Skeleton Jar

A/N: This fic was inspired by the song “Skeleton Jar” by Sydney band Youth Group (www.youthgroup.com). I think it's the most perfect song in the world but that's just my opinion. The concept of a Skeleton Jar is one that I love. Its basically with a Skeleton Jar what you are looking at is completely gross and disturbing yet you still find yourself attracted to it and completely fascinated by it.

I always knew it would be horrible.

There was no fooling myself. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Horrible didn't cover the sinking in my stomach as I walked into the Burrow.

It was silent. No errant explosions. No thundering down the stairs. No over-excited chatter.

“Mrs Weasley?”

I winced as the sound of my voice cut through the murky silence.

“Oh Hermione. Thank Merlin.” Mrs Weasely emerged form the kitchen, wiping her floury hands on her apron before crushing me into her trademark hug.

As she released me I heard a noise on the stairs, turning to find Ron standing on the bottom step. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot not quite sure what to do with himself. It wasn't enough to cover the relief that he embodied when he saw me.

His shoulders had straightened like a giant weight had been lifted from them.

With quick strides I cross the room pulling Ron into a quick hug well aware of his aversion to displays of affection from those he considered family.

I stood back and gazed up at Ron. I wanted an explanation. I wanted to know what I was to expect.

Ron shook his head slightly. He had no idea where to start.

I sighed.

“Where is he?” I ask quietly, terrified what answer may come.

Ron just nodded slightly before gesturing for me to follow him. Obligingly I let him lead me back through the kitchen and out into the back yard.

Horrible didn't seem to cover it anymore.

I was barely aware of my bag dropping from my shoulder as I stared at him. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

He was in the middle of the make shift Quidditch pitch. His back was to us, arms hugging his knees to his chest. His Firebolt discarded a few feet away.

Lone, miserable, his body a stone mask.

I had the definite impression he had been sitting there all morning.

Possibly longer.

The sun was scorching. That dry scorching, which burnt your skin the moment you stepped into it sucking all moisture from you body.

It could have been thundering down and still he would have sat.

I had expected him to be upset, defeated, angry even. Nothing had prepared me for this.

This was just cruel.

Before I had really decided what to do my feet were moving towards him.

I'd never seen anyone so isolated.

I barely heard the door click shut as Ron slipped back inside, giving us some privacy.

I stopped just behind Harry. What do you say to someone who has just lost someone they believed a parent?

`I'm sorry' was redundant.

I never realised how black his hair his was. It was almost blue. The sun caught in it reflecting each pigment change.

“You don't have to stand there, Hermione.”

I jumped slightly. I had no idea Harry knew I was there. He hadn't flinched let alone turned around.

“Oh,” I stuttered, caught completely off guard. “It's just… I only… I'll just go.” I finished lamely and turned to leave.

“You don't have to leave either.” Beneath his melancholy, Harry appeared slightly amused.

I stopped immediately, recognising his invitation. I carefully sat down on the grass leaving a comfortable distance between us. I didn't want to push him so soon.

He let go of his legs choosing to cross them instead, and began to play intently with the lawn. Sporadically pulling out blades and twisting them between his fingers.

My eyes tracked his movements intently. The quick spinning of each blade pulled me slightly into a daze.

It was the most comfortable silence.

“They think you're going to fix me, Hermione.”

I barely caught the words. They were so quiet, barely whispered.

I smiled sardonically.

No one had said anything, but when my invite to the Burrow came days earlier than usual I knew they were at a loss. I was in Wales with my parents at the time. I knew it was bad otherwise they would have waited.

My parents didn't understand why I had to come. They knew nothing of Voldemort, or Death Eaters, they didn't even know that my best friends names were Harry and Ron.

“I know.” I tell him just as quietly.

I hated having these expectations. They thought I could just talk to him for a few minutes and he would be as good as new.

Harry was never going to be as good as new.

“Can you?” he prods quietly. “Can you fix me?”

I feel his eyes studying me intensely. I turn my head to meet his gaze. His eyes shine, the pain so evidently clear. I've never seen him so inclement.

Tears start to form in my eyes.

“I don't know how,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his.

He's so lost.

Part of me thought he would be more like himself by now. He was doing so well at school. Working slowly through the grieving process.

