Water fell in fat drops from the heavy tree limbs, pattering rhythmically on the thick underbrush that crowded along the muddy edges of the narrow path. The air was thick with moisture and redolent with the deep smell of earth and things that grow. Thunder rumbled far in the distance, headed towards the sea, and rain dripped through the dense canopy of trees high above.
What little light lingered in the wake of the storm was fading fast, and the woman quickened her step. She had spent longer than she had intended to in the village, and though she was startling dry, she was eager to return to the warmth of her hearth before night fell completely.
Deep in the woods to her left, an unseen bird tweeted merrily, and she amused herself by whistling through her teeth in reply. Suddenly, she stopped. Very slowly, she brushed her tangle of greying hair back from her face and inhaled deeply.
There was an acrid scent on the air now, one that was very out of place on such a wet evening. A chill moved through her, dancing unpleasantly along her spine. Once again she moved forward, but this time she hurried.
The path widened as she went further, finally opening into a small clearing. A neat whitewashed cottage had been there hours before, on her way into the village, but now it was only a smoldering ruin in the soft grass. Blackened wood and charred bits of furniture lay in a twisted, pathetic heap beyond the remnant of a tidy fence.
The woman stared at the smoking remains of the little house. For a long time, the only sounds in the forest were those of rain falling through the trees and, very far now, another bird call. Then, close by in the thick growth, there was a soft, furtive rustling.
"Lumos."
She pulled a slender wand from beneath her patched cloak and held it aloft in one fluid motion, the small but bright light throwing the trees into stark relief in the growing gloom. For a moment, all was still once more. And then, with a deft motion, she parted the underbrush with her free hand.
A small girl jumped to her feet, dark eyes flashing with fear in her soot-smeared face. The woman looked at her closely, then reached out and placed a firm hand on her thin shoulder.
Author's Note: This story has been rattling around in my head for years, but it was only weeping openly over the last HP movie that prompted me to actually get it going.
This will be a story where Ron is the main character, and I will bend the post-DH events for my own evil purposes. In all honesty, it will probably be pretty canon compliant, but I have my own timeline in my head of... things.
And how epic was Deathly Hallows Part 2? I've seen it twice, and even now, thinking of Snape holding Lily and crying makes me all flustered and teary. I have even convinced my Special Gentleman to give it a viewing after he catches up with the series, and he hated Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets with a fiery passion.