The Assassination of Ronald Weasley

Looking back on it, Hermione told herself she should have known it would happen. It was high-profile event, large crowds. There should have been more protection, more wizards on the lookout. If six years at Hogwarts and one year of traveling around the continent had taught her anything, shouldn't it have been constant vigilance?

The night had not been a usual one to begin with. She and her husband of almost two years, Ron Weasley, were attending the opening of a theater. She, Ron and Harry were often invited to these gala events, and they accepted only as often as to not appear rude. They should have been used to fame by now, but none of them were. They were war heroes. The wizarding world loved them and would honor their names forever. Hermione had lost count of the number of letters they'd received about wizard babies being given the middle name of "Harry," "Ron," or "Hermione." They were touched, but somehow, after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, all they wanted was an anonymous life and to enjoy that life together.

Every day, one of their names was in the headlines. Sometimes the stories were true, like when Ron flew into a jealous rage at a man who had proclaimed his love for Hermione while they were entering their flat in London. Some were false, like the numerous times the magazines had reported that Hermione had been seen buying a pregnancy test. After the sixth time, they stopped writing to request that the story be withdrawn.

Hermione sat in front of her bureau mirror, dressing her hair for the theater's opening. Her anger was well veiled under her calm face. Ron had been taking money out of their Gringotts's account again, and she had no idea where it was going. They made a lot of money as war heroes, speaking at functions, writing articles. Much of their earnings were donated to charity, but they still lived well. Their marriage was a happy one, if a little passionless. They fell into an easy relationship after Voldemort's defeat, and while their wedding had been a small affair, it had been the biggest story that year.

She sighed. She was too tired to spend the night sitting in a box seat next to a man she was angry at, smiling for photographers.

She trusted Ron, however, and reassured herself that everything would fall into place in the end. It always did.

Hermione stood up and adjusted her cream-colored, silk robes. They had been a gift from Ron on their honeymoon, and he liked to see her wear them to these functions. Just as she was thinking of him, he came in through their bedroom door.

"Hullo," he said.

"Hello." She greeted him without smiling. He took this in and, tucking something under his arm, walked over and stood behind her. They looked nice together. Her white robes, and his black ones.

"I have something for you," Ron said and showed her a purple velvet jewelry case.

"Oh, Ron, you shouldn't have," she whispered, and meant it.

"Well, I wanted to," he sounded a little put off. "Open it."

Hermione accepted the large, rectangular box and lifted the cover with a creak. Inside lay a pearl necklace, perfectly laid out. She parted her lips to thank him when she noticed that each pearl, a little larger than she had seen before, had a peculiar purple translucent sheen to them. They were unlike any she had ever seen before, and wondered for a moment if Ron was trying to pass these off as real pearls. She was ashamed of herself for even thinking this, and quickly pushed the thought out of her head.

"Ron, they're magnificent, I don't deserve them!" She rewarded him with a small kiss.

"Yes, you do, and more!"

"They have an usual color to them," Hermione said carefully.

"They're, uh, French," Ron said, blushing, which sounded forced even to him.

Hermione let a minute of quiet go by before she spoke, putting the box on her dresser.

"Well, thank you, Ron. I'll treasure them."

"Aren't you going to wear them?"

"I was going to wear the ruby Harry gave me," she replied, reaching for her jewelry box.

Ron's face drained of color, and he reached over and shut the purple jewelry box violently. "Of course, I should have known. On a night like this, why wear pearls from Ron?"

"Ron-" Hermione started, but he had already left the room.

She didn't know if it was jealousy, inadequacy, or something else that made Ron act the way he did. She knew he was weary of Harry, which may have been understandable with half the tabloids reporting secret rendezvous between Harry and his wife. Still, she was hurt he didn't trust her.

Hermione put the pearls on, and they didn't look so bad with her robes. She looked longing at the ruby Harry gave her on her wedding day. The harsh words from Ron had spoiled the pearls.

Ron was waiting for her in the living room of their flat, sitting on the edge of an armchair. He spoke first.

"They look nice on you." But Hermione was not to be distracted.

"Look, don't you trust me at all?" Ron was silent, but he sighed.

