If Love Could Bring You Back

A. N.: I don’t know what possessed me to write this, but oh well. I think it was fun to write. This is sad, and romantic, and what not. Bear with me, though! Trust me. Since I am such a HP/HG fan/ obsessive, I can not, and will not, let things stay the way they are. Just read and find out! This may sound like “Kissed by an Angel” if you have read the trilogy. If you haven’t, go read it right now. I realized how much this is sounding like it after I got. . . a ways along. . .and I’m ruining my story, so I’ll shut up. . .

The sky was an ominous shade of black, as it was nearly midnight, and all of the creatures of the night were awake. The wind whistled at a high pitch and blew the hair of the young brunette into her face. In all her efforts, though, she couldn’t tame the mass to stop flying in her eyes and finally let the wind do as much damage to her hair as it so pleased. A slight calm then passed over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry.

The girl stood at the base of the grave, staring with unfocused eyes. She had not yet gotten over the shock of his death. True, she had attended the funeral, but the truth of the matter had never crept into her mind: she still thought it was a lie, a trick. Now, standing over his grave, she had realized the truth, which meant that Harry was never coming back. The warm earth underfoot would be his final resting place, forever. He would never wake, laugh, smile, or see sunlight again. She would never be able to hold the raven-haired boy again. Never again would there be a chance to look in his bright, lively green eyes, that always had a hint of mischief ever again.

She knelt onto the rich, brown earth beside the grave and rested her hands on her knees. Then, taking a deep breath, and the girl began to talk to the sepulcher, as though Harry were alive, sitting beside her an listening with rapt attention to every word she was saying.

“Well, Harry, here we are. You’re on one side of eternity and me on the other. Who would have thought that this would be the end? Not me, that’s for sure. But I tried, I tried so hard. For all it was worth, I tried. But I still failed you. With all my efforts I failed you. Of all the things I have excelled, I never would have thought that I would fail you. And I am sorry. I fought for you till the end. Did you know that? But look where it got me- where it got you. I promised that I would never leave you, never abandon you., and I let you down in the worst possible way. It is my fault and mine alone that you’re. I should have tried harder, I should be dead, not you. And if I could give you life again, I would.” She caught her breath in her throat and held back a sob.

Looking back at the grave, the brunette shook her head with silent anguish. The headstone looked so cold and foreboding yet had a certain warmth to it. It was sad and welcoming at the same time. The stone had an intricate design carved into it in the form of a lion with a lightning bolt in the background. Then, as she looked closer, she realized that the design was formed with letters, or writing and she read it to herself.

She stared at the stone and started talking to the grave again.

“WHY? Why did you have to leave me?” She couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “Why didn’t I ever tell you? I loved you, and I still do. My feelings haven’t changed, but. . . now you’ll never know. . . If love alone could bring you back, then surely mine could!” She dropped her head into her hands and started to weep.

The wind howled yet again and whipped the young girl’s hair so violently that it wove it into a mass of tangled knots.

A silent, solemn figure approached the crying girl, slowly at first, but then broke into a run towards her.

“Hermione? Oh, Hermione, don’t cry! C’mon, stop it. What’s wrong?”

“I failed you.” She whispered so silently that it was almost inaudible against the wind.

“Failed me? No, Hermione, you didn’t! We won, didn’t you see? Why should you be crying when there is so much to celebrate about?”

Hermione Granger wiped the tears from her face, but to no avail as more tears spilled down her face. The young boy frowned as Hermione kept crying, knelt down beside her, and embraced her.

But his arms went through her. He sat back on his heels and looked about himself, his mind full of confusion. Hermione shivered briefly. She thought about leaving, heading back to the castle, but could not bring herself to leave just yet: something was tugging at her heart. She looked silently at the ground and her gaze drifted up toward the stone. The boy then let his eyes follow her gaze up at the stone. He didn’t bother to thoroughly examine it, however, and turned his attention back to the brunette.

“Hermione, why are you out here? You should go back up to the castle. Come on.” He said, and stood.

Hermione took a deep breath, wiped the streams of salt water from her face and rose to her feet while dusting herself off, and started to turn away.

