Ashes To Ashes
Disclaimer: JK Rowling…uh…I love you? You created everything I used here, the entire thing is set in your universe using your characters. Nothing…and I mean nothing…belongs to me.
A/N: Uh…can we say 'vent'? I'm currently searching for constructive reviews/criticism, so feel free to help me with my many flaws!
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I lift up the urn with silence deep within me; an empty hole in my heart that I know will never be filled again. My soul yearns for you as I never knew it could. Do you know how this feels? Well, do you?
I wait for an answer, breathing shallowly and sharply. You should be here. You said you would be…
"But what if something happens?"
She looked up at him, her brown eyes clouded with tears as she caught his own startling blue pair. "What if I never see you again? What if no one ever sees you again?"
He wrapped his strong, freckled arms around her then, he did, and she instinctively rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in that smell that was distinctively him and releasing it shakily. They fitted together perfectly, Ron and Hermione. They always had.
"If something ever happened to you I wouldn't be able to go on, you know that," he whispered, grinning and stroking her loose brown curls with his perfect hand. The simple touch made her think about what she would be missing while he was gone, and how much she would miss him if something dark and irreversible did happen.
She started to cry. It was not hysterical, nor loud, but it was sadness as if she knew it was true…wether she said it or he did. Ron stopped stroking her hair and pulled away gently, brushing a tear from her cheek as he did so, his eyes looking at her in that way…that way that she just can't forget, and that she would never want to.
"But you're going away. You're heading into danger. What if something happens to you? How could I continue to exist without you here?" she whispered as he gently grabbed her arms. He shook her slightly and she looked at his face again to see the sparkling tears in his own eyes, the frightened look he had tried so hard to hide from her shining through like a beacon of unwanted light.
"I'll promise you one thing," he said fiercely, and she couldn't help but believe him with his innocent features and sweet, loyal personality. "I promise you that whatever happens, I will be there for your Birthday next year. At the lake near the Burrow."
She continued to cry silently, shedding tears of regret and lost hope, already feeling what could possibly be to come, experiencing the ripping, tearing pain. He took his hands off her arms and placed one on the side of her face, giving her a pleading look.
"Promise me," he whispered, looking right at her while she cried over a possible scenario. "No matter what happens, I will be there. I'll come back from the dead if I have to. Now promise me."
She took a shaky breath; a halting, wavering inhalation of air, and closed her eyes to stop herself from having to look at the face of the person she loved…love.
"I promise"
I wait some more, holding the bronzed container carefully in my hands. If I dropped it I don't know what I'd do. I'd break down, I would fail to function properly, most likely, and you…your ashes…would be lost at the wrong time, wrong place.
Cremation suits you well, with your fiery hair and inability to sit still. It would have done you injustice to have you buried and rotting away in the cold and dark. I would never let you stay down there…you deserve to be free, to fly, to soar forever upwards against the blue sky.
But I cannot promise you a blue sky. All I can offer is grey and wet, overhung and shedding tears. The fine mist of rain tickles my skin, but the sensation is familiar to me, I've spent the last six months crying over you. I think I deserve some sort of comfort in the way I do not change, the way I am not differing my life by getting a job.
You'd be disappointed in me. You wouldn't be proud, I've done nothing you asked me to; I've blatantly ignored your requests. I didn't even apply at the Ministry of Magic for a job like you desired so strongly for me to…
He laughed softly and she glanced up at his mirthful eyes from a heap of Arithmancy homework. They were the finals in just over a fortnight, and she had been studying hard for weeks, trying to fit everything into her head that then seemed terribly small and full.
He gave her that lopsided grin with his eyes playfully mocking hers, and she questioningly raised an eyebrow, to which he responded by leaning over the desk and slamming her book shut.
"Give it a break," he said in jest, pulling the books, parchment, quills and ink off the table and dropping them on the floor. "We all know you're going places wether you study or not. Take some time for yourself."
"But Ron," she protested, giving him an exasperated look and trying to snatch her books back.
