Ron could have sworn that right then, just for that moment, his heart stopped beating. Everything else had ceased to exist but those words. Those four words that had turned Ron's world upside down. Those four words that had echoed and swelled through Hogwarts, as if they came from the building itself. "Harry Potter is dead". He heard a long, terrible, drawn-out moan of agony and despair. It was several moments before he realised that the noise came from himself. It was then that he heard another voice, a softer, gentler voice. The only voice that could have brought him back from his state of anguish. "Ron?" He felt her soft, cool hands on his face, and, trembling, he opened his eyes.
Hermione was sat in front of him, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. Her hair was white with dust and ash and her skin was bruised and cut. But in that moment, Ron still thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"He's lying, Ron, he must be," she cried, and Ron heard the same desperation in her voice that he felt. "Harry would never try to run, it's a lie, don't believe it, we can't believe it. Harry can't be d...dead." Her voice cracked on the last word, and Ron grasped onto her words like a lifeline. He used them to propel him to his feet. Clasping Hermione's hand tight in his own, he led her through the Great Hall, past all the...the bodies, as if in a dream. He had to know. He had to see with his own eyes that there was no truth at all in the claim.
They had just reached the front doors when he heard a shocking, heart-wrenching cry of pain. Increasing his speed, he pulled Hermione along with him, the feeling of dread increasing with every second. And then he saw them. The rows of Death Eaters, Voldemort at their head, Hagrid standing a couple of steps behind him. And in Hagrid's arms... "No!" The cry had left his lips before his mind had fully comprehended what he was seeing in front of him. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. But there it was.
Harry Potter, his best friend, lay dead in Hagrid's arms. He looked so small, pale, broken. And as he looked, Ron felt his heart rip in two. As if from a great distance, he heard Hermione and Ginny's cries, and then, the crowd around him erupted into shouts and screams and Hermione was clutching his arm as if to hold him back and before that moment, he hadn't even considered attacking, but now... Suddenly there was a bang and he felt as though his tongue had become glued to the roof of his mouth and although he moved his mouth, no more sound came out. The crowd was silenced.
Ron felt himself seething with fury at the lies Voldemort spoke, and felt Hermione's grip on his arm tighten. In his heart, he knew what had really happened. He thought, if he was honest with himself, that he'd known it was going to happen all along. His bloody self-sacrificing, forever noble best friend had given himself up, thinking it would protect those he loved. But he'd been wrong, Ron thought bitterly. Did he really think, after his death, that his friends would give up and lay down their arms? Ron knew, as he glanced at the faces beside him, that every witch and wizard who had stayed to defend Hogwarts would fight to the death tonight, to avenge their leader. Their last hope.
And Ron felt his anger and his pain consume him, and he had to do something. "He beat you!" he yelled, finding, to his surprise, that he was able to speak again. As if spurred on by his outburst, the crowd joined him in screaming abuse at the man who had murdered Ron's best friend. With another bang, they were silenced again. Voldemort continued to taunt them, telling of how Harry had been killed while trying to save himself. A lie that was so blatantly transparent to all who had known Harry Potter.
Ron moved again to run at the Death Eaters. He didn't know what he planned to do. He only knew that he needed to make them suffer, needed to make them hurt as he hurt, as, he knew, he would hurt for the rest of his life. But someone else moved first. Neville Longbottom had broken free of the crowd. Immediately, several curses flew at him, knocking him to the ground and disarming him. Ron felt panic rise up in him as Voldemort spoke to Neville in his snake-like hiss. Not Neville too. He couldn't lose anyone else. He didn't think he'd survive it.
"It's Neville Longbottom, my Lord!" He felt Hermione tremble beside him at the sound of that voice and he squeezed her hand in his, reigning in his own anger, fighting the urge to curse Bellatrix, to destroy her for what she did to his Hermione. He saw Neville struggle to his feet, fists clenched, staring straight back at Voldemort, and felt an overwhelming sense of pride at his friend's defiance.
"I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!" Neville cried and Ron found himself cheering along with the crowd, elated and determined, but terrified at the same time. His fears were confirmed as something flew from from one of the castle windows and into Voldemort's waiting hands. He watched in horror as the object was forced onto Neville's head and set alight. Neville's screams tore at his already broken heart, and he couldn't stay where he was and watch his friend die, he had to help. He made to move forward, but the hand on his arm clenched tighter than ever, nails digging into his skin. He heard a soft, panicked "Please don't" from beside him. It was the absolute desperation in her voice that made him turn round to look at her. And just as he did, everything changed, and chaos erupted around them.