Remembrance
A/N: I own nothing but the plot.
It is quiet in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow today, and I like it. I see no one, hear nothing but the leaves scatter as they fall from the trees and announce autumn's coming with a soft breeze.
I stand before the ostentatious memorial and wrinkle my nose at it, as I often have. It is hideous, and he would have hated it. For the Muggles passing by, it seems worthy of a king, however, this monument stands for no king, but a mere boy, who'd scarcely reached adulthood before his final breath was drawn.
The war was soon to be forgotten; its heroes have been honored; its dead mourned. But people still remember this boy in the back of their minds. He'd been special, certainly. After all, without him, our world would have been plunged into a never-ending darkness. But because of him, we all rejoice.
He was the Boy Who Once Lived. Except now, he was the Boy Who'd Died to Save the Rest of Us.
People still talked of him, shared glorious stories of heroic adventures. They talked less and less of his friends who'd been with him to the end, only to lose their own lives along with his. He became iconic, and for a while, people paid reverent tribute to him almost daily.
Babies were born and christened with the name "Harry Potter," without anyone even blinking. For who wouldn't want their baby to share the name of the greatest and bravest wizard of our time?
I laugh softly to myself at the thought of all the Harry Potters running around Hogwarts' castle in ten years time. How will the professors keep them all straight?
Suddenly, the hair on my neck begins to prickle. Someone's here, yet I hear no footsteps behind me. But then… breathing. Sharp intake, quick exhale. I'd know that breathing anywhere. One doesn't forget the breathing of a man they'd loathed for so many years.
"Severus, what are you doing here?" I ask, turning to face the inevitable scowling face of my former Potions Master. "Come to pay your respects?"
"Hardly," he scoffs in return. He doesn't know that as I turn back to remember my friend, I see him silently cross himself.
"I take it you still haven't forgiven him for saving your life," I remark with what I hope is only a bit of sarcasm.
"I shall never forgive him for that." His voice is sharp and his words are harsh, but I know he does not resent my statement.
"Yes, Harry always did have a knack for saving those who themselves felt they weren't worth saving," I reply with a sad smile back at the man. "It was almost a sickness to him."
"Indeed, Weasley," is his reply, and I cannot help myself and laugh aloud.
"Weasley, is it Severus? I thought we'd moved beyond that," I tease him, hoping for a small smile out of the sullen man, but I am not to be rewarded today.
"What shall I call you then? My dear?" he mocks. "That hardly seems appropriate, doesn't it?"
Some things never change, and I turn my face to the breeze for moment.
"Autumn is coming," I say, if only to change the subject. "Students will be returning to Hogwarts. Will you?" My tone is only slightly derisive, but it is not meant to be unkind.
"Not this term, and you know it," he replies with a sigh. "Why did you come here?"
I don't know really. But I don't say these words to this man, for he will not understand why one would do something for unknown reasons. He has never done anything that was not planned, calculated. So instead, I shrug.
"I just felt like I was needed," I say finally, hoping this answer appeases him. It does, for I see the slight nod of his head.
"You aren't needed elsewhere?" The stress on his third word does not escape me, but I dare not comment on it.
"Oh, somewhere I'm sure, aren't you?" Sometimes cheeky works with Severus, sometimes it doesn't. I'm hoping to be lucky today.
He sighs loudly and finally turns to completely face the memorial. He bows slightly at it and studies it for a moment.
"He'd have hated it, wouldn't he?" he asks. At my nod, he graces me with a small smile. "How much longer?" At this, he glances at me and casts his eyes downward, making me laugh.
"Not long at all," I answer. "Do you care to stay with me?"
"Would you like me to?" he softly questions, and I know that he is sincere.
"Yes," I answer and reach for him.
He takes my hand as I bow my head, speaking silent words to Harry, my friend. As usual, my emotions overtake me, and I began to cry.
Severus mutely hands me a handkerchief to dab at my eyes and awkwardly puts his arm around my shoulders in comfort.
His other reaches to caress my swelling belly, and our baby rewards his father with a hearty kick.
"Not much longer?" he asks again, and I shake my head.
"By the end of the month probably," I reply covering his hand with mine.
For all the Harry Potters in the world now, ours will not share the name. My husband would never allow it. More than likely, our son will be named for his father or mine. As much as Severus would never admit his gratitude for Harry saving his life, he has never regretted allowing the boy to do it. For Severus was left to live the life many thought Harry would have – married to the youngest Weasley, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and father to be.
"Shall we go, Severus?" I ask and he takes my hand again.
"Severus, is it?" he asks. "I thought we'd moved beyond that."
"What shall I call you then? Darling?" I retort. "That hardly seems appropriate right now, doesn't it? I shall wait until we are at home, and there is no one else around to hear me call you 'darling.'"
He pauses as we exit the cemetery and bends to kiss my cheek. "Come, my dear, let us go home."