Now Comes the Night by seanbiggerstafflover

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 16/12/2005
Last Updated: 16/12/2005
Status: Completed

Hermione lost Harry when he defeated Voldemort and she now has to face his funeral and the fact
that her life will never be the same, in more ways then one. Inspired by the Rob Thomas song
"Now Comes the Night". It's a sad little fic and the rating is really only 'cause
it deals with death and it didn’t feel right calling it G - One-shot




1. Now Comes the Night
----------------------



**AN:** So I'm of three minds about how the books are going to end: A) Harry kills Voldie
and lived happily ever after, B) Harry kills Voldie and ends up dieing himself, and C) in which Jo
turns out to be the worst writer ever and Voldie wins. I suppose since I know C is improbable
I'm really only of two minds, but I like to keep my options open. This story is an attempt at
showing the aftermath of option B as inspired by the Rob Thomas song “Now Comes the Night”

**Now Comes the Night**

Hermione Granger stood in the small bathroom of her rented room looking at her reflection in the
round mirror. She was only eighteen years old, but she felt older - she looked older. Her
appearance had changed so much in the past months that she had trouble recognizing herself. Her
long, once bushy, brown hair had settled down so much that it lay around her head like dead grass;
very dry and very straight. She'd tried to do something with it, regain some of the body that
it had lost, but nothing had worked. She had tired eyes, permanently reddened by crying, that
sagged at the corners, and rested over heavy bags. Her forehead was deeply creased from stress and
there was a fresh scar above her right eye that bore witness to the violence of recent life.

“If you could see me now,” she mussed, whipping her mouth clean. Her boyfriend, the reason she
was in this small bathroom in a little country inn just outside Godric's Hollow, had made it a
habit of always telling her she beautiful. Everyday, not matter what situation they were in, even
when he was dieing in her arms he'd used his last breath to tell her she was beautiful. That
she was beautiful and that he loved her. She didn't think he'd find her so beautiful now.
“Oh Harry,” she sighed, taking a bit of tissue and dabbing at the tears now falling from her eyes,
“what am I going to do without you? What are we going to do without you?”

They hadn't been together long, a few months maybe, she didn't know for sure, they'd
been so disconnected from everything that the days had blended together, but he'd been her
friend for years. The most important years if her life, so far, had been with him by her side; the
biggest moments in her life had happened with him. She didn't know how life would go on without
him.

Before she could make herself any sadder, there was a knock on her door. She checked her
reflection one last time, found she still looked like hell, and walked out of the bathroom. When
she was halfway across the bedroom the person knocked again, and called out, “Hermione, it's
time.”

“I'm coming,” she called back, grabbing her notepad from the desk in one corner of the
room.

On the other side of the door was a tall red haired man, who like Hermione was older then his
years. Ron Weasley, her surviving best friend, was the only other person in the world that Hermione
felt really understood her pain. He had loved Harry like a brother. There were others who had loved
Harry, Ron's entire family for example, but they hadn't known Harry like Ron and Hermione
had. They hadn't experienced day to day life with Harry for the past seven years; they would
never fully comprehend what losing that felt like.

Opening the door she found Ron fidgeting with the muggle suit he was wearing. He looked up at
her and she saw his blue eyes were blood-shoot like hers. He'd been crying just as she had.
Without saying anything she launched herself into his arms, which quickly enveloped her. She held
tight to him, forcing herself not to cry. He let her hang there, knowing she needed to be close to
someone in that moment.

“I'm sorry Ron,” she mumbled when she felt strong enough to pull herself away.

“No,” he dismissed, “no need to apologize, I understand the feeling.”

She nodded, “I know you do.”

“We should go,” he said after a few uncomfortable minutes of silence, “everyone is already
queuing up downstairs - waiting for you to lead the way.”

“You'll walk with me?” She asked, holding out her hand.

He smiled, though It was a very different smile then she was used to, it was a sad smile,
“I'll be right beside you,” he assured her, taking her hand.

