Chapter Three: To Grieve With Others
Hermione hadn't felt like this much of an outsider since her first year at Hogwarts. The Weasleys had always done their best to make her and Harry feel like part of the family, but in the wake of Fred's death, they simply couldn't share the grief in the same way.
Just as she and Ron had gone into the kitchen and began helping Fleur set the table in the exact fashion she wanted, George and Percy arrived. Ron and Bill wasted no time embracing their brothers, silent except for the soft clapping as they patted each other's backs. A moment later, Ginny flew in from the back door, running to George and hugging him tightly.
Hermione stood with Fleur at the other end of the kitchen, the older witch busying herself with straightening the silverware on the table. Harry popped in after Ginny, slightly out of breath as he glanced around and found his place next to Hermione. They exchanged a knowing glance, both of them wishing they could do more than stand by and watch but knowing it was the best thing they could do.
Of course, eventually, George and Percy made their way to Harry, Hermione, and Fleur exchanging quicker but still comforting hugs. Hermione didn't know what she expected of George, but though he drifted around in a lost manner, he at least seemed able to put on a good front for everyone.
They milled around for a few minutes, exchanging half-hearted pleasantries while they watched the doorway of the living room for any sign of Mr and Mrs Weasley. When it seemed that perhaps they weren't going to show and Fleur tried to discreetly cast a warming spell on the soup and bread she had made, they heard the front door creak open.
"Oh," Mrs Weasley said incoherently before running to her nearest child and enveloping George in an embrace. They all took their turn in Mrs Weasley's arms, hearing her spluttering words as she squeezed them close.
Eventually, they all sat around the table, close enough together that they brushed arms as they ate. It was the quietest meal Hermione had ever experienced at the Burrow, the only consistent sound being Mrs Weasley's sniffles at the head of the table. Mr Weasley periodically rubbed her shoulder, fending off her more distressed sputters. Only a few minutes had passed, though, before Mrs Weasley's quiet tears built into a whimpering cry. Mr Weasley reacted fast, taking her by the shoulders and suggesting she go to bed.
George stood up as soon as his parents had left the kitchen, not making any excuses as he hurried out the back door, his soup barely touched.
Percy gave a heavy sigh, sinking lower in his chair. "Well, at least we tried," he said to Bill, making Hermione feel that perhaps she had missed some sort of plan between them.
"Can't blame them," Bill said. "We're all just doing our best to get by." He summoned a container from the cabinet and twirled his wand over George's nearly full bowl so the soup flowed through the air into the bowl. He closed the lid as Percy stood and handed him the container. "Make sure he eats, alright?"
"I'll try." Percy took the food and followed George's path.
Though the kitchen had fewer people, the room felt more crowded by the sadness and loss emitting strongly from everyone. The Weasley family often felt like a well-constructed machine, each of them moving like synchronized cogs, but with one piece missing, they crunched against each other or completely missed the spot where they were supposed to connect.
No one took an interest in their food again after that, settling to cleaning up instead. They worked quietly until Mr Weasley came in again and announced, "I'll put the kettle on."
They all settled around the table again. The tea kettle must have been magicked because it only took about two seconds to whistle. Mr Weasley waved his wand and half a dozen mugs flew in from the living room and settled in front of them. The kettle bobbed around the table, filling their cups, followed by milk and sugar and, to Hermione's surprise, a phial of Calming Draught. Charlie and Bill both poured healthy doses into their cups, and after Fleur passed it to Ginny, she and Harry also topped off their drinks. Once it was in her hand, she could feel Ron's eyes on her.
She knew she should. Though it had only started to get dark, everyone would be having an early night, and if she didn't want to be plagued by her nightmares again, all she had to do was take this potion. It should have been as easy as taking the potions Madame Pomfrey gave her after the Department of Mysteries, but it wasn't. They had escaped Malfoy Manor over a month ago; she shouldn't still need it.
If Harry hadn't taken some first, Hermione would have found a way around it, but she felt some solidarity that someone else who hadn't just lost a sibling was accepting the draught. She wouldn't stick out. Still, she only added a splash to her tea.
As she handed the phial off to Ron, he held it in her hand a moment longer, pushing towards her cup again. She held her hand firm, refusing his silent suggestion. Though hesitant, he backed off and added a similar amount to his own cup before handing it back to his father.
