Disclaimer: For the last time, I must state that nothing here is mine, I just dancing around in Jo’s world for awhile =)
Author’s Note: Final chapter… I can’t believe this is it. It’s bittersweet, I’ll be honest. I hope you like this final piece of the story, it really ended exactly how I’d wanted. Thanks for following this little story through to completion. Please, if you feel so inclined, leave me a note to let me know what you thought, and any suggestions for my future writing.
Much love,
Ashley
The morning mist hung low upon the grass, masking the glittering dew like veiled fairy lights beneath their feet. All was still in the world, the sound of their steps shrouded with stifled sobs and the forlorn, mewling cry of wild peacocks on a distant farm. It was as if the earth itself could feel their pain, and sense their mourning, crying with them as they neared the final resting site.
Ron’s breath caught in his throat when he spied the coffin, cut simply out of oak wood, its hallowed contents hidden from his eyes. Unconsciously gripping the flowers in his hand tighter he stepped into the clearing with the others, trying to keep his eyes focused on anything but the man in black robes just ahead. He followed his feet until the procession settled; only rising from his reverie when the man began to speak.
“It is with heavy hearts, dear friends, that we gather here today, knowing that the world has lost a good, kind-hearted lady, taken well before her due in these dark times... But we may take comfort in remembering her love and loyalty, and her memory and magic shall live on in our hearts long after this day…”
Ron closed his eyes and forced the words of the eulogy out of his mind. After the brief memorial service for Percy, and the grander, Ministry catered farewell to Kingsley Shacklebolt earlier in the week, he felt ill with every half-hearted word of remembrance that met his ears. He didn’t need their speeches to understand the loss in his heart, or to remember his past. Both were painfully clear in his every action now, strengthening his resolve to keep going even after losing so much.
With a sigh he raised his eyes, dissecting the grief torn faces around him. The first person he saw was Harry, standing close at Ginny’s side, their hands clasped tightly together at their sides. Ron wasn’t surprised by the blank look on Harry’s face, or the shimmer of guilt in his eyes. It would be impossible to convince him that these events hadn’t been his fault, that no one blamed him for any of this. Harry’s healing was beyond words now. Only actions could mend his wounds. Only after Voldemort’s fall would he allow himself the luxury to mourn.
With a thankful heart Ron continued to watch as Harry wrapped his arm around Ginny’s back, supporting her weight as she shifted uncomfortably from standing too long. She’d only just been released from St. Mungo’s that morning, and even then only due to her insistence that she was ready to go home whether the Healers agreed or not. Always a fighter, Ron thought with loving annoyance as he watched her stubbornly refuse Harry’s aide, standing solely on her own volition as she continued to weep silently, her fiery head held high.
Tearing his eyes away from Ginny’s face, Ron searchingly watched the rest of his family. Fleur and Bill stood just to Ginny’s right, their arms wrapped tightly around one another, the bliss of their marriage long forgotten, their future together starting on a bleak note. Beside them and to Ron’s left was Charlie, his hands folded reverently before him, his burly form somehow shrinking before Ron’s very eyes. It had been Charlie that he’d seen first upon arriving at the hospital, running the length of the halls, ignoring the Healers frantically dogging his steps as he methodically entered each family member’s room to check how they were doing. He’d nearly bowled Ron over with thankfulness upon seeing him, grabbing him none too gently and pulling him into a bone breaking hug, muttering about, “Fearing the worst,” as they embraced.
Shifting his gaze across the distance, Ron’s eyes fell upon the twins, their heads hung in silent respect for the dead. Somehow trickles of humour still played deep beneath the surface in their faces, their life energy still strong even now with all that had happened. Just hours after they’d all been reunited in the hospital, George had put them in stitches as he pondered the possibility of donning an eye like Madeye Moody. Fred had been beside himself with jealousy at the fact that both of his eyes were still intact, claiming vehemently that George would get twice the girls now, being a bloke with one eye and all. It had felt good to laugh. Strange, but good. Ron had reveled in it… until the news had come.
