The house was quiet as she moved down the stairs. It looked like the Burrow, smelled like the Burrow. It just didn't feel like it anymore, it was almost like the soul had been removed. The heart was the gone, the beat had stopped. Everyone moved as they always had, fighting hard to retain normalcy.
Hermione herself struggled just as they did, pretending to everyone that she was alright. Fighting to keep her grief hidden away. Questions without answers could be left for another day, a day when her heart didn't feel like a fist was clenching it continuously, and a day when she could answer them. Months ago the hardest thing was keeping it to herself, stopping the physical reaction whenever he walked into a room, resisting the urge to be next to him, remaining cool and calm on the other side of the room.
While pretending had been difficult, nothing had compared to this. She didn't want to speak to anyone, she didn't want to see anyone. She would love to go back to her bed, pull the covers over herself, and ignore everyone and everything. That wasn't on the options list, standing outside the kitchen door hesitating about going in wasn't an option either.
Mrs. Weasley could be heard, bustling around the kitchen. Hermione stood in the doorway, and just watched her for a moment. Her routine was set from years of practising it, she moved around at ease. It looked like everything was in order, pots on the stove top boiled and sizzled, dishes in the sink were rinsing themselves. Mrs. Weasley herself was busy keeping everything in order, including herself. Everything was running perfectly, not a fault to be seen. Hermione knew the signs, she could read them so well on another.
She was keeping her world in order, being careful not to let anything slip; because as soon as that happened, the whole thing would fall to its feet.
"Morning dear," she said as she moved.
"Morning," Hermione said, the good part of the greeting had been missing all week.
"Come in," she motioned her forward. "Would you care for some breakfast?"
"I'm not particularly hungry today."
"Nonsense, you need to eat," she said, pushing the chair that she had ushered her into closer to the table. "We all need to eat, especially on days like these."
Hermione quickly realised it would be useless to fight her, so she didn't object when the toast was placed in front of her, and the teapot placed beside it. With a pat on her shoulder, she returned to her tasks. Hermione dutifully took a bite of the, and under the watchful eye she chewed, and swallowed it down her dry throat. It was the first thing she had eaten in days, she had found that if she pushed things around her plate enough, she escaped being force fed. There was just little, or in some cases no desire for the normal things at the moment.
As she continued to eat, Mrs. Weasley kept herself busy, keeping everything running smoothly. Removing a dish of biscuits from the oven, then stirring a pot on top of the stove. She crossed to the other side of the room, and grabbing some serving dishes from the shelf, she placed them next to the stove.
Hermione sat quietly, chewing slowly, figuring the longer she chewed the more it seemed like she was eating. Not that it mattered, Mrs. Weasley had become so focused on her tasks, on keeping herself busy to her pay her any attention anymore. Much to Hermione's relief, so she pushed the plate to the middle of the table. She spooned a few sugars into a cup of tea, she chose to drink rather than eat. The hot liquid soothing her dry throat as she swallowed.
Mrs. Weasley without a thought picked her plate off the table, emptying it's contents into the trash. She was humming as she moved, the sound unfamiliar. Hermione couldn't fault her for what she was doing, or attempting to do. In times like these, they all had to hang onto some semblance of what they had before, no matter how ridiculous it seemed at the time. If Mrs. Weasley wanted to pretend for a little while that her would still revolved as normal. At least before she had to something a mother should never have to do, that was perfectly alright in her book.
She crossed the floor in front of Hermione, two full dishes floating in front of her. A loud crash from upstairs caused her attention to waver, and the dishes fell to the floor as a result. They smashed instantly, pieces of china mixed with the food, it all spreading over the floor. Mrs. Weasley cursed mildly under her breath, crouching on her knees she started to clean it up, picking up the larger pieces.
Hermione got up from the table, moving around it to assist her.
"No need to help dear," she said quietly. "I'll have it cleaned up in no time at all."
"And it will be quicker with my help," Hermione smiled softly, summoning the rubbish bin to them.
"Thank you dear."
