A/N This is my first attempt at a FF so any reviews would be greatly appreciated! Also, this story mentions a terrible illness; dementia. If you or anyone you know suffers from this, there is help out there, so please don't hesitate to find it.
BPFC
"Ginny!" Hermione called happily as she stepped out of the green flames and was greeted by a hug from her sister-in-law.
The slightly shorter woman held her tightly and brightly said, "Hermione, I'm so glad you're here!" But there was something in the younger woman's voice that put her on edge; she could almost imagine her at thirteen, cheerfully saying that she didn't mind that Harry hadn't asked her to the Yule Ball, whilst her eyes looked devastated. It was Ginny Potter's lying voice.
"How is everything?" She asked tentatively. "How's he doing today?"
Ginny sighed. "It's getting even worse. It's hardest on the kids, most days he doesn't even recognise them. I'm really happy you've come though, you visiting always cheers him up." As she talked she hooked an arm in a sisterly way through Hermione's and they walked up the stairs to a bedroom that was all too well known by this point. "Can I get you a drink or anything?"
She shook her head, thanking her as her friend opened the door, before hearing one of her favourite voices in the world call out. "Hermione! I've missed you, it's been ages!"
She gave a small smile and moved to sit on the chair she had spent so many hours in over the past few months. "I was here a few days ago, Harry." She said gently.
He snorted in an oh so familiar way, and all of a sudden, in her mind, they were back at Hogwarts, and he and Ron were scoffing at her attempts to tell them Quidditch didn't matter as much as homework. "I think I'd remember if I'd seen one of my best friends a few days ago." He picked up her hand and squeezed it in gentle affection. "I missed you, you know."
She placed her own, smaller hand over his and gave him an endearing look. "I know Harry, I've missed you too."
"Where's Ron?" He asked suddenly. "Why isn't he here?"
Ginny's quiet voice came from behind her. "Ron's gone, love. He's been gone for a few years now, remember?"
His voice was puzzled. "Gone? Ah well, he'll be back."
He's not coming back," Hermione ducked her head to hide her swiftly moistening eyes, "he's gone."
He grabbed her other hand and held her tightly. She didn't need to see the earnest look in his face, it was prominent when he spoke. "He will come back, you'll see! It was just the locket that made him leave, it wasn't him at all, you know how evil that thing is. That's why we have to find the sword..." His grasp left hers and he started muttering under his breath. "Locket... Cup... Snake... Something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's... The sword..."
Ginny leant down and, placing her hand on Hermione's shoulder, whispered, "I'll give you two a moment." Not bothering to turn, she murmured a thanks and goodbye.
She sat there for a fair few minutes, listening to his quiet listing until it ran out, and then merely sitting in silence. "Hermione!" He suddenly called, "Merlin, I must have dozed off! How long have you been there? I've missed you!"
She chuckled slightly, but without any mirth. "I've not been here for long, don't worry."
"Where's Ginny? She's overworking herself you know, I wish she'd stop flying. This is our first pregnancy!"
She rubbed his arm reassuringly. "Ginny's fine, everyone's fine."
Instinctively she smoothed his sheets down, and heard him give a hearty laugh. "I'm surprised you didn't have your nose in a book while I was asleep!"
Her brow creased slightly. "I don't read anymore Harry, you know that."
"Nonsense. You're Hermione Granger, you always read!"
"I did, didn't I?" She whispered, before grinning. "Granger, resident know-it-all and bookworm!"
They burst into hysterical giggles, but she quickly sobered and felt tears well up in her eyes as she thought of happier times. Her old friend, misinterpreting her tears, tutted slightly. "Come on, we all know you're more than just that!"
"Thanks Harry."
They fell into an easy silence, but it was broken by Ginny's re-entrance, bearing a tray of food for her husband. After some gentle coaxing, he began to eat as Hermione excused herself for a glass of water. As the door clicked quietly closed, she was immediately accosted by her god-daughter and nephews, all close to their seventies now. "Hermione, how's dad?" Albus asked her quietly as he helped her down the stairs. She turned her head in his direction and gave a weak smile, but didn't answer. They grabbed a drink for her and placed it in her hand, holding her steady when the arthritis in her hand shook violently. "You're wonderful people, you three." She told them, hating how weak her once bossy voice sounded. "You remind me of your dad, Uncle Ron and I a little." She reached out to grab their hands and gave them a watery smile. "Though Lily, you have much more of your Uncle and Albus has more of me. James, you're just the spit of your father." Tears ran freely down her cheeks now. "The Golden Trio." She breathed, remembering every battle, every argument, every celebration.
