Under the Weight of the Ashes
Ron didn’t know how many days he spent lying in the bed in Charlie’s room. He just knew that nothing made sense anymore. His first month in Romania passed in a blur, one day indistinguishable from the next. The room smelled faintly of pine and ash, the ever-present scent of fire. Ron didn’t notice any of it—not the sharp tang of smoke in the air, not the distant calls of dragons echoing through the mountains.
He had stopped noticing things.
At first, he’d been numb. The raw ache in his chest, the hollow feeling every time he thought about Hermione—those were too much to bear. So he stopped thinking about her, at least in the conscious sense. He slept for hours and would only wake up when Charlie brought food and threatened him with forced feeding. When he was awake, his mind filled with an endless loop of images: her tears, the look on her face when she said it was over, the way her voice cracked when she told him she didn’t love him anymore. That was the moment, wasn't it? The moment it all shattered.
Charlie had tried, at first. He’d brought up the reserve’s work in casual conversations, mentioning the dragons, the feeding schedules, the apprenticeships available. But every time, Ron had turned away, curling further into himself like a fire crab retreating into its shell.
The sound of dragons was the only constant.
Every now and then, Ron would hear a deep, rumbling growl in the distance, a roar or a shrill cry. But the sounds didn’t fill him with awe or wonder as they might have once done. They were just noise. Just reminders that life was moving on outside the four walls of his room, and Ron wasn’t part of it.
But now, a month later, Ron was too tired to keep thinking about it. Even Charlie’s occasional shouts from the hallway—urging him to come out, to eat, to talk—had lost their urgency, muffled behind the thick cloud of apathy that had settled over him. The edges of his grief had softened into something dull and heavy. He had started finding the whole situation funny. Of course she didn’t love him. What was he thinking? How did he ever let himself believe that someone as brilliant as Hermione Granger could ever love someone as inconsequential as him. Although he found mirth in his situation, he couldn’t find the will to get out of bed.
That was until Charlie burst through the door one day.
“Ron!” Charlie’s voice was firm but not unkind. “Out of bed. Now.”
Ron didn’t react. He barely moved. His eyes stayed fixed on the far wall, a vague patch of sunlight creeping in through the window.
Charlie wasn’t having it. “I don’t care if you’re brooding over a broken heart, mate. You’re not going to spend the next year in here, feeling sorry for yourself. Get up.”
For a long moment, there was no response. Then, with a growl of frustration, Charlie grabbed the edge of the bed and jerked it violently, causing Ron to roll over, half-exposed under the blankets.
“Charlie—” Ron mumbled, his voice hoarse, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.
Charlie’s patience snapped. “You’re going to get out of here and do something useful. No one’s going to hand you a bloody thing, Ron. You have to earn it. Now, get dressed. I’m going to show you around!”
Ron blinked, disoriented, but Charlie was already halfway out the door, leaving no room for protests.
Ron sat up slowly, his limbs stiff. He hadn’t done anything for weeks. He felt like a shell of himself, a person who didn’t have a purpose. It took him longer than usual to get dressed—he fumbled with his shirt buttons and stumbled slightly as he made his way downstairs.
The dragon reserve was as intimidating as it was awe-inspiring. Massive stone structures lined the perimeter of the reserve, their roofs slanted and weathered. The Reserve was alive with the sounds of creatures Ron had only ever seen in books or twice in real life. He could feel the heat from the dragons’ fires even before he reached the main enclosure.
Charlie took him around making introductions with people. Ron was barely able to follow Charlie’s endless stream of information about all the dragons present in the Reserve and the functions of all the departments in the Reserve.
“Felix is really struggling. He is only a few months old and already suffered so much,” Charlie said, leading him into a smaller enclosure, his voice a little softer now, but still carrying a note of authority.
“Felix?” Ron repeated.
Charlie smiled sadly. “A Longhorn. Their horns are quite valuable you know, so they are often preyed on by poachers. This one survived only because our team raided the poachers’ whereabouts in time. He is in a lot of pain. We’ll keep him sedated till the wound heals.”
