"And the night drags on, and the fever burns,
Come to your senses, everybody learns,
You sleep in the sweet fire, lost and blue,
You're an empty doll in the power of a fool."
Elton John, "Sleeping With the Enemy"
A little boy had his arms wrapped around the neck of his father, standing in front of a closed, pine wood box holding the remains of his mother. As the little brown-haired boy sobbed into the large neck of the brawny man who held him, the man whispered words of comfort to the best of his ability.
And overcome with emotion, he was having a hard time looking at the son who resembled his mother so greatly.
It was a tough day indeed for the wizarding world. Three caskets lined the front altar of the chapel: one for the dead Auror Antonia Boonyfetter-Wood, mother of one, the type of person who never had a bad word said about her except when Puddlemere United lost a game (and she would spew every four letter word known to man.) The next casket was for a lead on Percy Weasley's Search and Rescue team, Stephen Dimwiddle, whose wife and three children sat, wearing black robes and perhaps a little relieved that there was a body - that there was closure. The other bodies, random parts, mostly, were still being analyzed at Ministry laboratories, waiting on identification. The third casket, of course, belonged to Professor Severus Snape.
Somehow, everyone had known that the much-respected Severus Snape was dead, but since there had been no body, there was a silent lingering hope. As the closed casket sat in front of the darkened chapel the hope was gone, replaced with a tinge of sadness. Remus Lupin sat across from the Dimwiddle family, being comforted by Ron Weasley, crying quietly into an old green and black handkerchief with the initials "SS" embroidered onto it.
A somber affair organized by the Ministry of Magic at St. Odious' Chapel in the beautiful Hogsmeade, Dumbledore was officiating the ceremony; it was declared a day of mourning by the Ministry for those who had lost someone in this - the final fight with the followers of Voldemort. His minions were all dead, but the Dark Lord was somewhere, gathering his bearings, and no one - not even Cornelius Fudge - was so obtuse to believe the Dark Lord would never rear his ugly head again in a desperate attempt to takeover that which he believed his.
Hermione moved towards Oliver and Julian, taking Julian's hand and kissing it, placing back around Oliver's neck. "Thanks for coming, Hermione," Oliver greeted gratefully, attempting to wipe a stray tear while still carrying his robust six-year-old, but finally giving up.
"Toni was a good friend to me and Harry. If there's anything I can do..." Hermione offered, swabbing the liquid quickly from Oliver's cheek.
"I mean, we... me and Julian... we've known that she wa... I mean, we knew that she was g... but knowing th-that she's in..." Oliver's voice broke right as Dr. Boonyfetter came; he passed the boy to the physician without a word as Julian moved his monkey-like clasp from father to grandfather. "J-julian was just getting used to life w-without Toni... and then we find h-her... and it's a g-good thing we have closure... b-but it opened up s-so many w-wounds..." Hermione took Oliver into her arms. "I-I sort of thought... that if there w-was no b-body, she m-might come back..." He buried his head on her shoulder, eyeing the coffin behind Hermione.
"It's okay, go ahead, just let it out," she soothed.
"J-Julian won't even ride his F-firebolt her. S-she t-taught him to fly... How am I supposed to do this alone w-without you?" he asked, his voice constricted.
Hermione knew that it was a rhetorical question, that he needed no answer, because he wasn't talking to her, to Hermione. He was actually speaking to Toni.
With a silent "Thank you," Oliver backed away from her and walked towards Julian and his father-in-law as Hermione made her way to Remus and Ron.
Holding Remus close, her head looking over at the Dimwiddle family, Hermione was the first person to see Harry Potter limp in, being supported by two crutches, bruised, his arm in a sling, in his best robes. He had obviously gone home, and Hermione, having been at Remus' for the last three days, had not even noticed She made eye contact with Ron, looked over at Harry, and whispered to Remus, "I'll be right back."