"Of course I do, Hermione, but you're my whole world!"

He waited for some sort of reply, for her to tell him she loved him, but none came, "It doesn't matter," he said, angry again. With a pop, he apparated to the lobby of the theater; Hermione left a second after him.

They had avoided much of the crowd by arriving in the lobby, but there were still some reporters and photographers there. They rushed Ron and Hermione immediately, and they stepped together, and smiled, instinctively.

"Yes, we're very happy with how the theater looks."

"Yes, we're looking forward to the play tonight."

"Yes, we still have plans for a second honeymoon, as soon as we have time."

"No, Harry will not be joining us tonight."

After a few more minutes, an usher appeared to take them to their box seats. They were joined with a few other people, but Hermione was watching everyone else get settled in below. She saw Neville Longbottom and tried to catch his eye, but he was too busy guiding his grandmother to her seat. She also saw Padma Patil, who waved, and Lavender Brown, who pretended not to see her. Hermione felt a small wave of guilt, but told herself she couldn't be responsible for the world. Just because she and Ron were the only ones there when Harry sent the Killing Curse at Voldemort... Everyone had done something to get him there. Even that dolt, Lavender.

Hermione snuck a peek at Ron to make sure he hadn't noticed Lavender. He looked back at Hermione.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"It doesn't matter," she echoed coolly, and Ron, realizing her would not get a friendly word from her tonight, stood up and left.

When he returned, the lights had dimmed. Wizard plays were not so different from Muggle ones, except that the sound was cast around the room in a way that made the actors sound as if they were all around you. This particular play was newly written, and took place during the war that, in reality, had just ended. It was a sad tale of death and unrequited love, and Hermione had been sure to bring a handkerchief in her purse.

The climax of the play was coming. Marguerite, the heroine, has just been told that the man she loved was killed before she had a chance to tell him she cared for him. Hermione was on the edge of her seat. There were a few moment of silence, and there wasn't a sound in the entire theater, not even a sob. Suddenly, Marguerite screamed, and at that exact moment Hermione saw a tremendous white light and was thrown backwards with the force of an explosion. The theater burst into pandemonium with the noise of whatever had just happened, but Hermione heard none of it; her eyes were open but she couldn't hear, smell, or focus on anything. She slowly became aware of people moving around her, and she sat up. Ron, she though, where's Ron?

Hermione was near the back wall of the box, but she saw Ron's bright red hair, his head, on the floor where they had been sitting. Someone helped her up, she didn't see whom, and she tripped and stumbled over to him. Falling to her knees where he lay, she took one look at his face and knew Ron was dead.

She stared for what must have been ages until someone pulled her away from him. Another woman leaned over Ron and started speaking to him. Doesn't she know he's dead, Hermione thought? She still couldn't feel anything, but was aware someone was treating her for burns around her collarbone, chest and shoulders. Her hair was singed in places as well. Completely in shock, she had no idea what had just happened, and could barely take in that the world as she knew it had just changed.

Somehow, Hermione ended up at the Ministry of Magic, wrapped in a blanket in her burnt and torn robes. She sat in front of a man who kept offering her coffee, or fire-whisky if she promised not to tell anyone. She couldn't utter a word, for once, and images came and went before her as if she was watching a slide show.

"Mrs. Weasley, please, we know you're in shock but we're trying to find whoever did this."

No response.

"Do you know what curse this could have been?"

No response.

"Please think, did your husband have any enemies?"

Some time into the night, Hermione eventually began to feel the burns on her body, and started to wonder where Ron was. She cleared her throat, and the man who had been sitting with her looked up.

"Wh-" She cleared her throat again, "Plea- wh- his-" But she couldn't get any further. As the word moved further up her throat, tears pushed it back down. She shook her head, frustrated, as the tears started to run and won over speaking. She put her shaking hands against her face, and sat perfectly still in silent sobs.

"-Ermione! Hermione, I'm here," someone called her from down the hall. "I'm here!"

She moved her hands down to cover her mouth as Harry Potter materialized in front of her, out of breath from a long run. He pulled her up from her seat and embraced her so they could both cry with the comfort of knowing that, while a part of each of them had died tonight, not all was lost.