A/N: I realize that this is not canon (though I will carry over a lot of canon plot), but I promise all will be explained.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot, please don't sue me.
CHAPTER ONE
The crisp spring air ruffled Ron Weasley's hair as a breeze blew his way. He enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his face; it was almost like flying again, something he hadn't done since his two years on the Gryffindor quidditch team. He could have laughed at the thought now, he had always been just shy of terrible— especially when under pressure. He wondered if he would have been any better now, now that being under pressure was quite a familiar feeling.
The war was over now. Had been for almost seven years. They had won, the Order and everyone who valued life and magic over some trumped up sense of superiority because of blood, but the cost had almost been too much to endure. They were scarred and marked, disfigured and disabled. The physical wounds would have been enough, of course, but it was the emotional ones— the loss of loved ones— that still couldn't completely heal.
He knew of course, watching his children zoom around on their brooms in their backyard, that it had still been worth it. They had saved the entire wizarding world from a terrible fate. Hell, it hadn't just been the wizarding world they were rescuing in the end. And yet, that knowledge did so very little to numb the pain, especially on days like this.
Ron felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see Hermione smiling wistfully down at him. Her hair was let loose, and although it would never be fine and smooth, it was finally straight and more settled. She was wearing a simple powder blue dress robes that matched her honey-colored skin well, and despite not looking directly at her, he knew she had the same expression she wore whenever she was about to lecture him.
"Today's the anniversary," she stated simply, even though she knew he was completely aware. She was still the same Hermione, when it came down to it.
He nodded glumly to this, and she continued to remind him softly, "We were thinking of getting together to remember again."
"I don't know if I can," he answered, avoiding her gaze and what he was sure to be her pitying eyes.
"Ron, you always say that," she said, her voice shaky as if she was worried he was going to start yelling at her. This was the one thing that they had never been able to properly argue about, after all, "but it's not healthy for you to keep all this pain bottled up. Maybe it's time you came."
He didn't reply at first. Part of him had naively hoped that one of these years she would just let it go and stop making such a fuss, but who was he kidding? If anyone knew how determined Hermione Granger-Weasley was, it was Ron. "I know you think that, Hermione, but I really can't do it. I can't go, it's not the same for me as it is for you."
She tensed almost immediately, and he know how desperately she must be holding back angry words, but finally she sighed and said, "Really, Ron, you know that isn't true. Stop trying to make me angry so I'll leave you alone, we're both more mature than that."
"I wouldn't bet on that, Hermione," a familiar voice said behind them, "at least for his sake, of course."
Ron turned his head to see Neville Longbottom grinning at them as he walked over. The man had grown taller since school, and the boyish face that had always been plagued with nervousness and worry had matured. "Confident" was now one of the main words used to describe Neville, such a stark contrast that Ron had decided they must be to completely different people. After all, the Neville Longbottom that was constantly tripping over his robes and searching for his lost toad Trevor could never have slain You-Know— Voldemort's snake Nagini.
"Don't harass me, Neville," Ron laughed, "you may be a Professor now, but I still work for the Ministry."
Neville laughed at that, looking slightly embarrassed as Ron referenced to the man's new teaching position. "Alright, alright. I'll let it go for now, but only cause I don't want you sending any hit-wizards, Head Auror Weasley."
"Yeah," Ron laughed, "as if Malfoy wasn't bad enough without being legally allowed to curse and hex people."
Neville nodded, but his smile seemed to be just a tad worried at the idea of their old school enemy. Hermione had already looked quite surprised— it seemed Ron had forgotten to tell her about their friend's new job— and smiled excitedly once he and Ron stopped talking, "Oh, Neville, you're a Professor? That's great! Congratulations! What class are you teaching? I assume Herbology, of course."
He nodded, smiling, "Yeah, Professor Sprout decided to retire and McGonagall just asked me this last week before term ended. I'll start in the fall."
"Oh that's wonderful," she said, looking as though she were just a tad envious, even though Ron knew how much she loved working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. "I'm sure you'll love it."
Neville agreed with a quick nod, and then turned to Ron again, apprehension filling his face as he asked, "Are you coming?"
"No," Ron replied simply, trying to ignore the way Neville's face fell at his straightforward reply.
Hermione, however, seemed encouraged by Neville's failed attempt if only because it meant that she could nag Ron more if she wasn't going to go completely unsupported, "Please, dear,"— she only used "dear" when she was annoyed with him or pleading— "maybe if you come, she will. She was the closest to you, after all."
That did nothing to comfort Ron, however Hermione had meant it. He knew Ginny, because that's who Hermione was speaking of after all, wouldn't show up just because Ron decided to go to some memorial. They hadn't seen her in seven years, after all, and Ron hadn't even been speaking to her before then. Why everyone still dared believe she was alive was beyond him, although he supposed in Hermione's case she was just trying to be overly optimistic for him. "Hermione, you know the last person she would have shown up for is me, even if I believed for a second that she was still ali—,"
"She has to be alive, Ron," Neville said quietly, but with a tone still strong enough to interrupt him, "we would have found a body and all the Death Eaters would have advertised killing Harry's girlfriend, you know that."
