Because I Could Not Stop for Death

The first thing that Harry becomes aware of is a bright light. As his senses slowly come back to him, he realizes that he is in the hospital wing (he's at Hogwarts! his mind shouts at him, elated after almost a full year of being away) and that the war is over, Voldemort is dead. The thought doesn't give him quite the joy he always thought it would, once everything was over. But then, he supposes, it's still too soon and the idea hasn't properly settled in. Or perhaps he still doesn't want to think about all the people he's seen die, like-

No. He isn't going to think about that now.

"Harry?" A familiar voice asks him. He reaches to grab his glasses and puts them on while he sits up, squinting as the sight of his best friend becomes clearer.

"Oh good, you're up," Hermione said. Her tone was bossy, much like it was the first few years of their friendship, but underneath he could still sense her concern and gentleness as she eyed him, clearly determining the extent of his recovery.

"I'm fine," is his automatic response. She still eyes him, clearly not convinced, and seeing as how it's what he says even when he's clearly not fine, he doesn't blame her.

"I never thought I'd thank the Dursleys for anything," he starts, eager to change the topic before she starts chiding him.

"Hmm?"

Too late he realizes that she's not in his head, that she didn't see the thought of the sentence form before he started talking. Sometimes it's like she knows him so well that when she doesn't understand something, it's a bit offputting.

"They never took me with them on their camping trips. Merlin, if I never camp again, it'll be too soon," he clarifies. She smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. She reaches towards him, making as if to touch his forehead, but she's interrupted by Madame Pomfrey.

"Ah, you're up, are you? Good. Just drink this potion, and you'll be good to go. Merlin knows we could use this bed." She doesn't even glance or acknowledge Hermione as she speaks, and Hermione slips back into her chair once more.

The weeks that follow slip into a sort of routine. He avoids the press and tries to visit those still in recovery from the battle. Then the funerals begin, several small ones a day following the overall memorial service that was held three days after the final battle. He attends all of the ones he can, with Ginny holding his hand for support. Sometimes he's asked to speak, but mostly he watches in silence, sad at all of the lives lost, but grateful for how much these people sacrificed for him. He wonders if he was worthy of their sacrifice. Probably not.

"Of course you were. Do you remember what I said to you all those years ago? You're a great wizard, Harry," Hermione remarks. He nods at her, not trusting himself to speak.

"Harry?" Ginny asks him.

"I'm fine," he says and she turns away. Ginny still believes him when he says that.

He joins the aurors after that. Partly because it's what is expected of him, but mostly because it's what he used to want to do and he hasn't figured out something else. Somewhere in the year of chasing and being chased by dark wizards, it had lost its appeal to him. He gets in easily after the test. He gets the feeling that if they weren't trying to at least keep the image of keeping things fair, he wouldn't have been tested at all. Defeating the darkest wizard in the history of the wizarding world was a test enough. In a way Harry is grateful for the pretense. He gets tired of all the special treatment simply because of a choice that was made when he was only a baby.

They go after the wizards that ran when it became clear that the fight was lost and the trials begin. After the work day ends, she's always waiting for him.

"Harry."

"Hermione."

That's their greeting, the only thing said for miles as they walk around muggle London. That's where he feels the most at peace. It's odd, really, seeing as how years before, it was the wizarding world that made him feel that way. But at least in this world, he is just another face in the crowd, not a hero because of the fact that he's killed. Sometimes he'll bring a blanket and they'll lie down in a deserted park and watch the stars. Tonight, however, he stops at a bar to get a drink. She frowns at him but doesn't say anything. She nags less these days, mostly because she doesn't want to argue with him anymore than he does with her.

A song is playing in the background. He turns to her and says, "Let's dance."

"You don't dance."

"No, I don't. But I never did get to dance with you at the ball. You owe me," he says.

"You're drunk."

"I've only had one drink," Harry counters, "Come on." He leads her to the dance floor and ignores the stares they get. He holds her the proper distance that nonlovers take.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had gotten together, instead of me being with Ginny and you with Ron?" he asks her. He blinks as he realizes what he says. Perhaps he is a little drunker than he realized.

"No," she says. But she's lying. He can tell. "Does it matter? It didn't happen that way," she continues. With anyone else this conversation would have made things awkward, but with them they simply move on. He feels tempted to tell her that, even if it is in a nonromantic sense, she is the most important person in his life right now. But he's never been very good at the emotional stuff, and so the words stay unspoken. Besides, he's pretty sure that she knows.

"Do you still have nightmares?" she asks him one night as they watch the stars. It's a fair question. Often times when it was just them in the tent, he would wake up with a scream caught in his throat, caught in the throes of another nightmare.

"Sometimes. But it's not so bad anymore. Mostly I dream about you."

"About me?"

"Yes. You're there, but you keep disappearing on me. I look and look, but I can't find you."

"Have you ever thought that it's because you need to let me go? We can't keep doing this."

"One day, maybe. But not now. I don't want to lose someone else, not so soon after the war," he glances at her, but there's something strange about her. She seems out of focus in a way. He rubs his eyes and everything's back to normal.

"I can't keep doing this," Ginny says, "I can't be in a relationship with three people. I thought it would be okay, that we'd get through this. People are starting to be really concerned about you. I've been told how strange you're acting at work these days!"

"I should have known that this wasn't about us, but about your image," Harry snaps. He regrets the words as soon as he says them. She starts, looking as if he had slapped her.

"I'm trying to do what's best for you. But how can you get through this if you don't talk to anyone?"

"I talk to Hermione," he argues.

"That's part of the problem. There's you, me, and her. When are you going to accept the fact that she's"

"Don't say it," he warns.

"dead?" she continues, as if he hadn't spoken. His eyes flash and he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

When he gets home hours later, Ginny's gone, and all of her stuff with her. He sits on her side of the bed and rubs his face. He feels guilty now, guilty at how he treated her, not only tonight, but in general. She deserved better than that, she deserved the knight in shining armor of her daydreams, not this war damaged man with too much guilt. He thinks about the letter of resignation he handed into his work earlier, the one that he hadn't even brought up with her.

"She's right, you know. You deserve to move on. You deserve better than this," Hermione says behind him. He looks at her, and then looks again. She's there, but there's something off about her, something he's been noticing more and more lately but is clearer than ever tonight. Her eyes don't have the same level of depth to them, the same soul. Her voice is just an echo now, and try as he might to remember everything he can about her, the details are fading slowly. He fights that, determined to not lose a single thing about her, but it's a battle he is losing. The small forgotten details fade along with her actual body, it is a part of death. Someday it will all fade away, until all that's left are the legends and the history books.

"We're all stories in the end," she says, tears falling down her cheek. She turns away then and is gone.

Sometimes he forgets. "I was thinking of painting the walls a light green. What do you think?" He'll say, waiting for an answer that will never come. For a while he feels so very alone and spends most of his days in solitude, afraid to get close to people lest they disappear like most of the others in his life. But moving on eventually is another part of death and of life, and it takes small steps. He moves to America, meets new people there, and fall in love. It's not the same relationship he had with Hermione, but that's something that'll never be replaced and he's okay with that. Sometimes he remembers the adventure in their third year, with Hermione and the time turner. He doesn't understand time travel, so he likes to think that somewhere out there Hermione is taking another class, or that they are saving Buckbeak together.

A/N- I have a bad cold and this took my energy to write, so I'm not even glancing over this before I post it. I'll check back later, but I apologize for any errors. A note: I haven't read Deathly Hallows since it came out. Basically the essentials are the same, but I changed a few details here and there. Hermione's final quote came from Doctor Who, and the title comes from the Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.