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Chapter 2 : Chapter 2
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Hope you enjoy it, Almost_witch
Thank you to Silv3r_Ic3 again!
“Hermione? Come in for some dinner, it will get chilly out here soon,” A warm voice said behind Hermione who still sat in the middle of the road, her hands resting on her stomach.
“Oh no, it’s alright.” She said, looking up at her mother-in-law.
“Hermione, please, you’ll get a cold,” Molly’s voice seemed to plead for Hermione to come with her.
Molly didn't want to be alone, she was already holding in the tears that wanted and needed to flow from her red eyes. To Molly her fear was coming true, her precious boys and husband are facing their deaths openly. She needed someone with her, even if they weren't going to share their emotions, she needed someone that knew how she felt, someone that shared her fear.
Hermione sighed, but gave the end of the road one last thoughtful look before putting her hand up for help to get to her own feet.
Ever since she became pregnant it was harder to bend over, sit down and get up, her round belly seemed to always get in the way.
Mrs. Weasley took her by the hand for support as she got off the ground and dusted herself off from all the dry dust that stuck to her clothes.
The house smelt warmly of a nicely cooked meal. Over the years it Hermione had learnt to recognise the smell of the large cooked meals Mrs. Weasley made. She often told herself even if she walked into a strangers house she would be able to recognise Molly’s cooking even before she could see the chef.
Placed over the large table meant for a large family were a big plate of bread, butter and a very large center bowl of steaming soup.
Molly served up a generous serving of soup into a chipped bowl for Hermione and placed it in front of her.
“Eat up, my dear,” she said with an extremely high pitched cheery voice.
It was a dull and silent dinner, no conversation was made but they were both thinking of the same thing. Just about the whole Order were out fighting against the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself. Many people will die out there, heroes or murderers, how will people remember them?
Even the steaming soup couldn’t warm up the cold sensation inside Hermione’s stomach. She wanted to fight and be there like she always had been. She couldn’t stand having to sit around a table and wait for the amount that did survive to arrive back home.
“Would you like a drink?” Molly appeared by Hermione’s side, gestering to the kitchen.
“Oh, no. Thank you anyway, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said as cheerfully as she could manage before turning her head back to the direction of the window.
It was dark outside now; Hermione rested herself against the window, her cheek pressed against the coolness of the glass, her eyes barely even blinked as she stared out onto the road, hoping to see a small group of men walking past.
She heard Mrs Weasley sigh, “Hermione, dear,” she said lightly, “you mustn’t waste yourself there, they will be a while, they always are.”
Hermione didn’t bother responding. Her heart was beating so slowly she swore that at any moment it would stop.
She felt her baby kick as she ran her hands over her smooth stomach. Her eyes almost welled with tears at the thought that her baby may never be able to have the father it deserved.
Two hours passed with Hermione’s eyes still straining to find anyone coming home.
“Dear,” the friendly voice appeared again, “I think it’s time for you to go to bed, it’s getting late.”
Hermione shook her head, “no, I want to be awake when they get back.” She turned to face the window again, still running her hand over the roundness of her belly.
She heard a trail of feet leave the room but then enter again, a warm blanket was gently draped over her shoulders and Molly kissed the top of her head.
“Wake me if you need me,” she said before walking from the room again.
Hermione pulled the blanket tighter around her chest, humming a very old tune out loud.
Her eyes were getting sore; she could see her own reflection in the window’s glass. Her face was pale and her eyes were beginning to go red.
“Come home,” she whispered to the window, “please come home.” She ran her fingers down the cold glass.
Never before has she wanted to see Ron’s face so badly. She didn’t care if he was going to be angry or a pain to be around. She didn’t care if he was battered and bruised; she just wanted to see him alive.
She couldn’t get the nudging memory of Harry out of the back of her mind. He was always so noble and strong, but she felt like his sister and couldn’t get out of her head the images of him fighting against the monster that killed his parents. One of them will die tonight. Wether it was Harry or Lord Voldemort, no one knew. But one will go down by the time the sun comes up the next morning.
She pressed her fore head against the window, a tear fell slowly and gently down her cheek, it tickled her as it reached her chin but she didn’t brush is away, she wasn’t going to hide how she felt.
“Come home,” she whispered, her lips touching the glass as she talked.
She pressed her hand against the glass. “Ron, Harry, come home.” She pleaded that one of them would hear her.
And that was how she fell asleep. Her eyes finally closed as her forehead was pressed against the glass. One hand was still holding onto the window while the other rested on her stomach.
It was the very loud patter of feet running down the creaky stairs that woke her up. She just about jumped with fright when she heard it.
“Arthur! Arthur? Is that you?” A voice yelled down the stairs.
Hermione leapt up from her chair, her fore head hurt from un-sticking itself from the glass pane of the window. She squinted out into the road and saw a few figures walking towards the house.
The Burrow had a security sensor that would act like a phone call whenever someone would arrive to their house. Molly must have been woken by it.
“Arthur?” She kept on calling out. Hermione didn’t know why, it wasn’t like they could hear them yet.
Mrs Weasley was still pulling her red dressing gown around herself when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Molly!” Hermione cried out, she didn’t know how to feel, excited? Worried? Panicked?
Mrs Weasley peered through the front window before unlocking the door and throwing it open. They both knew that soon their fears would become reality, soon they would know that one of their loved ones were tradgically lost.
Hermione felt her heart beat so fast she was sure it would burst out of her chest.
She held onto her stomach, hoping, wishing that Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie, the Twins, Ron and Harry were all walking towards the house.
She had never seen Molly run before, but her plump figure ran at the group of men. She stopped before them and one of them held her in their arms. The loud noise of her sobs could be heard from the front door.
Hermione didn’t know whether to walk over and see who had made it and what the verdict was or stay in the safety of not knowing.
She couldn’t see the faces of who was with Mrs Weasley, she didn’t even know who held her mother-in-law while her sobs echoed the moonlit area. It seemed that her heart was beating faster and slower at the same time, her stomach held the most sickening sensation and she wanted to cry, just like Mrs Weasley and she didn’t even have something to cry about yet.
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