Unofficial Portkey Archive

Where Does the Good Go?

By attica

Chapter Two: Talking Down To a Grave

"There's more to life than love and being together."- Tegan and Sara, You Went Away.

"So, when are you going to tell her?" whispered Harry as soon as Hermione had left to get another book.

"I don't know," answered Ron. He peered around them to see if anyone was listening. "When d'you reckon I should?"

"Never."

"Winning answer, Harry."

"But she's going to find out, sooner or later. Then she's going to murder you."

"Not if she can't reach me. D'you think anyone's ever slept on a broom before? Y'know, while it's still in the air?"

"No."

"Right, then. But how could she possibly find out?"

"I don't know. Ernie might've seen you."

"That prick. I knew he was a rat." Ron then looked up as Hermione returned and sat back down in front of them. She was holding a ratty A Hermit's Guide to Herbology. She still looked a bit sad but Harry could see that while she was distraught from Crookshanks's death, nothing could really pull her away from her studies. If anything, it would only make her study harder to distract her from it.

"Hullo Hermione," said Harry.

"Harry," she nodded back. She looked pale. She stole a glance at their parchments. "What are you boys up to?"

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. "Y'know, Potions is a drag."

"Yeah," added Harry when Hermione quirked one of her brows.

"Well," said Hermione a-matter-of-factly, "if you two spent as much time studying as you did complaining, you wouldn't be complaining."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "What?"

Hermione sighed. Her face crumpled up in her woe for a quick second. "Nothing," she said flatly. Harry could see the agony written all over her face and he glanced at Ron. While Crookshanks's death could not pull her away from her studies, it had to be at least slightly bad if it seemed she had suddenly lost the will to scold.

"I'm sorry about Crookshanks, Hermione," said Harry. His voice was quiet. He hoped it sounded soothing. "He was a good cat."

"Me too," quickly added Ron. "He was a good cat. He chased Scabbers - who was actually Petter Pettigrew in disguise - around. You could tell he had a good judge of character," he swallowed.

Hermione was softly frowning. Harry noticed the gentle creases that formed between her brows and on her forehead. "I just can't believe someone would throw him over the staircase!" she said. "The utter nerve! The inhumanity of the person who did that!"

"But are you sure Crookshanks didn't just fall?"

"Yes. Ernie said he saw someone that night, hurrying away."

Ron's face paled. "Did he say who it was?" he managed to croak.

"No. He said the person was gone before he could really recognize him. I just don't understand why anyone would want to do such a cruel thing - it's murder! If I ever find out who it is that threw Crookshanks, you can be sure I'm going to make certain he gets expelled."

Ron was as white as a sheet. "Maybe… maybe it was Malfoy."

Hermione sighed sadly. "Maybe." Then with one last forlorn look, she turned back to her book.

Harry looked at Ron.

`I'm dead,' mouthed Ron.

`I know,' he mouthed back.

oooo

Ron still hadn't told Harry anything about him and Lavender by the end of lunch. Harry had tried to steer the conversation toward her when they were eating, but Ron always managed to change the subject. However, Harry did catch the longing look on his face when Lavender sat down at their table. The look then slowly eased over to one of resentment and sadness. By then, Harry was getting frustrated.

"Ron, are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

"Yeah. Quidditch practice is still on tomorrow afternoon, am I right?"

"Yeah, it is. But… are you sure? Nothing you want to talk about? At all?"

Ron looked over at Harry. His gaze was firm. "There's nothing to talk about, Harry. It's over."

Nodding slowly, Harry understood what he meant. The dimness of his blue eyes was a clear message. The topic was completely closed for discussion.

He sighed. It sounded so very final that he had no choice but to believe it. He just couldn't deem the fact that two things had died on the same evening: Crookshanks, and Ron and Lavender's relationship.

As they were filing out of the Great Hall, Hermione caught up to them.

"Crookshanks's burial is tomorrow afternoon by the lake. I expect you two will be there?" she said anxiously.

