Fate Fell Short

Fate Fell Short

By: Lanni Weasley

It is ten minutes to midnight. No, make that ten minutes and seven seconds to midnight. He wasn't one to be picky about details--no, that was never him--but tonight is different. The time is different. The matter is different. The reason is different. He is different.

No longer is he the sarcastic boy, who was enthusiastic about Quidditch. That had been a long time ago when he could scream his voice hoarse or hover on his broom with a bit of pride in the Quidditch stadium during a game while people screamed their hearts out to encourage them all--and discourage them. No longer is the boy who had gone on so many fun adventures and had done so many things. The boy who could look brave in the darkest of times had disappeared.

Ron Weasley sits on the couch in the common room, staring at the fire crackling in the fireplace. He has been at this for maybe an hour--an hour, two minutes, and fifty-five seconds, to be precise. Occasionally, he gives the clock a quick glance. He took off his wristwatch in hope of stopping himself from seeing what time it was. He had forgotten about the old grandfather clock in the common room.

He is trying to think clearly--oh, yes, he is trying so hard--but he just can't. His own thoughts won't let him. There are too many things on his mind at once--too many things he wants to know right now--too many things that are too painful. And in a strange way, he doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to feel. He doesn't want to hurt. Because there are far too many things that will make him feel and far too many things that will make him hurt. And he doesn't want that. He doesn't want anything to do with any of that. He wants to rid of his emotions for once. He wants to be... empty.

But he can't be empty because he has no such luck with such things. These things--his wishes--never happen, and he is afraid that his deepest one--at the moment--might never happen. This has to be the worst night in the world of his entire life. He hates sitting here in this room silently, mulling over what might be happening in the mean time. He hates wondering if he will live to see tomorrow or if his best friend will live to see the sun rise. He hates thinking that he might never get a chance to tell the girl of his dreams that he really does love her. To put it simply, he hates the world right now.

Hermione Granger is in the room too, although she is not glowering at the fire beside him, contemplating her future--or if she even has one. She sits on the window sill beside the window. She looks outside into the dark, but she can see nothing. It is raining too hard. It is too dark. She hates those facts--she hates facts, for once in her life. Usually, she hated wondering if things were true or if they were not true, but tonight--tonight is different.

She is different, too. The bookworm girl that scolded the two boys on their homework negligence had vanished into thin air. The smiling, bushy haired girl had... evaporated. What was there to smile about now in a world so full of hate? Where was the love that there had once been? Had it merely faded away with the cheerful, brilliant girl? She supposes it has. There is something that they both hate in common though.

Harry Potter, their best friend, is not sitting in the Gryffindor common room with them this night.

Both wonder if he ever will do it again. Both wonder if he will ever live to do it again. And neither of them knows the answer to these wonders. While everyone had been sleeping in their dormitories so soundly and safely, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had come onto the Hogwarts grounds. And they are still very much there.

Hermione is mad that she can't see what is happening out there. All of the members of the Order of Phoenix--all of them--and Harry are out there right now, fighting in the Final Battle. Dumbledore had strictly not allowed Ron and Hermione to follow them into the conflict in the rain and to ensure their ever safety--and to make sure that they didn't follow--he had locked them in the Gryffindor common room with no way out. Here and there, flashes of light appeared and every time she sees a flash of green light, she takes a sharp intake of breath, wondering if someone has died or dodged the Killing Curse.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is eight minutes until midnight. And Ron snaps.

He couldn't take the silence anymore. It was too much of a deathly silence. With each passing second, he had mulled over whether he might be missing an older brother or father--or mother--and his heart stopped each time. Was Fred or George dead? Could Charlie be an inch from death? Was Bill dueling with five Death Eaters at one time and slowly losing his energy? Was his father on the ground, his pool of blood being washed off of the green grass by the rain? Was his mother being tortured to death cruelly by a laughing Death Eater--?

Stop thinking about all of that, Weasley, Ron scolds himself in his mind, beginning to pace around the room now. You'll only hurt yourself if you do. You have to be strong--for Ginny--for Hermione. You have to be brave and you have to be strong.

"You have to believe," Hermione suddenly whispers in the silence. Ron's thoughts were all dashed away and for that, he is grateful. He stops pacing and looks at Hermione softly. She is still looking out of the window, rain pounding against it ruthlessly, lightening flashing violently, and thunder retaliating mercilessly. He sees his own disheveled reflection on the dark window and he knows she is looking at his reflection.

"I believe," Ron says firmly, though he knows perfectly well that he isn't all too sure of that. He believes that someone can get seriously injured and someone can die. He believes that if something good doesn't come out of his, he might become one large basket case. He believes that he might succumb to the darkness that resides inside of him if something doesn't happen soon.

"Do you think...? Do you think that we're going to win?" Hermione asks quietly--longingly. She needs to know what he thinks. She needs to know to keep breathing. She is going to go insane if she doesn't do something, even if that something isn't helping to save the world.

"Dumbledore says so," Ron replies almost automatically. And he wishes the world that it would be true and that they might have their own little happily ever after ending. For once, he wishes that the hero--the prince, he snorts on the inside--would defeat the evil dragon--he could laugh, if that was possible any more--but he doesn't want him to get the damsel in distress.

He feels guilty. He knows he should. He's being a little selfish here, and he knows it. He wants the damsel in distress all for himself. Well, maybe not just for himself, but pretty darn close. He wants to win the girl and he doesn't want the hero to get her. For once, let it be the sidekick who gets the girl, he would find himself wishing constantly. But he knows that the hero deserves her a lot more than he does and that she deserves a prince, just like any other girl. Ron is sullen about such truths.

"But that is Dumbledore's opinion," Hermione states abruptly in the silence. "I want to know if you think we're going to win or die."

Ron sighs deeply and walks over to her slowly. Then, he sits down on the stone window sill next to her, but he does not speak to her just yet. He looks outside too, but, like her, he finds nothing that can neither give him hope or despair. Instead, he's given frustration and apprehension. He finds that he does not like either of these emotions also.

