Harry Potter and the Remnants of the Soul

Chapter Nine: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

The evening air was cool, and a slight breeze chilled Harry. Across the parking lot, a restaurant advertised in brilliant red neon that it remained open 24 hours. The diner was of the hideous sort that served everything and specialized in nothing. But Harry, prompted by a growling stomach, ordered a sandwich and slowly consumed it while plying the waitress for refills of his hot cocoa.

After an hour, Harry left the diner and Apparated back to his room at Grimmauld Place. The distinctive crack announcing his arrival was echoed moments later by the crash of a partly-assembled bookcase.

The room was a disaster. Ron's mattress leaned against a wall, and the spare bed frame had been disassembled. There was now a battered night stand below the window. His trunk was open and the contents emptied. Most of his clothes were piled on the bed, and stacks of school books littered the floor.

"Dobby!" Harry sputtered in shock at seeing his friend emerge from beneath the collapsed bookcase. "You alright?"

"Harry Potter! Dobby is so happy to see you!" The house-elf launched himself toward Harry, clinging to his leg. "Harry Potter was so sad the last time Dobby came."

Harry awkwardly patted his friend on the head. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to help Harry Potter. Dobby wants to be Harry Potter sir's house-elf!" Dobby's huge bat-like ears twitched, and his upturned tennis-ball eyes watered in anticipation.

"Er..." Harry shifted the pile of clothes to the foot of his bed and sat down. "Dobby, you can't be my house-elf. You're my friend."

Crestfallen, the elf's eyes snapped shut and large tears began pouring down his face. "Dobby doesn't need paying," he begged. "Dobby doesn't need clothes. Dobby just wants to be Harry Potter sir's house-elf."

"Ssshhh," Harry said, laying a hand on the sobbing elf's shoulder. "Don't you want to be my friend?"

"Dobby wants that more than anything else, Harry Potter."

"Well, you can't be both," Harry explained patiently. "Besides, being my friend is much better than being my house-elf."

"But," Dobby objected, confusion playing out across his face. "Why can't Dobby be both?"

"Because I don't like telling my friends what to do," Harry said. "What if I told you to stop wearing clothes?"

Dobby's eyes sunk to the ground. "Dobby loves socks and hats and scarves... but Dobby would do what Harry Potter wanted."

"You wouldn't like it though, and then we wouldn't be very good friends anymore."

Dobby silently considered Harry's example for a few minutes before hovering the pile of clothes from the bed to the closet. "Harry Potter is tired," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Harry Potter sir should sleep."

---888---

Shortly after sunrise, Harry awoke with a throbbing headache. His hair and sheets were sweat-soaked, and his stomach clenched tightly. Scratching his chest and fumbling to don his glasses, he stumbled to the shower.

When he stepped from the ancient tub, Harry was pleased to find a clean towel and clothes perched on the toilet seat. Likewise, a steaming breakfast of eggs and bacon awaited him in the parlor downstairs.

"Dobby, I told you no. You can't be my house-elf."

"Dobby is being Harry Potter's friend," the elf replied with a grin as he brought over The Daily Prophet and a large stack of correspondence. "Hermy's birdy brought Harry Potter sir's post this morning."

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said with a sad smile. "You're a great friend. Have you already eaten?"

Dobby's eyes widened and silent tears outlined the bridge of his long pointed nose. Nodding his head violently, the little elf solemnly insisted, "Harry Potter, sir, is too good to Dobby. But, Dobby is having work to do." One of Hermione's knit caps fell from its perch atop his head as the peculiar elf fled from the parlor.

Harry rolled his eyes before turning his attention to the mountain of post. Wading through the letters, he found that many of the envelopes were from unfamiliar people. He began to sort the correspondence and soon a pattern became readily apparent. All of the unfamiliar post was in expensive envelopes made of thick parchment and sealed with stodgy looking family crests. Setting these aside, he turned to the stack from his friends.

Cho's letter, scented with perfume, was sympathetic and sad. She mentioned Cedric four times and assured Harry that she knew how he must feel. Katie Bell, who had taken a position at Quality Quidditch Supplies, encouraged Harry to stop by the shop and see her if he ever wanted to talk.

Oliver Wood's note contained five tickets to Puddlemere's match against the Ballycastle Bats that Saturday. He suggested that Harry should invite his friends from the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a pre-season bonding experience.

