Chapter 1 : Black
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I strongly suggest listening to Nickel Creek: Jealous of the moon while reading this story!
The black dress hung in my closet but I couldn’t muster up the courage to put it on. I sat on my bed underwear clothing my otherwise naked body. This isn’t how the day should be; this isn’t what I should be doing. Instead of my eyes being blurred and red from sadness, they should be filled with joy and love, and if I were to shed a tear it would’ve been from joy.
I eventually convinced myself that if I didn’t put this dress on it wouldn’t change anything. No matter what action I took nothing would change.
I looked at my reflection; it looks like I don’t exist. In the right hand corner of the mirror I see the dress, the one I should be wearing today. Its white-lace material contrasts with the black dress that I have been forced into.
Maybe I should wear the white dress, that’s what he would’ve wanted. He wouldn’t want to see me like this he would want to see me as I was before the war. My thoughts are scattered on the floor, like the rubble after the dust has settled.
I fell to my knees.
Brides aren’t meant to wear black.
To turn around now
I turn around and met the eyes of Ginny. “I can’t go,” my voice is barely above a whisper.
Ginny knelt down besides me. I was still kneeling, my hands on my lap and eyes cast downwards. Her hand went to the back of my head, “why did you put your hair up? You know Ron always liked it down.”
“Ron also liked me in that dress,” I said, pointing to the white dress that hung in the corner. I stood up and ran my hands down my black dress, “it doesn’t matter now.”
“Hermione, you can wear the dress if you want.”
“I can’t it doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
“Let’s go,” Ginny said. I took down my hair and followed behind her.
Before the war I was strong, now I’m nothing. I’d fought in the war and now look where it’s gotten me. I’m broken, fragile, and pathetic. The thing I miss the most is the warm touch of the one I love. I miss the feel of his feet as they brushed against mine in the morning. Every touch, every look, every word shared between us would send waves of joy throughout my body. And it seems not like all those moments that had meant so much mean nothing. These moments seem so wasted in the end, while you feel them in that moment; once you’ve lost it you’ll never get it back. It is better having something and losing it, or never having what you want so you never miss it?
I walk down the streets and people look right past me.
When I’d first started Hogwarts I had no one I just had my books. Then Harry and Ron had taught me there’s more to life then books. The irony is that I’m back to where I started.
Now I’m searching for a reason to keep on going, any reason at all. This seems to be an endless battle, because I will never again talk to the one I love. These same thoughts run through my head everyday. I’m like the snake that bites its own tail.
The moon was out, while it was only crescent it shone brightly. The moon and stars created light so I could see were I was walking. I looked up and envied the stars and moon. People found them beautiful as they stayed in the sky. Their life is much like ours.
There are billions of stars and no one notices if one dies.
There are billions of people, and no one notices when one dies.
How can this all end so suddenly? We are put on this world only to be taken away before we fully get to live. We spent most of our life fighting a cause that would eventually kill us. Why fight if we’re just going to die in the end? If you’re fighting for something don’t you want to see the results after?
I feel so helpless. I want to do something but I don’t know what to do or where to start. And it feels like the world is ending because I’ve lost everything.
I know there’s a cool wind tonight, but I can’t feel it. The only sign that the wind exists are the trees moving. I can’t seem to feel anything anymore. It’s as if I refuse to feel because if I do that means I’m accepting what’s happened.
And a river of lies
Ron would tell me I was beautiful, I don’t feel beautiful right now. I feel like I’m drowning in tears. And those lies he had told me saying that we would make it out alright, and that after the war we would live our own life. A life that wasn’t chosen by the decisions Voldemort made.
I think back to the last time I saw Ron.
“Hermione,” he said in barely a whisper, tears running down his blood stained face.
I tried to say something but I couldn’t, it felt like this bubble had formed in my mouth and it wouldn’t pop. I could feel the heartbeats slowing down, breathing seemed labored. I wish I could find someone to pray to, someone to believe in. They say hope will get you through, but I can’t find someone to believe in. He looked at me knowing it was the last time he would see me. It’s a strange feeling knowing you’re looking into your loves eyes for the last time.
I touched his face and he whispered, ‘I love you’ one last time.
But you've got your pride
She felt like she needed to be the strong one, during the war. As familiar names started appearing in the obituaries, and people needed someone to talk to she would be there. She’d listen to other people, never saying how she felt. No one knew what she was feeling. I didn’t ask how she felt, no one asked. She seemed afraid of another persons touch, as if she would become nothing, be weak. It’s like she would crash at the touch of another.
I realized that she wasn’t the only one suffering and that I had been selfish. I reached out to touch her, and ask how she felt but I stopped…
This couldn’t be right.
But you're stayin' where you are
There's nothin' you can do
If you're too scared to try
The graveyard was dark, trees hanging over the burial ground. The only source of light was the moon and stars shining through the veil of branches, creating little spots of light. There was a mahogany casket set in front of hundreds of rows of chairs, filled with people crying. All these people I recognized but then I noticed someone, someone who shouldn’t be there.
Was this a cruel trick? Did someone imitate Ron just to trick me, and remind me of the loss? I looked at Ginny, angry, and hurt.
“How can someone be so disrespectful?” I hissed to Ginny, my sadness and grief was replaced with anger.
“What do you mean, Hermione?”
I pointed at Ron, “How could they do that? How could they pay no respect to the dead? Imitating Ron just for a cruel joke!”
Ginny looked at my puzzled, “who’s funeral do you think we’re at?”
It was then I noticed the two caskets, and the photograph on the casket was not of Ron, but me.