Death

Death: The Completion of the Essay

Lanni Weasley

To Hermione Granger, life was like a blank piece of parchment--like Transfiguration homework before it was completed--like an essay. She would dip the tip of her quill in a bottle of ink and write out an outline for her essay. She had her exposition, her discussion, and her conclusion. Perhaps life was more like a book that was riddled with rising action and a climax. But always, she planned her life out like an essay. It was always planned out. She'd wake up every morning at the same time to eat breakfast; she'd do everything the same way every day; and her path was paved for her. She planned her life out like she wrote a Potions essay.

But one thing she had not counted on was the resurrection of Lord Voldemort. That had put a dent in her essay; someone had bumped into her table, causing the contents of her ink bottle to spill across her cleanly written and halfway completed essay. It was chaos - a total mess - the black liquid was even touching the edges of her clean books. She would have to start all over again. And she did. In her Fifth Year, she pulled out a clean piece of paper and rewrote her life plan. She had to add "Help Harry defeat new Voldemort" on her list on things to do before graduating Hogwarts.

And so, her Fifth Year was back on track with a new plan for her life written out. She had started back up on her life essay. Although everything wasn't smooth sailing, and here and there, she had to make a few corrections on that essay, she was ready to turn it in for full credit.

Then, Sirius had to go and die and ruin it all.

Now, that sounded a tad bit harsh; Hermione knew that. But she couldn't help but think it was true. She had everything planned out for herself--a good job, a good social plan, a good family plan. She had everything ready. She had not factored Sirius's death into her essay. Therefore, she had to rewrite it all over again, including "Help Harry grieve for Sirius" and "Help Harry get over Sirius's death" on her list of to do things before going back to Hogwarts for her Sixth Year. Those were two very large things; and Harry was a very hard and difficult person to help.

Also, while no one knew it, Hermione was grieving for Sirius, too. She had more than an emotional range of a book, unlike most people suspected. The man had suffered enough; Harry had suffered enough. Why did Sirius have to die? It didn't make sense, which greatly irritated Hermione. In the end, all things that had to happen made sense, but this, no, it didn't make any sense whatsoever. What purpose did Sirius's death serve anyway? There was no point in his death.

All it caused was pointless and useless misery that would ultimately kill them if they continued on with it any longer. All it caused were tears that would ruin the front of a shirt. All it gave was anger and a want of revenge that would ruin anyone that touched it. All it did was hurt everyone in the end.

It was pointless! Stupid! Harmful! Why? Why? Why? What was the use - the reason - the will? Why was life so bloody important in the first place? Why couldn't everything be happy and cheerful, like how they were when she was five or in the story tales she read as a child? Why couldn't things be so simple when all she had to do was cry to get whatever she wanted as a baby?

Because that's not the way life works, she reasoned. Things can't always go your way because the world isn't - and never will be - perfect. Life isn't all roses. Besides, life would become awfully boring if there were no sharp twists or turns, like in all those lovely books, with perfection as the only route, and was simply just brilliantly peachy-keen-how-can-you-possibly-enjoy-your-life-this-way.

That sounded terrible. So, Hermione grabbed her quill and her bottle of ink. She took out a piece of paper and dipped her quill in the ink. She had to pause and think about what she was going to write.

And then, reality sank in; and she was forced to wake up.

It's a beautiful morning.

"Shut up," Hermione groaned, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket over her head. "I'm trying to get some sleep."

It's a beautiful morning.

"Be quiet," Hermione pleaded, stuffing the pillow over her head. "I'm doing my Life Essay."

It's a beautiful morning.

Hermione jolted up from bed, eyes squinting from sleep. "Ron, will you be quiet for once; I'm trying to get this essay finished before-" She cut herself off when she realized that she was sitting in her bed at home - the home she shared with her parents for a month, if even that, not her Hogwarts home. She blinked.

