Image: Chapter Image made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - Three
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Part Three: The Goodbye
Ron shook his head, his jaw tightened and his eyes burning with anger and desperation. "Hermione was like a daughter to you. But you already had a daughter. She was this perfect girl that you brought into the family. The one you cooed over being intelligent. The one that kept me and Harry in line. But she wasn't that for us. She wasn't somebody we saw during holidays when school let out or when something terrible happened. We saw her everyday. Every bloody day!" he shouted, shaking his head. "Seven years of bossy, know-it-all, chastising Hermione! Don't touch that, Ronald. Do your homework, Ron! Take your own notes! Quidditch is ridiculous, read a book!" He stumbled back, his heart pounding in his ears and his vision blurred with tears. "We're all gonna be okay, Ron. We're gonna walk away from this. I'll buy you a butterbeer. Have I ever let you down? NO! NO she never let me down," he yelled, throwing his arms up. "Watch out for Harry, Ron. Don't let him become brooding. Make him have fun. Make him happy! Well I can't. Because she did. She always did. She was the one who could read him like a book. She was the one he went to when he was upset. She was the one he loved," he said, his voice shaking at the end. "I'm just Ron. I'm just the funny sidekick that played Chess and Quidditch. I didn't hug him like she did. I didn't hold him like she could. I never talked to him the way she did. Making it logical and heartfelt. And I can't. I'm not Hermione," he screamed. "He needs her. He doesn't need me."
His voice was hoarse and broken, stumbling over words and shouting them at his family; at his brothers who were staring back, tearful and understanding. As his father shook his head, frowning, holding Ginny's hand as she sobbed. Luna sat calmly, her hands clasped in front of her, looking as if she was waiting for this. And Ron had nowhere left to back away to, falling into the counter and leaning back into it, feeling deflated. "You want me to save him, but there's nothing left to save. He's only here because he wants to avenge her. Y'think he would have lasted this long if Malfoy and Lestrange had died?" he asked her, darkly.
"He can be saved," she tried to tell him, her voice a whimper. "We just have to remind him of what it was like before--"
"There was Hermione before, but she's not here anymore," he told her, his voice hard, unforgiving. "She's not here and without her, Harry is lost. Don't you get that? He's lost!" He shook his head, "He doesn't have anything without her. You want to tell him that he has us, but what does he have with us?"
"Family," she shouted, her voice croaky.
"No," he replied, stepping forward and wanting to shake her. "Hermione was his family, mum. She was going to be his wife, she was going to be his everything. They were going to have a future, with children and careers. With Sunday night dinners and anniversaries! Welcome to the Potter residence, would you like some tea?" he exclaimed, waving his hands around. "Sunshine and rainbows and all that love shite. But that's not what this is. This is doom and gloom and dark bedrooms. This is tasteless food and emptiness that follows you everywhere. Shadows waiting to swallow you and desperation that's eating your insides out. It's broken hearts and voices in your head driving you mad. It's seeing her on the couch, telling you that you should read a book or- or do something educational. It's knowing that he's in his fucking bedroom, crying his eyes out because she's not there anymore. It's thinking that you don't want to wake up. You want to close your eyes and see nothing but darkness, and y-you just can't face another damn day," he breathed, wrapping his arms around himself.
Molly stared back at him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. "Is... Is that how you feel?" she wondered, her voice cracking.
"Every day," he admitted, his brows lifting with the honesty. "Every fucking day. And if that's how I feel, how d'you think he feels?" he asked her, his body feeling like it was shrinking into itself. "He loved her. I didn't know how much. I didn't know how real it was. But, hell, mum, he loved her so much. And now... now I'm waiting. Because I've already lost one best friend and the other one isn't far behind. And then I'll be alone again. I'll be seeing shadows of them around ever corner, whispering and holding each other. And I'm on the outside. Still alive. One third of a trio left alive, remembering them and missing them. It's never gonna be just us again. It's never gonna be Harry, Hermione, and Ron ever again. It's always HarryandHermione, and I get that. I understand that. But I can't be just Ron. I can't." He moved around her, intent on leaving, on escaping to that dark bedroom upstairs, but Luna intercepted him.
