Based off after the Department of Mysteries Battle. I suggest you listen to This Woman's Work by Greg Laswell as you read, the song is 3:12 minutes.
Ron was dead.
Hermione wished she was dead.
She sat by her window, unable to think or speak.
He'd died exactly a month ago, in the Department of Mysteries.
It was a month since.
Hermione felt like it had just been yesterday.
She looked pale.
She'd lost weight.
Her eyes were emotionless, her expression dull.
The Sun rose and fell every day in front of her eyes.
She hardly noticed.
She remembered the day clearly, it was still too fresh in her mind.
Everyone else had mourned, but had no choice but to move on.
She just couldn't.
Harry tried to comfort her, but it was useless.
"I know you have a little life left in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left..."
Hermione slowly raised her arm and touched the window with the palm of her hand.
It warmed her.
But inside she was still cold as ice.
And then the memories broke free of the compartment she'd shoved them in.
Began to replay.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped.
And then she crumpled to the floor, motionless.
As she lie unconscious, Hermione dreamed.
About Ron.
All the times they'd quarreled.
Hurt each other.
Pushed away their feelings.
When really, all this time she'd just wanted him to notice her.
That was all she'd ever wanted.
For the boy she loved to see her.
To think she was special.
But they could never show how they really felt.
Leaving Hermione wondering if he even liked her back.
She wanted to tell him.
When she woke up, she would.
It left her feeling slightly uplifted.
And then she woke up.
Someone had revived her.
Hermione looked over to her left to find her hero.
He was fighting for his life.
Hermione felt deep pain in her chest.
But not just because of her wound.
Her heart ached.
Because her hero was Ron.
He was breathing, struggling to keep alive.
A midst the fighting, they seemed to be in their own private bubble.
Hermione crawled over to him.
Her brain was fuzzed up.
For once, her cleverness and everything she learned had abandoned her.
And now he was dying.
"Hermione," Ron gasped.
Hermione felt tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Ron, don't worry, you're going to be okay," she promised, her voice choked up.
Ron used the last of his strength to reach for her hand.
Hermione grabbed it like it was his lifeline.
She didn't want him to die.
"Hermione, you have to promise me something," Ron managed, sounding serious for once.
Hermione nodded and stared into his blue eyes.
The way they were dulling seemed to seal his fate.
"Don't ever stop fighting," he breathed, "Harry needs us, and if I can't be there, I want you to be."
Hermione bit down on a sob and nodded again.
"And I'm sorry for everything I ever said," he apologized heavily.
Hermione shook her head fervently.
"Don't be, call me whatever you want, call me a Know-It-All, I don't care, so long as you keep fighting," she cried.
Ron smiled the slightest.
"You're a Know-It-All," he told her, "I just wish you could have been my Know-It-All."
And then he was still, his smile still present.
Hermione gasped and began to sob.
She curled up tighter and cried.
She remembered his funeral.
He'd been buried at Hogwarts.
Everyone had cried.
Hermione had given a speech.
She couldn't finish it.
She'd started crying halfway in.
Before they shut the tomb, Hermione had lay something to rest with him.
Two Chess pieces.
The King and Queen.
She'd touched his face one last time.
Hermione got up.
Her decision was made.
She got up and walked to the bathroom across the hall.
She opened the medicine cabinet.
And she pulled out the sleeping pills she'd been recently prescribed.
She started to open the bottle when she remembered what Ron had made her promise.
"Don't ever stop fighting.
Harry needs us."
Hermione stared at the pills in the bottle.
Why shouldn't she?
Then she wouldn't have to be in pain anymore.
But something in her made her pour the pills in the toilet and flush.
She couldn't break her promise.
She never would. "I promise, Ron," she whispered.
And then she went to repack her Hogwarts trunk.
She had to keep going.
Always.
For him.