At the bottom of the stack, Harry carefully opened the envelope from Viktor Krum. The letter, on thick, colored parchment, was written with magnificent penmanship that must have taken several attempts.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Harry,

I am deeply saddened to hear of Hermione's passing, and I wish to convey my condolences to you. I have enjoyed corresponding with her for the past few years, and she is a delightful person. Her ability to see past public perceptions to the person within is the basis for both of our friendships.

In my year at Hogwarts, only two or three students ever managed to see me as something more than a Seeker or Tournament Champion. Hermione did this with ease, and she told me that it was because of your friendship. As I have some idea as to how precious Hermione was to you, I am especially burdened for you in the wake of her death.

In Bulgaria, your defeat of the Dark Lord will undoubtedly cause shifts in the loyalties and alliances of the magical community. For those of us who simply desire to live in peace, your victory will result in new hope.

We all owe you much, but I wish to offer any assistance that I can as a token of friendship. We have much in common, and I would dearly like to count you as a friend as we both go forward in life.

Your friend,

Viktor Krum

P.S. Letters addressed to Murk Rotkiv will reach me directly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry re-read the letter from Viktor several times before carefully replacing the note in the envelope and setting it aside. Viktor's sorrow seeped from the page, and Harry knew that the Bulgarian Seeker harbored much deeper feelings for Hermione than Harry had previously understood. Ironically, he realized, Hermione's passing affected him similarly.

In an attempt to push such thoughts from his troubled mind, Harry turned to The Daily Prophet. Much to his dismay, a huge picture of he and Romilda Vane graced the front of the paper. She stood, arm-in-arm with him, a brilliant smile radiating her joy for all to see. Harry's image did not resist Romilda's repeated reassuring pats. Rather he stood there, absently scratching his chest, with an amused smile and a faraway expression glazing over his emerald eyes.

According to the accompanying article, Harry had fallen head-over-heels for Romilda during the summer. Only now did he feel that it was safe to be seen in public with his girlfriend. The reporter rehashed the Battle of the Burrow, speculating that somehow Harry must have secreted his girlfriend away from the fighting. The only quote in the article appeared near the bottom where Parvati Patil claimed that Romilda must have dosed Harry with a love potion. However, the reporter dismissed this as jealousy.

After finishing the article, Harry simply smirked and moved on to the bottom of the page. The Prophet was never going to get the facts straight, and he really couldn't do much about it anyway.

Below his picture, there was an article about the upcoming Weasley funeral. As he finished reading, Harry realized why George had been so upset. It really was going to be a circus. The Ministry was hosting a pre-funeral memorial service at the Burrow to honor those who had died fighting Voldemort. This would be followed by several speeches from Ministry Department Heads and Wizengamot Lords. The night would then be capped by the Weasley funeral, which would feature speeches from both Minister Scrimgeour and Harry Potter.

On the second page, Harry found similar funeral notices for the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, Lawrence Dawlish, Delores Umbridge, and many of the Death Eaters. In fact, there were so many notices, that it took Harry several moments to realize that Hermione and Remus had been omitted. Angrily, Harry thumbed through the rest of the paper and finally found a small notice for Hermione, buried at the bottom of page eleven.

"Bloody prejudiced bastards," Harry muttered, flinging the paper into the hearth. Wizarding England owed better than this to Hermione; she was as much of a hero as any of the Weasleys.

---888---

Harry straightened his tie and fastened the bottom button on his suit coat. Nervously, he knocked on the Grangers' door.

"Harry," Dan greeted him with a weak smile. He gestured for Harry to enter the house and closed the door after him. "Thanks for coming."

Harry fidgeted with his cufflink. "Are you alright, sir? You sounded pretty tense last night."

Dan's face clouded over and his smile disappeared. "I'm coping, but Emma's having a tough time." Sinking into a chair in the dining room, Dan's thumbs massaged his temples, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. "Your Ministry needs to work on their public relations."

Harry groaned audibly. Dreading the answer, he asked, "What have they done now?"

Dan straightened up and smoothed the wrinkled tablecloth. "Yesterday afternoon, we were sitting in the parlor when we heard a loud thump. We came to see what made the noise, and we found Hermione's body laid out on the dining room table. Whoever delivered her was already gone. The only explanation we got was a manila envelope with a death certificate. I'd like to strangle them!" Dan seethed, pounding the table with his fist. "When Emma saw Hermione, she became hysterical. Now, the Doctor's got her on sedatives, and she doesn't even know what day it is."

