Days passed. The emerald-eyed Phoenix returned. He brought the wolf and his mate, the lady McGonagall, the earth queen Sprout, the elemental Healer, and a throng of members of the Light with him, but her boy's pulse was not among them. Neither was the newly familiar thrum of her boy's wife. Those gathered in her garden placed her in stasis, suspended between life and death. The young Phoenix spoke of valor and honor and light, his tone somber yet filled with hope.
Then the lady McGonagall stepped forward and gently carved words in her flesh. The aging lioness' voice broke as she read them aloud for the very first time. "Here stands the weeping tree. In silent remembrance to the heroes who have fallen, she lifts her weary arms to the sky. May she be a gathering place for the sorrowful and a sanctuary for the grieving. May her shadows become a hiding place for the oppressed and a refuge for the lost. Under her graceful arms, may they find comfort and shelter from the storms. May she who was cut and fashioned by hatred and violence become a tree of life." With a soft amen, the crowd dispersed, leaving her to her lonely vigil.
Months passed. A few times she thought she caught the faint rhythm of her boy's heart, but he did not come. Still, she stood guard over the sacred ground where her boy had lain, waiting. Summer faded to autumn. Then came winter's chilly winds, and a pristine blanket covered the place she had grown.
One morning, just over ten lunar months since the day the emerald-eyed Phoenix had vanquished the Snake, the west wind carried the hint of new beginnings on his back, and she knew her wait was in vain. Despair settled around the place where nature's heartbeat once had pulsed in her core. It had been too long. Much too long.. The elemental Healer and the earth queen Sprout and the lady McGonagall had failed. His Hermione's love had not been enough. Her boy wasn't going to return.
And the garden entire joined her in grief.
Then, a pulse broke the stillness. A single heartbeat awakened the dormant birds and returned the music to their throats. It grew stronger, its thrum vibrating the earth beneath her. And it was joined by another, this one familiar, feminine. Suddenly, there was a third. Its rhythm strong and steady, but newly started.
As if riding the beams of the rising sun, the trio appeared at the garden's gates. Her pulp moaned her happiness to the heavens as the hinges squeaked and her boy stepped through. At his side was his bride, her belly still slightly swollen from bringing forth life. In her arms was a bundle, tufts of silken tresses as black as a raven's wing barely visible beneath the blue knit cap. And in her boy's arms lay a sapling.
Slowly, the couple approached. Her boy's witch moved gingerly, and he watched each step with concern etched in a deep crease between his brows. "Hermione, if you're not up to this…"
Her boy's bride laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm fine, Severus. Poppy said a walk would speed healing."
A familiar smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "I'm quite sure she meant for you to stick with the corridors of the castle, love. If she knew I'd taken you this far mere hours after bringing Christopher into the world…
The young witch gave him an angelic smile. "Then I suggest we return before she discovers we're gone."
Her boy's laughter brought a surge of warmth from the very soil of the garden.
"There." Her boy pointed to a spot at the foot of her hill.
His wife smiled. "It's perfect."
A spell warmed the ground. A flick of her boy's wand removed the snow and upturned the earth. Carefully, he settled her sprouted seed into the hole. When the soil was packed around its roots and it ate its fill of the earth queen Sprout's gruel, her boy gathered his witch and his newly born son into his arms. Together, they watched the young squirrels and fledgling sparrows gather around the newest member of the garden. "One day, little one." Her boy stroked a long finger down the newborn's cheek. "One day."
And when that day came, it would be her descendent that would claim her boy's sons and daughters as her own. Her offspring's limbs would know the embrace of their fingers and toes as they climbed. Her offspring would shelter them from the storms just as she had always sheltered their father. It wasn't finished. With God in His heaven, it would never be finished. Joy filled her and peace caressed her outstretched arms.
And the tree cried.