The Kids Aren't Alright

this is me trying

May 2nd, 1998

The blue sky and fluffy white clouds didn't fit today, Hermione could still see the smoke, smell the coppery aroma of blood, see the flashes of green and red. The castle had been rebuilt, but the scars of war were still evident in the ancient stone. Burn marks and crumbled stone were all she could see as they walked through the courtyard towards the main doors.

Even though she had run away from the wizarding world, she knew she would return for this. For the people she'd lost, they'd all lost.

Harry was a few paces ahead of her and Ron, his untamed curls bouncing with each step as they followed the Minister for Magic into the daunting halls.

"Professor," Harry called, "It's good to see you."

McGonagall smiled gently, pulling him into a deep hug, "Potter, it's always a pleasure. Kingsley."

The Minister nodded, waving Hermione and Ron to follow Harry and McGonagall through to the Great Hall.

Similar to the funerals, the Great Hall had been set up like a cathedral. Banners hung along the side walls bearing the names of the fallen. Beneath each was a newly completed painting of each person named.

"They will be placed throughout the castle," McGonagall wiped away a tear, "I will be here the whole time should you need anything. Speeches will begin at eleven."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione whispered, stepping forward.

"Come here, dear," McGonagall pulled her into a soft hug.

After a moment the hug ended, Hermione felt the cold creeping back in.

"C'mon 'Mione," Harry took her elbow, gently leading her to their seats near the front, "I'll be back, I want to say goodbye to Uncle Moony."

"He'd have liked that," she gave a weak smile.

Ron slumped down into his seat beside her, sliding a flask into his pocket, "Fred's look's just like 'em."

"Are you doing okay?"

"I'm alright, only have to give a speech a year after my bloody brother died," he snapped.

"You could have said no," she pursed her lips, "McGonagall would have understood."

"You don't get it," he scoffed, taking the flask out for another drink, "How would you? You didn't have any family there to lose."

"You're drunk," she leaned back, lifting her chin to look at the ceiling, "You shouldn't be drinking. Not here."

"Fuck you," he grabbed her shoulder, pulling so her head turned to look at her, "You could never understand how it feels."

"I lost people," she hissed, "I lost the only people I have. The damage I did? It was irreversible. My parents will never know who I am. I've known that for months, keeping that stored away in my mind because I'm not the person whose family died. You don't get to sit there and tell me all about it when I have lost people. Friends, family, and mentors. You'd know if you paid attention instead of chasing the bottom of a bottle."

"No, you're right. I'm so terrible, s-so terrible," he hiccuped, "It should have been someone like you instead of Fred. Someone who didn't have people waiting on them to come home. Your parents didn't know you existed at the time right? Would've been an easy choice for me."

"You don't mean that," she faltered.

"Go give your shitty speech about how sorry you are," he spit out, "Go tell them how sorry you are for all the lives we've lost when at the end of the day you go home to an empty flat that you ran away to."