He was almost out the door when she wrapped her arms around and he stopped. The only time he really felt anymore was when she was holding him. Half asleep, her arms around him, and he was drifting into that dark, painless slumber. She always felt so warm, while he felt so cold. He stared down at her soft blonde hair as she pressed her cheek against his chest and felt his heart jump a little. Part of him wanted to push her away, so he could wallow and fall deeper into despair, but another part wanted to hold her, to take from her that strength she always offered. "You've never been just Ron. Even with them gone, you'll always be a part of them, and them a part of you. And you're part of a family that loves you. You're a Weasley. A strong, proud, intelligent Weasley." She looked up at him, her chin pressing against his chest lightly. "And I'll always be here with you, Roonil Waslib," she said, a light smile pulling her lips. "We can be LunaandRoonil, if you'd like. I'm not sure which I like more, Ron or Roonil, it's up to you," she told him, her hazy eyes twinkling.
Ron let out a shuddering breath, his arms slowly wrapping around her waist. He leaned down, hugging her tightly and pressing his face against her throat. His chest was collapsing in on itself and he wanted to cry, hard and loud. He was always so quiet, bottling it up and letting it leak out slowly and when nobody was looking. But he wanted to sob against her, wanted to let it evaporate against her as she soaked it up and soothed it away. She took the tired away, replacing it with the strength to wake up in the morning. His hand wrapped around the tail end of her hair, holding it tightly. "He's gonna die. He's gonna leave me. And then I'll have nobody."
"You'll have me," she promised, pressing a sweet kiss against his neck.
"Until when?" he wondered bitterly.
"Until you no longer want to be LunaandRoonil," she told him, rubbing his back softly.
He snickered against her shoulder, his eyes closed tightly. "I don't want to be LunaandRoonil to begin with. I much prefer LunaandRon," he told her, squeezing her lightly. Maybe he could do this. Maybe.
"If you're sure," she said skeptically.
"I'm sure," he replied, nodding against her. She smelled like honey and her radish earrings kept brushing his skin and tickling him.
"Would you like to go read a chapter of Hogwarts: A History?" she wondered, pulling back a bit to look him in the face. He nodded, and without a further word to his family, he left the room with her, holding Luna's hand in his.
He was certain his mother had a few things to say, especially considering he'd just finishing admitting he'd rather felt like dying lately. His brothers had been staring at him in mild shock, though Fred and George appeared to understand a little better. Bill still had Fleur, and a baby on the way if Fleur's rubbing of her stomach at random intervals was any sign. Charlie had his dragons, he'd never much needed anything else. Ginny though, she had loved Hermione. Maybe not as much as Harry or Ron, but she loved Hermione like a sister would. Ron was fairly sure that her and Neville had been getting together to talk about what had happened and confide in each other. He might have been annoyed with Neville for having any sort of interaction with Ginny, but he'd often heard Hermione's voice cooing in his head, "I think it's sweet!" And he'd grudgingly admit to himself, and her, that Neville wasn't such a bad bloke and maybe Ginny would be happy with him. He hadn't meant to jump down his mother's throat, because he knew that she loved all of them beyond measure, but sometimes he thought maybe she overlooked just how much Hermione had meant in his and Harry's life. How much she still meant.
He spent the rest of the night with Luna, reading from Hogwarts: A History and talking quietly on the couch. His family slowly ventured into the living room, taking seats and talking amongst themselves. The twins eventually brought out the Chess set and challenged Charlie and Bill to a game. It was only fair if it was two against two. Fleur sat down with Molly, trying to innocently ask questions about babies and raising children, while Molly absently replied; her eyes glancing back and forth from Ron to the front door. Arthur sat in an arm chair, his hands stacked on his stomach, while he quietly discussed something with Remus. Ron wondered where Tonks was, because she usually showed up for dinner. She spent most of her nights at Grimmauld place, tucked away in Remus' room. She spent her days working as an Auror, but she popped into spend time with Remus whenever she could. She tried talking to Harry a few times, but she was eventually the one who coaxed Remus away from the door, telling him that maybe Harry needed the space for awhile.
Tonks was one of the few who'd called out Hermione's name accidentally angering Harry when she had been passing into the kitchen and he had been on his way to the bathroom. It was bad timing and she began spilling the apologies out the second she realized Harry was there. It didn't stop the house from shaking, a thick crack appearing in the wall nearest her. Dust rained down from the old house, and the glass pane in the front door splintered. Harry hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door, and Ron winced when he heard his best friend vomiting. Whether it was from memories, exhaustion, or the energy sapped from what he'd just done, Ron wasn't sure. Maybe all three caused it, but the sound managed to reach him in the foyer, where he walked to when he heard Tonks make her mistake and Remus immediately warning her not to use that name.