"I... I don't think Harry was ready just yet," Ron murmurs truthfully. She looks over at him, but he is still looking outside into the darkness that seems to be suffocating him on the inside. "I mean, physically, yeah, he was ready to boot and kick arse, but mentally, no, I don't think he was. I think he wanted to wait just a little bit more. He was... caught off guard emotionally; if that makes any sense, which I really doubt it does."

"It does make sense, Ron," Hermione tells him quickly. He sighs again and is still not looking over at her like she wants. "That's what I think too." There's silence between them in which he nods his head mutely, not sure of what to say. Should it be something comforting--soothing? Should it be something deep and dark--truthful? He almost shakes his head.

"Ron, do you think if we could go back in time and change things, this wouldn't be happening?" Hermione asks quietly, looking out of the window along with him. They look at each other's reflections sitting so closely in the window together. He frowns at this; half wondering how much he can really frown. He is also thinking about what she has said. He shrugs his shoulder.

"I don't know," Ron says truthfully. It's dark, he concludes, wondering if this is the right track. "I suppose we could go back in time and save Harry's parents, but they couldn't run forever. Wormtail had already betrayed them and he was their Secret Keeper. They probably wouldn't believe us anyway. Voldemort would kill them sooner or later no matter what we did."

Hermione nods her head, but she says nothing in response. She knows he's not finished yet. After being with him for nearly seven whole years, she knows almost everything there is to know about Ronald Billius Weasley. She ponders if he's being truthful with her and she is not for sure. When desperate times came around, he was a little peculiar.

"We could go back even further into the past and stop Tom Riddle from turning evil. We could teach him that not all Muggles are horrible--just a few--and Muggle-borns are smart and great and beautiful--" Ron stops himself after nearly slipping it all up. He wonders if she heard him, but he dares not look at her. However, she had not caught him and he was lucky. "We could go farther and stop Tom Riddle's mother from meeting his Muggle father; therefore, Riddle would never have been born.

"We could, but who knows what might happen. Maybe the fear was what brought James Potter and Lily Evans together and if there was no danger, there would be no Potters and no Harry. Sirius might not have ever grown up the way he did, but he might not have been friends with James. Remus might have had to go through his Hogwarts years alone and dejected. Peter would be good and I wouldn't have had a rat for a pet. I'd still be poor, most likely. But, would I have met you and became friends with you? There would have been no troll in the bathroom and that means, no Golden Trio--no us."

Hermione nods her head again. She knows that he is right, but she wishes that there could be something she could do. She wishes that there could be something she could change that would make peace now and keep the rest the same, but she knows that there is not. She shakes it out of her mind.

"But, in your heart, if there was one thing you did in your life that you could go back in time and change, what would it be?" Hermione whispers in a barely audible murmur. He thinks about this for a while. He is silent and she contemplates whether he had heard her or not. Right when she gets ready to repeat the question, he opens his mouth to answer.

"Nothing," Ron simply declares, shaking his head slightly. "I have no regrets in my life."

She finds this very hard to believe. "No regrets at all?" Hermione repeats incredulously. He shakes his head slowly.

"None," Ron insists calmly. She wants to believe him. And she wishes that she was the same way because she is not. She has so many regrets that she cannot count them all. There is suddenly a low rumble that shakes the floor and walls, but it is not that noticeable. Nothing falls and no one stirs. Only the two of them and the silence seems to have been disturbed by it.

"Did you feel that?" Hermione demands worriedly, looking around the common room nervously. He nods his head slowly and then looks at her calmly.

"Yeah, yeah, I felt that," Ron mutters in response, his eyes landing on her slowly. She looks so scared; she looks so alert. Yet in her eyes, he can see that she is gravely tired. There are bags underneath her eyes and she fights the yawns continuously. He wants her to be able to sleep.

"What do you think it was?" Hermione questions concernedly.

"The conflict in the rain," Ron explains softly. She looks at him quickly, fear flitting across her face very rapidly. She's horrified. She's terrified. Had they broken into the castle? Were they going to die? Did Harry and all of the Order already die? She shudders and tears brim in her brown eyes suddenly.

"Ron, I'm scared," Hermione admits faintly. In one swift movement, she is in Ron's arms and she's quietly sobbing into his chest. He does not care that she is wetting his shirt like the rain. He doesn't want her to be scared; she deserves the very best. He cradles her strongly and rocks her back and forth, rubbing her back soothingly.

"It's alright; everyone gets scared," Ron tells her peacefully. He lays his chin on top of her head and takes in a deep breath of the scent of her now limp brown hair. The year has taken a toll on it, he knows. It has been chaotic and it has been so hard on her. He wants to take the pain away, but he doesn't know how to do that. He never seems to learn anything correctly or do anything right. Maybe tonight is also the night that he can do something right.

"I'm so cold," Hermione cries into his shirt lowly. "It's so cold. I feel like there's no hope left. I feel like I'm surrounded by thousands of Dementors." He knows it is cold because he is also freezing. He swears that at times, he can see his breath, though he is by the fireplace. The pressure of apprehension is so hard he feels lower than low. He should be out there--helping--not in here--but isn't he trying to help now?

"What happens if we die tonight?" Hermione mumbles, rubbing her face in his shirt, taking in what could be the last smell she ever smells in her life. She must admit; it is the best smell in the world. "What would be the last thing you would say before you die?"

There is more silence between them. There is not a sound. The rain seems to have stopped, but both know that it hasn't. They just can't hear it because they are too wrapped up in themselves. For the first time tonight, Ron connects eyes with Hermione and they stare at each other without a blink. He reflects on what he would say. He would be with her. What would he say? What would he say? And then, it came to him. He knew all along.

"That I love a girl named Hermione Jane Granger," Ron murmurs truthfully. He leans in. She leans in. It's fate, they both decide. It was meant to be. They were meant to live for this moment, possibly. With a very gentle touch, their lips meet in a silent agreement.

