Weary Memory -- Susan and Michael
The mood struck him every so often. Especially when he hadnât been to visit in a few months. The place had been home for 8 years, after all - and was the resting place of more than a few names he sincerely wished were still above ground. Still, the trip to the Battle of Hogwarts memorial and ceremony on the edge of the grounds of the school was never a truly pleasant one, regardless of itâs importance. Heâd considered asking Lisa to come along - or Terry, or Sue, or any mate for that matter. But, as always, it was a pilgrimage he needed to do alone. Despite his desire for company, the need for quiet reflection always seemed to win out.
So with a sunny April day without work, Michael apparated into Hogsmeade and picked up a bundle of daisies before walking up the familiar sloping path towards the castle gate. His mother, always keen on herbological knowledge in her trade as a Potioneer, had told him as a child that each flower held meaning and should be selected carefully given the occasion. The traditional red rose was meant for lovers; Peonies to be brought to the sick as a sign of healing. Daisies, sheâd told him, were for innocence and new beginnings - two qualities that, in his estimation, Michael felt were most important in the continuation of education at Hogwarts School.
The cemetery wasnât a large one, though it was particularly well-adorned. No expense had been spared in itâs layout, with thick foliage providing a measure of privacy from the eyes of the school itself which sat upon the hill. Though the tombs themselves kept their air of humility, the place had a grandeur that seemed to indicate itâs importance to the school and the Wizarding World at large. To pay respects to those that gave their lives without reserve to fight against the overwhelming tide of evil was not something that should ever be minimized, least by the generations who benefited from their actions. As silently and reverently as he could, Michael slid the latch on the gate open, and with eyes downcast stepped across the threshold into the space. At once, the sounds from outside seemed like a distant memory - he wondered if the cemetery itself had a silencing charm surrounding it, another added layer of privacy for any mourners or well-wishers. The young manâs dark eyes slid slowly from side to side as he walked, the familiar names washing across his memory. Being in the place brought back such keen memories, many of which heâd tried hard over the last few years to forget. Weeks spent in the darkness of the dungeon under the lash of the Carrows. Open, festering wounds that lay before him, desperate students begging him to provide whatever meagre assistance he could. It all seemed so vivid, as though he were once more standing in the dank air under the castle, tending once more to the fallen. Heâd become so caught up in his thoughts that, despite being subconsciously aware that he wasnât alone in the cemetery, he hadnât noticed heâd managed to trundle up to the other person.
âOh, Iâm so sorry, I didnât see you there -â He muttered, his eyes only catching a glimpse of the personâs feet before he looked up from his reverie. At once, the girlâs brilliant red hair caught the sunlight, meaning it could only be one of two people. Not Ginny. â- Susan,â he added, his expression a mixture of surprise and sorrow. âI didnât know you were â or that you came here,â Michael explained, keen to lay out a reason for his absent-mindedness that didnât involve describing the images that continued to flood his mind. His hands gripped the stems of the flowers tightly, hoping to ground himself in the moment as he tried a weak smile. âI can come back later, if youâd like to be alone,â he offered, already taking a slow step backwards.