The Weasley's didn't leave wanting to be there when Harry came home, though they waited a lot longer than expected. Fred and George had passed out on the floor, while Fleur was sleeping soundly in Bill's arms as he too snoozed on the couch. Charlie was half-asleep in a chair, reading a book on dragons and snickering over misconceptions, while Ginny lay fast asleep near his feet. Remus wearily leaned against a wall, talking with Arthur about something or other. Molly paced the floor, glancing out the window every once in awhile, wringing her hands, and muttering about how, "He could be out there, injured, right now, and we're doing nothing." Arthur would reassure her that Harry was fine, after all he had defeated the darkest wizard of all time. Though he too began to look anxious some time around four in the morning.
It wasn't until five when Harry finally came home. All of his limbs seemed intact, though his skin was marred with blood in various places. His right arm was clasped against his chest as he carefully pulled his coat off. He looked startled when Molly silently helped him out of it, gently pulling it from around his shoulders and slipping it down his hurt arm. She placed it on a coat rack and then turned back to him, tears in her pained blue eyes. Ron stood in the doorway, watching as his mother silently looked Harry over head to toe. His clothes were torn in various places, his face was bleeding (a cut on his lip, a tear beneath his eye, and a deep cut near his hairline), a gash could be seen straight through his shirt and over his ribs, and he was leaning to his left, meaning his right leg had been injured too.
"I don't want to know," Molly told him softly, her voice shaking. She blinked quickly, her hands raising to cup his face. "You've been like a son to me for years, and you always will be, no matter what happens, no matter what you do or where you go." She licked her lips, her eyes falling shut and her chin quivering. "I know you're hurting and I can't-- I can't possibly understand how much," she admitted, opening her eyes to look at him sadly. "But whatever happens," her voice cracked, "I want you to know, Harry, that I love you. Like only a mother could." A tear fell down Harry's cheek, making a path through the blood that was both dry and wet against his face. She let him go then, kissing his forehead and leaving him in the foyer. She walked into the living room and sat down beside her sleeping husband as he sat slumped in a chair. The whole of the Weasley family was fast asleep, including Remus who sat down on the floor and fell asleep against the wall. Luna was curled up on the couch, her head pillowed by Hogwarts: A History.
Harry walked to the doorway, standing next to Ron and stared out over the sleeping people of the room. His expression was one of farewell and sorrow. His eyes were glassy and his face resolute. He neither smiled or frowned. He sighed, his eyes falling to the armchair near Luna, the one where he and Hermione often cuddled up with each other, and the pain become all the more obvious. His eyes filled once more with tears and his mouth shook raggedly. He turned quickly, staring at Ron with a look that beckoned him to follow. He left the front area, walking upstairs to his bedroom, and left his door open for Ron to come in. Only once had he ever seen Harry in his room since they'd come back. It was late at night, Ron had gone down for something to drink after he woke up inexplicably. On his way back to his room, he noticed Harry's door was opened and walked towards it. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain it if Harry noticed and briefly hoped that he wouldn't be hexed for it. He pushed the door open slowly, peering around the room he had seen so rarely.
The bed was mussed up from being slept in, but Harry wasn't occupying it. He was sitting on the floor, in nothing but his boxers, his glasses askew and his cheeks stained with tears. The drawers of the dresser were pulled open and the wardrobe near the window had its doors torn open, one hanging loosely as if about to break off. Harry was surrounded by girls shirts, robes, knickers, and pants. They were laying around him in piles and scattered in half-folded lumps. Harry was holding Hermione's Hogwarts robe, pressing his face against it and crying, his shoulders visibly shaking. A photo album sat open in front of him. Pictures of Hermione, Ron, and Harry over the years stared up, waving and smiling. The page flipped for itself, magicked to do so.
Harry was peering out over the top of the bunched up robe, staring at the pictures. His hand came out to stop the page from flipping when he found a picture he didn't want to disappear. Ron stepped a little closer, careful not to disturb him. It was one taken shortly before the end, with all three of them staring up from the couch. Harry's arm was around Hermione's waist as she leaned into him, her chin on his shoulder. They smiled out at the camera, Harry occasionally reaching out to sock Ron on the shoulder, before he turned to grin at him. Ron would glance at his best friends, roll his eyes, and then wink at the camera. All smiles, all playful amusement. There was no darkness in that moment, only friendship and happiness.
