There was a headline. It had thick, bold lettering, against that odd, clothlike material that newspapers use, all greyish-white and gloomy. I ran my finger down the line of the “spine” of the Prophet.
DEPUTY HEAD AUROR FALLS IN PURSUIT OF LAST KNOWN DEATH EATER. The words had danced before my eyes, out of a simple peripheral swipe into the forefront of my entire being. I snatched the carefully hidden article out of Ginny’s shaking hands, causing Harry to rush to my side and try to talk me out of reading it. I pushed him away. Arse. He never left me alone to feel sad.
I read it aloud. With the funeral in the fading past, the kids were back at school, and I sat in the front room of Potter Manor with my closest friends and family, my heart thundering at the ridiculously late news. I could read it aloud and not have any issues with overactive ears. I did.
“‘Ronald Bilius Weasley, 37, was on duty for the Auror Department with long time best friend and Head Auror Harry Potter, on the case to pursue Gregory Goyle the Second, who attended Hogwarts in their year and is the last known Death Eater to be apprehended. Goyle had been spotted repeatedly returning to Little Hangleton, location of the graveyard where Tom Riddle was returned to his body in the subjects’ fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They caught up to the man in said location, where it was discovered that Goyle was not wont for accomplice.
“‘A Ministry official who had yet to sign the traditional temporary nondisclosure agreement told us in strict anonymity that said accomplice was in strong resemblance to the deceased, long-time friend of Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, a victim of self-conjured Fiendfyre in the Final Battle. (This, consequently, was the same Fiendfyre that destroyed one of the Dark Magic artifacts associated with Riddle’s downfall.)
“‘Weasley was reported to have reached Goyle first, and witnesses say Goyle screamed something that Potter, close behind, could not hear. Weasley retaliated, and when Potter reached the dueling pair, Weasley had fallen victim to a hasty Killing Curse. The funeral was held a week and a half later. The Prophet and the Ministry send their sympathies to the family and friends of a man who was a war hero, a loving husband, a doting father, and revered member of our society,’” I finished.
I looked up into the eyes of Mrs. Weasley, who held a tray of biscuits and tea, and was turning white. Even her freckles. It seemed that the gray of her hair was spreading right before my eyes. A glass vase Harry’s aunt had sent them smashed in the corner.
She set the tray carefully on the table, then collapsed into the armchair by the window, her face streaming with tears. I set the paper down and watched the words disappear in a vivid flash of flames. The ashes were Vanished then, and in a daze, I lifted my eyes to my mother-in-law’s.
“Rubbish. They included nothing, nothing, nothing, and it is rubbish!” Mrs. Weasley cried.
Ginny and I rose at the same time to comfort her, but Ginny sat down as soon as she saw get up. I went to Molly and we hugged slowly, then sobbed, the other’s sobs making us stronger. We sat there for a long time, and ended up on opposite sides of the room, on the floor, laughing shakily at Ronald stories. I told her how my admirations grew as we advanced through school, how in my sixth year I had wept hours, confiding in Crookshanks, bewildered by love I hadn’t known.
Harry came back in eventually, helped me and his mother-in-law stand, and then poured tea. Mrs. Weasley declined, saying she was to be watching Bill’s youngest, Louis, that day and couldn’t remain at Potter Manor. Ginny told Harry that he and I needed to talk about the past, kissed me on the forehead and her husband on the lips, and Floo-ed back to the Burrow with her mum.
“I know what Goyle said, you know, Hermione, and I know that I’m shocked what he said hasn’t been executed yet. I’m rather worried and I hope that you listen to what I’m going to say calmly,” he told me, and I leaned forward, so I he could grip my hand.
Up close, you could see the salt-and-pepper nature of his once jet-black hair, the wrinkles that existed by his glasses, and the sadness that hid behind his still-vivid green eyes. He looked old, and I knew I was too, but still I couldn’t reconcile him with the boy I’d kown all those years ago. He was a man whose other half had died.
“Harry, what did Goyle say that could possibly make Ron -,” I began, my emotions on air, gliding swiftly over my heart and coating it with an ice that numbed.
“Hermione, Ron cared most about you, and the kids. And if anything were to happen to you, he’d kill. And if Goyle threatened you, he’d try to kill. That accomplice did share an uncanny resemblance to Crabbe, who we both know is long dead. Goyle is planning something with new players. I can only imagine what he said to Ron, and what’s going on, and I want you to be careful,” Harry told me, and I felt another onset of wild tears. I picked up the tea and Apparated home, falling into my favorite chair - his - and drinking my stolen beverage so quickly that it burned my aching throat.
****
THREATS - A CELLAR STORY
****
I’d never dubbed myself, willingly, at least, as a damsel in distress. The only incident in my life where I’d found myself incapable of self-rescue was first year, and it had yielded such wonderful results that I hadn’t put much mind to it. The other time had been overlooked by my overly-optimistic mind, for the sake of my lover and my sanity.
