Be Happy.

By alloy (Beta: Sandy)

It was the soft ‘thunk’ of ceramic against the wood that first drew Hermione from her nightmare. Caught in that interminable time between slumber and wakefulness, she imagined extracting her wand from beneath the pillow, bringing it up between herself and the unknown, defending herself.  But her body refused to respond, her limbs rebelling from the exhaustion that sleep had not repaired. Her wand was absent and Hermione simply did not care.

Then the smell of coffee drew her gently into the waking world.

“Do you think your friend would like a cup, too?”

At the sound of a familiar voice, Hermione opened her eyes.  The soft chocolate eyes that met hers radiated care and concern, but the frown was an unwelcome visitor to the laughter lines of her face.

“Grammy!”  

Hermione forced herself upright and glanced to her side. Ron lay there, his lanky frame curled into a fetal ball, a grimace etched onto his features. 

It was all real.

It hadn’t been a nightmare that she could hide in the back of her mind until Ron and Harry’s presence expelled the horror.

“Are you all right, Hermione?” There was concern in her grandmother’s voice now.

“He’s dead, Grammy.” 

Helen Granger’s eyes flicked to Ron.

“Harry’s dead,” Hermione said, offering clarity.

Her attention was drawn to the window; they had arrived before dawn, and now long evening shadows stretched the room.

“Did we sleep the whole day?” Hermione asked.

Helen nodded. “Jack and I arrived this morning to find you and Ron…it is Ron, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We found both of you already asleep.”

“We were so exhausted.” Hermione looked at Ron again. “Better let him sleep. He was so strong last night. I don’t know how I would have coped…” She stopped there and let the silence hang.

Eventually Helen Granger broke it. “Would you like something to eat?”

Hermione realized that the gnawing in her stomach was in part from a lack of food. “Thank you.” She pulled back the bedclothes, not bothering to hide her nakedness from her grandmother.

“My clothes,” she said. “We left them in the bathroom.”

“And I put them in the rubbish.”

“We haven’t any spare.” It was a startling reality: Ron and she had and arrived at her grandmother’s holiday cottage with nothing but his wand and the rags on their backs.

“There are some of your mother’s things from the last time they were up here.” Helen gestured to a small pile of clothes on the nightstand. Hermione winced at the lilac low cut blouse and purple trousers. Next to the trousers and blouse was a pair of jeans and plain cotton shirt. “Those are for your young man.”

It only took a moment to dress, and then her grandmother took her hand and gently led Hermione from the bedroom.

They passed through the living room; it was occupied by a short stocky man who lowered his newspaper and nodded to her before they entered the kitchen.

Guided by her grandmother, Hermione sat down at the table and began eating the thick stew that was placed in front of her.

“I’ve phoned your Dad to let him know you’re all right. Ron’s father was with him. They want you both to stay here until they come for you.” Helen paused, “I neglected to mention your sleeping arrangements.”

“I needed him.”

It really didn’t sound right, but Hermione couldn’t articulate how she had needed Ron, how he had needed her. How they had stood naked in the shower together, trying to wash away not only the mud and blood, but also the horror.  How Ron had insisted on washing her hair, untangling every snarl, while she had tried to heal the cuts and abrasions he had earned, shielding her body with his own.  How he had winced at every piece of grit, at every shard of glass she had extracted from his torso, even as both their bodies had twitched from the after effects of the Crutiatus.

“Please,” she had said as he had gone to lie down on the floor, and only once he had wrapped his arms around her had she allowed herself to cry.

Her grandmother’s gentle voice cut through her reverie. “Did you use birth control?”

Hermione’s head shot up. “No, I…We…”

“I got something in the village, just in case.”

“He’s dead, Grammy! Harry, our best friend, is lying dead in the mud somewhere and you think we came here to shag?”

Helen placed her hand on Hermione’s arm. “Sometimes it works that way, darling: the need to affirm life, to create….”

“HERMIONE!” It was a raw, guttural utterance of her name, a cry of anguish and loss that threatened to blow the roof off.

