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The direct aftermath of the battle was bittersweet. Mostly bitter. The castle was encompassed with a thick fog of emotion weighing down heavily on the crowd. The end of the War and the death of Voldemort did not meet the same response as one would assume. No laughter or merry singing ringing throughout the castle. The school was silent, only the eerily soft sobbing and mummer of tentative voices broke the dense miasmic hush. Oddly enough the atmosphere seemed worse compared to during the fear and chaos of the war. Terror thrummed in the hearts of every soul inside Hogwarts, induced by the thought of lurking Deatheaters seeking one more kill. Yet while fear lingered, the drive, the passion, of the brave soldiers had been sucked away as many brave lives were sucked from their bodies. What took the place of the fire of hope and valor was the oppressive, immeasurable ghost of grief, contaminating the survivors to their souls. That aching throb that slashed at the their insides, causing pale tear tracks to form on dusty cheeks and a haunted shadows to invade the new vacancy in flooding eyes made Hermione wonder if the fight was really worth the outcome. It was hard to tell, but it was certain that the emotive pain held a firm vice on the students, teachers, and families that cried for their dead and clung to the living. She stood with the Ron most of the day, watching him and his family clutch the lifeless corpse that mere hours before housed the soul of a vibrant young trickster. Hermione felt out of place. Not welcome in the Weasly's grieving for Fred, but also not permitted to wander with Ron and Ginny both gripping her hands with inhuman strength. The thick, stormy haze of black clouds over the castle and a warm temperature that made it hard to breath correctly mirrored the sentiments festering just under the surface of Hermione's comforting stature perfectly. Even when the whole of the castle retired to the common rooms for much needed rest she could not escape. Lying beside a snoozing Ron she finally decided she needed air, needed to be alone. Gingerly moving Ron's firm arm from around her she stood up and began making her way over the sleeping outlines draped over the floor. In the corner lay Harry. His glasses were askew and his hair was ruffled as though he had been pulling at it's roots in desperation; however he looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him, with his arm wrapped securely around Ginny's slender waist. Neville was using his arm as a pillow, while Luna used his stomach; her bright violet socks with orange polka dots inches from the restless and tear streaked face of George. Percy had his head lolling of the four-poster bed with his glasses hanging perilously to his left ear, and his mouth wide open as he snored. Hermione's breath caught when she saw Seamus' place by the door was vacant, then calmed herself quietly knowing he would be in the same place they dragged him from hours ago: The Great Hall, next to Lavender. With a final leap over the incredibly long form of Dean she reached her destination. Easing the door open, she allowed herself one last fond look at the young men and women resting in odd angles and forms across the dark ground. It reminded her a doll set she owned as a child, carelessly tossed to the floor. Toy Soldiers she though sadly. Then quickly slipped from the dormitory.
She ran quietly through the castle, afraid if running into one of the many order members patrolling the grounds. Lightly as a falling leaf Hermione slipped her way through the debris and out into the stillness of the night, finding herself drawn to a small patio outside the greenhouses. The small expanse of bricks was perched over a steep, grassy hill overlooking the grounds, allowing Hermione to take in the whole wonder of Hogwarts. An expanse that seemed endless. The lake was a perfect mirror of the night, reflecting priceless diamonds hovering in the large stretch of the velvety blue sky. The shimmering water surrounded by a personal guard of aging trees, swaying in a light breeze. The kiss of the cool night sank into Hermione's very skin, sending goose bumps rushing across her flesh. The moment made her feel very small, with her dangling legs swaying slightly with the leaves and her eyes following the expanse of the treetops till it intimately met with the hazy mountains. The tense fog that had covered her vanished and she was swept into a feeling of such relaxed content she felt as though she had become indefinitely wise in the span of the few minutes she had spent sitting on the cold bricks. She worried about the inevitable funerals and the thick, muggy emotional atmosphere she would have to return to. She wondered how she could feel so selfish; how she could not stand to be near the people she cared for. Ron. She loved Ron! Yet for the life of her she had not a single word of logic or comfort to offer. The image of him, falling hopelessly to his knees in the Great Hall, clinging to Fred as sobs ripped relentlessly through his exhausted body burned her drooping eyes as she drifted into the welcome darkness.
Hermione woke with a sudden start. It took her a moment to realize why she was laying on the damp grass of a hill. Shaking the loose emerald blades out of her hair she sat upright, surveying her surroundings. She suddenly wondered how long she had been gone. Her eyes met the still dark sky, searching for a clue as to how much time had passed as she lay napping. The moon was her answer, having traveled from one side of the starry sky to the other, as she lay blissfully unaware of the change. Groggily, Hermione lifted herself from the prickling grass, stretching her arms upwards as though to touch the now fading crystals of light scattered through the heavens. Hermione stood on the steep slope, breathing in the air of what must be early morning. Her boots where splashed at the tips with dew, and as she gazed at the dimmest light of the sun peaked over the horizon. Hermione couldn't have known that people in the castle where moving about. Nor that panic had leapt into the heart of one young man, who awoke to find that his best friend was not curled up at his side.
"Hermione!" a figure gasped from the patio, Hermione whipped her head back to see the tall, muscular form of Ronald Weasly. His ginger hair was disheveled and blowing in the early morning wind. The fabric of his black shirt clung to his well-formed arms and torso while his dark red sweatpants dragged slightly behind the heel of his shoes. His cerulean eyes, intensified in the muted morning light, where still drifting in the crossroad between panic and relief.
