The Grave by isobel_pranger

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 11/09/2004
Last Updated: 11/09/2004
Status: Completed

He couldn't tell you how the strongest Dark Wizard ever met his end, but he would never
forget the feeling he had when he saw her again for the first time in ages.




1. untitled
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**The Grave**

*Gravedigger, when you dig my grave*

*Could you make it shallow?*

*So that I can feel the rain…*

- Dave Matthews, Gravedigger

He didn't remember it happening. He didn't have a memory of the final spell that laid
the strongest dark wizard in history to rest once and for all. He didn't remember all the
people coming to him, the aurors, healers, even his friends, none of it. He couldn't tell you
about the celebration that followed at the confirmation of the death of the Dark Lord, nor could he
fill you in on the mourning of any of the families of those lost. He held no memories of the last
seven days, and he never would.

It seemed surreal now, though, as he walked down the green grasses on the Hogwarts grounds. He
didn't feel the rain that was falling around him; there was no sensation of the mush of the
ground. He wasn't cold, for the first time ever; he had no desire to shiver in the late night
air. There was no wind, no rustle of any of the trees in the Forbidden Forest.

In the distance he could see the memorial to the people lost in the war. The white pillars that
surrounded it now looked like ruins of ancient Greece. The white cloth that hung from them, once a
symbol of hope and purity, now hung like rag torn from overuse. The three large black stones
inside, shiny and wet from the rain bore the names of every person lost in both the wars against
Voldemort. Names covered all three from every side. In the center of the pillars stood a fountain,
silver and proud in its overflow of water. And all around the outskirts were the graves. The graves
of all the bodies found, good or bad.

Harry passed Filch on his way to the memorial, muddy shovel over his shoulder and a grim look on
his face. He seemed to walk with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his body old and shaky
and his face gray and depressed. Harry could understand though, it had been up to the caretaker to
burry all the dead. He would only imagine what that job of a gravedigger could do to someone.

Filch walked by quickly, his head down. Harry could weakly hear him muttering, “Shame, that
one.” But Harry took no offense. He could only picture the way he looked right now, and what was it
to Filch if he looked a little bit worse for the wear?

Harry walked several more feet, almost to the base of the hill. He watched as two lowly black
figures sulked out of the memorial area. One was sobbing onto the other one's shoulder,
clinging to her for her dear life and the other trying to be soothing through her own tears. It
made Harry's heart sink, to see the loss of someone post-war firsthand. The way these two
people seemed so distraught at the loss of their loved one.

He recognized them as he got closer, both being members of his year and house at Hogwarts.
Parvati was holding tight to a tearful Lavender Brown, who looked as though she had lost all use of
her knees and needed to be carried back to the castle. Lavender was sobbing something to the effect
of, “I can't believe it… we're all so lost…” while Parvati was soothing her with things
like, “Yes, yes… I know…”

They didn't seem to notice Harry as he stood in the moment, watching sadly as though he
could feel their anguish. He figured he might later, if he could get them to tell him whom
they'd lost.

He entered the memorial slowly; unsure of whom he could expect to see there. He was greeted with
the sight of the fountain, standing tall before him. A sculpture of himself was seated in the
middle of in, on his knees with his wand pointing towards the sky and a look of anguish etched on
his face. Hermione was next to him, holding up his arm with a tight grip, her clothing torn as was
his own and her nose buried in his shoulder as if it would give him comfort. Standing behind them
were four people he wished he could have standing with him now. Remus Lupin had a tight grip on one
of Hermione's shoulders, his expression angry and glaring forward. His robes were not torn, not
even ratty like they always had been. Sirius stood next to him, gripping Hermione's other
shoulder. He wasn't the Sirius Harry remembered personally, he was the Sirius one could imagine
he would have been had he gone through life untainted by Azkaban. He too was glaring ahead, as
though he was donating his energy to them, in support of their battle. Behind Harry, holding onto
him tight, where his parents. James had his arm slung over Sirius' shoulder and the other
holding Lily in tight to him. Lily looked like she was crying, and James appeared to be the only
thing holding her sanity in.

Harry stared at it for several minutes, taking in the sight. The whole memorial had been
dedicated in the name of his family, though it had mainly been for his parents. He looked up at the
faces of his parents and their friends, all once again united. And looking back on it, he could
almost see them in the final moments of the battle, whispering to him, telling him that everything
would be okay.

“Harry!” he heard, turning to see the ever-boisterous Molly Weasley headed straight for him. She
was no longer sad, or distraught with the war as he remembered her, she looked almost peaceful. She
scooped him up and hugged him tight, like he always thought his mother would have had she been
alive in his childhood, “Harry, dear! I've been so worried for you! I was unsure you would make
it!”

Harry nodded looking back up to the statue once again, “I did,” he said simply, peering through
the solid rain that whipped harshly against the stone. A gust of wind blew through, the first all
night, sending Harry's white robes whipping against his legs. “What are you doing out here,
Mrs. Weasley? It's awful wet.”