Recalling that moment, Ron turned automatically to his father, feeling his eyes water instantly as they befell his grief. The man in the black robes had finished his speech and stepped aside, making room for others to move forward and say their final goodbyes. As if on cue not a one of them had moved, waiting for Mr. Weasley to act first. It took him a few moments, his entire body trembling, clutching Lupin’s arm for support when he finally took a step forward, reaching with a shaking hand to touch the wood before him as a desperate sob rattled his lips.
He whispered an inaudible goodbye to his love as he leaned against the coffin, placing Mrs. Weasley’s wand at the top before falling back in sadness, refusing comfort from anyone as he walked off into the trees, leaving tangible sorrow in his wake. Afterwards they stepped forward one by one, some simply looking on with lost looks on their faces, others verbally expressing their love and final goodbyes before taking to the path and disappearing from sight.
Ron waited at the edges until the last of the mourners had paid their respects before stepping forward, the flowers in his hands nearly mutilated from being squeezed mercilessly for the past half hour. He shuffled his feet and tried to say something, but words seemed pointless. She knew he’d miss her, as often as he’d complained about her rules and her nagging in the past. She knew that he’d have taken her place if he’d been able. And she knew, now more than ever, that he was going to continue fighting with or without her consent. He wouldn’t rest until this was over.
“I love you, Mum,” he whispered clearly as he placed his flowers with the rest, not bothering to wipe away the stream of tears that greeted his cheeks. He could almost feel her arms wrapping around him as he closed his eyes and turned away, bidding him good luck as he tucked the pain deep inside himself and set off after the others.
Before long he caught up to Harry and Ginny, their paces slow in the face of Ginny’s lingering ailments. They paused and watched Ron as he approached, the three of them locked in silence as they met each other's eyes. Without a word Ginny pulled Ron into a gentle hug, ignoring his awkwardness at the show of emotion, soothing both their unspoken aches with the small gesture. With his heart a little warmer Ron pulled away, turning his attention to Harry. Before the wedding he’d thought he’d understood Harry, truly known his best friend. Now, after all the pain and loss, Ron knew they truly saw one another eye to eye. Ron didn’t envy the burdens his friend carried, nor the scars, visible or otherwise, that haunted his life every day.
With a nod and a brief, one arm embrace Harry paid his condolences to Ron and stepped back, knowing without asking where Ron was headed. Looking back only for a moment, Ron set off at a slight run, quickly passing the retreating members of his family, pausing only for brief, silent embraces as he moved. When he finally caught up with his father he stopped completely, leaning over at the waist and panting heavily in the rising heat. Mr. Weasley stilled in his harried pace and watched his son weakly, as though torn between comfort and solitude as Ron rose and started to walk nearer, wiping his sleeve across his brow.
Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything about what they’d all just experienced, but no words came. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he looked to the ground, tears started to burst forth beneath his glasses as he looked away from Ron’s prying eyes. And then he felt his son’s arms wrap around him, protective and comforting, his own body shaking with grief and unshared words.
“I’ll get them, Dad,” Ron finally mumbled. “I promise I’ll get them for you.” He closed his eyes hard as he felt his father crumble slightly, some of the pain he was trying to suppress erupting to the surface.
“I know you will, son,” Mr. Weasley finally breathed, pulling Ron closer for a moment longer before letting go. “Just promise me that you’ll come back in one piece.”
Ron only replied with a rueful half smile, running his hand through his hair and shuffling anxiously on the grass. “Is there anything I can do for you now?” he asked after a moment, feeling entirely helpless. Mr. Weasley just shook his head and sighed, squeezing Ron’s shoulder with a proud look on his face.
“I’ve got plenty of people to look after me today, Ron. I know you’re anxious to get back to St. Mungo’s.”