They are in awkward positions--yes, they are--but they both feel very comfortable. She tilts her head just a little more, but the kiss is still gentle. It is quite warm, which is so good to her; it is warming her up slowly. The skin on her cheek where his hand lay is burning and she absolutely loves the sensation. She's lost in an infinite amount of bliss--something she hasn't felt in months.

His mind is exploding and all caution has been shattered. He cannot believe this is happening, but he believes it anyway. He feels like screaming, but he wants to continue the kiss. He does not go any further than he thinks she wants because he doesn't want to hurt her. And that is when he is reminded. He pulls away from her and he is feeling guilty again.

"Ron..." Hermione whispers.

"This--we shouldn't be doing this," Ron mutters shamefacedly. "We're in here, kissing, and they're out there, fighting--dying. It's not... not right. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"No, don't be," she tells him quickly. "I think we both needed it and it's the only way we could cope with all of this. We're going to be stuck together whether we know it or not, but..." There was silence again and she looks away from him in the inevitable awkwardness.

"Now what do we do from here?" Ron asks abruptly. She looks back at him quickly and he looks very serious about what he has just said. He looks back at the window and presses his palm against the glass and it is cold. He thinks that he can almost feel the rain from the other side.

"I... I don't know," Hermione mutters under her breath sheepishly. "I never thought about it until now."

"Do we forget about it? Do we move on? Do we act like that just didn't happen?" Ron replies quickly, not really asking questions, but giving propositions. She doesn't like any of these suggestions and neither does he, to be honest. "Or do we remember it? Do we live with it and go further? Do we act different now that we know that it has happened? Do we... change?"

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione sighs truthfully, looking up at the ceiling and biting her lip. She wants to know desperately. She always needs to know. And when she doesn't, she is mad, and now, she is very mad because this is very important to her--and him.

They are silent with each other. He knows that he has no answers and he believes that she does not have any either. This is very different from any Potions question. So, he understands naturally. No matter how much he would like to believe that she is perfect, it is her faults that make her so beautiful.

"Do you think they can see the light from the common room up here from down there?" Ron suddenly asks out of the blue. Hermione cocks her head and ponders this. "If they do, couldn't they come up with the assumption that we are still awake and watching?"

She realizes that he is right. They could probably see such a bright light in the darkness, though they could not see their shadowy figures in the darkness. She doesn't want that. She wants to watch and wait in silence, without any troubles, and then wake up in morning with everything alright.

"It's possible--even probable," Hermione answers shakily in a would-be calm voice. She tries to suppress the urge to shudder and tries to tame the shake in her voice. She gulps it down her throat. "Maybe we should turn the lights down..."

Ron takes his wand out, since he is facing the fire in the first place, and points it at the fireplace. He then quietly mutters the spell and the flames are immediately doused. Suddenly, the brightly lit room is dark and cold. They can barely see two feet in front of themselves, and Hermione begins to wonder if that was such a good idea now. When lightening flashes, she sees that Ron is not with her anymore.

"Ron? Ron, where are you?!" Hermione cries out, snapping her head wildly in every direction possible, her eyes wide and filled with tears. This just can't be the end--

"Hermione, I'm to your left," Ron's voice says softly in her ear and she immediately slumps again calmly, breathing a sigh of relief. She feels him take her small hand in hers and they fit like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. "I'm going to sit on the couch. Do you want to come?"

"Yes, yes, I do," she breathes, alleviated. Although she needs no help, he helps her feet land softly back to the floor. With his hand in hers he guides her to the couch in the darkness slowly. He sets her down on the couch lightly and then sits down next to her. When he starts to let go of her hand, she grasps it in a small attempt to stay connected with him somehow.

"Harry isn't going to live, is he," Ron mumbles heavily, as he sinks lower in his seat on the couch. He is still taller than her, though he has slouched down. She takes a deep breath and looks at his face. He is illuminated for just seconds when lightening flashes.

"Harry's going to live, you'll see," Hermione tells him brightly, trying to put a small smile on her face to encourage him. She recounts what she has told herself every night before she went to sleep since that last Christmas night. He doesn't look her and continues to look somewhere in the darkness. She decides to continue anyway; she can at least cheer herself up possibly. She gives the best smile she can--which isn't that much--and flatly tells him:

"Harry's going to defeat Voldemort tonight; he's going to be sleeping soundly in the Hospital Wing when we all wake up, and everything's going to be alright again. He's going to grow up, marry Luna, become Minister of Magic, and have all of the twelve children Trelawney predicted.

"All of your family will come out alive and very much great heroes--and one heroine--you'll get rich, and you'll be able to afford new things. Fred and George will be successful businessmen--right after Fred at last proposes to Angelina--Bill and Fleur will get married and have three kids, Charlie will conquer his fears and ask Tonks out, Percy will stop being an obnoxious git and will admit that he was wrong and you will all reconcile with him--after many torturous pranks on him, of course--your mother and father will finally go on their honeymoon, and Ginny will stop having nightmares and she will become a famous reporter after a--slightly hostile--take over of the Daily Prophet.

"Remus will finally be able to live, knowing that the two wars that have taken his best friends from him are both finished and done with, find the girl of his dreams that will accept him easily, and have some kids of his own--that won't be furry. Moody won't have to be so paranoid, though we all know that he will still be overly suspicious and extra nutters. Professor Dumbledore can finally take a break and go somewhere very far away, and who knows, maybe finally hit it off with Professor McGonagall.

"Snape can--erm--well, I actually don't know what's going to happen to him. Maybe he'll finally get that Defense Against the Dark Arts position he wants or maybe he'll become the next Dark Overlord. Perhaps he'll open up to us and be very nice, which, I believe, is never going to happen. Neville can relax knowing that his parents' torturers are gone and will never be free again and he'll be very brave and no so much as bashful, which means he'll get a girlfriend and then get married.

"Draco Malfoy can... he can come out of hiding and actually live his life without having to watch his back constantly in fear that his father or some other random Death Eater will murder him. He'll find the girl in his dreams, get married, and have four kids, the first a son.

