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.
Part 8. Harry's Regret
That brief conversation with Luna had opened Harry's eyes and he had finally understood everything that he had missed for all of those years. He had been able to look back at Hermione's actions and behaviour with a fresh insight and realise that things might not be as simple and straight forward as he had always imagined. This realisation, coupled with his own experience of "transference," had made Harry grieve for the opportunity of happiness that he had let slip by. But he had never said anything about it to her and now it was too late to make amends. Even "the boy who lived" could not cheat death for other people. Harry knew that this neglect was something that he would now have to live with and always bitterly regret.
Harry blinked his eyes to drive away the unwanted tears that were beginning to form there and refocused on the group of people still standing around at the graveside; her graveside. He could clearly make out the bright red hair of Ginny Weasley, now cut much shorter and artificially enhanced to hide the white hairs that intruded with increasing frequency. She was still slim and attractive, her slight figure emphasised in a well-fitting, knee-length, grey coat that just covered the top of high-heeled, black leather boots. A black chiffon scarf was loosely tied beneath her chin and black leather gloves hid her pale, long-fingered hands. Her bright brown eyes were still as piercing as they had been in her youth and her inviting lips were coated in a muted pink lipstick, detracting from the small lines that now radiated out from the corners of her mouth. Ginny was talking animatedly to an attentive Neville Longbottom, with Lily and Albus hovering at her shoulder. Harry had to admit that Ginny had aged extremely well and was now a far cry from that nervous, worried young woman who had confessed her deception to him all of those years ago. Neville, who had lead the resistance to Voldermort's allies at Hogwarts and suffered accordingly, was now very frail and, dressed in a baggy dark grey suit, he leaned on a cane as he listened to Ginny's words, nodding his ahead occasionally in agreement.
Thinking back, Harry could easily remember the day when this new more assertive Ginny had begun to emerge and his relationship with her had finally started to improve again. After his meeting with Luna, Harry had made a concerted effort to cut down on his trips to the Leaky Cauldron after work. He had arrived home early on the evening in question, finding to his surprise that Ginny had also been out and had only just returned. She was still in the hallway, hanging up her coat, as Harry entered through the front door.
"You're early," she greeted him warmly.
"Yeah,well…," was all that Harry could think of to say as he squeezed past Ginny, being careful not to touch, on his way towards the stairs.
"Harry!" Ginny called, stopping him with his foot already on the bottom stair.
He turned to find Ginny facing him, her eyes turned downwards and her hands clasped in front of her.
"I've…I've t-told Mum," Ginny stammered.
Harry looked puzzled.
"I've told her all about you and me; about Elfreida; Voldermort; everything."
"But Ginny, I thought that we agreed…," Harry began.
"I know," Ginny interrupted, "but everyone can see that there's something wrong between us and they are all blaming you. And that's hardly fair, is it?"
Harry frowned. "That doesn't matter Ginny. None of it has been fair really; not for you or for me."
"Harry, stop being so noble about everything," Ginny replied with an exasperated sigh. "You didn't do anything wrong. I did and I'm the one who should take the blame."
"Look Ginny…"
"No!" Ginny said fiercely. "I know that I was influenced by Voldermort but I could have done something; should have done something. How do you think that makes me feel?"
The two of them were silent for a while, both gazing at the hallway floor.
"How did she take it?" Harry asked eventually.
"Well, how do you think?" Ginny responded. "She was shocked, then angry and at first she just refused to believe me."
"So, how did you convince her?"
Ginny smiled, for the first time looking rather pleased with her self.
"I thought that Mum might need some convincing," she explained, "and so, before I confronted her, I went to the Ministry to see Greta Grubbly-Plank. She was the one who told you about Pygmy Puffs, wasn't she? George told me that he mentioned her to you."
Harry nodded.
"Well, she was a bit reluctant to discuss things at first but eventually I persuaded her that I needed some information on the misuse of Pygmy Puffs to help you with some work for the Ministry and then she became extremely forthcoming. She gave me copies of some articles that described exactly how Pygmy Puffs are thought to be used in Dark Magic and I showed them to Mum. After she had read them, she couldn't really doubt what I had said and she just burst into tears. It was awful, Harry."
