A/N: The first time I ever read the lyrics for this song, an elaborate story-line immediately formed in my head. The song verses themselves skip around when it comes to who or what they're talking about, so I did my best to explain the verses as the story progresses.. It's a beautiful song…
Disclaimer: Black Dresses belongs to The Spill Canvas. Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot.
The Spill Canvas - Black Dresses
In muddy grass we stand side by side,
With our knuckles interlocked,
Black dresses fly the cemetery
In this cliché tragedy,
It was raining that day. The day that will live in my memory as the day where I nearly lost it. The day that I said goodbye to my best friend in the world.
I gripped Hermione's hand tightly in one hand and Harry's Firebolt in my other as we Apparated to the place where his funeral was being held. I was determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. I couldn't bear to feel the stares of others. I couldn't bear for Hermione to give me that sad, knowing look anymore. I wanted to forget the past eight years of my life.
As we made our way up the gently sloping hill, I focused on keeping my eyes straight forward but I couldn't help noticing the wisps of black from the corners of my eyes. I spared a glance towards one and saw what it was. My sister Ginny was also climbing the hill and her long black dress was whipping in the wind. I looked away hastily. She was suffering just as much as me, I knew. Losing a lover is no easier than losing a best friend, a brother.
Hermione's silence at my side was welcome for once. I knew that she was being strong for me… for herself. In one of her hands was a red rose. The other was gripping mine comfortingly. She gave my hand a squeeze as we approached the top of the hill and saw the few people already there. Minerva McGonagall in a black dress robe and veil. She acknowledged us with a curt nod and a quivering lower lip. My mum, looking more haggard and worn than ever, thin and pale. Losing two children to a war and then Harry, who was as good as a son to her, would do that to a woman. My stomach twisted sickeningly when she pulled a black veil over her eyes to hide the tears that began to flow when she saw me. My dad nodded to me, holding her protectively, looking absolutely lost. His eyes held none of their former gleam; he just looked empty.
Ginny touched my shoulder as she passed me on her way to stand with our parents. She turned her face towards me and her red-rimmed eyes met mine. She gave me a small nod and turned.
Finally, I forced myself to look at what I prayed was not real. A freshly dug grave that was quickly turning muddy. I looked to Hermione and saw that her eyes were fixed upon the opening in the earth that undoubtedly contained a casket. Our hands still firmly interlaced, I began to walk towards the hole, dreading the sight that would greet me from it. I stopped to stand mere inches from the tombstone and looked down. A morbidly beautiful mahogany casket with rain drops spattered across it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was only one thought in my head. This should have been me.
Opening my eyes, I noticed that more people were arriving. Fred and George were now standing with Mum, Ginny and Dad, along with Bill. The entire Weasley family, now that the War had come and gone. Remus Lupin strode forward to stand near Hermione and me, bearing fresh cuts across his face. There must have just been a full moon. He didn't speak but gave me a hug, his blue eyes full of sympathy and sadness. My throat suddenly felt dry. I couldn't swallow. But fortunately, he turned and hugged Hermione and I regained my control.
I glanced down at my watch. It was nearly 5:30... The ceremony would begin at 5:35. The previously lightly sprinkling rain had turned into a drizzle now.
I brushed a few dark red locks out of my eyes before looking around at the surrounding countryside. It would have been gorgeous, if I had known it for any other reason but this. Harry would have loved it. Sloping hills for miles and miles of green. He would have wanted to fly across this. Maybe he was now. I supposed I would find out one day.
I lost myself in thoughts of anything but Harry. Anything but him, though that's all I could think of. I snapped out of it as Minerva began to speak to the small crowd assembled, now standing around the grave as Hermione, Remus and I were.
