I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS
May 2nd shook the wizarding world to its core, its foundation cracked and broken; the survivors emerge from the ashes to witness the rebirth of a new world they helped to create.
One month later.
While Harry and Neville stride into the new world, some stay in their homes, grieving the dead and giving deep wounds time to heal. Ron stays close to his family and in turn, Hermione stays close to Ron, as they try to piece together who they are without conflict in the midst of a rising world, a world in which loved ones died to help create.
For the first time since Hermione arrived at the Burrow, silence lay completely and absolutely over the house, through the darkness she could see Ginny's sleeping form, swaddled in blankets moving as she slept. She shifted slightly turning on the mattress, the springs squeaking as her weight moved, she held her breath scared the movement would wake Ginny.
After a heartbeat she sunk back into her blankets, she had given up. Sleep had evaded her.
She sat up, and stretched out her back and sighed, her bushy hair bouncing around her shoulders she stood up and slipped silently out of the room and onto the rickety staircase. Years of staying with the Weasleys had taught her which steps groaned and creaked under her weight, so in her tired sleep deprived state she was able to navigate them in autopilot.
She glanced at the face of her watch as she tip-toed into the living room. God she thought to herself it was nearly 5 am, the mantel clock confirmed this as she looked at it 4:49. She turned slowly on her heels and looked up at the Weasley family clock, the clock clearly showed that all the Weasleys were at home. Her eyes lingered on the faces of all but one Weasley and she felt her stomach sink.
She remembered the day everyone piled into the burrow to lick their wounds. As they came into the living room George had stopped suddenly. Fred's hand had detached itself and was levitating in front of the clock, the hand looked the same except now May 2nd, 1998 was engraved on the back of the metal.
She shook her head and her hair fell around her shoulders, she couldn't bare to think of that now.
There was a crash next door and Hermione grabbed her wand pointing it at the door, her hand trembling. "H-hello?" she asked walking slowly towards to door.
There was no answer
Her free hand clasped around the handle and she turned.
Ron. she sighed as she felt her terror subside, her stomach unknot and her heartbeat start to slow.
"Ron.." asked Hermione tentatively as she stepped into the kitchen, he was sitting like her in her pyjamas, staring out of the window into the abyss of the night, his eyes seemed empty and his face was void of expression.
She took another step towards him, he had been like this since the war, he had retreated back into himself and Hermione was desperately trying to help him. But she couldn't.
She walked past him slowly and filled the kettle with water after she had placed it on the stove she turned around to look at him. He was still staring out the window and something in his gaze pulled at Hermione's heart.
Now during the day, she would sit close to him reading or talking quietly with Harry, Ron himself now rarely talked. The war had stripped him down and he was only just starting to build himself up again, the loss of his brother was more than he could bare. In the early days Hermione didn't stay at the burrow, instead, herself and Harry insisted on staying at Hogwarts to help clear and bury the dead.
That experience had terrified her more than the war, being forced to face every dead-eyed glassy stare of every victim that didn't need to die. Being forced to face the empty eyes of those she knew. She couldn't begin to imagine how Ron, had managed to bury Fred.
When Harry and Hermione arrived back at the burrow, Mrs Weasley had gone into overdrive trying to bury her grief in work, Mr Weasley was attempting to make everything easier on everyone, secretly doing chores, so that the children or his wife wouldn't strain themselves to do so. Percy a week after Harry and Hermione had arrived, and he along with Ginny were spending the majority of their time with George.
George was handling it astoundingly well. He stayed up telling stories to Ginny who was more eager to tell them than ever and sat with Percy talking him through his guilt. Charlie and Bill both tried their utmost to help their mother with the funeral plans, and no-one complained when she started demanding people work to make the house tidy.
The night before the funeral Hermione had fallen asleep in Ron and Harry's room, Ginny hadn't noticed, she had taken to sleeping in George's room with him. The nights were the worst. For everyone.
When she woke up Harry was already ready and she was tucked in at the foot of Ron's bed, curled up the way she was when she was asleep, but with Ron's blanket tucked around her and a pillow behind her head.
Ron was already awake when she woke and he was sitting in his dress robes, his hair ruffled and his eyes red.
That morning she didn't say any of the words circulating around her head, instead, she straightened his tie and fixed his hair.
The funeral had been small, mostly family and close friends, afterwards everyone was cramped inside the burrow, drinking fire whisky. George, Bill, Charlie and Mr Weasley had stayed up most of the night sipping their drinks and Ginny had also stayed downstairs listening to them swapping stories. However Fleur apparated home and Mrs Weasley retired to bed, Neville had offered to go home with Angelina and about an hour later an owl arrived saying they had arrived safely.
By this time the trio was upstairs and Harry and Hermione talked quietly, Ron occasionally cracked a smile but he normally would just listen, fidgeting with his hands.
The kettle started to whistle and Hermione poured two cups of tea, she sat opposite Ron, and they didn't need words to express how thankful they were not to be alone that night.
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