Unofficial Portkey Archive

Image: Chapter Image made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - Two
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Part Two: The Funeral

Ron couldn't quite remember what happened after that. He thought maybe Harry walked Hermione up to the castle, but he wasn't sure what he did with her body. He knew that Harry wasn't speaking to anybody, wasn't going near anyone. After they returned to the school, Ron had holed himself up in the Gryffindor boy's dormitory, where he curled up in his old bed and he stared hauntingly out at nothing. He never heard Harry come back to the tower and when asked if he knew where Harry went, he told them to check the library, because that was Hermione's favorite place. He never found out if that was where his best friends were, he simply laid, waiting. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. The world to end, perhaps. Because the ending was all wrong and that meant that something in the universe was off course. The world had to collapse sometime. His eyes teared up when he thought of Hermione, saying in her clear, precise voice, "Don't be silly, Ronald, the world is not going to end. You sound like Trelawney, and we all know how I feel about that- that- woman."

His mother came to see him, but Ron said nothing to her, had nothing to say. She sat beside him, stroking his hair, and some part of him wanted to be that eleven year old she was talking about before. But she told him he could never go back to that, and he hated that she was right. He wanted to be that innocent boy again, the one who didn't battle Death Eaters or face giant spiders or live each day trying to fight for a better world. He wanted to be normal. But normal would have kept him from Harry and Hermione, and he couldn't help but wonder which was worse or better. To be normal and not have them would mean he wasn't hurting now, but never to have them at all... wasn't that so much worse? He wouldn't have the memories of Hermione's nagging and her bushy hair or the way her hands always found her hips when she was irritated, or her voice as she said, "Oh honestly!" with exasperation. And he wouldn't have all those times with Harry, playing Quidditch or chess or just hanging out. He wouldn't have Harry's friendship or the kinship bred over seven years. Could he handle not having that? Better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all, right? He didn't know. He just knew that everything hurt.

He wasn't sure when Luna came into his room, but he remembered feeling just a little bit better when her arms wrapped around him. He didn't say a word, but then, she never asked him to. She buried her face against his back and she hummed the tune to "Weasley is our King," and somehow, in some absurd way, that was comforting. And he took her hand, holding it tight, and he cried. Hot tears rolling down his cheeks and his chest tensing and burning with his fear and his loss. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell her how wrong it all was, but no words came. And still, she whispered against him, "I know... I know." And she did. He wasn't sure how, but she did. He wasn't anywhere near better, wasn't sure he ever would be, but having her there, at least soothed the little piece of the old Ron so that he wasn't crying in the corner any more, but only sniffling.

Hermione's funeral was a few days later, separate from those of the other losses, which were buried in one large ceremony. Remus arranged all of it, made sure it was very private and that nobody from the press were allowed near the ceremony. Harry hadn't spoken since the war, not to anyone. He hardly looked at anybody and he wasn't eating, no matter how much Molly forced food on him. He holed himself up in the library while they were at Hogwarts, sitting at a table with stacks of books all around him. The twins told Ron that he wasn't doing anything but sitting with the books, simply sitting and staring out blankly. They had tried to talk to Harry, to cheer him up in some way, but they had failed like all the rest. Ginny had been trying to get him to eat, to speak, to sleep, but Harry didn't acknowledge her. Molly and Arthur had both gone in and sat down with him, talking to him for hours about how he still had a future, he could live for Hermione, do all that they talked about. But Harry simply stared forward, his expression dull and lacking any interest in their words. Tonks had purposely tripped over books and chairs, trying to get his attention, but the most she got was Harry picking the books back up, brushing them off carefully and putting them back in their respectful places. Ron was sure that was only because it would have bothered Hermione to see books treated in such a manner. Ron didn't go to Harry, although everybody begged him to. He was sure that Harry didn't want to see him yet, and he honestly didn't want to see Harry.

Standing in front of Hermione's open grave, the casket not lowered yet, Ron's heart clenched. The long casket was pearl white and gold, clean and shining beneath the glittering sun. Flowers surrounded her, wreaths, bouquets, and baskets of them. A burst of colour, pink, yellow, red, and purple. Ron could feel Luna's hand in his and he squeezed it tightly as a man dressed in white robes talked about death and God and how Hermione would go to a place where everything was peaceful. He could see the Granger's off to the side, crying and holding each other up. Hermione's mum kept looking over at Harry, who was standing alone, because he didn't want anybody near him. Any time somebody got close, he raised his chin and stared directly at them, and that dead look in his eyes ran everybody back to their respective places. It's not that they don't love him or support him, it's that he wasn't the Harry they knew anymore, and Ron's words still echo in their mind. "Hermione's dead," and " Unless you want to die, get away from him." And maybe Harry wouldn't kill them, maybe he'd shrug them off or just injure them minimally, but Ron wasn't completely sure on any point.

Harry stared down at the casket, his hands clasped in front of him and his face so tight and pale that he looked like a walking corpse. There was one flower in his tightly knotted hands, a perfect white lily that stands out starkly against his all black ensemble. It's all he wore anymore. His shirts, his pants, his robes. He seemed darker, like a shadow of his old self, simply walking through life, waiting for it to end. Ron wished he could pull him out of it, but he couldn't say he was much better than his friend. His own appearance was lacking, given that he wasn't sleeping much, or eating unless forced. He only slept when Luna held him, which was hard to explain to his mum and she couldn't always be there for him. At least he had Luna, he would think bitterly. Harry had no one.

When the man at the front finally stopped talking, people stepped forward to lay their flowers out on Hermione's casket and say their goodbyes. Ron watched as the Granger's came forward, each placing a white rose on top of the wild colourful array of flowers laid out. Mrs. Granger stroked the polished white of the coffin, shaking her head and murmuring something under her breath. Her husband was holding her up, his hands wrapped tightly around her shoulder. Ron can't help but feel sorry for them, because they didn't belong to this world, couldn't understand what was really going on, and yet their daughter was killed for it. Two Muggles lost their daughter because an insane, evil wizard thought he was better than everybody else. Because he convinced pureblooded wizards and witches that he could give them power. They'd never see their daughter again because of greed.

Ron's eyes followed each Weasley as they lined up, passing by and placing their flowers on the casket of a girl who had meant so much in their lives. He overheard the twins mention how they'd miss her lectures about following rules and might even consider listening to one or two in the future, just for her. Molly's words were muffled by her sobbing and Arthur soothed his wife, unable to really convey anything to the girl he considered to be like a second daughter. Bill and Charlie said something about bravery, about wishing they could've known her better, about losing the smartest honorary Weasley they'd ever known. Ginny talked about sisters and friendship, of a bond she'd never have with anybody else. And they moved on, they all stepped back, because there isn't anything left to say. How does anybody say goodbye, really? It wasn't as easy as it seemed, and Ron didn't know what was expected of him.

