Chapter 68 For The Fallen

For three days, Harry had avoided human contact, wanting to be left alone as he struggled to get himself and his emotions under control. He just needed time to come to terms with what had happened, with what he had orchestrated, and perhaps most damningly of all, would have to orchestrate once again the next time The Legion went into battle.

When he emerged from his room, he was clean, dressed in black, and made his way down to one of the Manor's two living rooms. His friends tended to congregate there when they weren't doing anything important. Somehow, he was not surprised to find them all there, dressed in black. They made a somber procession as Harry nodded to Luna, "I presume you took charge of the arrangements."

"Number seven, Godric's Hollow," she said, "I've got it all figured out, but you're going to have to lift the Fidilius Charm. What?" He was staring at her as if she'd just grown a second head.

"How the hell do you know...."

"You told me," she said, "Three days ago." He cast his mind back and realized that she was right: He had told her, without meaning to. There was nothing he could do about it: The secret was well and truly out. He was going to have to lift the Fidelius, at least. No. The charm would have to be canceled, otherwise, no one would ever be able to visit... "Did the families agree to have their children buried there?"

"No, but they did agree to attend the service." He didn't ask how she had managed to convince them to come and found himself wondering just how bad a hit his finances had taken to arrange everything on such short notice. He shrugged, in the final count, what was a few hundred thousand, or a few million Pounds and Galleons? He took in the view of the front garden as he contemplated just how bad things were going the past few days. An ancient Greek general by the name of Pyrrhic had said, "Another victory such as this, and we are undone!" Thus the concept of the Pyrrhic Victory was born. That was precisely what the Legion had won. He sighed. His mind ran down his list of allies, and potential allies, and he came to the same conclusion that he, the Council, even Griphook had come to on more than one occasion: As long as the Death Eaters had their effingus, they held the only advantage required to win a war.

It was a wrench to bring himself back to the present and put thoughts of war and strategy from his mind. He realized full well that they were waiting on him. With a nod, they departed via the Travel Room and emerged from the fireplace in what was perhaps the living room of Godric's Hollow: His parents home, to find Griphook giving orders to his brethren, as the House Elves - all three of them - made a last few finishing touches. A Tempus spell revealed it was only 11:54 in the morning. They were marginally early, "Nobody but us can arrive before 12:00," said Ginny, "Felt it best we were here before the others."

"Besides their families, who else is coming?" asked Harry.

"Let's just say that we used a lot of space expansion charms," said Griphook, "The total guest list comes to almost four hundred." The Goblin held copies of both The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet in an outstretched hand. "I believe that you should read these, to better know what to expect."

Both newspapers covered what was being called the "Grimmauld Battle," in exact detail, starting with Harry and his friends visiting his Godfather's home, to the ambush by the Death Eaters, and their eventual defeat. Neville's single-handed slaughter of Bellatrix Lestrange was second-page news in both papers. The pictures, however, spoke volumes more than the text, even as phrases leaped out at Harry, highlighting the involvement of the Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry's somewhat belated response.

However, what drew and captivated his attention the most was the comments from the readers. They ran the gauntlet as he had expected, and were not surprised to find that many were condemning him for having involved children in such brutal fighting. He had expected as much. But there were a surprising number of supportive opinions, and there were several that touched him momentarily. The parents of two of the fallen had actually spoken out in favor of Harry, despite having lost their twin daughters who had just completed their OWLs. 'The Patils,' he realized. He had drunk and cried himself until he had no more tears left to shed. He turned his attention to the list of names of The Fallen. Working his way down, he found that he could put a face to each name, could recall what year they were supposed to be in, their strengths, and their weaknesses. For a split second, he found himself cursing his Occulumency that had trained his mind into a veritable computer: He could recall everything he read saw, or heard with sometimes depressing ease.

