In the End

It had been five years since adulthood; five years since the war had ended. And while every witch, wizard and muggle alike continued to celebrate since that moment in history when Voldemort fell to his knees, everything was still all wrong.

Five years earlier, life couldn't have been more precious, nor time so pressing. The last day of school at Hogwarts had been an amazing moment in time. Something they would never forget. The feast in the graduates' honor was breathtaking on its own. Dumbledore had said some really powerful and touching words describing the events of past years and there was not a dry eye in the entire room. And when the speech was over and Dumbledore finished his congratulations, they threw their hats in the air with shouts of accomplishment. It was moments like that they lived for, when evil seemed at rest, even if it wasn't true in reality. But reality wasn't something they wished for on that day. They wanted to live a dream; to think about the future as normal wizards, not as saviors of justice. But that dream would never come true for all of them. It was unavoidable. When you play with matches, you're going to get burned... and burned they got indeed.

Ron and Hermione stressed for most of the summer about where they would take up residency and what occupations they would pursue, yet Harry never seemed bogged down with those choices. They would ask him if he had any ideas of what he wanted to do and he would usually just reply with, "I want to live." They never understood what he meant until it was too late. Ron often pondered that question at night when Harry would be sleeping nearby when he'd stay at the Burrow. What was it to live? And what made it so wonderful?

That summer had been one that Ron would never forget, and he'd cherish every moment of it until the day he died. Since Harry could apparate, he'd often go between Number 4 Privet Drive and the Burrow. The Dursleys never did understand how he'd get out of his room even with the door locked from the outside. That always gave Harry a chuckle. He loved annoying them. He didn't have to deal with Dudley that summer either, being that the louse had been sent off to fat camp before he blew an artery. Harry once admitted in confidence to Ron that he actually felt sorry for the pig. As much as he hated him, he still didn't want his cousin to end up having a heart attack before he reached his twenties.

Ron always found it simply amazing that Harry even was minutely related to Dudley. Harry was so much trimmer in comparison, which often caused him to suffer fifth and sixth helpings at dinner with the persuasion of Mrs. Weasley. He wasn't gangly like Ron himself had been during a more awkward stage, but he was lean enough that he'd probably never get fat no matter how much he might try, if people actually tried to do those sort of things.

It was in mid August that everything went wrong. War practically blew up in their faces. They couldn't have been ready if they tried. Well, that is except Harry. He had been ready for that moment since he first learned he was a wizard. The moments in-between the beginning and the end were ones Ron couldn't piece together very well, and if he never remembered them, he'd be glad in accepting it. A good four months of fighting went on. And even though life could have never seemed more in progress, everything seemed to stand still. Everything was as if it were in slow motion. You feel yourself moving and doing what is needed to be done, yet you are unsure of where you stand and feel as if you'll never reach where you belong. Evil was in the air... every time you took in a breath you wished you hadn't. Voldemort's presence was that strong. He had grown quite an army as well. Not only did he have his Death Eaters (whom had grown quite large in number since the last time Ron had counted), but he had the dementors, trolls, and several other ominous creatures Ron had never laid eyes on before.

Hermione hadn't wanted Ron to go to war with Harry; neither had his family, especially his mum. Mrs. Weasley pleaded with him with tears pouring from her eyes, yet he refused to change his mind. Harry wasn't the only one that could play hero. He refused to sit by and watch those he loved die. He actually felt quite betrayed when they pleaded with him to not go. Did they not think he could fight? Did they think all he was good for was to be the trusty side kick? It was time they saw who he was without being grouped as "Harry and Ron," or "Harry, Hermione and Ron." It was time they all saw Ron Weasley as he should be.

He could have kicked himself for ever thinking that way. It wasn't his time... it was Harry's.

The last battle had been traumatic. Ron had never seen Voldemort before, and while he wished he had never laid eyes on such a gruesome creature, perhaps it was best that he finally did. In the past he had taken Voldemort's name with a grain of salt. How was it that he could be so evil if skinny little Harry Potter could whip his arse once a year? But to actually see him at his finest... Ron remembered becoming queasy with fear at the sight of him.

"Do you think this a game, Redhead? A game where you get to play hero? Well, this is real, Boy... as real as it gets..."

Ron shuddered every time he recalled the words Voldemort had spoken directly to him. Had he thought it was a game? An elaborate war game played between little boys? Ron would never underestimate anything ever again after that moment.

