(HP) Sifting Through the Ashes
Title: Sifting Through the Ashes
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: jackiejlh
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Harry Potter, various others
Pairing(s): none
Warning(s): off-screen character deaths
Summary: "Only the dead have seen the end of war." ~ Plato
Voldemort was dead, and that was that.
There was rejoicing, parties, and dancing in the streets. Just as after he had fallen the first time, those wizards with less common sense than others wandered the Muggle streets in their robes, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. This went on for days, and an outsider would think that all of the trouble had ended and that life would go on as happy as could be.
But Harry Potter knew differently. The future looked brighter than it had a week ago, but things were hardly happy. Rubbing his tired face with a calloused hand, he turned away from the window and met the eyes of the Minister for Magic and his advisors. Order members were scattered amongst them, all having combined their forces as their numbers dwindled in the last few years of the war. Everyone was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but still they plodded on with the ninth meeting they’d had in as many days.
‘How are things on the re-housing front?’ Rufus Scrimgeour asked, his jaw set and a determined, strong look in his eyes.
‘Moving slowly,’ Arthur Weasley answered. ‘There are still 412 members of the wizarding community in shelters-that’s not counting the 287 people we’ve placed in host homes or those that are staying with family or friends. Construction has been completed on six homes this week; families were moved into all of them yesterday. It will be a year or more before we can place everyone, and in the meantime, we’re running out of places to keep them.
‘We’ve actually been considering the possibility of purchasing Muggle dwellings. They’re not the most convenient, but these people need homes. Things need to start returning to normal for them as soon as possible. We’re also exploring the option of buying a few of the establishments that Muggles call ‘hotels’, which can house dozens of families if need be, until actual homes can be provided for them.
‘Regardless of what we do, we have to do it quickly. The 158 people staying at Hogwarts need to be relocated in the next two or three weeks. Reconstruction is almost complete on the school, and the children need to begin class at some point. It is already nearly three weeks past the usual start date, and they will entirely too far behind if we wait much longer.’
The Minister nodded, turning his attention to a severe-looking woman standing in the back of the room.
‘Speaking of Hogwarts… McGonagall, how is the reconstruction going?’
‘We’ve managed to drain the dungeons and patch the ceiling, though more reinforcement is needed before it can be considered safe. That explosion last month brought in half the lake. It will be at least another week before the Slytherin dormitories and the Potions laboratories are able to be used. The Entrance Hall is finished, most of the staircases have been repaired - those that are necessary for reopening, anyway-and we’ve begun work on the seventh floor. We hope to start on the towers by the weekend,’ she told him.
Harry couldn’t help but mentally note how lucky they were to have magic on their side. Had they been Muggles, the amount of repairs the old castle needed would have taken years to complete. The hundreds of new homes that the wizarding community required would have taken far longer to acquire as well. There seemed to be no limit to the destruction that had occurred before Voldemort had finally fallen.
‘Potter? How is your assignment coming along?’
‘We’re doing very well,’ Harry answered, nodding slowly. He was leading a team made up of Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Order members in search of rogue Death Eaters, who had been popping up in startling numbers all over the United Kingdom. ‘We located the body of Severus Snape this morning in a little hole in Halifax. He’d been dead for months. Poison, apparently. We’re assuming that it was suicide, though we’re not completely ruling out the possibility of murder at this point. We’re still waiting for the coroner’s report.
'Other than that, we’ve organised four raids so far, ending with seventeen Death Eaters captured and four dead.’
‘Any casualties on our side?’ a young woman sitting to the left of the Minister asked.
‘One,’ Harry said sadly, looking away. ‘Charlie Weasley. He was injured three days ago while fighting, and died in St. Mungo’s Spell Damage ward this morning.’
The room fell quiet for a moment, allowing those who had not yet heard to take in the news. Mr Weasley, sitting at the table beside his sons, tried to blink back the tears that he had been holding back all day, refusing to allow himself to grieve until a more ‘appropriate’ time. His family had been cut in half, losing Mrs Weasley, George, Ginny, and Percy in just two years. Though Percy, it must be said, was hardly mourned. He had, at some point, turned to Voldemort in his search for power. His mother, sister, and brother had been slain at his hand, and Percy had been struck down by his youngest brother’s wand mere minutes afterward.