Perhaps it was the way Hermione was looking at him, the sympathy filling her eyes or maybe even the accusing tone that Neville had used, but Ron finally snapped. "It's been seven years! Seven years, Neville! If she wanted to show up she would have by now, you know that! Merlin, and why would she? Half of our family is dead and Harry—,"
But he choked, unable to finish the rest of his sentence. He had half a mind to just disapparate right there, to leave them with their stricken expressions and their failing words of comfort. It was as though invisible walls were closing around him, he could feel himself suffocating, and even the color of the late afternoon sky was grating on his nerves.
"God, Weasley, are you always this cynical?"
Ron turned to see none other than Draco Malfoy having found them, and felt relief wash through him. The complete and utter irony of that did occur to him, of course, even still, but he didn't care. Draco was quite possibly the only person that wouldn't be completely naïve about the situation and understand that all Ron wanted was space.
Draco turned to both Hermione and Neville, asking, "Could we speak alone, please?"
Surprisingly, neither of them resisted. Even though Draco Malfoy was far from any of their best friends, all things considered, he and his parents had garnered quite a bit of respect from them during the war. After all, even Ron couldn't deny that when he, Hermione, and Harry had been captured and taken up into Malfoy Manor, Draco knew exactly who he was looking at despite any disfigurement Hermione's spell had caused. Draco had seen Harry every day ten months straight for six years and absolutely hated him— he probably would have recognized Harry in complete blackness.
Once both Neville and Hermione had left, Ron felt the initial relief quickly leave him and he quickly put up a pretense of watching Rose and Hugo chase each other on the ground, brooms long forgotten.
"You know, if you don't start going to those memorials Weasley, they're going to run out of speakers. Merlin knows what everyone will do if they have to have me speak about Potter."
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron sighed, trying desperately not to start arguing. Everything is in the past, he tried to remind himself.
"Ah, well, it seems that this appeared at your desk this morning,"— he handed Ron a blank envelope that held something inside— "and I was tasked with delivering it to you. Kingsley still seems to be under the mysterious impression that because we went to school together and are in the same Ministry department we need to be friends, or something equally disgusting."
Draco used the same drawl that distinctly reminded Ron of their time at Hogwarts, and it was all he could do to stop his hand from going immediately to his wand. "Right, well you've done your job so you can leave, Malfoy. And tell Kingsley I'm going to hex him for giving you my address as soon as I have the chance."
"Don't worry, Weasley, I would have found it eventually. It has the same sort of charm that I'm sure your parent's house did—," but he stopped taunting Ron as soon as he caught sight of the scowl Ron was sure he was sporting and simply shook his head, smirking, "sorry, Weasley. Old habits die hard, as they say. I'll leave you alone, then, after all you seem to have a busy day of disappointing what's left of your family and friends another year in a row."
It struck Ron that the last insult Draco gave was not necessarily an insult at all, but more of a shrewd observation. Ron only barely resisted cursing Malfoy while the man walked away, instead turning to the envelope in his hands and opening the letter. He almost fainted as soon as he saw the all-too familiar handwriting. Ever slowly, his hands shaking terribly, he pulled out the parchment fully and began to read.
"Dear Ron,
If you knew how complicated the spell was to charm this into arriving when you needed it the very most, you'd think I was bloody Merlin himself. Rest assured, I simply left your letters on Dumbledore's old desk and left a note for McGonagall.
I've just learned that I'm the last Horcrux, through Snape's memories. That's one hell of a story in itself, but I left that in Hermione's letter. Either way, I know that I'm supposed to die. It's been planned all along, even though none of us realized. And I guess, well actually I know, that I won't be able to do what I'm supposed to do and also tell you and Hermione goodbye in person. But you deserve some sort of farewell, of course. And Ron, if I hadn't met you on the Hogwarts train and we hadn't become best mates— my life would have been meaningless even with magic and everything. If you only knew how bad things were with the Dursley's before I got my letter, well, needless to say you were the first friend I had ever had. I owe you so much.
Anyway, I guess the main point of this is that besides trying to find a way to tell you 'I love you' and not sound cheesy, is to tell you that you better have stopped being an ungrateful git and moping about my death. I mean, I pride myself on being hard to get rid of, but— well, just please move on, Ron. I know how you are. You'll blame yourself for not trying to find me and stop me, but what you don't understand is that it had to be done. Don't let it go to waste.
Forgive me.
Your best mate,
Harry
Rose, having long forgotten her game of chasing Hugo around the yard, had ran up to him and was hugging his legs as Ron finished the letter, asking, "Daddy, why are you crying?"
He moved onto his knees so he was eye-level with his daughter, and was about to answer her before the reply was caught in his throat. Rose quickly threw her arm around her shoulders, looking terribly sad, and he finally grieved Harry for the first time in seven years in her arms.
A/N: So this is the first chapter. More to come quickly. Please review!