"Now that all invited are here, it's time to begin. We're here today to honor and say goodbye to a hero. Harry Potter was brave, courageous, loyal, strong, and caring. He is the reason that many of us are alive today. Without him, our world would be lost. He was…" She seemed to be droning on. The words were true but they sounded dead. As though his story had already died with him. I couldn't bear to concentrate on my former professor's words. Instead, I looked to the tombstone:
Harry James Potter
1980 - 1998
A True Hero
I bit my lip, hard. I hadn't read it until then. He was a true hero and he died a true hero. I inhaled deeply, willing myself not to let the tears that had formed in my eyes fall. Hermione nudged me gently. I almost thought she had noticed and was reassuring me, but then I realized that Minerva had now stopped talking and was waiting for me to speak.
I cleared my throat twice before I could manage to say anything. "Harry was my best friend. He was my brother. I had hoped that one day he would become my true brother," I said with a glance towards Ginny. She gave me a sad smile before I continued. "He truly was a hero and I owe him my life so many times over. He sacrificed his own life to save mine and for that, I could never repay him. Harry… wherever you are, mate, we all love and miss you." I choked down a sob and Hermione embraced me gently, as the others around the grave looked down in grief.
I was rather shocked at how few people had turned out. Less than 20 all together. There was my family, a few scattered surviving members of the Order, and someone I was very taken aback to see. Harry's aunt Petunia was standing alone, with a tissue and real tears falling down her pointed face. Perhaps now she understood that the Wizarding world was so much more than wand-waving and funny clothing.
Hermione said something about Harry, too. I can't even remember what she said. That's the truly sad thing. Details from that day fade away with every passing moment, it seems.
I heard her explain the Muggle tradition of everyone placing an item of significance into the grave before it was covered with earth. A few of the mourners nodded slightly and she looked to me. We had discussed this the night before, and we had come to a conclusion together to do something rather unorthodox, even for the Wizarding world. I gave her a small nod to affirm that we would go through with it, then pulled a pocket-knife out of my robes.
So do as you're instructed...
Take this razor, and cut your palms,
I'll do the same, until the river of crimson begins to flow,
Now drip your ruby red over the casket,
A funeral for my once-loved youth.
She placed her rose on the ground next to her feet before she took the knife, flipped it open, and slashed across her left palm with a fluid motion. Wincing slightly, she also reached into her robes and pulled out a wand. It was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a phoenix feather. Her blood was beginning to coat the wand and a few gasps were heard but in general, those assembled remained silent and looked on. She held her bleeding hand outstretched over the casket with the wand parallel to it. A few drops of crimson dripped from the wand and mingled with the rain already covering the polished wood at the bottom. "You'll never be forgotten, Harry," she whispered before she dropped it. It fell into the grave with a clatter and she looked to me again.
My secret is fatally gorgeous, I'd die for you,
But in this Bonnie-and-Clyde kind of romance,
Tell me what would you do?
I gazed into her brown eyes and admired her beauty. She knew the truth all along. She never judged me, never blamed me. Harry had sacrificed his own life to save mine. Our best friend of eight years was dead and she didn't hate me for it. It was amazing.
I loved her more than life itself. I knew I would die for her. And Harry had known this too. I had carried Hermione's picture with me into every battle. His last words to me were "Take care of them both." I suppose I owed my life to Hermione and Ginny as much as I did Harry.
Maybe he reasoned that I had a family, that my mum wouldn't survive losing another son, that Hermione would never be the same. Regardless of whether it was me or him, though, everyone was suffering. Everyone grieved for him as much as, perhaps even more than, they would have grieved for me.
My secret is fatally gorgeous, I'd die for you,
And when your precious life is at stake, tell me,
Would you die for me too?
Hermione was staring at me expectantly, waiting for my part in our unusual ritual. But I was lost in thought.
Would she die for me? Was Harry's sacrifice in vain? I began to feel bile rise in my throat; panic was flooding my body. THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU my mind screamed at me. I felt sick to my stomach, the wave of nausea hitting me hard. I breathed deeply, making myself calm down and reason this out.
Hermione loved me, I knew. But did she love me enough? Did she love me enough to justify Harry dying so that we could be together? Shouldn't I have died for him, so he could be with Ginny? This was all wrong. My life had been turned upside down by mere hypothetical questions. The musings of a man who had lost the friend who meant the world to him.