"Bloody prejudiced bastards," Harry muttered as he began pacing the length of the Grangers' dining room. Someone in the Ministry was going to regret this!

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Granger," Harry volunteered weakly. He almost offered to Obliviate Emma, but then he decided that the most likely response would probably involve severe bodily harm to himself. Instead, Harry reached into his pocket and retrieved Viktor Krum's letter. "I wanted to show this to you," he said handing the parchment to Dan. "Viktor is right on about Hermione. She was really special."

Twenty minutes later, Harry helped Emma into the front seat of Dan's sedan before climbing into the back. She was doing better, but it was obvious that she was on medication.

The drive to the funeral home passed in silence. The morning was marred by an expanse of low-lying, gloomy, grey clouds that blotted out the sun. Inside the funeral home, adjacent to the cemetery, Harry inspected a planter full of yellow daffodils. The flowers, brilliantly colored as they were, could not combat the weight of death and sadness that seeped from the walls.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Professor McGonagall's distinctive Scottish brogue greeted his back.

Harry was relieved to hear a familiar voice. The morning was taking a vicious toll on his disposition, and Harry found McGonagall's presence reassuring. "Thanks," he mumbled turning to face her. "Er, Professor... you know this is a Muggle funeral, right?"

McGonagall, dressed in black robes and a prominent pointed hat, frowned at Harry. "Surely, Mr. Potter, you realize Ms. Granger was a fine witch. Do you not?"

"Of course," Harry answered dismissively. "But her parents' friends and relatives are all Muggles. What will they think?"

"They may think what they wish," McGonagall said briskly. "They are coming to a witch's funeral, and I will not dishonor her memory or her death by pretending otherwise." McGonagall's chin hardened in defiance. "Our world will not be rid of her that easily. I won't allow it."

Harry nodded in understanding. Glancing down at his tailored suit, he wished he was wearing dress robes instead. McGonagall was right. Ignoring Hermione's real life at her own funeral wasn't really honoring her memory. Harry might have returned to Grimmauld Place to change if organ music had not signaled the beginning of the service in the other room.

The chapel was lonely and depressing. It was large enough for several hundred mourners, but only a dozen were scattered throughout the first few pews. McGonagall sat stiffly in the second row, her pointed hat drawing stares and whispers from the few relatives and family friends in attendance. Notably, Harry watched Dan's visage stiffen every time he turned his head in McGonagall's direction.

Harry found a seat five rows from the front and was surprised moments later when Dobby walked down the aisle and sat down next to him on the pew. The house-elf was wearing an inexpensive suit that had been crudely tailored to fit his small body. Atop his head was a veritable mountain of knit hats, and his ankles were adorned with dozens of pairs of socks.

Dobby's appearance sparked another wave of furtive glances from the assembled mourners, but he ignored the murmurs and stared straight ahead at Hermione's open casket.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry whispered to his friend. "Thanks for coming."

"Dobby would not miss Hermy's funeral for anything," he replied with a doleful smile. "Hermy was the kindest witch Dobby ever met."

The organist finished playing his first song, and a few moments of absolute quiet reigned in the chapel before Dan slowly stood and greeted a woman with bushy blond hair. As the first few haunting notes of "Amazing Grace" resonated down the length of the pipes, three more visitors entered the chapel.

Hagrid, sporting an enormous cut that ran from his jaw to his ear, smiled broadly at Harry. Beside him, Professors Vector and Flitwick formed something of a human step-ladder. An escaping snicker from one of Hermione's relatives indicated that Harry was not the only one to notice the disparity in height among the three professors.

Hagrid greeted him by embracing Harry in a crushing hug that left him gasping for breath. Once he finally regained the ability to speak, Harry and the three professors exchanged pleasantries before Flitwick and Vector excused themselves to go sit by Professor McGonagall.

"Hagrid, what happened to your face?" Harry whispered.

Hagrid just stared at Harry for a few moments before bending down. "You'll be needin' ter speak inta my other ear," Hagrid replied. "I can't 'ear out of me left any more." At that moment, Hagrid's long black hair shifted and Harry could trace the cut all the way up his friend's face. Hagrid was missing his left ear.

