Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Death is not the worst that can happen to men.-Plato
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The cold air made her shiver, and she pulled the large overcoat around her shoulders. They shook when her sobs racked through her body, and she clutched the locket around her neck.
A hand reached to take hers, and she fell to the ground in front of the grave. She stopped crying and sat there, looking dejected and tired, not uttering a sound.
Her shoulders sagged, and she just sat there, gazing at the tombstone.
The dark-haired man above bent down to pick her up and she put her arms around her neck, and let herself be carried away.
A crow cawed in the distance, and the wind picked up once more, displacing leaves on the little hill that sat under the cold winter sun. The bells in the nearby church rang, and the girl in the man's arms raised her head to look back at the only part of her past that mattered. A branch on the tree above it waved, as if to say goodbye, one last time. But, as everyone knew, she would always come back.
Until she herself died, she would go back to his grave, and back to the man she loved.
Until her death, she would never leave the man that her soul had died for.
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"I think she's better today"
Harry lifted his head to look at his godfather. The room seemed colder than usual as the young wizard gazed at the man who had broken the girl in questions heart.
He sighed. "What makes you say that?"
He hoped that he wouldn't get an answer, and that Sirius would finally just let go of her, and his hope that she would come back from him and the dark.
"She's talking again. And cooking. She smiled at me, and she seems better. She was singing to. She really seems better."
Sirius looked earnest in his attempt, Harry had to give him that, but it wasn't enough. He knew Hermione, and it wasn't going to be a simple task to bring her out of the shell she had been living in for three years.
"And you fell for her charm, and you let her go see him again, didn't you?"
His face fell, and the older man paused, and raised his arms in defeat. "Yeah, well…"
Harry shook his head, and continued to read.
"Idiot."
Sirius shook his head as he strode out of the room. Harry looked up as his godfather walked past him, and looked back down at his book. "She's not gonna get better, Sirius. Just face it. You know I have."
Sirius whirled around at those words and glared at Harry, almost hissing, "You were the last person I thought would have given up on her, Harry! She depended on you, she still does, and you just leave her lying there for me to pick up! I'm not her father, and I'm not her caretaker, Harry, but you areher best friend. What is that supposed to mean, that you leave you best friend in the dirt?" Harry had turned red, but Sirius wasn't finished. All the emotions that he had felt about being a nurse for someone he almost didn't know were coming out, and Harry was the one who was going to take responsibility.
"Take her, Harry! Take her and make her better! Take her to his grave, take her to see Ginny and the children, take her to see Jamie and Luke, take her and make her get better! But don't make me do it, Harry, my son, because Merlin knows that you can take care of her better than I can."
Harry now had his mouth wide-open and Sirius was panting. "O-okay," Harry stuttered out.
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Hermione was sitting in her rocking chair again, whispering softly to herself when Harry came in. She looked up, and then back into her lap and folded her hands, the music of her voice fading out. He can in front of her and kneeled, taking her hands with his, saying quietly "I haven't been a very good friend lately, Hermione."
She had a choked type laugh at this statement and he could see a tear trickling down her cheek. "I'm sorry about this, I really am, but I'm here now, and we'll get better together. Hermione-"
She put one of her hands over his mouth, speaking softly, "I'm over, Harry, I'm over him. I don't need to get better, I am better. All I want to do now is to see my children. I just lost my faith in what I did for a while, that's all. No need to worry."
"I sometimes wonder if my faith is what is what is stopping me from being a better than I am now. Is believing and not believing what divides us? I sometimes think that I want my children to grow up believing in something, but at the same time, I am glad that they won't. To grow up a wizard is exceedingly different than to grow up a muggle, isn't it? What would be better? Tell me. Was it my fault he died? Did I kill him?"
She was nearly hysterical now, and tear were streaming down her face, her body wracked with sobs, that, to Harry, seemed like they would never stop. "It's not you fault, Hermione, it never was. It's not your fault that he dies. He dies for a cause that he believed in. And he's a hero because of what he did."
She looked up at him, and he almost winced at the trust that was flowing from her eyes. It was as if he was just a child and he was her older brother. "Okay," Hermione whispered. She sank off the chair and into Harry's lap, her hand dropping her arms around him. He pressed his cheek against her hair, and she sighed.
"He was a hero…"