Those Eyes

Those Eyes

I do not recall my school years or my childhood. Ron says that the accident made me lose my memories. Whenever I would ask him what the accident was, he would start crying. I do not ask about it anymore. I wish I could know more about what happened that made me forget everything. Did I fall and get a concussion? Was I shot? Did someone throw a projectile at me? All these questions among many others, I do not know.

I did not know about my family. But I looked up "Potter" in the old ministry records. They were both murdered on October 31st, 1982. I was one at the time. My father's name was James and my mother's name was Lily. I used to think that I spent my life in an orphanage but Ron told me that I was raised by my mother's sister and her husband.

I am sitting in my living room right now. I live in a penthouse suite because I can afford it. I would love to live in the country, but I do not want a house when I have no family. I inherited some land in the south from my parents but I sold it long ago. It was useless to me because I didn't have the time to build a house. The house on my parent's property was destroyed.

But, I do recall something. A pair of deep brown eyes. Those eyes have haunted me all my life and I do not know who they belong to. I somehow feel warm when I see those eyes in my mind. But that feeling vanishes when I realise that I do not know who's eyes they are. Ron's children have either, blue eyes from him our hazel eyes from his wife, Lavender. Ron's siblings have either blue or brown eyes, but the brown-eyed Weasleys don't match the eyes in my head because the eyes have brown hair instead of red around them.

I believe that the eyes belong to a woman. A woman who completes my ideal look of beauty. Smooth, creamy skin, a dazzling smile and bushy dark brown hair. People are always surprised when I tell them this, they always ask why it is bushy and not wavy or curly instead of in between. I have no idea myself why I think that bushy hair is so beautiful. I have asked Ron why he thinks I like bushy dark brown hair. He tells me that he doesn't know why and then looks away. But, after I would tell him this, the conversation would be more awkward. But her name must be Hermione. I have liked this name for some reason, though I do not know anyone with the name. I think I must've read it in a book or something. Maybe my perfect woman was a character in a long-forgotten book I've read who was named Hermione. If I had a daughter, I think I would want her to be named Hermione.

Lavender probably read that same book too, for one of her daughters' middle name is Hermione. For this I have always liked that daughter, whose first name is Jane. I think that Jane is a good name too. It would probably be my daughter Hermione's middle name. Hermione Jane Potter, that's a nice name for a girl; it is strong, beautiful and feminine.

But I sigh as I walk to my bedroom. I look out the window in my hall to London. It is a beautiful sight. I go to my bathroom, take a shower, brush my teeth and walk to my bedroom with the sound of my footsteps echoing throughout my flat. I get my pajamas on and then hop into my bed. I fall asleep almost instantly.

Seventeen year-old Harry Potter woke up in a strange bed. He knew that he was in the hospital wing. What happened to get him here? Where were Ron and Hermione? He panicked as he tried to get dressed into clothes on the table beside him and put his glasses on. He had to speak to Professor McGonagall.

He ran down the halls until he reached the gargoyle that led to the Headmistress' office. "Acid Pops," he said hastily as he hurried up the stairs that appeared before him.

He saw a woman sitting in her desk. She had raven hair that was streaked with grey and was tied up in a bun, she usually had a strict expression on her face but it was softened today, the glasses she wore were on her desk. Tears were running down her face and she was wearing black robes instead of her usual green. Harry realized something wasn't right.

He saw Ron in a couch on the side. He had a cast on his left arm and looked grieved. Ron's sister, Ginny, had tears in her big brown eyes, which were red like her face and her hair. Ginny had been crying. Plump Mrs. Weasley was sobbing by the window with tall Mr. Weasley comforting her with a stern look on his face. He too was looking out the window.

"Professor McGonagall, what happened?" Harry asked. He was scared and was worried. Where was she? She had to be here? nothing could happen to her, could it? "Where's Hermione?"

