Author’s Note: Before you read on with the story, let me tell you that the story uses Harry Potter characters in here. You need not the details of Harry Potter Universe to read and understand this. Know this only that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (written from her perspective) are best friends. Charlie is Ron’s brother and Voldemort was an evil and the villain of the series who was ultimately killed by Harry Potter with the help of his friends. St. Mungo’s is equivalent to hospital.
Give it a chance even if you don’t like Harry Potter series.
My eyes fluttered open as sunlight filled the room. Standing before me with a smile on his face was my best friend, Ron.“Good morning, Hermione” he said softly.
I couldn’t help but smile; his smiles were always infectious. They would make you leave the worries of your world behind and just live in the moment.
“You get fresh while I make breakfast,” he said walking towards the door.
“You cook?” I asked.
He again gave me his full-of-life smile. “I try. You got to when you live all alone.”
Though, he had not meant it, I could not stop old memories from flooding my mind. I shivered as the dead, hollow faces of loved ones swam in front of my eyes.
Shaking my head to get rid of those images, I announced, “I’ll cook.” Better do something good for him while I was here. After all, I was meeting him after what … four months?
Ron looked at me questioningly. “Sure?” he asked. I nodded in response.
“As you say,” he said and walked out of the room.
I got up and made my way to the bathroom and quickly took a shower. Then, I made my way to the kitchen, thinking about not visiting Ron for so long. But his shifting out of London did make our hanging out together difficult. Putting those gloomy thoughts aside, I finished making breakfast.
I came out of kitchen, holding food-laden tray in to the living room to find Ron absorbed in a thick book. Times change and so do people. Ron, who never read books out of choice, now had a library in his apartment. He had not read as much during his entire schooling as he had done in this past one year. He had read anything and everything to get Charlie out of his coma.
Ron looked up at me. He was wearing glasses. They made his otherwise boyish face look mature. He flashed a grin at me. How he manages that after losing his almost whole family is beyond me.
I smiled at him and walked towards him while he cleared he table of all its books. We started our breakfast in silence. I was more like observing him. He had changed. He had become silent and no longer made immature or witty remarks, but his smiles or grins had not lost their charm. They could still melt people.
Once we finished our breakfast, I gathered the dishes and went to kitchen to wash them.
Half an hour later, I went back to the living room with two cups of coffee and a purpose of catching up with him. Guilt found its way in my heart for not having met him for four months.
But the room was empty. The table was cluttered with books, diaries, quills and parchments. I looked around and found Ron standing in the balcony at the far end of the room.
As I moved over to the table to place the cups of coffee on the table, I got a glimpse of the scene Ron was enjoying. There, on the street, were 4-5 kids playing and a middle-aged woman, obviously their mother, running around them yelling which, I guessed, could only be – be careful.
After putting down the coffee cups on the table, I straightened myself. I was about to move towards Ron when few words caught my eye. I looked down to find a diary with its pages fluttering. I quickly glanced at the cover to find that it was Ron’s personal diary. I never knew he wrote. Must be a new habit, I concluded.
My mind screamed at me not to read his personal diary, but my curiosity got the better of me. It was difficult not to if you read words like ‘I wish she would die.’
A quick glance at Ron and I started reading the entry. Date at the top of the page told me that it was written a week after the final battle, when Mrs. Weasley was fighting for her life in the hospital and Charlie was in coma. All other family members of his had died.
I am really confused. Mom is in there since a week, struggling between life and death. Whosoever comes to meet her prays for her life because that is what the Healers have said, that Mom needs all good luck people can wish for and all prayers we can summon for her to open her eyes. So, that’s what people do –pray for her.
I don’t understand why. Healers told me that she will never recover fully. She will be bed-ridden for the rest of her life and pain will be a constant. Not that I doubt Mom’s endurance; a mother who gave birth to seven children would know what pain is.
But how will she survive the emotional setback? Everyone has come and told me how sad were they that my whole family, except Mom and Charlie, had gone down in the war. What do they want Mom to wake up for? To go through a living hell?
I wish she would die.
When everyone prays for her life, I pray for her freedom – from this physical pain she is going through, from the emotional grief she would face on her revival, from this world. She will meet everyone there. She will be back with her family, the way she has always wanted. Sure, Charlie and I won’t be with there, but I also need some company here.
This past week, I have never left her bedside. I had watched her struggle against death. I wish she would give in for there is where her heart and happiness lay.
Throughout the week I wished I could tell her the reason I want her to lose but couldn’t muster up the courage. I am afraid saying aloud the truth would make it final, true, with no hope of their return. Instead, I let her struggle. Instead, I sat as a mute audience to her pain. But I can’t take it anymore. I will have to say it. I will have to tell her.
I will have to accept it.
Hermione turned the page. A new entry. Next day.
Mom died today. I don’t know what the Healer was expecting when she informed me on my loss, but surely she wasn’t expecting a smile.
I had finally gathered the courage last night to tell her about the death of our family members. I told her how valiantly they fought and how fearlessly they died. I cried as I uttered those words. We were both mourning. Her only response was a lone tear that trickled down her cheek. I spent whole night sitting beside her, holding her hand, crying. I had finally accepted the truth of losing my family and grieved over their deaths. I don’t know when I fell asleep.
It was Healer’s gentle voice that woke me up. I still had Mom’s hand in mine. I gently stroked it as I looked up at the Healer. She sadly and gently said those words and left
Your mother is no more.
Mom was dead.
Never before had I felt relief over a death. Even Voldemort’s death had brought sadness … for losing so many lives before a wrong could be set right. But Mom’s death brought me relief. Her struggle, her pain had finally ended.
She was free.
I was free.
Tears rolled down my eyes. I wiped them off and carefully placed the diary on the table. Distantly I heard Ron chuckle, still enjoying the scene below, and whisper,
“A mother can never see her child in pain. Never.”
