Three things before reading this story.

a) I didn't write it. My girlfriend did (which for the sake of anonymity let's call her Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock. Her friends call her Valery) so I take no credit! The only thing I did was to fix the appearance and grammar/spelling. Yes, if you think that my english are bad, you have no idea how worse my gf's are. I tried really hard to make it presentable and the result, although not perfect, it's satisfying for my girlfriend and that's enough for me. If you do write a review, be nice to her.

b) This story is under the Ron/Hermione, but the characters of this story are only Harry and Hermione. It's a sad fic that I'd never write because I'm more into humor, but I'm proud of my girlfriend that wrote something like this.

c) I still have some time left in the Army, but I'll come back soon and finish My Last Cup.

I'm Harry James Potter. I'm married to a wonderful woman that I love with all my heart and I have three lovely and smart kids. I'm a successful Auror and some people still call me the Saviour of the wizarding world.

Am I happy with my life? I am… but not today.

Today is my best friend's Ronald Bilius Weasley 40th birthday. And it's one of the worse days of my life.

There is no cake on the table, no party, no songs, no dancing, no laughs… no life.

I'm at a muggle pub and drunk. I'm not pissed if that's you're asking. It happens to me sometimes. Over the last 9 months more often than usual.

I know where my feet are dragging me. I know it's very late at night, but I also know she's not sleeping; not tonight.

I don't knock on the door; I simply apparate inside the house. Any normal person would be startled by the sudden appearance of another person inside the house. Hermione simply gives me a look and returns to her glass of whiskey.

She isn't a pretty sight. Hermione Weasley, age 40 and mother of two. One of the greatest witches ever existed and smartest witch of her generation lied on the sofa of her house, broken beyond repair.

I can see she's clutching the silver chain around her neck. It's a pendant Ron gave her when she graduated Hogwarts. I don't remember ever seen Hermione in the last 20 years without it.

I don't say a word. I walk to the sofa and sit next to her. I serve myself a glass of whiskey to accompany my best friend.

The taste is strong but does little to numb my senses. I guess it has the same effect on Hermione who pour herself another drink. I wonder how many has she got already.

I want to open my mouth to say something. Something appropriate but what can I really say?

I notice her hand. She has two rings on her finger now. I know she's never going to pull that second ring off until the day she dies.

I also know she blames herself for what happened. Nobody accuses her of anything and it wasn't her fault really, but I suppose that's what we do in situations like this; blaming ourselves for things beyond our control.

I was there when she opened her eyes in St. Mungos that night. First thing she did was ask for Ron. He wasn't there. Healers said that he died almost instantly after the crash.

I keep having nightmares of that night. The way Hermione learned that Ron had passed away… She didn't cry. She just froze as if life itself let her body and then collapsed. She woke up many hours later.

When reality hit her the tears came and soon screams followed. She kept repeating that it was her fault and that she shouldn't have told him to take the car instead of apparating.

Rose and Hugo were at the Burrow for the week and Hermione suggested to go out on a romantic date the muggle way. Ron who never wanted to miss a chance to drive that car, agreed immediately.

It must have been a torture for Hermione to think how different everything would have been if she hadn't say that. If they hadn't taken the car and if Ron hadn't driven that road and if she hadn't kissed him just for a second while driving... Ron might still be here.

They never had the chance to apparate their way out of there. The eyewitness said that everything happened too fast. That drunk driver came out of nowhere with his car and…

It's quite ironic isn't? Losing your wizard best friend in a car accident? Somehow I can picture Fred taking the mickey out of him.

I want to reach over and hold her hand. To give her or give me some comfort, but I don't move. Instead I start speaking without knowing why.

"I've never told you this, but when we were hiding at Grimmauld Place during our horcrux hunt, I woke up earlier than you two and I saw your hands close to each other. It didn't take a lot of effort to realise that you two fell asleep holding hands."

I have no idea why that was the moment that came to mind. I just wanted to share it with her though. As if I was holding this big secret that I desperately wanted to share.

"I still remember that moment because I remember how lonely I felt then. The person I wanted to hold hands with wasn't there, but you two… you two had each other."

I paused as I took another sip of my drink, avoiding Hermione's eyes who now were staring at me.

"When later in the Malfoy Manor his hands were covered in blood after he kept punching that wall, screaming your name while you were upstairs getting tortured… I understood. I understood why you held his hands for comfort and protection. I understood why you loved him, even if he had the uncanny ability to drive you mad most of the time."

It was probably wrong to say it seeing how Hermione had her eyes shut as if she was struggling to keep those painful memories away.

"I miss him, Hermione. People can see that. They are always afraid they're going to say the wrong thing and carefully trying to not mention his name or avoiding me all together just to be sure. I go to sleep more times drunk than sober. Ginny doesn't get mad at me though. I don't know if that's a good thing to tell you the truth."

Without any warning I start crying. I can't help it. Everything is just too much! And Ron is not here to help me.

"Look at me, Hermione! I'm a mess! And if I feel this way, I can't even dare to imagine how you must feel."

This time I did reach and grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. She suddenly released my hand and throws her hands around my neck. I'm holding her there. She's shaking so hard that I doubt she'll stop anytime soon and the sounds of her sobs break my heart.

"I wish I was good with words, Hermione. I wish I could tell you something that would take your pain away."

I'm not a fool. Nothing can stop this pain. But there is something that needs to be said and needs to be done, no matter how impossible and painful it is.

I place my hands and cupped her face. I want her to look at me while I say it.

"Hermione, to say you stop loving and missing someone you once loved more than anything in the world… would be a lie."

I use my thumps to wipe away Hermione's tears from her eyes. "But you move on, don't you? You have to move on."

I know the words came out of my mouth, but they hurt me just as much. That's the painful reality. People we love die, but we have to move on. I learned that lesson the hard way.

"I don't know how," Hermione whispers through her sobs and I know exactly what she means. I don't know either. I keep her close to me and kiss her forehead.

"I'll help you and you'll help me," I tell her. "One step at a time."