TITLE: Trinity

AUTHOR: Julianne Thomas

RATING: PG-13

1 PAIRING: Ron/Hermione, H/R/Hr friendship



DISCLAIMER: Anything in this story that you recognize is the intellectual and creative property of JK Rowling. I own nothing and do not claim to.

SUMMARY: So young and so burdened—the Holy Three.



"Trinity" by Julianne Thomas



The acrid smell of smoke burned her nose. Around her, people were screaming as they fell, both fighters of the Light and the Dark collapsing to the ground. She ran past them, focused only on one thought—where were they?

A clearing ahead gave her the answer she sought. Topping a small hill, she spied the Dark Lord with his wand pointed at Harry and Ron, who stood bravely before him, ready to fight and die for their cause. Suddenly, she found herself unable to move, rooted to the spot. She tried to scream, but no sound issued from her throat. Just then, Voldemort lifted his wand and aimed it at Ron's chest. Murmuring a single Latin phrase, he fired a burst of green light at Ron. She screamed…



And sat bolt upright in bed, the scream ringing through the night even as it died in her throat. It was a dream, only a dream.

More like a nightmare. Hermione Granger pushed her hair away from her face and shuddered, the vividness of the dream only just fading. The door to the room she occupied flew open, revealing a shaken looking Ron illuminated in the doorway.

" 'Mione? Are you alright?"

She nodded and beckoned Ron into the room silently. Just as he settled on the edge of the bed, Harry stuck his head in.

"Hermione? You alright?"

She smiled and nodded. "I'm fine now. Nightmare."

Harry nodded sympathetically and stepped into the room. He peered around at the walls and tossed a grin at the pair on the bed. "You can tell this was the twin's room, right? All the scorch marks and scrapes on the walls…" Harry chuckled, and Ron and Hermione joined him in a cleansing laugh. Fred and George, who'd moved into their own flat in Hogsmeade two years ago, had certainly left their mark on the Burrow's walls. Ron smiled to himself. He'd never admit it aloud, but sometimes he missed the explosions coming from this room as his brothers' cooked up new pranks for Weasley Wizard Whizzes.

Harry crossed to the other side of the room and sat down on the bed beside Hermione. Touching her hand, he said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione peered into her lap, avoiding the looks of concern Harry and Ron were giving her. How could she explain the unreal feeling of terror she experienced over and over in her dreams? How could she tell them that in the dreams, she stood by helplessly as Voldemort exacted his revenge?

She felt fingers entwine with hers, and she looked up to find Ron gazing at her with such raw emotion in his eyes that she found it impossible to look away. He rubbed her fingers with his thumb, offering his silent encouragement to her. Haltingly, she described the dream, and when she was done, she was startled to find she was crying.

And with that, she broke.

Tumbling into the embrace of her two best friends, Hermione cried. She cried for those who had fought so bravely and had died so they might live. She cried for the families who had lost loved ones, and for the ones who didn't know yet if someone they loved was alive or dead. She cried for the future of the wizarding world, stable for the moment, but for how long? And of course, she cried for them, three not-quite-adult wizards who had had to face so much and had been shouldered with such a great responsibility.

They had succeeded, though. And while a part of her knew that she should be rejoicing in the victory, it felt hollow. How could something so horrific and devastating have any redemption?

She found her salvation in the love Harry and Ron had for her as they held her and soothed her, shedding a few tears of their own. She felt Ron's lips against her skin, felt him shaping the words in feather-soft kisses. "I love you…we're safe…we're together…". She felt Harry's hand, warm on her back as he stroked, helping to slow her tortured sobs. At long last, there were no tears left to cry and no words left to say.

They lay down, pulling the sheet gently over themselves, twining together. Later, when Dumbledore would check in on them, he would find it difficult to tell where one began and another ended. The three lay so wrapped in each other, anchored to each other, grounded in the safety and security of the presence of the others. These three, the Saviors, who were still only children themselves.

Tomorrow, they'd help with the clean up and rebuilding of all that had been lost. Tomorrow, they would be the ones to lead the world into its new dawn and its new life.

But for tonight—just for tonight—they slept. And when they dreamed, there was no fighting, no fire, no death.

There was peace.