Chapter 1: Greatest Treasure Stolen

"And now I think..." Bellatrix Lestrange was purring. "We can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Ron's roar of protest ended in an almost primal screech as he charged forward into the fray to rescue his lady love. Harry was right behind him. But then, suddenly -

WHAM! Ron felt as though he had just run into an invisible wall. He bashed his shoulder against the barrier that he couldn't see once, then again. Behind him, Harry skidded to a stop as he nearly crashed into his best mate. The boys looked beyond where they could not tread.

Bellatrix had her wand out and had cast a Protego shield in front of them, sealing off half of the room, grinning evilly. "Greyback... you are free to feast."

Greyback grinned sadistically at Ron, making sure he was watching before he sprung forward with a hungry roar and sank his teeth into Hermione's neck.

He might not have been able to get to her. But he heard her scream. The Protego charm did nothing to shield Ron from that.

"NOOOOOOOOO! HERMIONE!" Tears of anguish and rage streamed down Ron's cheeks as he watched his Hermione scream as she was mauled, given the marks that would make her a werewolf by night. She was thrashing, shrieking, but Greyback kept her mercilessly pinned. Then, in horror, Ron watched as Hermione's jeans were ripped down to her ankles, and with a vicious slam, Greyback forcefully took her. Raped her.

"No... no... no... no... No, No, No, No, NOOOOOO!" Ron punctuated each mad denial with a fist against the Protego shield. "Stop it, STOP IT!"

All at once, there was a mighty crash, as a chandelier came down right on top of the raping werewolf and his victim. Somewhere, Bellatrix screamed. With the collapsing of the great decoration, the Protego shield came down with it. Ron sprinted forward, found Hermione's arm, with the nice, soft skin he had always loved but that had now been cruelly defaced. As quickly and yet as gently as he could, he pulled her from the wreckage. She lay limp in his arms, eyes closed, her head lolled back and looking like a swooning bride, or a princess about to be carried away by her prince. Except the princess in this story was not from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but rather from the grotesque tales of the Brothers Grimm, for the princess was covered in blood, defiled. Ron tried not to look at any of Hermione's injuries as he retreated back towards the other end of the drawing room. At that moment, Harry called out, "Ron, catch... and GO!"

Ron caught the wand flung to him, not even caring whether it was his own or not, turned on his heel and Disapparated. Two words chanted through his mind like a prayer: Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage...

His knees hit the coarse sand hard and he nearly tumbled face first into a dune with the inertia of being pulled back into space. Righting himself, his gaze snapped to Hermione, who was still thankfully cradled in his arms.

She was unresponsive.

"NO!" Ron bellowed. "Hermione... HERMIONE!" The last call of her name was once again primal, like that of an animal having lost its mate. This time, he watched as Hermione's eyes opened. There it was - that beautiful chocolate brown. Except her irises appeared glassy, filmy. Her gaze was fixed on him, and yet Ron still wondered if she was even looking at him at all. Strangely enough, she was smiling.

"Ronnie...?" she murmured, using a pet name for him that she had only recently come up with it. Ron had not bothered to hide how much he adored it (it was a hella lot cuter than Won-Won). "My love... my brave, heroic love... so handsome..." A gentle hand reached up to caress his cheek, delicate and dainty fingers playing with the scruff that Ron should have shaved off days ago, but had not bothered to.

Ron could scarcely breathe. Did Hermione hear herself? Was she aware of what she was saying? Perhaps, perhaps not - she appeared almost delirious. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Stay with me, Hermione..." From behind them, Ron heard a sharp POP!, the sound something between the retort of a gun and a firecracker, and he knew that Harry had arrived.

"Ron! RON!" He felt Harry reach his side. "She's not... Is she...?"

Ron ignored him, as he rocked Hermione gently, like a baby. Big, fat, wet tears sniffled noisily down his cheeks and fell onto her upturned face like sweet rain, their salt kissing away the streaks of blood on her face. "Please..." he croaked, begged her. "Don't die... don't leave me..." And even though he should have said it months, years earlier, only now was he man enough to tell her, "I love you!"

Hermione smiled, enraptured and giddy, and by that Ron knew that she had heard his words. "I know, my love. All my life, I've lived for loving you... let me go now..."