"We're... we're all going to be alright and live wonderful lives because it's... our fate," Hermione surmises. And she hardly believes that any of that will happen and what she has just said is a bunch of bullocks. But, as she always reminds herself, it is a wonderful, hopeful bunch of bullocks that keeps her invariably sane. She wonders if he had been paying attention to what she has said and when he doesn't speak, she figures that he hasn't. But yet again, she is proven wrong.

"What is going to happen to us?" Ron whispers feebly. She looks over at him slowly and sees that he is staring into the dormant fireplace. He looks expressionless and tired. "You didn't mention us."

"Well, that's just it, I don't know my future and I don't know yours. I can't know because it's all a mystery to me still," Hermione sighs, not sure what to say. Every night, she thought about it, of course, but she will never say it in front of him. "It's still a mystery to me, as every day ahead of me is."

"Do you think we could start dating and eventually get married?" Ron asks coolly, as if talking about marrying someone that is sitting next to you is not nerve wracking. She looks at him quickly, again, not sure of what to say. It is, after all, what she wants. "Do you think it's possible that we might live a wonderful life together out in the country with a large house and a few kids of our own? And would Harry and Luna visit us every Wednesday along with Ginny in her fancy robes? Would we be able to go on many trips around the world? Could we wake up every morning and look at each other with a bright smile on our faces that mirror each other's?"

"I... I don't know, Ron," Hermione replies regretfully. She really wants to know; and she feels as if she needs to know when she knows that she cannot until it happens. And then, she adds in an undertone under her breath, "I want it to happen."

They are hushed again until Ron asks something else, "Who shall Ginny marry?" Hermione thinks about this and finds an answer that is just too devilish to pass up. Even in this dark time, maybe one little joke will brighten their night.

"Oh, she's going to marry Draco Malfoy, Ron," she giggles impishly. He looks at her quickly and she is smiling a real smile. He smiles too because he hasn't seen one in so long. And then, they both frown because they know that they shouldn't be smiling. It is all too complicated. They look away from each other again and sigh.

Ron comes to terms that it is guilt that will probably always separate him and Hermione for eternity; it will be guilt that drives a wedge between them. He sighs at what he believes is the inevitable and shakes his head at it.

There's another low rumble and it vibrates the couch. Hermione grips Ron's hand tightly. It is silent, except for the rain, and their heavy breathing is loud in the deathly silence. She lays her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. He lays his head on hers.

And then, he hears it. The final tick of the old grandfather clock and it chimes. It is midnight and he is finished for the night. They can't go to sleep in their beds so they both fall into a restless sleep on the couch with each other as pillows.

One is dreaming of the bright future, in which her eyes flutter open to see him standing above her with a warm smile on his face, while the other is dreaming of the dark future, in which he is sobbing at a gray tombstone that bears her name, his sister standing to the side, silently crying to herself at their parents' graves. Either way, they are both dreaming of the days to come, no matter how different each dream is to the other.

~*~

The next morning, Ron awoke with a start. He stares around the dark room wildly. He stops when he feels something stir and moan beside him. He looks down cautiously to see Hermione sleeping against him and last night's events flood into his mind. He takes a deep breath and sighs. He looks at the window and sees the sun only starting to rise above the Forbidden Forest's trees.

He wants to check the Hospital Wing to see if... if Harry is still alive. He carefully gets up from the couch, holding Hermione up in the same position, and then he lays her on the couch gently. He finds a scrap piece of parchment and scribbles down a note:

Hermione,

I went to the Hospital Wing so don't worry about me. Harry won; I can feel it in my bones. Don't get so worked up; I'll be just fine. You just wait for me, okay?

Love, Ron

He re-reads it and sees his blunder. He attempts to scratch out the word, "love", but it is being difficult with him and it just keeps reappearing for some reason. After his twentieth time of scratching it out and it reappearing, he gives up and sets the note down beside her.

He walks over to the portrait door and pushes on it. To his astonishment, it gives and opens up. He walks out of it silently and slowly walks to the Hospital Wing. Apprehension and dread is tied up in a knot in his stomach and he is suddenly feeling very nauseous. Perhaps going to the Hospital Wing wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He sees the huge doors, closed, and he stops at them abruptly. He begins to wonder if he really wants to see if Harry is still alive. He hates to think of how he will feel if he finds out Harry is dead. He especially hates to think of how he could tell Hermione and how she will feel if that happens.

But he can't be dead because it's... not fate. And he's Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived; he couldn't die--just not yet, at least. It was fate that he would live through this and finally be able to live the good life he so very much deserved. It was his destiny...

Ron shoves his doubting thoughts to the back of his mind and touches the wooden door. They burn so badly, but he ignores it. He pushes the door open lightly and he almost jumps back at what he sees. The Hospital Wing is filled to capacity with patients, some with mere bumps and bruises while others are hurt severely and bleeding. He counts head and sees if he can find out how many are... dead.

"Ron, what are you doing here...?"

Ron looks up immediately and his stomach does an inevitable flip flop. It's not Harry, but Remus Lupin, who is looking just as tired and a little bloody. He has a huge icepack on top of his head and has two huge black eyes. He has a few scratches, but nothing major.

"Pr-Professor Lupin," Ron stammers, his eyes widening, "I came to see... to see if... who... yeah..." He can't even finish his sentences because they are too hard to repeat. He looks at his feet, but the tips of his ears do not redden. He is neither ashamed nor embarrassed by his stammering, but he is afraid.

"Ron, I think you should go back to the Gryffindor common room," Remus tells him sternly. Ron looks up to see his former professor giving him a firm, yet gentle look and he begins to wonder who died. Names shoot through his mind a mile per hour.

"My parents--are they--are they--"

"Ron, go back to the Gryffindor common room," Remus orders him firmly, his bottom lip almost to the point of trembling. "You shouldn't be here just yet. You can... you can come back later."

"My gods, Lupin, are my parents dead or alive?!" Ron shouts, scared half to death. When Remus doesn't answer him right away, Ron pushes him out of the way and begins to fight his way through the crowd to find his family. Remus grabs his wrist, but he jerks it out and continues his search.

