Six

Bad News

Bad news can either destroy you, define you or strengthen you; it is your choice on which one you let happen – my creative mind.

Sadness. It is when the heart spirals into a deep abyss. Shattering the warmth and confidence from within, quickly the feeling of security diminishes - wherein shame and confusion fills the gaps left behind.

Some lucky ones can get back up quickly with support from close bonds of people and with their own realisations that become their "truth".

But there are those who are not lucky. Experiencing deeper trauma after the first climatic one makes it harder for them. Even if they try to reach out for the "light" with all that they can, something or someone - even their own self - keeps pushing them down; thus, they sink deeper within themselves, farther away from happiness and positivity. Only a few can understand them. Always subtle like illusionary glasses, evasive from prying ones, secretive as the fading winds yet spews out the depths of their true emotions, as if it is to the fury of a fierce lava, earthquake, and geyser. What their "truth" becomes is what others don't see or know in a different manner. Although they are good in their own logical thinking, prolonged self-containment can at times mislead them from better judgment. They are locked within themselves, within their darkness. It takes time, oh great time, to quell their sadness.

Some, who are unfortunate, don't see a day where they are truly happy.

Harry Potter, in that moment, was one of those tortured souls. He had escaped from death, from Voldemort (although he would not dare to say the name aloud) too many times. He had grown tired. His own naivety meant the sacrifices of many of whom he loved. He just had to bury Dobby, a wise and caring soul, who gambled his own life for Harry's. He had to sacrifice Mad Eye Moody before that, Sirius before that, Cedric before that, his parents before that. Now, Hermione was gone. He dared think of the torturous possibilities.

Ron, who stood a few paces behind him, did not know what to do. He held the Tales of Beedle the Bard in his hands like a lifeline – his only solid reminder of Hermione in the time they had spent together in that year. He had loved the girl but over the years he found not the courage to confess the truth and had found that Hermione's feelings and his own were slowly fading. He was more in tune with her as a friend then anything other and it was time he embraced that. He did not want to lose his friend. He couldn't lose her.

Bill and Fleur stood a few paces behind Ron and they were the messenger's. The bringers of bad news.

"You might want to come inside and see this," Bill hesitantly said and led the party back into Shell Cottage. The fish and the seagulls of the sea would remark that the party looked like zombies in that moment; they looked utterly exhausted.

Once inside the party found the solemn looking Lupin, Harry still wasn't on the best of terms with him since Grimauld Place but they got along somewhat, his scarred face rather alarming in its negativity. He rested heavily on his scarred arms and the table beneath them. The table was engulfed with Daily Prophet pages. Moving photographs distracting Harry from the real importance of the situation.

Without a word being uttered, Lupin pulled out all four chairs around the table and motioned everyone onto them, preferring to stand himself.

"I know you just got back from a traumatising experience but – " Lupin halted his words, they seemed to get clogged up in his throat. Instead of speaking, he pointed at a page in the middle of the table.

The Brightest Witch of Our Age Dim-witted by the Dark.

Earlier today, the acclaimed Brightest Witch of Our Age Hermione Granger was incarcerated by the Dark Lord himself. Currently, she is awaiting trial for her numerous acts of treason to the wizarding world including; tainted blood, murder and using illegal spells. Let her capture be a moral to all those who dare to oppose the Dark Lord.

Underneath was an image of Hermione sleeping? Well, not sleeping exactly. It looked like she was lost within a nightmare as she was screaming, her body thrashing and arching and in terrible pain. Her hand punched at a stone wall next to her, the shackle bounding her wrist digging into her skin and creating more blood. There was blood on the mattress beneath, on her skin, everywhere. In the dim light of the photograph they could see bruises and scars. Suddenly, her eyes opened to reveal the dead whites and then terrified pupils. They searched around the room and when they found nothing, instantly closed. A lone tear drifted down her cheek.

She looked broken.

"That was published in every Daily Prophet yesterday morning." Lupin said with a deadened tone.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron demanded, his fists tightly clenched on his chair. He was barely containing himself.

"It wasn't the right time." Bill defended the wolf yet his brother's anger had reached its peak. His chair skidded back as Ron stood up.

"When is it the right time to tell us that Hermione is being tortured in there?" He shouted, "Didn't you think that we would like to know that little tit bit of information so that we could save her?"

"Zis is an outrage 'Arry, Ron, we 'ave been 'iding zis from you because you would storm in there and risk your lives!" Fleur piped up from her position, Bill rubbed her back to calm her down and Fleur seemed to deflate right before everybody's eyes.

"She's right, if we had told you, you would have gone straight back to Malfoy Manor and gotten killed. What would mom say to that huh?" Bill took a step towards Ron and put a hesitant hand on his brother's shoulder.