The final moments of battle between Harry and Voldemort were those of heros and of history never to be forgotten. For Ron, it played out before him like one of those silent reel movies his father spoke of to him once. The ones muggles watched before they could figure out how to add in the sound to their movies. It wasn't until he heard the words "Avada Kedavra!" boom from both Voldemort and Harry that life came back into the present for him. To hear Harry speak those evil words was shocking to him, but at the same time majestic. With a blinding green light, the spells bounded toward each other. The light intertwined and both men seemed intensely focused on the spells they had sent hurdling toward the other. Suddenly both spells hit the other and it was over. All that seemed to last forever only took place in a matter of seconds.

Ron sat in shock and could hear someone screaming. He had thought maybe it was Harry at first; that maybe, in all his wonderment, had survived the deadly curse. Yet it was then he realized the scream was coming from his own mouth.

Harry was dead.

Ron remember running on legs made of jelly. All he wanted was to get to Harry's side, yet he had never had so much trouble moving in his life. When he finally did plop down next to his fallen friend, he cradled his head as if it might break in his arms.

"Oh, Harry... Please don't leave me alone. I'm nothing without you. They were right you know... I'm just the side kick." Tears were pooling in his eyes now, and he fiercely pawed at them. "You did it. You defeated, Vvv... Voldemort. Don't leave us just when you've won."

But as he expected, Harry never answered him.

And where the curse from Voledmort's wand had hit him, right in the forehead for a second time, the scar was gone.

"Ron? What are you doing out here? You'll catch a cold."

Ron was startled out of his thoughts and turned to see Hermione, his wife, standing in the doorway of their home.

"Sorry, Darling. I was just... thinking."

"You do that a lot lately. Not the Ron Weasley I remember meeting at eleven. He had no brain to speak of." Her eyes shone with playfulness.

Ron couldn't help but love her. She was beautiful.

"I just can't get it out of my mind," he said with a sigh. "I don't think I ever will."

She moved toward him and put her arms around his waist. "I don't expect you will either, but to dwell on it isn't right. He wouldn't want that."

Ron shook his head in dismay. "How could you know what he wanted? He's dead, Hermione."

She looked away from him for a moment in pain, but then looked back into his eyes. "Do you remember how he used to always say that all he ever wanted was to live?"

"Yeah, and look how that turned out."

"Ron, he knew the battle would end like that. I could see it in his eyes even then. He knew he was going to die."

"Well that explains why he was so lazy when it came to job hunting and why he spent his money on a whim. But, if he knew, then why would he say that?"

Hermione looked out at the horizon. The sun was going down and she shivered both from Ron's question and from the blowing wind. "Two reasons, actually. It took me a while before I quite understood, but I think I finally do. At the time, he knew he would meet an untimely end and when you know something like that, all you want is to not accept your fate and continue living. But he knew he could only dream of that."

"Well, I supposed I always kind of understood that one. You could see the anguish in his eyes sometimes. It was written there so vividly. But, what's the other reason?"

Hermione bit her lip. "The reason he wouldn't want you to dwell on his death is because he wants to live through you. He wants you to carry on where he left off."

"Madness," Ron scoffed, folding his arms.

Hermione touched his arm gingerly and made him turn toward her. "It's true, Ron. You were his best friend. And you know that he'd want you to live on in his place."

"That's just like him, you know!" Ron suddenly shouted. "To do something all heroic and not want anyone to help with the burden! What an idiot!" He didn't realize tears were pouring down his face until Hermione brushed a few away with her fingertips. He pulled her to him and cried into her shoulder for a moment. She was the only one ever to see him cry. Not even his own mother had ever had that privilege. It just wasn't something he did.

When he was finally finished, he pulled away from her and gave her a lop-sided grin. "I don't know what I would ever do without you."

"I don't either," she said giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.

"I love you, you know," he said getting serious again.

"Of course I know that. I'd have been pretty silly to marry someone that didn't love me."

He smiled at her tenderly.

"And as you well know, I love you too," she said kissing his nose.

"Mum? Dad? What are you doing out in the garden?" a voice asked from the door.

Both adults turned to see their little girl of no more than four years.

"Nothing, Baby. Just talking," Ron answered lovingly.

"Go back in the house, Eleanor. I'll be in soon to tuck you in," Hermione said softly.

The girl nodded and disappeared back inside.

"You know something, Hermione? You're right. No more dwelling on the past," Ron said pulling her to him. He kissed her softly and she smiled at him.

"To the future," Hermione said.

"To Harry," Ron concluded. "The boy who lived."