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It's Just A Tale	By : ehcie0utada Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3026 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her...the money as well. I don't get any profit for writing this fic.

Chapter List
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DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.

WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.

This is a response to the 36 Dramatic Situations Challenge by Incessant_Darkness.

It's Just A Tale

By reiAlethea

Chapter 1: White

"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."

Harriet Beecher Stowe

For once, the purest white was all he could see.

The gathering looked simply serene; the sun was shining brightly that Sunday morning, casting an ethereal glow on the edges of towering trees and playful shadows amongst the thicket. Across the lawn a sprawl of white-clad people was all his eyes could see. A lovely sight indeed – but it was also the most ironic thing he has ever seen.

Harry felt a lump lodged in his throat. It had been clear to him that pain wasn't going to subside soon, but he wondered if he could still contain the raw emotions he's been burying within him. Only a few days had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the smell of death and mourning still hung heavy in the air, its weight a burden to those who lost a loved one or two during the war. There was nothing but deep-stricken grief in the Wizarding World, and not even he, Harry Potter, was exempt from it. One thing was certain: it was still painfully difficult to rejoice despite the fall of Voldemort.

He blinked a few times to wake up from his momentary abstraction and found himself back to the reality he wanted to escape from. Once again he was alone by the Burrow's kitchen doorway, staring out at the crowd talking under the warm afternoon sun.

"Are you alright, mate? A bit tired?"

Harry turned to see Ron emerge from the kitchen with a smile plastered on his freckled face. Despite the seemingly warm smile, the puffy brown eyes and the heavily-creased forehead weren't amiss to his sharp eyes.

"I'm fine Ron," he lied, his lips twitching to form a weak smile. "How about you? You seem to be lacking rest yourself."

Staring at pools of weariness that were Ron's eyes evoked a vivid memory in his mind. Just three nights ago, he witnessed a distraught and broken Ron quietly sobbing in his pillow. That sight confirmed his gnawing hunch: his best friend was deeply affected by the loss of his brother, Fred. Harry knew Ron wouldn't admit what he was going through, but Ron needed not admit it. Not to him, anyway. He had gone through the same ordeal Ron was experiencing, and he knew it all too well. It had already been two years since Sirius died and a year since Dumbledore passed away, but the pain brought about by the loss of his two mentors, he hated to admit, was still fresh as if it happened only yesterday.

Despite seeing Ron in a forlorn state, he remained tucked under his sheets, merely watching his best friend weep into the night. Even though the urge to talk to Ron became stronger as minutes ticked by, he kept mum and pretended to be asleep all throughout the night. For how could he give comfort to a friend if he himself cannot lull the hurt he was feeling? How could he tell him that everything will be alright when he knew, deep in his heart, that it was not?

A sudden pang clutched his heart. He felt so helpless for not being able to help his best friend. To watch Ron break down in front of him was unbearable.

"…who wouldn't be?"

Harry saw Ron looking at him suspiciously.

"Ah…I'm sorry," blurted Harry. "What did you say again?"

Ron frowned. "I said, 'with Mom's nagging, who wouldn't be?'"

Harry's face was blank for a good few seconds before he got the punch line. He let out a small chuckle to disperse the pregnant pause.

Ron snorted. "If you're just not too obvious, Harry, I would have bought the listening act. C'mon mate, what's on your mind?"

"There you are!"

Both Harry and Ron whirled around to look at the direction the voice came. Hermione Granger, dressed in a strapless white ensemble, came to view, weaving in and out of the dense crowd to greet them.

"I've been looking for you two," she said, grabbing Ron's and Harry's arm and dragging them out of the back door. "Come on. The ceremony is about to start. There won't be any seats left for us if we don't hurry up!"

Harry's shoulders tensed. He chanced a discreet glance towards Ron and saw the redhead's mouth tighten. Hermione beamed a warm, sincere smile to Ron. However, the moisture in the corner of her eye was enough testimony. He watched her clasp Ron's lifeless hand in her own.

