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Hermione wept softly onto Ron's shoulder, and he kissed her hair and held her as all his instincts told him to. He felt empty, as though the passing of Dumbledore had hollowed all the truth out of him and left nothing but darkness. He never knew he could feel this bad, and he never thought it would be when he was holding Hermione in his arms. The tears were gushing from his eyes now, and he could not have stopped them if he wanted to. It was not only out of grief, and he was ashamed to admit it, but it was also fear that was hurting him so. He had so much to lose in this war, but the battle had to be fought all the same, and he was going to be a part of it whether he wanted to or not. It was not a question of cowardice; Ron would have fought no matter who tried to stop him, he just didn't think he could take the pain of losing everyone he loved. His thoughts strayed to Harry; this would be affecting him more than anyone else. Most people knew Dumbledore as a pure and honest wizard, who was modest with the great powers he possessed, but Harry knew him as so much more than that. Harry knew him as a mentor, as a protector, as a friend.
Hermione finally managed to collect herself together enough to raise her head from Ron's shoulder. Her eyes were windows to her broken soul, and Ron found that he had a hard time looking into them. He did not look away though, because he wanted Hermione to see that he was there for her, and there was nothing on this earth that could ever change that. He would protect her until the day he died, and he was desperate that she be aware of that, she just had to know. There were many things left unsaid between the pair, Ron knew that well enough, but the time would come for all of that and right now there were more important things at hand. Though it had pained him greatly to see his hero fall, Dumbledore's death had given Ron something extra, a bitter need to see Voldemort defeated, to right all of the wrongs he had caused. "I'd like to go and see him," Hermione finally said in a choked voice. Ron nodded and took her hand as they walked to the white tomb, a gesture of solidarity and friendship and nothing more. Harry was not around, though Ron was desperate to see him, just to see if he was alright. That was a ludicrous thought though, Harry couldn't be alright. Ron worried about Harry so much these days. So many people had been taken from him.
Flowers adorned Dumbledore's tomb everywhere Ron looked. He was glad to see that so many people had come out to pay their respects to the great wizard. With a faint sense of ill-placed amusement, Ron noticed that Dobby the House Elf had placed a pair of knobbly purple socks at the foot of Dumbledore's grave, adorned with wands and sparks. Ron smiled, knowing that Dumbledore would have done just the same. Hermione released Ron's hand and walked over to Dumbledore's tomb, laying her hands gently upon the cold marble. Ron did not follow, he knew she wanted a moment alone to thank the Headmaster for all he had done and what all of it had meant to her. Ron hoped to do the same sooner or later, but he rather hoped to return here when no one else was around. Then he could say his proper goodbyes. Ron had never been very good at doing things with an audience, his Quidditch performance showed that much. A figure crept up behind him.
"Is she saying goodbye?" Harry's voice was weak and cracked, he was obviously trying to swallow down the large lump in his throat. Ron turned around steadily, wanting to show his friend that their eyes were just as red as each others.
"Yes," he said softly. "I will too… soon."
"I know mate," Harry said. A silence passed between them, and Ron was intuitive enough to take his friend into a tight embrace before Harry's bitter tears were displayed for everyone to see. With a grim sort of realisation, Ron noticed that this was the first time he and Harry had ever hugged properly, and it saddened him to think that it was under such morbid circumstances. Harry wept onto the same shoulder where Hermione's tears had been just moments before, and Ron did not loosen his grip. There was no shame in hugging Harry to his chest, he loved Harry and he would have told that to anyone who asked. He was proud of his best friend, but more than anything he was glad just to know him. To have enjoyed his company not as The Boy Who Lived, but as Harry Potter, The Boy Who Was A Pushover At Wizard Chess, or The Boy Who Couldn't Stand Holes In The Toes Of His Socks. He let out another small laugh and Harry pulled away, wiping his eyes beneath his glasses.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked, but he was also smiling.
"Nothing mate," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Nothing at all."
Hermione rejoined them, briefly linking hands with Harry and giving his fingers a tight squeeze before letting go. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"I will be," the raven haired boy replied solidly. A silence passed between the three friends as a couple of owls flew overhead, the trio reflecting on the great man that had been lost to them. "He won't win," Harry said finally. "I won't let him."
"We know," Hermione replied, giving Harry a small smile which momentarily returned the sparkle to her chocolate eyes. Ron ran his fingers through his hair and shifted his feet. He wanted to go to Dumbledore and say his goodbyes, but he wasn't quite sure where to start. Dumbledore was a great man and a great wizard, there was no denying that, but he had been something else to Ron, he just wasn't sure what that thing was. The crowd was beginning to disperse now, the majority of the witches and wizards having paid their respects and others, who were far too distraught to do so just yet, getting ready to leave the grounds so they could Apparate home and mourn in peace. Harry glanced over and saw that Dumbledore's tomb was heavily shadowed by the figures of Hagrid and his brother. Grawp led Hagrid away gently as he sobbed into his giant spotted handkerchief, and Ron gave Harry a delicate nudge in the ribs.