"Never!" Ron thundered, squeezing her to him tighter still. "You're going to live, 'Mione! I shall see to it! BILL! BILL!" He screamed for help down the beach, hoping it might awaken his brother.

But Hermione just shook her head. In the process, her gaze found Harry, and her eyes suddenly took on a sense of urgency. "Harry..." she whimpered. "Marry us."

Harry's mouth hinged open, and for the first time, Ron got a good look at his best mate. He seemed dazed and confused, and was cradling a lumpy form in his own arms himself. But Ron was too disoriented to ask what it was. Scrambling, Harry sent the lump down in the damp sand. The blue gray of a fading night shone on his glasses as he stood before the couple. He blessed them with the sign of the cross, as he had recalled his Aunt Petunia doing on Sundays when she would drag him, Vernon and Dudley to church. Then, he began the impromptu wedding service.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, until death..." Harry's throat clogged, as 'until death do you part' was probably moments away, but he forced himself to continue. "until death do you part?"

"I do," Ron vowed, and his voice seemed strangely firm.

"Hermione Jean Granger, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, until death do you part?" Harry ran through the last this time, and barely made it, breaking down. Hermione gazed at Ron with unabashed, pure, unadulterated love.

"I do," she sighed, beaming.

Taking a clump of sand in his fist, Harry transfigured it into two golden wedding bands, which Ron and Hermione gave to each other. Then Harry concluded with the words that the wizard at Bill and Fluer's wedding had used. "Then... I declare you... bonded for life. You may kiss the bride."

Ron slowly bent over Hermione and the pair shared a gentle, first kiss. It was sweeter than anything Ron had fantasized about, and then grew quickly more passionate, as with an admirable show of the last of her strength, Hermione clutched Ron close and kissed him back. When they broke the kiss at last, her eyes were shining.

"We're married," she whispered to the man who was now her husband. Her body now began to shake, convulse a little. "Hold... hold me," she got out. "One more time..."

Ron sobbed jarringly, wept bitterly, as he bent and kissed Hermione's lips once more. As they shared a goodbye kiss, the sun rose over the waters of the Atlantic just beyond, so that the tide glistened with its pink light.

Hermione's hand stroked Ron's face lovingly once again. "Goodbye, my darling," she whispered. "I love... you..." And curling into his side, her eyes fluttered shut, her body fell limp, and after several minutes, her breathing ceased.

Ron shook his head madly, in mad denial, refusing to believe, that the woman whom he had loved more than anyone, the woman he had always wanted, was gone forever. And once again, he screamed for the cold heavens to hear, with Harry watching despondently:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bill Weasley awoke at barely first light that morning to a furious pounding on his door and quite a sight behind it. His baby brother, looking positively deranged with grief, and an exhausted Harry Potter, both of them carrying bodies in their arms. It was with horror that he discovered the bodies were those of Hermione Granger and Dobby the house elf. Harry's little friend had come and rescued them all, at the price of his own life, ended by a silver blade to the chest.

Fleur cleaned the bodies as best she could, clearing away every last one of Greyback's horrid bites. Taking the knife out of Dobby's chest, they cleaned the blade and used it to cut away Hermione's clothes, as rigor mortis had already begun to set it. Ron gave Fleur free reign to do whatever she had to do, so long as he didn't have to watch. But he remained at Hermione's side - his bride and spouse of scarcely ten minutes - holding her cold, clammy hand.

It was the worst day of Ron's life, bar none. As Hermione and Dobby were being attended to, Bill fled to the Burrow to round up his family. After pretty much forcing his baby brother at wandpoint to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the eldest Weasley had realized that the Death Eaters knew Ron was with Harry, and not bedridden by spattegroit, and thus rounded up the rest of the family. The whole motley crew, including Ginny, was brought back to Shell Cottage, and warned that funerals would be held. When Mrs. Weasley saw that it was Hermione who was to be buried, she lost it. Ginny clung to Harry like he was a lifeline, the force of her wracking sobs nearly making her lose her balance. Fred and George only stared numbly and in shock at their baby brother's crush.