“I'm just waiting for my boys and my Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said, in a wistful manner. She
joined Harry in his staring at the fountain, as it began to overflow in the rain, “Yes, yes,
they'll all be here soon I expect. Fred and George are around here someplace, trying to enforce
happiness to those who are saying goodbye to their families. Just like they always have.”

Harry nodded, he knew this too well.

He started to wander away from Mrs. Weasley, toward one of the massive black stones perched in a
row. He watched the water slide down their surfaces, staring like he was hypnotized at the streams
pouring down. He waited a few moments, before he lurched his hand out to touch the names. It burned
in his palm, scolding into his memory every name. Geoffrey Hopper, Gryffindor, Hogwarts graduate in
1997. Graham Pritchard, Slytherin, Hogwarts student of Year 4. Gilbert Whimple, Ministry Worker.
Emmeline Vance, member of the Order of the Phoenix. Irma Pince, Hogwarts Staff.

Harry dragged his hand down the stone, until it fell to his side once again. All of them dead.
All of them gone. All of them at the hands of Voldemort or his Death Eaters. All of them should
have had long, happy lives.

Harry jumped at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his Headmaster, Albus
Dumbledore, standing before him. He was younger than Harry remembered, he no longer looked like he
held the weight of the world on his slender shoulders. He did, however, hold that familiar sparkle
in his eyes that Harry had come to expect of him. He looked down to Harry in his half-moon specs,
with a smile that told Harry he knew something Harry yet did not, and nodded his head. “So, you
finally made it, Harry.” He said, looking at the black stone with him, “I see them, too, Harry. But
you must know it was not your fault. It is blood on the dead and drying hands of Tom Riddle. Not on
yours.”

Harry nodded. A moment of silence passed between perhaps one of the best wizards in history, and
one that sure to come in at least a close second. Dumbledore opened his mouth with a sigh and gave
Harry one last piece of unspoken Dumbledore advice, “In all my many years, Harry, I have learned
many things. Some things I wish I could go on forever never knowing. Others, I continue wondering
how I lived before I knew them.” Harry waited for the drop line, the few words that would tell him
what he was to do next. It wouldn't take long, “She's here, Harry.”

Harry gave a start, before turning to look back on the old man, “She's here?”

Dumbledore smirked and nodded, “Yes, she is. Far bit that way, I'd expect,” he replied,
pointing to their right. “I doubt you'll have trouble finding her.”

Harry didn't need to be told once. He took off, bolting past people, past the stones and
beyond the fountain. He flew down aisles of tombstones, jumping over them and tripping several
times. He kept on going with all the strength he held in his legs.

But then he stopped. He saw her there, sitting on top of a headstone, in the most beautiful
white robes he'd ever seen. She wore white shoes that hung inches above the soggy mud of a
freshly filled grave. Her hair hung low between her shoulders, and was as touchable as he
remembered, despite its soaked nature in the rain. He could hear her humming a tune that she'd
hummed a million times before, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

His brain went into rewind as he remembered the last time he was with her, sat with her in the
common room. How they'd waited for Ron to leave, calling it a night and going to bed. How
Seamus had felt the need to linger, until he'd made an excuse and Hermione had followed him out
into the sanctuary of the halls in Hogwarts. How they'd barely made it down the staircase
before he was on her, kissing and nibbling and sucking everything and everywhere all at once. He
remembered his senses going into overdrive and the thinking part of his brain dying.

He remembered her giggling as they approached the Room of Requirement, and then her jumping and
wrapping her legs about his waist when they entered. He could recall the room like it was a
yesterday, or better yet, as though he was standing in it right now. The way there was almost no
light but from the window. How it had been raining that evening too, and that through the
occasional bought of thunder illuminating the area he saw is undoing. How there was just a simple
four-poster in the corner, a comfortable rug on the floor and nothing else. The room must have been
cold on a winter night, but it felt as warm as a summer day in Brazil.

And he remembered not seeing, only feeling her. Feeling her in every way a man could feel her,
from her soft hands untouched my manual labor to the one place he knew no one else had ever had the
chance to feel. He could recall every gasp, every touch, every squeak, and as long as there was
time he would never forget it. It was without a doubt the most wonderful time in his entire
life.

“Hermione,” he breathed, just loud enough for himself to hear. He took a slow step forward, the
movement catching her eye, and she looked up. Her hands jumped from her lap and she slid to her
feet with her eyes shining and her face aglow like it always had been in his memories.

“Harry,” she replied softly, the happiness at seeing him undisguised in her tone. She pushed
herself forward and she ran to him, her white robes oddly not sticking to her body as she flew
through the rain. She leaped as she got close to him, her legs hooking over his hips like they had
so many months ago. “Oh, I've waited so long to see you, Harry!” she cried, clinging her arms
tightly around his neck, “I've been watching you Harry. We've all been watching you. And
you did it. Everyone is so proud of you!”