"What happened?" Harry asked again, alarmed at how deep the cut ran.

"Don't yeh be worryin' abou' me," Hagrid said with a reassuring smile. "Me and ole Macnair had a spot o' trouble. But, Bucky and me -- well Macnair won't be comin' 'round anymore."

Hagrid's black beetle eyes shone a little less as he finished speaking, and Harry understood the half-giant clearly. That haunted look was something Harry had seen in the mirror each of the last three days. Hagrid smiled down at Harry and patted him on the head before striding over to sit in the pew with the other Professors.

To Harry's surprise, Anthony Goldstein, decked out in a suit and holding hands with Padma Patil, entered the chapel a few seconds later. Upon seeing Harry, the couple reversed course and walked down the center aisle to greet him. As she drew nearer, Harry realized that Padma was wearing a black robe that was made of light material and cut like a dress. It would take a particularly observant Muggle to notice that she was wearing a robe.

"Harry," Padma greeted him with a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Harry silently nodded to Padma and shook Anthony's proffered hand. Sadly smiling at both of them, he said, "Thanks for coming. I'm sure Hermione would have appreciated it."

"It's the least we can do," Anthony replied, warily eyeing Hermione's casket. "We'll really miss her in class this year."

Upon hearing this, Padma's pupils narrowed in momentary panic before she averted her gaze and began studying her shoes. "Yeah," she muttered. "Classes will be really different this year."

Excusing himself, Anthony wandered over to greet the professors.

"Your parents won't let you come back?" Harry asked Padma beneath his breath.

She looked up at him, her eyes frozen in fear. "You can't say anything to Anthony. I haven't told him yet. I'm still trying to change their minds."

Harry was silent for a few moments before quietly volunteering. "I don't think I can go back either. It just won't be the same without Dumbledore, and..." Harry's voice died, refusing to complete his sentence.

From the back of the chapel, an insistent, methodic tapping slowly approached Harry and Padma. An older gentleman, wearing an expensive black robe and leaning on a silver cane approached. On his arm, Susan Bones smiled warmly at Harry. "Hello, Harry, Padma. This is my Grandpapa, Seth Ashburton."

"Hello, sir," Harry said shaking the elder man's hand; he wore an impressive golden ring set with a large yellow stone. "I've seen your name in the papers a few times, Lord Ashburton."

Seth's eyes twinkled like Dumbledore's. "I seem to recall reading your name in the papers once or twice as well," he said with a small chuckle. "Truly, it's an honor to meet you Mr. Potter. I'm just sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances."

Harry, Padma, Susan, and Seth continued to chat until they were joined by Anthony and Professor McGonagall. Soon, Dan and Emma came over to the group, and Harry introduced everyone.

When it came time for the service to start, they all found seats and a minister began to speak. Sadly, the chapel was divided much like a wedding, Muggles on one side, and Hermione's Hogwarts friends on the other.

After the minister finished, the mourners lined up near the foot of Hermione's casket and slowly began to file past her body. When it came time for Harry to pay his last respects, he felt like someone had taken a beater's bat and slammed it into his gut. There was Hermione, cold, pale, and lifeless. His knees buckled, and Harry would have collapsed if not for Hagrid's beefy hand that was there to steady him.

Regaining his balance, Harry peered once more into the casket. He was prepared this time, and Hermione's lifeless form evoked sorrow and loss rather than shock and surprise. She was peaceful and serene, beautiful like a porcelain angel. Her hair had been brushed and styled, and she wore an emerald dress. Around her neck hung the runic amulet, its five pointed star matched perfectly to the scar on Harry's palm. He reached down into the casket and deftly unclasped the golden chain.

Walking over to Dan, Harry handed him Hermione's necklace. "Please don't bury this," he said holding his palm up for Dan to see the matching scar. "It's too precious."

---888---

Harry sat on a secluded bench beneath the shade of a weeping willow. The sun had pierced the ceiling of lifeless grey clouds and was busily painting the sky a brilliant light blue.

Hermione was in the ground, the mourners dispersed to their homes. Harry would have been alone, but for the silent presence of Susan Bones. She sat beside him on the bench, her legs folded up beneath her.

"I'm glad you came," Harry said softly. "I was afraid I'd be the only one there."