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said as she wiped her eyes. They were red like Ginny's. "Death Eaters attacked the school last night. You were able to kill Voldemort off but Miss Granger was knocked off the astronomy tower where you were fighting him. Serverus Snape disarmed her and she was knocked off. She died with a broken neck. You followed her to save her, but you only had significant damage to your head. We do not know the effects of your fall. Her body is in the hospital wing if you wish to visit it. Her funeral will be in several days at her village."

Harry couldn't believe it. Not Hermione. Not his Hermione! Not his smart, sweet, kind, gentle, brave, beautiful Hermione! She couldn't be dead. She loved him! Love was the strongest power ever. Why didn't it save her?

He saw her. It was so painful. The life that were in her beautiful brown eyes were gone. He would never see those eyes again. They were forever closed under her pale eyelids. He had only the memory. He would always have that memory. Her lips were pale, those lips contained the most dazzling smile underneath them! How could they not reveal that smile forever? Her bushy dark brown hair was laid around her. Even though Hermione always hated her hair, Harry loved it. He remembered how the Slytherins would make fun of her hair. And her teeth before Madame Pomfrey fixed them in fourth year. Ron started to fancy Hermione that year. He stopped only this year when he started to go out with Lavender Brown again.

Harry stroked her pale cheek. It wasn't warm like it usually was. Instead, death took over and froze it. He remembered how he stroked that cheek only nights before in front of the fire. He told her that he loved her so, so much. She felt the same way too. They kissed and later made love for the first time.

How could she disappear? How could his Hermione disappear like that? She was his love. She was his comfort. She was his angel. Hermione Jane Granger was his whole life. And she was so very suddenly taken away from him. This wasn't fair. She was all he ever cared about, he would've gladly been the one to die, he would've sacrificed his life to save hers and would not be sorry. But, no, that perfect girl had to die! That perfect girl who belonged to him! How many girls like Hermione died to the cruel hands of Voldemort? How many boys broke their hearts and wept over their loves' dead bodies? how many of those girls were intelligent enough to become the minister for magic? How many of those girls had that kind and gentle disposition that Hermione had which was perfect for that of a mother? How many of those girls were brave enough to love one who was in danger? How many of those had the beauty of Helen of Troy like Hermione? How many of those smart, sweet, kind, gentle, brave, beautiful girls were like Hermione?

He went to her funeral. He was crying throughout it. The eulogy was made by Hermione's father. Harry was offered to do it but he didn't think he could do it without breaking down in the middle of it. Mr. Granger did a good job but Harry knew more about Hermione than anyone. He knew that she wanted a big family. he knew that she wanted to be a housewife and have husband that loved her so deeply. Harry could've given her that. He could've been the father of her big family. He could've let her stay home while he went to work. He would've still loved her and be so devoted to her. But he wouldn't have the chance to make her dreams come true. He cried while he thought of this and had to take of his glasses.

Her casket was closed and everyone went to the cemetery where she was to be buried. He watched silently as he watched Hermione slowly being placed in the ground. How could that lovely, perfect girl be inserted in a dirty hole in the ground? He started to cry again. Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arms around Harry. She, too, was crying. Ron wasn't crying but he was holding Lavender close to him. Harry saw a purple sparkle on Lavender's third finger. He guessed that Ron proposed to her. How Harry wished to propose to Hermione! While Hermione was lying in his arms during their last night, Harry thought of asking her to marry him. And they would have a big family and they would grow old together. Now that would never happen.

When the hole and Hermione were covered, everyone headed towards their cars and left. Mr. and Mrs. Granger gave their condolences to him. "I know that you loved her," Mr. Granger told him. "You were all she could talk about during the summer. My wife and I would get sick of Harry this and Harry that. But you are the type of boy I would've wanted as a son-in-law. I guess that can't be now." He sighed and joined his wife as they walked to their car.

Harry was alone with her. With his Hermione. He walked over to her gravestone. He brushed some dirt from the burial off. He read her epitaph.

Hermione Jane Granger

September 19th, 1980-June 29th, 1998

Always in our hearts, forever in our memory

Harry traced the inscriptions, stood up and sighed. Always in his heart, forever in his memory. That was where Hermione would stay. Always and forever.