“Thank you, I'll be glad of the support,” she told him, starting downstairs to the lobby.
“The suit looks nice on you, by the way,” she said, using his attire as a temporary distraction.
Actually she found herself paying more attention then she normally would to almost everything; the
soft click of her shoes on the hard wood floor, the smooth feeling of the worn banister under her
hand as they walked down the stairs. A great world of small distractions; anything to keep her mind
off Harry

“Oh yeah?” He asked, looking himself over.

“Yes,” she assured him. He did look good, he was in a much better condition then she was anyway.
Not long ago Ron looking so nice would have put her in a right state, but not anymore. At one point
Hermione had been sure she loved Ron, as much more then a friend, but after years of waiting for
him to make up his mind she'd decided to move on. Their friendship was all the better for it,
and it had made her available to Harry.

“You look good too, well, you look tired, but that's to be expected isn't it?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her free hand moving down her stomach to her lower abdomen, “given
everything, I suppose it is.”

“But that is a killer dress,” he appraised. She almost laughed. To think of all the times
she'd wanted him to notice what she was wearing and he does it then. It was the closest
she'd come to laughing since Harry's death a week earlier. It felt nice, though she felt
guilty about it a second later.

“Ron, this is no time to joke,” she chided, running her hand nervously over the front panel of
her dress, straightening out a wrinkle that wasn't there.

“I wasn't joking,” he insisted, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and making her
stop with him. “Harry would have loved you in that dress.”

“That's why I wore it,” she said, going on to explain, “he promised that for our first real
date he'd take me to a French restaurant, but only if I promised to wear a little black dress.”
When she'd began making arrangements for Harry's funeral she knew immediately that she had
to go get a little black dress. It was nothing extravagant or very revealing, but it was little and
it was black. “To bad he'll never see me in it.”

“He can see you,” Ron assured her, taking his hand from hers and cupping it gently on the side
of her face.

She looked up at him, the tears suddenly filling her eyes making him very blurry, “Why Ronald
Weasley, I never took you for a religious person.”

“I'm not,” he said brushing a tear off her cheek with his thumb, “but a spirit as strong as
Harry's wouldn't just disappear and if there was anyone in this world he'd want to keep
an eye on - it's you.”

“I just miss him, so much,” she whispered, her voice cracking a bit as she tried to blink away
her tears, “I know everyone misses him it's just -” but she couldn't finish her sentence.
She dissolved completely, bringing her hands up to cover her eyes as she started crying
heavily.

Ron grimaced, he was no good at comforting people, never had been. He was especially bad with
girls when they were crying. Anything he ever said right was just a lucky accident. Most often he
found he made things worse. “Hermione,” he said, “I, I miss him too.”

“I know you do,” she admitted, her face coming back out of her hands, the red of her eyes
refreshed, but the tears gone, “I just -” but she stopped when she heard someone coming up behind
them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood said from behind Hermione.

Ron looked over Hermione's shoulder to his dirty-blonde, doe-eyed girlfriend, “You're
not interrupting,” he assured her.

“No Luna, you're not,” Hermione said turning around, “I'm just being emotional again and
Ron was being nice enough to let me.”

Luna smiled at Ron, “It's just everyone was wondering where you two were. I thought maybe a
kelsorpe had attacked you.”

“A, um, a kelsope?” Ron questioned, doing an abysmal job of hiding his great desire to
laugh.

“Yes, horrible things. They like the taste of tears so they're often at funerals. Dad said
there was one at Mum's funeral, but I never saw it.”

Hermione nearly had to bite her tongue to stop herself from telling Luna she was nuts. Instead
she said, “No Luna, no kelsorpe,” in the nicest tone she could manage.

“Good, they'd ruin the ceremony,” Luna explained and it was obvious that she while-heartedly
believed in the idea of kelsorpes. “But being late would ruin it too of course.”

“Yes it would,” Hermione agreed, trying to ignore that uncomfortable squirming feeling her
stomach was doing from time to time.

“You all right?” Ron asked, noticing her uncomfortable expression. “You need another
minute?”

