Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would not be sitting through a bunch of exams this week. Simple logic.
A/N: Yes, I have finally updated. My muse has come back to me (hoorah!) and I'm starting to feel out this story. If anyone would like to beta-read for me, I'd very much appreciate it. Special thanks to Funny-Gal, R.K. Thompson, Never Knowing, Quills 'N Ink, and En Parodia for your reviews—you make me feel so loved. I'm rather pleased with this chapter, and I hope you are too. Please don't forget to review! Thanks, and as always, enjoy!
Chapter 2: RememberingFive o' clock in the morning found Hermione Weasley awake with a cup of coffee, poring over Ministry documents once more in an effort to distract herself from the nightmares that had once again plagued her dreams. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that picture of the final battle out of her head.
The shot had become famous; a photographer from the Prophet had actually captured one unbelievable frame where a group of twelve Hogwarts students, all that remained at that point of Dumbledore's Army, battled fiercely against a seemingly endless wall of death eaters. It had shocked the Wizarding World when the photo was published the next day; the entire war seemed summed up in the desperate expressions of those twelve courageous youth fighting what seemed a hopeless battle.
It was an image that didn't fade.
Upon realizing that she had been staring off into space for nearly an hour, lost in thoughts about that day, Hermione gave up on her work and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Cooking was a hobby that she'd found rather comforting, once Molly had shown her tricks with magic to speed up the process. Twenty minutes later, three plates full of blueberry pancakes were warm and on the table, and Hermione was much more calm and composed. Sometimes it was only the most menial of tasks that could effectively overtake her thoughts. Cooking and brushing her daughter's hair were the best ways she'd found of distracting herself, although she couldn't begin to explain why.
As if on cue, Nev's face appeared between two rails of the banister. "Is breakfast ready?" she asked, looking hopeful.
Hermione smiled sweetly up at her little girl. "Yes, and I fixed your favorite. No, you know the rule," she chided as Nev began to run down the stairs, "We eat breakfast as a family."
The child pouted for a moment, but then brightened when she realized what that meant. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" she cried as she ran back up to her father's bedroom.
Sounds of a mattress creaking could be heard from downstairs as Nev clambered up onto her father's bed and began to jump up and down while chanting for Ron to get up. Hermione laughed as she imagined the scene, summoning some milk and dividing it up for the three of them. Squeals issued from the bedroom, and a moment later Ron emerged, carrying a delighted Nev by her feet. Her face had turned bright red as all the blood rushed to it, and the look on the young girl's face was priceless.
After a moment of victorious laughter, Ron set his daughter down and said, "So that's what happens when you wake Daddy up before he's ready." Nev giggled once more before racing down the stairs, her father following at a slightly slower pace and yawning.
"Morning," he said when he reached the kitchen, leaning over to peck Hermione on the cheek. "Up early, I see."
"Yes, well, someone's got to feed you two," she reminded him with a smile. "Oh, Ginevra, elbows off the table," she added sharply to her daughter.
For a while, the only noises that could be heard were the sounds of a contented family eating breakfast and the steady ticking of a small clock that was mounted on the wall in the corner. At six-thirty, the timepiece emitted a tune reminiscent of phoenix song, and Ron looked up from his plate. "We're supposed to be there at seven, yes?" he asked his wife as though he'd just remembered.
"Yes, so finish up; we need to floo over in about twenty minutes to make sure we get there in time," responded Hermione, rising to clean and reshelf her dishes.
Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow to a wealth of comforting sights; Molly had Nev in a tight embrace, Ron was talking quietly with his father, Percy was cooing over Fred and Angelina's newborn boy, George and Charlie were eating muffins at the table, and Bill was watching his two children alongside his wife Marie, who was expecting.
Molly immediately swept forward to gather Hermione in a hug, and the witch wished for a moment that they could gather like this more often under less depressing circumstances. "It's so nice to have the family all together again," whispered Mrs. Weasley gently. When they pulled apart, Hermione was not surprised to see tears already streaking Molly's face. Arthur stepped up and put an arm around his wife, offering quiet welcome to Hermione before looking around and addressing the room as a whole.
