The Sunset

Ron stared at the sunset, the dead, empty sunset. He felt as though there was nothing in the world left for him. He felt as though something inside him had been cruelly ripped out. That something would never, and could never be replaced. That something had been his one true love. He knew people had laughed at him for this; how could she have been his true love at only seventeen? But he knew she had been, and always would be.

There had just been something about Hermione Granger. Ron smiled slightly as he remembered when they had first met. She had bossily told him to get changed into his school robes, and exactly what she thought of his dud spell. He would never have guessed then that they would have fallen in love. But they did.

Even thought he hadn't realised it until about third year, when she had hugged him then collapsed into tears. At the time he had wondered why she hadn't hugged Harry too, or instead of him. Then a moment later it hit him, and he realised he had feelings for her too. He had to work hard to conceal them, but sometimes it had been too hard. Fourth year especially had been a bit too obvious.

Ron wiped a tear from his face as he remembered hers particularly vividly. Of course, it hadn't always been smooth. Victor Krum had complicated things a bit. Ron remembered spending the whole Yule Ball just glaring at him and Hermione dancing. He had spent some of it just staring at her, however: he couldn't believe how different she looked. Not that she wasn't always beautiful, but that evening it had been especially noticeable. Her usually bouncy and uncontrollable hair had been turned into a sleek bun at the back of her head. This bun exposed the whole of her face, including her cheeks, which had turned pink each time she looked at him that night. But he had still felt terrible the whole way through. She had seemed to really hate him then, and they had argued almost continually the whole evening. In the end they started screaming at each other: the whole of Gryffindor must have heard. Ron felt really guilty. He hadn't meant to yell at her; it just sort of... happened. All evening he had tried to say how he felt to her face, and properly, but it all came out horribly wrong. If only he'd asked her to the ball before "Victor" had, then things might have been different. So he had learned from his mistakes. In the holidays straight after fifth year, he told her everything. How he felt, how long he'd kept quiet about it, how sorry he was he'd started so many arguments, how annoying he knew he must have been; and he would have gone on had Hermione not sobbed with pleasure and pulled him into the first proper kiss of his life. So what if she was so sopping wet that he was almost drinking her tears? They were tears of joy, and tears of joy for him.

And that had only been one year ago... he had only really spent that one year with Hermione properly. Sure, he had been her friend ever since first year (and had been arguing ever since then too), but spending time with her by himself had been a strange new prospect. So it had been; until yesterday. Yesterday was where it all went wrong. How could a perfect thing be destroyed so cruelly? Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most terrible wizard ever to exist, had brought an abrupt end to his dream world.

Ron had caught her as she fell, certainly, but even as he did he knew it was too late. Hermione was gone forever. He was hardly watching as Harry defeated Voldemort, doing wand less magic so that, ironically, Voldemort was struck by a lightning bolt. After that nothing much seemed to matter any more. He hoped it had been painless. Apparently Avada Kedavra didn't hurt, and as he had looked into her cold eyes he saw no pain, only terrible sadness. Ron had sat down and cried there and then: he felt his life, his purpose, his whole reason for existing was gone, and no spell could ever bring it back. And that had just been yesterday...

The sun had almost set. After thinking long and hard, Ron had decided that there was only one sensible thing to do. He was going to see Hermione again.

He stood up and looked around the attic of The Burrow, almost as if saying a final farewell. He picked up a spare quill lying around and wrote clearly on a piece of parchment:

Dear, Mum, Dad and all the family, I'm so sorry I have to do this, and I don't suppose you'll understand my reason why. I loved Hermione so much, and I just can't exist without her. Don't worry, it's not your fault, it's mine. I love you all, and I'll miss you, Ron.

He left it on the floor in the middle of the room, and proceeded to the window ledge. The cold air whipped his face as he leant out, thinking of what he was about to do. He'd had a dream about it last night, only in his dream he had flown. Ron took one last look out the window at the sunset and remembered how he and Hermione had sat to watch it so many times before. But memories weren't enough. Ron wondered how Harry had survived, going through pain day after day, losing so many loved ones. Sighing, he breathed in deep... and jumped.

As he soared through the air, he had so much time to think about everything he was leaving behind, and everything he was going on to. Thinking of his dream, he suddenly realised that he was flying... away from his crumpled body, away from every sad and hurtful feeling he had ever had, and into bliss. He knew he would see Hermione again; he could feel it in his heart. She had always been the one person that truly made his life worth living.