A grandfather clock chimed, and the fireplace flared a bright green as the first of the guests arrived. Harry slipped out into the garden and found himself impressed by what they had done with the place: The weeds were gone, the grass trimmed back. The fence that normally marked the property boundary was gone. In its place were hedges that reminded him eerily of the walls of the Triwizard Tournament and its damned maze. He saw the low raised dais, and then the portrait stands, each one draped by heavy white silk cloth. He ran his fingers along with it, marveling at the soft, silky smoothness of it. He'd felt something similar only once before in his life. Not once, twice, he had lost it both times due to his own miserable failings as a man. Given the number of people attending, the lack of chairs made perfect sense. But people would probably be in a measure of discomfort, "We've taken measures to ensure everyone remains comfortable." Griphook seemed unperturbed by the fact that Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at him for a moment, "Not that they would notice the charms of course." The Goblins raised an eyebrow, in an almost speculative fashion, "Your reflexes are fast for a wizard."

"Not fast enough," replied Harry, raising an eyebrow of his own. Griphook did have the point of his sword resting lightly against Harry's robes that were a deep midnight black. Harry lowered his wand as the Goblin sheathed his blade. The Goblin nodded. "Maybe someday, I'll be fast enough." The Goblin snorted and disappeared into the background. 'One day, I'm going to get him to tell me how he ghosts me like that,' thought Harry.

He disappeared back into the house and went upstairs. The Goblins had worked something akin to a minor miracle to reinforce and repair the building in time for the occasion. He only hoped that the space expansion charms were not permanent. He suddenly realized that he didn't actually have a speech prepared. This was one that he was not prepared to just make up off the cuff. It was Ginny that knocked on the door and slipped inside the room, "Guests are gathered, and waiting."

She handed him a roll of parchment, "You're going to need this." He scanned the words written across the page, committing them to memory with ease, but even as he absorbed the words, he found himself making slight, subtle alterations to what was written - it was his speech after all. He could find no fault with the day's plan; especially with the security precautions involved. He crumpled the parchment, stuffing it in his pocket. He descended the stairs, ignoring everything but the front door of his parent's house as he stepped out into the garden.

He froze, staring at the ocean of faces, expectantly watching eyes that seemed to dare him to take another step forward. He could read a myriad of emotions from those he expected, including sadness and grief, to perfectly justifiable anger, even hatred. He was not sure that there were words in the entire world that could calm the hatred. But it was the second half of that ocean that gave him the strength to step forward to face his accusers: His Legion watched and waited, and he knew that they would judge him when there was something to judge.

He took his place, and stared at all the faces, took a breath to steady his nerves, and nodded to Griphook standing in the wings. He felt a tightening of the skin across his forehead and nodded in satisfaction. The area had been heavily warded and was now as fully protected as it could possibly be made. The last thing anyone wanted was a disturbance during this occasion.

There was a raised dais, but no lectern, which suited him fine. He wasn't about to hide behind anything. He had nothing to hide. "Ladies, Gentlemen, and of course, Legionnaires..." All eyes in the room were suddenly fixed upon him, and it was a near overpowering experience and he faltered for a moment.

"We are gathered here today to honor those who gave everything and more than we would, could have asked in defense of the Light, of our way of life. We honor today, men, women, children from all backgrounds and walks of life, who banded together to fight against those who would destroy not only us but the wizarding world at large."

His wand appeared in his hand, and he pointed it towards the seventeen covered portraits that were arranged in tiered rows of ten to his left. The silk coverings vanished, to reveal portraits of The Fallen. "There are words that are normally spoken at such occasions, something along the lines of "I am sorry for your loss." He looked across the audience, "Those words, are tragically not, and will never be, enough."

"There are nearly four hundred of us, gathered here today, to pay our respects to fallen heroes, to whom we owe a debt that we can never repay. But we can, and we must," he emphasized, "Honor their sacrifice."

A number of people in the audience already on the verge of tears, seemed to crack and break down, sobbing quietly. Others simply cried in silence. The atmosphere of sadness, despair, and grief would have been a buffet for the Dementors. "The grief that all of us share today is one and the same: We have all lost loved ones to what is, will be, and must be remembered as the first battle of the Second Wizarding War."