Ron stared up at the half-open door, glancing over at his family, staring at his mother who was silently crying against her hands. He moved to the stairs, walking up them slowly. He wasn't sure what he'd see in Harry's room, or if he wanted to see it. The last time had been so hard. He had run after seeing the mess that was Harry, watching his best friend trace Hermione's face in the picture before he threw the photo album away, not even reacting as it crashed against the wall. He just sat in his ring of clothes, rocking as he quietly muttered to himself things Ron couldn't make out. Ron left after that, quiet as he could, needing to escape to the nothingness of his dreams. But he couldn't run from this, Harry would know he was there, and maybe Harry needed him there. They were always there for each other. Even if Ron hadn't been for the last while. He stayed. He stayed in the house, stayed while Harry almost took it apart three separate times when he heard Hermione's name uttered. Stayed when Harry left on his own to kill two different people. Stayed when his best friend hardly looked at him, barely acknowledged he was alive. He may have locked himself away, may have driven himself insane with expressionless depression, but he was still there. Waiting.
Ron stood in front of Harry's door a moment, collecting himself before he pushed the door open and walked in. The clothes had been put back in their place, the wardrobe fixed and closed. The photo album was sitting on the bedside table, on top of a copy of Hogwarts: A History, and Ron assumed it was Hermione's side. Ron walked inside, reaching back to close the door, and stood uncomfortably in the middle of the floor, exactly where Harry had sat that time Ron found him. The room still held an air of Hermione. Her hairbrush sat on the dresser (various hair elastics wrapped around the handle), next to a photo of her and her parents. Crookshanks slept at the end of the bed, curled up in a big ball of orange fur beside Harry's feet. Hermione's trunk sat next to Harry's on the floor at the front of the bed and a few of her textbooks were stacked on top of it. A soft robe hung on one of the bedposts, on Hermione's side, a deep burgundy colour with a gold sash. Gryffindor, Ron thought. Unused parchment and a half bottle of ink sat on a desk near the window, an old candle sitting by it, the wax deformed and melted down from extensive use.
Harry was laying on the bed on his stomach, his hand sitting on Hermione's side of the bed, fingers spread and slowly curling under, as if trying to find her somewhere in the blanket. His face was directed toward where she would've been had she been laying next to him, his face on his arm and glasses sitting slightly askew from the angle. It was almost stiflingly quiet, and Ron found it odd considering he was always in silence. He preferred silence, needed it really. He usually heard Hermione's voice though, at odd intervals, but she wasn't saying anything now. Ron wanted to say something, anything, but it had been so long since he'd spoken to Harry, and he didn't really think of this man as the Harry he knew. This replica that was broken and lost, defeated and tired.
"She used to lay right here," Harry finally said, the first words Ron had heard from him since his vow to Hermione at her funeral. "She always wore a lot of clothes, said it was too cold in the room. By the time we actually felt asleep though, she was usually completely bare. She never complained then." He didn't say it in a boastful way, or even a reminiscent manner, just matter-of-fact. "The first time I woke up with her next to me, all I saw was hair, and I remembered thinking it could strangle me in my sleep if I let it." He snickered, the sound rather hollow. "She always smelled like vanilla and ink. She was always writing. To her parents or friends, more often notes from her books. Her fingers were always stained dark at the tips, and sometimes she had smudges of it on her nose or cheeks."
Ron moved forward, taking the chair from the desk and placing it near the bed so he could hear Harry better, who seemed to be talking lowly and in a hoarse tone. He wasn't sure if it was because Harry didn't talk anymore, or from emotion of discussing Hermione. When Harry didn't continue talking, Ron spoke. To fill the silence, to keep what little openness and revealing end was in store for them on course. "I hear her sometimes." Harry looked over at him, his eyes a dark, bloodshot green. "Her voice pops into my head and comments on things. Tells me I'm being rude to my mum, or she says I shouldn't take so much Dreamless Draught, it can't be good for me. She told me to eat more and that I should read a book, rather than just sitting around." He sighed, leaning forward and holding his head up with his elbows on his knees. "She tells me I'm being ridiculous when I avoid mum by hiding out in my room, or chastises me for leaving my clothes lying around," he said, his voice beginning to crack. "And I want to tell her to shut up, or to leave me alone. But I h-hate... I hate the idea that I won't hear her one day, and..." He inhaled sharply, lifting his hand to wipe at his face. "I miss her so much some days. I miss both of you."
