Author's Note: OMG guys I am soooo sorry! I lost access to my account (my password recovery email was my college email and my account was deactivated when I left school. Fun times.) Anyways, I'm BAAACCCCK. Happy New Year to all of you, and to celebrate, here's the update that I promised you months ago…
Defying GravityChapter Three: Memory Lane?
Hermione had a lot to think about, and while she was sure that the walk from her quarters in the Gryffindor common room to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room would not give her nearly enough time to do all that, she still couldn't help but reflect on the events of the day. Her conversation with Hagrid. The article Luna had written in the Quibbler. Bill.
She paused in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, lifted her free hand, and knocked softly. "Bill?" She called through the thick wood. "Bill... It's Hermione. Can I come in for a moment? I need to speak with you. I promise it won't take long. I know it's getting late."
A few short moments later, the door swung open, and Bill stared out into the hallway. Hermione's head tilted to the side, and she flashed him a quick smile. He took a step back and held the door open. "It's not getting late at all. Come in, Hermione."
Hermione padded inside, the old shoe box and the Quibbler tucked tightly under her arm, and let out a soft sigh as she turned to look up at Bill. "I couldn't open it," she said, gesturing to the little box as she dropped it on an old desk. "I couldn't do it, but I… Well, thanks for giving it to me, I guess."
Bill shrugged. "Mom wanted you to have them. She's doing a little better, you know? She thought you might like them, especially since you three spent most of your time at school getting into trouble beyond your years. She just wanted you to have some nice memories to mix in with some of the more unpleasant ones."
"How's Ginny doing?" Hermione asked.
"About as well as I suspect you're doing." Bill frowned. "She's holding together alright, but I can see it in her eyes sometimes. She hasn't really given herself time to grieve. She's mostly just been angry. Especially after that horrible article came out in the Prophet. Mom and Ginny went on a crusade. They're gunning to have that guy's jewels in a vice…"
Hermione cleared her throat. "You know, Hagrid told me about what you did," she pointed out, her voice softer than she meant it to be. "About talking to everyone? You didn't have to do that. I could've… I would've said something." She frowned and sank into a chair. "It's just… I feel awful enough as it is after what happened. Your parents must think I'm horrid—''
"My parents don't blame you, Hermione. Neither does Ginny. Neither do I. You're grieving. You're hurt. You know what they think? They're worried about you. That's it. That's all."
Hermione shook her head. On some level, she knew that the demons in her own mind were of her own creation, with help in part from the Prophet, of course. She knew that, but still she couldn't help but let herself feel the guilt. She hated passing Arthur in the halls at the Ministry because she still wasn't sure what to say to him. She hated seeing Molly cry. And Ginny? Well, she hadn't really spoken to her sister-in-law since the whole thing had happened. She chewed her bottom lip. It was understandable, of course, that they were all grieving. How hard it must have been for Molly, going through Ron's old things…
She paused, and her gaze shifted towards the old box she'd left on the table when she came inside.
Bill was still standing near the door, but as soon as he realized where her gaze had settled, he swung it closed and crossed the room, taking a seat beside her. Hermione didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until Bill's hand covering hers startled her out of her own thoughts, and she gasped, her lungs burning for much-needed oxygen.
"If you want to open the box, I'm here for you. You know that, right?" He whispered. "But if you don't want to open it, you don't have to. No one will fault you for it."
Hermione shook her head. "I do want to," she assured him. "I do. I just… I'm not really sure what I will see in there."
"That's why I'm here." Bill nodded. "So you don't have to do it alone."
Hermione's fingers danced over the dust-caked lid that stood between her and memory lane, and her fingers shook. She took another deep breath, hesitating a moment longer before slowly peeling the lid away to finally reveal the contents of the box. Inside, there was no rhyme or reason. Nothing but a small, disorganized mountain of old photographs, some facing down, and some staring her right in the face. She glanced to Bill for a moment of reassurance before reaching out to pluck the first photo from the pile.
And then she stared. Harry and Ron were sitting on the Hogwarts Express, side-by-side, and fighting over what appeared to be a stack of chocolate frogs from the trolley. Hermione could barely remember taking the photo their fourth year. The boys paused their spirited debate when they noticed Hermione looking at them, and smiled wide. Hermione noticed a smear of chocolate just below Ron's lip. Her fingertips brushed over the photograph, and she let out a quiet sigh.
Another photo, this one facing down, contained a picture of Harry, Hermione and Ron that she hadn't been expecting to find in the pile. It was an awkward photo of the trio, and the Ron in the photo was blushing, his hand just barely touching young Hermione's as the three of them crowded together for the picture. Hermione blinked when she realized that her eyes were stinging, and wiped furiously at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"Did… Did Molly want to keep some of these, maybe?" She asked, her head turning slightly until she was facing Bill. "She can have this one. I should make her a pile. I bet she'd like—''
Bill shook his head. "She's got plenty. These were just the ones she thought you might like to keep, Hermione. What is it?" He leaned to the side and craned his neck in an effort to see what Hermione held in her hands.
"Collin Creevey took it," Hermione explained. "It was fifth year, I think? See that, there? Behind us? When Fred and George left, they left a mess for Umbridge. Professor Flitwick cleaned most of it up as soon as she was gone, but he left that little bit behind. He was so impressed." Hermione smiled at the little memory and then glanced towards the door. She wiped another stray tear from her cheek without even realizing it. "I wonder if it's still there? I know there was so much that got destroyed during the war, but I wonder if it survived?"
