Title: An Inevitable Fate

Epilogue

Author: KissThis

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Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Mention of D x Hr. (I was also told there was a slight implication of one-sided H x Hr, by my pre-reader, so…uh, that too I guess)

Setting: 6th year in Hogwarts.

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Disclaimer: I did not create Harry Potter or any of the characters from the Harry Potter series. I also have a mortal fear of lawyers. Harry Potter and all its rights ©JK Rowling.

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A/N: By popular demand here is the epilogue to An Inevitable Fate. I tried to tie up as many loose ends as I could, since many of you were wishing for some type of "closure", but I also left it a little open ended so that a sequel could still be a possibility. (Which would be definitely focused on D x Hr romance, now that the world's been saved and whatnot) Now don't get too excited. I have a few ideas in my head that might stretch long enough for a sequel, and I'm not sure if I'll be up to tackling it, but I wanted to give myself the possibility. Who knows.

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Dedication: To my devoted fans.

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I am writing this letter for everyone. And I am writing this letter because it needs to be heard. But mostly, I am writing this letter to tell her story.

In between the hills of Scotland, there is a hidden valley that no map can find and no Muggles eyes have seen. In this valley there is a castle that hasn't changed a single stone since the day it was founded so many centuries before. But there is something there now that wasn't there before. Small, wooden crosses – thirty one in all. They mark an ordinary enough looking plot along the forest borders. Thirty one crosses made in regret and mourning. Thirty one crosses made by her hands.

At the base of stone steps, leading up to grand doors that still fill first year students with awe and wonder, is something new. It is a statue. It is the cross we made for her.

It's been two weeks since the reason for its building occurred. That date, April 2nd, will go down in history books as The Battle of Hogwarts Field. But to those who where there, to those who saw everything, to those who witnessed her sacrifice – the cost of our salvation – it will only ever be known as...The Day.

It was the day my best friend was taken from me.

I am writing this letter because it wasn't supposed to go down like this. She wasn't supposed to die. She was stronger than that, stronger than anything I'd ever known. The Sovereign of Light was immortal, and death wasn't able to touch her pure soul. She wasn't supposed to die that day. But she did.

She did.

I had never wanted to be the hero, and not a day went by that I didn't wish to be normal like everyone else. Now, I would have given anything to take her place – she who should never have known such pain, who should never have witnessed such evil. She who should be alive here today.

I am writing this letter, because that day she paid the price that all valiant heroes pay, and I wasn't able to save her as a hero should. She would always be a better hero than I...

I'm remembering now, words that Dumbledore said of her, words spoken of an earlier battle and a similar sacrifice. He said, 'A very brave young woman laid down her life for you today – you who mock her, you who ignore her, you who cannot match her name to a face in the room – simply because it was the right thing to do. She held no grudge, no petty rivalry, fighting bravely to protect every single one of you. Such an act is something some of you may never understand, and the age we now live in is partially to blame. But for all her courageousness, this young woman lost a piece of herself defending us; a piece she can never get back.'

I will never be completely whole again, because she wasn't supposed to die that day. But she did. And she took a piece of my soul with her.

I am writing this letter because no one will ever forget her face. It is carved in bronze – the statue at the bottom of the stairs – an eternal preservation of the face that haunts my dreams at night. She is standing at the bottom of the stairs, books in hand, as if she'd just been on her way to class when some wayward spell had froze her in place. It shows her the way she was meant to be shown. Not some supernatural being in elaborate dress with wings or a mighty sword – Just a girl...on her way to class.

Ordinary, plain – beautiful.

There may come later generations, long down the road, when her story is no longer told to children, and her name has drifted out of use. Those children who come to Hogwarts may pause and stare at the statue and its oddity, wondering if it has somehow been misplaced. They'll read the hundreds of names engraved in the flow of her robes and recite the battle's name, foggy memories stirring at the title, but they'll find no name for the common looking girl carved as a statuette. She will stand there serenely – patiently – and wait for them to remember. Most won't. They'll shrug and continue on up to the castle, leaving the mysterious girl behind. She won't mind. She'll hold her books and wait, at the bottom of the steps, softly smiling. Waiting to be remembered. A Mona Lisa smile.

But that day is not this day. Those here now will not forget that they are here this day because of one seventeen year old girl. They will tell their children and their children's children of her sacrifice. They will bring them there, to that statue at the bottom of the stairs and say that 'here was where I fought when Voldemort was finally defeated. And here is where I stood when she died to protect us. Here the world was saved'. And not a single child that passes through those great doors will forget The Day or the face that smiles from the bronze statue there, at the bottom of the stairs – because Hogwarts will never forget.

Those children will never know the sound of her laughter, or the sugar pink of her lips. They'll never know how much she studied, or that she loved the library more than her own room. They'll never know that she read Hogwarts: A History eighty-seven times and assumed that everyone else had as well. They can never see the way sunlight reflects upon her face, or how she dances as if no one's watching. Having heard how great her heart, they'll never know the feeling of her love, and be sorely lacking for it. She gave everything she had for everyone save herself, but they'll never know she saw herself as selfish at the End. They'll never know the power of her faith, or hear her softly spoken words of passion and inspiration. They'll never know any of these things.

But I am writing this letter, because I am going to tell them. I'll stand beside her statue and tell them all these important things. Like the way her cheeks dimpled when she laughed, and how she tilted her head to the side whenever she was thinking. I will stand there, at the bottom of the stairs, and they will know her eyes were the color of gold, and that they sparkled when she talked. I'll point to her smile and tell them it's not quite right. That no artist in the world could capture the beauty of her smiles, so only those who saw it could truly know what they were like. But those who only saw it once could recall it instantly if they were asked, so captivating and memorable was it.

They'll learn all this as I remember it, standing beside her statue that was carved in bronze – the color of her hair. Then I will think of her, and what she will never know.

She'll never know that the Christmas we spent without her was the bleakest one in Hogwarts history, and she'll never know everyone admired her. Her eyes will never see the pictures Seamus drew of her, nor her ears hear the tearful words of her eulogy. She'll never know the hundreds who came to her service, or know that they're writing a book about her. She'll never know what it's like to be twenty one and her hand will never wear a diamond ring and golden band. She told me the bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone, and now she'll never know that she's always been my hero. They'll never know that she broke through the defenses of a man that all others despised or misunderstood. But she'll never know that he cried for her...

I am writing this letter because she wasn't supposed to die that day. But she did. And I am writing this letter because I needed to say goodbye. Goodbye to the friend that was stolen from me, goodbye to the ordinary girl that was called upon to fight, the girl that didn't give in to her fears but stood her ground in the face of unimaginable evil, and the girl that showed us all the meaning of 'faith'. But most of all, I am writing this letter because today, Draco Malfoy did what no one ever expected from him, or any other Slytherin. Today, at the age of eighteen, he died of a broken heart...

Remember The Day. Remember how the world was saved that morning in a small Scottish valley that no map could ever find. Remember the boy who died from love lost – separated by death. Remember the girl who loved a good book more than any bouquet of flowers, and whose statue's smile is only a shadow of the true one's brilliance. Remember...Hermione Granger.

Harry James Potter