There is a bed with white curtains around it and his heart shoots up into his throat immediately. He takes a slow, hesitant step towards it, wondering who is behind the curtains. Ghastly pictures of his mother, father, or one of his brothers swarm in his mind's eye and he is terrified. Without warning, someone pulls him away from the bed and crushes him in a tight hug.

"Ron!" a woman screams, sounding relieved and horrified at the same time. He recognizes the shrill voice as his mother's and he almost cries out. He hugs her back.

"Mum, you're--you're alive!" Ron says shakily. She pulls back and nods her head quickly, giving him a very appreciating look of kindness. She has a few cuts, but they are healing. She hugs him again. "Mum, where are dad and the others?"

"They're healing, dear," his mother replies kindly. Complete relief floods through Ron's veins and he is happy once again. All of his family is alive and they will stay alive. He smiles unconsciously, but then frowns again. If none of his family members had died, then why hadn't Remus wanted him to enter the Hospital Wing? Then, it hit him and he remembered someone else that was family. If it wasn't one of his immediate family members, then it had to be--

"Harry..." Ron mutters under his breath. His mother immediately pulls away from him and grips his shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes sternly. And he knows. He knows that Harry is dead now, but he doesn't want to believe it. It just can't be possible.

He wrenches himself out of his mother's arms and he turns around in circles, staring wildly at everyone. They are all giving him mournful looks and his dread pulls tighter in his stomach once again. His eyes land on the white curtain shielded bed and he realizes: That's where Harry is.

He can sense his mother trying to grab his wrist, but he walks away from her and heads toward the curtain covered bed. People are standing far away from it and they are not looking at it. He knows that behind those curtains, his friend lay, not breathing. He touches the curtain and his stomach does one more queasy back flip. He tries to ignore it and he peels the white curtains back. What he sees makes him pale immediately, causing his freckles look strange on a white milked face.

There is Harry, lying on the wonderfully white sheets, slowly turning red from the inside out. His heart falls into his stomach and his stomach churns horribly. Harry's eyes are halfway open and his mouth is slightly parted. His black hair is still soaked with water--or is it sweat?--and sticking to his forehead, while his skin is pasty. His robes are a little ripped and he is scarred all over now.

But what kills Ron the most is that Harry's green eyes--his wonderful, lively green eyes--are cold and empty, and Ron doesn't know if he will live himself for he might die in the next second. He wants to look away, but he cannot. With wide, mortified eyes, he stares at Harry's lifeless eyes. Suddenly, someone closes the curtains up again and he is left to stare at them instead.

"Ron, I'm... I'm terribly sorry. I... I don't know what... He told us... He told me to leave him, but I didn't and I saw what happened," Remus explains as best as he can without crying himself. Ron is just too shocked to cry or do anything. He is strangely numb and feels as empty as he possibly can. He merely halfway listens. "He used all of his energy--all of his life--and a brilliant light shot out of his wand and hit Voldemort directly. Voldemort just disintegrated on the spot and Harry... Harry collapsed. He told me to tell you... to tell you that he... he'll miss you and that he loves you and Hermione like family. He told me to tell Luna that he... that he loves her so much... Ron, I'm so sorry..."

Remus seems to have also almost used all of his energy just to tell Ron this. He abruptly crumples into the closest wooden seat and puts his face in his hands. He could've possibly been crying to himself, but Ron doesn't stay to see. He backs away from the bed, still in shock, and turns around quickly. He pushes through the crowd and bursts out of the Hospital Wing.

From there, he runs. He runs as fast as he can to a far away place. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want to look back. Perhaps if he runs far enough and long enough, he'll leave everything behind and it'll all be good again. Harry won't be dead. No one will be hurt. He won't have to cry. He won't have to tell Hermione, Ginny, and Luna that their best friend--their hero--has passed away. Perhaps, he thinks.

That is when he stops suddenly, standing right before the large door in the Entrance Hall. If he leaves everything behind, he'll leave Hermione behind and his family too. He knows that he wouldn't be able to stand that. He sighs and realizes what he has to do; no matter how much he detests having to.

The pitter-pattering of feet suddenly dances into his ears. Someone is running from behind him. He turns around and sees Hermione running down the stairs from the Gryffindor Tower. He knows she is heading for the Hospital Wing and his stomach does a back flip. He really doesn't want her to see Harry; she'd be so tortured for the rest of her life. He already knew that he was.

As if by fate, Hermione looks to the side while running and she sees a flash of red hair--Ron's red hair, she knows. She puts the brakes on and stops immediately. It is undoubtedly Ron standing beside the door. She stares at him and he stares back at her. She sees the positively tormented expression on Ron's face and she knows immediately.

She stops breathing and closes her eyes. It can't be possible. She knows now that her friend never got to live to see the first sunset without Voldemort and he would never get to taste victory with friends and family. And she is deeply miserable by these facts and she hates them.

She falls forward and finds that Ron is standing in front of her when she crashes into his body. She sobs into his shirt and clutches his vest tightly in her hands. Her chest shakes violently with wretched sob after another. He wraps his arms around her gently and lets his own salty tears soak into her brown hair. They stay in this position for a long time, simply sobbing loudly until they ran out of tears.

Hermione sinks to the floor pulling Ron down with her slowly. She touches the ground with her knees curled up underneath her uncomfortably. He sits down next to her, tears still flowing down his face. She rubs her face into his vest again and weakly whispers, "This wasn't supposed to happen..."

~*~

It's July 31^st. It is a fancy Wake, Ron decides. After all, one famous hero deserves the very best. He would never get something like this, but he doesn't really care.

What Ron cares about right now, is Hermione. It has been a few weeks since the death of Harry and she has definitely not been taking it well at all. Though he knows that he is a bloody mess--even in his black suit and white shirt with a tie--he has realized that she looks absolutely awful. He hates seeing her look like that so much. Her beautiful smile has faded in the summer because the summer no longer gives her a warm greeting, but a cold twist of fate.

