Put Yourself Back Together Again

by QM

This is a series of one-shots that are set after the war. They are all epilogue compatible and consist of a poem and a small story that follows it.

Put Yourself Back Together Again: Chapter One: The Bells Toll

(This is a series of poems, that I, like the poetry/theatre nerd that I am, write for fanfic along with some little vignettes of writing. Most of them are set after the final battle. All are epilogue compatible, most are miserable, though I occasionally throw in a pick me up. I'm also going to start another series of poetry oneshots that are going to be completely and utterly NON-epilogue compatible. As in crazy backwards/forwards ships. Ahem. Yes. I hope you enjoy it. This first one is called 'The Bells Toll'.)

The taste of his name still hovered above her lips,
twining with her flaming hair,
and misting in the winter air,
which carried on down through her hips.

It tolled,
and like the church's bells,
crashed with waves and rose in swells,
and left her heart to well unfold

as shots and fires lit the sky,
her eyes swept blank,
and hoping sank,
to weave a slowly kindled 'why?'.

Whilst knees lost strength,
the ground was hard,
and sobs with length,
left red hair, cold eyes, soft lips-

scarred.

He was hanging like a broken china doll, in arms that shook, not out of struggle to carry him or some sort of sly spell. They shook out of fear and longing and... sadness. There wasn't really another word for it. Sadness was consuming and tiresome and, altogether, clinging to the air. Stifling.

Hagrid's tears, the size of hail stones in a northern winter, fell thick and loud, marking the seconds.

McGonagall cried out in pain, as though she'd just felt the hilt of an unforgivable.

Ron stood stock still.

Hermione let silent tears slip a stream down her cheeks.

Harry did nothing.

He didn't rush forward to pat down Hermione's hair and wipe away her tears. He didn't wave a wry hand in front of Ron's face. He didn't awkwardly try to comfort his Professor. He didn't march down to Hagrid's hut, insisting to know what was wrong. He didn't tell her that it would all be fine... at some point.

He did nothing. And that was all he would ever do.

And, she knew, not a single person there would leave without a fight. Not after this.

Cold anger shone in their eyes, wild and unused. It built steadily, thickening the air and covering the sun, rolling in on a rapidly expanding wind.

She gave an unexpected, fiery grin, and, with a bang, the chaos began.