"Hermione, dear, it's time to get up! Your friend, Miss Tonks, should be here in half an hour to pick you up!" her mother called from the kitchen.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" Hermione gasped. She rolled over and turned her alarm clock off. The thing was annoying, but effectively woke her up. She jumped out of bed and raced over to her window, anticipating the wonderfully warm sunshine to wake her up fully. She wrenched her curtains back - and was given the unpleasant surprise of rain. She frowned as she backed away from the window.

But the weatherman said that there would be sunshine for sure - 90% chance of sunshine, Hermione thought with a furrowed brow. There wasn't a cloud in the sky last night. It was supposed to be a sunny and beautiful day.

Well, as sunny and beautiful as a day a funeral was to be held on could get, at least.

Hermione sighed and closed her curtains back up. She really should be getting ready for Sirius's funeral; Tonks would be here soon to pick her up anyways. As she searched for her black dress (it was actually her mother's, but she had taken it for today) in her cupboard, she thought about Harry. She wondered how he would be; if he would even be there - if he wanted to be there - and how he was taking this. Was he doing all right? Had he gone into depression? She hoped he was still eating as properly as he could at the Dursleys.

Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. Please say that you're all right, Harry.

Then, while she began changing, Hermione thought about Professor Lupin. Goodness, she hoped that he was all right, although she doubted that he was feeling anywhere near "all right". She wondered how he was taking it; she couldn't exactly be sure. The poor man, he'd lost yet another close friend to Voldemort; if she believed in luck, she'd say he had some pretty bad luck.

Glancing at her calendar, she sighed. This week was just not Professor Lupin's week; Friday was the full moon. She shook her head. Professor Lupin didn't deserve any of this; life was very cruel to him. But, alas, as Ron had once said, "Nice blokes always finish last because they're too bloody nice in the first place to get to first place - and bad blokes always do something nasty to nice blokes since they're all bigheaded gits that like being bad in the first place."

Ron hardly ever made sense when he became halfway philological, but he was lucky enough that she got the gist of what he was trying to say. It had been around seven in the morning when he'd said that. She'd found him snoring on his homework in the common room after he stayed up all night trying to finish some homework that happened to be due a due later instead of the next day (as he had suspected). He'd been so out of it, muttering this and that in his sleep in between snores. Hermione smiled at the memory as she slipped on her shoes.

Ron. She wondered how he was taking this when suddenly it hit her nastily by surprise: She didn't know.

She knew how Harry and Sirius's relationship had worked; Sirius had been the first father-figure Harry had ever had before. She knew how Professor Lupin and Sirius's relationship had worked; they'd been close school friends and close friends again. She even knew how the Weasley twins and Sirius's relationship had worked; they admired him for what he did when at school (he was the ever brilliant prankster Padfoot, after all), and he was very glad to see them continuing with the Marauder way.

But how in the world of books had Ron got along with Sirius? Hermione wondered... She'd seen them talk before, yes, but only about Harry. However, when they, he and she, were alone scrubbing floors, they would carry on long, tiresome conversations; he seemed to know almost all about Sirius, much more than she did, to her great surprise. She supposed that Ron respected Sirius...

"He'd never let anyone talk bad about him at school, you know. If anyone said anything to him that was out of line or nasty, he'd hex that person on the spot! He didn't take anything from anyone! And he got top grades, too, just like you, Hermione, except he was a bit lazy, he said, like me..."

Ron could quite possibly go on and on about the greatness of Sirius. She smiled to herself, remembering how she was so entranced by everything Ron said about Sirius - about how it was in the 1970's - how life was different - how utterly carefree you could be even during a dark war if you just let go.

Hermione sighed as she grabbed her brush and attempted to calm down her bushy hair. Ron knew how to let go, just as Sirius had. He could lounge around and laugh at the simplest of things. It was possible for him to hang out with Harry and do absolutely-how-did-he-do-it-nothing. She couldn't do that. No matter how hard she tried to just let go and relax, her mind was always moving, going here and there, thinking about this and that. Ron laughed at her once, telling her that she needed to slow down; Harry had agreed. But how could she slow down - take a break - stop for a moment - when Voldemort was out there, plotting and killing and hurting and destroying? How could they do that?

