And Straight On Till Mourning

-----

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

-William C. Bryant

Come said the wind to
the leaves one day,
Come o're the meadows
and we will play.
Put on your dresses
scarlet and gold,
For summer is gone
and the days grow cold...

-Nineteenth Century Children's Song

-----

On the third day of what was to go down as the coldest November on record, James and Lily Potter were buried in a small cemetery not far from Godric's Hollow.

Throughout the duration of the service, the wind moaned and howled in a high despairing wail through dry branches poised against a flat, gray sky. Snow would have brought something in the way of sense on that particular day, but winter was still a long while off despite how early it had sett There would be no blanket of white to light upon the trees and grounds as a shroud to innocents, hiding autumn's cruelty. There would be no blur upon the reality of the day, just stark, bare trees, a howling wind, and freshly covered graves.

Those graves...

No grass would grow upon them until mid-May of the coming year when drifts of snow would finally recess and the ground was properly thawed. Oh, the dirt would settle, and freeze. But it would lay harsh against the surrounding heath, laced with an intricate white frost, so drastic next to the green-tinted fields beyond. All would remain in sullen silence and stillest slumber until vernal advent replenished the lonely wastes with reprieve from bitter desolation.

And yet, in the long stretch between that great fall and the coming spring, no week passed without fresh flowers appearing upon the graves of the martyrs, beginning on the third day of a cruel November...

-----

November the Third, 1981

The first thing she noticed when she walked through the doors of the small chapel was how warm it was inside. If April was the cruelest month, then November was simply brutal. The cold had left her thoroughly chilled, and Minerva McGonagall was grateful for the change in temperature. So many mourners, she thought, looking about her. The service was to begin at half past noon, and at just after twelve the church was quickly becoming crowded. Minerva sighed. Even in the company of many of her closest friends, she didn't feel like speaking to anyone.

For two days, celebrations had been continuous throughout the wizarding world. Voldemort was gone, along with his fearful grip of power and bedlam. The Death Eaters were being careless in their confusion; only the night before, Ministry Aurors had apprehended several dozen, and were presently in holding cells with the other criminals

(Sirius...)

awaiting internment at Azkaban. The war, it appeared, was over. It had been brutal, and long, but it had been won. Minerva thanked Merlin for that, but like every friend of the Potters the price of peace had been as devastating as the war itself. For some, it had been more than for others.

Avoiding Mundungus Fletcher's eye, she ducked back into the entranceway, wanting to avoid anything in the way of forced conversation before the service began, and suddenly in need of a breath of air, however cold. Minerva had no desire to feign interest in the Order's successes today. Her friends were dead. She saw no reason to belittle their memory with triviality.

"We'll leave immediately afterwards...stay away. Oohh, my Duddykins! He'll be traumatized for life, I'm sure of it!" came a high-pitched voice in the doorway that Minerva recognized all too well. She looked at the speaker, a tall, nervous looking woman with thin blond hair and a large stroller.

"Course not. Look, he's asleep already. Tyke's got some sense, knows what's worth his interest," an overweight man with no apparent neck replied gruffly. He pointed to the contents of the stroller, where their monstrous spoiled child slept. Minerva gawked a moment at Lily Potter's sister and her family. How one of the most thoughtful and endearingly charming people she had ever known could be related to these Muggles was a question she couldn't even being to answer. It strained every parameter of logic. But where is Harry? She wondered. They had brought him to his own parents' funeral...hadn't they? Minerva couldn't be sure.

Venturing slowly in their direction, she asked as sweetly as she could muster, "Excuse me?"

They looked sharply at her with barely disguised revulsion. Delightful couple, Minerva thought sarcastically.

"Yes..." Vernon Dursley, said slowly, looking at her suspiciously, as though he suspected she was about to curse him.

"You're Lily's sister, correct?" she asked as a formality, not wanting to alarm them any more than they already were. No doubt they'd suspect she was reading their minds or some other ridiculous reason why she knew their identities.

"Yes..." Petunia Dursley answered meekly, looking equally suspicious.

"I was a friend to Lily and James. I just wanted to...extend my condolences to you," Minerva managed, fleetingly proud her voice hadn't cracked as she spoke.

