Complex Love (Alternate Ending)

Complex Love (Alternate Ending)

Black Hermione Angel

Ron Weasley had been hurt. Oh, he hadn't been stabbed or cursed, but he'd been emotionally hurt. It was, he supposed, mostly his own fault for going out on such a limb. He winced as he thought about the previous night, anger coursing through him. He sat in the common room by the fireplace, playing with his best friend Harry Potter's pocketknife.

* * * * *

Ron sat on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, across from his other best friend, Hermione Granger, playing chess. They were waiting for Harry to get back from Quidditch practice, which was running very late, as everyone else had gone to bed.

Hermione was loosing. And badly. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever failed at, which was something both Harry and Ron thought was good for her. Hermione frowned and then moved one of her pawns tentatively forward.

'Hermy, you know I could take that. But I won't, ' Ron grinned. Hermione sighed in frustration.

'I hate loosing, ' she muttered, glaring at the chessboard. Ron only smiled, and without replying, placed his bishop next to Hermione's queen, which was surprising in itself that she still had her queen. Ron would often do obvious things as he'd just done. Hermione, on the other hand, rarely caught them. She was so intent on other pieces and where to move them so as not to get them killed. This time, however, she caught it.

'Ron Weasley, you did that on purpose, ' she scolded. Even so, she took the bishop.

Ron laughed.

'You still took it, Hermy, ' he said. Hermione smiled as well.

'Well…I wasn't about to pass it up, ' she replied airily. Ron rolled his eyes and grinned, then looked down at the board. At that moment, Harry burst through the portrait hole, looking tired and muddy, but otherwise perfectly cheerful. His deep green eyes sparkled merrily beneath his glasses.

'Oliver's gone mad, ' he informed Ron and Hermione as he flopped onto on of the squishy armchairs behind Hermione. Hermione watched him as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, smiling gently.

'What's Oliver's new scheme now, Harry?' she asked. Ron was surprised. Hermione hated Quidditch, found it boring beyond all reason. Harry looked vaguely surprised as well, but he leaned forward and began to explain all of Oliver's new tactics. Ron watched Hermione as she spoke with Harry.

Ron loved Hermione. He loved her more than he had loved anything in his whole life. Ron loved her so much it scared even him. He'd do anything for her, even die for her…

'What do Fred and George think of all this?' Hermione asked, breaking into Ron's thoughts. Harry looked at her and laughed.

'They're none too please. When Oliver told us to get up at six a.m., they both shouted very loudly, and then cursed in long strings. It was very creative and very fluent. I think they've been practicing at it for a long time, ' Harry told her, grinning. Hermione laughed as well, her cinnamon eyes sparkling. Ron felt a wave of jealousy at the way Harry was looking at her. Harry liked Cho. Cho was Harry's, now that Diggory was dead. Hermione was Ron's

Back off, Harry, Ron thought, suddenly and rather viciously, glaring at Harry, hating him for some reason. He shuddered, banishing the thought. It scared him that his thoughts and feelings could be so hateful.

'I'm off to bed, ' Harry yawned, standing up and stretching.

'Goodnight, Harry, ' Hermione said, from her place on the floor. She suddenly wanted very badly to give Harry a kiss, but managed to restrain herself.

' 'Night, Harry, ' Ron mumbled, jealousy wracking every nerve in him. Harry waved and, yawning, climbed slowly up the staircase to the boys' dormitory. Hermione turned back to the board.

'All right, Ron. Go ahead and win. You're going to anyway, ' she said, glaring once more at the chess pieces, Harry momentarily forgotten. Ron pushed away the image of Harry smiling at Hermione and concentrated intently on the game.

A half an hour later, Ron won spectacularly, leaving Hermione in a bit of a bad mood. The game had taken so long was because Hermione took so long to move her pieces. She stood now, and heard her knees pop.

'I haven't sat on the floor for such a long time. Not since I was a little girl, ' she said, wincing at the needles shooting up her legs. Ron smiled at her, but it was an odd smile, different from the smile Ron often wore. It startled Hermione slightly.

'I'm, erm, off to bed, ' she said, turning to go.

'Wait, Hermy, ' Ron said, grabbing at Hermione's hand. She turned to face him, puzzled.

'I, um, good game, eh?' he said, pink tinting his cheeks.

'It was just like every other game we play, ' Hermione replied, smiling.

'Yea, well, ' Ron dropped her hand and then ran his own through his flaming red hair, blushing more than ever. He took a step towards her and before Hermione knew what was happening, Ron was kissing her. She relaxed without thinking about what she was doing, then realized what was happening and pulled back.

