A/N: Written for the Miserable Melody Competition. It's in Ron's point of view (common sense) and I don't own him, Harry, or Hermione, no matter how much I wish I did.
"It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend
on a faulty camera in our minds
and I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose
than to have never lain beside at all."
What Sarah Said – Death Cab for Cutie
I'm dying. I'm dying and I hate myself for it. I went out there, and got myself killed when I've got the most beautiful wife back home, just waiting for me.
Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.
"He's in bad shape," says Harry, and the crack in his voice is clear to me, even though he's standing out in the hallway.
"They don't know if he'll make it." God, Harry's been in a right state, thinks it's his fault I got blown up. He's really got to stop taking credit for everything.
"Ron," says a voice, and instantly I know it's her. I almost crick my neck, turning it so quickly. Her hair is tangled, her eyes red and puffy, and she's beautiful. She comes forward almost too quickly, but for the both of us it's not nearly fast enough. "Ron, no, no, no," She says 'no' like it'll make reality unfasten. I wish it would.
"It's okay, 'Mione," I say, even though it isn't. It isn't at all. I always said I'd never hurt her, but here I am, breaking her heart. "I love you." She's holding my hand, and it's breaking her heart – tighter – in half – tighter – in thirds – just a little tighter – in quarters.
She's looking at me with an odd expression that isn't grief, it's love, and regretfully, I wish it weren't. She can't. Not when I'm going to die.
"I love you too, Ron," she says, barely a whisper. "So much." I never thought I'd be wishing that she'd stop it. That she'd stop loving me, just for a while, so she wouldn't hurt so much. She starts crying again, and for some reason, all of my memories come back to me, all at once. Watching my life flash before my eyes; I always thought it was a bit cliché. I suppose it isn't. Hermione always used to cry.
"You're so overemotional," I say, and my voice is so aged I find it hard to believe it's mine. I open my eyes briefly, and she's smiling. Hermione's smiling, that one smile, that beautiful smile, and it hurts. I hate myself because I'm dragging it out; I'm only making it worse.
"I seriously doubt I'm being dramatic at a time like this, Ron," she says quietly, and now I'm smiling too, when I shouldn't be. It's only harder for her. She tightens her grip on my hand. "Please don't leave me."
I don't want to leave you - I would never leave you – I can't leave you - I'm going to leave you.
She's right next to me, but I don't know how she could be any further away. I look at her, I look at the floor – I can't take much more of this. She shakes her head so softly and begins to cry, and I hate myself for being so selfish. She's the one watching me die – I'm the one watching her drift away.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll pull a 'Harry' and fuck everyone over, just maybe I'll live after all, and maybe this is some terrible nightmare where you hurt everyone around you. No, it doesn't work like that, it won't work like that.
It hurtsandburnsandstings, but it would hurtandburnandsting if it never happened. I know she thinks that I make her world go 'round and 'round, and that if I left her, it would stop, and freeze. I love her so much, she loves me so much.
But Hermione Granger is smart, so deep down, she knows it won't, that it'll continue turning and clock hands will keep on turning and drums will keep on beating even if my heart isn't. But she clings on tighter, and today, regretfully, I wish she would let go.