Harry rolled onto his back, his face still turned to Ron. "You know what's going to happen, don't you?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," Ron replied, hoarsely, nodding his head jerkily.
"I wish it wasn't like this," Harry admitted, his eyes falling to the bedspread. "Sometimes, I lay up here and I think about what it would be like if she were still here. I think about what we would be doing or what she might be saying. I think about holding her again, or hearing her voice. I remember how she felt in my arms and how she'd talk about how sweet she thought you and Luna would be together." He shook his head. "I think of how she wanted to get married when it was all over. In a small ceremony, maybe at a church, although she was sure your mum would make her have it at the Burrow." He sighed, the sound shaky and choked. "I proposed to her right here. Had the ring for a couple weeks, hid it in my sock drawer. Which was stupid really, because it was her sock drawer, too," he admitted with a choked laugh. "She was half-asleep, her fingers writing something on my chest, I think it was an Arithmancy problem," he said, his brow furrowed. "And I asked her what she saw in the future, where she saw us. And you know what she said?" he asked, looking up at him, tears falling down the side of his face.
Ron's throat was tight so he couldn't reply, instead opting to shake his head, his eyes burning.
"She said, it depended on the year. Because for the first few years following Voldemort's demise, she wanted to start a career, maybe open a bookstore or something. But when things were stable and she was sure that we were ready, we could have children. She wanted at least two, a boy and a girl. And she saw us in a house, not something huge though, just something comfortable. She said she wanted our kids to know all about the Muggle world, too, because it wasn't fair to raise them in only the Wizarding world, not when we both came from a Muggle environment. She wanted them to know both sides, and she didn't want to rely solely on magic either. She said our kids were going to clean up their own messes and learn to rely on themselves and not a wand. She said that they weren't allowed to fly until they were at least ten, I said five, she said nine, and we finally agreed on seven." He shook his head, "So I brought out the ring, and I asked her to promise that that's what we'd have. And she laughed, that soft sweet laugh she has. She told me she'd promise if I agreed to cut my hair, because it was getting too long. I told her I'd shave my head if she wanted, and she told me she'd take back her agreeance if I did that. She loved my hair," he told him, his voice thick and croaky. He lifted his hand, covering his face for a moment, his chest hitching up as he tried to calm down.
Ron sniffled, rubbing at his eyes and straightening himself out. "I think I am with Luna," he finally said, trying to ease Harry out of the stifling pressure that must be surrounding him.
Harry laughed into his hands before letting them fall. "No kidding," he said, shaking his head. "She always knew you'd wind up together. Bet me a galleon it would happen." His eyes fell and he sighed. "We pushed you away a bit when we got together. I'm sorry for that," he told him sincerely, looking up and frowning.
Ron shook his head, his shoulders slumping. "I was upset for awhile, but... I'm over it. You and Hermione, that was just how it was. It was inevitable. I think I saw it years ago, but I wasn't willing to become the outsider. I thought I'd lose you if you got together. That you'd become just you two and I'd be stuck outside, looking in and wishing I were still part of it."
Harry shook his head, frowning, "You were always our best friend, always will be," he told him, his voice heavy. "We never wanted to push you away, never meant to make you feel that way. Sometimes we got caught up. Forgot about everything else, everybody else. She was an escape sometimes, but not one that so much as let me run away as stood beside me through it all." He bit his lip, sighing lightly. "She promised me that in the end, she'd always be right there, and I believed her. I thought that maybe, if I believed hard enough, she wouldn't be taken too," he breathed, his voice shaking.
Ron nodded, his back tense as he remembered seeing her arched up into the sky before she fell to her knees. The green flash coming from both sides as she was killed mercilessly, right in front of him. And he was there, so close and so far. And he didn't reach her in time, didn't save her or kill either of her murderers. He was just there, watching.
