Again, we all know these characters are not mine, nor are the rights-I am simply a fan borrowing them for my own pleasure.
Chapter One.
It has been months since the final battle and Harry's words were still ringing truth; their lives never did return to normal, there was no moment besides watch that sunset out side the castle that was even close to normal.
The night of the final battle, the Weasley's sat together pushing their food around on their plates starring at an open flame as two of their members laid under cotton sheets in the room down the hall. Mrs. Weasley didn't even sold the boys for not washing their hands she just sat there-the fire dancing with the shadows on her face while her eyes shines with un shed tears that she would never let fall in front of her boys. But that night we all heard her cries echo ling after the moon was at it's highest. That sound will forever haunt me.
Even now, long after we buried the two brothers I still wake up to the sound of Mrs. Weasley's crying plaguing my dreams.
Days after the battle photos of the war stricken castle were plastered over every wizarding paper; long articles of family still missing, asking for people to identify lost ones and interviews from the survivors. Not many wanted to talk about the events that occurred, none considered themselves lucky that they lived-because now they have to live with pain of digging friends out from the rubble and burring them in their graves. No one wanted to talk about how they enjoyed fighting in the war. Not then anyways.
Now I cant even step out side the Burrow without getting hounded by reporters and "friends" from third year potions that sat three desks behind me four seats to the left. Life didn't slow down; no longer was I the friend of Harry Potter but rather muggle born witch apart of the Golden Trio that helped vanquish the Dark Lord. I wasn't Hermione Granger I was war hero, a survivor. There was never a moment to get away from the war, the horrific recalls, the nightmares-they were everywhere; the posters of missing children, new ministry law enforcements, there was no end to this war.
Even in my sleep the war never ends. I see the wild look in her eyes, I can hear the echo of her laughter and I can feel the sharp pain of the knife as it is dug deep into my skin. I still wake up screaming into my pillow and scratch marks all over my arms as if I were trying to claw the wretched scars away. And the look I get from the Weasley's each morning it made me wish I could curl up and make myself invisible. They were all tortured by the war, each in their own ways-we all had scars to bare yet when you compare them a word carved into your arm is not the same as losing a piece of you or a child. But just once, I wish I didn't have to look away when someone looks at my scars on my arms because their pain was worse then mine.
Just once.
Even with Ron, our relationship was supposedly written in the stars since we were little, as if we were destined to be together. And for a time it was perfect; best friends turned lovers, we know everything about each other and have stood by one another for years without fault. We should be fine and for a time we were; three blissful months when we were still trying to move forward with life after burying his brothers and cleaning up the destruction. We still tried to smile and remember the lives that we cherished. At the start we were over joyed and ecstatic that after the years spend dancing around each other: both of us were so afraid to push our friendship further into that next step that after we too that jump into that unknown but now that we have its getting harder and harder to go back and remember how we once were. When we would find our strength together, when we supported and helped life one another up when the weight of whatever burden we carries got to much to handle on our own. Where we would never dream of ending the night angry with one another even when our opinions opposed we still talked about it all-even after we fume and storm off we always ended up talking and forgiving.
Now the smell of fire whiskey lingers in the air between us. A disagreement leads to objects flying into walks, shattered mirrors and empty beds. It is better to stay silent then to question. Ron's heart had hardened since the war-the death of his brothers, the almost death of Harry and Ginny it was too much for him. Anger from the cursed locket never went away-he still eyes every one with suspicion. I thought giving him time and painting a smile on my lips would help him. But one can only fake happiness for so long. Sleeping in his arms at night would lessen the pain from the nightmares; in his arms I was safe and protected, wrapped in love. But with me-he felt the unease like he did back in the tent and that when he started staying out late with other remaining survivors-leavening me alone with the faces that plagued my sleep.
I remember the first time he came home late, I remember how he shook me awake his tight grip on my arm made me scream louder and I reached for my wand and aimed it at him. I remember the big bright eyes stare at me at the green light flashed from my wand missing him by what seemed as little as a hair. I remember how revolted I was that I cast my want aside and moved to wards me-I watched as he curled his lip at me and turned away. I spent weeks trying to get him to forgive me, but he never spared me a second look-to this day I don't think he has forgiven me. I was so scared that the snatchers had me again and were going to drag me back to that woman I panicked; I didn't think I just reacted. And now there is nothing I can do to take it back, I tried to shoot him with the killing curse, an unforgivable.
