When I die young, remember me

The saddest coffins are the smallest

Of course there was a funeral.

Held on the grounds of Hogwarts, it was a magnificent affair. Hundreds of witches and wizards had arrived, from shopkeepers to dragon tamers to Wizengamot members. Countries from around the world had sent delegations of representatives, if not their own leaders, to attend. Journalists hovered round the edges, taking note of the every action and reaction of each guest.

The students had been given the day off lessons to attend. The front rows had been reserved for visiting dignitaries, but after them were the students, lined in neat rows, divided by year, then house, then name. The seats for the teachers were closest to the aisle, their black mourning robes a sharp contrast to the white seats.

It was a long funeral.

Hagrid was the one to place the small body in the small coffin, tears streaming down his cheeks. Lilies were tucked around his body, filling the empty space, spilling over the sides of the coffin. His wand was clasped in cold hands, its pale holly wood dulled.

Then there were speeches.

First the officiator spoke, the usual rites and prayers. Then the Minister, a black bowler hat held in trembling fingers as he expounded the bravery of a boy who would never know of the how deeply he was held in their hearts.

The teachers took their places next. Severus Snape, Head of his House, read the eulogy; how he had been a quiet boy, how he had been the best of both his parents, how his death was a true tragedy. Students both past and present were shocked at the depth of his emotion.

Other teachers had followed: Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, every teacher spoke of their love for the Boy-Who-Lived, until the Headmaster took the stage. Albus Dumbledore spoke of how there would never be another like Harry, how his loss would be felt for ages to come, how his was a life taken far too soon.

The coffin was closed, and a phoenix landed on the lid. He sung a low, mournful note, that reverberated in the hearts of every attendee, before flying back to the castle.

Most of the crowd was sent to the Great Hall for the wake. A select few stayed with the coffin as it was loaded on a Thestral-pulled hearse, before apparating to a small cemetery.

An hour later the coffin was lowered into the plot next to a marble headstone: James and Lily Potter. More lilies then, placed on the coffin one by one, followed by a handful of dirt. The mourners left after, in their own time, until only one remained.

Old scars covered his face, and his clothes were patched and shabby. He knelt between the graves, uncaring of the rain that had begun. "James," he said, voice tight and shaking, "Lily. Harry." He started to sob, words choked out between the tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

...

I have been asked numerous times to continue Pushed too far, so here you go. This is Harry's funeral, and as we can see, the Wizarding World is full of lying hypocrites –but that's nothing new. While it's short, I do have plans to write a bit more on what happens to the other characters, sort of a summary of what happened to them. Nothing too long, hopefully, as there is literally less than a month until my first GCSE (Spanish. joy.) and I should be revising, but this is a Bank Holiday weekend so I want to write a bit more. If it isn't out by the end of Monday, the earliest it should be out is end of June. If it comes out sooner, yell at me: I should be revising.

I'll mark this complete if the next part is longer than 1.5k and is going to be published as another story – otherwise it will be another chapter.

[original notes, transferred 7/8/16]