Ron couldn’t help but feel the weight of the creature’s presence—its eyes were closed but were twitching as if it was dreaming. And in that moment, a strange thing happened. For the first time in weeks, he felt something stir within him—a flicker of curiosity, of life, of something. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
…
Hogwarts was quieter than Hermione remembered. The Great Hall felt distant, almost like an echo of the place it used to be. The chatter of students, the clatter of trays and cups, the bustling energy—it was all there, but it was muffled somehow. There was a sense of somberness that lingered in the air, hanging over the students as they resumed their education after the war. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed subdued, clouds drifting lazily instead of the vibrant stars and sunlight Hermione used to love.
The long tables were full, but Hermione found herself sitting at the far end of Gryffindor table, picking at her food without much appetite. She could barely taste the stew. Her thoughts were preoccupied with everything else. Ron. The breakup. Harry and Ginny’s disappointment. The ever-present feeling of guilt that gnawed at her. It was like a knot in her chest she couldn’t untangle.
"You're hardly eating," Ginny remarked, glancing at her over the top of her plate. Her tone was casual, but Hermione caught the flicker of concern in her eyes. She was still angry, maybe even hurt, and it made her feel even more isolated.
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, but the words tasted hollow even to her. She forced a smile, but it was weak. "Just... not hungry."
Ginny nodded and didn't push her further. It had been this way since their return. A quiet kind of tension had settled between them, something unspoken but thick in the air.
When she glanced down the table, she spotted her other classmates. There were a lot of faces missing not even including Ron and Harry. Neville was also offered a position in the Auror program and he had taken it much to the pride of his grandmother. Luna was gone too. She was travelling without a destination in mind. It worried Hermione when she thought about it. There were still a lot of Death Eaters on the run. What if Luna came across a vengeful one; how would she save herself? Hermione had to keep reminding herself that all her friends had shown indescribable courage during the war. They had fought and defended themselves without her help. And it was because of this that Ginny was given the Head Girl's position.
Hermione was surprised when Ginny told her the news that it didn't bother her at all. For as long as she could remember, Hermione had believed that the Head Girl's position would be hers when the time came but the indifference she felt at the news was boggling.
"Are you sure you're okay, Hermione?" Ginny’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find Ginny watching her with furrowed brows. "You’ve been... distant lately."
Hermione met Ginny’s eyes, but she didn’t know how to respond. How could she explain that everything felt like it was falling apart? That she had broken Ron’s heart, disappointed Harry, and now, she was struggling to keep herself from crumbling under the weight of her choices?
“I’m fine,” Hermione said again, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. "I need to finish a Charms essay. I'll see you in class," Hermione said as she picked up her bag and abandoned her barely eaten breakfast. She rushed out of the great hall.
Hogwarts didn't feel like home anymore. She had this constant feeling that she was missing something and no matter how much she kept herself busy, she couldn't shake that feeling off. She hadn't been in Hogwarts without Ron and Harry ever. The first few months of her 1st year when she wasn't friends with them were not the most pleasant memories she had. But here she was trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, going through the days as mechanically as possible.
Everyone in the school were nursing scars from the war. There was no one who wasn't affected but everyone was hoping for a better future.
A small group of Slytherins had also returned. They mostly kept to themselves. Hermione didn't even notice Draco for the first few weeks. He was keeping his head down and spending most of his time in the dungeons. There were a few incidents of Slytherins getting cornered and picked on but Ginny and the Professors made it abundantly clear that it would not be tolerated. Everyone was thrust into the war and not everyone had the choice of picking the right side. The bullying incidents quickly fizzled out.
Hermione spent most of her time in the library. Ginny tried to get her to hang out with her but Hermione could never really be at ease. She missed Ron and Harry too much. She felt out of depth here. It was easier to keep up with the studies without the imminent threat of countless misfortunes constantly hanging over Harry. Normalcy was extremely boring and Hermione was going crazy. She was on top of her schoolwork and she was itching for something else to do. If she didn’t detest flying so much, she would have even tried out for the Quidditch team. She didn’t go that far though and settled on making potions for Slughorn.
Hermione would head to the dungeons after classes and work on some advance level potions. She would also help Slughorn with the potions he needed for the classes, sometimes even some basic potions for Madame Pomphrey. Soon these potion sessions became her sanctuary. She started spending more time in the dungeons than in the Gryffindor Tower. It also helped that dungeons didn’t remind her so much of Ron and Harry as the rest of the castle did.
Hermione had finally started to settle into life at Hogwarts again when the universe seemed to decide she was having it too easy. Slughorn informed her that another student would be joining her for the potion sessions. Her heart sank when Draco Malfoy walked into the room.