The Simplest of Emotions

The Simplest of Emotions

By: Lance Walker

Chapter 1

Now to Ron

The final Death Eater ran off the Quidditch pitch under a rain of arrows from the Centaurs. They were screaming for their lives as Aragog ran them down, one by one, and made his meal. The sly spider was cunningly leading their stampede in the direction of the Forbidden Forest where his children were waiting for daddy to bring home dinner.

I shuddered at the visual image of all of the Death Eaters who entered that forest being torn apart by the greedy maws of the giant spider's young. Looking across the pitch, my heart was saddened at the sight of students and teachers lying motionless on the manicured grass. We had won the battle, but at what cost?

Harry was gone, and something within me told me that I might never see him again. Somewhere in the darkness of the English night, he was battling for his life and for the very survival of the wizarding world against Voldemort. Next to me, Professor McGonnagal was weeping. I unconsciously put my arm around her and held her close. No one deserved to see such carnage, but now Minerva had lived through two wars and had witnessed the death of a man whom she held in the highest regard.

I gently whispered to her, hoping to comfort her in the darkest hour before dawn. "He's gone on to the Valor, Professor. He will always be in your heart."

She looked up at me with a smile and silently thanked me. Her road would not be an easy one. Her task now would be to rebuild Hogwarts and prevent another attack such as this one from happening. My greatest fear was that if Voldemort was destroyed today, the war would continue without him. The Death Eaters had fought on even after their leader had gone, leading me to believe that some other, darker whip was driving them from the shadows.

My thoughts, however, strayed away the moment I heard Cho's cry. "Ron, reports have come in from the castle! They were attacked while the battle raged out here. They experienced many casualties!"

A shudder overtook my tired body. "What parts of the castle were attacked, Cho?"

She understood my question, and her eyes fell to the ground. "I'm sorry, Ron, but all parts. The infirmary was hit."

I charged past her on my way out of the pitch, up the grounds, and into the doors of Hogwarts Castle. I pounded up the stairs to the infirmary and drew my charge short at the site. Bodies were lying around in burnt piles. It looked as if what students had fought had made their final stand here.

There were countless dead Death Eaters, but the bodies of the students engraved their images in my mind. These people were my friends or at least my schoolmates. Walking gingerly over the piles, I made my way into the inner rooms of the infirmary. My eyes scoured the room, but I did not see what I needed to see. She was not here.

When I turned around, Cho was standing behind me. Tears were streaming down her face, leaving trails in a layer of dirt that had formed during the nighttime battle. I shook my head, and she let out a silent sob. She ran to me and flung her arms around me. I grabbed tightly a hold of her, hoping for a chance to stop my world from spinning. My voice cracked out of me, filled with anguish. "She's gone. Hermione is gone." We sank to the ground in each other's arms and sobbed.

I sat up in my bed to the silence and darkness of my room at midnight. My chest was heaving, and I was soaked with sweat. "I was dreaming," I told myself, as if to reassure my racing mind, but in reality, all of it had happened, so how much could I call something true a dream? Hermione was gone...she was still gone.

Lying back down, my breathing subsided, but my mind still raced. I had had this dream nearly every night since that day over five years ago when Hermione had disappeared. They had never found her body, but her name was engraved in the monument to the war at Hogwarts. I had been there, traced my fingers along her name and left her a single red rose every year since her disappearance. Her death.

Glancing at the clock to the side of my bed, I realized that I was far closer to morning than I was to night, and I knew that I would not get anymore sleep. I put my feet on the ground, walked across the room to my desk, took out my journal, and sat down to record any thoughts I might have.

Ginny told me that keeping a journal would help, that it would allow me to confront my past and get over it. So far, I wasn't so sure she was right. I had been keeping the journal for nearly three years, but it hadn't helped one bit. Perhaps I was a lost cause, an anomaly for the psychowizards (the equivalent to Muggle psychologists) of the world, but then, maybe it would just take more time.

I looked over the cover of my journal. It had the year and date that I had written my first entry. It was the exact day that the war had ended and the Dumbledorian Concord had been signed. Two years after Voldemort's defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters had surrendered. For two years, they battled with no leader. Today I suspect that on that day on the Quidditch pitch, I was more right than ever. There was another leader behind their actions, and I'm afraid we didn't stop him or her.

For three years, peace has ruled the wizarding world. The Dumbledorian Concord has given new generations of wizards the chance to live a life without the fear of Voldemort. The Aurors have hunted down nearly all of the old Death Eaters and their leaders, the wizarding cities have rebuilt from the rubble of the war, and the scar of Voldemort has almost completely been erased from the world. The Second Voldemort War was a flash in the night, but its effects were being wiped from the world.