She noticed that, after a while of doing nothing, Ron would become restless. Coming from a large family like the Weasleys, it was essential to have tons of energy to ensure your safety. Ron was lazy, yes, but he had a lot of energy when it came down to it. She supposed that chess was a great outlet for him to focus all his energy into his thoughts, but when he wanted to physically get rid of that energy, he'd suggest a broom ride or a scrimmage Quidditch game to Harry or his brothers (even Ginny sometimes). He'd cackle and waggle his eyebrows at her, asking if she wanted to join in. He knew; she hated heights with a passion. She liked her feet firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much; she liked total logic, and she liked to be right.

Sirius had been restless, too. She knew that he hated being tucked away in his old home, forced to stand at a still while everyone else moved around him like it was nothing. Hermione tried to imagine how he must have been while young and at Hogwarts, piecing everything that Ron had said about him together. It was funny that, while it was so very hard to do, she found that Sirius was like Ron in many ways.

"He was really close to Harry's dad, you know," Ron had whispered to her one night during a storm "He told me that he'd do anything for James if he needed something and vice versa. Nice to have someone like that as a friend. I hope I'm that good of a friend to Harry as Sirius was to James..."

Hermione wiped at her eyes as she stared herself down in the mirror. "Oh, but you are, Ron," she said to her reflection, which was not Ron. "You are a great friend to Harry, better than I am, too."

"Hermione, your friend is here to pick you up!" her mother called from the dining room where she was undoubtedly drinking her morning tea.

"Coming, mother!" Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Everything would be all right. She wasn't going to cry, no ma'am. She'd be strong for Harry - for everyone. Just because boys supposedly don't cry doesn't mean girls have to. She would be fearless and brave, like a Gryffindor. She would never dare break down in tears, sob her heart out, grieve for Sirius in public - oh sweet Merlin she couldn't do this.

Hermione walked out of the bathroom and into the dining room to hug her mother tightly. "You be a good girl, and we'll see you tomorrow morning, all right?" Her mother smiled comfortingly, unaware that her only daughter was, in fact, going to her best friend's Godfather's funeral. She hadn't told them of Sirius's death for some unknown reason - not yet, anyway.

Maybe tomorrow, she reasoned with herself. Perhaps never.

"Hermione?" Tonks' sad voice drifted into the dining room from the living room.

"Goodbye, mum," Hermione sighed, hugging her mother again. Hermione stood up straight with the air of someone that was in complete control; she determinedly walked into the living room--where she lost her resolve. Tonks was rubbing her red eyes, coughing horribly. "Tonks, I'm ready to go...now."

"Okay," Tonks sighed. She turned around. "Okay, we should go. Don't want to be late... Of course, Sirius wouldn't want people coming on time to his funeral." She smiled bitterly. "He'd want everyone to be late; wear party hats; and sing 'Ding, dong, the wicked wizard is dead, the wicked wizard...is..." She heaved a sigh. "C'mon, Hermione; we're travelling by the Knight Bus since it's raining so hard."

"Is Neville going to be able to come?" Hermione asked as she stepped beside Tonks under the porch. She closed the door.

"Yes, he's coming." Tonks jumped out in the rain and held her wand out. The Knight Bus appeared, and before Stan Shunpike could even say a word, Tonks dragged Hermione inside and sat in a seat, ignoring the stunned Stan. Hermione did her best to ignore him to and listened to Tonks. "Mrs. Longbottom, you know, his grandmother, wasn't sure if he would be able to come since it's rather dangerous. It's possible that Death Eaters might attack since this will be a large gathering of many people opposing You-Know-Who."

Every word Tonks spoke seemed to drag on. Her voice was low and tired, as if she hadn't slept in days; her eyelids appeared as if they were just hanging there, like she could barely keep her eyes open; even the way she moved was tired and slow. It was like she was just dragging herself along.

There was a jerk of the Knight Bus, and they were off. Tonks shifted a little, being pressed in the corner, while Hermione flew back. She scrambled to her feet, pink in the face, looking up at the older woman.

