Life and Times
Rating: R
Ship: HHr (main emphasis)
The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.
Author Note: (4/5/2011) Had bit of trouble trying to upload the chapter, and Portkey loaded like a snail for that matter. Hope all is well with the site. But, anyway…
Hermione struggles without Harry and grieves with the unknown. Sifting for answers in the media-mess is about as fruitful as finding a needle in a haystack. She tries to fight her emotions, but inevitably loses the battle. She finds support in friendship, but will it be enough? Angst-a-plenty.
***
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Misery
***
I honestly don't know how I escaped from not being able to sleep. Honestly, I had the right tools for insomnia: Rita, the trials, murderers, the Ministry, my love and the unknown. I wouldn't know when he'd be back. One day, there or not, he would show up at Number Twelve. Just like that. No signs, no warnings, no flashing lights-one day gone, the next he's here-the ways in which these awful things worked. Of all the times to be away… Frightening falls short of the description. Horrors from my vivid imagination complemented those what if's.
For hours we were together. For hours it was just him and me, and us. Consequently, and fortunately, I'd become exhausted. My body gave out. Elated, sad, indifferent, but I eventually gave out. Mixed perspiration, the smell was intensely pumpkin and vanilla. Hadn't thought about the sheets, we lay upon them. I lay upon Harry, his side, wrapped around him snug. It was a trap. I would know the very moment he moved. I'd waken. I didn't want to fall asleep only to realise he had gone. Vanished. Ka-poof.
We weren't out but for an hour or two, or three. Actually, when Harry disturbed me it didn't look as if he even tried to sleep. He was on his back, my cheek to his bare chest. He was staring at the ceiling and I was sure he stopped breathing. He felt me move, blinking, peering down at me with a false smile. I slid up him, and I could feel the muscles sore. I shook the hurt away and did as I pleased. I fell onto him, my arms framing his face, and kissed him good and hard.
Against his slick skin, I moved easily. I heard him grunt as I ground into his leg, his thigh, his hip. I flicked my damp hair back from my face and went to go again, lowering to kiss him when he gathered my limbs. He carried me across the bed, off the bed, my arms about his neck as he brought me into the loo.
He set me down beside him, turned the knobs in the shower, and lured me in by his mouth. Suddenly, I wasn't the least bit tired. The warm water cascaded down between his, literally falling on him to me. We twisted, my body slowly getting the brunt of the pressure until he lifted my figure. Weightless, I climbed onto his portrayal of jungle-gym and tightened my vice. Pressing me into the wall, I gasped, the water hotter, steam rising, and as I turned my head to face the shower door I couldn't see anything else anymore.
***
We stayed until the water turned cold.
I pleaded with him to allow magic, for me to keep the hot water going, but time ticked against me.
By the time we did leave Harry had to start sorting the packed luggage. I wasn't anywhere to be found. I couldn't watch him. I took the one piece of genuine Harry from our closet and put it on over my head. His Quidditch jersey always smelled of him, and I needed that sensation like I needed my very blood.
I took to downstairs. I wasn't going to abandon him. I wasn't going to just let him leave, offering as much as I could think of in this volatile situation. Volatile within me. Harry liked egg salad. Harry liked ham and cheese sandwiches. Harry rather enjoyed his puddings, biscuits, and pastries. He liked the juices, the milk, and the earl grey tea. I used magic, of course, for no human could accomplish such a culinary feat. The brief space it took Harry to bounce-and-bang the luggage down the stairs, I had prepared most on my mental grocery list.
I used an engorgement charm on the inside of a lunch basket. Saran wrapping what I could, I plated and stored the rest in miniature containers. One after another I placed them inside, making sure to organise breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The Ministry had their own meals, and certainly the greatly-overseen lodge they'd be sleeping at had their own catering. But, I loved him-damn it. I didn't know what else to do, so I cooked him his favourite homemade meals to-go.
I didn't want to see him in the den. I knew the luggage sat at the ready beside the fireplace. I knew he was counting their numbers compulsively, a trait that rubbed off from me. I was done in the kitchen, but I just couldn't walk in there. I heard rummaging, stomping, soft walking and footsteps closing in to my proximity. I stood firm on my feet. My hands flat on the countertop, I had my head down. I tried to shake off the tears so readily in their ducts.