"We're here Ron. We're here," she hushed, soothing him from the darkening mood. "Let's go."

She tugged Ron's arm softly as the two made their way out of the Burrow's back door. Harry trailed behind, all the while witnessing Hermione's loving gesture and the glazed brown eyes that were Ron's.

He tore his gaze away from the scene and stared dejectedly at his calloused hand, trying hard to will away the tight, constricting feeling welling up anew in his throat. The sea of white seemed to devour him and the sad melody being played drowned him. And as he treaded along the aisle with heavy footsteps and an even heavier heart, sadness started to claw on him in every direction, making him want to turn back. But he forced himself to go on, to continue treading the grassy path and join the rest of the crowd in the final homage.

Three coffins stood in front – one colored purple, the other in black, and the last emblazoned with U-No-Poo's wrapper design on the shiny casket surface. 'No doubt that's Fred's,' he chuckled softly. What was George thinking?

He shifted his gaze to the people gathered in the small garden. Redheads almost dominated the gathering, but there were a few brunettes and blonds he could make out from the crowd. From the corner of his eye he saw Mister Weasley hugging a crying Mrs. Weasley. Andromeda Tonks smiled at the cooing little Teddy, but her eyes reflected only sadness. Bill sat beside Fleur who had started the waterworks since midday, and Charlie was comforting a sniffling Percy. Ginny's face was blank, but he knew she was in grief as well, judging from the endless stream of tears shining on her face.

A microcosm of the aftermath, Harry regarded the display, as he followed Hermione and Ron towards some empty seats on the front row. He was sure that image was all he will see that sunny morning. However, George was a different matter.

While everyone donned white garb, George wore the flashy magenta robes he and Fred usually wore to work. He was even mildly amused that he didn't notice him earlier, for the bright robes grabbed too much attention. Harry thought that the mundane stopped there, but he noticed that George's detachment from the norm extended beyond clothes. Whereas others cried or, at least, looked remorseful, George only stared at the printed coffin before him, his face an emotionless mask. The twin's expression was indecipherable, a puzzle, and seeing him in that state strengthened the unpleasant lurch Harry had been feeling for days. How could a blank canvas disturb him more than the countless portraits of despair surrounding him?

The music finally stopped playing. A man in flowing gold-trimmed, snow white robes was already occupying the podium and had started speaking. But at that moment, all he could hear was an incomprehensible babble and all he could see was a blur of white. His mind must have gone blank, he thought – as blank as George's face.

The redheaded twin suddenly rose from his seat and stood before a now vacated podium. He held no paper in his hand; only the podium's sides filled his palms. The twin glanced at the U-No-Poo designed casket lined up in the row. "I couldn't believe funerals could also be an effective advertising platform. Fred, you are a genius."

People chuckled at the joke, but it didn't help lighten the mood. It even seemed to Harry that despair further settled in.

George's lips graced a small smile, the first reaction Harry had seen from him, and began to address the crowd. "As I started writing a eulogy last night, I tried to remember all the traits that best describe Fred. But alas, I was unsuccessful. I found myself not being able to encapsulate the person that he is. I was afraid I didn't pay enough attention to notice how a wonderful person he is. Such a big mistake, I thought. He had been with me from the start, so it never came to my mind the possibility that we would get separated when the time comes. If only I have known that it would be this soon…"

A long, almost deafening silence settled in, until a sob from Mrs. Weasley broke it. Mister Weasley continued patting her back. The sniffs and muffled sobs rose and fell in sync with the cold breeze sweeping across the field. It was the coldest moment in Harry's life, and he couldn't suppress the shiver traveling beneath his skin. He almost forgot it was late spring.

"That was what I thought at first," continued George. "…that my loss for words were due to my lapse. However, as I was looking at Fred a while ago, I realized why I couldn't describe him. I couldn't say anything about him because I found out I cannot simply describe him. To me, he's not just a brother or my best friend…he's more. No, he's not just more. He's everything. Everything. And to lose him…"

When he returned his gaze to George, he saw him holding a glass of wine in his hand and tears falling down his face, tears that soon found its way down to his chin and into the cup. Harry was shattered.

