A Good Kind of Death
A/N: Chock full of angst! Inspired in part by my favorite webcomic, The Dreamer (http:/ thedreamercomic. com) and part by a comment from a review from AmCat. Thanks! The happy ending is all you. You can ask me for pretty much whatever now. The Dreamer is great and I highly recommend it for those of you who can enjoy a little history and a lot of emotion.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any entities thereof.
I looked around, spells crashing, duels ending all around me. Casualties falling left and right. Some good, some bad. I didn't see Ron. I didn't see him anywhere. I turned in circles trying to find his blue stare. I couldn't see him. Harry had long since disappeared. Where was Ron? Fear filled my frame. He couldn't be gone. He couldn't be. I couldn't find his face, or the bright red locks. I ran across the impromptu battlefield. "Ron! RON!" I ran out of the Great Hall and up the stairs, continuing to call his name, filled with dread. I began to imagine many scenes of his death. His body in a different position, the killer a different wizard. I posited every scenario as I ran.
"RON! Ron? Ron?" I called, slowing as I reached the third floor. I was losing stamina, I was too tired and scared and—and—
I remembered my own arms walloping him as he came to the tent, the night that the tent became home again. I remembered running similarly when I heard Ron had been poisoned. I remembered shunning his presence, pretending I couldn't hear him. I remembered all our fights, the bickering and the crying. I remembered the defeat in his stance over Quidditch. I remembered bellowing in the Common Room, yelling at him to ask me to be his already. I remembered him shunning me when his rat died. I remembered fighting over Lockhart, the endless teasing about my tail. I remembered the train, and that Charms class.
I wanted to do it all over. I wanted to hug him for coming home, to hear him and love him, concede rather than argue, console instead of condemn, encourage rather than scold, apologize for all the things I'd done that I regretted, all the times I'd been rude and mean and smart and instead be who Ron needed me to be. I needed to stop thinking.
I kept going up the stairs, finally reaching the seventh floor.
The Room of Requirement! Why didn't I think of that earlier? Surely…
I need to find Ron. I need to find Ron. I need to find Ron. I looked up. There was no door. I repeated the process, changing the words a million different ways trying to think of a phrase that would help. I went into the closest classroom, and fell onto my knees, sobbing. It was cruel. So cruel that he would die now. Too vindictive of fate to cause me to lose Ron just as we found each other so profoundly. My mind flashed through the images of his death, the images of our life together, the past and the future. And suddenly it was true. He was gone. He was dead. The door to the room opened. I pulled out my wand and pointed it at the doorway to find a similarly crying Ron.
"Ron," I cried with relief, leaping to wrap my aching arms around him. He was alive. Oh, God. He was alive.
"Hermione! Where —why—"
"You're alive! You were gone and I saw it and I saw you and I saw me and I—I—" I began to sob again, my shoulders shaking, and fell to the floor.
He kneeled next to me and placed a hand on my face. "I'm not dead," he said and I continued to cry. "Hey, Hermione, I'm not dead. I'm right here. In front of you. Look at me."
I wouldn't look. "You were. I saw it. With Bellatrix and Voldemort and Greyback and Malfoy and Snape. And me." My voice cracked on the pronoun.
"Hermione," he said, moving my hair pointlessly. "I'm not dead. It didn't happen. I promise. Look at me."
"You were gone! You're not here!"
"Hermione. Don't you remember? I told you I was going to find Percy. I told you he was missing. I told you I was going to search for him. Don't you remember?"
"I thought I had lost you," I said, not remembering. Not caring as long as he didn't leave me again.
"I found him. He's fine. And it's all over, Hermione. I'm right here. Right here."
I finally looked up at him and found pain in his eyes. He was distraught. The tears kept coming. I couldn't stop them. "I thought I'd lost you," I repeated, coming to the realization that he was there. Or was he? I saw so many vivid scenarios of his death that this could be a dream as well. This could be just as unreal as the rest of it. Any of those could be true. Did I see it? Was I sure I hadn't? Could he really be here in front of me? I could very well be in my own head. I wasn't sure. "You were gone. You were—are—I—"
"I'm really here, Hermione. I promise."
"How can I be sure this isn't just another fantasy? Another dream? Another scenario? How do I know that they weren't the truth? How do I separate the truth from the lies in my own head?"
He wrapped his arms around me and I felt his warmth around me. I felt the wet of his tears on my scalp as he cried too. I placed all my weight in the embrace, still crying into his chest. He sat, placing his legs on both sides of my crying form. "Shhh. It's alright. I'm here. I'm right here." he said, his voice suddenly louder, more real, holding me so close that we weren't separate anymore. The light was fading from the room. "Fuck, Hermione. What did they do to you?"
I awoke to find Ron sitting on the edge of my bed. I was in a strange room. Somewhere I'd never been. And there was Ron, dirty and crying over me. I ached all over and groaned my disapproval of the moment. Ron started and looked up at me. "Hermione!" he said, relieved to find me awake.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"Shell Cottage. Bill and Fleur's."
"Oh," I said, glad to see him alive. Alive? Why would I—
Everything—the dream and the reality of the horrors at Malfoy Manor—came back to me. "Oh Ron," I said, clutching at his hand. I cried, clutching my chest at the ache of all the memories. "It was awful."
His eyes suddenly filled with tears again. "I have no idea what it must have been. I heard you screaming."
I pulled away and looked at him, my brow furrowed. "Just now?"
"No," he answered, looking equally as confused as I felt. "In Malfoy Manor."
"Oh. Right," I replied.
"What could possibly be worse than that?"
"You were dead, Ron. Actually, I wasn't sure you were. That was what was so awful. I saw and heard many memories of you dying and then you were there and told me you were fine. Something about Percy, but I knew you were dead, because I'd seen it so many times. I just didn't know anymore. I didn't know what was real."
He looked at me with pity. "Oh, Hermione. You were dreaming."
"I'd rather take a thousand Crucios from Bellatrix than see you dying. Not knowing—though you are right in front of me—whether you're alive or not. It was awful." I clutched at my chest again. It hurt so horribly from all the tears I wasn't crying.
"Hermione?" Ron asked, beginning to undo the buttons on my shirt.
"Ron!" I scolded, defaulting. "What are you doing?"
He looked bewildered. "You were clutching your chest. I thought you had a cut that needed tending to. You've been hurt something dreadful."
"Oh, Ron, no, I'm just—my heart hurts."
"Oh," he said, blushing. "Sorry."
And that's when I pulled him down for a kiss. I'd be damned if I couldn't have him until we were about to die. I pulled his lips down to mine, and he didn't resist. I smiled for what felt like the first time in years.
"Hermione?" he murmured against my lips.
"Hmmm?"
"You know, you're going to be the death of me."
I pulled back and grinned at him. "But a good kind of death, yes?"