Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. You've heard it a million times by now, if you don't know it by now you're denser then I thought.

Dedalus Diggle listened to the sounds of his fellow wizards celebrating at his favorite pub in Kent, he'd gone there for a drink the moment he'd heard the news. For some reason his heart wasn't into celebrating that night. There was plenty of reason to rejoice for on this day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had vanished from the face of the earth. He watched as his friends passed a bottle of firewhiskey around, he didn't drink when the bottle came to him. He walked outside and looked up at the cloudy sky, not a single star was in sight. Stars. He suddenly thought of a fitting tribute for those who had been lost, one falling star for each of the Dark Lord's victims. He pointed his wand into the sky and spoke into the night. The stars began to fall. One or two at first, then there were hundreds, then thousands. The stars fell in a downpour as great as the rain that was supposed to have fallen that night. His companions looked at the display and began to laugh.

Dedalus wanted to hex every one of those idiots to next week instead; in a voice barely above a whisper he said "One for each victim."

His companions ceased laughing and paled considerably as they watched the continuing downpour. They packed away their music and drinks and sat in silence remembering those who had been lost.