"Hermione was nice to me," Susan replied. "I would not have missed it."

---888---

Harry stood before Neville Longbottom's closed casket, silently saying goodbye to his friend and dorm-mate. Algernon Longbottom had elected to bury Neville and Augusta in the Edenic garden flourishing behind Longbottom Manor. Here, amongst the vibrant flowers and fragrant herbs, Harry could not have been more proud of his friend.

Despite the breathtaking colors surrounding the mourners, the funeral was a tense affair. A small group of pale, round-faced Longbottoms clustered near one end of the garden. Opposite them, a clan of dark-skinned, stocky wizards kept a wary eye on the proceedings.

"That's Lord Josef Theodoric," whispered Susan, who was standing beside Harry. She indicated a young wizard with short black hair. "He's head of the family now. Neville's grandmother was his aunt."

Harry studied the faces across from him. To his surprise, he recognized a classmate standing a few meters from Josef. "Is that Theodore Nott?"

"His father was Mrs. Longbottom's cousin," Susan replied. She subtlety pointed at the girl standing beside Theodore. "Tracey Davis is also related to the Theodorics. She's Teddy's cousin."

Harry nearly gagged at this? "Teddy? Teddy Nott?"

Susan smiled coyly at Harry. "Yeah. He doesn't like it, but it's what my Grandpapa calls him."

"Are they related, too?" Harry was bewildered as to why Seth Ashburton had a nickname for the son of a Death Eater.

"Distantly," Susan murmured, her eyes screwed up in concentration as if she were trying to picture an enormous family tree. "I think the Ashburtons and Notts intermarried five generations ago, but I'm not sure. I'm only good with the last three." She stopped trying to picture the great pure-blood tree. "Grandpapa and Teddy's grandfather served on the Hogwarts Board together, but Teddy's father was a bit of a black sheep."

"And Teddy?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Probably threw a party when he heard about his father's death," Susan answered with a small laugh. "We played together a few times when we were young. He's a nice boy."

Harry doubted this. In his experience, there weren't very many 'nice boys' in Slytherin. He was still staring at the assembled Theodorics when he found another familiar face amongst the family. "Who's that?"

"Jakob Theodoric," Susan replied with a giggle. "Josef's younger brother. We went to the Yule Ball together in fourth year. He's surly, can't dance, and has a thing for French girls."

Harry couldn't keep himself from laughing quietly along with Susan. Probably half the students at that ill-fated ball had attended with someone other than who they wanted to go with. "So, why did you go with him?"

"He asked, and I wanted to go."

Algernon Longbottom finished his eulogy, and the mourners filed past the coffins, depositing flowers and keepsakes on the varnished oak. Harry paused momentarily before dropping his lily on Neville's casket. He felt no loss, no anger, not even sadness. Death, in its infinite cruelty had robbed Harry's heart too many times. He was empty again, unfeeling and hollow.

"Harry?" Susan prodded him forward, the line of mourners flowing once more. "You okay?"

He nodded absently before wandering away from the crowd, a few of whom were whispering and pointing at him. Susan followed.

They came to the edge of the small lake separating Longbottom Manor from the nearby village. "Where are you going next?" she asked.

"Luna's."

Susan tried but did not hide her disappointment. "I didn't really know her well. I was going to see my Grandpapa speak at the Ministry memorial."

Harry shrugged indifferently and prepared to Apparate.

"Harry! Wait! Would you mind if I went with you?"

"Er, come if you want. It's open to the public," he replied thickly before disappearing with a distinctive crack.

---888---

Harry reappeared where the long dirt path from the Burrow intersected the country road winding itself away from Ottery St. Catchpole toward London. This spot was the closest he had ever been to the town, but it left him with a kilometer's journey to the tall steeple that marked the center of the humble village.

The claustrophobic grey morning was but a memory now. The sun beat down on the lonely country road. Heat shimmered above the pavement, bleeding into a high blue sky devoid of clouds. The sun baked Harry, dampening his brow and tickling his back with beads of sweat. The elegant black dress robe he had changed into before Neville's funeral attracted heat, trapping and nurturing it.

By the time he made it to the cemetery beside the steeple, a small group of mourners had already congregated. Approaching, he spotted Susan's brown plait first. She was standing beside Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. Three other students that Harry vaguely recognized as Ravenclaws stood near the back.