"I think we should go over there and say something to him," Harry said quietly as the trio watched Hagrid break down, leaning on a chair for support and being able to walk no longer. Hermione nodded, but Ron glanced back to the tomb again, which was now free of a crowd wishing to pay their last respects.
"I think I'll just go and… you know," Ron said, jerking his head towards the tomb. Nodding, Hermione and Harry left him to it and went to comfort their giant friend.
The ground beneath Ron's feet was very solid as the summer sun had baked it dry, and he felt it crumbling beneath his shoes. It really would have been a beautiful day had it not been for the morbid circumstances in which they were all gathered. Dumbledore always did appreciate the sun, Ron thought as he continued toward the white tomb, but he was never really one for cavorting around in it. He was rather hot in his robes, the emotion of the occasion not really helping him any, and he knew that as soon as he had the chance he would be stripping them off and leaping into the shower for a very long time, washing away not only sticky sweat but also the horrors of the day. He wiped his hand across his forehead and exhaled deeply. Was this really how it was supposed to be? Dumbledore dead, Hogwarts closed, Snape responsible? Nothing really added up to Ron, but he always felt as though he wasn't being painted a whole picture anyway. He sighed. He hoped that he and Hermione would be enough for Harry when the final battle came.
If they were still alive.
Once again that monster that lived in the pit of Ron's stomach reared its ugly head, reminding him once again of all he had to lose in this ghastly war. He tried to fight it down, but it was always going to be there until Voldemort fell, but Ron was prepared to do battle with his inner demons while he fought the real monsters in this world: Death Eaters, wrong-doers, Voldemort. All would be vanquished, Ron was sure, because he felt he had more faith in Harry than anyone else on the planet. He could see that even Hermione, love him though she did, had her doubts about Harry. She feared he wouldn't be able to cope, that it was all too much for him to take, but Ron knew better. Ron knew that Harry would always have him, and Hermione, to shoulder the pressure for a little while when it all became too much. They would never ever let him down, they would rather die.
Ron's fingertips danced along the cold marble of Dumbledore's tomb. He could not believe that mere inches below laid the body of Albus Dumbledore; he had always seemed so indestructible. Again his hand made its way through his unruly red hair, before hanging limply at his side. He had words, a thousand of them, all sitting on the tip of his tongue, but none of them fell from his lips. There was just a peace between the two wizards, and Ron stood there for hours, long after the sun had set. It was the hooting of an owl that brought him back to his senses, and Ron realised for the first time that now the sun had set the air had turned rather cold. He hugged his arms around his chest and looked about the grounds. He was very much alone now. Hermione and Harry had not disturbed him and had instead left him to it, for which he was very thankful. A gentle rain began to spit down, and though Ron knew he ought to return to his friends he found he did not want to leave just yet. He still hadn't said goodbye.
A gentle fluttering reached his ears and a large Snowy owl settled on Dumbledore's tomb, right over where his heart would be. Ron looked up at the bird, into her yellow eyes. "Hedwig!" he exclaimed, gently stroking her. "What are you doing here?" She hooted dolefully and Ron looked down to her leg, to which a rolled up scroll was tied. "What's that, a note from Harry telling me to get my sorry self back up to the castle?" He took the note from her and she gave his finger the friendly nip she usually reserved for Harry before taking off and flying back to the owlery. Ron found it was far to dark and cold to stand by Dumbledore's tomb to read the note, but he wasn't quite ready to be enveloped in the safety and warmth of the castle just yet. Slowly he went to sit under his favourite tree by the lake, taking his wand from his pocket as he did so. The leaves of the tree swayed in the light summer breeze, and Ron smiled. How many times had he sat here, right under this tree, sometimes with Harry, sometimes with Hermione, but mostly with them both? How many trivial matters had they discussed underneath its sturdy boughs, and how many deathly serious ones? He held his wand out in front of him.
"Lumos."
The gentle light illuminated the tip of his wand, casting strange shadows that alarmed Ron in a childish way. He unfurled the parchment and held his wand to it, illuminating a long letter written in elegant, loopy handwriting.