He gestured to the portraits beside him that showed each of the fallen at their finest, "This day is about these men and women that you love. It is perhaps the most solemn of my responsibilities, and perhaps my highest honor to have known, commanded, fought, and bled alongside such warriors." He met the gazes of everyone in the audience, somehow all at the very same time, "It is an honor, and a burden," he whispered, "That has brought us here together, on this day."

"They knew, they understood, and perhaps most importantly of all, they accepted the most solemn of burdens and responsibilities, and have discharged their duties, proving their honor, their courage, and loyalty. Not to the Legion, but to the Light. While today we are gathered to honor seventeen, we must not forget, that there are many more who have come before us, and perhaps most importantly, that there will be many more who come after us."

"There are those who gave their lives fighting Grindelwald. Then there are those who faced and fought the Death Eaters some fifteen years ago. Without their sacrifice, without their victories upon nearly forgotten battlefields, we would not be here today."With a gentle flick of his wand, the first of the portraits fluttered forward on its stand, lightly as if born upon the wings of an angel. "This is what binds us together, across the generations. They have all fought, and they have all given more than anyone has the right to ask. They gave until they had nothing more to give."

"We owe a debt to each and every fallen warrior that we can never truly repay. We must honor their sacrifice, and honor it by keeping their memory close to our hearts, for as long as we live. After all, when our time comes, whether by a blade, spell, or bare hand, whether by old age, sickness, or in some accident, we would want others to remember and honor us.

We honor and remember all who fall in this first battle, as we will honor and remember all who stand and fight. We honor the memory of the fallen by living our lives to the fullest, by never surrendering to tyranny. By never abandoning those who stand beside us, who have come before us, and who will come after us. We must honor and remember why they died."

His voice was soft. No shouts of defiance, not a call to arms, nothing more than a quiet request. His voice was like Phoenix Song, in the simplicity of its sorrow. There was not a set of dry eyes in the audience. "All who are honored today deserves to have their lives, their stories known to us all." His gaze lingered on a witch and wizard sitting in the front row, "We begin, with Nadine Addams, Graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Class of 1996. I would ask her mother and father to tell us, about their daughter."

The memorial for the fallen would continue well into the afternoon, almost until the evening. True to Griphook's word, none of the guests complained about having to stand for so long. Then sun had nearly set before the last of the fallen were spoken for. For what he hoped would be the last time, Harry took to the podium, "Our fallen," he said, "Family, friends, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, sweethearts, boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives must never be forgotten for giving everything." With his wand in hand, he turned to the portraits. The portrait frames were solid gold, and it took Harry many long minutes to execute the transfiguration, but when the glow faded, the pictures remained, set into flawless marble headstones.

Upon each, the words "duty", "courage", "loyalty", and "honor" were emblazoned to form the frame surrounding the picture of the fallen in intricate gold calligraphy. Their names were engraved in full, along with the dates of their birth and death. The seventeen stones vanished, the gardens having been prepared in advance to accommodate the newcomers. Twenty-one headstones now stood in the garden of No. 7, Godric's Hollow. "There are so many names out there," Harry said, "And I know some of you are wondering why you should continue the fight, or even join the fight. I'll give you a reason."

The Legion Councilors blinked. Ginny balked: this was definitely not a part of what they had prepared for Harry's speech, "Many of you will one day have children. It is for them that we fight. I want the children to grow up in a world where they are free of darkness, bigotry, of misguided beliefs. I want your children to be able to live without fear of a name. I want your children growing up happy."

"Harry," whispered Neville, "For the love of Merlin, don't." They were all thinking the same thing: Was he actually going to share his own personal tragedies with the rest of the world?

There were a number of confused expressions in the audience, and no surprise, given that these were mostly teenagers, "I know it's a lot to take in, but one day, most, if not all of you are going to look down in a crib, or you're going to be holding your son or daughter in your arms and it will hit you. Not right away perhaps, but it will hit you that the most important thing that you will do in your life, is raise that child. Your child will be like a blank slate, an empty vessel that you can fill with whatever you want: Hate, bigotry, tolerance, compassion, love. You will shape that child into an adult and perhaps one day, your son or daughter will turn to you and say, something like, "You know mom, I like it here" or "Hey dad, I really like living here.""

