Requiem

Requiem

by Technomad

Author's e-mail: [email protected]

House:The Dark Arts

Category: Drama(angst)

Keywords: Hermione, funeral

Rated G

Spoilers: PS/SS, PoA, GoF

Summary: The Dark Lord's finally been destroyed, but at a price that many feel was too high.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: I had some things I wanted to say about Hermione, and about the Houses.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts smelled of flowers, far more than even the Dursleys' garden at the height of summer. Harry Potter stared straight ahead, and used every bit of self-control that his hellish years with the Dursleys had given him to not break down. One thing and one thing alone filled his sight---the face of Hermione Granger.

How many times had he seen her in this very same place? In some ways, she looked no different than she always had; the candlelight played across her soft skin, making it almost seem to glow with life and health. However, there was something essential missing. Before, she had never really been still; even sitting, absorbed in a book, you could see the marvelous intelligence shining through her big dark eyes as she turned the pages, absently twisting a lock of her hair around her finger in the way so many girls did. Now, she was as still as a statue, her eyes closed, her chestnut-colored hair spread over a silken pillow. She looked as though she were merely asleep, and any minute, she'd be bouncing awake, cajoling Harry to look at some obscure fact she'd uncovered, or deflating Ron's wilder ideas with a quirk of her thick dark eyebrows. Even at her most self-righteous, she had never before been this solemn-looking. Where was that flashing grin, the one that flitted across her face so quickly that you had to wonder if it had even been there?

Beside Harry, he could feel the bench he was sitting on shaking, as Molly Weasley wept uncontrollably, clinging to her husband. She was choking out something incoherent about the time she'd read Rita Skeeter's article about Hermione, and what a total fool she'd been to believe the woman. Arthur Weasley held her close, patting her helplessly as he wiped tears from his own eyes. Harry could hear deep-voiced sobs coming from behind him, where Hagrid was sitting with his wife, Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons. After he and the Weasleys had been ushered in to take their place as chief mourners, Hagrid had been shown in next by Hermione's own expressed wish, and he had bent over and kissed Hermione goodbye very gently, stumbling blindly back to his seat with his wife guiding him along, sorrow written on her face. Now Hagrid sounded worse than Harry had ever heard him, even after the time that he had come to confess that it was through his negligence that Professor Quirrel had known how to get past Fluffy, back in Harry's first year. That seemed so very long ago, now...

Harry couldn't stand looking at Hermione's face any more, so he tore his gaze away and looked at other things. Her hands---folded gently on her chest, clasped around her treasured wand. The pillow in front of her, with glittering medals pinned on it---the Order of Merlin, the French Ordiere des Sorciers Meritoreaux, the Germans' Goldene Zauberkreuz, and others from the North and South Americans, the Spaniards, the Low Countries, the Italians, and the Middle and Far East. Pinned prominently among them were the badges of a Hogwarts Prefect and Head Girl. She lay under the Hogwarts School flag, pulled up to just under her armpits as though it were a blanket she was sleeping under.

All around her, flowers were piled high. Each of the Hogwarts Houses was represented, with huge floral versions of their House coats-of-arms, as well as the other wizard schools, the Aurors, the Ministry of Magic, every wizard business in Britain, and dozens of offerings from individual wizards. Their smell, sweet and cloying, filled the room, mixing with the incense burning in the dragon-shaped incense burner left by the representatives of Japan's Daimaho Gakuin---the Japanese counterpart to Hogwarts. The Japanese had also strung long strings of folded paper cranes all around the bier.

The sternly sorrowful, beautiful music of the Hogwarts choir swelled to a crescendo as Professor Dumbledore walked down the center aisle of the Great Hall. Harry was startled enough to forget his own sorrow and pain and loss at the sight of Dumbledore's face. For the first time since he had met Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts looked every one of his hundred-and-fifty-plus years. In his black mourning robes, he went to the front of the hall, turned to face the people and ghosts crowding every available inch of space, pointed his wand to his throat, and whispered "Sonorus." At that word, the music cut off, and he spoke into the sudden silence.

"Friends," he began, his voice thickened with grief, "friends from Britain and foreign friends alike, we are gathered here today to pay homage to a true heroine. Today, we say farewell to Hermione Jessica Granger. First, as headmaster here, I will say a few things about Miss Granger, and then we will hear from representatives of the various Houses of Hogwarts School. As you know, her parents predeceased her, and she has no living relatives, but she left instructions about what to do in the event of her death---instructions that I now carry out.

