3. And there are more Nightmares to come...
Almost an hour had passed since Hermione had apparated to the Burrow, since the battle had been fought and since his father had disaparated to the Granger's House. Yet she still clung to him desperately, although she finally had found comfort in some sort of deep sleep. Ron looked up to his mother who just re-entered the living room with two cups of tea in her hands. One of them she passed to her son, he took it awkwardly with his left hand instead of his usual right one; he still refused to leave her side or even peel himself out of her desperate, unconscious embrace.
"What happened to her? I mean...what Curse had hit her to cause such an effect?" he asked quietly, after he'd cleared his throat several times. His mother sighed heavily and took a sip of her Black tea, before she answered her son's question.
"The Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra." she spoke with a reverent voice, as if speaking the name alone scared her. Ron looked up when he heard her words and one look into her eyes confirmed that she indeed feared it.
"But she hadn't been hit by it...She...".
"She cast it. I know." she finished her son's sentence and his confused glance met her pitiful look.
"You must know, Ron, the Unforgivable Curses do not merely possess their name because they do unbearable things to the person they hit. They also destroy the one who casts them. They destroy something within that person.", she paused in her talking and took another sip of her tea, her hands shivered barely noticeable and she looked as if it was too hard for her to talk about this topic.
"One person does not only consist of flesh, and blood, veins and muscles. We have a soul, or however you wanna call it. Casting an Unforgivable Curse destroys that piece of yourself, it soils it with dark magic itself, until it's completely consumed by it and nothing else but lower feeling are left. The magic of the Death Eaters comes from those lower feelings, they feed on it, the hate, and rage, the greed, the will...the desire to cause pain and death. That's why it is so easy for them to use such Curses, because nothing else is left within them that could be consumed or destroyed. Nothing good is left to be soiled and shattered.", here she made another pause, taking a deep breath to calm herself, before she resumed her narration.
"But if someone else casts those spells...
If you're too young, if you're not familiar with yielding such dark magic...or if you're not absolutely determined to do it, not because you have to, but because you want to cause pain and death...then it may hurt even the person who casts the Curse.".
Ron swallowed hard upon this realisation, his glance fell back to Hermione whose arms were still wrapped around his waist, too desperate, too afraid to ever let go of him. He'd never cared much about the effects of the Unforgivable Curses, except, of course, for the immediate effects they had on their victim. Knowing how it could have harmed (and indeed it did) her made him feel sick. What effects would using such dark magic, even just once, have on her soul, on her being, on her very personality? How would that change her?
Ron was torn out of his thoughts when he heard the familiar 'Flop' of someone apparating into their home and his presumption was confirmed when his mother jumped up and rushed to the kitchen. His heartbeat quickened in response, when he heard his father's voice speaking in a pressed, devastated tone. He peeled himself carefully out of her arms (which was not such an easy task after all, either because she didn't want to let him go or because he didn't really wanted to leave her) and followed his mother into the kitchen. The rest of his family clan had joined them, too. He realised now that they had disobeyed their mother's order (once again) and had hid themselves in the darkness of the kitchen. He couldn't bring himself to judge them. He would've done the same thing.
"What happened?" he asked when he finally met his father's glance who had avoided his youngest son's look since he'd arrived. Arthur Weasleys usually strong and determined mask he always wore for his family fell apart, he swayed under the pressure of the coming words and needed to sit down on a chair. Again he turned away from the question in Ron's eyes and finally started to talk.
"There is not much to tell, son. Such tragedies never needed much words.
When I arrived, the Dark Mark was still flaming over the house. I could hardly bring myself to enter, so many memories came back..." Molly Weasley automatically stepped behind her husband when his voice failed him, without any words needed she tenderly placed one hand on his shoulder.
"There was nothing I could have done. They were already dead. Apparently they were hit by the Killing Curse, but, the Death Eaters...they took their time...", at those last words his voice failed him again and they all shivered heavily while the meaning of those words burnt themselves into their minds. Ron threw a look back at Hermione who slept restlessly on the sofa and for the first time he recognised the fragility of her shape, the vulnerability of her whole appearance. He barely listened to his father any longer who explained that the Ministry's Aurors had taken care of it, they searched for the murderers and would take care of the funeral. They even took care of inventing a Muggle-version of the events, which would probably speak of the death of the whole family.
"I should prepare her bed, she can sleep in the spare room.".
"No, she can have my room, I'll sleep on the floor!" Ron suddenly contradicted (after the words of his mother had torn him out of his blurry thoughts), much to the bewilderment of his mother and the slightly inappropriate amusement of his whole family. He felt himself blush at his own emotional outburst, but did nothing to take his words back.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald Weasley." his mother scolded once again, "You might as well sleep in your own bed. There is enough place in your room to get another bed in it.".
Ron slept restlessly in his own bed, he threw himself from one side to the other and every time he woke up his look fell upon Hermione who slept in the bed at the opposite end of his room. It felt as if he needed to make sure that she was all right, that she was here, that she was safe. He'd watched her sleep until the great fatigue had finally conquered him, too.
His dreams were wild and dark, blurry images of people stormed through his mind's eye, there was a lot of red and black, the disturbing green flash of the Dark Mark which left him whimper in his unconsciousness. However, even clearer than the devastating images were the screams he heard in his imaginations, desperate cries for help, for mercy, the cold and brutal laughs that accompanied those screams and above all else he could hear himself scream. He saw himself run towards her lifeless body, pulling at her, screaming at her, begging her to open her eyes again...but this time she didn't come back...
Ron believed to have woken up with a scream, his eyes were widened in pure terror, his heartbeat racing in response to the terrifying images and sounds he'd experienced only seconds ago. Some noises in the dark had startled him and made him wake up, and now that his eyes accustomed to the sparse light of the moon, that shined through his only window, he knew the reason for these noises.
Hermione stood right in front of his bed, her fragile, feminine shape almost drowning into of his huge, bulky Shirts while her deep brown eyes burnt quietly in the dark silence of his room. He swallowed hard while he looked at her, trying not to look down at her, knowing that his Shirt definitely didn't cover her remarkably long legs.
"Hermione? What's wrong? Are you in pain? Can you not sleep?" he finally asked, his confusion now mixed with the concern for her, and the need to know why she wasn't sleeping. Hermione, however didn't answer his question with her usual silencing eloquence. She simply lifted his blanket and crawled quietly into his bed, before she cuddled herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head on his chest.
All of this happened so fast he could hardly process it properly, but the new warm figure that was now pressed against his chest showed him that it was real. This was really happening. Hermione Jean Granger was in the same bed with him. Together with him. And she clung to him, like really seeking to be close to him. Only a few hours ago, such a situation would have appeared (to say the least) impossible, but right now he didn't think about what had been. He simply wrapped his arms around her vulnerable shape, pressing her tightly against his chest as if he wanted to protect her from the world itself.
That's how they fell asleep, together, and that's how Molly Weasley found them the next morning. She had come up to invite the two of them for breakfast, but after she'd opened the door she rejected her initial idea and simply stared at them, fascinated and moved by the image that was offered to her: Hermione was curled up in a tiny, little ball while her back was pressed against Ron's chest who covered her body with his right arm in the most protective and tender way.