“There you go. That’s better. So, tell me why-” The boy started.

“Well, until we meet again, Harry.” Hermione said and waved at the grave over her shoulder.

“Er, what exactly do you mean by, ‘Until we meet again?’ That doesn’t sound like a very good thing, if you ask me.”

Hermione, however, had already started to walk back to the school.

“Hermione! Wait for me!” Harry Potter shouted to her and ran. He tried to place his hands on her arm to pull her back, but his grasp once again passed right through. What’s going on? He stomped his foot in aggravation and decided it might be best to just follow her to the castle and up to the common room. He spun back around and saw that Hermione had gotten nearly halfway toward the castle and he broke out into a run. He was soon by her side and the two went the rest of the way through the castle in silence and into the Common Room.

It was quiet, dark and cool in the Gryffindor Common Room. The fire was still burning, but it was becoming small very quickly. The warm glow that it cast on the walls was growing dim. There was only one person in the Common Room when the two teenagers arrived, and it was Ron Weasley. He was slumped in a large, red armchair and looked as though he was just about to drift to sleep. He sat up abruptly when he heard Hermione walk into the room. He tried to smile to her, but his attempt failed, and he held his arms open to her. She ran over and wrapped her arms around him, crying silently into his shoulder.

Harry remained standing. He was quite puzzled over the scene before him. What was wrong with Hermione? And Ron! How could he do this? Were they mad at him? Why were they ignoring him? He decided to sit and watch the scene. If they chose to ignore him, fine, but he wasn’t going to leave them alone: he would keep pestering them.

“Hermione, everything will work out. I promise. Just calm down and breathe.” Ron said, and started to gently shove her away from him and held her at arms length. “Look at me. I promise.”

“I believe you.” Hermione took a deep breath and sniffed. “But, Ron, it’s been so hard. It’s only been a week, and look at me! He’s gone, and I can’t deal with it. No matter what I try to do, it still doesn’t feel like he’s gone.” Hermione had remained still after Ron let go of her, and she was now pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. She waved her arms as if trying to add emphasis to what she was saying. “I think that I’m trying to keep him alive. In my mind, he still is. I can’t let him go, not just yet.”

“Well, nobody expects you to be up and dancing about after just one week. I understand, Hermione, and I promise I’ll take care of you.” Ron stood up now, and walked over to her.

“No, Ron, I don’t think you do understand. You seem to be taking the matter quite smoothly: I don’t see you sulking around like me twenty four-seven.” Said Hermione bitterly.

Ron sighed. He was trying to be comforting, but his efforts seemed to be getting him no where. Although life had been so rough the past few days, he had managed to cope. Somehow, he had been able to adjust, as horrible as that sounded. He kept thinking about what Dumbledore had told him earlier that same day. “Worry about the things you can change, not the things you can not.” Those words helped ease the pain, because even if he couldn’t change the past, the present could be tended to.

“Hermione, what are you trying to get at? I was his best friend! I miss him just as much as you do, but there is nothing we can do about it right now! And I’m sorry that this hurts you to hear, but you need to hear it.”

“Ron, I honestly don’t think you miss him as much as I do.”

“I cared about him just as much as you did! For God’s sake, I was his best friend!”

“But you didn’t love him like I did!” She burst out.

There was a great pause. Ron bowed his head. Why didn’t I ever notice? How could I have thought that I had a chance? He looked at her and saw tears shining in her eyes, and said in a quiet, saddened tone, “I suppose I don’t understand, then. I’m sorry.”

Hermione turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to the girls dormitories. Ron, however, stayed in the Common Room, and looked to where Harry was sitting and his eyes widened. He stared, confused. I must be hallucinating.

He blinked a few times and looked at the chair where Harry was just sitting, only to see that the raven haired boy was still there. Frowning, confused, he smacked himself in the head three times, and glanced over toward Harry once more, who was looking at him with concern. Ron sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and, not knowing what else to do, spoke to the illusion seated before him.

“So, Harry. Back for I visit, I assume?” Ron said, trying to act casual, all the while confused and bewildered.