"In my career as an educator of the young generations of wizards and witches, it has been my happy fate to see many blossoming talents and expanding young minds. Few things give a teacher more pleasure than seeing a talented pupil eagerly reaching out to grasp knowledge, and I have never seen a more eager, willing pupil than Miss Granger. Her enthusiasm for study and learning was infectious; I honestly think that some of her classmates' grades would have been much lower without her example and help. She would have been an ornament to any house at Hogwarts, or any school she attended, and her loss lessens us all greatly. We will now hear from representatives of the Hogwarts Houses."" Sitting down, Dumbledore took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Harry wanted nothing more than to go and comfort Dumbledore; seeing him showing such emotion shook Harry to the core.

Cho Chang got up, and went to the front of the room. As she passed Harry, she reached out and awkwardly patted his shoulder. He looked up at her, seeing how her expression was set and solemn despite the tears running down her cheeks. Facing the assemblage, Cho did the Sonorus charm in her turn, and began:

"I was always rather puzzled that Hermione hadn't ended up in Ravenclaw. We in Ravenclaw are generally there because we love learning, and we do run to the clever types. Hermione would have fit in among us easily, and have been a real ornament to our house. We always admired her for her zeal for learning. In fact, she sometimes shamed us; many of us come of wizarding families as old as any, and our house's reputation for brains is based in hard fact, but we had this Muggle-born witch surpassing us in what we considered our own area of expertise. Any time one of us skived off work, or didn't do well, her example arose, urging us on.

"However, she was anything but a grind. She never cared for Quidditch---I couldn't quite see why---but she was always up for a good time, and although she wouldn't just break rules to be breaking them, she had no compunctions about doing so if circumstances, in her opinion, demanded that she do so. Her final sacrifice involved doing just exactly that, and was something I could never have done, even if it hadn't been known to be fatal." Cho choked up for a second, struggled to regain control, and continued: "To sum up: The Japanese had a word for how I feel at this moment. Sayonara is what they say when they mean goodbye; it translates as 'since it must be so.' Sayonara, Hermione. Quietus." Bowing from the waist to Hermione, Cho walked off, her face working as she struggled to control her emotions until she was out of the limelight.

"Now, we shall hear from Hufflepuff House," said Dumbledore as Justin Finch-Fitchley walked up to take his turn. Casting the Sonorus Charm, he began.

"Although Hermione Granger was in Gryffindor, she'd have fit right into Hufflepuff House. We know we're seen as rather the duffers, without the bravery associated with Gryffindor, the academic talent of Ravenclaw, or the ambition and urge to get ahead of Slytherin. We're rather amused by our reputation as plodders; our model is the tortoise in the story, who won with 'Slow and steady wins the race,' while the flashy hare was so overconfident and sure of his victory that he let it slip through his fingers. Another part of being in Hufflepuff House is being seen as a hard-working, diligent type---and for hard work and diligence, Hermione Granger equalled any or all of us, Gryffindor or no. From the first day she was here, she plunged into her schoolwork with determination like none I've ever seen. Even though she obviously had great talent for magic, she never took anything for granted, but went at her schoolwork like it was about to go out of style. Many's the time I'd see her in the library, working madly away at some assignment or other, even on beautiful days when even the Hufflepuffs were out enjoying themselves. There was never an assignment she didn't take seriously, and never a bit of schoolwork that she didn't put one hundred percent of herself into. She was always at the top of her class, grades-wise, and I have to say she earned every high mark she got.

"Although she was very clever, she didn't pride herself particularly on it, and she always had time to help people who were in over their heads academically. If he were here, Neville Longbottom could testify to that, as could many members of all four Houses. I always thought that a few years after her graduation, she'd be back at Hogwarts, but as a teacher---she had a real flair for it. Her loss is a great loss to the wizarding world, and the world in general. There's part of me that wants to scream and rage at her for what she did, even though it destroyed the Dark Lord, but when I feel that urge, I can all but see her telling me not to be a prat, and that she did what she did willingly, in full knowledge of the consequences. Hermione Granger lived her life by a Spanish proverb she may never have actually heard; it translates as 'Take what you want, but be ready to pay for it.' When offered the chance to come to Hogwarts, she took it---and paid the price in the inevitable separation from her family and old friends all Muggle-born wizards and witches must endure. She wanted the best grades, and paid the price for them in missed fun and long hours of dreary study. She wanted triumph over the Dark Lord, and for her friends to not have to die, and when the price was her own life, she paid willingly. Although she would probably have disputed this point, I feel that even for the destruction of the Dark Lord, the price was much too high. Quietus."

