Hello. I am back with a POST HARRY POTTER AND THE HALFBLOOD PRINCE fiction. Beware of Spoilers.
Italian Dressing
Hermione stares into the open refrigerator, softly humming an unrecognizable tune as she searches for something. Her eyes pass over where it should sit, momentarily stopping to check if it's there. She grazes her hand down the door, as if trying to feel for something that she knows is there. Her fingertips catch and collect debris as her hand makes it route downward. The sticky marmite, a jar of open mustard, melted butter lying half open. She brings her hand to her face and dots her forehead with her homemade paint, carefully outlining all her new wrinkles, lines she shouldn't get until her forties.
It's not there. The Italian dressing can't be gone. She mentally reprimands herself, still searching the refrigerator. I won't let it be. It's not gone. It's not. It's not. Her eyes catch a glimmer of orange. Sunlight that teases her, makes her think of other things long gone. She settles for coffee. For dark, real, tangible coffee. No creamer exists in Hermione's world, no light where there should be dark.
She heads for the coffeepot, slowly tiptoeing. A boy sits at the table, waiting patiently for Italian dressing that Hermione knows is never coming. His legs swing underneath the chair, one sock on, one off. He hums the same tune as Hermione.
Hermione stops humming when she remembers where she learned the song. She trips on nothing, but catches herself on the counter. She asks the boy is he'd rather have lunch at Mrs. Weasley's. The boy gives his consent and goes through a door, possibly to get his missing sock. Hermione pours herself coffee. She stares at her reflection in her silver spoon. She is reminded of a warrior. She washes it off, tears mingling with the soapy water.
The boy comes into view, trailing another. The leader has dark red hair with pale skin. He marches like a king. The second boy, who waited for his Italian dressing, has taken off his sock. He is to wear sandals then. Hermione sips her coffee. It is cool enough. She takes the keys off the kitchen table and motions with them. The boys file out into the corridor. A distinct clicking of a lock is heard. It echoes through the dark wallpapered halls, reaching the ears of the boys.
Two doors down is a girl. Her red hair is very long. Hermione talks to here. The girl answers without moving any part of her body. "Hello Ginny." Hermione's voice is quiet, soothing even.
"Hello Hermione. Harry. Ron." Ginny's voice is slow; her mouth forms words as if she has all the time in the world. She does.
"We're off to see your mum." Hermione walks towards Ginny and grabs her hand. "He never changed it you know."
Ginny mumbles something as a tear trickles down her cheek. She grasps the handle on the door and turns it. Hermione catches a glimpse of something before Ginny disappears behind the wood. Her lip quivers slightly. She turns and hurries her children down the stairs.
Ginny opens her eyes when the footsteps become inaudible. She wants him to herself. The room looks as if someone has just left. She wishes it were so. She slips off her shoes and lays them down on the carpet. A small dust cloud covers them. A coat is carelessly draped over a couch. The bedroom door is open. Ginny walks through. The bed is unmade. Dirty clothes caked with dust litter the floor. Upon the wall is a picture. He is in it. She is sitting next to him, her head lying on his shoulder. What she wouldn't give to be that Ginny. By the lake, without a care in the world. Before Horcruxes of course. Another salty tear quietly falls down her face.
Two more, and more, still silently her body shakes. She loves him still. Would he love her? She leaves the room. The kitchen is the same. A note on the fridge reminds someone to pick up some milk for dinner. The fridge is empty; Hermione has taken care of that. Ginny sniffles. Under all the dust, the stale air, is his scent. It still lingers. 7 years. Ginny picks up and puts on her shoes. Hermione still pays the rent for Harry's place. The door closes and the only thing that would tell you a person had just been there are footprints. Small, light footprints on the carpet.
Hermione sits on the bus, brushing stray brown hairs out of Ron's blue eyes. She remembers Ron's look when she told him she was pregnant. His body seemed to light up, but maybe that was just the green light of the curse that seconds later hit him in the back. Harry killed Tom soon after. She remembered everyone's face as they died, enemy or ally. When Lucius Malfoy stabbed Fleur, her hair had flown around her face and she resembled an angel. Her curse before her death had worked. MacNair was dead. He had mutilated Bill with the Imperius, made him rip out his insides with his bare hands. Bill had seemed peaceful.
