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Name: Rosalie Narcissa Malfoy Age: 15 Time of Death: 8:31PM Cause of Death: Casualty - Spell Unknown
It wasn't right.
None of this was right.
Parents weren't supposed to bury their children.
Not in this world. Not in any world.
It isn't supposed to be that way.
It couldn't be true.
Narcissa kept walking, through the cemetery, toward her daughter's newly planted gravestone, distant cries echoing in the quiet fields.
Narcissa watched the dead leaves dance through the air. She touched the monument, tracing the carved letters of Rosalie; but it only reminded her that she was truly gone.
She had cried so hard that fateful night, there wasn't enough air to scream. Narcissa collapsed, her knees hitting the cool stone.
"I'll never forgive them," She sobbed into her hands. "They promised to protect you."
It was all too real.
Narcissa could care less about propriety; it was a tiny funeral anyway. Nothing like the one Rosalie deserved, but the only one they could give her. It felt like she'd bled an ocean through her eyes, yet she still could not calm the enormity of her sobbing.
Anita gazed gloomily down at her sheer tights encased in black delicate heels, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
Narcissa looked up to see her mother-in-law hovering over her, arms spread wide.
"We tried to protect her," Narcissa cried, trying to conceal her puffy eyes as Anita wrapped her in a tight embrace.
Anita nodded at the stone, tears still steaming down her porcelain cheeks. "It's not fair."
Life was cruel and unforgiving.
Draco stared at his little sister's headstone, tears also watering in his eyes. "We just got you back... and now we've lost you again," he muttered to himself.
He knew the truth, the horrid truth.
His little sister was dead, and he couldn't prevent it.
His father was in prison. The ministry deemed him a flight risk to leave Azkaban; his own child's funeral or not. So, Narcissa had laid their youngest child, and only daughter to rest, alone.
It was a sentence worse than death, and Lucius was to blame for everything.
As the daylight drains away, there is barely enough to form shadows. Even the stars and moon cowered behind a dense layer of cloud. The weather matched the melancholy mood.
"It's time to say the final goodbye for now." Anita urged the group, her husband holding her firmly by his side.
"Goodbye Baby." Narcissa muttered, wiping away the tears as she rose to stand beside her in-laws and father.
The grave was decorated with rose quartz and a white rose wreath.
Hermione began to cry harder.
Graham placed a hand on her shoulder. "I can't believe she's gone." He rubbed his dull, teary face.
"Forever," she choked back, holding herself tightly as she cried.
Anita walked up and pulled her grandson close. "We're going to be okay, I promise."
Draco didn't believe her. How could he? They'd just buried his little sister. His father was in prison. He didn't want to talk about it or think about it.
Draco was sick of death, his grandmother had died a few months ago and now his little sister had also died prematurely.
He wanted to be as far away from this horrid existence as possible. But he couldn't escape, the Dark Lord wanted war, and it was a war he would get.
Draco cleared his throat, staring up into the darkened sky. "She's with the Hayes now, they'll protect her from here,"
Narcissa and Hermione nodded in agreement. The tragic massacre occurred in the dawn. Bellatrix Lestrange wired and enraged from the Battle of Mysteries murdered the Hayes family in its entirety.
Hermione's hands shook in pain. Her bloodshot eyes swept over the distraught faces of Graham and the Malfoy family.
Graham stepped forward placing a hand on the tombstone of his now former girlfriend, muttering "I'll always love you."
He stood staring at the tombstone, the wind ruffling his hair and blowing his collar as the dark rain began to fall, slowly at first, then picking up pace.
Soon it was falling heavily, soaking his black suit and white shirt, puddling on the ground and running in streams across the top of the tombstone.
Despite the pouring rain, Draco continued to stare at his dead sister's tombstone. She was only fifteen years old, caught in the crossfire and killed. She'd been a beautiful, innocent girl with the brightest mind and kindest eyes. He was supposed to protect her. Always.
"I wish you would've grown up into the witch you were meant to be," He quietly muttered to himself.
Draco finally turned and headed for the village. It was just him, his mother and grandparents left now. The drizzling rain no longer affected him in the slightest.
Today was the last day of neutrality.
Draco knew that they had to fight with the Dark Lord to stay alive. Even though he knew it was wrong, it was all they had left in the absence of little Rosie.
With every breath he took a part of him was dying. There was nothing left to hold onto, no matter how strong he was.
Draco knew it wasn't long until Voldemort got his followers back. He knew it was only a matter of time before those snivelling slaves turned back into faithful soldiers once more.
He could taste the bile in his throat, but he wouldn't cry anymore. His sister was dead.
