He was leaning somewhat irreverently against the marble tomb, enjoying the cool breeze that drifted off the lake. Dumbledore wouldn't have minded, he would have laughed at the idea of his tomb being used as a bench. Harry ran his hand through his hair that had long since become salt and pepper or, as his daughter would say, "it's more salt with a side of hold the pepper, Dad." She had come to see him that morning for his birthday, riding up the spiral staircase behind the gargoyle to have lunch with him in his office.
"I used to have to come here all the time when James got in trouble. I just told myself it was good practice for the days when I would have to bail him out of jail." They'd all laughed at that, for a moment. It was hard to believe that James had been gone nearly six years. Harry had bounced his grandson on his knee and looked over at his surviving son. Albus had smiled gently, always the quiet one of the family.
James had stepped in front of a spell intended for the Minister when the survivors of the battle at Hogwarts had gathered on the 50th anniversary of the victory. Harry had gathered his dying son in his arms and James had smiled up at him, "oh Dad, don't be sad. This is a cause worth dying for. Is there anything...anything you want me to tell Mom when I see her?" Ron had leaned in close when Harry choked on the words, "tell her we love her." James had nodded and with a triumphant smile eerily similar to Harry's godfather, the light had faded from his eyes. A week later, Ron pushed forward the muggle integration bill that he had become the Minister of Magic in order to pursue. "We are creating a world where people like Voldemort cannot exist, we are moving closer to peace, closer to equality. A world where prejudice will die," Ron had cried out to the Wizengamot, "This is a cause worth dying for!"
Lily had gone on to become an investigative auror inspired, Harry supposed by her brother's death. Albus had attended a muggle college and become a doctor researching, through both magical and muggle medicine, a cure for cancer-- inspired, Harry supposed, by his mother's death. Lily often joked of her brother's potions, as she was doing now, that he was trying to stopper death.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," Albus smiled," after all, to the well organized mind death is but the next great adventure." Harry looked at his son as his memory stretched back to his son's namesake who had said those very words to an eleven year old boy who hadn't understood what death really meant.
It was those memories that had prompted Harry, long after his godson, children and grandchildren had departed to sit out on the grounds. He was waiting for his first family to arrive. Gazing out from what had once been a solitary tomb on the Hogwarts grounds, he took in the others. The tombstones Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Colin Creevy, and later Arthur and Molly, Kingsley, Flitwick, Seamus, Hagrid... at the one closest to him, which housed the remains of Minerva McGonagall. In the distance was a tree planted over the grave of Neville Longbottom, who had been headmaster before Harry until he had died of a heart attack one day without warning. He remembered Luna with her son planting the tree on her husband's grave. She had disappeared shortly after. Harry remembered his surprise when her ashes had arrived with the request that they be scattered at Hogwarts. They had gone a lot of places, judging by the post marks, before reaching him through the muggle mail. Brazil, Tibet, Cambodia...it was so like Luna. The tomb of Severus Snape. Alone at the outskirts. Harry didn't think of it as the edge but more as the beginning of a new group, the first of the next generation. Whether that was true or not.
Turning more he spied his two closest friends, walking arm in arm with bright smiles towards him. Ron Weasley, who some were already calling the greatest minister, was the man who had finally broken the barrier of secrecy between wizards and muggles. Harry doubted that there was anyone besides Ron charismatic (or lucky) enough to have done so successfully. On his arm was his wife Hermione Granger, the brilliant researcher who had discovered the counter curse for the Avada Kedavra. When asked by a reporter to comment on her discovery Hermione had responded "because quite enough people have died from it!" in a voice so similar to that of her mentor that Harry had straightened up his chair. So had the reporter, he had obviously had Professor McGonagall as well.
Harry slipped down from the tomb, and strode over to meet his friends who enveloped him in a hug. Together they walked around the lake as they had done so many times as children, laughing. They stopped under their favorite tree to rest in the summer grass-- they weren't so young anymore. Harry thought of the unique peace that only came from being around these two, his first friends and his family. He wondered how many times like this there would be left for the three of them. Then he stopped. He'd worried too much about dying when he was young to bother with it now. Smiling, he flopped back in the grass and looked up at his friends. For a minute Hermione was the bucktoothed girl with wild hair and Ron was the lanky boy with dirt on his long nose and Harry was the knobby kneed boy with the messy hair. It came to Harry, then, that they were all finally done. There were no more enemies to defeat, worlds to shape, lives to save. In that moment Harry, and he suspected Ron and Hermione, realized that for the first time they were free to live their lives without the weights they had taken upon themselves at such a young age.
"Hermione," Harry said with a devious smile, "do you remember that time Ron and I rescued you from that troll..."
The three lingered there, laughing, as the sun set and the stars came out.
"If I am alive this time next year, will I have arrived in time to share? And mine is about as good this far."
Another birthday, the family had come and gone already. Harry was seated on a different tomb this time, waiting. His green eyes unfocused, he traced out the carved name over and over. N-G-E-R-H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E-G-R-A-N-G...again and again. He always did this when he began to miss her. Hermione had always existed for words so the ritual somehow seemed appropriate. It wasn't until he heard someone call his name that he looked up. Ron was striding up the path, smiling and waving. Harry lifted his hand from Hermione's name for the first time since he had reached the tomb to wave at his friend. Ron, after a brief hug, settled down beside him on the tomb. There was a palpable sense of empty space there. It was just the two of them, like it had been in the beginning. Harry liked to think that they had felt that space even then and had been waiting for Hermione to come and fill it. In the beginning it had just been the two of them, sharing Harry's sweets on the train fascinated with each other. Two scrawny kids, one with untidy black hair and a redhead with a dirty nose. Harry felt as if life was somehow running in reverse, working back, winding down towards some point. Ron had taken over Harry's ritual. M-I-O-N-E-G-R-A.
They were silent for a long time. Ron, tracing the name while Harry looked at the lake remembering the ethereal forms of his friends as they floated in the merepeople village so long ago. At the forest, remembering the spiders and the centaurs. At Hagrid's hut, remembering hiding rock cakes in their pockets. At the castle, the first home he ever had.
Thinking back. Back before Hermione and the troll, before the train with Ron, before Hagrid told him who he was, before the Dursleys... it was all winding down.
"How much longer do you think we've got mate?" Ron said looking at the castle as well. Harry thought of a different train station than the one from which they all departed for Hogwarts. He thought of one shrouded in mist, warm and peaceful.
"Not much longer now, I'd say."
"Good," said Ron with a laugh, "I think we've done enough. I'm bloody tired." Laughing, the two friends slipped down from the tomb and walked towards the castle.
A/N: I haven't written anything for along time but for some reason this story came to me and I wanted to share it. The quote is from the song "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands" by Sufjan Stevens which was a partial inspiration for this story.
I don't own Harry Potter or anything; I only wish I was that creative. No copyright infringement intended (either with the characters or the song).