Regardless of his best efforts to hide it, Ron felt his face flush slightly. Despite his poor condition upon arrival, the Healers had made easy work of curing his injuries, instantly mending cuts and administering an array of potions to tend his other problems. Like Harry and most of his family he’d been cleared to leave just two days after his arrival. But unlike the others he’d declined to leave even for a moment, apart from the funerals. Even when the others had insisted a few hours of fresh air and space might do him well, he’d refused, and before long they let him be, knowing looks in their eyes as they came and went.
Half of the time he’d had Harry to keep him company, during the hours that he left Ginny to rest in peace. They rarely spoke during those stretches. They just sat in silence, waiting. The times they did speak were used for anything but discussing what had happened. It was too soon for that, neither of them could wrap their minds around it all. In fact, the only time he’d heard Harry speak of that night had occurred very shortly after leaving the graveyard, his words few and, still to this day, utterly confusing.
Ron had been clutching Hermione in his arms, lost in the depths of pain, his heart breaking repeatedly as he acknowledged to himself that she was gone. He’d insisted on Apparating her to St. Mungo’s himself, a difficult task given his condition, but no one dared to pry her from his arms. But then, in the lobby, as the Healers had swarmed around them, Ron had realized the moment had come to let her go… and he couldn’t do it. He’d held on stubbornly, no words of comfort or logic reaching his mind, his only thought to keep her close and safe, even if it was too late. And then he’d heard Harry’s voice, ever so close to his ear, reassuringly telling Ron to let go.
“She might not be dead, Ron. Snape was… I think he… Ron, if you let her go, they might be able to help her.”
And Harry had been right. Ron still didn’t know how it was possible, but Hermione was alive, and that was all that mattered. Someday soon he knew Harry would have to explain himself, what Snape had done, but for now Ron could only focus on seeing her heal.
Not bothering to change out of his dress robes, Ron Apparated straight to the hospital, walking a now familiar path across the lobby, up the stairs, and right into Hermione’s ward. He paused beside the privacy curtain for a moment and just watched her, the sight of her chest rising and falling with her breath an unbelievably gratifying thing to behold. According to the Healers, she’d somehow been given the Draught of Living Death. That’s why she’d been so cold and lifeless, her body trapped in cadaverous sleep until help could arrive. In the beginning the Healers had kept her that way, seemingly in death, until most of her visible wounds were mended. Only then had they awakened her to face the injuries beyond their sight… Ron could still remember her screaming herself into unconsciousness.
Slowly Ron crossed the distance to her side, taking his usual place beside her bed, leaning toward her with his elbows resting gently on his knees. He examined her appearance carefully, looking fondly at her closed eyes as she sighed peacefully in her sleep. Her skin was still ghostly pale, even after days of healing and rest, but her cheeks were starting to get their color back, a soft rosiness returning to her lips. His eyes stilled when he reached the side of her face. It was still scarred, and always would be, but now he couldn’t imagine her without them. Every time his eyes traced their lines he remembered how lucky he was to still have her here, his brave, brilliant Hermione.
He sat back in his chair and turned to look out the window when the longing to touch her stirred inside him. It happened every time he looked at her like this, but he’d always resisted, too embarrassed and worried that he might hurt her somehow to follow through with the whim. He still didn’t fully understand the feelings inside his heart when he thought about her. Part of him feared it had only been the intensity of the battle, the fear of death that had brought them so far in expressing their affections… what if she woke up and wanted things to go back to how they’d been before? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to now…
Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts a Healer entered the room, her cart bumping noisily as she settled herself on the other side of Hermione’s bed. Ron rose and moved out of the way, allowing the woman to work as he fidgeted by the curtain, ignoring her incessant babbling about the weather and how much better he was looking than the first time she’d seem him. It was only when she gasped in surprise that he looked up, searching frantically for the cause of her alarm… and that’s when he met Hermione’s eyes.
