Chapter Eighteen : Grave
A rainstorm had lashed over the meadows during the night, refreshing their vital verdancy. Everything had the colours of life, every tree and flower spoke of summer. A soft white mist rose from the fir trees on the hills, and through that mist a bloody sun ascended the sky.
Alone in the valley, accessible by a gravel road, sat Godric’s Hollow. It was bigger than a cottage, but not quite the small castle upon whose foundations it had been built. Shadowed by tall old oaks through which the sunrise filtered golden, it was welcoming and tranquil, not at all like a house that had been deserted for more than a decade.
But since it had been destroyed and rebuilt after the Halloween of 1981, only one person had lived here for a fortnight, a man in flight, tired and close to death. He hadn’t been able to enter the house for it was protected by powerful charms, but he had slept under the enormous oak trees, where once, more than another decade ago, he had also found refuge.
Today, Sirius Black could not physically return for his final rest. There would be a gravestone and a burial, but he would lay his head on this ground no more. Sadly a songbird sang in the crowns of the oaks.
It was Friday, the day of Sirius’ burial. A few days ago, Remus had told Harry that Sirius would be buried at Godric’s Hollow and since then Harry had at once dreaded the burial and looked forward to seeing his parent’s home for the first time. Harry arrived together with Professor McGonagall, Tonks and Hagrid on a hill above the valley, from where you could see the entire landscape. Everything was so calm and beautiful and so open under the sky in comparison to the narrow, dull world of Little Whinging. It pained Harry to see what he had lost when Voldemort killed his parents.
They had Port-keyed from Hogwarts. There they met most of the Weasley family: Mr and Mrs Weasley, the twins and of course Ron and Ginny. Ron and Harry gave each other a short friendly hug. Harry noticed the tense look on Ron’s face. His friend seemed insecure as to how to behave towards Harry on a day like this. Then Harry said ‘hi’ to Ginny and the twins.
Ginny and Ron looked subdued and compassionate; even the twins wore serious, almost sombre faces.
“Oh Harry, dear,” Molly sighed and embraced him tightly, running her hands through his hair. Harry noticed that he had grown again; soon he would be as tall as her.
“I’m alright, Mrs Weasley,” he said awkwardly. It was not as much of a lie as it could have been. A strange change concerning his feelings about Sirius’ death had taken place. He was not so much angry and despairing any more, as he was full of grief. He longed for Sirius to be here, to explore the house of his parents with him, but he knew it couldn’t be. He hoped that Sirius was in a good place, wherever he was.
Then Charlie, Bill, Hermione and a woman who was a few years younger than Molly Weasley arrived with another Portkey. Hermione quickly came over to Harry, and for a tiny moment she hesitated, her eyes searching Harry’s face for something, but he couldn’t tell what. Then she pulled him into a quick and nervous embrace, before saying ‘Hello’ to them all. She was even worse than Ron and Ginny, staring at him as if he were going to have a breakdown any second. It made Harry nervous as well. He turned to the other arrivals.
“Hello Harry,” Bill shook his hand. “This is Andromeda Tonks, Tonk’s Mum,” he said as he introduced the unfamiliar woman. She was a non-flashy, but attractive blonde, bearing no resemblance to her two sisters, and her eyes showed the same warmth and life that Sirius would have had if he had not been imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry was sure that if she would grin at him, it would be the same kind of grin that the young Sirius he only knew from photographs had worn. But at the moment she only looked very sad.
“Sirius was my cousin. I last saw you when you were a baby, Harry,” she smiled in sad remembrance. Harry had grown up without any aunts who told him every Christmas how much he had grown or without any old family friends who often exclaimed ‘Oh my god, last time I saw him he was, like, this tall!’ and so he wasn’t exasperated by her remark.
Then they walked down the hill together, talking quietly. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny walked together, carefully watched by Mr and Mrs Weasley and the elder Weasley sons. Nobody said it, but they were in potential danger, and Harry could feel the tension.
“You haven’t been here before, have you?” Hermione asked tentatively. Again, she was watching him strangely. It reminded him of her behaviour right after when Sirius had died, when she had always tried to get him to talk about it. Harry shook his head.
“I thought the house had been destroyed. Remus told me that my parents are buried here, too. Where is he, anyway?” Harry asked. Ron shrugged and Ginny shook her head.
“Maybe he’s already at the house. Dumbledore isn’t here either. And the other Order members...”.
They fell silent and Harry had time to look at the beautiful valley, the woods and the meadows, the river he could see in the distance. The water sparkled silver in the morning sun, now that the mist was gone. Birds sang louder than Harry had ever heard them. He imagined how it would be to grow up here, with a family, and have friends who visit, to be in a household like the Burrow, but it was too wonderful a picture to seem real.
Finally they entered the grounds of Godric’s Hollow, and were greeted by Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Like all of them the two men were wearing black. Lupin even wore almost new looking robes, and it looked well on him. He gave Harry a quick pat on the shoulder.
“Hello,” he said to them all, then he took Harry aside and asked, “Would you like me to show you around a bit?” Harry nodded. Ron and Hermione looked at each other and a silent understanding passed between them. They stayed with Ginny and the twins. Harry wasn’t quite sure if he would have liked them to come with him. At least, like this, he could stay silent if he needed to.
