He paced up and down, roaming wildly, stumbling, falling over the uneven, ancient stones. The castle had been blown away on one side, and he could see thestrals gliding over the forbidden forest. He laughed hysterically. He had always wanted to know what thestrals looked like...

His whole body felt dead, devoid of feeling, as though he had never felt anything before. His memories were coloured scarlet and gold, but now his entire future seemed lifeless, colourless. He stared at the empty days and months and hears that lined up before him, finding in them no comfort nor expectation, just bitter solitude and an unrelenting, jagged hole of grief through which he would never stop falling.

She had been the brightest witch of her age. Ron had always had to fight down feelings of inadequacy every time he looked at her. He had encapsulated her perfectly in his memory, placed her up on a pedestal above himself. That locket had enhanced every feeling of his own failure, and poured it back into his already bitter soul, and had led to his greatest downfall yet: but in the wild garden of Shell Cottage, he had made a vow to himself. That he would never leave her.

But now, she had left him.

The basilisk fangs clattered to the ground, and she kissed him full on the lips. She had stepped down from her pedestal, and chosen him. Him.

Afterwards, when they had been separated in the midst of the battle, Hermione had healed Lavender's broken body and they had found an empty corridor in which to catch their breath, he had looked at her, and said fervently "Hermione, you are too good for me."
She had gazed back at him, her hands covered in Lavender's blood and said "Ron Weasley, you are all I will ever need. "

Ron scowled. He had to make her understand that no matter how much he gave, it would never be enough to deserve her. "When we were first years I was cruel. When we were second years, I teased you. When we were third years, I didn't talk to you because of something I thought your cat did. When we were fourth years, I pushed you away, I acted like a complete and utter arse. I let Krum get there first. When we were fifth years, I didn't let you know that I loved you. When we were sixth years, I chose..." He couldn't say the name of the broken girl whose blood was running from her wounds. "...her... over you. And then..." His voice broke. "I left you. I walked out on you. Nothing can forgive the amount of times I've failed. You should be running from me, not to me," He finished,his voice cracking.
Hermione wiped her hands on her skirt, before pulling Ron upright and placing a hand on either side of his face. She smiled softly, and rested his forehead against his.

" I'm not very pretty, Ron. I'm condescending. I'm a know it all. I can never accept that fact that I'm wrong. I never let you know that I loved you... I chose Viktor over you, and then tried to get you jealous with Cormac, and then let you think that I preferred Harry, who I love like a brother ... I have failed you more times than you could possibly know." She kissed his long, freckled nose. "But you know what? Even though we've both failed, we've found each other... right back where we started. I may be small, and plain, but I have as much heart and as much soul as everyone else. And I'm giving it all to you."
Ron smiled into her kiss, and entwined their hands, her small, soft one fitting perfectly with his larger one. He rubbed the writing calluses on her fingers.

And then the world imploded.

* * *

Ron just wandered. He had no idea where he was going. He found himself visiting all the places he associated with her: the Gryffindor common room, her old Ancient Runes classroom, the Girls loos where Moaning Myrtle lived. Myrtle was nowhere to be seen; he assumed that she was hiding in the U-Bend. Ron laughed again, a bitter, mirthless laugh, at the fact that he was wondering something as trivial as where Myrtle was.

But that gave him an idea...

If anywhere, it would be the library. Ron thanked Merlin that she had dragged him along with her so many times, so that the path to the library was as familiar to him as the one to the Gryffindor common room. He flew down the corridors, leaping over blocks of stone, avoiding sections where the floor was slick with blood. He tried not to think of the blood in that little corner of hell that he could never visit again.

He arrived to a scene that would have made her sob. Parchment lay shredded in piles around the broken spines that they used to belong to. The shelves where overturned, splintered, shambolic, their books haphazardly piled, their pages warped and crumpled. Somewhere in the restricted section, Ron could hear a book screaming.

He settled down by her favourite window, and waited.

It was her. Her heavily hooded eyes regarded Hermione with some sick sort of lust, and she licked her lips predatorily. She had a single cut across her face, but she still held herself with such poise and pride that it seemed impossible that anyone could touch her, let alone hurt her.

She had blasted Ron and Hermione apart. Hermione was now cowering in a small alcove, a small trickle of blood flowing down the side of her face.

