Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not.
Silent As the Grave
The grey clouds overhead and the gusts of wind that accompanied them made the graveyard feel all that more dark and depressing, Harry thought. He felt slightly nervous as he looked down over the small village of Godric's Hollow. From afar it seemed to Harry that the gathering of houses and roads formed the shape of a Hippogriff with its wings spread wide. He wondered if Ron and Hermione thought so too, but figured it wasn't that interesting a question to ask.
Harry had decided a few days after Dumbledore's funeral that the need for seeing Godric's Hollow, to visit the place he had spent the first year of his life and to see his parents' resting place, came before all others. And now he was there. He, Hermione and Ron, having all passed the apparition test, had apparated from the Burrow to a small clustering of trees on top of a hill that overlooked the village where Harry's parents had been murdered 16 years before. The graveyard lay on the outskirts of the town. The nearest hoof, Harry thought.
He had waited such a long time to be at this exact spot, and now that the time was here he no longer knew if he actually wanted to look upon his parents' graves and see the inscriptions in the headstone. He thought of Lupin and the expression on his former teachers face when he had said he needed instructions on how to get to Godric's Hollow. Lupin had gone completely still and then asked if Harry wanted him to come with. Harry had answered no, that he needed to do this alone. When Lupin nodded his agreement and told Harry how to get there, his face had been etched with sorrow. It seemed to Harry that after Dumbledore's' death, Lupin had become more and more introverted and sad, despite Tonks' efforts to keep his spirits up. Harry supposed there was only so much sorrow and pain one person could go through before becoming that sorrow and pain. As much as he wanted to help Lupin, Harry didn't know what to do.
Mr and Mrs Weasley had been adamant that he would not travel alone though, so Harry had agreed that Ron and Hermione were to come with him. Ginny had stood silently to the side during his discussion with her parents. Harry knew she had known the reasons for his wanting to go alone, so she had only looked on, not saying anything. For that he had been grateful.
At first he had been a little put off by the fact that Mr and Mrs Weasley wouldn't let him go alone, he felt he had the right to this by himself, but now that he was there he was glad to have the company of the family he had left.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Harry heard Hermione ask. The truthful answer would be no, he wasn't and probably never would be, completely. But he didn't say that. Instead he answered "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright."
"Do you want to go down to see the… the grave?" Ron asked, his voice faltering slightly, seemingly unsure what to say.
"I suppose," Harry said. "C'mon, let's go."
Harry started walking down the hill towards the graveyard, not looking back to see if Ron and Hermione followed after. He knew they were.
They walked down in silence. As they drew closer Harry's heart began to beat faster, his nervousness making him feel slightly ill. When entering through the gate Hermione asked "Do you know where they are, Harry?"
"No. I asked Lupin, but he said that it's been so many years since he was here that much could have changed. He did say though, that there is supposed to be an angel on top of the headstone."
The graveyard wasn't that large, but it was completely full of headstones and crosses. It didn't look like the Muggles wanted to expand the area much more. Harry passed a few graves searching for the one he knew was there. Ron and Hermione went in different directions also looking.
The wind wasn't as harsh down here, Harry noted passingly as he looked down at a small, round headstone. Gloria Smith 1977 – 1979. There were no other words.
He continued walking a bit further when he for no reason looked straight ahead. There, five feet from him, was a tall oval headstone with an angel on top of it. His heart slammed in his chest. He stood completely still and could think of no other thing than the fact that his parents' gravestone was a lot bigger than he had imagined. He looked it over. It was covered in wines.
He felt a hand upon his shoulder and two warm presences at his side.
"It's alright, mate. Take your time. We're here." In another situation Harry would have been surprised at hearing Ron speaking those words and not Hermione. But right now he knew of nothing more than what was in front of him. He walked slowly forward and started to remove the wines by hand, Hermione and Ron joining in to help. After a few minutes the headstone was cleared and Harry could read the inscription.
Here lies James and Lily Potter
1958 – 1981
Beloved parents, family and friends.
They are greatly missed.
No Greater Love Hath Man Than to Lay Down His Life For Another
It was simple, Harry thought. And yet, for those who knew what had happened to James and Lily Potter, it held great significance. He stared at the words for a few moments not really seeing them. He wondered if Sirius had ever been here, if he had ever had the possibility of visiting this grave. At the thought of his godfather, Harry took a deep breath and exhaled.
