Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's note:

Thank you for your replies…They mean a lot to me and encourage me to write even when things are hectic. Special thanks to my beat reader-Katie-who puts up with my grammar errors and makes lemonade out of my rotten lemons :} :}

Disclaimer: If I haven't said this already. I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: This chapter contains horrific memories from Harry's past. So…be warned . ( I have upped the rating just to be on the safe side)

Also…I have mentioned the subject of terrorism and would be dealing with it down the track. I do not condone it nor agree with it so this subject would be discussed very lightly…if I do step out of bounds…please let me know as I know this is a very hot and taboo subject. ( I study politics so, every day, I learn about the senate, security in Asia pacific region, foreign relations and the impact of terrorism. I just wanted to warn everyone…..and let everyone know that I aim to tread lightly.)

Sincerely

Rachel

Chapter five

Hermione's funeral

He stood still as his friend, Ron, slumped against his legs, curled on the trimmed grass. He let out a strangled moan as a shiny brown casket was carried closer and closer to the open grave in front of them.He stood still.The casket was hand made and varnished, making the wood seem watery and opaque. An array of fresh roses, daises and lilies covered the top and loose petals fell, leaving a small trail in its wake, painting the dark grass in red, white, and yellow petals. The casket was floating in the air waist length, so he could see the dark engravings, its long deep grooves stood out among the bright pastel and crystal like flowers. Ancient runes, he thought. More importantly, the runes were a part of a spell to prevent someone from becoming an inferi. Voldermort could raise as many dead bodies for his army as he liked, just not this one.

He could hear the clicking sound of cameras flashing, like canons, each light was brighter than the next. He looked away; eyes firmly on the ground and remained standing. He didn't move, nor speak, only breathed in and out as Ron lay head down in the grass, crying. The press heartily drank up the scene and zoomed in on Ron's broken appearance.
Ginny was the perfect actress. Her beautiful Sunkist hair flowed around her sobbing shoulders, her cherub face flushed, making the velvet black dress bright. She mourned as a mother losing her child, her arms stretched out and was a hair's breath from the casket as if in a final farewell. The casket lowered, and sunk deep into the dark earth. Dirt was thrown over in even clumps as mourners, strangers and press threw flowers into the grave.
He stood still and tightened his grip on the azure scarf tied around his wrist, dangling like a you-you in the wind he rubbed the soft material between his forefingers and bit his lower lip to keep himself from falling down.

He woke up, choking back a sob. Quickly, he rubbed his wet eyes and looked at the rising sun. He remembered that day all too well.

_ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ __ _

He tried not looking at the small mound of white on top of the table; he didn't want to think of her underneath the heavy white cloth. The smell of death lingered, slowly choking him with its stale aroma. Why did Remus bring him inside the morgue? He must know that of all places Harry didn't...did something happen or….
Remus turned and looked down at Harry, his face grief-stricken and raw from crying. He had something concealed underneath his black robes. Before Harry could ask Remus began speaking in a soft voice, as if he was explaining to a child about the facts of life. Harry didn't have enough energy to complain.
"I know that you may think I am unkind in bringing you here" Remus sighed. "Of all places but we have a tight window. Please listen to what I have to say".
Harry nodded, his left hand in his pocket, touching the blue scarf inside and felt his nausea subside but he still couldn't, no, wouldn't look over at the small white mound. Instead, he focused his gaze on Remus and prayed that he wouldn't lose his resolve.
"You know that Voldermort is making his death army using inferi and that the only way to prevent this is by a spell."
No, he didn't know. Hermione would know-she knew everything. In fact, he half expected her to walk in right now, a knowing smile on her face and an explanation, but no, that would not happen. She died in his arms and there was no fantasy, no drug or spell that could wipe her frightened eyes from his memories.
"Remus, why…"
"In order to prevent Hermione from being used as Voldermort's pawn, we must sever each limb from the body."

He felt his stomach churn, he quickly ran to the fresher before vomiting in the closest cubicle. He gripped the sides with his hands and forced his body to calm down but all he could feel were the slow agonizing waves inside him move before he vomited for the second time.