Ron had never seen her so terrified. Her arms were instinctively covering her head, revealing her forearm, upon which the word 'Mudblood' was carved: a reminder of her last encounter with Bellatrix.

The Bellatrix before her cackled in delight.

Ron sprinted towards Hermione, his blood thumping in his ears. He would give have given anything in his power at that moment, to be between Bellatrix and the single thing he cared most about in the world.

Bellatrix gave another laugh, before pointing her wand at Ron and screeching "Immobulus!"

Ron halted, unable to go a step further. He strained desperately against the spell, towards Hermione, but his muscles felt as if they'd been set in cement.

Bellatrix stepped closer to Hermione, still grinning at Ron.

"So you're still here, poppet? Quite a pretty one you've caught yourself..." She eyed Ron up and down. "Too bad he's going to watch you die!"

Ron barely saw what happened next. Hermione made a sudden movement, her hand plunging into her robes, she pulled out her wand and yelled "Expelliar..."
Hermione gave a scream, and dropped the wand as if it had burnt her. It flew up into Bellatrix's hand. Bellatrix shrieked in a mix of fury and glee.
"How dare you? How dare you, you filthy little Mudblood, try and use my own wand to disarm me?" She cackled again. "But no, you couldn't do it, could you? My wand recognised its true mistress and returned to her, not the filth that attempted to desecrate it!"

Ron strained against the spell holding him. He couldn't even reach for his wand to free himself. He couldn't open his jaw to call for her, to tell her that he loved her. He could not give her that small comfort against the soaring, inevitable fate that soared towards them. Hermione turned her magnificent, beautiful head towards him, meeting his eyes, breaking his heart. There was no hope left in her eyes, and it was his job to give her hope.

They didn't break eye contact as Bellatrix started talking again.

"I'm not going to kill you with my wand. You are no witch. You do not deserve the honour. I'm going to kill you the same way I killed that creature, that house elf. Both of you are inferior beings. Both of you will have died in shame, outcast and abandoned by the magical world, like it was meant to be!"

And Bellatrix pulled out a glinting silver knife.

"Ron?"

He whipped around, hopeful, but he knew that the voice was too deep, a baritone to the rich alto he associated with Hermione. Before him stood a man, a man with tossled black hair and round glasses. Harry took a step towards him.

"She won't do it, mate."

Ron pretended not to know what Harry was talking about.

"Won't do what?"

"Come back. As a ghost. She was too smart for that. She doesn't belong here." His voice dropped, so that Ron could barely hear him. "None of them belong here."

A second flood of hope washed over Ron, as he remembered what had been in the snitch.

"The resurrection stone." He took a step towards Harry. "Where is it? I need it." He held back sobs. "I need her. You can't understand how much I need her."

Harry looked alarmed. He stumbled backwards, almost tripping over the broken skeleton of Hogwarts: A History.

"No. I won't tell you where it is. I told you, she's gone. It hurts me too, but I'm not selfish enough to bring her back to a world she doesn't belong in anymore."

Ron felt as though he was about to burst out of his skin. He was shaking with rage and despair.

"She will always belong in this world, because she belongs wherever I am. You have no idea what I am feeling at the moment." He thumped his chest with his fist, revelling in the pain he was causing himself. "NOW GIVE IT TO ME!"

"Harry?"

A woman's voice echoed in the library. Ron looked around wildly, his stomach soaring.

Ginny walked around a pile of bookshelves, looking bewildered. Ron sunk again. All his anger had left him. He felt dead. He felt nothing.

Ginny slipped her hand into Harry's, and Ron felt the world shift under his feet. She was no longer his sister: she was now all Harry's. Just like he had given all of himself to Hermione, just before she had flown off into the grey sky, leaving him with nothing left to give.

"Ron," Ginny started, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm so..."

Ron didn't let her finish. He brushed past them both, leaving them to their love, and just ran. He needed to be out the suffocating grief of the castle around him. He needed to see the sky again.

Ron broke the spell just as Bellatrix threw the knife. He threw himself at Hermione, desparate to get between her and the streak of silver death. He didn't care if the entire world fell into flame, as long as the beautiful woman in front of him lived.

He knew he was too late as soon as he heard Bellatrix's screech of triumph. A low, animalistic moan burst from Hermione's lips as he caught her up in his arms.

