Two Photographs

Two Photographs

Whitefeather

All six of the horcruxes were gone, destroyed by the three of us over the course of the year. From August 'til June, living in the shadows and having no contact with the world... just with one another, and now it was almost over, just one target left in Voldemort himself...

"So when do we do it?" Ron asked softly, taking a bite from his biscuit. The firelight illuminated his face, lined with scars and wrinkles from countless death scares.

Harry shook his head, hidden beneath a long hood. He had done many things in the last year; many things that would have sentenced him to Azkaban had it been anything but wartime--only now would the Ministry talk of giving him awards for acts that we all called heinous and terrible under our breaths as we completed them. He couldn't bear to have people look upon him and see these things and think great of him, so he hid from the world.

"Two days. That's when Snape said Voldemort was going to be launching his attack on Hogwarts; we can't risk anything before that, he's going to have thousands of Death Eaters gathering around him to prepare."

"So we have two days to prepare?" I stood up and took our bottle of water. "What do we need to do? Plan our attack, or maybe work some more on battle tactics..."

Harry shook his head slightly. "We're not going to get any better in two days. What the two of you need is to think of what you're fighting for--to remember and reflect, and prepare mentally."

Ron stared at Harry with his mouth open. I shot him a 'shut-your-mouth-now' look and poured a glass of water. "So we're going to stay here and share memories?"

He shook his head again. "I want you to go home tomorrow morning and spend a day with your families."

My mouth dropped. We hadn't seen our families since July, and every time one of us would bring them up, Harry would lecture us on how dangerous it would be for us to go back.

As though he read my mind, Harry continued on. "Voldemort isn't going to care with the attack against Hogwarts only a day away; he can't risk alerting the Order by going to your homes and placing an attack there. Besides, I doubt he'll take notice with the plans that he's going over. It's perfectly safe."

"Where are you gonna go?" Ron stood up and moved next to me, handing me his glass. "You wanna come with me to the Burrow?"

He shook his head again. "I can't risk it. Besides... I want to go back to the graveyard and to Godric's Hollow. Maybe some of my old luck with come back."

"You sure?" I muttered.

"Yeah. The thing is..." he stopped for a moment, staring deep into the fire. "If you go home and realize that there is something else out there worth not dying for, I want you to stay and not have to leave me directly. If you find something at home that makes life worth it, then stay. I'll understand; I'd do the same if I had a family to live for."

*

"Any more pudding?" Mum asked, looking hopeful. I took another spoonful, fully planning on feeding it to the dog as soon as she walked out of the room.

"Thanks."

She threw me a huge smile and almost skipped out of the room. I sighed gently and slipped the plate under the table, pulling it up just as dad walked into the room. He grinned in understanding and took my arm. "I just got the old photos organized. Want to have a look?"

Before I could nod yes or no, he had me dragged into the living room and had me on the couch with the photo album open in front of us. Mum came in and sat on my other side. "When does the album start, Dan?"

"When Hermione was born." He stated proudly. I shared a look with mum; only dad could take seventeen years to organize photographs.

He shrieked like a young child as he flipped the pages, reminiscing on the times long gone when I had made milestones that now seemed as important as single seconds in my life. How was I supposed to think about a bone broken at four when in my second year I had been comatose for months? How could I even take pride in a won spelling bee when in my fifth year I had outfought five of the world's best fighters in a life-or-death confrontation? How was I supposed to remember a crush I'd had at nine that had moved away when in the last year, I'd nearly lost the love of my life seventeen times, and believed him dead three of those?

How was I supposed to care that I lived eleven years in a sheltered life when I had lived seven in hell?

"I think I'm going to go to bed," I whispered, interrupting one of dad's stories. He gave me a look of mock hurt before he realized that it meant he would have to say goodbye to me right then and there--most probably forever. His look turned terrified as he looked to my mum.

"But... but there's so much more we need to do! So many more memories to look back on, so many more things to talk about and to learn... did you know that when I was six, I-"

Mum put an arm on dad's shoulder, biting her lips to keep from crying. Immediately I felt tears well up in my own eyes. I was killing my parents.

"I think Hermione needs her sleep Dan, and so do we. Tomorrow's going to be a long day for all of us."

