Same Old Lang Syne
Author's Note: Hey, pholks. I've been getting a lot of comments in your reviews about the suspense I'm putting into the story. Well, I just wanted to say that the reason for this is that I am a very big fan of the cliffhanger. I love reading stories with them, I love watching TV shows with them, and I love writing stories with them. In fact, I know something about cliffhangers which may catch your interest, seeing as how you've been seeing so many of them this story. The term cliffhanger comes from the old serials, when a show would play once a week in a movie theatre, like the old Batman shows, and one of the most common endings of an episode was to have either the hero (i.e. Batman), or somebody else (i.e. Robin) in great peril. The most popular type of mortal peril was to have the character literally hanging off a cliff. Thus, the term cliffhanger. Now, I hope you enjoy the coming chapter. It's short, I know, but the next one will be forthcoming soon.
January 31st -Hermione
Hearing a knock on the door, Hermione looked up from her book. She put it aside and went to open the door. In the doorway stood Ron, his eyes red. He had obviously been crying.
"Ron, what's wrong?" Hermione put her hand on Ron's shoulder, ushering him inside.
"Hermione," he rasped. "I am so sorry, I did everything I could."
"Ron," said Hermione, her heart beginning to race. "Please, just tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me."
"Harry," began Ron, but the was unable to complete his sentence. He handed Harry's wand to Hermione.
"I don't understand," she said softly, taking Harry's wand. "Why are you giving me…" Her eyes widened in realization, then shock. Harry's wand clattered to the floor as Hermione gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. "Harry," she whispered. "No…" Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. Her knees gave way, and she began to fall, but Ron caught her. "Harry," she sobbed.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," said Ron softly. He guided Hermione to the couch, and they sat down. He tried to fight back tears as he held Hermione, who was sobbing into his shoulder. In the end, however, he couldn't stop them any more than Hermione could. Before too long, Hermione had cried herself to sleep, the occasional sob still wracking her body.
Another knock came on the door, and Ron stood up, leaning Hermione back onto the couch gently. He opened the door, drying his eyes, and before him stood Alastor Moody.
"I'm sorry, Weasley," he said. "It's never easy to lose a partner." His magical eye swiveled to look into the apartment. "How did she take it?"
"Pretty hard," said Ron, looking back at Hermione. "It's understandable though. I still can't believe it. I mean, they just really found each other, and now, this. I should have killed Malfoy for this."
"Have you told your family yet?"
"No. How can I? Harry was like a brother to me, and I know he was like family to all of us. How can I tell my parents that he's dead? He was like another son to them." He leaned up against the wall, his head in his hands.
"They deserve to know, and it would be best if they heard it from you," said Moody, placing a stabilizing hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Yeah, you're right, but that doesn't make it any easier."
"Nothing can make it easier, Weasley, you just have to say it."
"Could you at least come with me? For support?" Moody nodded solemnly. Ron checked on Hermione briefly. "She'll be okay, just give me a second to leave her a note." Ron scrawled a quick note on a spare bit of parchment on the table. Leaving and closing the door quietly behind them, so as not to wake Hermione, they apparated to the Burrow.
A few minutes later, Hermione woke up with a sob. Through her tears, she read Ron's note. Deciding she didn't want to be alone, Hermione traveled to the Burrow via Floo powder. By that time, Ron had already told them, and Hermione was expected. No sooner had she arrived than Ginny had brought her to the couch, given her a cup of hot tea, and sat by her, along with Molly, lending silent support. Arthur was still at the Ministry, and would have been notified already. Sara sat slumped in a chair, her head in her hands. Fred leaned against the wall, holding his forehead, still trying to process the information. George sat hunched over in a chair, his head hung in grief. Moody had long since left, as social situations of any kind were to Moody as the desert is to fish. Everybody in the room was trying to reach beyond the emptiness they were all feeling, but nobody quite knew how.