"But," Tonks sighed, "Remus went over there and convinced her. He said that it would mean a lot to Harry if Neville paid a visit, gave his honours..." She shook her head. "I don't know how he does it."

"How Professor Lupin does what?" Hermione asked quietly, sinking in her seat lower.

"How he goes on," Tonks said. She looked out the window as they flew by a sunny field. "He's seen so many people die - family, friends, loved ones in general. Everyone he's ever cared about...gone. And let's not mention his being a werewolf." She snorted and then shook her head again. "How does he manage to look past all the destruction, death, and doom to live a life of pain and injustice? Why does he do it? Is it worth it anymore for him when people just keep dying, and he just keeps living?"

Hermione left the answers formulating themselves in her mind unspoken and left the questions hanging out in the open unanswered.

13

The Visitation was nothing short of depressing; it was all that Hermione expected. From the very beginning of it all, she had found Ginny and attached herself to the red-headed girl. Ginny was a girl that contained so much happiness that Hermione was bound to feel better. It was a terrible thing that Ginny was crying now, very loudly. She had her face in her hands, crying madly.

Hermione put an arm around Ginny's shoulder, but that was the extent of her comfort. How was she supposed to comfort someone when she couldn't even comfort herself? She looked around the room, trying her best to distract herself from all the misery. She saw Professor Snape standing quite stiffly in the corner of the room, looking disgruntled. She supposed that he really didn't want to be here. Professor McGonagall looked sad as she talked quietly to a calm-looking Dumbledore. However, there was something unsettling in Dumbledore's blue eyes that made Hermione look away.

Harry was leaning against the wall, staring at the empty casket with watery, pained eyes. They'd never been able to retrieve Sirius's body from behind the veil, but it had been an unspoken desire that he be given a proper burial, with or without a cold, dead, lifeless-he's-dead-leave-him-be-body. Harry had wanted his Godfather to have a burial; she was sure of it. He needed to have respects paid to him - very many, too.

There was Neville, walking over to Harry. Hermione watched, waiting for Neville to do something - say anything - comfort Harry. But Neville did nothing out loud. Instead, he looked Harry straight in the eyes, fumbled a bit, and inclined his head. Harry, arms folded across his chest, inclined his head in return. They had an implicit understanding in each other; that was all that was needed. Neville wandered away.

Professor Lupin wandered back into the room; he'd been in restroom for a few minutes. Hermione didn't want to know if he'd been crying or not. Immediately, Tonks went over to him, tried talking with him until she broke down completely and threw herself onto him. Professor Lupin looked surprised, but just patted Tonks on the back while she sobbed into his robes.

The restroom... Hermione speculated that that was where Ron was still. She and Tonks had come in with the Weasleys, Harry, Professor Lupin, and Professor Moody (although he hadn't been much of a professor). The minute Ron had stepped inside the building, he'd raced to the restroom. She hadn't seen him since, and although she knew exactly what he was doing in there, she knew that he'd say nothing of it or why he was even doing it. Ron was sick - sick of what or sick as in a cold, she didn't know. He'd been terribly pale; his blue eyes were dull and glossy already; he swayed a little; and he'd kept his hand on his head a lot. Ginny had asked what was wrong; he'd replied by mumbling about a headache.

It was a complete, utter lie.

But Hermione, unlike usual, didn't press the matter. She knew that if his head was hurting at all, bothering him would only make it worse. She had numerous headaches; it usually hurt to even think when she had big ones.

She bit her lip. Honestly, Hermione really wanted to cry right now. But she couldn't. She had to stay strong for Ginny and Harry and Ron. Tears were stinging her eyes; she wanted to let them out.

Finally, Ron sauntered back into the room, looking pale and fragile. He looked ready to collapse - much more so than Harry, Tonks, and Professor Lupin, which was odd - his lanky frame standing taller than what he could possibly be. He wiped the edge of his mouth as he headed towards her and Ginny. He looked so hopeless - so broken.

