Survivor

atruwriter

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/05/2007
Last Updated: 27/05/2007
Status: completed

Waiting. He was always waiting. He'd already buried one best friend and now the other will follow. There was nothing he could do or say. There was no Harry without Hermione. Ron witnessed the beginning and now he must accept the end. 4-Parts, Complete.

Chapters

1. Part One: The Beginning

2. Part Two: The Funeral

3. Part Three: The Goodbye

4. Part Four: The Survivor

1. Part One: The Beginning

Title: Survivor
Author: atruwriter
Email: atruwriter@hotmail.com
Warning: This fic contains character death and suicide.
Spoilers: Not that I can think of...
Summary: Waiting. He was always waiting. He'd already buried one best friend and now the other will follow. There was nothing he could do or say. There was no Harry without Hermione. Ron witnessed the beginning and now he must accept the end.
Images: Banner, made by tehcutiestEm of The Dark Arts – Click. Chapter Image, made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - One.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any of the television shows/books I have written fanfiction for. I own only my creative thought process and the characters I make up on a whim. Ownership of all else lies solely in the hands of others.

Part One: The Beginning

It was almost expected. They didn't know the exact date. They didn't know for a fact that they would be standing in front of his grave when he was still young and could have had a bright future. There was a chance that he might have come back from the brink of hostile insanity. Insanity was a harsh word... Perhaps obsession was better. They watched him as he fell farther and farther into his pit. Of despair, of grief, of regret and pain. Nobody could pull him out. Nobody alive anyway. She was the source of it all and there was nothing to be done about it. He was fueled by her death to defeat all the darkness in the world and perhaps in some way, her death was good. It had brought about good, anyway. But nobody dared say that, or even think that, in his presence. They weren't even allowed to say her name, not unless they wanted the whole house brought down on their heads. And the look in his eyes when he heard it spoken from anybody's mouth, it was pure rage. There was a constant deep, overwhelming despair in his eyes, but it was shielded by his sheer hostility with anybody who dared say her name near him.

Ron stared down at Harry's headstone with a mixture of relief and loss. Perhaps now Harry wasn't so tragically haunted. Maybe now he had some time to breathe, to relax, to just be. He had spent the first eleven of his years stuck with a family that treated him like a slave, never showing him what love was. They beat him, both mentally and physically, and he only knew the inside of a cupboard beneath the stairs as his home. So finding out that he was a wizard, the most famous of his time to be sure, was something of a dream for Harry. And Ron was more than happy to be his friend. Not just because he was famous and had that lightning bolt scar that proved it, but because he was Harry. Harry who enjoyed Quidditch, who didn't think he was the dumbest bloke around, and who seemed to enjoy his company just as much. They were brothers in some unwritten way, and he relished in that. Sure there were moments of selfish jealousy on both their parts, Ron because he wanted fame, Harry because he wanted family, but they were best friends until the very end.

Harry's dream life soon became a nightmare, one that he couldn't wake up from. Ron sometimes wondered if maybe that was the price Harry had to pay to have a life of fame. He could never be normal, he was too well known to ever have normalcy. The most regular thing Harry had was hanging around with Ron and playing Quidditch, or being nagged by Hermione to finish his homework. Other than that, it was all about The Harry Potter and all that he encompassed, and after awhile it wore Harry out. Maybe it was the insanity accusations or the attempts on his life, either way, Harry didn't really want to be The Harry Potter any more. Ron didn't really understand it sometimes, because it was something he'd always wanted, always strived for, but there were moments when it was quite clear.

The Final Battle had been gruesome to say the least. Ron was never all that eloquent with words, so he couldn't exactly explain the horrors he was met with. If she was alive, she'd probably say something wise and penetrating, something that really made people think. Something purely her. Because she was brilliant and exceptional. Because she was the brightest witch of her age. Hell, brightest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw. And maybe Ron was biased, maybe he was embellishing just a bit, but he had seen Hermione's intelligence first hand, and he was quite sure there was nothing else like it.

It wasn't so long ago that they were a trio. The trio, really. The golden three. The heroes and heroine of Hogwarts and the Wizarding world combined. Their names were known world wide, their faces were recognizable to all, legends and stories were made to sustain their very lives. And maybe at one time, Ron would have relished in the fact. But standing where he was, looking down on two headstones, he was stripped of any pride in his position. It was saving the Wizarding world that took two-thirds of the trio. Different times, different killers, different circumstances, but they were both dead and nothing could change that. And maybe that made the legends all the more incredible. A tragic love story to add to the adventure of bravery and courage. Ron couldn't stand to hear them talk about it. None of them knew how it really was. They didn't know Hermione and Harry like he did, like his family and friends did. They had a figment of imagination to grow on, a story to embellish. The Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Brightest witch, most powerful wizard, desperately in love, die saving us all. It was true, sure, but there was so much more to it than that. So much more...

Ron remembered when he realized they were together. He remembered thinking he'd lost out to Harry again. That Hermione was just one more thing Harry would get and he couldn't. It took awhile for him to recognize the fact that Hermione and him never would have worked out. They were all bluster and fighting and anger and misconceptions. They bumped heads on the smallest of issues, let alone the big ones, and they had nothing but fight between them, which had been mistaken for romantic tension. And it was hard not to see how Hermione and Harry seemed to fit together, like two halves that had always been just inches from finally connecting. The end of the story that was waiting to be written until somebody finally picked up the quill. Ron had seen it long ago, he just preferred not to acknowledge it. The way they spoke without words, or fought about things that were so much more important, or how they feared for each other on a level higher than the rest of the world. It was always there, just waiting to be noticed.

If the rest of Grimmauld place thought it odd or hadn't expected it, they were good at hiding it. He knew Harry and Hermione had been spending their nights together. Harry had taken a room to his self after they moved back into Grimmauld place, saying he needed the space. They had returned after months of searching out Horcruxes and living out of dingy motel rooms, all sharing one room to save money and keep watch over each other. Sleeping in three distinct time slots, so that at least one of them would be wide awake and ready should a Death Eater or Voldemort himself appear to do them in. There had been a few close calls when their trail had been picked up, but they always managed through. And some time near the beginning of spring, they had destroyed all of them. It was a shock to the system, knowing they were just steps away from the Final Battle. That they had completed the mission they had set out to do so long ago, and yet just yesterday it seemed they were sneaking out the window of Harry and Ron's shared bedroom. And the next thing they knew, they were walking into the Burrow, to be greeted by shouting and tears and hugging. An overwhelming thing to be sure, when they had gotten so used to having nobody but each other.

Sometimes, while they were out on their mission, Ron would see them together. The close proximity they kept that was so unlike how he was with Hermione. While hunting for the Horcruxes, Harry and Hermione seemed to have their own way of communicating with their eyes. They were always pulling each other back from things, or sticking close to each other as they walked through dangerous and unknown territory. Ron picked up on little things between them, the way Hermione pushed food on Harry, and he'd take it if he saw it came from her, but scowl if a waitress would kid with him about the food or if Ron mentioned he should get eating. It was hard not to notice that Hermione was the only one who could talk him down from one of his pity sessions or brooding days. She seemed to balance him out, while he gave her a purpose. They worked.

When it was his night shift, he noticed how they shared the bed so effortlessly. The blanket spread across them evenly, their bodies curling around one another in a way that was intimate and yet somehow innocent. Harry often held her in his sleep, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, hand pressed against her stomach. Some nights though, he'd lay on his back, his arms crossed over his chest. Most of those nights, he'd suffer from painful nightmares. But before they could get far, Hermione would roll right over, still mostly asleep, and she'd wrap herself around him and stroke his hair, while whispering 'shhh' in a soft, slurred, tired voice. And he'd calm down, pull her closer and fall into a peaceful slumber. Ron never had those nights with Hermione and certainly never with Harry. They kept to their respective sides and their arms stayed far away from each other. He often wondered how she'd react if he tried to hold her like Harry did and every time he imagined it, he ended up on the floor with nothing but a hard, stiff pillow and a stinging cheek.

When they returned to Grimmauld, he became accustomed to hearing Hermione sneak out of the room she still shared with Ginny to make her way over to Harry's. The first few times she knocked softly, but then she just walked right in. Ron placated himself for awhile, thinking it was just the lack of body beside her that kept her awake and in need of Harry. But it was obvious after awhile that they weren't going to each other for the comfort of having someone laying there, though that probably factored in after. It was the middle of the night when Ron stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes and trying to find his way to the stairs. He was thirsty and couldn't get the memory of his mum's chocolate cake out of his head. Licking his lips, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and not just a little bit against the chill of the house. He was almost down the first step when he heard the first noise.

Grunting and panting, quite distinct in the quiet of the house. Moaning followed and groans of pleasure permeated the air. The movement of sheets being kicked off or blankets being moved around rustled the silence. A small, feminine giggle that he knew well, a deep, friendly laugh that he was well acquainted with. More panting, more moaning, and then a cry of Harry's name, a drawn out groan of Hermione's. Ron was stuck in place, his mouth dry, his brows raised, his body tensed. He'd entertained the thought of them becoming intimate, though it sat funny in his stomach. It wasn't much like Hermione to be sneaking off to a boy's room late at night, every night. It was too intimate, too big to be nothing. And Ron was irrationally angry with them at first. He could feel his skin become as red as his hair, if not darker. Forgetting chocolate cake and cold milk, he made his way back to his room to grumpily try to get to sleep, hoping it was all a dark nightmare.

The next morning he half-expected them to come skipping in, their entwined hands waving between them, but he didn't see anything like that. That would have been too flashy, too obvious, too unlike Harry and Hermione. Instead, while he sat moodily eating his breakfast, stuffing bread in his mouth when he heard her soft voice approaching the door, he glowered up to see them walk in, hands kept to themselves. Harry followed her to the counter as she served them up a couple cups of tea. Ron watched as Harry's palm moved to rest on the small of her back as he whispered something to her while she poured. She turned to him, smiling, their noses almost brushing, but didn't say anything. Her eyes were glittering with amusement and, much to Ron's chagrin, love. He wondered if it had been going on awhile, or if had been the first time last night. Had he not noticed the little intimate touches between them this long?

