His Wife, His Widow

Bingblot

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 31/07/2004
Last Updated: 31/07/2004
Status: completed

The love of a lifetime, memories from a lifetime of love, and going on when your life has been changed forever... One-shot.

Chapters

1. His Wife, His Widow

1. His Wife, His Widow

His Wife, His Widow

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter-related belong to JK Rowling. The song is “Remember Me” from the Troy soundtrack, sung by Josh Groban, and also doesn’t belong to me.

Author’s Note: For Gil, aka Romulus Lupin- returning in a very small way what you did for me in your brilliant “Dream Chasing”, and happy birthday, again. *glomps*

~~~~

The world knew her as His Widow.

There was, of course, only one person who could be the “He” in question and no one questioned that fact.

She called herself his wife when she called herself any title at all. And for her, it was the finest, most precious title in the world. His wife. Mother of his children. There could be no greater title.

The woman walked swiftly through the damp grass in the cemetery, going to a separate area, surrounded and sheltered by trees making it something of its own private graveyard.

They had chosen it together, deciding that the measure of privacy was needed. They had also chosen four of the five stones in the clearing, each marking a different person but only one of those four having a body beneath.

She glanced at the names on the grave markers but did not pause.

James Potter.

Lily Potter.

Sirius Black.

Remus Lupin.

The fifth stone was the newest one and the simplest one.

She stopped in front of the fifth and last stone.

Harry James Potter

Beloved Husband, Father, and Friend.

At the very bottom, in small letters, were carved five more words which she had chosen as the sum of his life, what she knew he would want remembered: Friendship and Bravery and Love.

She stayed at the grave for a while, silently talking to him, before finally bending to kiss the cold marble. Goodbye for now, darling.

~*~

Remember, I will still be here,
As long as you hold me, in your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended,
Time can be transcended,
Just remember me

~*~

She went to his grave every year, on his birthday, on their anniversary, then on the day he had left her forever. Sometimes she went on her birthday and with the children when they came to visit.

And she lived. Her life was still full and busy, with work, the children and their children, and going to the charities and events that commemorated him.

And every year on the day he left her, she reread his last letter.

It had been enclosed with his will, along with other letters to each of the children. It was dated two years before his death, soon after the first rumors of an escalation in Dark activity had been confirmed as true.

Dear Hermione,

If you’re reading this letter, then what I always feared the most has happened and I’ve had to leave you and Emily and Andy and Sabrina.

I’m sorry that our time together was much shorter than what we planned, that I will not be around to watch our grandchildren go to Hogwarts, finish school or marry. But I’m not sorry that I didn’t have the strength to let you go, to live a safer life with someone who wouldn’t have to leave you so much sooner than I wanted to. I can’t be sorry for a single minute of the past 38 years; they’ve been the happiest years of my life and you gave me the three most precious things in the world.

I’ve heard that letters like this one usually tell a person not to lose themselves in their grief, to go on living and not waste away. But, Hermione, I won’t say anything like that to you. Not because I want you to waste away, love, but because I know I don’t have to say it. You will live and live well because you’re the strongest and the best person I’ve ever known. Have I ever told you that, darling? You make me stronger than I am, a better person than I am. I’m not afraid for you after I’m gone. I do want to tell you to be happy. And Hermione, love, if you find another person to make you happy, that’s fine. I want you to be happy. When I’m watching you from the beyond, I want to see you happy. As happy as you’ve always made me, from the moment we met on the Hogwarts Express 49 years ago.

I could say so much more, but I know I don’t have to. You’ll understand what I’m thinking. You always do, don’t you? My beautiful, brilliant wife.

Now all there is to say is, I love you, Hermione. I’ve always loved you and I will love you, forever, no matter what happens, whether you ever have to read this letter or not.

I love you.

Harry

She remembered the last time she saw him.

It gave her an odd feeling of déjà vu, the moment of goodbye. It seemed so much like that day so many years ago when she had said goodbye to him as he left to fight Voldemort for the last time… There was the same dread, the same fear, the same look in his eyes, flat and hard as the emeralds they were so like in color and with the blank expression that she saw so rarely.

