- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Genres:
- General
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 06/19/2002Updated: 06/19/2002Words: 1,296Chapters: 1Hits: 527
The Last Blaze Of Gryffindor
Saff
- Story Summary:
- The war against Lord Voldemort is to the ultimate, but not everyone is going to make it to the victory. In this quiet corner of England one such small story is told, as the sun sets on the perfect English summer day.
- Posted:
- 06/19/2002
- Hits:
- 527
- Author's Note:
- Thanks of course to my beta reader - Kate, with out whom no-one could ever read my fic. The poem at the end was found in letter of an English soldier, who fought in Ireland, to his family. The poem was not his and no-one knows who wrote it, it is one of the most beautiful pieces of war poetry ever written. As always I am glad to get your feedback!
It’s one of those exquisite evenings, which follow the beautiful hot days of early summer, the perfect English summer day, rare as diamonds and just as priceless. From where I am I can see the sun just perching on top of the trees. Soon it will descend lower and lower until the woods are on fire with the power of heaven. The last rays catch my face and hands and I can feel the last drop of heat in this still evening. The heat is in the flowers too, it warms them and releases their perfume until it fill the air around me. Among the trees a Nightingale begins her song, each note a drop of pure beauty and pain, bitter sweet and faultless. On a day like today you cannot but sit back and marvel at nature in all her graceful and delicate work. The only thing you can do on a day like today is go with your best friends for a picnic, to find a field full of early summer flowers and a cool wood to explore. You sit together long after the sun has set, sending its last flames into a velvet blue sky and each of a thousand stars have been lit. You sit and talk of a childhood now passed away, of a million little moments and memories you share. You talk and joke of what will come of your plans and dreams, and on a day like today dreams really could come true. You walk side by side through the wood hearing all the little sounds of nature and in the middle of the wood you find a clearing and a pool. There is only one thing to do, dive in and feel the crystal water sliding past you as you are surrounded in total silence and peace. Then up, faster and faster, breaking though the surface and laughing, laughing at friends, at yourself, at life, which today is perfect. Then you climb out and lie on the bank looking at the bluebell clear sky, saying nothing, only happy that it is a wonderful day and you’re with friends and life is perfect. On a day like today you should be free and innocent again without a worry in the world. On day like today you should not die.
It seems, however, that most people don’t choose how or when they are going to die. It happens. I know I am dying, that all the life that runs through me is slowing to a stop. It’s very peaceful. I am no longer in pain. I am happy because I surrounded by so many beautiful things, I only wish, as I watch the sun set for the last time I could have said good bye, one last time. I cannot speak, not now, not any more; that time is gone. The world is so full of words, of laugher and tears, no more are needed. I can hear voices carried on the still air, voices I recognize, friends I’ve known for a long time, such a long time. They are safe and they have come to look for me, they have not forsaken me.
The Nightingale is quiet now, her enchanting song is over, the only sound in the world is my breathing, slowly in and slowly out, getting ever slower, soon to stop. I wonder where my friends are, their voice have faded and I am far too tired and comfortable in the soft grass to sit up and look for them. They will find me, in a minute. For now I stare up at the sky watching a bluebird soar higher and higher.
Now they are here. I can see them. The gentle faces of friends. I think I’ve known them all my life. Their eyes are full of tears, why? There’s nothing to cry about, I am not in pain. Here, take my hand, I can not speak but I want you to know how much you mean to me, each of you. I am getting tired now but am happy just to lie here and feel the heat and let the familiar voices wash over me. I am safe here. Nothing can harm me under the that sun, there is nothing bad in this field, not anymore. Here it is just peace.
I did feel pain, once you understand. In the duel, my last battle, my final task. People say that I am young, but I am old beyond my years, we all are. I didn’t want to die, I wanted to live my life to be everything I could be.
I saw one of them, one the dark lords, not The Dark Lord, one of his powerful followers. He was going down into that wood. Our hospital was there and he mustn’t find it, it was up to me to stop him. I followed him around the edge to this field, this peaceful bit of England. Here where I lie now, we fought and I won. I am dying but I won my war. The last curses of our wands are the last spells we will ever do, either of us will ever do. He fell dead to the ground, in my last magic I was all powerful, far more powerful than him. It doesn’t matter now that I am dying but that I lived long enough.
I saw the death eater taken away but I wouldn’t let them move me. There was nothing they could do. They took the pain away and left me here in this quiet place to wait for my friends who have come. The words that wash over me are those of comfort and love, of memories and regret. They tell me that the hospital has been moved and that we are safe again. I hear the familiar stories of our childhood, a childhood not quite over, but as dead as that dark lord. I see the pictures in my mind's eye as the words fill my being. I see Quidditch matches won and lost, I see lessons and the common room filled with friends laughing and enjoying life. Seen as I have seen them so many times. I have met these people since, their faces aged with worry and pain. I am dying and leaving all that behind me. I won’t see the world I love win, get the victory I know it will.
This is it now, good bye my friends. Please don’t cry for me. Please don’t worry. I will miss you but we will see each other again. Never forget me or any of us. Never let the dark lord, never let Voldemort win. When all this is past, as it will pass in time, then remember all of us with hope. As long as everyone remembers this can never happen again. It must never happen again.
The sun is almost set, the wood looks as through it is on fire now, great gold and red tongues of flame lick the sky. My friends speak the last words I will ever hear. So my time comes and I die with friends’ faces fixed in my soul and the colours of Gryffindor burning in my eyes.
"Welcome, Hermione"
Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on the ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of the quite birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die