When I tell this story, it's always hard to know exactly when it began, but I think it started with the wind chimes. I remember the look in Ron's eyes as he brought me the news, but it was something as simple as a random melody caused by the breeze and small pieces of steel that were twinkling in the background of Ron's voice. Those wind chimes shattered my resolve and caused the truth to pour to the surface and made the emptiness I felt so real. He was dead. He had failed us all. Actually, he didn't—not everyone…just me. He only failed me. So much left unspoken and I had watched him walk away with that cocky gleam in his eye and sloppy promises on his lips. Kiss me for luck, he'd said. Luck? He was already the luckiest person in the world! We had survived so much. How could this be any different? We would discuss everything later. Everything I had planned to tell him could be discussed later. There would be time later. Of course there would be time later.
Sliding down the wall, gripping…needing to find the solidness of the floor, trying to focus on anything but the horrific scream in my ears. It was the sound of a heart breaking into a billion pieces. Someone help. Help the poor soul making that broken sound…I vaguely thought; only to realize it was my sound. It was coming from me... and it was the sound of my new life.
I vaguely remember the next few days as a parade of people that were little more than a blur. Looking back, I don't know how Ron did it, but he never left my side. He was as strong as I couldn't be. He did what needed to be done, said what needed to be said and I honestly don't know how I would have managed without him. The Minister of Magic came to tell me personally that if there was anything that he or any of the other ministry officials could do…but of course there wasn't. He said that Harry deserved the funeral of a hero and that the ministry was prepared to handle all of the arrangements. Ron and I both knew Harry would want something smaller, something more intimate and after much arguing, Ron loosing his famous Weasley temper and me finally putting my foot down, I found myself standing in the rain, surrounded by what was left of the Weasleys and the few remaining close friends watching as Harry was laid to rest beside his parents in Godric Hollow. I stood remembering our times together. Scenes played in my mind from our first meeting on the train when I seemed like such a know-it-all, his and Ron's battle with the troll to save me in our 1st year, the first time Harry had finally gotten up the nerve to kiss me in our 7th year, how I had almost given up hope and was tempted to just kiss him—how he had blushed and started to stutter an apology until I grinned and kissed him back. I stood remembering how nervous he was when he as me to marry him and how relieved he looked when I whispered yes—as if there was a chance I'd actually say no. I remember the look on his face when we would talk about how wonderful our life was going to be and how our children would never need for anything.
We were so stupid.
The door creaked softly. I knew it was her, even before I saw her. She was coming to check on me. Again.
I don't know why. Nothing has changed. He is still dead and I wish I was with him, I thought to myself. Tear stains were still fresh on my cheeks. Nothing will ever change again. Another voice that knew differently chose, thankfully, to stay silent.
"Feeling better, dear?" She asked. I noticed her eyes were puffy and red, like she'd been crying. Join the club, I thought bitterly. "I've brought you a tray. You must eat something, anything. Just name it. I know you haven't had so much as a bite since the funeral…well in days really and at this rate, it will only make things worse."
Worse? That's almost funny. Could things get any worse? "No, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I'm really just not hungry." Funny how calm it sounded. It sounded like someone else's voice, even to my ears.
"Now child, you must at least try." She chides me, "Nothing will come of you starving yourself. You are already stick-thin."
"Just leave it, please." The despair in her eyes caused me to add, "I'll try. I promise."
Never turning from the sunlit window, I heard her pausing to leave, wanting to say something. Please don't say that you're sorry. I can't bear to hear it again. I just can't. Closing my eyes tight, I prepared to hear the words that just might cause me to lose what grip I had on my mind. I felt her brush a soft kiss on the top of my head and the next sound I heard was the click of the door closing. A lone tear escaped down my cheek as I opened my eyes just in time to see the sun slipping beyond the horizon.
"Get up!" The door slammed open as the words were shouted. "Get out of that bed immediately." With a sweep of his wand, the shades and curtains opened to their fullest, allowing the bright sunlight to bathe the room. Had another day past? What's one more?
"Go away…please just go away." I'm so tired. Please just go away. I moved to pull the pillow over my face.
"GET UP IMMEDIATELY!" He roared snatching the pillow from my hand and tossing it over his shoulder.
It didn't occur to me then, but if three years ago, Severus Snape had spoken to me in that tone or even if he has given me the look I was receiving now- something that would remind a body of the wrath of the gods- I would have quaked in my shoes, but at the moment, it did nothing but cause my blood to boil.
