Love And Revolution

III

[Back in the interrogation room]

"Do you need to take a break?"

Hermione pulled her eyes up from the depths of the blackness of her coffee, to find an equally deep and dark pair of eyes trained on her. Graham Gore was observing her very acutely, judging whether she was capable enough to continue without breaking down. His words were solemn, his voice somber and his head lowered- rueful in acknowledgement of her loss.

She wondered whether that was an act too.

"No." she replied, making her face determined. She shrugged her shoulders like it wasn't a big deal, or that she was over it.

Again he made the gesture of almost reaching for her hand across the table. "I'd understand if- if you-"

"I am ready when you are." she cut him off and stared straight ahead.

He drummed the fingers of his outstretched arm on the table, assessing her. He guessed that she was determined to not show any weakness. Finally he gave a deep sigh. "Very well...continue."

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Hermione was numb; after a month of just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, not being able to differentiate night from day, not bothering to get something proper to eat, not taking a bath, or brushing her hair or hardly changing out of her clothes- she was simply numb.

When the doctors had let her know that the baby was gone, she had felt numb. When others cried around her she felt numb. When she returned to their empty home, she was numb.

She did everything mechanically, she functioned without feeling and hardly fell under the state of what was called 'being alive'. Her life was in ruins all around her and she lay in the middle- lost and absolutely devastated.

Her lack of expression of her grief concerned her friends, they tried to shake her back into consciousness, but to no avail. After she came back after staying at the Burrow for a few days, they tried to remain in touch, offering their company but the response from her was nil.

Harry came, to motivate her back into work, Ginny was eager to get her best friend back and she cried beside her a few evenings, they helped her wash up, groom herself and get herself back together a little, they even cooked and cleaned up after her. Neville visited one day to check on her, Luna too once, in the hopes of lifting her spirits, but every one of them were shocked by Hermione's stoic countenance. It was chilling.

Hermione had tried to drown herself in alcohol but after a while, the spirits too failed to provide the amount of burn that she wished to feel. She hardly cared how she looked, stuck at home, unable to find the enthusiasm for doing anything. There were dishes at the sink, a layer of dust growing on the furniture, the contents of her fridge growing stale and her whole living room floor getting more and more covered by the letters that kept coming from everyone who wanted to know how she was doing.

When she could finally go entire days without weeping, when there was basically no space left to even tread on feet, Hermione finally started gathering up the letters and month-old newspapers to put them away. For a wild moment she felt like setting them on fire then and there, after she glimpsed at the words of praises about the Ministry on practically all the front pages of every issue- she didn't care if her entire house went up in flames because of that. But with a sigh, she stacked them up in a pile and levitated them to the bin.

Her magic was faltering because of her lack of practice and enthusiasm and it took two turns to do the simple job, with the papers scattering across the floor more than once. But then suddenly, she was transfixed, staring at the recycle bin.