"Well, thank you just the same," Petunia replied tersely, her contempt obvious. There had been no love lost between Lily and Petunia Evans, Minerva knew, though not the reason. It appeared, however, that Petunia was willing to hold her tongue at Lily's funeral. Though Minerva suspected it had less to do with respect for her sister's memory than with the throngs of loyal witches and wizards in attendance.

They stared at her, expecting her to leave. Instead, Minerva pressed on, "I'd been told you were to be taking in Harry."

They merely nodded, apparently disinclined to carry on conversation. "Is he here?" She asked, somewhat frustrated.

"We've brought him," Petunia replied, un-shouldering a large brown handbag. She unbuttoned the clasp, revealing a sleeping baby boy Minerva had left upon their doorstep only a few days ago.

"We've had to, er, make some modifications to accommodate for him. With a child of our own, we can't very well provide two of everything, and our Dudley needs his space..." Vernon trailed off.

Minerva gasped at the idea of toting a child about in a handbag like some inconsequential parcel. Unable to take her eyes off little Harry Potter, she bit back her indignation and forced herself to sound pleasant again.

"Would you mind if I held him during the services? I won't have the chance to see him again, and I'd imagine you'd prefer...to keep your distance," she concluded, trying for tact.

"Take him then," Vernon said, sounding rather glad to be rid of him. "We'll have enough of him now," he all but growled. Clearly the Dursleys were less than pleased about Albus Dumbledore's decision to have them care for Harry.

"Thank you," Minerva said, lifting Harry gently from the handbag. She smiled quickly, and beat a fast retreat with the child in her arms.

The milling crowds were beginning to seat themselves, and Minerva found a place in the front pew. Gazing down at Harry, her heart went out to him. Here was the dreaming liberator of their entire world. So small, so innocent. And now, so alone. Oh, he'd be raised among the Dursleys, but Minerva didn't need a trace of the Inner Eye to see he'd never be a part of their family. Blood was strong, she knew that much, but so were ideals, particularly intolerance. Harry Potter had long years ahead of him.

Gurgling softly, sleepy lids lifted revealing Harry's

(Lily's)

beautiful green eyes. A tear slipped uneventfully down Minerva's face. Looking at Harry would be the only way she'd ever see her friends again.

"Hi there," she smiled at him. Harry laughed and cooed, stretching his tiny fists in excitement. Minerva had seen the Potters enough that Harry at least recognized her. He babbled animatedly in baby talk, crooning to himself. She smiled as he playfully grasped her fingertip with his hand.

"You're more handsome every time I see you Mr. Potter," she whispered to him, "you'll have to be careful, or you'll end up looking just like your father. Don't worry though: you have your mother's eyes. You won't need those funny glasses he used to wear," Harry laughed at nothing, cooing softly to himself, looking up at her content as he could be and wholly unaware that he was the chief mourner. She feared his happiness would not last long. From the depths of memory, a song sung in soft, sweet tones came back to her in whispers:

Holy savior, yet so tiny

Mighty ruler, yet so small.

Infant lowly, born so humbly

Yet redeemer of us all.

Around her, Minerva absently heard the shuffling of feet and sounds indicating that people were starting to settle. She took no notice. Her concentration was focused on two things alone: the child in her arms, and not falling to pieces. A sudden excited babble erupted from Harry as she felt someone take a seat next to her.

"Moony!" Harry cried, uttering the first coherent word of the day. He was smiling from ear to ear. Blinking back tears, Minerva turned to the young man on her right.

"Hello, Harry," Remus Lupin replied, affectionately shaking the child's tiny fist.

"Remus," she said softly, and with a sniffle. The service hasn't even begun yet, Minerva thought, chin up.

He looked exhausted. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, and he was paler than she remembered seeing him in a long time.

"Hello, Minnie," he said, the corners of his mouth shaped in the shadow of a smile. But the gleam she knew so well was missing from his eyes. She smiled back, ignoring the age old dig. They'd forever been calling her that, just to rile her up. Him, James, Peter... and Sirius.

"You look like hell, Lupin," Minerva stated, stroking Harry's hair. "They took you in for questioning." She wasn't asking.

