Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Just a brief word before the story: Unlike my other fic, this one is sort of based on true events. It's been in my head for a while now, but I finally felt the need to sit down and write it. If you're interested in the events that inspired the story, read the Author's Note at the bottom.
"Until death do us part."
She'd said the words. Repeated them after the minister with no thought to their meaning.
The wedding was a happy occasion, not a time to dwell on such things as death.
But death is inevitable.
She'd said the words, but she never imagined parting would come so soon.
Dec. 19, 2005
The clock chimed 12 as Ginny Potter packed the rest of her son's belongings into the diaper bag.
Bottles. Check. Blankets. Check. Pacifier. Check. Diapers. Check. Teddy bear. Check.
"Your Aunt Hermione will be here soon," she cooed at her six-month old son, James.
He responded with a grin, which was an accomplishment given that his mouth was already occupied by the chubby fist he'd shoved into it.
Ginny rolled her eyes and retrieved the pacifier she'd packed away. "If Mummy didn't know any better, she'd think you liked Aunt Hermione better," she said as she gently tugged his hand away from his mouth and held the pacifier up for him. He took it and his hand closed around his mother's finger instead.
She didn't bat an eye. Being covered in drool was something you just got used to with a baby around.
She took a napkin in her free hand and began to wipe the area around his mouth as she spoke, "Mummy and Daddy are going on a date tonight, but Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron will take good care of you, I promise."
She heard the crack that signaled some apparating into the living room right on cue and waited for the remark about how she talked to herself around the baby. It was either that or go a little crazy being left in the house every day while Harry went off to work. Even worse when he was away on a mission. Nothing was said, however.
That was her first clue that something was wrong.
When she turned, she found her best friend standing numbly in the center of the room. She was dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt that hung loosely off her frame. That wasn't what alarmed her, though.
No, what she noticed were the tell tale signs that Hermione had been crying recently: red rimmed eyes, tracks in her makeup. She didn't have time to ask before she knew the reason.
"He's dead, Ginny. Ron's dead."
In that moment, she felt the floor tip sideways.
In the silence that followed, there was a second crack, this time from the kitchen. "Ginny!" she heard her husband shout, but her mouth was too dry to respond.
Harry rounded the corner and found the two women embracing in the center of the room.
"I take it you've heard then."
Dec. 23, 2005
The funeral was short and simple. Friends and family spoke about him, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to do it. She wasn't ready to talk yet. It was too soon and speaking at his funeral would only make the reality that he was gone even harder to bear. She needed time.
She watched a Mrs. Weasley spoke and felt another rush of emotion. Ron was the second son she had lost and he would be buried next to the first, among the others who had perished during the war. Her eyes wandered to seven-year-old Teddy in his tiny suit who didn't even realize the bodies of his parents lay just yards away beneath the dirt and marble slabs.
Harry's speech was the hardest to take. He spoke of his favorite memories, most of which Hermione shared. She could feel the tears slipping silently over her cheeks, but didn't bother wiping them away. It was a waste of time when she'd been doing so much crying recently.
He goes on to talk about the mission Ron was on when he was killed. It was supposed to be Harry's mission, but Ron had taken it instead so that he could take Ginny out for their anniversary.
She gave Ginny's hand a squeeze and felt it returned, just needing the reminder that she's not alone in this.
The funeral was in the morning. That afternoon, she returned to work.
As she stepped off the lift and made her way to her office, she caught the curious looks that followed her as she passed, but no one spoke to her.
Still dressed in the same dark blouse and black pants she'd worn to the funeral, she opened the door to her office and the lights came on automatically.
Given the amount of time that had passed since she was at work, there should have been a mountain of paperwork waiting for her, but her desk was just as neat as she had left it on the 18th.
Confused, she turned to go ask the minister where it all was when he entered her office, files in hand.
Draco Malfoy was dressed more formally than usual, she noted. Had he been at the funeral? She couldn't recall.
Her eyes fell to the files in his hands.
"I've been keeping up with them for you." he informed her. "All that's left is for you to sign them."
She wasn't sure when it'd happened, but she and Malfoy had become, not friends per se, but acquaintances who could at least tolerate each other for extended periods of time and have decent conversations without hexing each other anymore.
While she knew he'd never admit it, she knew that keeping up with her workload on top of his own during this difficult time was his way of showing that he did care.
"Thank you," she managed to get out after a moment.
He just nodded and set them on her desk before turning to leave, but he stopped at the door. "No one expects you to be back at work this soon, Granger. We'd all understand if you need more time off."
"No. I need this...Some form of normalcy to keep me anchored."
This is something he understands. He'd returned to work the day after his mother's death a few years back.
Dec. 19, 2010
Ronald Weasley
1980-2005
Beloved husband, son, and father.
Hermione stared at the words on the cold stone that was all that was left of her husband. She traced her fingers over the words, noting how the last two words were less weathered than the rest of it, as if they had been added as an after thought.
