AN - Yes, this is another one of my sad, twisted songfics. This is the first time I ever cried while writing. Song credit goes to the Spill Canvas. HP credit is still Miss Rowling's. Please comment, it really helps me keep writing.
Black Dresses
In muddy grass we stand side by side
with our knuckles interlocked
Black dresses fill the cemetery
in the cliche tragedy
This isn't right, Harry thought to himself. That seemed to be the only thought to cross his mind. It was true. This scene was not right. For Harry Potter stood alone, dressed rather sharply, staring at the flowers in front of him. They were beautiful arrangement, artistically set out around a seemingly out-of-place abyss. There was every type of flower imaginable set before him. He stared at them, trying to hold back his threatening tears. There were people behind him, a great many people, in fact. They all looked alike, dressed in black and quiet. The silence was deafening to Harry; he wanted to escape all of the pain in front of him. He did not move though; he stood excruciatingly still, alone. The whole scene was too cliche. Harry thought that this was not enough. Nothing about this day was right. He wished to be the one those flowers were for.
A group of men began to make their way toward Harry, toward the hole. Harry did not stir, he did not look at the men, he did not wipe the single tear making its way down his cheek. He could hear sobs behind him, but he showed no sign of emotion other than the single strand of wetness upon his face. A sickening tune played in the background, almost enough to make Harry vomit. The men reached the wretched hole and left a long, black coffin resting next to it. As they departed, Harry made his way toward it.
Just do as you're instructed and
take this razor and cut your palms
I'll do the same until the river of crimson begins to flow
Now drip your ruby red over the casket
a funeral for my once loved youth
He knew he was crazy. He didn't care what the people behind him thought. She was his love, his only love. Hell, she was his life. And now she, in all her perfection, was dead. She was dead and he had lived. Harry defeated the Dark Lord; he miraculously saved the entire world. But when he went to rescue his love, he was too late. She was dead. He had to do everything in his power to continue loving her precious memory. He would not let her become just another forgotten death. He had to make the very core of his meaningless existence with her, forever.
Harry withdrew a knife from his robes. He slid it across his palm until blood trickled down his wrist. He held his hand over the casket, showing no sign of pain. The ruby liquid dripped down, causing a strange splash of red on the black case. Harry set the knife down and let out a scream of frustration. He heard gasps behind him, but was unaffected by them. He knelt beside the casket and began whispering.
My secret is fatally gorgeous
I'd die for you
But in this Bonnie and Clyde kind of romance
Tell me what would you do?
My secret is fatally gorgeous
I'd die for you
But when your precious life is at stake
Tell me would you die for me too
"Hermione . . . Hermione . . . my sweet 'Mione. What have I done? I would have died for you. I wish with all my heart that it was I in your place. You didn't mean to die for me. I caused your death . . . this happened because of me . . . how can I live?" Harry let tears flow freely down his face. He sensed people gathering closer around him, but he did not move. He knelt on the ground, desperately clutching the casket and whispering to his love. His deceased love. Harry kissed the casket and ran his unsteady hand down the length of it, longing for her touch. God, I miss her so much already he thought.
The quivering liquids in your stomach
Will eat away at the bad habits that have made you
A real character in the story of your now distant life
Goodnight and goodbye, quickly
Harry finally stood up and wiped his face. Her parents came to the coffin and whispered their goodbyes, quickly. Harry wished he could weep and mourn as they did. But he could not, he was far beyond the point of mere tears. He was broken; this was a funeral for his life. She was the greatest person he had ever known. She opened his heart and showed him the meaning of love. He couldn't bear the pain inside of his being. He wanted to escape, but he was stuck. He was stuck on the horrible earth without his love.
The men came forward again, picking up the casket and lowering it into the bottomless pit before them. They filled the great hole, and each person in the crowd threw a fistful of dirt into the godforsaken pit. Harry stared with great concentration. The scene was heartbreaking; everyone was saying their final goodbyes to sweet Hermione. Harry's body started to tremble. He could not break down now; he could not let himself wither away. But he wanted to leave this world . . .