Hermione shook her head, “No, I'll be fine, just a little nausea, but I think the worst of
it has passed.” Ron nodded, offering Hermione his arm. She took it, and Ron marched her forward
into the lobby, to a sea of mournful faces and black attire, Luna following after them.

They walked to the head of the queue, just in front of Ron's family. Ron's mother Molly
was hanging tightly to her husband Arthur's arm. It seemed her grief had moved beyond tears,
either that or she was putting on a brave face for the sake of her sons and daughter, who all, with
the exception of the third oldest Percy, who hadn't even bothered to come, felt like they'd
lost a brother. The twins, Fred and George, who'd always been able to make people laugh, no
matter what the occasion, stood just behind their parents looking somber; their vibrant red heads
hanging down in sadness. Behind them was the oldest Bill with his wife Fleur; Bill's scared
face was like stone while his beautiful wife cried into his shoulder. The last two Weasley's,
Charlie the second oldest and Ginny the youngest, were lost somewhere in the crowd.

As Hermione looked back at the crowd a few people tried to give her sympathetic smiles,
Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin among them, but she felt so far away from them they're smiles
did nothing to ease her sadness. It was Ron shaking her arm lightly that made her realize how long
she'd been standing there, looking back at the people. He squeezed her arm encouragingly and
she nodded, knowing it was well past time that they headed to the cemetery.

Holding her head up high, trying to look confident though she was trembling inside, Hermione
started towards out. The door was being held open by the inn manager, a woman named Victoria
Wellsly who'd helped Hermione coordinate the accommodations for the funeral party and the
details of the wake afterward. Victoria smiled somberly as Hermione and Ron passed. “She's
nice,” Ron commented nodding at Victoria.

“She is,” Hermione agreed, looking up at the brilliant blue sky. A few wisps of cloud hung high,
moving slowly in the clear summer breeze. There hadn't been a nicer day all year, weather
wise.

“Perfect flying conditions, Harry would have loved it,” Ron appraised, following Hermione's
lead and looking up at the sky. She nodded, Harry would have loved it, he'd always loved days
like this, it was fitting.

The cemetery was at the far end of the long dirt road that wound through the village of
Godric's Hollow. The road was lined with a wide variety of shops selling everything from
handmade wood furniture, produced by a family that had owned the shop for over one hundred years,
to electronics that would be outdated in a month. There was a delicious aroma wafting out of the
bakery and joyful noises of children playing coming from the park where a small girl was having a
birthday party. It was everything Hermione would imagine a quaint little village should be,
including the inquisitive villagers who peered out of windows and stood casually by their front
gates as the funeral party walked by.

None of them knew who Harry Potter was, of course, they were muggles everyone, and didn't
understand why this teenage boy was being buried in their cemetery, or why his funeral had drawn
such a large and strangely diverse crowd. During her planning Hermione had quickly discovered that
those who had lived in Godric's Hollow when James and Lily Potter hid in the village with there
small son didn't remember Harry at all. She supposed the Ministry had something to do with
that, they were well known for wiping memories clear in order to avoid muggle questions.

The ceremony in the cemetery had been organized by the director of the local funeral home,
Robert Davenport. Victoria had recommended the funeral home and since this had to be done in a
muggle manner Hermione had gratefully taken the recommendation. And he'd done a wonderful job.
The coffin was in place, waiting to be lowered into the grave, an arrangement of fine red and
golden-yellow roses adorning the lid. Similar arrangements were cascading over the two headstones
next to Harry's, those of his mother and father.

It was a small cemetery, fitting the size of the village it served, so instead of sitting in
chairs the mourners gathered around the burial plot in a half circle, careful not to stand on the
other graves or walk into tombstones. When everyone was assembled Ron pulled his arm gently from
Hermione's and stepped forward. They'd decided since they didn't want a religious
ceremony for Harry's funeral she and Ron speak and then invite other people to speak if they
wanted to. Though Hermione was originally supposed to speak first Ron could tell she wasn't
ready and decided to switch the order around. She was incredibly grateful for that.