As they walked back to the table, they kept stealing glances at each other, the backs of their hands brushing, fingers flicking out to touch the other briefly. They took seats next to each and a little farther away from the rest of the inhabitants of the house. Ron looked around to see if anybody else had noticed, but was greeted with Fred and George whispering conspiratorially, not seeming to have seen anything out of the ordinary. Bill and Fleur were at the end of the table, behaving much like a newly married couple would, which Ron simply rolled his eyes at. His brother Charlie was off to the side, sipping a cup of tea and reading some of his post with furrowed brows. His mum and dad were talking over by the stove, a grave matter apparently, as neither of them looked happy. And Ginny was eating her breakfast, occasionally tossing a curious look over to Harry and Hermione, but not saying anything. Ron wondered if she'd seen it, heard it, or noticed anything late at night when Hermione snuck out, but knew better than to ask.

And so it went, every day with the small intimacies between them but no real acknowledgment to the rest of the house. Ron woke up numerous times to hear them down the hall and considered shouting at them to put up a silencing charm but flushed when he realized he'd have to admit that he knew about them, could hear them. One angry night, he decided he'd had enough and he stomped out there to tell them off. For lying to him every day, for never thinking of him when they disregarded the trio and played duo at night, for never letting him have his chance with Hermione. He was always the side kick, never the hero. The hero got the girl and Ron was stuck tossing and turning in bed, grumbling over the fact that he was alone and it seemed his best friends didn't need him anymore.

He was halfway down the hall, his face curled with anger, when he stopped dead in his tracks. His mother was standing at the top of the stairs, twisting her nightgown in her hands and frowning sadly. She seemed stuck between wanting to stop it from happening and just pretending she didn't know anything about it. When she looked over to him, she sighed. She motioned for him to follow her downstairs and with a resigned nod, he sluggishly made his way down the stairs. He wasn't too far away that he didn't hear Harry call out Hermione's name, a rare openness to the sound. Like he was baring his soul with that one word and Ron's frown dissipated just a little. He followed his mum into the kitchen and slumped into a chair as she moved to pour them a cup of tea. He waited uncomfortably, hoping she wasn't going to turn around and tell him that he should wait for marriage and that sex was bad and evil. He didn't need the talk. He wasn't the one upstairs tangled with a pretty girl in his bed. Unfortunately.

His mum let out a soft sigh as she placed the steaming cup in front of Ron and sat down, her mouth tight with worry. "How long have you known?" his mum wondered, glancing up at him.

"Awhile," Ron replied, shrugging as he squirmed in his seat. "Found out a few weeks ago. Knew she was going to sleep with him at night, but I didn't know they were..." he trailed off, flushing brightly.

She simply nodded, sipping her tea. "Your father thinks I should leave it alone. They're adults now, by Wizarding laws. They..." She shook her head, frowning. "They know what they're doing and they have a lot to deal with, so..." She exhaled heavily, looking as though some part of her had been lost. "I suppose I never really remember how old you all are, or how much you've seen and done." She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Ron squirmed, not sure what to say to placate her. "Ya still got Ginny, mum. She's still pretty young."

"Only a year below you, Ron," his mum replied, chuckling lightly. "And she's not like other sixteen year olds either." Her face became dark, sad and understanding. "Voldemort has taken the innocence of so many," she murmured, her hands shaking as she lifted her tea. She turned to him, frowning. "You're not a little boy anymore, Ron. And neither is Harry," she added, nodding. "I'd like to think that one day you're all going to revert to how you were that first day I sent you off to Hogwarts. So young, so bright, so... unblemished," she said with soft reminiscence. "But that's lost now, dear. You'll never be those people again. Perhaps that's a good thing. Maybe I should learn to know the people you are now before I start wishing you were those eleven year old replicas." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes lifted, staring at Ron, and she asked him the one question he'd been avoiding all along. "I just want the best for you all, Ronald. Do you know... Do they love each other?" She stared at him patiently, waiting for him to reassure her that while they may be seventeen, young, and heavy with too much responsibility, the two people she thought of as her adoptive children, were not simply reacting to hormones.

And Ron sat, ready to tell her that no, Harry and Hermione were just two friends who found solace with each other once in awhile. But, he couldn't. He still remembered how Harry and Hermione had looked at each other that morning. How they kept trying to touch each other, even the smallest bit of contact. How they finished each other's thoughts, understanding each other in a way Ron could never know or learn. How they got each other. "Yeah, mum," he replied, nodding sagely. "Harry and Hermione love each other a lot."

She nodded, a slow smile appearing then. "Okay," she said, quietly. She sipped her tea then and reached out to pat his hand in her motherly manner. "If this world could use a little more of anything, Ron, it's love. I don't know two people who ever worked harder for a cause." She smiled at him sadly, knowing that he was hurting, too. "You're a great friend, Ron. A wonderful son, and an incredible person. Harry got this girl, but that doesn't mean there isn't one for you. Maybe..." she smiled, staring at him in a knowing way, "maybe this assurance that you were going to be with Hermione sort of blinded you to other possibilities, yeah?" she asked, in that way that meant she knew something he didn't. Before he could reply, she stood up. "Don't penalize them for not telling you, Ron. Harry's whole life has been known by everybody before him all along. Almost everyone he's ever loved has been taken. And Everything he knows, he knows a moment too late. Let him have this, have her, just to himself for as long as he possibly can," she told him, before walking out of the kitchen, leaving her son to ponder her words.

And Ron hated to admit that maybe she was right, maybe he was being just a little bit selfish. So he stopped blocking out that infuriating voice that told him why Harry and Hermione made a good couple, why they were right with each other. He listened as a voice that sounded suspiciously like loony Luna Lovegood's informed him of all the reasons Harry and Hermione made a better couple than she and Ron ever could. He gave in to the dreamy voice that reminded him he didn't much care for books or studying. That he didn't like it when Hermione was bossy and how he constantly considered her a know-it-all. And he accepted the fact that Hermione smiled more when Harry was around, that Harry didn't seem so empty with her beside him. Ron finally gave in to the idea that his best friends were in love and that they fit.

His mother was right, too. There were no two other people that had worked harder for a cause. Not that he knew, anyway. If he were to mention it to Hermione, he had no doubt she'd list numerous people who had worked for the welfare of others. She wasn't all that great with praise and she knew so much about everything, that she would never be able to accept the idea that perhaps she was a hero herself. That one day a book would be written about her, and it'd paint her in the light of all the people she read about. Heroes and heroines, those witches and wizards that thought little of themselves and more about others. Because Harry may have been thinking of how his life would be better without Voldemort, about how he could finally have some space, but he was doing it for everybody else, too. The truth of it was, if Harry didn't want to save the rest of them, he could have disappeared long ago. He could have packed up and left it all behind. But he had too much heart, too much courage to just leave them all to suffer. And Hermione was a bleeding heart through and through, she couldn't leave anybody behind. Harry was the courage while Hermione was the brains, and together they'd save the world. It was only right that in doing so, they deserved a little peace themselves.

Harry had always deserved love, had always wanted to be loved. He had searched for it through various people. Be them mentors, girlfriends, or friends. And while he had a family in the Weasley's, and mentors in Dumbledore and Lupin, he'd never really found that all encompassing love that he wanted. The kind of love his parents had for each other, and that he'd dreamed of having for himself. Ron wasn't sure when it was that Harry opened his eyes to see that Hermione was the girl he'd always been looking for. That she was smart and beautiful, in her own frazzled way, and that she would lay her life down for his without a second thought. But he knew that Harry knew it now. It was obvious that he had found what he was always looking for, evidenced in the way he looked at Hermione now. Ron frowned at first, found himself sighing when he caught his best friend's lovesick staring at the bookworm of their trio, but then he saw it for what it was. Hermione was Harry's future, his reason for fighting, for living, for facing each day.

There were so many moments where Ron honestly worried that Harry might just give up. He'd lost so many already, he'd sacrificed himself day in and day out for the cause. A cause that he had no real choice over, one he was prophecized to deal with. It wasn't up to him, whether he believed he could or wanted to. He had to. It was him or no one. Either he did it or everyone died. That was a lot to put on a boy's shoulders. A lot to put on anyone's shoulders. But Harry picked it up, and while it scared him, weighed him down every day, he didn't give in. Hermione held his hand, she kept him steady, she held the burden half on her shoulders, too. And suddenly it wasn't so lacking, so bare and unforgiving. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, a dream to look forward to.

Ron couldn't help but feel a little grateful to Hermione for being there, because he wasn't good with all that emotional stuff. He was there for Harry, he'd always be there, but he was rot at emotional connections or uplifting speeches. He was the fun and the entertainment, the one that kept them from becoming too serious. He liked his position, even if it made him look a little less in the eyes of others. Where would they be without him to keep them smiling or laughing or reminding them that every once in awhile, they could be seventeen? They'd be lost, tired and depressed in a library, surrounded by books and tearing their hair out from frustration. He had a purpose. It may not have been as big as Hermione's, maybe not as deep or worthy of telling in a legend, but Harry needed him, too.

When Harry and Hermione finally came out with their relationship, Ron was pretty sure that everybody already knew. Whether they heard their loud, intimate nightly routine or simply picked up on the little moments between them, Ron wasn't sure. He noticed Fred and George smirking to each other knowingly, but they could've been planning a prank, too. He saw Remus smiling to himself behind his Daily Prophet, but then, Ron was pretty sure he'd always thought Harry and Hermione would wind up together anyway, so that wasn't so surprising. Ron's mum doesn't even blink and his dad simply nodded at the couple in good morning. Ginny seemed to have come to some sort of revelation as she saw them, like it had all become very clear for her. Ron saw her shrug and return to her meal, and he realized he was expecting more from her. But then, maybe his sister has been considering this for awhile herself and she, like Ron, may have just come to accept that it was what it was.

