The Funeral
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Author's note: an alternative reality story, taking all of the books into account.
Part 1. Mrs. Granger's Daughter
Harry Potter was dressed in a dark grey suit, with a crisp white shirt and black tie, as a mark of respect. It was a uniform that he was getting far too familiar with in recent years. One of the consequences of getting older, he supposed. Although his hair was now dark grey with streaks of silver, rather than its original black, the years had been relatively kind to him. Many of his friends and acquaintances, chief amongst them Molly Weasley, had been worried that his intimate connection with Voldermort would have some type of long term effect on Harry's health. Hermione, however, had always maintained that, since Voldermort had never been able to possess Harry, there would be no effect. In fact, she argued that Harry's rightful ownership of the Resurrection Stone would, if anything, make him stronger and, as usual, she appeared to be right. And so, Harry had watched stoically as many of the people that he cared about had been gradually withered by age, while he remained relatively fit and in good health.
But this funeral - her funeral - was the hardest one to take so far, because it was sudden and unexpected and because she had played such a significant role in his life. After the coffin had been lowered into the ground and people had begun to disperse, he moved away from the small knots of mourners, still talking to each other in hushed tones by the graveside, and made his way to his present vantage point, where he could survey the scene in privacy and be alone to grieve. He stood in a small, timber-framed gazebo, positioned between two large, ancient oak trees, which had clearly been erected as a place for quiet contemplation, providing an excellent view over the whole southern end of the cemetery. Harry had noticed the structure as he had walked, with the other mourners, from the cars parked near the cemetery entrance and directed his steps instinctively towards it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He hated funerals. They always made him dwell on the past and all of his old regrets came rushing back to haunt him. And he had so many.
His main regret, of course, was for the family life that had been so cruelly taken away from him that night at Godric's Hollow. However, there had been nothing that he could have done to prevent that tragedy and so it caused him less anguish than those subsequent life-changing moments where his inaction or wrong choices had led to years of bitterness and wasted opportunity. Dumbledore had always said that a person was defined by the choices that they made and although Harry had gotten many big decisions right, he knew that he had let other important opportunities slip through his fingers, due to a mixture of his own stupidity and the deceit of others.
He now knew that his own personal life had been a mirage in the years immediately following Voldermort's defeat, but he had three children, who he loved, as a result of that period. He, therefore, viewed those years with mixed emotions, while forever regretting the deception that had influenced his actions. He also now regretted that he had stood idly by while his two best friends made one disastrous decision after another. Decisions that had a marked influence on their lives and also, as it turned out, on his own. However, in his defence, he had been plagued by uncertainty during that time and his view of affairs had been distorted by influences that were almost completely out of his control. As a result, he had chosen to ignore his doubts about Ron and Hermione's developing relationship and even sought to defend them to others.
The most memorable example, and the one that he dwelt on most often, actually occurred on Hermione and Ron's wedding day and now seemed particularly poignant. At that time, he had already been married to Ginny for over a year and she was a few months pregnant with their first child. It had been a summer wedding, which, for the benefit of Hermione's family, had followed the traditional Muggle pattern, even though almost half of the invited guests were witches and wizards. After the ceremony, everyone had moved on from the church to a nearby hotel for the wedding reception, which had continued well into the night. The day had thankfully been warm and sunny and the evening was still calm with a cloudless navy sky, dotted with brilliant white pin pricks of light. Ginny had retired early to a bedroom upstairs in the hotel as the festivities began to wind down, complaining of tiredness brought on by her condition; but Harry was determined to remain until his two friends finally departed for their honeymoon.
The limousine hired to take Hermione and Ron to a nearby airport, well away from the view of the Muggle guests, from where they could apparate to their final destination, arrived close to midnight and the remaining revellers followed the couple down the broad stone steps that led to the drive, laughing and waving excitedly. Hermione had changed out of her wedding dress and was now wearing a light blue suit with knee length straight skirt that Harry approvingly noted emphasised her slim figure and the gentle curve of her waist. Her hair had been released and hung in long soft waves over her shoulders. Harry thought that she looked beautiful, but that was nothing unusual because to him she always did. Ron's spindly, long frame was draped in a well-cut dark grey suit and he was smiling happily. Many of the people gathered around the couple were unknown to him, but Luna and Neville were there, together with George, Percy, Charlie, Bill and Fleur, while others, including Molly and Arthur Weasley, shouted encouragement from the hotel doorway. Harry had been the last to step forward as the couple prepared to enter the car, clasping Ron's hand in both of his own and then hugging Hermione for what, he remembered thinking, was probably an inappropriate length of time. However, Hermione had clung to him and he couldn't bring himself to push her away. As she pressed against him, he was surprised to feel dampness on her cheek and reassured himself that she must be shedding tears of happiness, tinged with some regret that her "big day" was drawing to a close.
"Bye Harry, take care," she had whispered as she finally stepped back, turning her face away from him quickly and slipping into the back seat of the car, where Ron already sat waiting. Ron reached across to close the car door, a slight frown creasing his forehead, and Harry waved his arm limply as the car pulled away. He remained, hands pushed firmly down in his jacket pockets, gazing after the car long after it had moved through the tall iron-gate at the end of the hotel driveway and turned out of sight, while the other guests gradually faded back up the stairs to the hotel.
Although Harry knew that Ginny was waiting for him in the hotel, he was suddenly overcome with a dreadful sense of loneliness and a chill spread over him, even though the night was still warm. Harry shivered and with an effort turned back towards the hotel, his feet dragging through the loose gravel of the drive as he made his way towards the steps. Only as he started on his way up, did he become aware of a figure standing in the doorway, huddled as if against the cold, with arms folded across their torso. As he drew closer, he realised that it was Mrs. Granger, her gaze fixed past him, towards the gate. Her dark blue suit jacket was still buttoned and looked immaculate, but strands of her artificially dark brown hair were starting to become detached from the clips and combs that had previously held them firmly away from her face. Harry thought that she looked strained and he noticed the unmistakable trace of a tear running down her right cheek.
