“He never wanted to play the hero. He never wanted the fame, the scrutiny, the stories, the followers. All he had ever wanted was peace. And he never found it.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It was a beautiful day. Everyday here was a beautiful day, he thought. Walking down the well-worn path, he reached the front door of the Burrow and walked in. His parents were sharing a laugh and a glass of pumpkin juice in the kitchen with Sirius. He gave them all a warm smile and they waved back merrily before going back to their conversation. He wanted to join in but they beckoned him off and told him playfully to butt out. Strolling into the backyard, he found Hermione, Ron, Charlie, and Ginny had decided to play some Quidditch. Up in the air, Hermione was quite bruised from all the Bludger hits and falls she had taken and was now yelling at Ron. Ron was profusely apologizing while behind them, Ginny quietly was bowling over with laughter, barely able to stay on her broom. Charlie, rolling his eyes, noticed the new arrival and came down to greet him before going back into the house. Ginny yelled from above for him to join them, and grabbing his Firebolt, he raced into the air. He was forced to play with Hermione, who was shooting daggers at Ron, and he immediately regretted these teams, as they lost every game for the rest of the day.
Later, tired and happy, the four went back in, where they joined the rest of the household for dinner. It was just like every other day. Dinner was delicious and the conversation was full of laughter and good times. Crookshanks was nearby, chasing Arnold the Pygmy Puff around. Ron and Hermione were busily, horribly, playing with their food and feeding each other, not a care to the rest of the world. Sirius was already on his fourth tankard of mead while his parents sat across the table, suspiciously close to the never-ending bottles and wide smirks on their faces as they watched their best friend. Ginny and Charlie sat on the floor, enjoying a game of Exploding Snap. He took it all in at once, feeling as if he could sit and watch until the end of time.
The days never seem to end here at the Burrow. Time, that ever-moving specter, wasn’t an issue. There was no nagging pressure about a destiny that was ever-ready to arrive at any moment. He could forget about consequences and just live in that moment. Later, after dinner, he stuck up a game of wizard chess with Ron. With a bored Ginny and Hermione lazily cheering them on, they sat in the living room and played for hours. After laying an overly-festive Sirius down for bed, even his parents came down and joined the festivities. Looking up for a moment as Ron contemplated a move, he again took in his surroundings. Time seemed to freeze and all the world was still. His parents were sharing a funny story with Ginny; all three had huge grins and were laughing wildly. Hermione was egging Ron on, pointing out strategy and moves as he failingly tried to ignore her.
It was, as everything else that had happened to him since he arrived, perfect. He would have it no other way. Everyone looked so peaceful, so content, and at that moment, he felt the same. In fact, he had felt the same during every single moment he had been around these people in his lifetime. He would give anything to stay that way. Now, he wouldn't have to. A single tear, drenched with joy, fell down his cheek. He watched it fall to the soft carpet. Ginny looked so beautiful…
Somewhere, maybe in his head, he saw sparks flying.
He had never felt as complete as he did at that moment. It was peace, he knew. And he had finally found it.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“He never wanted to play the hero. He never wanted the fame, the scrutiny, the stories, the followers. All he had ever wanted was peace. And he never found it.”
Albus Dumbledore stood on a little hill in the middle of the grounds at Hogwarts Castle. His eyes, blurred with tears, never retained their characteristic twinkling since that day. He was still his old self—brilliant and funny, a pillar of strength to everyone he had ever known—but something, just that something, was lost. No one could ever really explain what it was but they knew it was gone.
Life went on, as it always does. Wizards went back to work. Children played in the streets again. The mysterious fog over England faded away and the sun came out. Diagon Alley went back to business. Ollivander was back making wands. Even after the death of Scrimgeour, the Ministry quickly recovered and Arthur Weasley became the new Minister. Wizards went back to the lives they always should have lived. And Hogwarts opened its doors to those who wished to learn.
The tales of three former students became legendary, a part of history. But that was in the past. Why dwell on the past? Memories fade away and people move on. Sometimes they forget. Sometimes they want to forget.
At Hogwarts, they weren’t allowed to. Every year, nearing the end of school, for one day, classes were suspended. Students and teachers were free to do what they pleased, for one day. It was that day, every year, that Albus Dumbledore made his trip. He never visited at any other time during the year, but he never missed this one day.
The sun shone brightly on Hogwarts Castle. It was the most beautiful summer's day.
McGonagall stood next to Dumbledore, and next to her, Hagrid. And to him, the Weasleys. Then Hermione’s parents. Then Neville, Luna. On and on it went. Many of those who were present that day made the very same trip every year. And they would never forget.
A single, glistening, brilliant white tomb lay on that hill, the Gryffindor lion, with a faint lightining bolt crossed over, etched on its surface. On the soft ground below was a small plaque. It read:
“Love knows no boundaries, not even death.”
Dumbledore turned to the crowd. He gave them a small smile and raising his wand, shot sparks into the air. One by one, every single person in attendance followed suit.
“To the Boy Who Lived,” he saluted.
“And what a life it was.”
Author's note: This one was hard to write. I don't think its good enough but i gave it my best. I appreciate all forms of criticism. If u didnt like it, then please say so (and give a reason so i can maybe make it better) and if u did, also say so. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read my crummy stories. Here's to Book Seven being at least 10 times better. "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak."
Write a Review The Final Chapter: Epilogue: The Boy Who Lived
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