The Price of Freedom (prompt: freedom)
The dancing flames and gentle crackle of the fire is surprisingly soothing as it helps to mute the sounds trickling into the common room through the torn portrait door.
The sounds of celebration.
The sounds of grief.
Sitting on the tattered couch, bruised, battered and exhausted, you cannot help but feel grateful as you run your fingers through the fiery strands of hair pillowed on your lap. Ron drifted off to sleep not too long ago, his breath hitching every so often, a testament to the heart wrenching sobs that wracked his tall frame as his grief consumed him.
He apologized through his tears, but you merely shushed him and held him close, hoping that your touch could sooth him in ways that your words could not. He had clutched at you with a desperate strength, too terrified to sleep, afraid that you would be gone when he awoke.
But you reassured him, just like he had that very first night on the run as you lay side by side in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. That night he had whispered words of hope and comfort before hesitantly reaching over to tangling his fingers with your own. His confident tone, so unlike the Ron of years past, tempered your fear and filled you with a new sense of purpose.
To fight for a better future.
A shadow passes over the fireplace and you look up to see Harry guiding a drawn and despondent Ginny up the staircase to the boys’ dorm where her family has been keeping vigil over Fred’s body. His death has taken a grievous toll on the Weasleys. A family that has supported you in ways that your muggle parents never could.
And you grieve with them.
For Fred. For Tonks and Lupin. For Moody. For Dumbledore. For your fallen classmates and professors. For Teddy, who will never remember his parents. For Harry, who will undoubtedly feel a misplaced burden of guilt. And for the countless others who gave their lives in the fight for a better future.
Ron mumbles your name in his sleep and you hug him closer, reaching over to entwine your fingers with his. He settles down once more and you lean in close, whispering words of love. Words that you haven’t had the chance to say to him face to face.
But you will.
Soon.
When the pain of his grief...and yours...isn’t so fresh in your hearts.
When the cloud of loss no longer obscures the vision of happiness that you dreamed about on the eve of beginning a seemingly impossible task.
You will have your moment.
Soon enough.