Hermione and Harry paid no mind to the lack of notice to their relationship, they simply held hands and sat down to eat. They talked quietly to themselves, smiling and laughing softly, all in their own little world. And for a moment, jealousy reared its ugly head at Ron, but then his mum patted his shoulder and he was reminded that maybe there was another girl out there for him, one that didn't much care for green-eyed heroes. So he ate his breakfast and he learned to get used to it, because there wasn't not much else he could do when faced with the reality of things.

Over the next couple months, Ron was brought back into their inner sanctum a little more. They revealed that they'd been together since somewhere back when they were hunting. Ron was upset with them, a little hurt that they could keep it to themselves, but he understood. Because he was Ron, and he'd known them for over six years. By that time he'd already figured them out, already knew that they were meant for each other, that they'd belonged to each other for much longer than even they knew. Years before, back when they laughed at articles calling them lovers, they were together then, too, they just didn't know it. And he got used to the way Harry always played with her hair, or how Hermione always needed to be touching him. Whether she was holding his hand or clutching the back of his shirt, or those moments where her finger curled around one of the loops of his pants. She just needed to be close to him, to know he was still there in some way. Ron barely noticed anymore how often they kissed, or the way Harry seemed to draw Hermione away from things at random intervals, because he needed to be alone with her, even for a few moments. It rolled off his back after awhile, the way they seemed so gentle with each other, so separate from everyone else and yet unequivocally together with each other.

They became one identity to the others. "HarryandHermione," as if they'd become joined by some force and it couldn't be undone. And Ron got used to it, too, even began to think of them as one sometimes. He wasn't losing two friends, he was gaining a whole. He still played chess with Harry, and Quidditch when the other adults were sure that there was no danger. He still bickered with Hermione and avoided as much research and reading as he could. But they were together, and they weren't falling apart like he thought they would. They were still the trio, because even if Harry and Hermione were one identity now, they were still two different people. They might become extra worried if one went out for awhile and didn't return at the exact time they said they would, they might constantly talk about the other if one wasn't there, but they had their own lives, too.

Harry still enjoyed spending time with the twins, planning pranks or talking about their business. He still liked discussing Quidditch and getting a butterbeer with friends. He was up for it when the twins suggested Firewhiskey and getting smashed for the hell of it. And he smiled all through Hermione's lecture, buzzed from the alcohol and telling her she was beautiful when she was angry. And Hermione still enjoyed her books, taking time out to herself just to read and enjoy, in her weird bookish ways, the history of other wizards and magic itself. She still took time to hang out with just Ginny and talk about boys or makeup or whatever it was girls talked about. So Ron wasn't always stuck with the one identity known as HarryandHermione. He sometimes got just Harry, or just Hermione, and he enjoyed whatever he got. They weren't the perfect couple. They had a few fights, too. They'd shout and yell and be furious with each other for hours and once even a few days. But they'd always come back to each other, apologize and talk it out. Perhaps that was another thing that proved Hermione and Ron wouldn't have made it. When Ron and her bickered there was no real sincere apologies, it was all show. It was to end the feuding and simply move on. But with Harry and Hermione, they had honestly thought it out and wanted to figure out the problem so they could understand each other. And then they were right back at it again. Back to the touching and the holding, sharing a bed together and not even going through the pretense of Hermione going to Ginny's room first. Back to the kissing in every crevice of the house, of the reading together while cuddled up in armchairs, and quietly talking in whispers so they had only each other to communicate with and no outside world to interrupt.

It wasn't so bad when Luna came to visit and Ron found himself somebody else to occupy his time. Without his interest in Hermione to draw his attention away, he found Luna was rather fascinating, in a crazy, oddly wise way. She wasn't half-bad at chess either, which was continually interesting. He'd always remember what she said when she first noticed Hermione and Harry were a couple. She sighed softly, smiling at him in that dreamy way, and said, "The stars never lie." Then she nodded at him, moved her piece and said, "Checkmate, Ronald. Now, how about a butterbeer to console your shattered pride?" He agreed, his eyes still on the board, trying to remember what it was she did and how she managed to win. She drug him off before he could think on it much, and he caught his mother's knowing look as they sat down for a butterbeer at the kitchen table.

Before they knew it, the end of a school year at Hogwarts was approaching. Or it would have been, had the school not been shut down for the year. Too many parents were worried about their children's safety and so McGonagall simply canceled school until further notice, which really meant until Harry defeated Voldemort. Everybody could feel it coming, the War was on the brink of breaking out, and Ron could see the occupants of Grimmauld place all feeling the itch of the impending maelstrom of ends.

The adults could almost always be found talking in the kitchen, discussing strategy or attacks. The Daily Prophet was always being scoured for information and everybody's eyes seemed a little more open, their attention always on edge. There was likely a lot the adults were keeping to themselves, somehow thinking they were sparing Harry, Hermione, him and Ginny, but he couldn't help thinking they were just scared about making it real. To say Voldemort's name still made them jump, to admit that Harry would be facing Voldemort once and for all was like something from a nightmare never survived. But no matter how hard they tried to hide, to pretend it wasn't coming, it was. They didn't know when, there wasn't a formal date written in stone somewhere. They were just waiting for somebody to tell them, "Voldemort is waiting," or something to that extent. "It's time to fight." They weren't about to walk into it blindly, of course. Hermione was researching defensive spells, teaching them to him and Ginny whenever she could. Ron was pretty sure that sometimes, late at night, when they weren't cuddled up in their bed, Harry and Hermione were sparring or readying themselves. He somehow couldn't imagine Hermione not teaching Harry all that she knew when time seemed so little and thinning.

The adults, though they never admitted war was coming, took part in training them everyday. Ron found himself even more in awe of Bill when his brother began training him in defense and movement. His brother was big, strong, and smart, so Ron couldn't help but wish he was more like him. But Bill could be ferocious when he needed to, and his scars made him that little bit more edgy. Ron listened to his every word, hanging off of it better than he had any of his professors during Hogwarts. Bill didn't let up until he was sure that Ron knew what he was doing, that he wasn't sending his little brother out unequipped, and Ron walked away a little more proud of himself, and with renewed pride in his brother.

Remus picked up his professor persona and taught them all they need to know in Defense of the Dark Arts, and Ron was almost sure that within a couple months, he could be a DADA professor himself. He could take the exams that Hermione still worried about, even though they weren't in school, and feel confident that he'd do well, which was a first for him. Tonks joined in the classes sometimes, though Ron was sure it was because she enjoyed watching Remus in his teaching position. She'd ask questions on occasion, sometimes knocking things over when she threw her hand up, even though she could've just interrupted him, like Ron was apt to do. The metamorphmagus and the werewolf weren't the most obvious couple, but Ron found himself rolling his eyes on occasion as they flirted while Remus was supposed to be teaching them about a dark creature or spell. They usually tried to act professional, but Ron had found them snogging in the study once, which he took great pleasure in bringing up, given that in her shock, Tonks had jumped up, bumped her head into Remus', knocked over a bookshelf, and tore down a curtain. He found himself in hysterics every time he visualized it, though he did try and forget the mental image of Remus kissing.

Moody took pleasure in appearing out of nowhere and scaring them half to death with his loud cries of, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Ron laughed for ten minutes when Harry nearly took the old man out, blasting his magical eye right off his face. Instead of being angry, Moody let out a gruff, grating laugh, smashed Harry's shoulder happily and hobbled off, using his wand to fix his magical eye. He taught them, from his long experience, how to defend themselves in the worst of situations. Ron enjoyed some of his stories from his earlier Auror days, though they were grim and bloody. Hermione often looked queasy when Moody spoke of those days, but she never excused herself. Ron got the feeling she was trying to prepare herself for what she might see or hear in the last battle. For Harry's part, he often looked pensive, as if he was trying to imagine it all. Maybe to prepare, or perhaps he was already beating himself up over the loss of lives that hadn't come to be yet.

The twins weren't about to be left out either, modifying experiments and spells to use in the battle. Hermione commended them on their brilliance, looking a little jealous, and Ron couldn't help but think the Weasley family was worth more than what they were portrayed as. His brothers weren't book smart like Hermione, and they couldn't spout off the oddest, though usually useful, information there was, but they could pull a prank like no other, they could create things only a genius could, and they were brilliant inventors by trade. Worthy of being looked up to, brave enough to walk into the fight with their heads held high, and filled with enough humor to keep the darkest moments from swallowing everyone whole, Fred and George were already heroes.

By the time the Last Battle hit, Ron was pretty sure that they were going to win. He remembered Harry telling him that he was supposed to have a power Voldemort knew not and that Dumbledore assured him it was love. Seeing Hermione and Harry together, Ron was almost completely sure that Voldemort didn't stand a chance. So he stepped out onto the grounds of Hogwarts with his head held high, his pride swelling in his chest and his courage clearly written on his face. He saw Hermione on the other side of Harry, her hand wrapped around the end of his shirt, just trying to keep some part of him near her. And Harry was staring out, his expression resolute and ready. They'd trained for this. Hard and unforgiving. With charms, hexes, Unforgiveables, and everything they can think of. They learned how to defend themselves when spells were aimed their way, to duck low and move quickly, to keep their heads in bad situations, to ignore obstacles meant to distract and keep a level and concise mind. They were as ready as they'd ever be.

They'd got a world of good behind them. Witches and wizards with their wands drawn tight in their hands and thinly veiled fear on their faces. They had professors and students, shop keepers and Aurors, friends and acquaintances standing behind them. And people would die. Many would die. But Ron was sure that when it was all over, he'd still be in a trio. He'd walk away with his two best friends, and things would be grim, but they'd have each other. And when he glanced at his family, all red hair and blinding courage, he was almost completely certain that he wouldn't lose one of them. Because they were Weasley's, and Weasley's are strong, smart, and brave. All of them were Gryffindor's, after all, and they believed in the just cause of freedom and equality. If they did die, they would go bravely into the night, and they'd take down their share and then some.

"For Cedric," Neville said near them, his tone level.

