Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter that would be J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This came to me while I was having writer's block regarding another story. I'm very much in denial about Book 7, so I haven't read it. Hate to tell you all this, but I think that the ending will be too happy…at least I know that the trio lived which isn't very powerful. Ah, well the point is, this is the after the last battle where both Harry and Voldemort died and stayed that way.
They laid her to rest beside The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-She-Was-Supposed-To-Love.
They found her cold in a tub filled with rust-colored water.
They consoled each other, saying she was with their Savior.
They would never know.
They would never learn that it wasn't Harry whom she had mourned as she slit her wrists, her thighs, her throat. No, it hadn't been who it was supposed to be.
They would never know, that on the day the wands grew cold, she had cried tears for him, and him alone.
He had changed her, irrevocably. But no one understood that truth. They still saw the bright eyed child who was in love with Harry Potter. Even in death she couldn't escape that embarrassing mistake. Oh, Harry was good enough, a friend. But it wasn't for him that she wept. No. Her tears were for a man who had never had such a blessing.
They said his name as a curse, in fear, in anger, in hatred. From her lips it was a prayer, a plea, and a lover's caress.
Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort.
It was she who had shoved aside the death eaters surrounding their dead master, to sink down beside him, and give him one last dignity. It was she who had straightened his robes and slipped her fingers over his eyelids, closing them.
It was she that organized his funeral. It was only she who attended. It was only she who the minister called forth to toss the first handful of dirt across his black death-box.
They would never know that the tears shed upon his grave were the promise to follow him.
They could never understand how brilliant he had been.
They could never see past their own pain into his.
They laid her to rest beside The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-She-Was-Supposed-To-Love.
They found her cold and dead.
They found her alone.
They found her broken.
They found her smiling, the tears on her cheeks still wet.
Ginevra Molly Weasley had gone, gone to find her Tom. Gone to find some peace, some love, some truth.
And the words not written upon her tomb echoed in the minister's heart when he laid her to rest beside The-Boy-She Didn't-Love and not The-Man-She-Loved.
Ginevra Molly Weasley, she who found goodness where even God failed to.
-The End-
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