magnolia ~ h. potter

forty-eight

CHAPTER 48

[BACK TO YOU] 

"WE SHOULD CLOSE HIS EYES,"

Emily was standing at the shallow grave, her eyes trained on Dobby's small form, wrapped in a jacket and a woolly hat. Harry stood beside her, and around them, the occupants f shell cottage had also gathered to pay their respects to Dobby. Bill was wearing a traveling cloak, Fleur a large white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Emily thought was Skele-Gro. Hermione was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet, Ron's arm wrapped around her shoulder.

Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur's coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.

"I think we ought to say something," she said softly. "I'll go first, shall I?"

And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah . . . thanks, Dobby."

"Thanks," muttered Dean.

Emily watched as Harry swallowed. She knew he was trying desperately to keep himself together.

"Good-bye, Dobby," he said. Emily said nothing, she didn't trust herself to.

Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

"D'you mind if I stay here a moment?" Harry asked the others.

Slowly, the other walked back towards the cottage, but Emily stayed steadfastly by Harry's side.

"I'm not going," she told him gently, and she felt his hand take hers and give it a squeeze.

She watched as Harry picked up one of the largest white stones lying around the, and laid it, pillowlike, over the place where Dobby's head now rested.

He pulled his wand from his pocket, and pointed it at the rock. Slowly, Emily watched as under his murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared upon the rock's surface. When Harry stood up again, the stone read:

HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.

Emily stared at the words engraved on the small gravestone jutting from the dune, a tear running down her cheek. She kneeled by Dobby's fresh grave, her hands touching the freshly upturned earth, a warmth spreading through her fingers, the smell filling her nostrils. Harry watched as Emily closed her eyes, and as, around the fresh pile of earth, stems began to sprout. They followed the shape of the grave, winding and twisting and sprouting. They were different colors: green and red and blue and purple, and different kinds too; daisies, gerberas, violets, carnations. . . .

Harry watched as Emily stood back up, his eyes trained on her fingers, which looked like they were glowing. Her eyes were still closed, and with a deep breath, Emily hands came outwards and she turned them up, towards the sky. From the middle of Dobby's grave emerged several thicker brown stems, and they wound around each other, forming a trunk that grew and extended into branches. Leaves sprouted from the branches until a small cherry tree stood before them.