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After we've said goodbye by almost_witch
Chapter 3 : Chapter 3
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 19

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Thank you to Silv3r_Ic3!

It was like her legs wouldn’t allow her to walk over. Her whole body stood stiffly in the doorway, her hand limply by her side, the blanket that was wrapped around her shoulders now was dropped her ankles.

Mrs Weasley’s sobs seemed to grow louder and louder, the figure continued to hold her in their arms while the rest of the dark people continued to just stand in the same place.

Finally two dark figures began to walk over. As they grew closer to the house, the light was just strong enough to see their recognisable features. Fred and George.

Fred’s robes were torn within an inch of their life, one side of his face seemed to be covered in blood, mixed with dirt and anything else that would have been at the scene of the dreadful fight.

George was limping and held onto his twin’s shoulder for support, he clutched his own stomach as he painfully limped over. His eyes were squinted and his was nose wrinkled up as he cursed harshly under his breath.

She wanted to ask them what happened, who went down and why Molly was in tears. But her throat burnt as she tried to gather the words in her head. She eventually gave up and stepped numbly aside, just enough to let them through the door so they could collapse in the nearest chair.

The twins looked almost lifeless as they both stared into nothing; their once bright and eventful eyes were now cold as stone. Their faces were unreadable. Hermione hated herself for not finding anything to say to them. She couldn’t even gather enough words inside her head to attempt to warm their war torn souls.

She took her place in the doorway again and stared out to the black figured. Mrs Weasley could be heard to trying to calm her sobs.

It was then that a large crack echoed in all of the surroundings, everyone’s heads jerked to where the noise was coming from.

Another figure could be seen, the form walked straight past the sobbing Mrs Weasley and the other dark figures that stood around her.
Mrs Weasley pulled her large head up from the arms of the person holding her. She let out an echoing and terrified scream before falling into even more tears.

The new form was walking towards Hermione; in its arms was something big.

She silently begged that it was something like a present. Maybe it was a collection of all the Horcrux’s, something like that. It wasn’t a body. It couldn’t be. She told herself.

Her body stiffened even more as the light was starting to make sense of who the person was. Their face was full of blood, their navy blue t-shirt and pants were dirty and torn. The thing in its arms was wrapped in something black.

“Harry,” she whispered numbly as the figure drew closer, only meters away.

He looked up at her, through all the blood and dirt she could only see the bright green eyes looking directly into hers.

It was like a dream, the way he walked to her, it was like he was gliding, like an angel carrying a gift. He was only meters away. He was becoming closer and closer. So much of their lives depended on what he held in his arms.

She mind was screaming to her, telling her what was in he held. But she refused to believe it. It’s not true. It’s not true. She fought over in her mind.

Harry finally reached the front door, where Hermione stood, straight-backed and stiff.

He sank to his knees and bowed his head down with shame.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry,” that was all she could hear him say before she heard the painful choke of Harry beginning to cry. He never cried in front of anyone, not her, not ever.

“Sorry?’ Her voice whimpered.

The bundle in his arms became clear. They were Harry’s robes wrapped around the large object, the distinctive colour of the hair could be seen poking out of one end, and overly large shoes could be seen at the other.

“Where’s Ron?” Her voice was unrealistically high pitched and calm.

Harry held the body tighter to his chest; he was choking madly on his tears. It wasn’t like Molly’s sobs; these were enough to break anyones heart, just by listening to it. Her mind flashed with the images of Harry clinging onto Cedric’s lifeless body.

It was like a dream. Hermione was in denial. No, Ron’s alive; he’ll be here in any minute. He promised to bring Harry back. She told herself, and she almost believed it.

As Harry sobbed at her feet, she looked down at him. Everything was like it was slow motion with his head and chest curled over the body in his arms that he held like he never wanted to let go. His whole body shock violently.

She tore her head up from Harry, looking aggressively around, hoping that Ron would tear himself away from his mother’s presence and walk over to her, or he might appear with the same crack that Harry did and would come straight to her. Where ever he was, he was here, somewhere, the voice inside her head told her those exact words.