"And what would she say about Hermione being tortured? What would Hermione's parents say to that hmm?" Ron shrugged the hand off and sat back down, his arms crossed furiously over his chest.

"They're right…" Harry said, "Hermione wouldn't want us to storm in there to save her, she would say that we were both arses."

"How do we know what Hermione wants, she's being tortured to hell and back!"

"There's worse news from where that came from," Lupin rumbled.

The girl sat at a sturdy, old writing desk with a quill and a blank piece of paper.

"Don't say too much." An obnoxious voice echoed from upstairs, but the girl ignored it in favour for putting the quill down and trying to tame the wild mane of hair that had erupted from nerves. How was she going to put down in words everything she felt in such a short letter? She sighed forlornly and picked up the quill once more, letting the scratch of the quill write out the word dear and then she stopped. How would she form her words in a way that would allude to someone not like herself? She was out of her comfort zone here.

Screwing her eyes tightly shut, so tightly that she saw stars burst in the darkness behind her eyes, she thought. With her eyes still shut, she put the quill to paper and started writing words in a loopy font, different to her straight, linear script. She opened her eyes when it was done and exhaled heavily through pursed lips.

Now, all she had to do was build up the courage to send it.

Lupin then pointed to an article to their far right, it was almost flung dangerously off the table, out of sight. The article that was most important took up the entirety of page three of the Daily Prophet with a big bold headline and set under a picture of Hermione Granger hurrying out of Hogwarts Library, several books held in her hands;

The Life and Death of Hermione Granger

Hermione Granger, the acclaimed Brightest Witch of our age – the only female intelligent third of the Golden Trio – has been confirmed to be dead. The plain, but ambitious girl was found in Diagon Alley earlier this morning with the cause of her death being the killing curse. Alarmingly, she was found with a Dark Mark on her arm which confirmed some wizards opinions of a traitor amongst their midst.

Today, we look back on the life of Miss Granger to honour her memory. As you all know Hermione was a Muggle born having been born to two Muggles completely unaware of the wizarding world. However, when she turned eleven she had hopes of turning her life from being bullied and alone into something more favourable. Alas, when she first entered Hogwarts this was not the life that was sorted for her. Having been sorted into Gryffindor house she was met with others who were braver to speak their minds and tell her exactly what they thought of her. One of these people were Ron Weasley who first called her 'a nightmare' and could absolutely understand why 'no one can stand her'. These insults made her storm off with tears in her eyes. But less than a few days later they appeared to have a solidified bond of friendship. Does that not ring alarm bells to you?

Some speculation is based upon this fact: Miss Granger was known for not only her smarts but for her quick development of a taste for famous wizards. One of her conquests has been found to be not only the Bulgarian Bomb shell, Viktor Krum but also her esteemed best friend Harry Potter. I guess that Hermione was not only in the group for information to tell the legendary dark wizard, but also for the hunks around her that would easily fall for the good girl act. Could the eleven year old have charmed the red headed boy into falling in love with her, in first year?

Hermione was also found to be a mistress of disappearing acts and the ability of being in two places at once during her third year. Could this ability be used for the secret meetings with wizards on the dark side, not only to share information but to get a little loving?

Loving was not something that the muggle born seemed to get, however, the girl in question was found to be rarely home, instead spending her time with the boys and wherever they went she eagerly followed in their footsteps.

I also think that the blatant rejection of Ron Weasley in her sixth year might have sent her over the edge. Many students reported the girl crying on the famous staircases of Hogwarts while using her unique talent for curses to ward others off. Some might've even regarded her identical to Moaning Myrtle, the resident ghost. She was definitely jealous of Ron's girlfriend, a one Lavender Brown, and was quite open about her hate for her. Unfortunately, Hermione had never known Lavender outside of Ron and there were no other reasons for her rage.

As for her seventh year, the one word that could describe that is; non-existent. She and the boys disappeared before the school year even started, leaving them plenty of time to get up to all manner of things. She was later incarcerated after trying to trying to steal Malfoy family artefacts and was awaiting trial. I guess we know what the verdict was; death.

Some say that Hermione Granger got what she deserved, others say that it's a tragedy. We all await the responses of the remains of the Golden Trio, who are still missing in action.

"No." Ron whispered, slumping forward in his chair. His arms felt like lead, his body weighing himself down to the chair. His ears were full of white noise and suddenly he wasn't in the kitchen. He was outside, the door swinging loosely in his wake. He was away from those dreaded papers, spreading lies and filth about Hermione. He was away from the pitying stares of Lupin and his brother and Fleur. He was just away.

