They Say...

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

The silence in the room is unbearable. We’re all just sat or stood there, not knowing what to do – whether we should say anything or not. The only faint noise that I can hear is everyone else’s heavy breathing.

The awkward tension is broken by the doors bursting open. Two people walk slowly into the room, and everyone, in a single, synchronised movement, turns to face them. Some of the others rush up to them, making sure they’re both okay, asking what happened, but I stay put, watching them for a few moments, then turning my head away and staring at the polished wooden floor.

Everyone returns back into the gathering we were in before, with the others joining us. We stay silent again for a few moments, not daring to say anything to break the stillness. Slowly, deliberately, I drag one of my heels across the floor so that it leaves a dark scuff mark on the wood, and it taps distantly when it meets my other shoe.

They’re talking now, about the person we’re all stood around. Only then do I realise I haven’t actually looked at him yet, not like this, anyway. I don’t know if I want to, considering what happened. But I will have to see at some point. Preparing myself for the worst, I raise my head, not knowing what to expect.

I don’t recognise the face before me. Rips and slashes tear across it, criss-crossing, grid-like, covering every inch of skin visible. Some are raised, white around the edges. It is painful to even look at. I turn my head away, looking at some of the others.

“Where is he, anyway?” asks a red haired, freckle-faced boy, tall and lanky, obviously related to some of the others in the room, who bore similar features.
“Ron, Dumbledore’s dead.”

At once my mind starts racing.

What? No, this isn’t right. How? Who? Where? It’s lies, all lies. But she seems so honest. Is it true?

“How did he die? How did it happen?” I question them.
“Snape killed him. I was there. I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy tower because that’s where the mark was. Dumbledore was ill, he was weak, but I think he realised it was a trap when we heard footsteps running up the stairs. He froze me – I couldn’t do anything! I was under the invisibility cloak. And then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him. More Death Eaters arrived, and then Snape. And he did it – the Avada Kedavra.”

This tale was getting more and more difficult to believe. He can’t be dead. Surely he couldn’t be dead. And Snape, he trusted him! He can’t have killed him, he just can’t have. It was all lies, a big lie. But they seem so truthful. It must be a dream, a nightmare. I pinch myself hard, and it stings. But I don’t escape from this scene.

Then a veil of silence falls over us. I listen closer to try and hear something and what reaches my ears is a song of ethereal beauty. A slow, mournful lament, as if everything we all currently felt in this silence was translated into sound that echoed everywhere, winding, interweaving, playing out to everyone who could hear. Everyone is still, frozen in the moment, all taking in the music surrounding us.

There is a soft, scraping noise from behind us, and we unfreeze. Footsteps echo dully off the walls, cutting out the melody. I turn around, and see the tall woman from the first night walking towards us. Some of her grace seems lost, or maybe it is just the fact that the side of her face was badly grazed, and her clothes ripped in numerous places.
“Molly and Arthur are on their way. Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid, you were with him when he…when it happened.”

It’s only now I realise that my face is wet. I turn away, back to the floor, and dry the tracks away with the back of my hand, which, when I look at it, tremors slightly. I grip it tightly with the other hand, but that makes it worse. I don’t want to listen to him recounting the story again. I just let everyone else’s voices float over me, while I lose myself, trying to block it all out. I feel myself drifting in and out of comfortable blackness, where everything was clam and easy, and reality, which hurt. I hear snatches of the conversation.
“I sent for him…”
“We were glad to think…”
“…to patrol the corridors, just in case…”
“…they got in through the room….”
“We tried everything…”

I close my eyes, trying to escape into the black, but this makes me more aware, and when the doors open again, and I hear footsteps reverberating off the walls, I know what’s happening again.

There are three people striding quickly towards the group of us. Molly, her husband Arthur, and an astoundingly beautiful young woman, who, even with the current expression of terror on her face, makes me catch my breath. Silver hair ripples behind her as she runs to us, and I move from where I’m stood in order to let her closer to the bed.

Molly’s crying, her hopeless tears falling, as if in slow motion, onto the face of her eldest son, now virtually destroyed. She choked through her tears, saying that it didn’t matter how he looked, but that he was always handsome, and that he was going to be married.

“And what do you mean by that?!” I jump at these words, spoken so suddenly, and at volume. I look at the others’ faces, noticing shocked expressions on each of them. It was the silver-haired girl, who spoke with a very heave French accent.
“What do you mean ‘he was going to be married?”
“Well, I just thought that…” Molly’s voice was strained, surprised. However, before she had a chance to force out a full response, the girl started on her again.
“You think Bill will not wish to marry me anymore? You think, because of this he will not love me?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean-“
“Because he will.” She answered back, defiantly.

I feel my throat burn at these words. This girl, who was so stunning, a vision of total perfection, still had it in her heart to love him, even after this attack, no matter what he might be like when he regains consciousness. She would still marry him, still care for him, stay with him forever.

Molly looks up again, and I realise her tears have stopped. I can’t decipher the expression on her face. I, along with everyone else there, was waiting for an explosion of rage. But, when she spoke, her voice seemed calm, although slightly forced.
“Our great auntie Muriel has a very beautiful tiara, goblin made, which I’m sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She was always fond of Bill, and it would look lovely with your hair.”
“Thank you” she whispered “I’m sure that will be lovely.”

And, the next thing I know, both women embrace, crying together, sharing in their loss.

My eyes sting at the sight, and I feel oddly warm. I swallow, but nothing can suppress the lump in my throat. That doesn’t matter anymore. I turn to my right, to face the man who needs to understand.

“You see?” I tell him, glaring, my voice strained, my face staring to become wet again, “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s like this! She doesn’t care!”
I notice everyone’s looking at me. So what?
When he replies, he hardly moves his mouth and his eyes dart desperately around the room for something other to look at.
“It’s different. The cases are completely-“
“But I don’t care either, I don’t care! I’ve told you a million times!”
I’m shouting now, not worrying about what anyone else thinks. They can’t understand, they don’t understand.

“And I’ve told you a million times that I am too old for you, too poor, too dangerous.”
His voice is forced calmness, and he sighs after finishing the sentence, eyes wandering, desperately trying not to look directly at anyone.

“I’ve said all along that you’re taking a ridiculous line on this.”
Molly’s backing me up now.
“I’m not being ridiculous. She doesn’t deserve me. She deserves somebody young, and whole.”
I turn away at these words, trying to calm myself, breathe a little.
“But she wants you. And after all, people who are young and whole do not necessarily remain so.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Arthur incline his head towards his eldest son, lying there, quite still.

I don’t hear the next words, for I turn to escape. I run, leaving them behind, flecks of water falling to the floor as I make my exit.