Two words: I lied (ignore this comment if you didn't catch the original chapter seven, which was an explaination of how I wont be able to write much in the next few weeks). I know it's not much, but I felt the need to write. ;) I had a bit of time at school, so I went for it. Couldn't help myself. I hope you all like it, even though it's not so great (in my opinion). Please enjoy and review!
Awake, Lady
Chapter Seven: The Parts that Exist
"What are we going to do, Harry?"
Harry lifted his head, broken from his thoughts by Ron's quiet question. Ron's eyes were heavy with concern, and the pain emanating from them was nearly tangible. Harry crossed the hall and dropped against the wall next to Ron, who was sitting in a high-backed chair. They were outside of Hermione's room, which she had not left since her two friends carried her there the day before. She wouldn't allow them to enter the room, and refused to take any food from them. At seven that morning, she had flow into a rage and had begun ripping her room apart. Ron and Harry, not knowing what to do, had simply watched as the fury drained from her body, and she slowly sank back onto the bed, the curtains fluttering with the wind from the open window, blowing around scraps of paper, shredded pictures and clothes that had been ripped from their drawers. Now she sat apathetically flipping through her old copy of Hogwarts: A History, her eyes blank and lifeless. Ron had closed the door two hours ago, at her gentle but dull request, and he and Harry sat outside, simply waiting, not sure how they could help their friend, and feeling as if she didn't even want help to begin with.
Harry tilted his head back to the wall, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he spoke softly. "I dunno, Ron. She's never been like this before. I mean, before, when we were in school, she'd been mad at us… but she's never been apathetic. She's never not cared about anything. It's like coming back and realizing everything has changed has… has killed her or something. Inside."
Ron sighed, and his Adams apple bobbed up and down in his tight throat. "This is my fault. I didn't let her adjust first; I just pushed myself on her as soon as she was awake. I should have let her get used to the world first, to get used to everything. I should have sent her to live with you for a while, Harry. Then maybe she would have taken the shock better. But I wanted to protect her from it, I guess… I though if I could love her, none of this would hurt her, maybe it wouldn't even matter." Ron spoke with self-disgust and loathing, something Harry hadn't heard from him in a long time – in fact, the last time he had spoken like that was in fifth year, when he confessed to Harry how ashamed he was after getting in yet another fight with Hermione about Viktor Krum.
Harry shook his head and patted his best friend on the knee, and got up. "It's not your fault, Ron. I'm pretty sure she loves you, and you couldn't know she would react this way when it finally dawned on her that life had changed a lot while she was gone. Don't blame yourself…"
Ron simply shook his head.
"Listen," continued Harry. "I'm going to my flat now, and I'm going to talk to Ginny, tell her what's going on. I want you to go get yourself some food," he help up a hand at Ron's protests, "and not stress for a few minutes, ok? She'll be fine. I'll bring Ginny back in about half an hour, and we'll try and get her to talk to us."
Ron nodded, defeated. What could he do, after all? He would probably only make things worse if he tried to talk to her alone at this point…
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Hermione's head lay slack against her chest, her eyes open and her breathing shallow. Coherence was slowly making its way into her shattered mind.
What had she done? Memories flew through her brain like debris in a river after a heavy storm. She had cried and screamed at Harry and Ron… she vaguely remembered throwing a tantrum. She had flipped some of her books, both the ones she'd destroyed and those that random choice had left intact, not reading or taking in any of the information they held.
The door was closed now, and she could hear Harry and Ron's murmurings every now and again. Though she couldn't understand what they were saying, she was reassured by the familiarity of their tones, Ron's deep and worried, Harry's slightly higher and speaking quickly.
She lifted her head and gazed around her room. It was in shambles, and she momentarily marveled at the destruction she had wrought earlier in the day. The curtains had been ripped from their rods, books had been cast from their shelves, now fluttering in the wind from the open window, like birds trying to escape some horrible predator. The few pictures she had framed days ago had been thrown to the ground, a pillow had been ripped and was lying on the floor, and the mahogany nightstand was now lying awry on its side.