I, however, have not recovered. The disappearance of Hermione had been a major blow to me...it still was a major blow. I know she would be angry at my life for the past three years, but since I left Hogwarts, I have lived the life of a hermit. I've bided my days in my room on the top floor of the Burrow and have only ventured out to see the world on a few occasions. My exoduses outside always landed me on the doorstep of Harry and Cho's home in London, but aside from those two anchors to my past, my existence was all but void of my previous life at Hogwarts.

My only companions in my room were Pigwidgeon and my new owl Astarael, and I was content to be alone forever--until now. Something in me snapped the day I dreamt that dream for the last time. I made a plan to return to the world, to be the man I knew I could be. I decided to write down in my journal one line and one line only:

Today is the day that I kiss the past goodbye. Today I settle for the present, and hope for a future.

I closed my journal, and prayed that Hermione, wherever she was--alive or dead, could forgive me. I would never forget her or what we had, however brief it was, but I had to move on. Three years of self-imposed solitary confinement had left me a bitter and cold man, and I was sick and tired of my present existence.

I sat in silence, listening to the soft twitter of Pigwidgeon sleeping and of the loud huffing of Astarael. I didn't realize how long I sat until I saw the sun beginning to peek over the horizon. Slowly, the darkness of the night let way to purples, blues, and then dull yellows and golds. Finally the sun itself appeared and the sky flared with brilliance and the day began anew.

I couldn't help but feel that watching the sunrise on my decision to continue on, to finally live life, was an omen for success. Perhaps, finally now, I would be able to finally forgive the past for destroying my future. Perhaps I could forget the pain and remember the happiness I had shared and move on.

Perhaps...

I had watched the sun rise from low in the sky to about half way to its zenith. When a knock came at my door and I glanced at my clock, I was right. The clock read 9:00 a.m.. Clearing my throat, I told the knocker to come in. When I looked up, Harry was standing in the doorway.

"Get much sleep last night?" He walked over to me where I was sitting at the desk, and without waiting for an answer for his first question, asked another. "Been writing again?"

I opened the journal to the final entry and said, "For the last time." I suddenly realized that Ginny had been right after all. Writing had helped me over come the demons within me. She'd make a damn fine psychowizard after all.

Harry read the entry and I noticed tears forming in his eyes. He idly wiped a hand across to prevent them from falling and then spoke. "I'm proud. I knew you'd finally come around."

I stood up and embraced him. My tears began to flow, and I thanked Harry for all his years of friendship, even if I had been ornery as of late. "Sorry I've been such an asshole."

He smiled. "You've had every right in the world to be like that."

I turned back to my desk where a picture of Hermione and me was sitting. I picked it up. "Do you think I'm forgetting? Do you think that by choosing this path, I'm telling her that I've given up...that I believe that she is dead?" I put the picture back down on the desk. I didn't remember when it had been taken, but I knew it was at happier times before the war had broken out.

He shook his head as he looked at the picture. "Not at all. I think that you are glorifying her by doing so. She wouldn't have wanted you to live the life you've been living since we left Hogwarts. She would have wanted you to move on."

I looked up at my friend who had grown up so much since our Hogwarts days. His hair was as unruly as ever and the scar still rested on his forehead, but so much had changed. He was a good six feet tall with broad shoulders and defined muscles. A shaggy three-days-growth beard that was popular among Muggle men graced his face. Harry's eyes were very much different. Deep within their emerald depths, I saw pain beyond reckoning, but also hope. His eyes were like Pandora's Box. They saw all the hell the world could throw at him, but he still held on to hope. I took that support from him, borrowed his hope, and responded, "I may move on, but I'll never forget. She still has my love."

"And she always will. We may never know whether Hermione is dead or alive, but either way you have to live your life, Ron. You will never forget, no, but you can live." He sat down on my bed, and I at the chair at my desk.

After a long silence, I finally changed subjects. "So, what brought you here today?"

He raised his head. "I was just clarifying plans for your birthday with your mother." Suddenly, as if in an afterthought, he added, "What are your plans for 'returning to the world?'"

I hadn't really thought about it. "I'll need a job and a house." I picked up the days issue of the Daily Prophet and looked over the want ads.

Harry spoke up. "Maybe...do you think you'd like to work at the Prophet?"

