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Bless the Broken Road	By : Lissa & snowblind12 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 10182 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money off of my stories.

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AN: Thank you for you patience I had a huge family wedding last weekend (my sister) and didn't get the chance to post. This week, family has been sick (as have I) and I'm so behind on school work I could cry. Here is chapter four!
BETAs: RaynePhoenix & sab81790
Chapter Four
Big Girls Don’t Cry

Six Day After Ron’s Death
“But it’s time for me to go home. It’s getting late, dark outside. I need to be with myself and center, clarity, peace, serenity.” *
May 8^th, 2012
Draco stood at the very back of the huge crowd that had turned up to witness the burial one third of the Golden Trio. He wasn’t sure why he was here, all he knew was that he had been grieving with the rest of the country upon the announcement of Ronald Bilius Weasley’s death and felt pulled to attend. Perhaps it was because he’d had many teenaged memories with the man – or maybe it was because he knew what Hermione Granger was going through and wanted to do anything he could do to help, however small. Logically, he knew it made no sense that he was as affected as he was. But the pull to be there was too strong to resist.
His parents had seemed surprised when he had announced he would be attending the service this morning, but neither objected. His mother had offered to take Scorpius for the day and his father had told him Malfoy Enterprises would be fine without him for the morning.
So, Draco donned black dress robes and departed. He had to admit that he was not even a little surprised with the turn out. There were hundreds of people present. He politely wound his way through the crowd, drawn to the family of red heads at the front near the casket.
He only half listened to the wizard officiating the service. As a few redheaded men gave short eulogies. Harry Potter moved to the podium to speak, but was too overcome with grief to deliver his speech and his wife lead him back to his seat. Draco only half listened, because he never took his eyes off the widow. Her face was a mask of grief, but her eyes were dry. She held a small boy with thick, curly red hair in her lap; the child had his fists clenched tightly around a blue silk blanket with a teddy bear head sewn to the top. Next to Hermione, a slightly older girl leaned against her side, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.
Draco had to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, those poor kids. They must be so confused. His eyes moved back to study Granger’s face and decided then and there that she was incredible, the way she was holding herself together to be strong for her children was extremely admirable. Well, she was a Gryffindor, after all.
When the family rose to see the coffin lowered into the ground, he turned to make his way out of the cemetery. He had seen enough.
*Hermione watched the mahogany casket start to lower into the black Earth, her heart begging for it to stop. Her legs trembled and were barely supporting her. She kept expecting to wake from this nightmare. Praying that she would turn around to see Ron come striding through the crowd, asking everyone why they were so upset.
Her six-year-old daughter was next to her, arms wrapped around her middle with her face buried in her hip. The poor thing had barely stopped crying for the last six days. She just kept asking her mum why daddy wasn’t coming home for dinner at night. Hermione had tried to help her understand, but Rose was protecting herself by pretending to not comprehend. She couldn’t blame the child – she was trying to do the same thing. Molly was to the other side of Rose, holding an emotionally exhausted Hugo in her arms. Harry was on her right, a possessive, comforting arm around her shoulders trying to give her reassurance. It wasn’t working – her life was ending.
Part of her wished she was the one being lowered into the ground. She didn’t know how she was going to survive without the man her world centered around. It hadn’t even been a week and the missing of him was suffocating.
The funeral attendance was huge. There were hundreds of people present. She supposed it was because of their celebrity status. She was trying to be grateful for the outpour of support, but in reality, she just wanted them all to go away. There were very few people she wanted in her life right now.
Hermione robotically completed her duties as widow throughout the rest of the day, often turning that word over in her mind. I’m a widow at thirty-two. Oh, Ron. Gods, I miss you. The last week had been painful, unendurable, unimaginable. She was surrounded by people at all times when she just needed to be alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her fears, alone with her worries. She needed to cry…but didn’t want to break down in front of her children. And she needed to think, but she couldn’t with the constant barrage of people.
She knew they meant well; she understood that everyone just wanted to make sure she and the kids were doing okay. She loved them for it, more than they could ever know. If she didn’t get a few moments to herself soon, though, she would have a nervous breakdown that she might not come back from.
After what seemed like years, the last of the mourners left the banquet hall of the funeral home and Hermione was finally left with just her family. The Weasley’s and Potter’s milled around talking, crying, laughing, reminiscing, and caring for each another the only way they knew how – with tons food and love. Hermione couldn’t eat, hadn’t been able to eat for days. She sat in an overstuffed chair with a sleeping Hugo on her lap. Staring at nothing, she tried to focus on doing everything she could to hold it together. Just a little longer.
Harry and Ginny had agreed to take the children tonight so she could go home and get some peace. They knew her too well. Knew she would never be able to move forward in the grieving process if she didn’t get this time. Even though it worried them, they were willing to help. She had told the other Weasley’s that she would be staying with the Potter’s to placate them.
“Are you ready, ‘Mione?” Harry said softly as he approached her with her daughter. Rose’s fingers were laced through Harry’s and she leaned into his side, it brought a sad smile to her lips. It was how she liked to hold her Daddy’s hand, too. She’ll never get to again.
That thought made Hermione give a little whimper in the back of her throat and she tried to force her face not to crumple and to keep the tears at bay. “I am,” she rasped out, her voice weak with unshed tears. “Come give me some love, Rosie.” She beckoned the girl forward and her daughter obliged, wrapping her slender, gangly arms around her mother’s neck and pressing her face into her shoulder as Harry scooped Hugo out of her lap and into his arms. Ginny was waiting at the fireplace with James, Albus, and Lily, watching them with red-rimmed eyes.
“I love you, baby girl,” she murmured. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”
“Okay, mum,” Rose whispered, pulling back to plant a kiss on Hermione’s cheek.
She let go of her mum and waved at her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins as Harry and her brother joined Ginny and their children at the floo. Hermione watched as they disappeared in three groups; James going first, Ginny with their younger two, and Harry with her children.
“Are you leaving, az well, ‘ermione?” Fleur questioned as she slowly approached the rest of the family.
“I’m going to follow them in a moment,” Hermione agreed. “I’m so…tired.” Fleur’s face was soft and full of love. Bill came up behind her and clasped her shoulders, pulling her into a backward hug and dropping a kiss on her head. Bill was built much like Ron, and his gesture was something Ron had done often. It made her throat close. She struggled for a moment, eyes squeezing shut tight as her hands came up to wrap around Bill’s wrists in thanks. When she opened them again, Fleur was looking away, tears trickling down her face. The women embraced and Hermione continued to make her rounds to say her goodbyes.
At last, she was flooing home only to find the house eerily quiet. She made her way up the stairs to the moderately sized master bedroom suite at the far end of the hall. She stripped until she was in her skivvies and pulled Ron’s cotton robe from the hook behind the door. Wrapping herself in his scent, she crawled into his side of the bed and buried her face in his pillow to cry. Finally, she was able to let the flood gates open and not worry about a child coming in to find their mother in a puddle of despair on the floor. She fell asleep with wet cheeks and the smell of her husband all around her.
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Bless the Broken Road