All Fall Down
A/N: Thanks to all who've reviewed thus far- how very kind of you X
Lost till you're found
Swim till you drown
Know that we all fall down
Love till you hate
Strong till you break
Know that we all fall down
- "All Fall Down" by OneRepublic.
For the first time in months, Hermione did not wake up groggily. She'd slept for twenty hours and had despite her aches and pains that she guessed were going to be bothering her for quite some time, she was content. The morning was bright and tranquil. The dormitory had been cleared of most of the people sleeping in there the previous day and someone had laid an extra blanket over Hermione in the night. She did not, however, feel the warm body behind her that she'd expected to feel.
She sat up. She was alone in her bed, and Harry's bed was empty. She sighed. She'd hoped for a lie-in with Ron. It sounded selfish in her head, yes, but it also sounded romantic. The vivid memory of Ron's warm arms around her made her shiver with delight. If that kiss was anything to go by, another opportunity to have a lie-in with him might arise sometime in the future.
To her surprise, a pair of her old jeans had been folded and left at the foot of the bed. They were clean, or at least someone had scourgified them. She grabbed them and wrestled to get them on under the blankets, lest any of the remaining strangers woke up and saw her in her underwear. When she stood up, it was evident how much weight she'd lost on their travels. These jeans, which were once tight-fitting, were now baggy at her hips and were not flattering at all. Hermione sighed and pulled Ron's t-shirt down over her arse.
Hermione tiptoed down the stone steps to the common room. The place was really too quiet to make any noise. She found a red-haired woman staring into the unlit fire.
"Mrs Weasley?" she called. Molly turned round, her face clear of any signs of crying. Somehow, she smiled brightly.
"Hermione, dear! I see you found your jeans! I did the best I could with them. Ron was making a pig's dinner out of them when I found him!"
Hermione smiled. The day after a war, the day after her son had died, Molly Weasley had been washing people's jeans. A mental image came to Hermione: Ron furiously scrubbing the mud of her jeans, getting flustered and panicky as he spread the dirt. Then, Molly coming to the rescue and pushing a red-faced Ron aside. That made her giggle.
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. For everything."
Molly gave a watery smile. "Oh, hush. I'm only looking after you! Just like... just like..."
Molly's bottom lip wobbled. With a large amount of force, she threw her arms around Hermione's neck.
"Oh, Hermione! Thank you for taking care of my boys! Thank you!" she pulled away, her face as red and wet as it had been all day yesterday. She took Hermione's face in her hands.
"I've relayed this to Harry, too: you're coming home with us. I know there's plenty left to be done, but you and Harry are leaving with us on the later train and you're going to eat properly and get some good nights' sleep. Do you hear me?"
It was Hermione's turn to get bleary-eyed now. As she did so, Molly hugged her again. Although Hermione wished that it was her own mother that she was hugging, she was touched. Molly Weasley was truly a heroine.
"Now," said Molly, pulling away again. "You go and find Harry and Ron downstairs. I'm sure there at the breakfast table and you are looking quite peaky. Get some breakfast, dear!"
Hermione left without another word, convinced that she heard a sob escape Mrs Weasley as she exited the portrait hole. She considered going back and hugging her once more, but what good would that do? There was no consolation for losing a child, and Hermione would be damned if she prevented Molly from crying her despair away.
As she wondered down the staircases and along corridors, she felt disappointed. She had slept while other people had slaved over clearing away the majority of debris: the corridor floors were clean and the stairs were clear of rubble. There were still ripped paintings, burnt tapestries and big chunks missing from stone banisters. All these holes in Hogwarts would take a lot of time to patch up.
Harry and Ron were not in the Great Hall. Rather, they sitting cross-legged opposite each other on the grass outside, half way between the castle and Hagrid's hut. She spotted them instantly: the flecks of black and orange against the green grass. She strolled down the path towards them, basking in the pleasant breeze that made another appearance today. When the two men saw her coming, they smiled very different smiles.
"We didn't want to wake you," Harry called as she approached. "You were zonked out. We just nipped out for some air."
"It's nice out here," she concurred, sitting down with them. "So what've you two been talking about?"
Harry sighed. "Life. The future."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That sounds heavy. What lies in store for The Boy Who Lived, then?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "I spoke to Kingsley yesterday. He thinks the Ministry will want to extract certain people's memories, for archives and such. Then there's rebuilding the castle..."