He smiled, "He won't mean his house or the neighborhood, or Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, or even Gringotts. He will mean, here, as in Britain, as in this planet. That's when you will be able to look them in the eye, and honestly tell them, "Well, I did the best I could." Seventeen people gave up everything, including that right, so that the rest of us would have the chance, just the chance to banish the tide that threatens to drown us in Darkness." There was a fire blazing in his eyes, "I will not squander the chance." It was an open declaration of his intent, but more than that, it was a challenge to all of them.

"All of you, present here today, will always be welcome here. Just remember that this is a place of honor, of respect to the fallen. They gave everything and then gave their lives without hesitation. It is a burden of honor and their names, their actions, and their deeds will be forever engraved in my memory. Thank you."

He did not wait for their applause or their condemnation. He cared for neither. He had spent more than enough time crawling around the bottom of a bottle of Firewhiskey. He needed to take the fight to the Death Eaters and land a hammer blow that would make everyone reevaluate the fight that they had on their hands. The fact that taking the fight to the Death Eaters would almost certainly mean another memorial had crossed his mind, but he was committed, and nothing was going to dissuade him from this particular course of action.

The solution was a simple and elegant one: The trial of one Lucius Malfoy was a few months away, and there were seven witnesses to the events of the Department of Mysteries, and he hoped that the testimony of six of those seven witnesses would be enough. He wasn't sure he could stand being in the same room as Fleur. Not now, not ever. He pulled himself back to the moment. He needed to get Malfoy to trial, and that was, unfortunately going to mean getting involved with the Ministerial Politics. Upon consideration, he concluded that he would certainly go toe to toe with Fleur Delacour over the Ministry - but then, the Ministry could do more for him than dredge up a lot of pain that he would rather not revisit. He doubted his Occulumency would be powerful enough to hold back what could be an overwhelming tide of emotion.

The entire thought process had taken only a few minutes between Godric's Hollow and Potter Manor and he absentmindedly stepped out of the Floo and without breaking his stride, made his way to his office. He had a number of letters to pen in the next few hours.

In Godric's Hollow, the guests had not stayed long, given the overly serious mood that Harry's words had imparted upon the crowd. Those that stayed, however, were the families of those who had fought, and the close friends of the fallen. "Misery loves company," thought Neville darkly as he idly fiddled with his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts... they're worth so little?" he countered with a smile.

Luna shrugged, "Well.... perhaps a sickle instead of a knut."

"My thoughts..." he shrugged, "They're probably worth a knut: I'm just wondering if it's worth all this. So many dead, so many lives destroyed. Hogwarts is going to be a smaller school this year... And you know as well as I do that these effingus things mean that every fight we win, is a fight we lose."

"Well, given what we now know about the effingus," she said, "We've got a fighting chance against them."

"Yeah, but the problem is figuring out which one is the original from amongst the dozens, if not hundreds of fucking Death Eaters." He said bitterly, "I mean, we've taken out one original Death Eater..."

"Credit where credit's due," scolded Ginny, "You killed Bellatrix Lestrange. And it's because of that, that we know the weakness of the effingus: If the original dies, then the... copies die. It's a start, Neville."

"We just need to keep killing them," said Colin, "Even these things will learn to fear us if we keep on killing them." Luna held her peace, knowing that there was little she could do to sway her boyfriend's bloodlust when it came to the topic of killing Death Eaters. She could not fault him for it: she shared some of his views where Death Eaters were concerned.

They had no doubt that there were parents who would pull their children out of Hogwarts, partly to escape Britain, and no doubt partly to escape Harry Potter's influence. There was proving to be too much truth in the adage, "Accusations can be disproved, but suspicions, doubts, and mistrust will linger forever." While the Legion and Harry had fought and built a measure of credibility, it was just a first step. More than one parent had swallowed every word spouted by the pre-reform Daily Prophet, and despite the changes remained unconvinced in spite of everything they had seen.

Harry, however, had a plan. The problem was that it was one he well and truly despised.