He watched as Neville, sniffling and mumbling his gratitude about her always being there for him, always helping him, never making him feel useless, dropped a bouquet of yellow flowers on top of all the others and stumbled back to stand by Ginny, wiping his face with his sleeve. Remus and Tonks walked forward, the older professor staring down with a drawn, tight expression. He said something that sounded a lot like, "brightest witch I've known since Lily," and instead of flowers, placed a thin book that Ron didn't know the title of on top. Before walking away, Remus added, "Perfect O, Hermione, well done."

Luna squeezed Ron's hand as he moved to give his farewell to his best friend. His knees shook beneath him, his heart hammering in his chest, and he thought, for one moment, that maybe if he tried really hard, he could magic it all away. Like how his mother use to kiss his injuries and somehow they were better, he'd just close his eyes tight, make a wish, and all the magic in the world would come together to grant him this one reprieve. And she'd rise up, brush herself off, and take Harry into her arms. And then the trio would be reunited, life would go on, and he'd never have to look back on this dark day again. But as he stood next to her coffin, his hands bunched up by his sides, his eyes shut painfully, he wished and he prayed, and not one thing happened. The wind brushed his face, the sobbing continued behind him, the darkness still permeated the Earth. So he put the bunch of flowers he had in his hand, red and white roses, on the casket lid, and he stared down at it, sickened at knowing she was lying inside.

"I should have done my homework," he told her, his voice quavering. "I should have listened to you more when you told me to do things. And I shouldn't have called you all those names over the years," he admitted, his mouth shaking. "I should have read more books and learned more spells, and maybe I would have made it to you before they killed you," he said, his voice cracking. "I should have shouted louder when I saw Bellatrix and I should have killed her the second I saw her. If I had been a little closer..." He shook his head, tears falling down his cheeks. His breathing was labored, his throat aching against the need to sob. "I should have told you more often that you were one of my best friends, even if I made fun of you for your weird love of books."

He sniffled, closing his eyes for a moment, before inhaling a shuddering breath. "It should have been me out there, not you. Because the world needs smart witches like you, witches who don't give up, who want what's best for the world." His chin rose an inch, his eyes falling on Harry, "Because Harry needs you and I can't... I can't be for him what you were. Stability, patience, kindness, and understanding. I don't think anybody could be what you were." Ron sighed, his shoulders shaking and his stomach twisting painfully. "Wherever you are, I want you to know that books and cleverness weren't all you were, you were so much more than that, and I... I admired you for that. I still do. I always will." Nodding jerkily, Ron let go of the coffin and stepped back. "Goodbye for now, Hermione." Luna stepped up next to him, placing a multi-coloured plant beside his flowers and took his hand, leading him back to stand near his family.

Harry was last and Ron noticed that it seemed everybody was on edge, waiting and watching as he stepped up to Hermione's casket. Part of him was waiting for some sort of emotional explosion. For Harry to finally break, to shout and scream or tear something up. He had been waiting for Harry to blow up, but it hadn't happened yet. He'd been empty and separate from anyone for so long, but not in a brooding way. It wasn't as if he was trying to gain attention, or even wanted somebody to cheer him up. He was just there, a shell of the boy he had been before the war, and Ron was quite certain that nothing was going to change him back to the old Harry. That time was over and this was what they were left with. Maybe he would heal, his parents had high hopes that Harry would, but Ron didn't think so. It was too much, too late.

Harry walked to the casket slowly, the end of his robes floating around him dramatically from the heavy wind. He stopped at the head of the coffin, placing the fully bloomed, creamy lily on the white top. His hand stayed over the stem of the flower while he stared down at the casket, his jaw twitching and his green eyes staring down sadly. Two lone tears slipped down from his eyes and the only words he'd spoken in three long days slipped out, hoarse and thick with emotion, "I'll be with you soon, Love."

Without another word, another look at anybody around him, Harry left the cemetery, his back straight, his eyes forward. Ron could hear his mother crying harder, trying through her sobs to tell Arthur that she couldn't lose him, too. Ron felt he should tell them Harry was already lost, but kept it to himself. He stood rigidly, watching his best friend walk away, a heavy feeling in his chest. He was certain he knew what Harry would do. Bellatrix and Malfoy hadn't yet been found and captured. They escaped Hogwarts grounds after the battle, though Moody speculated if they would survive the Forbidden Forest. Harry may have seemed in a catatonic state for the last while, but Ron was fairly sure he was just waiting until he knew for a fact that Malfoy and Bellatrix were alive or dead. Had they been proven dead, then Harry might have shared a funeral with Hermione today, but because he was certain they weren't, he would live awhile longer. As long as it took.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Ron turned his head, coming face to face with Mr and Mrs Granger. He nodded politely, wondering why they were talking to him. He hadn't met them over the years, remembering only seeing them from afar once. His father had had more interaction with them than he had. He cleared his throat, "Can I help you?" he asked them.

Mr Granger nodded stiffly, his eyes darting from Ron to Hermione's coffin and then out into the cemetery. "The man who just left," he began quietly, "My wife was wondering if he was... if he was Harry?" he asked, looking down at Ron, his eyes the same brown as Hermione's. Ron thought they might've held the same friendly compassion, were they not so clouded with grief. Mr. Granger swallowed, "We heard all about him through letters and my wife mentioned that he resembled how Hermione described him. We were just... we were hoping we could speak to him." He shook his head, sighing, "We didn't get to see Hermione much these last few years. Our only real communication was through letters and we got the feeling that Harry knew her well," he said, sounding uncomfortable.

Ron stared at him, frowning over how much the war and his world had disconnected Hermione from her family. "That was Harry," he confirmed, nodding. "And you're right, if you wanted to know more about Hermione, Harry would be who you talked to." He winced, shaking his head. "I don't think that'll be possible though."

Mrs. Granger's head lifted quickly and her face pinched sadly. "But why?" she wondered, her voice high pitched. It rather reminded Ron of how Hermione sounded when she was really worked up and verging on yelling at him. "He was her friend wasn't he? He loved her. He was with her when she- When she-" She shook her head, her eyes filling once more.

