because she knew she would never find another boy quite like...

Neville Allen Longbottom

July 30, 1980-December 6, 1999

It's worth dying, if I'm giving someone else a chance to live.

Although Ginevra had never taken Neville seriously, these words had touched her deep. She had tried to keep him from going to war. He may have improved since his Hogwarts days, but by no means was he a master at duelling. But Neville refused to stand aside and watch his friends die. Voldemort hit him in the back with a curse. Neville hadn't even seen it coming.

Ginevra reached for the third rose and took the largest one. She smiled as she placed it on his grave. It was for his big heart and brilliant courage.

The next grave she reached was the last person she expected to ever care so much about.

Luna Elyse Lovegood

February 17, 1981-December 13, 1999

Live for the moments you can never have back.

Luna had told Ginny that in her deathbed. She knew she was dying, though the healers at St. Mungo's tried to keep it quiet. She told Ginny those exact words the day before she died. According to the healers, Luna had suffered severe spell damage from a series of unknown curses. They said she'd have only a couple of hours to live, but Luna wouldn't hear a word of it. Luna held on, with Ginny by her side, for seven long days.

Ginevra's bouquet of roses was growing short. She placed one on Luna's grave and repeated the words on her headstone again and again.

A single rose remained in Ginevra's hand. She walked toward the centre of the cemetery, where a statue of a lordly lion stood on its hind legs with its mouth open, as if roaring viciously. It always reminded Ginevra of Luna's lion hat she had invented in her fourth year. She knelt down in front of it to read the inscription on the plaque.

Harry James Potter

July 31, 1980-December 6, 1999

Tears stung at Ginny's eyes as she read on.

The Boy-Who-Lived

The Chosen One

Our Saviour

Harry would have hated it.

A brave warrior, loyal friend, brilliant student, and skilled wizard.

Harry would have hated that almost as much. But then Ginevra read what his friends, family, and admirers had written for them. All of it had been written down before the final battle, and although Ginny hated that everyone was being so pessimistic, it turned out to be a great idea. How else would all these wonderful words have been drawn up?

Only with friendship and love can we show strength.--H.G.

Rain of shine, good or bad, life or death, I've got your back. --R.W.

Family are those who love you unconditionally. --M.W. & A.W.

A Marauder 'til the death. --R.L.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE! --A.M.

Wonderful student, supreme seeker. --M.M.

Ginevra couldn't believe what they had all written for Harry. What was even more unbelievable was that there was no body buried here. Out of all the people in the war, who were buried in this cemetery, Harry Potter was not one of them. That was because Harry Potter had actually survived the war. He had killed Voldemort and lived. Harry died of his own accord--not the way Ron did, but by breaking into the Department of Mysteries the same way they had several years earlier. The only one who had known was Ginevra. She went with him and said her last good-byes to him as he walked through the mysterious veil that had taken Sirius away from him. He walked out of this world and into the next. And this was why the final inscription on the plaque, which Ginevra lay her final rose on, read:

Mysteries unsolved are just secrets untold. You're with Sirius now. --G.W.