A Death
You walk in and find everyone in silence. You look at Ginny and she doesn't meet your gaze. It's better that way. You see Tonks. You know she's hurting, dying maybe from the inside. And you? You're numb. You think maybe you've become too accustomed to loss, to wreckage and death. You know you should feel more.
[You know that when you're alone it will all implode. You'll crumble in your room, where the silence can't make you feel weak.]
You walk outside because you think you need to be alone. You need to feel the bitter cold against your skin. You hear Ron excuse himself from his family as you walk out the door. He's behind you and catches up quickly but says nothing. You appreciate his silence. You stop somewhere in the middle of the yard and you think back. Think back to the summer holidays you spent here. Time you spent when it was still the three of you. When your lives were still your own. You remember when everything was more than just destruction. You're trembling. It should have been a full moon tonight but you can't see it through the thickness of the clouds.
[You think of Remus. You blame Harry.]
You feel something being draped over your shoulders and realize Ron has given you his jacket. You're shivering now. You don't know how long it's been. Seconds? Minutes? What does it matter anyway? You're acutely aware of the hollowness of your chest, the emptiness. You never thought you would feel this. There's no place safe anymore and you don't remember what home is like. You can't seem to remember the last time you were happy. It's all too far now. Your eyes burn.
Softly: "Hermione…" You turn to face Ron. Your chin is trembling; your breath hitches in your chest. You haven't let anyone touch you since Harry left, but Ron's arms are around you too quickly. You tense at the contact. "I know this hurts." And now, now you completely fall apart. But he doesn't let you go. You cling to him as if your life depended on it, and maybe, in this moment, it does. You sob, deep and body wracking. You feel sick. You realize that everything around you is in shambles and there is nothing you can do to fix it. None of it.
[You're lost and hopeless. You think you might welcome death. But death never comes for you, only the people you love.]
It hurts to breathe because all you can think is: if Harry had been here Remus would be alive. You think you hate him for this. "I can't do this anymore," you choke.
You're not sure when your legs can no longer hold you up; you're not sure when Ron caught you. He lifts you up easily, carrying you inside. You think that Harry should be here picking up the pieces. And again, you think you hate him for this. Ron carries you upstairs. You don't remember when he put you on the bed or when he covered you with a blanket. All you remember is the unending darkness. You hope things will be different when you wake up. You know they won't be.
[And when you sleep you no longer dream. There's nothing left to hope for.]
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