I felt him, his burst of warm aura first, and then his entire body. He wrapped his arms about me from behind and leaned against me. He sniffed my hair, nuzzling, kissing, caressing down the curve of my throat. By hand he was painting me, my form, roaming the concaved curvatures, the convex hilltops. I remained still and let him feel of me, love me, taking pleasure from his fragile touch. I moved only when he made me, finding my breasts and squeezing them, pushing on me to arch backward. I followed him, met his mouth with a turn of my neck and savored his taste. The taste I knew I wouldn't have for a while.
He had me twist, shifting my hips till I faced him. He lay back atop me in our vertical stance, his arms embracing me. I wrapped my own, surrounding his neck and cradling him against my shoulder. We stood in silence like this, feeling his fingers along my indent, straight descending to the crease of my arse. I pushed off on my tip-toes, allowing him to pull away the cloth from my bum. He traced the smooth skin of my buttocks, and gradually I came back to the soles of my feet.
He tightened his embrace of me, and I did the same.
Without words, I knew what he wanted to say.
I don't even know how I got anything out, too, but said nonetheless softly, "I'm not going to cry…"
That was a lie, for the very moment a tear fell.
He stepped away and reached for me.
Instantly, I grabbed it.
He walked me into the living area, around the sofa, between the coffee table and the television to the fireplace. Several pieces, large to small, were fit close within the enlarged pit. He took the canister of Floo powder from the shelf and turned about to face me in his suit and tie. He inclined his chin as if to tell me, How do I look?
I made a tiny laugh, puffy-eyed and sniffed my running nose.
I pinched the knot firm and adjusted his tie parallel to everything else.
I didn't have to touch a thing on him, immaculate from head-to-toe, but did all the same.
I patted his tie, his chest, pulling at the sides of his jacket and exchanged the Floo canister with his lunch basket.
He had to clear his throat, and another, and again, his eyes growing red with withheld tears. He had to blink and shake out of it himself, smiling the fake of a smile.
"I'll be back before you know it."
He stepped backwards into the fireplace.
"Good luck," My voice came out pitchy, and I had to clear my own clasped throat.
We stood in quiet and stared at one another.
I wanted to kiss him one last time, but knew one last time could mean one last time. And, it wouldn't be one last time.
"I love you with all my heart."
I heard a sob break when he told that to me, and the wall crumbled.
Tears streamed easily down my face and I could look at him no more.
The knots in my stomach and the wound in my heart shed physical pain, and I gritted my teeth to stop myself from screaming.
I threw the dust at him, my eyes ablur, and heard him say with daring courage, "Ministry of Magic!"
The green fires erupted at once, and then settled down, the aroma of pumpkin succumbing to an ash-ridden, stale odor.
I threw myself on the sofa before the fireplace and wept.
***
Like creatures of the wind, newspapers flutter carelessly…
The headline for the Daily Prophet towers in bold, stating, GONE MAD-EYED? SKEETER BELIEVES SO! A mobile photograph shows Rita walking arm-and-arm with her dozen lawyers in tow.
The headline for the Quibbler is scribbled above a photograph of a very disheveled Rita Skeeter, shirt and hair a mess, glasses crooked and cross-eyed: SKEETER RELEASES HER NUT FARM ON THE MINISTRY!
The headline for the Daily Prophet crawls from right to left, stopping to pause in the middle to reflect, SAVIOR-BOY FUMBLES FOR ANSWERS, SKEETER A SURE WINNER! A mobile photograph of Harry with faeries circling his head is underneath.
The headline for the Quibbler prints in psychedelic colours, moving from bottom frame to top: DALEY LAWYER STORMS OUT AFTER HEATED DISCUSSION WITH JUDGE, SKEETER! A picture of a beetle-eyed, short nosed man is shown pushing out of doubled-doors and disappears.
The headline for the Daily Prophet signs like a fine-point pen, NIGHT CLUB OWNER SAYS, WON'T GET INVOLVED WITH POTTER MISTAKES!