Mr Weasley capped it and set it down on the table, within easy of all of them. He took a deep sip of his tea, allowing everyone else to the same, then cleared his throat. "The funeral is set for tomorrow," he said, directing the information towards Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Hermione remembered Charlie mentioning Fleur had been taking care of the arrangements while the Weasleys found their footing again, but hearing the word 'funeral' felt like being hit with a Stunning Spell. It hit doubly hard being of such short notice. There wasn't any point in putting it off, she supposed.
"Right," Ron said, growing a shade paler but overall taking the information in calmly. She took his hand underneath the table. "What's the plan?"
A flinch shuddered through the table at Ron's blunt response, but Mr Weasley seemed to appreciate the opportunity to charge through the discomfort and pain to explain the details. "He'll be buried in the family cemetery next to Fabian and Gideon. We've only invited those we really thought should be there so the ceremony should be small and short. Perhaps one day we'll have a proper celebration of his life, something to truly honour his memory, but some time will have to pass before we all are ready for that."
"When George is ready, I'm sure he'll take the lead," Bill said.
"Yes," Mr Weasley replied, his tone sounding more hopeful than convinced though. "But for now, we'll have this. It will be at eleven, is that correct?" He directed his question at Fleur who nodded.
"The carriages will arrive 'ere at quarter till," she said, not expanding anymore on what sort of carriages would be arriving. Hermione couldn't help but imagine the Beaubaton's carriages that had brought the French students to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Something that grand felt unfitting for the Weasleys. "And there will be a refreshment tent set up for after the funeral."
Another shudder reverberated through the table at the word, though less extreme than before. "Thank you, my dear," Mr Weasley said. "You've taken a great burden from us."
"For family, thanks is not needed," Fleur said, repeating the same words she had said to Bill earlier, but this time it fell flatter. Hermione didn't know if it was just her imagination at hearing the same phrase twice or if Fleur had lost her conviction in the words or if it felt off because what Mr Weasley was thanking her for was for not being part of the family. She'd taken a great burden that fell slightly lighter on her shoulders. Maybe Hermione was simply projecting.
They all sipped their teas in silence for a moment before Mr Weasley excused himself to check on Mrs Weasley. "We should go too," Bill said, draining his cup than standing as well. It couldn't be past eight o'clock, but the Calming Draught was kicking in. Without adrenaline and anxiety, only exhaustion remained.
After muttered 'goodnight's, Bill and Fleur left the Burrow and Charlie and Mr Weasley headed upstairs, leaving Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny at the table nursing their last few drops of tea.
No one said anything for a long while. Hermione's nerves started to settle for the first time since sitting down for dinner, maybe because the room was less crowded and tense or maybe it was just the potion. Either way, she let her shoulders relax and her elbow brush against Ron's. Without all this talk about funerals and war, Hermione could feel the future and past pressing in, times when this hurt didn't exist yet and times when it would be healed. If she closed her eyes, she could leave the present for a moment. Just a moment.
"Hermione." Ginny's voice dragged her out of the momentary reprieve, jolting her back to reality. She leaned forward to look past Harry to the younger witch. "I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone, but… can you please let me cut your hair?"
Hermione reached a hand up to her hair, having completely forgotten the mess she'd left it in earlier that day. The shorter strands she'd cut had fallen from the bun that now sat much lower on her head than where it had started. Her cheeks went pink, embarrassed that she'd probably gone through the entire dinner looking a wreck, piled on by the fact that she was pretty sure it had been Ron's hands that had loosened the knot in the first place.
"What're you mean?" Ron asked, leaning forward to look at Hermione as she tried to hide the worst of it behind her hand.
Ron wasn't quite tactful enough to lie, but he also wasn't unobservant enough to not have at least noticed the blackened ends of her hair. "I cut out the worst burned bits. I wasn't trying to do a perfect job."
"Well don't expect a perfect job from me either," Ginny said as she got up from the table and started rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers. "But I can at least even it out."
Hermione reluctantly agreed, grateful for Ginny's help but not especially thrilled at being the centre of attention. There were so much more important things to focus on than the state of her hair, but then again, wasn't that the point of the end of the war? That now they could focus on the little things?
