Fly Away

Disclaimer: Characters and universe is J.K. Rowling´s, and the song, Fly Away, is by Poe.

~*~*~*~

It makes sense that it should feel this way,
That you slowly fade and yet still remain,

As if to say

Everything matters in such an invisible way.
As if to say

It's okay,
Fly...away.

~*~

It was a very small ceremony, performed under a washed-out blue sky, just outside of Hogsmeade. Dumbledore, still refusing to be sensible and die like most normal wizards, presided. Snape was more than a little alarmed to note that neither Potter nor Weasley, the two people he had most expected to be there, were absent.

He scowled darkly, when Dumbledore gently tossed a handful of dirt onto the coffin lid. It was a very Muggle ceremony - for her parents, Snape supposed. They stood silently, leaning on each other for support, but neither had that shocked, disbelieving look he expected to see.

They had buried their daughter a long time ago. This was just a more formal service.

The discreet pile of rich, dark earth was magically returned to the hole where it belonged, the slight protrusion of the packed dirt the only indication anything was different. After that, the people began to wander, in twos and threes, down the hill towards the town, McGonagall and Dumbledore flanking the Grangers. An honour guard, of sorts, Snape thought, that came too little, too late. He waited, till the stragglers had disapparated or wandered back to Hogsmeade, to The Three Broomsticks.

He walked past the newly turned earth towards the rest of the plots. He remembered when Albus had told him of Hermione´s death.

~*~

"Bury her with the rest of the fallen," Snape said bluntly. Dumbledore looked at him for a moment without understanding.

"Why?"

"Because she told me after the battle that she would come back to Hogwarts one day, if only to see the graves."

The old Headmaster had nodded and sipped his tea.

"She killed herself, didn´t she?"

Dumbledore looked up, startled. Snape smiled humourlessly.

"Yes."

"With magic?"

The older wizard stared quietly at the younger man for a moment. "No. She cut her wrists."

Snape nodded and clasped his hand behind his back, clenching his fingers together till his knuckles turned white.

~*~

So now, here she was. On a small hill, under a tree. Snape had pointed to the spot wordlessly when he and Dumbledore came to the field the day after the heard the news. Her parents had been surprisingly unconcerned with what was to be done with the body - they probably were surprised to find out that their daughter had been missing not only from them but also from her Wizarding friends.

Snape walked past the older graves, pausing in front of a few - Rubeus Hagrid, Filius Flitwick, Coronis Sinistra, Remus Lupin. He walked past every plot, paying his silent respects, before returning to the newest.

"You´ve come back, and seen the graves," he said quietly. "And me. You said that you´d want to see me as well."

He paused, as though waiting for a response.

"You found your answer, I suppose. I think you half-expected it - you seemed too thin, too tired, when we met. You knew it was coming, and how it would end." He looked up from the simple headstone, and squinted up at the sky. "I still waited for you to come back."

He turned on his heel, and stalked down the hill towards the town.

~*~

Snape sat in front of his fireplace, a pile of ratty notebooks on the reading table beside him and a similar one in his hands. He turned the last page, covered in a neat, cramped hand, and read quickly. Once finished, the book was closed and then tossed casually into the fire.

This continued, the only change occurring when he retrieved a bottle of whiskey and a glass. As he read the final books, the level of liquor in the bottle rapidly decreased, and the glass was eventually forgotten.

Finally, the last journal had been tossed into the fire, and the whiskey was gone.

He could hear her whispering in his ear now, and feel her standing behind him. He was quite aware that if he turned around, or strained to hear her words, she would vanish.

He remembered that first evening, long after he had followed her back to her Head Girl suite, when she had told him she would be leaving. He had wondered if she was still sane. He wondered the same about himself now.

As he staggered into his bedroom, and fell into the comforting warmth of unconsciousness, he was certain she was there, lying beside him.

~*~*~*~