'Ron!' she gasped, her face flushed and her hair tousled, 'What're you—'

'I'm sorry, ' Ron whispered, his face as red as his hair by now, 'It's just—''

Hermione held up one trembling hand, cutting him off.

'Ron, I don't…I mean…I've…never…we, Harry…' she stuttered, trying and failing to find the right words. Ron scowled at his shoes

'You don't like me like that, do you?' he asked, quietly. Hermione heard a bit of bitterness in his voice.

'Well…no, ' She replied regretfully. Ron nodded, still scowling at his shoes. There was a very long, very awkward, pause.

'It's Harry, isn't it?' he asked finally, shattering the silence. Hermione, not trusting herself enough to speak only nodded. Ron snorted acidly.

'Ron, 'Hermione reached out to touch his arm. Ron, however, stepped quickly out of her reach.

'I've got to get to bed, ' he said, in a blank, flat voice, his blue eyes cold and vacant. Hermione bit her lip as he turned away and walked stiffly up to the boys' dormitory.

Now I've gone and done it, Hermione thought resentfully.

* * * * *

Ron stood suddenly, gripping the knife tightly in his hand, knowing what he was going to do, and even though a small sane part of him tried to reason, he ignored that voice, which sounded a lot like Harry. Not something that was helping his mood. There was a mad glint in his eyes as he walked up to the girls' dormitory.

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Everyone except for Ron, Harry, and Hermione had gone to Hogsmeade for the day. Everyone that is, except for the second years and below. But they were all in the library, working on a huge project McGonagall had assigned for Transfiguration. It was just the three of them in the Gryffindor tower that morning. Hermione sat on her bed, bored out her mind. She wanted to find Harry, (she felt a little tingle run through her when she thought of Harry. After last night, she thought she'd finally figured out that Harry really did love her back) but he was still sleeping and she felt weird around Ron. So, she'd taken refuge in her room. She sighed and lay down on her bed, closing her eyes. She'd only just gotten comfortable when the sound of the door opening made her shoot up into a sitting position. She felt her jaw drop when she saw who was standing there.

"What…you're not supposed to be in here, " she mumbled. Ron shrugged, then met her eyes. Hermione felt herself recoil slightly when she saw the look in his eyes.

"Ron?" she asked, timidly, a trickle of fear running into her stomach. She tried to ignore it, told herself Ron would never hurt her. This was before Ron, still smiling strangely, crossed the room in three smooth strides, before she felt the flaring sheet of agony, before her mind had registered what had happened. Before she felt repeated bolts of pain shooting up her body, her nerves screaming, her whole body aching. She was screaming, she knew it, but she couldn't hear it. She knew because her throat was suddenly raw and dry. Everything went white for a moment, then came back into a blurry focus. She saw Ron standing before her, holding Harry's penknife, the end of it scarlet. With Hermione's blood. She noticed that dazedly. She wanted to scream, but she didn't have the strength. She only sat and stared up at Ron, who was watching her, his normally bright, dancing blue eyes full of laughter. But now, they were dark, bulging out of their sockets, wide with cold malice and sudden hatred.

"Take that, Harry, " he muttered softly, "You can't have Hermione if she's dead, " Ron watched her, and then brought the knife down one last time. He slit Hermione's throat, and she felt one last blazing run of anguish, felt the blood run down her neck. Her last thought was that she had, for the first and last time in her life, she'd been wrong. Ron had hurt her. Then everything went black and Hermione Granger knew no more.

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Harry Potter, the owner of the penknife that had killed Hermione, ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. He had heard Hermione's screams and had been acting on instinct as he dashed up the stairs, trying to get to Hermione before something terrible happened to her. He felt a sudden cold jolt run through him, and a chilling certainty that he was too late. He swallowed heavily around the lump in the throat and pushed the feeling away. He flung open the door to Hermione's room. And then he froze.

Ron stood above Hermione's body, staring down at her thoughtfully. Hermione's beautiful cinnamon brown eyes were wide and staring, no trace of the Hermione that had lived there. As Harry watched, Ron bent down, and then kissed Hermione gently.

"Why, Hermione? Things could have been so much better, " he mumbled, smiling insanely as he gazed into Hermione's dead eyes.

"Ron?" Harry gasped. He suddenly found he had no voice left. Ron whirled around and his gaze fell upon Harry. His eyes, once so bright, were now dark with hatred and betrayal.