Slowly Remus revealed an elongated wooden-handled axe from underneath his robes. It looked like Death's scythe but without the long nail like-claw. The axe-head had Celtic engravings on the sharp tip. There was no blood and it had a fine shine as if it had been recently sharpened.
"You must sever the limbs, arms, and neck from the body..."
Harry couldn't believe the bull coming from Remus's mouth. He sounded clinical now, as if it was his job, chopping limbs off loved ones. The axe felt hard but smooth in Harry's trembling fingers. It was also heavy so it took most of his upper strength to keep it waist length.
"How can you expect me to…?"
"It must be you Harry. You know that Voldemort's spies are everywhere. We can not trust anyone."
"But what about Arthur or Tonks…"
"I had to do this once Harry...for her sake, make sure her body is safe and lies in her grave untouched."
Untouched. Oh the irony of that word.
Remus walked over to stand at the foot of the table, and then briskly removed the white cloth and tossed it to the floor.
He tried looking away but his eyes were frozen upon her pale lifeless body, thick purple marks marred her hips, forearms and shoulders.
"I have made the markings so it will be a clean cut."
He listened to the loud scratching noises the axe made as he dragged it with him, it echoed off the darkened walls, highlighting the deafening quietness afterwards.
After a few moments of looking into Remus's reserved manner he calmly said.
"Raise the axe..."
--------------------------------------

Harry drowned out his barked-sobs with the loud flushing of the toilet.
He showered and trudged back to his dorm to change. He never forgave Remus after that night. He hated himself for doing it and didn't know how he had the energy or the ability to do it but back then he felt nothing and everything felt delayed, discarded and dejected.

It was a Saturday morning. Harry had detention with Hagrid, he hoped it involved feeding Buckbeak and not one of his horrible slugs or some new animal that was named Muffy but had claws and three eyes.

A close friend of his, Mahir Ackmead Haseem often said that when bad memories floated back that he should remember the good times and that even in death, they remain in his heart.

Mahir was a man beyond description. He had so many official titles that often Mahir said that Capitan would just do fine when Harry first met him in 1998. It was a week after London was attacked that Remus suggested Harry should learn some muggle-combat skills. He said the training would aid him in the war against Voldemort. This was also the week after the doctors at St Mungos diagnosed him with a severe case of Shahs.
Mahir became his teacher, mentor and friend for the following six-months before he too was murdered, not by Voldermort but Ali-Mohammed, a leader of a terrorist cell in Afghanistan.

Relief flooded Harry when he saw Hermione at the breakfast table, her bushy hair peaking out from the Daily Prophet she had propped on the table. A picture of his godfather, Sirius Black covered the entire first page and caused Harry to chuckle slightly as he sat down. Sirius, as Remus put it was the theatrical one of the group.

"Morning," He mumbled. He wasn't sure if Hermione was still speaking with him after what transpired between them in the room of requirement. It wasn't as if he was down-grading her ability to find information or help but he already knew the outcome. He had no ability to use his powers-End of Story. The End.

His fellow class mates were feverish with discussion of his god father's antics and how he killed thirteen people with one curse. This, of course was not true as it was Peter, not Sirius, who killed those innocent people and if he could accomplish one thing, it would be to capture Peter with his bare hands. However, today was not the day as after breakfast he had detention. Can you hear the excitement in my voice? Harry thought mildly.

"Hermione..." He whispered. Still no movement behind the newspaper-Gosh, she can be stubborn when she wants to be.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ginny looking at him and blushing. He groaned. This is not what I need now. I need-
"Hermione, would you please..."

She wiped the paper down by her side in one fluid movement to reveal her haggard complexion, red eyes and puffy hair. She looked pissed.
"Oh Blimey! What didja do?" Ron plonked himself on Harry's left and began filling up his plate with bacon, kippers, poached eggs and pancakes. "Did that rotten animal of yours comb your hair again?"

Hermione shook her head, shaking her tears away, got up and left the breakfast table with her plate half full.
Harry turned to Ron, still piling stacks on to his plate and scoffed. He stood up and followed suit. Hearing Ron shout, "What did I do." he left the Great Hall to find Hermione in the hallway, walking with her head held high as if nothing had happened. She usually did this when she was about to cry. He stepped closer to her. "Hermione..."

She turned, almost slowly on purpose and walked towards him. "Don't you Hermione me Harry Potter, you-" she whispered harshly.
"I told you that there is no cure…" He said. There was none. Zilch. Nada. He went to every bleedin' doctor and came out with the same outcome. Zilch.
"And I told you!" She poked him in the chest. Her small hand caused his heart to flutter. Even when she was angry she was so full with life and energy that he wanted to…"if you would just listen..."

"No," Shaking his head, "You listen Hermione, I've lived two years," hoping to pound those two words home. "Two years without magic..," without you, without Ron and with many things that I would never admit to anyone. "I came back to fix things but I have…"
"You came back," She interrupted. "…therefore you still have your powers. If you just speak to Professor Dumble-"
"I'm not going to involve him Hermione." Not after the way he was murdered….. "Hermione, this must be done without anyone knowing...."
She laughed, her mouth open and flushed with warmth. Eyes dazzling with shed tears she whispered.
"Then I won't stand in your way then".