"Hermione, we've got Quidditch practice tomorrow afternoon," said Ron. "Didn't you remember? We handed you a copy of our Quidditch schedule last week."

Harry almost couldn't stand the look on Hermione's face as Ron told her. He looked down, feeling a cold tingling in his stomach and a heavy, scratchy stone inside his throat.

"Oh." Disappointment was written all over her face.

Harry exchanged glances with Ron.

"We'll try to leave Quidditch practice early," offered Harry. "We really do want to be there for his funeral."

"Yeah," reassured Ron. "We do. Unless… you can reschedule?"

Hermione's head snapped up. Her brown eyes were sparkling with anger. "Look, Crookshanks's burial is going to happen with or without you."

"Hermione, I-"

"I'll see you two later," Hermione said coldly before walking away and heading to her Ancient Runes classroom.

"Reschedule?" spat Harry. "What were you thinking? Do you want her to kill you earlier?"

"I know," groaned Ron. "I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot."

Harry snorted in response.

"Look, we'll talk to Bricks in the locker room. We'll ask him - beg him to let practice end early. Then we can make it to Crookshanks's burial and Hermione can untwist her knickers, all right?"

"I just feel terrible. You kill Crookshanks and then -"

"Sssshhh!" said Ron, twisting his neck around to see if anyone had overheard. "Not so loud, mate. Blimey."

"-We can't even make it to the burial," continued Harry in a quieter voice. "Did you see her face? I'd never seen her that way before."

"Except when I accidentally got ink all over her Hogwarts: A History," quipped Ron. "Don't worry, Harry. Within a week, she'll be back to her normal, scolding, bossy self."

Harry could only hope that he was right. Anything was better than having a miserable Hermione strolling around.

oooo

The next day Harry and Ron approached Leroy Bricks, their new Quidditch captain, in the locker rooms. Leroy was adjusting his Quidditch robes and strapping on his protective gear.

"What is it, Potter, Weasley?" he asked them, his gaze moving from Harry to Ron. "You two are looking especially grim."

"Leroy, we've sort of… got a favor to ask."

Leroy straightened up, eyebrows high up on his forehead. "A favor? Look, I'm sorry, but I can't let you bring your wands out to the field to turn Malfoy's robes pink. I already told you that-"

"No, it's not that," said Harry quickly. "It's about practice."

Leroy face brightened. "Practice! Well, you needn't worry about that, mates. I've just been sent the old plays my great uncle Bernard used when he went here, and Good Merlin are we going to make sure Slytherin lands on their arse! We've got to practice hard today, though-"

"We were sort of hoping that we could leave early today," Harry managed to get out.

Leroy froze. "What? Leave early? But this is our first match of the year! If we have to, we're going to practice until our body collapses from exhaustion!"

"But, Leroy!" objected Ron. "Hermione's cat died and today's the burial!"

"Hermione's cat?" repeated Leroy, almost incredulous. "You want to leave early at today's practice to go to a cat's funeral?"

"It's really important to her," Harry explained, feeling slightly pathetic that he had to say why out loud.

"Can't she reschedule?"

Harry threw up his hands while Ron answered.

"I already asked. No, she can't. I think."

"I'm sorry," Leroy sighed. "Everything is riding on our first match. This practice is important, more important than some cat's funeral. Besides, Granger'll get a new cat, and it'll die as well. You can go to that funeral. Just make sure it's not the same time during our Quidditch practice, all right?"

Harry was not in a good mood when they finally walked out into the lush Quidditch field. It seemed that Leroy had inherited Oliver Wood's fanatical obsession on their Quidditch games and practices. He hated to think that maybe if Wood was still here, he'd've given them a bit of slack and actually let them go, even if it was just a few minutes early.

"Harry, what's the big deal? So we miss it. Hermione'll understand - I mean she'll be angry with us for a bit, but she will. Besides, why do you care all of a sudden?"