Ron exhaled heavily, glancing at his family who was watching with sad understanding. "Hermione and Harry were engaged," he told them, swallowing tightly. "They'd been together since sometime last November." He clenched his jaw for a moment, trying to stop his voice from shaking. "Harry... He, uh, he isn't taking it well," he said, feeling it was quite lame. The words lacked the full meaning of what he was trying to convey, which he could tell they hadn't grasped. The Granger's were staring up at him, frowning.

Ron sighed, a hand lifting to run over his haggard face. "Look, I realize that you want to know her better, I understand that. I've known Hermione since I was eleven years old, but I can't tell you what Harry could. They've been inseparable since first year. She stood by him through everything and quite honestly, Hermione was probably the most important person in Harry's life. He's lost everybody he's every cared for. His parents, friends, mentors, his godfather. And now Hermione. He wanted to marry her, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And while I know that the old Harry probably would have talked to you about her, this Harry doesn't talk at all," he told them, shaking his head as his eyes filled with tears. "And he's going to be joining your daughter shortly, because he's not going to last around here without her. So, I'm sorry, I really am. Because I wish you still had your daughter. I wish I still had her around," he admitted, his voice shaking. "But Harry can't help you. I wish he could, but he can't." Unable to see their faces, to hear their pleas, Ron turned and walked away, his shoulders shaking.

The Weasley's returned to the Burrow after the funeral, Ron included. He hadn't yet moved out of Grimmauld place, and he wasn't sure he would. He felt like he needed to be around Harry for as long as he could. He wouldn't interfere because it was pointless, but he'd be there if his best friend needed him, or by some miracle changed his mind. Ron sat on the couch as people milled around the house, talking about the fallen witch and discussing how the world was going to be from now on. He paid only half-mind as people who had once been classmates of his talked with Neville and Ginny about Hermione in school and the Final Battle, each of them with their own grim stories. Seamus Finnigan wasn't there, he hadn't survived the battle. Neither was Lavender Brown, she'd been killed within the first little while, Ron remembered seeing her on the ground as he pushed into the thick of fighting. Parvati and Padma Patil and Susan Bones had been killed too, along with Cho Chang and her friend Marietta Edgecomb. Ron heard that Cho put up quite the fight though, battling admirably. Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin, had surprisingly been fighting on their side, but he was taken down by Draco Malfoy early on, before Ron had got to the slimy git.

Draco was in Auror custody until his trial, and Ron sometimes wondered if maybe he should have just killed him. It was his father who had killed Hermione. But then, Hermione would have told him that he couldn't transfer feelings for one person onto another related to them. Otherwise, Sirius could be blamed for the Longbottom's state or various other deaths caused by Bellatrix. Come to think of it, Narcissa Malfoy was Sirius' cousin too, so he would take the blame for the Malfoy's exploits too. So Ron couldn't hate Draco for what his father did, but that didn't mean he didn't still hate him. Draco had wracked up his own list of misdeeds, though Ron had no proof any of them deserved death. Azkaban maybe, and it appeared he was headed that way.

Ron didn't socialize with anybody but Luna, and even then, he simply sat with her on the couch. Sometimes, she would talk. About the odd creatures her and her father wrote about in The Quibbler, about weird moments in history that he wasn't sure were real, about anything that wasn't the war or Hermione's death or Harry's deterioration. And he sat back and listened to her soft, dreamy voice, which soothed him into a comfort zone. She held a plate of food in her hands and every once in awhile, she'd put something in his hand and make him eat it, because he wasn't that great at making sure he ate anymore. It felt pointless; his stomach was always too knotted up for food. Hermione couldn't eat anymore and Harry didn't, so why should he? It wasn't logical, but then, Hermione was the logical one, wasn't she? He ate the food when it was given to him, and knew that his mother would be relieved to know he had something to eat that day. It seemed his lack of appetite made her apprehensive, scared him more than any of his other oddities lately. Must've been because of his hearty appetite over the years. Ron never skipped a meal or ate lightly, so it was unusual that he wasn't much interested in eating anything unless provoked.

When the hour grew late, Ron announced that he was going back to stay with Harry. He made no comment on the surprised and apprehensive looks of his family, instead walking to the Floo to leave for Grimmauld. Luna went home earlier, so he was alone on his trip to visit his secluded best friend. He knew Remus would be with Harry, though he hadn't been able to draw Harry out at all. He wasn't willing to leave Harry alone for too long, and while Ron thought Remus was a good man, he knew his attempts were all for naught. They couldn't save Harry, they could only wait. Maybe that was callous, perhaps part of what little compassion he had was long dead. But, he thought he knew Harry, thought he could figure out at least a little of what Harry must be feeling. Ron had known Hermione just as long as Harry, maybe not as well but better than everyone else. Besides Harry, Ron was the closest person to Hermione. Yeah, they had their problems and they fought more than most best friends did, but they were still best friends in the end. And with Hermione gone, he felt that loss pierce him every day that he woke up, every time he drew a breath. So maybe he didn't feel it as much as Harry, but if he was feeling like death would be a reprieve, then there was no doubt that Harry felt it too.

When he arrived at Grimmauld, the house was dark and quiet. Nothing but the fire in the living room lit up the downstairs area. It wasn't late, but he knew Harry had already retired to his room. The room that he used to share with Hermione. Part of him thought that was a bad idea, but he knew it was pointless to tell Harry he shouldn't surround himself with things that would only drown him. The house felt empty, and while he walked through it slowly, he was bombarded by the memories that used to keep it full and comforting. For a time, after Sirius was gone, the house felt a lot like this. Like the happy presence that made it a home was missing. Every room had its own memory of Sirius and the walls held secrets and hidden laughter. Because it was being used as the secret housing of The Order, Harry was forced to come back and live through that torment. As time went on though, he was able to laugh in Grimmauld again, with the help of the twins, Ron, and Hermione. Ron had hoped that Grimmauld would never hold those nightmares again, those dark days where Harry could barely smile. But they had come back with a vengeance and though Harry avoided Grimmauld after Sirius died, Ron knew Harry wouldn't do the same this time around. He was almost certain that Harry would hole himself away in his and Hermione's bedroom, slowly driving himself mad and falling into that desperate depression that always seemed two steps behind him, waiting to pounce.

Ron stared at the couch, his eyes burning while he stared where he had seen Hermione sitting when they were last there. "Oh honestly," she had said, her voice whispering in his mind, "that game is simply barbaric. I much prefer the Muggle version, at least it doesn't destroy its opponent visually." Ron sniffled, shaking his head and turning to leave. He stopped when he swore he could see her sitting in the armchair in front of Harry, her back pressed against his front. Harry's chin rested on her shoulder, while Hermione pressed the side of her cheek against his forehead and read her book in her lap. "I love you," Harry said to her. A gentle smile passed her lips and she looked up from the book to stare down at him. "I know ." Instead of replying, Harry would half-grin, content. "Stop it," Ron choked out, his chest constricting as he shut his eyes.