Then she had been unable to tell him she loved him because he had cut her off. But she had known, at least, that he knew. She had seen it in his eyes, the way they had softened when their eyes met.

This day was different. And yet similar.

He kissed her, long and lingeringly, and she clung to him, wishing for just one moment that she could tell him not to go, could abandon the rest of the world to keep him safe. But the moment was fleeting and she pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Be careful, Harry.”

“I will.” He paused, before adding quietly, “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

The words were commonplace enough but the feeling was not. Now there were the years of marriage, of love, of passion, behind them. The memories… That were both comfort and curse at this moment.

She had felt it when it happened, gone cold all over, goosebumps forming on her arms, and she could have sworn she heard Harry’s voice gasp, “Hermione.” The papers she’d been looking over had dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. One word repeated itself over and over in a mantra of denial in her thoughts. No, no, no, no, no... But she hadn’t allowed herself to think the words. Some tiny part of her had clung to the hope that she had imagined it or that it didn’t mean what she feared… Until she received the special owl from the Ministry and that little part of her that had still hoped had died. Died at the confirmation that, after all, the evil Harry had spent his life fighting had achieved one victory, at least, and he was gone, although he had taken the leader and the greatest threat the Wizarding world had ever faced with him.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, her Harry, her husband and her love, had died, saving the world he had already saved so many times before.

Harry Potter, dead, at 62 years. The state funeral had been the largest ever held; dwarfing even the world-wide outpouring of grief at Dumbledore’s death. The Wizarding world of Britain had gone into public mourning for a month, the halls in the Ministry of Magic draped with black.

~*~

I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,
It is the last light, to fade into the rising sun

I'm with you,
Whenever you tell,
My story,
For I am all I've done
~*~

People sometimes told her now that she’d been so strong to survive, to go on living. So strong not to shed tears in public, even when she’d spoken his eulogy at the funeral… She never bothered to correct them. She didn’t feel strong, not in those dream-like first days. She’d felt as if she too had died and she was only going through the motions. She comforted Emily, Andy and Sabrina as much as she could, tried to explain to their children that they would never see Grandpa Harry again but that he loved them and would always love them.

The blessed numbness ended abruptly one afternoon over a week after her life had been forever changed.

She had just been sitting and thinking in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. She’d been looking at one of her favorite pictures of Harry. It was unusual because he wasn’t looking at the camera; he was looking down at baby Emily who had fallen asleep on his chest as he relaxed in an easy chair, one small fist clutching his collar. One arm was supporting Emily so she couldn’t fall off. With his free hand, his fingers caressed the silky brown hair and the smooth baby skin of her cheek. The expression on his face was one of naked emotion, love and some awe that this tiny creature in his arms was his child, that he and Hermione had created such a perfect being.

The rebellion started deep inside her, anger, frustration and something approaching bitterness bubbling up, until it had exploded from her, shouted words irrationally addressed to the one who had left her.

“Damn you, Harry! Why didn’t you fight harder, try harder to survive? You had so bloody much to live for! If not for my sake, then for the children and their kids! How can you do this to them? How could you just leave like that? They’re so young still; they don’t understand about dying. How could you do this to them, to me? Why didn’t you fight harder, damn it, Harry!! How can you just leave us, leave me…”

As quickly as it had started, the anger had drained out of her, taking her energy with it. She crumpled to the floor, the tears that hadn’t come before pouring out of her now in sobs that ripped from her throat like living things. She cried for him, for the years they would never have now. For Emily, Andy and Sabrina, who were devastated from the loss of the father they’d adored even as they’d known for years that Harry was always in some danger. For their children, for Emily’s eldest, Gil, who would be going off to Hogwarts this year, for Sabrina’s youngest, Lila, who had just turned 2 and would never remember her grandfather. She cried for the memories that were all tinged with poignancy. But most of all, she cried for herself, for the love she’d lost, the husband, lover and best friend she’d lost. She cried at the knowledge that there would be no Harry to comfort her, to strengthen her when she needed it, to tease her out of her worries.

She cried until there were no more tears left in her body, only exhaustion and a weary dread of the days to follow, now that the numbness that had gotten her through the past few days was gone…

~*~

It had been five years now. Five years of living with and for the memories.

