Mourning Dawn (A Prelude to The Wand of Elder)

Harry wondered for a moment where he was. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, trying to grasp the remnants of the dream from which he had just awoken. It had been a pleasant dream, a dream of childhood and sunlight and laughter, but it was gone.

His eyes focused on the ceiling above, sliding towards the ornate crown molding at the corners where it met the walls. He listened for the sounds of Ron sleeping nearby, but heard only the creek of the wind against the windowpane. He noticed a complex tapestry on the wall and blearily wondered where his bed hangings were. Then it struck him - he was not at school.

"Grimmauld Place," he murmured. "I'm at...home."

He had been there for a while, he realized. Ten days, in fact. Harry looked out the window to his room, a room that had once belonged to Sirius Black. The darkness outside was complete. That was when he remembered what he had to do in this pre-dawn morning.

He looked at the wristwatch. It was 3:00 AM. That was good. He had not overslept. Professor McGonagall had been adamant that they needed to do this at night. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about visiting Dumbledore's tomb. Harry had had enough sadness to last a lifetime, but he knew it must be done.

"Kreacher," called Harry.

There was a loud crack followed by, "Yes, Master."

"Breakfast, please, Kreacher," said Harry.

"At such an hour, Master Harry?" asked Kreacher disbelievingly. Then Kreacher croaked under his breath, "Master suddenly arises so early today, after staying up half the night for the past week with the Weasley boy and Miss Hermione."

"Not today, Kreacher," said Harry reproachfully. Harry then smiled at the elf to take the sting out of his words. "Just breakfast, please. I'm in a hurry."

Kreacher looked at Harry through Rheumy eyes. He had the look of a grouchy but indulging uncle. He bowed his head and shuffled from the room.

Feeling alert despite the early hour, Harry rose quickly and pulled on a sweatshirt, jeans and his trainers. He was thankful that he'd had the foresight the night before to bathe and get to bed early. Kreacher had been correct in his observation. Except for last night, Harry had been up half the night, every night, with Hermione and Ron since...

"Since Fred's funeral," Harry murmured, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. He wondered when it would stop hurting.

Harry rose, feeling less energetic than he had moments before. The last week had been a blessing really, having Ron and Hermione there at Grimmauld Place. A week before, just after the funeral, Hermione had brought up the subject of their studies for the coming year. With her usual intensity she had observed that their trip to Australia during the summer would prevent her from getting her usual head start on the school year. Despite her oft-proven brilliance, she felt sure that she would be at a disadvantage, having missed a full year, and being distracted by their upcoming trip.

To her delighted surprise, Ron had suggested that they all start studying immediately in order to brush up on the material from their Sixth Year. He had also pointed out that they should try to get ahead by covering some of the Defense Against the Dark Arts material for their N.E.W.T. exams.

With uncharacteristic circumspection, he had pointed out to Harry, "We really should, Mate. It will help you keep up in the Auror Training this fall." That was when Hermione had kissed him in an embarrassing fashion.

Harry shook his head with a smile as he made his way down the steps to the cellar kitchen. Harry reckoned that half of the reason that Ron had thrown himself into the studying so thoroughly over the past week was because it elicited such an amorous response from Hermione. Harry then remembered those worried looks that Hermione would cast in Ron's direction each night, and the way that Ron would push to keep studying into the small hours of the morning.

Ron wouldn't talk about it still, but he looked regretful every time he and Hermione departed for the Burrow.

"He's still not sleeping much," murmured Harry, entering the kitchen.

Hermione accompanied Ron back to the Burrow each night since Mrs. Weasley was not thrilled with the idea of Ron and Hermione staying at Grimmauld Place together without a chaperone. It wasn't that they couldn't convince her otherwise. They were of age, after all, and they could make the requisite promises and protestations of appropriate behavior. But none of them wanted to cause Mrs. Weasley any further disquiet. Plus, since Hermione had no home until she located her parents, Mrs. Weasley had kindly offered her a spot in Ginny's room for as long as Hermione needed it, much to Hermione's and Ginny's mutual delight.

"Ginny," said Harry, feeling guilty. Harry had barely seen her in the past week, and then only briefly when he stopped by to meet up with Ron and Hermione. Harry hadn't been avoiding her at all, but the mood at the Burrow had been so somber in the past week that the time was never quite right. Plus, it did not help that Ron always rushed he and Hermione out of the door like he was making an escape. Harry was worried he'd never get to talk to Ginny until they all left for Australia, if Ginny was allowed to go, which was still undecided. "I should go by the Burrow after..."

