Light
Author's note: Originally published on January 7, 2017
The quiet was the first thing he really noticed, after she was gone. The silence was unnerving, after so many years—decades—without it.
Not to say there weren't silences, there were plenty of those, especially after a row. There had been plenty of those as well. The rows were always a way to surface a deeper issue or insecurity and really talk about it—they were both very stubborn, after all.
To this day, he thinks, he knows, that he fell in love with her during one of their many rows, but he can't pinpoint it exactly. The fights and arguments were just a way to completely engage the other's attention, without revealing true feelings. He's glad they were able to take that next step.
He smiled, memories flooding his mind. He could recall thousands of moments of bliss during their lives together. So many smiles and kisses and first steps and graduations and quiet, and not-so-quiet moments in bed.
Now that time had come to an end.
The body can't live without the heart. It was something she'd told him ages ago, after his mother had passed. He thought he knew what she meant back then, but now that he was experiencing it, he truly understood.
His heart was gone, and every bloody inch of his body was crying out for it.
It had come quickly, something that he would forever be thankful for. Her health had started failing, shortly before her hundredth birthday. She knew her time was coming, as sharp as ever she was, even as they'd gotten older.
Every night, she would lay huddled against him, her breath shallow and her wrinkled, well worn hands shaking and freezing cold. She didn't want to be at St. Mungo's, preferring her last days to be surrounded by family, and most importantly, him.
He'd wrap his arms around her thin body, pressing kisses into her still wild, grey hair.
He'd look down into her brown eyes and tell her he loved her more than anything, like it was the last time he'd have the chance.
In the morning, he'd wake up and lie still, waiting to feel the all-too-familiar rhythm of her breathing against him. He'd gently rub her back, waiting with a patience he didn't possess as a younger man.
Her eyes would flutter open, she'd take a deep breath, and give him that smile that he loved. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. She'd run her fingers through his thin hair and complain that it wasn't the ginger colour it used to be, but it was still in her Amortentia.
Then one morning, the rhythm of her breathing was gone. Her eyes, those deep brown eyes, didn't open. She didn't smile, and her fingers, lightly gripping his flannel pyjamas, could no longer run through his white hair.
He held her tightly, sobbing into her hair. Her untamed hair had been one of the very first things he'd noticed about her. The tears came then, his face an ugly mask of grief. As the liquid pooled and ran down the tip of his long nose, all he could do is tell her that he loved her, that there was no one else in existence that could have made his life as joyous as she did.
As she had.
That she was truly his one and only.
When they didn't come down for breakfast, there was a light knock on the door. Rose and Hugo, who'd been staying with them for a few days now, they themselves in their seventies, knew at once what had happened. They hugged each other and wept, knowing the inevitable had arrived.
Ron's tears came harder now, remembering the days when it was just the four of them, before Rose got on the train to Hogwarts. Some of the best days of his life.
As Hugo went to send owls to the generations of loved ones, Rose quietly stepped forward and kneeled next to the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke Hermione's hair, just as her mother had done to her countless times.
"She's gone," Ron whispered, his voice broken.
"To a better place, Dad."
He nodded but held his Hermione tighter, never wanting to let go.
Once the news broke, they'd been inundated with messages of condolences. Even though their major accomplishments were far in the past, their names were still known, their tales told as a way to remember the war.
The Ministry had given her a state funeral, as they had with Harry, for all of her contributions to both the Ministry, and Wizarding society in general. He'd been there, like a weathered relic of a bygone age, doing his best not to crack in front of the inquisitive faces.
As they listed her many accomplishments, he felt that stirring of pride he'd always felt for her. She'd been so driven, so passionate about changing the world, and she truly had. She was larger than life in some ways, but to him, she was simply his sparring partner, best friend, love of his life, and the best mother he knew.
Simply was a great understatement. She was so crucial to his life; he still wondered why she'd chosen him.
He'd seen the look of surprise on some of the mourners that he was still alive, the last of the saviours of the Wizarding World. The remaining point in a now-broken triangle of friendship which lasted their entire lives.
Inside though, he wasn't alive. Not anymore.
Her burial had been held at The Burrow. The family cemetery had grown over the years, and was now a sprawling expanse of land, bordered by the pond. He'd forced himself to be stoic as he sat huddled on the chair, his cheeks wet. Hugo's arm around his shoulder and Rose's hand in his gave him comfort in that moment, but he knew he'd never truly be whole again.
He missed the feel of her hand in his.
His children, their children, and some of the great grandchildren had been a constant presence at their—his—home in the days following the loss. He knew though, eventually, he'd be alone with his thoughts, and the oppressive silence.
He'd heard them talking about how quiet he'd grown, and how little he was eating. He just couldn't muster up the energy to be happy and lively. It wasn't his fault that food no longer had any taste.
The irony of it all was that Hermione had nagged him for years to watch what he was eating, or he'd get some horrible sickness. Even in her last days, as she grew weaker, she still kept it up, not wanting to admit that, despite a lifetime of bad habits, he'd live on.
They couldn't understand. He simply didn't know how to live without her anymore.
She'd been in his life for almost ninety years. Ninety. He could barely recall a time without her, just his earliest, most faded memories. All he wanted now was to be with her.
Dark thoughts had come to him more than once. He was old; he had nothing left to accomplish in this life. He just wanted the heartache to end. What he wouldn't give to hear her voice, just one more time. Even though he knew it wouldn't be real, he wouldn't hesitate to use the Resurrection Stone.