"But nothing. You're brilliant and I don't care, so come outside and have fun with me and Harry," he said, and pointed to a forlorn figure sitting near them on a couch; his dark hair uncut and unbrushed, his glasses unclean and broken. "He needs it, and so do you."
"But I can't afford to fail!" she emphasised, taking another grab at her homework.
"You won't," he stated, stepping between her and her homework, folding his arms and giving her another irksome smile. "You're going to become Minister…I mean, Ministerette…of Magic one day. Now tell me that you're going to pass all your exams and apply for a job at the Ministry of Magic."
"I will do no such thing," she said shortly and attempted to step around him to get to her work and study.
"No, really. I mean it. Promise me you'll apply for a job," he pleaded, and she melted then and there. Her resolve faded and her anger ebbed away as she looked at his sweet, freckled face, his striking blue eyes that seemed too innocent to be true, but later became clouded and distant as she saw him there, lying cold and unbreathing. "I want you to say, 'I, Hermione Granger, will apply for a job at the Ministry of Magic because I am such a smarty', okay?"
She grinned. "I'll apply, but I'm not saying that."
"Yes you are," he smiled, his cheeky eyes locking with hers, and she gave in.
"I, Hermione Granger, will apply for a job at the Ministry of Magic because I am such a smarty. Now can I do my homework?"
The rain falls more heavily as I sit down on the bank of the lake that we had claimed as our own one summer; your cold, wet container resting in my lap, the droplets of water falling past me like tears. I pass an eye over my surroundings, spotting memories I thought I had recovered from months ago looming out of the watery haze.
We walked this way once; we had swum in that rippling, dark mass of water, we had laughed…yes, laughed…over there on that now-dampened stretch of grass. We had enjoyed the summer sunshine in those warmer weeks of the school holidays together as the time passed like sand through a sieve. And now I know that none of that could be repeated; that those moments are as far away as they would be if they were in another dimension.
Am I not right for you? Is there some indefinable reason that you had to be snatched from me at this time…no, that time? You've been gone for far too long now, and yet I still hang onto you, the only physical element of you I can. You are dust, Ronald Weasley. You hear that? To me you are nothing but dust anymore, and yet that is somehow justified?
I miss you, Ron. Do you miss me? Do you miss those times when we would bicker incessantly only to become friends after realising how stupid we were being? Do you miss the way I used to look at you and hope you looked at me with those deceivingly shallow, blue eyes?
Your eyes. Where are they now? Where have they taken your eyes, Ron? Can you tell from wherever you are; can you see me, and the pain that you are putting me through?
They've been burnt. Those beautiful, haunting blue eyes have been burnt…I can still remember when it happened…
She did not cry this time. She had no more tears left to cry…or so she thought. She saw them place his body in the chamber with a stony face, uncaring eyes and a soulless body. She stood resolute and emotionless, watching them take away the part of him that she thought she could hold onto for longer, one that she wishes she could have, and still does in a way.
The flames fired up with a rush of warm air, and she did not move. Not a centimetre of her shifted as him…his body…was incinerated. Destroyed. Taken from her.
She had opted to be there as a special request, as had Harry, his mother and the twins. They were there to say goodbye to him, as was she, the closest to his burning body of the five, the most silent and unnervingly still. Her statuesque stance was maintained the entire time the flames stole his composition; she was there the entire time he was turned to ashes.
Harry, for once, actually showed some emotion and slumped against the wall when the flames rose, slowly sliding down it to rest on the floor eventually and putting his head in his hands. He, too, was silent except for his breathing; soft, shallow inhale and exhalations that suggested he was crying.
For an eternity the flames blazed in that sealed chamber, for an eternity he was slowly taken from her, for an eternity his body was burnt till he was nothing but dust. And when that eternity ended, so did her statuesque stance and resolve to cry no more.