“Everyone?” Harry questioned, straining a bit under her weight. She pushed back on his shoulders
so she could look him in the eyes, a smile on her face as she recalled those for him.

“Yes, everyone. Remus was so happy, Harry. He kept on mumbling on about how no one could have
done it better than you, that you were the only one strong enough to do that… you were the only one
with a big enough heart. Sirius didn't speak, Harry, but tears were on his face and he hugged
me so tight I thought I would burst. Your mum and dad, Harry, they were so proud of you… so glad
that their sacrifice was not in vein. That you'd become such a wonderful man.”

Harry's mind was reeling. Remus, Sirius, his mum, his dad…. They were all dead. His mum and
dad had died in their home when he was a baby. Sirius had fallen back through the veil. Remus had
been expelled when the Ministry caved in on him. They were all dead… how had Hermione seen them?
How had she talked to him?

Then his mind snapped into second gear. Hermione wasn't alive either. He remembered that
now. He remembered returning to the castle, tired and depressed from a battle, his body barely able
to move. He had found Ron upon his return, and asked him where Hermione was… Ron was white as a
sheet, mumbling about how she'd disappeared. He remembered seeing red as he bolted from the
castle into the forest.

He had run into a patch in the middle, to find Hermione's body impaled on a sharp and pointy
rock, with her blood pouring from her body like a river into a poor beneath her. He could still
feel his heart being ripped from his chest, his knees shaking and his vision turning white. He
screamed so loud people had heard him back at Hogwarts.

He crawled to her lifeless body, peeling her from its stony downfall and pulling her into his
aching arms. He sat on the ground rocking back and forth, sobbing like it was all he was worth. She
didn't move on her own and she didn't breath… they would later determine that she had been
dead for hours when he found her.

Harry could remember not leaving his tower for days. He didn't know when one day ended and
another began, but he did know between the day she died and the day he next asked for the date
there had been at least ten days. He didn't remember her memorial. He didn't know about her
parents asking to speak with him. He didn't recall the Weasleys visiting him. Nothing about
that time was memorable, other than when he did come down; he was so filled with rage he
couldn't see straight.

And then he remembered them all in flashes. He remembered when Mrs. Weasley died in her sleep
after Fred and George were killed in battle, the Healers saying it had been a broken heart that had
killed her. He remembered Dumbledore dying at the hands of Voldemort himself, in one of the last
days Voldemort was able to take breath.

Harry turned his gaze to Hermione once again, his throat dry, “Hermione…” he started, his eyes
filling up with tears as he realized his own peril, “Am I dead?”

Her hands rose to his face, filling his frozen cheeks with warmth, “Yes, Harry, you are.” She
said, looking him dead in the eye, “You ran out of fire when Tom Riddle was destroyed, the shock
alone was enough to kill you.”

“Why can't I see my mum and dad?” Harry asked, his tears falling freely now, his voice
cracking in his urge to not sob, “Why can't I see Sirius and Lupin? I want to see them,
Hermione, why can't I see them?”

“Because Harry,” she said, her voice tender and soft, filled with knowledge and understanding,
“Their jobs here were to watch over you and make sure you fulfilled your destiny. Their job is
done. You were here to defeat Voldemort and you did. Mrs. Weasley is here because her family was
her life, and until they are all with her she will move on too. Dumbledore is here to watch over
his pupils, as they all live out the rest of their lives. Fred and George are here for their
family.”

“Why not us, then?” Harry asked, “What are you and I still doing here? Whom are we waiting
for?”

His question would soon answer itself, as angry screams where heard at the entrance. He heard
Mrs. Weasley say something to the effect of, “There, there, dear.” And he could hear the distinct
dig of rocks against stone. Harry turned his head to see his best friend Ron Weasley hollering and
throwing rocks at the fountain. Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione, who only nodded her head,
“Where there is us, Harry, there will always be him as well.”

“You just HAD to do it, didn't you? DIDN'T you, Harry?! You just had to go up and die
and leave me alone, didn't you! You had to be with her, you couldn't be without each other
could you?! What about me?! What am I supposed to do now?!” Ron screamed at the fountain. Threw
several more rocks before sagging his shoulders and simply crying, the image of Molly Weasley
bolting to comfort her son.

Soon Ron turned and walked toward them, almost as if they knew they were there. But he walked
right past them, going to stand between the gravestone Hermione had been sitting on before and the
one next to it. Ron dropped to his knees as he ran both his hands over the etched in names, “I
don't know how to be me without you,” he whispered.

Hermione looked back at Harry, before stepping away from him and walking back to Ron. She knelt
down at his side and wrapped her arms around him as he cried, rubbing his back even though she knew
he couldn't physically feel it. Harry took her lead and followed her to their friend's
side, wrapping his arms around him from the other side. He heard Hermione whisper softly,
“You'll be fine, Ron. No one can keep the trio apart for long.”

FIN.

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