"Such a small gathering," one of the blonde-haired Ravenclaws whispered to her friends.

"She didn't have any family... or friends really," an olive-skinned girl answered.

Harry brushed past the gossips, glaring at them pointedly as he went to join his friends. But, in the back of his mind, all he could hear was Luna's words from the train: "I enjoyed the meetings, too. It was like having friends."

---888---

The blistering afternoon heat waned in favor of a gentle cooling breeze as Harry, Susan, Anthony, and Padma walked from Ottery St. Catchpole to the Burrow. Half-way up the dirt track that led to the house, the quartet of friends approached a Ministry official who was overseeing the incoming Portkey arrivals. When they were about thirty meters away, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil appeared.

"There's your sister," Susan said to Padma. "Should we catch up?"

Anthony groaned, "Please, no."

Padma covered her mouth, but a giggle escaped nonetheless. "Parvati ran into Anthony's parents in Hawkman Alley. They thought she was me..."

"So, Harry," Anthony cut in loudly, "you're dating Romilda Vane now?"

"No," Harry replied with a chuckle, happy to save Anthony a little embarrassment. "Never trust the Prophet. They always lie about me."

"I know," Anthony volunteered, "but, you have to admit, you look like a lovesick puppy in the picture."

Harry directed a pointed frown at Anthony but didn't say anything until he found all three of his friends staring at him questioningly. "It was her perfume, okay?" he said a little too loudly, his voice an octave higher than normal. "I really liked her perfume. It reminded me of... some stuff."

Susan smiled coyly. "So what scent was she wearing?"

"Er, I don't know," Harry mumbled. "It sorta smelled like rain."

"Oooh!" Padma squealed, "It's that new Augurey perfume! Parvati bought me some for our birthday!"

---888---

Hundreds of witches and wizards packed the Weasleys' paddock. A temporary stage stood alongside the memorial of flowers and candles. The shrine to the lost had swollen since Harry's visit the previous night, and continued to grow as new visitors constantly added to it. Six ornate caskets rested in front of the stage where mourners could file by, paying their last respects to the victims of the Battle of the Burrow.

Harry smiled sadly as Padma, Anthony, and Susan left to find seats. After a moment of scanning the crowd, Harry found a sea of redheads near the front, and went to greet the Weasleys.

Fred handled introductions, and soon Harry had met both Weasley uncles, a dozen cousins, and several in-laws. To his dismay, quite a few of the Weasleys seemed all too eager to meet the Chosen One, rather than Ron's best friend.

Fortunately, Fleur Delacour rescued Harry and introduced him to her parents. Her father, Carel Delacour, whose angular face was permanently set in a jealous scowl, smiled cautiously at Harry, seizing his hand and pumping it vigorously. The Frenchman, although equivalent in height with Harry, was much larger. He had a thick barrel chest and broad shoulders. His vice-like grip left Harry discreetly massaging his hand.

Fleur's mother, Marie, a half-Veela, was stunningly attractive despite the over-sized, frumpy, black robe she had chosen for the funeral.

"Pleased to meet you, Madame Delacour," Harry said, squashing the urge to brag about his forthcoming Order of Merlin.

"Eet ees good to meet you, 'arry," she replied with a heavy French accent. "Eet ees 'orrible about poor Bill."

Fleur's eyes, already puffy, moistened slightly at the mention of her departed fiancé. With deliberate grace, she spun and walked in the direction of her younger sister, Gabrielle.

"Excuse moi, s'il vous plait," Marie murmured as she chased after her distraught daughter.

Frowning at being abandoned to an uncomfortable conversation with Carel, Harry nodded his head in agreement. "Bill was great... very considerate."

"I thought so, too." Carel replied in flawless English. "He and Fleur would have been wonderful together..."

The two men stood in silence, watching as Gabrielle peered around the paddock with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. "Have you ever been to the Burrow before?" Harry asked.

"We were going to come out next week and prepare for the wedding," Carel replied sadly. "I like it. It's quite... earthy. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy the English countryside. When we lived in London, Marie and I would come out for picnics and such."

"You lived in London?"

"Before Fleur was born," Carel answered. "I used to play for Puddlemere United."

Harry smiled and glanced again at the man's impressive physique. "Beater?"

Carel's laughter began slowly but soon built a head of steam until the Frenchman shook so violently he had to sit down. "That's a good one," he said wiping away a tear from his eye.