"For the Longbottoms," Ginny declared, lifting her chin.

"For Sirius," Hermione added, her eyes staring out over the vast area as the Death Eaters approached in the distance.

"For Dumbledore," Ron put in, drawing in a steadying breath and squaring his shoulders.

"For my parents," Harry finished, his wand raising and his face hardening.

They were children once. The five of them. They sat in classrooms, they chuckled and talked about little things like Quidditch and school work. They walked down hallways to classes, did their assignments and spent their afternoons goofing off or hanging out. They enjoyed feasts in the Great Hall, where students and professors discussed a new year, a world of possibilities. They had futures once. Where dark lords had no bearing and the Wizarding world looked bright and open. They could have been anything once. Shop keepers, Aurors, Ministry officials, professors, Dragon Tamers, Curse Breakers, anything. But now they were going to war. Just seventeen and eighteen, the five of them were running to kill or die. To live or fall. They were children once, but they weren't any longer. They were soldiers on a battlefield. A battlefield that had once been the grounds of a school full of bright futures and broad minds. That was once, but this was not then, it was the end of things. Of what, they could only hope.

And they ran across that field, meeting death and destruction head on. The space between them, the air and sky, was filled with colour. Such bright colours that made up death and loss, victory and doom. Death Eaters, hiding away in their black garb and silver masks rushed them, wands drawn and evil permeating from them. And voices rose up to the heavens, cursing one another, killing each other, fighting for their cause. Ron was shoved, hexed, thrown, and harmed from every angle, but he pushed through and he fought and he never once thought of lying down and waiting for the feet to pummel him to death. He could see Hermione's busy hair and hear her precise voice as it shouted various spells, to save her, to save others, to keep the world as they knew it on its axis. Ron caught Harry as he pushed through the crowd, his deep, familiar voice moving obstacles from his way, bringing him closer and closer to his rival.

The crowd around Ron thinned out so it was easier to move and he didn't have to worry so much about his arm being stuck behind others as he tried to defend himself. He knew what it meant though, when there was a little more space to move. It meant the ground was now littered with bodies. People he knew, people he had to literally step on to keep moving and fighting. He found himself in a circling fight with a Death Eater, one who seemed shorter than most of the others. And the sneering voice of his opponent had him shaking his head and spitting his name, "Malfoy!"

"How goes it, Weasel?" Draco replied, laughingly. "Is that your mother back there, being cursed right now?" he wondered mockingly.

Ron ignored the terrifying need to look back just in case, remembering Moody's words, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" which he at first thought was in his head, but then realized the old, gruff man was shouting it as he battled with a group of Death Eaters, Kingsley at his back, covering him.

"I dunno, is she standing on top of your mother?" Ron instead replied, smirking as he noticed Draco's shoulders stiffen and his body stand a little straighter.

Draco pulled his mask off, obviously giving up on any pretenses of who he may or may not be for others. He smirked at Ron, his wand slowly raising. "Don't worry, Weasel, it'll be quick. That way, you don't have to witness Potter's demise. Although, it would be amusing to see your tearful face as he fell," he said maliciously.

Ron sighed, "You talk too much, Malfoy," he said, before shouting a hurling hex at the platinum haired boy. While he flew through the air, Ron aimed a binding spell at him, making sure he would be properly tied up and unable to get loose. A stunner followed and he hurried across to get to the prone boy where he landed. Using a hovering charm, he moved him to hide him in some bushes, just to be sure that another fellow Death Eater wouldn't revive him. Smirking down in victory, he kicked Malfoy in the gut before he ran back off to the field to continue fighting.

As he scanned the area, he was reassured seeing that they were beginning to outnumber the Death Eaters. They were gaining ground quickly, though the field seemed to be made up of fallen witches and wizards by now. In the far distance, Ron could see Harry standing before Voldemort, his wand raised. Even from so far away, Ron gulped. The man known as Voldemort, or Tom Marvolo Riddle, was a terrifying sight. He wasn't even really a man, if Ron wanted to be correct in defining him. He looked like part lizard, with the shape of a man and the face of a creature. His head was completely bald and red beady eyes stuck out of his snake-like face. Ron quickly shook himself out of his stupor and made his way back into the thick of things, needing to clear the way to victory outside of Voldemort. He looked around, searching for Hermione. He could have sworn he'd seen her thick hair pass by his vision not long ago.

He was quickly distracted by a Death Eater, which was much harder to battle than Draco had been. He found himself panting and sweating as he managed to get out of the way of numerous hexes and a couple Avada's. The effort was drawing more effort than fighting back though, so he started throwing everything he could think of at the man. Unable to dodge everything, the Death Eater was promptly knocked out and left in a weird, jiggly mess, no doubt from the odd combination of a few of Ron's spells. He thanked Merlin that he had been trained by Aurors and professors. So many others, those that he jumped over and stepped on, had not been so fortunate. And maybe that was wrong in some way. They all came out to support and fight for their existence, but they weren't trained or readied, not like him. He didn't have time to ponder on what made him more important, besides the fact that he just happened to be Harry's best friend. War was still raging and he was stained with blood, his own, others, smeared and staining him. His arm ached, his cheek was sore, and his leg had a bit of a limp to it. He hadn't noticed the pain before, but now that he was slowing down, he was beginning to notice it all.

He heard his mother calling out for him and turned to see her. He feared at first that something might have happened, but when he caught sight of her, she was still safe. His dad was next to her and they walked clearly toward him, no real obstacles in sight any longer. Behind them, he could see that the Death Eater's were either retreating or being captured. The Light side did all they could to avoid killing, but judging by the field of bodies, it had been necessary numerous times. Perhaps it was luck that all the Weasley's seemed to be accounted for. Ron breathed a sigh of relief at that and turned to round up the last of the Death Eater's. He caught sight of Harry far in the distance, his face dark and angry. He seemed to be having a conversation with Voldemort, about what, Ron didn't know. Ron could tell though, that Harry had already had to dodge a few attacks, his robe was singed and his face was spattered with dirt. His mouth seemed to be bleeding, too, and if Ron really squinted, he thought Harry's glasses might just be broken. He had the oddest thought that Hermione would know how to fix them, before he turned to scan for his other best friend.

She was closer to Harry than he was, but preoccupied with a Death Eater that Ron wasn't surprised to see was Lucius Malfoy. She was holding her own well enough, but Ron still thought it was safer not to leave her alone with a man known for being cruel and tricky. He looked over his shoulder to see how his family was doing, only to find that they were off fighting against the last scattering of Death Eater's. Apparently Voldemort hadn't noticed that his following was quickly being taken under, he was too focused on Harry. Ron grinned as he noticed Voldemort lose his temper and attempt to Avada Harry, because his friend had been expecting the attack and promptly escaped it, shooting off a hurling hex as he jumped, which connected with its target nicely.

Ron turned his attention back to Hermione and his chest clenched. Bellatrix Lestrange was approaching Hermione from behind, a maniacally gleeful expression on her gaunt face. Hermione was too distracted by Lucius and the curses and hexes he kept throwing at her to pay any heed to her back or outside surroundings. Ron shouted at her, trying to gain her attention so she'd turn, but the yell died out against the sudden explosion of green coming from the right. It swallowed up a huge part of the field, lighting up the sky and catching everyone's attention. For one stark moment, Ron was terrified that when the light died away, Harry would be the one dead on the ground. He was stuck between seeing if Hermione was okay and making sure Harry had won. As the light faded away, his eyes happened to be on Harry, who was standing up, alive, his wand trained on a black mass on the ground, limp and dead. Ron's chest leaped then and he gave a loud shout of victory. His arm pumped in the air, a swell of happiness exploding inside of him. It was over. Finally! It was really over!

He turned, sure he would see Hermione smiling and possibly even running to Harry, to hug him, to congratulate him, anything. But she wasn't moving toward Harry, she was arched up, her arms pointed out from her sides as Bellatrix shot a vicious Crucio to her back. Hermione shook and quivered in the air, suspended and cursed into pain. Ron raised his wand, intending to hurl Bellatrix away, but she dropped the Cruciatus curse and turned, grinning. She wasn't looking at Ron though, she was staring at where Voldemort used to be. Her expression changed to one of sorrow and she let out a piecing cry of defeat and agony before she glared darkly at Harry and then turned swiftly back to Hermione, who was now left kneeling on the ground, panting with exhaustion and pain. Simultaneously, with equally disturbing grins, Lucius and Bellatrix shot off green curses at the girl between them.

Harry hadn't even had time to take in what was happening. Ron watched as he only took notice of Hermione and Bellatrix as the crazed woman screamed her agony over her lost Lord. Ron had been running across the field, distantly he could hear the stomping footsteps of people behind him, who he assumed were his family, or at least his allies. Harry had begun running toward Hermione as soon as he saw her position, but he wasn't quick enough to stop Lucius or Bellatrix. The Killing curses met their target and sucked the life from Hermione immediately, leaving her drained and dead, slumping to the grassy ground beneath her.

Red and green flew by Ron's vision, directed at the two murderers standing on either side of Hermione, so many he couldn't count them. Some of them collided, exploding against each other and missing the target. Others landed on the ground before Bellatrix and Lucius, but only two met them, leaving Lucius without an arm and Bellatrix thrown back a few feet as a Reducto met her shoulder. Unfortunately, the few Killing curses never made it. And Harry wasn't even attacking them, too shocked to do anything. Ron was nearly to Hermione when his eyes found Harry kneeling on the ground, his hands hanging limply by his sides, his face pale and drawn. Ron wasn't sure if he should go to his living best friend, or his dead one. It was all too much. They were supposed to walk away alive. All of them. The Golden Trio.

Ron's feet slowed until he was standing ten feet from her, his arms hanging useless by his sides. He stared down at Hermione's lifeless face, her eyes wide and coloured with a sickening green in the very center. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. The people behind him ran past her, rushing after Malfoy and Lestrange as they fled, bleeding and injured, from the battlefield. He left it up to them, too stunned to do anything but stare down at Hermione. Her arms were laying in a funny angle, one trapped beneath her, while her legs were turned up, as if she were about to run. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but Harry had come over to kneel beside her. Ron swallowed the building emotion in his throat and let himself fall as his knees gave out beneath him. He could do nothing but watch as Harry took in Hermione.

