The flight of Icarus

ardelis_fari

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 05/12/2005
Last Updated: 05/12/2005
Status: completed

It’s been ten years since Hermione died of a terminal illness. The sixty-five year old Harry Potter is lonely and dispirited. All he has are memories. And even they can’t save him. WARNING: involves character death!

Chapters

1. The flight of Icarus

1. The flight of Icarus

The flight of Icarus

Author: Ardelis_fari

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, belongs to JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. Everything else (general plot, ideas, twists and turns, etc.) is the product of my ingenious mind!

Classification: Drama

Pairing: H/Hr

Rating: PG

Summary: It’s been ten years since Hermione died of a terminal illness. The sixty-five year old Harry Potter is lonely and dispirited. All he has are memories. And even they can’t save him. WARNING: involves character death!

A/N: this is very sad and heart wrenching. Very much in the spirit of my other stories, You do not know I die and The dead play by the rules, which all of you should read too. This is a one-shot. Not really intending to continue, coz I cried my eyes out, writing this. PLEASE REVIEW!!!

P.S. I’m sorry I’m not updating The coparceners instead. I’ll try to do that soon.

~~~~~~

Cold October rain poured down the window panes and all he could see was the blurry green sea of the shrubbery. They planted the evergreens the next summer after she had died to make it look cheery. Bright. As if the bloody bushes could change or replace something.

Convolvuluses and bougainvilleas used to cover the trellis. When he closed his eyes, he could still picture them. It’s been ten years. How time flies. It’s all but a moment for the sick and the old.

Harry ran his fingers through his grey hair that had once been raven-black. Then he listened intently to the tinkling of the cutlery downstairs. Kate, his youngest, was making dinner in the kitchen.

He would have died the moment she was gone, if he didn’t have his children. Ten years ago he became an orphan for the second time in his life. Fancy surviving that. They all became orphans without Hermione. Without her sweet smile and reassuring words.

But life went on. He still had his children and grandchildren. They each took turns to visit him, to make sure he was never alone. When the little ones came, he would tell them about how he and Ron beat the Slytherins in Quidditch. He never mentioned the war.

Hermione announced it the morning Violet was born at St. Mungo’s. Looking at that small sleeping bundle, she said that they would never mention the war again. It was all in the past.

Harry hemmed, as the memories flooded him.

He refused to have his firstborn named after his mother. The mother he never knew. Then she came up with the name Violet. She always wanted to have her way. Stubborn miss know-it-all.

He smiled and closed his eyes, listening to the howling wind.

When their son came, he relented and let her name him James. James Ronald Potter. Keep everyone happy.

Then Kate came, quite unplanned, but not unwelcome. Hermione went in labour on the day Violet was going to Hogwarts for the first time. He thought he would go crazy, trying to maneuver his pregnant wife, his overly excited daughter and his little son who sneaked into Hogwarts Express and almost went away with his sister.

He was absorbed in thought and didn’t hear the young woman enter the room. She stood in the doorway, tall and lean, having recently shed the maternity clothes.

“Dad, I really must go now. Sean is waiting. You know he’s nervous around the babies, even if they are his own,” she laughed. “I put the groceries in the fridge. Your dinner is in the oven. Don’t forget to take that cough potion three times a day. Am I forgetting something? Oh yeah, a letter came for you from the Ministry. Wonder what they want form you again.”

She stopped and looked at him. “Dad? Are you listening?”

He turned around and smiled broadly. “I’m sixty-five years old, but I’m not senile.”

“Of course, you’re not, daddy,” Kate laughed.

She came over to him and together they watched the rain-sodden garden.

“You know, I was thinking maybe we should have the bonfire night here, in this house. If you don’t mind, of course,” she said.

“No, I don’t. We can have a Guy Fawkes. You know, for the children.”

She nodded. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? Violet promised to help with decorations and Uncle Ron’s boys are coming. Are you glad?”

“Yes, I am.”

He reached out and gingerly touched her frizzy chestnut hair.

“You look so much like your mother, Kate,” he said softly.

“I know. Except I have your eyes, green.”

Deep affection suddenly washed over her and she put her arms around him.

“I love you so much, daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. And don’t forget to visit me soon. Come with the boys, I really miss them.”

“I will. I promise,” she hugged him for the last time and let go.

His lined face looked sad and his eyes glistened behind the glasses.

“Should I ask Aunt Ginny to come over?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely. “I’ll be fine. You just go. I’m not sure your husband is a good babyminder.”

“No, he’s actually not bad, until it comes to changing nappies,” she smirked. “Then I’m indispensable.”

Harry kissed her forehead and urged her to go. At last, she finished the last of the preparations and left. He heard her Disapparate. Sighing, he went to the kitchen and sank into his chair.

How could he bear all these years without her? Day after day. A superhuman effort. And yet he did. Somehow.

“I miss you terribly, Hermione,” he whispered.

The words disturbed the silence of the kitchen, reverberated against the walls and then dissolved into nothing.

He looked out of the window. The blurry green sea. Rain splashing.

“Perfect Quidditch weather, isn’t it, Hermione?” he smiled sadly.

He loved talking to her when he was all alone. Imagining that she was there, sitting next to him.

Suddenly, he blinked, then frowned. Then blinked again. He realized that he couldn’t remember her face. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure her image in his mind. Convolvuluses and bougainvilleas that used to cover the trellis. Sodding vines. But he couldn’t remember her face. He was suddenly scared and angry. In agitation, he jumped up from the chair and started pacing the kitchen. He felt like he was losing her. He was losing Hermione, because he couldn’t remember what she looked like anymore.

Panic seized him and he ran to his bedroom. Their bedroom. He rummaged under his pillow and fished out an old framed picture. A periwinkle-blue dress and curly brown hair. At that Yule Ball she looked the most beautiful. No one else came close.

Harry’s old and wrinkled face twisted. He took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. Violent sobs shook him. He wanted to be with her.

Before she died, she said that one day they would be together again. All he had to do was close his eyes and fly. He didn’t understand then what she meant. He didn’t want to let her go.

Searing pain pierced the left side of his chest and he winced.

When he felt like crying, he would leave the room, just not to cry in front of her. Not to upset her. She always laughed at him. Said that he would always be the same Harry Potter. A valiant hero. But he just didn’t want to upset her.

His legs were not moving, as if filled with lead. The whole body refused to move. In vain, Harry tried to get up from the bed. His eyelids fluttered and then closed. The last thing he remembered was that the dinner on the table was getting cold. Kate would be angry.

He plunged in sudden darkness. And he dreamt that he was flying over the roofs. Towards the scorching sun.