"Ah. Harry. I was wondering when you were going to arrive on your white horse, " Ron spat, looking at Harry disgustedly, "However, you were too late. As you can plainly see, " Ron gestured towards Hermione's limp body.

"Ron…" Harry repeated, this time more wary. Ron's head suddenly shot up and he stared at Harry for a long time.

"The one thing in life you can't have. Because I took her from you, " he snapped.

"Ron…what?" Harry took a couple steps away from Ron, holding out his hands, palms up.

"Oh shut up, Potter, " Ron sneered, sounding exactly like Draco Malfoy at that moment. Harry shuddered. He wanted very badly to turn and run away, but knew he couldn't. He had to try and help Ron. And then, Ron lunged at Harry, and Harry caught a brief glimpse of his own penknife covered in blood, Hermione's blood, Harry thought wildly, before the taller boy thrust the knife downward and it sank into Harry's chest. Harry shrieked, an impossibly high tenor scream, and doubled over. Ron pulled the knife out violently, then stabbed him in the back, literally. Harry gasped. Ron shoved Harry to the floor, and then was stabbing Harry repeatedly. Harry lay, trembling, on the floor, silent tears running down his cheeks. Flares of pain shot up his body every half second or so as Ron struck him with the knife again and again and again. Harry was faintly aware of Ron saying something, but everything was going fuzzy and he was strongly reminded of how things had been down in the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle had been extremely blurry and…suddenly Ron looked a lot like Riddle. Startlingly so. Color, which had long ago began to fade, didn't make a difference. Ron suddenly struck Harry across the face and it dawn on Harry that Ron had cut his cheek. His body felt sticky, all over, from the multiple stab wounds, from the blood, and Harry felt his tears, along with his own blood, run down his cheeks as he looked up at Ron, dull finality settling in.

"S-So…t-t-this…is how…i-i-it…ends…" Harry gasped, stumbling over the words. Pain rained down on him when he spoke and he felt as though his insides were torn into shreds.

"Yeah, Potter. This is how it ends. You die, the world is happier…" Ron trailed off, grinning again. Then the grin faded.

"Don't you ever talk to me again!" he suddenly screamed his eyes bulging and began to pierce Harry with the knife again, rage boiling over him. Harry only nodded, accepting it. He glanced over at Hermione's body, but he felt no hate for Ron. He closed his eyes, sinking into the blackness that beckoned him.

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Ron kept stabbing Harry long after Harry was dead. He knew Harry was dead, but he kept stabbing him, the rage and anger and pain not out of his system.

"You…stupid…prat…bugger….spoiled…head…larger…than…Percy's…" Ron panted, saying each word every time the knife sank into Harry's no longer creamy skin. He felt hate coursing through his body and wanted to hurt Harry as badly as he could. He suddenly paused and looked at his handiwork. He smiled grimly. Harry's body wasn't even recognizable as a body any longer, that's how mangled it was. His skin, his smooth, creamy skin, was covered in blood, torn to shreds, and in some place, rather large chunks were missing altogether. Ron took the knife, turned Harry's head so that his brilliant green eyes were looking at him. Ron stared heartlessly into Harry's eyes, that once had held a spirit, a life. They'd held light and laughter in them. Now they were just dead, hollow, glass beads in the middle of a bloody head. Ron traced the knife gently along Harry's scar, cutting it open and watching in delight as fresh blood flowed from the wound. Ron studied Harry for a few more minutes, then stood, dropping Harry's head on the floor. It made a dull thud! as it hit, but Ron paid no attention. He was perfectly aware that he was covered in blood, both Harry and Hermione's, but he didn't care, nor did he mind. He kicked Harry's body violently, so that it was laying face down again. He looked around the room and smiled. There were blood splashes all over the walls, the beds, the windows. Ron supposed he'd been a little more enthusiastic than he'd thought. He glanced over at Hermione's body, which was nowhere near as mangled as Harry's, at least it was recognizable, but she was covered in blood as well and her eyes stared hollowly at a place above Ron's head. Her black robes were shredded into ribbons and Ron could see the skin underneath had also been torn, and bloodied greatly. Her bushy brown hair was matted with blood and some gooey substance Ron didn't know. Her hands lay in her lap, each missing a finger or two. Her legs had strips of skin missing, allowing one to see the muscle and tissue underneath.

And Ron stood, admiring his work, smirking to himself. He began to laugh, a hollow, rotten sound, that would have chilled both Harry and Hermione's blood had they still be alive. He laughed and laughed and had to hold his sides, because they began to ache so.

He laughed, giggling at the sight of his two best friends, lying dead on the floor at his feet.