His question struck a chord inside of him. Why did he care? His best friend kills his other best friend's cat and then he's suddenly so keen on going to the burial that he was willing to blow off Quidditch practice?

Maybe it was because he knew a thing or two about loss. But Harry wasn't feeling quite as tolerant as he normally would be to Ron's ignorance of their friend's feelings.

"It's important to Hermione," snapped Harry. He somehow couldn't understand how Ron could be so breezy and carefree while their best friend was going to be alone at her cat's funeral - that he had killed. "She's our best friend, Ron. How could you not care?"

"I didn't say I didn't care," interjected Ron, shifting his broom on his shoulder. His voice offered a sharp hint of offense at Harry's quick retort. "I'm just saying that maybe Leroy has a point."

"So you're choosing our match against Slytherin over our best friend?" Harry asked, setting his slight glare at the abundant blanket of azure set above him instead of the boy next to him.

"No!" exclaimed Ron. "It's just that… well…"

"Ron, you saw how Hermione was today. She was heartbroken." It wasn't a typical sight, and it felt unsettling to him. He never did like it when girls mourned - crying was one thing, but mourning over a loss? He could maybe cope with a crying Cho Chang now, knowing what he did, but Hermione was a different case in itself. She was always so headstrong, so unflinching, this intractable weapon of defense always on guard…. He felt odd now that a dart of casualty had actually affected her. After Sirius, of course. But even that seemed ages away now, though still painfully near whenever a single thought threaded towards the terribly sensitive subject.

It was, beyond anything… unsettling.

"Well, I am too," Ron harshly said. "But you don't see me holding some last-minute funeral and getting angry over the physical lack of moral support."

Harry was shocked. "I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't. Look, just play your hardest and maybe Bricks will cut us some slack. We'll run all the way over there if we have to. Maybe Bricks'll even get injured in the first ten minutes of the game and we can go after all. Just don't worry about Hermione and Crookshanks."

"All right," said Harry. But he had a churning feeling inside his stomach that told him Leroy wasn't going to get injured today, nor would they get to reach Hermione in time for Crookshanks's burial.

oooo

Harry reached the side of the lake in a mess of ragged, sharp breaths and a shooting pain in his side. His face was masked in a sheen of sweat and his wild raven hair was sticking to his forehead, almost masking his scar. His glasses were crooked.

Ron soon caught up, flushed in the face. He was holding his side.

"Harry… did… we… really have… to… run… all the way… here?" he breathed. His face was contorted from exhaustion and pain.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron pointed out the figure sitting by the tree.

"Oh. Come on, then."

They ran as quickly as they could to her. She looked up when they finally reached her, their palms on their knees, trying to breathe.

"We're here," wheezed Ron. "We're here."

Underneath the shade of the tree, Hermione's face looked even sadder. Even her ever-shining prefect badge seemed to be hopelessly solemn, as it did not gleam and shine as it usually did. Harry noticed she was looking down at their feet with an odd expression on her face.

"Ron-"

"Where is he? Where's his grave?" he said, looking around.

"You're stepping on it."

Ron jumped, as well as Harry.

"Blimey, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me? It's bad luck to step on someone's grave!"

She didn't respond and looked away. One of the Giant Squid's tentacles reached up above the glittering water for a second, as if it was waving to them.

Harry gave him a look, composing himself. He fixed his glasses on his face as he sat down next to her. Ron followed suit.

"We're sorry, Hermione," said Harry guiltily. He really did feel horrible about missing Crookshanks's funeral. He'd refused the urge to "accidentally" hit Leroy over the head with his broom and instead got changed and ran through the hallways and to the lake in record time. He felt ridiculous to be taking a cat's funeral so seriously, but he knew what it felt to lose someone, and though Crookshanks could never compare to Sirius, he held great sympathy for her. "We tried talking to Bricks so that we could leave practice early, but he…"

He trailed off. He figured Hermione already knew, anyway.