However, today she looks a little more lovely than usual. He knows that Ginny sucked up her tears so she could do Hermione's make up and hide the bags under the older girl's eyes. She's wearing a dainty black dress with some black shoes. She would look very pretty had she not been frowning deeply with very cold brown eyes. She is sitting in the corner of the room, trying her best not to cry and ruin her make up. He knows that she is trying to look strong, but he knows that on the inside, she is crumbling.

Ron is leaning against the wall, though not directly across from Hermione, but on the other side of the room in a position where he can see her clearly. He can also see the coffin in which Harry's body is laying in and it is not giving him a very comforting feeling. He doesn't want to be here, but he knows that he has to and he wants to pay Harry all of the respect he deserves.

But right now, it is not his turn to see Harry. He looks over and sees that Ginny is standing in front of the coffin alone. He can see a few tears gleaming on her cheek and she wipes them off quickly, hoping that no one saw them.

Fresh out of hiding, Draco Malfoy--tall, pale, and despondent looking--stumbles over to her side. He pulls out a white handkerchief and holds it out to her. She takes it and blows in it. She keeps it there as a few more tears slid out of her light brown eyes. He pulls her into a gentle hug and takes her away from the coffin before she starts to wail out in anguish.

Ron decides that it is his turn to see his departed best friend. He staggers over to the coffin, looking as if he has had a little more than a few Firewhiskeys. He admits; he had been tempted to do that right before coming to the Wake. He would've done it too, had it not been for the fact that he had done the same thing two weeks ago. He stops at the coffin and stares down in it.

He is somehow pleased to see Harry looking much better since the last time he had saw him. He is not milky white anymore and his hair is looking unruly--but dry--as ever. In a pressed tux that he never owned himself and his glasses repaired and shining, he looks good. Ron is even more pleased that Harry's eyes are closed because now he doesn't have to see his empty eyes, which is how his own blue eyes are now. The irony is so uncanny that it stings.

"Hey, mate, it's Ron. Been a long time, few weeks, hasn't it?" Ron says, knowing full well that Harry would never be able to reply. He doesn't care though. He feels that he might feel better, if just a bit, if he talks to Harry--make a few confessions.

"It's been real dull without you, I'm telling you. Everyone's so depressed; I bet you're sitting up in Heaven waving your fists at us, shouting at us to go party or something." Ron gives a hollow chuckle as he can plainly envision Harry in white robes with white wings and a gold ring above his head, screaming at them and waving his fists. "You'd have probably strangled me if you saw me getting trashed two weeks ago. I'm telling you, that was a real shame. I'm never touching Firewhiskey or any other type of alcohol again."

There is utter silence. Ron bites his lip and fights the urge to grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him fiercely, yelling at him to wake up and knock it off. He almost feels as if Harry is still here, just playing to be dead, and he'll sit up and laugh in a cheerful voice, "Made you look!" It's killing him, he knows.

"Luna, she's... she's really sad for once. She misses you so much. She really loves you, ya know. I think you meant the world to her. You made her feel like one of us. You know, you were really her first true friend, buddy." Ron sighs and looks over his shoulder to see Luna staring out of the window hopelessly, tears that she was unaware of rolling down her face. He looks back at Harry and leans on the coffin, as if resting.

"Ginny, well, Ginny's crying on Malfoy's shoulders right now. Yeah, yeah, he's out of hiding. You know, I'll never get used to calling him 'Draco'. We never did get it right. Anyways, like I was saying, Ginny really misses you. You were her rich, youngest, older brother. After all, I was older than you."

He flashes a smug grin and can almost envision Harry popping up and smacking him upside the head for that remark. Harry never took it well when he rubbed the fact that he was younger than him in his face. He stops grinning and sighs deeply again.

"Mum's weeping into dad because you were like a son to her. You were like her son. She really cared about you that much. I think she's feeling guilty, ya know. I think she thinks that she was supposed to take care of you since your mum passed away. I believe she thinks that she was your surrogate mother and that she owed it to your mum and dad to help raise you, even though she did it only a bit.

"Fred and George have declared that they will kill every single Death Eater they find. They're really pissed off that you kicked the bucket, Harry. I'm kind of afraid of them now. And yeah, Fleur is ruining her make up for once and crying. Really, it's a strange sight, Harry, wish you could see it. It's kind of disturbing, if you ask me. Charlie and Tonks are comforting each other. They're sitting so close that it'd make you sick, honestly. They aren't sitting closely. I think Tonks is sitting on Charlie. Really, I've already lost my lunch and I can't lose much of anything else."

Ron bites his lip and looks back to Hermione, who is still sitting in the little corner, pressing her black little dress down a bit more. He looks back at Harry. "Hermione, she's a ruddy mess. She can't stand it without you here with us. I'm worried about her, ya know. I'm scared that she might hurt herself she's in so much pain. I bet you're laughing up there, Harry, because I just said I was worried about her. It has gotten real old, you know. Well, she misses you terribly. She thought you were going to live. She had my hopes up again. Never doubted you, but you know me, I'm a naturally negative nowadays. She said that it wasn't your fate to die. You weren't supposed to die, mate."

Ron's now willing himself to believe that Harry really is faking it. It would be a cruel joke, but hey, that was Harry for you. At least, that is what Ron is telling himself in his mind. He sighs again and has found that he has left one person out somehow. He has left out himself once again. He can just imagine Harry rolling his eyes and shaking his head at him.

"Me, well, if you can't tell already, I'm turning into a bloody basket case. Look; I'm talking to a stiff and it seems so normal to me. I've gotten trashed and I can't cry. Look at me; I'm eighteen and I can't even cry at all. Is that normal? Well, if talking to a dead body is normal to me now, I suppose not being able to cry is normal too. And I'm sorry; I know my hair's a bloody disaster site. I would've tried to comb it for you, but I was busy brooding over all of this.

"You--you shouldn't have died. I should've been there for you when it really counted. I should've been there to help you--save you. Instead, I was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, doing the only thing I could possibly do that would make you happy. Well, I didn't snog her right out. I thought that it would be rude and you know, it just wasn't the right time. I--she--we kissed and you were right--you're always right--it was great. But, you were out there fighting and we stopped, just fell asleep against each other in the darkness on the couch."

