Even Lovers Drown

She floats below the surface, seeing the world above in liquid shades. The airy world ripples and wavers in her sight, like a smoky mirage. Movement exaggerated, disparate, like watching a conversation from across a crowded room. She can see them, though she does not know if they can see her suspended in the water.

There is no time here, no rush. The water swells around, whispering to her - hush, hush, there is no need for sorrows here, no need for worry, let us take you, let us help you, come below with us - tickling her toes and winding around her ankles, up, up, making the waking world flutter in their wake.

No need, they say to her, no need for anything. She sinks, and keeps sinking, willing it all to go away.

In the waking world, the air still smells of smoke and death, of half-expired magic, and, on the wind, the tang of water and the crispness of snow. There was a castle here, once, but it is now only ruins, with signs warning tourists off. There was a town nearby, too, though there are only a few people still living there, in the few buildings that are not burnt shells.

People come here, though, alone or in small groups. Some bring flowers or other tokens; others bring nothing and leave nothing. Occasionally a tourist struggles in, but they soon fell the oppressive nature of this place and leave.

At this moment, there is nothing but the sound of wind in the trees and the cry of a lone hawk. There are two small explosions of air being forced out of place. Two men appear on the banks of the lake, dressed entirely in black, utterly silent. They sit and stare at the water as though some message is written there.

Finally, one speaks, his voice almost inaudible over the water splashing on shore. "She's been a long time gone."

"Not as long as you'd think," the other says, angrily. "It seems like I last saw her yesterday."

"With a pensieve, it is." The other man, dark haired, turns to stare at the speaker. "You think we don't know? It's not exactly a secret, Harry."

"I didn't...I thought no one would find out. There weren't enough pictures, enough letters...I can't even go back to where it all happened."

"You think we don't feel that way, too? I know it's not the same for us, Harry, but we all miss her. Don't think you're the only one who gets to feel that way." Ron walked away, not far, just far enough to hide the tears in his eyes.

Harry stood up, stared down at the water's edge. "It's just..." he broke off suddenly. "It's just that...I'm sorry, Ron. Sorry for being stupid. Sorry for not being there, when I needed to be there."

Ron walked back, slowly. "It wasn't your fault, or mine, or anyone except for those who did it. Who knows? Maybe it was better she went the way she did - I've heard it's a peaceful way to die. Merlin knows there are worse ways, and we saw all those that day."

"I know." Harry looked out across the lake where the lone hawk still circled lazily. "Let's go, Ron. There's nothing more to say today, and I know you need to get home soon."

"That's right, she'll be waiting, and so will those kids of mine," Ron paused. "Come to dinner?"

"Not tonight. How about tomorrow? I'll even bring presents for those bratty godchildren of mine." Harry smiled, slightly.

"That's a brave man. I'll see you then." Ron apparated away, leaving only a small implosion of air behind. Harry crouched down, and tossed a handful of flowers out across the surface of the lake.

"I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when you died," he said softly, then apparated away.

Under the surface, rocked gently in the currents, she watched the flowers drift and begin to sink. One fell, wafting gently down, to land on her chest.

He has brought me flowers, she thinks. Though the water sings its gentle siren song, she lingers near the surface and dreams:

Flowers for his drowned Ophelia.