"We're really sorry," said Ron. "Bricks was being a prick. He almost even hit me over the head with a Quaffle, that one."

Hermione was wringing her hands as she sighed. "It's all right."

"No, it's not all right," Harry said, seeing the look on her face. "We really wanted to be here, Hermione. But we just couldn't because Bricks was too concerned over our first match with Slytherin."

There was silence, and Harry never thought he could feel so bad about missing a pet's funeral in his life. He could feel the strangling knots in his stomach.

"Who was here?" he asked quietly.

"Me," answered Hermione. Her voice was so delicate and soft that Harry felt slight fluttering in his stomach. He'd never heard her speak that way before. She even sounded a bit… fragile. "And Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" repeated Ron.

"Yes, Ronald. Dumbledore. Ernie stopped by for a bit, as well."

"But doesn't Dumbledore have better things to do than go to a cat's funeral?"

Harry wanted to knock some sense into Ron. He shook his head, marveling at the utter stupidity over his friend sometimes. So he really did know what to say when someone was grieving over the death of someone very close to her and her best friends had missed the burial.

He shot Ron a glare.

"What?" asked an offended Hermione. Her brunette brows were furrowed.

"I meant…" Ron faltered. "What did he do at the funeral?" he mended.

"He paid his respects," Hermione answered brusquely. Her brown eyes were dark and cold, her tone cutting and sharp. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"Look, Hermione, that isn't fair," retaliated Ron. "We tried our best to make it, all right? We made the effort. It isn't our fault Bricks didn't let us out early to go to your sodding cat's funeral!"

Hermione stood, livid. "How dare you, Ronald Weasley? I understand you tried to make it, and maybe that'd make it all okay if you'd only have the decency to show some sympathy!"

"Hermione, he didn't mean-" Harry tried to interfere, but Ron had gotten to his feet as well.

"I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry if I'm too busy to cry over your stupid cat!"

"Ron!" shouted Harry, pleading for him to stop. He just couldn't understand why Ron had to open his mouth to unleash such rudeness - even at a funeral! Had he literally lost his marbles?

"I wasn't asking you to cry!" yelled Hermione, tears welling up in her eyes. Harry felt something collapse into rubble inside him to see the chaos of the scene before him. He wished he could stop it - but how could he? The colliding of two of the most stubborn people in the world? They would be shooting fire from their eyes if they could! "Not even for a tear! I was just asking you to be human!"

And he was also faced with the very terrible debacle that was a crying Hermione. He'd know what to do if it was some other girl that was crying in front of him - reassure her that everything was going to be just fine, then give her some thinking space - but a crying Hermione stunted him.

Absolutely stunted him.

He knew Ron was still upset over Lavender as well, which made things worse. Both were experiencing tremendous sadness, pain, and loss. But he just couldn't get a grasp on why they had to take it out on each other.

"Human?" Ron scoffed. "You're not human! A funeral for a cat! Really!"

This really hurt Hermione. Harry could see it in her eyes and face. Her brows were cast downward and she was biting her trembling lip. Her face was twisted in her rage and sorrow. Ron had really struck home on that one. He wished he could push Ron in the lake and then do something to make Hermione feel better - maybe even give her a hug. Anything to make that look on her face disappear. It tore at his insides.

Harry didn't think he'd seen her so hurt, and, in a way: it hurt him too. It reminded him of when he had gone off on the both of them in Grimmauld Place. She looked just as hurt, just as guilty. He'd been so angry that day, so bitter and so resentful… maybe that was how Ron was feeling right now.

"Hermione," Harry started, standing up to join them. "Please don't cry." But he realized that what he had said was too late because a tear no later rolled down her cheek. Harry turned to Ron, desperate for a way to end all of this on a good note.

"Ron, please. Just… apologize."

"Why?" he scoffed. But Harry could see that even Ron could not take Hermione's tears. His face softened for a second but his pride had hardened it right back up again.

Harry really felt like pushing him into the lake.