People had begun to tell her that she was still young, implying although no one ever said it outright, that remarrying was possible.

Re-marrying… No. She couldn’t. It wasn’t only that she was still in love with Harry as she remembered him and no one else could ever hope to compete. It was that the very idea seemed wrong. She was Harry’s wife. Her husband was dead. No one else could ever claim that title.

She lived with her memories. The memories were enough, until the day when she would finally join him beyond the veil.

Oh, the memories, memories of a life spent together, memories of loving moments, happy times and not-so-happy times…

There was a rustle and a murmur of whispers that passed through the audience as they turned to look at her, walking up the aisle with her father on one side and Ron Weasley, her best friend, on the other.

Harry, waiting at the altar, turned and saw her, his Hermione, his bride. His eyes widened and he sucked in his breath sharply. And the rest of the world faded away. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life, never imagined anything so beautiful…

He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline as sheer happiness pumped through his veins, filling him with warmth.

The one lingering memory everyone in the audience, the nearest and dearest of Harry and Hermione’s friends, took away with them was not of the ceremony itself, poignant as it was. Nor was it of the moment when the presiding wizard finally pronounced them man and wife, making official what was already true, that they belonged to each other. It wasn’t of the way Harry’s voice cracked slightly when he said his vows or of the utter confidence and trust and love in Hermione’s gaze when she said hers. It was of the look in Harry’s eyes as he watched her walk up the aisle toward him, the way their eyes had met and held. It was of the heartfelt happiness and awe in his gaze, so sincere it bordered on reverence. The look in his eyes that said that some part of him couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be marrying this woman.

~*~

Remember, I will still be here,
As long as you hold me, in your memory,
Remember me

I am that one voice, in the cold wind,
That whispers,
And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky
~*~

The world remembered Harry as a hero, the baby boy who’d first defeated Lord Voldemort, the teenage boy who’d finally defeated Voldemort, the man who’d fought and finally died to save the Wizarding world from yet another threat. They praised his memory and his legacy for his courage, his sacrifices.

She remembered a different Harry, the one that only she and a very few other people knew…

The Ministry’s ball in honor of the new Minister for Magic, Mr. Weasley, had been the first public event she’d had to go to alone, when they’d been married three years. Harry had been called away on an investigation and he’d been gone for more than a week, the longest time they’d been apart since being married. What made it worse was that Harry was, for security reasons, not allowed to communicate with anyone for non-business reasons while on his missions. So it had been more than a week of solitude and worrying about Harry. The longest eleven days of her life.

She would have missed the ball if she could but she couldn’t not go to this event. Not when Mr. Weasley was the guest of honor and not for an event such as this where, as Harry’s almost equally famous wife, she had to be there to represent Harry, even if there had been no more personal considerations. But for Mr. Weasley who had practically been a surrogate uncle to both her and Harry, this long-overdue, well-deserved promotion to be Minister required her presence.

And so she’d gone, smiling somewhat fixedly at everyone who came to talk to her, to ask about Harry. (And for once she thanked the fates that Harry wasn’t allowed to tell her where he went on his missions; it made answering the inquiries about his whereabouts and his return much easier. She could simply say that she didn’t know.)

She’d been talking to Ron and Luna when Ron had suddenly put a hand on her arm as the room had gone silent. She had known what she was going to see before she turned around, known it even before Ron’s automatic reaction, known from the way her heart lifted, as if a missing piece of it had been replaced.

Harry was there, standing in the doorway. He had stopped off at their house, she could see, had changed into black dress robes. But she could practically see the fatigue coming off him in waves, guessed at the shadows under his eyes even if she couldn’t see them.

She was moving toward him without conscious thought, only peripherally aware that people were clearing a path for her. Their eyes met and a smile began in his eyes and spread to his face.

They met halfway across the ballroom and they didn’t speak. Harry just drew her into his arms and kissed her the way she’d been wanting him to for the past week and half. And she forgot that they were standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom, forgot that they were giving the Wizarding population of London a show. Forgot everything except that Harry was back and all was right in her world.

They ended the kiss to smile into each other’s eyes.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he whispered back, his eyes beginning to sparkle with amusement.

