Five-
Hermione's insides seemed frozen as she felt Voldemort's hard cold hands against her skin and beheld Harry, barely even looking concerned at her plight. "Harry!" She called again, "Harry, did you curse Ron?"
A light glittered in the young man's eyes that made Hermione forget for a moment where she was. His eyes, now wide and concerned, reminded her of countless adventures they had had, and it seemed, for moment, the two friends had connected with their combined grief.
"Ron?" Harry asked, lowering his wand. Before Hermione could answer she was thrown hard to the ground by Voldemort's strong hands. Voldemort raised his wand and shouted a spell aimed at Harry.
A shower of blue mist covered him, and Harry staggered back, his green eyes livid with rage.
"You distracted me!" He roared at Hermione, and then screamed a curse at Voldemort. Hermione cowered on the pavement, horrified at Harry's reaction and condition.
Voldemort sidestepped the jet of light, and made a point to kick Hermione on the side of her head.
Reeling in pain, she tried to focus her eyes, but found a heavy fog now surrounded her vision. In seconds the world was black.
"Wake up Miss Granger," a soft voice commanded. Dazedly, Hermione fluttered her eyes open to see Dumbledore knelt by her.
"Harry!" She exclaimed, "And Voldemort! They were fighting- we have to save him."
Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, and she looked around. She was in the street and night still clung to the sky.
"It's too late." Dumbledore sighed, gesturing to the ground. A ways off a pile of ashes lay strewn about, and propped against a boarded up shop was an unconsious Harry.
Scrambling over to him, Hermione dropped down to his head and lifted his slack head up.
"It's not too late!" She exclaimed, cradling his head to her chest as she looked imploringly at the headmaster.
Dumbledore shook his head mournfully, "I came just after Mr. Potter had killed Lord Voldemort. I talked to Harry; his heart has been consumed by loss. Revenge was all he spoke of, and there was not a trace of compassion in his voice."
"He cares about Ron!" Hermione countered, growing angry, "He asked me about him but then-" she stopped, remembering the look of loathing he had rested on her for catching his attention. Such cold fury she had seen nowhere else.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but then caught himself, watching Hermione kiss Harry's head as she held him close.
"He's hurt!" She said, trying to lift him to his feet, "We must take him to Mungo's."
"No."
Dumbledore's tone had suddenly become stern and harsh, "He has killed his aunt and tortured Severus Snape. He won't stop there."
"If we leave him here he'll die!" Hermione raged, looking up at Dumbledore. Seeing the sorrowful yet resigned look in his eyes she realized what he meant to do, and what he expected of her.
"No!" She cried, clutching Harry's unconsious form. Dumbledore drew nearer, and placed a hand on her shoulder, "He feels nothing right now, when he slips from our world to the next the transistion will be smooth and painless."
"Harry," Hermione whispered, feeling her grip on him loosen. Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, both hands planted on her shoulders in an authoritive way. Hermione gazed down at the sleeping form of her friend and memories flashed in a merciless way across her mind.
The headmaster began to guide her away from Harry, but Hermione shrugged his hands from her and threw herself sobbing on Harry.
"You can't die!"
Dumbledore seized her and started drawing her away again, more firmly this time, whispering, "It's too late, Hermione, there's nothing I can do. I am sorry."
Hermione wept in protest to no avail, her eyes never lifting from the figure in his wakeless sleep.
Hermione sat at the old table, watching the candle. The flame was merely a bright blue stub in the ocean of grey-brown wax. It had once been a tall, proud column of white gold, but now it burned weakly, nearly suffocated in its surroundings.
She thought of Ron, how he had come home from Mungo's the other day. How his face had twisted in anger and pain when she told him of Harry. How it took both Fred, George, and Ginny to hold their brother back as he tried to launch himself on Hermione and Dumbledore in fury.
She hadn't spoken to him since then.
The grief, nay, the torment of it all weighed Hermione's heart to a depth she hadn't known possible. Every time the second hand on the wall of the Leaky Cauldren ticked reminded her that she was still horribly conscious. Still breathing. Still, to her disgust, living.
Her hand wrapped around her goblet of water and she tried to drink. The tepid liquid touched her lips, but she set the goblet back down on the table.
"Hermione, it's almost morning."
His voice made her start and knock her drink over. She jumped to her feet and faced Ron, biting her lip, not knowing what to say.
Swiftly, Ron flicked his wand at the mess to clean it up, selected another goblet, and filled both up with water. He sat down across from her and looked at her face.
"What are you doing still up?" She asked, avoiding his eyes.
"Guilty conscience."
Hermione raised her eyes up to his neck, but said nothing.
"I-I'm sorry about what I said-earlier." Ron stammered, "It must have been awful for you to do that- I was an idiot to blame-"
He stopped, seeing Hermione bury her face in her hands.
"But I did do it, Ron!" She exclaimed, her voice breaking into soft sobs.
"It was for everyone else that he died, though," Ron said, quoting Dumbledore, "it's not your fault."
Hermione met Ron's eyes finally, "That doesn't stop me from missing him!"
"I know, I know." Ron replied, seizing her hand and holding it tight. The two sat in silence for a time, letting time forget them until the sun began to rise.
"A toast," Ron began suddenly, his other hand encircling his goblet. Hermione weakly held hers a few inches off the table, and waited.
Seeing the golden rays of the sun thinly cut through the smudged panes, knowing that both their lives would never be the same, Ron gave a small smile, for once knowing exactly what to say.
"To Harry Potter- the boy who lived."
