Whilst the storm raged in and around London, nine people gazed out across a peaceful rural church yard. Leaves fluttered gently on the wind, gold, brown and a few persevering dark green ones, in the patchwork blanket of autumn colours.
In the surrounding fields cows enjoyed alast few weeks in the open air before being taken in for winter, peaceful chewing on the cud. Overhead a single hawk patrolled his territory hunting for mice in the fields and surrounding farm buildings. In the distance a solitary robin could be heard chirping in one of the many hedgerows.
Occasionally a car would pass by the tall trees that hid the church from the road, each one zooming past, disrupting the calm for mere seconds, but totally oblivious to the suffering others were going through just the other side of the tall trees. Oblivious to the heartbreak, the loss, just the general pain at the departure of a loved one.
They were currently rest having just finished digging the grave; well the men had. The plot looked out across the rolling hills of Devon, peering through a gap in the hawthorns. They had pick this spot for it view and peacefulness so that they could return and just sit beside in the future and calmly remember.
On the grave's neighbours freshly laid flowers swayed gently in the slight autumnal breeze. Their petals picked up gently by the wind, almost as though someone were reaching out to sniff their scent. Some of the older graves were less fortunate their loved ones had long since departed, long had the memories of their occupiers, forgotten to the past. Some of the headstones rested on the ground knock down by storms or just by their age, some overgrown, some just lying there, all only added to the atmosphere of the place.
In the centre of all the graves lay a small monument to the young men who had given their short lives in the First World War. Many a name laid upon it, many young men who never return home, never to see their sweethearts, lovers, wives again. Some of the family members still remained in the village but most had long since left.
Behind the small monument to the past, lay the path toward the sheltered door of the church. A gently twisting gravel path leading to the beautiful medieval church. At the entrance to the church stood two imposing oak doors, flanked by a sandstone arch, carefully crafted into intricate images of saints, priests, and monks.
The two doors opened onto an impressive room with the crumbling remains of the original medieval artwork twisting up the pillars to the high vaulted ceiling. At one end of the church lay a simple stone alter, set back in to the end of the church. Two benches for the choir led away from these toward the pontiff and pews. A single stone paved aisle led through the pews to the back of the church where rested, atop a small stone pillar, a beautiful carved stone basin, for use during christenings.
This had been the place where so many people had been official welcomed into the world by the village, and also where so many people for centuries had bade farewell to loved ones, and it was this that was happening today, a small but incredibly loving group of family and friends saying a final farewell to one they loved completely.
Ginerva Potter continued to gaze out across the gentle rolling hills, she knew this would become a view she would become familiar with over the years when she came to visit her soul mate's grave.
"Come on Ginny", her oldest brother said to her kindly, gently lifting her up from where she had settled on the grass.
"No, please, leave me here" Ginny begged.
"Come on Ginny, you need to go and get ready. Then you can say her all day" Lily slowly said to her whilst successfully bringing her to her feet, and with that the group slowly made its way back to Remus's small cottage in the centre of the village where the loved one they would soon bury currently rested.
An hour later the group again wound their way back to the peaceful churchyard this time, a brand new ash coffin resting upon the men's shoulders. As they entered the church the few guests that had already arrived turned to see the arrival of the departed. These guests - whom included Hermione, Sirius and the Weasleys, even one Albus Dumbledore - watched as the coffin slowly made its way down the aisle to be set down on to trestles before the alter. The lid was careful removed to reveal the peaceful young face of Harry James Potter, before the coffin bearers slow sat on the front rows of pews.
Then to the surprise of most the gathered guests the vicar walking in from the side of the church. Where were the rest of the mourners? Surely more had been asked to attend, but then again who was there who Harry would want there? Who else had stuck by him? They hadn't and were only asked to attend so that they could be punished again for their mistake.
But before they could continue their musings, the slow sombre start of Abide with me was stuck up on the organ, the few gathered guests all slowly stood, and sung in a low mournful chorus, whilst holding back the tears which threatened to burst from all of their eyes. As the last few slow chords of the hymn ended the vicar asked them to sit, before beginning to talk of the life the lost loved one had had. He talked of happiness, love, friendships, sorrow, but mostly of suffering, endless, horrific suffering, that would have crippled any other so young.
As the service continued a few friends who had remained true to Harry got up to speak of their differing memories of the man, boy, son, loved one they were burying, all talking caringly and movingly regardless of how long they had known the boy, whether it be from age eleven to his death or in two cases for merely one year before they were taken from him.
The most moving of these speakers however had to be Ginerva Potter who stood and describe that the hole in her heart which now existed following the loss of her soul mate. She talked about first her stories of the boy-who-lived, of first seeing him on Platform 9 and
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