He opened his mouth to speak, to call her or Ginny's name, but Hermione never let him. She finally burst out, throwing her arms around him, and sobbing horribly into his robes. "Oh, gods, Ron, why did this have to happen? Why did he have to die? Sirius shouldn't have died!" Her voice was barely comprehensible. It seemed as if sobs and words do not mix very well. "I'm so scared! What happens if-?" She gasped, taking in a sharp intake of breath. "I don't want you to die. You're so - oh, Ron, no - alike - if you die, I'll never be able to - Ron, please, don't die on me - ever-" And she continued to sob as Ron hugged her in his usual awkward way.

After a few minutes, Hermione gathered herself again and pulled herself off of him, looking terribly guilty and pathetic. Ron pulled out a handkerchief and hugged Ginny. He handed her the handkerchief, which she quietly thanked him for, and he walked over to comfort Harry. Hermione watched through teary eyes as she watched Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder - a firm, strong hand - talk soft, soothing words to him; and then went to drag Tonks off of Professor Lupin.

Hermione saw Harry watching Ron now, eyes turned away from the casket. She saw as Professor Lupin mumbled a thank you to Ron as the redhead nodded his head in response and directed Tonks to the restroom where she would be able to collect herself more properly. She watched as Ron forgot to grieve himself.

After what seemed like hours, it came time to finally say goodbye to Sirius. It was still pouring outside, but that didn't stop any of them. They walked out of the building, trudging dutifully to the hole that they would stick the casket it so ceremoniously. Hermione hugged Ginny tightly as the younger girl shivered and cried into Ron's handkerchief. No soothing words were able to escape her mouth. There were no soothing words to give.

What could she say? "He's with his friends now." What about Harry? What about all of them? "He's happy now." Well, of course he wasn't happy being stuck in Grimmauld Place, but how could he leave Harry and Professor Lupin like this?

"He's free," she heard someone whisper.

Hermione looked over to her left. Ron was standing there. Had he whispered that? Had it been his voice that danced along the wind around her ears, teasing her, confusing her, trying its best to comfort her? He didn't seem to have taken her into notice. She felt like she would begin hyperventilating if she didn't start crying here soon.

Get a grip, Granger, she reprimanded. You don't cry. You never cry. Why ruin your image now?

Because she hated having the image of a stoic bookworm. Because life was too much like a badly written soap opera mixed with an action adventure movie. Because Hermione hated everything and anything to do with emotions since she didn't know how to show them to others properly.

Hermione began to sob, mirroring Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Ginny. Through soggy mud-coloured eyes, she looked at everyone around her. Ron wasn't crying. How was he not crying? You just had to cry! It was against the rules to not cry at a funeral! However, she noticed that Professor Snape wasn't crying either. Dumbledore looked strong, even while being rained on and speaking.

Neville Longbottom was obviously one of the only sensible ones. He was carrying an umbrella. He offered it to Luna, who shook her head and raised her head, face pointing to the sky with her eyes closed. He gave her an uneasy look and then nudged Ginny, who looked over at him with bleary brown eyes. He offered her his umbrella, but she just choked on another sob and shook her head, blowing into Ron's handkerchief.

After offering his umbrella to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Neville looked very lost. Suddenly, the umbrella couldn't seem to take the pressure anymore and caved in from the hard rain. Neville stared at his broken umbrella, sighed, and tossed it behind himself. He rubbed at his eyes and looked over to Harry. Hermione looked away before Neville could see her watching.

Harry was standing stock still on Ron's other side. He had tears streaming down his face silently with an emotionless expression slapped on his face. His green eyes were blurry from behind his glasses as the rain spattered against them. She wondered if he could see. Tonks was once again at it, attacking poor Professor Lupin with her loud, shaking sobs. But this time, he didn't look surprised; he was crying.