Harry sat up strait, startled that Ron was addressing him directly. Aren’t they mad at me?

“Er, no. I belong here. I mean, I do share a room with you.” Said Harry, one eyebrow raised.

Ron stared at Harry in utter disbelief. What’s going on? This is some mad trick. Or maybe just lack of sleep. Unless of course I’m going insane, which, actually, wouldn‘t be too shocking. Ron looked at the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the being before him. “So,” he began, “are you feeling well?”

“What do you mean, am I feeling well?” Harry said, exasperated. He sat on the edge of his chair and set his head on top of his hands.

“Are you ill?” Ron continued.

Harry’s voice started to rise with annoyance. “I am feeling just swell, Ron! What are you trying to do here? What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you what’s going on, Harry. I seem to be going mad, for starters.” Ron rose from the chair and started to pace around it slowly. He had his arms behind his back and was frantically looking around the room- at anything but this Harry-illusion that was sitting in the chair across from him.

“Ron. . .” Harry was starting to feel worried for his best friend. Both of them, actually, but at least Hermione wasn’t leaping about and snapping at him.

“Harry, what do you want?” Ron finally asked.

“Um. . . I wouldn’t mind a Butter Beer. I’m very thirsty and-”

“No, Harry. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you didn’t want to tell me something.”

“Yes, well, I would like to know why my friends are mad at me, first off-”

Ron gave a short laugh. “Mad at you? We aren’t mad at you, Harry.”

“Then why wasn’t Hermione talking to me? What was she doing outside earlier? She was looking at this stone and-”

“Wait. Just stop talking.” Ron said, and held up his hand for silence. “You said she wasn’t talking to you?”

“She was talking to me, but it seems like she was ignoring me. Well, it was odd. I have no idea what was going on, really.” Harry was flustered, and he was making no sense at all.

Ron looked as though a light just turned on in his mind. “I think I understand now.” Ron stopped pacing and looked Harry in the eyes for the first time that evening: for the first time in a week.

“Good. Maybe you can tell me.” Said Harry and he sat back against the chair and folded his arms.

“Harry, do you know what happened? Just last week?” Ron asked slowly and he sat back down in his chair.

“I took my Charms exam, visited Hagrid and we talked about our latest Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Nothing else to significant, I guess. Well, unless you count last night. . .” His voice trailed off at the end. “But, he’s gone now. We don’t have to worry anymore, we did it! We beat Voldemort and for good this time!” A smile made its way upon his face.

Ron shook his head in amazement, and flinched at the name. He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. Time hasn’t lapsed for him. Ron’s face then fell. “Harry, do you know what you did after. . . you and You- Know- Who. . . fought each other? What did you do afterwards?”

Harry sat in thought for a moment. What did I do? Did I pass out? Well, I had to. But. . . He stared at Ron and frowned, thoroughly confused. “I don’t remember.” He said.

I feel a headache coming on. Ron thought, rubbing his temples. “I think I know. . . ” He began to sweat as he glanced nervously at Harry.

“Then TELL me, already!” Harry jumped from his seat.

“I think we need to go back outside.” Said Ron very slowly. Harry looked at him quizzically, but followed him nonetheless.

The wind was still blowing, showing no mercy for those who wandered out. Ron felt the nervous sweat begin, although it was chilly and so windy outside. He glanced beside him to check that Harry was still there- he was, which made Ron sweat even more.

At last, the duo reached the bottom of a long hill and stopped before a tombstone.

“Hey, this is where I found Hermione crying! Why did you bring me back down here?” Harry asked, exasperated.

Ron sighed, still in shock at Harry’s clueless state. “Harry, just read this. I think it may explain a lot to you.” He turned and stared at the ground while Harry read- he didn’t want to see the expression on Harry’s face when he finished.

Curious, Harry bent down to examine the stone and read the engraved words to himself.

“Harry James Potter. A hero and friend, never to be forgotten. Just as he had a scar upon his forehead, he has left a scar upon the hearts of all who knew him: a scar of love and compassion. May his memory be blessed.”

