Note: The following is a one-shot taking place after Harry is 'killed' by Voldemort in Deathly Hallows. It explores the initial reactions of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they learn (or are led to believe) that Harry is gone. It's a bid sad, but I hope you enjoy!

The Aftermath

Everything was silent. All his life, Ron had lived in a sea of noise, and in that instant, for whatever reason, sounds were all he could think about. The funny thing was, he couldn't actually hear any of them. He pictured his parents, his plump, protective mother standing above his toddler-sized self, her finger swinging mid-air. She was scolding him, that much he knew, and her mouth was opening wide and then shutting quickly, over and over again. He knew her voice, and had probably heard the screams that had once induced that Howler she had written him his second year, more often than anything else. Now, it was nowhere to be heard.

Meanwhile, his father, tall and troublesome, much like Ron himself, was behind Mrs. Weasley, keeping his eyes averted from his wild wife, all while winking to his son, who really hadn't done too much wrong in the first place. Ron knew his voice too, but more than that he knew the exact sound that his shoes made as they rubbed across the Burrow's creaky wooden floors. It was a squeaky sound, one similar to that of a well-squeezed rubber duck, according to Mr. Weasley anyway. That sound though, was gone too.

Ron's two oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, used to make loads of noise in the house. Bill had been a good student, but Charlie had always brought out the worst in him. He had been the family's most successful Quidditch player, and each hole that he made in the wall after throwing a bludger in the wrong direction would result in cheers of excitement from Bill. Percy, though much quieter than the others, had an old owl that was constantly running into closed windows, creating a splat type of sound and sending the whole house shaking. Then there were Fred and George, and with them came the sounds of exploding fireballs and experiments with puking pastilles. Now, outside of the Burrow, and long past the days when all his brothers still lived at home, all these noises had disappeared.

Last summer, Ron's father had given him an old Muggle radio, which he had then insisted upon listening to at every possible moment for the rest of the year. The speakers were perpetually tired, and the static grew increasingly fuzzy over those long days and nights he had spent in that tent in the woods. Even so, he had always had it on, and noise was always produced. To be honest though, the most important thing about that radio had been all the sound that hadn't come out of it. Now something should. Now was when a name should have been listed. Now was when he should have panicked. But none of that happened. The sounds were gone.

Somewhere inside of him, Ron knew that his family was nearby. His plump, protective mother would be standing by his tall, troublesome father, and behind them would be all of his brothers… all but one. Ginny, his little sister, was in front of him, and she was screaming. He could see it happening, and he could have sworn that he was doing the same thing, but again, he didn't hear any of it.

By his side, closer than she had ever been to him, stood Hermione. He assumed that she too was screaming, but he didn't dare to look. All those years that he had spent begging for her to do his homework, if only so that he could hear her bossy voice say his name, 'Ronald', before advising him that he should really learn to do his own, and then eventually complying and finishing it for him, seemed so long ago now. Just recently, that same voice, muttering that same name, had brought Ron back to her. Now, out of all possible noises and sounds that this world could make, her voice, his name, was the one he tried to hold onto. After all, he had always needed Hermione, but now was the time that he needed her the most.

There was another sound, though. This one was faint, and barely recognizable. In fact, Ron reckoned that only he would be able to say where it came from, and that there was nobody else who would know it so well. Ron had spent seven years' worth of nights listening to Harry's steady breathing, gradually growing deeper with every new year, along with more agitated, and filled with angst. This was the sound that hurt the most, the one that Ron missed the most. This was the sound, out of all the rest, that Ron knew he would never hear again. He couldn't believe that that was true, and yet he knew it was. Harry Potter was dead. He had officially stopped breathing, and had stopped growing deeper and more agitated. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley's very best friend, was gone, and so was the sound that had, at least for Ron, defined him as a person. Hoping, wishing, and praying that he could hear just one more breath, Ron waited. Until that time came though, everything was silent.

She had been expecting this. It had been her own little secret. She had known that it was coming. Hadn't she? Hermione was sure that she had, but if that were true, then why was it such a shock? And now, why was she suddenly so unsure? She had never been unsure. She had never asked so many questions. On the contrary, she had always had the answers.

But now, Hermione couldn't stop asking herself questions; they seemed to be popping into her head at a mile a minute. Had she always known that she was a witch? Was there a time, or an incident perhaps, that had marked that indescribable change in direction her life had so suddenly taken? If so, what had it been, and had she noticed it happening? Or had her letter from Hogwarts shown up at her door with no warning at all? She couldn't remember, and so she didn't have any answers.

Did she choose her friends, or did they choose her? Did she make the decision to remain loyal to them, to him, even in the darkest of times, or was it made for her? Had she known, then, where her friendship with him would lead her? Had she known, that along with moments of pure happiness, unbelievable joy, and the irreplaceable feeling that she finally belonged to something real, were to come other moments of complete sorrow, utter devastation, and relentless, all-powerful fear? These questions didn't require memories, and yet Hermione couldn't answer them either.

