It is the start of a new era.

The beginning of a new world- a world where there is no Dark Lord and no glaring marks hovering over the frozen bodies of Muggles and wizards, killed by the masked murderers who now reside in prison, empty- without souls.

But away from the celebrations, a young woman walks alone on a deserted street- a street once inhabited by care-free families but is now only visited by the aggrieved who wish to see the graves of lost loved ones.

She opens a large gate- brown and rusted after so many years of allowing entrance to the weeping, the suffering, and the brokenhearted. She walks in, not knowing why she is there- not knowing why she continues to go there.

The wind blows against her thin form. It blows the hair back from her face so that her pale cheeks are exposed to the frigid air. Bitter invisible knives graze her gentle skin, but she does not even blink. She just continues walking, stepping on the same dirt that she has every day- every day since the burial. Ever since the day they were taken from her- snatched from her grasp and placed into the soft confines of coffins, only to be buried in the hard, cold earth.

The rustling dry leaves crinkle on the ground, reminding her of where she is- reminding her of all the death that surrounds her.

She does not look around, because the stones are everywhere. She walks past them all. She walks by them with her eyes staring straight ahead- her eyes wide but unseeing...

The pain I feel
Tears open my heart,
And little by little,
I break apart.

There are no tears on her face- she has run out. She has run out after crying for so many nights under the stars- stars she imagined to be the shine of their eyes, the glow of their smiles, and the light of their souls.

Now all that is left are the stains. The stains that will not go away. The stains of blood that she has not washed away. The stains of tears that mark her face like scars...

Although it's not visible,
I'm scarred inside,
And the tears are still there,
They've only dried.

She does not look back as she walks past the names- the names of all those lost. The names of all those gone. Names of family and names of friends carved on stone. She does not look at them. She cannot bear to see the names. She cannot bear to feel the pain, so she only walks past, pretending they are not there. She pretends she never heard the news. She pretends she never shed the tears. She pretends the stones- the names carved on the stones- do not exist. They are not there to her. So she does not see the stones. She does not read the names.

She continues to walk, though she becomes much slower. Each step becomes more difficult, until finally her feet do not leave the ground. She drags her feet across the dirt. Her shuffling echoes across the empty cemetery...

I continue to live,
But I'm not really here,
Part of me is lost
Because of the fear.

The rows of the stones stand facing her- endless rows of stones, each bearing a different name- the name of a child, a parent, a friend, a hero- a lost one.

She sees the stone out of the corner of her eye. It is largest one there.

She looks the other way.

She cannot bear to see the stone. She cannot bear to see the name carved on the stone- the name of the one who was supposed to save them all. The name of the one who prevailed, but could not save himself in the end...

I'm afraid to move on
And afraid to let go,
Because if you're really gone,
Then I'd rather not know.

A breeze blows across the land- a spirit’s whisper. Though far away, she hears it speak.

Ginny.

Her eyelids fly open, revealing the eyes of one who is lost, alone, and desperate.

She has heard that voice in her dreams- in her nightmares. The voice of the one who had told her that he would always be there...

She stops her shuffling and starts to run. She runs past the stones- past the names.

They all become a blur. They are not individuals, but one huge mass.

One mass of stones.

One mass of names.

But she does not stop. She does not stop to read the names- they are just one huge mass to her...

I'll continue to pretend
That you are still near,
And that you still whisper
Right into my ear.

She tries to run to the voice.

She could still hear him- hear his fake promises.

She could still see them- see their smiling faces.

She could still hear their laughter and remember their words.

Even as she runs she knows that they are still there- still watching her, but she doesn’t know how to reach them. The more she runs, the farther away they get...

It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

She falls to the earth and claws at the ground. That is where they all are- everyone she has ever known.

The people who would not let her fight.

The people who cared for her- protected her.

The people who died. They died for her. They died so that she could live...

I'm not ready yet
To tell you goodbye,
I'd rather keep pretending
Than even try.

She screams in exasperation. She screams at the stones. They stand there, unmoving. She thrashes on the ground and continues to scream, knowing she is alone but hoping that someone will hear her.

Someone.

Anyone.

Anyone who lives in her memories. Anyone who had marked a place in her heart.

She starts to hear voices- familiar voices. They tell her to go- beg her to move on.

She does not listen.

She continues to scream, trying to block out those voices. But they just get louder. They scream right back at her to get away- to get on with her life...

I just can't live on
Without seeing your face,
I'd much rather be
In your place.

She shakes on the ground. Her shouting stops but her breaths just get deeper. She gulps in the cold air- making her throat sore. Quivering, she sits in the middle of the graveyard while her breathing and racing heart slow down.

She looks up at the darkening sky and lets her trembling stop. The clouds rumble, threatening to shower her if she does not leave.

She stares up at the clouds, wishing that the storm would come soon- wishing that it would just rain and rain until she’d drown in the depths of the fallen water.

But no- it is impossible. She knows it. Surely if the masked men did not choose to steal her life, nature would have no interest in doing so either.

If you want something done right, do it yourself lectures a motherly voice, sweet and comforting yet stern. She tries to bury the thought, but is unsuccessful, and though her heart breaks and her mind races, she knows the truth- the plain truth: It is up to her to choose her own destiny. She is given the choice, unlike the others, who had their lives taken by those who hid behind masks- hid from the pain and tears of those who would plea for mercy- plea for life- at their feet.

She takes out her wand- horribly damaged, but still together- still in one piece. Her eyes stare unblinking at the stick in her hand. So much power in her hand- the power over her own life...

She feels the cold wood- the cold power- in between her feeble fingers. She looks down at the stick, her eyes desperate and crazed, and raises it to her heart. Her fingers shake and her dry lips tremble, but her mind is made up...

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, their pain and desperation hidden from the world forevermore.

Now she will not have to keep pretending...

I don't want to live
If I'll be all alone,
I'd rather have my name
Carved on a stone.
***
It is the start of a new era.

The beginning of a new world- a world where there is no Dark Lord and no glaring marks hovering over the frozen bodies of Muggles and wizards, killed by the masked murderers who now reside in prison, empty- without souls.

It is the start of new era, and the end of a tragedy.