Oh, how I wish I owned Harry Potter, yet I do not. He belongs to Mrs. Joanne Kathleen Rowling, and I honor her. All I own is the plot, so please, don't steal that from me. This is only one chapter long, so if you're waiting for a second part to the story, you'll be waiting for a VERY long time. : P
Peace----------- Felony Melanie
Harry heard it, but didn't believe it. Surely it was a joke, surely it was just a childish joke meant to give someone some comic-relief. But no one was laughing
He had a small smile on his face, not knowing why or how, but the small smile was his last line of defense. Once they broke throught that small barrier, all was lost.
The walk back to the common room was short. Too short. But Harry didn't understand why. He didn't understand anything now. The smile was fading.
The soft chair in front of the fire hugged him. His smile no longer reached his eyes.
A joke. It has to be a joke.
She came over. She hugged him. He pulled her into him, snuggling like they always did, watching the fire.
He felt her soft fingers touch his cheek. He closed his eyes and drank in the feeling. She leaned in and kissed his cheek now. He shivered.
"I love you, Harry," she said.
"I love you too. I always will. You are my angel."
She continued to stroke his cheek. "Baby, you're cold as ice," he whispered.
He opened his eyes. He was back at Dumbledore's office, watching him telling him something, but not really hearing anything. In his hand he held her letter, crumbled in his fist.
"I'll always be with you," it had said. "Stand strong, stand tall, nobody is better than you."
She had always told him not to cry. When Sirius had been killed, she told him not to cry. She just held him close to her, telling him to stand strong, that everything would be better.
How could it be better?
"Harry, are you listening?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry didn't respond. He was looking at the paper in his hand. A tear from his own eye fell and stained the parchment. Surely a iron fist had just clenched his heart to keep it from breaking, but it was too late. Splinters filled his body, shards from his heart. It hurt to breath, it hurt to think, it hurt to remember. . . .
A mug of hot chocolate was thrust into his hands. He drank it quickly, not caring that the liquid scorched his throat. It tasted bitter, like death. Like how it feels when you see a dead person. Like the air is stale, and you get that tingling feeling all over your body.
He would be taken to her. They would put him on the train and send him to say goodbye. But what was the use? She was already gone.
He had lost her. He had failed her.
Harry began to think of all the things he should have done. He had been an idiot not to kiss her goodbye. He should have told her he loved her, even when she said she knew already. He should have held her hand when she got scared, he should have looked at her more, to memorize her face. He should have spent more time with her, experiencing the thrill of foreboding of what would come next. He should have kept her at Hogwarts for the winter break. He should have been with her, when He came.
He was escorted to the Hogsmeade station. Someone had put a cloak around him, but it felt like nothing more than a thin sheet against the bitter cold. He sat in their usual compartment, next to the window where she used to sit and read on the way to school. People came in, people left, no one talked. No one dared to say a word to him, as if they were afraid he would lose it and end up in St. Mungo's.
The white earth passed by quickly through the window. The sun went lower, barely visible on the horizon. Then it was gone, and there was just the moon and the stars.
She had loved looking at the stars.
Someone half-carried him from the train, supporting him with an arm around his back. His feet dragged and he just wanted to stop. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be back in front of the fire with her, or walking around the lake with her.
He was put in a car. The fast and bumpy ride made him queasy and he wanted to be back on the train, going back to Hogwarts. The door opened, and someone pulled him from the car. He looked at the house in front of him. It looked no warmer than the Shrieking Shack, like all the life had gone from it. It's windows were glazed with ice, and a path had been cleared in the snow so people could walk to the house. There were dead flowers next to the door.
The door opened creakily, and the air that came out burned Harry's eyes. He tried to turn and run, but the arm was there again, and made him step into the house. On the kitchen table was a half-eaten dinner that had been sitting there since the previous night. That smell reached his nostrils, burning him worse than the air had. The atmosphere felt thick, and he was sure that if he reached out he could grab a piece of air and roll it into a ball in his hands. But his arms were bound to him by the cloak that had been placed over his shoulders. He still held the letter in his fist, it was moist with the cold sweat that now seemed to cover his body.
He was forced to walk up the stairs, each step stabbing him like a knife. They reached the landing, and all was dark except for a door at the end of the hall that was slightly ajar, letting a little bit of light leak out to light a path for him to walk. He turned again, pushing against the arm and starting to moan, "No. . . ." But he had no strength left; he felt the breath catch in his throat as the person with him reached out and pushed open the door.
A person stood up and came to the door. For a moment Harry was sure it was her, but it wasn't. He recognized the woman. . . somewhere. . . but his brain wasn't working. Words were exchanged between the woman and the person with Harry, and she looked at him. Her eyes were red.
She moved aside and a bed was revealed behind her. On it lay a body, the hands folded on the chest. Harry's body was frozen, he couldn't move. Even if he could, he didn't want to. Someone pushed him in the small of his back and he stumbled forward.
She was lying so still. Surely she was sleeping. Harry had always loved to watch her sleep. His body started to tremble as he tried to speak.
"I got your letter," he whispered. She did not open her eyes and look at him. She didn't move at all.
"Thank you, for it," he went on. He was looking at her intently, expecting her to sit up and laugh, tossing her head back, and telling him it was all a joke. Then they would kiss and exchange Christmas presents.
Her hair was splayed out in all directions. He reached out and touched her hand.
"Baby, you're cold as ice," he said. He grasped her hand. He wouldn't believe it. There she was, right in front of him. He recognized the effects of the Killing Curse, though someone had closed her eyes. He saw the unmarked body. Yet he refused to believe it.
"I love you, you are my angel," Harry said. He leaned over her and kissed her on the cheek. It was cold. He stood up, surprised, and looked at her. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. His blood went cold.
He looked at the letter in his hand once more, and then collapsed on her, crying into her dress. She had told him not to cry. She had told him not to become weak, but he couldn't stop it. He was powerless to stop anything now.
They let him cry for a long time. They let him say goodbye. They let him try to understand why.
He was to go home, to Hogwarts. But it was no longer his home. He had no home. His home was where she was, and she was gone, forever.
He couldn't stand anymore. They had to carry him. The train was waiting, and he was put back into her seat by the window. He rested his face against the cool glass and fell asleep, dreaming about her.
The funeral was nice. They had her favorite flowers, white roses. But it was over too quickly, and Harry watched as the woman he loved was lowered into the frozen ground. The hole was covered, and Harry stood tall, watching the icy dirt cover her coffin. There was a headstone put in place, with an angel on it. Harry carried a rose to it, kneeling down in front of it, and reading the engraving.
Here lies Hermione E. Granger
The smartest student to ever attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
She will be remembered as a loving daughter, a caring friend,
and an angel to all
Harry dropped the flower, and turned to leave. He ran. On his way out he passed Sirius' grave, but did not look at it. He did not look at anything as he ran back into the car and was carried off to a place without her.