Never Again

Never again, she thinks, as the crowd pushes nearer, clamouring for a last glimpse of their hero, will she smile genuinely again. Perhaps people will think that she is being melodramatic, but then again, she knows she isn't. Harry died with a smile for her. Dead, but not defeated. Ginny knows he went willingly. Tom had told her in the chamber, in a voice laced with utter malice as she listened, trembling and terrified, As long as the boy lives I will not die.

Never again, she realizes as she stares blankly out at the sea of unfamiliar faces before her, their eyes sad but not sorrowful as the coffin is lowered slowly into the ground, will she be able to look out like this and believe, with a crimson warmth that comforts and excites her at the same time, that he is somewhere, out there.

Never again will the Gryffindor Common Room echo with the sweet, mirthful sound of their laughter the way it did when they devised mock strategies at one in the morning to attempt to beat Ron at Wizard's Chess. It's strange, she thinks, that she remembers them now: have Colin pop some Filibuster's Fireworks near Ron's ear while he's trying to concentrate; distract him by casually mentioning the five-feet-long letter Hermione received from Krum that Christmas (she realizes with a sudden pang that Hermione will never receive another word from Krum; he was involved in the espionage against Voldemort and was never heard from again).

Moist red earth is thrown over the coffin; it silently hits it, covers it, hides it. So this is how they bury old scars. They cover it with sand and soil till the ground is level again, they place a beautiful, gleaming tombstone on it. Every year on this day fresh flowers will be placed reverently on his grave, every year on this day wizards all over the world will mourn their nobly lost hero. And on the other 364 days, they will live.

Ginny does not cry. She does not want to live. She does not believe she can. She watches through her lowered lashes as Hermione sobs into Ron's shoulder. She thinks about Harry, about the time she sobbed into Harry's shoulder. (A lost Quidditch match, and it seems so trivial now that she wants to scream.)

Never again will they issue each other silly, fun challenges with 12-hour deadlines, such as finding the most outrageously titled books in the Hogwarts library. (Ron nearly had a seizure when Ginny slid into the seat opposite Harry at dinner and triumphantly announced "101 ways to breed a Hippogriff with a house elf". Harry's bright green eyes had sparkled with a mixture of amusement and disgust, and Hermione had taken offence at the house elf reference.)

Soon the rain falls, and everyone leaves. Ginny lays her head down on his grave. She wants to be buried with him. She feels the mud on her cheeks but she doesn't care.

Never again will he see the light of day, the white roses budding, the red-gold of the sunset (he always said that it reminded him of her hair), the silvery shimmer of the lake (they used to sit by it, talking about anything and feeding the giant squid with bits of grass). Never again will he press his ear to her middle and listen for the tiny heartbeat of their unborn child, their hush-hush secret.

She stands up, straightens her cloak. With one last, final look at the scrawl on the slab of grey stone that does not even come close to expressing what Harry has meant to them, she takes one long, shuddering breath and walks away.

Goodnight, Harry. Rest in peace.

*