The End of the Beginning
Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning
Ron stood atop a hill, surveying all the death and destruction that lay at his feet. Fires were still tearing through what was left of the wizarding world in Britain, Hogsmeade. The Shrieking Shack, gone, the Three Broomsticks, gone, Honeydukes, gone. Fred and George's shop, gone, along with its owners. All was lost, all was gone.
Ron was in his seventh year; he was supposed to be graduating, with all his friends and family celebrating his ascension to the adult wizarding world.
But it's impossible to graduate from a school which was now dust and ashes. The redhead laughed bitterly. It was ironic that he had survived, out of all the others who deserved life and sanity far more than he did. Harry was in a mental ward, and Hermione was in the mass grave that was at his feet. Everyone in the village had helped dig the grave, their own grave, for their children and themselves. It was the only thing they could do, aside from waiting for their own doom. They were unable to finish digging it before he struck, so Ron had the grim job of burying everyone, shedding tears over each charred and bloody child, women, and men.
By the time he got to Hermione, there was no more tears left...but he knew that he would never forget her face, which was far from peaceful, the blood- matted hair....
They all had sacrificed their lives so that Ron can live, the next-best thing, since Harry had gone mad after being held by the Death Eaters form months. They thought Ron would be able to avenge them, but oh how wrong they were! Ron knelt, covering his face, how could he avenge them? He wasn't ready for this...he didn't have any special powers, he wasn't especially good, he wasn't smart...how? He shouldn't have to do this! Where was Harry? Why couldn't he hold out longer?
Instantly, he regretted his thoughts, stood up. This was probably Harry had felt in his first year, Ron realized. The poor guy.
He sighed, all of this sorrow and pain because of a father who didn't care about his very own son because he was different. A Minister of Magic who was too stubborn to believe till he was among the commoners, in the grave. Fudge should have known that once they cease living, they are nothing but corpses, regardless of who they had been when they were alive.
Ron sighed, and then turned, turning his back on Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ginny, his mum, his dad, Hermione, Snape, and Dumbledore. All of them were staring blankly at what they could not see. Ron gently closed them. Hagrid was still alive, for all Ron knew, he had fled with Madame Maxine to who knows where.
Oh, Voldemort was dead, unquestionably so, Ron had killed him. Everyone had expected Harry to kill him, but how could he, locked up as he was. Ron had did it, summoning all his anger and fury and frustration, sending it all into that powerful spell; Avada Kedavra. But there was no celebratory party, no medal, nothing left of the wizarding world. Except for him. He turned, and facing where he supposed America was, and started walking. He still had things to do, Death Eaters to kill, the wizarding community to rebuild....
A/n: I know this was depressing and all, but if you think so, then put it in a review. One-shot...but if you people really wanted it continued...I'll try.
Oh, and I review all the authors who review me. ^_^
Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning
Ron stood atop a hill, surveying all the death and destruction that lay at his feet. Fires were still tearing through what was left of the wizarding world in Britain, Hogsmeade. The Shrieking Shack, gone, the Three Broomsticks, gone, Honeydukes, gone. Fred and George's shop, gone, along with its owners. All was lost, all was gone.
Ron was in his seventh year; he was supposed to be graduating, with all his friends and family celebrating his ascension to the adult wizarding world.
But it's impossible to graduate from a school which was now dust and ashes. The redhead laughed bitterly. It was ironic that he had survived, out of all the others who deserved life and sanity far more than he did. Harry was in a mental ward, and Hermione was in the mass grave that was at his feet. Everyone in the village had helped dig the grave, their own grave, for their children and themselves. It was the only thing they could do, aside from waiting for their own doom. They were unable to finish digging it before he struck, so Ron had the grim job of burying everyone, shedding tears over each charred and bloody child, women, and men.
By the time he got to Hermione, there was no more tears left...but he knew that he would never forget her face, which was far from peaceful, the blood- matted hair....
They all had sacrificed their lives so that Ron can live, the next-best thing, since Harry had gone mad after being held by the Death Eaters form months. They thought Ron would be able to avenge them, but oh how wrong they were! Ron knelt, covering his face, how could he avenge them? He wasn't ready for this...he didn't have any special powers, he wasn't especially good, he wasn't smart...how? He shouldn't have to do this! Where was Harry? Why couldn't he hold out longer?
Instantly, he regretted his thoughts, stood up. This was probably Harry had felt in his first year, Ron realized. The poor guy.
He sighed, all of this sorrow and pain because of a father who didn't care about his very own son because he was different. A Minister of Magic who was too stubborn to believe till he was among the commoners, in the grave. Fudge should have known that once they cease living, they are nothing but corpses, regardless of who they had been when they were alive.
Ron sighed, and then turned, turning his back on Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ginny, his mum, his dad, Hermione, Snape, and Dumbledore. All of them were staring blankly at what they could not see. Ron gently closed them. Hagrid was still alive, for all Ron knew, he had fled with Madame Maxine to who knows where.
Oh, Voldemort was dead, unquestionably so, Ron had killed him. Everyone had expected Harry to kill him, but how could he, locked up as he was. Ron had did it, summoning all his anger and fury and frustration, sending it all into that powerful spell; Avada Kedavra. But there was no celebratory party, no medal, nothing left of the wizarding world. Except for him. He turned, and facing where he supposed America was, and started walking. He still had things to do, Death Eaters to kill, the wizarding community to rebuild....
A/n: I know this was depressing and all, but if you think so, then put it in a review. One-shot...but if you people really wanted it continued...I'll try.
Oh, and I review all the authors who review me. ^_^