While Bill was busy tending to Gringotts and his own family, Mr Weasley, Fred, Charlie, and Ron had thrown themselves into the rebuilding efforts in an attempt to avoid dealing with their losses just yet, only to lose yet another member of their family.
‘Madam Grunning, your report?’ the Minister said finally, breaking the solemn silence.
‘We’ve managed to get everyone into a bed and treated, though many have died and more will in the coming weeks. Some of them need far more time and care than we are able to give, and some are just too far gone to help at this point,’ the Consultant Healer told them in a firm voice, her eyes betraying the stress she felt. ‘The Muggles have all been treated to the point of recovery, and we’re in the process of moving them to Muggle hospitals. At least there aren’t people lying in the corridors anymore, and things are starting to calm down a bit. We should have everything completely under control in the next few days or so.’
Scrimgeour nodded, turning his attention to the parchments in his hand. ‘The Head of the Goblin Liaison Office has informed me that the Goblins will loan the Ministry the funds needed to complete the rebuilding of Hogwarts and the construction of 200 homes. The Floo network is up and running at Hogwarts, in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Hogsmeade, and the Ministry. Madam Edgecombe says that personal Floo connections will be reinstated shortly, once we’re able to determine which homes still have need of them.
‘Peasegood, are the Muggles still aware of what’s happening, or has your team managed to Obliviate all involved?’
‘We think we succeeded,’ the Obliviator said slowly. The final fall of Voldemort had taken place on a crowded London street, and talk of strange people in robes killing each other with light that came out of sticks had gone to every major news station in the world in a matter of minutes. ‘Nearly all wizarding governments worldwide have aided tremendously, and so far it seems our efforts have been successful; at least, for the most part. There is still the odd report of a Muggle who is institutionalised due to raving about having seen a battle that no one else had seen, but they are quickly Obliviated. It’s starting to look like we might come out of this undiscovered, even after everything that’s happened.’
‘Okay, does anyone else have anything to add?’ Scrimgeour asked, glancing around the room.
‘Sir,’ a woman called from where she stood against the wall, ‘the memorial service…we still need to set a date.’
‘Ah, yes. This coming Friday? Does that pose any problems?’ When no one spoke up, the Minister nodded. ‘Friday, then. It will be held in Hogsmeade. We’ll have the Daily Prophet run an announcement on the front page tomorrow.’
‘A lot of people aren’t going to like this,’ Tonks said softly, frowning. She, among others, did not find the idea of mandatory cremation and a group ceremony appealing. Harry couldn’t help but agree. Those that had fallen fighting deserved better than three seconds of reverence. They didn’t deserve to be treated as a nuisance, a throwaway, leftover decision in the aftermath of the war they had given their lives for.
‘They’ll just have to get over it. This is the only choice we have. There are thousands dead, and we just don’t have the room, the time, or the resources to hold private ceremonies for everyone. The bodies will be burned, the ashes will be given to the surviving family members, and all of the deceased will be named at the ceremony. That’s the best we can do,’ Scrimgeour said firmly, making it clear that there would be no more discussion on this particular subject.
‘All right, people, I guess we’re done here. Those of you who will be aiding in the scheduling of trials for accused war criminals, please remain behind. Everyone else can go, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow afternoon for an update on your particular assignments. Dismissed.’
Harry hurried out of the room quickly, Apparating away once he’d reached the hallway and appearing outside of the Burrow. He’d been staying with the Weasleys since he, Hermione, and Ron had destroyed the sixth Horcrux, and it had become even more of a home to him than it had been during his school years.
He settled into his bed, determined to get some rest, knowing that his team would be going out again in the morning, but sleep refused to come. Thoughts swirled around in his head uncontrollably, and he wondered how the wizarding world would ever get back on its feet. He wasn’t even sure how HE would survive it, once all of the work was over and he was left to truly think about the war.
There were so many dead… half of the Weasleys-including his Ginny-Hermione, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sirius… so many that had been close to him, all gone. Even in victory, he felt defeated. Not for the first time, he envied Voldemort and his followers just a bit, if only for the moment. In death, they had escaped dealing with the aftermath of the war. Those that fought for the Light were only just beginning to understand the amount of work that was left to be done. There was no winner, no victor… not in Harry’s eyes. No, in Harry’s eyes, death might have been a more welcomed obstacle to endure.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: jackiejlh
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Harry Potter, various others
Pairing(s): none
Warning(s): off-screen character deaths
Summary: "Only the dead have seen the end of war." ~ Plato
Voldemort was dead, and that was that.