"Oh, Ginny…"
"Then after a while she quietened down and we talked about Voldermort and she was able to rationalise things a bit better," Ginny continued, ignoring Harry's attempted interruption. "I think that she's going to be all right. She didn't sling me out, anyway and she said that she wants to see you. I think that she wants to apologise for thinking the worst."
"What about the others? George, Bill…all of them?" Harry asked.
"I can't tell them all, Harry. I can't face it and Mum has promised that she won't say anything. But they all like you and I think that they'll take their lead from Mum. If she comes around, then they will too."
Harry moved back into the hallway, taking Ginny's hands and pulling them towards him.
"I think that was a very brave thing that you did Ginny. Thanks."
"Brave? I don't think so. Selfish perhaps," Ginny replied, frowning. "I can't go on living like this Harry. We have to face up to the fact that things are never going to be the same between us and move on somehow. This is just the first step."
And that was how things had turned out. Harry had made his peace with Molly and the other Weasleys, with the possible exception of Percy, and he and Ginny had gradually become more relaxed around each other. They had kept the house but Harry had moved into a flat, close to the Ministry of Magic and they had eventually divorced. Harry's concerns about his relationship with his children had proved to be unfounded. James, Lily and Albus had been upset and confused by the break-up but, since their parents remained on good terms, they had gradually come to accept it. The three of them had stayed with their mother when not at Hogwarts, but Harry had always been a welcome visitor and the whole family often spent time together. Ginny seemed to regain her self-confidence once she had cleared up matters with Molly and was no longer weighed down by the guilt that she had kept hidden for so many years. She started to help George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the business blossomed again under her influence. George had welcomed her support and regained much of his old exuberance, coming up with new ideas for product lines and dreaming of plans for expansion. Later, the business had become a growing family concern with Hugo and Albus both joining after graduating from Hogwarts, while James, Lily and Rose all sought careers in the Ministry. In fact, Harry had to admit that things had turned out much better than he had any right to expect, given the way that it had all started. Now, however, with this funeral, Harry found it hard to accept that his life was going to go on without the presence of someone who had been so significant to him. A friend with whom he had always seemed to have a special connection - an understanding - that was quite unique in his experience and could never be replaced.
In spite of the sadness that he was feeling, Harry smiled as he looked over at his ex-wife, glad that the bitterness that he had experienced after finding out about Elfreida was now confined to his past. He had too many other regrets that he could now do nothing about to want to dwell on the last vestiges of Voldermort's evil plans against him.
Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear anyone approaching until he felt a gentle touch on his arm.
"So this is where you disappeared to," Hermione's familiar voice chastised him.
Harry turned to look at her. She was dressed in a loose black coat, open at the neck and was shivering slightly, as the late afternoon air grew colder. Hermione's cheeks were rosy and her bushy brown hair, streaked with grey, hung loosely to her shoulders, framing her face and curling in front of her neck. Her hands were pushed deep into her coat pockets in an effort to keep warm. She looked fragile and Harry's protective instincts were immediately aroused, as they always had been where Hermione was concerned.
"Sorry," Harry replied. "I should have told you but I'm just not very good at this sort of thing; especially when it's for someone like Luna."
"I know, Harry. You always did have a soft spot for Luna. She was quite special, wasn't she?" Hermione moved closer, slipping one of her arms under Harry's own.
Harry smiled. "You don't know how special. If it wasn't for Luna we might never have gotten together and I would probably be in a home for the terminally depressed by now."
Harry could recall that he had fretted about the revelations made by Luna in the Leaky Cauldron for many weeks and it wasn't until Spring was approaching and he and Ginny were well on the way to resolving their differences that he had finally summoned up enough courage to confront Hermione. They had hardly spoken since Ron's funeral and, when they met, Hermione always seemed uncomfortable and in a haste to end the encounter. It had been in early March when he had apparated close to Hermione's house and he remembered that it was on one of those days when winter had decided that it was not quite time to depart. A bitter chill had descended over night and a feeble sun was unable to disperse the cold, damp air that hovered between buildings and over the countryside.
Despite the unfavourable weather, Harry had found Hermione in her front garden. She was well protected against the elements, dressed in a dark blue anorak and jeans, with a black woollen scarf knotted under her chin and a black woollen bobble-hat pulled down over her ears. Her hands were encased in matching black woollen gloves and she was vigorously pruning some rose bushes with a small pair of metal-handled secateurs. She didn't appear to notice as Harry approached and stopped on the far side of the front gate.