The headline for the Quibbler autographs in multi-coloured waxed crayon: POTTER'S SURPRISE WITNESS DESCRIBES MORAL FIBRE, OUTWITS SKEETER. A photograph of a charming Arthur Weasley is shown standing beside Harry Potter in his chair. He points out of the picture's frame.
The headline for the Daily Prophet spouts off in thick letters, WEASLEY AND SHACKLEBOLT CAMOFLAUGE POTTER LIES, SKEETER SHOWS AN ACE UP HER SLEEVE!
The headline of the Quibbler bolsters in thin cursive: UPROAR AT THE MINISTRY! THE JURY SEES THE BEAST HERSELF!
The headline of the Daily Prophet etches slowly, with distinctive curls at the tips of each individual letter, DOLORES UMBRIDGE TAKES THE CHAIR, UNVEILS POTTER'S TRUE CHARACTER! A photograph beneath shows a smiling, confident Dolores Umbridge wearing her signature pink pencil-skirt suit and tall-feather hat. She looks unfazed by Azkaban Prison.
The headline of the Quibbler prints at a quickened speed, emboldened white with a red cast-shadow: JUDGE MAKES WEASLEY LEAVE AFTER SHOUTING MATCH WITH UMBRIDGE, POTTER ENRAGED!
A photograph of Jason Daley himself, with medical tape wrapped around his face and a neck brace on, sits at the chair. The headline of the Daily Prophet transcribes, DALEY PRESENTS SOLID EVIDENCE, SKEETER GAINS SUPPORT FROM THE JURY!
The Quibbler's headline shuffles in a new statement, pressing largely: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE MENTIONED-KINGSLEY, POTTER DEMAND ANSWERS!
The Daily Prophet's headline addresses the judge's mannerisms, stating in turn, JUDGE CALLS FOR RECESS AT POTTER TRIAL-SKEETER SEES SUCCESS!!
The entire front page of the Quibbler writes with the biggest font the paper could hold: QUINCY NOLPHO ACQUITTED AFTER ANTI-MUGGLE REMARK! SKEETER CALLS KINGSLEY-RIGGED JURY!! POTTER WINS!!! A picture of Harry, standing before the chair beyond the jury and judge with Minister Kingsley, smiles albeit exhaustedly with evident bags under his eyes. Kingsley has an arm about him for support.
***
Eleven days later…
Incessant honking of horns would have given me a headache if my mind was still conscious to this world. But, it wasn't. My mind wandered off, thinking, pondering about Harry and the days I hadn't been with him. More than a week now, going on two, and not a single word said about his health, his stance. Although, I knew his whereabouts and I knew Kingsley and crew were with him, I just couldn't get the picture of Harry out of my mind and how tired he looked. Fortunately, during the Rita's trial I could at least see him; now, with the Undesirables, the Prophet had gone back to jousting with us and the Quibbler could only hint at what was or wasn't happening.
One headline from the Quibbler read: ALL'S QUIET ON THE POTTER-FRONT.
Vague.
I kept my promise. I stayed away from the wizarding world. Everything I did outside of Number Twelve I did around the flat. I didn't venture night strolls, only during the day. I wrote Viktor back, and an unusually lengthy letter, too. Caught up in being active, I was afraid if I didn't remain doing something I'd end up weeping as I had the first few nights alone. It's extremely difficult to be with someone and know someone is always there beside you to have his side of the bed cold. I put a pillow where he would be, but that didn't fill the loneliness.
I had stopped at the corner of two streets, catching my breath as well as waiting for the orange hand to turn into a white pedestrian. I felt of my legs, bending slightly, touching the olive and brown-striped jogging suit. A few people in business apparel checked their watches, briefcase in hand, and peeked around as if they were in a hurry and hadn't the time to be waiting. The streetlight flipped red and the hand transformed. I was off again.
I called Ginny. She was fairly surprised to hear my voice. I was much more in suspense knowing she halted her words with me, not the other way around. But, let bygones be bygones. We spoke for a few hours, mostly about Harry. She asked me if I knew anything more beyond the newspapers and of course I did not. I told her of the other trial, the trial no one would ever know about and she became similar in worrying.
"…Do you know when he'll be back?"
"No…," I painfully sighed into the telephone.
