A Mourning to Remember
“The devil…What beastly incidents our memories insist on cherishing!”
-Eugene O’Neil (Strange Incidents, 1928)
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Funny how screaming didn’t need sound for him to hear it. Look at me, he thought desperately, just look at me. She did, and he recoiled as if he had been slapped. He struggled all the more. No, fight it Hermione, fight dammit!
“Hermione!” Ron continued to bellow her name, dragging his feet to slow down his captor. Her gaze had followed him to the end; but her eyes were dull and listless, as if she had already given up. This terrified him more than anything else.
He was thrown facedown on the stone floor, and he stumbled as he tried to get up; he was still tied to Harry, Griphook, and Dean. “HERMIONE!” he sobbed, scrambling to get to the stairs. Someone gave a deep throaty chuckle before the prison door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. The hollow echo hadn’t yet faded away before he heard an awful, drawn out scream that made his blood freeze in his veins.
Ron woke, gasping for oxygen, his face drenched with sweat. He was staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath while the nightmare flickered across his consciousness. He tried pushing it away, but it pushed back.
“Ron, you alright, mate?” Harry murmured from his direct right.
“M’ fine,” he mumbled in answer.
“Same dream?”
“Same dream.”
He sighed, crawling out of bed with the air of someone who had done this many times before. Before, he was always the one asking that question, it had never been him who had been thrashing about in his sleep, trying to forget the images that seemed seared into his retinas. Crossing over to the door, he shook his head like a dog trying to rid its ears of water, but the screaming just wouldn’t stop.
Of course, it didn’t make it any easier, where he was. Shell Cottage had been their safe haven, a place of respite from the very dangerous world around them. This place had seen happy times, but this place had also seen pain and suffering in such high amounts that he was surprised that the very foundation of the house didn’t cave in from it. Ron wondered what the walls would say if they could talk. Would they sob or would they sing?
The house held its breath as he crossed the shadowy hall, his cautious steps making the floorboards squeak in protest. Every night he had stayed here, the routine was always the same. The door creaked as he poked his head inside. He spotted Ginny, caught in peaceful slumber, but that wasn’t who he was here for. Ron squinted, trying to find her unmistakable form among the shadows, but to no avail.
Praying that he wouldn’t wake his sister, Ron tiptoed to the other bed, peering down onto the mattress. No one was there, and both blankets were gone. His insides squirmed in anxiety.
Where was she? Ron glanced around one last time before returning to his room to fetch a jumper from his duffel.
“Where are you going?”
“Out for a minute, I need some air.” Harry didn’t pursue the subject any further. By now he was too used to Ron’s nighttime routine to be very concerned. He’ll be fine, he’s done this before; it’s nothing new. With that hardly reassuring thought, Harry turned over and went back to sleep.
She was nowhere to be seen; the bathroom, living room, and kitchen were all empty, empty, empty.
Ron’s feet were speckled with dew as he strolled into the cool, clear night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was easy to tell that it would be morning in a matter of hours.
Unconsciously, he found himself being drawn to the grave, like it was some great cosmic magnet. It was on his way there when he nearly tripped over a figure sprawled on the grass. He squinted through the dark.
“Hermione?”
Ron breathed in sharply; she looked so pretty lying there, her russet hair fanning out like a halo, her face upturned to the pinpricks of light that pockmarked the dark sky.
“Ron?” She got to her feet, surprised to see him.
“I had a feeling you’d be here.” He jerked his head towards the tombstone. She sighed, nodding.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, I reckon that makes two of us.”
She turned towards him, a questioning look in her eyes. He sat down on the blanket, and she followed suit. No one spoke as they both gazed at the tiny mound that was already flourishing with foliage.
“Can you believe that it’s been a year, Ron, a whole year since the last time we were here?”
“Not really.” It was true, though. After Harry’s triumph over Voldemort, everything seemed to have become a blur. There was the restoration of Hogwarts, and the inevitable start of a new term, along with the gradual readjusting to a very different world. But it was coming to terms with himself that had been so challenging over this last year. Every day was a struggle to overcome the past and face the present.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He hadn’t expected the words to come out so quickly and easily as they did. Yet there they were, invisible question marks hanging in the air.
She didn’t answer, but instead asked him the same. He stared at the ground, deep in thought. He didn’t want her to worry about him, she had plenty to worry about on her own.
“I dunno, I’ve just had a lot to think about, that’s all.”
“Yes, I suppose having your first niece or nephew would give you a lot to think about.”
“Yeah.”
Fleur was scheduled to have the child within the next month, and she had asked for Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry’s help to set up the house for the baby shower which was to take place the following afternoon. It certainly gave them something productive to do during their Easter holidays, but now he was starting to have second thoughts about returning to the cottage.
As if she read his mind, Hermione said “Ron, to tell you the truth, before I really wasn’t sure why I wanted to come back.”
“Why?”
“Well, you do realise that it really has been a year since we came here, to the day, in fact. If I can remember correctly, by this time we probably would have just arrived.”
Ron shifted his attention to the beach, and suddenly the blanket and the grave had vanished. He was back by the shoreline with the cold wind numbing his skin, still recovering from the unpleasant sensation of abrupt Apparation. His feet had sunk into the soft sand from the weight of supporting a deathly pale and unconscious Hermione…
“Ron, what’s wrong?”
“What?” The trance was broken, and he abruptly found himself staring at her, who in turn was surveying him with deep concern.
“You look terrible, like you just saw a ghost or something.” He unclenched his hands, which he had unknowingly curled into fists so tight that he could see his blanched knuckles sticking out of his flesh.
“You’re shaking, what’s the matter?” She looked pained, miserable even.
Ron hastily wiped away the moisture that had collected in his eyes.
“It’s nothing, really. Listen, I’ve got to go, I just wanted to know where you were.” He started to get up, but she touched his hand and he halted in mid movement.
“Please stay.”
Her eyes pleaded with him, and he allowed her to pull him down into a sitting position again. There was another silence as Ron considered what she had just said. She needs me, she actually wants me here, with her.
“You know, I never got the chance to thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, confused.
“For everything, Ron. I really don’t remember a lot from that night, just quick little moments, really. I recall getting here, and you taking me to one of the rooms. I didn’t want to let you out of my sight, if memory serves.”
Ron chuckled darkly.
“No, you didn’t.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing. It was just instinct, you know what I mean? It was like I was on autopilot or something. I did what I did because that’s just what felt right at the time. If there was anyone who was the hero that night, it was you.”
“Don’t say that, Ron. Just don’t.” Hermione stood up, brushing the grass off of her pajama pants and avoiding his gaze. “I-I think I’ll turn in, it’s been a long day.”
He stood up reluctantly as she gathered the blanket up in her arms. They headed back inside, each enveloped in their own thoughts.
A Mourning to Remember by hermy008
Story Notes:
Hi, I'm Hermy008, and this is my first fanfic. (So please keep that in mind.) I've always loved hp and writing, but this is my first instance of combining the two. This story does have its dark spots, but I believe its balanced with its happy parts too.
Thank you to Pottercast 226 for helping inspire me, along with All Time Low for their song "Remembering Sunday", and WeaselyMom for inspiring me to write fanfic. Finally, i give a big thanks to Danii for beta'ing this! You're the best! Enjoy. :D
Chapter Notes: Ron isn't the only one who has problems sleeping on the one-year anniversary of their escape from Malfoy Manor...
Chapter Endnotes: Hope you liked this so far! There is more to it though, trust me. Comments/Questions or just some good old-fashioned reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you to my amazing beta Danii! . :)