"How dare you? Get out! Get out now! No, don't touch me…" I screamed as he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a standing position and proceeded to drag me out of the bedroom, down the stairs, past the sea of red hair (all with their mouths agape in shock) and out the front door. Pushing, pulling, twisting and screaming were obviously not working as I was reduced to try and fight him off without the use of my wand.
"Stop! What are you doing? Let me go! No! …NO! …Don't let me go! No, Don't!" I screamed as he casually tossed me into the pond at the end of the dock. When I surfaced from the icy water and struggled to finally pull myself to the dock with retaliation in mind, he did something that stopped me in my tracks.
"You owe him more than this." He said in almost a whisper, heartbreak written clearly on his face. And suddenly my pain had a mind of its own. Tears flowed and sobs racked my body over and over till I thought I wouldn't breathe any more but when I looked up, I realized he had me in his arms, sharing his warmth and my pain, with silent tears running down his own face too.
He held me till the tears had dried and I was thoroughly chattering with cold, then he guided me into the warm kitchen of the Weasley home. Summoning a straight backed chair with a wave, he sat me in front of the fireplace and with just a look, sent one of the twins after a Pepper-Up potion and another after a warm bowl of soup. There was a silent moment as I stared into the fireplace.
Gathering what strength I had, I asked, "Who else?" There was no answer.
I turned and looked them each in the eye, and asked again, this time with a much stronger voice. "Who else didn't return?"
Fred stepped up with a bowl of soup, sat it on the small table beside my chair and said, "Tonks. Lupin. Hagrid. Mad-Eye Moody. Kingsley," he swallowed hard before he continued, " And Percy. There are quiet a number still in St. Mungo's. They're not sure about Neville, but everyone else is expected to recover. The Daily Profit is saying that over 100 people from our side were injured. We think the real number is more like 50 or so. The Profit is calling him 'The Boy-Who-Saved-Us-All'. He did it, Hermione. He really did it...Voldemort is gone, forever."
Now, I've always been known for my knowledge, even been called 'Brightest Witch of The Age' by some. But I learned something very important in the days that followed the final battle…I learned that life isn't about good and evil, right and wrong, dark and light or anything else along those lines. It actually is very simple. Life is about love. Love and what one is willing to do for that which they love. I think that Dumbledore knew that. And looking back, I know that Harry knew that too. For me, as everyone knows, my love was Harry. And it was for him that I fought to survive when even waking up was a struggle. Being awake was hard—the hardest thing I've ever done. I couldn't help but to look forward to the nights where at least in my dreams I could see him, touch him-even smell him. I would dream of happier times, of us laughing and dream of the smile that would forever touch my heart. I would dream of the future, of us growing old together and raising children and watching as they found love and had families of their own. I would dream of things that could never be and the world came crashing down around me each time that I woke up. My first thoughts were always that he was gone and he wasn't coming back. He was gone and I was alone. Knowing that I had the Weasley's and many other people that I have called friend though the years should have eased the pain, but all I could feel was the aching of my heart and the numbness of his absence. So even surrounded by people who loved me, for the first time in my life, I felt truly alone.
In the next few months, I found myself settling into something of a routine. I returned to the flat in muggle London that Harry and I took straight out of school. Couldn't quiet bring myself into going into our bedroom yet though. There was something vaguely comforting about just being there—near to his things. So I would curl up in the extra bedroom that was once intended to become a nursery and I would dream of Harry. In the mornings, I would wake up and after a quick shower, proceed to making breakfast where I would unconsciously make enough for two, and eat while reading the muggle newspaper. There was a park only a block away and I would walk there after breakfast. Sitting on the bench with a muggle book to keep me company, I would watch the people there. Old, young, alone, or with a loved one, they came and went living their everyday normal lives never knowing how close darkness came to overcoming them. I still couldn't bring myself visit the wizarding world yet. I'm not sure if I was angry at them for surviving or if I thought that seeing how everyone was moving on would remind me of what I had lost. That's when I saw him. He was about 3 or 4 years old. He was running and playing with a small puppy. He had dark tumbled hair in a very familiar shade and although I wasn't close enough to see his eyes, I could hear his laughter. I'm not sure how or even why but his laughter reached though my numbness and I felt myself smiling while watching him play with his little dog. He just seemed so happy, as if life could never be sweeter. In a moment of clarity, I knew I had to go back…back to the wizarding world—back to what Harry had given everything up in order to save.