He’d almost forgotten how brown they were, how much thought and emotion she always wore in their earthy depths. Right now she looked confused, maybe even frightened, her body trying to rise with some difficulty. His first instinct was to come to her aide, to help her and comfort her, but the Healers didn’t give him any time. Before he even realized what was happening a whole group of them had entered the curtain, shooing him to the other side and closing Hermione off from view.
He opened his mouth to complain, to insist that he be allowed to stay with her, but he knew they wouldn’t listen. He’d hardly left her side for days and now he was being brushed aside. He couldn’t help feeling irritated. With a grunt of annoyance he shoved his hands in his pockets and started pacing, walking furiously past other closed partitions and empty beds, pausing each time he reached Hermione’s space and sighing with impatience. He knew they were just doing their job, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her, and not being able to was killing him.
Finally, just when he was about ready to throw the curtain back out of sheer frustration, the Healers appeared again. They all looked rather pleased, discussing quietly Hermione’s progress and how promising her recovery now seemed as they passed, most of them oblivious to Ron’s presence. All of them save one, the Healer who had been there first, before the others had come and taken Ron’s space. She gave him an affectionate smile and held the curtain aside, gesturing for him to go ahead in, whispering to be careful and quiet until Hermione gathered a bit more strength.
Gulping loudly to himself Ron stepped forward, casting one nervous glance at the Healer before ducking inside the curtains. He lost his breath when he saw Hermione gazing at him, her face much more relaxed now, sleepiness curling the edges of her features. The Healer chuckled to herself at Ron’s nervousness and sidled around him, leaning down beside Hermione’s pillow and speaking soothingly in her ear.
“Someone will be by to check on you in a few minutes, dear. Till then I’m leaving you in good hands. You know this lad of yours has hardly left your side in days? Just let him know if you need anything, and otherwise you rest and don’t try to talk just yet, alright? Good, I’ll leave you to it then.”
Ron blushed a brilliant crimson as the Healer passed, staring hard at the floor long after she’d closed the curtain and walked away. Finally he chanced a glimpse at Hermione through the side of his eye. He was half expecting to find her sound asleep again, or perhaps just having him fixed with one of her piercing, all knowing glares. What he found was the same calm, peaceful expression, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips, her eyes bright and alert.
Relaxing in the easiness of the silence he finally walked to her side, his hands unconsciously pulling at his robes, teeth mercilessly biting the inside of his cheek as he searched for something to say. He pondered sitting in the chair beside her, wondering if it would be easier for her to see him if he remained standing instead. He opened his mouth to ask her but changed his mind immediately, hopelessly melting in that same soft look on her face, her eyes starting to glitter with unshed tears.
Seemingly reading his dilemma, Hermione’s hand started to move ever so slightly across the bed. It clearly took some effort, her face crinkling with concentration until her hand finally touched the edges of Ron’s robes. She took the material between her fingers, tugging on it almost imperceptibly until Ron finally noticed, his hand reaching automatically for her own as he cautiously sat on the bed beside her. He ran his thumb across the back of her fingers, small and warm and oh so alive, and his face started to split with happiness. It felt strange to smile, almost wrong to feel joy like this. It seemed too impossible, that simply holding her hand was enough to make his heart swell and practically sing.
He looked into her face, wanting to say a million things, to ask her a thousand questions... but the happy tears in her eyes were enough to appease him for the moment. With a contented sigh he leaned forward, placing awkward kisses on her face, first on her forehead, and then along her scarred cheek. She smiled and closed her eyes at the light touch, drifting back into her peaceful slumber. It was comforting for her to have Ron at her side, knowing he would still be there when she woke. In return she shared these small moments of alertness with him. No matter how brief they might be each time, they gave Ron the strength he needed to keep going.
In this moment, they were happy, comfortable in this quiet time alone, wallowing in temporarily obliviousness. They basked in it greedily, knowing that all too soon reality would bring them crashing back to their senses.