Gin kept silent a beat, but breathed out the fact, "…They could keep him for months. The process is so convoluted. I almost wish for days gone when the same day you entered was the same day they sentenced you. Now, it's this full-blown deal."
"When Kingsley came in he wanted to reinvent the system. He'd had enough of innocent people being sentenced to terms, or worse to Azkaban… I mean, Harry for example…if it wasn't for the Headmaster's quick thinking…"
"Let's talk about something else. All we're doing is depressing ourselves," exclaimed Gin in her own sighs.
"How are you and Neville? Better?"
I didn't hear anything for a while, and I thought she'd hung up before I heard the telephone fumbling and breaths being brought back to the receiver, "Sorry, I had to put the phone down a second."
She paused again.
"Hey-come over. Please?…"
My plan was to restock the rations. The refrigerator nearly emptied from supplying Harry, I'd gone slowly with what was left. We had a pantry of dry grains and cereal that kept me aloft, but when I ran out of basic foods like milk and bread I knew it was time for a grocery stop.
I turned the corner, and then the next, market shops dotting the pavement I lightly jogged on. Fresh produce sat out in stalls outside family shops. A hardware store was next followed by a craft shop. A block more, my right side lined with potted trees cut circularly into manmade asphalt, I'd taken this route before numerous times. I knew the next shop and the owner, Mister Worthington. Harry bought his goods here, whole and farm-fresh. Plus, he knew us by name, learning mine, our goings-on and of our engagement.
He gave me a wave in greeting when I walked in to grab a plastic cart, an individual one that slid up the arm and not of the industrial, supermarket-kind. I smiled at him and made my way up and down the aisles, taking just what I needed and maybe a sweet here or two. I couldn't pass the extra-yummy looking chocolate truffle ice cream behind icy panes of glass. I chose the ripest of tomatoes, the freshest of milk, and the lowest expiration date of the multiple loaves of wheat-and-honey. As I shuffled in my pocket to pull out the clip holding the notes together, setting the basket near the register, Mister Worthington immediately struck a conversation after saying, as he always did:
"Did you find everything you needed this morning, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, including the mouth-watering chocolate truffle ice cream. I couldn't say no."
He laughed under a salt-and-peppered moustache, "So, where is Mister Potter? He's typically with you."
"He had to go on a business trip for a few days. He'll be back soon."
"How was your holiday?"
"Lovely. Our beach-front flat had an amazing view of the ocean and sky. It was terribly difficult to leave and come back to London."
"I would have missed my best customers!"
I lightly chuckled.
"Maybe I should ask the governor to scrap the park next door and put in a beach?"
"No! I simply love the park, too! I was in there, jogging. The naturey smells are just what I need."
"Then, we'll just have to make the park bigger!" He went overly-ecstatic, and I made a laugh at how goofy he became.
He gave me the total and bagged the products.
"Thank you very much," I said, taking the two brown bags in my arms.
"No, thank you!" He smiled, giving me another wave of his wrinkled hand. "Take care, Miss Granger!"
***
After putting everything away, showering and changing into comfortable wear, I set to start an early lunch. I was to be over at Gin and Neville's house in a few hours, but a few hours too much. I didn't want to act as if I were clingy; but, I wish I could have let that attitude go. I wish I could have just gone somewhere. I thought of my parent's, but they worked tirelessly and I didn't want to burden them. I didn't exactly want to go over to Cho's, for I didn't want to play a question game with her as I did before the holiday. Katie was gone with Quidditch… The Weasley's? As much as I wanted to thank Mister Weasley for coming to Harry's aid, I couldn't make myself go over there. It was too weird by myself…
Talking about feeling weird, odd, torture… All I could hear in the quiet Number Twelve was my spoon against the bowl or the glass cup sitting down upon the wooden tabletop after I picked it up to drink. Where Harry would sit, his chair was pushed in. My knee would bump into it by habit, wishing I'd find his knee. I let my hair fall with gravity as I sat, staring into the lukewarm chowder soup. Various newspapers scattered all over the table framed like the chaos within my mind. My world started to swirl in sickening circles, and I started to tear. I couldn't help it, and watched as the first teardrop fell into the soup.
