Author's Note: I think I'm a bit better at writing angst than anything else, and I had this really good idea for a story that I just could not stop thinking about, so, here is the product of my psychosis. Enjoy!


Chapter One The End and the Beginning

I am sitting in a pew in a church that has no walls. There are bricks and mortar and holes where doors and windows used to be, but it is not the glory of a building it once was. Even though I have never seen it before this day, I just know that it used to be beautiful. I can imagine how its tall steepled roof would look, and how sunlight would stream through the large stained glass windows and dye the pale hardwood floors a rainbow of colors.

It seems like a lot of things are like that these days. Barely a shadow of the former glory they once were.

I am like that. I used to be happy and carefree, and I used to love life and revel in the fullness that could be gained from all the things life had to offer, but now I am a ghost. My only goal in life is to make it until tomorrow without being murdered or killed, and even my chances at that are slim.

Voldemort is on the rise again, and this time he won't be stopped. Harry is dead. He was our only hope for a chance at ending this war, and Voldemort slit his throat like he was no more than a pig at slaughter. The only people who are left to fight Voldemort are myself, Ron, and a sorry few that we picked up along the way. Everyone else has fled. No one wants to stand up for what's right anymore, all they want to do is keep out of Voldemort's way and find a way protect themselves and their loved ones. Honestly I don't blame them. I would probably do the same thing in their situation. Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury. I can't stand idly by and watch a terrorist take over the world, while I do nothing to try and stop it Even if it's a hopeless waste of my time left here on earth, and even if it kills me in the end, I will fight for what I believe is right, and I won't stop until my corpse is six feet under or, more likely, lying strewn on a battlefield somewhere with crows pecking out my eyes. This is the path I have chosen, and I will not abandon it.

I slowly get to my feet and brush the stone dust off of my shirt and trousers, and make my way through the rubble to what used to be the door of this beautiful structure. Ron is waiting for me outside. He is sitting on a fallen tree just inside the edge of the forest that surrounds the graveyard beside the church. He looks a little worse for wear, but I'm pretty sure I don't look any better so I'm not really in a position to make judgments.

As I weave through the gravestones and make my way toward him he glances up and his pale sky blue eyes catch mine. It's odd to think that at one time I found those eyes so captivating and full of love, but now I look into them and see nothing but sadness and regret. After Harry died, mine and Ron's relationship ended. I blamed him for Harry's death, and he blamed me for hating him because of it. We will never leave each other though because we are the some of the last few who are still fighting this war. We need each other to survive, but I will never again love him as I once did and he will never love me. After this war is over, if we are still alive, we will likely not even be friends.

Ron stands up as I approach him, and runs his hand back through his hair. Neither of us has had a shower for days, and his hair is so filled with grease and grime that, when he finally lifts his hand way from his head, his hair stays plastered down against his skull.

"You done in there?" he asks me, but without meeting my eyes.

"Yeah. I didn't find anything useful that we could take back to camp. Anything left by the Muggles that deserted this village has long since been pillaged."

Ron sighs and rubs his hands over his eyes. "Damnit, Hermione. If we don't find some supplies soon we are either going to starve or freeze to death. It's starting to get cold out and we don't have a single blanket for warmth, or, even, for that matter clothes that aren't covered in dirt and holes. For Godric's sake, your trousers are about three sizes to short and the knees are so worn I can see your skin."

I'm getting more and more irritated with his accusing tone. It's like he honestly thinks I don't know these things, like I don't know that if we aren't murdered by Death Eaters tonight, we may starve or freeze to death before tomorrow night even comes.

"First of all, Ron, I don't see you helping to find us any supplies. While I'm in there searching through rubble, and tearing my hands to shreds doing it, you're out her sitting, literally, like a bump on a log. So don't preach to me about needing food and blankets and clothes. I know want we need, and I, unlike you, am trying to provide it." I sit down heavily on the fallen tree and try to keep from crying or, worse, passing out. Sometimes I don't think it would be so bad if we were killed by Voldemort and his group of Death Eaters. At least then I wouldn't feel so tired anymore. At least then I wouldn't feel cold and hungry and alone.

Ron sits down beside me and tries to put his arm around my shoulders, but I shrug him off and move further down the tree away from him.

"Listen, Hermione…I'm just really worn out. I didn't mean to yell, I just…I just know we need to stick together if we're going to make it through this, and without food and warmth, we won't make it through the week, let alone long enough to keep fighting this war. We're never going to win, or even make a dent, if we can't work through our own…problems…and, at least, learn to trust and rely on each other again."

I give him a look, but he hurries on before I get a chance to express my anger.

"I don't mean…like we used to be. I just mean as…brothers in arms or something. People who are able to work together, without being at each others throats all the time."

What he says does make sense, and the whole reason we decided not to split ways in the first place is because we each knew we needed at least one other person, and it would be so much easier if I could trust Ron again, if I could unload some of my burden onto him. I just don't know if I can. The last time I put my faith in him, Harry was killed.

I glance over at him and take in the slump of his shoulders and the defeated look in his eyes. I stand up and walk a few feet away and then turn around and walk back.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to trust you like I did before, but…we do need to be able to rely on each other if we are going to keep trying to fight this war. I know we don't stand much of a chance as it is, but I know we stand no chance if we don't start trying to forget the past and start working together, so…I say we stop fighting, and…start trying to find the things we need to live past tomorrow."

Ron nods and smiles at me. I want to slap the smile right off his face, but, honestly, I don't feel as bad as I did a moment ago, and I think if we actually try and work together, we might be able to at least make a dent in Voldemort's forces, even if we can't win this war altogether.


Author's Note: As always, review and let me know what you think. Criticism and grammer corrections are always welcome.