But that was all over now. Though most wizards and witches lived to great long age, some even older than the late Dumbledore, the war seemed to have caught up with the public's favourite heroes as they neared their nineties. Old remnants of curses and countless injuries and accidents were afflicting their bodies in ways they couldn't have even begun to imagine, no doubt aided by the months of long exposure to the locket horcrux; dark magic always left marks. It had begun with Ron, her dear darling husband Ron, who had died five years earlier; a sudden death, but a mercifully peaceful one. Shortly after, Harry had begun to show the first signs of dementia, sometimes completely forgetting where he was or what he was doing. At first he had tried to joke about it, saying he'd taken one too many Kadavra's to the head, but now he was at the point where he recognised next to no one, and stared into space for hours on end. Ginny had described the first time he had forgotten his children to her with a wobbly voice, and had since asked her to visit every few days, as he apparently looked most peaceful when she was there. She couldn't see this look herself, however, as her eyesight had slowly begun to fade, and she was now completely blind, as well as suffering from other old injuries that refused to leave her alone. She found it bitterly ironic that she, the bookworm, would never be able to read again, and was often found in her favourite armchair, her battered copy of Hogwarts: A History open on her lap, stroking the pages and crying. But it was times like these, today, when she missed her sight most, for what she wouldn't give to see her old friend again, though his hair had turned grey, his body was weak, and even years ago his bright green eyes were starting to dim. She feared that he had little time left in this world, and was sure she did not have long either.
She sighed sadly; the Golden Trio was finished. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Harry and Ginny's grandchildren called through to their parents to help with the mass of Potter great-grandchildren, and she felt slightly mollified with the thought of the lives they had all created, the families they had made, including her own extensive clan courtesy of Rose and Hugo. She sat alone for a while, trying to still her hand long enough to take a sip and listening contently to the sounds of children and siblings talking and arguing next door, before Ginny announced she had returned with a small cough, telling her that Harry wanted to see her again. Though only a year younger than them, Hermione had been pleased to find that she didn't suffer the same afflictions as they had, and had aged in the much more traditionally magical way, leaving her sprightly and energetic despite reaching her ninth decade. This being the case, her best female friend for many long years now easily helped her back up the stairs and settled her into the same chair as before, handing her a potion to stop the shaking in her wrists. She smiled gratefully and felt Ginny kiss her cheek before she walked away. Hermione spent a few moments remembering trying to explain dementia to the woman, and many more times apologising that it was Hermione's company her husband frequently asked for. But all credit to the woman, she had taken it all in her stride and even confided in her last week that she suspected she would lose her love soon. Her face had been wet as she hugged her older friend but her voice strong and steady, as she had murmured, "I know it'll be the old war wounds that take him in the end, but in some ways he's already gone. The dementia may not have stopped his heart beating, but it stopped him being Harry, and he would've hated being like this. I think I've come to terms with the fact that he's going to really leave soon; all he ever really wanted was a family of his own and a peaceful life, and we gave him that." She had suddenly choked up. "I just hope it's peaceful when it happens, like with Ron." They had embraced one another for a long time after that, and from the way the youngest ex-Weasley clung to her, she had had the feeling that it wasn't only Harry's death she felt was imminent.
"Hermione," Harry's voice was soft, "will you tell me the story again, my favourite one?"
He sounded so calm, so relaxed, that she felt her eyes heat up and her throat tighten. She gave out what was supposed to be a chuckle, but sounded more like a watery gargle as she choked out, "You really like that story, huh?"
She felt his hand hold hers and for a moment imagined that neither were old and wrinkled, but young and fresh, the hands that she had used to fix his broken glasses and he had used to ride a broom in their first year. "It's got a lot of hard times, but the main guy has awesome friends, and it all turns out all right in the end." He squeezed her hand. "I'm so glad you're my friend Hermione."
She swallowed a few times. "Don't forget the main guy himself, he's completely fantastic. I couldn't imagine having a better friend than you Harry."
His spare hand moved up to wipe the tears that were falling down her cheeks, and she clumsily moved her hand to find his face, finding it soaked too, and stroked his hair like she used to when they were on the run and he had a nightmare. For the first time since she had entered the room, his voice wavered and she could hear the barely concealed sobbing behind it. "But he did it, in the end, didn't he? He made everyone proud; his family, his friends, everyone, right?"
The insecurity in his voice, making him sound like the eleven year old she'd first met, broke what little resolve she had left, and she threw herself in his direction, finding his shoulder and burying her head in it as he did the same to her. When she had calmed enough to breathe in more than heaving gasps, she brushed a light kiss on his cheek, the salty tang of tears lingering on her lips, and sat up with a warm, if somewhat broken, smile on her face, returning to stroking his hair soothingly. "Yeah. He did it Harry. He saved everyone, made everyone proud of him, then had a happy, peaceful life with a huge family." She could see his radiant smile in her minds eye; when they won the House Cup, the Quidditch Cup, the War. When he finally married the love of his life, held his babies in his arms for the first time, cried with pride as they all graduated his old school. The times he embraced Sirius, the tearful joy as his now grown-up children married, the countless number of laughs he had with her and Ron. Though she could not see anyway, she kept her lids closed, determined to keep these memories with her forever.
Now half-sitting on the bed, she took a deep breath and started the story she had told so many times. "It all began..." His laboured breathing slowly calmed into normal breaths, then became even slower and deeper as he fell asleep. She didn't stop speaking, nor did she stop recalling countless happy times between them whilst stroking his hair gently, even when her enhanced hearing found nothing but silence from his body. There were no lightning storms or blazing fires or people screaming, but The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, The Chosen One, but most importantly her best friend, Harry Potter, was at peace. She continued the story and her memories as she curled up to his now forever motionless body, weeping out her loss. But she didn't tell the end. She never did.