One glistening tear that clung onto her bottom eyelashes fell in silence. There was intensity all around them. Even the breeze that swept by that usually sought to calm - making the tree's leaves rustle melodically - could not soothe the frayed and burning edges of both their losses.

One last glance at the both of them and Crookshanks' grave, Hermione walked away. She did not exactly storm away like she usually did when Ron criticized her in some crude way, but it was a sort of walk that emphasized just how miserable and wretched she was feeling.

Harry felt like running after her and saying something. Anything. That Ron was an idiot. That he'd buy her a new cat - a better cat - if she wanted. Just something that would make this feeling of uselessness vanish from the pit of his stomach. But as he just watched her walk back to the castle, raising her hands to wipe away her tears with the back of her hands every now and then, he too felt a feeling of loss, himself. Granted, it couldn't be considered to be in the same boat as Ron and Hermione's loss, but it was still something.

Harry heard the soft shuffling noise as Ron fell down at the foot of the tree. His eyes were cast down to the ground, two of his fingers smoothing down a blade of grass. Harry observed the look on his face and he saw that Ron was feeling wretched, as well.

"What you did was uncalled for," Harry said in a tone of voice he hadn't ever thought he'd use when it came to Ron. It was frigid and constricted, just like how his throat felt. He didn't want to speak to Ron this way, but he couldn't help it. "It was cruel. Downright cruel."

"I know," agreed Ron. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me - you should be apologizing to Hermione!"

"Mate, I know, okay? I know!" he yelled. "I don't know why I went off on her the way I did. It was unfair. It was malicious. I don't know, Harry."

"I know you're upset about Lavender, but you've got to find another outlet for your pent-up rage, all right? Hermione's cat died and she's feeling just as miserable as you are! You two should be consoling each other - not making each feel worse!"

"You're right!" shouted Ron, his face twisted in agony. "Is that what you want to hear? You're right, Harry." He sighed desolately, looking back down at the ground.

Harry, abruptly feeling remorseful because of his unreasonable and sudden outburst, ran his fingers through his hair before sitting down next to him. The grass tickled his palms.

"It's just…" Ron looked too pained to speak. "I saw her today, and… it's worse than yesterday. You should have read what was in the letter, Harry. She was nice about it. Completely nice. She still wanted to be friends. That was the worst part. And then… you saw it; you were there. She started speaking to me again like nothing happened. Like everything was the same."

Harry was looking at his friend. There was something very heavy in his throat. It almost felt as if someone had shoved some prickly, coarse pebble down his gullet. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling. Over his rocky years here, he had come to associate it with shame.

But he knew what Ron was feeling. He knew what it felt like to feel down over a girl. Of course, there hadn't been anyone else after Cho (Harry didn't feel like dealing with another jerk of the female species and, even if he had, he hadn't found someone quite… adequate and worthy to go through all of that pain for), but he sympathized with the feeling. It couldn't feel too good. Harry even remembered the day Ron had been so cheerful and happy when Lavender finally said yes. Nothing could've brought him down that day.

He recalled that even he himself felt a bit jealous of Ron one time or another, seeing him that way. He hadn't felt that way for a very long time. Sure, his resentment and bitterness from the year before had plummeted… but not really. He had just taught himself to hide it better.

"I saw." Harry pressed his lips together. The air was prickling cold and chilly. He knew it would start snowing soon. "Look… I'm sorry, I really am. I knew you really… had gotten attached."

"Yeah," scoffed Ron. "My mistake, right?"

"It'll fade away, Ron. You know it will. It just takes time."

Ron didn't say a word about Harry's statement. Instead, he went back to the topic of Hermione and Crookshanks. "I'll apologize to her before dinner. She'll need an hour or so to cool down a bit, I s'ppose. It's just… I feel horrible. I kill Crookshanks and then yell at Hermione, telling her she's not human… I really am a prick."

"No, you're not," said Harry, although a few minutes ago he wouldn't have disagreed. "You… you just act like one sometimes. But who doesn't? We all have our moments."