Ron,
Once again I find myself not knowing where to begin what is going to be a very difficult letter to write. It was never going to be easy to say these things to you, but I hope that in writing these words down they will hold more conviction than they ever could if they were spoken. It's been a very trying time of late, I have felt myself fading away, and I am sure you noticed it. You were always more observant than you would have anyone believe, but I'd like to think I've seen something deep within you as I did with all my students. I know it would not be very professional of me to play favourites, (though I have been accused of it many times), but having known all your brothers and your dear little sister, I must say it is you who has proven to be the most noble of spirit. You have this unique perception about you, seeing things that others cannot, reading deeper meaning into that which requires it. That is why you are so good at chess, I presume. I too have always been a fan of reading between the lines, and in the years that I have known you, a lot has come to my attention. It is time that I told it all to you.
When Harry first discovered the mirror or Erised, he immediately went to you, his very best friend, to show you the magnificent thing he had discovered. You told him that you saw yourself in that mirror, above all your siblings, standing alone as the best. I feel that now would be the appropriate time to tell you that you have already surpassed them all. Academic achievement and sporting prowess are fine attributes, yes indeed, but the fire you possess in your soul and the amazing amount of courage you have sets you above the rest. You are strong, much stronger than you would ever believe. And you must not forget it. Now, to business as, I have a few things to address.
First of all, do not worry about your brother Percy. I know it seems as though he has taken a third route in this battle, a route that is neither dark nor light, and in many respects that is true, but let me explain. Of all the Weasleys I have known, Percy was the one that doubted himself the most. He never believed in his abilities as a wizard, and it felt to him that no matter how hard he applied himself he would never be quite good enough. In a way he was smart to deny Voldemort's return. In the face of an enemy we know we cannot fight, it is better to run and hide. There is no shame in admitting when you are beat, but for Percy he was always too quick off the mark. He never thought there was more to him than a bookish Head Boy, and that is why he fled Ron. Do not hate him for it, he will come around one day. Blood is thicker than water after all, and when the time comes he will want to protect the ones he loves from the evil that lurks in the shadows.
I know you fear losing your loved ones in this battle, and though I would dearly love to tell you here that they will all be fine, I cannot. I cannot say they will not fall at the hand of evil, but I will remind you, however, that to die fighting for a cause such as theirs would be noble indeed. Should the worst happen grieve for them by all means, but also be proud of them and fight on in their honour. There is no one you love and care for in this war that would ever die in vain, as they have all chosen the side of light. You choose your friends wisely, Mr. Weasley, I always said you had excellent judgement. Oh, and speaking of which, isn't Miss Granger looking lovely these days?
Of course, you knew this was coming. I must discuss Harry. He is, it can only be said, at his most fragile now. I don't think it's likely I will still be alive when you read this, so he must be breaking down. He told me once, in your third year, that he thought I was capable of anything, and when it turned out I wasn't his walls came tumbling down. And now I am gone entirely his mind must be in tatters. I wish I had never let him get this close, but you must forgive an old man his mistakes. He saw me as one of the strongest people he knew he could trust, and though he had been with me this year in moments of my own absolute weakness, he must know that I am not the only person he can run to. You must show him how much he and his cause mean to you, and just how willing you are to do anything he might need of you. He is amazingly strong, I can feel it every time he sits before me in my office. The power radiates from him in waves, and I know that others sense it too, and yet it does not seem strange to guess that you do not. I know that to you he is not first and foremost a great wizard but your friend, and this is why you are so important. Friends are what hold us up, keep us going and follow closely behind, ready to protect us should the need arise. You need to take care of Harry, because Harry needs to take care of the world.
You are the hero's hero. Never forget that.
I am, in both life and death, yours,
Albus Dumbledore
Ron felt a strange sense of serenity washing over him as he rolled up the scroll and tucked it safely inside his robes. He pushed himself to his feet. "Knox," he muttered, and the light on the end of his wand went out. His mind was streaming through a hundred things at once at a calm, unwavering pace, and a faint smile touched his lips as he headed back to Dumbledore's tomb. He finally understood his place, he finally saw what it was he was supposed to do. The rain had picked up speed now, and Ron felt his hair getting steadily damper. Raindrops fell like a veil down his face, mingling with the tears he had not realised he was crying. The stars were hidden behind the heavy grey clouds, but the moon was managing to produce a misty light behind its stormy blanket. He hoped there would be no lightning; the crashing thunder had always unnerved Hermione.
Ron noticed that Dumbledore's tomb looked a little different in the night time. The marble was slippery from the rain drops as he placed his hands upon it once more, and he smiled bravely.
"I will carry on where you left off sir," he whispered as the rain began to fall heavily. "I will watch, I will understand, and I will help. I won't let you down, and I won't let Harry down. You were the observant one before, it's true, but now you are gone I will try my best to fill your shoes. Thank you sir for showing me who I am. Thank you for finally helping me to understand. You were brilliant sir, you really were. Rest in Peace, Professor Dumbledore." With a final glance at the tomb, Ron pulled his robes tightly around his body and ran to the castle as fast as he could.
He suddenly felt the need to be with his very best friends.
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