Do not stand at my grave
and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft starlight at night
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Harry felt the words brush past him, carried in the air. He was standing silently, a lone figure upon a dark hilltop. The sun had not broken out over the earth yet. The sky was a dusky grey. Dark clouds swirling, pushed by the strong wind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting a pseudo-darkness wash over him. He had not visited the grave before. For four years no one had told him where it lay. For four years no one had told him whether it lay or not. The one person he begged to see. The only name that caused them to turn away.
I am not there, I do not sleep
The leaves of the tree next to Harry rustled and bent down low in the wind. Harry's dark, long robes flowed out in front of him slightly, as if reaching for the grey tombstone.
He remembered back to those words. Said as an oath. Not pledged out loud but simply known, an understanding of their minds. Malfoy's don't break their vows. Draco had whispered them in his ear as Harry had fallen asleep one night. Reassuring words that he would be there. That he would never leave. That he would never sleep. That he would protect Harry no matter what came their way.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
Harry's knees buckled. He couldn't stand any longer. Letting go he slumped to the ground in front of the headstone. Kneeling before it, in that reverential position, Harry felt one lone tear fall from his eye. The dry dust that was blown and eventually etched onto his face mixed with the drop, streaking down his cheek.
He had not cried for anyone. Through the war bodies fell around him. The people he loved were strewn across the battlefield, cold, worthless bodies. He had not shed one tear for any who had died. For any who had survived. Yet this one tear rolled down his cheek as he stared dead straight at the words in front of him.
He didn't deserve this. This wasn't how it was meant to end. Hate clouded his mind. He clenched his fists by his side, his head raised, facing up into the heavens.
"You promised!" He screamed into nothing. "You promised me!"
His screams mixed in with the howls of the wind. The air rose around him stronger, carrying his words, washing over the grey slab in front of him, over the hill, rising into the air, fading into the distance to be heard ages hence.
I am not there, I did not die
His fingers slowly unclenched. His head stooped, his body slumping. There was no point he told himself. Betrayal had no excuse. Loneliness is what Draco had prescribed for them both and loneliness is what Harry now had to live.
They hadn't planned it that way of course. Harry believed Draco was stronger than that. He thought wrong. The lure of power, the lure of pain, it had all overshadowed love and now this is what was left of it all.
There was no going back. No changing the rash decisions made by unworthy souls. There was nothing for him in his memories. No longer were they comfort. No longer were they pain.
He stood up slowly and turned his back on the past.
I did not die
No, you broke your promise and now both… both our souls are dead.