Harry reached out with a shaking hand, moving the soft tendrils of Hermione's hair from off her cheek. His fingers softly stroked her face as his green eyes took in all of her, searching for some falsity in her death. He turned her so she was facing him, before drawing her up into his lap, cradling her limp body against his chest and burying his face against her neck. Ron could hear his shaking sobs as he cried against her, mumbling, "No, no, not her, please, no." Ron couldn't say anything that would somehow make it better, he couldn't think of anything that would console him. Hermione was the one who dealt with emotion, she was the one who could calm Harry down. But she was dead. She was dead and nothing he did or said was going to change that. He found himself rocking, back and forth on his knees, not believing what had happened, unable to really process it. She was right there, right in front of him. He had shouted, hadn't he? For her to move, to get out of the way, to look out. And then she was arched, being Crucio'd, and he had been running, but not fast enough. He was so close and yet so far, and he didn't save her, he couldn't save her.

And Harry was shaking her, going back and forth between holding her close to him and shaking her in front of him. "I told you, I told you they'd be after you," he shouted at her, his voice anguished. "Oh God, come back, come back," he pleaded with her, hugging her tight against his chest, his chin on top of her head, his eyes closed, and Ron noticed his glasses were broken. But he had no one to fix them. Hermione always did that. Would he never get them fixed then? "I don't know what to do without you. I don't know. I don't know," he murmured, sounding rather insane with his grief. He pulled her up closer, dragging her until he had all of her in his arms, his hand buried in her thick curls, his face pressed against hers, cheek to cheek. "I love you. I love you. You're supposed to live! You were the only one... You were the only one I couldn't lose." He shook his head, crying against her, his arm tightening around her to be almost crushing.

Ron opened his mouth, but closed it, having no words. It should have hurt that Harry could have handled losing him, but didn't. Because he knew. He understood. She was Hermione. Ron had known her for nearly seven years, rocky as their friendship had been. And he found that her annoying nagging was something he'd miss most about her. Who was going to tell him to do his homework now? Who was going to tell him he was being an idiot? What would he do without her there to fix his mistakes and correct his misconceptions? Who would he argue with? On the small, inconsequential things in the world? Who would he bug about her fear of flying now? Or her obsession with books and learning? He had nobody there anymore. There was no trio. It was just two boys. Two parts of a triangle, and one part was falling apart, shattering in front of him. What were they now? Without Hermione, what could they ever be? She was the defining part. She was the part that made them all whole. Without her, they were brawn and courage, right? What was that? That was nothing. That was lacking. What could brawn and courage do without intelligence. Nothing. They were reduced to nothing. Merlin save them, he thought, as he rocked. Merlin save them all.

Harry lifted Hermione's right hand, which was when Ron caught sight of the little emerald ring on her dirt smudged finger. Harry pressed her palm against his face, still rocking them back and forth, crying and muttering to her, to himself. Ron swallowed thickly. HarryandHermione, married, children, a real future. It was all gone now. They weren't one identity any longer. They were broken. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The ending, they were the heart of the story, weren't they? They were supposed to get the epilogue with their own happily ever after, where darkness never interrupted their lives again. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't right. Not right at all.

"I can't do it without you, I can't do it," Harry told her, shaking his head and exhaling a big whoosh of shaky air. "You promised, you promised, you said... Hermione," he pleaded, pulling her close again, his face pressed down into her shoulder. Ron couldn't hear what he said after that, the words too muffled by Hermione's body in his arms. Little words like, "married" "forever" "children" and "love" made it to him, but everything else was drowned out.

Like any dark, anguished scene before it, this wasn't finished without the sky opening up and pouring a thick torrent of rain on them, making the ground beneath them muddy and sludgy within moments. Harry ignored it, not appearing to notice the rain at all as he continued to rant to Hermione, his pain slowly becoming anger. Ron was certain it wasn't entirely at the girl in his arms, but mostly at those who had caused it. Every once in awhile, he'd shout that she promised not to leave him, that she had said she was going to be there in the end, alive, but then Ron would see the dark, vicious glint in his eye as Harry began talking about revenge and retaliation and he knew that Harry's rage was directed at Lucius and Bellatrix. For one moment, Ron almost felt sorry for the two Death Eater's if they were ever left alone with Harry, but looking down at Hermione, that pity disappeared completely.

Ron wasn't sure how long they were left in the rain, with Harry holding Hermione and him watching in his shaken, shocked state. Finally, his family ventured over, with Remus and Tonks, Moody, but no Kingsley. Ron looked up at them, his face stark and grim, unable to speak or ask them if they were injured at all. He barely recognized their injuries or their pained expressions. They were just there, all of them, alive. And then his mother was holding him, tightly her arms wound around his body, and she sobbed. She sobbed for him, for Harry, for Hermione. While Ron just sat rigid in her arms, comforted on the inside but unable to show it to her. He sat in the mud, staring at Hermione and Harry as his mother held him, telling him over and over that he did all he could, that Hermione was in a better place, that she was proud and she loved him.

Ron could see Remus approaching Harry out of the corner of his eye and seeing the hysteria in Harry's eyes, he knew it could only turn out bad. "Don't touch him," Ron warned, his head shaking just an inch to the left. It hurt to talk, his voice burned his throat. "He'll kill you," he told him bluntly.

"He wouldn't—" Remus started, looking startled at Ron's words.

"He would," Ron told him, looking up with certainty in his eyes. "Hermione's dead," he told him, his voice shaking. "And all he can think about is killing Malfoy and Bellatrix. If you touch him, you're a dead man." He wanted it all to disappear. The people, the scene around him. He wanted to be left alone in a dark room, because then he wouldn't have to see Hermione dead and Harry dying. Maybe not physically, but Ron could see the life draining from his eyes. It was all over now. The war, the bright future, the trio. He'd lost it all.

Remus stared at him a long moment, before glancing at Harry, giving a sharp nod and backing up.

"We can't leave him out here," Moody said, gruffly. "Boy'll get sick and die on us before we can celebrate his victory."

"He won't celebrate anyway," Ron said, shaking his head. He wouldn't celebrate either. The defeat of Voldemort seemed to pale in comparison to everything. His best friends, two people who had made up his identity for almost seven years were lost to him. "And he would welcome death." Ron was fairly sure that he too would want death, along with Harry. He wasn't sure how much longer Harry would live, but he wouldn't grow to be an old man. Not without Hermione, not with all that he'd lost and sacrificed. There was only so much a person could give and Harry had nothing left.

"Ron," Arthur started, but stopped as he caught sight of Ron's expression. His father swallowed thickly, his face twisting with sorrow.

Ron wondered if his dad could see how different his son was since the moment he stepped on the field and now. He felt different. Strange. He felt like part of him was missing and he'd never find it again. Like most of him had been replaced with somebody older, harder, more calloused. And that little part of him that was still Ron, wasn't interested in pleasantries or hope. It was sitting quietly in the back, rocking back and forth, crying.

"We could levitate him," Tonks suggested, her voice hoarse.

"Both of them?" Ginny asked from the side, her eyes glossy, her expression one of shock. She didn't seem to notice she was crying, but the rain hid it well.

"The others won't react well to seeing their savior with his dead girlfriend," Moody said glibly.

"Fiancée," Ron corrected and was sure that everybody winced.

"We have to do something, we can't just leave him out here like this," Bill said, walking forward. Everybody looked around at each other, seeming to search for an answer in their friends and family.

Sighing, Ginny crept closer to Harry and Hermione. "Harry," she called out, her voice soft and coaxing. "Harry, it's r-raining, we should go i-inside. The b-battle is o-over now," she told him, her mouth shaking.

Her only reply was Harry shaking his head and rocking Hermione a little more, his mouth moving as he spoke to the dead girl in his arms, but not loud enough for any of them to hear.

"Come on now, Potter, buck up," Moody said, trying the emotionless route. "Get up outta the mud and come on inside. Hermione'll be laid to rest soon." He frowned down at the boy, waiting for a response. "I think he's gone round the bend," he told them all bluntly.

Arthur shook his head, kneeling down and crouching as close as he felt safe. "Harry, it's Arthur," he told him, slow and soft. "Looks like Hermione is getting quite wet," he said, his voice shaking, "Maybe... maybe you want to bring her inside? Warm her up?" he asked him, his eyes glancing back at the people who were now mumbling under their breath about the suggestion. He turned back to Harry, only to jump in mild fear. Harry was staring right back at him, his emerald green eyes dark and lifeless.

Ron sighed, watching the scene unfold and thinking to himself over how wrong it all was. Hermione wasn't supposed to be dead. She was supposed to be celebrating with them. She was supposed to be hugging Harry, snogging Harry, doing something that made Harry extra happy. It was all wrong. All so very, very wrong. They should be at the Three Broomsticks now, sharing a butterbeer and shouting their victory. And they'd pay homage to all they'd lost, they'd talk about friends they'd lost or the good people who fought. They would discuss Sirius and Dumbledore and they'd cry for the loss. But they'd have each other, because they always had each other. But that wasn't going to happen. That could never happen.

Instead of replying, Harry nodded agreeably to Arthur, but when the man he had often thought of as an adoptive father tried to reach for Hermione, Harry's wand raised to point directly at Arthur's heart. "I told you," Ron said quietly. "I told you and you didn't listen. Hermione is dead," he couldn't stop telling them that fact. "Hermione may have been the brains, but I have some common sense. She may have known Harry in a way I didn't, but I was his best friend for seven years. Unless you want to die, get away from him," Ron told his father, his voice lacking any real emotion.

Harry watched Arthur, his face expressionless, and when he felt the older man was a good distance away, he dropped his wand, his hand returning to hold Hermione's cheek. "They think you're dead, but you can't be, because you promised," he told her, and it was so quiet around them, save for the patter of rain, that they all heard it. They all heard his disbelieving sorrow and their hearts broke a little more for the boy-who-loved-and-lost-again.