"I can't be this person, Ron," Harry told him, breaking him out of his sad reverie. "I can't be this guy. And there's no way for me not to be him. I can't stand seeing the faces downstairs. Alive, breathing, healthy, laughing. I can't stand to hear their voices, because it's not hers. It's just another person who knew her but lived. Another person who cares but can't help me. I see them, wanting to help me, and all I can think is that they can't. They can't make it better or wish it away. They can't stop this overwhelming ache in my chest or stop my headaches. They can't make the dreams go away, not without potions and magic. And I don't want to rely on that. Because even when I'm sleeping, even when she's dying right there in front of me, she's still there. I can touch her and see her, hold her and kiss her. And I need that. I can't... I can't be without her. I just can't."
"I know," Ron choked out. "I've known all along, Harry."
Harry looked up at him, his face twisted in sorrow. "You have, haven't you?" He nodded, swallowing thickly. "I just want peace."
"You deserve peace," Ron told him, tears falling down his cheeks.
Harry stared up at him a moment. "I do." He sat up, leaning against his legs and wiping his face. "There's a couple letters on the desk for you and the family," he told him. "Hermione wrote one before we left and I... I wrote one after she died."
Ron nodded, glancing over at the desk. "I know I never really said it, but..." He wrapped his arm around himself, feeling vulnerable.
Harry nodded, "I love you, too, Ron, you've always been my brother," he agreed understandingly. "To both of us."
Ron sniffled, wiping his eyes and standing up. "Will you tell her I love her? That I miss her?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," Harry agreed, standing up from the bed. He shifted nervously on his feet for a moment, before sighing. "I want you to know that I willed half of everything to you," he told him, running a hand up the back of his head. Ron shook his head, about to protest, but Harry cut him off, "I don't want you to fight me on this. I don't need that money. It was going to be for me and Hermione. The other half is going to Remus. I want you to do with it whatever you want. Buy Quidditch gear, a good broom, go to the bar with the twins, buy a house, whatever. Just use it, Ron. Take a vacation or something." He shrugged, shaking his head. "Buy your parents some nice robes and take them out for dinner or something. I'd tell you to get a house-elf for them, but Hermione wouldn't approve," he said, lightly.
Ron nodded jerkily, his chest tightening and his eyes filled with tears. "I don't want you to go," he admitted, his throat aching. It was probably the closest he'd ever get to asking Harry not to go, not to leave him. And even as he said it, he knew what Harry's answer would be, and he knew that was how it was supposed to be. But he would have hated himself later, if he hadn't told him.
"I know," Harry said, nodding. "But I don't think I can handle this anymore."
Ron sighed, pursing his mouth to keep the sob from escaping. "I'm gonna miss you, mate," he said hoarsely.
"I'll miss you, too," Harry agreed, his voice wavering from emotion. "You take care of Luna, eh. She'll love you. She'll take care of you, and you should let her."
Ron bobbed his head agreeably, his eyes falling. He reached out, hugging Harry strongly, his back shaking as he let out a sob. "Tell Hermione I read Hogwarts: A History, no joke. I read it a couple times," he said, shaking his head. "Most boring book ever written. Tell her she was right about apparition and that Thomas Cornell shouldn't have tried that ridiculous spell on the toilet in the first place. And what was he doing in the girls washroom anyway?" he said, shaking his head. "She'll understand." He sniffled loudly, his face feeling like it was one huge faucet that wouldn't turn off.
Harry hugged him back tightly, nodding his agreeance to pass on the message and half-laughing at the information about the toilet. He pulled back after a moment and ran the back of his arm over his face, before going to sit back down on the bed. Sniffling, he sighed shakily. "Don't let any of them in here for a couple hours, will you?"
"Yeah," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mum's gonna be a mess."
Harry nodded, "I think she gets it though."
"Maybe," Ron allowed.
"Watch out for Remus, he's lost a lot of people in his life. He has Tonks now, but I think he's always sorta known this was coming. I guess he was waiting, too." He shrugged, turning his head away. "He's been a good guy. I appreciate his trying, but..." He shook his head, covering his face with his hands for a moment before running them through his hair. "I'm empty and I'm tired. I've given all I've got and I still lost her. I can't wait thirty or forty years without her. She wasn't here when it was over, so I'm... I'm going to her," he said, his voice cracking.
Ron stood silently, before finally saying, "Okay." Maybe he was ready now. Perhaps he could let Harry go. It would hurt, but life wouldn't be so important if death didn't take us away from it eventually. And Harry had done great things, things he would forever be remembered for. He and Hermione would be the witch and wizard of legends for years to come. And their love story would be written about in books that Hermione would have read over and over, were she alive. Inhaling a deep breath, Ron closed his eyes and held it for a second. He remembered that day, years ago, back on the train on his first year at Hogwarts.
