The haze didn't get any better after the memorial for Harry, if anything it only got worse. He couldn't keep track of the hours, he couldn't remember what and when he ate or if he spoke to anyone around the Burrow. He found himself wandering outside by the lake in late hours of the night or walk into a room and forget why he had came in. Visitors had come to the house to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in an effort to comfort them but Harry didn't remember who exactly had come. He thought he recalled seeing Tonks, and maybe Kingsley. But he knew their efforts were futile as he would hear the sound of crying through the thin walls and knew that Molly was having a difficult time with this, Arthur was trying to hold up a strong front but when Harry did see him he saw a broken man.
How could they ever recover from this? How could any parent deal with what had happened to their once close family. One son dead, one son permanently disfigured, one son on the run from the law as Percy was along with other Death Eaters who had gotten away. It was so sad as the Burrow had always held happiness and love within its walls in the past, now it held nothing but grief.
Ginny had actually gone to the Malfoy Manor to be with Draco. His father had been sentenced to life in Azkaban and he had written her, asking Ginny if she wanted to come to the manor for a few days. He had overheard them all talking about it last night, Molly was skeptical but Arthur felt it would be good for her to get out of here for a few days and take her mind off of things. Now, the only other Weasley that was staying here was Charlie who Harry didn't know too well.
He wondered if he was intruding by being here because he wasn't family. Without Ron, he never would have had any kind of relationship with any of them. Hermione was staying here as well and had gone to the library, bringing back a stack of books about spells because as he had found out, she was trying to find the spell that Voldemort had used on Ron.
Harry didn't know what it was since it had been cast non-verbally, and plus Harry didn't understand why she was doing it. What good what it do? Ron was dead, nothing was going to bring him back. He guessed it was a way Hermione was dealing with her own grief.
It almost didn't seem real, but it was. It didn't take long for Harry to see that Ron wasn't around anymore. He should have been bawling his eyes out every day, but he wasn't. He just felt empty, hollow. The whole win for him was a hollow victory. He then snorted lightly as he thought that.
If you had said to him at the beginning of the year that overcoming Voldemort and his army would be a hollow victory Harry would have considered that person a mad man, but it was. Fate had given him one last cruel punch to the stomach.
He had lost his parents, he had lost his godfather, he had lost Dumbledore, and now he had lost his best friend. He had won the fight against Voldemort but with a heavy cost. If Harry could change things, if he could have given his life to take out Voldemort he would do it.
It was nighttime at this point and everyone had gone to sleep but when Harry walked into the living room he saw Hermione sitting by the fireplace with a book in her hand. She had bags under her eyes as she looked intently through the book of spells. Sighing, Harry slowly walked over and took a seat beside her.
"How are you holding up?" He asked.
"I got a letter from St. Mungos." Hermione answered as she placed the book down and looked over at her boyfriend. "They said the spell that he got hit with caused his internal organs to be torn apart. He bled to death on the inside."
She now looked pained and Harry took a deep breath as he shifted in his seat. He wondered why she wanted to know that, and now, really wished she had just left things alone.
"It was the spell, abolesco. That's what Voldemort used."
"Well, now you know. Are you satisfied now?"
"I didn't do this for some kind of morbid curiosity," Hermione almost snapped. "We should go to the minister, ask him to make this curse an unforgivable so it can't be used again. We owe that much to Ron."
Harry was sure the minister would do it. They hadn't talked much at all, at least no conversations that he could recall.
Harry thought about that. He was sure the minister would do it, it was the least he could do. So that was why Hermione was determined to find the spell, that and it was a way to distract herself. The two of them hadn't talked much, at least no conversations that he could recall.
"You didn't answer my question," Harry then said.
Hermione looked away, at the fire for a few moments before smiling at little and looking back at Harry.
"I had a dream last night."
Harry stared back at her, curious.
"It was me, you, and Ron. We were in the Gryffindor common room, sitting on the couch. Snape had just given us a ten page essay to write and Ron was calling him every name in the book…"
She trailed off as she laughed a little and Harry smiled. That sounded like Ron, that sounded like the good times. It seemed so long ago, even though it was just a few years. Before the end of forth year when he came back and everything changed.
"I wonder if we'll ever have anything like that again," Hermione continued. "You know what I mean?"
He knew what she meant. Hogwarts was in the process of being rebuilt. Even if they did go back to finish out their schooling, he wondered what it would be like not only without Ron, but without all those that were lost in the battle. It wouldn't be the same, nothing would be the same.
"He loved you," Harry then said.
"I loved him. I hope he knew that."
"He did. He knew how much we cared for him."
Harry then shook his head.
"He saved my life. I wish that-"
"Don't Harry," Hermione interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. "Don't start blaming yourself or anything like that. This is how it is, this is how it turned out. We'll get through this, he would have wanted us to."
Nodding a little, Harry then took Hermione's hand in his as they now sat quietly and stared at the fire. He then thought about what he was about to say, about Ron saving his life. He then realized what he knew all along. That his best friend had died a hero. He wasn't just Harry Potter's best friend or the youngest of the Weasley boys trying to find his own identity. He was the hero who had helped end the war, and that made Harry feel a bit better.
It also made him feel better that even after the fights, the heartbreak, the sorrow, the losses… their very friendship and love for each other that ran between the three had no boundaries… because somewhere along the way, they had all known deep down inside, that there were no lines between.
They were the Golden Trio. And they always will be.