"You could do that with a simple herbology charm you know," Harry announced to try to gain Hermione's attention.
Hermione didn't look up but continued to work methodically inwards on the bush in front of her.
"You say something like that every time that you see me doing any manual work." Her tone was not friendly. "How many times do I have to tell you that I still like to do some things the Muggle way? You of all people should understand that."
Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully and stood quietly considering his next move.
"Why are you so angry with me?" he eventually asked, but was only greeted with silence as Hermione made a particularly savage thrust with her secateurs that made Harry wince.
"You can't still be mad about that kiss, surely? I know that it was inappropriate but I've said that I'm sorry. What more do you want me to do?"
Hermione didn't answer him immediately but she stopped snipping, making an elaborate show of examining her handiwork.
After a long pause, she looked up and Harry was horrified to see that her eyes were glistening and her face was creased with anguish.
"Why did you have to do it? Everything was all right until that. Ron was so ill and you made me feel like I had let him down. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty and it keeps eating away at me. After all of this time, you had to wait until then. I'll never forgive you for that, Harry."
She looked at Harry pleadingly but shied back as he reached for the latch on the gate.
"It wasn't my fault, Hermione. I was bewitched. I would never deliberately do something to hurt you; your friendship is far too important to me. You should know that!" Harry shouted in frustration. "I couldn't help myself, that's all," he finished lamely.
Hermione paused, her look of misery replaced by a puzzled frown.
"Bewitched? How? What do you mean?" she sniffed.
"I didn't want to tell you," Harry continued, speaking more calmly now. "It's a very long and complicated story and, to be honest, it's all a bit of a mess really. I can't blame you for hating me and being confused but I don't want things to stay like this and so you have to know the truth."
He had not expected to be holding a lengthy conversation outside and was only dressed in a thin jacket. He shivered.
"It's freezing out here. I can explain everything, honestly I can, but could we at least go inside? Please…" Harry whined and, sensing his genuine remorse, Hermione had relented.
They had gone into the house in a frosty silence but, sitting in the front room and sipping tea, Hermione had been willing to listen to Harry's explanation. He had kept things brief and factual, relating the story of Ginny's entrapment by Voldermort and her use of Elfrieda to ensnare him. He had been deliberately vague about the phenomenon of transference, preferring to pretend that the after effects of bewitchment by a Pygmy Puff were random and could involve anyone who happened to be in the vicinity at the time. Hermione had listened with a mounting combination of horror and sympathy, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled piece of tissue. Whether she suspected that he had not been entirely truthful, Harry had never been quite sure. He had just been relieved that Hermione's attitude had gradually softened and the icy barrier that had been developing between them had slowly melted.
"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked, dragging Harry back to the present.
"Nothing," he lied, shaking his head. "You always warned Luna about that Erumpent horn, didn't you?"
"Yes, but she always insisted it belonged to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. She wouldn't let me take it away, even though I told her that Erumpent horns are notorious for getting more and more unstable with age. It was just unfortunate that Luna decided to polish it when she did."
Harry sighed. "Poor Luna. She was just like her mother, in that respect. I wish that we hadn't lost her - there were so many things that I never said - but I wouldn't have changed her. I just wish that I had the chance to tell her how much she meant to me and how much I owed her."
Hermione squeezed Harry's arm, her affection radiating through the simple gesture.
"That radish garland that you conjured and put by the headstone was a nice touch," Harry said.
"Well, I thought that it was just the sort of thing that Luna would have liked. Unconventional to the last and proud of it," Hermione replied, smiling.
"You know what?" Harry continued decisively. "If there is such a thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I'm going to find it for Luna and get a horn mounted somewhere in her honour."
Hermione smiled. "I'm sure that you can, if they exist that is, which seems highly unlikely to me. But in any case, you'll need to start by gathering together all of the information that has been published about them. I can help you," she said.
"What, you mean as a sort of research assistant?" Harry asked, laughing.
"No, Harry," Hermione scolded. "As your partner….as your wife. Just like I always do."
Harry smiled. "Come on. It's getting cold. Let's go home," he said.