Bill shrugged his shoulders again. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted. "I haven't done too much exploring since I got here, really. Maybe we'll see if we can go find it tomorrow?"
Hermione found herself feeling good about the idea of a little bit of adventure after the day she'd had, and nodded to Bill's suggestion. Her gaze shifted again and fell back to the small mountain of photographs that still hadn't been sorted inside the old shoebox. After a moment of contemplation, she picked up another. There was a small note scribbled on the back. All it said was:
'I took this picture of your sister and your "friend." It looks great, doesn't it?'
The pink dress was very familiar. Hermione had purchased it to wear at the Ball during fourth year, when the TriWizard Tournament had come to Hogwarts. She'd attended the ball with Victor Krum, a Bulgarian quidditch sensation who was somewhat taken with her. He wasn't in this picture, though, but Hermione thought that the handwriting on the back was vaguely familiar. She was dancing alongside Ginny, her hair tussled, her dress twirling about. If she thought on it hard enough, she could almost remember what song had been playing in that moment.
Each photo seemed to carry with it another memory that Hermione wasn't even sure she was prepared to wrestle with. She could remember each one as though she had taken the photos herself. In some cases, of course, she had, but there were just as many photos that contained her as there were ones that she had taken. Her fingers continued to shake as she sifted through the box, watery eyes leaking occasionally as she silently mourned the smiling faces in each picture.
Beside her, Bill sat silent, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione knew he was there even though he wasn't commenting. She could feel his presence.
He had been right. Having a friend to help her sort through all of this had been a good idea. When the box sat empty in her lap, Hermione's shoulders sagged and shook with silent sobs. The box was empty, and she hadn't expected to feel its emptiness within herself. The box was full of happy memories and goofy moments in time, but they seemed so few in number now. How quickly had she managed to sort through all of them? They'd had such a wonderful bond, but there were so very few happy memories. No. They'd spent a great deal of their time in school worrying about Voldemort. About what he was doing. About when and where he would strike next.
And now Ron and Harry were gone.
How was it that Voldemort was able to get the last laugh, even from the grave?
The box fell from Hermione's lap, and the photos spilled, billowing out over the old wooden floor. Hermione crashed painfully to her knees in an effort to gather them all up, and watched in horror as several blew right into the crackling fireplace. She counted them. Three memories eaten by the flames. For a moment, she hated herself for being so careless, and then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, and the tension slowly drained out of her body, and the tears began to fall again, but this time, she did nothing to stop them.
"It's alright," Bill whispered. "It's alright. They're just pictures. You've got all of those memories right where you need them to be. It's going to be okay."
Hermione pivoted on her heel and faced Bill, her glassy eyes holding his gaze for a few seconds. And then she lurched forward, and her arms wrapped around him, and she pressed her face into his t-shirt as she cried some more. Bill didn't move. He didn't speak. The room was silent but for Hermione's quiet sobs. With her face pressed to close to Bill, she could literally feel his heartbeat, and eventually, the steady rhythm helped her to calm herself down. When she pulled away, Bill was watching her with concern etched into his forehead.
"Feel any better?" He asked after a moment. One of his fingers brushed over Hermione's cheek, and Bill flicked a tear away. "Any better at all?"
Hermione paused long enough to give the question some real thought. She had cried plenty since she'd received the news about Harry and Ron. She'd had many sleepless nights filled with tears and chocolate and anger and sadness. But this? This was a different sort of cry. Hermione felt the tiredness all the way into her bones, and in that moment, all she wanted to do was sleep. But she knew one other thing: She really did feel a little bit better.
She nodded and blushed, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed for her display. "Sorry…" She whispered.
"Don't worry about it," Bill chuckled. "You want to know a secret? I did the same thing when Fleur left with the kids. Well, dad called it a meltdown. Mom just made lots of food and tried to coddle me a bit. I felt completely useless for months."
"I find that hard to believe." Hermione frowned. "You don't have to make up stories to make me feel better. I really am okay. I promise. This helped. A lot more than I thought it would, actually."
"I'm not making up stories," Bill assured her. "Fleur didn't die, but when she left, when she took the kids, it really felt like she had. Like my entire life up to that point had been some sort of sick joke, and I was the only one not in on it. I suppose it pales in comparison to what happened with Ron and Harry, but I just wanted you to understand. I've been there. Sort of…"
Hermione took a deep breath and held his gaze. "How did you get through it?" She asked, her voice so soft she wasn't even sure he'd be able to hear.
"I completely fell apart," Bill admitted. "I fell apart, and then I started picking up the pieces..."
"I don't want to fall apart." Hermione sighed. She liked order. She enjoyed organization, control. She prided herself on being capable, and prepared for anything. It helped her feel like the world made a little bit of sense, even when it was turned completely on its head.
Bill sighed. "I didn't want to, either." He agreed. "But if you keep carrying all that stuff around, eventually, it's going to weigh you down enough and you're really going to start to crack. Don't carry something that you don't have to carry. You've got enough on your shoulders as it is."
"I don't even know what you're talking about." Hermione snapped.
"The guilt, Hermione. Stop carrying it around. Stop letting other people tell you that it's your job to carry it. It's got to be heavy…"
Author's Note: Again, sorry about the wait, guys. I had to leave this particular chapter right here, but I hope you all enjoyed it. I'll be posting another one soon.