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Remus guided Harry to the house and opened the door with a golden key on a copper chain. “This is yours, Harry,” he explained. “I got it from your vault at Gringotts.”
They entered a long entrance room with a staircase and a huge oval mirror at the end of it, picture frames on the walls and nice Persian rugs on the floor.
Harry felt strange. It was a very two-sided feeling. There was something about this place, a certain light and smell, which seemed to welcome him, embrace him, like nothing had before. He could have fallen asleep with a smile right where he was.
Yet then there was something else, something intangible up the stairs, which sent shivers down his spine. But Lupin guided him away from the stairs into the kitchen, a room with big windows and white furniture, in a country house style. The cupboards were empty and unused and dust motes were gathering on the wooden floor.
“They repaired or replaced all the furniture,” Remus said quietly. “It looks just like when James and Lily used to live here. We used to eat together here, before they went into hiding. Sirius and I were dreadful cooks, Lily used to say that the only pot she would let me near was a tea-pot ...”.
“Did my grand-parents live here, too?” Harry asked when he spotted a picture frame in which a boy who could have been him before first year played with a grey rabbit while his parents laughed at him. It was his father with Harry’s grandparents. James’ parents looked like nice, optimistic people, a little old perhaps for such a young boy. When they noticed him watching them they fell silent and then waved tentatively. His grandmother had a round-cheeked smile that made Harry’s heart ache with homesickness, a feeling he hadn’t known that badly before. Lupin sadly shook his head.
“Not then. They died in our seventh year, murdered by Death Eaters. They were purebloods, you know, but didn’t want to join or support the Death Eaters. They were brave enough to defy them in the public “ but they were killed. That was when your father began to change “ when he grew up and became determined to defeat Voldemort.”
“Oh.” Harry walked through another door and entered a living room with a big fireplace and very old seats. More pictures. His father, growing up: on a small child’s broom, another one in his first Hogwarts uniform, the Potters in the Alps, skiing the Muggle way. And then there were photos from Hogwarts, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, looking incredibly young. A stag, a dog and a rat, photographed by whom? Remus?
Finally, above the fireplace, a picture of James, Lily and himself as a baby started waving at him, smiling. He had to force himself to breathe. He felt like in first year again, when he had watched the Mirror of Erised for hours on end.
But this time the image of his parents didn’t suffice. It opened a raw bleeding wound in his heart and choked him. In those moments of complete vulnerability and confusion he suddenly felt it again: the irregular chilling pulse of magic from upstairs. Something was waiting for him there.
“What’s upstairs?” he forced himself to ask, trying not to sound as troubled as he felt. Lupin looked carefully at him.
“There’s a drawing room, your parents bedroom “ and your room. Do you want to see it?”
Harry silently nodded and together they mounted the stairs. They were broad and creaky and made out of dark wood, chafed by many shoes. Harry felt like he had walked them before, but that was ridiculous, he had last been here as a baby. And yet, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of deja vu. He walked up them almost hastily, not caring about his surroundings anymore.
Now the pulse grew stronger, until it completely engulfed him. He felt disoriented and at the same time his senses seemed strangely enhanced, taking in minute details, like the smell of candy, of pumpkin juice, like the flickering candlelight ... candlelight? There was no candlelight.
Harry noticed that he had stopped in front of an open door. Within the square room, he could see a cot, and a couple of toys carefully placed on shelves and a cupboard.
“Harry?” Remus asked worriedly. “Are you alright?”
Harry took a step into the room, almost against his own will, and felt like he was being hit by waves and waves of the green pulse that centred in here ...
“Don’t you feel it?” he whispered.
“Feel what? Harry?” But Harry didn’t answer Remus, he stooped in front of the bed, touched the ground.
“This is where I died...,” a voice said, and it took Harry some seconds to realise that it was his own. Lupin looked alarmed, and seized him by his shoulders.
“Harry! You didn’t die! What are you talking about?”
Harry blinked. Remus was right. He was alive. The green pulse was gone; the room was now flooded by daylight, tranquil and sweet. A baby’s bedroom with pale lilac wallpaper.
“I “ I don’t know.” He touched his forehead. “I think ... I think this is were my mother died, where Voldemort ...”. But the words sounded strange, as if someone had told him of it, whereas before, he had known it.
Remus nodded and wanted to say something more, but Harry quickly got up. He didn’t want to talk about this, not today, not to Lupin. He looked around, and took a random plush animal out of the toys. A small, black, button-eyed dog.
“Let’s go downstairs,” he suggested.
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At the highest point of the Godric’s Hollow grounds, next to the forest and under the oldest oak tree, stood the few old gravestones of the Potter family. Withered and mighty, the grey stone was engraved with the names of Sarah Potter and Henry Potter, and a bucket of fresh white lilies adorned the newer marble one of James and Lily Potter.
And now a new headstone joined the other two: black granite and fresh wet earth, as if someone had really recently been buried there.