Harry had had it within him to be the best Quidditch player the world had ever known, but after the war, he never picked up his broom again. For three years he had only flown when necessary and never for sport. However, he had chosen a profession that would keep him close to his love of the game. He had begun work at the Daily Prophet as a sports writer, moved up to sports editor, and soon was named editor-in-chief. He was the youngest one in the history of the paper, and although the career choice was something I never would have seen Harry do, he was an amazing writer.

He continued his proposal. "We have an opening in sports coming up here in the next few weeks. Old Ernie Fletcher is retiring. I'd offer you his job, as you know more about Quidditch than anyone I know."

I mulled the idea over in my head for a moment. VIP passes at the games, box seats, interviews with players--it was a dream job! "Hell yes, I'll take it! Just let me know when I start."

Harry smiled. "Will do. And I'll keep an eye open for any houses in London for you to rent or buy. There's always something available." He glanced down at his watch. "Well, I have to be off. Work started about an hour ago, but as editor, I guess I've afforded myself a few days coming in late for all the late nights I work." He looked over me for a moment, and then finished as he stood to leave, "I'm damn proud of you, Ron. Damn proud. I'll see you at your party tomorrow." He raised his hand in a half-wave and walked out of my room and down the stairs.

As he left, I recalled the look in his eyes. I don't know exactly what happened in that final battle between Harry and Voldemort. Harry never talked about it, and I was quite sure he never would. Whatever happened, Harry held all that pain in his eyes like a beacon calling out for someone to erase the image from his mind. Harry had won, but at what cost to himself? Harry, however being Harry Potter, used what inner strength was endowed on him to come out of it all and lead somewhat of a normal life (as normal as Harry's life could be I suppose).

After a few moments, I realized I had forgotten to ask Harry how Cho was doing. I hadn't seen her for nearly two weeks as she had been gone to the Cannon's training camp. The first game of the Quidditch season was coming, April 8^th, I thought, and I was sure she was working hard to continue her reputation as the best seeker in Quidditch today.

I smile when I look at Harry and Cho. Soon after the death of Cedric Diggory, they somehow found their way into each other's arms. One was the former lover who was torn by the death, and the other, a friend who had seen the actual demise. Their long talks would go far into the night, and the owling was almost constant. Right before Voldemort's attack, they were officially a "couple" and had pulled each other through everything. I could admire them. They've been together for almost five years now. I haven't heard any plans for marriage as of yet, but the two have been living together for more than a year, and I know one day they'll make it official, as they've already begun the "settling down" process. I just hope that things will turn out as happily for me as it has for them.

Looking one last time at my clock, I decided it was time that I headed downstairs to greet the morning with a good breakfast. The smells from the kitchen were wafting (magically, I was sure) up the tall stairs of the Burrow and into my room. Just as I was standing to leave, however, the door opened and in walked Bill.

"Hey, Bill. What's up?" He looked surprised at the mirth in my voice. I suppose my decision to finally start living was affecting everything about me. He wouldn't be the first to be surprised by my actions or tones.

He recovered from his surprise and announced, "Mum has breakfast ready."

I nodded and thanked him. "I'll be down in a minute."

He turned to leave, but he caught himself and asked, "So, you're feeling better?"

I looked at him ponderously. "You've asked me that every day for the past two weeks, since you've returned from Africa in that secret expedition I'm not supposed to know about."

He smiled. "And?"

I sighed. "I finally do."

He smiled, then laughed, and walked over and sat at my bed. The ponytail that flopped down his back mirrored my own, which I had been growing for some time. I, however, had not managed to work up the balls enough to get a fang pushed through my ear. He glanced across the room at my journal and said, "Still writing for Dr. Ginny?"

I smiled. It was an inside joke in the family about Ginny. Her decision to go into the field of psychowizardry had shocked most of the family. I knew how intelligent she was, but I was sure she would use her looks to become an actor or model. Ever since her decision, however, she'd been having "sessions" with the family, having us all keep journals, and acting as if she already had her degree. Today I realized how good of a doctor she would be. "I've finished. Today was my last entry."

Bill smiled. "So, you're through? You've sorted out your issues. I wish I could say the same thing. I'm still writing in my bloody journal." His mood turned slightly sour at this. He and Fleur Delacour had been dating for nearly two years when she finally broke it off. She was now seeing Charlie ("He iz ze rugged type, no?" she would say), and it was breaking Bill's heart. He really did love her.

I changed the subject so as not to rehash old problems. Bill was touchy when it came to Fleur, and although he was sure she'd see the light and return to him one day, the rest of the family was not so sure. "She's something else, Ginny."