"I'm sorry Fred, couldn't help it," the twin laughed as he hastily wiped away his tears. "Don't even think of haunting me in my sleep! I promise I won't cry anymore. But keep your word too, will you? Don't forget to watch over me…over us…or else I will haunt you. I love you Fred, and I will always miss you."

George turned to the coffin and raised his glass, a salute to his twin. And as he drank its contents, Harry noticed the gaping hole on the side of George's head. He was surprised to feel that the hole didn't seem as strange-looking as it used to be. Perhaps it had become a physical representation of Fred's passing – a gap that could never be filled, a part that could never be replaced.

When he shook away his thoughts, Andromeda was already standing before him, handing little Teddy to him with carefully outstretched arms.

"Can you be a dear and hold Teddy for a minute?" asked Andromeda.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, his mind still drifting off.

Andromeda carefully placed the gurgling baby in his arms. Harry was scared; Teddy began squirming in his arms and giggled with glee. He didn't know how to handle an infant, and since it was his godson he's holding, he was almost driven mad with paranoia and anxiety.

"You'll be fine," said Andromeda, as if reading his thoughts. She gave him an encouraging smile and carried on to the podium.

As Andromeda was delivering her eulogy, Teddy changed his hair color from dark brown to vibrant purple. Harry tried listening to the speech, but once more all he could hear was the sigh of the wind and his godson's gurgle. He stared mutely at the bundle of joy in his arms, mesmerized by oblivion personified. And suddenly, he was afraid.

How will he tell Teddy about his parents? How will he tell him of their lives and of their untimely deaths? Teddy might be too young to understand now, but it won't be long before he had to explain why his parents were not there by his side. He remembered the time he learned of the true reason behind his parents' death, the pain he felt and the questions that circled in his mind regarding it. He didn't want anybody going through the same ordeal he had been through, but as he looked at Teddy's glittering eyes, he knew he was not able to fulfill that promise.

Teddy quieted down and stared back at him, seemingly understanding his woes. And unexpectedly, his small fist encircled Harry's thumb – a reassuring touch. Harry stared, amused at the child cradled in his arms. A small, sad smile crept upon his lips, and as soft as the breeze he whispered.

"I'm sorry…"

He felt sudden warmth wrap around his unoccupied hand. Ginny was gazing back at him with the same blazing look she had at Dumbledore's funeral.

"Harry, it's time. Are you ready?" she asked softly.

That was the only time he noticed that Andromeda was once more standing before him, offering her outstretched arms to cradle little Teddy. The commentator was signaling to him to come to the podium. Almost everyone was looking at him now.

He nodded mutely and handed Teddy back to his grandmother. He slowly walked towards the podium and straightened himself up to pay his respects to the person who had been his mentor and friend during the last couple of months. If he could only straighten the emotions already running wild in him…

"To the friends and relatives gathered here today, good afternoon," he started, gazing at the blinding white before him. "I met Remus four years ago, during my third year. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that time. I thought he would only be a professor to me, but he taught me lessons beyond the subject."

"He taught me one of the most important principles in life: courage. To never give in to hesitation, to fear, and to never give up fighting for what you believe is right – courage kept me going through the obstacles I've been through. If not for this, I would not have been able to go on. Remus Lupin was not only a professor. He was also the most courageous person I have ever known. A father, and most of all, a true friend. It might seem a great loss. But it would have been a greater loss if I haven't met him at all."

Harry bit his lip; the choking feeling worsened. Images flickered before him – George crying, Teddy's doleful eyes, the sea of white…he was no different from them. His clenched fists shook as reality sank in him: he had not only lost yet another mentor or friend; he lost another part of his family – just like the rest gathered that fair morning.

Harry breathed deeply and looked at the clouds drifting by amidst the yellow-tinged sky. He was not too sure, but he thought he saw a wolf-like shape amongst the scattered clouds.

