God and a solider all people adore, in a time of war, but not before, and when the war is over and all things righted God is neglected and the solider slighted.
"Mummy? What's wrong with that man? Why's he walking funny?" A girl who couldn't be older then four was pointing at the back of a redheaded man with an evident limp.
He went slightly rigid but kept walking as the mother scolded her child. The man walked on until he reached his destination, an apartment building. "Mr. Weasley do you want some help with those groceries?"
"No thank you, Justin. I can handle." Just as the fair-haired boy was about to leave, Mr. Weasley stopped him. "And please just call me Ron."
Justin nodded. "Whatever you say Mr.- I mean, Ron."
"He's a good kid, " Ron said as he unlocked his door. The apartment was less the impressive, but that didn't matter; he didn't have anyone to impress. Even after nearly seven years, no one had forgiven him. Truth be told he barley forgave himself. If only I had protected him properly. Ron shook his head; the past was the past. He couldn't change it, no matter how much he wanted to.
He focused his attention back the groceries that needed putting away. The kitchenette brought back memories, like Hermione cooking breakfast in the morning when she used to live with him, and the time he and Harry tried to bake a cake because it was Ginny's birthday. He smiled to himself, remembering the happier times. We were so young. So hopeful. Especially Harry, shame hope wasn't enough in the long run.
With his only chore for the day done, Ron sank into a patched looking armchair. His left leg, which had severe nerve damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse, was throbbing painfully. Grinding his teeth, he tried to ignore it with no avail. The words of Dr. Terrance floated into his mind: "I'm afraid if the pain continues you'll probably have to get a walking cane to help you. I'm so sorry, Ron." Ron wouldn't let that happen. Old people used canes! He was only twenty-four for God's sake! Wasn't bad it enough he lost his family in the bloody war? And he couldn't even live in a world that was his birthright? No, it isn't. You let Harry die, said a nasty voice in his head.
"I couldn't. There was no way. Harry was a goner," Ron whispered to himself. "I couldn't have done anything."
You could have pushed him out of the way. You could have taken that shot for him. How fair is it that Harry, poor innocent Harry, was orphaned before you were out of nappies? Harry, who was so upset when you abandoned him during forth year, all because something he never wanted to happen did? Harry who almost died in second year to save Ginny? How fair is it that even after he went through all that and stopped You-Know-Who, he can't even enjoy his life because you were too selfish to save it? The voice said this without interruption, causing Ron to be brought back to that horrible day seven years ago…
The world was ending. It had to be. All around him people were dying, and yet if they could, everyone was still fighting, Ron himself being no exception. Ducking a flash of purple, he turned to face the direction from which it had come. The figure he faced was dark and masked. A Death Eater. An enemy. Another hex was sent his way. Ron barely dodged it and whispered the two words that would usually earn him a life sentence: "Avada Kedavra."
The Death Eater, with no time to react, fell limply to the ground. He was no longer bothered by the fact he had just killed another human; just one less that could possibly kill him. The first time, he had thrown up. Lupin simply told him "It disturbed me at first, too. But it's good that you're upset, Ron. It just proves your human. After awhile it won't seem to matter anymore, but I that's a good or a bad thing, I'm not quite sure."
Ron spotted a mop of black hair surrounded by dark robes. Those bastards were ganging up on Harry all at once! He hadn't been the only one to notice Harry's evident trouble though. Hermione was running full speed towards her friend, throwing jinxes over her shoulders.
Following suit, Ron let out a feral battle cry and entered the fray. He and Hermione fought through a throng of Death Eaters to reach their friend. In retrospect Ron was shocked that they hadn't been killed. Finally, they reached him. The three of them were battered, bloody, and surrounded by enemy force. "This is it guys and however it turns out I want you to know you're the best friends I've ever had. And…and…and if I die, it's with no regrets." Even without seeing his face, Ron was sure at that moment Harry was crying or close to it.
"Ditto man," Ron said as he dully noted the pain in his leg. "If I die it's for a better world."
Hermione, who had been crying the entire time whispered, "Best friends til the end. And if I die, then damn it, I'm going to die for my friends! Run Harry! Get Riddle now!"
The Death Eaters, who seemed to have been temporality shocked by the Trio's little speech, were slow to react when Harry ran forward and separated from the group. Ron and Hermione then began an assault of curses on the hooded enemies. Then it hit Ron like a ton of bricks- it was too easy. Riddle shouldn't have been standing out in the open, waiting for Harry. No, it had to be a trap. He looked at Hermione; realization had just dawned on her face as well. He was about to yell for Harry to stop when he heard the words he had used moments earlier: "Avada Kedavra!"