And then, without even realizing it, Hermione's mind jumped from the past to the future, skipping over the present, avoiding this terrible truth at all costs. Thinking of what might happen next, she continued to ask questions. How could she kill the snake? How could she ensure that his sacrifice had been worth it? How could she defeat Voldemort? Would she be able to produce the spell? And would she do it herself, or would it be Ron? And after it was all over, if it ever did in fact end, what would happen to everyone? How would she be able to accept that he would be gone? Would she ever move forward, and continue on with her life? Would she go to Australia to reunite with her parents? Might she ever go back to Hogwarts? Would her and Ron's relationship withstand the loss, or would she lose him too? If they did find a way, would she ever tell him that she loved him, that she had always loved him? Would he say that he loved her back? Would they start a family together, and tell their children stories of the bravest man they ever knew? And if she lost him, would she survive? That one, she didn't want to know the answer to.

And with that came the deeper questions, the ones that she was dreading to even think about. The ones she had been hiding for so long now, from Ron, from Harry, and even from herself. Still, she could feel them there, in her head, burning away at her. She had always had the answers, and now would be a good time to come up with some.

When Ginny had found Tom Riddle's diary, had Hermione known all along what it was? When Harry had told her and Ron that he spoke Parseltongue, had she realized that it wasn't just a coincidence? When Ron had first told her that Harry had been having bad dreams, had she known what they had meant? When those bad dreams had turned into visions, had Hermione seen the same connection that Dumbledore had? When Harry had brought her along to hunt horcruxes, had she suspected that there may be more than they original six? When Harry had been able to feel the Hufflepuff cup, amongst hundreds of other small objects in the tiniest of cells, had she known that he himself was a horcrux too? Had she known, all along, that Harry would have to die? If she had, could she have saved him? This question was unanswerable, because whether Hermione said 'yes' or 'no', she'd be wrong.

Ginny had always been good at things. For as long as she could remember, she had been a good daughter. Being the only girl after six boys, her parents had cherished her, possibly more than any of her brothers. She had lived up to their expectations, and she had grown from a good girl into a good woman.

While Charlie fooled around with dragons, while Fred and George left school before finishing their seventh year, and while Ron was in detention nearly every week, Ginny was always good. She did all the right things, and made all the right decisions. She had been patient as she watched her brothers receive their Hogwarts letters, one after the other, while she waited for her own. Then, she had been accepting as each of her brothers left, one after the other, while she stayed in the exact same place she had always been. While they all went the wrong direction, Bill marrying Phlegm, Charlie moving to Romania, Percy working for the Minister for Magic, Fred and George building a small business in a crumbling world, and Ron following his best friend through the narrow corridors of a predetermined fate, Ginny had been right. She had stayed, she had waited, and she had been good at it.

She had been a good Quidditch player. Though Charlie had always been the best of the bunch, Ginny was better than any of her other brothers. She had been a good Chaser, and at one point a good Seeker as well. She had been a good sub-captain, and one point a good captain. She had been a good follower, and a good leader.

She had been a good friend, too. She had sat through endless hours listening to a determined Hermione try to convince her that she wasn't in fact in love with her older brother, Ron, while really she was just trying to convince herself. She had accepted Neville's request to go to the Yule ball with him, even though she had always had feelings for someone else. She had befriended Luna, even though she didn't understand a word she said half the time. Ginny had been a good friend to all those who needed her, even though sometimes she wondered if she had been a good friend to herself.

She had been a good girlfriend. When she had been with Michael or Dean, she had stayed with them even through the fighting. She had always loved Harry, but she had been good not to stand in his way of finding somebody else, for she knew he had never felt that way about her. She had watched him fall for Cho Chang, and then she had watched her break his heart. She had been good at waiting for him. She had been good at watching. She wasn't so sure, though, that she had been good at loving him.

Ginny had always been good at things. She had only ever made a few mistakes. In her first year at Hogwarts, she had released all her emotions through a cursed diary, which had later led Harry to his near-death. In her fourth year, she had fought hard with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna at the Ministry, but she had still been overtaken by a death eater. In her fifth year, she had compelled Harry to love her, which had only helped to distract him from what was really important. When Dumbledore had died, she had held Harry's hand, but she hadn't held on hard enough. When Harry had announced that he was leaving, and that he was leaving without her, she had let him go. When he had finally left, she had watched him disappear, and she hadn't run after him. When he had returned, she had been hidden away. When he had gone to die, she hadn't even felt it happening. She had always been good at things. But when it came to loving Harry, Ginny knew now that she hadn't been good enough.

Note: Thank you for reading! Please review if you can; it's always appreciated.

-Hailey