The Other Potter: Book 7

Not the first person, but the third.

*Third person*

No one knew what to feel when Bill and Fleur came back. When they said Mad-eye was dead. When they said they saw Willow falling through the sky. Too high in the air to survive – even for Willow. No one would ever forget the look on George’s face when he was told.

Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently; George seemed to be frozen, unable to comprehend the moment. Hagrid, who had sat down in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief. The rest of them were void of emotion.

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and some glasses. “Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand he sent twelve full classes soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. “Mad-Eye,”

“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank.

He refilled the glasses with another flick of his wand and Ginny found herself speaking. “To Willow: The Other Potter.”

“Willow.” Everyone said and downed their glasses.

Harry explained that Willow had jumped on top of Voldemort to save him and Hagrid, but he couldn’t get half-way through it without breaking down. Hermione could be found sitting near the doorway, her face in her hands, Ron’s arm wrapped tightly around her, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

Fred was sitting by George’s side, stunned, as George looked as though he himself had died.

Then Lupin stood up, and every eye was on him.

“There’s work to do, I can ask Kingsley whether—”

“No,” said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”

“Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together.

“Their bodies,” said Lupin. “We need to recover them.”

“Can’t it—?” began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

“Wait?” said Bill. “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took them?”

Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good bye and left.

As the days began to pass, the bodies weren’t recovered. There was no hope. No luck. It was now rare for laughter to be heard inside the boundaries of the usually cheerful house. Conversations between Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to be incomplete. There was no one to comment random irrelevant things. There was no one to make things seem that little bit less serious. Everything seemed irreparably sad.

Soxy was sitting outside, waiting for Willow to return, not knowing that she never would. Never knowing.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice was sad as she looked down at Willow’s discarded trunk. She’d opened it, finally. “Harry, Ron, come here.”

The boys walked curiously into the room, but Harry’s eyes brimmed with tears when he saw what Hermione was doing.

“We promised not to open it.” He said frantically. It was as though when her trunk was open, and when they went through everything, it would be real. Harry was still half-expecting Willow to come barging through the door. “Put it back. PUT IT BACK!”

“Wait,” Hermione said softly. “Just listen,” Hermione read the bad poem Willow had written aloud, but it seemed it was less of a poem, and more of a collection of thoughts.

“Sometimes it’s just your time to go

You don’t know that you know but you know