The knife had struck her just below her heart. Ron could see a shattered, splintered rib beneath the cruel glint of the knife. He held back his sobs. He would not cry in front of Hermione. He would give her peace before she left him.

Her deep brown eyes met his blue ones, as he tried to pour his soul into her. He could already see her leaving them, but she held on, panting, her lungs filling with her own blood instead of the air she craved. Her breaths grew shorter as Ron rocked her, never glancing away from her eyes, trying to fill himself up with the memory of her. He didn't know how long they lay there, desperately trying to hold the other with them.

She tried to sit up, but collapsed back at the effort with a cry of pain. Ron leant in closer, one hand in her thick hair, one supporting her back. Her arms hung limp at her side. His forehead was pressed against hers as she whispered, slowly, tremulously, "We tried. I'm sorry. Don't forget to live. I love you."

Ron couldn't help it. Tears flowed down his face, dripping onto hers. As they flowed onto her lips, she licked them.

"I will never stop loving you," He said, and pressed his lips to hers one last time.

He felt the exact moment that she left him; in a single, neverending sigh, she spilled her essence out, and all trace of the woman he loved left, leaving before him a shell, an evanescent reminder of her. Dry, wracking sobs shook his body.

He heard Bellatrix stir behind him. He had forgotten that she was there. He closed his eyes, expecting to hear the words that would bring about his own death. He almost smiled, knowing that he would welcome it gladly if it meant that he could be reunited with her.

But no... Bellatrix's boots clicked against the stone floor, and she screamed maniacally and joyfully as she ran down the corridor, Dancing and twirling in her bloodlust and cruel, cruel madness.

And Ron understood.

She would not be the one to grant him his dearest wish, to be with her again. She would be the one to separate them, keep them apart.

He could not follow her. He was left alone with his dead.

He needed to be near the sky. That was his only thought. He needed to be somewhere as wild and tempestuous as his own grief, where he could let go of his skin, his membrane, the only thing holding the mess of marrow and bone within him, and he could go all which ways at once, and find solitude in the peace and confusion of being no one.

He headed up, climbing spiral staircases, skipping steps. The portraits on the walls applauded as he passed. Sir Cadogan yelled jovially "Congratulations, sir, for the defeat of You-know-who!", but Ron ignored him, and just kept heading up, up, up to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

He burst onto the top of the Tower, and filled his lungs with fresh air. The sky was stormy, grey clouds rolling like waves in the boundless sky, thunder rumbling and buffeting the castle. Rain fell sporadically onto Ron's upturned face, mixing with the tears and blood and grime.

There was a sudden movement to his right. He turned, not bothering to draw his wand. He didn't care what threat it was.

George was sitting on the edge of a battlement, legs hanging over open air.

Ron didn't know how long he sat in that alcove, rocking her body. A roar from the direction of the Great Hall awoke him from his trance. He stood up, cradling her blood-soaked body in his arms, and stumbled towards the sound. Hermione's skin was tinged blue. He could see her veins through her slightly translucent skin. He still expected for her chest to rise and fall, for her to sit up and throw her arms around his neck. Ron registered that she was still slightly warm: and then realised that it was his transferred body heat.

He stumbled into the Entrance Hall, and saw Bellatrix's corpse, a look of bright surprise on her face. Ron felt no gratification, or happiness, or content in the fact that she was dead. He would have rathered both Bellatrix and Hermione be alive than both of them dead.

As Ron passed into the Great Hall, he saw a red-headed huddle around a body on the floor, and on the other side of the hall Harry was being swamped by a crushing crowd of screaming, ecstatic people. He headed towards his family, sickening apprehension stirring in the depths of his stomach. His heart thumped and his breath quickened.

As he neared them, his mother instinctively turned to face him. He could see nothing but horror in her eyes, and her face crumpled when she saw the small, broken figure in Ron's arms. She strided over to him, and pulled his head down towards her, kissing his forehead.

"It's Fred," she whispered.

The dull knife Ron's stomach twisted, and he fought the rising bile in his throat. Joining the rest of his family, He sat at Fred's feet, still clutching Hermione, and put his left hand on Fred's leg. He could hear Ginny's sobs stifled by her father's shoulder. George was clutching Fred's limp hand, and was rocking as though in physical pain. He met Ron's eye, and Ron could see his own agony echoed in George's face.

