SUMMARY: Five years ago, Ronald Weasley was convicted for the murder of Harry Potter. Now, three weeks away from his death, Hermione, with the help of a private investigator, must find the truth behind Harry's death, before Ron is the next to go. However, how can Hermione investigate a crime where every piece of evidence points to the very man she loves? And most importantly, will she survive long enough to discover the truth?
DISCLAIMER: Anything you can recall being in the Harry Potter series does not belong to me. JK Rowling owns the world, including my life, and therefore the characters and the Harry Potter world itself, belong to her.
Prologue: The Beginning of the End.
"If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it heavy walls, and we will furnish it with soft red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler's felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does."
-Jonathan Safran Foer.
The streets were dark and empty; the sidewalks covered in puddles and dimly lit street lights. Clinging to his hand for dear life, her ears listened closely to the environment; her senses going haywire. Everything seemed so much louder when one knew they were about to die; like every sound a person heard would be their last; so they really had to listen closely to make sure they got it all in. But was this it? Was this the way she would die?
From a distance she could hear them: their feet echoing the same splashing that her own feet had created just a moment before. They were close: and she could feel her heart pounding in her head, and the panic bubbling in her stomach.
Nothing was going right, from the pain soaring through her ankles, to the way her shoes were beginning to make her skid. They weren't allowed to fall- they weren't allowed to stop. One set back, and they were dead. Or maybe they were already dead. Maybe they had been dead ever since Harry had died himself.
"This way," he breathed, dragging her body around a corner, nearly lifting her feet off the ground with his long strides.
He spoke to break the silence. But really, he spoke to give her some ounce of hope that he had a plan. In truth, she knew he didn't. She knew that in the end they were merely running, because it was all they could do. Because in the end, if all else had failed, that was what Harry would have done.
It was odd, how she so often remembered feeling this same way so many times before: how every moment seemed like it was about to be her last. And yet, they had always managed to escape. They had always managed to slip through that small crack in the horizon and come out alive. Maybe it was pure luck- or maybe it was just because Harry had always been that kind of person: Quick thinking and unrelenting in everything that he did.
But she wasn't Harry. And after years of terror, and escaping death by literally seconds, she was tired. So tired. She wanted to laugh and cry and smile and love without any conditions. Hermione Jane Granger wanted to be free.
Running towards another block, a car promptly pulled into the street, blocking their way. Skidding to a stop, Hermione felt her feet give out beneath her as she began to fall back. The only thing that kept her from falling was the large freckle-covered hand wrapped around her own.
"You," Ron muttered, watching as a large man with a haunting grin took a step out of the car.
And to think, all this time he had been under the assumption that they were running from the law, when really, this was anything but. These were the real people running from the law, and they were after him and Hermione. Backing up, Ron turned back in the direction they had just come, desperation crawling into his step. But as soon as he turned, he could see the others in the distance, creeping closer.
"No! Fuck," he exclaimed, hand holding onto hers tightly as he froze. Turning into an alleyway, he began to feel for a doorway. His free hand wrapped around a small door knob just before he gave it a hard shake. Locked. Everything was locked. Suddenly all of the breathing he hadn't been doing a moment ago caught up with him, and as his body gasped for more air. He turned. The footsteps were coming closer, and they had absolutely no where else to run too.
"Ron," she cried out in between gasps and sobs.
She was crying. Why was she crying? It was uncontrollable: the way her body shook and trembled. That was the thing about freedom: there was too much to lose and very too little to gain from it. And Hermione? She didn't want to die. Not yet- Not now. She wanted to get married and have a bunch of stupid-know-it-all-red-headed-babies, and dammit, SPEW would fall to pieces without her! She couldn't die now!
Looking towards her, Ron faltered. No book could prepare him for this kind of hysteria- there was really no good way of telling the girl you loved that she was probably going to die. And it didn't help that he had been locked away for the past five years. How was any guy supposed to keep up with all the factors that came with satisfying a woman when they changed so often? He wasn't Harry, after all. He exploded under pressure, and could never quite say or do the right thing.
However, without having to think, both of his hands wrapped themselves around hers, and his entire body shifted to stand closer to her. Fighting back her own whimpers, her eyes met his with desperation and hopelessness, the warmth of his breathing, soothing the cold in her cheeks.
"Calm down, love, calm down," he whispered, feeling the panic as it began to rise through his throat, "You're stronger than this, I know you are. Don't you let them see you like this! Lift that chin up- yes, just like that. And take a deep breath- yes, there. Now, we're going to get through this, Hermione- dead or alive, this is going to end tonight, with the both of us."
"Ron, I-"
"I-I love you, Hermione," he croaked, his heart beating so quickly that it was almost painful.
"They're back here," someone shouted in the distance.
Hermione looked towards the darkness, the city streets a mild light from the alleyway. Turning to look at Ron, she gulped back the rest of her sobs, and studied his face as if to memorize every last bit of it. Memories of the first time she'd seen him with dirt on his nose, to the anger and agony it had depicted with the death of his brother. Anger boiled as her head began to rush. How could she have spent so much time doubting him? How could she have wasted so much time believing all of the lies, when they could have been together?
"I love you too, Ron," she told him, confidently, her face growing stronger, "I love you, too."
"Levicorpus," someone shouted.
And moments later, everything went black.
A/N: Thank you to my beta hpuckle! So: Good? Bad? Needs some retouching? I've got the chapters planned out, so, if everything works out according to plan, this should end in about twenty chapters at the most. By the way, the rest of the story takes place before this scene: hence why it is called "The Beginning of the End." I started with the ending... Or, well, a piece of it, anyway. So the rest of the story is the build up to this scene, and then some.