The funeral services were held on the dunes behind Shell Cottage. Laying Hermione to eternal rest here had not been an easy decision. Ron was unsure if they should take her back to her empty, childhood home, as he had no idea if the Death Eaters had trashed the place looking for information on Harry. And even if they did bury Hermione there, who was to say that the grave would not be vandalized at some point in the future? In the end, the point was moot as with Voldemort consolidating his power, the family couldn't exactly go anywhere freely; Bill had taken a big risk to even convene everyone else here.

Harry dug a simple grave for Dobby, marked by an equally unpretentious stone. With his wand, he carved into the rock: HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF. Ron insisted on digging his wife's grave himself, refusing help from his brothers even after it was offered multiple times.

Someone conjured an open casket, and adorned in the red dress she had worn to last summer's wedding, Hermione was laid upon it. Any trace of Bellatrix and Greyback's assaults were gone; she appeared to be sleeping almost. A small smile graced her lips, which were still adorably pink. She looked so beautiful, even in death, that Ron had difficulty finding it in his heart to bury her.

It was decided with no words. Ron was allowed to approach the casket first, Harry and his family parting for him silently as he strode on unsteady feet towards where his beloved Hermione lay. Sitting on the edge of her final resting place, Ron ran a tender hand down her cheek.

Several months earlier, at a time when the Horcrux hunt had slowed to a crawl, Ron recalled something Hermione had read. At that time, in the woods with very little food and only a locket Horcrux for their efforts, life had become boring very quickly, so most nights, Hermione would read aloud from a book she had brought along for pleasure, the boys listening, Harry distractedly, Ron rapturously. Ron had always treasured Hermione's voice when she read, and especially when she sang. That winter, she had read from what, by her own admission, was her favorite play - Romeo and Juliet, by William... William... Ron couldn't remember the last name, only that it had started with an S. A Muggle playwright from centuries before. Recalling one of the most tragic scenes in the manuscript, he spoke those words to Hermione now, in a whisper, a secret to be shared by just those two:

"Oh my love, my wife! Death, that hath sucked the honey from thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered! Beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks. And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Ah, dear Hermione, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous And that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?"

Overcome, Ron kissed Hermione's lips once, then again. "Goodbye, my darling," he echoed Hermione's last words. "And thank you." He willed himself to step away from the coffin, allowing Bill, Fred and George to seal the glass over her casket, and lower the coffin into the ground, before beginning to fill the earth again. As the rest of the Weasleys began to turn sadly for the house, Ron took Harry aside.

"Bellatrix and Greyback will pay. I swear on my wife's grave, Bellatrix and Greyback will pay. They shall die by my hand."

Harry nodded, though his stomach clenched uneasily. He hoped that Ron would wait until he was ready before he made his move, to do the wretched deed. To avenge his bride.

Harry should have known his best friend better. It was only night, the evening of Hermione's funeral, as he sat on the porch, observing the lulling crashes of the waves. Keeping watch at night had become an ingrained habit, and Harry adhered to the practice, despite the spring chill. The light from a single lantern lit his form, the glow dancing along his emerald green irises which were now brooding, swimming with grief as he sealed himself off in his own pain.

Footfalls came onto the porch, the creak of the wood making Harry look up into Ron's face. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a padded flannel. "You ready?"

"For what?" Harry asked warily, though there was a sharp edge to his voice.

"We're going after the Death Eaters." Ron's own tone was grim as he tossed Harry a wand. One look at it, and Harry knew it wasn't his - several wands had been confiscated with them in the desperate struggle to flee. This wand he held could have been Draco Malfoy's. He thought. He wasn't sure. All the same, he eyed the weapon, then his friend, sadly.

"I know what you're feeling... but killing those Death Eaters is wrong." He regretted his poor turn of phrase the second after the words left his lips.

"Wrong?!" Ron bellowed. "The love of my life, our best mate, is dead, and it's because of that monster!"

"I don't blame the werewolf, Ron!" Harry growled.

Silence. Ron leaned back a little, blue eyes wide. Harry was desperate to correct what he had meant, that it was Bellatrix whom he blamed the most, but too late. Ron misinterpreted where Harry lay the blame, as he averted his gaze. "I see." The youngest Wealey son's voice was cold.