Walking over to her husband, she took in the dark tones of the chapel. Dumbledore had given a navy trimming, as the flowers were flowing on the edges of the pews and at the altar. The banners flew gently, close to the enchanted sealing which reflected the night sky. ("Make sure your tears are for the right purpose, dear girl. This is not mourning deaths, Hermione, it is celebrating lives. Shed tears for their accomplishments, but do not weep for them for they are far luckier lot than we mere witches and wizards," Dumbledore had said softly, when she had greeted him.)
Harry sat in the back, alone, far away from the rest of the crowd. Slowly, people turned around, and whispered to each other. The sound went from condolences to small mutterings, "Is that Harry Potter?" So, this was it. The wizarding world knew Harry was alive - but no one was forward enough to speak to him.
The bruises shown brightly on his pink face, and as he saw her approach, his face turned away from her, almost ashamed. They had not spoken since that night when he finally told what he had done; when he had finally told the truth. He didn't believe his own innocence; therefore, no one's insistent prodding would help him.
She sat next to him in the back row, smelling the Gilder-Odor he was fond of. "Harry," she said softly, taking his hand.
"Hermione," he responded briskly.
"I love you," she whispered, looking forward at the mourners.
"I'm why Remus is as he is. Look at him, Hermione," he declared gruffly, staring at his ex-professor and mentor as he rested his head on Ron's large shoulder. "Look at the results of my inability to resist the Imperius."
"Professor Snape would have been killed, whether by your hand or by someone else's. There were so many Death Eaters to overpower you, love. Don't you understand that it's not your fault?" she said in a soft voice, frustration rising in her voice.
He looked at her impatiently. "What am I supposed to do? I don't trust myself. I have no self-control. I killed a man."
"You were perfectly willing to take shared custody of the child," she pointed out, remembering last night when she shuffled through some old papers on the dining table. "That implies some faith in yourself."
"It implies nothing!" he snapped. "I knew that I had no chance of getting custody of the child - I'm still in the hospital for goodness sakes! I just wanted the kid to know that I had put up a fight, that I hadn't abandoned him, that there was written proof that I had at least tried to be a good father."
"So it was an excuse? You had no intention of being a father to this child."
A pained expression crossed his face. "After the divorce became final, I wanted return to life as a Muggle. I had no intention of being a father to our child."
She dropped his hand as her other palm went to her midsection, remembering the feeling of knowing that their child lived in there. "Damn you, and damn your pride, Harry Potter."
"You can damn everything from here to Kingdom Come, and it won't change the fact that I do not want to continue with this marriage - and I have every intention of following through with that plan."
"I just got you back, Harry. I know you'd never hurt me. It's over, why can't you see that we can go threw anything together? We already have been through everything together," she pleaded, resting her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment, contemplating better times when she wasn't debating the merits of her marriage with this man - her partner.
Harry moved away a few inches away, Hermione's head flopping down. She looked up at him shocked. "When are you going to realize that there is no one better in this world for me than you? We belong together. You are my everything. How long do I have to subject myself to rejection before you get it?"
He slammed his hand on the wooden pew, the sound echoing lightly, shocking Hermione. None of the other parishioners responded. "You do not negotiate with life, Hermione. When are you going to understand that? You are or you aren't. You do or you don't. There's no gray where this marriage is concerned. I did, but I don't anymore," he seethed.
"You are my husband, Harry Potter. I love you. Don't you forget that," Hermione reminded him.
"And I will forever be proud that I held your love for a little while," Harry said earnestly.
"I still love you," she sobbed, pounding into his shoulder. "Stop speaking in the past tense, as if it's over. There's nothing finished here. This will last forever, damn you."
Harry paused for a moment, as if thinking this over. "'As long as there is love, there is hope.' Professor Dumbledore told me that. I didn't know what he meant until now."
She sighed as she wept slowly into her robes' sleeves. "There is love, Harry, God knows, there is love - but should I have hope?"
He didn't say anything to her, only sighed.
"Where do we go from here? What is there left to do?" she asked.
"We do what we have to do. We breathe in and out and we live," Harry responded weakly.