Memory

How was I to know on a bright, warm Wednesday afternoon you were going to once again change my life? Everything was the same as it always was. It was the last summer of teen years. The last summer to goof off and we were all taking advantage of it. I still remember that day above all.

I woke around noon, considering we had been at the pub, then Draco's until almost dawn noon seemed to be a time to be proud of. If I had known what that day would bring I would have never gotten out of bed. When I walked into the kitchen I took in the stern look on Gran's face and knew I was getting ready to receive a lecture. Something about how you had gotten up and gone to work that morning even though he too had stayed out late and despite it being summer I could be doing research, after all I was beginning my internship at Hogwarts in September. I would give anything for it to have been a lecture I received that day.

I remember very clearly Gran hugging me, crying and mumbling over and over, "Thank Merlin you're okay, thank Merlin you're home." When she finally calmed enough to hear me asking what she was going on about she spoke the words that will forever haunt me. "Harry Potter is dead."

She expected me to cry, she expected me to deny it, she expected me to break down. I gave no reaction. I simply walked back to my room and crawled back into bed while her words repeated over and over again as I fought to fall asleep again. 'Harry Potter is dead.' 'Harry Potter is dead.'

Draco eased me out of my stupor later that night insisting I had to go with him back to his flat. He said everyone was meeting there and I had to come. I fought him off saying I couldn't possibly see anyone right now. Didn't he understand I needed to be alone? Didn't he understand I didn't want sympathy? Didn't he understand this was all some sick joke, that Harry would be home later tonight or tomorrow if he was running late.

I didn't take Draco's threat lightly. When he said I would be going to his flat, I gave in and got dressed. An hour later when I entered his flat alone, the last guest to arrive, I realized for the first time Harry Potter was really dead. I couldn't deny why the tears were still flowing down Hermione's face. I couldn't ignore Ron's bloodshot eyes. It was real. But I couldn't cry, not yet. So, I stared forward and greeted my friends.

That night was easy enough to get through. We shared stories of our times with Harry. It didn't matter that most of us had been present and were hearing events we had witnessed. The retelling of our lives brought a strange comfort. A comfort I especially needed.

The memorial service for the Boy Who Lived was almost as attended as the celebration following the defeat of Voldemort. As people came up to me offering their sympathies I wished to be anywhere but where I was. How could they? How could they insult the relationship Harry and I had based on love then tell me how sorry they were my lover, my life partner was gone? How could the same people who criticized every moment of our courtship ask me if there was anything they could do? There wasn't a thing anyone could do. I just had to make it through that service and pray that the grave side service would stay private, as Harry had requested.

It was at that grave side service that I finally broke. One week after Harry died. As they lowered his casket into the ground on one side his parents, the other Remus and Sirius. And next to his grave a plot for his spouse. Staring at the spot he was laid to rest and the empty plot next to it, the place I would one day be buried, I broke. I cried and above all I wished that day would be the day I joined him.

It's been ten years since Harry died. Not a day goes by that I do not think about him, that I do not wish things could be different. I am far from being the person I once was. Life has made sure of that. But I have remembered my love, and I have missed him. Although he may not be here anymore I take comfort in knowing one day my love will greet me when I join him in eternity.