He paused, taking in the words and after a moment spoke to Ron, “ Man, who came up with that? How lame does that sound?” Harry said and scowled.

“What do you mean, ‘Who came up with that?’ Hermione and I wrote it and we think it sounded fine.” Ron said indignantly and folded his arms over his chest.

At that moment realization spread across Harry’s face; his eyes widened in complete and utter terror, and if it were possible, he would have paled as if all the blood had drained from his face.

“You mean-I’m. . . ah, that. . . it-wah-” Harry stumbled over his words. He could hardly believe what this meant, his mind was whirring with thought, it was any wonder that he could even make sounds, let alone words. “That stone is MINE? But, you see, that isn’t possible, that. . . I’m still here, so. . . HOW THE BLOODY HELL CAN I BE DEAD?” He shouted.

Ron flinched. “I-I don’t kn-kn-know, Harry! I honestly don’t! If I did, I would tell you, mate, I really would. I was a bit surprised to see you at all, actually. I’m kind of freaked out, to tell you the truth.” Ron managed to say.

Harry whirled about. The wind howled and swirled violently about them. “Freaked out? How could you possibly be freaked out? You LIVE with ghosts, Ron! What makes me so different?” He glared at his friend, hurt that he could be scared at all to see him back again.

“Well,” Ron said, “you’re dead. I saw you buried and everything, mate. Now you’re back, and I have to wonder why.” He said all this very slowly, eyeing Harry the entire time, trying to read his reactions to what he said. “I didn’t even think you would come back, as a matter of fact- I thought you would chose not to become a ghost and all. It was a week ago, so I wasn’t exactly expecting you to come back- ghosts usually come right after the death and all, and I’m surprised that you came a week later. I mean, I didn’t see Sir Nick die, so he doesn’t bother me. Get it?” He stammered.

Harry evaluated Ron’s facial expressions throughout his explanation. Although he was still hurt that Ron was scared of him, his reasoning made sense, and if the situation was reversed, who knew how Harry himself might be feeling? “All right, all right, I get it, Ron. I was just . . . well, anyways. So why don’t you think Hermione looked at me? I mean, I spoke to her and everything.” He paced about, still in shock over the revelation that he was dead.

“I don’t know why Hermione didn’t look at you. Are you sure she can even see you? From what I saw in the Common Room she didn’t even seem to notice that you were in the same room as she was.” Ron stated matter-of-factly.

Those words seemed like a verbal slap to Harry. For some reason those few sentences hurt like nothing else had- even more than Ron saying he was scared of Harry. She didn’t see me? How could she not, I’m a ghost! Everyone can see a ghost! And why did it feel like we were talking to each other earlier if she didn’t even know I was there? Harry stood still and stared at the soft mound of earth beside him. “So that’s my grave, then?” He said in the most casual-sounding voice he could muster.

Ron watched him warily as he took in the grave. “Yeah. That’s it.” He said, trying to sound as casual as Harry, but failed miserably.

The two remained in silence for a few moments, posing as the wind’s play-thing.

“So, if I’m here, then, there has to be a reason, right?” Harry spoke suddenly, jolting Ron from his entertainment of watching the leaves dance in the wind.

“I suppose so. Who knows what the reason is, though? For all we know, it could be to warn Dennis Creevey that he’s going to get a paper cut.” Said Ron.

Harry glared at his best friend, but in a much less violent way than before. “Right, well, I have all of eternity to figure out that reason, but I would prefer it not to take that long. We’ll need Hermione’s help if we want to find out what it is before something even worse happens.”

Ron chanced a side glance at Harry. “Well, no offense or anything, but I don’t know how much of a help Hermione is going to be at the moment since she. . . well, she can’t see you, mate. If I tried to explain to her what’s going on, she’ll probably just act like I’ve gone mad or just trying to make her angry. Perhaps we should just try doing this on our own for a bit? We aren’t completely useless without her, you know.”

Harry sighed and nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right. We’ll do some research on our own at first, and if we can’t find anything, we can figure out a way to explain to Hermione what’s going on.”

With that, the two strolled back up to the castle, the wind blowing wildly, and prepared themselves for their strangest adventure yet.