Ron nodded, leaning against the trunk of the tree. His hands were behind his head, looking up at the sky, his prefect badge shining for one quick second. "We don't argue as much as we used to, right?"

Harry was surprised by his question, but answered it anyway. He thought hard. He realized he hadn't really noticed. "Well… not as much, yeah, I suppose." He remembered that after Ron's affections had tided over to Lavender, he and Hermione hadn't been bickering as fiercely with each other like before.

"That's good." His face had slowly descended into a vague expression, as if he was calm but thinking and uncertain of what he was feeling, all at the same time.

"Why do you ask?" asked Harry, curious.

"Just curious. I just remembered how we used to be, you know. I always got jealous of you because she fussed over you more than she fussed over me. And then… we found out we fancied each other - which was great. But we weren't ready, and it just faded. Back into that mutual friendship thing." He shifted his gaze to Harry. "Ever wonder what it'd be like if it never faded? If we were ready? Oh, never mind," he quickly said, looking away. His cheeks were rosy. "That was a stupid question. Don't answer that. Ignore me. I think I'm still drunk from last night."

Harry wanted to tell him that he did wonder, an unnaturally vast amount, at that. He did wonder how the three of them would be now if their feelings for each other hadn't faded. If he was going to be left alone while Ron and Hermione went off somewhere. For a while, after finding out the more-than-friends-feelings were reciprocated between the pair of them, he felt odd when he saw them. There had been this strange twisting in his stomach, a wallowing, watery movement in his skull that had sort of made him queasy.

It was as if he had been expecting change and he was refusing it. No, he didn't want things to change. Even though everything in his life had always somehow been turned upside down, distorted, shifted, and stretched like a piece of indestructible taffy every year, he never wanted the breeze of change to affect his two best friends. They had been the only constant things in his life, the only people he could count on to stay the same, and he didn't want to lose that.

He had even felt slightly bitter and angry when he had thought about it. His two best friends had found each other… but what about him? Were they to leave him behind to go traipsing off, snogging in broom closets? It made him fear what their feelings would slowly convert into.

He also thought about what would've happened if they did merge into a relationship and then things fell apart. Their friendships would be scarred forever. He might not be able to be in the same room as Ron and talk to Hermione, or vice versa. Most of all, despite all of the echoing fears floating around in his brain, he was afraid of that.

"Hermione fusses over everyone, Ron," said Harry, disregarding his thoughts.

He laughed, shaking his head. "That's true, but not as much as she fussed over you. She still does it, too. It's like she's the mother and you're the child. She cares for you so bloody much and she's not afraid to show it. A bit brave, you know? Especially after Rita Skeeter started to write those sleazy articles about you two."

For some unknown strange reason, Harry felt slightly nervous when Ron said this. "Yeah."

The sun was starting to go down, and Harry felt uneasy when he thought of the possibility Ron would want to talk more about him and Hermione. It was - to him - very anomalous territory. It even frightened him a bit, although he didn't know why.

He stood. "C'mon, let's go. We'd better head back inside. They might be looking for us. Dinner's in an hour and we've still got to find Hermione."

With Ron agreeing and brushing himself off, they started to head back to the castle. But not before Ron stopped Harry, right in front of Crookshanks's grave.

"Well, Crookshanks," Ron ruefully said, looking down at the small lump of soil and the teeny headstone. "I'm here to pay my respects. I'm real sorry I killed you. I really am. I didn't mean to. It's all Fred and George's fault." He paused. Harry could tell talking to a pet's grave wasn't one of his day-to-day activities. "Anyway, Hermione misses you a lot. She's going to murder me once she finds out. But, hey, maybe we'll meet up and share a spot of tea." Ron suggested this in a casual manner.

And then the two boys headed back to the towering and vast castle of Hogwarts, stomachs growling and with a hope that the evening will end on good terms - with no cats dying, break-ups, spiked butterbeer, or half-naked riots.

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