Do you ever get that feeling in the morning when you wake up that
something is going to happen that day that will change your life forever?
Something big that will possibly send all resolved issues to the sun,
leaving you to rebuild your life over again? Hermione woke with that
unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach two weeks after her visit to
the Burrow. She had written to Harry and Ron, telling them how sorry she
was for being so unstable recently and had received replies from both of
her friends telling her that no feelings were hurt and they were planning a
visit at the end of that month to the Malfoy home once again.
Now, nine days before that visit was to commence, Hermione sat at her kitchen table, nervously biting her nails. The maid and the cook were playing with Malinda, who was gurgling happily in her high chair. Malinda's squeals of delight were interrupting Hermione's frantic worries and she almost snapped twice at her infant daughter.
"Calm down," she told herself as she put Malinda down for her afternoon nap. "Nothing's wrong; you've just become paranoid lately." But the incessant swooping of owls over the wizarding homes and the whispering of the people as Hermione took a quick trip into the village sent her mind into overtime. Something was definitely wrong.
When she arrived back home, Susan, one of the maids, greeted her in the front foyer. Her face was pale and her hand shook as she handed Hermione a piece of rolled up parchment.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, setting down her purse and taking the letter from the quivering hand of the maid. Susan just shook her head.
"You haven't heard already then?"
"Heard what?"
Susan shook her head again, this time more violently, and ran from the room in tears. Feeling the frightened feeling creep back up into her throat, Hermione unrolled the parchment and read it quickly.
"Dearest Hermione," it began in big, loopy writing that Hermione hadn't seen in awhile. "If you haven't heard the news by now, then I'm afraid I will be the one to break it to you. Lord Voldemort has returned. Much like he did during your fourth year at Hogwarts, only this time stronger and much more efficient and organized than before.
"You may wonder how we are certain of this. The truth be told, Voldemort has already claimed two victims, one he has been seeking out for many years and one that he would simply consider a waste. I'm afraid, Hermione, that his two victims are your friends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
"Once again, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Please accept my condolences and write me back when you feel like talking.
Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione stopped reading, her mind blank. She felt like she had fallen down several flights of stairs and her head was still reeling. Disorientation set in as she found it foolish to assume that the worst part of the news was born when Dumbledore told her that Voldemort had returned.
She read the part about Harry and Ron's deaths over again, yet found it hard to believe. Instantly, she expected tears to rain down on the letter, but instead she received nothing. The sadness wasn't quite there yet, maybe because she didn't fully believe it. How could it be that nine days before her two best friends would come bouncing through the front door, they would be slaughtered at the hands of the relentless Lord Voldemort?
She rested her head in her hands, feeling suddenly ill and somewhat betrayed. She needed answers, she needed closure; she needed someone to tell her exactly what had happened and why her friends were snatched from her before they could even see her daughter Malinda. She wanted to know so many things and all at once, but it just wasn't possible. Feeling like the bottom of her world had fallen out and cast her into a dark slumber, she struggled into the sitting room where she collapsed in front of the fire and stared at the flames licking at the fireplace. It was mesmerizing how the flames danced about, casting shadows on the wall of the dark room behind her. It was odd how after so many long years, Voldemort had finally caught up with Harry and finished what he had started with just an innocent one-year old baby. She had always known that one of them would have to kill the other; it was in the prophecy. But why after so many years? How could one individual be so remorseless?
Draco arrived home five minutes later only to find his wife in the sitting room, staring into the fire dazed and his daughter wailing upstairs. He rushed to get the screaming baby and carried her downstairs where he knelt beside Hermione at the fireplace.
"Did you hear?" he asked softly but received no reply. "I came as soon as I heard," he continued, taking her prolonged silence for an answer. "It was all throughout work in a matter of minutes." He shook his head sadly. "It's a damn shame. I never got along with either of them but it's such a waste."
Slowly Hermione turned her head to Draco and he was surprised to see that her eyes had slid out of focus. She looked distant and dreary but when she spoke, her voice was grounded in reality.