"Well, since everyone's here, I suppose we should head over before the crowds get too huge. There should be plenty of floo to go around, I just got a new jar yesterday." With that, he extended the jar to Bill, who took it with a grave look on his face. He took a small handful of the powder, passed the jar to his wife, and then tossed the floo powder into the fireplace, calling out, "The War Remembrance Museum!" as he stepped into the flames.
Solemnly, the rest of the group began to floo over to the memorial site; they silently gathered one by one in the crowded lobby of the museum.
"Come here, sweetie," murmured Hermione as she brushed some soot from Nev's sleeve. The rest of the Weasleys waited quietly as Charlie and George emerged from the flames before beginning their journey to the memorial.
The museum walls were filled with displays and histories of the various wars, all arranged in chronological order. Colin Creevey and his wife Annalise, a Ravenclaw four years his senior, had started the museum a few years after the war with Voldemort had ended. In an effort to educate the wizarding world about the horrors of their past, the pair spent a year and a half gathering pictures, newspaper articles, ministry records, news broadcasts, war relics, and memories of the wars from any and everyone they could. The result was the War Remembrance Museum: one half a preservation of history and the other a tribute to those who had fallen for the light.
The family moved forward silently through the various halls and exhibits, nodding respectfully to the others who had come to pay tributes to their heroes or to remind themselves just how lucky they were to still be alive.
"Mummy," said Nev in a small voice, tugging lightly on Hermione's sleeve. "Will you carry me?"
Within an instant, Ron had scooped up his daughter and was hoisted her onto his back. She immediately threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder, turning her eyes back to the all-too-familiar museum walls.
Hermione gave her husband a slightly disapproving look, and he slid his free hand around her waist reassuringly, drawing her close to him. Nev was certainly old enough to not need to be carried, as Hermione constantly reminded her husband, but Ron was never fully comfortable in such a pristine place memorializing such harsh and horrible wars and he wanted to keep his family close.
Hermione understood this and matched her husband's stride, trying to keep her head clear. It wouldn't do to break down here, she thought sadly as they passed a group of awestruck home-schooled children watching one of Dumbledore's less traumatic memories of Grindlewald.
"Wow," said one of the little boys. "It looks so real."
"No surprise, Merlin," snapped a taller girl with pigtails. "That's 'cus it is."
It certainly was, thought Hermione as they left the hall, it's all too real. Sliding closer to her husband, she tried once again to silence her thoughts as they entered the corridor documenting the last war. The area was packed with witches and wizards who had come to remember the all-too-recent victory of the light, and the general tragedy that was the epic final battle.
The crowds parted as much as possible in thebusy hall, and the noise from moments before quieted to near silence as the visitors recognized the Weasley party making their way through. Some in the crowd offered words of gratitude or hushed condolences, while others simply stood in quiet respect for the family that had given so much for the wizarding world.
For Hermione, the silence was nearly unbearable. She wanted to scream or cry out at the reality of it all, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. Instead, she clung to her husband, trying once more in vain to clear her thoughts.
After what seemed an eternity, the family entered the memorial chamber. The walls all around them were engraved with the names of the fallen, and the room was filled with sobbing parents and pensive widows who were leaving their remembrances around a large statue that both triumphant and tragic at the same time.
Colin had initially wanted it to be a statue of Harry, but Hermione and Ron had flat-out refused. It took the couple nearly two months to convince Creevey not to place too much unnecessary attention on the feats of the boy-who-lived, explaining that Harry would be more offended than honored by the action.
Hermione was pleased with the statue that was chosen, though; every time she saw it, she was strongly reminded of Harry and Ginny. Two figures stood side by side, symbols of the light. The witch had a single tear frozen on one cheek, and her mouth was open as though she was calling out a curse; her brow was furrowed and her robes were set in ripples as though a mighty wind was arresting her. Beside her, a taller scar-faced wizard looked dangerously off into the distance, his eyes narrowed in determination and his stance commanding. Both of their wands were raised evenly, tips touching in a symbol of unification, and their heads were raised, bravely waiting for whatever would befall them.