They sat there for an hour, until Professor McGonagall came and told the family that all the dead were being moved into a separate chamber. As his dad and Charlie lifted Fred's body, George turned on his heel and sprinted out of the hall. No one followed him.

"Ron..."

Bill put his hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron, give me Hermione."

Ron stared at him in disbelief.

"Ron, give me Hermione," Bill repeated. "You need to go and clean up, you can come and sit with her later."

Ron shook his head, and clutched at her tighter.

"Ron...you have to let her go..."

"I love her." He said. "I can't let her go."

"Ron..." He looked up at the new voice. Harry was crouching before him, his eyes filled with tears. "Ron, you can't hold on to her body forever. Can you imagine what she'd say at the moment?" He smiled through his tears. "She would tell you to go and find her somewhere else. She's not here. She's everywhere else. She wouldn't want you..." his voice caught. "She wouldn't ever want you to hurt because of her. Remember? She was always the one who tried to take the pain away."

Harry reached as if to take her from him, but Ron shook his head. "I'll take her," he said quietly.

He followed McGonagall and the others carrying the dead into a chamber off the great hall, where rows upon rows of bodies had been lain out. He walked over to the darkest, quietest corner of the chamber and lay Hermione on the floor. He couldn't let go of her; they were inexplicably linked, a tremulous chord bound their hearts together, one beating, one still. One hand laced itself with hers, the other stroked her blood-crusted forehead and plunged into her hair.

Ginny had followed Ron and Harry to the chamber. Kneeling on the other side of Hermione, she was crying in earnest. She clasped Hermione's other hand in hers, shaking in grief. Harry had his hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I'll go and get a sheet," he said hollowly. Ginny shook her head, and fled the chamber.

Ron just stared at Hermione, memorising every line of her face, the turn of her lip. His hand explored hers, tracing her lifeline, rubbing her soft, jagged nails. He rubbed the blood from her neck, and stroked her jawline. He only realised that Harry was back when he leant down and kissed Hermione's forehead.

"Ron, I'm going to cover her up now."

Ron nodded numbly. He lay beside her and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her hands, and then softly pressed his lips to her cold ones. His last kiss meant nothing. She couldn't kiss him back.

Ron sat back up, and clasped one of Hermione's hands in both of his. He didn't let it go as Harry billowed the white sheet on top of her, covering her face. The sheet quickly soaked up some of Hermione's blood, turning scarlet.

It hit Ron. Hermione wasn't there now. She wasn't anywhere now.

He didn't try to hold down the bile in his throat this time. He ran outside the door of the chamber, and threw up.

George turned slightly as Ron approached him, but then faced back out into the storm, buffeted by the wind.

Ron climbed out beside him, his legs swinging. He leaned over slightly, surveying the grounds of the castle. It was beautiful and savage. He remembered exactly where Dumbledore's body had lain at the foot of the tower, and how Hermione's hand had slipped into his as they had witnessed Harry's sorrow. He remembered lazy days by the lake, feeding leftover sandwiches to the giant squid, furtively watching Hermione as she read a book or finished off and Arithmancy essay. He felt the knife twist in his stomach again. He knew it would always stab him when he thought of her.

Ron and George sat there in silence, alone with their thoughts. George was shaking: with cold or grief Ron did not know. Ron spoke first.

"They're both gone."

George grimaced. "At least we've been left behind together." He sighed. "It's taking all my strength not to throw myself off this tower. But I know that Fred wouldn't want me too. If he could talk to me now, he'd make some joke asking why the best looking one had to die, but then he'd tell me not to forget to live."

Ron shook his head. "How can we deal with it, knowing that they're not going to walk around the corner? That we're never going to see them again?"

George shook his head. "We can't live. But we have to. They can't, so we have to. They died so we could. And we can't argue with them. Hell, we didn't have a hope of changing their minds when they were alive, how can we even think about it when they've made their minds up like this?"

Ron nodded slowly, and for the first time since the knife had hit Hermione, he saw her as alive instead of dead. She filled his head, her laugh, her sweet, dizzying smell, her untameable hair, the way she bit her lip and furrowed her brow when she was reading, the way she tasted when she had kissed him.

For the first time since she had died, he smiled slightly.

He could still see thestrals... but he thought that, perhaps one day, he would see phoenixes as well.