Ron took a deep steadying breath and began his speech. “Harry never wanted to be a hero. He
wanted to have friends and a family and have a normal life. To some extent he managed, he became
like a brother to me and my entire family, he made friends of most of you who've gathered here,
and he had Hermione who loved him more then any of us could,” he paused and looked at Hermione who
gave him a gratefully smile through the silent tears that had began to trickle from her eyes.

“Luckily for all of us,” Ron continued, “Harry wasn't normal. He was brave and trued. He
stood up against real evil and saved us all. But that's not what I'll remember about
Harry.

“I'll remember the way he laughed at my brothers. The way he flew. His incredible ability to
catch a snitch, which saved Gryffindor from narrow defeat a fair number of times.” A light ripple
of laughter spread threw the crowd, shared by their fellow Gryffindors who'd seen Harry's
extraordinary Quidditch skills first hand. They knew Ron's evaluation has all to true. Ron
himself smiled remembering and pushed on, “I'll remember the way he struggled, right along with
me, with almost all our course work at school. Harry was human, just like all the rest of us, and
that's what I'll remember about him, because that's the way he would have wanted
it.”

Finished, Ron stepped back over to Hermione's side. “So, that was the hardest thing I've
ever done in my life,” he whispered to Hermione as he reached over and took Luna's hand.

“You know how to encourage a person don't you,” Hermione muttered stepping forward. She
hadn't planned what she wanted to say, there hadn't been time with all the arrangements.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but none of them were appropriate to say in front
of a group, most of them she'd be embarrassed to say even if it was just she and Harry. Walking
up to where Ron had just been standing she let her fingers run along the grain of the wood, highly
polished oak, the finest quality the funeral home offered.

“Harry meant so much to me,” she finally started, deciding the best thing she could do was say
what was in her heart. “He was my first real friend, my first real love. Like Ron said he was
human, and it was his humanity that made him who he was. He was kind, to the people he liked, and
venomous to people he hated. Most of us take for granted the things that meant most to Harry,
friendship, family, and love. He lived most of his life without them and treasured every moment
when he finally found them.

“I don't think he ever understood that we needed him and cared about him as much as he did
for us. Never believed that he meant so much too so many people, beyond being the
`boy-who-lived'. He was just Harry to me, always Harry, and I loved that about him.” She
stepped back, kissing her fingertips and pressing them to the coffin, saying her last goodbye.

She stepped back to Ron's side, brushing her tears away. “You're right, hardest thing in
the world,” she whispered. He gave her an understanding smile.

A handful of other people took the opportunity to step forward and speak. Bill said that Harry
was the bravest man he'd ever known. Draco Malfoy, who'd long been Harry's nemesis at
school, spoke of Harry's ability to see change and give people a chance, even when he
didn't trust them. Lupin assured the assembled crowed that Lily and James would have been as
proud of Harry's compassion as they would have been of his brave deeds. Molly lamented the lost
of her dear adopted son. Rubeus Hagrid attempted to say something, but he started crying before he
could get any words out and had to be led away. But all their words were lost to Hermione. The
funeral was passing in a haze. She found herself thinking of all the time she'd spent with
Harry, both as friends and as lovers.

She remembered clearly sitting in the common room their first year studying for their end of
term exams, fearing they would fail. Equally clear in her mind was the feel of his lips when they
pressed timidly against hers for the first time. Then the heated way they'd marked every inch
of her body in the few moments of passion they'd been able to share during their short months
together.

Lost in her memories Hermione was only vaguely aware of the funeral coming to a close. She
hardly noticed Harry's coffin being lowered into the ground. She led them back up the dirt road
to the wake with her mind somewhere else entirely. Ron, recognizing this, guided Hermione safely to
a chair near the buffet, hoping that when she snapped out of her stupor she'd eat
something.

With the wake in full swing around her it didn't take long for her to come to her senses,
though she wasn't a bit hungry. Molly's food smelt delicious like it always did, but she
had absolutely no appetite. She hadn't had one for days, she'd eaten of course, she'd
forced herself to at least eat something, but today the prospect just made her sick. But if Molly
saw her near the buffet she's try to bully her into eating something so Hermione got out of her
chair and walked quickly into the next room.

