Epilogue – Whisper
Forsaking all I've fallen for, I rise to meet the end . . .
Years passed, and Severus never fully recovered from witnessing the death of the woman he loved. And yet, he knew she'd been right to show it to him. Without it, he would have lived his life hoping she wasn't really dead, and he'd never be able to move on. She was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. But he knew what lay beyond the veil, and waited for the day he could see her once more.
When his black hair had turned to grey, and the bones and muscles in his body didn't work like they once had, he prepared for that moment. On his deathbed, surrounded by empty space, the healers felt such pity for him that they constantly tried to do things to cheer him up, only aggravating him further.
Is there anyone we can get for you? Surely there's someone . . .
They didn't understand. There was no one on Earth he wanted there, no one to hold his hand and coddle him. He was going to die alone, like she had. She'd had the worst death imaginable, and he felt like the only thing he could do to keep his dignity was to march into death as bravely as she had. She'd known what was going to happen to her when she took Mulciber's curse willingly, after all, and maybe, just maybe, if he held his head high, he'd be worthy of seeing her face one more time.
When the moment came, he was alone. He was simply there, and then . . . wasn't. His last breath came not a moment too soon, in his opinion. He was ready.
Everything was bright all at once. He couldn't make out where he was, but he didn't care. He just wanted to see her.
After a few moments, he looked around, beginning to think she wasn't going to show up. He panicked, nearly stumbling over something behind him. It was a chair, one he recognised from ages ago. Another chair sat next to it, with a table. It was the Three Broomsticks, he realised suddenly. He was alone, but a firewhiskey suddenly appeared in front of him, and next to it, a gillywater.
No sooner had he taken a seat than a bell over the door rang and a beautiful woman entered.
Hermione.
She'd come. He could hardly believe that he was seeing her once more. He wanted to say so many things—that he'd kept his promise and lived a long life, but obviously she must know that; that he loved her and never wanted to part from her again . . .
"I see you're early," she said, smiling broadly, "I like that in a man."
She chuckled at the look on his face, remembering the first time they'd met there, before running up to him and pulling him to his feet.
"What do you say we ditch this place and go for a stroll outside? The weather's great—it always is around here."
He nodded, but paused for a moment.
"Wait," he said.
"What is it?" she replied
He removed his hands from hers and brought them up to her face. He held them there for a moment, drinking in the adoration in her eyes. Then he brought his lips to hers for the first time, and finally found the warm, complete peace he'd been searching for all his life.