One shots of all the characters most tragic moments. Leave requests with your reviews please :)
Love you all!

Day: Ron leaves them on Horcrux hunt.

Hermione


"Are you staying, or what?"

Helpless, the only word I could even possibly use to describe myself in that moment; absolutely helpless.

Ron glared at me, as if he knew before I did myself, what words were going to come out of my mouth. Nothing about the way he looked reminded me of the Ron Weasley that I cared about, the boy from a few months ago who swore he would be loyal to his friends no matter what. The look in his eyes was stiff and cold. His cheeks were hollow and pale from the hunger that we all shared. Nothing about him was friendly, and more than that, nothing about him was familiar; and that answered the question for myself.

"I…" the words choked in my throat as I tried to spit them out, "Yes-yes, I'm staying, Ron. We said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help–"

He cut me off, his expression malicious as he snapped at me from the other side of my shield, "I get it. You chose him."

I glanced at Harry instinctively, and I could feel my face break with anguish. "Ron, no– please–" He turned, and with his hand in his hair, he strode out of the tent, without a second glance at me. "Come back, come back!" I screamed after him, so loud, my throat begun to burn.

My instincts kicked in, propelling me forward into a run, only to be bullied back to a standstill by my own shield. With shaking hands, I fumbled for my wand, finally pulling it out and silently, I wiped the shield away. My feet couldn't move fast enough as I followed his tracks out of the tent.

He was at the edge of the river, standing there with his back to me. I called one last time into the stormy night. Whether or not he could hear me over the thundering rain and the roaring river, I don't know. But after a moment of standing there, his head turned down to the river, he disappeared, leaving only the madly rushing river; and I broke.

My legs gave away, and I hit the rocky bank hard. Heat was radiating off of my face and I could feel the sticky trails of the tears against my cheeks. Breathing became hard as my throat tightened, every sob choking my lungs from the rainy air. The rain was anything but cleansing; it was harsh and cold, and it mocked me in every way possible. The dewy drops rolled down my face with my broken tears, soaking my hair like a sponge. My clothes stuck to me, and the shaking never stopped, it just got worse and more violent, rattling me from the inside out. It took awhile before I realized that I was still calling his name. Then once that hit me, I sobbed more, my hands leaving the rocks and clutching and my burning, wet face.

He was gone, and I thought he was never coming back.

Some time passed before I worked up the courage to move again, dared to face Harry. I used the palms of my hands to push my off the rocks that had indented my legs. My feet were unsteady and I stumbled as I moved back into the dry heat of the tent.

Harry was still standing there, in the same place. I couldn't look at him; not because of what Ron had said, rather that because of the look in his eyes. At seventeen years of life, Harry had seen and been through more than most adults ever would experience. At seventeen years of life, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I couldn't look at him, because I knew that the pain I was feeling right now was nothing compared to the pain he had felt. But when the only boy you would die for walks out on you, everyone else's tragedies become irrelevant.

"He's g—g-gone! Disapparated!" My voice was hoarse as though I'd been at a Quidditch match; I couldn't recognize it.

He didn't say anything, and to be honest, I think he was as shocked as I was. I fixed my gaze on a chair halfway across the room, and with all my effort, I made my way over to it, before collapsing. The crying seemed to come in phases, and I let myself go, subject to my emotions. Harry draped a blanket over me and after what must have been hours, I found the exhaustion overcome me. Sleep drowned out my sobs and the tent was silent except for the hammering rain outside.

Over the next couple of months I learned how to be strong. I for once got to see what Harry experienced when Sirius died. Because to me, Ron walking out was like someone dying. But I had Harry, and even though he had seen far worse things, and had experienced far more tragedy than I had, he put a sincere effort in to help me pull through.

Up to that point, I didn't fully understand why Harry was the chosen one. It wasn't clear why everyone had put all of their faith into him to save our world from this impossible war. He was a seventeen-year-old boy who had seen far too much in seventeen short years. But that's what made Harry special. He saw things differently, he saw and he valued the light in the world more than anything else. Not for one day did Harry Potter take for granted the good things in his life; and in those long months, Harry taught me how to move forward, and how to look for the next piece in the puzzle. Even now, while I sat, drenched and feeling numb, as though I'd been frozen, I had him. Even though he couldn't see it in himself, I knew from that point on that that was why everyone was depending on Harry, especially me. If Harry Potter could save me from my breaking point, then I had no doubt that he could save the world from the cruel grip of the war.


Tell me what you think!

I was thinking of either doing Petunia or Dobby next?

Love, Stacey!