Hermione was shocked. She'd never witnessed a grown man cry before. It looked...odd, out of place. A man like Remus Lupin just wasn't supposed to cry. It was so wrong, so awful, that she had to cry even harder. Ron put an arm around her shoulder; she burrowed her face into his wet robes, willing herself to believe that this was all just a dream. A very lousy dream - and she'd wake up in the Gryffindor common room, cheek pressed against her open Arithmancy textbook.

"Wake up, Granger," she mumbled to herself. "Wake up. Wake up."

Yet she didn't wake up at all because she already was awake. She moaned again and again, pleading with fate - with the heavens - with whatever and whoever that would listen to her - begging to let Sirius come back to them.

Lower and lower Sirius's casket went until it was finally in the hole completely. This was goodbye. This was death at its worst - at its best - at its end.

No, no, no, no! Sirius cannot be dead. This isn't possible; it's a lie. It's just so...illogical! Misleading! Incomprehensible! Damaging! Absolutely, positively untrue!

But Sirius was gone to them all, whether they liked it or not.

13

Once back at Grimmauld Place, Number 13, Hermione sat in a chair, looking directly at Ron. He wasn't looking at her, of course; he was rubbing his head. Harry was sitting on the couch next to George, not moving or speaking. No one seemed to want to speak at all anyways. Ginny was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, leaning against the table with her eyes closed. Luna was walking around the house. Neville had gone home with his grandmother, much to his displeasure; he had wanted to be able to stay around, to try and help Harry. He did though; he just didn't realize it.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling around. Hermione supposed that that was how she dealt with grief; she needed to get Sirius's death off her mind. What better way than to try to help cheer up everyone else? Ron was looking particularly grim so Mrs. Weasley held out a plate full of food to him.

"You need to eat, Ron," she said softly.

Ron glanced at the food; an odd look fleeted across his face. He groaned a little and shoved the plate away from him. Mrs. Weasley looked stunned as she backed away from her youngest son, but she honoured his wishes and walked away. Hermione threw him a sad look that he appeared to try to ignore; he never left the opportunity of eating untouched - until now. Things were all so wrong with this entire picture.

A loud crash startled Hermione so badly that it made her jump.

"Oh, Tonks, dear, please forgive me... I should've been paying more attention...stupid of me, really..."

Hermione peered around and saw Mrs. Weasley bending down and picking up the food on the floor and setting it onto the plate. Tonks was also on the floor, helping her. A table appeared to be broken.

"It's fine, Molly, honestly," Tonks sighed. "I fall all the time."

"I really am sorry..." Mrs. Weasley continued to fret over Tonks and clean the floor. Kingsley Shacklebolt fixed the table with a simple spell. Suddenly, Mrs. Black's portrait started up again.

A terrible feeling sank in Hermione's gut. Only Sirius had been able to close the curtains. Now that he was dead, who was going to close the curtains? Mrs. Black's screams resounded in her head, playing back over and over again.

"Disgusting Mudbloods!"

She wasn't that bad, was she?

"Horrible Half-breeds!"

Honestly, Professor Lupin was a wonderful man. Just because he was a werewolf one night a month didn't mean that he was a terrible person the rest of the month. He was brilliant and so very kind.

"Traitors to the pureblood way!"

If anything, "betraying the pureblood way" made a pureblood witch or wizard a better person. Of course, her opinion may be a biased because of her "filthy" blood. The Weasley family, however, was the family that had taken her in as one of their own (and Harry, too) without her even asking. How bad could they be? She knew they had their faults (goodness, everyone has their imperfections, much to their dismay), but they were very good people, nonetheless. Even Percy would have to come around one of these days.

"It is a brilliant day now that that abomination is gone!"

Oh, dear, gods. Mrs. Black was talking about Sirius.

Ron suddenly jumped to his feet. Hermione was surprised; she almost never seen him move so quickly. He raced up the stairs and disappeared. After a minute or two, Mrs. Black went completely silent. Hermione sat still in silent amazement. How had Ron...? Only Sirius had been able to shut her up. Hermione gulped and shook her head. She was losing it; she had to be.