Hastily pushing my chair from the table, it scratching the floor, I tossed soup and all into the sink. The bowl and glass crashed, and if they broke, I didn't care. Magic could fix everything. But, magic couldn't fix my sad, hurting heart nor the intensely cold atmosphere. I wiped my eyes with the cuff of my opened, warm-coloured chromatic jumper. I leapt the stairs, fleeing from the loud silence like a plague on my existence.
I found solace in my room. My room… I couldn't go into our bedroom, or any room encompassing us. I felt tired, but wasn't tired. I put the musical disc in the radio of our song, the dance song, the song that could keep me sane…and drowned out that silence. I turned the knob to its highest degree, the volume ascending in parallel. I picked up the paint palette and began nonsense, frivolous activity, the story of my life now. I thumbed my engagement ring, mouthed the words of the voice singing the song and let the tears flow freely.
My old self told me it was better to get this over with before venturing to Gin's. This was logical. But, I started to regret thinking about going to see Gin. With everything… A sharp pain put my chest in a vice, my heart at its centre. I stumbled forward, as I painted the wall, and clung palm-open on the wet acrylic. The palette in my right hand violent shook, finally dropping to the floor. I convulsed, groaning, eyes clinched-flashes of Bellatrix Lestrange flooding my memory banks. I could see her smiling, hear her laugh, feel her knife dig into my arm and feel the blood seeping easily from the wounds she inflicted.
I felt the electricity, the very vibrations of the Cruciatus. I dry-heaved and slid down the wall, the jumper taking the friction and smearing the paint along the way. Landing on the floor, my eyes settled on the last image of my jeans, the holes in the knees, and the vibrantly blue, Merlin slippers on my feet…
When I awoke I could see the sky. Blackish purple rolling clouds of thunder and lightning churned. Rain poured in buckets, drenching me. I realised, farther into awareness, that I felt muddy earth beneath me. I rose on my bum, my black, pleated skirt sticking to my black-tights. Buckled shoes, white-collared shirt and crimson and gold tie… I was back in Hogwarts attire. I stood and wobbled forward in the storm.
My surroundings were made of crushed concrete and stone. It was dark, too dark… A crack of lightning brought my eyes to see, swishing around and stumbling backward, a crumbling Hogwarts castle behind me. I heard a moan to my right, and looking, I saw Ginevra…my best friend…lying in a fetal position. She was clutching her stomach.
I fell to my knees and went to hold her, help her, as she cried out in pain. A gurgle, she coughed, and when she did she spat blood, staining her white cheek and chin. She sighed one last time, looked up at me as the deluge washed her face and slipped into death by the shut of her eyes. I saw the gaping hole in her abdomen, and further on saw bodies and more bodies of my beloved friends, people, students, Ministry personnel, Muggle personnel, the Order, and all of them dead around me.
I couldn't rid of the red stain on my hands. As much as I wanted the blood to go away, I couldn't relieve the horrific hue. Too much in shock to cry or scream, I crawled backwards to hit another corpse. I shuffled to my feet and ran towards an appearing light in the distance, and away from the destruction of Hogwarts.
Hogwarts's field a maze of death… I took caution not to step on anyone, blank faces staring at me as I ran on. I tried to close my eyes and tripped on something, someone, and when I came to my life was over.
It was Harry's lifeless body I fell over on.
I couldn't make out his face, scarred and burned much like the rest of his tattered clothes and skin, but I could see the untouched lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
I threw myself on his immobile form and screamed out into a tumultuous clap of lightning.
My hair clinging wet to my sight, the rainwater taking to my lashes, I couldn't make out the casted shadow on me.
But, when I blinked out the water which burned my eyes, I saw him.
Him.
He grinned, his wand pointed in my direction.
Blinding green light inundated any visibility.
I heard my final noise, a yelp, before piling atop Harry, limp…
"Miss Granger…"
"…Mm?"
"Miss Granger, stand up."
I woke in a place of purest white. It could have been a room, but everything reached out to the horizon. There was nothing, but something, one something-a hand out to me. I took it without seeing who it was, a feeling of familiarity guiding my senses. When my sight adjusted, my balance equalising, I knew the hand, the entity taking on form. Silver hair and beard, his long robes and cloak swept the ground beneath him. He peered at me behind half-moon spectacles quizzically, as if he knew prior to my next action that I'd react the way I did.
