Survivor - Part 2 (B), Harry/Hermione, Ron
Author: atruwriter
Genre: Tragedy/Romance/Drama
Rating: R
Spoilers: I haven't read Deathly Hallows, this story was written before the book came out and I can't say whether or not spoilers are included. As far as I know, no. I doubt JK and I were on the same wavelength.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any Harry Potter whatsoever. 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.
Images: Chapter image and banner by Alora of The Dark Arts!
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. HHr. 4-parts
Warning: Character death, character suicide - Please do not read unless you are prepared to cry. Very serious content matter!!!
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.”
Continued in Part Three (A)...
Genre: Tragedy/Romance/Drama
Rating: R
Spoilers: I haven't read Deathly Hallows, this story was written before the book came out and I can't say whether or not spoilers are included. As far as I know, no. I doubt JK and I were on the same wavelength.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to any Harry Potter whatsoever. 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.
Images: Chapter image and banner by Alora of The Dark Arts!
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. HHr. 4-parts
Warning: Character death, character suicide - Please do not read unless you are prepared to cry. Very serious content matter!!!
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.”
Continued in Part Three (A)...