Harry, genuinely confused, plastered on a vacant smile. "So what did you play?"

"Seeker, of course," Carel replied after a moment. "I'm too small to play anything else."

"Oh," Harry mumbled before excusing himself and approaching the ornate caskets near the stage. He wanted a chance to say goodbye to each of the Weasleys and Tonks. They had been his family, or as close to one as he'd ever had.

---888---

Charlie was the first to speak; he spoke about his mother. George came next, his pockets bulging with batteries and plugs. He reminisced about growing up with a father whose greatest ambition was to learn how Muggle airplanes stayed aloft, and how that inborn curiosity had blossomed in his own life. George's heartfelt tribute moved several in the audience to quiet tears.

Fleur took the podium next and spoke about her relationship with Bill. Her heavy accent and halting speech gave Harry the opportunity to glance around the paddock. He recognized many of the Hogwarts professors and dozens of current and former students. Lavender Brown, clutching a frilly pink handkerchief sat beside Parvati Patil. A few rows away, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Oliver Wood were in attendance. Next to them, sitting with her pack of friends, Romilda Vane smiled broadly when she managed to catch Harry's eye. He frowned and turned around to concentrate on Fleur, but she had already finished.

"When Charlie was appointed the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain," Fred was saying, "my parents decided they would give him a present... So, Charlie asked to go see Luke Dascenzo who was seeking for Tutshill. The Tornadoes were marvelous, they'd won three straight Cups... and Charlie wanted to be just like Dascenzo. So, Dad got us all tickets for the upcoming match between the Tornadoes and the Cannons.

"That was how my Dad was. If Charlie wanted to see Luke Dascenzo, then we were going to the one game where there was no way the Tornadoes would lose. The Cannons were awful; they had to be the worst team in the league. So, Dascenzo, who was by far the best seeker in Britain, was a lock to snatch the Snitch.

"Of course, it didn't turn out that way. The Cannons won their only match of the season that night. Everyone knew it was a fluke... except for Ron. From that day on, he became the biggest Chudley fan ever. He pleaded with Mom for posters, shirts, magazines, books, and anything with a Cannons logo on it.

"But the best thing about Ron was that when he realized just how horrible they were, he didn't let that stop him. He's always been a rabid Cannons fan, and he never stopped hoping that they would win." Fred halted his story at this point and looked straight at Harry. "Ron was always like that, quick to befriend someone... and undyingly loyal. It made him a great friend and a great brother."

As Fred stepped down from the stage, a piercing, mournful wail rose up from the crowd. Lavender Brown wept loudly into her pink handkerchief, tears streaming down her cheeks and intermittent sobs carrying across the paddock. With great animation, Parvati desperately tried to comfort her. But, she was only rewarded with muffled sobs and cries of, "my boyfriend."

Harry sneered in Lavender's direction. He couldn't help but think that she and Parvati were making a scene on purpose. None of the Weasleys were sobbing, much less loud enough to hear from across the paddock. They'd certainly lost a lot more than Lavender.

After she finally settled down, Percy ascended the podium. As it turned out, he was an excellent public speaker, sharing several anecdotes of Ginny, a young girl with six older brothers and enough spunk to fend for herself. Of course, Harry thought with a sigh, Percy never mentioned the estrangement from his family, or the fact that he had hardly known Ginny in the last few years... Death did strange things to people. The other Weasley brothers had apparently forgiven Percy, but Harry could not let go that easily. It would take time.

An older couple took the stage next, introducing themselves as Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Harry had never met them before, but he felt somehow that he knew them. Perhaps it was the fathomless grey eyes Andromeda shared with Sirius, or the sly smile Tonks had clearly inherited from her father, but Harry was drawn to the grieving couple.

Ted followed in the pattern set by the Weasleys, recalling several humorous stories about rearing a Metamorphmagus. And then, Andromeda spoke. She walked from behind the lectern, standing near where the Minister and several Department Heads were seated.

"My daughter was in love when she died." Andromeda's steel reinforced voice carried clearly across the paddock. "Remus Lupin died here three days ago. He fell just over there." She pointed toward the house. "He was fighting Death Eaters, just like everyone who has been honored tonight. Why isn't he being honored here, Minister?"