He looked upon her tombstone. He had written the long poem inscribed in it. He tried to say everything about her, but there was far too much. He had also written a letter, more like a book, which was laid on top of her never-beating heart. Harry let another lone tear fall at the thought that he would never hear her heart, so full of love, beat again. He could still not fully grasp the fact that she was gone. Hermione was not coming back, there was no miraculous return, and Harry would never feel her warm embrace ever again. He felt like his life was pointless without her.
In gentle greens we stand side by side
With your head buried in my chest
Black veils send me shivering
The fear that a part of me is dying
Ginny and Ron approached Harry, almost fearful of him, as seeds were spread over the dirt. Hermione's grave was going to be a garden, a beautiful garden. Harry vowed to tend to the garden every day, hoping to make its beauty reflect hers. Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder, but he did not move. He was still staring at the mound of dirt that was his one true love. Ginny broke down at that moment. She buried her head in Harry's chest, and he reluctantly accepted her sobs. He looked around and once again saw the vast sea of black around him. Harry felt like this was his funeral . . . he was dead. He should be dead, not her.
Goodbyes are said and roses thrown
And the crowd starts to weep
But the irony of this story is when I fell to my knees
And begin clawing at the dirt in front of the tombstone
Of my bashful childhood
Roses were placed on top of the seeded dirt as everyone began to depart. That was it. The story was over; she was gone and he was left without anyone in the world to love or care for. He wanted comfort in this world. Harry needed someone to cherish and hold, and he finally realized that the perfect girl had been in his life the whole time. But this perfect girl now lay six feet under the ground, clad forever in the wedding dress she never got to walk down the aisle in and the engagement ring in which she never fulfilled its promise. Harry twisted at the wedding band on his own finger; he had worn it since the day of her death. They were married in his eyes, and he would honor that forever.
Harry could not keep his pent up emotions inside any longer. He completely broken down and lost any sensible thought left in his mind. He just wanted to kiss her, hold her once more. Harry fell to his knees once more and began throwing the dirt in frustration. He had to get to her. This tombstone was not only for Hermione; it was also for him. His childhood, his passion, his love, his heart, his joy . . . these things were all gone forever. He could never be Harry Potter again, and she would never be Hermione Potter. He began screaming as he clawed at the dirt.
With you by my side, you're screaming at the
Top of your lungs, "let it go"
And I'm screaming at the top of my lungs
"The ceremony was not proper, there was not enough people.
And who picked the music?
Those melodies almost made me physically sick."
Ron and Ginny were the only ones left in the cemetery, and they were mortified at the sight in front of them. Harry was literally going insane, and it was almost too much to watch.
"Let it go, Harry! Let it go. She's not going to come back now!" Ron yelled, trying to get Harry away from the grave, afraid of what he might do.
"Harry, please . . . we should all leave," Ginny pleaded. Harry could not bear any of the events going on . . . he was incapable of coherent thought.
"Why? Why the hell should I? She deserved so much more than this stupid ceremony. It wasn't right; it wasn't good enough for her! There was no one hear . . . the music was sickening . . . I should be dead, not her!" Harry screamed back as tears fell. "I should die . . . " he spoke quietly. "I should die!" Harry wept, mumbling her name over and over. She was gone.
My secret is fatally gorgeous
I'd die for you
But in this Bonnie and Clyde kind of romance
Tell me what would you do?
My secret is fatally gorgeous
I'd die for you
But when your precious life is at stake
Tell me would you die for me too
Harry Potter would never be the same. His entire life was devoted to her, even after the tragic death. He spent hours at her grave every day, making her garden the most beautiful the world had ever seen. He opened a book store in her memory and wrote many tales about his adventures in his now deceased youth. All of his profits went to the Granger family, no matter how many times the protested Harry giving to them. He never saw another woman, for Hermione was the only one for him. As time passed, Harry's love for her only grew. She was alive in his heart and would never lose her place there. She was dead, and so was Harry Potter. But they were very much alive through his passion for her, which never dwindled. Her memory lived on forever in the hearts of those she touched, but especially in the heart of her love, Harry Potter. She died for him, and he would not let that go to waste. His love for her conquered all, even her death.