Slowly, Hermione rose from her bed. She rubbed her eyes gently, then set the nightstand right. She removed a band from the upper drawer and secured her hair back, then removed her wand from the drawer. Quietly, she began pointing around the room, her voice nearly indistinguishable as the curtains righted themselves and books flew back to their places. Her work was quick, and in a few moments all that remained of her passion was a framed picture Harry, Ron, and herself standing next to the Hogwarts Express. She picked it up, cradling it gently. The picture had been taken on September first, at the start of their seventh year. She smiled softly as she remembered how Colin had corralled them for one last picture before they started their seventh year. Later, at Hermione's request, he had developed two copies of the photo – one in the usual, wizarding way, and one in the muggle way. Even after being introduced to the magical way of developing photos, Hermione still felt that there was something special about still pictures. Now, there was a large crack running down the photo's length, and many small cracks spread like capillaries over their grinning faces.
Hermione hugged the photo to her chest for a moment, and then tapped it gently with her wand.
"Repario." She popped off the back of the frame, and then cast a creaseless spell on the photo itself. She moved to the closet and pulled out a summer robe, then one of her heavier black cloaks. She rummaged through the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled a rucksack from inside, shoving two shirts and a pair of jeans inside, along with her brush. She also pulled a small roll of parchment out of the old chest, and quickly wrote a note, placing it on the freshly made bed.
Hermione put on the summer robe, tucking the picture into her pocket, then dropped the heavy cloak on her shoulders, swung the rucksack onto her back, and walked to the window.
Night was falling.
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"…nothing can be done. Don't worry about me, Ron. Don't worry, Harry. I love you both more then I can ever express. You're my life, and that's why I have to leave. I died seven years ago, and resurrection takes more then love and desire, I think. But I'm not sure – and perhaps that's why I'm going. Neither of you were with me the first eleven years of my life, and during that time I grew to be the girl you fought with, the girl you were best friends with, and the girl who loves you more then life.
I need to find out how to be that girl again.
Ron, I'm keeping your ring. The girl who loved you all those years ago still wants to be with you forever, and forever is a long time. For now, though, I have to go. I don't know how long I'll be away. It could be a day. It could be a year.
When we were young, we were looking for ourselves and found each other. I found myself in the two of you, parts of me that were missing throughout my childhood. Now, that's all I have – what can be found in you. I am still dead.
But I'm going to live again.
I love you forever."
The note wasn't signed. Ron sat, dumbfounded, on the bed.
Half an hour later when Harry arrived with Ginny, he would find only Hermione's note on the slightly rumpled coverlet.
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The line "We were looking for ourselves and found each other." is from the song "In the Car" by the Barenaked Ladies, of whom I'm a huge huge huge fan.
Chapter Seven: The Parts that Exist
Harry lifted his head, broken from his thoughts by Ron's quiet question. Ron's eyes were heavy with concern, and the pain emanating from them was nearly tangible. Harry crossed the hall and dropped against the wall next to Ron, who was sitting in a high-backed chair. They were outside of Hermione's room, which she had not left since her two friends carried her there the day before. She wouldn't allow them to enter the room, and refused to take any food from them. At seven that morning, she had flow into a rage and had begun ripping her room apart. Ron and Harry, not knowing what to do, had simply watched as the fury drained from her body, and she slowly sank back onto the bed, the curtains fluttering with the wind from the open window, blowing around scraps of paper, shredded pictures and clothes that had been ripped from their drawers. Now she sat apathetically flipping through her old copy of Hogwarts: A History, her eyes blank and lifeless. Ron had closed the door two hours ago, at her gentle but dull request, and he and Harry sat outside, simply waiting, not sure how they could help their friend, and feeling as if she didn't even want help to begin with.
Harry tilted his head back to the wall, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he spoke softly. "I dunno, Ron. She's never been like this before. I mean, before, when we were in school, she'd been mad at us… but she's never been apathetic. She's never not cared about anything. It's like coming back and realizing everything has changed has… has killed her or something. Inside."
