Forgotten Silence

Destruction littered the scene. Black smoke poured from the house, thick and threatening. Rows and rows of perfect flowers lay charred on the cold, hard ground. The fire made the ruined lawn glow with a fervor unlike that of hate. A small crowd of pajama-laden people stood stunned at the edge of the scene, shocked and sickened. Besides the revolting crackle of the flames, only one sound pierced the air. Screams. Desperate, miserable, vengeful screams.

A small woman was shouting in agony, her face so dirty it was almost unrecognizable. Her long chestnut hair fell tattered upon her bare shoulders, and her silk nightdress glinted in the light of the fire. Her body looked forsaken, but her eyes were even more so. They held the look of pure sorrow, pure anger, and pure devastation. Tears came in turrets, carving clear rivulets down her soot-stained face.

Two men, also covered in ash and clad in nightclothes, held onto her as she struggled, trying to get to that which was once a house. The tall one with hair like the blazing inferno had one freckled arm across her chest, and the raven-haired one stood to the other side of her, trying to keep her from breaking loose.

And still she screamed.

Other men and women arrived at the scene, dousing the spreading fire as easily as it had been started. They surveyed the land with disgust and anger. After awhile, the crowd on the outskirts of the property started to disperse, walking off with bowed heads. Finally, the woman slumped into the men's arms, limp and exhausted.

And still she screamed.

"What are we going to do with her? What are we going to say?"

"I don't know, mate. I don't know."

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter sat on the floor of their small apartment, gazing into the fireplace. It was very late at night, and the only light in the room was that which was emanating from the hearth. As they made these comments, they both turned to gaze at the small, frail girl asleep on their couch. Her mouth was parted slightly, and her long brown hair fell across her face.

"She looks so peaceful," Ron said, running a hand through his auburn hair, "as if tonight never even happened."

"Yeah." Harry replied, turning his head to look back into the fire. His emerald eyes reflected the flame with a sorrowful glow. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep at all tonight."

"Neither will I. I feel as if we should never sleep again. I feel like we should stay right here, every night, making sure that she's safe." Ron exclaimed, shifting back around to his previous position. Although the next few moments passed without any hint of speech, they both knew the thoughts that were running through each other's heads.

After Hermione had passed out, Ron took her into his arms and apparated them both back to their flat. Harry approached one of the ministry employees that had been sent to the scene, and inquired as to what was going to happen next.

"Sir, where are you going to take the bodies?"

"That will be none of your business, young bloke. Hey Jim, didn't we send all the onlookers away?"

"My name is Harry Potter. Those muggles were my best friend's parents. Either you tell me where you are taking them right now or I'll go straight to the Minister myself."

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Potter. They're being sent to St. Mungos. As to what will happen there, I couldn't tell you."

Harry thanked the man, and apparated to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Although they had undeniably heard the news, he felt as if he should be the bearer of the unlit torch. As he entered, he was met with the questions he knew he had to answer but never wanted to hear.

"They're both gone?" A stricken Molly Weasley asked, her face raw from crying.

"Yes. The house is destroyed. Who's gone out?"

"Tonks, Kingsley, and Bill took the north and west side, and Emmeline, Moody, and Diggle took the south and east. Lupin is the correspondent; he's just in the other room. Oh but Harry...how is she?"

"She screamed for a long time, then passed out. Ron took her back to our flat."

Mrs. Weasley said nothing more. She hugged him and retreated into her room. Harry headed down to the kitchen, where Lupin was sitting and listening wearily to the messages from the dispatched Order members.

"Anything?"

"Nothing." He replied, running his hands through his graying hair.

"Let us know if anyone is found. I'm going back to the flat."

"Of course, Harry, of course. Be safe. Cast some extra wards around the place."

"Yes sir."

So there they were, stricken with grief and anger, which they chose to keep nestled inside. They had to be strong for her. They had to show resilience where she could not. They had to steady her when she could not stand. They had to hold her when she cried, listen when she shouted, and carry her when she could not walk. However, she was still sleeping, which left them to wallow in their own thoughts.

A tap at the window broke the silent reverie. Ron got up to let the official looking owl in, and relieved it of its burden. He ripped open the official seal and scanned the letter. His eyes narrowed as he read further.

"Fucking bastards!" He cried, throwing the letter to Harry.

To Whom It May Concern:

The Ministry of Magic sends its utmost regret at the loss of your loved ones. A squad of trained wizards has been sent to the scene. Please do not send any owls regarding this incident to the Ministry. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will deliberate any action taken against the potential perpetrators beforehand. If you choose to take action yourself, the Ministry will be forced to try you accordingly. Thank you.

The Ministry of Magic

"Insensitive, ignorant prats!" Ron went on, ripping the letter out of Harry's hands and throwing it into the fire. "What were they bloody thinking?"

"I don't know. But it doesn't seem to be a good sign for the Order."

"We'll have to alert Dumbledore. He'll..."

Just then, a rustling sound met their ears, as well as a soft moan. Hermione was sitting up. They whirled around to face her, and immediately wished they hadn't. Her eyes held more sadness then anyone else's put together. A lone tear fell off her eyelash. They leapt up to sit on either side of her.

"Why?" She whispered softly.