Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not and will never belong to me. All People, Places, and Creatures belong to J.K Rowling. The plot, however, belongs to moi! Please don't steal my plot bunny! I may elaborate on this scene later and make it into a full length story; for now it is but a very short one-shot. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: rated T for a wee bit of graphic material (if you blink you miss), unbeta'd, a little OOC, post-war hogwarts

Not Worth It
Super short story by: MITM
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She's standing at the edge of the lake when he finds her, letting the black water lap at her bare feet as she stares out at nothing in the distance. She had escaped from all the hubbub in the castle barely ten minutes ago, and she almost cries when she hears footsteps coming up behind her.

"Hermione?" Ron says as he places an unsure hand on her shoulder, "why did you leave?"

Ron. She gives not even half of a smile when she realizes it's him... But she's relived, nonetheless.

"I'm not in the celebrating mood right now, Ron," she sighs, not taking her eyes off of the strengthening morning light, "Where's Harry?"

Without looking, she can tell that he has shrugged... And that makes her smile a little bit bigger on the inside.

"With Ginny, I s'pose," he crosses his arms awkwardly over his chest, "they've missed each other."

Hermione knows that Ron wants to ask what it meant- the kiss they shared after killing the Horcrux- but she's not sure how ready she is to answer that question. She knows that she's been in love with Ron for a long time... even when they were just friends, love would describe her feelings perfectly. What she doesn't know, however, is the exact moment when her love for Ron went from 'Friendly' to'I-Want-To-Snog-You-In-A-Broomcloset'.

"Ron-" she begins and the same time he works up the courage to say,

"Hermione-"

If this was a normal situation, she would laugh.

This is not a normal situation.

She does not laugh.

Instead, she is quiet. Know-it-All, Braniac, Brightest-Witch-of-her-Age Hermione Granger does not, for once in her life, have anything to say. Well, that's not entirely true... Really she has too much to say. So many questions and thoughts are running a marathon through her mind so fast that she can't tell one from the other and she knows that if she opens her mouth to speak she'll either say too much or nothing at all...And she's not sure which is worse. So she keeps her lips glued together like paper mâché.

"Hermione," he tries again; she can't help it when her neck turns to let her see him. He's dirty... Covered in grime from the battle that took so many precious lives from even his own family.

"How are you?"

She furrows her eyebrows in a way that suggests he's gone completely bonkers, "how am I doing?" She asks incredulously, "I just saw thousands of people die, and you ask me how I'm doing?"

"What else do you want me to say, 'Mione?" He yells suddenly, shocking her into nothing but a blank stare. "You've always been the one that knows what's going on and how we're going to handle it, I don't know how to be that person! I can't bring all those people back, God knows I want to, Hermione... Fred was my brother! But I can't do anything about it, and neither can you!"

"Ron, I-"

"This war has changed everything," Ron continues, "nothing will ever be the same! Lupin and Tonks are dead and now Harry's got to take care of their son... Orphans of war are everywhere, Hermione..." He trails off, pain clearly evident in his bloodshot blue eyes, "and you didn't lose anyone."

"You're wrong, Ron," Hermione whispers, her voice clouded with overuse, "I lost everyone that you lost. They were my friends- my family- too."

The two stare at each other in silence... Whatever words are said next could be the deciding factor in how their relationship goes from here.

Ron's expression shows Hermione that he's sorry... But they both know that he has already been forgiven. After a stretch of five minutes in complete meditation, Hermione turns to look at where the brunt of the battle took place... Witches and Wizards are loading up their dead comrades onto the backs of Thestrals and carrying them into the Great Hall to be identified and then given a proper burial. It is she who speaks first.

"It's not worth it, you know," she says quietly as she watches the lifeless body of Colin Creevey gently levitated into the back of one of the great winged horses, his camera as charred and crumbling as his skin... Though there is no mistaking that it's the brave little sixth year.

"What isn't worth it?" Ron asks, just as quiet as Hermione in his reply.

"Being able to see them. I'd rather never have known about the Thestrals and death than trade someone's life for the chance to see those beasts."

"Of course, Hermione, you're not the only one," Ron kicks at a patch of uprooted grass with his trainers, "is it enough for me to say I'm glad you're safe?"

"I'm still so scared-"

"I promise you," he interrupts, "that as long as I'm here, nothing will ever happen to you."

"I'm not a baby, Ronald, I can take care of myself," but her half smile shows him that she may like the idea of someone else doing the taking care of... Just this once.

"I swear, one day I'll make it all up to you... Running away, I mean."

Hermione smiles and places her hand on his chest over his heart... At the exact spot where the ball of light entered to lead him to where she was.

"I know."

The End