And as if their ending the kiss had been a cue, the ballroom began talking again, people once again flooding toward them to greet Harry, some with teasing banter about the length of their kiss. Harry grinned and shrugged off the teasing, keeping one arm around her waist.

Arthur Weasley came up, along with Molly and followed closely by Ron.

Harry clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I see I got back just in time to congratulate you, Arthur. Or should I say, Mr. Minister.”

Mr. Weasley smiled a little uncomfortably. “Oh, please no, Harry. Arthur will do just fine.”

Harry grinned, turning to Mrs. Weasley who was beaming.

“Oh, Harry, it’s so good to have you back. I’m so glad you made it.”

Ron grinned and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder in greeting. “Hey, Harry. Quite a show you put on back there,” he winked at Hermione.

Harry shrugged, his eyes teasing. “Wait until you’ve been away from your wife for more than a week and see how you feel.”

He squeezed her hand, bringing it up to his mouth for a kiss. Oh it was so good to have her Harry back…

~*~

As long as,
I still can reach out, and touch you,
Then I will never die

Remember, I'll never leave you,
If you will only,
Remember me

Remember me...
~*~

She remembered the Harry who had been so nervous about becoming a father…

They had been married six years before they’d felt ready to have a baby.

She’d gone to see a mediwitch without telling Harry of it just in case her suspicion was wrong.

She waited until that night when he was moving around their bedroom getting ready for bed.

It was one of her secret pleasures, watching Harry prepare for bed. His little habits and mannerisms only she knew. The part of his life that was completely hers and no one else’s, his fame and the near-constant media intrusions notwithstanding.

“Harry, I went to see the mediwitch today.”

He stopped and stared at her, a worried frown gathering on his forehead. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice was sharper than usual from fear.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, smiling at him. “We’re going to have a baby, Harry. I’m pregnant.”

Harry dropped the socks he’d been holding, sitting down heavily on the bed. “A baby,” he repeated. “Oh dear Merlin.”

She brushed his hair away from his forehead with a gentle hand. “I know it’s a little sooner than you were hoping for but believe me, everything’s going to be fine.”

Tentatively he moved one hand to rest on her belly. “A baby,” he whispered. He looked at her, a self-deprecating little smile on his face, showing a vulnerability he never showed anyone else. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “You are going to be a wonderful father, I know you are. Believe me, darling. I know you will be.”

He smiled. “If you say so.” He sobered. “If I am, it’ll be because of you.”

He leaned forward, kissing her as he blindly dropped his glasses on the nightstand, his hands moving over her in a familiar yet endlessly exciting caress…

And Harry had been such a wonderful father, loving, fun, generous. He had looked so awed when he had first held Emily, a feeling that had not gone away for Andy and Sabrina later, a look of pure emotion as he fell in love at first sight for the only times in his life,father-love an immediate, instinctive reaction.

Harry, who still, even after years of marriage, somehow kept the inner core of vulnerability instilled in him in the first miserable years of his life with the Dursleys, that made something like surprise and reassurance flash in his eyes whenever she told him she loved him…

Harry whose sense of duty she both loved and hated… Loved it for making him the kind of person he was but hated how it sometimes conflicted with his personal life and desires…

Hermione was nibbling at a piece of plain toast while Harry readjusted the pillows supporting her back when they heard what was just about the last voice they wanted to hear.

“Harry. Hello, Hermione, how are you feeling?” Arthur Weasley’s head was floating in the fireplace. His tone was serious, belying the automatic greeting for her.

“Whatever it is, Arthur, the answer is no,” Harry said, not pausing in trying to make Hermione more comfortable and pointedly skipping any greeting.

But then they all knew the reason for Arthur’s Floo-calling them at this hour of the morning on a Tuesday.

Arthur sighed and passed a hand over his face in a gesture of weariness. “Harry, you know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

Harry sighed in his turn, his hands resting on Hermione’s shoulders as she settled back onto the pillows with a grimace of discomfort. “What is it this time?”

“It’s Eleanor Billington from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. She’s missing.”