"Harry? Do you want to talk to them? Say something?" Hermione asked.
"They're dead Hermione. What am I supposed to say? They can't hear me, anyway."
"You don't believe that any more than I do," Hermione answered. "We'll leave you alone for a few minutes. Call if you need us." And with that, Hermione and Ron let Harry be alone with his parents' dead bodies beneath the ground.
Harry only continued to stare, not really thinking of anything. He didn't know how long he stood like that. It could have been minutes, hours or only seconds. He read the inscription again and again and again. It felt completely unreal all of a sudden. He didn't remember his parents. The only clear memory he had of them was when they came out of Voldemorts wand during his battle with the Dark Lord in his fourth year. And of course their voices when he came near Dementors. And yet it seemed completely unreal that his parents lay buried beneath his feet. His parents. His mum and dad.
"It's unfair," he whispered. "It's so goddamned unfair."
The only response was the slight wind whispering through the trees. "Of course they won't answer," he said, though still feeling slightly disappointed. "You're dead, aren't you? You've been dead for 16 years. My whole life." The quiet around him was deafening so he continued to talk into nothingness. "I've never felt particularly sorry for myself, you know. Never. There's been times when I've questioned the reason for it having to be me this all has to happen to. There have been times when I've wanted to give up, too, but I've never really felt truly sorry myself." He kicked at a rock that lay conveniently next to his foot.
"But now I'm starting to feel tired," he said. "I'm tired of always being the one who has to lose the people he loves. First you two," he said to the names carved into the headstone "then Sirius and now Dumbledore. When is it all going to end? Dumbledore told me that I was extraordinary because despite everything that has happened to me, I am still able to love. Well, you know what? I think that because everything that is going to happen to me, I'd rather not be." He felt the familiar anger growing inside him as the words spilled out of him.
"I know that I am the only one who can stop Voldemort. I know I am the Chosen One. But it's unfair that I have to go around feeling guilty for having friends, for having people who care about me, because I know that since they care, they are in danger!
"And I'm scared," he said. "Mum, dad. I'm scared." His voice faded into a whisper, not daring to voice his fear louder. "I'm scared for Ron and Hermione and Ginny. I'm scared for Hagrid and Lupin and Mr and Mrs Weasley, and for Fred and George and for everyone who has ever looked at me. It's my responsibility whether they live or die and I don't want it. I'm too young, I have a year left of school. I have nothing to offer anyone."
He looked down at his feet, trying to get a grip on his emotions. "I want you to be here for me," he said. "And I know you never will be, despite Hermione's' belief that you still live on the other side, or whatever it is she thinks. I want you here. With me, to stand by my side if or when I die. Because that is what this all comes down to, isn't it? If I live or Voldemort lives." He absently rubbed at his scar, looking around, trying to take in his surroundings. He sighed, looking back at the headstone.
"I know you would have been here if you could. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't say all these things." Harry became aware suddenly of the fact that he said he was sorry to a stone and smiled ruefully. As he read the inscription once more, the names of his parents, the years of their births and deaths, the smile faded and was replaced by a look of resigned determination as he remembered something Dumbledore had told him a few months before he was murdered.
"Got to? Of course you've got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you've tried!
You see, the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his equal…in other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you…"
Again Harry looked at the names of his parents and the year of their death. "I thought I had a choice. But there are no choices to make, are there?" He cast a glance over his shoulder and seeing Ron and Hermione sitting together outside the graveyard on a tree stump waiting for him, he felt slightly encouraged. He turned back and read the inscription one last time. "I still don't believe you can hear me," he said, his voice down to a whisper again. Fiercely, he rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses before walking away without another word. He didn't need to say anything more. If he was wrong and his parents could hear him, they would listen to him wherever he went, not just in a graveyard with a gravestone with their names written upon it.
As he walked towards Ron and Hermione, Harry didn't really feel any different. He couldn't say if it had been a good idea for him to come to this place or not. He was still scared. He was still worried. And yet, some of the weight he had on shoulders had been left behind in the graveyard, at the place where his parents were still resting.
A/N: My first fanfic in a long, long time. Thank you for reading!