To be continued...

2. Part Two: The Funeral

Image: Chapter Image made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - Two
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any of the television shows/books I have written fanfiction for. I own only my creative thought process and the characters I make up on a whim. Ownership of all else lies solely in the hands of others.

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...

3. Part Three: The Goodbye

Image: Chapter Image made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - Three
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any of the television shows/books I have written fanfiction for. I own only my creative thought process and the characters I make up on a whim. Ownership of all else lies solely in the hands of others.

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...

4. Part Four: The Survivor

Image: Chapter Image made by smile06 of The Dark Arts - Four
Author's Note: When I first wrote this it was supposed to be a one-shot, but before I knew it, I had 37 pages and nearly 38,000 words. I was never much of a supporter of Ron, but after writing this, I've found a new admiration for his character. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any of the television shows/books I have written fanfiction for. I own only my creative thought process and the characters I make up on a whim. Ownership of all else lies solely in the hands of others.

Part Four: The Survivor

Hours later, the sun rose and his family stirred. He'd already gone through two pots of tea. The creak stopped awhile ago, but he forced himself not to think on it much. Luna came in first, taking her seat beside him and holding his hand. She said nothing, but her presence was all he really needed. His father joined him next, taking one look at him and slumping down in the chair at the head of the table. Luna retrieved a cup for him and filled it with tea. Bill and Fleur came into the kitchen, muttering quietly to each other and still looking tired. Fleur said something about “zee couch being too 'ard,” and Ron bit back telling her she was sleeping on Bill. Ginny and the twins came in next, sitting down and talking quietly to each other, Fred and George making fun of Ginny's bedhead. His mum, Charlie, and Remus were last, Molly telling Remus he needed to eat more and that she'd make him a large, healthy breakfast, while Charlie scrubbed at his face with his hand.

Ron's mum kissed his forehead gently before she walked over to the stove. “Harry came back last night,” she informed the other occupants of the kitchen. “He was a little beat up but he was alive,” she said, trying to sound cheery.

“That's good,” Charlie said, sleepily. “Maybe now that they're gone, he can...” He let it trail off, the meaning there already.

Ron stared down into his tea, swallowing thickly.

“What's wrong with you?” one of the twins asked Ron.

“Yeah, this is the first time we've seen you up this early since you went to Hogwarts,” the other added, chuckling lightly.

Ron slowly lifted his head as he dug in his pocket and pulled out the letters. He glanced around at everyone, settling on Remus, who suddenly sat up straight, straining his ears. He waited, and waited, and waited some more. But there was nothing to hear. “The creak,” he said brokenly. A loud crash could be heard as his mother dropped a pan knowingly.

Ron shook his head, tightening his jaw. His breathing picked up and his eyes filled. “He... He wanted me to read these to you,” he said tightly, his voice going in and out. “Hermione wrote one and... and he wrote the other after she...” He swallowed again, closing his eyes tightly.

“When?” Remus asked, his voice hoarse.

“A couple hours ago,” Ron told him, nodding. “He asked me not to let you in if you woke up, but you all slept through it so...”

Remus shook his head, standing up from his chair so quickly it fell back, and hurrying out of the room. The rest of the kitchen emptied out, following him up. Ron slowly rose from his seat, deciding to go with them. He climbed the stairs languidly, already hearing the broken tears of the people standing around Harry. Luna was next to him, holding his hand tightly. Ron entered Harry's room to find his vision blocked by his brothers, who looked back at him, their faces stricken, and slowly moved out of the way so he could see. Remus was kneeling on the ground, in the same place Harry had been that night he mourned Hermione, his head bowed and arms hanging limply by his sides. Ron glanced at his mum, seeing her hands pressed up over her mouth as tears fell down her face, while she leaned into Arthur, who stared sadly at Harry, his arms around his wife.

Ron finally looked over at Harry, who was surrounded by his own blood, his wrists torn open and dark red sustenance finished rushing out from the deep wounds. His looked peaceful, eyes closed, mouth in the faintest of smiles, hair just as messy as ever, but his face was pale, verging on grey. He was hugging a book, Hogwarts: A History, but the blood wasn't staining it. Harry must have put a spell on it to keep from tarnishing Hermione's favorite book. He was still, his body laid out comfortably on his side of the bed. He was wearing his pajamas, a white shirt and some black pants with gold snitches on them that Hermione bought for him last Christmas while they were hunting for Horcruxes. The blood stained through his shirt, dripping down onto the bedspread. Ron simply stared, an odd sensation running through him. The wait was over. It wasn't comforting or horrific, more of a time for him to finally breathe. He missed him already, remembered talking to him only a few hours before, but he knew that wherever Harry was, Hermione was too. And somehow that made it a little better.

He left the room, walking downstairs and waiting for them to follow. They slowly began to slip back into the kitchen, sitting down at the table with pale faces, tears drawing paths down their cheeks. Shock and sadness were written in every expression they showed and Ron wondered if they really hadn't expected it. He waited until all of them were seated, leaning against the counter and sipping his tea. He'd already known Harry was gone, had a couple hours to let it sink in. He was in a state of just being. He wasn't feeling much, wasn't thinking anything except breath in, out, in, out. Just keep breathing. Finally, when they all looked up at him expectantly, he took out the letters and smoothed them in his shaky hands.

“If you're reading this, then something both half-expected and very regretful has happened to me. I can only hope that Ron and Harry are alive and as well as can be expected. The war was bound to have casualties, we knew this, and I'm sorry that I'm one of them. It wasn't something planned for, of course, and I'm so sorry Harry, that I promised you something and didn't deliver. I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to die. The war is a great cause though, and you know me! Is there anything I would rather die for?

I know how this war will end. Voldemort will perish and Harry will win. I know he will. I have no doubt that he has. Because the world cannot live in darkness. I must believe in good. I must think that there is something greater in the end. I believe in Harry. I've always believed in him. Voldemort thrives on fear and hatred, but Harry has so much love in him. As long as love exists, Voldemort will be kept in the background. So, with that, I must assume that while you read this, victory has been found and I am amongst the losses. Do not wallow for me, do not hole yourself away. I may not have been someone who generally enjoyed partying, but I certainly believe that celebration is in order. I absolutely demand that Fred and George throw a party. With spiked punch, of course, and Molly's cooking, because there's no better, and I want you all to laugh and dance and enjoy yourselves. I want you to live. Every single day, I want you to live this life for those who were lost. Don't think of me and cry over the loss, think of me and remember what I fought for.

Fred, George, you're brilliant. I may not condone trickery and pranking, but I do believe you have the most incredible minds and they shouldn't go to waste. I hope your business flourishes, though I have no doubt that it will. Expand, because the world deserves to learn of you and your brilliance. I love you both. You've been the most wonderful brothers to me. I'll miss you terribly, I'm sure.

Bill, Charlie, I regret that I never got to know you as well as your other siblings. I hope that Bill and Fleur are well and that their love survived the war. It's rare what they have, I know that. Fleur must love Bill far more than most of us ever expected and I regret doubting that in her. She's a lovely person and she deserves someone as intelligent and nice as Bill. Charlie, I wish I could have talked to you more about dragons. While they terrify me, I would have loved to have met one. From a distance, of course, but still. What you do is amazing, while rather dangerous, but I admire you for it. You have incredible courage.

Ginny, you have been my best girl friend for so long. I do wish you'd just let yourself be with Neville. He's such a sweet boy and I know he cares for you greatly. I wish I had your independence some days. That I could achieve your confidence. I know you sometimes feel like you fade into the background in your family, or even with me, Harry, and Ron, but know that we never forgot about you. You were always with us in some way. You will do great things, I know it.

Mr and Mrs Weasley, I can't tell you how much you mean to me. You've been the most wonderful parents I could have asked for. You were there when my parents simply couldn't understand this world. You were there when I truly needed you. I will always be grateful for every moment I spent with you and your incredible family. There is no family, pureblood or not, that has more dignity and sincere love like yours. You are both one of a kind and I thank the Gods that I was able to become part of your family for these last seven years. I love you both very dearly and I'll miss you.

Professor Lupin – Remus, you were one of my greatest heroes. The world, Wizarding or not, has no idea what it's missing out on by focusing on something so trivial as your Lycanthropy. I don't believe I've ever had the courage to tell you, but I'd like you to know that I've always admired you for being so strong. You shouldn't let it bring you down or define you. You are brilliant with or without it and while it may be a hindrance, it's just another part of who you really are. You are one of the smartest, most kind people I've ever known. One of these days, the world will open it's eyes and it will see you for what you really are. Remus: man, wizard, professor, philosopher of life, friend.

Professor McGonagall, Headmistress, you too have been an incredible mentor of mine. I can't thank you enough for being there during the darkest of days. I've looked up to you from the first day I set foot in Hogwarts, and I will continue to do so forever. While I haven't always followed the rules, yes I believe that is an understatement, I have always had a fondness for them. I've always been very proud of the fact that you, unlike many others, never bow to pressure or the need to win when it came to House points and rule breaking. You were always very fair and the world needs more of that.

Luna, we've never really been the closet of friends, but I do think I will pass on this one bit of information. Ron is a little slow on the uptake, but with a little persistence, I have no doubt that you two would make a lovely couple. He's a great person and while you can be a little odd (I mean that in the nicest way possible), I think you two would be good for each other. He needs a little weird wisdom in his life, and I've always known of your feelings for him, so it makes perfect and logical sense. Good luck.

Neville, I don't believe you ever receive the credit you well deserve. You're hidden behind clumsiness and your shy demeanor, but that is not all you are. I've known you, Neville, for seven years, don't let the world push you to the background. You are just as strong, just as brave, just as smart as any other wizard. You were put into Gryffindor for a reason. I've been blessed to be your friend, I really have. Despite the blown up cauldrons and the little mistakes here or there, you will become a great wizard, Neville. I believe in you, so you should believe in yourself. Have I ever turned you wrong? Of course not. So you best listen to me and stand tall!