Hermione's insides seemed frozen as she felt Voldemort's hard cold hands against her skin and beheld Harry, barely even looking concerned at her plight. "Harry!" She called again, "Harry, did you curse Ron?"
A light glittered in the young man's eyes that made Hermione forget for a moment where she was. His eyes, now wide and concerned, reminded her of countless adventures they had had, and it seemed, for moment, the two friends had connected with their combined grief.
"Ron?" Harry asked, lowering his wand. Before Hermione could answer she was thrown hard to the ground by Voldemort's strong hands. Voldemort raised his wand and shouted a spell aimed at Harry.
A shower of blue mist covered him, and Harry staggered back, his green eyes livid with rage.
"You distracted me!" He roared at Hermione, and then screamed a curse at Voldemort. Hermione cowered on the pavement, horrified at Harry's reaction and condition.
Voldemort sidestepped the jet of light, and made a point to kick Hermione on the side of her head.
Reeling in pain, she tried to focus her eyes, but found a heavy fog now surrounded her vision. In seconds the world was black.
"Wake up Miss Granger," a soft voice commanded. Dazedly, Hermione fluttered her eyes open to see Dumbledore knelt by her.
"Harry!" She exclaimed, "And Voldemort! They were fighting- we have to save him."
Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, and she looked around. She was in the street and night still clung to the sky.
"It's too late." Dumbledore sighed, gesturing to the ground. A ways off a pile of ashes lay strewn about, and propped against a boarded up shop was an unconsious Harry.
Scrambling over to him, Hermione dropped down to his head and lifted his slack head up.
"It's not too late!" She exclaimed, cradling his head to her chest as she looked imploringly at the headmaster.
Dumbledore shook his head mournfully, "I came just after Mr. Potter had killed Lord Voldemort. I talked to Harry; his heart has been consumed by loss. Revenge was all he spoke of, and there was not a trace of compassion in his voice."
"He cares about Ron!" Hermione countered, growing angry, "He asked me about him but then-" she stopped, remembering the look of loathing he had rested on her for catching his attention. Such cold fury she had seen nowhere else.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but then caught himself, watching Hermione kiss Harry's head as she held him close.
"He's hurt!" She said, trying to lift him to his feet, "We must take him to Mungo's."
"No."
Dumbledore's tone had suddenly become stern and harsh, "He has killed his aunt and tortured Severus Snape. He won't stop there."
"If we leave him here he'll die!" Hermione raged, looking up at Dumbledore. Seeing the sorrowful yet resigned look in his eyes she realized what he meant to do, and what he expected of her.
"No!" She cried, clutching Harry's unconsious form. Dumbledore drew nearer, and placed a hand on her shoulder, "He feels nothing right now, when he slips from our world to the next the transistion will be smooth and painless."
"Harry," Hermione whispered, feeling her grip on him loosen. Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, both hands planted on her shoulders in an authoritive way. Hermione gazed down at the sleeping form of her friend and memories flashed in a merciless way across her mind.
The headmaster began to guide her away from Harry, but Hermione shrugged his hands from her and threw herself sobbing on Harry.
"You can't die!"
Dumbledore seized her and started drawing her away again, more firmly this time, whispering, "It's too late, Hermione, there's nothing I can do. I am sorry."
Hermione wept in protest to no avail, her eyes never lifting from the figure in his wakeless sleep.
Hermione sat at the old table, watching the candle. The flame was merely a bright blue stub in the ocean of grey-brown wax. It had once been a tall, proud column of white gold, but now it burned weakly, nearly suffocated in its surroundings.
She thought of Ron, how he had come home from Mungo's the other day. How his face had twisted in anger and pain when she told him of Harry. How it took both Fred, George, and Ginny to hold their brother back as he tried to launch himself on Hermione and Dumbledore in fury.
She hadn't spoken to him since then.
The grief, nay, the torment of it all weighed Hermione's heart to a depth she hadn't known possible. Every time the second hand on the wall of the Leaky Cauldren ticked reminded her that she was still horribly conscious. Still breathing. Still, to her disgust, living.
Her hand wrapped around her goblet of water and she tried to drink. The tepid liquid touched her lips, but she set the goblet back down on the table.
"Hermione, it's almost morning."
His voice made her start and knock her drink over. She jumped to her feet and faced Ron, biting her lip, not knowing what to say.
Swiftly, Ron flicked his wand at the mess to clean it up, selected another goblet, and filled both up with water. He sat down across from her and looked at her face.
"What are you doing still up?" She asked, avoiding his eyes.
"Guilty conscience."
Hermione raised her eyes up to his neck, but said nothing.
"I-I'm sorry about what I said-earlier." Ron stammered, "It must have been awful for you to do that- I was an idiot to blame-"
He stopped, seeing Hermione bury her face in her hands.
"But I did do it, Ron!" She exclaimed, her voice breaking into soft sobs.
"It was for everyone else that he died, though," Ron said, quoting Dumbledore, "it's not your fault."
Hermione met Ron's eyes finally, "That doesn't stop me from missing him!"
"I know, I know." Ron replied, seizing her hand and holding it tight. The two sat in silence for a time, letting time forget them until the sun began to rise.
"A toast," Ron began suddenly, his other hand encircling his goblet. Hermione weakly held hers a few inches off the table, and waited.
Seeing the golden rays of the sun thinly cut through the smudged panes, knowing that both their lives would never be the same, Ron gave a small smile, for once knowing exactly what to say.
"To Harry Potter- the boy who lived."