Legacy

It was as cold and windy as it had always been. Anna had been here a dozen times or so as a child, travelling with her mother up the narrow rocky path. She remembered that, as they got nearer to the building, her mother would grab her hand and pull her close and tight. Now, as then, she lowered her head downward to avoid the wind and the depressing surroundings.

She hated this place. Even though her mother worked on behalf of a select few, Anna truly believed this place was fair and just, if not merciful, for the vast majority of its residents. Most of them were monsters, most were... Anna mentally chided herself not to start that again. There was still so much anger, resentment, and blackness left over in her and everyone else.

She wondered instead whether her mother, if she were still alive, would be happy at the turn of events. Most people would have rather not done anything: "out of sight, out of mind" or, more exactly, "let them rot". But even now, the situation had to be dealt with. The building just had to be replaced. No amount of magic could keep it up any longer.

Anna had seen the blueprints of the new building. It was by no means comfortable. It was about as much of a dump as the current structure. The one thing that it had, that people demanded, was sturdy walls. There was no way anyone was going to escape, which was everyone's greatest fear.

After the rocky climb, she started going down the long, flat walkway to the entrance. Suddenly, she was startled by the swoop of a large black bird. Anna stopped and watched the bird in its flight, thinking it was terribly appropriate that the bird was black. It flew the short distance to the plot of land where they buried those who'd died. The unkempt, uncared-for cemetery was divided into two distinct sections - one large and one very small. The larger section held the remains of those whose families didn't care if they lived or, in this case, died. When people here died, the families could come and claim the bodies, presumably to lay them to rest in family plots, but very few ever did. If Anna thought hard enough about it, it might have seemed sad. First, in life, society rejected them, or they wouldn't have been here in the first place, and then, in death, their family also rejected them.

She understood all too well why these people would be rejected by their family. She'd seen it first-hand - the anger, the hatred. Most families were too scared to even have the corpse of those who died buried in the family plot of the graveyard for fear of what other people might do. So, as a result, most of the dead were buried in shallow holes marked only to distinguish where the next person's grave should be dug.

A few families, however, did make use of the smaller section of the yard. This section held the remains of people whose families cared, at least, that their loved ones not be left in unmarked holes but who could not risk bringing them home. For a sum of money, their family member could be laid to rest in a small marked grave. The graves were crowded together and a flat, ground level headstone displayed only the name and the dates of birth and death. Not that there were many people who came to read the information. Over the years, Anna had only seen a few old women in the small graveyard. She imagined that they were mothers secretly coming here to grieve for a lost child. Their families probably never knew where the women had gone during those times; never knew what they were doing.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she noticed that the black bird had landed on a particular headstone. The bird looked at her and cawed. The sound sent chills up her spine, but she shook her head and told herself that it was just a bird and that it landed on that particular headstone only because it, unlike any of the other headstones, was raised above the ground. The bird stood there, quietly looking at Anna, occasionally tipping its head one way and then the other.

In her mind, Anna insisted that it was just a bird doing things that birds do. But a moment later, her feet, unbeknownst to her brain, began slowly walking the short distance to the waiting animal. As she was walking, the bird flew off, causing her to stop in her tracks. She watched the bird until she couldn't see it anymore, after which her gaze reluctantly fell back to the lonely looking grave marker.

She had been there when they'd laid him to rest - again trailing behind her mother, who'd led the battle with the Ministry. Her mother was an army of one. Anna never knew the man personally; he'd been convicted and incarcerated before she was born. She'd only heard her mother's stories of his courage and bravery; how the good wouldn't have triumphed over evil without him. But Anna had heard the other stories too; the ones of his treachery, his evilness, his many black deeds. On balance, she'd heard many more of the bad stories from many more people than good ones from her mother. And the tellers of those incriminating stories were well-respected people. People who had known him, worked with him, fought on the side of the light. Even the Boy Who Lived had some bad stories to tell.

Her mother fought for his name and his reputation and she had done it all her life, but it was all for nothing. No one believed her when she tried to speak out. Her friends tried to quiet her; the rest just ridiculed her. When he died, she used every resource at her command to mark his life with something; some recognition of his contributions, some lasting tribute. She even did something Anna had only rarely seen her do. She used her name.

Unlike some others, Hermione Granger never sought out the spotlight for her part in the war. To her, she did what she did because it was the right thing to do. She accepted the thanks given to her by the people, accepted her Order of Merlin, First Class, and then went on her way. She only spoke up when history tried to re-write the truth about that time and, most often, she spoke up about him. She was given a measure of leeway with her campaigns of his innocence, but they never got very far. However, with his death, she donned her metaphorical 'Golden Trio, Hero of the Wizarding World' robes, marched straight into the Minister of Magic's office and demanded something for him.

She explained. He patronized. She demanded. He cajoled. She threatened and he compromised. And the result was this - a black granite headstone that sat just 36 inches high. The marker was topped with a grey cauldron, wrapped at its base with a stone cloth that draped to the ground, where it pooled around the nameplate.

Anna moved slowly towards the marker, again remembering the ceremony during which it was set. In attendance were her, her mother and the fellow who put it in place. Her mother cried and Anna, as instructed, placed the flowers her mother had bought into the cauldron. Then they left.

When she arrived at his burial site, she thought the headstone looked much as it had all those years ago. The flowers were gone, of course, and it appeared to be a preferred landing spot for birds. Leaves covered the base and nameplate. Anna drew her wand and cast a cleaning charm, only to find that it wouldn't work. She wondered if there was some kind of ward around the area to prevent unauthorized magic.

Feeling that she'd somehow failed her mother by not cleaning the marker, Anna bent down to, at least, brush away the leaves. Mentally scolding herself that she had very important business to attend to inside the building and shouldn't be delaying her appointment; she bent down to clear away the dead leaves from the nameplate. Pleased that that chore was complete, she stood and began walking towards the building. The cleaned nameplate read: Severus Snape.