He stood all alone on a grassy hill overlooking the graveyard. Age had not diminished the innate messiness of his hair, nor had it dulled the brilliance of his inherited emerald eyes. He was still one of the best wizards of his age, and one of the most popular, but things had changed. It had been thirty-seven years since he'd defeated Voldemort. He was the last one standing where there had once been many who'd come with him on this day, to remember those people. Some had gone insane from curses. Some had died in their various lines of work. One or two had died of alcoholism—caused by the memories they wanted so desperately to forget. A few had become too busy with families of their own to remember their brothers and sisters who had died on the battlefield. A few, more than Harry wanted to believe, had stopped coming because they no longer had any use for magic. Ron had fallen out of touch with him after Ginny had died in a werewolf attack, and Hermione…that was something he'd rather not think about. He had five children with Ginny (Colin, Albus, James, Fred, and Molly) who he'd raised mostly by himself, but they didn't understand. They couldn't. Their world was one of peace. They'd never heard the Killing Curse uttered, nor seen the cruel effects of torture. For that, Harry was thankful.
He thought about the others that might have stood in the place he was standing now. Surely Dumbledore had come here. So many of his former students had been buried here. He must have, Harry thought, looked out over all of the perfectly hewn gray, white, and black stones, his long beard flapping in the breeze. He would have remembered all of the stories, the way his students turned out to be. Some were so evil, some so good. Harry wondered if Dumbledore ever blamed himself for the way that those students ended up…people like Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, Tom Riddle. Harry knew he probably did.
McGonagall might have come there, too, to visit the graves of her "cubs". Many Gryffindor lions had been carved into the stones in front of him. He wondered if she had known about Peter. Sometimes bravery wasn't good. In Peter's case, it meant that because of his betrayal, those who would have died for him died because of him.
Harry knew Remus had come here often. They'd put up a headstone for Sirius next to Harry's parents, even though they never knew what happened to his body. Remus had come here with Harry a few times. He'd told him stories about the parents he'd never know and had given him a book with all of those stories written down. Remus knew he'd be the last Marauder and he knew that those wonderful stories would be lost with him if he didn't put them to paper. Harry often read them to Teddy, when Teddy was still little and not thirty-seven. Remus knew what it was like to feel as if no one understood him.
Harry's mind wandered to Hermione. She'd left so suddenly. One moment she'd been lying in his arms, the next she'd been gone. It seemed that she'd left the magical world behind. He wondered he'd only heard of her when werewolves were brought up, why she'd never married Ron, why he'd fallen in love with her after Ginny's death. He sighed. Somehow during his reminisce he'd taken a seat on the ground. "I knew you'd be here today."
He stood up quickly, wand out. His reflexes hadn't diminished either. He took a careful look at the three women standing behind him. The older of the women had soft brown curls, with just a touch of silver running through some of them and chocolate brown eyes. Harry recognized those eyes…Hermione. "I always was rather predictable."
"You were." She smiled. "I expected to see Ron here with you."
"I haven't seen him since... The kids see him sometimes when they visit George at the shop." He ran his hand through his hair. He'd always done that when he was nervous.
"You haven't seen him since when, Harry? Since I left?" She walked closer, bridging the gap between them. He nodded.
"You left me all alone, Hermione. I raised five little kids by myself while working as an Auror, and then I became a teacher at Hogwarts so I could be closer to them. You'd laugh if I told you what I taught so I'm not going to tell you. You left a big hole in my life. I never pictured that you'd be the one to leave." He looked out over the graves so that she couldn't see the tears that were forming in his eyes. "Ron blamed me for
"I had to leave, Harry. I was scared." She put her hand on his shoulder.
"Of what? After Voldemort, I thought we could handle anything together."
"I was pregnant. I didn't want to get married then. So I left. It was rather selfish of me, but I knew that if you could find me, you'd come and save me. I didn't want to be saved then."
He blinked. She'd been pregnant when she left? Where were the children? He looked at the other two women. They were young, probably around twenty. Both of them had midnight black, curly hair and emerald eyes. One of them even had thick glasses, just like Harry. "I see that the bad eye sight is hereditary."
"I noticed that too. Harry, these are your youngest daughters, Minerva and Lily. They're definitely Potters, as you can tell by the eyes."
"My mother's eyes, I know. Did you two go to Hogwarts?" He looked at them appraisingly. Now that he thought about it, he did seem to remember them. They hadn't used the last name of Potter or Granger, though. He seemed to remember that they'd used Evans. Like his mum...sometimes he wondered about his ability to pick up on things. He should have known.
"You were our favorite teacher. Mum thought it was funny that I was in Slytherin and Min was in Ravenclaw. She wouldn't tell us why. She also wouldn't tell us why she's so passionately involved in rights for werewolves, even though she said they killed one of her friends."
Harry smiled." I can. Your mum and I talked the Hat out of putting us in those two Houses. As for the werewolf rights, well, we had a very wonderful teacher that was a werewolf...at least she's given up spew."
"Why wouldn't someone want to be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin? They're both quite respectable houses. You said that yourself several times." Harry looked at Hermione.
"So we wouldn't have to go through life alone." Hermione took Harry's hand. "I'm not going to leave you ever again, Harry."
"Good. I'm not going to let you." He wasn't the last one standing anymore. He wasn't ever going to be alone again.
"Tell me, Harry. Did you really teach History of Magic before you became Headmaster?" Hermione grinned. "You never even stayed awake during that class."
"We are the history of magic, Hermione. So are they." He gestured toward the graveyard." We fought for them, with them. We'll remember. Someone has to." Did those others that stood on that hill have regrets? Maybe. Harry didn't.