Do not stand at my grave and weep.
Chapter Two – I am not there, I do not sleep.
Six weeks after the funeral, Hermione found herself, once again, sitting under the boughs of the apple tree. It was dusk, and she watched the Burrow slowly flicker to life. The windows were illuminated in turn, seemingly drawing in all the light from the garden, making the world darker in comparison. Even the moon seemed duller. The thundering sound of several pairs of feet clattering down the stairs reached Hermione, breaking the silence, signalling supper time. Ron would normally be the first one at the table, eagerly awaiting the next meal, despite having stuffed himself with chocolate frogs from the stash in his room. Hermione turned to the gravestone she was leaning on. Her left shoulder and forehead had been leaning there a while, she could feel the grooves on her skin.
The gravestone was a rough rectangular sandstone boulder, placed by the trunk of the apple tree. Engraved in the centre of the stone was the Gryffindor crest. There was also a broomstick in the bottom left and corner, and a crown in the top right. The other two corners held chess pieces. Each engraving was randomly spaced, the family had ensured there was no sense of frigid symmetry. Ron wouldn't have wanted that.
Hermione hadn't been able to eat with the Weasleys since the funeral. The memories of happier times at the Burrow were all too prominent in her mind. She knew she had to push herself past this, she would have to return to civilisation. Return to the living. But for now she was content with the peace that grief gave her. It had only been two months. Two months since Ron held her last. Since he laughed. Since he kissed her last. Since he surprised her with his memorisation of her words from years ago.
Hermione quickly blinked away her tears, banishing those thoughts as footsteps approached. This was one of her achievements, she had stopped crying all the time, something that had started after seeing Ron lowered into the ground, under the tree in the branches of which he had first told her that he loved her. In the usual Ron way, he had blurted it out during an argument. She had paused midway through a scream, then she lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him with such a force that they had both toppled out of the tree.
Harry plopped down beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder, and she tucked her head under his chin.
"Ron loved you. And I know you loved him. Just because no-one got to see you together officially, and that no-one knew, doesn't mean it wasn't what it was. Real."
She tucked her head in closer to his neck, breathing in his scent, and he pulled her in closer to him.
"I need you to wake up from this. I need a best friend. Don't leave me here without one, I can't lose you both. I can't do this without you." She felt a tear drip down onto her face, followed by another. His tears mixed with hers, as they sat there for what seemed like hours, and actually was, watching the moon dip behind the hills. Faces appeared at the Burrows windows, watching them for a while, then leaving them to cry. One face remained longer. Then was gone.
Both gradually stopped crying.
"I need you, Hermione" he said, his words melting into the night. He was worried, she hardly ate, or slept, she just sat there with Ron during the day, usually joined by other members of the family. He knew from Charlie that she still threw up regularly. After the battle, Harry had regained the weight he had lost over the last year. But Hermione had gotten worse. He heard Mrs Weasley sob into her husbands' robes that she couldn't bear it, seeing her waste away, after losing Ron, she couldn't lose another child. Hermione didn't seem to understand that even though Ron was gone, and that no-one had seen them together, that she was part of that family. Each of the brothers looked to her as a sister, and Ginny as a best friend and sister.
"I'm going to marry Ginny. We don't know where or when, we haven't even told anyone. But she's going to be my wife. And we'll start our lives together again. We'll be happy. Ron would want that, but more than anything, he'd want you to be happy. He'd want you to laugh." Harrys sobs were shaking his voice. "He'd want the world to hear you laugh again. I need to hear you laugh again. I need to know that I didn't lose you" he choked out. He felt cruel telling her he was moving on, finding love while hers was cold in the ground. He was so wound up that he almost missed the brightest witch of the ages first words in months.
"I miss him" she sighed.
Harry felt like jumping up and crying out that his friend was back, that his friend was healing. But instead, he took her hand.
"Me too."
She untangled herself from his arms, and shakily got to her feet, which were stiff after hours of sitting still. Harry stood too.
"It'll get better" she sighed. "I smell bacon", and with that, she wrapped Rons' jumper closer around her, then slowly made her way up to the Burrow.
Harry stared after her. As the sun rose, casting the Burrow in a soft glow, the windows were set ablaze by the orb of fire, that was peeking over the hills. Sunlight hit the back of his neck, and he rested a hand on the warming gravestone of his dead best friend, staring up at his live one. Filled with a warmth not caused by the sun, he smiled.
"It will get better," he repeated, before following her into the house.