Harry noticeably stiffened at these words and Hermione knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Bertha Jorkins…

“She went on vacation to Eastern Europe and was last seen in Budapest but there’s been no word from her in a week. She was due back from vacation three days ago.”

“Budapest,” Harry repeated flatly.

“Yes,” Arthur frowned before saying, “I know I don’t need to remind you of the unexplained Muggle killings not 30 miles outside Budapest, Harry. I’ve sent two Aurors over but I can’t send any more or someone’s going to notice and start asking why. We need you,” Arthur finished simply. He didn’t say that the secrecy was so necessary because otherwise it would start a general panic, bringing the Wizarding world to a halt, something they needed to avoid until they knew for certain what was going on.

Arthur turned to Hermione for the first time since his greeting. “I’ve already told Molly and Ginny to come stay with you, to take care of Emily and Andy while Harry’s gone. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

He addressed Harry again, only saying, “See you at Number Twelve in three hours,” before he left.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place… It technically belonged to Harry although he hated the place and never set foot in it unless he had to. But its location and its safety measures made it a perfect place for Harry to work out of when he couldn’t go to the Ministry for secrecy reasons. Arthur briefed him on situations there before every mission he was sent on and this one was no different.

For a moment, Harry didn’t move. Then he sat down heavily beside Hermione.

“Do you have to go?” Hermione finally asked even though they both knew he did.

“Damn it,” was Harry’s eloquent response.

He glowered silently at the fireplace before facing Hermione, bringing his hands up to frame her face. “I will be back before the baby comes. I don’t care if I have to give whoever’s responsible for this more time to hide, I’ll come back for the birth.”

Hermione felt tears well up against her will and blinked them back angrily. She hated how weepy she got during her pregnancies. “Harry, you know you can’t promise that.”

She paused, mentally steeling herself. She wasn’t going to make this harder on him; she wasn’t some weepy, helpless damsel in distress. She was Hermione Potter, Harry’s wife. And she could be, would be, strong because he needed her to be. She met his eyes steadily. “Go, Harry, do what you need to do; I’ll be fine here with Molly and Ginny to help out.” She managed a smile, tried to joke, “I’ll tell the baby not to come until after you get back.”

He smiled slightly although she could see his palpable reluctance to leave her in his eyes. He pressed a firm kiss on her forehead, before pulling back to meet her eyes. “I love you,” he said simply.

She smiled a genuine smile at him. “I know.”

Ginny had told her the way that Harry had rushed past them as if he didn’t even see the people crowded around the door, which, as he’d later confirmed, he hadn’t really. And she remembered always the look on his face when he entered the room and seen her holding Sabrina. The look of love, of awe, and of regret, regret that he hadn’t been able to be there for the birth, regret that his duties, his very identity as Harry Potter, had kept him away.

She had smiled and only said simply, “Harry, meet your daughter, Sabrina,” and watched him almost collapse into the chair beside the bed, his fascinated gaze riveted on his baby daughter’s face.

And she’d decided she’d never loved him more than at that moment, even as she added, her voice pleasant, belying her words, “I could kill you right now, you know.”

He had finally looked up, smiling slightly as he met her eyes. “I love you too, and thank you for my daughter,” he’d said softly.

She’d smiled then, knowing she couldn’t even pretend an annoyance she didn’t feel. “You’re welcome,” she had answered, just before he had kissed her…

~*~

Remember, I will still be here,
As long as you hold me,
In your memory
~*~

Harry slid into bed beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders as she rested her head on his chest, in their habitual position as they talked before going to sleep. It was her favorite time of day, when they shared their thoughts and feelings, talked about what had happened that day, talked about the children. Or when they were simply silent, enjoying the brief window of time in their busy days where they were just themselves, Harry and Hermione, where they could relax apart from the stresses of their lives.

Today Hermione was thoughtful, silent for a while.

“Marissa told me she thinks Gary’s cheating on her,” she finally began. Marissa was one of her colleagues at St. Mungo’s and she and her husband, Gary, had become friends over the years. It helped that their children were about the same age as Emily and Andy and so the kids had been playmates, as well as class-mates when they went off to Hogwarts.

“Why does she think that?”