"Are you OK, Mrs. Granger?" Harry asked, moving towards her.
She continued to stare straight ahead, seeming not to have heard him.
"I just hope that she's going to be happy," Mrs. Granger sighed, rubbing the back of her hand across her damp cheek.
Harry noticed that her speech was slightly slurred and he assumed that she was feeling emotional and had drunk slightly more than she could cope with. "There's no need to worry. Hermione and Ron will be fine together," he reassured her with a confidence that he didn't really feel.
"Harry?" Mrs. Granger suddenly seemed to become aware of him and gave him a weak smile of recognition. "It's just that Hermione's father and I always had loads in common and we've been so happy," she said with a shake of her head. "Hermione and Ron are so different and they seem to bicker all of the time. Not like us at all." She sighed again. "I know they say that opposites attract, but that can't be any basis for a happy marriage, surely? Can it?" Her voice trailed off almost pleadingly.
"Look, Hermione and Ron have known each other since they were 12, so I think that they probably know what they're doing," Harry responded, but Mrs. Granger still looked doubtful.
Harry thought of his own, often tempestuous relationship with Ginny, who could never really infiltrate the closeness of his bond with Hermione and Ron and hated the fact. Even Ron sometimes felt left out of the almost psychic understanding that Harry shared with Hermione. Perhaps, Mrs. Granger was right? But then he remembered how amazed he always was at Ginny's beauty and how his stomach lurched when he held her in his arms and his doubts drifted away.
"Come on, let's go inside," Harry said, taking her arm. "It's starting to get a bit chilly out here." He pushed open the door and led her through.
In the hotel foyer, Harry let go of Mrs. Granger's arm, directing her back towards the suite where a few of the wedding guests were still loitering in small groups, reluctant to admit that an enjoyable day was finally coming to an end. "Ginny's already upstairs, so I'd better be going," he told her gently.
"Oh! My husband's sorting something out with the night porter. Don't leave me by myself," Mrs. Granger pleaded. "Come and have a drink with me," and she moved away towards the hotel bar, signalling to one of the waiters who was beginning to clear tables. "Can we have that bottle of wine over here please, oh…and two glasses as well?"
Harry felt trapped and could hardly refuse Mrs. Granger's request and so he reluctantly followed the waiter through to the bar, taking a seat across from Hermione's mother at the table she had chosen. The bar was deserted and dishevelled, with beer mats and screwed-up paper napkins dotted over the rather tired looking carpet. The shutters were down and the only drink available was the few bottles of wine left over from the reception.
"You know, I always thought that it would be you," Mrs. Granger confided as she poured two glasses of white wine from the half empty bottle. "You were the one who Hermione always talked about when she came home. We really didn't know anything about Ron until Hermione brought him back to meet us a couple of years ago."
Harry took a sip of his wine but decided to keep quiet, wondering where this conversation was heading.
"Is it true that you rescued a baby dragon together in your first year?" Mrs. Granger asked brightening. "And did you both really go for a midnight ride on a…oh, what was it called…a…a hippogriff in your third year?"
"Um…yeah, I suppose that you could put it like that," Harry replied cautiously, realising that Hermione must have given her parents a heavily edited version of events.
"And we heard all about your exploits in the Triwizard Tournament and how you and Hermione formed that club - Dumbledore's army, I think Hermione called it - when you got that horrid new headmistress in the year that you were taking your OWLs," she continued enthusiastically. She smiled inwardly, "Hermione used to talk about you a lot and so I always assumed…" Her voice trailed away, as she left her thought unfinished.
"Well, Ron was there most of the time as well," Harry responded quickly. "It was always the three of us. We were best friends."
"Umm," Mrs. Granger replied, sounding unconvinced. "Well, Hermione never really mentioned him. You were the only one that she talked about."
As Harry desperately tried to think of something more to add in support of Ron, he was glad to see Mr. Granger approaching their table from behind his wife.
"Harry! I haven't really seen much of you today. How are things?" Mr. Granger greeted him.
"Fine, thanks," Harry replied, rising from his seat. "I've just been keeping Mrs. Granger company until you returned, but I really have to be getting back to Ginny now. Sorry, but it's nice to see you both again." Harry reached across and shook Mr. Granger's outstretched hand, before starting to slowly back away.
"Thank you, Harry," said Mrs. Granger. "Oh, and Harry, Hermione always admired you. She'll listen to you. Keep an eye on her for me, will you?"
"Of course I will," Harry replied hesitantly. "Goodnight," and he turned and headed towards the elevators without looking back.
In their room, he found Ginny fast asleep, her breathing soft and regular and her beautiful, long red hair fanning out across the pillows. Harry quietly undressed and slipped into bed beside her, feeling the welcoming warmth radiating from her body. In spite of his relaxed mood, he found it difficult to sleep, his thoughts dwelling on his brief conversation with Mrs. Granger. Hermione had talked about him all of the time, she had said. That same Hermione who had always been so amazing; the cleverest and most resourceful person that he had ever known, apart from Dumbledore. The girl who had stuck by him through everything and without whose help he simply could not have survived. It gave Harry a warm feeling to think that she perhaps thought about him as much as he thought about her; something that he had never suspected.
But in the morning, once Ginny was awake, Harry inexplicably forgot about these thoughts and they didn't return to trouble him until many years later.