He looked up at me, and I almost saw thanks in his eyes for changing the subject. He didn't want to think about Fleur anymore than any of us wanted to talk about it. "I never thought in a million years that little Ginny would choose to be a psychiawitch."

I glanced at the picture sitting on my dresser of Ginny I had taken the year before. Her picture self was currently reapplying her lipstick. "I think it had to do with a journal and her first 'patient' long ago, but our little Ginny isn't little any longer."

Bill nodded in agreement as he, too, looked at the picture. Ginny, now twenty-one, had turned out to be a very attractive witch. She held a natural allure and beauty that had won, and broken, the hearts of many men, as she hadn't settled on any one person yet. Her long red hair was highlighted with golden streaks and was always styled in the latest fashions. Her bright eyes shone forth with an intelligent twinkle that alluded to the soul flourishing beneath the beauty of a woman. She was a model, and was considered the favourite to win the "Miss Wizard World" Pageant, but soon after the competition she had decided to turn her attention to more academic pursuits, giving up modeling, but maybe not acting (as drama was on her course study at the Atlantis Academy for Higher Learning in New Atlantis). Percy was proud, but Fred and George weren't...they wanted her to continue on with showing the world just how hot the Weasley children could be.

Thinking of the twins, I asked Bill. "Are Fred and George coming tomorrow?" Tomorrow was the party that Harry had mentioned. The celebration of my twenty-second birthday. It was hard to imagine that I was turning twenty-two. I was well on my way on the road of adulthood, and before I turned around I'd be twenty-five and then thirty. Life was passing me by, and I was sitting in a room watching it do so. This thought added another spark to the fire that was growing within me. I would succeed. I would return to the world.

Bill nodded, "Yes, and bringing their lovely wives as well...who would have thought that twins would marry twins!" Bill was, of course, referring to the fact that Fred and George had landed the hands of Parvati and Padma Patil, who were now both Patil-Weasleys. Mum had not been keen on the twins marrying so young, but for once in the two crazy men's lives, Fred and George were truly in love, as were Parvati and Padma, who would both be celebrating their twenty-second birthdays later in the year.

Bill, after several minutes of silence had lapsed, stood and said, "Well, let's not keep mum waiting any longer. She's got breakfast on the table and she's probably cursing that it's getting cold."

I smiled as he got up and headed out of the room. I stood to follow him, and stopped at the door. Looking around, it felt almost as if I was leaving forever, although I'd return shortly after breakfast to get things for a shower and change. I'd made the decisions, and I was going to move on. Turning, I closed the door, the soft thud and the sound of escaping air seemingly sealing my fate. There was no turning back now.

Not that I'd ever choose. This was my life, and it was time that I lived.

***

The next day, Bill and I were scrounging around the kitchen in search of some victuals to hold us over until the party started. Mum had gone off to the grocery to get the things she needed to prepare for however many people she'd invited...probably thousands. I turned to Bill and asked, "Do you know how to cook anything?"

He sheepishly shook his head. The man had lived alone and had apparently survived on bad take-out Chinese and Thai. Looking through the cupboards, I decided that there was nothing we could eat without actually cooking...so we were screwed. I had never taken the time to learn how to cook in my solitude, although I could boil water.

Bill cried out in exasperation. "There is NOTHING to eat in this house."

"There are things to eat, just things that have to be cooked." Glancing at the wizard clock I smiled slyly. "Ginny's out in the garden--let's get her to cook us something!"

Bill nodded in agreement. He was overly enthusiastic, but I let him be so. He may be years older than me, but at this point, his maturity level was back down to Hogwarts age. I blame it on the lovelorn feelings he had, but then it could just be the fact that he was Bill.

Walking outside we spied Ginny reading in her usual lawn chair as she had every day since her return from the "Miss English Witch" competition where she had snagged the top honors of being named Miss England. Bill muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "So much for preparing for Miss Wizarding World."

I smiled, but I quite honestly didn't know how someone prepared for a competition that included walking around and looking beautiful. We approached the youngest Weasley cautiously, and she looked up at us, pulling her sunglasses to the tip of her nose so she could see over them. "I'm not cooking for you two. You have to learn sooner or later." She went back to reading.

I happened to glance at the book that seemed to be taking enough attention from her that she couldn't cook for Bill, and I. Paradise Lost by Milton. I knew this to be hard-core reading, as it had been on a reading list for some of Hermione's harder classes back at Hogwarts. The wicker table next to her lawn chair also held Dante's Inferno, Brontë's Wuthering Heights, and Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. I decided that Ginny was becoming far too intelligent for the Weasley family, and obviously was adopted. "Are you just going to sit there and read all day?"