Harry was so scared in that moment that an alarming wave of panic hit him. He thought that he was going to die and it was stupid to think that way, but he really thought that that was it. It came right out of the blue – he couldn't get another breath, his heart felt like it was going to burst. He felt that he was going to faint, it was a good thing that he was sitting down then. He was drenched in sweat and he felt sick. It was the worst feeling he had ever had.

"Harry…" A voice came through the panic. It was far away though, as if it was under water or in a distant tunnel.

"Harry…" One hand was clutched tightly to his shoulder, another one gripping an arm that was held to a chest.

"Harry breathe with me…" The voice sounded familiar, hardened and rough but familiar to his ears.

"That's it; count with me 1…2…3…4 now exhale 1…2…3…4. That's it, good now keep going."

When his vision returned he saw the familiar face of Remus Lupin. He had a brief memory of the man holding a stuffed wolf up to his face when rocking him to sleep in the early days of his childhood. Grabby hands for the scruff on his face from tiredness and laziness up to the days of the full moon. It was a rare relish in those days, destroyed by the death of his parents. Flinging the memory away, Harry came properly to with a sucking breath of oxygen, his head flopped onto Remus's shoulder. For a while, they both sat there.

"That can't be true," Harry said deadly. Remus threw a look over his shoulder, at the exact space, at the bottom of the article, where the image of the prone body of Hermione Granger lay, a cluster of wizards and witches around her, her hair was perfectly placed, her skin although a tiny bit scarred perfect and peach. It was almost as if she was sleeping and at peace. Remus made sure that Harry didn't have a chance to look at it. For him to look was for him to admit to himself a small truth, where death was the better option than the trials they found themselves in.

"It could be a polyjuice potion?" Remus said into Harry's flyaway mop of hair, it reminded him fondly of James in his moments of not caring about Lily (when he had wanted to put on a show for Lily his hair was prim and proper, not a strand out of place). "She would never take the Dark Mark with free will."

"But what if she didn't have that?" Harry whispered, he knew the lengths that the Death Eaters would go to, to wreck the image that Hermione had created for all of her life. They would do anything, and that was they did.

When Harry started to cry, Remus just shushed him and began to rock him in their space on the floor (they had slumped down sometime during their hug). In moments like those it struck Remus just how fragile children were, sure knowing Harry made him overlook the statement but now he knew just how vulnerable they truly were.

He remembered his teenage years were he was alone and afraid of anyone finding out his little furry secret, fortunately the creation of the Marauders had relinquished that precious time of life. He also remembered when he had to go to James and Lily's funeral alone, facing the fact that three of his friends were dead, presumably killed by one of his dearest friends. With Harry in his arms he was reminded of himself, and he wanted to do anything to change that. He didn't know what to do.

James, Lily, Sirius please help me he thought as he murmured assurances into Harry's hair.

The enclosed beach was silent. The bright ball blinded him as it emerged; it rose like a yellow lollipop on the distant horizon. Crashing against the shore, small waves washed the night's debris onto the land. Untouched golden sand covered the floor as far as his eyes could see. Soothing, a gentle sea breeze rustled his hair. If he strained his ears he could hear laughter long gone, someone would've lost their ice-cream in the sand and all of the red heads would go home with sunburns and sand in every possible place imaginable. That was what the word beach brought to mind. Not, a cold dreary day with grey water and grey skies. He did not imagine Hermione to be dead.

He picked up a flat stone, and without the image of teaching Hermione how to skip rocks, he flung the stone into the water and screamed out with the seagulls only being the audience to his grief.

He caught his breath. Hermione was dead. They had killed Hermione. He looked at the ground where her imagined body lay. Time seemed to stop. A boiling fury swelled inside of him, and the physical pain was suddenly too much to bare. He screamed and fell to the ground, tears covering his face. After his fit, he looked up with a gleam in his eye. He knew what he had to do. He had to kill them for what they did to Hermione and to him and Harry. They would pay. They would pay with everything they had, so much so that they would wish that they hadn't been born in the first place.

Suddenly, Bill was behind him.

"I'm sorry Ron."

"Yeah, me too." His voice was hoarse with his screams and grief.

There was silence between the brothers for a few moments; the only sound was the lull of the waves and the laughter of the seagulls. Ron wanted to kill the blasted birds for laughing at such a misery.

"It's my fault," Ron whispered, "I left her there, I left her behind and now she's gone." The words spill out on their own accord, eager to escape the confines of his skull.

"Ron, it's not your fault." Bill said. He paused as if rolling a new set of words on his tongue, contemplating whether or not he should let them go. After a while he added quietly, "It's nobody's fault but the people who killed her."

Ron doesn't believe that for one second.