Ginny dragged out a chair from the table, motioned for Hermione to switch seats, then filled an empty bowl with water. After she'd Summoned a comb (brushing off Hermione's disapproving look by commenting that the Ministry was probably a little too busy right now to be concerned about underage magic), Ginny set to work, dampening Hermione's hair first and combing it straight with her fingers. "I'm going to have to cut off a lot," Ginny said as she worked the water into Hermione curls. "This is your final chance to stop me."
"Go on." Hermione felt surprised at how easy the words came out. She had never particularly enjoyed her hair, but for as long as she could remember, it had always been a large bush she could hide behind. But as Ginny began taking off the ends, her hesitation drained away. She had enough heaviness in her heart without needing the extra weight of her hair.
After a few snips, Ginny broke through the silence that had fallen. "This is going to take more than a few seconds, you know." Hermione thought at first Ginny was directing her slight annoyance to her, then realized Ginny was talking to the boys. Well, Harry mostly. "Seems like you've got plenty of time to start filling me in."
Hermione and Ron both looked over at Harry with raised eyebrows. Not that Hermione was all that surprised that Harry had made a promise to Ginny to tell her everything that had happened in the past few months. Harry hesitated, looking around the room for an excuse before Ron said, "Might as well, mate."
Harry sighed. "Alright then."
He started with the Horcruxes, leaving out the diary for the moment and lumping it in with 'things Dumbledore had already taken care of.' Then he jumped right into hiding in Grimmauld Place after Bill and Fleur's wedding. He kept his version of events brief, jumping from event to event like they had happened days apart instead of months. His words stumbled when he reached the time he and Hermione had spent alone together, his motivation slowing more and more as he brought up Godric's Hollow and Malfoy Manor and breaking into Gringotts. Then he rushed through their talk with Aberforth and going into Hogwarts with Neville, ending the sad excuse for a story by shrugging and saying, "And the rest you know."
"You really know how to tell a story," Ginny said with a teasing smile.
"Well let's see you tell a better one," Ron said. "What happened at Hogwarts while we were away saving the world?"
"We were surviving." Ginny's tone cut through Ron's challenging stare and guilted him into staring at the floor. "It didn't feel like Hogwarts anymore, not with the Carrows around."
Harry nodded, his eyes also on the ground. "That's what Neville said."
"It was his idea to resurrect the DA. He proved to be an excellent teacher. Taught me a lot about Healing, actually. I mean, we all had to learn how to take care of ourselves after the Carrows banned Madame Pomfrey from healing any detention wounds. You know, so we could learn our lesson."
"Bastards," Ron muttered, kicking the table leg.
"It'd done now." Ginny shrugged, fluffing out Hermione's hair one last time. "And so is your hair, to the best of my abilities." She set down her scissors and grabbed her wand. Hermione watched over her shoulder as Ginny grabbed a broom and dustpan from the pantry that started sweeping up the clumps of hair as soon as Ginny set them down. "It's even at least," she said as she brushed off Hermione's shoulders.
"Thanks." Hermione smiled at Ginny, feeling so much happiness to have her as a friend. When Hermione spun in circles of thought, Ginny got things done. She loved that about her. "I'm sure you've done an amazing job."
"Hold your judgement till you look in a mirror. I won't be made if you tell me you hate." Ginny returned Hermione's smile with a playful grin before chasing after the broom and dustpan as they started cleaning the entire kitchen floor. While Ginny shooed them back into the pantry, Hermione glanced up at Ron, making eye contact for the first time since Ginny brought out the scissors.
His blank face tugged up into a crooked grin, heating her cheeks. She had always gotten satisfaction whenever she felt his eyes on her like this, a little piece of proof that maybe he fancied her too, but a new feeling crept up now. An almost nervous feeling. Before, no matter how many times he looked at her, she never expected much. She hoped, but she didn't count on it happening. Now all she could think about, with this new cut, was if it would feel different the next time he ran his fingers through her hair.
Ginny yawned loudly as she closed the pantry door, reminding Hermione that there were other people in the room. Harry, whose gaze had drifted down to his teacup as he swirled around whatever remnants were left, glanced up and said, "I suppose this is the time normal people would go to bed."
