#nox.event005

If Kodi had ever felt more out of place in her entire life, she couldn’t remember it.

She had arrived in London a little over a month ago in the aftermath of a terrorist attack on a concert whose proceeds were meant to go towards werewolf welfare. As a brand-new Auror to the Department, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and eager to get to work, she had been swept up into the efforts at damage control. Tonight was a time for mitigation: upped security at this mass gathering for Harry James Potter Day so that they didn’t have a repeat incident.

So here she was among the mourners and the throngs of British citizens who loved the Boy Who Lived or at least knew him better than Kodi. Voldemort’s rise to power had left its scars on the American psyche, too, but when she saw the looks on the faces around her, she felt virtually untouched in comparison. She had a high-end Glamour Charm in place, and as long as her expression didn’t distort too drastically, it would remain stable. She didn’t actually want to punctuate anyone’s grief with fear.

She only had to be intimidating enough to be on guard duty; specifically, she was meant to be protecting the grave of James and Lily Potter from any attempts at vandalism. Her Shield Charm flickered brightly around the headstones as someone stepped a little too close.

“Excuse me,” she said, uncomfortable even at going there, but it was her job. Her accent sounded blaringly American even to her own ears. “I’m gonna have to ask you to take a step back.” She tried to get a read on their expression even as she positioned herself to make sure that the Auror badge, so similar to the one she had worn in Washington and yet so different in weight, was visible where it was pinned to her robes. “I know this must be a hard day for you. I’m sorry. Did you--know the Potters?” 

Dumbledore’s Army, still recruiting.

The Charmed words finally burned golden on the wall, a half-dozen tries of the spell later. Neville felt triumphant at last. 

It had been a particularly bad day at the school that had become a prison, a warzone, a hellscape. But he was determined to show that nothing was over yet--the fight had just begun.

The Three Broomsticks was inevitably loud with the number of people gathered to remember Harry, but the mood was somber. Conversation rose and then petered out painfully, and Arthur had been swallowing back the lump in his throat all night. It was all too fresh and new. 

Sometimes he could hardly process that the boy was gone, even on this second annual day held in remembrance of him. He kept expecting to see him at the table between Ron and Ginny in the Burrow for Sunday lunches, like he belonged. He had belonged. He had been their family. Arthur felt, and he thought Molly did as well, that they had lost two sons a year ago.

In the cluster of familiar wixen faces, Arthur saw an unexpected one. He almost didn’t process who it was for a moment. Dudley Dursley--some of Harry’s only living biological family. Arthur knew he had made the startling move of joining the Ministry when the dust settled after the Battle of Hogwarts, but Arthur had only just moved back to Muggle Artefacts. Thus, to this point, they had encountered each other neither professionally nor personally, not since the last time Arthur had been at the Dursleys’ home. That felt like a lifetime away, but he could still remember Harry’s eyes.

Arthur said something to the effect of needing another pint and then moved through the crowds slowly, coming to a stop before him. 

One look at the group of people trying to find Harry’s grave is enough to send her into a fit of anger. It happens every year but time doesn’t quell her grief, nor her protectiveness over the now passed boy. Her hands shake as she tries to control herself, but her hair and eyes go a startling black.

“You should be ashamed!” She yells before she could stop herself. “He’d done enough, spent his life protectin’ us all! Let him rest in peace now!”

❝   HARRY JAMES POTTER DAY, sometimes referred to as hjp day, is a british wixen holiday marking the birthday of the late harry james potter. it is observed on the 31st of july, annually, though celebrations often last through the week. it was officially registered with the british ministry of magic on may 19th, 2014 by minister kingsley shacklebolt.   

potter, famous from birth for being the ONLY person known to have survived the killing curse, was a key figure in the fight against he-who-must-not-be-named during the second wizarding war. many credit him as the most important person in bringing about the dark lords eventual demise, thanks to his unique efforts to find and destroy several horcruxes. the campaign for a holiday in potter’s honor was mostly undertaken by his former classmates and freinds, soon after the end of the war. there was some controversy surrounding the date chosen, as many older wixen wanted the day to be the end of OCTOBER ; the date that marked the end of the first wizarding war and the day that potter originally survived the killing curse.   ❞

It was nearing dusk now, and Neville was weary to the bone. He was always busy around HJP Day, with flower orders pouring in the whole of July and last-minute wreath and bouquet walk-ins coming along to dwindle the rest of his stock. Of course it felt absolutely evil to profit from Harry’s remembrance, but he couldn’t just refuse to do business. 

Still, with the pace of the day frenetic, Neville scurrying from the greenhouse in the back to the register, spelling wreaths into rounds and perking up drooping roses and failing to conjure handkerchiefs for weeping wix he was pretty sure had never met Harry in their entire lives, so what did they know about the grief--he hardly had time to mourn. At the end of the day, it wore him thin with the exhaustion of suppressed emotion. 

He turned the sign on Frank & Alice’s Fine Flora to closed with a shaking hand, then stepped outside the door. He had hung a wreath there of his most lovingly-tended lilies, pure soft white. His expression fell when he saw they had been buffeted by the rush of foot traffic today, their petals crushed brown. Somehow that more than anything else today had made him want to cry. His palm trembled as he flattened it against the shop door. Harry. Harry would have hated the shameless commercialism of the day that was supposed to be for him. Harry would have had something bitingly funny to say, Harry would have--

A noise from behind made him turn suddenly. He was baffled and unhappy to see not a friend standing there, but someone who was still a stranger by everything but hinted reputation, one who awoke in him mixed feelings a lot less welcome than warmth. And he didn’t like the look on his face.

“What is it you’ve got a problem with?” Neville demanded of him, drawing himself upright. He didn’t have the bulk that Dudley Dursley did, but he was happy to hold his own against any bully. “Is it the flowers or the crying?”