Ron steadily begins tapping a rhythm to a song he'd learned last summer. Charlie had brought over a Wireless Wizarding Network and he and Harry had sat in his room for hours at a time, just listening to the different types of music.

They had found a really loud and exciting song that they both had really liked. He remembered a morning when they'd woken up and was playing the guitar with their brooms in just their boxers when Hermione and Ginny had walked in unannounced. He grins unconsciously, remembering the sight of Harry's red face.

"Good times, Harry, good times I'll miss. You were rich and famous and still become best friends with a poor and average boy and a bossy bookworm. Hey, you needed us, don't deny it. I was your hot-headed, surly bodyguard and Hermione was your Council Advisor and Tutor, though we didn't use the advice part of her very often. We had the adventures every boy wishes for. You gave me the best life I could have possibly had.

"You fought a great fight, mate, and you are the greatest hero in the world. You shouldn't have been so modest. If I was the Boy Who Lived, I would have lived it up. Cheesy, I know, but, hey, who's really complaining? This is what happens when I attempt humor in a desolate time like this."

Ron looks around the room and looks at each depressed face in the room. There are many people from the Ministry that he doesn't know, but he doesn't really want to know. He looks back at Harry, who probably doesn't want to know either.

"It's not the same without you here--never will be, changed too much. It was too brief, our little meeting, you know. We hadn't even known each other for seven years--just under it by a few months. I'm gonna wake up tomorrow morning thinking, 'Bloody hell, my best friend's dead and I'm alone. What am I going to do now?' I did everything with you... Where do I go now that you're gone?

"I wish you wouldn't have left. If you hadn't, I wouldn't be making a fool out of myself and spilling my guts out right now. I wouldn't have gotten trashed--yet. You see, that's something that you have to do with your friends for the first time, but I used my free card on your death. Pitiful, eh? Now I know you want to kick my arse.

"Remember how we all first met? I was this shy, red-headed, awkward boy that couldn't find a single compartment that wasn't full to capacity. Well, you want the truth now, don't you? I did see the little compartment with just Hermione in it, but as I thought she was--er--slightly cute then, I definitely did not want to be stuck with her alone. That, my friend, is how I landed up with you. Kind of ironic, isn't it?

"And you know, the next thing we know, the two of us are sneaking in the hallways and soon, the three of us defeat a troll. It wasn't me that saved Hermione from that troll. She could've died because of my stupid uncouthness. You got on that darn thing's shoulders and stuck your wand up its nose--not me. You were the one that wanted to go save her in the first place--not me. I didn't want to. I would have let her die..."

Ron drops his head and he feels his forehead touch the other edge of the casket. It's cold, but he pays no attention to it at all. He closes his eyes and ignores the burning stares on his back. People are beginning to wonder what he is doing and who he is talking to, but he doesn't care one bit. He's connecting with his best friend and he's talking to Harry. What's so strange about that? What does it matter that he is dead and lying in a coffin? Nothing, that is what.

"You saved my sister, Harry, and for that, I am eternally grateful. You ever wonder why Peter Pettigrew chose to live in my family? Bugger he did though. I had a murderer--your parents' betrayer--as pet for some of my life. Ugh, that was sick. I really do wish you would've let Sirius and Lupin kill him. It would have been... different. Fourth Year"--Ron chuckles emptily again and shakes his head a little--"I was the thing you would miss the most. Aw, Harry, I still feel honored. Never got a chance to tell you that so I guess I'm telling you now. Fifth Year, you had a rough time, screamed a little, but you put up with Hermione and my fights and you were a great friend. And so on.

"Harry, to put it simply, you were the best bud a guy could ever have. Mate, you weren't supposed to be the one to go first. I thought we had made a secret agreement on this predicament. I thought I was the first one to schedule a meeting with my maker, huh? What was the deal out there? You knew that I was supposed to snuff it first. Honestly, Harry, why do you insist on beating me at literally everything? Well, maybe not chess. You never did beat me once, you know. Harry, mate, I miss you and I always will. Please don't haunt me because I'm grieving over your death."

Ron thinks of something. He grins unconsciously. "How's the weather up there? Again, I know, very cheesy, but cheese is good when you're a nutter. Cheese and nuts are very good together. Then again, after looking at Charlie and Tonks, I'm not sure if I want to even think of food right now.

"Anyways, how's Heaven? Is it sunny? Cloudy? Forgive me--again--Harry; I'm sullen, grumpy, depressed, and very dead beat. And you know how I get when I'm... all of that. I don't know how you put up with me when I was in one of my 'moods'. I hope you saw your mum and dad. I'll bet my life savings--which isn't much, I remind you--that they're so proud of their son. They're probably beaming with joy to see you, but sad that you have ceased to exist on Earth.

He can just picture James and Lily greeting Harry in a warm hug, smiling at him brightly with tears of joy and sadness in their eyes. Harry would probably be crying tears of delight because he had never met his parents before. And then, an inevitable picture pops into Ron's eye. He grins impishly.

"Tell me; is it possible to prank in Heaven? If so, has Sirius started up his old ways again? And since you're in the neighborhood, tell them I said, 'Hey, what's up?' alright? That wasn't meant to be cheesy, Harry! I hope they have Quidditch up there. You're playing Seeker with your dad, aren't you? Don't deny it; you're having fun while we're down here sobbing until we dry up like some great prunes. You really are an evil wanker, mate, you really are."

Ron pictures Harry sitting on his broom in a very white place, playing Quidditch with a few other angels or passed on people. He sees Harry looking in his omnioculars and he is looking right down at him, talking to his lifeless body. He's probably laughing--or muttering threats under his breath, either the same. Ron sighs and stops grinning.

"Have a good life up in Heaven and save me a seat at some Quidditch games while you're up there. If you don't, I'll have to hurt you," Ron jokes, ending his life long speech to his friend's departed soul. "See you around, mate. You were the greatest friend I could ever have, Harry. You didn't deserve to die like that."

