Hermione Granger walked between the countless graves in the cemetery, her fingers brushing each of the gray headstones as she passed.
Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, stood behind a podium, facing the many wizards and witches who had gathered at the Ministry of Magic. Everyone had been stuffed into one large assembly hall, and although large it was, it wasn’t big enough to seat several thousand people, the majority of the magical population of London and its surrounding areas.
Hermione paused at one circle of graves. The graveyard had been designed so that all graves ran in circles, beginning with the outermost, largest circle, and continuing so that all the circles were enclosed in each other, each smaller than the last. Hermione was standing at the very center of the necropolis, in the innermost circle of graves.
Scrimgeour took a deep breath. The speech would in all probability be the most important of his career. It would decide the future of his term in office. It was vital he said the right things, made the correct impression. And so he began…
Hermione sank to her knees, sighing softly, and reached out an arm to stroke the name on the first grave: Ronald Weasley.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you on this day… a day to rejoice and… and a day to grieve.’
Hermione swallowed hard, pushing back the lump in her throat as she touched the words engraved on the next burial place: Ginerva Weasley.
‘It is a day filled with pain, as we remember those we have lost...’
Tears spilled down Hermione’s cheeks, leaving streaks of wetness on her skin. She hastened to wipe them away but the motion seemed to make them fall faster. On and on the graves went, naming people Hermione had loved, people she had wanted to spend her entire life with…
‘… those who gave their lives to fight the wretched battle of good against evil, right against wrong. It is a battle all worlds, all peoples must fight before the end.’
…Remus J. Lupin…
‘However we should not grieve forever, for this is not a battle in which we have suffered defeat, but one from which we have emerged victorious.’
…Nymphadora Tonks…
‘Our loved ones have not died in vain. They are to be honored for bringing us our freedom!’
…Arthur Weasley…
‘On this day, we can surely say, that Lord Voldemort, He Who Must Not Be Named, is dead!’
…Fred Weasley…
‘And to thank for this victory we have only ourselves and our kin!’
…Bill Weasley…
‘We have overcome fear, pain, suffering, oppression, and we have come out on top! We have won!’
…Rubeus Hagrid…
‘This day marks a new age!’
…Minerva McGonagall…
‘An age in which witches and wizards of all bloods, of all families, of all histories, will reign supreme!’
…Alastor Moody…
‘An age devoid of discrimination between those borne of muggle families or magical!’
…Kingsley Shacklebolt…
‘In this age we shall work together, to make the wizarding world a fearless place.’
…Harry James Potter…
‘No longer shall we live in dread of death, of crime, of suffering. The wizarding world shall once again be a secure place!’
Sobs racked Hermione’s body as she came to the final grave, and she traced Harry’s name over and over again with her slender fingers. The grave at her feet, the grave on top of which the headstone she was touching stood, held no body.
‘In closing, I would like to give my condolences to the families who have lost so much, who’s kin lie in the memorial graves behind the Ministry establishment. Do not grieve for long my dear people… your nearest and dearest have not gone on to a worse place, but to a better one.’
Hermione looked up at the blue sky, tinged with white clouds, as her tears subsided slowly.
Scrimgeour made sure to meet the eyes of various members of the audience before he stepped off the stage. He had no idea which of the spectators had lost their family members, so he was merely guessing. However judging by the cheers and claps from the various occupants of the assembly hall, many of whom were simultaneously sobbing and whopping, he had obviously done the right thing. The Minister allowed himself a small sigh of relief. His office seemed secure, for the moment at least. He said a small prayer, thanking the Lord for Harry Potter’s death (technically disappearance, since his body had not been recovered, but Rufus was no stickler for details) for he was quite sure, that had the teenage boy been around, many would be vying for him, the Great Harry Potter, to take up office as Minister, forgetting how young he was (and how obviously foolish). As Rufus sat down next to Percy Weasley, his Junior Minster, amid a torrent of back-patting and congratulations on his fabulous speech, he realized that he should have added something in his speech about the boy. Oh well, he thought, no one’s going to miss it. It’s almost as if he never existed.
Hermione bit her trembling lips. He’s still alive, she though fiercely, he has to be alive.
There was a graveyard nearby…. at his feet lay a body… someone was screaming, shouting… a women… a vicious laugh and a sudden strike of pain… a fluttering veil… blinding flashes of light… more pain. Then suddenly the images, all linked to one another like a badly sewn quilt with uneven patches, were pushed away, covered, as if a wave of water had crashed over them and swept them away. And then there was water… lots of it… he was swimming, kicking his legs, trying to move… he had to breathe… no he couldn’t… breath… NO!… breathe, breathe, breathe! He stole the breath, took it beyond all reason, and a cold feeling engulfed him… choking him… strangling… laughing at his foolery… he couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, couldn’t run… all he could do was shudder involuntarily as his body went limp… and regret, regret the stolen breath… before darkness triumphed.
Travis Walker Martin awoke with a gasp, and sat bolt upright in his bed. He was sweating profusely and shivering in his thin nightclothes. Just a dream, he tried to assure himself, his breathing hard, it was only a dream. You were dreaming, an old dream, dreaming about drowning… about drowning… about drowning…
Travis pulled his legs closer, curling up as he lay back down beneath his sweat-soaked covers, still shivering, still afraid.
The night was still dark and quiet, the silence was thick. Travis swallowed, wanting his heart to stop hammering at his ribcage, wanting to feel safe again. He pulled his blanket tighter under his chin.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror hanging a few feet away from the bed: Pale face, under thick brown hair and soft blue-gray eyes. I look terrified, thought the seventeen-year-old, and the thought helped to calm him. A shuddering sigh escaped him as he sank down into his pillows, the tension in his muscles relaxing. It only took a few moments until he his eyelids began to droop, and sleep stole over him.
And then he shot into a sitting position once again. He hadn’t been dreaming about drowning the entire time. He’d seen something entirely different at first. Something about flashing lights, a lot of noise… and something else too… Travis tried to hold onto the memory but it slipped away quickly, almost eagerly, as most dreams eventually do. Travis’s heart began to race once more as a shiver stole up his spine. What had that dream been about? Who had been in it?
People he didn’t know or couldn’t remember, that much was for sure.
Of course he couldn’t be sure since he couldn’t fully remember the first dream…
Travis tried to force himself to dredge up a few images or sounds even but all that did was give him a headache and so he turned to the second dream he’d had… the one about drowning… and dying.
Travis struggled to find an explanation for the nightmare, (logical thinking was always calming): a horror movie, ghost stories, a family drowning, overeating... anything! But there was no logical explanation and he was forced to believe that his mind was just acting up, drawing out old memories that had been pushed back into the deepest corners of his mind. Memories that had been thrust so far back that he had no conscious recollection of them, and so his subconscious was feeding the long forgotten items into his dreams. Travis sighed again. Except that I’ve never drowned… or almost drowned… so where could it have come from?
Travis’s forehead wrinkled in concentration as his thoughts turned to his parents. But no… they didn’t die drowning… It was a roof collapse… no water.
The boy shrugged after a while. His fear had subsided and he was nodding off again. No one ever said dreams had logical explanations…
This time, as he fell back into his pillows, he really did fall asleep.