They were. At the time of the funeral, she hadn't even known she was pregnant yet. That revelation didn't come for a few more weeks when she realized she'd missed two periods. At first, she just chalked it up to the stress she was under at the time, but when the morning sickness began, she took a test anyway. Positive, of course.
There are several fresh bouquets of flowers around the tombstone and she let the roses she carried fall among them as she kneeled in front of the grave.
Five years. It'd been five years since her world came crumbling down around her and she'd been slowly struggling to rebuild it ever since, for Rose's sake.
The first year had been the hardest. Getting through all of the holidays alone, forcing herself to get up in the mornings, and then working herself to exhaustion so she could sleep without dreaming. Then she'd found out about the baby and it'd given her a reason to take better care of herself.
She'd never imagined that at this point in her life, she'd be a widow and a single mother, but she'd had help. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were always willing to help during the worst times and they watched Rose for her when she had to said it made things easier on them, anyway. Rose and James, being just a year apart in age, kept eachother entertained and Teddy, who was now twelve and in his second year at Hogwarts, would help out when he stayed with Harry and Ginny during his school breaks, telling them stories about what the magical world is like.
And Harry was always there to talk if she needed it or just to offer a shoulder to cry on. Even Malfoy had become more of a friend than not over time and could always be counted on to keep her mind off of things at work.
She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she caressed the cool stone once more. She didn't know how she would have made it this far without them.
Sure, she still felt the pain of her loss from time to time, but knowing that she had such a support system always made it easier to bear. She had to be strong. For Rose.
"I can't believe it's been five years already. It seems like yesterday you were leaving for that mission...I still wake up some mornings, thinking you'll be there..." she sighed. Here she was, speaking to nothing but the cold ground as the winter wind burned her cheeks. "There's less than a week until Christmas. The holidays are always the hardest to get through. You know what Rose asked for this year? A dad. She spends so much time with James over at Harry and Ginny's that eventually it occurred to her that that's what she's missing. I told her she already has one and that he's a hero. She's getting so big now. It's hard to believe that she starts primary school next fall."
This continued for a while. She wasn't sure how long, but when she finally left the cemetery, her hands and face were numb with cold. She'd left Rose at the Burrow. When she was a little older, she'd bring her along for these yearly visits, but she was still too young for that now.
Hermione stopped at the Ministry on her way back to drop off some paperwork on a new law that she'd taken home to review. Being a Sunday, the offices were deserted save for a few workaholics who were there working on one project or another.
She took the lift to her floor and found it empty except for one lone employee, Draco Malfoy.
"It's Sunday, Granger, what are you doing here?" he asked as she stepped off the elevator.
"I could ask you the same thing. Surely you have something better you could be doing."
"Just needed to pick up some files to go over before tomorrow, but I can't find them."
"Would this be it?" She held up the file in her hand, drawing his attention to it for the first time.
"Well, that would explain why it seemed to have vanished into thin air."
She handed him the folder and watched him flip through the contents. "It's pretty straight forward, just a little long."
Malfoy nodded and shut the file again before pressing the button to recall the lift. "Guess we both had good timing today, then."
They wait for the lift in relative silence and board it when it arrives.
It was then that he took note of her dark clothing. "It's today, isn't it?"
He doesn't need to say anymore.
She nods. "Five years."
He let out a low whistling sound. "Time goes fast. So Rose is what...four now?"
"Since August."
"Well, that makes me feel old."
"Thirty isn't old."
"Right. Keep telling yourself that, Granger."
"Are you saying I'm old?"
"Not you, specifically. All of us. The war ended twelve years ago. Can you believe it's been that long? All of the things we saw in there, they'd age anyone."
It's true. She knows it is. The war had affected all of them in irrevocable ways, taking away loved ones, forcing the young to fight for their survival, sometimes killing other wizards, leaving mental scars as well as physical scars.
They'd all rejoiced after Voldemort's defeat. It was the end of the war, except it wasn't. They all still had their own inner turmoil to battle and hers never seemed to go away. She was sure it was the same for the others. Seeing those your friends, family, and classmates laying among the dead was something that never went away.
How many deaths had she witnessed herself? Too many.
Some nights she still woke up screaming. Was it the same for him?
Author's Note:
It feels so good to be writing in 3rd person again. I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to write Of Birds and Fish in first person.
Thank you for taking the time to give this story a chance. It's one that's close to my heart and writing it has been a sort of therapy for me. I'd really appreciate reviews on this one. Should I continue? Is anyone interested?
I was originally going to have more in this chapter, but I'd written quite a bit and I was running out of time to write today, so I decided to cut the chapter there.
As I stated at the beginning, this story is based on true events. Here are the facts:
On Dec. 19, 2010, I took the hardest phone call I've ever had to take. "He's dead. Eric's dead." Those were the words of my best friend when she called me at work that Sunday morning.
Unlike the story, they were not married, but that didn't make the recovery and grief process any easier.