The inscription on the base beneath them read, "For the ones who fell; for the ones who fall; for the ones who gave for us all." Hermione bowed her head in a moment of reflection, and then the group progressed as a whole to the back wall, which bore Ginny's name along with so many others.
The Weasleys all huddled together in front of the right panel of the wall, staring as one at the delicate script paying eternal tribute to one Ginevra Molly Weasley. Bill stepped forward first, placing two fingers on her name, and the others closed in around him, drawing off each other for strength. "Ah, Gin," he said tenderly, "We miss you so much."
He stepped back after another moment and was replaced by Charlie, who offered similar sentiments. The remembrance continued in this fashion as Weasley after Weasley offered their thoughts to their only sister. Ron gently set Nev on the ground just before his turn,then stepped forward and placed his entire hand lovingly on his sister's name. "I know it was tough for all of us, Ginny," he whispered with his eyes closed, "but you've done us all proud. We'll never forget you."
Hermione sniffled weakly and leaned on her husband when he slid back into the protective circle, his face uncharacteristically blank. Molly and Arthur made their final statements, and once they had rejoined thegroup everyone spoke together, "We will always remember."
Bill was the first to break the circle after they had finished, wiping his face and walking purposefully outside, his family not far behind. Hermione hadn't realized how close he was to Ginny until after the war, when she had witnessed his breakdown that tragic night when they received word that the Ginny's body had been found.
The group dispersed slowly, all of them eventually making their way outside for the service that was to start in another twenty minutes. People had already begun to sit in the rows of chairs had been set up around stage that was just barely visible from the museum's back exit. The back doors opened into a rather large field that was used for various festivals during the year, as well as for more solemn events such as the memorial service that was taking place today.
Ron lead Hermione and Nev to a row of seats near the back, since none of the other Weasleys had claimed any spots yet. In fact, the only person near them was a small figure two rows back who was wearing a large black cloak with a closed hood so that their face was hidden from view. Hermione couldn't help but think of the death eaters in their hooded costumes, and she shivered involuntarily. Ron placed a reassuring hand on her knee, and she looked back at him with a weak smile of gratitude. Memories like that were far too frequent in places like these. Bill and his family came and sat by them a few minutes later, and the rest of the Weasleys filled up the row quickly after them.
The service began at eight-thirty, and it was a sad and solemn affair. Many tears were shed as different speeches were made about the past war and those who served in it. The service was being broadcast live to everyone, and the entire magical community seemed to stop for those two hours as the most well known figures in the wizarding world addressed the public at large.
The Minister of Magic was in the middle of his speech when Hermione realized that she was being watched. She had felt that familiar tingle on the back of her neck, the same as when she was at Hogwarts, and she slid closer to Ron for protection, placing an arm tightly around Nev's shoulders.
Ron looked over at his wife, worried, but she shook her head. "I just don't like being stared at," she murmured in a near-whisper, and Ron stroked Hermione's hair comfortingly. He knew the feeling. For a while as a student at Hogwarts, he had envied Harry's fame, but now that he had something similar, he realized just how truly unnerving it was to be watched constantly. It had started after those first news reports after the final battle, and it hadn't stopped sense.
Dumbledore stepped up to give his speech, and Hermione tried to focus her attention on his words. Still, the feeling of being watched was unsettling, so she turned slightly to look over her shoulder and try and determine who was looking at her. She'd found that if you made eye contact with the person looking at you, they'd often become self-conscious and stop staring.
Hermione scanned the crowd discreetly, pausing for a moment to watch the hooded figure. Their attention seemed to be focused on Dumbledore's speech, but Hermione couldn't help but feel that there was something out of place there, as though she had known this person before.
A few minutes later, her nerves got the best of her and Hermione peeked over her shoulder once more to try and identify the hooded figure, if she had in fact ever seen them before. What she saw was astounding. If it was who she—but no, not now, not after all these—
Hermione couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped as she locked eyes with the person. Those eyes were too familiar, too unexpected—they couldn't be here.
It was too much to process, especially at this time of year. Mind reeling, Hermione felt herself reacting the only way she could--she fainted easily into the lap of her now-terrified husband.