She said nothing more. Rather, Andromeda simply turned, took Ted's arm, and found her seat. The Minister was slated to speak next, he appeared distinctly uncomfortable. Harry, smiling broadly, managed to catch Andromeda's eye. "Thank you."

Whispers raced around the paddock as the Minister placed a few sheets of parchment on the lectern, sipped at a glass of water, and walked to the edge of the platform nearest the Tonks. Looking Andromeda in the eye, he declared, "Mr. Lupin is not being honored here tonight because he was a werewolf, and our society is not comfortable with werewolves."

Harry and the rest of the crowd were stunned. The Minister harbored no pretenses; he had boldly labeled a spade, a spade.

After the initial buzz of excitement passed, Scrimgeour continued, "I would have liked to include Mr. Lupin in tonight's ceremony, but I did not wish to turn a moment of unification into one of division. Our society needs to heal now... and I did not want a boycott of this ceremony."

The crowd's response was mixed. A few people clapped and whistled, while some quietly shook their heads. Harry would have left if he weren't speaking next. Scrimgeour had missed the point entirely. And so, as the Minister returned to the lectern and began reading from his prepared text; Harry simmered. He simmered for quite a while as the Minister's speech dragged on into eternity.

Harry's first impulse was to berate Scrimgeour when he took the podium. The man had no idea how to lead. How dare he ruin the Weasleys' memorial service? This was supposed to be about the victims, and now he had to go and start a debate on werewolves? But... the Minister had not broached the subject... not willingly, at least. It was Andromeda who had raised the issue. But, the Minister was wrong! Who cared about protestors at a funeral? It wasn't fair to Remus... or Tonks.

And then a revelation dawned on Harry. Where were the protestors? Why had it taken Andromeda's bold question to make this an issue? Why wasn't Hermione being honored here? No one was protesting her exclusion either!

It was Harry's turn to speak. He panicked. He had planned to speak from the heart about his family, but now he felt required to make some sort of political statement. Was it appropriate here?

As his legs carried him onto the stage by their own volition, he glanced at Fred and George; they looked defeated and depressed. He still didn't know what to do, but there were the coffins, the crowd, and the remaining Weasley brothers.

"The Weasleys are my family. I love them," Harry said. "Ron was my best mate. Ginny was my girlfriend. Mrs. Weasley treated me like her own son, and Mr. Weasley was always there to listen when I had a problem. Even before I met Bill, he came to support me at the tournament... he was always thoughtful like that. Three days ago, I lost them. They were treating me like family, throwing me a birthday party. That's how I remember them. Loving, caring, kind, and compassionate.

"Tonks was there, too. She was like a cousin, always fun to be around. But they weren't the only ones at my party." Harry imitated Andromeda, walking over toward the Minister and staring right at him. "My best friend Hermione was there. She was like a sister: loyal, smart, demanding, and an excellent listener. She fought against the Death Eaters, too." Harry smiled vacantly. "I'll miss her. I wish she had been honored here tonight. Regardless of her parentage, she deserved it."

Harry paused long enough to let that statement reach the trees on the far side of the paddock and echo back to his ears. The crowd remained silent, peering intently at him. "Remus was at my party, too. He was an uncle and a good man. He fought bravely and proved himself... proved himself better than this society that looked down on him. He should have been honored here tonight as well."

And as soon as he spoke those words, an idea, fully-ripened, took root in his mind. "Remus taught me how to do this," Harry declared, withdrawing his wand. He concentrated on the memory of Tonks rescuing him from a petrified train trip back to London. She had done it, and he could too.

"Expecto Patronum!" A corporeal werewolf exploded out of the end of Harry's wand. It paced the stage for several seconds before howling at the moon and dissipating into the wind.

_____

Author's Note: Please enjoy the chapter. As I said last time, updates will continue to be sporadic over the next few months as I will be sitting for the CPA exam. As always, reviews are deeply appreciated and immensely helpful.

Author's Recognition: This chapter is dedicated to Zsenya and Arabella for their story, After the End. Since Ginny gets mentioned as Harry's girlfriend in this chapter, and that is about as close to the Harry/Ginny genre as I'm willing to get, I figured I'd honor one of the best H/G fics ever.

I would like to thank everyone who has helped me with this chapter. As always, my betas, Ivan and Lisa did an excellent job. I'd also like to thank imakeeper for a review that pointed out a canon error.