"Ron, don't play with that. It's an antique! You'll break it!" He heard her sigh, exasperated. "Oh, see what you've done! That can't be Reparo'ed you know!" He apologized after that, sheepishly, while secretly rolling his eyes to himself. "It's fine. I don't think we needed it. But please, be careful, will you?" "Yes, Hermione," he'd replied, in that long, suffering sigh he always used with her.

Ron covered his ears, wanting to forget for that moment, the way she sounded. He didn't want to think anymore. He needed to sleep. In his sleep, he didn't feel or think or remember, because he had an endless supply of Dreamless Draught. He knew what Hermione would say about that. "You shouldn't run away from it, Ron. You're a Gryffindor. Face it, fight it! I'll be right here to help you!" But she wouldn't be. She was gone. So she couldn't hold his hand or tell him a cure from her books. She couldn't make any of it better. "Because she's dead!" he said aloud, his voice shaking and distraught. He wondered if he'd always hear her. If he could last in the house, if he was going to see her everywhere, hear her. Did Harry suffer through the same things? If he did, then he was likely already dead up in his room. Ron felt a sharp pain in his heart and hated himself for even thinking that Harry had done himself in.

Ron left the living room, hoping the voices would be left there, too. Unfortunately, as he found himself in the front area, he could see her standing there, her hands on her hips as she frowned at a group of drunken boys. Harry was leaning on Ron's shoulder, his face directed at her, a goofy smile on his face. Ron was using the wall to keep him up, and consequently also Harry. Behind them, the twins were waving bottles of Firewhiskey and singing a silly song off-key, grinning ear to ear, their freckled faces flushed.

"Just what were you thinking?" she asked them, shaking her head and tapping her foot. "Do you have any idea just how dangerous it was for you to be out there? Off guard and drunk, of all things!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her brows lifted. Her cheeks flushed with her anger and she thinned her eyes at them. "All it would take is a tripping spell and you'd be down for the count. What would we do then, huh? Four of you captured, possibly even dead!" she shouted, beginning to pace. "And you didn't even leave a note! We had no idea what had happened or where you were! Or-- FRED, GEORGE, YOU PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW!" she cringed as something crashed and lifted her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Leave it alone, boys. No, don't touch it. It's glass, you'll cut yours-- I told you!" She sighed, turning to point at the stairs. "Get up to bed, we'll discuss this in the morning." She stomped her foot, her face becoming tired, "One more giggle, Ronald, and I'll hex the laughter right out of you. This is not funny. Harry," she said, her tone a little softer. "Harry Potter, what will I do with you?" she wondered, her shoulders falling and the tiniest of smiles appearing.

"You'll take me to my room and ravage me," he replied, slurring. "I agree wh- -hic- whole- -hic-wholeheartedly, love." He grinned, suddenly stumbling away from Ron to wrap his arms around his girlfriend, kissing her neck sloppily. "You're so beautiful when you're -hic- angry."

Ron closed his eyes, shaking his head and moving to the kitchen. He needed something to drink, definitely something with a little bite. Maybe he could drown his sorrows. No! Hermione would throttle him from the heavens if he became a drunk! Stomping his way to the kitchen, his brow was furrowed in irritation. He bent at the fridge, looking around the shelves, searching for something to drink. He found pumpkin juice, a few bottles of butterbeer, a large jug of what Hermione called "coo laid". Sighing, he slammed the fridge door and walked to the cupboard, looking for the tea bags. He grabbed the empty silver tea pot and pilled it with water before dropping it heavily on the stove and turning it up high. He leaned back against the counter as the water heated, his hands wrapped around the edge, knuckles white from pressure. He clenched his jaw as he saw her again, sitting at the table, tapping her quill as she read something over and jotted down notes on a piece of parchment.

"That cake is for after dinner, Ronald," her voice called out, though her head didn't turn to his figure at the fridge.

"Ah come on, 'Mione, just a sliver," he moaned, looking back at her with hopeful eyes.

She shook her head, "Dessert is specifically made for after dinner. You'll ruin your appetite and your mum has made a delicious casserole."

"It's a whole hour away though," he whined, his shoulders slumping. "I'll let you have a bite," he offered, his brows lifting.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Get away from the fridge."

"Com'on, you know you want a piece, too. I won't tell, if you won't tell. I'll share it with you," he said, frowning as he looked down at the cake. "Half and half. Mum'll think it was the twins, I bet," he said mischievously.

"Ron..." she warned, stopping her reading and turned to him, her eyes thinned. "That's rather mean."

"Hey, they never got in trouble for that last prank they pulled. 'Member how long it took to get the gunk outta your hair?" he reminded, half-smiling as he saw her resolve crumbling.

She sighed, "Hours," she replied, looking annoyed.

"And it's a really tasty lookin' cake, 'Mione. Two layers, chocolate icing, strawberry jelly inside. My favorite," he said. His mouth watered just at the memory and his fingers dug a little harder at the edge of the counter as he swallowed, remembering the night with an ache in his throat.

"My favorite dessert is pumpkin pie," she told him matter-of-factly, before smiling. "But I love a good chocolate cake on occasion." She rolled her eyes, shrugging. "Okay, but a small piece, and we never tell anybody about this!" she said, her eyes wide and warning.

"Deal," he said, whipping around to pull the cake out.

The shrill whistle of the tea pot cut through the air and Ron sniffled, wiping his face as he turned to take the pot off and fill his cup with it. He dipped the tea bag in it a few times as he walked to the table and then padded over to the fridge to grab the cream. Sitting down, he pulled the tea bag out, tipped the cream over until the tea was a light brown and then dipped his teaspoon in the pot of sugar, dropped two spoonfuls in and stirred. He sighed as he stared down at the hot drink for a moment and closed his eyes. He needed to get a hold of himself, he was going a little crazy. Maybe he just needed a good sleep. It was her funeral that caused it. He was just missing her. He would get used to it. He would move on and the ache would dull. At least until Harry was gone, too, then he'd have even more to see. But when that happened- IF he reminded himself. He shouldn't be so morose about it. Harry might get through. If Harry died, Ron vowed never to return to Grimmauld. There were too many memories in the house, too many shadows and nightmares to swallow him.

