Lay It On Down

Hermione would always remember that day as a series of sounds-

...birds twittering, unaware and unconcerned with the solemn tragedy surrounding them.

...mermaids singing a hauntingly desperate lament.

...the footsteps of a half-giant as he walked down the aisle to lay his burden down, and the loud, unashamed honking sound he made as he blew his nose into a dingy handkerchief the size of a small towel.

...the squeaky voice of a small, unknown man spouting off a eulogy full of flowing words and little meaning.

...the sudden and surprising crackling of flames, giving off a heat so blazing that she could feel it, even sitting as far back as she was.

...the whoosh of arrows, and the clomping of hooves.

...Harry’s quiet voice as he spoke earnestly to Ginny, and she to him.

...Ron’s almost-silent sobs as his shoulders shook while he tried and failed to hold back his tears.

It was the last that did her in.

Hermione was a strong young woman, and she could stand almost anything, but at the sight of Ron scrunching up his face like a little boy, trying so hard to be brave and not to cry, something inside of her broke. She simply couldn’t take on any more. That year had been the hardest of six difficult years, and for once, she just wanted to be able to let it go, to not be the smart one who could solve any puzzle, or the logical one who could find the way out, or the reasonable one who called the other two back to reality. She just wanted to be.

She looked over at Ron, and opened her mouth as if to speak. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of one thing to say. She closed her mouth and bit her lip, trying to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape, but it was a lost cause. Her face was already tight from the dried tears she had cried earlier, and now new tears traced their way down her cheeks, flowing hot and wet. Ron looked over at her, somewhat alarmed, and for once Hermione didn’t concern herself with being strong for him. She didn’t worry about how things looked, or who was watching, or what anyone would think. She simply buried her head in Ron’s neck and sobbed.

Had Hermione looked up, she would have seen the look of shock on his face.

Had she looked up, she would have seen his shock turn to concern, and then to tenderness.

Hermione did not look up. She reveled in the freedom to weep all the tears she had been saving, trying to be brave. Her inhibitions were drowning in her tears, and she reached her arms up and placed them around Ron’s neck, allowing him to give her comfort without worrying about the implications. He tentatively reached his arms towards her and placed his hands awkwardly on her shoulders. When she didn’t protest, he loosened his grip on her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely.

As Hermione wept, Ron bent his head down until his nose and mouth were touching her hair. He breathed in, and let the scent of chamomile and mint calm him. For some reason, it reminded him of growing up at the Burrow, bringing to mind the salves and teas his mother foisted on him as she healed his varied and many childhood injuries. He was shocked by the sudden warm wetness of tears trailing down his face. He wasn’t sure why he was crying; he only knew that now, it went beyond Dumbledore’s death. He cried for Harry and Ginny and Hermione, and for himself. He cried for his parents, and for the parents Harry had never known. He cried for those who had already died in this war, and those who would be born into it. Once he started, he felt as if he would never stop.

Hermione felt his tears dripping down her neck, and held on tighter. Some part of her was unsure as to how long this would last, or what it meant, but she was determined to have comfort while she could, and to give it in return. Ron’s hands made their way to her hair, stroking it as she clung to him, opening the floodgates even wider. She let it all go, trusting Ron with the intensity of emotions she couldn’t speak.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione’s tears were spent. Ron had long since stopped crying, and was gently moving his hands over her hair and looking straight ahead at the white tomb that housed Dumbledore’s remains. With one last sniffle, Hermione pulled reluctantly away from Ron and sat up, pulling an immaculate white handkerchief from her pocket. She wiped her eyes and face, and only then allowed herself to look up at Ron.

“I only have this one,” she said shyly. “I would offer it, but it’s sort of a mess.”

Ron wiped the remains of his tears away with the back of his hand, and smiled shakily.

“That’s all right,” he said, “I can do without.”

They looked at each other for a moment, the rightness of the moments before replaced with the uncertainty of the past several years.

“Did Ginny leave?” Hermione asked, breaking eye contact and looking around for her friend.

“She went back to the castle,” Ron answered.

“Oh,” replied Hermione softly. The two of them sat together in a silence that was not altogether comfortable, but companionable nonetheless. Hermione listened to the quiet, polite talk of those around her, the birds, whose chattering had been uninterrupted by the funeral proceedings, the occasional splash of a fish surfacing in the lake, Hagrid’s intermittent howls of grief and Grawp’s barely intelligible attempts to comfort him. Only when she heard Ron sigh did she look up. The lost little boy was back, and she reached over and patted his arm.

“I know,” she said simply, allowing her small hand to linger on his scarred and freckled arm.

“I know you do,” he answered quietly, placing his hand over hers.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked suddenly, ashamed that she had forgotten her other best friend while she and Ron were busy comforting one another.

“He was headed toward the lake,” Ron replied, and they both looked up and saw Harry in a rather heated discussion with Rufus Scrimgeour. They stood up quickly, both of a like mind, thinking only of helping Harry, and made their way towards the lake, meeting him under the beech tree. Hermione closed her eyes, hearing the birds and the splashing of the lake, and could almost imagine the happier, simpler times they had spent together. In her heart, she made a silent wish for those times to return soon.

This was inspired by a song by Marie Bellet called “Lay It On Down,” which has absolutely nothing at all to do with Harry Potter (It’s actually Catholic mama music, if you must know, but I have Harry Potter on the brain, so everything seems to apply). Only some of the lyrics were rattling around in my brain when I wrote it, and here are partial lyrics: