Here at the End of All Things —
Ron had watched her for years. Maybe not consciously, but subconsciously she had always been there for him, and he loved her more than life itself. It was a feeling that had come softly, as young love always does. Here in their seventh year at Hogwarts, finally, he had realized Hermione’s worth to him.
As boys will always realize first, he knew her worth as a friend, but of more than that he knew nothing, and he knew nothing of his value to her. Hermione had loved him for years and years, but the old-fashioned girl lived inside her, always telling her to wait, so wait she did.
It had been years and years that they had regarded each other, as friends alone, but of no more consequence than a good friend deserves. These last few years had brought to them an affection with bonds stronger than iron, one that would never break.
The Second War had begun. Voldemort had regained power, and by no means would he let such a frivolous thing as true love stand in his way. Surely, it was frivolous, for he himself had never experienced it, and did not understand its true power. He had known its power when Death rebounded upon him from the baby that he could not kill, but he could not understand it, for it was light, and he was darkness. The darkness has seen the light, but does not understand it.
It was here, now, at the end of all things that Ron knew what love really was. He understood it truly. He could feel its presence as Hermione and Harry stood behind him, back-to-back, warding off the foe beside him. He knew the meaning of love.
Harry was his best friend. He loved him, truly, but Hermione was so much more. Hermione was the one that he knew if she left for one moment, he would die. Life would leave him — his very essence was bound to her, and the body cannot live without the mind.
His comrades were falling around him. He could see Neville on his knees, cradling Luna’s limp body in his arms, tears falling down his dusty face. Parvati, his friend of many years, lay on the ground. She was not dead yet, but she could taste it. Seamus stood ten yards ahead of them, throwing spells and incantations at anything that moved. Every one of them understood the importance of this — they were fighting for their lives.
A streak of red hit the floor. Ginny had fallen. Ron wanted to go to her, but his feet would not move. He had to persevere — for all their sakes. Harry had left them to run to her. Even he now was rubbing life into her pale face. He understood the meaning of love, and its that power that had given him life.
Ron called to Harry. He could see Voldemort’s vile visage laughing cruelly at the spot where Ginny had fallen. Harry lifted his head, almost too late to dodge the jet of green light that Voldemort had hurled at him. Ginny was barely breathing. Ron prayed that the curse had not hit her.
He saw Luna lying on the floor, life wiped from what was once a girl – a mere child, who had given her life to save those of many others. Neville had nearly collapsed, but obligation kept him fighting. It was near the end now — either they would prevail, or they would all die.
All this time, he could feel Hermione behind him. He could hear her frantic intonations as she spat spells at the Death Eaters left and right. No one had yet dared to touch Voldemort — Harry would be alone when that happened.
Ron had no hope of living to see the day end. He had intention of seeing another sunrise. He had no intention of seeing his mother again, or thanking her for what she had done all his life, which would be cut short in this, the Last Battle. He could not live past it, they were too strong, but he had to keep fighting. He would rather die than let them win.
Parvati was still in a heap on the floor. She had been stepped on several times by friends and foe. Luna was dead, and Neville's handkerchief covered her face. Seamus had been hit by many curses, none of them yet fatal. Forced to his knees, he fought on from the ground. Ron understood that love. He fight until breath was gone from his body. Ginny was not moving, and Ron feared for her life, but he could not go. He had to keep fighting.
Voldemort hovered above, spells raining down like birds of prey on the unsuspecting fighters. They were mere children, most of them, members of Dumbledore’s Army. Members of the Order had not yet arrived. They were almost gone, the children. They were outnumbered by what seemed to be the unstoppable force of evil which raged against them.
Through the door came a ray of hope! The Order had arrived to fight with the children – to die with them, here at the end of all things. Michael Corner and Zacharias Smith ran to Ron and Hermione and filled in the circle. In times like these they were united — house differences and petty squabbles did not matter anymore. Life, hope, love, and living to see the day dawn was now what mattered.
Dumbledore himself had arrived, bringing all of the Order in tow. No one went to Voldemort. Harry alone could face him. And through all this, Hermione was at his side, fighting bravely to defend him and he her. He loved her more than life.
The crowd of people parted for a moment, and Ron caught a glimpse of his best friend dashing toward the place where Voldemort was, pursued by a Death Eater. Forgetting his battle position, Ron ran toward his best friend. No one but him had to survive. He had to make it through to Voldemort, to deal the final blow. Ron hurled every spell at the man that would come to mind. The man behind the mask dodged every one, and in that hurled spells of his own back at Ron. Ron dodged them, but he knew that his own life did not matter. Harry’s mattered. Hermione’s mattered.
Ron was hit by a spell, which winded him and sent him to his knees. The Death Eater once again followed Harry, his prey, and upon him, dealt his fatal blow.
The bonds of love inside Harry were so strong, that Death itself could not take him. For the second time, he survived Death, the curse that killed. But only once can return to the land of the living. The curse had killed, but only for a moment was he able to lift his head, take aim, and deal Death to the man that had killed his parents.
Realization hit Voldemort with the force of a bullet. It was not he who was victorious. He let out one final, blood-curdling shriek before he was hit with a jet of green light, reinforced with love and hatred — the same two elements that had been expressed so clearly seventeen years ago.
Harry crumpled into a heap. The battle raged on behind him, some Death Eaters still cast spells at the children and the Order. Ron stood, dumbfounded, at the child who lay dead before him. Harry was eighteen, and Ron’s own sister had loved him so. He had joined her in the death that was hope for all others.
Ron raised his arms to yell – a great and victorious shout of happiness and anguish all at once, but a terrible sight lay before his young eyes. Not everyone had realized the battle was ended, the War was won.
Lucius Malfoy had removed his mask. His blonde hair streamed out behind him, and his grey eyes were filled with a hate and a wild belief. He stood over Hermione, who had been hit with a curse only seconds before. His lips curled malignantly, and his eyes were filled with a fire, one that could only mean Death.
“Silly girl,” he murmured cruelly, laughing in her pain. “You might have lived, if had joined us. You might have lived. But, something told you that your battle was won. You have not won. You lie here, dying, too afraid to speak. What is won in this circumstance?”
“I do not do this for fame or glory,” Hermione protested weakly, her hand clutching her heart. “My battle is won, whether I live or not.”
“Stupid Mudblood,” he sneered maliciously, Death blazing in his eyes. “In Death, shall your glory be!”
Ron legs carried him as fast as was possible for a boy of his age to do. Malfoy uttered an ancient spell, one devised by the cruelest of Wizards, and the girl before him crumpled. She lay in a heap on the ground, life wiped from her body. Malfoy laughed a savage laugh and Disapparated, leaving Ron fallen at her side.
“Mione,” he whispered frantically. “Mione! Mione, no! Don’t leave me here!”
Love, like it had sustained Harry, had sustained the girl. But it was not the love that could keep her from Death. It was love that could fill her, and she would live on in eternity.
“Ron,” she whispered feebly, almost inaudibly. “I loved you once. In another lifetime. I shall love you still.”
“Mione, I love you,” he said, his brow fraught with worry and tears forming in his eyes. “You’ll make it, you’ll be all right. We’ll get married, and grow old together! I love you, I’ll save you.”
“You can’t save me, Ron,” she said, less audibly than before, life leaving her quickly. “Death has overcome me. I will live on in you. I love you. Never forget me.”
Her eyelids fluttered and her breath came in gasps.
“The War is over,” she said. “It is Won. Live your life, and never forget what you have. I cannot stay, but I will live on in you.”
“Mione, no!” Ron protested. “Don’t leave. You can’t. I’m sorry I never told you. We could have been so happy.”
“I must,” she said. “It’s all right. Everything is. I love you, here at the end ... of all things. ...”
Breath left her, and her eyes shut. Ron sat up and looked around him. Ginny, her red mane of hair strewn carelessly about, lay on the floor, life wiped from the girl that was once his sister. Luna, gone, and Parvati on the brink of death. And Harry, Harry the hero, the savior of their world, was gone. He was victorious in his death.
And Hermione, his precious Mione lay, limp, at his knees. Her eyelids were closed, and her hands were still warm. All remains of life had been swept from the body of the eighteen year old girl with so much potential. She would never grow up and do the things that she had always aspired to do. She would never be a mother, never know a man. Most of all, life would never again revisit her. Life would never come again to Ginny, or to Harry, or to Luna. They were together in death, united. He and Neville would live on without them, no matter how hard it would be. Hermione hands were cold. This was not the girl that he loved. She had come to live inside him, and wait -- wait for the day when they would again be united.
Ron sank to the ground, took her tenderly in his arms and wept, wept for the end of all things.