Ron drank his tea quickly, the heat burned the roof of his mouth and singed his tongue, but he didn't care. He just wanted to keep himself occupied. He needed to drink something and then he'd go to bed. He wondered where his Dreamless Draught was. Did he have one with him? He'd been staying at Hogwarts the last few days, had he left it there? He searched his pockets as he finished off his tea and found a vile in his pants. He wasn't sure if he'd make it through a whole night if he wasn't equipped with the stuff. He knew almost everyone was doing the same as him. The twins had been knocking it back like Firewhiskey on a boy's night out. They missed their best friend Lee Jordan, who was killed in the war, not fifteen feet from them. They mourned their girlfriends, Alicia and Angela, who had suffered too. They missed Oliver Wood, Hagrid, and good, responsible Headmistress McGonagall. And they missed Hermione, because she may have been a bossy bit of goods to them, but they loved her like a little sister. He knew Neville was taking Dreamless Draught because he was the one who told Ron it was a good idea, he was the one who brought it to him back at Hogwarts.

Neville was also the one who told Ron that Harry was suffering through nightmares worse than when he stayed at Hogwarts and had Voldemort plague his mind. They could hear his cries from the library, echoing through the castle. Remus tried to wake him up once and received a stunner to his midsection that threw him into a bookcase, knocking it flat over and hitting the next one. Instead of apologizing, Harry righted the shelves and began putting the books back. When Ron heard that and noticed Neville's confused face, he explained, "Because Hermione would hate that the books were treated that way." And suddenly it made sense, and Neville's face became anguished as he gave Ron a few more bottles of Dreamless Draught, saying that, "Hermione haunts my dreams the most. It's both comforting and horrible. I'm always blowing something up and she's always telling me not to worry about it, I'll get it one day." Neville broke off in a sob and left the room, his shoulders slumped.

Ron felt like breaking something, but couldn't because Hermione's voice told him, "Breaking things doesn't solve anything, Ron, it just makes a mess. And you know how much you hate cleaning!"So he put his cup in the sink and left the kitchen, rubbing his face with his palm and climbing the stairs. He paused when he swore he could've heard Harry and Hermione again, like all those other nights got stuck awake while they were enjoying themselves. Only that time he thought he had avoided it, thought maybe they were already sleep and he could sneak up his bowl of English Toffee cake his mum made earlier. But he was wrong, and he could hear them in their room, echoing out into the house. He wondered sometimes, if they didn't put up the silencing wards so Harry could secretly rub it in the faces of all the males in the house that he wasn't "poor little Harry" so much as "lucky bloody Harry." He remembered thinking of just running, as fast as he could, even if they could hear his loud footsteps, but then he heard them talking, raspy and hoarse and his feet weren't moving, because he hardly ever heard them talking so openly. They were always whispering around him and the others, keeping their love words to each other.

"I don't want this to stop," Harry told her, his voice thick as he panted.

"It won't. We won't,," she replied, half-moaning.

"I just--" He groaned, gasping, before Ron heard the distinct movement in the bed as if somebody had rolled over quickly. "After ev-everything ends. I don't... I don't want to lose this. Us." Harry cried out a curse word. "I can't lose you, too. I can't. I won't."

"You won't," she told him, before mewling loudly. "You'll always h-have me, Harry," she promised, moaning thickly. "Harry," she breathed. "Harry," a little louder. "Oh God, I love you. Love you. Harry!"

Harry growled, the noise echoing out to Ron as he stood shocked. "I want you forever, Hermione," he told her, his voice hoarse and heavy.

"Forever," she repeated breathlessly, She laughed lightly as the bed squeaked beneath them and Ron could hear Harry mumble something indistinct. The conversation appeared over, though their activity was far from it. Ron ended up hurrying to his room, trying to remember the spell to keep sound out.

While Ron stood on the stairs, remembered that night, he stared at the silent bedroom where only Harry was now. He had hated those nights, hated knowing that they were off enjoying themselves, sharing something as special as love, while he was stuck in his empty bedroom, with nobody to love him. Now he thought of Luna, wondering if maybe she could be that girl. It wasn't the time, it was the worst thing to bring them together, but he still wondered. Harry had no one, and he would never have anyone else, Ron knew that. There was an ache in his chest from that knowledge. He had been so jealous of his best friends, but now when he looked back, all he wanted was for them to be happy again, together. He had gotten used to them, thought they were right for each other even, but he'd still had that irritation at night that they could share something so huge. Now that it was over though, now that he knew he'd never see her and Harry holding hands, or whispering in the corners, or holding each other in the armchairs, he wanted it back. He wanted to see them being a couple and smiling and laughing over things only they knew. He wanted to know that down the hall, Hermione was safe in Harry's arms. Because that was how it was supposed to be.

Clenching his jaw, Ron made his way up the rest of the stairs and walked to his room, blinking away tears. He pushed open the door, finding the room stale and restless. The vile sat in his pocket, waiting to be swallowed so he could drift away to peaceful nothingness until the next morning. He wondered if tomorrow would be any better. It was only one day. How much change could that bring? But then, one day Hermione had been there and the next she wasn't. One minute she was valiantly fighting Lucius and appearing to win and the next she was Avada'd to the ground. One day McGonagall, Hagrid and all those others who had run into the War but not walked out, they had been alive. They had been with friends and family, happy and breathing. Laughing and preparing.

Alicia and Angela had been with Fred and George, in love and hopeful for the future. Lee Jordan had been at the pub with friends, making fun of Fred, who was planning on proposing. Hagrid had been with Remus, discussing his newest pet and how he hoped that it would be born into a warless world. A world where Voldemort didn't exist. And McGonagall had spent the night in her office, likely talking to the portrait of Dumbledore hanging on her wall. She had told them, just before she left back to Hogwarts, that she was ready for any outcome, but she firmly believed that Harry would win. She hugged them each before she left, telling them how proud she was of all of them, and that she'd see them in the end, ready to congratulate each of them. House points would be in order and Gryffindor would surely be the winner of the House cup the following year. But she wasn't there in the end. So many weren't alive in the end. And all it took was one day.

Ron sat down on his crisp bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling his shirt up over his head. He tossed it somewhere, closing his eyes when he heard Hermione's voice talking about how messy boys always were and how it wasn't hard to just put things in their proper place. Would he always hear her chastising him? He laughed morosely into the night. The thought of not hearing her anymore scared him just as much as always hearing her. Laying back on his bed, he stared blindly up at the ceiling, his arms crossed beneath his head. He wondered what his life would be like from then on. What kind of normality could he have now? A trio wasn't a trio with only two, and at that moment, it felt like he was the only one left. Harry was a distant shadow of what he used to be. He was just a walking zombie. Ron closed his eyes, exhaling heavily. One day could do a lot, maybe tomorrow really would bring change. Pulling the vile out, he knocked back the Dreamless Draught and settled under the blanket. He could hope.

