A/N Okay so I know I keep starting new fics when I should be continuing my old ones, but I just needed to write this one! It starts off pretty gloomy but I promise it will get more uplifting as it goes on, it's just starting when they are in a bad place. I hope people enjoy, please review! - J x
Ron's hand slips from mine as soon as our feet slam into the hard packed earth. Eight Weasleys, Harry, Fleur and I land in the yard of the burrow; the lopsided, rickety building towering over us, silhouetted against the sky which is a pale grey with the rising sun. The colour fits the mood; everything is a dismal blanket of grey, suffocating us, smothering us with its touch. The war is over, Voldermort is dead, but grief squashes out the relief we were allowed at that thought until nothing else is left and the sickening grey fills up every corner.
Mrs Weasley collapses onto the ground in a fit of sobs which shake her whole body and her husband wraps his arms around her. Ron's tears flow silently down his cheeks and drip into his sister's hair as Ginny clutches at him, her shoulders rising and falling. Bill clasps Fleur's hand so tightly in his own that her fingers turn red but she makes no remark, just lets him hang on to her and wipes tears from his scarred face. Charlie and Percy stand together seemingly unsure what to do, their faces set in the sort of blank mask one has when they are fighting back tears. George had walked away from the group as soon as we arrived, and now his body casts another silhouette against the pale sky.
They lost their son, their brother, and now the grief is taking them. I swallow a lump in my throat. I had known Fred too, loved him even, in the way you can love a friend, love to spend time with someone. He was a joker, mischievous and a trouble maker which outwardly I pretended to despise but secretly I envied the way he could lose himself in mischief and not worry about the consequences, the way I never could. He was smart too, smarter than he liked to let on, I saw it in the quiet moments when he thought no one was paying attention, and heard it in the depth of his words. He was caring and sweet, loving and loved by all. He was too young, but I don't want to say it, because it means the others who died; Remus and Tonks and all of them, were old enough. I feel a pang at the thought of them too but I suppress it, blinking away tears as I watch the grieving family. I grieve for Fred, will miss him, but it is not my burden to bear in the same way as it is for the others, so I stand awkwardly at the sidelines, feeling cold and numb.
I feel someone's fingers slip between my own and squeeze my hand reassuringly and turn round to stare at Harry. He tries to smile at me, but it comes out as more of a grimace. He looks strong, his face set in a hard expression, but tear tracks etch lines into his dirt covered face. I squeeze his hand back, letting him know he isn't alone, standing on the precipice of the Weasley's grief. Both of us bear our own grief, and we will succumb to it later. A sigh escapes my lips and Harry releases my hand, pulling me to his side in an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of my bushy hair.
"Come on," He says quietly, "We should get them in," I nod solemnly and watch him cross the small expanse of yard to where Mr and Mrs Weasley are curled on the ground together; I watch him bend to their level, place a hand tentatively on their shoulders and whisper to them, gesturing toward the house. I swallow and tuck my hair behind my ears, wincing as my fingers graze a cut on my forehead. I had forgotten it was there, but now I can't escape the stinging.
"Ron," I try, but my voice cracks, dry and pained as it leaves my mouth. "Ron," I say again, louder this time and he looks up at me. His eyes are pink and sore, tears still brimming at his lashes. I want to take him in my arms and kiss away his pain, to sooth his grief and his guilt with my lips and my embraces. But I can't, so I just bite my lip and say "You should go inside, rest," He nods and there is a flicker of new sadness in his blue, bloodshot eyes. My heart skips a beat, wondering if it could be related to me, but I shrug the thought aside. It's disgusting that I might be so selfish after all that's happened. How could he think of me at a time like this? Still, I can't shake the kiss from my mind. I hang my head and follow Harry, Mr and Mrs Weasley and the eldest Weasley brothers inside. Ginny and Ron follow me; George comes in last and goes straight upstairs without talking to anyone.
My heart yearns for him, for anyone who could feel so sad. I wonder what it would be like to have your soul mate ripped from your side. I don't want to know.
I hear the sound of a kettle brewing and soon Mrs Weasley is sat on one of the sofas, a steaming mug clasped between her fingers, Mr Weasley at one side and Percy at her other. She looks a different person than the woman I have known for the last seven years. Her face is full of sadness, all their faces are; grief weighs down the room and threatens to suffocate me. A loud sob escapes my lips and breaks the silence in the room, forcing every pair of eyes upon me.
"Hermione," Ron moves toward me but I shake my head and press my palms to my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I sob again and run from the room, ignoring the calls of my name. I end up in the shower, letting the water run too hot and scald my skin. I don't mind the heat, it feels good even, as if it's searing away not only the dirt, sweat and blood I am covered in, but the pain and the memories of the last year. With the water running I let my tears come freely, their sound masked by that of the shower. I cry for the Weasley's with their family torn apart, I cry for poor Teddy Lupin, the baby who has lost both his parents before he even had a chance to know them properly, he reminds me too much of my best friend. I cry for all the children lost, curious Colin Creevey with his wide eyes and smile, for Lavender who I spent so much effort despising last year and who ended up meeting a savage death. I cry for everyone who has died or has lost the ones they love but mostly I cry for myself.