If only he had it.
He dreamed of her every night. His favourites were from years ago, like their first kiss amidst the battle, or the trip to Australia when he'd told her, properly, that he loved her for the first time.
He lay in bed one evening, staring up at the familiar ceiling with dim eyes, just thinking.
It saddened him to realize that he could still live for years without her by his side. He didn't want that, hell, he didn't want a minute more to go by without her. He knew taking his life wasn't the answer, though.
She would be severely disappointed in him.
He just couldn't think of a different solution. All he saw in his future was a long, dark, lonely road. A time of waiting. The only thing he was absolutely certain of was that she was waiting for him. He felt it with every fibre of his being.
Finally, in a moment of brilliance she would have praised him for, the answer came to him.
Once, a long time ago, he'd heard her voice. He'd heard her voice, and it guided him to her. The answer was a shining light in the darkness.
The Deluminator.
How had he not thought of it earlier? In one of the worst times in his life, it had been the key to finding her. Somehow, he knew this was the piece he'd been missing. For the first time since he'd lost her, he felt the tiniest spark of hope.
He sat up in their—his—bed, long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned his tired body against the headboard. His motions had gotten agonizingly slower with age. He took a deep breath and continued.
He opened the drawer of his side table and found the familiar, one-of-a-kind object. He turned and rotated it within his gnarled fingers, feeling the weight of the smooth metal. After the war, he'd considered donating it back to Hogwarts in Dumbledore's name, but it just meant too much to him.
He sighed and took another deep breath, before clicking the button. The room was enveloped in darkness for a second, before the floating blue orb appeared, casting ghostly shadows across the walls.
The ball moved towards him and stopped, hovering inches from his face. He had to squint. The brightness was intense. He thought he heard something, but his hearing didn't work as well as it once did. He concentrated, and though only a whisper, he heard it.
"Ron."
He hoped it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him. He hoped it wasn't too good to be true. He knew that sometimes, when the brain wanted something so badly, it would start to believe it.
And he wanted this more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life.
He concentrated with all of the energy he had. This time it was unmistakable. Her voice was seared into his memory.
"Ron."
He quickly clicked the button, restoring the normal lamplight. He laid the device down, reverently, and went to sleep with a smile on his face. He wasn't ready to leave… yet.
He took the time to say goodbye. Over the next few days, he had a wave of energy that he hadn't felt in forever. He made sure to see as much of his family as possible. He laughed, he played as well as he could, and he tried to keep their images in his head.
"Dad's looking better." Hugo stated to Rose, as they watched Ron regaling some of his great grandnephews about his Quidditch victories at Hogwarts.
Rose frowned. "Don't you think something seems… off?"
"Hopefully, he's gotten over the worst of it, Rosie."
"Seems too quick," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Just be prepared."
"Prepared for what?"
Ron happened to catch the exchange, and knew Rose was suspicious of something, Ever the bright one, just like her mum.
Saying goodbye to the two of them would be the hardest part of leaving. Hermione would want him to stay, for them. The trouble was that every waking thought was of her. Her scent was everywhere. Every corner of their home held memories of her.
He just couldn't stay. He couldn't bear being away from her.
He did something Hermione would have approved of. He wrote them a letter. He knew they wouldn't understand, but he wanted to make it easier for them. They had lost Hermione as well, and he knew another loss would be a blow. He told them that he and Hermione would always love them, and that they were so proud.
Finally, the evening had come. He'd wrapped up every last thread of his life he could think of. He was ready for the next adventure. He was ready to see his Hermione again.
A photo frame sat on the heavy mahogany side table, charmed to work like a Muggle slideshow. Ron picked it up and watched it for a few minutes as it cycled through the animated images. Moments from Hogwarts, frozen in time. Pictures of their extended family, and the kids growing from babies to adulthood.
But the one it stopped on the longest was one that he'd memorized. Their wedding.
Hermione had looked so beautiful, and he still, to this day, remembered how proud and elated he'd been when they took their vows to become husband and wife. His dreams had come true in that moment. George had even taken the mickey when he teared up during the vow ceremony.
They'd had decades together, building a life and a family, and he still had a hard time believing that brilliant, bossy, beautiful Hermione Granger had shared it with him. He'd told her that once, and all she said was that he'd chosen her as well, and she would forever be amazed.
He remembered snogging her breathless after that particular exchange.
His shaky hand placed it back down in it's spot, knowing Hermione loved when everything was in its place. Next to it, he placed the letter to their children, and his wand.
Ron laid down in bed and stared up at the ceiling, the Deluminator in his hand. As soon as he clicked it, the room darkened and the ball of light appeared.
It hovered above him as he waited, listening.
"Ron."
It was music to his heart. The call home, to her.
The blue orb hovered above him, the light blinding. It came closer, and the voice grew louder. He closed his eyes and smiled, the whiteness enveloping his mind's eye. He felt warmth and love invading his body…
Rose knocked loudly on the bedroom door, before cracking it open and softly stepping in, followed closely by Hugo.
She let out a gasp and felt her brother's arms around her, the tears coming for both. Ron's body was cold, but he still had a grin on his face. Only one person could make him that happy.
After a long while, Hugo wiped his cheeks.
"Is this what you wanted me to be prepared for, Rosie?"
Rose sniffed, but nodded her head. "I don't think they could stand to be separated for long."
"They're together now."
"They are. Where they belong."