Bellatrix Lestrange was a name spoken only in fear by Ron or myself, and only in vindictive victory by Molly. She never spoke of what she had done, nor had anyone else. (The Ministry had ignored it for obvious reasons.) Now, though, I was having nightmares. A year out and we were still suffering, oh the irony.
The flat I shared with Ginny was within walking distance of Harrod’s and Diagon Alley, and I could Apparate to Mum and Dad’s with no issue. But when it came to being comforted when I woke up in the middle of the night, the lingering idea of the Cruciatus Curse shaking me into exhaustive tears, the feeling of the necessity to be saved gripping me like an icy hand, Grimmauld Place was a long ways away. A block over, not even a second in Apparating time, but Ron never knew when I was going to succumb to upset. Molly and Mum and even myself were old-fashioned folk - Ron and I would live as husband and wife when we had become husband and wife. That was fine in the waking hours, but nightmarish when it came to finding solace in true love.
My midnight fancies were now spilling into commute time, and day hours, and the monotony of work. I hurried home in the evenings, suddenly very wary of the escaped Death Eaters my fianceé was fighting every day to find. I knew that it was only a bit of time before their emotional wounds healed and they had a new rallying point. (The Malfoys were under constant surveillance for fear of such an occurence.) I also knew that when that time came, I’d be a first target, as means to reach my closest family.
No one knew but I that today would be that day. I could feel it burn into my soul and building paranoia, and approaching the building where I lived, I found the answer to all my worry. Two dementors flanked a single man, waiting in the alley. (Uncharacteristically foggy - I’d mentioned that to Ginny this morning as we walked to a café.) The dementors gave me a familiar sinking feeling, and in my head my own screams shook like American bells, large and bronze and annoying. I raised my wand. Even to this day, I couldn’t have told you if I meant to stun the dementors’ companion, or send a Patronus charm their way, or Apparate somewhere safer.
Their companion was a boy by the name of Blaise Zabini. He’d been attractive at school, and had even expressed interest in me once, after Krum had singled me out in fourth year. Muggleborn blood had been ignored by him when he saw the amount of jealousy I’d already triggered in Krum’s, and by extent his, admirers. I’d called him sleazy, and the next time our eyes had ever locked for more than a second was at Slughorn’s first dinner party.
Zabini sent my wand skittering into the street, where it fell, seemingly, into the pavement, on account of the charm I’d placed on it, to reappear in my pencil cup at home if lost. (Lost meaning over seven feet away.) Zabini’s exceptional Expelliarmus had overshot my maximum distance, and now I was defenseless. My own screaming still ringing in my head, I fell to my knees, where Zabini marched up to me and forced my eyes to bore into his. Then we Apparated.
****
I fell into a dirty hole of a room, where I waited silently for something to happen. Anything to happen. Midnight came and went, and morning dawned, and I knew there’d be witnesses to ask, and investigations to be catalyzed, and doubt to be strewn. Ron would be a mess, and Ginny would be - damn. Ginny was in Brighton until Friday with the Harpies.
I lay in a ball and waited for anyone to come. Then again, I was sure that Zabini and his accomplices would be within five miles of me. They would wait somewhere else. I was quite alone.
When night fell again, no effect on my loneliness had taken place yet. I rolled over, dumbfounded on how to escape the situation. I’d recovered from the Dementor attack already, and lay still, waiting for something to happen, when it did.
Somewhere above my prison, a call started, very soft, very loving, very tender, and very distraught. It grew louder and louder, more havoc-ridden, and scared. I called back, but I knew he couldn’t hear. Then Zabini was there, his hand around my mouth, chuckling.
“Ickle Ronniekins’ beautiful wife-to-be, murdered as the first event in the last war before the reign of Voldemort’s Legacy. Because that’s what Death Eaters are, Hermione. The legacy of a man who had no ideas of self righteousness to conflict with the truth that Mudbloods are filth, and marrying them into pureblood families, blood traitor or not, is downright wrong,” he hissed, chanting his whispered words of terror, while I watched the knife come up.
Then the yells grew louder, and Ron was there, and Zabini was cowering and pleading, and the dementors were back, and hours later, at Grimmauld Place, we had a good laugh about it.
My nightmares never came back, and neither did any dementors.
My Brave Face by grangergirl35
Chapter Notes: Things are really starting to pick up! This story will have a plot next chapter, one that will leave some of you quite happy. This is the last chapter that is all self-reflection, and is one of the longer ones, but it is the turning point in the story. Sorry for the delay, btw. Writers block, school, and a trip to the dentists and a morning under topocle kinda delayed me . . .
Chapter Endnotes: Like I said, next chapter starts out in a way you wouldn't expect! Tell me what you thought of this chapter in the little white box down there, and tell me what YOU think should happen next! (Granted, I've already DECIDED what's happening next, but brownie points to you and a mention in the foreword of next chapter if you get it right!)