Neville killed Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black, before he met his end at the wand of Snape. Luna had died fighting Bellatrix. She had come to battle leading an army of Thestrals. She looked like the Death Maiden, long, wavy blond hair standing straight up. Hermione supposed it looked like that because of the magic in the air. She was hit by a curse and fell off the Thestral, snapping her neck and instantly joining her mother. Hermione watched all of this, silently hiding, made to be witness by Tonks and Lupin.
Lupin fought magnificently, killing Snape as Tonks crucioed Peter Pettigrew. Lupin also killed Fenir Greyback. Greyback had torn Tonk's body in two. Lupin still resides in Grimmauld Place. He is blind.
Charlie died early, during the Dragon Rebellion. His funeral was a month after Dumbledore's. Fred and George were found in their Joke Shop, bodies burnt and hung behind their desks. Mr. Weasley is still missing, presumed dead. Only Ginny (who doesn't count for much, she's a vampire and can't die) Mrs. Weasley, and Percy (who doesn't talk anymore, a spell took his voice and his dream to become Minister) are still alive.
The bus has stopped. Hermione, Ron, and Harry walk off, immediately running to another bus. They know the routine. Harry begs with Hermione to let them sit on top. Hermione glances at his hair and gives in. She hands her pass to the driver. He smiles as her stares hungrily at her two sons. Pervert, she thinks.
They climb the stairs and sit at the back. It's drizzling so Harry tries to catch raindrops on his tongue. The rain falls harder. Hermione pulls an umbrella out of thin air. The boys don't ask, they climb underneath. Lightning flashes. They count together softly. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7! Ron jumps. Harry hugs Hermione. Hermione let's tears fall openly. They won't notice if it's raining. She tells them a story. They won't be there for another hour, she warns. Better keep warm. Again, the boys don't ask. They are warm and dry now. Don't complain. They lean closer to hear the end of the story. The thunder sounds as if God is clapping. Harry and Ron clap too. They've reached their destination. They climb downstairs. The other passengers look strangly at Hermione and the two boys. The umbrella is gone, but they are still dry. They leave the bus.
Harry sees it first. A rundown sign with a picture of a cauldron tells Hermione he's right. A bell tinkles as they open the door. While Tom hurriedly gets the boys' drinks Hermione catches a glimpse of an orange tail by the door. She blinks. She tells Tom thanks, but explains that they are only passing through. He nods his head and gestures towards the fireplace. Hermione hands Tom a gold coin. They are rare these days. The three vanish in the green flame, the boys yelling "Burrow!"
There is no clock on Mrs. Weasley's kitchen wall. She is sitting on an armchair holding a toy mouse. A trick wand. She wipes away her tears when she hears voices from the fireplace. For a moment she believes it's Percy, finally able to talk again. Her eyes light up but they dim when she turns. It's only her. Her bones creak as she slides out of the chair. She is old. Her hair no longer resembles the sun; its colour is dark grey, almost a mirror image of the sky outside.
She hugs her grandchildren, her only grandchildren, but refrains from touching her.
Hermione looks old. Mrs. Weasley is reminded of Remus. Hermione's frizzy chocolate locks are already dull, lifeless. Her wrinkles make her look middle-aged. She remembers after the war, when she came and asked permission to name her son's after Ron and Harry. She had felt pity, so her consent was given.
Harry and Ron were as different as twins could be. Harry had dark auburn hair and a pale, frightened face. Despite his facial features, Harry was always happy and bubbly. Ron had light brown curly hair, and such blue eyes. He was intelligent but so quiet compared to her Ron. Their lives would be so different if they had a father.
But they had lost so much. Both of them, all of them. Mrs. Wealsey pulls a surprised Hermione into a hug and kisses her. Hermione's face brightens, she feels accepted. Mrs. Weasley is glad. She makes Harry and Ron salads. Hermione gets the Italian Dressing.