From behind her, Hermione felt thick arms tighten around her, holding her for support.

“No!” She cried out, trying to struggle out of the tight grip. “No!” She bashed herself into the persons arms.

The arms pulled her closer to their chest, trying to turn her around to face them.

She bashed her fists against their shoulder and chest, attempting to wriggle out of their arms.

“No! Stop it! He’s alright! He’ll be here in a minute! Wait for him! Wait!” She screamed. Her whole body thrashing like she was asleep in a nightmare.

“Ron!” She started calling for her husband. “Ron! Come back! Ron!” Her voice became louder and even more insane.

“Shh…” Fred said, holding her as tight as he could, trying to calm her.

“Stop! Stop it! RON!” She cried out for one more, useless attempt.

She pounded her fist onto Fred’s broad chest before dissolving into his big arms, sinking her head into his shoulder.

She cried, still whispered out for Ron, hoping that soon Fred would step away so Ron could hold her, and kiss her cheek so she would know everything will be ok. But deep down she knew there was no way to deny this anymore.

“Ron, please. Ron, I’m here,” she cried into Fred’s shoulder.

Mr Weasley pulled a strong arm around his wife to bring her into the house. Bill and Charlie followed; both battered and bruised with the same painless and glassy eyes.

Harry cried onto his best friend’s body. He blamed himself. Ron was supposed to see the birth of his child, but instead he went and fought against the darkest of people like they always had for many years, but this time it cost his life. He died before he could really live his life to its fullest.

Fred’s thick arms held Hermione’s dissolving body. She managed to collapse in his arms, crying more than she thought she could ever do. Her husband was dead. The thought rang through her head. Many people had died. Sirius, Dumbledore and even Hagrid. But never has it been someone so close to heart. Not Ron, not her Ron.

Fred didn’t even say a word. He didn’t tell her to stop crying, he just held her to his body. He was in pain. He just stood up to a grotty battle after what seemed to be years of planning. Half his face was still covered in dry blood, his bones were aching; his hand was still cramped from holding onto his wand so stiffly for too long.

An hour must have passed. Each second felt like an hour in itself, so really, it was hard to tell how much time really had gone by.

“Fred,” He heard his mother’s voice softly say. Her tears must have just dried. “Fred dear, the house is getting cold.”

Hermione’s head was still buried in his chest; the wind was blowing through the front door that they were blocking from closing.

He nodded very slightly to his mother. His nose brushed her cheek and then ran his finger under her chin to lift her head up.

Her whole face was horribly tear stained. “Fred, please, please don’t,” She said through her tears, trying to hide her face and stay close to his body at the same time.

He bent his knees and swept one arm under her knees and another behind her back, holding her like he would a child. He walked into the empty lounge room, sitting down with her arms wrapped around his neck.

Harry was stubborn when he was asked to let go of the bundle in his arms. His voice rang in their ears when he objected to leave his best mate. He stumbled under the weight of the large lump when he tried to get up the stairs.

Bill got up, stony eyed and stiff, to help him get up all the way to Ron’s bed room, the highest of them all.

In Fred’s arms, Hermione drifted to sleep. He watched her as her tears brought her eyes together and her breathing began to steady. Even though he head was curled up onto his shoulder, her knees bent over his arm and his other arm was supporting her back, he let her sleep. Enough drama had ruined her in one night; she deserved to have her dreams take her somewhere else.

This was all like a dream. The way Harry walked with Ron lying in his arms so limply, the way that Harry cried in front of them, the way that Fred couldn’t even be the humorous wizard he was, and instead he held a new widow in his arms. And most importantly the way, Ron, a son, a brother, a best friend, a husband and soon to be father, was supposed to be with them, battered and bruised, but instead he wasn’t, and never will be again. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, whatever this dream was it was too real, too close to heart to be a fake.

Author Note: I thought I would tell you that this is not the last chapter, there will be one more, a funeral and basically the summary of this all. Please Review, I don't think I have ever speant so much time reading over and over a chapter before posting before.

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