I threw his hand from mine and hopped back.
I cursed him.
"How dare you!"
He tilted his chin upward and leaned his head to the side.
"How dare I?"
"I didn't have the courage to spell it out then, but I've grown a thicker backbone!" I spat at him. "You knew it all along! You knew everything! You knew everything and you didn't so much as stop it before the end!"
He let his head fall back, chin down, and gazed back over his spectacles. His wizard hat flopped to one side.
"And now…," I wheezed. It started to get hard to breathe, and I fought each breath to get out the words. "Now we've taken on the monstrosity that you could have saved! We're too young! You could have saved us from this weight, the carnage, and the massacres we all had to endure!"
I was gulping for air at this point, and any logical person would have stopped to figure out why. But, I didn't, yelling in finality, "YOU MURDERER!!" and having it echo towards utter blackness…
My eyes shot open.
I was on the floor of my room in Number Twelve, the music disc on repeat and paint slathered all over me.
When I rose to my seat, I gazed around at the surroundings, going in-and-out of blurred, dreamy visions.
Everything was the same, just the way it was before, lacking evidence that I had any sort of chest pains.
***
The weather looked as if it were going to rain again. The sun hadn't come out for the longest time, thunderstorms and fog the forecast day in and day out. A disheartening and distressing ambience… If the weather were my health it would be precisely its behavior, right down to the pitter-patter of raindrops struggling to fall.
I'd apparated and stood in front of Gin and Neville's place. I pushed the doorbell, hearing the sing-song of each ding within, and waited while holding onto my purse strap. I was wiping some lint from my black feminine jacket, its sleeves pushed up to my elbows, when the door opened. I thought it would surely be a better-than-happy Gin, but when my eyes flicked from my jacket front to the doorway I saw Neville in his sleep clothes, his eyes in squints and his hair a mess. He had to have been snoozing.
"Neville!"
"Hey…," He yawned and rubbed at his eye. "…Hermione!"
"Oh my, I apologise! I didn't know you were sleeping!"
Neville waved it off, "Gin's actually not here, so…"
"She's not?"
Neville peered out from his house and stared straight up at the sky falling. "Come in," He urged me from the rain starting to pick up. "Come in out of the rain."
I stepped in the doorway and turned to ask again, Neville and me at diagonals, "Where is she? She said she'd be here."
"She told me to tell you that she went over to Cho's and to meet her over there," He shrugged. "Something to do with finalising the wedding and she didn't want me around for the surprise. You know how she loves her surprises."
My eyes went wide at the irony of the statement. "Mm…," My eyes strayed from Neville, to the wall, to the drops falling now at a steady rate and back at him. "How are you doing?"
"Normal, I guess. But, the question should be, how is Harry? Have you heard anything from him? I've been following what I could find on television and the newspapers… I'm about to unsubscribe from the Prophet-bloody woman."
I laughed into a smile, but that smile soon faded, "I honestly don't know… He's sealed shut in the Ministry and he'd get into some serious trouble if he tried to contact me… I wouldn't want him to do that… I wouldn't want him to jeopardise himself, for me or anything else…"
My voice gradually softened and softened, and Neville quickly noticed.
He stepped toward me and gave me a warm hug.
I grinned through closed eyes and accepted his lovely embrace.
"When he gets back we're all going out for a beer, all right?"
I chuckled lightly, patting Neville's shoulder, "I'm sure Harry would enjoy the sentiment when he gets back."
"Take care of yourself, Hermione," He said this while stepping away from the embrace. "And don't be a stranger. You'll never be a stranger around here. You're always welcome to stay over; there'll always be a bed for you."
"Thank you," These were my friends defining the term, `Best'.
"Before you go, I must say that you look stunning as always."
I smiled.
"Did you do something different with your hair?"
"I brushed it?"
He laughed. "Go see Gin. She's been on Cloud Nine since she talked to you, so don't say you weren't prepared."
"Will do, will do," I smiled, and tucked that lock of straightened hair which always had a knack for falling in front of my right eye. "See you."