"Pardon, Master?" asked Kreacher.

"Nothing. Oh, sorry, Kreacher," replied Harry. Harry began quickly gathering a few of the tasty pastries that Kreacher had put out for breakfast. "Look, Kreacher, I'm going on an early morning errand at Hogwarts, and then I am going to stop by the Burrow. I might end up staying there for the day, so don't be worried."

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher. He mumbled something further under his breath, but Harry didn't catch it. Harry let it pass. He looked around the kitchen and noticed its pristine and gleaming condition, feeling very thankful to have the elf.

Harry said, "Kreacher, you've kept the house in perfect condition this week, and your clean-up has been going better than I expected. Hermione and Ron were quite impressed. Please keep it up today if you feel like it, and keep storing those dark objects for me, alright?"

The unbelievable amount of dark objects that Kreacher had unearthed throughout the house had been very helpful. They gave Harry and his friends something upon which to focus their studies for the past week. To his own surprise, Harry believed he was learning some good tricks, at least as far as curse breaking was concerned.

"Of course, Master," said Kreacher, puffing out his chest at the compliment.

Harry smiled and waved to the elf. Then, bracing himself for the unpleasant sensation, he turned on the spot and disapparated.

Harry looked up at the familiar iron gates with the moonlit silhouette of the castle behind. Harry did not feel the exhilaration of a homecoming that usually accompanied sight of Hogwarts. He had a purpose here tonight, and he felt the need to be about it without delay.

The gates were open as Professor McGonagall had said they would be. Harry passed through them. Instead of making his way up the familiar dark path, Harry turned and cut across the school grounds. As Harry made his way, he thought back over the past several days. He hoped that tonight would be the last time he had to appear at a graveside. He had seen too many.

"The memorial service," muttered Harry to himself, making a list. "Collin, Remus, Tonks...Fred...the others. Too many."

He had attended many others, actually. He had felt an obligation to try to attend as many as there was time for. He had spent every morning and afternoon attending funerals, wakes and memorial services before ensconcing himself with Ron and Hermione each evening. While Ron and Hermione seemed to think he was punishing himself, and Kreacher's mutterings on the subject had approached insolence, after each service, Harry felt a little bit more peace settle over him. Harry knew that these poor people had died for him, so that he could attain victory. That victory made Harry the hero of the hour, but these people, many of them younger than he was, had made the ultimate sacrifice to bring down the Dark Lord. They were the real heroes, and Harry was in awe of them. The least that he could do was to let these heroes' families know that he appreciated the depth of their grief.

As Harry saw the distant shape of the White Tomb glinting in the fragile light of the moon, he took comfort in his thoughts. It was a comfort that had occurred to him during Fred's funeral, when Harry's grief had been at its apogee. This was the first in the series of burials that Harry had attended. It had been George who had inspired Harry to attend the others. George, despite his silence immediately after Fred's death, had been the height of eloquence as he spoke to the loss that Harry felt.

Harry remembered:

George had taken the podium in front of the tearful mourners. He was somberly, yet tastefully, dressed in black robes of fine cloth and plain cut. His eyes were dry, but red, as if he had just finished with a private bout of mourning. He stood at the podium for several long seconds, composing himself with deep steady breaths, and then he looked out at those assembled.

"You know," George began, but then had to steady himself again as his voice shook. He took another deep breath, and tried again. "You know, I reckon that my Mum was a little nervous when I was asked by my father to give the eulogy for my dear brother. In our time together in this life, Fred and I were not known for our serious natures, as you can all attest."

Harry found himself smiling ruefully at the truth of that statement and George also smiled sadly.

"Or perhaps it was that Mum, being the wonderful and omniscient mother that she is, simply knew how hard Fred's death has been on me." George's voice grew stronger and clearer, finding the rhythms of his thoughts. "Perhaps she knows that there has been nobody in this world besides Fred with whom I have been closer.

"Over the last couple of days, I have repeatedly thought of various things, searching for something to comfort me and my family. I have thought about what a worthy cause Fred sacrificed himself for. I have thought about how he will live on in our memories. I have thought about how much we all loved him, and how much he loved us. I have thought about what a truly good and decent person he was to those whom he loved, or to those whom he had just met, and how this will certainly reap him an eternal reward. All of these thoughts have gone through my mind, and each of them provided some small comfort to me, as I am sure they have to each of you."