"What happened?" she asked monotonously.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
Draco took a deep breath and shifted Malinda's weight. "Apparently Potter and Weasley were working at that shop of theirs when the Dark Lord arrived. He went straight for Weasley first, to get him out of the way, but Potter put up a good fight. Apparently they duelled for quite some time before the Dark Lord missed Potter and hit Weasley with the Avada Kedavra curse. Blinded by rage, Potter went after the Dark Lord only to be hit by the same curse. They were both killed instantly and suffered no pain."
"That's not the point," Hermione replied quietly, turning back to the fire. "The point is that they're gone and they're never coming back."
Draco remained silent and got up moments later to change a fussing Malinda. Hermione continued to sit in stony silence, refusing to believe what she had just heard. Many thoughts flew through her mind at this time. She recalled when she had first met the two smiling boys on the Hogwarts Express and the time when they saved her from the troll in the girls' bathroom. She thought of the time when Madam Pomfrey told her that neither boy left her side when she had been Petrified by the giant Basilisk. She remembered when they had suffered as a trio during a Dementor attack in their third year and how Harry had come through for them all. She remembered studying with Harry until the early hours of morning for the tasks in the Triwizard tournament. She thought of their smiling faces and happy grins as they greeted her each morning in the Great Hall for breakfast and she expected the tears to flow but they still remained dormant.
She slept on the floor in front of the fire that night, drifting in and out of a troubled sleep. She had refused to eat supper that evening but no one pressured her. She barely moved at all and kept waking during the night, wondering why her mind was sinking into a pit of desperation. She dearly wished for Draco to be beside her but she knew he had to attend to Malinda; she would be no help there. Damn it, she could barely look after herself at this moment let alone another human being.
The morning arrived quickly and Draco informed her that he would be staying home that day to help look after Malinda. "The office should be closed anyway," he muttered, stalking out of the room. Hermione spent the first few hours of the dreary morning staring out the window for a change. The weather reflected her mood as raindrops struck the windowsill in a huff, as though the Heavens was weeping for her lost friends. She only tore her eyes away long enough to read a letter from Mrs. Weasley stating that the funerals would be held together in a church near the Burrow the following day.
"I do hope you can attend, Hermione, but if not, I'll understand," bore the tear-stained letter. Hermione felt almost jealous that Mrs. Weasley was able to weep the tears that threatened her eyes. Hermione still hadn't cried and was beginning to wish she would. Maybe some of the fear and sorrow would be released with a good cry.
She made her way up to her bedroom and slept there, on and off, for several hours into the night. The next day she dressed early and headed out to the carriage alone. "I have to be alone today," she told the driver and he simply nodded as he closed the carriage door and it carried her away to the Burrow.
Once again, nothing had changed about the small house but when Mrs. Weasley opened the door this time, her eyes were red and swollen and she hugged Hermione immediately, sobbing into her shoulder. Hermione remained tearless.
Inside, Hermione noticed that all six of the Weasley children were there, including Percy, Ron's older brother whom had had a falling out with the family years ago. Percy looked like he had not cried either but when he saw Hermione, she noticed a solemn single tear slip out of the corner of his eye.
They left for the church in silence and Hermione noted that Mr. Weasley was carrying the silent burden. He remained stony-faced with not a tear in sight, although he did look somewhat older. The church was one that Hermione had never seen before and she followed the Weasleys in, joining them in the front pew at Mrs. Weasley's insistence. "You're almost family," she whispered to Hermione.
The two caskets lay side by side up front and Hermione's eyes darted in every direction to avoid them. She looked around the church, meeting the eyes of complete strangers who had come by to see the funeral of the Boy Who Lived. It angered her that they felt no emotional pain for Harry Potter; just the death of a name that had saved them years ago. She didn't really expect to see the Dursleys there, Harry's aunt, uncle and cousin, but was surprised to see Dudley Dursley lurking in the corner of the church. He was half hidden by the shadows and Hermione was sure that his mother would wallop him good if she knew he were there. Hermione gave him a kind look for the sullen face of compassion he wore and turned away before Dudley's tears that threatened him escaped, too.
