Chapter 1: Completely and Utterly Gone
Hermione climbed through the portrait hole. Tears stained her face. She knew her eyes must be very red indeed. She walked unsteadily over to the nearest armchair and flopped down on it. The grief tore at her relentlessly. She felt as if she were falling into a spiral abyss. A weight somewhere in the depths of her heart was pulling her down. No cheering charm could fix this. All was black around her. The light from above was growing ever dimmer, and it would soon cease to exist.
The funeral had brought the truth crashing down on her. Dumbledore was gone. The single greatest wizard she had ever met had perished. Perhaps the greatest since the times of Merlin. As soon as the tomb had formed around Dumbledore's body, she knew. He was no longer a part of her life. He was completely and utterly gone.
And Snape had killed him. The bastard. Hermione subconciously took note of the fact that that was the first time she had ever flat out insulted a teacher. But Snape was evil. Evil was a strong word, but Snape suited it perfectly. The ugly, slimy, hook-nosed son of a bitch had decieved all of them. He even tricked Dumbledore into believing he was on our side, Hermione thought bitterly. And then what had he done? He had betrayed us. She felt the anger quickly taking hold of her. It felt good to be able to push some of her grief aside, so she allowed the anger to consume her. That was not how a teacher was supposed to act. Teachers were supposed to be caring, orderly, and willing to support the fight against evil. Teachers were supposed to give O's to those who deserved them, and award house points to those who answered questions correctly in class. Snape just called her an insufferable know-it-all.
Hermione could feel her cheeks redden with rage inside her. She dug her fingernails into the arm cushions of her scarlet armchair. Stuffing poked out, but she really didn't care. She fought the urge to throw herself at everything and everyone in the near-empty common room and tear them all into tiny, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean-size pieces. Her teeth ground together audibly with a ferosity she had not thought possible of her. Maybe Harry, but surely not her. Poor Harry. This must be ten times harder for him. She felt some of the anger she had been feeling moments before ebbing away. Hermione knew that Harry and Professor Dumbledore had become very close in this past year.
Dumbledore had probably become the closest thing Harry had had to a father recently. Anyone Harry had ever known to be a male authority figure he could look up to and share his feelings and worries with was now dead. James…Sirius…Dumbledore… It isn't fair!
And Snape had killed Harry's latest father-figure. Hermione found herself swearing to find Snape and wreck vengeance upon him. This was, after all, completely her fault. All those times she could have hexed Snape to the underworld in potions's class and she had restrained herself, thinking that attacking a teacher was very very wrong. She should have made Snape an exception. She should have wiped that nasty shiver-inducing smirk off his face when she had the chance. She should have let Harry and Ron murder him all those times when he was an unfair git, deducting Gryffindor house points and handing out detentions and D's as if he ruled the world. It would have made Ron so happy to cause Snape some grief for once.
Ron… Her heart lightened as she remembered the way he had held her out on the lawn, just minutes earlier. His stomach was so warm and muscular. Hermione had needed a place to rest her head and expel the tears that were freely creating twin rivers on her face. The expensive make-up she had applied for the funeral was splotched. And she felt guilty for covering Ron's sweater in puddles. And yet, oh God, it felt so right, sitting there in his arms. Ron didn't seem to mind the dampness. He had wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to comfort them both. Hermione couldn't help but notice that his eyes were dark with an empty sadness, and at that moment, she would've given anything, even her ten Outstanding O.W.L.'s to take that sadness away.
They had sat there, out on the lawn for what seemed like an eternity of eternities for Hermione, sharing their grief with one another, holding each other for comfort and support, neither wanting to let go of the other. Hermione knew it was much more than a friendly hug. She needed him. Especially in these hard times when nasty people like Voldemort and Snape enjoyed causing terrible pain and sorrow among everyone.
But then Ron had released her. Hermione started at the lack of his wonderful arms. She wasn't ready for him to leave yet.
"I have to go pack," Ron explained. Hermione would have scoffed at this under any normal circumstances, Ron was never organised enough to do anything more than toss his belongings half-heartedly into his trunk, but she couldn't change the tortured features of her face into anything close to amusement right then. "The train leaves in an hour," Ron had noted.
An hour? How could she have forgotten? The train back to Platform 9 ¾ was scheduled to depart exactly one hour after the funeral. It was a symbol of how much Hermione had had on her mind that day that her sharp mind had forgotten this minor detail in her day.
Hermione had trudged upstairs to rest on the armchair she was seated in now. She felt oddly detatched from the world, as if she were watching her own life on a muggle television. Her senses were dulled and she felt like she was actually inside her own mind, a mind darkened with despair right now. Is this how Harry felt when he lost Sirius last year?
Hermione was yanked out of her agonized mind when she felt a sharp jab at her left shoulder. She grudgingly turned her head silently swearing to avada whover was standing there's ass. It was Lavender, much to Hermione's distaste.
Lavender didn't look at all sorry for poking Hermione so hard. In fact, she looked as if she had thoroughly enjoyed it. "Excuse me," Lavender said in the highest, sweetest voice she could manage. Hermione could tell it was completely fake. "Aren't those Won-Won's boxers lying there?" She pointed at an old pair of maroon boxers with little brooms on them sitting on a table in the corner.
Hermione desperately tried not to think about how Lavender might know what Ron's boxers looked like. She recognized them, of course, from the time one month ago, when she had decided to organize the contents of Ron's trunk, which were spilling all over the sixth year boy's dormitory floor.
"Yes, I believe they are Ron's," Hermione replied in an equally false tone. She stalked over to the table, fuming over Lavender's evilness. Yes, if anyone is evil, it is she, Miss I-love-to-slob-all-over-innocent-boys'-faces. She smirked a little as she snatched the boxers off the table and marched over to the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories.
The thought to just leave the boxers in the common room and make Ron go get them was appealing. How else would he learn? And she did quite enjoy ordering Ron around. It made her feel powerful, like she would come out on top in anything they did together. But the temptation to see the expression on Ron's face when she slipped into his dormitory, alone, fondling a pair of his boxers was just too good of an opportunity to miss. Her change in emotions was extroardinary. She was suddenly feeling something that she was not at all used too. She felt like making mischief. She felt just a little bit horny. Is this what always happens when one undergoes life-changing experiences? She made a mental note to look it up in a book about the ways of emotion next time she went to the library.
Hermione swung into the room at the top of the boy's staricase swinging her hips slightly, her toungue brushing against the maroon fabric of Ron's boxers. It took her a moment to realize that the room was empty. Hermione felt a bit foolish standing there, licking Ron's boxers. Then something caught her eye.
The sunlight from the window fell across Ron's pillow, where something red and shiny was sticking out of his pillowcase. Hermione picked it up. Must be something he forgot to pack. It was a diary with the name "Ron Weasley" on the front cover. Below his name were the words, "F&G, if you ever and I mean EVER open this, I will…I will…well I don't know what I'd do right now, but you will come out looking even more hilarious than that time when you grew beards trying to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament!" It had little black hearts on the corners that seemed to have been crossed out in thick black ink. Hermione giggled at his attempt to make it look more manly.
It seemed her trip up the boy's dormitory would be useful after all.