Knowing Harry needed nothing more than to be alone and help himself through this for the first while, Molly approached her rather than him, allowing her to cry onto her own warm, shaking shoulder as they put him in the urn that would be his resting place for as long as they saw fit…see fit, as he is still there.
"I'm glad you convinced me about this Wizard cremation…I think it's very fitting, Hermione. Thankyou."
And as the blue, crystaline tears flowed from her eyes onto his mother's black robes, all she could remember was his eyes…they were all she could see, with their undeterminable emotions, their swift changes from one feeling to another, their startling beauty and contrast to her own brown pair.
Yet again those eyes fill my mind as I remember the person behind them, that bright and irresistable personality that made you who you were. You were made for me, or so I thought and still believe. And yes, although I've admitted it only once, I do love you, Ron. I really do, could you never see that?
I've been waiting here since midnight, an inconceivable hour for you to ever be awake. I have stood here for thirteen hours, and only just sat down on this muddy bank. You know I would stand forever to wait for you, I would give up any earthly glamour to bring you back. But death is irreversible…
"Harry! Oh thank heavens you're alive!"
She ran to hug Harry, his blank, staring face registering in, and being pushed to the back of, her mind. She wrapped her arms around his cold, thin and very white body, the tears of relief she was shedding streaming down her face and onto her neck as he awkwardly lifted his arms to return the favour to her.
"What's wrong?" she queried, furrowing her brow at him and stepping back. "Where's Ron?"
She became slightly distraught, frantically throwing her head around in a fruitless search for him, the insensitive weather drowning the scene in warm, spring sunshine that she despised at that very moment. How could the weather be so inconsiderate? How???
"Hermione…" Harry began, pleading with his eyes. "Please…"
"No! He's not! Ron? Ron, you can come out now!"
She started shaking then and there, uncontrollable spasms of movement.
"He…he'd never…he promised me…"
Harry's face twitched slightly, his eyes sparkled more than usual in the light, and when he spoke it was croaky and strained, as if forced through a cork. She backed away from him then. She wasn't ready to accept it and she probably still is not, but right at that moment there was no way she could ever perceive what that meant.
"Hermione," Harry choked out. "He's gone. De…what happened is irreversible."
She did not want to know the details, she did not want to know who, or how. she did not even want to know when. She bit back a scream, she bit back the urge to howl, to moan and even to sob. She did not sniffle.
Instead, she glared at Harry. "He'll be back. He said he would be."
And now I am waiting for you to come back, Ron. Over six months since that day, and still you have not returned. Am I not enough to entice you back? Is something holding you there?
I live, I breathe. I'm in the rain here for you, Ron. You know how much I despise rain, and I've waited in it for thirteen and a quarter hours for your return to me. I hate the feel of water on me…tiny, itching droplets that aggravate the senses with their imperceptible existance.
But here I am, right on this very spot. My Birthday. The lake near the Burrow. A year after that one promise.
You are not. Why is that? Do I not tempt you the right amount? Should I hurt more than I do? Or is there some other reason I am here…some reason I may have stored in my mind…
His mother sat her down at the table two days after the cremation, the urn in pride place of the table as a constant reminder on what had been sacrificed for the lives of many, many more. Molly glanced at the container, the curving cylindrical shape, the simple, inornate carvings along the rim of the lid.
"Hermione…"
She bit back tears once more. When her parents were taken from her, she knew the feeling that you'd rather not have to deal with it, that you wanted to pass the responsibility on to someone else, as long as you eventually knew what was being done.
"Yes, Mrs Weasley?" she enquired, steadying herself on the table for support, the scrubbed wooden structure holding her up more than she herself was.
"Molly, please," she requested, giving me an awkward smile. "I…I don't want to have to be responsible for the scattering of…his ashes. I know you might not either, but…please?"
She remained silent, the only sound registering in her mind the flames on the cooker, so similar to those that had claimed his body and turned him into what had sat before her at that moment.