Surrounded by sobbing people, Hermione listened unemotionally to the service the minister gave about two brave boys who fought to the very end. "Perhaps it was that that gave such fury to Harry Potter through the years," the minister stated, tears showing in his bright brilliant eyes. "Or maybe it was the friendships he gave and received. Either way, these two fine young gentlemen were warriors to the end."
Hermione felt no emotion as they stood in rows and prepared to exit the church as the caskets were carried down the aisle and out the door. But as they passed Hermione, who had been the last to enter the pew, she felt an incredible surge of emotion and the tears flooded her eyes like never before. "No!" she screamed, making a wild grab for the casket that passed her by. She rushed out of the pew and down the aisle, dropping to the ground, screaming. "Don't leave me!" she yelled, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Please, don't leave me! I can't do this without you! Don't leave me!"
"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley's desperate cry echoed from behind her as Mr. Weasley grabbed her firmly from behind.
"Hermione, don't," he began, but she kicked and screamed until he let go of her. She half-ran, half-crawled after the caskets, continuing to scream. Once she reached the carriages at the bottom of the staircase outside that would carry them to the cemetery, she dropped to the foot of one bearing the name, "Harry Potter," in gold letters.
"Harry, you can't leave me," she sobbed. "I don't know what to do without you. Please, don't go."
She clambered over to the next one, wiping dust off the nameplate that said, "Ronald Weasley."
"Ron, don't you go, either. You've always been my light, my laughter. Please don't leave me!" She began sobbing wildly, banging her fists against the cold, hard pavement of the street. Mr. Weasley came up behind her again, and grabbed her underneath the arms. Mrs. Weasley's tempestuous sobbing came from the door to the church.
"Hermione, they're gone," he told her firmly. "They're gone; they can't come back!"
"I don't believe you!" Hermione screamed in his face. "They can't be gone." She turned to Harry's casket again as Ron's was loaded onto the carriage. "Harry, you've been immortal over the years. You've survived so much. You can't die now. Not after all you've been through!"
Mr. Weasley pulled her back again roughly as Harry's casket was loaded beside Ron's. Wailing until her head throbbed, Hermione watched, hands outstretched as her best friends were carried away from her forever.
Now, nine days before that visit was to commence, Hermione sat at her kitchen table, nervously biting her nails. The maid and the cook were playing with Malinda, who was gurgling happily in her high chair. Malinda's squeals of delight were interrupting Hermione's frantic worries and she almost snapped twice at her infant daughter.
"Calm down," she told herself as she put Malinda down for her afternoon nap. "Nothing's wrong; you've just become paranoid lately." But the incessant swooping of owls over the wizarding homes and the whispering of the people as Hermione took a quick trip into the village sent her mind into overtime. Something was definitely wrong.
When she arrived back home, Susan, one of the maids, greeted her in the front foyer. Her face was pale and her hand shook as she handed Hermione a piece of rolled up parchment.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, setting down her purse and taking the letter from the quivering hand of the maid. Susan just shook her head.
"You haven't heard already then?"
"Heard what?"
Susan shook her head again, this time more violently, and ran from the room in tears. Feeling the frightened feeling creep back up into her throat, Hermione unrolled the parchment and read it quickly.
"Dearest Hermione," it began in big, loopy writing that Hermione hadn't seen in awhile. "If you haven't heard the news by now, then I'm afraid I will be the one to break it to you. Lord Voldemort has returned. Much like he did during your fourth year at Hogwarts, only this time stronger and much more efficient and organized than before.
"You may wonder how we are certain of this. The truth be told, Voldemort has already claimed two victims, one he has been seeking out for many years and one that he would simply consider a waste. I'm afraid, Hermione, that his two victims are your friends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
"Once again, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Please accept my condolences and write me back when you feel like talking.
Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione stopped reading, her mind blank. She felt like she had fallen down several flights of stairs and her head was still reeling. Disorientation set in as she found it foolish to assume that the worst part of the news was born when Dumbledore told her that Voldemort had returned.