There was rejoicing, parties, and dancing in the streets. Just as after he had fallen the first time, those wizards with less common sense than others wandered the Muggle streets in their robes, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. This went on for days, and an outsider would think that all of the trouble had ended and that life would go on as happy as could be.
But Harry Potter knew differently. The future looked brighter than it had a week ago, but things were hardly happy. Rubbing his tired face with a calloused hand, he turned away from the window and met the eyes of the Minister for Magic and his advisors. Order members were scattered amongst them, all having combined their forces as their numbers dwindled in the last few years of the war. Everyone was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but still they plodded on with the ninth meeting they’d had in as many days.
‘How are things on the re-housing front?’ Rufus Scrimgeour asked, his jaw set and a determined, strong look in his eyes.
‘Moving slowly,’ Arthur Weasley answered. ‘There are still 412 members of the wizarding community in shelters-that’s not counting the 287 people we’ve placed in host homes or those that are staying with family or friends. Construction has been completed on six homes this week; families were moved into all of them yesterday. It will be a year or more before we can place everyone, and in the meantime, we’re running out of places to keep them.
‘We’ve actually been considering the possibility of purchasing Muggle dwellings. They’re not the most convenient, but these people need homes. Things need to start returning to normal for them as soon as possible. We’re also exploring the option of buying a few of the establishments that Muggles call ‘hotels’, which can house dozens of families if need be, until actual homes can be provided for them.
‘Regardless of what we do, we have to do it quickly. The 158 people staying at Hogwarts need to be relocated in the next two or three weeks. Reconstruction is almost complete on the school, and the children need to begin class at some point. It is already nearly three weeks past the usual start date, and they will entirely too far behind if we wait much longer.’
The Minister nodded, turning his attention to a severe-looking woman standing in the back of the room.
‘Speaking of Hogwarts… McGonagall, how is the reconstruction going?’
‘We’ve managed to drain the dungeons and patch the ceiling, though more reinforcement is needed before it can be considered safe. That explosion last month brought in half the lake. It will be at least another week before the Slytherin dormitories and the Potions laboratories are able to be used. The Entrance Hall is finished, most of the staircases have been repaired - those that are necessary for reopening, anyway-and we’ve begun work on the seventh floor. We hope to start on the towers by the weekend,’ she told him.
Harry couldn’t help but mentally note how lucky they were to have magic on their side. Had they been Muggles, the amount of repairs the old castle needed would have taken years to complete. The hundreds of new homes that the wizarding community required would have taken far longer to acquire as well. There seemed to be no limit to the destruction that had occurred before Voldemort had finally fallen.
‘Potter? How is your assignment coming along?’
‘We’re doing very well,’ Harry answered, nodding slowly. He was leading a team made up of Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Order members in search of rogue Death Eaters, who had been popping up in startling numbers all over the United Kingdom. ‘We located the body of Severus Snape this morning in a little hole in Halifax. He’d been dead for months. Poison, apparently. We’re assuming that it was suicide, though we’re not completely ruling out the possibility of murder at this point. We’re still waiting for the coroner’s report.
'Other than that, we’ve organised four raids so far, ending with seventeen Death Eaters captured and four dead.’
‘Any casualties on our side?’ a young woman sitting to the left of the Minister asked.
‘One,’ Harry said sadly, looking away. ‘Charlie Weasley. He was injured three days ago while fighting, and died in St. Mungo’s Spell Damage ward this morning.’
The room fell quiet for a moment, allowing those who had not yet heard to take in the news. Mr Weasley, sitting at the table beside his sons, tried to blink back the tears that he had been holding back all day, refusing to allow himself to grieve until a more ‘appropriate’ time. His family had been cut in half, losing Mrs Weasley, George, Ginny, and Percy in just two years. Though Percy, it must be said, was hardly mourned. He had, at some point, turned to Voldemort in his search for power. His mother, sister, and brother had been slain at his hand, and Percy had been struck down by his youngest brother’s wand mere minutes afterward.