The look on her face made me want nothing more than to die right there and then. It was a mixture of terror and hatred and fear; all thrown together as she tried so desperately to push them back and let off and air of normality; like she was sending me to bed and tomorrow she would wake me up and I would yell at her to give me five more minutes and we would argue and be mad all day until dad stepped in at dinner that night and we would all laugh...

"Don't go tomorrow," Dad blurted out finally. "If you go tomorrow, you'll die, and you're not ready for that. I'm not ready for that. Don't leave us. Oh God, don't leave us Hermione..."

Mum looked lost as dad broke down into sobs, grabbing the coffee table for support. "I forbid it! You can't go! You won't go! I won't let you!"

I stood there not sure how to act as Dad sobbed on the floor.

"I'm leaving in seven hours... it will probably be easiest if I don't wake you up..."

Mum nodded, still biting her lip. A small trickle of blood was running down her chin.

I'd never felt as much pain in my life as in that moment. I'd been tortured by thirteen different Death Eaters in the last year alone, I'd believed both of my companions dead at least ten times at one point or another, I'd seen people I loved die in front of me... but these things were nothing to what I felt. I knew, without a doubt, that if I went they would die inside tomorrow. If by any chance I did make it through to the end, they'd never be the same again. Never.

I couldn't be the one to do that.

"I'm not going tomorrow," I blurted. Both of them shot me looks of disbelief, mixed in with looks of absolute hope.

"Harry told us that if we find something here worth staying for, then we should stay. There is something here in you. I could never leave that; just now I see you both dying at the thought of me going out there. If anything happened... I'd never forgive myself..."

I turned and went to the stairs, walking up to my room in silence.

Not much had changed over the past year--my bed was still in the same place, my posters still hung on the wall, my clothes still hung in the closet...

"You're the only thing that hasn't changed," I muttered, walking around and thinking. I turned on my stereo and grabbed my own photo album from atop my bureau. Outside it started to rain. I laughed dryly. "Thank Merlin we're not still out in the campsite."

Jumping onto the bed, I opened the album to the first page. Our first year at Hogwarts.

The first pages were photographs of me and me alone; taken with magic so that I didn't have to bother anyone to take them. Photographs of classrooms and pictures on the walls and other objects that meant absolutely nothing anymore; but on that first day at Hogwarts had meant everything.

Seven years ago.

Seven years ago I'd had nothing.

Seven years ago I'd seen hope in a new school and a new start where maybe I'd find a friend who I could have over and share secrets with.

It's funny.

The first time I'd met Ron and Harry, I'd insulted them. They couldn't stand me for two months. Life was exactly as it was at home; I almost had my parents convinced to let me come home and go to the muggle school.

Then Halloween came.

I will never in a million lifetimes forget the look that the three of us shared over the troll that night--a look of absolute trust and faith; of the most absolute friendship.

Suddenly, the pages in the photo album weren't filled with one person. There were three; three people so young and innocent, smiling and laughing and worrying about nothing more than the exams and professors and when we would eat...

I stopped and stared at one picture, taken just before Christmas.

I took it out of the album and put it to the side.

The photos continued on as time continued on--gradually getting darker and darker, fewer and fewer. With each passing year came another drop in our smiles, another bit lip, another faraway glance...

The pictures ended abruptly at the end of our sixth year with a photograph that I had cut out of the Daily Prophet from Dumbledore's funeral. It was the three of us staring to the side, where the body had been laid to rest--each of us holding tightly onto the other. Our arms were intertwined to the point where you couldn't tell whose was whose... our faces were close and torn... our hands grasped one another as though we were supporting ourselves in a life-and-death situation...

The title of the photograph in the paper had been 'Hope'.

I'd tried to laugh when I'd first seen it... tried to think of how much that must have bothered the Dark Lord... of how people would believe in us...

I reached down into the small bag I'd brought with me and took out the one photograph that existed of the three of us since we left.

It had been taken by accident; a small Polaroid camera that a young muggle child had snapped our picture right after we'd destroyed the final horcrux in the woods, near his campsite. He'd demanded two pounds for it and Harry had handed it over immediately, afraid to leave any evidence behind.

I'd taken the photo but been too drained to even look at it. To be honest I'd forgotten about it until three nights later when I'd been sitting by the fire alone in the middle of the night. By the firelight I took out the crinkled picture and looked at it.