There were people everywhere, sharing stories of Harry and his exploits. Hermione moved through
the crowd slowly, hearing bits of the stories as she went. Seamus Finnegan was telling two Aurors
about the time he'd set their dorm on fire with an overzealous and poorly aimed warming charm;
Harry had put out the fire without even looking up from his book. Lupin was bragging about
Harry's quick grasp of the Patronus charm to someone Hermione didn't recognize. The Weasley
twins were telling a couple of very impressed looking girls that Harry was their beneficiary;
having given them the seed money for their joke shop, “always liked a good laugh,” Fred recounted.
Hermione rolled her eyes, those two never stayed sad for long when there was a pretty girl in the
picture.

She was halfway across the room when she heard her friend Ginny calling out to her. Hermione
stopped and turned in the direction the voice had been calling from. Ginny was making her way
across the room, her boyfriend Draco following close behind her, a heavily laden plate in her hand.
“Did you're mother send that?” Hermione questioned as Ginny moved closer, pointing to the
plate.

“Of course,” she confirmed, “she's worried you won't have eaten today, what with
everything going on.”

“I haven't,” Hermione admitted, “but I'm not hungry.”

“You have to -” Ginny began.

“Eat,” Hermione finished for her as Ginny came to a stop in front of Hermione, “yes I know. But
I can't help it that I'm not hungry and I'm tired of forcing myself to eat to make your
mother happy.”

Ginny shrugged, “Mum's just worried about you. This has been the hardest on you, we all know
that. She's just trying to take care of you.”

“I know,” Hermione said understandingly, “it's just…the thought of food is making me
nauseous today.”

“Fine,” Ginny relented, passing the plate back to Draco who in turn put it on the empty drinks
tray of a passing server, “but promise me you'll eat the second this has passed.”

“I swear,” Hermione assured her, holding up her hand in mock pledge.

“You know, your speech was really touching Hermione,” Ginny appraised, “I could tell it came
straight from your heart and speeches like that are always best when they're given off the
cuff.”

Draco nodded in agreement behinds her, “Really it was; it was obvious how much you loved
him.”

“Thank you, I know you spoke too, but I didn't really take it in, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” he insisted, “it's entirely understandable that you're mind was
somewhere else.” Hermione smiled thankfully, marveling, yet again, in the change one-year had
wrought in Draco. A year ago he would be sneering at her, calling her a mudblood, and laughing at
her misfortune behind her back. This was indeed a changed man who stood before her.

“Ginny!” Molly's voice suddenly called from the next room, “did you give her the food!”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “the woman has absolutely no subtlety. You'd better go though, before
she tries to sniff your breath or do some other ridicules thing to be sure you've eaten.”

Hermione smiled gratefully and walked away, quickly disappearing within the crowd. Not long
after she heard Molly berating Ginny for not forcing Hermione to eat. Ginny's only response was
“I'm not her Mum; I can't *make* her do anything.”

Deciding outside was probably the only place Molly wouldn't go looking for her Hermione
quickly made her way to the front door, only to find that she wasn't the alone in thinking that
being outside was a good idea. Lupin was sitting on a small bench under the front window of the
inn, staring down at his shoes. He looked up when he heard the door closing behind Hermione.

He smiled at her, apparently glad to see her, “I was hoping I'd get a chance to speak to
you,” he said motioning for her to join him.

“Really?” She questioned, walking over to the bench and sitting beside him.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I wanted to complement you on the fine job you've done with all
this.”

“Thank you,” she said a bit disappointedly. For some reason she'd expected him to say
something more then that, though she wasn't sure what more he could say.

“They would have loved you Hermione,” he said looking up at darkening sky. It was just after
dusk and a handful of stars had come out to sparkle around the half moon.

“What?” She asked, “Who?”

“James and Lily,” he explained looking over at her, though he was sure that she must know who he
was talking about, “They would have loved you, welcomed you into their family with open arms. Lily
would be especially proud that her son had found such a smart woman. And James, well James would
have loved your spirit.”

“You think?”