Since then the only passion between us is the arguments. I look at him and all I feel is loss, pain and guilt. The love I want to feel for him seems to be forgotten in the past. When we go out to attended monument unveilings we plaster on smiles and fake pleasantries. We pretend everything is okay because that is what was expected of us; to be the happy couple after all the war and death left in the wake of the final battle. We are meant to be a part of the light at the end of the tunnel, something to look forward too; a large wedding, the first of many children to be born from the golden couple that will go on to attend the new Hogwarts. But what we are meant to be isn't always what we want.
I know I want to go home to the muggle world-I want to find my parents and make amends for the actions I took to keep them safe; if my actions did what I thought and kept them safe and together. But I know that I am needed here-to me a face that resembles hope and life. I also have to be here from Ron and Harry, Ginny and all the Weasley's offer my support and help in any way possible, even if that means pretending staying here is making me happy.
Rolling out of bed ignoring the stiffness in my neck I rub my eyes and look behind me and sigh and the cold untouched side of the bed before I stumble out of bed and down the hall. Closing the door behind me I look into the bathroom mirror and groan; my eyes are red with dark circles and hair sticking out in every direction. Sighing I flip on the tap to the shower and let the water heat up till the steam fogs the mirror and I can't see the woman staring back at me.
~Time skip/one hour/~
Take the stairs down two steps at a time, following my noes to the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was cooking up a storm-I wonder what the occasion is, the kitchen hasn't smelt this good since before the war.
Peering into the kitchen I see dishes splashing around in the sink and rag frantically whipping them down before they flow onto the table: Mrs. Weasley is hovering over pots and pans. It makes me laugh-this is how she always was before school started up.
"Mione-" I turn and see the familiar raven haired boy who has been my best friend since we were children, but the look on his face was not one that held the same about of happiness as mine. I felt the smile fall from my face, the smell of the kitchen no longer seemed as wonderful as I want to believe. "There is a man her from the ministry-he wants to speak with us both."
Strange, normally when ministry workers want to talk it is to all of us-Harry, Ron and myself. Why do I have the feeling I won't like this?
"Why didn't you get me sooner-its rude to keep officials waiting Harry?" I start to walk past him into the living room when Harry reaches for my wrists to hold me back.
"Mione, you don't have to do this-what he asks you can always say no-"
"Harry James Potter, please let go of my hand and let me hear what he asks first before you fill my head with thoughts of saying no."
He just shook his head and pushed his glasses further up his nose making a motion for me to walk forward.
In the living room stood a tall man, well groomed and held an air of superiority about him. His robes were custom tailored, his dark hair slicked back and his shoes polished. There was no doubt in my mind that this man was breed into the world of class; where you were judged on looks, attire and mannerisms. He didn't sit so he wasn't intending to stay very long.
"Miss Granger, kind of you to join us this morning."
I hood my eyes and bow my head slightly, "My apologizes, I wasn't aware you were to be meeting us this morning Mr.-"
"Warner. And yes, I do suppose this meeting was a little abrupt, but it can't be helped. There is a trial coming up this day next week, but the court system cannot decide if they are truly guilty of their crimes or if there were only pawns-the evidence if there for both. Which is why I have come here on Ministry request as a last effort to decide if these two are guilty or not; you two are our last resort, and I wish that it did not have to come down to this."
I felt Harry move behind me and put a hand on my shoulder and the unease I was starting to feel slowly vanished-but the feeling in my gut was churning even more then it was before.
"What could we possibly do to decide the final verdict?" my mind and soul were screaming for me to run; wizarding trials were more cruel and malicious than the muggle trials. They were able to peer into your mind, able to get every truth, and weren't afraid to torture the mind and body till they got their evidence.
"We will pull memories from the war and review them before we call you to stand to share your thoughts on what you experienced through their hands then as a court we will put the verdict to a vote."
I reach out for Harry's hand and I hold on tightly- waiting for Mr. Warner to finish. I can feel bile churning in my stomach-there was only one family that touched both Harry's and my life but not Ron's-not really. Sure Ron hated them-they were nothing but unkind to his family, but rudeness was not the same as what Harry experienced in the Forbidden Forest nor I alone on their floor. This is what Harry meant about saying no; this is why he was trying to warn me, why he never rushed to come and get me.
Mr. Warner held out a manila envelope and put it in my hand be fore he grabbed his coat off the rack, "I don't expect an answer right away-you have three days to decide if you wish to aid in the Malfoy trial or not. Three Days miss Granger. Once you sign your consent there is no changing your mind-so please use these days wisely to decide."
He stood next to the Floo and turned towards us once more, "Mr. Potter, Miss. Granger." And like that he was gone in a puff of smoke and I feel to the floor.
How could they ask me to testify for that family? How?