It had been an hour since Ethan’s flight had departed, and I felt like there was something that I had to do. Something so monumental that it was almost a shock that I had not done it already. I had to see Henry.

He had been killed over a year ago, but his death had by no means become any less painful. I could still remember the night it had happened. Vividly. I could still hear Robert screaming the Killing Curse. I could still see the look on Charlotte’s face as she desperately clutched his shoulders. I could still feel the shock. I could still remember what Albert had done. The speech he had screamed at Robert. Everybody else had been too shocked to do anything, but Albert had pushed through his feelings and immediately tried to take his revenge.

‘He fought to protect us’. That’s what Albert had said about Henry, and I had never heard anything so truthful. Henry was one of the greatest people I had ever met. He had come to rescue me the moment he heard that I had been kidnapped. And, from what I’d heard, Albert wasn’t even supposed to have come with him. Henry had left intending to rescue me on his own.

Since his death, I had only visited the grave once. Albert visited Steven’s once a week, so why couldn’t I show the same respect? Maybe it was too painful. I almost couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I had sat through the taxi journey in complete silence. I had spent my time staring out of the window, letting my thoughts run wild in my head.

I missed him.

The graveyard that Henry had been buried in was only a small one, as only a few people were buried there. Steven was one of them. Henry had wanted to be buried in a regular graveyard with regular civilians, but his dad had insisted that he deserved better.

The entrance was standard, I guess. Two huge stone pillars marked the entrance, and they connected to the thick stone walls that encased the graveyard itself. A pair of metal gates sat between the pillars, and they were open wide, so I walked straight in.

I knew exactly where his grave was. I stood still for a moment, absorbing the warmth of the sun and taking a deep breath. The image of Henry’s sarcastic smile was still fresh in my mind.

Strangely, I had not expected to see anyone else at his grave. I had imagined that it would just be me, but there was indeed another person. And it was a person I recognised.

A man of about average height kneeled in front of the grave, his greying strawberry-blond hair ruffled slightly. He had those same brown eyes that had not changed since I last saw him. He had clearly not been at the grave very long, as he had only just put a bouquet of assorted flowers at the base of the headstone.

Even though I had tried to be as quiet as possible, my footsteps must have still been too loud, as his head shot up once I got to a few feet away.

Henry’s dad wiped tears from his eyes and stood up.

‘Ah, you’re one of those kids, aren’t you? The Prime Minister’s friends?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said quietly.

‘Well, I’m John,’ he said, sniffling. ‘I’m Henry’s dad.’

I crouched down to place a flower of my own by the headstone. Wiping tears from my eyes as I did so, I prayed that I did not look too disrespectful. After all, John had just put an entire bouquet down and all I had to give was a single flower.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

‘I’m Jay,’ I murmured. ‘Henry rescued me from Amy’s soldiers near the end of the war.’

‘Ah, forgive me,’ John breathed. ‘I did not realise that it was you that he saved.’

‘There’s no need to be sorry, I was the unimportant one in that situation,’ I replied, turning to face him. ‘Your son’s name is the only one that should be heard when talking about that day. He was great.’

A dark look suddenly coated John’s face. He looked almost angry, and my whole body went numb at the thought that I had upset him.

‘He was, wasn’t he?’ John mumbled, staring at the headstone with a strange look in his eyes. ‘But he wasn’t great enough.’

‘What?’ I said quickly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at what happened to him,’ he continued, and somewhere within the anger, I could hear a drop of sadness. ‘This is what he got for being a fighter with no real talent.’

‘With all due respect, sir,’ I said, trying not to sound angry. ‘Your son fought until he was missing a hand and an eye. That is a mark of greatness.’

‘Indeed it is,’ John growled. ‘But he still wasn’t great enough. He may have fought well, but no one can dispute the fact that he did not fight well enough.’

The two of us stood in silence for a moment, my mind reeling.

What on Earth did he mean? What kind of father would be this disrespectful to their dead son? Henry had been an amazing fighter. He had fought to protect us all. He didn’t deserve what this man was saying.

‘He should’ve come back home; we all wanted him to,’ I heard John mumble. ‘I begged him to stay, but he insisted on saving the world.’

‘Not many people can do that,’ I said quietly. ‘Only people with real heart have what it takes to make that decision.’

‘Only people with real heart would stay with their family,’ he countered. ‘We warned him of the dangers and he still wouldn’t come home.’

‘Because he wanted to save the world; make everything right.’

‘Only those with real talent can save the world,’ he snarled. ‘Therefore only those with real talent should try.’

‘Henry did have real talent,’ I argued. ‘He was one of the most talented people I knew.’

‘Was he? You must not know a lot of talented people then.’

My hands curled into fists. Just what was this man’s problem?

‘Your son saved countless lives,’ I growled. ‘And if you think that him giving his life meant that he was talentless, I hate to be the one to tell you that you are horribly wrong.’

‘There is no point in arguing with me, boy,’ he said quietly, staring at the headstone. ‘We each have our own opinions.’

‘Sure, and if someone’s opinion is to dismiss their own son’s heroic deeds, then I’m gonna stand up to that!’

‘Just leave,’ John said darkly. ‘Leave me to think in peace, would you?’

I stared at him, aghast. Everybody thought that the Gods were bad parents. Just wait until they met John Myers.

The sheer audacity to say these things about your own son. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How did such a pathetic lowlife scumbag bring up someone as amazing as Henry?

He had seemed heartbroken when he had heard the news. I had been there when we told him. He had fallen to his knees and started uncontrollably sobbing. What had happened over the past year? Surely nothing could have such magnitude to make him change like this.

‘I hope he rests well,’ I spat. ‘After everything that man did, he at least deserves to be at peace.’

And with that, I strode purposefully away from the grave, heading for the exit.

I was fuming. What utter disgrace of a human being would say that about their own son? Hot tears welled in my eyes as I remembered Henry’s cocky smile, his gleaming eyes. He didn’t deserve a dad like that. No sane father would say that about his own damn son. It was sickening.

The tears began to slowly fall down my cheeks as I balled my fists even tighter. He shouldn’t have died. Henry was too good to die. He was too young. Gritting my teeth, I silently cursed. Not to anyone in particular, more so to life itself. The world was cruel. It was unjust. The cycle would never end.

A strange noise from behind me made me stop in my tracks. It sounded like a dying sob.

Turning slowly on the spot, my eyes widened at the sight that I was met by.

John Myers had fallen to his knees, and he was desperately clutching at the headstone as tears streamed down his face. I had never seen anybody so destroyed. His wails echoed throughout the graveyard and I fought hard to keep my own tears in check.

I let out a shaky breath. It was unbearable to watch. No father should ever have to bury their son.