*Based on Lucy by Skillet*

I never meant for you to die.

I never wanted you to die.

I never wanted you to matter.

But you did.

And it was neither yours nor my fault.

…..

I knelt at your grave today.

"Hey, Hermione," I whispered, setting the bright red poppies on the dull, dry brown grass next to the old, drying poppies that had been collected for six months.

"I remembered your name today. I was at the shop. There was a little girl, probably eleven. I guess that's not super little. She just reminded me of you in your first year. She had curly brown hair, almost like yours, but not bushy. She looked ecstatic, just like I remember you being. She talked continuously, no stopping for breath. She dragged her mum and dad around the whole store, mouth agape, eyes staring, observing each object. They looked so new to her. The magical pranks and jokes took her breath away each time. You were like that, and you covered it up the same way as her. It was like seeing you again."

I paused for a moment, feeling the tears well up in my burning eyes. They fled from my eyes, racing down the path they traced daily, sprinting down my pale, freckled cheeks.

"I'll see you later, love."

…

I knelt at your grave today.

"Hey, Hermione," I mouthed, vocal cords refusing to emit any sound. I felt clogged up, with a runny nose, sore throat, red eyes. It was worse than any flu I had, and I went through it just for you, love. Feel special. It's a disease known as 'Heartbreak.' I've been feeling it for a while now. I had just gotten used to it when today came.

Your gravesite was empty today. No people. I had even cleared away the crinkling, colourless poppies that had been gathering ever since last year, to this day. And before that, the May you laid down to rest in the garden. A fresh bouquet of round-leaved sundews took the poppies' place. There were bleeding heart flowers first, then the poppies, now common or round-leaved sundews. Your three favourite flowers, in order. Next year, I'll put a night blooming cereus on your grave.

"I remembered your name today. It's your birthday today. Today is the best day in September, in autumn, in the whole year. You're turning nineteen, this time. Old, now aren't you? I guess I shouldn't be talking, since I'll be turning twenty-one in April. I hope I'll see you soon, love."

My words turned to silence. The tears had begun flowing the moment the first syllable was uttered, taking they daily path. I was only lightly crying when I arrived, luckily.

"I love you."

….

"Hey, Hermione. I remembered your name today. I can't do this anymore, though. I need you, so much. I need you too much. Remember when you had me read that Dante's Inferno book or whatever? I remember the stages. I'm going through them, every second, just for you, Hermione. I'm trying to get to you, by going through them, but I get put back in the first stage every time. It's a never ending cycle, but I want- no, need- it to end. Please, please come back. Please, take me.

"I can't live with myself today, not anymore. It's worthless; life is worthless, without you. Please, love. I love you so, very much."

I begged, I pleaded, I sobbed. My voice cracked. My lungs collapsed over and over, my heart stopped beating, I bled out, and I couldn't get you back. I needed you so bad, but I could see you. I could see you, held back. The night blooming cereus flowers had long since been replaced by cherry blossoms, sea hollies, and I was finally at Angel's Trumpet blossoms. I was running out of your favourite rare flowers, and I might have had to put down lilies, orchids, daisies, and roses. I was twenty-six, and you reached twenty-four.

"Please come, back, love."

…

I couldn't move; I didn't try to move; I didn't want to move.

The Azkaban escapee paced in front of me, shooting spell after spell from his wand at me. I was numb, though, thanks to you, Hermione. Thanks, love.

This was Pius Thicknesse, your murderer, the man who cut my laughs short by collapsing that wall on you. The man I loathed with every fiber of my soul, the man who I hated along with Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had tortured and scarred you.

The blood flowed from my stomach freely, turning the floor in my store into a puddle. George would have a mess to clean up after he and Angelina came back from dropping Roxanne and Fred (the Second) off at King's Cross. It was almost time for me to clear away the flowers from your grave this year, and replace them with bleeding hearts again. This was the third time the cycle was restarted.

Pius Thicknesse left, leaving me lying in my cold, crimson blood, feeling guilty. I was leaving George to head out to you. But, then again, he had Angelina and Roxanne and Fred. He had his very own family, and I needed you to be my special family.

"Hey, Hermione," I rasped out, seeing your form approach. You knelt beside me and held my hand. You tried to hide it, but you were beaming. I was coming home to you.

"Love, I remembered your name today… Let's go home, love."