The Dursleys' were more damaging than I had ever imagined.

He stares at me in silence.

I want to reach out and comfort him. I'm too scared I'll push him even further away.

“They don't either.” He answers me simply.

“What happened, Harry?” I ask slowly.

He needs to be asked. Everyone was dancing around the one subject Harry needed the most to talk about.

Harry's gaze immediately shifts back to his hands.

He wasn't ready for this.

“You know what happened. You were there.”

I ignore his irritation.

“Not really,” I tell him quietly. “No.”

He flinches slightly at my words. An abstract look of fear crossing his features so fast I almost missed it.

He is silent again.

It's not the comfortable silence we had been maintaining. There is an underlying tension as he tries to gather himself for the conversation.

“I lost the world that night.”

He says it so simply. The same tone I would use when I'd lost a quill or something equally as trivial.

A small part of me shatters for him.

“It doesn't matter how anymore.”

I allow us to fall into silence again. Both sitting, mirror images of the other, legs crossed, head down as we stare into the lawn, fingers running softly over each blade as if it had the answers.

I don't know what to say. He needs to talk. He doesn't know how. Years of oppression, and slow decisive abuse taught him to bottle up every single thought and feeling he had inside. It didn't usually lead to verbal diarrhoea.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks suddenly.

I don't know how to answer. I'm not sure what he means.

“Because I was asked.” I tell him, taking the literal meaning, hoping that would prod him into an explanation.

Harry shakes his head, turning to stare into the distance. He speaks, but it's with so little emotion it was like he was talking to a brick wall.

“I know they asked you. They've been whispering about it for ages. But you don't have to do this. You should be with your parents. You don't have to keep saving me.”

I feel a melancholy smile grace my lips.

“I was just returning the favour.”

Harry turns now to look at me, an incredulous look on his face. He was gazing at me, almost as if he didn't really believe I was there. That I was some kind of illusion.

“I'm where I want to be, Harry.”

He smiles slightly before going back into staring off into space. Unconsciously my eyes follow his line of sight. We sit unblinking staring off into nothing, just letting each other's closeness comfort us.

“I miss him.” Harry suddenly announces, like he was admitting it for the first time. Like it was something that no one else should have been able to figure out.

“I know,” I whisper.

“I just… I don't understand.” He continues.

I don't know what made him want to talk. Maybe he decided it was finally time. Maybe he was sick of bottling all of that up.

“Nothing's stopped. The clocks are all still ticking. Sirius is dead and nothing's changed. Voldemort keeps coming. The Order still fights. No one seems to realise what we've lost.”

“Harry look at me.” I request quietly.

He shakes his head.

“Please just look at me.”

Slowly he turns his head around, his eyes shining, a single tear tracking his face.

“We do. We do realise. Everyone in the Order, everyone in the DA, we know how much you hurt, because we all feel it. Not as much as you, but its there. Just because Sirius died it's not going to change. Voldemort's still a bastard. He's not going to stop coming. We could kill every single one of his Death Eaters and he'll keep coming, just as strong, just as cold as before. Their deaths mean nothing to him. We fight because every time he cuts one of us down, he takes a little part of us to. We give up now and he's won. We fight now because if we don't Sirius, your parents, Cedric, every single person he has ever touched, all their deaths would have been for nothing.”

I ignore the tears, which had begun to fall down my face, staring at Harry, waiting slowly for him to say something.

“I don't want that,” he whispers, his hand coming up to gently wipe away some of my tears.

“Then we fight,” I tell him firmly.

Harry nods resolutely. “We fight,” he mumbles before turning to stare off into the distance again, his hand entwining itself in mine.

I feel like hell, you feel like dancing.
You know this bar curtains the world.
Those empty bottles, like sentinels,
stand guard in the morning sun.

Then the lights go down
and all the people gather round
and you feel you are a skeleton jar
oh yeah.

Be like the brother I never had,
be like the real son to my dad.
How can you stand there and watch this
scene, I hate you for liking me.

Why am I so miserable if these are the best
years of my life goes by like a train i just
missed out on being part of the community
"don't go just stay with me" were all that
they heard from me.

Love me don't leave me just stay with me
don't leave me i've never known another
who could just please me the way that you
please me don't go just stay with me don't go
just stay with were all that they heard
from me.

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