The Last Farewell

Hundreds of people stood there - filling the small graveyard, their figures silhouetted against the early morning mist. The yard was silent, except for the rustling of the grass in the breeze, lifting a few people's hair and fanning the bouquets of flowers, spread like a garden at the foot of the grave.

No speaker came to the front of the mourners or priest bless the crowd. There was no need for words. There was no need for anything at that moment, every person present lost in their own thoughts, their silence joining them together.

No one moved for several minutes, just remembered. There was so much to remember. So much to commemorate. But it would happen now. There was time for everything and anything. Time to live - and time to celebrate the lives of the dead.

So brave in life, so noble in death. The survivors looked on with fondness and thanks to one more of their number who fell defending their freedom. They would never forget.

A man stepped forward from the crowd, cradling an arrangement of lilies in his arms, their snow white petals contrasting against the black of the man's cloak. He knelt down, laid the flowers on the freshly dug earth and whispered a last message of farewell. The mourners whispered it with him, their own private message to commemorate comrade in battle.

*

The graveyard was almost empty, only one man remaining, stood still by the new grave, the beautiful cream headstone freshly cemented, an ornately carved dog at its feet. The man sighed and wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, the chill of the morning slicing at his body.

A young woman looked at him from the church entrance. Her heart went out for her husband, suffering so much in his loss. She went over, her feet crunching on the frosty grass and the hem of her robes trailing.

'Time to go,' she murmured, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder. He turned and smiled weakly and her heart broke with the pain of it all.

'He was more of a father to me than anyone,' the man said sadly, his tears blurring the scene. 'He didn't deserve such a fate.'

'He died a hero,' the woman replied softly and her husband knew she was right. 'He avenged your parents. That was what mattered to him.' He nodded, his tears splashing the flowers mounted on the earth.

'I'll wait for you by the gate,' she muttered, leaving him say goodbye - one last time.

The man looked down one last time.

Sirius Black

1968 - 2007

PADFOOT

Remembered as a light

In a dark world.

Harry Potter whispered a last 'goodbye', left the grave of his godfather and met his wife at the gates.

'Harry?' she asked tentatively.

'It's over,' he said, wiping the tears that fell down her cheeks. 'Come on Cho, at least he won't be alone.'

She nodded and smiled warmly at her husband, so strong, even now. Even when they had to rebuild many years of terror and loss. But there was time now. Time for anything.

A few leaves danced across a recently dug gravestone, crimson and gold, crackling in the wind. And in the wind a message blew, detaching itself from its bouquet and fluttering into the air, caught by a sudden gust.

Thank you.

Two words are not enough. I know. But they are the last thing I can give you, when you gave me so much.

You protected me, you looked out for me and most of all, you were a father to me.

Two words are not enough. But I give them anyway, hoping you understand.

Four more words.

From your godson Harry.

One more word

Goodbye.

The wind picked up, taking the fluttering parchment high over the rooftops of Godric's Hollow, swooping and diving in the current. It held for hours, fluttering gently until it was taken by the clouds and the words disappeared from view. It did not matter though. The words were held in Harry Potter's heart - where he liked them best. And they would never be forgotten. Not Ever.