She didn't even bother to look up from her novel this time. "Yes, unless of course you'd like to pull up a chair and have a deep discussion about religion and how it pertains to wizards and witches." She looked up with a smirk, and Bill and I quickly retreated. Religion was an uncomfortable subject for most wizarding families. Some practiced, others didn't, and some snubbed it completely. It was a Taboo in the wizarding world to condemn or support religion, and it was pretty much left up to each individual person to make his or her own decision.

Disgruntled, we walked back inside, and looked over the interior of the modified Muggle refrigerator again. I glanced up at Bill and finally muttered. "It can't be that hard. I mean, if mum does it every day, surely we can manage it just this once."

He nodded, not sure but also not wanting to disagree. "Yeah. We have recipes here and we can whip up something with ease. Just follow the directions." He held up mum's massive recipe book that must have been held together with magic from the sight of the bulging three-ring binder.

Taking out one small card that read "Grilled Cheese," I looked over it once, and smiled. "This looks like a piece of cake. Okay, first, you need to get out the skillet."

Bill looked in the cabinet and pulled out a deep pasta dish. "This?" He said, holding it up as if it were a foreign object, which apparently it was.

I shook my head. "No, it should be big around, but very shallow." After several minutes of searching, he finally found the right pan and placed it on the stove. Taking out my wand, I zapped underneath it to get the fire going and then continued to read the directions. "We need bread." Using the simple Accio spell I called for the bread, which was in the bread cabinet in the hall. I heard a loud thump, and suddenly the whole of the bread cabinet was zooming through the door of the kitchen and right at me. "No! Stop, stop!" It did as it was told and I muttered, more specifically. "Accio Loaf of Bread!" The door opened and a single loaf flew out of the cabinet and into my arms. As I continued reading the directions, Bill levitated the closet back out into the hall.

I began to mutter to myself as I continued gathering the ingredients. "Accio butter. Accio butter knife. Accio cheese." When I finally had all the utensils and ingredients, I began to slather copious amounts of butter onto the bread and stick cheese between two pieces. This is easy. I thought as I picked up another piece.

Bill walked in to the kitchen. "What is that smell?" He stopped, staring at the stove in horror.

Turning around, I let out a string of curses. I had forgotten to turn down the gas on the stove, and a roaring flame was leaping into the air through a hole in the middle of what used to be mum's favorite frying pan.

Dousing the flames, I started to clean up the molten mess of iron. When I had used every cleaning spell I knew (and granted, that wasn't much) and the stove was spotless again, I turned around. Bill was standing there eating the buttered bread. I started to advance on him. He held up his hands. "What?!"

I grabbed a piece of the bread out of his hand and stalked out of the kitchen. For my first day attempting to take care of myself, it wasn't going to well. I would have to ask mum to teach me how to cook when I announced that I was moving out.

Stomping up the stairs with a still empty stomach, I took a left instead of right turn at the landing, and headed up to the ghoul's new home in the other wing of the attic. Opening up the door and pulling down the ladder, I walked up into the darkness to the sound of the ghoul clanging what sounded like a metal road against a tambourine. Seeing its beady eyes shining at me from the darkness, I took the pan up in my hand, and chucked it in his general direction.

Jumping down the ladder, I chuckled at the sound of the ghouls cursing. Ha! Who's the terror now?

Heading back up to my room, I decided to take a rest before I had to get ready for the party. Glancing at my watch I noticed that I had little more than three hours before the whole charade was to begin. I hadn't seen the invitation list yet (Mum had hid it somewhere), but I figured that Mum had invited pretty much the entire wizarding population of England. Twenty-two was a big age for wizards. I'm not sure why, of course, but ever since I can remember my parents always went all out on the twenty-second birthday (maybe because this was usually the age where the fledgling Weasleys went into the world and stopped being a perpetual mouth to feed). If Mum went to the store for more than ten minutes, it meant she was planning to cook for an army.

Sighing, I pushed the door of my room open. I looked around and smiled. The room hadn't changed since yesterday when I had placed so much on the fact that I was leaving, but it seemed to have a different air, a different light. It seemed as liberated as I felt, as if finally it had carried its burden through twenty-two years and it was being released from its task.

After a short nap, I fed Pigwidgeon and Astarael. I showered, changed, and then headed back downstairs. Mum's hand was back on home, and instead of searching for the invitation list; I decided to go chat with her.

Before I entered the kitchen, I paused. Life for me was changing, but for the better. After today, I would put the past behind me and move on with a future.

At least...that was what I thought I'd do, but things would turn out very much different indeed.