She read the part about Harry and Ron's deaths over again, yet found it hard to believe. Instantly, she expected tears to rain down on the letter, but instead she received nothing. The sadness wasn't quite there yet, maybe because she didn't fully believe it. How could it be that nine days before her two best friends would come bouncing through the front door, they would be slaughtered at the hands of the relentless Lord Voldemort?
She rested her head in her hands, feeling suddenly ill and somewhat betrayed. She needed answers, she needed closure; she needed someone to tell her exactly what had happened and why her friends were snatched from her before they could even see her daughter Malinda. She wanted to know so many things and all at once, but it just wasn't possible. Feeling like the bottom of her world had fallen out and cast her into a dark slumber, she struggled into the sitting room where she collapsed in front of the fire and stared at the flames licking at the fireplace. It was mesmerizing how the flames danced about, casting shadows on the wall of the dark room behind her. It was odd how after so many long years, Voldemort had finally caught up with Harry and finished what he had started with just an innocent one-year old baby. She had always known that one of them would have to kill the other; it was in the prophecy. But why after so many years? How could one individual be so remorseless?
Draco arrived home five minutes later only to find his wife in the sitting room, staring into the fire dazed and his daughter wailing upstairs. He rushed to get the screaming baby and carried her downstairs where he knelt beside Hermione at the fireplace.
"Did you hear?" he asked softly but received no reply. "I came as soon as I heard," he continued, taking her prolonged silence for an answer. "It was all throughout work in a matter of minutes." He shook his head sadly. "It's a damn shame. I never got along with either of them but it's such a waste."
Slowly Hermione turned her head to Draco and he was surprised to see that her eyes had slid out of focus. She looked distant and dreary but when she spoke, her voice was grounded in reality.
"What happened?" she asked monotonously.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
Draco took a deep breath and shifted Malinda's weight. "Apparently Potter and Weasley were working at that shop of theirs when the Dark Lord arrived. He went straight for Weasley first, to get him out of the way, but Potter put up a good fight. Apparently they duelled for quite some time before the Dark Lord missed Potter and hit Weasley with the Avada Kedavra curse. Blinded by rage, Potter went after the Dark Lord only to be hit by the same curse. They were both killed instantly and suffered no pain."
"That's not the point," Hermione replied quietly, turning back to the fire. "The point is that they're gone and they're never coming back."
Draco remained silent and got up moments later to change a fussing Malinda. Hermione continued to sit in stony silence, refusing to believe what she had just heard. Many thoughts flew through her mind at this time. She recalled when she had first met the two smiling boys on the Hogwarts Express and the time when they saved her from the troll in the girls' bathroom. She thought of the time when Madam Pomfrey told her that neither boy left her side when she had been Petrified by the giant Basilisk. She remembered when they had suffered as a trio during a Dementor attack in their third year and how Harry had come through for them all. She remembered studying with Harry until the early hours of morning for the tasks in the Triwizard tournament. She thought of their smiling faces and happy grins as they greeted her each morning in the Great Hall for breakfast and she expected the tears to flow but they still remained dormant.
She slept on the floor in front of the fire that night, drifting in and out of a troubled sleep. She had refused to eat supper that evening but no one pressured her. She barely moved at all and kept waking during the night, wondering why her mind was sinking into a pit of desperation. She dearly wished for Draco to be beside her but she knew he had to attend to Malinda; she would be no help there. Damn it, she could barely look after herself at this moment let alone another human being.
The morning arrived quickly and Draco informed her that he would be staying home that day to help look after Malinda. "The office should be closed anyway," he muttered, stalking out of the room. Hermione spent the first few hours of the dreary morning staring out the window for a change. The weather reflected her mood as raindrops struck the windowsill in a huff, as though the Heavens was weeping for her lost friends. She only tore her eyes away long enough to read a letter from Mrs. Weasley stating that the funerals would be held together in a church near the Burrow the following day.