"And now, we shall hear the representative of Slytherin House," intoned Dumbledore. A low mutter ran through the hall; Cho Chang and Justin Finch-Fitchley had been heard out in utter silence broken only by quiet weeping. Harry could hear mutters of "Death Eaters!" and "Of all the bloody nerve---it's like calling on Voldemort!" As Marcus Flint got up and came forward, a low hiss filled the hall. Flint winced as though he had been struck, but came forward nonetheless; Harry, who disliked public speaking even to friendly audiences, had to admire his poise and dignity as he turned to face the crowd and worked the Sonorus charm to make himself heard.

"Fellow wizards and witches," he began, his face chalky-white, "I understand how you feel about me even being up here. It's well-known that the Dark Lord was an alumnus of our House, and that he recruited heavily from his house-mates. That, for better or worse, is how things work here in Britain, among mage and Muggle alike---the 'old school tie' and 'old boys' network' operate among us just as they do among the larger Muggle community. However," and he gave the crowd such a quelling look that the muttering fell silent---"Slytherin does not equal 'Death Eater!' There were Death Eaters from all of the houses; I could name Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw alumni who were either killed or are now in Azkaban for their role in the Dark Lord's activities. There are many, many other Slytherins who suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord and his followers; either directly, or because of the perception that we all sympathized with his goals. The Dark Lord's definitely destroyed now, and the time has come for peace and healing among the magical community.

"But that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to tell you that Hermione Granger, despite being a Gryffindor, epitomized many of the highest and best qualities of Slytherin House, and would have been a great asset to our community. We Slytherins are known for our ambition, and 'ambition' was Hermione Granger's real middle name. Taken from her familiar surroundings and plopped down in a situation where her family's love and experience couldn't help her, at the other end of the British Isles, she was determined to not only survive, but shine---to be the very best! That, fellow mages, is what Salazar Slytherin wanted to see in his students! Not ambition to trample or hurt other wizards, not ambition to abuse Muggles, but ambition to be the utmost wizard or witch possible, and that kind of ambition, Hermione Granger had, in spades, clubs, hearts and diamonds.

"I have no doubt that if she could hear, she'd be astounded to find herself so highly praised by a Slytherin representative, but every word I say is true. For every Death Eater Slytherin has sent forth, we've sent forth dozens of Aurors, research wizards, mediwizards, and excellent citizens of the magical community. Had Hermione been one of us, she'd have been yet another proof that Slytherin wizards and witches are never, ever run-of-the-mill. We want to be the best we can be---so did she, and for that, I honor her. Quietus."

Marcus Flint walked back to his seat, face set as though expecting a blow. Instead of the hissing and murmurs of disapproval that Harry had heard earlier, he was greeted with respectful silence. As Harry turned it over in his mind, he found himself agreeing with Flint; about one-fourth of the magical community, after all, was ex-Slytherin, and they couldn't have all been bad. He---and Hermione, and Ron---had been badly prejudiced against Slytherins, any Slytherins, because of the antics of Draco Malfoy and his clique, and Harry now regretted the whole stupid quarrel. Dumbledore had been right, after all. The magical community wasn't so large that casting one-fourth of them into Outer Darkness because of the house they'd been in at school would not wound it beyond recovery.

Not waiting for Dumbledore to announce him, Fred Weasley came forward. Against his pallor, his red hair seemed even brighter than usual in the sunbeam that came down to illuminate the speakers. Harry felt a moment's wrenching sorrow that the other Weasley children couldn't be there, but all of them were in the intensive-care units of a magical hospital in London. Even little Ginny had been in the thick of the last fight, and had taken a toll of the enemy before going down. As Fred used the Sonorus charm, his mother sobbed quietly, nestling under her husband's arm.

"I'm here to represent Gryffindor House, Hermione Granger's own house," began Fred, more seriously than Harry had ever seen him. "Coming after such excellent speakers---" he nodded to Cho Chang, Justin Finch-Fitchley, and Marcus Flint---"I find that there's little I can really add to what they said about Hermione at Hogwarts. Everything they said about how Hermione embodied the good qualities that their houses strive for was nothing but the truth. Each Hogwarts House has its own great traditions, and its own dark shadows and shames. However, Hermione Granger's life and example belong firmly in the history of Gryffindor House, and it's about Hermione-the-Gryffindor that I want to speak.

"Gryffindors are traditionally known for their bravery, as Ravenclaws are for learning, Hufflepuffs for diligence, and Slytherins for ambition. Even without the shining example of her final sacrifice staring us in the face, I can speak with total confidence when I say that Hermione Granger was one of the bravest people I've ever known. Our brother, her classmate, Ron, had much less to fear when coming to Hogwarts; he'd heard about the school his whole life, and his only worry was whether my twin and I were serious when we told him that the Sorting Ceremony involved wrestling a troll." A startled chuckle ran through the hall. "And, although Harry Potter hadn't known about the magical world, or about Hogwarts, my impression is that his life with his Muggle relatives was so awful, anything at all would have seemed to be better.

