TITLE: Trinity

AUTHOR: Julianne Thomas

AUTHOR E-MAIL: [email protected]

RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: Ron/Hermione, H/R/Hr friendship

DISCLAIMER: Anything in this story that you recognize
is the intellectual and creative property of JK
Rowling. I own nothing and do not claim to.

SUMMARY: So young and so burdened—the Holy Three.



“Trinity” by Julianne Thomas



The acrid smell of smoke burned her nose. Around her,
people were screaming as they fell, both fighters of
the Light and the Dark collapsing to the ground. She
ran past them, focused only on one thought—where were
they?

A clearing ahead gave her the answer she sought.
Topping a small hill, she spied the Dark Lord with his
wand pointed at Harry and Ron, who stood bravely
before him, ready to fight and die for their cause.
Suddenly, she found herself unable to move, rooted to
the spot. She tried to scream, but no sound issued
from her throat. Just then, Voldemort lifted his wand
and aimed it at Ron’s chest. Murmuring a single Latin
phrase, he fired a burst of green light at Ron. She
screamed…



And sat bolt upright in bed, the scream ringing
through the night even as it died in her throat. It
was a dream, only a dream.

More like a nightmare. Hermione Granger pushed her
hair away from her face and shuddered, the vividness
of the dream only just fading. The door to the room
she occupied flew open, revealing a shaken looking Ron
illuminated in the doorway.

“ ‘Mione? Are you alright?”

She nodded and beckoned Ron into the room silently.
Just as he settled on the edge of the bed, Harry stuck
his head in.

“Hermione? You alright?”

She smiled and nodded. “I’m fine now. Nightmare.”

Harry nodded sympathetically and stepped into the
room. He peered around at the walls and tossed a grin
at the pair on the bed. “You can tell this was the
twin’s room, right? All the scorch marks and scrapes
on the walls…” Harry chuckled, and Ron and Hermione
joined him in a cleansing laugh. Fred and George,
who’d moved into their own flat in Hogsmeade two years
ago, had certainly left their mark on the Burrow’s
walls. Ron smiled to himself. He’d never admit it
aloud, but sometimes he missed the explosions coming
from this room as his brothers’ cooked up new pranks
for Weasley Wizard Whizzes.

Harry crossed to the other side of the room and sat
down on the bed beside Hermione. Touching her hand, he
said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione peered into her lap, avoiding the looks of
concern Harry and Ron were giving her. How could she
explain the unreal feeling of terror she experienced
over and over in her dreams? How could she tell them
that in the dreams, she stood by helplessly as
Voldemort exacted his revenge?

She felt fingers entwine with hers, and she looked up
to find Ron gazing at her with such raw emotion in his
eyes that she found it impossible to look away. He
rubbed her fingers with his thumb, offering his silent
encouragement to her. Haltingly, she described the
dream, and when she was done, she was startled to find
she was crying.

And with that, she broke.

Tumbling into the embrace of her two best friends,
Hermione cried. She cried for those who had fought so
bravely and had died so they might live. She cried for
the families who had lost loved ones, and for the ones
who didn’t know yet if someone they loved was alive or
dead. She cried for the future of the wizarding world,
stable for the moment, but for how long? And of
course, she cried for them, three not-quite-adult
wizards who had had to face so much and had been
shouldered with such a great responsibility.

They had succeeded, though. And while a part of her
knew that she should be rejoicing in the victory, it
felt hollow. How could something so horrific and
devastating have any redemption?

She found her salvation in the love Harry and Ron had
for her as they held her and soothed her, shedding a
few tears of their own. She felt Ron’s lips against
her skin, felt him shaping the words in feather-soft
kisses. “I love you…we’re safe…we’re together…”. She
felt Harry’s hand, warm on her back as he stroked,
helping to slow her tortured sobs. At long last, there
were no tears left to cry and no words left to say.

They lay down, pulling the sheet gently over
themselves, twining together. Later, when Dumbledore
would check in on them, he would find it difficult to
tell where one began and another ended. The three lay
so wrapped in each other, anchored to each other,
grounded in the safety and security of the presence of
the others. These three, the Saviors, who were still
only children themselves.

Tomorrow, they’d help with the clean up and rebuilding
of all that had been lost. Tomorrow, they would be the
ones to lead the world into its new dawn and its new
life.

But for tonight—just for tonight—they slept. And when
they dreamed, there was no fighting, no fire, no
death.

There was peace.