Our Constellation--Dramione

Chapter Twenty-Three

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, plotlines, characters, places, events (etc.) all belong to J.K. Rowling, she is the rightful owner. When a character is created by me, you'll know right away ;)

--

5 May 1998

The fields that stretched for miles before the Burrow were streaked in the gold light of the dawning sun. It was acres of serene emerald grass. It was sewn with decorations of the morning dew, likely from last night's rain. She could clearly see the beads of water collecting on the blades of green and slipping down, it stained her boots with each step she made. But despite the beauty that visibly never ended, she'd seen it all before. This, the Burrow, was her second home. Or third. There was Hogwarts to consider after all.

No matter, she was where she was needed. She'd finally arrived at the Burrow.

The aroma of the fields tickled her nostrils, it was a thick scent that was nostalgic for a large cornfield, and it was a heavy and damp atmosphere. It felt incredible.

Of course, the Burrow didn't look the same as she remembered from years past. What used to be a sort of lopsided building with decaying planks of wood, kind shutters, windows, and had been stacked dangerously high, now stood a firm home that reached upward with finely structured foundation and freshly painted shutters, cut planks of oak, and new-shingled roofs. If magic had never existed, Hermione would've never set foot in such an unstable building in the first place. But it was different now. It had been different since 6th year's Christmas break when several death eaters had pinpointed Harry's whereabouts. The Order had tried to fix up the ruins that the death eaters, namely Bellatrix, had inflicted on the house by setting it in a mass of flames. Even though it was moderately improved, it didn't elicit the same homey feeling in her.

It was still quite early in the morning and Hermione was exhausted. It seemed that despite it being the first time Hermione had had a decent night's sleep in her old home, curled up in a ball on her old bed and resting over dusty pillows, she was still empty of the energy she usually bore.

She thought about these things and wallowed in the dejection of failing her family.

I didn't fail anyone, not Mum and Dad, not Archie, and not Draco... But the desolate pain still sat unpleasantly inside her stomach, crawling up her esophagus. And she heaved it all the way home.

She decided, finally, that the Burrow was her home. Even if the place didn't reverberate in her the happy memories of better times, it's where she would find the people that loved her. Those people were family. Just one person was missing...

The top half of the front door was wide open on its hinges. And the loud squeal it gave as she pushed it open, stirred those feelings of satisfaction and familiarity and it calmed her tense body just a little. It allowed her eyes to welcome the sight of their homely kitchen, oak walls flanked with many frames of both stilled and moving pictures, and the beautiful pottery and china plates displayed on high shelves. And all before she trespassed the threshold.

As soon as she did walk through, a flash of rambunctious red she knew all too well charged into her with a force strong enough to knock her off her feet.

"Oh, Hermione! You're here!"

Hermione's pancreas was squashed to the sides of her stomach as Ginny practically hung from her front in a bear hug rivaling that of Mrs. Weasley's.

"Ron and Harry told me you were going to Australia to retrieve your parents' memories, but you didn't say goodbye to me!" Hermione wasn't sure whether Ginny was relieved or furious at the moment. Either way, she was thankful to be released from her iron grip.