I haven't seen my parents in over a year, and if I saw them now, they wouldn't recognise me. Worse, it was my own spell that caused it. I know it was for their safety and had I not done that, they most likely would be dead by now, but I let my selfishness consume me and mourn the loss of them. One day I will find them and restore their memories, one day soon, I tell myself. But there is too much to be done first; funerals and rebuilding people's homes, rebuilding whole lives in fact. The people I love in the wizarding world need me and my parents don't even know their own names. They can wait, I try to reassure myself.
I stay in the shower a long time, until my hair is soft and shiny, the dirt and blood has been washed from my skin, and my eyes no longer look puffy and red. Still, my body bears the signs of mistreatment. Over our year on the run, we all lost a lot of weight, I can see that now; my ribs and hips protrude more than they used to, my face looks more sunken. The cut on my forehead has stopped bleeding, but it looks like it will take a while to heal; there are smaller scratches and cuts all over my limbs and yellow and brown patches splatter my pale skin where once purple bruises have begun to heal. Worst of all is the scar on my forearm, still as red and angry as the day I received it. I've started to worry it won't ever heal. I have to stop looking at it before I choke up again; the scrawled letters craved into my skin, a reminder of my torture, of her and of what I am; mudblood.
I use a cleaning charm on my underwear and put them back on before wrapping a fluffy, white towel around myself. I don't want to put my clothes back on even if I can perform a charm which would make them as clean as the day I bought them; I don't want to wear those clothes ever again, they remind me too much of what has happened, what I've seen while wearing them. I toss them in the bin on my way out.
When I reach Ginny's room, the room I have stayed in for so many summers and Christmases, I find the extra bed already out and made and someone sitting on it waiting for me.
He blushes a bright red at my lack of clothes and begins to stutter apologies, standing up, covering his eyes with his hands and making for the door. I laugh and place my hands on his arms to stop him before closing the door behind us.
"Ron, it's okay," I giggle despite the circumstances, his presence bringing out a joy in me, however small. I too am a little embarrassed by my outfit, but we lived together for a year, we've seen each other looking much worse. Besides, it's not as if I'm naked. My cheeks flush at that and my hands fly to my face.
"What is it?" Ron grabs my wrists and prises them from my face, worry in his eyes.
"Nothing, I just-" I shake my head and hold his hands in my lap. "No, it's okay. Were you waiting for me?" I change the subject and watch the tips of his ears turn pink, the way they always do when he's embarrassed.
"Yeah, I wanted to see if you were okay," He stutters, avoiding my gaze. "I was worried about you," I snort unattractively.
"You were worried about me?" I say incredulously, "Ron, you've had as much to deal with as I have, more even, I-" I stop short when I see the look on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips mashed in a hard line. "Ron, I'm sorry," I soften my voice, shuffling closer to him and trying to force him to look at me. We stay quiet for a moment before I muster the courage to say it. "I'm sorry about Fred," I whisper and he merely sniffles in reply. I can't think of anything else to say, so I don't. I just wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me, burying my face in his hair. It smells comforting, like he always does.
I breathe in his scent and feel his warmth and turn red when I feel my heart hammering. When did his proximity become able to do this to me? My grip on him falters and I smooth down my wet hair like I do when I'm nervous.
"Hermione?" He asks quietly and I turn to face him. He looks the same as he always did, nose too thin and too long, his hair messy, his long face splattered with freckles, but he looks different too. Different because he is a man now, had to become one too fast what with everything going on, different because of what he has seen and been through. And different because I see him differently. His nose seems to fit perfectly on his face now, his messy hair is endearing and his freckles beautiful. Somewhere along the line Ronald Weasley became something different to me, something more.
He is stubborn and difficult, quick to temper and moody when he does, clumsy and silly, but he is more. He is kind and caring, smart and quick thinking, brave and selfless. He is beautiful. My heart beats faster in my chest. He is beautiful and I kissed him, he kissed me back. He is beautiful and I am sat with him in nothing but my towel and underwear. I could reach out and kiss him, pull him to me like I did before. He is beautiful, but he is my friend.
How can I risk ruining something that we have spent years building? I don't even know what his feelings for me are, he kissed me back, but that was in a moment of passion, fear and irrationality. Maybe he wouldn't have kissed me under normal circumstances, but maybe we wouldn't be who we are under normal circumstances. These are things I need to unravel on my own, things he too needs to work out. It took me years to uncover and sift through my feelings for him, I'm sure he needs his time too.
"Yes?" I finally reply because I left a gap too long after his question.
"I think you're amazing," He says softly, without blushing or stuttering, but with sincerity in his voice. He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek before he stands up. "Get some sleep, yeah? We all need it," Then he leaves me alone in Ginny's room wondering how on earth we are all going to deal with the aftermath of all that's happened.
I don't bother waiting for Ginny and asking to borrow some pyjamas, I don't even bother turning off the light. I just curl up under the duvet in my underwear and to my surprise and relief, fall asleep almost instantly.