It’s right in front of me, but I can hardly bear to look at it. I was a Gryffindor, I must have been a sad excuse for one though, because now all of my courage fails me. I can hear everyone shuffling around behind me, waiting for me to get a move on and do my bloody job. I was his best friend, so why is this so god damn hard?

All I have to do is put my wand to the gravestone, and say the words I want to be engraved there. He wrote in his will that it was to be me who wrote it, I don’t really know why. Shouldn’t it have been Ginny to write of his life? Couldn’t it have been my wife, Hermione? One of his children perhaps? I’m sure James, or Lily, or even young Albus could write something better than me. But no, I was his best friend, his oldest friend, and Merlin knows, I miss him so much.

I feel tears leak from my eyes again, as I remember him. There are so many things that I could write; he was such a great man. Should I write that? A great man? No, he was more than that. He was brilliant, the best bloke there ever was. He was a hero to us all. A hero? No, he hated being called that.

Perhaps I should write about his achievements. Defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Twice. Or six times, depending on what you count as a defeat. But he didn’t like to brag, he was always modest. Maybe then, I could write something that would make him laugh. Stuck his wand up a troll’s nose. But I’m sure Hermione would have something to say about that.

What other achievements were there? It’s hard to remember some of them as achievements; they didn’t feel like them at the time. Killed Tom Riddle. Saved Ginny Weasley. Triwizard Champion. Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Captured the final Death Eaters. But he didn’t see his life like that, most of the time he didn’t like to think of things that way.

What about writing about something he enjoyed, like Quidditch, or Firewhiskey? Well, maybe not Firewhiskey. Hermione would have my neck. Quidditch though, that bears though. A fine Seeker. But then again, he hasn’t played properly since we were in school, sad really. Plus, Hermione would have my neck. I can almost hear her voice moaning at me, ‘Is that how you want him to be remembered forever? As a Quidditch Seeker? Was that all he was to you?’

Speaking of Hermione, I’m sure I can feel her stare on my back. She’s crying still, I know she is. She hasn’t stopped crying. He was her best friend too. She’s been telling me since we found out it was my duty that I needed to think about what to write here, but I kept distracting myself with drink, and pretending that he was still here with us.

I remember when Hermione’s father died, and we had the tombstones engraved the Muggle way. Husband, father, friend, dearly missed. But that seems too impersonal. I know that’s the sort of thing Hermione wanted, it just isn’t the Wizarding thing.

I’m meant to put what I really think of him, but what do I really think of him? He was my best friend, although there were times that I hated him. When he got Ginny pregnant. That was weird. I mean, Harry’s like a brother to me, has been since I was eleven, and you don’t want to think about you brother and your sister sleeping together. I mean, I knew it was happening and all, but her being pregnant kinda proved it.

I’ve never really thought he was a hero, not after I met him. He was always just Harry after that day on the train. It was bloody brilliant meeting him, at first I was a bit starstruck, but then the more I talked to him the more I realised he was just a normal boy. So Hero is a no.

Something to do with family might work. I mean, he married my sister, he’s really family now, but he’s been family since the summer before third year. An honorary Weasley. But there are still people who wouldn’t see that as an honour, despite most of the family fighting against Voldemort. I’m proud to say nobody named Weasley has ever been a Dark Wizard. No, an honorary Weasley won’t cut it. He’ll always be one of us, but that’s too private for the world to see.

Some people have job descriptions. Auror. Maybe not though, that’d be a bit of a reminder of how he died. And anyway, he was more than just an Auror. He was always more than any of the others. He had more drive, especially when it came to finding all of the Death Eaters. He wanted a better world for our kids, and he gave them one. It’s a pity the world goes on without him. It feels like it should just end.

I don’t really want to think about what I’ll do now he’s gone. Who will I beat at Wizard’s chess? Who’ll play Quidditch with me and all of the kids on weekends? Damn it. Why did he have to die? I miss him so much. Everyone misses him so much. The people who knew him, and those who didn’t. Harry was loved, you see. That was him. Everybody loved him, and everybody always will.

That’s it. I have it. I know what to write. I touch my wand to the stone, and whisper it out, my voice so cracked and hoarse that I wonder if the spell will recognise it, but it does. I step back three paces, and send up a spark in memory of him. The crowd of people behind me do too, and more tears fall down my face. They can come and look at it now, at his gravestone.

Ginny goes first, and when she sees it she turns to me and hugs me tightly. Hermione smiles sadly, and every woman there cries. The kids are bawling, but I can’t comfort them, the only comfort is in what I’ve written.

Harry James Potter

Loved