“WHERE IS SHE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER?”

They found Ron in the living room, wand in one hand, whilst the other clutched the sheet that was draped attempting to save his modesty.

The man who had nodded to Hermione earlier seemed oblivious to the existence of Ron’s wand, but not to Ron’s sheer physical presence.

“She’s safe, son, she’s safe,” he said holding his hands before him in a placating fashion.

“Ron, I’m here. I’m fine.”

Ron seemed to deflate. “Thank god,” he said, sagging against the wall. “Thank god. I thought I had lost you, too.”

“I’m safe, Ron. We’re both safe. This is my grandmother and this is…” Hermione paused, realizing that she didn’t know who the man was.

“This is Jack,” said Helen smoothly. “Jack has a car,” she said, “and I have this cottage, so we usually pool our resources.”

Jack grinned. “You alright there, son?” he said to Ron.

Ron nodded and said, almost to himself, “She’s safe.”

“There’s some clothes in the bedroom and Grammy’s made some stew for supper.” Hermione gestured to the sheet which was slipping from Ron’s grasp. “You had better get dressed before you flash my gran.”

Ron went pink, turned and rapidly retreated into the bedroom.

Helen Granger pulled her granddaughter back into the kitchen.  

“I think you need to tell me what happened.”

Hermione sat down in front of her unfinished supper.

“Your father says you were trying to stop a genocidal megalomaniac.” 

“Harry was. It was his destiny, you see, and he wanted to do it alone so that no one else got hurt.”

“You were with him?”  Her grandmother said.

“We wouldn’t let him go alone. Even when he tried to sneak away from us, we always followed him. But last night, last night… it all went wrong.”

Hermione struggled to control her voice.

“It was a trap, an ambush…” 

Lavender Brown had betrayed them. Their wands were taken from them before they were told to run.

That was the sport. Hexes and jinxes, sticks, bottles and stones sent flying toward them. Ron shielding her with his lanky frame, and the game changed: getting the Muggle lover to sacrifice himself, to place his body between hers and harm, to watch blood smear across freckled flesh.

‘Save the Mudblood,’ they chanted, as she begged him not to, cursing him for his stubbornness as the Death Eaters harried them into the presence of the Dark Lord. Then there was silence, broken only by the crisp snapping of Harry’s wand…

…and after a moment - her own.

The Dark Lord spoke, a soft lisping voice. “I’ll grant you a boon by virtue of that which leaks from your veins.”  He tossed the fourteen inch willow wand into the air. “Defend yourself.” But the killing curse was hissed even before Ron’s wand began its descent.

The final expulsion of breath from Harry Potter’s body as he placed himself in front of his best friend,  

“Be happy.” 

Ron snatched his wand from the air and turned, thrusting it into her hands. “Go,” he screamed, “Go!” He wrapped his arms around her, again making himself a living shield. “Go,” he whispered as the green light of the killing curse washed over them. 

She went.

Using his wand to Disapparate, she went to a place where before magic she had felt free… and she brought Ron’s body with her. 

Only he wasn’t dead.

At some point Ron had come into the kitchen and he had spoken when her voice had faded; his had told the tale, hesitating only briefly when the time came to repeat Harry’s final words:

“Be happy.”  

Hermione was grateful when her grandmother discretely ignored Ron’s tears.  

“Then we came here,” she said.

Then they sat for a while, the three of them, dwelling in the silence until a knock broke their reverie.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “But there’s someone here to see Ron.”

Hermione noticed Ron’s grip tighten around his wand. She wished she had hers, wished that she could be there to support him - but her wand lay broken next to Harry’s.

“Bill!”

A wave of relief washed over Hermione, to be followed with foreboding at Ron’s words, “How do I know you’re the real Bill?”

Bill nodded, as if approving of his brother’s caution. “Because I know where your teddy bear is buried.” His cryptic words must have meant something to Ron, and Hermione felt her heart warm at the brothers’ embrace.

