Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Summary: When the sorrow finally catches her, she doubles over with sobs. Familiar, warm arms try to comfort her, but they aren't the ones she so craves. FredHermione, slight RonHermione, post-DH, oneshot
Alrighty! Here's another Harry Potter fic from me. Seems to be the only fandom I'm interested in lately haha. Anyway, this one is a pairing I've never done before, but I'm excited to try it! This is one of my favorite Mione-pairings. But yeah, please enjoy. I'd love to hear what y'all think!
Wreckage
The battle is over.
The battle is over and she is back at the Burrow. Hermione Granger has no place to go right now. Not with everything happening. She decides to let it die down before she goes on the arduous journey to reclaim her parents. It sounds cruel, but right now she can't think of anything else other than the battle, the people cheering, the Horcrux hunt, the lives lost...
What she had placed in the back of her mind for so long has finally pricked her chest, stunning her as efficiently as any spell.
It's late at night, and she and Ron had taken a walk. Free and unconcerned of any awful things that could happen. For once, it feels like there are none. But she finds that she has lost the ability to breathe. Her hands clutch at her chest feebly while Ron chatters away, not even noticing the plight that his girlfriend is in.
She tries to listen to him, really she does. But now that it has hit Hermione, she can't shake it.
Lupin, Tonks, Professor Snape, Colin...
Fred.
The name seems to slap her, awakening her from the dense fog she had shrouded herself in to keep from getting too emotional at the time. But now there is no reason to not hold it up, now that the images of the dead have finally penetrated her rational mind.
Dead bodies flash before her. Lupin and Tonks, stretched beside each other. Snape, being ravaged by that wretched snake. Colin's tiny form being carried into the castle.
And Fred.
Fred, Fred, Fred.
Fred, being next to her in his final moments. Looking so fresh, so alive, so bright with good humor even in an awful situation.
And then...gone.
She remembers even the twitch of his lips as he lay there in front of them. His last smile forever etched onto his features. It seemed so surreal when she thought back on it, but now with all her guards down around her feet, she felt the impact of it as if it were a physical blow.
"Oh..." she whispers in a rough breath, hoping that Ron doesn't notice her until she can get it all together, but right away that seems to be a silly wish.
"Hermione?"
There's Ron, of course. Concerned, but puzzled at her reaction. He has coped with all the deaths much better than she.
She hasn't realized she has crouched to the ground, the dirt scraping her knees, her arms clenched around her middle. The faces of the dead flash before her eyes, faster and faster, like some sick carousel. Back and forth, back and forth. They taunt her. The images go around and around in her brain, never seeming to stop. But the images that whirl around somehow start to slow down. The mash of dead warriors soon becomes just one person. One sole, kind, always good-humored individual.
Hermione isn't surprised when Fred Weasley's face floats in her mind's eye, grinning brightly at some joke.
Somehow that hurts her more than if he were in pain.
Because she knows she isn't going to be able to see that anymore. Hear that anymore. It's all just an illusion, something painful and awful to look back on. Remembering the good times should help, but it only makes her think of what can't be.
She doesn't realize someone is saying her name until she opens her eyes and sees the tears swimming in front of them. Hermione feels numb all over, her arms still wrapped around herself, when Ron stoops beside her and brings her into his arms.
Hermione feels wretched because it becomes apparent to her that she wants someone else's arms and not Ron's.
"Uh oh," the echo of Fred's voice chimes at her, "I thought you knew what you wanted, Hermione."
I thought I did, she thinks furiously back. Foolishly, as if she really thought it was him talking to her and not just an after image.
She finds that the tears have seeped over and are running in torrents down her cheeks. Her body shakes with sobs that Ron frantically tries to soothe. But even she can hear the beginnings of a tremor in his voice as he says her name over and over, repeats how it's going to be okay, and so on. Hermione finds herself leaning her head back against his shoulder and imagining another voice saying her name, a different pair of arms holding her close. She digs her nails into the raw carving of 'Mudblood' on her wrist as if the pain would distract her from the emotional moment she's going through, but all it does is make things worse.
She closes her eyes and grips herself tighter. The whole thing seems so random and confusing, but she can't bear to focus on those things now. Not when more pressing matters have reared their head.
Now, instead of a parade of the dead, his face - and just his face - makes its rounds throughout her mind.
"It's going to be okay, Mione."
She risks looking over at Ron's face, which is taken over by sadness at this moment. For a second, his face shifts and she sees Fred.
Fred leans down close to her, but it is Ron that presses his lips to her forehead.
It is Ron that whispers, "I love you."
Like someone else has possessed her body, she says the words back.
All the while, she can't shake the feeling like this isn't how it should be.
The face of Ron's brother teases her memories, bringing up anything and everything that would relate to him and not the boy that had just told her he loved her.
She finds that she longs more for the deceased twin than his very alive younger brother.
And she almost collapses from how wrong it is.
End.