"Since when are any of us normal?" Ginny scoffed, though she stifled another yawn at the same time. She leaned against the table, staring down the phial still standing in the centre. "Must be the Calming Draught."
Hermione nodded subconsciously, stopping herself as soon as she realized what she was doing. She loved having the right answer but also didn't want to admit her experience with the potion. Glancing around, it seemed that only Ron may have noticed.
"Probably should try to get some sleep before tomorrow," Harry said, standing from the table and gathering up everyone's teacups to set them in the sink.
"Yeah," Ron said, though he made no move to leave. Hermione didn't either. Despite exhaustion tugging at her body, going to bed and tempting the nightmares scared her enough to keep her awake.
Ginny huffed then took Harry by the arm and started dragging him away towards the living room. "Well if the two of you are staying here, I'm going to take Harry and say goodnight properly."
"Properly?" both Harry and Ron said at the same time with similarly shocked faces.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, because that's exactly what I meant. The way you two jump to conclusions together, it really is a good thing you've always had Hermione around to set you straight. Goodnight!" she called over her shoulder as she and Harry disappeared through the doorway.
Ron stared after them with squinted eyes, his jaw clenching in a way Hermione knew meant he'd be storming after them in a few seconds. She pulled her chair forward to sit next to him again and nudged his shoulder. His attention returned to her, and the distrustful glare he'd sent after Harry and Ginny softened as he looked at her. Within touching distance again, the smiles they exchanged were much more shy. "I like it," he said as he reached his hand up to her hair. "I mean, I liked it before, too, but this is different… nice…"
"Thanks," she said, taking his hand and saving him from struggling through his compliment. "I still haven't seen it."
"It looks good," he said, though he wasn't looking at her hair at all anymore. He leaned forward, keeping his gaze on hers until he would have gone cross-eyed.
Hermione forgot all about stalling going to bed and the uncomfortable itching at the back of her neck from the stray hairs. Instead, all she could concentrate on was the way Ron's fingertips grazed against neck instead as they kissed. She opened her mouth to him quickly, enjoying the distraction and not wanting it to end, but Ron pulled away before she could entice him into falling into the same bliss. He rubbed a thumb up her cheek, over the dark shadow beneath her eye. "We should go to bed."
Because she couldn't argue without giving away why, she nodded her head and let him pull her up out of her chair. They held hands up the stairs, hearing Ginny say "Goodnight, Harry!" loudly and pointedly as they approached. When they got to Ginny's room, the door was already closed, though Harry's hurrying footsteps could still be heard going up the next set of stairs. Ron's grip tensed in Hermione's, and she squeezed back.
"You'll have to get used to them being together," she said, even though she knew logic and reason might not be the best solution to Ron's overprotectiveness. "You've done it before."
He shrugged. "Yeah, but things were different at Hogwarts."
"Really? How?"
"I dunno, I guess… y'know it was before everything. Before he broke up with her."
Hermione sighed, feeling both affection for his caring heart and annoyance at his hesitation to accept a relationship she personally found perfect for the pair involved. She felt some pride for her part in getting them together, and she was not about to let them fail. "Ron, you know he only did what he thought he had to."
"I know, I know." Ron scrunched up his face as he waved away her comment. "And he knows if he ever does something like that again, best friend or not, I'll kill him."
"I think he knows that." Hermione took his other hand in hers, squeezing them both to hopefully transfer her confidence to him and subdue his worries. It at least seemed to distract as he pulled her hands around his waist and brought them closer together. She smiled up at him as his hands travelled up her arms then rested around her waist as well.
She clung to this moment, knowing as soon as one of them stepped away, she'd be forced to face the night. A sense of awkwardness hung around them as well. They'd fallen out of practice at saying goodnight. Even though they'd technically slept in different rooms at Shell Cottage, Ron snuck up to her room (with Luna's blessing, of course) and slept on a blanket on the floor. Most nights, the Calming Draught dragged her into sleep before he came up, but when the nightmares woke her in the middle of the night, he was always there. And now, having crossed that line from friendship to romance, saying goodbye for even a short time felt impossible.
"Well, goodnight," Ron said, loosening his grip first. "The Calming Draught is still on the table if you–"
"I'll be fine," Hermione interrupted.
