I wrote this a while ago for another contest (Write an in-between Deathly Hallows scene), found it and decided to upload it. It's a little bit old...
It was still dark outside, and there wasn't any noise which could disturb the silence of the cold morning. But despite this, there was someone who wasn't sleeping, someone who, in fact, hadn't slept at all in the whole night. A tall figure could be seen lying still on his wooden bed, his blue eyes wide open, dark rings under them. The boy sat up and messed up his red hair, frustrated, gazing out of the window. Shell Cottage had a beautiful, quiet landscape, which made him feel even guiltier, if that was possible. There had been many weeks already, and he still didn't know how to come back. He bit his lip and punched the pillow, feeling angrier at himself as the minutes passed. Memories of the last few days wandered in his mind like an old movie; the Snatchers, Bill's disappointed, but always supportive look, Fleur's quiet understanding… His own words, full of rage, and Harry's expression when he left was just… He had betrayed his best friend, he had been a coward, abandoned him when he needed him the most. He didn't deserve his friendship, at the end of the day, he had always been right… he wasn't worth it, everybody was right ignoring him, treating him like he wasn't good enough.
And the worst of all, her face, disbelieving, her voice, desperately calling him back. She would never forgive him, he couldn't even forgive himself. Thinking about her was what kept him awake at night; he had left her, abandoned them. Blinded with rage, overwhelmed by the feeling she had chosen his best friend instead of him, he had gone, leaving them to their fate... And it was Christmas Day, and he was safe and sound while his friends were out there, in the middle of nowhere.
The redhead, in a fit of anger, took something from the night table and threw it to the wall, provoking a sharp noise, and then held his head with his hands in desperation. He put on the radio again, he needed to know they were ok… if they had been caught, something would be said in the news… But, no, they had to be ok. He relaxed a little when he didn't hear their names, but didn't turn the radio off: Kingsley's deep, monotonous voice kept him calm.
And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard her. It was her, he was completely positive it was her, her voice. Hermione's voice. And she was calling him: "…Ron? When he broke his wand…" But where, where was her voice coming from? It seemed to be coming out of his pocket but… could it be possible? He wasn't imagining things, he knew it was her. He tucked his hand in his pocket, anxious, and took out the only thing inside it: the Deluminator. It didn't look different at all. Slightly puzzled, he clicked it, and the room's lights went off. But it wasn't completely dark: a bright, pulsing ball of bluish light could be seen through the window, shining outside. It reminded him of a Portkey. Without giving it a second thought, Ron grabbed his stuff and packed it, then put on his rucksack and went out into the garden. The little ball of light was still hovering there, as if it was waiting for him, and when he came out it bobbed along a bit, and with determination, he followed it behind the shed. At that moment, the light floated towards him, to his chest, and he could feel it there, its heat, inside his heart. And he knew what he was supposed to do. The light would guide him.
He Disapparated without an inch of a doubt, leaving nothing but silence behind him.