For HPFC's 'The Day After The Final Battle' Challenge.

Oddly enough, this was inspired by my first ever experience of paintball, and the many awesome-looking bruises decorating my skin as a result of that.

Pairing: Ron/Hermione (which I've never written before, so PLEASE go easy on me!)

Era: Just after the Battle of Hogwarts. Probably early the next morning.

POV: 3rd person omniscient

Word Count: 599

Fading Bruises, Eternal Scars

Tenderly, Hermione traced her finger around the purple bruise swelling on Ron's shoulder. He shivered slightly at her cold touch, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

"Does it hurt?" Hermione whispered.

Silently, Ron shrugged. What was he supposed to say? Yes, it does hurt. But other things hurt infinitely more.

Before he could stop himself, his memory rushed back to the scene of the Great Hall. The bodies of the dead filled the floor, and many of those who'd survived were staying there too, just as still, just as cold, unable to get away the suffering that surrounded them. The only sound was that of weeping – relatives and friends, boys and girls, adults and children – everyone was a victim to this sadness. Yet, as aware as he was of all this around him, all he could remember was a single lifeless body, and empty shell of a person who he used to know and love.

Before he could stop himself, his memory had taken him back to Fred. To his brother. His dead brother.

Ron shivered again, trying to take a deep breath and dispel the horrible memory from his mind. If only he could let go of it – forget it, just for these next few hours – and enjoy this moment, without it being marred by the past.

The feel of Hermione's touch on the skin of his shoulder blade, her fingers trailing down his back, drawing patterns among the bruises of the battle. Just that feeling was something he'd been dreaming of for far too long, yet now, because of those terrible memories, he couldn't let himself enjoy it. It felt selfish to be feeling that overwhelming, all-consuming sense of complete and utter pleasure. Why did he deserve to feel it – to feel anything – when Fred would never feel anything ever again?

He didn't. That was the problem. No matter what Ron ever did in the future, nothing could make up for the loss of his brother. Nothing could ever be enough to warrant Fred's death. Nothing.

Ron winced as Hermione leant her head on his shoulder, her hand dropping from his back to rest on the bed between them. She exhaled softly, her warm breath tickling his skin.

"You know, it's okay if it hurts, Ron," she told him quietly. "You don't have to be brave."

He shook his head, closing his eyes as they stung with tears.

"I'm not trying to be brave. I'm not brave. I'm just... trying to figure out what hurts the most. Everything hurts, Hermione. And I don't know how many of these pains are ever going to heal."

Hermione stayed silent as she cried onto Ron's shoulder, wishing she could understand the pain that he was in. Yes, she too was bruised and battered, but none of her injuries would last. Not the way his would. Ron would carry the weight of this battle and its consequences for the rest of his life. Everyone would. But where, for many, it was a day of joy, for Ron it would always be a day of grief.

For the world, this would always be the day that Voldemort was destroyed. For Ron, it would be the day his brother died. And no victory, no matter how great, could ever lessen the pain of that loss.

"The bruises don's hurt, Hermione," Ron said, after the silence had stretched out for much too long. "They'll fade and be forgotten. But the scars... yes, they hurt. They'll keep hurting for eternity."