This is a short story about what Hermione and Harry would feel like if Ron died in the war.
Tears gently caressed her cheeks as they spilled from her red rimmed eyes and fell, unacknowledged, onto to Harry's shirt to be forever soaked up. She cried in loss her howls of loss mingling with those around her, they weren't the only ones to lose someone in the war.
She became aware of the soft drops of water on her head, not water; she corrected herself, tears, Harry's tears. She began crying with new sadness, Harry hardly cries and she hated that she couldn't do anything to stop the pain and sadness that he was feeling.
Little did she know he was thinking the same thing.
Harry was aware of the fact that he was crying, he was surprised at himself then he remembered that he had just lost one of his best friends in the entire world, among others. Of course he was crying, he wouldn't be human if he wasn't. He closed his eyes, he wished more than anything that he could bring Ron back, that he could stop all the pain that Hermione and everyone else was feeling. But he knew he couldn't, no one could and he cried; for them, for Ron and for Hermione.
Professor McGonagall stood at the dais where he was used to seeing Dumbledore. This arose new feelings of loss at the thought of his mentor, lying at the bottom of the tower. He shook his head, it was not the time to dwell on things he could not change. He reluctantly pulled away from Hermione and looked around, at the injured, the dead, and the sad.
He looked at her questioning eyes, trying to convey his thoughts to her, he had always been able too. Realisation lit up her eyes and she nodded, turning away slightly and pulling him over to the nearest cluster of injured people, they spent the next few hours helping those who needed them.
'I hate Voldemort' thought Harry.
sorry its so short.
first story- please review if you think i need a flame then flame. i think of it as constructive criticism.