"Please, Hermione. Will you? Just…tell us where it's done. You don't have to do it straight away, of course…"
She stood up, and Molly stopped speaking. "Okay Molly. I'll do it…but now I…I have to go and…I have to go."
And she fled the kitchen out to the lake to watch the final moments of the rising sun, the fiery red spherical structure pushing its ginger hair over the horizon before bursting free of its restraints and no longer reminding her of him.
The rain eases off, and I begin to see my surroundings more clearly. I feel the pangs of hunger once more, and realise it is half past one in the afternoon, and I have not eaten for three days. I simply forget to, sometimes, and continue on with what I'm doing. Your mother worries about me, as does everyone else.
But I'm not about to do anything drastic, I wouldn't kill myself. As much as I miss you, there is more to life than that. There is more to life than one, simple part. I see things in shades of grey, rather than black and white, I see things for what they are, rather than their stereotypical appearance. I live life because I can, not because it is fun.
At the moment I have nothing fun to live for. Most of the things I live for are pleasant, sure. Nice. Comfortable. Familiar.
Familiar. There's nothing new and exciting, there's nothing to differentiate one day from the rest, not one thing to say that I am doing this on this day. You would help me do that, you helped keep things interesting.
I can remember how whenever I talked to you, I would realise that you would never be the same as anyone else, you were entirely you, in every aspect. And now…now you are this. This dark, grainy pile of ash.
A weak ray of light pushes its way through the cloud and illuminates the mass of water in front of me, and I am suddenly brought back to the last time we were together…the last words you ever spoke to me…
He smiled at her from under the water, thinking he was safe. She knew otherwise, in more than one sense, and dived underneath the sparkling surface, further and further underneath till all she could see was the outline of him; his body silhouetted against the summer sun.
She paused and circled for a few seconds, rising slightly in the murky darkness. His silhouette moved slightly, and she shot upwards, her legs kicking, her body streamlined until her fingers made contact with his ankle. She pulled down hard on his foot and rose quickly to breathe some air.
She floated for some time, grinning and slowly kicking her legs to keep herself afloat. When he did not immediately rise again, she shook my head and disappeared underneath the blanket of reflection, sinking downwards once more, towards the muddy floor of the lake.
He suddenly appeared beside her, as she had expected him to, and dragged her upwards towards the shimmering light above. They burst through the surface together, simultaneously taking a gulp of air, and he turned to her with those blue eyes, so reminiscent of the lake they were at that very moment submerged in that she became entranced.
"Now," he said, grinning like a fox. "That was bad…very bad. You've been a bad girl, Hermione…"
And he kissed her for the last time he would ever do so…he took the last oppurtunity to do so and used it to his full advantage, becoming caught in the moment and making it mean more than anyone could ever guess.
And then you left…I had no chance to say goodbye, you simply disappeared, and never came back. That is one of the most vivid memories of you, not only because it was the most recent, but because of how I could have made it last.
I saw you twice more time after that…or at least the physical part of you. I have already re-visited the second…but the first…
I shiver as the memory washes over me once more, the emotion riding through me with more power and vigour than ever…
The room in which she stood was dank and cold, the darkness and musty feel of the air sent a shiver down her spine as she recovered from the Apparation to her destination. Harry Apparated just after her, knowing full well where she had disappeared to.
"Hermione, don't…" he pleaded, reaching out his hand but refraining from touching her. "You don't really want to…"
She ignored him and walked across the cold, stone floor to the body lying limp and in a heap against the far wall. She slid down onto her knees, stretching out a hand to pull the grimy, wet cloth away from his face to take one last look at his features.
Blank and staring, were his eyes. They were clouded and distant as if he could see something behind her…something terrible and dangerous…something out of this realm, beyond her reach. She turned around to see Harry standing against the far wall through her tears, avoiding looking at her, his green eyes averted from her horror-stricken form.
"Hermione…" he implored, keeping his eyes turned away. "Please…come back."
She covered him up again, pulling the rancid cloth over his emotionless face and heading back towards Harry. She never said goodbye.
