LAUGHING
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Ron tells Hermione Harry is dead. One shot. V. short.
Author's Notes: This is a spur of the moment thing. The ones you get when you're up half the night due to an insanely horrible tooth-ache. Yeah, those. This fic is really special to me; I'm very proud of the way it came out. It was meant for Hermione to grieve for the loss of her best friend in a way I'm sure she will/won't if in fact he does die. No time period. It doesn't have a date—I dunno if it's even before seventh year or twenty years after. It's just simple. I could have elaborated and made it long, but it would have made it complex. Enjoy.
Laughing. That is what Ron should be doing. Not serious, never. He doesn't have a serious bone in his body. Oh but his eyes tell much different stories—ones without humor and I know Ron is not joking.
He is gone.
I stare at him, my mind immediately shutting down coherent thoughts, screaming at me to hit Ron for not laughing.
And I do. Hard. Blood trickles down his face but all he does is cry.
He should be laughing, not crying.
"Pansy," I call him loudly, "pathetic."
I strike Ron again but he catches my fist. He brings it to his face and then his chest and I can feel the rapid beating of his heart.
"Only one," he cries and I falter. I shake my head, already defiant once more.
Ripping my hand from his chest, I feel something deep within me wither and die like an old flower before winter.
He is gone.
I stagger forward into Ron and together our heartbeats race, one telling the other to laugh. He does not laugh. He cries even harder.
"Laugh," I demand of him.
"Cry," he begs.
And I do.
Because he is gone.
Just Oz