Ron nodded. "Okay." He kissed her forehead before stepping back, their hands still connecting them as he started walking up the stairs.
"Goodnight," Hermione said just before their fingers finally slid apart. Ron gave her one last smile before turning to go up the steps to his room.
She listened for his disappearing footsteps while she leaned against the door. Ginny could probably hear everything behind the door, so Hermione knew she couldn't stay out there for long. Another tickle at the back of her neck inspired another idea to keep herself from having to try to go to sleep yet. She walked into the bedroom, Ginny giving her a knowing look from the corner as she closed her wardrobe. Hermione told her she was going to take a shower to get rid of all the little bits of hair that were sticking to her, gathered a pair of pyjamas, then left again to go to the bathroom.
Her reflection made her gasp.
The person in the mirror was nothing like the one she had always seen. Her curls hugged her face closer but they also stretched out from her head much more than before. The scar on her neck felt more exposed, but she didn't hate it. It was like a badge of honour, a proclamation that she had survived.
How was it that when she could see that mark so clearly in the light, she could feel pride, but as soon as she closed her eyes, the fear flooded in? How could one event be tied to two such opposite emotions?
She took a quick and efficient shower despite her best efforts. After drying and dressing, Hermione couldn't bring herself to return to Ginny's room. Maybe she should take her dirty clothes and towel to the scullery first. Then maybe, just maybe, she'd take another sip of the Calming Draught and be able to sleep.
It would be good for her. She knew that. Sleep was so important and getting more would probably help to keep her sane, but as she returned to the potion phial after dumping off her dirty laundry, she couldn't do it.
The rational part of herself came up with an easy excuse: potions like this, ones that messed with emotions, could be extremely addictive. She didn't want to have to start relying on any substance. But underneath that, there was another voice, a voice that told her every time she took a potion to escape that torturous event, Bellatrix won again and again.
Hermione walked out the back door, the air in the kitchen growing stuffy and uncomfortable. Her heart raced and chased away any sleepiness in her body. She wanted to run. Would that help?
Before she could come up with an answer, she spotted a shadow sitting in the garden, staring up at the sky. It took a moment for her to recognize the figure as Ron. She instantly felt like a child caught sneaking out of bed, guilt over avoiding his concerned questions puddling in her stomach. It quickly drained away as she started wondering what he was doing out here in the first place. Maybe she wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping.
She was reminded of their first nights at Shell Cottage. Hermione had woken up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep. She'd snuck out of the room without waking Luna then tiptoed down to the living room in order not to wake the boys. Once outside, she'd gone out to the cliffside, finding a comfortable patch of grass to sit on and watch the waves. The sound of the sea soothed her, but she still shook.
Then Ron had appeared beside her. Not saying a word, he's put an arm around her and held her while she cried. At first, she'd been embarrassed and annoyed, wanting to be alone. Then she realized how warm and comforting his embrace was, and she'd buried her face into his chest.
Hermione cleared her throat as she walked up behind Ron, not wanting to scare him. He jumped a bit, but his shoulders sagged in relief as he saw her. She sat next to him on the ground, automatically taking his hand and resting her head against his shoulder. He laid his head against hers.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked in a thick voice.
"Haven't tried," she said.
"Me neither." His hand and shoulders shook as he took a deep breath. A wet tear dropped from his cheek to her forehead. "I don't want tomorrow to come."
She held his hand tight, knowing she could never express in words how much she wished she could change what tomorrow would become and protect him from ever having felt this loss. Sometimes, there just weren't words.
Author's Note: And... I'm a couple of days late. Please forgive me! I'm never going to have a consistent upload schedule, am I? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this slightly shorter than usual chapter. I know there's lots of sadness, but I tried to sneak in as much fluff as I could. :) As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has followed, faved, and reviewed this story. It means so much. I've been having a bit of writer's block lately on chapter seven, and I think this story might be a little longer than I anticipated. Maybe fifteen chapters rather than ten? I'm feeling a little daunted by it, especially as I reach a few certain scenes that inspired this entire thing. Feeling a lot of self-imposed pressure to get them right. Dunno why I felt like sharing that. It's late and I should go to bed. Love you all and see you in two weeks for the next chapter!