“Oh, he’s become really secretive and evasive lately about where he goes when he’s not home. He comes home late from work and when she asks where he’s been, he avoids the question or gives her excuses. And she found out from one of his co-workers that instead of working late, he’s been leaving on time or even a little early for the past two weeks. Plus, she says he’s become really distant with her.”

“Mmm,” Harry made a noncommittal sound. “Poor Marissa.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “I didn’t know what to say to her, really. They’ve been married for nearly 20 years. And then she asked me whether I’d ever worried about you.”

“And what did you say?” Harry asked, curiosity and a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.

Hermione shifted to look at Harry’s face. “I told her the truth,” she said simply. “That I’d never doubted you for a minute.”

Harry tightened his arm slightly, brushing a kiss on her hair, but didn’t say anything.

Hermione paused and then sighed a little. “It just got me thinking about how lucky we are. So many couples grow apart or just lose interest, especially after their kids all leave for school… But not us, even after 23 years.”

“No, not us. We really are so lucky.”

Harry paused and then continued, his voice completely sober. “I love you more now than I did 23 years ago, more than I loved you yesterday even. I don’t think there’ll ever be a day when I wake up and don’t love you more than I did when I went to sleep.”

Hermione turned her head to kiss Harry’s shoulder. “I know. I love you too.”

“And really,” Harry began after a pause, a teasing note creeping into his voice, “who needs a mistress when he has a wife who makes him hotter than anyone else ever could?”

Hermione couldn’t answer as Harry shifted to kiss her lingeringly, only smiled against his lips, as his hands made quick work of her clothes…

Hermione’s last thought before she gave in to the passion Harry never failed to arouse was that she really was the luckiest woman in the world…

She missed him the most at night. Nights when she had to prepare for bed alone in the same room they’d shared for so many years. Nights when she had to get into their bed, always conscious of the empty space beside her. Nights when she dreamed of him sometimes, dreamed that he was still there with her…

Only to wake up alone.

He came to her in her dream, walking toward her until she could see him, looking as he had the last time she saw him, graying hair and some lines in his face, his eyes as bright and clear as ever.

She ran to him, throwing herself into his arms, feeling them close around her, and she was home, in Harry’s arms again.

She felt tears welling up in spite of herself. “Oh Harry, I miss you so much.”

He wiped her tears away with a gentle hand. “I know, sweetheart, I miss you too. But you know, I’m always with you, and I always will be… You are a part of me, just as I am a part of you. No more tears, then, Hermione.”

She managed a smile for him, which he returned, the smile of love that he reserved especially for her in their private moments.

He kissed her gently, before drawing back to look into her eyes. “I’ll always be with you.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“I’ll be seeing you…” And with one last look, one last kiss, he was gone…

And for the first time, she found she could smile after a dream about him. He was always with her…

She remembered something she’d read once, Our dead are never truly dead until we forget them.

She looked over at their engagement picture on the nightstand, his arms were around her and they were laughing into each other’s eyes, looking completely oblivious to the photographer.

Her eyes moved on to rest on the last family picture they’d taken on her last birthday before Harry had left. She and Harry were sitting surrounded by Emily, her husband and her children, Andy, his wife and his children, and Sabrina, with her husband and children, carrying her youngest baby in her arms. They were all smiling, even as Emily’s eldest son winked and pulled a teasing face for Andy’s son’s benefit who grinned at his favorite cousin.

She smiled at the children’s antics in the picture, feeling her grief subside, to be replaced with peace.

Harry wasn’t truly gone, after all, not while he lived on in their children and grandchildren.

She looked around at the room where she’d spent some of her happiest times and for a moment, she could almost swear she felt his presence in the room with her. She smiled and spoke aloud, “Wait for me, Harry, and I’ll go to you someday. Someday but not yet, not now. I’m going to live, live for Emily, Andy and Sabrina and their kids, so they’ll remember you. I will live and I will be happy, knowing you’re always with me. I love you.” And somehow she knew that he heard her and that he smiled his understanding and his approval…

Life went on… And love did not, could not, die…

~*~

Remember,
When your dreams have ended,
Time can be transcended,
I live forever,
Remember me

Remember me,
Remember... me...