While Bill was busy tending to Gringotts and his own family, Mr Weasley, Fred, Charlie, and Ron had thrown themselves into the rebuilding efforts in an attempt to avoid dealing with their losses just yet, only to lose yet another member of their family.
‘Madam Grunning, your report?’ the Minister said finally, breaking the solemn silence.
‘We’ve managed to get everyone into a bed and treated, though many have died and more will in the coming weeks. Some of them need far more time and care than we are able to give, and some are just too far gone to help at this point,’ the Consultant Healer told them in a firm voice, her eyes betraying the stress she felt. ‘The Muggles have all been treated to the point of recovery, and we’re in the process of moving them to Muggle hospitals. At least there aren’t people lying in the corridors anymore, and things are starting to calm down a bit. We should have everything completely under control in the next few days or so.’
Scrimgeour nodded, turning his attention to the parchments in his hand. ‘The Head of the Goblin Liaison Office has informed me that the Goblins will loan the Ministry the funds needed to complete the rebuilding of Hogwarts and the construction of 200 homes. The Floo network is up and running at Hogwarts, in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Hogsmeade, and the Ministry. Madam Edgecombe says that personal Floo connections will be reinstated shortly, once we’re able to determine which homes still have need of them.
‘Peasegood, are the Muggles still aware of what’s happening, or has your team managed to Obliviate all involved?’
‘We think we succeeded,’ the Obliviator said slowly. The final fall of Voldemort had taken place on a crowded London street, and talk of strange people in robes killing each other with light that came out of sticks had gone to every major news station in the world in a matter of minutes. ‘Nearly all wizarding governments worldwide have aided tremendously, and so far it seems our efforts have been successful; at least, for the most part. There is still the odd report of a Muggle who is institutionalised due to raving about having seen a battle that no one else had seen, but they are quickly Obliviated. It’s starting to look like we might come out of this undiscovered, even after everything that’s happened.’
‘Okay, does anyone else have anything to add?’ Scrimgeour asked, glancing around the room.
‘Sir,’ a woman called from where she stood against the wall, ‘the memorial service…we still need to set a date.’
‘Ah, yes. This coming Friday? Does that pose any problems?’ When no one spoke up, the Minister nodded. ‘Friday, then. It will be held in Hogsmeade. We’ll have the Daily Prophet run an announcement on the front page tomorrow.’
‘A lot of people aren’t going to like this,’ Tonks said softly, frowning. She, among others, did not find the idea of mandatory cremation and a group ceremony appealing. Harry couldn’t help but agree. Those that had fallen fighting deserved better than three seconds of reverence. They didn’t deserve to be treated as a nuisance, a throwaway, leftover decision in the aftermath of the war they had given their lives for.
‘They’ll just have to get over it. This is the only choice we have. There are thousands dead, and we just don’t have the room, the time, or the resources to hold private ceremonies for everyone. The bodies will be burned, the ashes will be given to the surviving family members, and all of the deceased will be named at the ceremony. That’s the best we can do,’ Scrimgeour said firmly, making it clear that there would be no more discussion on this particular subject.
‘All right, people, I guess we’re done here. Those of you who will be aiding in the scheduling of trials for accused war criminals, please remain behind. Everyone else can go, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow afternoon for an update on your particular assignments. Dismissed.’
Harry hurried out of the room quickly, Apparating away once he’d reached the hallway and appearing outside of the Burrow. He’d been staying with the Weasleys since he, Hermione, and Ron had destroyed the sixth Horcrux, and it had become even more of a home to him than it had been during his school years.
He settled into his bed, determined to get some rest, knowing that his team would be going out again in the morning, but sleep refused to come. Thoughts swirled around in his head uncontrollably, and he wondered how the wizarding world would ever get back on its feet. He wasn’t even sure how HE would survive it, once all of the work was over and he was left to truly think about the war.
There were so many dead… half of the Weasleys-including his Ginny-Hermione, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sirius… so many that had been close to him, all gone. Even in victory, he felt defeated. Not for the first time, he envied Voldemort and his followers just a bit, if only for the moment. In death, they had escaped dealing with the aftermath of the war. Those that fought for the Light were only just beginning to understand the amount of work that was left to be done. There was no winner, no victor… not in Harry’s eyes. No, in Harry’s eyes, death might have been a more welcomed obstacle to endure.