"Thank you for everything, Moony," he murmured, his eyes still fixated on the clouds above. "I will miss you."

He stepped off the podium and found himself sitting beside Hermione and Ginny once more. Dumbledore's funeral flashed in his mind – the pleasant afternoon, the birds chirping merrily, Ginny looking at him with a blazing look on her face, the sinking feeling in his chest. He realized that this moment was an exact replica of the memory, incredibly ironic and utterly surreal. Everything before him seemed like part of a rather distant dream. But he knew better. That moment was like an echo, a repetition of despair and loss years ago. It was real. It was true. And he could do nothing but accept.

The coffins finally floated, a signal that the funeral procession had begun. He watched Hermione lead Ron away and the rest of the Weasleys rise from their seats. The lump further rose in his throat just as the rest of the crowd stood from their seats. His eyes began to sting.

He looked at the blue sky above just to stop his welling tears from falling. Warmth enveloped his hand once more. He finally noticed Ginny walking beside him, staring at Hermione and Ron walking ahead of them. Tears were still streaming down her face, but the blazing look he saw earlier remained.

"Ha – rry," she hiccupped. "Will we be okay?"

As if acting on instinct, Harry firmly held Ginny's hand on her own. The redheaded girl gazed at him with glazed, inquiring eyes.

"Yes."

Ginny gave a small, warm smile and wiped her tears away. Harry returned the smile, still holding her hand firmly in his. However, as she turned away and resumed gazing at Ron and Hermione, the smile on Harry's face quickly turned to a frown. Suddenly, he was not as confident about his reply as he used to be.

***

"Moony, I am taking care of little Teddy. Say hi to Padfoot and Prongs for me."

The wolfish, corpse-like contraption suddenly burst into pieces with a loud bang, squeezing another high-pitched shrill from Mrs. Black's portrait. But Harry wasn't even miffed by this. He bolted his way up the rickety staircase, not even noticing Kreacher standing before the doorway with his slippers at hand.

His smile melted as fast as the sinking of the sun outside. His steps were merely quick at first, but as the choking feeling threatened to well up anytime, the brisk walk turned into a run. The urgency to lock himself in his room was heightening, the heavy feeling pressing harder against him. He almost couldn't breathe.

It was not long before he found himself in his room. He immediately shut the door and let himself fall on the bed.

Light filtered through the clear glass window and fell upon the rumpled black blanket. He brought his hand over his squinting eyes to shield against the glare.It was a warm spring twilight, but all he felt was cold. His heart hammered against his chest, and soon an unmistakable sting started to irritate his glittering emerald eyes.

All he felt was remorse.

If he had only figured out the clues Dumbledore left earlier, he would have destroyed the remaining Horcruxes before Voldemort waged a war on Hogwarts. If he had only gone to Voldemort faster, then he would have saved more from their untimely deaths. If he had only been hours, perhaps minutes early, maybe he would still hear Fred joking about George's missing ear. Maybe Remus and Tonks would be sitting with him, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys around the Burrow's kitchen, talking about how little Teddy changed his hair color while having a morning bath.

It was his fault Remus, Tonks and Fred had gone. He was responsible. And this mistake, however much he tried, he could never undo.

He lowered his hand and stared hard at the harsh orange light. His sight blurred, his eyes stung. The choking feeling he could not suppress any longer, and before he could react against it, fresh tears had made its way down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Remus, Tonks, Fred...I failed you..."

He closed his stinging eyes and turned around to shove his face in his pillow. However, his forehead came in contact with something he didn't expect. Was it parchment he felt?

He opened his bleary eyes and rubbed the tears away. It was, indeed, parchment that lay before his pillow. An extremely white parchment envelope to be exact, lying flap side up.

Harry brows knitted as he propped himself on a sitting position and retrieved the envelope. He turned it and saw Mr. H. Potter embossed on the middle in black. He wondered who it came from while pulling the equally white parchment inside. And just as quickly curiosity swept upon his face, so did it also fade.

TBC
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It's Just A Tale