Did Hermione Granger love me enough to die for me?
The quivering liquids in your stomach
Will eat away at the bad habits that have made you,
A real character in this story of your now-distant life,
Good night and good-bye, quickly...
I gazed back into her eyes. I saw our life together. The shy acknowledgment of our feelings for each other in sixth year. Our first kiss. The ring that I had in my sock-drawer in my messy flat. I saw our unborn children smiling back at me from her eyes. My doubt had always been my down-fall. She had given me no reason to doubt her. Why should I?
I looked back to the grave. I had no idea how long I had been lost in my thoughts but I knew that I needed to finish the task at hand. I needed to say goodbye to Harry's spirit, before all that was left was a ghost of a memory.
In gentle greens we stand side by side,
With your head buried in my chest,
Black veils sent me shivering,
I fear that part of me is dying.
Now just do as you're instructed, and...
Hermione took a step towards me and brushed her lips against my damp cheek and then buried her frizzy head in my chest. The rain still hadn't let up and all in attendance were rather wet. The green tie I had been wearing was dark forest green rather than the gentle green it had been. Hermione's Muggle dress was growing darker shades of green by the moment, rather than being black. Black wasn't for Harry. Harry wouldn't have wanted us to wear black to his funeral. He wouldn't have wanted us to stop enjoying life because he was gone. Hermione and I had discussed this also. We wore mostly green.
Harry always did love the color green. It seemed sometimes to be all he knew of his mother.
He would have wanted us to miss him, yes. But not mourn him. Yet I couldn't help it. Part of me was dying and it could never be fixed.
Take this razor, and cut your palms,
I'll do the same, until the river of crimson begins to flow,
Now drip your ruby red over the casket,
A funeral for my once-loved youth.
I placed my hand on Hermione's shoulder and guided her away from me gently, taking the knife from her. I also cut my left palm, and picked up Harry's Firebolt from the ground next to me with my now-bleeding hand. The blood nearly made me lose my grip on the slick broomstick. I extended my arm, letting drops of ruby red fall into the dark hole. "You're my brother, Harry," I breathed. "You'll live on forever. I'll take care of Hermione and Ginny the best I can. I love you."
As if in slow-motion, I let go of the broomstick and it too fell onto the casket with a clatter. Goodbye, Harry. I turned my head and finally allowed the tears to flow freely down my cheeks.
Good-byes are said, and roses thrown,
And the crowd starts to weep,
After Hermione and I had finished our ritual, everyone else said whatever they needed to say as a goodbye. I wasn't listening. I couldn't. My best friend was dead, and it was my fault.
After everyone finished with their goodbyes, many were crying. Ginny stepped forward and said quietly, "I'd like to sing." I choked on a sob and looked to her when she started singing a traditional Wizarding song, called "Remembrance." I hated it. Ginny's sweet voice was ringing out through the dusk and it was so wrong. Why did she choose that song? It did Harry no justice; it was too common. I had heard the very same song at the funeral of one of our great-uncles. He had done nothing of great merit in his life. He died in his sleep at an old age. Harry deserved better than this. I wanted to rush to my sister and quiet her. I wanted to shake her. Why was she singing this song? Didn't she have any respect for Harry? How could she even fathom choosing this song?
My head was spinning; I felt increasingly dizzy. I took Hermione in my arms and held her tightly, latching on to her stability. As Ginny finished, I squeezed my eyes shut and willed the whole world away. But it didn't work.
Those gathered had become silent again, as if waiting for something. Hermione softly unwrapped my arms from around her and bent to pick up the red rose again. She kissed it and threw it into the grave as others followed suite and did the same. She walked a few steps to where the mound of dirt was and picked up a handful in her uninjured palm. She brought it back and let it break in her hands, spilling from her fingers. I watched in misery as everyone slowly move to the pile of dirt and did the same.