As Harry spoke, Hermione felt a slight charge between her and the silent ginger sitting on the other side of her. She glanced sideways at Ron and found him smirking at her. She grinned back. They were thinking the same thing: If Harry wasn't there, they'd be having an entirely different conversation.
"I meant," Hermione interjected. "your long-term future. Are you going back to Hogwarts?"
"Nah, that ship sailed long ago, I reckon," he replied, leaning back on his elbows. "Weird, isn't it? One poxy little war, and I'm actually taking my future seriously. I never used to think about houses and careers and marriage and stuff"
Hermione grinned. "Thinking of getting married, are you?" she teased. An expression of fear grew on Harry's face as he glanced at Ron, who cleared his throat.
"Erm... maybe. But that's years away, isn't it? We're young and... Ron, what do you think?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, fine. Why should I care? Do what you want. I don't mind. Why would I?"
"I think Harry was asking..." Hermione began, effectively saving Harry. "...whether you think you might get married one day."
Ron didn't look at her. He kept playing with the grass in his fingers. "I s'pose I'll have to," he said finally. "I wouldn't last ten minutes on my own. And I'm not bloody well living with Mum all my life!"
Harry and Hermione laughed a little, before the melancholy atmosphere of the castle washed over its scenery, engulfing the three friends with it. Hermione looked up and saw several owls circling the turrets of Hogwarts: people were sending news and receiving sympathies. Parents were sending letters begging their children to write to them, inform them that they're still alive. No such responses would ever be received.
"We should go inside," Hermione said quickly, before tears could form. "We need to eat something and the train's leaving soon. We need to pack."
Inside the castle, other people had apparently had the same idea. A train to King's Cross was leaving at midday, and there was a communal surge in reluctance to hang about any more than they had to.
"There's no more for you two to do," Professor McGonagall reassured them as Ron and Hermione assisted the teachers in ushering families into the carriages. "It'll take a great deal of powerful magic to repair the castle; the type of magic that requires absolute focus..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering to Ron. He stared at her, as confused as Hermione was. Professor McGonagall placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.
"The Dead are being kept in Professor Flitwick's old classroom. I think you should pay a visit."
The Dead. The Dead. That word echoed around Hermione's brain loudly like footsteps in a museum. The preciousness of life was something she'd only contemplated once since the Battle, and it had been a selfish exploration of her own life's value. She looked at Ron, who seemed hurt by McGonagall's proposal. Hermione threaded her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. Ron blinked back into focus and smiled half-heartedly at her. On the one hand, he was about to really see his brother in a coffin. On the other hand, Hermione would be with him. She'd be with him in a way that he wouldn't have wanted Harry or Ginny to be with him.
Every step towards Professor Flitwick's classroom was another roll of nausea. When they reached the corner turning into that corridor, they both paused as though expecting to see mangled bodies pouring out from the door. When they did turn the corner, they found two couples of parents in an embrace, weeping quietly. They approached the door painfully slowly. Before Hermione could open it, it was opened from the inside. Harry stepped out, his face red and wet.
"I'll see you guys on the train," he said, his voice admirably composed. If that was all it took for Hermione's heart to break, then the next few minutes would be very painful indeed.
The room was warm, baked in the afternoon sunlight which Hermione always remembered it to be. Only, all the furniture was gone. No desks, no blackboard, no chairs, no paintings and no books. Just the resonating echo of their footsteps and dozens of coffins. They were all shut. Draped neatly over each one was a sheet, like a tablecloth, adorned with the colour and crest of whichever house the person inside had belonged to. A torn piece of paper, with a name on, lay on top of each. Without a word, Ron gently lead Hermione over to a coffin which was covered in a dull red sheet. On top of the brave Gryffindor crest was a scrap of paper with the scribbled name: Fred Weasley.
"Fucking hell..." Ron murmured before choking back a sob. As soon as Hermione began to snake her arms around his waist, he pulled her into his chest and sobbed into her hair.
She would've given anything to be able to absorb his pain: to let his heart rest, to make him feel peace... of course, she could not. Little did she know, her closeness to him was what made this moment of grieving a short one. Life would go on, and Ron had a life to lead. He'd established that days ago.
"There are so many Freds," she heard him say when his cries died down. He lifted his head and looked around the room, tears falling freely but calmly. "Tom Riddle's dead and he's still hurting people."