“Oh yes,” he assured her, “you would have fit right in with them, though James would be very
surprised that his son hadn't fallen for a redhead.”

“He did once,” Hermione reminded him, for there had been a short time when Harry had dated Ginny
and the two of them had been very happy, “so did I, for that matter.” One of her greatest
insecurities in her relationship with Harry was the flame he'd once held for the youngest
Weasley.

He laughed, “The Weasley's do seem to have a charm to them, don't they? But I seem to
recall Harry telling me that he chose not to be with Ginny because of the war and yet, despite the
war going on all around you, he couldn't resist being with you.” Hermione smiled, she'd
never thought of it that way, but that was very true. “So how are you holding up? Not good I'd
imagine, I wasn't nearly as close to him as you were and I'm not good.”

“I'm a wreck, but I'm still here, so that must mean something.”

“It must,” he agreed, reaching out to pat her encouragingly on the back.

“Professor,” Hermione started, but he cut her off.

“Call me Remus,” he insisted, “I've not been your professor for years.”

“All right, Remus,” she said fidgeting her foot uncomfortably. She would never get over the fact
that she now knew most of her professors on a personal level, it was part of growing up in the
circumstances she did, but it still felt strange addressing them so informally. “I wanted to ask
you -” but she was cut off again by Tonks sticking her head out the door.

“Remus,” she started, then seeing Hermione smiled and said, “oh hello Hermione, Molly's been
looking everywhere for you.”

“I know that's why I hid out here.”

“I would,” Tonks agreed, “but I came out to get Remus. You're needed inside a minute.”

“Right Nymph, I'm coming,” Remus said, pulling himself off the bench, “You going to stay out
here Hermione?”

“Yes, just a few minutes longer.”

“You'll ask me that question later?”

“Of course,” she assured him, smiling after him and Tonks as they disappeared through the door.
Her smile lingered while she thought of what Remus had told her about James and Lily. If they'd
been alive she was sure she would have wanted nothing more then to please them and it was good to
hear from their best friend that she would have. But her smile quickly slipped away as she thought
of the fact that they were dead, and so now was the son they'd died trying to protect. It was
such a sad story, though she supposed, in a way, she would be their stories happy ending. She'd
go on and make sure everyone knew what unfailingly kind people had given their lives for each other
and the entire wizarding world.

Looking back into the inn through it's large front window she saw people laughing and
talking inside, she didn't feel like joining them. She wanted to be near Harry, she had things
she still needed to say to him, so she rose off the bench and started down the dirt road. No one
would notice she was gone, she was sure she wouldn't be long enough for that. There were just a
few more things she wanted to tell him and she had to tell him in person.

The village was much quieter now, the shops mostly closed for the night. There was one pub open
and cheery music floated out through the door whenever someone when in or came out. The homes even
seemed to be settled for the night. She could see happy families through the windows, not one of
them looking up as she passed and she was glad of that. It was nice not to be on display.

Luckily for her the small village didn't feel the need to lock it's cemetery gates. As a
Witch she would be perfectly capable of opening them if they had been locked, but she liked it
better this way. It felt less like doing something illegal with the gates unlocked.

The Potter graves were near the back of the cemetery. Harry's had already been filled in,
covered by fresh patches of grass, lying thick over the recently disturbed dirt. She said very
polite hellos to the tombstones of his parents, as if they'd been standing there watching her,
and made her way over to Harry. “Hello love,” she started quietly, “I know I was just here, but
there's something I had to tell you. Something I couldn't tell you with everyone else
around - even though most of them already know.

“If Ron's right about you watching over me you've probably already guessed what I'm
going to tell you, but I still feel like I should say it. I'm pregnant Harry. Not very far
along about six weeks, well seven know, I only found out the day of the final battle. I'm sorry
Harry, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just couldn't let you go into that
fight without me and I knew you wouldn't have wanted me to go if you'd known.” She
dissolved quickly into tears again, her face falling into her cupped hands as she sank down to her
knees.

