Disclaimer- I own nothing but the plot.

Monuments and Melodies

Chapter One- Hollow

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It was finally over. The fighting, the battles, the wounds, the scars, the death were gone. But what was left? What was there to show for? Who was there to put together the pieces of such an intricate puzzle?

The castle was in flames. Its once gleaming stone crumbled beneath the fires, wood torching in an ominous glow. The grounds were destroyed, a bleak, empty field of gray, littered with the bodies of the innocent and of the guilty. Streams of blood trickled through the divots created by stamping armies and cataclysmic explosions. The forest was scorched, charred black from the battle's aftermath and for once, completely silent, its inhabitants dead or missing. The sky hung black, smoke rising to pollute the once hopeful stars. The moon had seemed to disappear behind the smog, no hint of natural light revealed, and a wretched stench draped the air, the smells of smoldering flesh, singed hair, and brimstone entwining to make its own signature sent.

Standing alone was a young woman, her hair red as the blaze that flared within the castle. It blew across her face in the hazy wind, her tattered gowns following its course. She was a mess, her pale cheeks painted in soot and hands covered with grime. It was impossible to tell that her cloak was once a noble gray for it was now splattered with the most blasphemous of substances, drenched in the blood of others. Her posture was proud and tall, and though she was filthy and soiled, she appeared truly elegant, that melancholy defiance reflecting in her brown eyes. But for all of that, she seemed weary, tired of the troubles that had invaded her existence, grieved by the losses she had won, and strained by the power she had held now lost forever. To her it felt like she had received the worst end of the bargain, if one could call it a bargain at all.

She moved, ever so slowly, treading quietly as if afraid to wake her slumbering neighbors. Her gaze found disaster after disaster, catching glimpses of the mangled corpses, seeing the holy water of her people trickle to the ground, sinking deep into the earth from which it was made. Her eyes widened with each new sight, a lip beginning to tremble, water appearing above her lashes. And still she willed herself to move on.

Footprints trailed behind her, winding in a path between the distorted cadavers, setting like stone in the dark mire. She gulped, wanting more than ever to let the tears fall, to cry for all she had seen, wail for all she had lost, and weep for all she would miss. She wished to sob, to bawl for all to see, to see what they had done her, what they had taken. Her knees begged to buckle, for her to fall to back the ground, but she resisted. She stood tall, blinking back the moisture in her eyes.

And then she saw him, lying twisted in the grass, his bright hair barely recognizable from the charring. She broke out into a run, tripping over random limbs and weapons. Dropping at his side, she took in his appearance, a lump growing in her throat. A sob escaped her, tears streaming down her black cheeks. She wrapped her arms around him, lying over him, her wails becoming more profound. She did not how long she stayed there, crying in his shoulder. She forgot all of her senses. She did not where she was, who she was, why she was here. All she knew was the pain, that horrible aching in her chest pushing the tears onward.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her shoulder, startling her, and she looked up, her eyes scratchy and red from crying, her hair wild, and her black cheeks adorned with new trails of moisture. She blinked.

"Professor?" she choked. The man nodded. He was in just as bad shape as she was, his black robes scraped, and his black shoulder length hair looking uneven and greasier than ever. There was a good sized wound on his temple. It was dried now, but the blood that had once fallen from it was hard and encrusted on his prominent nose.

"Yes, Miss Weasley," he said sorrow echoing in his dark voice. He knelt beside her, his black eyes gleaming in the darkness. Shutting her eyes, she bit back another sob, not wanting to look weak in front of this man. It did nothing, the tears still streaked down her face. He put his hand up to her cheek, wiping away the water with his thumb, only smearing the soot more. She broke down, a tortured moan flowing from her lips, and suddenly she had her arms around him in a tight embrace, crying hard into his chest. He returned the favor, tucked her thin shoulder under his chin.

"Ron," she cried out in agony, muffled by his robes. He clasped his eyes shut, trying to stay strong, stroking her flaming locks absently.

"Shh," he whispered awkwardly into her ear, "It will be all right."

He was lying and he knew it. It would never be all right. The resistance had officially claimed victory, but looking around anyone could see that it had truly been their loss. Though their master was destroyed, the Death Eaters had prevailed. They had caused the chaos they had strove for, they persecuted they ones they had aimed for, and now there was nothing left.

Was this freedom, this wasteland, this cemetery? Was this the goal he had strove for, the one hope he had looked to in times of despair? What of the ones lost, friends and family? The real question, what of the ones left?

He continued to hold the frail girl in his arms, speaking soft words into her hair, comforting her. Slowly, her crying began to weaken and she came back to reality, pulling herself only a little away from him.

"Is there anyone else left?" she asked, hope swimming in her eyes. It surprised him, startled him, that even with what she had been through, what she had seen, she still had hope, the hope he never could understand.

"There are some," he said finally.

"Neville?"

She had so much faith. Why did he have to be the one to break it? Swallowing, he shook his head, hearing another anguished sob from the girl in front of him.

"No, no, NO!" she wailed, burying her head in her shaking hands. He tried to pull her back, but she pushed away, "You're lying! No, he's not dead!" she blubbered, trying to get away from him. He held her tight as she struggled, knowing that she was in shock, and to let her go would bring her some sort of indirect harm. "Let me go!"

"Miss Weasley, stop- you'll just-"

"Leave me alone!" She protested, thrashing about as hard as the tears ran down her face, but he would not let go.

"You'll just hurt yourself! Stop fighting me!" His grip dug into her arms, and she cringed, and fell back into his clutch. She dropped to the ground, and he went with her.

"Please just let me go. I don't want to stay," she begged him softly, her voice cracking painfully, echoing with hurt.

"We won't stay, Miss Weasley." He told her, looking straight into her eyes, but she turned her head and looked down.

"There is no where to go,"

"There is always somewhere to go," He said gently, taking a small chain out of his pocket, and taking her bony hand, he placed her fingers upon it. Suddenly, the familiar sensation of his navel lurching through space came to him, Ginny by his side.

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A/N- So, that's it. I want to know what people think more than anything and basically work off reviews and tea. Please review, to at least show me that someone cares…

I already have the first five chapters written and I will post them accordingly… that really means seeing as how enthusiastic you people are- forgive me a cruel chuckle. I know, I'm awful.

So please, please give me some reviews with your input or ideas or criticism. Give me depth and length, because this is my first fanfiction, and I want to be evaluated more than anything. Give me something to go on. If you do, I may just give you candy!