Facade

Façade

"I'm okay..."

It's what she told everyone at the funerals. It was what she always said. She used it as her mask, her shield. She had never let anyone see her emotions, and she wasn't going to start now. Maybe she was trying to be strong, but by now it was habit. Instinctive. Nobody really cared about her anymore anyway.

"I'm okay..."

No matter how much she remembered about that night...it had been her fault. Dead. For her. She couldn't drive the memory out of her head. She was scared to sleep, because the same nightmare kept coming back to her, night after night. The final battle; her worst fears come true.

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"I'm okay..."

"Are you sure? You look like there's something bothering you." Harry gave her a quick hug. "Don't worry, we'll all be fine." He glanced at his watch and stood up. "It's time to go." He took her hand, helped her up, and they walked toward a sea of navy blue robes.

It had been entirely black that night, to where she hadn't been able to see the Death Eater's camp that they slowly made their way towards. She had remembered, vaguely, thinking of how the horizon had blended perfectly with the starless sky before they- the Order of the Phoenix, and everyone on their side- had burst into the clearing, ready for the unavoidable battle.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron had stuck together for most of the battle, and as Dumbledore's Army, as Dumbledore himself had obliged to name it, began to gain the upper hand against the Death Eaters, the three quickly found their way toward Voldemort.

'Where the battle begins, so it must end,' Harry had said with a smile, almost lightheartedly. Hermione knew, all too well, that it had only been to hide his true feelings. He had doubted. She knew that he would have never reckoned on her living. But she had, and she wished she hadn't.

Voldemort had closed in, and all but the four of them suddenly disappeared. All of the blood, corpses, even those that she herself had been made to kill...everything was gone from her mind except to inflict as much pain as she could upon this pitiless butcher, one who had easily done what she had never been able to stomach: murder. But now it wasn't questionable.

Voldemort had turned to face her. He had known that if he could only kill her, Hermione, then Harry's spirit would fall with her. As she looked in horror at the face of fear itself, he had turned his wand toward her without a blink of an eye and shouted those horrible words that she had said so hesitantly on the same grounds just moments before.

Harry and Ron had caught on more quickly than she had. She was so lost in everything that she didn't have time to expect the curse. But they...they had jumped in front of her. Ron was hit. He fell, almost as if in slow motion. As he hit the ground, his body fell limp against the dirt. Hermione had been thrown off guard, she couldn't think straight...Ron, dead...no, it couldn't be...but she knew he was. She watched as Harry stood and faced Voldemort. Hermione could see her best friend's eyes; they had suddenly turned red with blood. Red with vengeance for Ron, and for all whose blood had been shed without mercy. Red with hatred. She knew what he was going to do. He said the words, almost ruthlessly, but Hermione knew better. It was his only right.

Voldemort had fallen quickly, his face unsurprised, almost ready, as if he had waited his whole life for the curse. Harry and Hermione both broke down. They were overcome with emotions: they were almost petrified with fear, yet relieved that it was finally over. Beyond hurt at Ron's death, yet filled with pride at ending the war at last. They leaned on each other for support, constantly glancing down at Ron's lifeless body lying at their feet. Hermione had been sobbing on Harry's shoulder when he suddenly froze, his face slightly shocked as he looked at something behind her. Hermione didn't understand what had happened immediately, until he suddenly fell limp into her arms, and dropped to his knees, eyes unfocused. He had shed his last tear in her arms, and breathed his last breath in her embrace.

Voldemort had used the last of his energy on two words.

Avada Kedavra.

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"No, really, I'm ok..."

She had remembered the late Dark Lord's expression perfectly. It had been one that haunted her constantly. They should have expected it; Harry had only been sixteen. There was no way his curse would be strong enough to kill him immediately. She had been so confused by everything that she had been blind to the facts. She could have done something, anything to save him. But she had been so stupid...

And here she was, at the funeral. They had all decided on a double service, with both Harry and Ron being honored at the same time. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had come over to see how she was doing, and even though she was anything but okay, she still said it. She had no idea why she did this. She began to think that maybe she was losing her mind, because inside she was always screaming in misery. It always made her feel slightly more secure when she said it, though, like she didn't have to think any more. It was all she had to say, and the memories would fade for a few beautiful seconds of silence. Maybe she had fooled herself into believing it.

She never cried. No matter what. But as she lay in bed that night, tears flowed like small rivers down her cheeks.