Hagrid, you are quite honestly the most lovable person I've ever had the pleasure to know. You always believed in me, always made me feel so special in this world. Even though you had a tendency to believe the meanest of creatures were really quite nice, I can't help but think that your tender heart is something that people far too often over look. Don't be regretful over being half-giant, there's just more heart and friendship in you. While I hope you'll be extra careful with your newest pet, I have no doubt that like most others under your care, it will grow to become just as good hearted and kind as you. I'll miss you terribly, please take care of Harry and Ron for me.

Ron, I'm so sorry that I let you down. I shouldn't have made that promise to you, not when I was faced with what was coming. I wanted you to go in with hope though, Ron. I didn't want you to worry for one minute that things could be different. I have no doubts at all that when I died, you tried your best. You did all you could, do you understand me? Do not blame yourself for whatever reason. When I died, it was of my own fault or that of another's, which would be my killer. Now, obviously, and quite logically, you were not my killer. So therefore, you cannot blame yourself at all. Hence, if you are feeling guilty at all, you're hereby not allowed to and I order you to stop. I want you to be happy, Ron Weasley. I want you to laugh and play Quidditch (yes, that's right, I just told you to play that blasted game), and I want you to do something with your life. You're more intelligent that you think, more powerful than you know, and you can do incredible things if you just put your mind to it. I believe in you, I always have.

I'm going to miss you, I really am. I'll miss all those ridiculous fights and your irritating need to disagree with me about everything. I'll miss telling you not to do things and reminding you that books aren't something to be afraid of actually reading. I'll miss your insatiable appetite and how you never remember not to talk with a full mouth. I'll miss you entirely. But this is the way of things and it can't be changed. So lift your chin, Ron Weasley, and face the world as it is now. Remember everything I've ever taught you and know that you are strong, smart, and a force to be reckoned with. Show the world what I already know, Ron.

Harry. My sweet, wonderful Harry. I think I'll miss you most of all. I never wanted to leave you. In fact, I wanted to be with you always. With little children who have your hair and eyes, because honestly, my hair is quite the bother. My bookishness, because you're really quite hard to coax into studying and I'd rather our kids happily learn. I wanted so much for us Harry and I regret that we can't have it. I know you won. I never doubted that you would. You have so much to offer the world, that you simply couldn't have lost. I love you. I will always love you. Death can take away my right to breathe and walk, to read and grow, but it will never take away my love for you. Know that, remember that, cherish that. But don't you dare do anything drastic, Harry Potter. Don't you dare follow me, because I can't bare the thought of you dying because of me. I know! I know how you must be feeling. I've thought of this moment time and again and were I ever to lose you I'm quite sure that I wouldn't survive.

You have been my everything since I was just eleven years old. I have loved you unequivocally for nearly seven years. I didn't see it at first, I didn't realize it was anything but friendship for so long. But it was always there, simply waiting to be noticed. And these last few months have been the greatest of my life. Loving you, having you, there is nothing better, Harry. And it hurts, just thinking of not having you now, tears me apart. But there are reasons for things. This was meant to happen just as your defeat of Voldemort was.

I'm never going to forget you. I regret having to leave you, but I'll never regret what I died for. I wanted a world where there was no fear of Voldemort or Death Eaters. A world to raise our children in a world where you weren't burdened and overwhelmed with all that they expected of you. And if you're reading this and I'm gone then that is what I got, isn't it? I may not have my future with you, I may not have the children and the marriage I dreamed of, but my dream of peace came, didn't it? Live in that world for me, Harry. Live in that world and let yourself dream and love again. Because I can't think of a world that doesn't have your love in it. You have so much to give, so much inside of you. I was blessed to have it. I was grateful every day to have you. I can't imagine a day when I didn't love you and I don't want to. I may be gone, but I will always be with you. Know that, love. Find your peace.

I have nothing more to say except that I hope all of you have survived, that all of you are well and celebrating. I hope this world is better than the last and that all of you enjoy the lives you deserve to have. Good luck and goodbye.

Love always,
Hermione Jane Granger”

Ron wiped at his face, folding the paper and replacing it in his pocket. As he read, he could hear her voice in his mind saying the words. He could see her sitting at a desk, penning it all out and putting her emotions and thoughts into every word. Hermione had taken the high road, choosing not to make them wallow or remember her in some sad, depressing way. She looked to the bright side of things, tried to bolster them for the future. He admired her for that, because the idea of thinking he was going to die would have made his letter much less confident and caring. Ron looked up to see the twins crying, though they tried to hide it by brushing at their faces and muttering bad jokes under their breath. His mum was sobbing into a handkerchief while his father patted her shoulder and sniffled to himself, a sad smile on his face. Remus was staring blankly down at the tabletop, his expression surprised and dazed. Ginny was crying on Charlie's shoulder as he held her at his side, rubbing her back comfortingly. Ron looked to Luna last, who gave him a watery smile and nodded as he held Harry's letter up. He cleared his throat, knowing that this one would be harder to read.

“I never gave much thought to writing one of these. Hermione got me so encouraged that I really didn't think any of us would die. I suppose I knew there would be casualties, I mean we were going to War. I guess I had false hopes that it wouldn't be anybody I loved or cared about. I'm sorry that Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were taken. They were both courageous and loyal. Two of the strongest and most loyal people I think I've ever met. I regret that Fred and George lost Angelina and Alicia, I don't think I've ever known any two girls better for them. I'm sorry for the loss of so many that I did and didn't know. I have a lot of regrets these days.

I suppose I always expected it would be me who went in the end. I thought Ron and Hermione would live forever, remembering that boy they knew in Hogwarts. I don't think I ever really allowed myself to think about what it would be like if I lost her. And now that it's happened I'm more than a little lost. I'm in the library because this is where she always was. I feel safe here. Like I know where I am and I can't get lost in it. There's just bookshelves filled with tomes, most of which I'm sure she read. There's empty tables and scraps of parchment here or there. And it's comforting. I can still remember how she looked when she diligently worked on an assignment just across the table from me. How she'd turn and tell Ron that he should be doing his homework and then she'd get back to writing more than needed for her own. I can still hear her voice and see her face perfectly. And sometimes that hurts more than comforts.

The second she was gone I realized what was going to happen. I'm not made for this world. I don't think I ever was. I had my purpose and I served it. The only reason I stuck around as long as I did was because she gave me the love I'd always searched for. She wanted to save the world and I was the one destined to do it. People like her and you don't deserve to live in a world where Voldemort ruled. And she believed in me, assured me that she knew I could do it. I could save the world. It was a huge responsibility, one that I never wanted. The world needed changing though and it wasn't as if I could let it be destroyed. I wanted this for her. I wanted a world where there wasn't darkness or death around every corner. I wanted to wake up one day in my future and see her sleeping next to me. I wanted to know that I had a wife and children, a real family. I wanted a future with her and only her. And when that was taken, I didn't want anything. I had nothing to want. I was just here, without her, and I can't handle that. I know it's hard to understand. I know that you all think that somehow I could get past it. That one day I will wake up and it won't hurt anymore, but I know that day isn't coming.

You have always been there for me, all of you, in some way. You've all been a family that I desperately needed. And I want you to be enough, you want you to be enough, but you aren't, you can't be. I'm sorry. I go to sleep and I see her and all I want is to have her back again. I wake up and I'm alone and all I can think of his how she used to feel in my arms. I can't eat because it feels pointless. I can't talk to you, because every time I see you I feel like somehow you cheated it. You lived and she didn't. And no, that's not your fault and I don't want you all to die. I'm glad you lived. I'm glad that this world, this new world where things are better, is going to have people like you in it. People who are courageous and smart, who won't let it be destroyed by hate and greed and everything that ate away at it before. But the only emotions I feel anymore are hatred and loss.

So I've made a decision, one that you're not going to like. I recently found out that Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy made it through. I don't know where they are, but I'm going to find them. I don't care how long it takes, but I'm going to find them and I'm going to kill them. I realize what this makes me and I know that some of you won't approve. I wish I could say that deters me or even bothers me but it doesn't. And when they're gone, I'll be finished. I'm sorry I can't be that son for you, Molly and Arthur. I'm sorry I can't be that brother to you, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, Charlie and Bill. I'm sorry I can't be that friend to you, Luna and Neville. But I'm not anything without her. I need to do this and I hope you'll understand.

I've loved her for so long that it physically hurts not to see her. She's been a part of me since I was eleven. The first person to hug me, to love me, to believe in me wholly. She was the first person who made me feel wanted and needed. Her opinion meant everything to me. Her word was law. She was so intelligent and loving that the idea that she's not here somehow makes the world a little less. She wants me to move on, to find love and live my life, but I don't think she ever really knew the full extent of how much I loved her. I could tell her every day, and I did. I whispered it to her while she slept. But the full meaning could never really be said with words or actions. The fact of the matter is, I'm not meant for a world she's not in. So I'm going to wherever she is. That's selfish of me, I know, but I've always been a little selfish. I was never all that good at letting go and she's not someone I'm willing to let go of.

I'll miss you. All of you. And I want you all to know that I love you. That I couldn't have come this far without you. I hope that you'll all understand this one day. That you love or will love someone as much as I love her. I'm sorry for how I might have treated you in the next while. I can't imagine myself being very good to you, so I'm sure I've been a real bastard lately. Whenever this reaches you, I'm also sorry for how you might find me. I never meant to hurt you, but there are only so many ways to take your own life. I won't go into details, that would just be cruel. I have no doubts that I went peacefully though. She told me to find my peace, and in all honesty, she's it. So I've gone to find her.

Thank you all.
Love, Harry.

P.S. Mr Weasley, the purpose of a rubber duck is, in my opinion, to keep the person in the tub company. Loneliness is something that plagues everyone, even Muggles. And so, since bathing is such a private matter, the rubber duck is something that floats around in the tub, being a companion in the most foolish of ways. Some of them squeak when squeezed, but that's about it. I hope that answers your question.”