Silence reigned over the battlefield for a long moment, followed by triumphant cheers. Looking up, Ron couldn't help but grin. There stood Harry, still alive, and looking like anything but a savior of the world. All around people were embracing, letting loved ones know that they had survived. Hermione gave an exhausted sort of laugh and flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. After only the briefest moment, Ron broke the embrace and gave a victorious shout "We've won, Harry! You've done it!" He ran to give his almost-brother a hug. Ron had almost gotten there when a final jet of green lashed out and hit the green-eyed boy. Ron turned. There stood Malfoy, unmasked, a crazed glint in his eye. "I've done it. I've killed him. I told you I could, My Lord."
The redhead didn't waste a second in killing the blonde aristocrat. Ever so gently, he picked up Harry. The boy's body was already cooling in the chill air. A smile of relief still played on Harry's lips, and his face had a kind of peacefulness it had been lacking for as long as Ron could remember. Tears streamed down his face as he talked to his fallen companion. "It's absolutely frightening how well death suits you, Harry."
Ron shudders at the memories. It was all so long ago, but not long enough. He remembers everything vividly: How they rounded up the last of the Deatheaters. The names of children who were now orphan. He could even remember the types of flowers little Gabrielle Delacour brought to Harry's funeral: white roses. Eighteen of them. "For every 'ear 'e waz wif uz."
More then ever he wished he could talk to Hermione. She had been there for him during the war, but not after. No, he had left the wizarding world after Harry's funeral. Now he had his small two-bedroom apartment and a bum leg. What did he have to live for?
Nothing. You're better off dead. The nasty voice was back. You might as well just jump off the balcony, but you'd probably screw that up and land on some innocent bystander. No, you should go the way Harry did. Just A.K. yourself. After all, your wand is in the kitchen drawer.
Yes, that would be fair. Harry died and so would he and everybody would be happy. Ron walked to the kitchen and opened up the drawer. He reached for the familiar willow wand, but hesitated.
"The rent will be due soon," he said to himself and instead grabbed his checkbook and a pen. After filling it out properly Ron decided he would need a will. All the money in his bank account he had left to his family. His furniture was supposed to be donated to those who were still struggling to rebuild after the war, except for the red armchair. That was Hermione's. She had brought it for him as a flat warming gift and, if she wanted it, she could keep it.
Hermione. They had been dating since the end of sixth year. Ron was thinking of asking her to marry him; he even had the ring picked out.
Doesn't matter now. That ring was probably sold ages ago. It's not like Hermione would have accepted anyway. She's too good for you. You let her best friend die.
"I was her best friend, one of them at least. I shouldn't leave her alone. Lupin had lost all his friends. That shouldn't happen to her. She deserves to be happy."
Do you honestly think you can make her happy?
"Yes. I do."
You're a bigger fool than I thought. Now finish what you started.
"No."
What do you mean no? I suppose your still the coward you were all those years ago.
"I'm no coward. I'm going to look Hermione up. If she doesn't live in London, I'll listen to you. If she does, I'll go to her house." Ron was talking to himself as he pulled out a directory.
"Gran, Grander, Granfner, Granged, Granger! Ms. H. Granger Number 23 Kroger Lane." Ron smiled and began to imagine what Hermione's home would look like. Sensible no doubt, with a small garden, perhaps a white fence, and the inside would have to have at least in room completely devoted to her beloved books.
What are you going to do? Apparate to house ring the bell and say 'Sorry I killed our best friend seven years ago. Want to marry me?' She'll slam the door so hard you ancestors will feel it!
Once again, Ron reasoned with the voice, "If she slams it on me I'll come home and A.K. myself. If she doesn't, I'll ask to come in and we'll see what happens from there."
The voice seemed to snort. If that's your plan, Ronnie boy, you're good as buried.
Ron ignored the voice and pulled on one of his old maroon jumpers. Ron hadn't been able to Apparate since he had injuried his leg, it just wasn't safe. Instead, he grabbed his wallet and walked to the nearest underground station. It was crowded and no one noticed him, which suited him just fine. He hated it when people stared at his leg, always wanting to know how it happened but not wanting to make him feel bad by asking. Ron often wondered if Harry had felt the same way with his scar.
When his stop came, he got off with little difficulty. Kroger Lane wasn't supposed to be a long walk from where he got off. With each step, he got more nervous. What if it was the wrong address? The wrong Ms. H. Granger? What if by some slim chance she did let him in? What would he do?
Number 23 Kroger Lane came far too soon, and if he were not so nervous, Ron would have laughed. His own image of Hermione's home was not far off the mark. Small and painted a dusty red, the house popped out from a large but seemingly manageable garden. The curtains were pulled open to show Crookshanks, the now fat ginger cat, dozing on a pile of books at the windowsill. There was no sign of Hermione though. Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the gate and walked up to the door. He rang the bell and could here a cherry melody followed by a female voice calling, "I'll be right down."
So Ron waited. Waited for Hermione to answer the door. Waiting for her reaction to him after all these years, and most importantly, waiting to see just where his life was going.