The three of us were in a row, Harry in the middle; not for any theatrics, but because he literally couldn't walk. The spells he'd used had nearly killed him again, and he needed to use us as crutches. His hood had been caught by the wind at a perfect time--at a time where I could see his cold gray right eye staring downwards, completely lost. Ron was bruised and looked about to collapse, and I had a huge gash down my face. All three of us were completely intertwined as in the photograph at the funeral--but this time, it wasn't for emotional support. We were already dead inside.

Outside, the rain began to fall harder. I giggled a bit, remembering when we had first been caught in a storm on our journey, and how Ron hadn't known how to react... and how Harry had stared at him running around grabbing things... I'd started singing an old song about rain, trying to make the situation lighter...

The last time Harry had laughed was that night.

It's been five months since then.

Mindlessly, I began to sing the same song, staring out the window.

Listen to each drop of rain

Whispering secrets in vain

Frantically searching for someone to hear
Their story before they hit ground
Please don't let go
Can't we stay for a while?
It's just too hard to say goodbye

What would happen tomorrow?

If Voldemort won, we would all be dead within a matter of weeks. There would be no one to stand in his way--the world looked to Harry as their hero, and if he were to fail, they would have no hope at all. Over time he would take over and rule, leaving us muggles for dead. Though I'm sure I'd be one of the first.

If Harry won...

If Harry won there would be no storybook ending.

It would be worse than death for him.

He thought we didn't know about his death wish. About how he wanted nothing more then to die on the battlefield.

But he also knew that if he died, all was lost. As much as he wanted to join those he loved, he knew that he could and would never let down the world.

If Harry won, he would go into hiding. He would waste away until the Gods had mercy on him and brought him home.

He would never be happy again. Not until he was home.

I stand alone in the storm
Suddenly sweet words take hold
Hurry they say for you haven't much time
Open your eyes to the love around you

I moved the last photograph next to the first and stared at them. The first was a magical photograph, and we were all grinning and goofing off... Harry was laughing at some joke that Ron had made in that time, so long ago, that they were trapped in.

Lucky them.

There was no trace of life on our faces in the last photograph. We were already dead, I realized. Dead to the world and to ourselves; our bodies only living for the sole purpose of ending the world's suffering.

You may feel you're alone
But I'm here still with you
You can do what you dream
Just remember to listen to the rain

I realized suddenly, with almost no emotion at all, that I hadn't cried in months.

I hadn't cried when Harry and I thought Ron was dead after the fifth horcrux. I hadn't cried when we found out, through a month-and-a-half old paper, that Ginny had been killed. I hadn't cried when we had been cornered by fifty-odd Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, and believed myself dead.

And before I could breathe, before I could react--I was crying at the thought of leaving the ones I loved.

The two photographs lay crumpled in my hands, now strewn with tears.

A creak from the doorway made me look up suddenly. Dad stood there, looking like he'd been crying. "Brought you some warm milk to help you sleep... I'll just leave it here... goodnight..."

He turned to leave.

I leapt out of the bed and threw my arms around him, letting the two pictures fall to the floor.

We embraced for what seemed like an hour before he pulled himself back and looked into my eyes.

"You need to go, Hermione."

Inside, I knew he was telling the truth. Knew he was dying inside as I had the past year in saying this, in letting his daughter walk willingly to his death; knew he had probably sat in his own bed sobbing for an hour to get the strength to come up here and tell me this.

He'd been brave enough to do what he needed to do.

I nodded slightly and pulled back completely, grabbing my pack from the floor. Next to it lay the two photographs of two completely different times, two completely different worlds; two sets of two completely different people.

I picked them up gingerly, lost in thought for a moment before nodding.

I handed my dad the photograph of us from our first year and enclosed his hand around it.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered. "Never forget us, no matter what. Never forget us and the way we were. I love you."

He nodded silently as I passed him and walked down to the fireplace, stopping only by my mom's room for a moment to kiss her head as she was lost in sleep. I dropped a pinch of floo powder into the fire, and without looking back, I cried out the name of the place I knew Harry would be.

Moments before the magic took me away, I dropped the photograph enclosed in my own hand into the fire below me.

Remember us as we were.