FDR - First Inaugural Address, March 4, 1933
Panic. Terror. Dread. Horror. Fright.
These are all words of fear.
Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live. People living deeply have no fear of death.
As the Final Battle drew closer and closer, families and friends began to band closer together. They thought they should cherish each other while they still possessed each other.
You never know what you have until it’s gone. Live each day to the fullest, for you don’t know how long you have or even if you’ll be here tomorrow.
As Ron and Hermione sat huddled in the Gryffindor Common Room, alone, they fought sleep, trying to stay awake to be with one another. They knew, deep inside, that they would only have a little while longer to be together before they would be ripped apart by a monster named Voldemort. They both had lived in fear of his name for numerous years, now finally coming to realise that Dumbledore had spoken the truth all those years ago: ’Fear of a name only increases fear itself.’
They both said his name, still with fear in their hearts, but not in their minds. They were afraid for their families and friends, not themselves. They were willing to do anything for their acquaintances, and even if they did perish in the oncoming battle, they wanted them to know their love. Just spending those few, precious hours together meant so much right now. It was impossible the feelings that the girl and boy both held at that moment in that Common Room.
Love.
A strong word, though many use it as if it means any other word. Love should not be used lightly, it is a tale wonderful thing that only comes to some, but if it hits you then it is amazing. Love is a many splendid thing; love lifts us up where we belong--- all you need is love.
And the two sitting at a lonesome table in the common room bore the perfect signs of it.
A small tear ran down Hermione’s cheek, yet she couldn’t find the strength nor courage to raise her hand and wipe it away. Ron sighed and shifted his weight, allowing her to lean more onto him as he tried not to nod off in sleep. She too reallocated on the couch, closer to him, and found this the perfect opportunity to wipe away that tear. However, Ron saw her attempt.
“Hermione, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” He laid a soft finger to her cheek and wiped it away, slowly scanning the rest of her face with his deep, blue eyes. He couldn’t bear to see her cry, even after all this.
“Please.” He spoke again, this time at barely above a whisper. His voice was breaking. It wasn’t the fear of the situation, of the circumstances, but of the pure, simple fact that they knew what was going to become of them. They needed all the time they had left together.
“How can I not cry, Ron?” she said, leaning her head on his broad shoulder, sniffing again quietly, trying not to allow him to hear. Her lips pulled twitched slightly and she choked back a sob as her memories of her best friend floated inside her head once again. He seemed to be just showing up at random times during the day. He would always be there--- he was in the torn corners of her mind. She was going to go crazy if she didn’t get him out. But, then again, she didn’t ever want to forget him, forget his friendship, his courage.
“I can’t bring him back, Hermione. I just can’t. I would if I could, you know that. I’d do anything for you.”
Hermione shed a few more tears and Ron moved closer to her, grasping her face with both hands and making her stare into his eyes.
“He was my best mate, too. I miss him, too. Please don’t be sad. I can’t bear it.” His lips, too, twitched at the sides and he tried desperately to stop the flow of tears, but it wasn’t happening.
Crying is comfort. It reassures you that everything is going to be fine, even if it isn’t, for those few moments. It is some relief to weep--- grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
Ron went back to the couch and turned from her, she still staring at him as if he had never seen before. He didn’t want her to see his own tears. He had encouraged her, countless times, not to cry, but he knew himself that weeping was solace to a broken-hearted person. These two were broken-hearted.
She used to be so beautiful, so smart, so full of wisdom and truth. She always had Professors and even other fellow classmates doting on her all the time, telling her how neat and clever she was, but that had all gone to dust now. Now Hermione was a hollow shell. If this was how she felt with Harry gone, then she didn’t even want to imagine how her life would have been if it had been Ron that had been murdered.
“Ron . . .” Hermione started comfortingly, astonished at how small her voice sounded.
“What?” he asked finally, his words as small as Hermione but a bit more nasally. He sniffed to clear his nose, throat, and mind. He turned to look at her with stained, red, blotchy cheeks.
“I . . . I don’t know. I just can’t stand to see you hurt.” Tears filled her eyes as she gave him a tearful expression, and he melted onto the couch. He collapsed into her arms and their bodies heaved together as they both wept in anguish for their friend.
“Harry’s gone, Hermione. He wouldn’t have wanted us to live in vain.”
“I know, it’s just too hard not to.”
The two sat there until the sun came up, both nodding off every once in a while to the darkness and dying down of the sparkling fire in the small room. They would always wake the other up and just stare into the other’s eyes. They had promised each other they wouldn’t take a nap; they would spend as much time together as they could.
But as the sun’s rays crept into the room, spraying hues of yellows, pinks, and purples onto the soft carpet, the light illuminated their bodies. They soon awoke and came to realise that they had both fallen asleep at the same time. While you need sleep, you waste as much as two-thirds of your life doing it, and they didn’t want to waste any more of what they had already not had.
They had fear only for what was coming. They only were in fear of the torture that Voldemort would possess and ignite on their fellow friends and loved ones.
Ron lifted Hermione up in a better position to rest her neck, and he laid a small pillow under her head, making her position more comforting. He almost had the notion to bring her up himself to her dormitory, but remember when he had tried to access it a few years ago that the stairs had collapsed. No one else was awake yet. There weren’t classes any longer at Hogwarts. No one needed knowledge any longer--- they had all been planning for a future that no longer existed. Hermione especially. Knowledge had been her life; she had not only wanted it, but needed it, and when she didn’t have it she had yearned for it. Some may have called her crazy for doing such a thing as studying so much, but some have different qualities than others.
Ron looked at her sleeping figure, her eyes fluttering every now and then, her lips upturned in what he thought was a smile, but then again, the light could have been playing tricks on him. He looked at her, proclaiming her the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Between her comforting remarks, her amazing personality, among millions of other things, he knew one thing.
“The more I come to know you, the more I love you.” He whispered the words almost silently, but he knew that he was the only one to hear them.
Hermione’s smile became more pronounced. And they knew that everything was going to be okay.