(A/N: Okay, second chapter is here now… Balalala… this is a different kinda plot for me, and I've got really NO idea what I'm doing so critizm will be greatly appreciated…)
Chapter 2The Weasley family and Harry were at the Burrow, talking about everything that had happened the past few years. No one wanted to bring up the topic of the girl with sleek brown curls and chocolaty eyes; least of all Ron. In the past three years, Ron had thinned and paled, refusing to eat and refusing to leave the house. He forced himself to stay up long hours into the night, waiting for the owl that would bring news of his presumed-dead love, no matter how hopeless it came to seem.
Harry was now taller, paler, and lankier than ever before. His black hair was messier, still refusing to be tamed, and his emerald green eyes were no longer as piercing as they once were. His almost sister had disappeared, and he and Ron beat themselves up over it, believing it was their fault.
The girl's parents had both died the previous years, supposedly of age, even though they weren't old in the least. Harry believed it was their grief for their only daughter that killed them; Ron thought it was the last, remaining followers of the now-defeated Lord Voldemort that had murdered them.
The Weasley's had, for the most part, continued on with their lives after Bill and Charlie had both been killed doing deeds for the Order, along with Percy. The three eldest redheads were all lost doing the same exact thing for the common good. Harry feels as if it was all his fault, that if he had defeated Lord Voldemort only a few days, maybe weeks, sooner, none of this would ever had happened; Hermione would still be here, the Weasley's would still be one large, happy family, and Ron would not be as sick as he was.
"Have you heard, dears, that Hogwarts is going to reopen finally? You can go back to school for your last years! Isn't it wonderful?" Molly Weasley told them as she prepared a late lunch.
"Do you honestly think I'll go back there, Mum? After everything?" Ron answered, morbidity showing clearly in his voice.
"Mrs. Weasley, none of us could possibly return. It's just not… I dunno… it wouldn't be right with out…" Harry trailed off, knowing that Mrs. Weasley knew whom he was referring to.
"I know, Harry, but you do need to finish your educations. I'll not have another one of my sons, and you, Harry, go without a proper magical education! You need it to get a job!"
"I don' wanna job, Mum. I wanna stay here," Ron spoke.
"And live with your mother for the rest of your pathetic life? I don't think so, Ronald! You'll go back to school and that's that! As will you, Harry! Ginny's going back, you know." Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a knowing look; Harry flushed ever so slightly.
He turned to Ron. "Maybe your mum's right. Maybe it'll help, and you'll still be able to… You know. We should go back, if only to protect Ginny."
Ron scowled at Harry. "Why do you think I'd wanna go back? I wanna stay here! I can't go back there… I just can't."
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Three years. Three long years. You'd be surprised at how little a toll those three years took upon Ms. Hermione Granger, the young witch, who, at seventeen was taken from her friends. Now, at twenty, he skin has hardened, her hair has lost some of it's frizzy, curly mass, and she was a more beautiful woman than ever. Tough like a nail, she kept her wits about her, powering through the seclusion; the only people she had seen were people who always wore masks and would laugh at the fear of a young child.
Hermione had held herself together through it all, but it had been hard, what with no way to really communicate with the world. As was expected of a captive's cell, it was completely magic proof. No spell she preformed would penetrate the hard stonewalls, so she could only hope that someday, she would be rescued from her prison.
I know that someone will save me some day. She would think to herself, staying absolutely optimistic. It was the only things she could do to keep herself from going insane, what with no one to talk to, except her own conscience. She couldn't help but feel lonely sometimes, and there was no one to talk to in order to relieve that impending loneliness.
It was almost time for her supper of bread, water, and sometimes some unidentified soup. She waited on the floor, fiddling with a small bit of stone that had loosened itself from the wall. She didn't know why it did this, but for some reason, it was strangely comforting, like this small fragment of stone could somehow save her. She rolled it around on the floor, standing up to retrieve it once more, and next throwing it at the wall, watching it bounce a bit back. Then she'd sit back down, and roll it again, making a game to try to estimate exactly how far it would roll.
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(A/N: Abrupt ending… but I couldn't think of anything more… I'm sorry! Please review!)