Despite Ginny's words of Gryffindor courage the week before, when she opened the door and found her husband lying still, Hermione weeping over his body, she gave a moan of pure anguish and collapsed on the bed next to her love and broke apart in waves upon waves of torment and agony. Hermione helped as best she could, but in the end the two woman merely ended up sobbing despairingly on one another's shoulders, too distraught to form any words. Ginny only managed to hoarsely ask if it was peaceful, to which she had nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It could have been ten minutes or ten years later that she heard a tentative knock on the door, followed by the collective cries of the three eldest Potter children, now fatherless. Realising that the family should be left alone to their grief, she stood on shaky legs and managed to maneuver herself to the downstairs fireplace. Was it only this morning that she had stepped out of the green flames to stand in this very spot? Trying her best to compose herself, knowing that her children would need her support, she shuddered one last heavy breath, before flooing to the place she now called home.
After Ron's death and her following eyesight issues, Rose had insisted that she move into her small cottage, and though Hermione had no idea of the time, she didn't doubt that her daughter would be writing for her return, as she did every time she went to visit her Uncle Harry. What she hadn't expected, however, was to step into the kitchen and hear the sounds of what seemed to be her entire family, great-grandchildren and all. There were twenty of her kin, she remembered; her two children, five grandchildren and thirteen great. Though she usually cherished family get togethers, she had to hope for once that they were merely passing through, so that she could retire to bed and expel the rest of her distress. This was not to be the case, however, as she heard Hugo yelling, asking if it was her and jubilating that everyone had come together for a spontaneous picnic, and had decided to stay a while after. She pulled out a seat and sighed heavily, wishing that she could see in a mirror and attempt to make herself more presentable; Merlin only knew what she looked like right now.
"Mum!" She heard Rose enter through the door behind her and mentally steeled herself to be the bearer of terrible news. "Hugo said he heard the floo, how was-Mum, what's wrong?!" She had obviously moved around the table and could see the state her old, battered and exhausted mother was in. "Is it .. Is it Harry?" She asked quietly, and at the mention of his name tears ran once more unbidden from her unseeing eyes.
"He's gone, Rosie. He's moved on." She choked out, and immediately felt her daughter's arms wrap around her tightly, protectively. Hugo entered a few moments later and, after Rose swiftly explained what had happened, joined his sister in supporting her. They all cried for a while, before the two excused themselves to tell their own children the awful news. It swept through the house like Garrotting Gas, invisible but oh so noticeable, as her grandchildren went on to tell their own children, and the small cottage which had, minutes ago, been ringing with laughter now seemed empty, despite the mass of bodies within. Rosie's eldest daughter, Liz, came into the kitchen to find Hermione and offered to make her a cup of tea in an awkward voice, knowing that a simple hot drink wouldn't be able to change anything, but she accepted gratefully, before making her way to her favourite armchair by the fire. It was an exact replica of one of the ones in the Gryffindor common room that she, Ron and Harry used to claim, and as she leant back she could almost imagine she was there, falling asleep doing homework in the dead of night. Liz returned with her drink and she sipped it slowly, letting its soothing warmth permeate her frozen body.
It was about now that she sensed that there were multiple other people in the room with her, and she looked around, frowning and tilting her head to the side. "Everything all right?" She called to the room in general, and recognised the voice of the youngest in the family, named Hermione in her honour.
"Grandmama," her little eight year old voice called out, "will you tell us Harry's favourite story again?"
It seemed that all the young ones were there as there was a sudden myriad of 'leave Grandmama alone's and 'she needs some peace's, but she silenced them with a raise of her hand. "You all want to hear it?" Thirteen calls of yes ran through the room and, though she felt shattered, she decided that her last few weeks alive would be spent here, with those she loved. She tapped her knee and little Hermione jumped up to sit on her namesake, who gave a small smile and, for the second time that day, told the greatest story of the century. "It all began with a boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs, and his name was Harry Potter."
Though they had all heard it countless times, they still all gasped and ahhed, even, she heard, some of the parents. She ended the story where she always did; on Platform 9 3/4 as Harry says goodbye to Albus and the children all clapped happily. All, that is, except Hermione junior. "Why do you never properly tell an ending? What happens to Harry after that? I mean, isn't he... What happens after he... Why isn't there an end?" She smiled at the small child on her lap, imagining her frown and determined look, and wanting to grin at the image of herself in miniature. Then she thought about all the things she would miss when her own scars took her from this life, and wondered if perhaps the Golden Trio would find one another again in whatever world came after this. But the more she wondered, the more she was sure they would, somehow, and equally sure that by some means or another they would end up yet again in trouble, and yet again they would come out of the other side; battered, exhausted, but together, victorious.
And so leaning back in the plush red armchair, smiling a secret smile, she breathed in satisfaction, finally come to terms with the deaths that had haunted her for years, and said, "Because there is no ending." She thought of all those they had lost, of Sirius and Remus, the unsung hero Severus Snape, and dear little Colin Creevey. Then she thought of Ron and Harry, and smiled wider. "You know, a wise man once said, that to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."