Not Anymore
The gravel crunched under her feet as she solemnly trod across. Even the air of the cemetery seemed to be thick with remorse; the roses in her hand seemed to wilt in defeat.
Eyes followed her every routed step, some friendly, others sympathetic, others dripping with scrutiny. She didn't care—not anymore.
They probably thought her cold, heartless fore her eyes held no traces of unshed tears. She never cried, though—not anymore. One can only experience so much sorrow before the age of twenty before their tear ducts ran dry.
And, oh, the grief she'd seen. Her haunted eyes told the stories of so many deceased. Harry Potter—granted his life as a youth out of love, he was torn to shreds in the final battle trying to save her. A monument, in his name, stood at the gates of Hogwarts for all to see. One of the greatest men that ever lived, demeaned to cold stone.
Ron Weasley—the first of four Weasley's to have given their lives for the cause, he survived the battle, only to kill himself in the days that followed.
Ginny, Bill, and Arthur Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, Luna Lovegood and the list went on. She didn't think about them, though—not anymore. Why think about something that causes such pain?
The most painful demise of all was the most unlikely. Her path finally wound down as she solitarily made her way to a small, average tombstone. It read:
Here lies Severus Snape, devoted husband to Hermione Granger
and valuable ally to the Order of the Phoenix.
It has been said that death is not the end;
It is simply the next great adventure.
She nearly laughed at how ridiculous Severus would deem the quote that was engraved beneath his status. She had not picked it—Remus Lupin had considered it appropriate. She didn't laugh, though—not anymore.
She silently knelt and placed the three blood-red roses at the foot of the stone. Mourning him like this would have made him go crazy—he'd always said the world was better off without him. Of course, she begged to differ, but he'd always made her promise he'd have one of those funerals that onlookers would think was a festival. He'd want her to move on, and sleep with ease at night, knowing that he loved her and they'd done everything possible. She rarely slept, though—not anymore.