"Hermione, on the other hand, had no such background as her two best friends. Far from being wizard-born, she was Muggle-born, and the letter from Hogwarts and the visit from the Muggle Liaison had to come as a complete surprise, involving a change of plans she may have made since she was a small girl. Unlike Harry, she had a loving home life, with parents that she adored and admired, and who were justly proud of their clever, attractive daughter. Suddenly, she had to leave them, to travel into an unknown situation where they couldn't help her or support her---at only eleven years old!

"From the first time I ever saw her, when she was Sorted into Gryffindor, I was in awe of her courage. She was obviously so frightened she was about to faint, but nonetheless, she overcame her fear and went right ahead, which is the true definition of courage. Anybody can face things he or she doesn't fear---it's the things that you fear, but face anyway, that define your courage. And Hermione faced down things she feared, not just once, but again and again and again. Even in her first year, she not only sought out a Mountain Troll in spite of warnings that it was too dangerous for her, but acted in concert with my brother and Harry Potter to prevent the Philosopher's Stone from being taken by the Dark Lord."

Harry looked down at his shoes, embarrassed for the first time. Hermione hadn't gone looking for the troll; it had found her when she was holed up in the girls' bathroom crying because her classmates didn't like her. However, she had saved his and Ron's bacon by claiming that she had gone after the troll, and it was a bit late in the day to try to correct the official story.

Fred was going on: "Hermione always did as she thought best, even if it involved setting herself against the received opinion of the entire magical community. George and I laughed at her efforts to get a better deal for house-elves, but, whatever you think of her ideas, her sincerity and determination never faltered. She stood by Harry Potter when almost everybody outside Gryffindor House thought that he'd deliberately put his name into the Goblet of Fire, and was a pillar of strength for him through that dreadful time. In the ensuing struggle with the Dark Lord, she was always on the front lines, in the thick of the fighting, but she never let the fight take her over and transform her. Even in the darkest hours, she was confident of ultimate victory, and spoke to Ron about the sunny days ahead when the Dark Lord would be gone at last. Well, we have the sunny days, but Hermione Granger will not be here to enjoy them. We will enjoy them because she bought them for us, and bought them willingly and knowingly." Fred paused to wipe his face. "If it is true that 'greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for his friends,' then Hermione Granger's sacrifice shows the depth of her love for her adopted magical community. Quietus." As Fred walked back to his seat, his mother reached out for him and clutched him to her in a convulsive hug. Harry could hear her broken sobs as she told Fred how proud she was of him.

Professor Dumbledore stood. "Miss Granger, in her final message to me, expressed certain wishes. I intend to act in accordance with them and so I summon the house-elves to come forward and act as pallbearers." With Dobby in the lead, his mismatched clothing topped off with a black armband, twelve Hogwarts house-elves came forward wearing black towels in token of their servile status. Their faces were solemn, but Harry could see that all of them had been crying. At a signal from Dobby, they closed the coffin lid---the soft thump reverbrated through Harry Potter's mind as though it were a thunderclap---and then, in unison, shouldered the coffin and bore it out of the Great Hall. At Professor Dumbledore's nod, Harry stood and followed the coffin, with the Weasleys, Hagrid and Madame Maxime behind him. Behind them, the heads of the Hogwarts houses came, solemn in their mourning robes, and then the representatives of the foreign schools and governments. Around them, the Hogwarts Choir broke into another song, a sweetly sorrowful lament for lost excellence.

The melancholy procession wended its way out of Hogwarts Castle, down to the side of the lake, where a large dragon-ship was waiting, beached on the shore. Harry watched, feeling as though his heart was being run through a wringer, as the house-elves put Hermione's coffin aboard the ship, and other elves piled the flowers all around it until it couldn't be seen. In the prow of the ship, Dobby put the pillow with the medals Hermione had been posthumously awarded; they glittered in the late-afternoon sun. The Hogwarts Castle flags flapped loudly in the silence, flying at half-mast. When everything was in readiness, two house-elves pushed the dragon-ship off shore. It drifted slowly out toward the middle of the lake.