Ron sighed, and his Adams apple bobbed up and down in his tight throat. "This is my fault. I didn't let her adjust first; I just pushed myself on her as soon as she was awake. I should have let her get used to the world first, to get used to everything. I should have sent her to live with you for a while, Harry. Then maybe she would have taken the shock better. But I wanted to protect her from it, I guess… I though if I could love her, none of this would hurt her, maybe it wouldn't even matter." Ron spoke with self-disgust and loathing, something Harry hadn't heard from him in a long time – in fact, the last time he had spoken like that was in fifth year, when he confessed to Harry how ashamed he was after getting in yet another fight with Hermione about Viktor Krum.
Harry shook his head and patted his best friend on the knee, and got up. "It's not your fault, Ron. I'm pretty sure she loves you, and you couldn't know she would react this way when it finally dawned on her that life had changed a lot while she was gone. Don't blame yourself…"
Ron simply shook his head.
"Listen," continued Harry. "I'm going to my flat now, and I'm going to talk to Ginny, tell her what's going on. I want you to go get yourself some food," he help up a hand at Ron's protests, "and not stress for a few minutes, ok? She'll be fine. I'll bring Ginny back in about half an hour, and we'll try and get her to talk to us."
Ron nodded, defeated. What could he do, after all? He would probably only make things worse if he tried to talk to her alone at this point…
--------------------
What had she done? Memories flew through her brain like debris in a river after a heavy storm. She had cried and screamed at Harry and Ron… she vaguely remembered throwing a tantrum. She had flipped some of her books, both the ones she'd destroyed and those that random choice had left intact, not reading or taking in any of the information they held.
The door was closed now, and she could hear Harry and Ron's murmurings every now and again. Though she couldn't understand what they were saying, she was reassured by the familiarity of their tones, Ron's deep and worried, Harry's slightly higher and speaking quickly.
She lifted her head and gazed around her room. It was in shambles, and she momentarily marveled at the destruction she had wrought earlier in the day. The curtains had been ripped from their rods, books had been cast from their shelves, now fluttering in the wind from the open window, like birds trying to escape some horrible predator. The few pictures she had framed days ago had been thrown to the ground, a pillow had been ripped and was lying on the floor, and the mahogany nightstand was now lying awry on its side.
Slowly, Hermione rose from her bed. She rubbed her eyes gently, then set the nightstand right. She removed a band from the upper drawer and secured her hair back, then removed her wand from the drawer. Quietly, she began pointing around the room, her voice nearly indistinguishable as the curtains righted themselves and books flew back to their places. Her work was quick, and in a few moments all that remained of her passion was a framed picture Harry, Ron, and herself standing next to the Hogwarts Express. She picked it up, cradling it gently. The picture had been taken on September first, at the start of their seventh year. She smiled softly as she remembered how Colin had corralled them for one last picture before they started their seventh year. Later, at Hermione's request, he had developed two copies of the photo – one in the usual, wizarding way, and one in the muggle way. Even after being introduced to the magical way of developing photos, Hermione still felt that there was something special about still pictures. Now, there was a large crack running down the photo's length, and many small cracks spread like capillaries over their grinning faces.
Hermione hugged the photo to her chest for a moment, and then tapped it gently with her wand.
"Repario." She popped off the back of the frame, and then cast a creaseless spell on the photo itself. She moved to the closet and pulled out a summer robe, then one of her heavier black cloaks. She rummaged through the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled a rucksack from inside, shoving two shirts and a pair of jeans inside, along with her brush. She also pulled a small roll of parchment out of the old chest, and quickly wrote a note, placing it on the freshly made bed.
Hermione put on the summer robe, tucking the picture into her pocket, then dropped the heavy cloak on her shoulders, swung the rucksack onto her back, and walked to the window.
Night was falling.
--------------------
I need to find out how to be that girl again.
Ron, I'm keeping your ring. The girl who loved you all those years ago still wants to be with you forever, and forever is a long time. For now, though, I have to go. I don't know how long I'll be away. It could be a day. It could be a year.
When we were young, we were looking for ourselves and found each other. I found myself in the two of you, parts of me that were missing throughout my childhood. Now, that's all I have – what can be found in you. I am still dead.
But I'm going to live again.
I love you forever."
The note wasn't signed. Ron sat, dumbfounded, on the bed.
Half an hour later when Harry arrived with Ginny, he would find only Hermione's note on the slightly rumpled coverlet.
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