My mind was racing. They couldn't bury Harry underground. It would be dark. Too dark. And cold. He would blame me for it. I could picture him, angry, yelling at me for letting them do this. Someone had muttered a charm now, to move the rest of the pile so that it filled the hole once again. I nearly screamed in terror as I looked down. The casket was nearly covered now by the dirt. WHY WERE THEY DOING THIS?
But the irony of the story is when I fell to my knees,
And began clawing at the dirt
In front of the tombstone of my bashful childhood,
With you by my side,
You're screaming at the top of your lungs, let it go (let it go),
And I'm screaming at the top of my lungs:
The ceremony was not proper,
There was not enough people,
And who picked the music?
Those melodies almost made me physically sick.
Moments later, the last of the earth was in place. The people began to turn and walk away. I stared at the tombstone, at the muddy ground. I had to get Harry out of the dark. I could hear him screaming in my head.
I hit my knees and began raking my hands through the dirt. I was frantic, muttering to myself. I talked to Harry, trying to assure him that everything would be alright soon, that I was going to help him out. I apologized for letting them do this to him, my voice growing louder with every word. Tears streamed down my face in frustration and anguish as I tried to accomplish my task.
People had turned around to stare at me now. I don't think that anyone knew what to do. But I was oblivious to their fear, to their reluctance to approach me. All that mattered was Harry.
And suddenly, I was caught up in someone's embrace. I was pulled back into someone's chest, practically into their lap.
"Let it go, Ron," Hermione sobbed as her arms encircled me. "Harry's gone! He's gone. I'm sorry, Ron. I'm so sorry. You can't save him, Honey. You've got to let it go."
Her words pierced me like arrows. I knew he was gone. I had known all along, really. But I had tried to lie to myself. I guess I thought that if I could convince myself that he wasn't gone, then everyone else would believe it, and it would somehow be true. I was bawling, rocking back and forth in the freshly turned dirt.
Hermione stroked my head and back until I quieted. I didn't know what to do. Every single person in attendance had begun to cry as they watched my spectacle. I began to feel ashamed at myself as my reasoning came back.
The quivering liquids in your stomach
Will eat away at the bad habits that have made you,
A real character in this story of your now-distant life,
Good night and good-bye, quickly,
Good night and good-bye, quickly...
I moved to stand, gently pulling Hermione up with me. I ignored the mud all over our clothes, along with the people around us, and looked into her chocolate eyes. I leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips and then hugged her. I held her against me and whispered, "I love you, Hermione." She softly whispered that she loved me, too.
As I pulled away, a twinkle in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked up at the sky and saw the first, bright star of the night. And somehow I knew that wherever Harry was… he had something to do it.
I looked, not at his tombstone, but at the star as I softly said, "Good night, Harry James Potter. And good-bye for now." Hermione smiled gently at my side and clasped my hand in hers. With a quiet farewell to all left to hear it, we Apparated back to my flat.
Epilogue:
That was 5 years ago now, to this very day. I still occasionally visit the country-side where the greatest wizard who ever lived rests. Wildflowers grow on his grave. They're actually rather beautiful.
I smell a delicious aroma coming from somewhere in the house. I hear the gentle clinking of pots and pans and soft humming coming from the same place as the smell. And in the living room, where I sit now, a small boy is attempting to sneak a chocolate frog before dinner.
"James… you know your mum will go mad if she finds out you ate chocolate before dinner," I say quietly, firmly. The boy jumps and looks around at me, wide-eyed. His expression is one of innocence, though his mouth is stained with a ring of chocolate. I chuckle, shaking my head. "It'll be a secret, alright? Just don't tell mummy."
He nods happily and finishes the sweet. I tell him to go clean his mouth off and wash his hands for dinner. When this is done, we both troop into the dining room, loudly expressing our appreciation for the wonderful-smelling dinner.
As we sit down to eat, as a family, I smile at her. Hermione - my wife, my love, my life. We eat dinner and put James to bed. And then we light a candle on our window sill, for Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived On In Us All.