This was why he fought. Not for revenge, not for glory, not for some misguided sense of obligation to the wizarding world. No, Harry fought to stop things like that happening in the future. Were it under different circumstances, he would have wondered at the difference, tried to compare it to what he knew. Yet this, at this moment was all he knew. The sun reached its zenith.
On a raised dais, arrange in a small, decorative boat, laid the body of Boyana Belova, a distant cousin and close friend of Fleur Delacour, a proud, fierce and beautiful Veela. Her body and clothes arranged to show off the grievous wounds she suffered at the hands of Death Eaters. Were it a normal wizarding funeral, her robes would have been arranged to preserve her dignity, to hide her wounds, to spare the mourners the grisly sight. Not so here. Proudly her suffering was displayed. This she withstood. She did not break. Fleur publicly joined Harry in his fight against Voldemort, so they tried to subvert her family. Boyana was the only one who wasn’t in hiding. When cajoling and bribing did not work, they threatened her family. When the messenger bearing that message was returned to Voldemort a head shorter, they resorted to torture, trying to break her. She never did. And now she lay here, in the Veela enclave where Harry and Fleur married, surrounded by her many friends and relatives. Fleur stood in front and intoned in her beautiful, brittle but steady voice.
“Veliona, this one’s heart is pure,
But beset by wickedness and hatred.
Guide her to where all hunters return,
where the lovernever leaves, the hungry never starve.
Guide this one, Velu Mate,
And she will be a companion to you as she was to me.”
Having finished this, the surrounding Veela raised their voice in a keening wail as Fleur’s hand burst into blue flames. The purifying fire was allowed to jump onto Boyana’s ship and started consuming it.Fleur stepped back, allowing the fire to grow and the mourners dispersed into smaller group. Harry opened his arms, ready for Fleur to flow into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulders. He did not need to hear her sobs to know she was crying for her beloved friend, her form shaking with her sobs. After a time they sat at a bench, both collapsed, emitting a bone-deep weariness. This was far from the first burial both had to attend. Fleur now stopped crying, Harry himself dried his tears, his face set into a grim visage. “So many have already fallen, Fleur. At the beginning I tried to learn everyone’s name, but…” Harry haltingly began, only to be firmly squeezed by his wife. “I am so sorry about her. I wish…” “Shh, my love,” Fleur put a finger to his lips. “Remember that we chose to enter this fight. We chose to stand with you, knowing the price would be steep.” With a deep sigh, both fell silent again, waiting for the sun to set.The flames have died down, leaving only ashes of the once vibrant Boyana. The ash have been carefully scooped up by four priestesses and with a slow chant, each priestess went in one cardinal direction, until, finally, they reached the boundary of the enclave. There, singing haunting hymns, they spread the ash, so that the memory of Boyana’s courage may guard the souls of Veela young and old. Now everyone stood gathered at the centre of the enclave again, yet the atmosphere changed. Where it was previously heavy with grief, now Harry felt as if the air was charged, shortly before an oncoming storm. In every pair of eyes he saw a new fire. From this tragedy, shown the way by the inspiring exemplar of courage, numerous fighters joined the struggle against Darkness.