"It'll get better," Hermione whispered, wiping her own tears away. "But it's going to be hard.
They heard the classroom door handle being slowly turned. The door creaked and in stepped Professor McGonagall.
"Are you two alright?" she asked them. Hermione glanced up at Ron, awaiting his answer. He nodded.
McGonagall frowned. "Then you'd better find Mr Potter on the train. We'd rather you weren't present for this bit,"
Mr and Mrs Weasley stepped into the room from the corridor, accompanied by Kinglsey and Percy. Molly Weasley's face held possibly the most heart-breaking expression Hermione had ever seen. She looked helpless. Still, she smiled weakly at Hermione as she and Ron sidled past them, out the door.
"What are they doing in there?" Ron asked.
"I expect they're opening the coffin. You know, to check... before they bring him home."
It was painful to say. It sounded cruel, like telling a five-year-old that their parent had died. It should never happen to anybody, yet here they were.
The sound of Molly's raw, despairing wail distracted them both and urged them away towards the train. Anything to get away from the reminder that Fred was really, truly gone.
It was a mournful pilgrimage to the train. Nobody raised their voices over a whisper... not until they reached the platform.
"HARRY POTTER"
"OI, YOU THREE!
"JUST A QUICK WORD, MISTER POTTER!"
"MISTER POTTER, HOW DID YOU DO IT?"
"CAN WE ASK YOU A FEW QUESTIONS, PLEASE?!"
Journalists and reporters swarmed the platform, pushing mourners to the side, flashing cameras and scribbling furiously with quills and shouting in Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's faces. Before long, they were being bustled this way and that with no control over where they went. It was chaos.
"IN HERE!" called Arthur Weasley, who was on the train and holding a door open. The group of Weasleys crammed into the carriage as fast as they could. Ron practically carried Hermione in, then dragged her into the compartment that the Weasleys were filling up. Mr Weasley went to slide the door shut, but journalists were already on the train.
"GET OUT! OUT, I SAY!" roared Kingsley, elbowing his way furiously through the congregation. They yelled and swore at him as he slid into the Weasley's carriage and batted off the journalists' hands. He slammed the door shut.
"Have they no shame?" Molly wheezed, clutching her chest.
In an odd way, Hermione was glad that they'd almost been mobbed. Their fear, confusion and shock was a little distraction from heart-wrenching grief.
"Harry, Hermione, when these animals get off the train," began Kingsley, shouting the word in the direction of the journalists. "I really need to speak with you."
Hermione was sure that Kingsley made a mistake in not including Ron's name.
"Of course," said Hermione, knowing Kingsley would want to warn them in private about the media attention they'd face in the coming weeks.
"You will do no such thing!" barked Mrs Weasley. Everyone turned and stared at her. She was still out of breath, but she managed to look shocked at her own words.
"Molly, I'm afraid it's urgent."
"I don't care."
Molly looked distracted as she spoke, as though trying to remember something: her usual amiable composure, perhaps. Finally, as Hermione saw something click and solidify in her eyes, Molly stood up.
"You call those people animals, and rightly so... but they weren't there. They didn't fight. They didn't know anybody who died, otherwise they would not be here. You, Kingsley, were fighting throughout. As grateful as we are, I cannot believe that you'd be so insensitive as to start peddling your politics to us hours after our Fred was killed."
Silence filled the carriage as Fred's name sunk in. Our Fred... was killed. Hermione looked over to George. He was the only one who was not noticably moved by his mother's words. Rather, he was staring out of the window. His posture was the living embodiment of indifference.
Kingsley said no more. He bowed his head and opened the carriage door again. More questions were yelled into the compartment but none were listened to. When the door closed, the family were left in silence once more.
The train whistled, and the journalists scattered from the carriage. The scenery outside began rolling backwards and the train was off. Outside, the castle grew smaller. Hermione pictured the people inside: the helpers, the cleaners, the people left behind... all together in the place that had been her home for six years. She was leaving it, and it tugged at her heart. Goodbye.
A/N: You know what to do: REVIEW IT. Even if you're already following- I'd love to hear from you! It means the world to me!
PLEASE NOTE: I will now be limiting my updates on 'Skin' to Saturdays only- unless I am otherwise engaged. My other fic "Alternative" will be updated on Sundays.
THANKS!
Nel X