Small Fires: A Bedtime Story for SoftObsidian74

7.

~ only a northern song ~



She awakes when the sunlight enters the window and falls on her eyes. Ron\'s arm is around her, and his hand rests on her breast, cupping it, even as he snores quietly. Harry\'s head is on Ron\'s chest. Their legs are entwined together.



Loud buzzing of flies outside the cabin is the only sound, other than their breathing. Flies. Flies?



The faint, sickening smell of decomposing flesh enters her nostrils, and she remembers. Tonks. Remus. The Thestrals. All dead.



Fuck.



She remembers last night. They stepped over Tonks\'s body, walked past dead, crucified Remus, barged into the cabin, ate, showered, and then fucked like rabbits in the bed that used to belong to Remus and Tonks. Who are now dead. Dead, dead, dead. She giggles, and hears a slight, faintly hysterical note in her voice. She\'s quite certain that it\'s not a good thing.



Harry opens his eyes, and smiles at her.



“Hey there,” he says.



“We need to get up,” she says with a scowl.



“Right,” Harry says, and shakes Ron\'s shoulder. Ron\'s eyes fly wide open.



“Time?” Ron asks.



“Nine thirty in the morning,” Hermione says, as she consults the clock on the wall of the cabin.



“Shit. We could have been hiking by now,” Ron mutters. “We should have been up at five.”



“We\'ll make up the time,” Harry says. “I\'ll cook breakfast.”



He walks to the kitchen and turns the propane cooker on. “I\'ve got precooked bacon, powdered egg-whites, and instant coffee,” he declares.



“Sounds good,” Hermione says.



They take turns showering, and raid the closet with Remus\'s and Tonks\'s clothes. It\'s not an ideal fit, but it\'s better than wearing the nasty, foul-smelling rags that their own clothes had turned into over the last four weeks.



They eat quickly. Then, Ron and Harry make the bed. Hermione isn\'t entirely sure why they bother. Maybe they just want to do one last normal, human thing before heading outside.



Hermione finds a knapsack and proceeds to load it with needful things: food, healing potions, spare clothes, matches, a small wool blanket.



“All right,” Hermione says finally. “Here\'s the deal. The Thestrals are dead, so we can\'t fly out.”



“Really, \'Mione? I never knew that dead Thestrals can\'t fly,” Harry says dryly.



She casts a pointed, irritated look in his direction. She knows she\'s babbling of course, but she doesn\'t need him to point that out!



“Shut up and listen. It\'s not so bad. Its\' about a forty kilometer walk to the edge of the woods. If we walk quickly, we\'ll be out of the Forest by six or seven in the evening. Then, as soon as we make it out, we can Apparate to London, and...”



“We get the point, we have to walk the rest of the way,” Ron interrupts her.



Hermione stares at him calculatingly. “How\'s your ankle?”



“Good as new,” Ron says cheerfully, stomping his foot for emphasis.



Hermione looks at him, thinking that even in Remus\'s old clothes that are too tight on him, Ron looks magnificent. Harry does too, and his messy hair and rueful smile melt her heart.



“I love you,” she says impulsively, looking at Ron. She can tell he\'s surprised.



“I love you too, Hermione,” Ron says quietly. “I may not say it very often, but I do.”



Harry smiles.



“I love you, Harry,” she says.



Harry smirks. “I think you\'re just procrastinating because you don\'t want to leave the cabin,” he says.



She shakes her head. She doesn\'t want to admit how much Harry\'s flippant remark stings.



Harry\'s face grows a little more serious.



“I know, \'Mione,” Harry says. “I love you too. Both of you. I really do.”



Ron stands up abruptly. “Well, on that cheerful note, shall we head out?”



Hermione hands the knapsack to him. “Carry this.”



“I\'m just a beast of burden,” Ron complains lightheartedly, as he tosses the knapsack over his shoulder.



They leave the cabin and head out. They walk around Tonks\'s decaying remains, and avoid looking at Remus. Hermione tries not to think how much she wants to run to him, shoo the flies away, pull out the nails that keep him attached to the cabin\'s wall, and give him a decent burial. She tries not to think of how magnificent his fur looks in the morning sunlight. She tries not to think of how blazing-white Tonks\'s hair is. If she thinks about any of that, she\'ll bawl like a five year old child.



Goodbye, she says mentally. We\'ll come back for you later. When everything is over. I\'m sorry we can\'t bury you now.



But I\'m not sorry we fucked in your bed... Though I\'m a little sorry that I can\'t bring myself to be sorry, if that makes any sense.



“Walk,” Ron says sharply.



She must have stopped, without realizing it. She begins to walk.



Her boys follow her.



She consults the map, and they head into the woods together. She hears their footsteps, and her own. She can\'t help but be relieved once the field littered by dead Thestrals are behind them. As she continues to walk, she keeps thinking, trying to figure out the gruesome horrible mystery of Remus\'s and Tonks\'s deaths. It was probably Greyback, she reasons. Greyback attacked Tonks, while the other Death Eaters crucified Remus. And killed the Thestrals.



She\'s vaguely surprised that they didn\'t burn the cabin to the ground, but maybe they wanted to leave a token of their work behind.



She walks quickly, Ron and Harry follow her.



She feels good, rested, strong. Not nearly as strong as she needs to be, but stronger than she\'d felt in weeks. She dares to believe they\'ll finally make it.



She begins to hum again.



If you\'re listening to this song

You might think the chords are going wrong

But they\'re not; we just wrote them like that



A minute later, Harry\'s voice joins her.



When you\'re listening late at night

You may think the band are not quite right

But they are, they just play it like that

It doesn\'t really matter what chords I play

What words I say or what time of day it is

As it\'s only a Northern song



They sing together then.



It doesn\'t really matter what clothes I wear

Or how I fare or if my hair is brown

When it\'s only a Northern song.

If you think the harmony

Is a little dark and out of key

You\'re correct, there\'s nobody there.

And I told you there\'s no one there.

And it\'s only a Northern song.



Bless them, those Muggle musicians, Hermione thinks. They\'re right. It doesn\'t matter. Nothing matters. It doesn\'t matter that their clothes are shabby and mismatched, or that they sing a little out of tune. It doesn\'t matter that the woods are dark. Those things don\'t matter at all.



She knows that now. The only things that matter are the stupid, pointless, human things that they do. Like desperate, needy, mindless sex when the world around them is falling apart. Like crawling in the mud, weeping bitterly, after losing the tent. Like lighting small fires in the middle of the night.



Really, all that matters is that they\'re together, like they\'re meant to be.



“Keep singing,” Ron says.



They do.



And they walk on.



They take few breaks until they finally reach the edge of the woods.



“All right,” Hermione whispers. “Here we are.”



She\'s anxious. She knows the boys are as well. They\'ve reached the boundary of the Forest. They\'re close, so fucking close. They\'ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.



“Go,” Ron says.



She walks ahead, Harry and Ron are by her side.



There\'s a ringing in her ears, as she makes those last steps. Oh god, is this real, did they make it, did they finally make it, could it possibly be...



She walks.



A sharp, bright glow blinds her, and she jumps back, just not soon enough. A web of magical energy falls on them, immobilizing them, capturing them.



“Fuck!” Harry screams.



She struggles wildly, and she knows the boys are struggling as well, but to no avail. The web of magical energy is too sharp, too strong. It holds them in place.



It\'s over.



They can\'t reach for their wands. They can\'t defend themselves.



They are captured.



They failed.



Failed, failed, failed.



That is the last thought on her mind, when Hermione\'s world goes dark.



Failed.



To Be Continued...