I’ve always struggled with the aftermath of the final battle; how we cut to the Golden Trio all grown up and happy. Not that it couldn’t happen, but it seems to me that after everything they went through and everything they lost there would be a long road between the last dark curse and happily ever after. Anyway… just playing with that a bit here.

Inspired by an Anna Akhmatova poem. Could be a one shot… or if you like it, I have ideas for where it could go.

Sadly, the wizarding world is all J.K. Rowling’s. I own nothing.


*****

Severus,

We won. I’m supposed to be happy, to live happily ever after. Everyone says so. And yet….

That’s why I’m writing to you. I think you lived in the world of ‘and yet’ for a long, long time. I think you of all people would understand, or maybe that’s just transference? Me wishing to see my own pains and insecurities reflected in someone else.

We won… and I can’t stop thinking of what we lost. Not just the lives, but… well, how can you go through what we’ve gone through and be the same? How can all that darkness not spread through one’s soul like spilt ink over parchment?

I can hear your snort of derision. If I saw you now, if I had the characteristic Gryffindor bravery to voice this to your face, you’d say, “Such dramatics, Ms. Granger.”

But that won’t ever happen, will it? I won’t ever say that to you. You won’t ever read this. Because I failed you, like I failed so many others—my parents, the Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts.

I tried to save you. When you were lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, did you know I was there? I hope so. I hope you know that in your final moments you weren’t alone. It’s the least I could do for you after all you did for Harry, for all of us.

We won. Light triumphed over darkness, and the Golden Trio rode off into the sunset… but what now? What comes after? We smile and shake hands at gala celebrations and ceremonial parades but what about when the crowds go home?

I’ve learned that everyone loves a hero… especially a damaged hero, but not a broken one. A hero with a scar is great, as long as it isn’t too graphic or too triggering for others.

I haven’t been well. (Ah, now I can picture that single raised eyebrow).

A muggle grief counselor suggested that writing to you might give me closure, might help me ‘acknowledge the pain and start to heal.’ (Can you hear my snort of derision?)

However, even if I think it’s rubbish, I have to try something. I’m not quite ready to give up. Not yet. Us Gryffindors are nothing if not persistent, as you well knew.

So, here it goes: You’re dead, and I can’t stop thinking of you. Not just you. I’m haunted by so many ghosts that they’re starting to feel more real to me than the living. (I know, more dramatics.)

Every night I go to another event. I drink champaign and smile. I wear long sleeves and hold my breath when someone brushes against me.

You’ll think I’m a lunatic, and perhaps I am a ‘certifiable’ hero (get it?), but I’m mourning you. Not just because I failed you but because you deserved to live. You deserved a chance at freedom and happiness, more than anyone, maybe, and the fact that you won’t get it is so… unfair. That word doesn’t seem strong enough. It’s unjust. It’s cold… and no one else seems to notice.

Ugh. I’m not sure this letter is helping. You’ll be shocked, but for once, I don’t know the right answer.

We won. And yet….

With respect and regrets,
HJG

P.S. I’ve been putting off writing this letter. (I know, I know, when have I ever procrastinated on a homework assignment?) However, I read this poem today and it summoned thoughts of you so vividly that I couldn’t breath. Just writing it here makes my eyes swim….

Wild honey has a scent – of freedom
Dust – a scent of sunshine
And a girl’s mouth – of violets.
But gold – nothing.
Water – like mignonette.
And like apple – love.
But we have learned that
blood smells only of blood.
- Anna Akhmatova