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Black Roses

Harry walked at a slow, almost leisurely pace toward the cemetery. The large iron gates loomed over him, casting shadows over his weathered face. In his hand were roses. Black roses. Their scent drifted because of the heat, and he felt slightly nauseous because of it. Nevertheless he trudged on.

With a 'chink' and a free falling metallic noise the chains closing the graveyard off from the world, slid down around his feet. With a weary sigh, he stepped through the cast iron gates and made his way down the quiet rows.

He stopped at a few and let a singular, slightly wilted, rose fall. With a soft noise it would rest forever more on the headstone or slightly risen earth.

Remus J. Lupin

Charlie Weasley

William "Bill" Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Ronald Weasley

The names continued, ceaselessly and for hours he walked through each row, pausing long enough to read the stone and drop an onyx rose. His stomach no longer clenched at each name and honorable mention. Instead he seemed to move methodically, without thought or emotion.

He stopped by two identical marble stones, the names and dates of his mother and father engraved upon them. He hesitated for a moment before dropping one, just one, rose between both graves and moving on. It wasn't a big display of emotion, for anyone else but him. After the death of so many friends and allies he had eventually stopped going to the funerals, the remembrances, and the simple get-to-gather of companions.

Colleagues, friends, allies and acquaintances; he respected them all and in his own small way he showed it. Dropping rose after rose he stopped at a memorial wall.


Harry stared at it, one hand in his pocket the other clenching the stems of the remaining bouquet.

No, they had not paid the ultimate price. Not one of them.

Had they sacrificed love, hate, family, friends, hope and all chance of life? No they had simply escaped from a world built on pain and destruction. Sacrificed the ultimate price? Oh no, they had only scratched the surface.

Walking on he looked down at the single rose in his hand. It was slightly wilted and parched from the heat. The aroma was over powering, invading the air around him with its' intoxicating aura. He caressed its velvety petals and didn't flinch when a thorn pierced his finger. He ignored the wound, fascinated at the intricate detail embedded in the roses' very skin.

He traced the veins with ivy green eyes, as they intersected and wound in sinewy strands, highlighted by the glaring sun.

No, they had not paid the ultimate price. Not even he had. There was only one who had truly sacrificed everything.

With a sigh he followed an invisible path, wandering around bushes and marble statues that stood tall like the ones they portrayed. Finally he came to a stone, black onyx with letters, engraved with neat winding script.

He read the name, dates and carefully decorated words that scripted across the polished stone.

To the one who really paid the ultimate priceā€¦

Dropping the rose on the tombstone he listened to the petals rustle before stilling, entombed by time and magic. Blessed to remain their forever to pay homage to the one who was forgotten.

Harry walked away at a slow, almost leisurely pace away from the cemetery. The large iron gates didn't seem to loom over him, casting the ominous shadows over his now peaceful face. In his hand were no roses, only the telltale scratches from treacherous thorns, and the memory of a scent. The air was thick and heavy because of the heat, and he felt slightly nauseous because of it. Nevertheless he trudged on.