1960 “ 1996
They were assembled around the grave, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, Remus Lupin, Tonks, and her mother, Kingsley and Moody, Hagrid, McGonagall and finally Albus Dumbledore. Their faces wore expressions ranging from unadulterated grief to grim exhaustion. Sirius was the first of their friends to fall victim to this second war. All the adults wondered how many more burials would follow as they all knew that this was just the beginning.
First Dumbledore did the Wizard Burial Ceremony. It was a brief couple of words in a language Harry didn’t recognise, but Hermione who had Ancient Runes as a subject later told him it had been Celtic, followed by words in Latin. Then the old wizard raised a small lantern, took the candle out of it and with a movement of his hand the flame died.
“May the souls of the dead avert their eyes from the land of the living. The sins of the living shall fall away from the dead. May this soul find his way. May he not be bound to the mortal realm, may he be able to find passage in peace.”
He bent down and put the no longer burning candle on the grave. Instantly the white wax melted into the earth and disappeared. For a long time the crowd was completely silent. Harry, still troubled by the incident inside the house, felt strange and unreal, burying a person with no mortal remains.
“Sirius”, he thought to himself, preferring to feel pain, rather than this light-headedness that he was currently feeling. I’m burying Sirius. But it felt as if Sirius had been a dream, intangible and paling now.
Then suddenly he felt the soft pressure of someone touching his shoulder, taking him back to reality. Without turning around he knew it was Lupin. And this gentle touch reminded him of the existence, the life of these people: his parents and Sirius. There was someone who had known them better than he, who had shared their life. Harry sighed.
Slowly, those who had brought flowers laid down the bouquets. White was the colour, stark against the black of the tombstone, the wet soil of the earth. A soft breeze let raindrops fall from the oak-tree, pearling slowly over the granite like tears. The wizards and witches were completely silent, but nature was not. A single bird sang in the trees, the song magnified by the silence, and Harry knew the song: the soothing sound of compassion, of melancholy, of love and of hope. He looked up from the grave to spot the bright red feathers in the trees, but then somebody began to speak.
Remus had silently left his position behind Harry and stepped behind the gravestone. His voice was soft and gentle as always, but his eyes shone raw with emotion.
“I seriously didn’t think I would be standing here today, the last of us... If you had asked me, I’d have said Sirius would have been the survivor, the one to address you now.” He looked down at the grave, lost, as if he had to tear the words out of his flesh.
“Sirius was a bright star indeed. Many of us once knew him as a good friend, a charming companion, and a brave man. We underestimated his loyalty. How easily we’ve been led to believe what was wrong! How easily we’ve distrusted him ...” It was strange that someone should say such dark things on the grave of his friend, where he should have done nothing but praise the man. But Harry, and everyone else, appreciated what Lupin said, because it was honest and true.
“Sirius never got what he deserved. He was more loyal than all of us. Both his loyalty and willpower kept him sane and alive through years and years of the utter darkness, in places where no one else had managed this. He grew up in the cradle of darkness, and yet he chose the path of light. He was betrayed and misjudged, tortured and left alone “ and yet he didn’t leave the path he had chosen.” Lupin paused, looking at the earth and the flowers and grave as if looking for guidance.
“I’m tired. I don’t want to fight anymore, not without my friends. But how can I give up?” He raised his eyes to them, but he wasn’t directly looking at them. “How can anyone of us give up “ in the face of this our friend’s fate?”
Then he smiled. “Sirius would have laughed at me for saying this. He never thought of himself as a role model, or a shining example. In fact, he spent most of his life trying to set a bad example. I want to remember the boy he’s been. But I think we should also not forget the man he has been, for we could all use a bit of him, of his faith, his loyalty, his willpower “ his ability to endure the deepest darkness and still retain the ability to love.”
Slowly he averted his eyes from the distant blue sky he’d been looking at during the last part of his speech, and faced the moved looks around him. A sad smile played at his lips.
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Slowly the crowd dissolved. In little groups they left; there was not much talk, and people were downcast despite the hopeful speech given at the grave. Harry lingered for a while. But then the presence of his friends reminded him that he could not stay here forever. He turned around and they were there for him, taking him back to the house. Remus felt touched by that wordless scene of friendship, and longed to have such company again.
Dumbledore gave Remus a concerned look and Remus understood that the old headmaster wanted to know whether he was alright. He gave him a nod, and Dumbledore nodded back at him, then he left, too, with McGonagall. Now everyone was gone except him.
Remus was alone. The people who were now returning home or to Hogwarts were gone. Lily and James were gone, and Sirius was gone and Peter, of whom he didn’t want to think about but had to, was also gone. Gone was the past and it felt as if they each took a small part of him with them and there was no one left to comfort him.
Remus still stood behind the gravestone, softly touching the cool black surface and couldn’t let go. It hurt all the more, for he had lost Sirius and then he had regained him and now he had lost him again. It was cruel. Sirius, the young Sirius, before Azkaban, would have laughed at him for being like this. He would also have hated that speech Remus had just given. But Remus had done his best.
“Yeah, I know,” he whispered to the stone. “James would have done way better than me. But that’s what you get for letting me be the last one...”