"Are you really Harry Potter?" he had blurted, a little skeptical, but mostly in awe.
Harry nodded.
"Oh - well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," he explained. "And have you really got - you know..." He pointed at Harry's forehead, not really seeing how rude it could be at the time.
Harry pulled back his bangs to show his lightening bolt scar. Ron couldn't help but stare.
"So that's where You-Know-Who -"
"Yes," Harry replied, "but I can't remember it."
"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.
"Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."
"Wow," said Ron in awe. He sat and stared at Harry for a couple minutes, but realizing how weird that was, and rather rude, he quickly turned his gaze out the window.
Who would have known that so much would come out of that one meeting? A whole friendship that spanned seven years. Being involved in saving Hogwarts and numerous people's lives on countless adventures. Fighting against dark wizards, becoming part of the Golden Trio, and being a huge player in the Final Battle. He had been there, side-by-side with Harry Potter and the Order, willing to lay his life on the line for the good of the Wizarding world. Who knew his bravery ran so deep? He had been a mere boy when he met Harry, one who was in awe of him and shocked that poor little him could even interest Harry enough for a short conversation. But he'd gained a best friend after that, and now he was losing him. He'd always sort of known that Harry could die, would likely die, but somehow it was different now. He had been waiting for it for four weeks, but now that it was happening, the empty feeling was back. "I'll be all alone," he muttered aloud.
Harry shook his head, "Not unless you let yourself be," he told him knowingly.
Ron looked up at him, sighing but nodding. He was supposed to be LunaandRoonil now. Or, er, LunaandRon, more appropriately. "I'll never forget you," he said, feeling rather foolish over the sentiment.
"You're the bravest boy I know," Harry told him, staring at him square in the eye. "I've been proud to have you as my best friend, Ron."
Ron nodded, his jaw clenching. Inhaling shakily, he held out his hand, "Goodbye Harry Potter."
Harry clasped his hand, shaking it strongly. "I'll see you again, Ron Weasley."
Ron stared at him a moment before nodding decisively. "Yeah," he choked out, before letting his best friends hand go and letting his arms fall uselessly to his sides. He walked to the desk, picking up the letters and putting them in his pocket. Making his way to the door, his feet were heavy beneath him and his chest constricted. "Find your peace, Harry," he breathed out shakily.
"Thank you," Harry called to him, heavily. "For everything."
Ron looked back at him, his chin shaking as he nodded. He walked out the door, closing it behind him and falling back against the wall. His knees gave out and he slipped to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Silently, he cried, tears spilling down his face or getting trapped against his rough hands. His stomach twisted and rolled, chest aching and temples throbbing. He sniffled, keeping the sobs tight in his throat, and clenching his jaw against the pressure of loss. His body thrummed for the need to just fall apart, to let it all out, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not with Harry right there and able to hear him. He sucked up all the tears, inhaled the heavy air around him and swallowed the pain in his throat. Walking to the stairs, he made his way down and turned to walk to the kitchen.
Moving across to the stove, he pulled off the teapot and brought it to the sink, filling it with water. He dropped it on the stove and turned it up to high. Shuffling to the table, he sat down and stared at the seat across from him. He could see them there, Harry with a half-smile as he pushed his eggs around on his plate. Hermione leaning against his side, her hands wrapped around his arm as she rested her chin on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Her torso was twisted funny so she could talk to him, but she didn't appear to mind. Harry laughed lightly, so softly Ron almost didn't hear it. Ron watched Hermione's lips curve up in a smile and swallowed thickly. She broke away from Harry to eat her breakfast and Harry's hand slipped under the table to hold hers. They stole a couple glances at each other before tucking into their food.
They would be together soon, Ron reassured himself as tears slipped down his cheeks. HarryandHermione. He rose from his seat when the shrill sound of the teapot reached him. He walked over, filling his cup and walking to the fridge to grab the cream. He sat back down at the table and went through his usual prep routine, before lifting it to slowly sip at the hot drink. He stared down at the tabletop, drumming his fingers against it as he sat waiting. Always waiting. His family would eventually wake up. His mother would make breakfast. Somebody would ask about Harry. Remus would listen for the creak. It wouldn't come. And he'd know. They'd all know. Harry was gone.
To be continued...