Ron shakes his head and walks away from the coffin. He pushes himself through the crowd. He looks back and sees Luna affectionately touching Harry's cold hand. A few tears slid out of her blue eyes. He looks away, unable to stand it anymore. He walks past Hermione and heads into the bathroom where he loses whatever else he can possibly lose.

He wipes his mouth off and glares at himself in the mirror. This wasn't supposed to happen. Harry wasn't supposed to die. Hermione told him that it wasn't his fate. It wasn't his fate to die. He wants to punch the glass mirror and break it for the blue eyes are mocking him, though he knows that they are his own. He clutches his fists together and fights the urge to do just that.

Ron tries to cry. Everyone else--grown men too--have mourned Harry's death out loud and in public yet his own best friend... cannot. He's ashamed of this. He tries to make himself cry, but to no avail. He yet again proves that he can fail at the simplest of things and he kicks the door to a stall. It breaks off its loose hinge and smashes against the wall. He groans, frustrated with him and the door. Life was never fair to him and fate always dealt him a bad hand.

~*~

The funeral is over. The sun is slowly setting on the summer funeral of the greatest hero in the world, who died saving the world for love and who was being buried on his eighteenth birthday. The irony of it all simply tore Hermione apart from the inside out. She had somehow managed not to shed a single tear once she had set foot into the funeral home. But now, she thought she might bewail in a sudden fit of long awaited tears and run away forever.

She looks to see if anyone is watching and is about to Apparate back to her place. She would leave a note at the Burrow--where Ron still lived undoubtedly--explaining that she was leaving for the United States where she would get a job in their Wizarding community or Muggle world and live out life there under a new identity. But before she can Apparate, a woman in black moves and she sees Ron.

Ron is sitting down on a stone step. He has shed his black jacket and tie. They lie on the ground next to him. His red hair is sticking up in every place thought possible--and impossible--to mankind. He looks a mess--almost as bad as the night he had gotten completely drunk. She was glad that he had learned that it was impossible to drink the pain away; no matter how numb you got. Taking a step to the right, she sees that his face is in his hands.

Now, she cannot leave to the U.S. anymore. It would absolutely devastate Ron. He would lose both of his friends and she didn't want another "Remus Lupin Incident" on their hands. He looks too miserable for her to leave now. She sighs and slowly makes her way over to him. She sits down next to him and pulls his hands off of his face. He looks over at her with those empty eyes and she gives him a hopeful, feeble smile, but he does not respond. She sighs and frowns.

"We were wrong to believe that we'd live a fairy-tale ending, Hermione," Ron tells her in an oddly calm voice. "We should have known that Voldemort would do something to take Harry away from us, even if that meant dying himself. And now--now I don't know what to do next. Harry was my mate; we did everything together.

"We were supposed to be Aurors together. Do I still continue that? Or do I forget about it because Harry's not there to be my counterpart buddy? Who'll keep me in check or who will I hang out with at night?" Ron asks still in an eerie calm voice. "It's like what would have happened to Fred if George had died. Harry wasn't just my best friend. He was my twin brother..."

Hermione grasps his hands tightly and looks at him comfortingly. She has a loss of words at the moment and really, there is nothing she can say or do to help him. Harry and Ron were like twin brothers. They did absolutely everything together and when separate or arguing, they were miserable. But now, they couldn't just make up and have fun again. Now, Harry had left them all forever until they, too, passed away. She hated that there was nothing she could do.

"I'm just so... lost, Hermione," Ron mumbles unhappily, closing his eyes. "I'm at a complete loss."

"Ron, I... I..." Hermione can't find the right words and she is angry at herself for once. For weeks, she had just cried in bed at the Burrow. She had been staying there because her parents had felt that it would be better for her to be around her friends for some reason. She had been sick a lot because she was so dejected and she hadn't been eating. Mrs. Weasley, apart from her sudden wails and cries, was beside herself to make her feel better.

On numerous accounts, Ron had come into the room, sat down on the bed beside her and merely held her hand. It had been a soothing gesture and now when the time came to do the same for him, she can do nothing but stammer and grasp his hand tightly. She is unhappy about this. The silence is suffocating them ever so slowly.

"Do you feel it?" Ron whispers distantly in the silence, eyes still closed. "Are we alone?"

Hermione sniffs sadly and leans her head against his shoulder. Their entwined hands fall on his knee and she twirls her finger in his tie unconsciously. She nods her head slowly against his arm.

"Yeah, I think we are, Ron," she murmurs. Ron opens his eyes and looks at her softly. She opens her eyes and looks at him directly in his blue eyes. Tears are finally brimming in them. He touches her cheek gently with his free hand and she closes her eyes again.

"We were so disillusioned, so lost in our blind hope," Ron sighs regretfully. "Harry's fate wasn't to live, but to die and we thought different. Guilt is going to separate us for the rest of our lives probably. We are going to live into old age, horrendously miserable the entire way. That's our fate, Hermione. That's what are destiny is. That's what lies ahead of me."

Hermione suddenly opens her eyes and gazes into his, her brown eyes burning with a zealous compassion that cannot be reproduced. "Ron, that's never going to happen," she tells him almost sternly.

"Then what is?" Ron replies coolly. She doesn't know the answer and he reads her eyes. He sees that she doesn't know and he sighs. "You said it was Harry's fate to live. But if he died, what makes you think that everything else you said will come true?"

Hermione thinks about this. She has been struggling with this too and now she is faced with it head on in a battle again. Ron's eyes are so imploring that she knows that she has to think harder. She must come up with an answer that might ease his pain. So she comes up with the most logical answer her dejected little mind can give her:

"It was Harry's fate to live, but he died. It wasn't a false fate. It's just that Harry passed on... And for the first time, fate fell short, Ron. Fate fell short of what it was supposed to be."

Perhaps they were not the most comforting words in the world, but Hermione knows that she must've said something right because Ron nods his head and closes his eyes. He lays his head against hers and takes a deep breath. For now, that is the only answer he needs and for now, this is the only comfort Hermione needs. For now, they are both satisfied with having each other.