Heavy droplets fell into her hands, trickling down her wrist and between her fingers. She'd
cried like this when Harry died. She'd never wanted to feel this sad again, but she
couldn't stop herself, she couldn't stop the tears or the pain that they brought. The wind
suddenly surged up around her and she was sure she felt Harry's touch riding along it, making
her cry harder still. “Maybe if you'd known you would have been more careful. Maybe if there
was a reason for you to come out of it you would have tried harder to.”

“You were more then reason enough,” Ron's voice said from a few steps behind her. She
turned, her red face coming up out of her hands to see him step forward, offering a hand to help
her up. She took it, her grip weakened by her tear soaked hands. “Hermione, he did everything in
his power to live. He wanted to live, for you, for me, for my mum, for his parents, for everyone he
knew.”

“I feel like I could have done more for him,” she admitted, tears still streaming down her face
as she fixed her gaze on the tombstone in front of her. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it
over her shoulders to keep them from shaking, though he quickly realized that the shaking had
nothing to do with being cold.

“You couldn't have, none of us could,” he assured her.

“Why did you come looking for me?” She asked when she'd gotten a bit more control over her
sobs.

“Lu - Remus came in to read Harry's will and he said you'd stayed outside. You were
already gone by the time I got out there so I figured you'd be here.”

“Smart, did he read it without me?”

“I told him to, I was there when Harry wrote it up so I can tell you. He left you everything,
with the exception of his Firebolt, he figured you would get much use out of that so he left it to
me.”

“Oh no, all his things are mine now, how am I to look at any of it and not think of him?” She
asked, looking up from the headstone for the first time.

He shrugged, “I don't know, but let me tell you what everything entails. There's his
money of course, everything in his trunk, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and the land that his
parents owned here in Godric Hollow, which we only recently discovered he owned.”

“I don't want it!” She insisted quickly, “I don't want any of it!”

“Well you can sell number twelve, that's easy enough, you can sell the land here too, if you
want, and I suppose I could take the trunk if you can't stand to see it, but the money is
yours.”

“Ron,” she started, “what am I going to do about the baby? I'm only eighteen, I'm not
married -”

“We could get married,” he offered, “if that's really a worry of yours. I mean I know you
don't feel that way about me, and I don't feel that way about you, but if you're
worried about what people would say we could do that.”

“No,” she dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand. He didn't want to marry her and
she's hate to take him from his happiness with Luna, no matter how sweet his offer was
she's have to turn it down. “People would still talk. This baby is bound to have black hair,
and really a black heard baby born to a Weasley, no one would believe that. Besides, that's not
really what I'm worried about. I just don't know how I'm going to do this alone.”

“You won't be alone Hermione,” he assured her, wrapping one arm over her shoulders and
turning her around, “we may have lost Harry, but we still have each other. I'll help you and
you'll help me and we'll get through it, together, because we have to. Now come on,” he
insisted steering her towards the cemetery gates, “Mum's just dieing to force some sort of cake
on you.”

“Is it just me,” she asked, “or is your mother getting *worse* as we get older.”

Ron snorted, “It's not just you,” he promised, shaking his head. She laughed, for just a
moment, as the summer wind wrapped around them, and Hermione knew in that moment that she'd
never really be without Harry, as long as she loved him.

**AN:** I debated a long time about posting this story, hell even writing this story because
it's sad and I didn't know how many people would want to read about Harry's death, but
the idea just wouldn't go away and every time I heard the song images from the story would
bombard my senses so I decided to so it and if no one ever reads it that's just fine, I just
need to get it out there. And just in case you've never heard the song the lyrics are as
follows:

When the hour is upon us

And our beauty surely gone

No, you will not be forgotten

No, you will not be alone

And when the day has all but ended

And our echo starts to fade

No you will not be alone then

And you will not be afraid

No you will not be afraid

When the fog has finally lifted

From my cold and tired brow

No I will not leave you crying

And I will not let you down

No I will not let you down

I will not let you down

Now comes the night

Feel it fading away

And the soul underneath

Is it all that remains

So just slide over here

Leave your fear in the fray

Let us hold to each other

Till the end of our days

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