The Power of Goodbye

The Power of Goodbye

"Mum, you can't stay there," my daughter whispers, nudging me.

"Why not?" I retort with the venom allowed for someone of my advanced age.

"Mum, we have this discussion every year," my daughter sighs. "I'm not leaving you outside. It's going to storm soon."

I open my eyes and glare. As our daughter got older, the features of her father began to out themselves: dark hair, light eyes, small frame. It disappointed both her fathers when she never went out for Quidditch.

"So cast a repelling charm on me, Olivia."

She sighs again. "Very well." She casts the charm before bending to kiss my cheek. "I'll return at midnight."

Ron and Harry left me within hours of each other five years ago. Never mind that we had two beautiful children, Olivia and Ian, every year I miss my boys more.

Leaning back against Harry's headstone, I rest my feet on Ron's and begin speaking.

"Harry, they interviewed me again about our school days. They asked about the Chamber again. They all seem to forget I wasn't there. Then again, it was so long ago, it probably doesn't matter that I wasn't physically there."

I sigh and shift. The stones are colder each year. Or maybe it's your bones, Hermione.

"Ron, Ginny passed two months ago. It's ironic that Percy is the only 'Rebel Weasley' remaining. Once again it's forgotten that Percy was the only Weasley not on the front lines."

Pulling the cloth Ian gave me, I wipe my cheeks free of tears.

"We have another great-grandchild, if you can believe it. Olivia and Richard's daughter Sophie had another son last month. They named him Harry. It's already looking like he'll have your mother's eyes, Harry."

The rear door of the house opens, then slams shut. From this distance I can't see who it is. Too many years of staring at books has nearly destroyed my eyesight. There are magical cures no, but I, like Harry did, have shunned them.

"Gigi, you cold?" Benedict asks, flopping beside me. He's the eldest of our great-grandchildren at six and the only one who was born before Harry and Ron died.

"No, not cold," I answer, shifting again. My bones ache with cold, but it's not anything a blanket can fix.

Ben sighs and curls up against my side. "You talking to Grandfather Harry and Grandfather Ron?"

"Are you," I automatically correct.

"That's what I said," he huffs. Though he can't see me, I smile.

"Yes, I'm talking to them."

Ben is silent for several minutes, then turns his face up to me and asks, "Do they hear you?"

"I believe they do."

He moves closer, shivering a bit. Sometimes I have the passing thought that they died in February to spite me.

"What if they can't?" Ben whispers.

Pulling my wand, I cast a mild heating charm for Ben then light the end.

"Does it matter if they can't hear me?" I ask quietly.

By my wandlight, I watch him bite his lower lip. After deep thought, he shakes his head. "No."

My smile widens. "Why doesn't it matter?"

"Because you talk to them so you can feel close to them, not for them to answer."

Sophie and Matthew have their hands full with him. He reminds me of me.

Ruffling his hair, I press a kiss to his forehead, even though I know it disconcerts him to feel my papery skin on his.

"Does your mum know you're out here?" Suddenly sheepish, he ducks his head. "Go back inside, Ben. Send your Grandmum Olivia and Uncle Ian out."

Ben pulls himself from my arms and races back into the house.

"Nox," I whisper.

The sky is a blanket of star-studded sable tonight. With a grin too wicked for my progeny to see, I remember making such a comment to Ron one night before Olivia was even a thought. He leaned over to Harry and the two of them proceeded to give me the stars that night. I think it was the first time we'd made love outdoors.

"Mum?" Ian calls, shaking me from my reverie.

"I'm tired," I answer. "Help me in, please."

Both my children reach down to help me up. One on either side, they assist me into my bedroom and settle me into my favorite chair.

"Are you okay, Mum?" Olivia inquires, kneeling before me.

"It won't be long," I say softly.

I hear a gasp that must come from Olivia because Ian asks, "Are you sure?"

Turning to him, I smile. He reminds me so much of Ron that it hurts to look at him sometimes. With Olivia, there is a blend of Harry and I. Ian, on the other hand, is unmistakably a Weasley.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Olivia sobs. Ian, on the other hand, nods sagely though he has tears in his eyes as well. With an understanding so much like Ron, Ian kisses my cheek then urges his sister to do the same. Her kiss is wet, and lingers, but she eventually bids me goodnight.

Once my children have left, I settle my cold bones into my favorite chair. No one alive knows why it's my favorite chair. I hold it in such esteem because Ian was conceived in it. The tree against which Olivia was conceived is shrunk in a display case atop my bureau.

I've been without my boys for only sixteen of my one-hundred twenty-three years. I miss my husbands, my lovers and, most of all, my best friends.

When my boys arrive to fetch me, I will go willingly. Our children will understand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia Potter Marshall found her mother the next morning with a wistful smile on her face.

She could, however, never figure out why her mother was clutching a miniature tree.