Ignorance is bliss – the mindset of most individuals. Perhaps it is the bystander effect where strangers continue on their merry way, blatantly ignoring the atrocities that are unfolding before their very eyes with the mindset that another stranger will stop to help the victim. Perhaps people are too scared – too terrified of raising their voice to make a stance and in doing so, opening themselves up to victimizing. Ignorance works perfectly until it happens directly to that ignorant person and immediately it is almost as if a light switch is turned on in their mind and they become aware of what has been there all along. But, by that time it's too late and the damage is done. The signs and the symptoms were there all along, but no one wanted to recognize them or to be the one to trace the signs. No one wanted to connect the dots. Then again, if someone had stopped to connect the dots perhaps she would still be here.
Perhaps Hermione Jane Granger would be sitting right here beside me in the flesh rather than a patch of stone with her name carved into it. A tombstone has taken the place of my best friend. Perhaps if we had just paid more attention to the signs or had made ourselves available to her she would have confided in someone – in anyone. Now that it's too late and she's already gone I find myself transported back to the days where the signs were right there as clear as day, almost screaming at me to take notice. I'm not sure if I was openly ignorant or oblivious to the obvious. Either way, it's a mind game of what if and maybe this and maybe that. Maybe if I had been there at the right time and place. Maybe if we hadn't turned our backs on her. Maybe if we had listened to her – just maybe.
Usually, with a story you go back to the beginning but in a case like this where does it begin? Does it begin when she found out she was a witch and the blacklisting? Does it begin when she was first introduced to that ghastly and horrid word – mudblood. Just the mere thought of the word makes me nauseated. In the beginning it was her enemies that would sink so low as to call her that name and how the tables turned for at the end her own friends began to use the same words her enemies used against her. What a world it must have been for her to live in where her enemies became her lovers and her friends became her enemies. Perhaps it started when he entered the picture.
The war had come to a close approximately six months before he came into the picture. Hogwarts still needed to be rebuilt from the ground up and families were desperately trying to fill in the voids – the empty, barren hole in their hearts that left along with their loved ones. No one went away unscathed whether it be physically, mentally or emotionally. My family was grieving the loss of my dear brother, Fred Weasley who died with the ghost of a smile on his face and the hint of mirth shining in his eyes. Rather than being grateful for winning our cause and not suffering any other personal casualties to our family, we grew bitter. Ron's anger emerged almost immediately, which promptly ended his budding romance with Hermione. Just like that they went from lovers to enemies in a matter of moments. I don't even know how it happened. All I know is that one minute my mother was holding on to the hope of adopting another Weasley into the family and the next Ronald banned her from the Burrow and from his life. Along with this, Ronald also banned Harry and I from speaking to her, but that never stopped any of us. We pitied her at first, not fully understanding what had transpired between she and my brother. Perhaps a small part of me desperately hoped for them to get back together – to see Ron smile once more. But that hope has long since been vanquished along with Hermione.
She was the key to it all – the key to balancing him out. She was the only person who was able to get under his skin and drive him insane with a mere look. She was also the same person who could harden his heart and drive him to the brink of insanity. He truly loved her. He loved her and would follow her to the ends of the earth. If she had not survived the war, I know Fred would not have only been the only brother I lost. He always strived to prove himself to her. He wasn't just Ron – another Weasley – he was Ronald Bilius Weasley and he was his own man. He was not only a part of the Golden Trio or The Boy Who Lived's best friend. Ronald Weasley was a brave, heroic, intelligent Gryffindor who pulled his own in the battle against Voldemort.
She was his sole reason for living once the battle came to a close. His family was in pieces and he needed comforting. She was there through it all, she understood. Whatever he needed she gave and that is why we remained friends with her, against Ron's will. Like all secrets, it eventually came out that Harry and I still conversed with Hermione occasionally.
Hermione and I were walking through Hogsmeade – I remember it like it was yesterday – and we saw a patch of familiar red hair. She stood her ground and took what was thrown at her. I remember turning to her in disgust when I found out what had happened between the two of them and the look in her eyes – the fear, the loneliness. I took pride in knowing that we had done that to her. Now, I barely recognize that person. I turned my back on my best friend without finding out what truly happened. There are always three sides to every story; her side, his side and the truth.
One thing that we all knew was that since the war Ron had developed a rather nasty drinking habit but we were all in denial. How could my dear, brave, courageous older brother be so weak as to resort to the bottle?
"You filthy mudblood! How dare you taint my sister with your vile existence. You slut, you hussy. How is your lover boy? Does he fuck you like I did? Does he do you better than I did?" His exact words ring loudly in my ears and now I realize how none of that made sense. It was not until it was too late that the exact truth came out. It was not until she had taken her own life that I regretted my decision and realized I chose wrong. I should not have joined my brother in persecuting Hermione but rather I should have been rioting against my own flesh and blood.
Harry found out that very night what I thought the truth was. And just like that she went from having three best friends to none. At first it was not that bad. We did not do any damage just yet, rather our revenge consisted of avoidance, ignorance and the silent treatment. Her constant owls and pleas went unanswered and unheard. Her floos went blocked and ignored. At first, we were flooded with questions and desperate cries for a chance to hear her out, a chance to have her explain what had happened. She never once wrote down in an owl what the truth was. I now know that she did not want to resort to flooring us in an owl. She wanted us to be the true friends we had always been to her and to at least give her the benefit of the doubt.