I waved, my wand out.
"See you," He waved back at me.
And with a gentle pop, I disappeared from Neville's doorway.
***
Thankfully at Cho's door was an awning where I escaped from the pouring rain. It'd still blow sideways and get me, but the moment I knocked on the front door the door flew open. Flaming red hair knocked back by the gusts of wind, lightning cracked and lit her face. She just gazed at me mindlessly for a moment, and I did, too. It could have been a millennium ago since we talked, and here she was before me at a standstill. I could see Cho beyond her arm, the hand which held the doorknob. In a burst, she flung herself on me, making me double back.
"Hermione!" She gasped.
I held the backside of her head, and I could feel the rainwater soaking the bottoms of my black jeans. "I think we should get in."
"Yes," She took me by the hand and led me inside, shutting the door behind us with her foot. "Come on in…"
"I see the party's already started," I noticed scatters of picture books and parchment on the den floor, the tables, and even on the sofa where Cho sat.
"Hey Herms," said Cho with a nod and smile. She was amid perusing leaflets of flora.
"Can I get you a drink?"
I went to sit down where there weren't wedding photos, a spot at the armrest of the sofa, and glanced around at Gin making her way towards the kitchen. "No thanks, I ate before I came. But, thank you though."
"Gin's such a procrastinator. I swear," stated Cho, smirking at a foul-faced Gin. "Less than three weeks away and she doesn't even know the flower arrangements."
"Yeah… I apologise for being away, and…," I'd turned to see Gin coming back into the den with a mug of something, the fizz lathering the top.
She shook her head, "I'm not pinning this on you. It's my fault. With…"
She sat down in the floor at my feet and kept her gaze on me.
"…Should I give you two some alone time?" chimed in Cho, glancing from me to Gin.
"Subject change!" Gin made an awkward cough that had me even more uncomfortable.
I fidgeted in my seat and took some piece of parchment with dates and figures on it to read. I didn't really read, just something to get rid of the agonizingly odd feelings.
"…How is Harry doing?" Gin broke the silencing spell that had entered the room.
I shrugged.
That's all I knew to say.
She and Cho went on to asking me several similar questions. I didn't have any information, and each time another question was raised that familiar pain from before crept in my chest. I knew they asked because they cared, but with every revelation, my mind reeled. I didn't know anything. Harry could be dead, and I wouldn't even know. All I could see is his exhausted face on the front of the Quibbler. Whatever key Harry was to sentencing the Undesirable, I hoped Kingsley wouldn't push him hard. I'd be terrified, horrified to know I was the one true piece in the entire puzzle.
Upon seeing a Death Eater I was brought back to that past… I felt the battle again, fought with the images of those I loved dying around me, the screams of their souls and the inevitable green lights sparking from every corner of the pitch black darkness… How Harry bore the suffering, I'll never know. I'd rather be put away than to be in his position, and that killed me to know he sustained such wounds…
Cho and Gin exchanged places around the room. Cho had to use the loo, and while she was gone, and amidst more wrecking silence I said softly, "…Thank your dad for me."
"When I read what he'd done it didn't take but a second for me to go home and thank him face-to-face," Our eyes locked, mine wanting to emotionally explode in tears. Gin saw this and ushered me over to her with arms open. I went to her and laid my head on her shoulder, her arms embracing me as I inclined.
What sounded like hundreds of thousands of tiny rocks drummed heavily on the roof.
"I'm so thankful Harry has so many people watching out for him when I can't…"
"My dad loves him, you," She rubbed my shoulder, my upper arm, whispering this to me. "There will never be a day that goes by where that isn't true, and that's true with a lot of other people who love you."
"I only wish I could be by his side during this ghastly ordeal…," I turned so my face lay in the crook of Ginny's neck and started crying. I couldn't help it any longer. The heaviness in my heart, the ache in my throat, the torturous misery that became my very being… It all inevitably unfolded.
Gently, Ginny combed my curling strands by fingertip.
The wailing squall outside asphyxiated the existence of my own uncontrollable weep.
{Inspirations for the chapter: Nick Cave - O' Children, Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit, Emily Browning (Cover) - Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), and Audiomachine - An Unfinished Life to name a few}
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