She watched as Ron slowly came down the stairs looking very pale. Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt ran over to him to thank him, but he looked less than pleased. Finally, he walked away from them, leaving them looking more than a little lost, and sat back down in his seat. He put his face in his hands and rubbed his face. This was getting to be too much for him. Hermione looked around the room; people were dragging themselves around the room or doing nothing at all. This was getting to be too much for everyone.

Abruptly, the grief seemed to be too much for him to take. Ron leapt up from his seat and stormed out of the house. He slammed the door shut, causing Ginny to flinch. Complete silence followed this. Tears began to form in Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she looked at the door, and before she could utter a cry, she dashed into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley followed. Bill swore and then trudged up the stairs. Charlie bit his lip and then sat down. Fred and George glanced at each other from across the room, and then Fred left to go to the toilet.

Harry did absolutely nothing.

Hermione looked at Harry sadly; she wondered how long it would be before he got better. She wondered if he would get better. Then, she glanced at the door. Ron was...well, he was being difficult and acting very odd today. It was probably just the funeral and all, but something made her think otherwise.

"I'll go speak with him," Professor Lupin blurted, standing up from his chair. Hermione blinked at him. It was very rare to see him speak with Ron alone; she purged her memory to think of time when he had, but could find nothing. She watched as he disappeared outside. Silence overtook them again.

A few minutes later, Luna came wandering back into the room, looking calm and unworried.

"I can feel him in this house, you know," she said quietly. "He's all over the place, still. I can feel a lot of stuff here. There's a lot of...pent-up emotions."

Hermione needed something - anything - to distract her from the misery. And Luna just happened to be there and just happened to say something. It was an opportunity to forget herself that Hermione could not pass. "Oh, how would you know?" She scowled at the calm-looking blonde, wishing that she could look calm and feel okay with everything - not care about this - let go. "You can't-"

"Hermione?"

Hermione nearly jumped in her seat before whipping her head around, realizing that it was Harry who had actually spoken. She gawked at him, unaware that she looked idiotic. "Yes, Harry?" She really wanted to help him; no, she needed to help him to make her feel better about the entire situation.

Harry didn't look at her as he said, "Shut up."

Hermione was surprised, but said nothing in response. She blinked at him, flushed, and then looked away. She was terribly embarrassed. How could she have acted that way? She tried to apologize to Luna, but she couldn't; besides, Luna seemed to have already forgiven her. That girl - she really was too nice and too calm for her own good.

The silence was awful. It annoyed Hermione. She needed to hear something, but she couldn't think of anything at all. All they did was sit there and wait for nothing to happen. It was like life simply stopped when someone died. Well, how were they supposed to live for a person if they stopped for a while? But they never did speak. Talking was not allowed at the moment. Hermione had to understand that, even if she didn't like it, even if she hated it.

A half an hour went by in total silence and Hermione was about ready to burst. Suddenly, the front door opened up. Hermione looked up to see Professor Lupin walking back inside, looking accomplished and somehow better. He inclined his head to Mr. Weasley, who stood aimlessly against the wall, and disappeared into the kitchen.

The door opened again, and Hermione looked back at it. Ron walked inside and slowly closed the door. But when he turned around, they connected eyes. He flashed her a very weak grin as he sauntered over to them all. Hermione could not believe it. What was going on? What was happening that she didn't know?

"Hey," Ron said quietly. Harry looked up at him, finally moving. "Why don't we go for a walk?" Harry looked a little bit stunned. Hermione didn't cover up her shocked look. Ginny even opened her eyes. Ron nodded to her and Luna. "Is it all right if we...?"

"Of course, Ronald, of course," Luna sighed. Ginny nodded her head in agreement.

"Hermione, would you like to come?" Ron asked.

"Y-yes," Hermione said, standing up slowly. She glanced at Harry, who looked at her and then to Ron. Harry slowly stood up.

And that's when Hermione realized it. Everything had a point, whether they like it or not. This was just a test that they had to pass - a test to see whether or not they were ready for the oncoming war and world. And that essay? Well, she had all her life to fill it out, didn't she? Death was just the completion of it all.