Ron let his hand fall and briefly glanced at Luna when she took it from his fingers to fold and put away. His throat was sore and his eyes raw as he watched his family cry and mourn. He wanted to say something to reassure them, to make them understand what he knew. That Harry was better off now, that he was happy where he was. His mouth wouldn't work though and he really didn't feel like making excuses for his best friend. He was lost and lonely and the ache in his chest was back. He considered going back up to his bedroom and crawling under the covers. Of taking the Dreamless Draught and drifting off to inky nothingness. He'd wake up to a world where Harry and Hermione no longer lived and he was the only one left in the Golden Trio, but at least one day would have passed.

Twenty-four hours in which he hadn't gone on to follow them. Because he would be the survivor. Someone had to be. Two-thirds of them were gone and what message did that really send to the world? Besides, hadn't Hermione told him to do something with his life? Hadn't she specifically told him not to wallow, and that he should show the world what she already knew? The first thing he thought of was that Hermione often called him an idiot and remarked on how stupid he could be. But she told him in her letter that she believed he was smart, he need only put his mind to it. So why not? Why shouldn't he go on? Why shouldn't he live for Harry and Hermione, like they asked him to?

One day at time, he thought. Luna hugged his side, her arms wrapping tight around his waist and holding on to him both to keep herself stable and to hold him up. And he thanked the heavens for sending him her. Because he wasn't sure he would have made it as long as he had without her there, holding him through the night. He hugged her back, hoping that maybe she could show him a future. One where instead of HarryandHermione and Ron were the trio, it was just LunaandRon. Ron, the survivor of a lost trio, the best friend of the legendary Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the great Roonil Waslib. And maybe he'd be a hero in his own right, the one who survived both war and the loss of his most trusted and loved companions. He held Luna, letting the hot tears roll down his cheeks and the sob escape his throat, because he didn't have to hold it in anymore. The waiting was over. Harry was gone. Off with Hermione in the proverbial sunset of Heaven.

Now, three days later, Ron found himself standing in front of a large headstone. Fresh dirt sat in front of one grave, while a month had passed on the one next to it. The ceremony had ended a short while ago, a quiet affair where only select guests were allowed to come. The newspapers had been trying their best to get an interview out of any of the Weasleys or schoolmates of Harry and Hermione. They'd been running stories like crazy. Bellatrix Lestrange's death was considered back page news compared to Harry's suicide. They got it right when they wrote that he killed himself over grief for his lost fiancée. The first time they ever wrote anything about Harry and Hermione that was actually true. Story after story talking about their incredible love and loyalty ran every single day, seeming to take the paper over entirely. Those they got mostly wrong, writing fiction rather than fact. But then, they didn't really know the facts. Not all of them. All they knew was that Harry and Hermione were in love, that they fought together for a better world, and that Hermione died for the cause and Harry killed himself to be with her. But they didn't know the story in between. They didn't know how they fell in love, how much they loved, or even the people in love. They knew names and circumstances, but they didn't know Harry and Hermione, and Ron wasn't willing to share with the world his two best friends.

Ron wanted to be angry with Harry, but couldn't. He knew all along that it would end HarryandHermione together, in love, forever. He wished it hadn't been so tragic. Wished he could have seen them grow old together. Been an uncle and godfather to their children. But that wasn't how it turned out and there wasn't any room for “What ifs”. They were long gone and were probably snogging somewhere up in heaven. Or whispering in secluded corners, cuddling in armchairs and reading to each other. Maybe they were making love on a cloud, disturbing the other souls. He wondered briefly what Sirius thought of them. Had he expected it? Thinking back, Ron always saw a knowing smirk on Sirius' face when he saw Harry and Hermione talking close to each other or exchanging conversations through their eyes. Were James and Lily Potter proud of them? Did they think Hermione was perfect for Harry? Did it matter? It wasn't as if they could reverse it now.

Sighing, Ron knelt between Harry and Hermione's graves at their shared tombstone. He had Hermione's single one replaced with one that symbolized them both. A black marble headstone simply stating their names, date of birth and death, and a few short words to define them, “Together they have found their peace.” His eyes traveled back and forth from their names. The Ministry wanted to do something extravagant for Harry. A large memorial with his tomb inside, but Ron promptly told them to sod off. Harry would be buried next to Hermione, with nothing but a regular headstone stating who he was. That's how Harry would want it. He knew that much. Harry was never really one for big and extravagant. He enjoyed small and comfortable. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else but next to Hermione. When the Ministry said they'd move Hermione over to his tomb, too, Ron nearly decked the official. Ron got his way. He buried them next to each other and nobody put up a fuss after that. His parents agreed with what he did and wore the new robes he'd bought for them to the funeral. He tried to get them more, but they refused, and he decided he was going to stop asking if they wanted things and simply start giving them to them without waiting for their protest.

He used the money he had leftover from the Horcrux excursion, not yet having gone into Gringotts to settle up with them over the money he'd inherited. He already knew it was a huge sum. Harry had his money from his parents and then more from Sirius' will. He and Remus were likely the richest wizards alive, given that a great deal of the wealthy pureblooded families had been wiped out from the war. The money didn't much matter to him, but what he did with it did. He planned to help his family out, whether they wanted it or not. And he was going to open a bookstore, “Brainy Books,” (the title was under revision still), which would be filled with both Muggle and Wizarding books. He was going to style it after how he saw Hermione when she lounged with her thick tomes. It'd be furnished with comfortable chairs, tall bookshelves, all arranged by subject and alphabetical order. It'd be done in gold and burgundy, appearing homey and comfortable. He was also planning on opening a Quidditch store furnished with pictures of Harry during his seeker days at Hogwarts, which he was going to be quite simply called, “The Golden Snitch.” It'd carry everything to do with Quidditch, including the book that extensively covered every moment Harry played Quidditch, including games at The Burrow and practices at Hogwarts. He had high hopes for both stores and felt comfortable in the fact that even if they didn't work out, he didn't need the money, so he could keep them open for the sheer enjoyment of having something dedicated to them.

“I hope you're happy,” he finally said, laying a bouquet of flowers down in front of their headstone. “I know you are, sort of. I mean, I expect that you're up there together, and I've never known you not to be happy when you were together.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing's the same without you. It's a little more empty, a little more suffocating. Sometimes I wonder... I wonder if maybe Harry made the right choice.” He frowned, his eyes burning. He blinked furiously, “But then I think of how much Hermione would throttle me if I died, too, so I stop thinking of it,” he said with a choked laugh. He sniffled, shrugging, “'Sides, Luna makes it a little less hard most days.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the pretty blonde hanging out around Ginny and Neville by a distant tree, who were waiting for him to finish before they left for The Three Broomsticks to reminisce and drown themselves for one night in Firewhiskey and butterbeer, memories and sorrows.

“I miss you guys. I think I always will,” he told them, biting his lip and swallowing the sob in his throat. “Now that I'm not so emotionless, it seems all I can do is cry and feel. It hurts a lot. Always feeling,” he told them, “Don't know how girls can manage it all the time.” He snickered, knowing Hermione would hate that comment. Inhaling shakily, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I want you to know that it hurts to know I wasn't enough, but that I kind of understand why. I couldn't really imagine Harry without Hermione anyway. It was surreal and I didn't really like it.” He turned to Harry's grave, “You weren't really you, you know? And... And I can't think of Hermione without you with her.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, twisting his fingers around nervously. “I guess what I'm saying is... I'm glad that you guys have each other, even if I can't have you here with me,” he said, nodding as a tear escaped his eyes. Slowly, he rose from the ground. “I'll meet you up there one day.” He turned looking at Luna as she smiled at him gently. “But it won't be today, and maybe not tomorrow.” He looked down again, smiling sadly at the headstone. “We'll always be the Trio though.” He winked, “Save me a seat in Heaven, will ya?”

Turning around, he walked away form his two best friends, feeling a little less heavy with torment and sadness. They were up there, somewhere, together. And maybe it hurt a little more before, back when they were alone. Hermione without anybody to look after and Harry with nobody to look after him. They were lost without each other and it just wasn't right for them to be separate. It still hurt, Ron couldn't help but wake up most mornings and think of how lonely it would be without them around. He could still hear Hermione's chastising voice on occasion, though Luna's had been popping up a lot more lately. He hadn't returned to Grimmauld since that day, but there were memories at the Burrow to interrupt his vision sometimes when his mind got away from him.

Just before he reached Ginny, Neville, and Luna, he turned back to look at the graves and he could have sworn, there, standing in front of their shared tombstone was Harry and Hermione, holding hands and smiling. His heart gave a little jump and he suddenly wished he could be there too, with them. Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder and kissed the top of her head, while she smiled up at him and then waved at Ron. He lifted his hand as if to wave goodbye, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Ron,” he heard Luna call. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. He stared at Hermione and Harry as they slowly faded from his vision. “I'm ready.” Ready to face the new world. The one where Hermione and Harry were nothing but legend and memory. The one where he was still alive, still able to become somebody outside of the war. Luna's hand slipped into his and he turned from the cemetery to look at Neville and Ginny, holding hands and trying to appear casual. Some things would never change. Wherever Hermione and Harry were, they were probably discussing the fact that they had called that relationship, too.

They were likely smiling down on them, comforted in the fact that they still had each other. And maybe they weren't really a part of it, they couldn't be there with them as they went to The Three Broomsticks, or celebrated, finally, the end of dark days. But they had each other, and Ron couldn't ask for anything more. One day at a time. Today was hard, but tomorrow might be better, after all, yesterday hadn't been the greatest. It got better with each day passed. He was one day closer to the day he'd join Harry and Hermione, but better than that, he was a day closer to a bright future. The kind they wanted with each other, the kind they wanted for him. He could do it. For them. For himself. For everybody who died in the war, fighting for the right cause. Because he was the survivor, and he wouldn't let them die in vain. The world was his for the taking, and he would show them all what he could be. He would make it through, HarryandHermione expected it of him. And he could never let them down.

The End