"I do hope you can attend, Hermione, but if not, I'll understand," bore the tear-stained letter. Hermione felt almost jealous that Mrs. Weasley was able to weep the tears that threatened her eyes. Hermione still hadn't cried and was beginning to wish she would. Maybe some of the fear and sorrow would be released with a good cry.
She made her way up to her bedroom and slept there, on and off, for several hours into the night. The next day she dressed early and headed out to the carriage alone. "I have to be alone today," she told the driver and he simply nodded as he closed the carriage door and it carried her away to the Burrow.
Once again, nothing had changed about the small house but when Mrs. Weasley opened the door this time, her eyes were red and swollen and she hugged Hermione immediately, sobbing into her shoulder. Hermione remained tearless.
Inside, Hermione noticed that all six of the Weasley children were there, including Percy, Ron's older brother whom had had a falling out with the family years ago. Percy looked like he had not cried either but when he saw Hermione, she noticed a solemn single tear slip out of the corner of his eye.
They left for the church in silence and Hermione noted that Mr. Weasley was carrying the silent burden. He remained stony-faced with not a tear in sight, although he did look somewhat older. The church was one that Hermione had never seen before and she followed the Weasleys in, joining them in the front pew at Mrs. Weasley's insistence. "You're almost family," she whispered to Hermione.
The two caskets lay side by side up front and Hermione's eyes darted in every direction to avoid them. She looked around the church, meeting the eyes of complete strangers who had come by to see the funeral of the Boy Who Lived. It angered her that they felt no emotional pain for Harry Potter; just the death of a name that had saved them years ago. She didn't really expect to see the Dursleys there, Harry's aunt, uncle and cousin, but was surprised to see Dudley Dursley lurking in the corner of the church. He was half hidden by the shadows and Hermione was sure that his mother would wallop him good if she knew he were there. Hermione gave him a kind look for the sullen face of compassion he wore and turned away before Dudley's tears that threatened him escaped, too.
Surrounded by sobbing people, Hermione listened unemotionally to the service the minister gave about two brave boys who fought to the very end. "Perhaps it was that that gave such fury to Harry Potter through the years," the minister stated, tears showing in his bright brilliant eyes. "Or maybe it was the friendships he gave and received. Either way, these two fine young gentlemen were warriors to the end."
Hermione felt no emotion as they stood in rows and prepared to exit the church as the caskets were carried down the aisle and out the door. But as they passed Hermione, who had been the last to enter the pew, she felt an incredible surge of emotion and the tears flooded her eyes like never before. "No!" she screamed, making a wild grab for the casket that passed her by. She rushed out of the pew and down the aisle, dropping to the ground, screaming. "Don't leave me!" she yelled, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Please, don't leave me! I can't do this without you! Don't leave me!"
"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley's desperate cry echoed from behind her as Mr. Weasley grabbed her firmly from behind.
"Hermione, don't," he began, but she kicked and screamed until he let go of her. She half-ran, half-crawled after the caskets, continuing to scream. Once she reached the carriages at the bottom of the staircase outside that would carry them to the cemetery, she dropped to the foot of one bearing the name, "Harry Potter," in gold letters.
"Harry, you can't leave me," she sobbed. "I don't know what to do without you. Please, don't go."
She clambered over to the next one, wiping dust off the nameplate that said, "Ronald Weasley."
"Ron, don't you go, either. You've always been my light, my laughter. Please don't leave me!" She began sobbing wildly, banging her fists against the cold, hard pavement of the street. Mr. Weasley came up behind her again, and grabbed her underneath the arms. Mrs. Weasley's tempestuous sobbing came from the door to the church.
"Hermione, they're gone," he told her firmly. "They're gone; they can't come back!"
"I don't believe you!" Hermione screamed in his face. "They can't be gone." She turned to Harry's casket again as Ron's was loaded onto the carriage. "Harry, you've been immortal over the years. You've survived so much. You can't die now. Not after all you've been through!"
Mr. Weasley pulled her back again roughly as Harry's casket was loaded beside Ron's. Wailing until her head throbbed, Hermione watched, hands outstretched as her best friends were carried away from her forever.