"R-Ron?" She stuttered slightly, inelegantly lifting herself to the bricks. His toned arms wrapped her against the firm warmth of his torso, easing her into a deep embrace. She buried her head to his chest, inhaling the smell of pine and cinnamon that had always resided on his skin.
"Hermione" he deep sighed. "God… thank god. Bloody hell Hermione you can't do that…you can't disappear like that on me" His voice was shaking and breathless with relief. Hermione's heart sank. Of course, she hadn't thought about how worried he would be to wake and find her gone; she would be beside herself if the roles had been reversed. If she had awoken to find his place beside her empty and cold, as though he had been stolen in the night without a sound. Her whole body shuddered at the image, her eyes and nose prickling painfully as she desperately held in her tears.
"I'm so sorry Ron." She whimpered softly. "I…. I just needed some air and I…" Her voice shook and she bit onto her chapped lip. His chest rose as he exhaled a deep breath. Powerful arms squeezed her waist and a large warm hand held her head to a firm chest. She found immense comfort in the thrumming of his heart under her ear, assuring her he was alive, that he was there.
"I thought…I thought you where…I don't know," Ron choked "You had died and I didn't…remember. Or someone, someone took you." They where both crying now. Gripping his shirt Hermione sobbed into his chest, distraughtly shaking her head. Ron's tears fell into her thick mane and she felt them catch like raindrops in her bronze curls.
"Never do that to me again Hermione," He begged through his ill repressed sobs "Please, Hermione. Please" Her mind was flashing images of Ron, waking up in sheer panic, racing through the castle not knowing if she was alive. Desperately trying to find her when she was nowhere to be found. Then her mind replaced him with her. He was gone. Dead. Stolen, and she could not find him no matter how hard she tried. Shaky breaths quivereing her constricting lungs, she clung to her life-long friend in the fear that if she was to slacken her grip he would vanish beneath her finger tips. Still gasping and shuddering Hermione looked up into Ron's face, resting her hand against his slightly stubbly cheek and locking with his azure gaze as they both wept. He looked away from her eyes still crying like a little boy, so unbearably vulnerable it broke her into a thousand pieces.
"You are one of the most important people to me, 'Mione." She tried to meet his eyes as he spoke but he would not look straight at her. "Seamus…. Seamus lost Lavender." He whispered. Hermione shook her head as though the movement could somehow make that statement untrue. Her insides burned with regret, she had the power to save so many of those who had died, Lavender included. She could have saved them…. but she didn't. In those moments of desperate need, she froze like a coward. Those pauses became a piling of innocent lives that she was capable to protect. She was just as responsible for the covered bodies resting in the hall as the casters of those merciless spells.
"We lost Fred, we…we lost Freddie." Ron continued, "And Tonks and Lupin, dammit even Colin…God we lost them all. We tried so hard and we failed them, I failed them. I failed Fred"
"No!" Hermione gasped, "No, Ron you didn't fail him. You didn't never think that" He finally looked at her. His striking eyes where rimmed with red and dull with the unconquerable force of grief. Every part of his body was quivering, she held him tightly trying her best to ease the shaking and the sobs as saltine droplets spilled down her face. His rough hands now cradled her face, his eyes searching her's and voice gruff with feeling beyond comprehension.
"I can not loose you. No…I won't loose you. I-I need you." The person standing before her was suddenly no longer Ronald Weasly. In place of the immature but brave boy she had known him to be was a man. A tall redhead man who's face showed that he had seen too much in his youth; a man who had lost so much that, despite his powerful build, resembled a lost child. A man who was silently begging the world to keep safe what he had managed to protect with a frightening desperation. A chill that had nothing to do with the early morning frost worked its way up her spine. Was this what they receive for all they have sacrificed? Is this what war inevitably makes them? Afraid? Impossibly and terrifyingly afraid that the next time they woke to find someone gone it would be for good? Stripped of who they where before this monstrosity darkened their innocent outlook of security, and robbed them of the people they loved enough to die for? Consumed by guilt and sorrow and resentment and so many other feelings to agonizingly complicated to express, even to the people they cared for most? War creates soldiers from children and allows them to die, war lingers long after white flags have been waved and rubble has cleared. It leaves scars deeper than skin and created vacancy in once full eyes. War creates a place for Death to leave light kisses on grimy cheeks of newly aged faces and murmur that he will return for them one day. It was a horrifying thought that would haunt them till the moment his cloaked shadow once again darkened their doorstep. But what scared them the most? The fact that this new plague was not something Harry could martyr, Ginny could hex, George could trick, Neville could fight, Luna could explain, Seamus could blow up, Ron could brave or she could outsmart. It took their defences and tore them down without an ounce of effort. Leaving them to submit to all of the overwhelming emotions. All the feelings nobody can to express but can understand without trying. Hermione wrapped her arms desperately around Ron and buried herself in the crook of his neck, she was hardly able to support her own weight under the force of the world that seemed to still rest on their shoulders They let themselves cry with no shame. Accepting what they had to sacrifice just because it was the right thing to do. Knowing they would never be the same again.
War could do that.