Harry felt himself nodding. He looked at Ginny, seated beside him to his right, and took her hand. She squeezed it gratefully, tears glinting at the corner of her eyes.

"But they did not comfort me enough, you see," said George, and he looked out at the audience, scanning the faces.

"They did not comfort me nearly enough for the great ocean of loss that I felt upon my brother's death. George to me was my right arm and I was his. We could and regularly did complete each other's sentences. To us it did not matter what we did, as long as the other one was there. To me, when he died, it was like laughter had gone out of the world, because my laughter always was accompanied by Fred's.

"But now he's gone."

Harry heard Hermione sob and glanced over to find her face buried in Ron's shoulder. Ron wore a stoic, numbed expression. Ginny squeezed hard at Harry's hand, drawing support from the contact. Harry placed his other hand over hers.

"My friend, and Fred's friend, Lee Jordan came to see me while I was awash in this despair. We didn't talk much because I did not want to burden him with my dark thoughts. Yet in that visit, Lee said something that struck me and saved me from my gloom. He said, 'I hope that Fred is making the ghosties laugh as much as he made me laugh.'"

Here George paused again. He looked down, and a smile suddenly bloomed on his face.

"The thing about Fred was, it doesn't matter what you did with him, you always had fun. He was always a laugh. Each and every one of you will forever have at least one Fred Weasley story. I have thousands. My Mum and Dad have ten thousand, which I am sure they can laugh about now, even if at the time they felt the need to burnish our backsides or break our eardrums."

Here the crowd let out small noises of amusement, and Harry looked over and saw Mrs. Weasley smiling a hesitant smile at some memory.

"My brother has 'gone on,' as we say. But there is still laughter... somewhere...because he is there. Right now, all of our friends who were lost in this great and terrible victory, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks and so many others, all wear an eternal smile because their comrade, Fred Weasley, is with them.

"And when we die, as we all must, though I pray that it will be a long time for each of us, we should not be sad shades when we move to the next world.

"For, as we approach, we will hear the sound of raucous laughter from beyond those Pearly Gates.

"When we meet our lost friends, they will greet us in good and hearty spirits.

"And when the Creator welcomes us, He will wear a smile on His face."

George's eyes were shining, and he seemed to look above the heads of the crowd, yet into their hearts at the same time.

"I now feel joy and comfort. Because the simple truth of it is this: today - right now - the heavens ring with laughter, because my brother, my dear beloved Fred, is there."

George had struck a chord in Harry, and Harry had felt like whooping in relief after George had resumed his seat. There it was. The fact was simple, and Harry knew it better than most, and perhaps better than anyone else alive.

"The dead live on," Harry thought with renewed wonder. "They live. They just don't live with us anymore. It is sad that they are gone, but we will see them again someday."

Harry knew that he would see his parents again, and Remus and Tonks, for Harry had held the Resurrection Stone in his hand, and had talked with the dead.

"They were not sad or in pain, or lost," Harry thought, remembering the look on his mother's face as he had held the Resurrection Stone. "They were alive and vibrant and they still love us.

"And sometimes, they still guide us. Sometimes, at least for me, they meet us somewhere 'in between.' Whether it was real or just in my mind doesn't really matter. But they can meet us and they laugh and cry, and give us last infusions of wisdom and comfort and courage, as Dumbledore did."

The White Tomb was close now, just up a small rise. Harry was walking purposefully towards it to bury the Elder Wand with his old Headmaster where it belonged. Professor McGonagall was smiling down at Harry, waiting for him, holding the wand in her hand.

Harry would place the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Harry would remember the Headmaster's wry smile and mad wisdom. Then Harry would know that he could never again rely on the direct intervention of the power of that kindly old man to get Harry through the trials ahead. But Harry carried Dumbledore inside him, and remembered the lessons that Dumbledore had taught.

In the same way that Harry would have to find laughter in this world without Fred, so too would Harry, from this point forward, have to guide himself without Dumbledore. This concept did not scare Harry. Actually, he felt well prepared.

It was time to perform the last burial. It was time to say goodbye to the dead, until their meeting in the next world.

Harry smiled as he approached Professor McGonagall, and thought of Ginny. It was time to focus on the living.