Chapter 10 : I Won't Despair Nor Be Hopeful
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Bear in mind there will be another chapter. So here we go the saddest thing I ever wrote.
I would like to thank Rawles for her betaing.
Chapter Ten: I Won't Despair Nor Be Hopeful
It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. - C.S Lewis
An unusually beautiful path lead here up. Between some bald trees through a lattice-like shade on the bitumen soil. Some branches moved back and forth in the tender wind. The juicy green meadows worked wrongly at such a place. It was shortly after noon, so that the sun shone golden and took the frightening aspect from this place. A clear, deeply blue sky bordered the whole scene. A steadily growing shadow covers the soil. It was a man wearing a long coat.
Deeply he inhaled the cold air, while he continued to go down the path. Unbelievably cold weather established itself here, which imprisoned him. No birds were chirping nor were any tones to be heard. A dead silence prevailed, which concerned him. However, apart from his own breathing and his heartbeat, he could only hear his own steps. He buried a hand into the left pocket of his black coat. In the other one he held a middling bouquet. It didnít look too big, as if it were a joy to be here. Only one symbol of their parting of the ways. He considered some moments whether he should come here, whether he should leave these lattices behind himself to visit a cemetery, which he did not want to enter any more.
He was only a few steps away from the gravestone and he could see the stone. It was a standing marble gravestone. An angel seemed to stand guard. The wings were a completely noble work, each individual feather could be recognized, as could the anxious face expression, which was meant for the visitor. This figure was there for protecting and at the same time for comfort. Harry left the strengthened way and passed over the meadow. Other stones which were here for years, over to the new stone which one could recognise must be freshly made. It had a dark grey marble, which appeared possessed. Deeply carved, like an irrevocable wound, the name was graphed in. Harry kneeled down ponderously. He read the name, touched his hand to the grooves, in order to make sure that he didnít imagine it. That he hadnít just imagined everything. Carefully he laid down the bunch of dark red roses.
"Hermione Jane Granger," he read quietly.
He didnít know that she had a middle name. He hadnít know much about her. Now that he was here, it did interested him suddenly what Hermione had written down in her notes. Harry had never dared to read them without her permission. His long shadow fell on the stone. The stone felt cold under his skin, icily even. It was so improbable, more improbable for him, since now that he saw her grave and how the date really reads off of it. He knelt there on the cold greenway and asked himself what he actually wanted. Here was nothing except this stony proof and the uncanny silence. Almost as if she were standing beside him, or at least the angels would look at him pitifully.
Only gently the wind touched the field here, as if it was a holy place. Harry had felt like that since he had entered the cemetery. In winged shoes he had went the way down, as if he wasnít himself any more.
"I am here because I wanted to say good bye but not only that," he whispered to himself, then he looked up to the cloudless blue sky.
Perhaps he saw her spirit. Slowly he lowered his head again, saw to the grass which was planted here. Metres under him there was no coffin. Her body had been never found. He didnít want to just say only good bye, but he wanted permission for his plan. He had tried to forget it, because it was against the highest law of the wizarding world. Harry swallowed hard as if his throat was closed.
"You taught me to follow rules, not to break them if not necessary but you must understand I have to. I just have to, Hermione. You donít know how life is without you. It is like everyone else won just not us," he broke off.
Harry noticed how his eyes filled with tears. Too well he knew how the past weeks had been. How much he had struggled with this idea because changing the past could mean he got Hermione back but with her Voldemort, too.
"Oh NO WAY, Hermione, you know that Iím here because Iím about to change time, something that could be the most terrible thing Iíve ever done. I know that I shouldnít risk it, that you want me to have a life without Voldemort, without this burden. I cursed the whole world that you had to die due my errors, due my fate. Instead of being grateful of the time we had Iím just so selfish, and just want you back into my life. Oh, I have to be so lucky that you loved me this way. You loved me despite everything, so that you forgave me. We had an untouchable gift. What we had others will never have. Everything we once hadÖ Iím willing to risk because I just canít go on without you at my side. Because by you I was more human than ever. I cannot live a life like this."
With his right hand he went over his face. As he looked up again, he saw now that there were words scratched in the rock further down which said:
I wonít despair
Nor be hopeful
I wonít cry
Nor laugh if I have to be without you
To live my life without you
Is like the day without the sun
The night without the moon
The sea without the water
Which brings the air
Which I donít want let into my lungs,
If youíre not by my side
It will be an eternal mark that expressed how it had been and would be.
ďToday I will use the Time Turner that I got from Wormtail. I do not know why Voldemort never used it but it seems he never got hold of it, never the chance to change the time and kill me when I was still young. I hardly know what the outcome of this will be, but I just have to try it, Hermione. You know I have to because I want you back and even if I fail itís it better to die in vain than to life in vain. Please, please forgive me for what Iím about to do. Donít be mad at me, donít blame me because I tried, I really tried to go on. But I just couldnít. The past three months were the hardest of my life. All the years before are laughable if I just think about how you left me. How you fell to the ground lifeless. It should have been me and not you. I couldnít breathe, I couldnít cry or anything else. Everything that happened after this is like a dream, a bad dream." His voice slowly broke and finally he stopped talking.
Why did he do this? To whom did he tell all of this, he asked himself. To the wind, to the nothing, he answered his own question. It took all of his willpower to look up again, up to the blue sky.
"Even though a kind of realization was present with me, but as I was able to go upright again the ground was pulled from under me again. As I dared to hope to have a life without a burden I got a much heavier burden to carry. A task, which I do not think myself capable of solving. With Hermione it was something else she did nothing unjust in her entire life and died nevertheless. You withheld so much from her. A future that was not only promising in the occupational sense, but also in the private one. She was not even allowed to experience how it feels to become a mother. I am convinced of the fact that she would have been great. Why did you let all those things happen? I wonít wait for an answer. I wonít accept fate this time. Iíll change it even it means I bring back evil, even if sheíll hate me for this." This talk changed little.
Harry actually wanted answers and not more questions, therefore he came here. But not only for that, but also because he wanted to say good bye in case he failed.
Unfortunately, he didnít even know to whom he said good-bye here. Laboriously he rose again. It was still completely unreal to him that this stone existed there with those words. Each individual letter jumped into his eye, as if it was intended. So that he finally got it into his nail-hard head that Hermione was really dead. Nothing of the last weeks could convince him more than this visit that he would do indeed the only thing he could think of. He examined the stone from the top down. The structure, and even the environment in which it stood. Gradually he had talked himself into it. He convinced himself that she was no longer here by his side. The speech gush died down, instead the silence begun. Much too much he had said. He still couldnít express it at all, not yet. Easily the bouquet leaned against the stone. It was unfortunate that they would wither here, this thought went through his head.
"Itís time that I go," he whispered before himself. Then he turned.
Deeply he dug his cold hands into his pockets. With each breath one could see a fine fog before his face. An indication of cold weather here in London. For some meters he went briskly, until he stopped again, turned and saw the monument of the death from the distance. This place seemed so abandoned to him. Apart from the stone angel the place was abandoned. It seemed somehow as if the angel was genuine. As if the statue was not an inanimate object but genuinely alive. He almost wished this, so that the grave didnít appear so lonely. He cleared his mind of the sight and left the cemetery with brisk steps. Far too long time had he spent there, though it was meant to be a short visit.
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I hold your hand through all of this years
But you still have
All of me
You used to captivate me
By your resonating life
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
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