"Last night," he said somberly. He must have only just finished with questioning, Minerva decided. His hands were shaking slightly still, and his eyes were glassy.

Grimly, she remembered her own experience. The Ministry had used their most reliable reserves of Veritaserum faster than they could be replenished in the last few years. The particular brew used by the interrogators of Sirius Black's

(enemies)

companions had been not without side effects. It had taken the better part of the night before the shaking stopped all together. If the Ministry had conducted a memorable, if less than enjoyable 'interview' with the foster child of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva could only imagine what it must have been like for a known werewolf. But he didn't say a word about it. It was so like Remus. He'd probably been nearly poisoned with the Veritaserum since he had been so close to Sirius, once upon a time. He'd suffered alone, then in the hands of the Ministry, and gone straight on to mourning.

"I take it Lily's sister came," Remus said, a bitter tone in his voice, interrupting her reflection.

"With her husband and son. I asked if I could take Harry for the time being," Minerva paused, debating whether or not to tell him how exactly the Dursleys brought him. No, she decided, it would be hard enough for Remus

(you)

to part with him without the added knowledge of the Dursley's disregard for their nephew.

"You should keep him," he replied acerbically.

"If wishes made it so...she thought.

"Remus, you know what he's doing is best. Dumbledore wouldn't keep Harry with those," she searched for a word low enough to convey her distaste for the Dursleys. None availed her, "-people, if it wasn't ultimately the best for him." Minerva watched his eyes narrow as he looked over at them. The hand Harry was not presently shaking cheerfully was clenched in a fist tightly, as was his jaw. It was plain enough to see that Remus Lupin did not like Petunia Dursley or her husband very much.

"But for what it's worth, I'm on your side. I tried convincing Albus the night we brought Harry there," she brushed aside the dark hair that had been covering a still-healing scar ibut he was right. If Harry were raised in our world, there's no way we could protect him, not from fame and not from what it would do to him," she finished solemnly.

"I don't care," Remus returned gravely, a dull spark in his eyes. "His parents were the finest wizards I've ever known. Harry deserves the chance to grow up with that knowledge." Remus growled lowly. "That woman," he said, glaring at Petunia, "wouldn't even come to James and Lily's wedding. Her own sister!"

"I remember. I was there, Remus."

"James told me that when Lily received her sister's reply in the post, she burst into tears and locked herself in their bedroom for a day and a half. She destroyed the letter and never told James what was in it. I can't imagine what that -" he chose a decidedly more emphatic word than simply 'woman' that made Minerva say "Remus!" and glance at Harry, her anger flaring "-could have said to make Lily Evans cry for two days straight, but whatever it was must have been simply unmerciful."

Minerva was about to snap at him until she saw the look of wholly encompassing dejection upon his face.

It suddenly struck her, more than Harry even, how alone Remus suddenly was. His best friends had been betrayed, then murdered by one of their own. James was being laid to rest. Peter Pettigrew's funeral would be in two days. Sirius Black was on his way to the fortress of Azkaban to keep company with Dementors.

And here Remus sat, after being interrogated for hours by a government that had hated him already, and needed no excuse to push the limits of civility in dealing with him. In the space of less than a week, his world had changed. The poles had switched, the axis flipped, and Remus Lupin was left The Last Marauder. Only time would tell if he would survive the vicious revolution. Minerva hoped he would, if not for his sake then for her own. She didn't think she could bear to lose anyone else. Especially him.

As for The Boy Who Lived, the child in her arms...little Harry Potter, she realized, was Remus' last link to the life he'd once lead. And Harry, too, would be gone from the wizarding world by day's end. Minerva had no words for her dear companion.

Consolation at this point was useless. In every way that mattered, the scars he bore were just as powerful, if not as prominent, as Harry's.

"It's not fair, Minerva," Remus said softly, leaning against her ever so slightly as though unconsciously reaching for her support, "it's not fair."

Everyone else had been seated finally and the memorial was about to begin. She felt terribly weighted, and more weary of the world around her than she had ever been in all her life.

Minerva lay her head upon Remus' shoulder and gently transferred Harry to him. She took his hand in her own.

"I know, Remus."

The first of several eulogies began, but the young couple and the baby boy in the front row were oblivious to it all.

"I know."