It was Jack who broke the spell. “Helen, you look like you could use a pint.”

Helen Granger caught her granddaughter’s eye.

“It’s fine, Gran,” Hermione said. “Bill is Ron’s brother.”  

“I’m pleased to meet you, Bill, but I’m afraid Jack’s right: I do need a little drink.”

With Helen and Jack gone, Ron led Bill into the kitchen and they all sat down at the table.

“We found Harry’s body,” said Bill without preamble. “We also found some broken wands. George identified one as yours, Hermione.”

“Voldemort broke Harry and her wands,” said Ron, and in brief terse sentences he repeated their story for his brother.

When he had finished, Bill lounged back in his chair. “That explains a few things,” he said. “A lot of things actually.”

“What’s to happen now?” asked Hermione. “With Harry dead, what’s to stop Voldemort?”

Bill looked stunned for a moment. “Of course,” he murmured. “You couldn’t have heard.”

“Heard what?” demanded Ron.

“Voldemort’s dead; his body and those of fifteen Death Eaters were found surrounding Harry’s body.”

“But how?” asked Hermione. “Harry was already dead when I Disapparated us away. How did that happen?”

“What was the last thing you remember?”

“Ron shielding me from curses. They were all throwing Death Curses. I was certain they had hit Ron; I don’t know how they missed him.”

“Perhaps they didn’t,” said Bill. “Perhaps Harry protected Ron like his mother protected him.”

“A power the Dark Lord knows not,” said Hermione. “A power he could never understand, even though it had been used against him before.”

“Lift your shirt, Ron,” said Bill.

“What?” 

“If the curse did hit you, Ron, then there will be a scar, like Harry’s.”

Dutifully Ron lifted his shirt, exposing his back to Bill and Hermione. “There.” Ron felt Hermione’s soft touch over his shoulder blade. “A lighting bolt, just like Harry’s.”

Bill sat back as Ron pulled down his shirt. He whistled softly. “Ron, I think you just saved the world.”

“What? Don’t be stupid.”

“I think Bill’s right, Ron.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ron protested.

Bill placed his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “You were Harry’s best mate.” He squeezed his hand. “You loved him, we all did, but you treated him like a brother.  You gave him all you had, and he loved you enough to sacrifice himself for you.” Bill stood. “I’ve got to get back. Dad wants you to stay here until things cool down. No one else knows you’re here, so it’s safest. Phone Hermione’s Dad if you want to get hold of us. Dad will be in contact with him. Oh! And before I forget…”

Bill dug into his jacket and extracted a pair of wands which he handed to Hermione. “Choose the one that suits you.”

After a moment Hermione chose a wand that felt the closest to her original. “Has Mister Olivander returned?”

Bill shook his head. “No, and I suspect there’s going to be a shortage of wands for a while. These are spares that Mum had tucked away.” He took the remaining wand back. “Good choice,” he said. “Mum says Uncle Fabian was good at transfiguration as well.”

They said their good-byes and Bill Disapparated directly from the kitchen, leaving them alone. They wandered into the living room and curled up on the couch together.

“Your scar is here,” said Ron, gently touching her collarbone through the blouse. “I saw it last night.”

Hermione nodded. “I noticed it this morning.”

“It was for both of us. Harry’s sacrifice, he knew what he was doing.”

“A world without Voldemort is a world without Harry Potter.”  Hermione buried her face in his shoulder.

“Hermione, what Harry said, his last words, that was for both of us, too.” Ron drew a deep breath. “Be Happy. I don’t think I can do that without you.”

Hermione responded by climbing over his knees into his lap. She placed her hand over his heart, feeling its steady reassuring rhythm and tried to match her own to it. She lifted her lips to his ear.

"Let's," she said and his arms tightened around her.

“Let's be happy.”

The beginning.

***

Author’s Note:

1. Thanks to Happa for her help on this one, and of course to Sandy.

Beta’s Note:

A million thanks to belovedranger for taking the time to help me with this one.  :]