Romione - Fan Fiction for Fangirls

Chapter One - Mourning the Brave

Hermione's POV

I stared around the gloomy room, absolutely speechless. Deep inside I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. But I didn't want to think about that just now. I just wanted to stand there, with my hand in his, not thinking at all. I glanced sideways at him. He was staring longingly at the place where the rest of the Weasley family was mourning Fred, silent tears running down his face. His freckles were only just visible underneath all the scars, burns and dry blood. I looked away quickly, before I would succumb to tears. Too late, fast flowing tears flew down my face, I was unable to control them. Ron looked over at me as a wet, rattling gasp escaped me, sending my knees cascading into the rubble, which used to be the ground. I was wailing now, but I wasn't trying to conceal it. Nobody seemed to mind, everyone was too busy mourning their own dead to bother themselves trying to calm down a teenage girl. But I was comforted slightly, by the feeling of Ron's strong arms around me, telling me that it was all going to be okay, that Lord Voldemort was gone, and this time he wasn't coming back. He said that many lives had been sacrificed, but because of their bravery, many more lives were to be saved.

That's when I stood up, I brushed off my tears with a defiant look on my face. Ron didn't seem startled at this sudden change of attitude, but rather weary as he announced:

'I guess you'll want to go and see them, make sure they're all right, won't you?'

And without another word he marched off, with me following him tightly. When we got to the right corridor, Ron stood back so I could tickle the pear in the bowl of fruit in the portrait. It giggled, then turned into an oddly shaped doorknob. I turned it slowly, not even sure if I wanted to see inside, but I opened the hidden door. 

The kitchens were a mess. The Death Eaters had invaded when some of the house elfs had joined the fight. The ground was littered with bodies, dead or injured, human or elf. Those who weren't unconscious, or to sore to move, were helping the hurt and carrying out the dead bodies with their large ears drooping. But one or two of them were carrying around trays of Butterbeer, offering random elves bottles.

I couldn't even try to cry when I saw Winky's dead body on the floor. All those times that I'd tried to comfort her, all those times she'd been drunk because she had failed her master... it had all led up to this. I had been expecting to stay and help the dead and injured, but as soon as I saw the state of the kitchen I knew that I had to leave. 

I ran outside ... and I cried.

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