Harry sighed. "Killing Bellatrix or Greyback won't bring Hermione back."

"Oh, now you're trying to be sensitive and logical!" Ron snapped, twisting away from his friend. Harry jumped to his feet.

"I'm trying to follow the mission! Why can't you do the same?"

"Sod the mission! Do you really think losing someone you love has anything to do with the mission? I lost Hermione! Don't you understand? I. Lost. Her. And anyone who ever cared about her at all wouldn't just sit here, and do nothing!" He spun on his heel, but Harry's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Ron!" He stiffened. "Don't go do something that could get you killed."

Ron scoffed to the air. "Killed. Maybe it would be better to be dead, and take a couple Death Eaters with me. Thanks for you sensitivity."

He nearly walked into Fleur, coming up the front porch steps. From the look she sent his way, it was clear she had heard most of the argument. Ron just scowled at her, and brushed past her, setting off at a light jog across the sandy beach. Harry gazed after him, his task now clear.

"I've gotta stop him." Gratefully taking an offered traveling cloak from Fleur, he went after his friend. Fleur watched both men disappear before casting her eyes to the black night sky.

"You left too soon, Hermione. Your friends need your guidance."

Ron was unsure how long he had been walking along the beach. He was stumbling through the dunes, his boots sinking into the coarse grains. Vengeance towards Bellatrix and Greyback had quickly been drowned by his own hopeless despair, and he was sobbing and not caring who heard. With Hermione gone, life had become utterly meaningless. He no longer cared what happened to him, for meaning and happiness had been centered inside of one perfect, beautiful creature who would be forever out of reach.

Ron had heard stories. About people losing the love of their life, and never getting over it. And he had known for years that Hermione had been It for him. Stick a wand in him, baby, because he. was. done. How could he go on, why should he go on, if she wasn't there to share the joys of life with him?

Pausing at the crest of a dune, bathed in the light of the full moon, Ron paused. He took out the wand he was certain he had won from somebody else - he didn't care who - and turned it over in his palm, the core glinting in the light.

What did it feel like, death? Harry was the only known wizard to have ever survived a Killing Curse - did he remember what the green bolt of light had felt like? Ron had never thought to ask. And then again, Harry probably didn't remember what it felt like; he had just been a baby. Still, it would be all too easy... to turn the wand on himself...

"Ron, NO!" Ron looked up, the tip of the wand pointed at his chest, just in time to see Harry ramrod into him. The force of the impact sent them both sprawling; the wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the sand and the darkness.

"MERLIN DAMN YOU, POTTER! I'LL KILL YOU!" Ron was on his feet in an instant, bull-rushing into Harry's stomach. Though surprised, and not nearly as strong as Ron, Harry fought back. The best mates rolled through the dunes, biting and kicking. Punches were thrown. Calloused hands, caked with blood that shimmered in the moon's beam, grappled for control of the one remaining wand.

This was not an innocent rough-housing, a tussle between two playmates. Nor was it a disagreement that had gotten a little out of hand. Harry and Ron were fighting to kill, or at least Ron was. There was something so disturbing about watching two best mates, practically brothers, trying to kill each other. Time seemed to slow down. Harry threw one punch that connected with the side of Ron's jaw. Blood spewed from the redhead's mouth, and there was a sharp crack as something broke. Ron responded in kind.

And then he was on his back, Harry straddling him, hands pinning his skull into the sand. Ron's eyes could make out a tiny sea turtle crawling by them towards the lapping waves.

"LIVE FOR HER! THAT IS WHAT SHE WOULD WANT!" Harry bellowed it into Ron's face. "What would Hermione do, if she was in your position?"

Ron remained stonily silent, squirmed once to try and dislodge his friend, but it was fruitless. He felt Harry press his skull into the ground harder, grains of sand now leaving an indentation in his cheek.

"I will only let you up if you promise not to hurt yourself or me. Do you understand me?"

Ron gave up. He nodded as much as he was able, and felt Harry's weight rise off of him. Then he was being tugged to his feet.

They both doubled over, finally catching their breath, panting.

"You will have your chance, Ron," Harry promised. "To get Greyback and Bellatrix. Losing Hermione will not be meaningless. But first, no matter what it takes... we are finishing this mission."