I am still to properly say goodbye, I am still holding you as I wait. It is dark now…that memory, that one short, terrible memory…took me away for far longer than I thought a memory could. I glance down at my Muggle watch and note that it is 8 pm. Just four more hours, Ron. Four more hours until you have broken a promise.
You never did break a promise to me, not once. You held true to your word, as you always did. You and your damned loyalty…you didn't have to go through with it, Ron. You could have stayed in safety.
Or you could have taken me with you, at least, so you didn't have to be almost alone. Harry…he would have survived no matter what, we know that now. Maybe we did not then, but didn't we at least suspect that Voldemort's bond with Harry would prevent him from killing him?
I sigh and resume my silent stance, and this time the memories do not plague me as they had earlier. My mind is blank…it knows I am here for a purpose and that I should not be taken away.
Three and a half hours I wait, Ron. And still you are not there…you have just under half an hour to appear and keep your promise to me. I glance down at my watch again. No…twenty-five minutes. So where are you? Are you hiding somewhere like you had done so many times before…?
"Ron, this is not funny!" she whined, looking behind every tree she encountered. "Come out!"
She heard a soft chuckle from above her head and glanced up at the dense foliage blocking most of the sunlight. A single leaf floated slowly down, reminiscent of a feather.
"Right…that's it," she resolved, bending down and picking up a rock. "Get down or get hit."
She took aim at the spot the leaf had originated from, raising an eyebrow.
"Now, Ronald Weasley!"
He slid himself down from the tree, free-falling the distance from the branch to the ground, landing with a soft 'thud' and grinning. A small twig stuck out of his hair, giving him a wild look.
"How'd you find me?" he enquired, as if that was the most legitimate question in the universe. "Becoming attached are we?"
"Yes, very attached," she remarked slightly sarcastically. "How could I ever live without you?"
"By letting go, Hermione. Don't hold onto anything physical…maybe it's the emotions that you can remember me by," he said through a mischievous smile with a slightly sarcastic tone, not unlike the one she had been using earlier.
I brush a tear from my cold, soft cheek and stand up once more. You did not show up. You broke a promise for the first time since I met you on that Hogwart's train.
It's Hogwarts I miss as well. I miss the way we were all like a family there, the way we all looked out for each other and knew each other. Here…here at the Burrow it is almost the same except…I am not an actual family member. I just reside here until my parents are better and out of St Mungo's, with your parents and siblings taking care of me.
Still I cannot believe you broke a promise, Ronald Weasley. You broke a promise to me, Hermione Granger, the one to whom you mean the world to. I am holding on, Ron, I don't want to let go.
Or do I? Maybe it is the right time to…maybe I need to let things go. Or, more accurately, I need to let you go. I pause and take a deep breath. Yes, I think it is time.
The moon hides itself behind a cloud as I gently open the bronze lid of the urn, silver in the starlight. It is almost completely dark as I slowly ascend the slight incline of the bank of our lake, the grass underfoot cool and welcoming on my bare soles…or is that soul?'
Now is the time. Now is when I let you go…now is when you are no longer mine, and I am no longer yours. Now is when I hold onto the right part of you, when I let your physical element escape to where it rightfully belongs.
The soft breeze plays its gentle game with my hair as I pause for the smallest yet longest of moments at the top of the slope, overlooking the rippling, reflective surface of the lake, the dark yet beautiful trees and the oh-so-familiar grass of the opposite bank, observing the moon reappearing and casting its single shaft of moonlight onto the round mass of water in front of me. And I tilt the cold, metal container in my hands.
Your ashes flow out of their residing place and into the breeze, twirling and floating away across the blanket that is the surface of the lake. I keep the flow of your ashes slow and constant, unchanging and gentle so as to take as long as possible, watching you…or at least the physical part of you…riding on the gentle stream of air away from me.
When the last grain of you is gone, I softly replace the lid, lift the container once more and make my way back to the place I have called home since the moment you left me in this world.