Requiem

 

The voices of the choir soared and dipped, and though Viktor knew that it was a requiem mass, the very sound and vitality of their voices seemed a hideous travesty to the beauty of the life that had been Hermione Granger's. He scowled at them from the pew where he sat, for he knew that they had known nothing of Hermione and that being choirists, this was simply their job.

It was bitterly cold in the cathedral, and he supposed that was appropriate. He was dressed in a black shirt and black pants, and he could feel the negativity of the non-color soaking into his skin, permeating him. Black was all around him. Black lined the bier, black ribbons on the pews, the choir even wore black robes...it was all black. A curl of black hair fell over into his eyes and he almost ran from the church in the frustration of it all. The black, the black was closing in on him, threatening him, the voices of the choir a mocking cacophony that would not stop -

He closed his eyes and his mind was free to leave the cathedral, to fly back joyously to the time when she had still been so wondrously alive...

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high, or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

"Happy Birthday, Hermione, Happy Birthday to you!"

She had blown out all twenty-one candles in one straight gust of breath, and then a brilliant smile lit her features. "Thank you all so much..." She glanced around at the people seated around her at the table. Ron was on her left, with his family behind him, one huge mass of red hair, huge grins, and freckles. Harry's vibrant green eyes flickered in the half-light of the candles, and though he'd had much on his shoulders lately, he too had a smile for her.

And there, on her right, was Viktor. She reached for his hand and pressed it with her own as the Weasley twins began to chop up the cake with great vigor. "I'm so glad that you could come. I know that you're very busy with the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic..."

"Trust me, even if the Death Eaters vere at the doors of Durmstrang I vood still have found some vay to come." She knew this well, for they saw each other as much as possible, with the help of numerous Portkeys.

"'Ey, 'Mione, have some cake, you have to tell us if it's alright before we can eat! Hurry up!" Fred - or George, she could never tell - shoved a piece of cake in her general direction, and Hermione smiled and took a bite. It was, of course, delicious - tiramisu, delicate and fluffy. The rest of the Weasleys, except for Ginny, dug in with fervor, and Hermione cast a worried glance at the pale, rod-thin young woman whose red hair was like a flame around her forehead. Ginny had picked up her fork and was dejectedly pushing her sliver of tiramisu around on her plate.

"Ginny, dear, are you feeling alright?"

Instantly, the mask came on. It was not material, but Hermione knew how unreal it was. Ginny had become so adept at hiding her emotions that not even her family or Harry could see the sadness that hid behind her eyes every day. It wasn't only her face, but her body too - she was as skinny as a twig, and her huge brown eyes seemed even larger in her miserable face. Hermione knew the cause, but she was the only one, and she would take it with her to her grave.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm just fine! I only have a slight headache, is all. I'll go have some aspirin."

Hermione had only nodded and turned back to Viktor, reasoning that there was really nothing she could do about Ginny tonight. "How has the team been doing?"

Viktor's rare smile crossed his lips - it still unnerved Hermione, even though they had been together for four years now. He smiled so little, but when he did, it was like a ray of sunlight that has pierced the clouds on a dreary day. "Beautifully. Our reserve Seeker is doing very vell on her Wronski Feints. And the new Beater, Poliamina, is excellent. I am very glad that she is playing for us."

"'Ey, 'Mione! Mum's draggin' us off..." It was Fred...or George.

"Yes, Hermione dear, I'm awfully sorry, but Ron has an interview with the Ministry for his job, you know, so early tomorrow morning, he needs his rest..."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you so much, all of you, for coming..." She got up and hugged all of them tenderly; it seemed so long ago that they had all been young and carefree together. Harry was going with them, as he too had an interview tomorrow with the Auror department.

As Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Percy took pinches of Floo Powder from her mantelpiece and disappeared into the fire, Ginny came up to Hermione and gave her a light embrace, which Hermione returned just as lightly, for Ginny was too frail to be held very tightly. Hermione wondered if she was still strong enough to use Floo, but Ginny only gave her a feeble smile and threw her pinch of powder into the flames.

Only Harry and Ron remained. Viktor was sitting quietly at the table, poking at bits of birthday cake, as Hermione faced her two oldest and dearest friends. "Sometimes I never thought we'd all make it to twenty-one," she murmured softly, "but here we all are, alive, healthy, hell, even happy." She looked at the two of them for a second, realizing just how much they lived for the moment and craved the adrenaline of their dangerous lives. "Viktor, dear, come here."

"Herm-own-ninny?" But he came anyway, and stood before her with Harry and Ron. He still dwarfed them, tall as they had grown.

Without warning, Hermione embraced the three of them tightly, holding on as if they were all that she had left in the world. "I love you three so very much. I feel so lucky that I'm alive and have such a wonderful life." She smiled up at all of them.

Harry and Ron smiled simultaneously, but it was Ron who spoke. "I know that with jobs, and trips, and everything, Harry and I won't see for a while, but you know that we love you all the same."

And then Harry spoke, simply. "Happy birthday, Hermione." He turned to Viktor and shook his hand. "You're a good man, and though nobody's good enough to deserve Hermione Granger, you come pretty damn close." Ron nodded at Viktor, a twinge of the old hostility still remaining, and then the two of them had taken their Floo Powder and were lost in the swirling fire. She was alone with Viktor.

