A/N: For Cheeky's Weekly Drabbles Competition and the As Strong As We Are United Competition.
Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I wouldn't need to write fanfiction, would I? Alas, I have not written a best-seller series, I have not changed countless millions of lives for the better, and I am not one of the richest women in the world. I have a cat, though.
In Remembrance of Who We Were
The moment— he remembers it clearly— the moment where Harry Potter became so much more than the boy who lived with the knobby knees and the wonky glasses, and Ronald Weasley became so much more important than just a redheaded sidekick.
He remembers clearly, because for all his faults, Ronald Bilius Weasley has an excellent memory. He has nothing to do but stare at the walls of the cramped room in Shell Cottage and remember.
Ron is sitting at her side, willing her to wake up, trying to avoid seeing the scars that mar her fair skin, tucking the blanket around her thin, fragile arms, telling himself he's trying to keep her warm— but he knows he's trying to erase the scars, because he wasn't there to stop them anyways. He does what he can.
Ron then realizes several things at once: He is in love with this girl, and has been for some time.
He is the middle of a war and there is a good chance he will die.
And he is no longer a boy— nor is Harry.
They are men now, men who have the world on their shoulders. And he doesn't know how Harry does it, because really, even watching Hermione lay there— even though she's sort of (but not really) alright and she's breathing and her heart is beating— thump, thump, thump- the weight of this war is already crushing him.
He doesn't want to be a hero; he doesn't want to have this responsibility.
But he will, all for the bookish girl who holds his heart.
A/N: Drop me a note, eh?