Professor Dumbledore's voice rang out over the silent crowd: "We now commit the body of our sister Hermione Jessica Granger to the flames. May this fire mark the end of a period of terror and suffering for the magical and Muggle communities, and may this be the last such observance we have to attend!" At a wave of his wand, the ship burst into flame from stem to stern; Harry supposed the hold had been packed with incendiaries. Even on shore, the heat was ferocious, but Harry stared at the blazing ship, tears making his glasses useless. Overhead, the four Houses' Quidditch teams flew past in formation, until the Gryffindor Captain turned, broke formation and flew up toward the sun, like a soul seeking Paradise---the "missing man" formation had been a wizards' farewell to one of their own for centuries before Muggle pilots even existed. Harry looked up toward the "missing man," imagining Hermione's soul, freed at last, meeting her parents again---and Cedric Diggory, and the Potters, and all the many, many others Lord Voldemort had killed, whose deaths she had avenged at the cost of her own. "Take care of her, Mother," he choked, "take care of her---she's so young, you should like her."

When the ship had burned out completely, the company trudged back up to Hogwarts for the most solemn feast Harry could remember. The food was even better than usual, and he thought that the house-elves were deliberately outdoing themselves in honor of a person who had always loved them. At the feast, Professor Dumbledore announced that in accordance with Hermione's wishes, her funds were going to start a fund for poor and Muggle-born students attending Hogwarts, so that nobody had to go through school with worn-out robes or a hand-me-down wand. Harry stood, shaking like a leaf as everybody was staring at him.

"Hermione always was concerned for the people nobody else seemed to care about. I've never had to worry about money while at school, but I know that this isn't the case for everybody by any means, and I am going to start donations with two thousand Galleons." He sat down to a chorus of gasps at his munificence; it was barely a drop in the bucket of his wealth, but he knew that, properly husbanded, it would buy robes and wands and books for many children. Other pledges came in thick and fast, and Molly Weasley was so overcome, she had to be led out of the hall; she knew, just as Harry did, why Hermione had thought of this.

At long, long last, the day was over, and Harry could go up to his room and relax. He slipped out of his black mourning robes, luxuriating in the feel of plain clothes again, and sat down. There was a bottle of butterbeer waiting for him, and he poured it out into a mug and raised it in a toast. "Here's to you, Hermione Granger. Nobody ever had a better friend."

"Well," came a familiar voice, "I must say, that was all very touching. I would kind of like to know, though, why you didn't say all those nice things about me when I was alive?"" Raising the mug to his lips, Harry convulsed, spilling butterbeer. There, in the corner of the room, was Hermione herself---translucent, a ghost, but unmistakably Hermione. At the sight of him splashing butterbeer around, she sighed, for all the world as though she were still alive and deploring Harry's latest folly. "Honestly, haven't the poor house-elves enough to do?"

When Harry came to, he was lying on the floor, staring up blurrily at Hermione's translucent face, as she bent over him in concern. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Reflexively, she tried to pat his face, but all she managed to do was to chill him as her ectoplasm moved through his flesh. At his shudder, she jumped back. "Oh, Harry---I forgot, I can't do that now!" She began to weep softly. "I just thought---you seemed so sad---I wanted to let you know I was all right."

"Don't cry, Hermione," Harry said, reaching out to her, "I know you didn't mean to startle me. It's just been a really long, horrible day. How is it that you're a ghost, anyway? I always thought that ghosts lingered because of some unfinished business on earth."

Hermione's eyes twinkled. "Oh, let's just say that determination will get you a great deal. I wanted to say goodbye to you, Ron, Hagrid and all my other friends. I also think I may just have a few loose ends that still need tying up." She became solemn. "I thought attending my own funeral would be good fun, until I saw how cut up everybody was. I felt so sorry for you, and the Weasleys, and Hagrid, it was all I could do to keep quiet. The Bloody Baron told me not to say anything---he's really very kind." She looked thoughtful. "I should also go see Hagrid, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It just about tore my heart out to see poor Hagrid crying so hard."

Harry had regained most of his lost equilibrium. "I'm glad you're still here, Hermione---I'd rather have you as a ghost than not have you at all. Can you leave Hogwarts, or are you stuck here?"

Hermione frowned. "You know, I don't know? I'll have to ask the Baron. If I can leave Hogwarts, we don't ever have to be too far apart, and a ghost can do things a mortal can't do." Suddenly the old grin reappeared, flashing across her face so quickly that if you didn't look at just the right second, you'd miss it. "Like, for starters, giving Peeves the kicking he's had coming for a long time!" She moved toward the door, suddenly going invisible. "See you later, Harry. Right now, I have a little appointment with the Hogwarts poltergeist. Payback's coming to him." As she left, Harry got ready for bed. He felt strange, and after a few minutes' thought, figured out why. For the first time since they had broken the news, he felt complete again. Hermione had been like a part of him, and knowing she was dead was like losing an arm or a leg. Even as a ghost, though, she was there and he once more felt like a whole person.

FINIS