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high, or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

The voices of the choir were in his ears again, grating on his consciousness. Then they slowed, quieted, and ceased. The black bier was still there, though, bedecked with white flower buds. Black and white, black and white. It almost burned his eyes. Some woman was at a podium, talking, crying, weeping, then bawling, and then someone else guided the woman down from the podium to the pews, where the crying woman shuddered, shoulders hunched, and the tears flowing free.

"There are many of Hermione's friends and loved ones here today. If any of you would like to speak or share with us a little of what you remember of Hermione, please feel free." Some stately religious official. Even his voice sounded blasphemous. Why couldn't the world just be silent? Why couldn't the world just stand still, in recognition of her life, in sorrow for her death? Why did those idiotic birds still sing outside the stained glass? How he hated those hopeful trees, bursting with beautiful green life when she had no eyes to see them!

Nobody was standing up. The clergyman seemed about to conclude the service, but something propelled Viktor to his feet.

"Excuse me, sir." His voice was suprisingly steady. He felt as though he'd left his body.

"Yes, sir?"

"I vood...I vood like to speak about Hermione." He remembered, wistfully, about how he had only learned to say her name correctly after she had died.

"Would you like to come up to the podium?"

He nodded, and stepped out into the aisle. People gasped, for he was still famous, still a star on the Quidditch field, no matter how broken and insignificant he felt inside.

When he was at the podium, he cleared his throat and looked out over the packed cathedral. They were a sea of faces, some that he recognized, some that he did not. Harry and Ron Weasley sat in the front pew, along with Ginny Weasley, who had wasted away to almost nothing. Mr. Granger was as still as a stone, his eyes staring straight ahead. His wife sobbed noisily into a pastel blue handkerchief. There were others from Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons, and even Durmstrang, for Hermione had made many friends. One conspicuous absence was that of Albus Dumbledore, who had succumbed to a heart attack on hearing of Hermione's demise. Viktor closed his eyes momentarily before beginning...

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high, or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

Hermione was still asleep, the morning light delicate and golden on her face, emphasizing the light strands in her hair. He shifted a little and kissed her forehead, infinitely aware of the birds' song, of the sunlight, of the morning, and of what a gift, what a mercy it was to have this morning.

She stirred and her eyelids fluttered. He traced the edge of her cheek with one finger, and she opened her eyes fully, a smile spreading like sunrise across her features when she saw him. She said nothing, and he took a deep breath and sat up. He had wanted to ask her this for months, but had never gotten up the strength - until now.

She propped herself up on her elbows and raised an eyebrow. He took another deep breath. Could he do this? Of course he could, he reassured himself. Of course. He reached down for one of her hands, her long fingers callused and grooved with too much writing.

"Herm-own-ninny..." He faltered. No, no, of course he could do this. After all, he was a grown man, twenty-five years old, he needn't act like such a nervous child. "Vill you marry me?"

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high, or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

Viktor opened his eyes again. They were all either looking expectantly at him, or sobbing into handkerchiefs. Of course, he wouldn't mention the events of that morning. Nobody had known. She had died the next day.

He began to speak.

"I first saw Hermione Granger ven I vos eighteen years old and under the tutelage of Igor Karkaroff. I can very truthfully say that she shocked me, as I grew to know her, vhich I count as one of the greatest blessings that God has given me - my friendship of Hermione."

He paused again. Who was he to mention God? Under Karkaroff, his God had been Quidditch and study. When he had met Hermione, he didn't even know whom to thank for the happy circumstance, and since then the only time he had spoken the name of God was at her death. But he continued speaking. She had hated digression and unfocusedness.

"As many people more vorthy than I have said, Hermione vos a great soul, a beloved friend, student, daughter, confidante...but Hermione still is a great soul. Hermione is the kind of person who, even when death deals its cruel blow, cannot really be extinguished. Look at the people around you, your family, your friends, even people you do not know, and in them, even on their faces today, you can see that spark that vos Hermione - that is Hermione. For ve all knew and loved her and so carry her fire in us."

"And Hermione vos a fire, she vos brilliant blazing flames that coursed through you and left you aching for more of her vords, more of her company, more of her. Once Hermione's life had touched your own, you vere forever changed, vhether you knew it or not. If you sorrow for her, and think that she is gone, then you need only look inside yourself, reach into your soul and you can find in you Hermione, you can find in you her vitality, her beauty, and her love for life."

He realized that there was a violent hotness behind his eyes and knew it to be tears. He made no attempt to curtail them, for soon they would fall. "Each and every one of you here cherished Hermione, and grieve for her death, I know. But know too that she sees your tears, that she hears your cries, and that she is vith you, that in the darkest hour of the night, directly before the dawn, that she is vith you."

"And I, " and he continued to speak even as he felt the burning tears flowing down his face, "I loved Hermione Granger, and...and so did all of you. That body...that body is not Hermione. That soul that you feel by your side, all of you, that is Hermione. For...for I loved her, I loved her, I loved her..."

He broke down and sobbed for a little while, and everybody sat in silence, held captive by his words. And then he somehow composed himself, and his voice was thick with tears, his wasted sorrow, his wasted wishes, and the requiem for a dream.

"There is life, there is death. And then there is Hermione, who is better than both, and stronger, and who vill never leave us."

He stepped down from the podium and went down the aisle slowly, as if marching to his own funeral. When he reached his pew, he did not stop, but continued out the front doors, into the heretical sunshine and the blasphemous birdsong.

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high, or down low
I'll go wherever you will go