The next day did bring change. Harry came out of his bedroom. He didn't say anything to anyone, ignoring Remus when he asked him if he was okay, or if he wanted to talk. Instead, he searched out Hedwig, which he found in the study and he penned out a note. Then he looked at Ron, something in his eye that Hermione likely would have figured out before him, and he escaped back to his room. He didn't come down to eat, only leaving his room to use the bathroom. Remus brought food up, knocking on the door and receiving no response. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He couldn't pass the charms, that Hermione had done a few months ago. The only way in would probably be a curse breaker and that would be drastic. Their only comfort was that sometimes, they heard the creak of the floor, so they knew that Harry was still moving, still walking, still alive. Ron watched as relief would swamp Remus' face whenever that creak would sound, and felt sorry for the day that it wouldn't meet their ears.

Over the next week, post kept flying up to Harry through Hedwig and Ron had to listen to Remus wonder aloud who it could be he was conversing with as he paced the floor. The Order had been in to discuss Harry's condition, but now that he wasn't needed to kill Voldemort, they weren't exactly bending over backwards to pull him out of his funk. There were a few, those who were really close to him, that wanted what was best and kept trying to cheer him up. Even Fred and George tried, though they weren't as cheerful as they had been. They looked rough, all long hair and scruffy beards. They'd lost their girlfriends too, their best friend also, but they weren't dying inside. They wanted to keep Harry from a drastic end, they wanted the funny boy who used to be like a brother to them back. Ron watched his mum come every day, bringing food and a smile to Harry that continued to be ignored. The Weasley family began eating their dinners at Grimmauld, hoping to coax Harry down with their comforting voices and their warm family togetherness. It took four days before Harry even ventured into the kitchen while they were there and he wasn't looking for food.

Molly looked shocked to see him, her eyes widening. He happened to show up while she was chastising Charlie for testing the gravy with his finger. Talk around the table stopped for a moment before Arthur cleared his throat and started telling a story about work. Harry ignored them, walking to the fridge to grab a butterbeer, the only thing he'd leave his room for, it seemed. It took him awhile to find it, because the fridge was full of Molly's food. Ron watched from his seat, quiet as he pushed food around on his plate. He didn't join in on the conversation and he never answered his mum when she asked what she could do to help him or Harry. He just sat there, waiting. It seemed he was always waiting now. For Hermione's voice to stop telling him things in his head, for the creak of Harry's floor to suddenly not sound any longer, for the ache in his chest to end. He always got enough sleep, but each day he woke up tired, sluggish. He wasn't ready to talk to Harry and he knew Harry wasn't ready to talk to him. He wondered if he'd regret that when Harry was gone.

Harry was halfway out of the kitchen before somebody said it. Ron wasn't sure who it was, he'd been staring at his food, not really listening. But somebody said her name and his head shot up in shock. Everybody at the table had suddenly gone rigid. The butterbeer in Harry's hand shattered and the house seemed to shake violently. Harry's face turned, his eyes moving over every person at the table, his chest heaving and his eyes so dark and warning that a collective gulp went around his friends. Nobody said another thing and Harry slowly turned away, walking out of the room, not appearing to care that he just stepped on the shards of glass from his broken butterbeer. Molly rose, moving to kneel beside the broken bottle to clean it up. She began crying as she cleaned up blood and butterbeer. Ron stared at the door, remembering the sorrow and guilt etched in Harry's eyes, surrounding the anger and hatred at them for uttering her name.

He rose from his seat, needing to get away from it all. The clatter of normality in every scrape of a fork against the plate. He was so tired. He stopped at the door, his hand poised to push it open, when his mum called out sadly, "Ron?" He turned back to her, seeing her crying on the floor, apologetic and heartbroken. He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, that it wasn't her fault, that one day Harry would thank her for this, but it didn't come out. He stared at her, "Thank you for dinner," he said, before turning and leaving. It wasn't forgiveness or understanding, it was nothing. He said something because she expected him to and he left her with hollow gratitude.

"That was rude, Ron. Your mother only wants what's best for you," he heard Hermione tell him. Hadn't she said that before? Wasn't she always trying to make him be more pleasant and grateful to people? He sighed, climbing the stairs to his bedroom. He needed to sleep. In sleep there was nothing but peaceful nothingness. He could handle that.

Another week passed with no sight of Harry except when they happened to see him make his way to the bathroom. The first few times he left his room, Remus would rush out and ask him if he wanted to play chess, or if he felt like going over to play Quidditch at the Burrow with Fred and George. He offered to make lunch or bring him tea. To see if Ginny or Luna wanted to visit or maybe he'd prefer the twins. But Harry ignored him, hardly glancing over when his voice called out from the foyer. Ron watched from the couch, reading a book that Hermione always told him to: Hogwarts: A History. It was boring, long and monotonous, in his opinion. But hey, there in black and white was that fact Hermione was always telling them, "Honestly, how many times must I tell you? It's in Hogwarts: A History, didn't you read it? You absolutely cannot apparate on Hogwarts grounds!" She was right, per usual. Ron never told Remus it was pointless, because it seemed their old professor needed to do it. Needed to at least try. To put some effort in it. Because maybe he knew, maybe he understood that one day Harry wasn't going to be there any more. And at least he could pacify himself with the fact that he never gave up, never stopped trying to interest him in outside activities.

It was the end of the two weeks when Harry came down again during dinner. The Weasley family had begun hanging around a little more, but they hardly ever ran into Harry. They knocked on his door, tried opening it always to fail, sometimes even had one-sided conversations with him from the hallway. Nothing ever came of it. So they were all very surprised when he rushed down the stairs, his coat on and his wand out. They hurried into the foyer where he was putting his shoes on, his expression dark. The asked him where he was going, wondered when he'd been back, but he never replied. He simply opened the door, rushed outside and left them all standing idly. Molly wrung her hands in distress, not sure what to say or do. "He didn't have anything with him, mum, he'll be back," Charlie told her.

"What did he have to take?" Ron asked, his voice scratchy from not being used.

"Could you be a little less morose?" Bill snapped at him, apparently fed up with how Ron had been acting.

Ron stared at him, his face expressionless. "No," he replied honestly.