Hermione kept her eyes on the mess in front of them, she stopped picking up the pieces when she noticed the tremor in Mrs. Weasley's hand. Her own hand reached for it, and held it tightly within her own. She closed her eyes as she heard the sob, the tears welling up in her own eyes as she heard the first visible sign of her grief. Hermione wrapped her arms around the older witch's shoulders, holding her tight as the tears took over. It was only natural that this would happen, she realised as Mrs. Weasley clung to her. She, they both had been holding it in, keeping it together in front of everyone. But it only took one thing, no matter how small, or unimportant to bring it all to the fore.
A hand pressed against her shoulder, and she looked up to see Arthur looking down at them, an unreadable expression on his face. Wordlessly Hermione stood, pulling herself away from Mrs. Weasley. He instantly moved into her position, holding his wife against him as she mutter unintelligible things through her tears.
She could hear two words though, repeated several times. Hermione could hear them as she left the room, heading to the fresh air outside, the words echoing through her.
My son.
Hermione held the jar secure in her hand as she moved through the corridors, students were everywhere in varying degrees of disbelief. She garnered several looks as she walked past them, all of because of her friend who lay in a dreamless sleep in the hospital wing below. They had questions, the how, the why, and they more than likely assumed that she would have the answers. Little did they know, she was just like them. Even knowing the how and the why did little to make her not question it. The signs had been there for months, they'd just been distracted, not looking for them. That tournament had hypnotised them for months, and they were now possibly paying the consequences. A life had been taken, the first of many it would seem, they didn't realise that though. They were locked in some little world where the past was just that, the past. It had become the now tonight, there lives were changed forever, and their future quite possibly ripped away from them. They were too wrapped up in their shock, grief and disbelief to take the time to see that at this point though.
The Common Room unsurprisingly was packed at this late hour, students hadn't even changed into nightclothes despite it being past eleven. They crowded around tables, and the fireplace, talking amongst themselves. No doubt about the same thing. All eyes turned to her as the portrait slammed shut behind her, and the questions instantly started.
"How's Harry?"
"What the hell was he saying down there?"
"I heard him say he's back, who is back?"
"Not, you-know-who?"
"Stop!" George said loudly, standing in front of her, shielding her from their eyes. "Her best friend is in the bloody hospital wing you inconsiderate jerks, the girl needs some bloody peace."
Fred came and stood beside her, "Are you okay Granger?"
She nodded quickly, "I"ll be fine, it's hardly first time he's been in there."
He smiled slightly, "This is different Granger, you know that. How is he?"
"He'll be fine, he's sleeping, and Ron and your mum are going to stay through the night, just in case."
"Why aren't you?"
She ran her fingers around the top of the jar, "I had something to take care of. It's for Harry, so I figured it was important enough to leave him."
"Okay, if you need anything, George and I can help alright?" He whispered, leaning closer to her. "We feel pretty useless up here, listening to these sods muse amongst themselves."
"They just have questions, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will have answers for them soon, and you aren't useless."
He beamed down at her, "Whatever you say Granger. I reckon McGonagall is going to send us all to bed soon anyway, are you going to stay up here?"
Hermione nodded, "I'm useless down there. Harry is sleeping, and I can't stare at those walls anymore." She stared down at the jar, and the small angry beetle inside, running her fingers along the grooves in the side of the glass.
Without warning, two strong arms wrapped around her middle, "Well, we'll be useless together. Come over by the fire," he said, letting her go, only to place an arm around her shoulder. "We will sit here, and talk about something stupid," he sat her down, sitting beside her. "If you want, we can talk about feelings, just as long as you don't start talking about boys you fancy. That's not on the cards for tonight."
"I'm fine, I'd really just like to sleep," she sighed, placing the jar in her pocket.
"You can't sleep yet, because if you do I guarantee, there will be nightmares, or bad dreams of some kind if you do manage to sleep." Hermione knew he was right, she closed her eyes now, and she could picture it. Only it wasn't Cedric that had died, two figures fell to the ground in front of the crowd, and it was Cedric who sat up. Telling Professor Dumbledore that Voldemort was back, and Harry was dead. She knew it wasn't so, but every time she closed her eyes, it was hard to convince herself that it wasn't the case. Especially when it so easily could be.
She didn't realise she was crying till a calloused thumb wiped a tear from her cheek, and a hand placed a tissue in her lap. It was with that simple act that the tears started flowing down her face, continuing as Fred wrapped his arm around her again, holding her as she sobbed.