"I…" He chokes out, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. He looked up at the cloudy sky like he knew Hermione used to do sometimes and wondered if she had ever found any answers up there. "How do you do this?" He babbled softly. "How do you manage this? When…when does it stop?

Bill was quiet for a moment.

"It hurts, hurts like Merlin knows. Mostly in the beginning, and it keeps hurting until the day you die. It's up to you how long you'll let the hurt stop you from living life." Bill steers his brother round so that they face eye to eye. "And Ron you have to live, there is a war out there and you have to fight it."

Ron grabbed at his brothers shoulder and got pulled in for a hug. Eventually Fleur joined into the hug, giving both the boys the comfort they needed. Merlin knew how, even though Bill was older and stronger than Ron he needed it too. Fleur had to be strong for them both, for all of them but she was missing Hermione too.

Merlin, the girl would be missed.

Eventually they all went back indoors. They found Harry and Remus drinking hot chocolate at the table, now clear from all articles. There were three steaming cups of it in the centre and each of them grabbed one.

They spent a few minutes sipping at the sweet beverage before it was interrupted by an owl sweeping in from an open window. It was tawny feathered with a strong hooked beak and sharp talons. It had very large eyes, looking deep within the very souls of each and every person in that small kitchen. It dropped a small canister on the table and then flew back off, its large wings barely allowing it to be free from the cottage.

All eyes watched the small canister as it lay perfectly innocent on the table. Then they took turns in giving each other looks as if daring the other to pick it up and open it.

It was Fleur who picked it up at last.

With dainty fingers she freed the lid on the canister, and pulled forth a tiny rolled up note. It was tied with a light green ribbon and curled up like an old fashioned scroll. It unfurled to reveal just a few words.

Dear Survivors,

You need to fight; you need to win; you need to live.

There was no specific person whom it was addressed to nor a sign from who had wrote it.

"Zat's it." She said and showed it to each of the men in turn.

"We need to do something." Ron said, holding the note deftly in between in his fingers, unfurling it so it was straight and easy to read from any angle.

"We are going to do something – we are going to get that Horcrux." Harry commanded, taking the note from Ron and holding it right up to his glasses, almost as if he could imprint the fourteen words onto his eyelids. Although that wasn't exactly what Ron was talking about, he nodded and they began to hatch a plan, all the while keeping Hermione's bag close to them.

They did not formulate a plan for themselves or for the wizarding world; they did it for Hermione.

"Gather your things." Draco said abruptly, frightening Hermione from her stupor over the writing desk.

"I'm sure you've probably noticed Blonde Boy but everything I have on me, is in the bag right here," she replied, pointing to the bag sealed firmly around her neck.

Draco rolled his eyes at her and hurried to go upstairs, "Well sit there and look pretty while I gather mine." When Draco left her, Hermione had the wonderful chance to go rifling through the draws of the writing desk. Within the middle draw she found a silver box. From the box she pulled out a series of photographs.

Three of the photographs showed the stages of family life. The first one showed a heavily pregnant Narcissa with Lucius' arms wrapped around her bulging stomach. They looked happy, their smiles fit to burst. Snape was but a shadow on the left of Lucius. He was smiling too, it was a rare moment to be sure. The ice in his eyes had thawed to a warm fire. The second photograph showed the new born Draco, just a shiny pink bundle rolled up in an emerald shawl. It depicted Narcissa passing Draco to Lucius, who took a moment to bounce the baby and watch it laugh (it was a gift to see Lucius calm and happy instead of his normal surly persona). Lucius then passed the baby to Snape and the final moments of the photograph showed Draco being enraptured with Snape before reaching up a fist to shake at his cheek. Snape then smiled. The final photograph showed Draco as an infant and Snape on his own. The younger boy was running circles around his god father's legs before Snape picked him up and swung him around enthusiastically. Hermione saw the last moments of the photograph being Draco and Snape waving at the person taking the photograph – they were truly elated.

Upon hearing the first signs of Draco moving down the stairs with a hastily put together bag of things, Hermione rushed to put all the photographs into the box and the box back into the draw. She then composed herself to look as naturally as she could've made herself. When Draco came into her sight Hermione had stood, putting a hand to the bag around her throat and her lips alight with a question.

"So, where are we going?"

Draco looked at her strangely with a slightly cocked head before answering. "Somewhere safe,"

"And where would that be?" Hermione pried but Draco just firmly took a hold of her arm and dragged her over to the front door. When he finally locked up, Draco herded her round the back (the garden was as untamed and dark as the inside of the house) and ushered her into a confined circle of dead grass to the back of the garden.

"To satisfy your burning curiosity Granger we are going to Clochan an Dragon." Draco smirked and began to turn to apparate.

"Ireland!" Hermione shouted but her words was lost to the magic of apparating.