A/N: This chapter isn't very good. Sorry for the lame-ness :p
Oh, and HP wont ever belong to me. Sorry.
Chapter Fourteen
Memories
Ron sat in his empty flat. It had always been empty since Hermione left, and he still had no clue where she'd gone. It was rather like that time four years ago, when he'd left their mission. It had taken him forever to find her then. And besides, even the illuminator wouldn't help him now.
It was the day after Halloween, the first of November. Ron remembered when he'd first become friends with Hermione, ten years ago. There were some things you couldn't go through together and not be friends, and fighting the troll was one of them.
He remembered all sorts about his girlfriend. Like the way she'd lain whilst petrified in second year. The way she'd punched Malfoy in third (this memory made him smile). Her going to the ball in fourth year with Krum. Her at the ministry in fifth year. That argument in sixth year. And the way she'd yelled at him on his return in what would've been his seventh year.
"Hermione, where are you?" he moaned. No response came from the silent flat.
x
Paris was dreaming.
It was a sunny day in mid April, a cool breeze ruffling her shoulder-length hair as she stood on the porch of her family's house in Devon. "Willa?" she called. "Willa, where are you?"
She laughed, making her way down into the garden, thinking her sister was playing a game.
"Willa, come on! Daddy's gonna be cross if you don't. The Porters will be round in ten minutes."
She heard a noise beside her, in a large, flowery bush. "Willa?" she called cautiously, making her way towards the bush.
A figure erupted from the bush, holding a knife. It grabbed her, holding the knife to her throat. Paris choked, barely daring to breathe. She looked up, moving her eyes only, and saw a pallid, pale face and red eyes.
"MUMMY!" she screamed. "DADDY!"
"OI! LET HER GO!"
The figure had dropped Paris onto the ground and vanished. Paris had felt her parent's arms around her, and had sobbed into her fingers.
"Where's Willa?" she'd cried. "Where is she?"
Paris jerked awake, her fingers going to her neck. She still remembered that day, the spring of 1945. She propped herself up on one elbow and turned to look at her sister, curled up in her own bed.
But it wasn't Willa.
The Porters' visit had been called off while her parents had looked for Willa. Paris had been sent to bed, and when she had woken the next morning, Willa had been there, with no recollection of the event.
It wasn't until three years ago, when she was eleven, had Paris learnt the truth.
Willa Luna Dela Rosa had been killed, murdered on 19th April 1945. The girl on the next bed was simply a fake, a replacement made using blood magic of the darkest sort. The dead were meant to stay dead.
But Paris couldn't blame her parents. She couldn't imagine a life without Willa.
x
Fred was also thinking, hovering in the walls with no purpose.
He was thinking back to that day, 2nd May 1998.
He had no clue how it had happened. All he knew was that one moment, he had been laughing, and the next, he had hit the ground with a thump. Then a prolonged period of blackness. Nothing for the next seventy-three hours.
He had figured it was because of all the dead. The death toll had been huge, and the afterlife would've had to have gone through it all; who would be a ghost? A spirit? Go on? It had been like waiting in a queue.
And Fred, unfortunately, had been pushed to the back of that queue.
The next thing he knew, he'd been stood in the place he died. Just stood by the ruins of a broken wall. At first he'd wondered what had happened; why was it so quiet? Where had his family gone? He could see out over the grounds from this point, and there had been nobody there.
That was when the idea started to form in his mind: maybe, just maybe, he was dead. Maybe this was what the afterlife was like, an empty castle.
Then he'd scoffed at the idea, and had gone out to explore. He found there were a few people swarming about on the lower floors, but no-one noticed him. They all looked shell-shocked. Dazed. In a state of shock.
He'd walked round the grounds a couple of times before he'd found it: a lone tower nowhere near the building. And he sure as hell had not seen this tower before.
Venturing closer, he'd seen what was around the tower; graves. Graves for the dead who had died in the battle, The Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe he'd simply been in a coma for a while? Then horror had gripped him. Who was dead?
He'd meandered among the graves, simple stone tablets protected by magic against weathering. Endless names, endless lives, their memories protected by a simple charm. Still, he had found no name of his family as he neared the back of the Graveyard. Then he'd gasped aloud.
The grave in front of him read:
Remus John Lupin.
He walked along this row. More names, most of them he'd known. Tonks and Remus, old school friends and order members. He was sure now, at that moment in time, if he was able to, he would've cried.
That was when he reached the last grave on the row, and his world had stopped.
Fred Weasley
1st April 1978 - 1st May 1998
An amazing brother, loved son, great friend
& Prankster-In-Chief
RIP
There. Right in front of him, his own grave. And that was when the question occurred.
Why am I not dead?
He'd managed to talk to the Grey Lady about it. She wasn't very talkative, so he knew his secret was safe. Why he wanted his presence to remain secret, he did not know. She had been the one to tell him about ghosts and spirits. She had also told him about a friend of hers who had been a spirit, but who had managed to go on in the end.
Fred had hoped the same thing would happen to him. He wanted to go on, not be trapped in this half-life he had. Now he was beginning to give up hope.
x
Hermione Granger sat in her study, looking at the photo she'd cut out of the Prophet. The one of her, Ron, Harry and Ginny. She smiled sadly, a tear falling from her eye and trickling down the paper.
That life was gone now, and all she had was a head full of memories.
x
A/N: It's dumb, I know. It also sorta gives you a background on the Luna girls, though really it's only Paris that knows.
Sorry for the lame chapter.
-Invisi