Bill's face fell, reality crashing back on him. "Ron, I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Ron shrugged it off, looking back at the door that Harry had walked out. "He'll be back," he told them simply.

"How do you know?" one of the twins asked.

"Yeah, he hasn't been himself lately," the other added.

He turned back, his eyes meeting with his mothers, and said, as gently as he could, "When Harry goes, it'll be in his room. Because that's where it was just him and Hermione."

Molly shook her head at him, her mouth turning in a frown. "He's going to be fine, Ron, and I'll thank you not to say different. We're all going to be fine. What happened was... was sad and unfortunate. But... we're going to be all right. It just takes time. Time and effort." She turned, "Right?" she asked everyone around her.

There was a pause, where nobody really answered. They all had their own demons, their own losses, and maybe they couldn't admit that some losses weren't able to be healed. That time doesn't always seal the wounds and let you smile again. Ron shook his head, walking into the living room to read again. He still hadn't finished Hogwarts: A History, and he planned to read it again when he was done. Guilt was what fueled him, but he didn't care. He'd read it until her voice wasn't in his head anymore. However long that took.

Harry came back sometime around midnight, his clothes a little tattered, blood soaking through his shirt, his or somebody else's they weren't sure. The Weasley's hung around, waiting for him, wanting to be sure he was okay. He had a limp in his left leg and he was breathing heavily, his mouth set in a scowl as his cheek dripped blood. He slammed the door behind him, making his way toward the stairs, slower than usual. He glanced briefly at the family waiting in the living room.

Ron watched his mum rush to him, thinking he should stop her, but not. "Harry," she exclaimed, looking upset. "W-What happened? Where were you? D'you need a Healer?" Before he could answer, she turned, "Fred, George, floo to Hogwarts, please. Get Madame Pomfrey." Harry shook his head, walking up the first few steps. "Harry!" she said, her voice becoming a little less understanding and a little more angry. "You will not walk away from me. Not when you're hurt. Not when..." She sighed, shaking her head, her face anguished. "Please, Harry, let us take care of you." He glanced back at her, his eyes glassy, before turning his back on her and continuing up the stairs. "Damn it, Harry, Hermione is not the only one who loved you. She's not the only family you have left! Can't you see that?" Molly shouted, her voice tearful.

Harry whipped around, his face hard and his eyes dry. The house began to shake and the banister cracked. The portraits began to tear down from the wall while the chandelier hanging from the roof near the foyer fell from the ceiling, shattering on the floor. "She didn't mean it," Ron called out to him from the living room, the first words he'd said to Harry in a long while. "She just wants the old you back," he said on a sigh, hardly flinching at how the house around him shuddered with anger. He hardly noticed much anymore, it felt. Like he was just wandering. "You know you're like a son to her," he added, quietly. The house began to still and Ron stared at Harry as he breathed heavily on the stairs. Harry didn't apologize, nor did he look sorry. He simply glared at Molly, before he left her to hide away in his room again.

It was the next day when Ron read in the paper that Lucius Malfoy had been found murdered. His body left on the battlefield of Hogwarts. His arm had been missing originally, but the article wrote that it had been torn off during his death, not knowing the story behind him during the Final Battle. The Daily Prophet wrote that he had been arched back, his body showed signs of being severely Crucio'd, and he lay in an Avada'd mess, his expression one of terror and pain. Ron felt no sympathy for him, and knew without doubt that Harry had battled hard and without restraint against the cruel man who helped kill Hermione. Ron figured the post coming in the last couple weeks were telling Harry about where Lucius and Bellatrix might have been spotted or where they could be. When Remus saw the paper, he cursed under his breath, but he didn't go up to shout at Harry through the door, or even give him a pep talk. He didn't do the right thing and tell the Ministry that the-boy-who-saved-them-all murdered Malfoy in cold blood. He simply sipped his tea, folded the paper, and ignored it all together.

Molly didn't. She came over around lunchtime, her face red and her hands wrapped around The Daily Prophet. "Have you seen this?" she exclaimed at Remus while he stirred a pot of soup on the stove.

He glanced up at her, his expression weary. "Of course," he replied easily.

"And?" she demanded, her face dark and angry.

"And what, Molly?" he asked her, defeated. "You want me to tell him he's been bad? That he shouldn't have killed him?" He leaned against the counter. Ron watched from the table, the worn out book he'd been reading laying out on the table. "I can't," Remus told her, shaking his head. "I would have done the same thing. I killed Wormtail the second I saw him," he admitted, shrugging. "And I'd kill him again if I saw him walking down the street." He stepped toward her, his eyes level and unafraid. "D'you think I was easy on Peter? D'you think I pitied him when he whimpered and begged me to let him live? D'you think I regret it? Ever? Or that I considered for one moment, of binding him and letting him rot away in Azkaban for his sins? Even when he was unarmed and curled up in a ball?" He shook his head at her, his expression haunted. "We all have our sins, Molly. We all have our vendetta's and the things that haunt our dreams. I don't think what Harry's doing is right, but I don't think it's wrong either. And..." He swallowed, his face becoming a little more relaxed when he heard the squeak of Harry's bedroom floor. "And we couldn't stop him if we wanted to."

Molly's face crumbled, her eyes filling with tears and her shoulders slumping. "He's not the Harry I knew anymore, is he?" she asked, her voice croaky and sad. "He'll never be the old Harry. He'll never be... I'm going to lose him too, aren't I?" she whimpered, lifting her shaking hands to press against her face.

"We already have," Ron told her, and he knew it was callous, but it was true. "Now we're just waiting."

His mum turned to him, clearing her face and staring at him in sorrow. "Oh Ron, you won't leave us too, will you?" she asked, her voice stricken.

Ron stared at her, "I dunno," he admitted, before standing up and leaving the room. He didn't have an answer to that question really. He hated the sluggish feeling he was always wrapped up in. He was weighed down constantly. He was always wondering what Harry was doing in his room. Was he still breathing? Was he thinking of her? Did he hear her voice? Had he read Hogwarts: A History? Ron wrote to Luna every once in a while, sitting in the study and penning out how lonely it was around him. He told her about Harry and how they hadn't spoken since it happened. How he could barely fathom seeing Harry, let alone asking if he was okay. He told her about how he sometimes heard Hermione in his head, but he hadn't seen her since that first night back. He didn't see her in every corner of the house, reliving memories, and part of that saddened him. Luna always passed on some odd wisdom, once telling him that slargul bogies were a hallucinogen and she thought she might have seen some on the cheese plate his mother made up during Hermione's wake. Somehow, that cheered him up a tiny bit.

