When I'm Sixty-Four
"When I'm Sixty-Four" lyrics by The Beatles

A long way off, a sparrow croaked its inhumanly cheerful tune. Something strange made Harry chuckle irritably for the irony. Here he was, walking to her grave, and what did he hear? Not a mournful lark, but a damn, chirping sparrow.

Harry sighed. This was not the morning he was expecting. This was only supposed to be quick. Just weave the familiar track between the eerily silent graves, bring the flowers, and say goodbye. It would be real this time. He knew the last time would be the hardest. This was easily the millionth time he'd come to utter his farewell to her and each time he'd come back. But now he had Luna.

Above him, the sun was shining and creamy, bleached-white clouds traced their wispy fingers across the sky. In the shallow forest surrounding the cemetery, birds sang to each other. The whole place was utterly and fully alive. Whoa, ho! Yet another irony.

Then he thought of the outside world. For one, there was his job. Not that the Ministry had much for him to do after the War. Sure, the remaining Death Eaters needed to be rounded up, but there were dozens of other wizards to do that. And then there were his friends. Ron and the rest from school. They still got together for drinks regularly. And then there was Luna.

She'd always been there for him. Always. Ever since Hermione died, her gentleness had guided him from insanity. He would have gone completely bonkers if it weren't for Luna, Harry thought.

His feet found the plot easily enough. God knew he'd been here uncountable times before. In deep, carved letters on the pearly granite was her name. Hermione Granger, Beloved Fiancée, Daughter, Friend, and Heroin of the Great War, it read.

Harry slipped off his shoes, letting the mossy grass cool his feet, as was his custom. He sat in his usual place, cross-legged on the side of the plot. Even though the grass had grown over the dug-up earth, Harry never sat on it. He could never sit on her.

"Hi, Hermione," he said quietly. Wind blew through his ever-messy raven hair, blowing it into his face. A good sign. Smiling, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it. The breeze had caressed him in the way she had when she was alive. "I love you too."

The sparrow chimed again. Harry winced slightly. He shook his head, forcing his annoyance to ebb away. He looked around.

The meadow was beautiful. All summery and crisp and clean. But its imperfections made it lovely. Some of the daisies and buttercups drooped a bit and the ground was marshy, but the motorway couldn't be heard and it was quiet. Harry knew she would have loved it.

And then he broke, tears slipping from his eyes. "I really did think we would end up together, Mione," he whispered like a terrified child. "I really did."

Harry set the bouquet of fresh white roses at the head of her grave, against the stone. "You did too, remember? We both did."

For a long moment he was silent, but he continued. "Remember the day the War ended and we all defeated him? That was the day we got engaged. Remember it, Hermione? I do. After, after…it…I remember everything about us." He couldn't bring himself to say you died. Harry couldn't do it. Not with her rotting body only feet below him. The thought of her beautiful face decomposing in the coffin revolted him.

"We were going to grow all old and wrinkled together, remember?"

The breeze blew through his hair again, making his face cold because of the tears.

Harry smiled a little smile. "I'd do all the little tasks around the house. Fixing the sink, mowing the lawn…everything. And you'd be happy. We'd be happy. Remember that, Hermione?"

He looked up into the sky. In the half-hour or so he'd been there, thick gray clouds had formed above him. Drops of water fell down on him, a tiny sprinkle.

Within ten minutes, the sprinkle of rain had become a heavy shower but there Harry sat.

"And we were happy," he said, the tears starting more heavily this time. "Remember? We were happy. At least for a little while."

A soaking wet Harry lie on the soaking wet grass. All he wanted to do was to melt into the ground. To be near her again. To be near her as she once was. To feel her soft hands on his shoulders. Her voice. "Until you died. You died, Hermione. You died."

Hermione had died naturally, in her sleep. She wasn't murdered or anything. She had died of a heart attack. Harry guess it was genetic in her family or something, because Hermione had always been naturally fit. High metabolism.

He told her, they all did, that she should have gone to the doctor more often. Even if it was a Muggle doctor. Maybe they would have caught the blockage slowly cutting off her blood supply. Maybe she would still be alive. But maybe she wouldn't be… Now it was too late.

Harry shivered. He hadn't even been there when she'd died. Because they weren't married, she still kept her flat and slept there. Most of the time.

She'd been at her apartment the night she died. The medical wizards had told him she'd died sometime just after sunrise. It was fitting. She'd stuck around for her favorite time of day before she'd kicked it.

He rubbed his arms with his hands. The rain was making the grass he sat on freezing cold. Harry's breathing had calmed down and his tears dried, not that he could tell, what with the rain.

"I miss you so much. You have no idea how much. But I'm not so lonely anymore. I have another friend. Luna. You liked her, remember? I like her too."

Hermione, on the day they got engaged, had told him that if she died, he was to find another to love who loved him. It was as if she were forecasting her own death. Creepy.

"I think I love her," he confessed into the rain.

Harry sat for a long time, not saying anything. There was so much to say, but silence was so much better than words. Always, it seemed, Hermione could read his mind, pick up on his thoughts. Like telepathy. Would Luna ever be like that? In a way, he hoped so. But then, he didn't want her to. That would be Hermione's thing.

A horrible thought struck him. Would Hermione and Luna always duke it out in his mind? Would he make them fight for his attention?

No. He decided, he wouldn't. Hermione would always be there, but Luna was the present. And besides, it would be one of those things Hermione would scoff at and scorn. Harry would try his best to stay in the present.

A crash of thunder stopped the rain to a tiny sprinkle. Harry stood up, stretching his legs. His jeans were soaked. As he shook his shoulders, the rainwater fell off his jacket. For some reason he couldn't fathom—or maybe he didn't want to--and maybe it was her saying good-bye, but the rain falling off his shoulders felt like a true good-bye. Not a forever one, but a farewell that was to the Harry-Hermione us.

Harry looked to where he'd parked the car, where Luna sat waiting for him. He couldn't see it from the cemetery.

He looked back to her grave and picked up his shoes, dumping the water out.

"Well, she's waiting. Bye for now, Mione," he said, turning up the hill that led to Luna, his bare feet squishing in the grass.

The sparrow started to chime again. This time, Harry didn't hear it as annoying. He heard it as beautiful, just like Hermione. He knew she would love it there.

Hello again. Long time, no see? Anyway, here's another songfic. These seem a lot better and more fun to do these days. It's a sort-of tribute to the best band of all time, The Beatles. I love this song, I sing it everywhere (just ask my friends) Lol... Uh, I might take this time to thank everyone for the reviews! Garsh, you guys are so good for my ego. Back to the point: Thank you for reading and the glowing reviews! Which reminds me: you should review now. Bye, yo.