If we had just answered her letters or read between the lines she may still be here with us today. If I had just given her a chance to speak out and to tell her side of the story perhaps she would not have felt so alone and shunned. She threw herself into her work and her teaching as she had always done in the past whenever she needed to escape reality. Her world consisted of teaching, grading papers and sleeping. The letters finally stopped and everything came to a halt. She stopped trying to contact us and that's when Ron lost it. His hatred and anger for her grew as the pleas and letters dwindled down and eventually stopped. He would curse at her in anger sporadically, "How dare she move on! We have not forgiven her – she should be begging for forgiveness."
We should have realized that there was no evidence to back up my brother's statements. She was living alone and she never had any visitors. She was not engaged nor romantically involved with anyone else. There was no evidence to suggest or prove that she had an affair – that she had put Ron through the ringer because she was with someone else. The signs were there that Ron was losing it, but Harry and I ignored them. We were trying to move on and fill the void in our lives with Hermione's absence. Ron would disappear at all hours of the night and we would find him sprawled out on our living room floor, an empty bottle cradled in his hand. Ignorance is bliss and Harry and I desperately wanted to believe that if we just ignored them and acted like everything was all right, it eventually would be. But, it just continued to get worse.
We later learned that Ron had been harassing Hermione – writing her nasty letters, threatening her, showing up at her flat and banging on the door, trying to get her sacked from her job. He wanted to make her life as miserable as he was. If she could not be happy with him, she did not deserve to be happy at all – that was how he had later explained it. She had always been a strong, independent, intelligent witch. But, she broke. We don't know when or necessarily how. Perhaps it was the death of her parents, perhaps it was the loss of her friends, perhaps it was the abuse from her ex boyfriend. Perhaps it was being shunned by the wizarding world as a whole when Rita Skeeter got a whiff that the Golden Trio had split up, she painted Hermione to be a harlot, breaking poor Ronald's heart. I had always imagined that part was exaggerated, but the paper presented her as a teacher by day, promiscuous heartbreaker at night. Ronald gave his sob story of how she turned her back on him when he needed her most and she had never cared for him or their bed. He accused her of sleeping around and when he confronted her, she had the nerve to deny it. The article stated that Miss Granger denied to comment, making her seem guilty even though Hermione would later write in her final letter to us that she had never been approached by anyone asking for her side of the story, but rather had started receiving hate mail and exploding parcels.
It finally reached the breaking point when there was a follow up article in the paper stating that Hogwarts had decided to release Miss Granger due to no longer needing her services. In reality, parents did not want their children being taught by a former member of the Golden Trio who had been shunned by the infamous Harry Potter and Weasleys. There was a picture in the paper of her that was taken candidly. It seemed that the photographer snuck up behind her and snapped her photograph without giving her any notice or warning. She was sullen and pale – her cheekbones sunken in and dark circles outlined her eyes. Her once lively, bright chocolate brown eyes were now empty and dull. She looked frail, fragile and confused. As a whole, she appeared lost and confused – the ghost of the woman she had once been. She had lost a considerable amount of weight and her limbs resembled flexible twigs. If you pushed her gently in the chest with your finger it looked as if she would fall over. I remember looking at the image triumphantly, thinking that we had finally gotten her. She had stolen the happiness from my brother's eyes and now we had stolen hers.
The day that the story headlined on the front page is the same day that she disappeared from the face of the earth. Approximately fifteen minutes after it happened, I received a letter from an owl I had not seen yet.
You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know something is not right? I had that all day and it finally happened. It finally hit me what we had done, what had happened. I sat down at my kitchen table, ignoring the wails of my child and the hollering of Harry asking when dinner was ready. I sat down and read, my hands shaking and my face becoming dangerously pale as I read more and more.
Now, I sit beside my best friend and the tomb that has since replaced her. I like to think that she would have forgiven me and accepted my apology if she were hear to listen to my story. It only seems tragically poetic – I wasn't there to hear her story and she's not here to listen to mine. Ignorance is not bliss. Perhaps at that precise moment in time, you would rather believe in lies or ignore the signs for your own personal convenience. But in the end, nothing blissful came out of what happened. A beautiful life was lost and we pushed her to the edge. I don't know how to look my children in the eye and tell them the tale of Hermione Granger – their almost aunt. I do not know how to explain what happened to her. It is impossible to tell the tale of Harry and Ron's endeavors and adventures without including the third member of the Golden Trio.
My children look up to her character in my stories and question what became of her. It's one of those stories that do not have a happy ending because at the end of the day, Hermione was the brains, Harry was the brave and Ron was the heart. Without the brains, the bravery and the heart would not have been able to accomplish all that they have. How do I tell my children that their father and I took part in the greatest witch of out time's ultimate demise? We singlehandedly drove her to the brink so that she felt that the only way out was to end it.
If only I had one more moment – one more day with her. To listen to her, to be there for her, to apologize to her, to hear her out. But no one was there to hear her out and now no one will be able to hear me out.
I'm sorry Hermione. I'm sorry I was unable to be there for you and I did not believe you. I am sorry that we did not see what was right in front of us. I'm sorry that we did not believe you and hear you out.