On the third week, Luna showed up during dinner. She floo'ed right in, to the surprise of most everyone. Ron never showed surprise anymore, expression didn't come easily to him. He mostly sat around, his face neutral, but always unnaturally pale. His mum had just been talking about how Ron's hair needed cutting, when the noise from the fireplace caught their attention. Luna walked in, looking as if it were a regular, every-day affair. Her face was rather dreamy and far off, but she centered her attention on Ron when she found them. A chair sat beside him, always open, waiting for Harry (at least his mum always left it that way), and Luna occupied it within a moment. "Hello," she greeted everyone. A murmured greeting of surprise came back and she smiled at Ron. "You need some more potatoes," she told him, reaching out and lifting a large glob from the bowl and plopping it down on his plate. "Soon, you'll be skin and bones, and then who will play Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, hm?" she asked, forking another slice of ham onto his plate. "Now, eat up, I'd like to play Chess afterwards, and then you can read me a chapter of Hogwarts: A History," she told him, her eyes a hazy silver as she gazed up at him. "Deal?" she asked with a sweet smile.

Ron stared at her a moment, feeling a little less sluggish around her and a little more comfortable. He could vaguely hear his mother beginning to give excuses for him. He exhausted easily, it seemed to his family, because he always went to bed early and woke up late. He hardly spoke, he never played chess, and he rarely ate any more than what would sustain him. He must have surprised his family, when he replied, "Deal." Turning back to his meal he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could eat a little more than usual. And, if he was really feeling like it, he might just give dessert a chance.

Luna stayed after that. She didn't leave when his mum began hinting that it was late or when his brothers soon left for home. She didn't seem to catch onto Molly's hints as she too mentioned that she'd be heading home. She stayed with Ron, remarking on odd things as he read aloud from Hogwarts: A History. "I once saw a platijabbawock in that hall," she told him, pointing as the book showed them a specific passage where a certain statue sat. He didn't ask what platijabbawock was, but he did give a faint smile as he continued on through the book. When he yawned, she pulled him up from the couch and they walked to his room. Ron paused to stare at Harry's bedroom, waiting to hear some noise to tell him that Harry was alive. He heard the shuffle of his best friend turning over and felt his shoulders relax just a little. He wasn't ready to let him go just yet, he decided. Luna slept with him in his room, her arms wrapped around him and her face pressed up against his back, just like the first time after the Final Battle. She let him have his Dreamless Draught, but she warned him that she would only allow it for so long. He didn't reply, but he did cover her hand with his against his stomach, feeling a little more content with the fact that he wasn't alone anymore. It felt good to have somebody next to him, holding him, comforting him. And he wondered if it was how Harry felt when Hermione was alive. It it was even a small bit of how Harry felt, then Ron was sure that his best friend must be falling apart all alone in his bed.

In the middle of the fourth week, while the family was eating dinner, Harry came down from his room. He paused at the door to the kitchen, looking around at them as they stared back from their meals. They had been laughing before he walked in, Fred and George had been telling a story from something that happened at the shop earlier. Molly began to stand, offering to get him a plate. He didn't reply, but he shook his head, at least acknowledging that she spoke. Molly nodded, sitting back down and looking a little defeated. Harry turned to stare at Ron, and this time, Ron read what was in Harry's eyes. He'd found Bellatrix. Ron couldn't say anything, knew that the others would immediately jump out of their seats to stop him or help him, so instead he nodded. Harry nodded back, his expression giving just the tiniest bit of gratitude. As if he was worried about what Ron might think of him, of whether Ron disagreed and thought him a monster. And then Harry left, closing the door behind him with a resounding click.

Molly rounded on Ron the second Harry was gone. "What was that? Where is he going?"

"To finish his business," Ron told her, moving the vegetables around on his plate. He may be eating a little more now, but he never much cared for peas.

"Finish his..." She stopped, her face paling. "He's going after Lestrange?" she shrieked, rising from her seat. "ALONE?" she shouted, throwing her napkin down and hurrying to follow him.

"He's gone by now. Apparated," Ron called out to her, his tone neutral.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked him, turning around and glaring at him. "You could have warned us before he left the house! You could have stopped him!" she yelled, her face quickly becoming red.

"Molly, it's not Ron's fault that--" Arthur began quietly.

"Stop it," she shouted at him, waving her hand for him to quit making excuses. "He's your responsibility. He's your best friend," Molly told Ron, waving her hand. "All this time you've been here, you haven't tried to talk to him. You haven't tried to pull him out of it. You've been letting him fall deeper and deeper into this. You're just waiting, aren't you? Waiting for him to finally die," she wailed, wiping away angry tears.

"Mum," her sons exclaimed, looking at her, shocked.

Ron looked up at her, "Yes," he admitted.

"What?" Fred and George asked, stunned.

"I haven't talked to him. I haven't tried to make him feel better. I haven't offered him meals or tried to talk him into Chess," Ron agreed. "I'm waiting for him to die."

"How could you?" Molly asked, her voice a gasping choke. "You're his friend," she told him, her shoulders falling.

Ron stared back at her, ignoring the expressions of his family. All but Luna were aghast with him. "I'm doing it because he's my best friend."

"That makes no sense," Molly shrieked, shaking her head. "You should be telling him some day it won't hurt. You should be reminding him that he still has you. Has all of us. You should be helping him, Ronald," she chastised him.

Ron's eyes filled and he slowly rose from his seat, thinking to return to his room. The empty, dark room, where there was nothing. Maybe Luna would follow, he'd like to hold her for awhile.

"No," Molly said, rushing to block the door from him. "No, you won't run away! And you won't just go to sleep. I will not let you walk away from this. You're going to tell me why! Why you're letting him die. Why you're giving up on him. Why?" she shouted, her face flushed and her eyes bloodshot.

"Move," he told her, his voice toneless.

"Don't you dare talk to me that way," Molly warned, shaking her head. "I'm your mother," she reminded.

Ron ground his teeth, feeling for the first time, anger. It had been so long since he felt anything but loneliness and despair. "Please," he asked her, his voice shaking, "move."

"No," she replied tearfully.

Ron slammed his hand against the wall, making everybody jump. "MOVE!" he shouted in her face.

"NO!" she screamed right back.

Ron stumbled back, his chest heaving and tears falling from his eyes. "You don't understand," he told her, trying to swallow the emotion that had been buried away and hidden.

"Then make me understand," his mother told him, stepping forward. "Tell me what I don't understand."

To be continued...