SnitchSeeker.com - View Single Post - A Past Not Forgotten

Rootless.Tree · 06-24-2008, 11:52 AM

White blankets cover a sea of green grass, fresh slow flakes of white dust fall upon those blankets. Winter is a slow season. The cold engulfs students who walk through the grounds, who wrap their coats around their shivering bodies, and whilst walking, leave imprints into the snow. Three close friends, three in a row, slowly walk through the grounds, seeming as though they are ghosts. It's been three years, three years since the terrible events occurred, three years since they had stepped foot into their former school. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, that was their names, at least that's what one of the students had recalled. Harry Potter was the one that had eliminated Lord Voldemort, killed the one who had terrorised so many. He was well known among many witches and wizards. Throughout the school, whispers began to form, rumours that three who had survived from that incredible battle, that stream of unfortunate events, were now among them. Students walked fervently into the grounds, wanting to see them, wanting to be able to have a glimpse of the ones who survived, one who which put the terrible era to an end. Quietly many students found them, and once they did they stayed a few meters back, respecting their space. The three had ventured down to Hagrid's hut, obviously paying him a visit. They waited, and waited, the cold wind pushing through their shivering bodies, but they could stand the cold, they had too, they wanted to see them. Finally, the three walked out of the front door of Hagrid’s hut, Hagrid alongside them, with their heads down; they must've noticed that the students were there, that they were waiting. Turning in a different direction the four strolled the grounds, the student body growing behind them. Eventually though, they had stopped, right in front of the tombstone of the most influential headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore. Then, came clearer into view more tombstones, tombstones for the ones who had been killed mercilessly. The four stood in a line, linked by their arms. Students began to back away, to give them room, room to lay their eyes upon tombstones they hadn't seen for a length of time, except for one, Hagrid. As the four stood in front of the tombstones, they began to recall all the good times, the times before they had lost the people that they had loved, the ones who had given up their lives for a better world, a better time. Tears began to escape their eyes for the ones they lost, for the ones who would never be forgotten.

Years later, a little girl sat upon her grandfather's knee, swinging her legs while he read a news article that was held in her hands, written years ago. "Grandpa?" Asked the little girl, looking into her grandfather's piercing eyes, a scar which had faded was engraved upon his forehead, she looked up at it.

"Yes, Ginevra?" He asked, looking down at her, a small smile on his face. She was named after her grandmother, a woman who would never be forgotten. A woman who her grandfather kept a photo of right next to his bed so that he was able to look at her from time to time.

"Is this your story?" She asked, looking up at him from the old newspaper she held in her hand. "Professor Longbottom, he's old, like you," she said to him, with a playful grin. "He gave it to me, he said that it may mean something to me and to ask you," she said, looking up at him once again. It had been her first year at Hogwarts and she was already getting introduced to her father's past. His daughter, Lily, had never wanted that to happen. She hadn't want her little girl to be worried about what had happened those many years ago, but it was inevitable.

"Yes, that is my story," he replied, his eyes glistening with tears, tears for the ones they had lost, tears for the ones who had lived without their family, and their friends. He was one of the only ones left from that time, him and one of his great friends, Neville Longbottom. Ginevra looked up at her grandfather, a single tear falling upon her cheek. How could he have moved on? How could he have just forgotten? I suppose that he never did, she thought to herself, and looked back down at the single torn sheet from a Daily Prophet piece many years ago.

This is my attempt at a one shot.
- Jayde.

06-24-2008, 11:52 AM	#1 (permalink)
Rootless.Tree Ethereal Puffskein Join Date: Nov 2007 Location: Wonderland. Posts: 2,240 Hogwarts RPG Name: Isabelle Dubois Fourth Year	A Past Not Forgotten - Sa9+ White blankets cover a sea of green grass, fresh slow flakes of white dust fall upon those blankets. Winter is a slow season. The cold engulfs students who walk through the grounds, who wrap their coats around their shivering bodies, and whilst walking, leave imprints into the snow. Three close friends, three in a row, slowly walk through the grounds, seeming as though they are ghosts. It's been three years, three years since the terrible events occurred, three years since they had stepped foot into their former school. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, that was their names, at least that's what one of the students had recalled. Harry Potter was the one that had eliminated Lord Voldemort, killed the one who had terrorised so many. He was well known among many witches and wizards. Throughout the school, whispers began to form, rumours that three who had survived from that incredible battle, that stream of unfortunate events, were now among them. Students walked fervently into the grounds, wanting to see them, wanting to be able to have a glimpse of the ones who survived, one who which put the terrible era to an end. Quietly many students found them, and once they did they stayed a few meters back, respecting their space. The three had ventured down to Hagrid's hut, obviously paying him a visit. They waited, and waited, the cold wind pushing through their shivering bodies, but they could stand the cold, they had too, they wanted to see them. Finally, the three walked out of the front door of Hagrid’s hut, Hagrid alongside them, with their heads down; they must've noticed that the students were there, that they were waiting. Turning in a different direction the four strolled the grounds, the student body growing behind them. Eventually though, they had stopped, right in front of the tombstone of the most influential headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore. Then, came clearer into view more tombstones, tombstones for the ones who had been killed mercilessly. The four stood in a line, linked by their arms. Students began to back away, to give them room, room to lay their eyes upon tombstones they hadn't seen for a length of time, except for one, Hagrid. As the four stood in front of the tombstones, they began to recall all the good times, the times before they had lost the people that they had loved, the ones who had given up their lives for a better world, a better time. Tears began to escape their eyes for the ones they lost, for the ones who would never be forgotten. Years later, a little girl sat upon her grandfather's knee, swinging her legs while he read a news article that was held in her hands, written years ago. "Grandpa?" Asked the little girl, looking into her grandfather's piercing eyes, a scar which had faded was engraved upon his forehead, she looked up at it. "Yes, Ginevra?" He asked, looking down at her, a small smile on his face. She was named after her grandmother, a woman who would never be forgotten. A woman who her grandfather kept a photo of right next to his bed so that he was able to look at her from time to time. "Is this your story?" She asked, looking up at him from the old newspaper she held in her hand. "Professor Longbottom, he's old, like you," she said to him, with a playful grin. "He gave it to me, he said that it may mean something to me and to ask you," she said, looking up at him once again. It had been her first year at Hogwarts and she was already getting introduced to her father's past. His daughter, Lily, had never wanted that to happen. She hadn't want her little girl to be worried about what had happened those many years ago, but it was inevitable. "Yes, that is my story," he replied, his eyes glistening with tears, tears for the ones they had lost, tears for the ones who had lived without their family, and their friends. He was one of the only ones left from that time, him and one of his great friends, Neville Longbottom. Ginevra looked up at her grandfather, a single tear falling upon her cheek. How could he have moved on? How could he have just forgotten? I suppose that he never did, she thought to herself, and looked back down at the single torn sheet from a Daily Prophet piece many years ago. This is my attempt at a one shot. - Jayde. Last edited by Rootless.Tree; 06-24-2008 at 11:49 PM. Reason: fixing errors