Memory
"So get back, back, back to where we lasted.
Just like I imagine."
-Sugarcult
This morning, Hermione awakens earlier than usual. She is not sure what has caused this, but something feels wrong.
She turns over in bed and realizes what it is. Ron isn't there. His side of the bed is completely empty, and it doesn't appear seem to have been slept in at all.
With a jolt, everything comes back to her. The memories flow back into her head, almost too much to bear at once.
Ron is away. He's been gone for months, and won't be back for months. If he comes back at all.
Hermione wakes up like this every morning, wondering where Ron is. She can't help it. He had always been there, year after year, whenever she woke up. She can't just forget about him.
She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She is now staring straight at an old wooden night stand, bare except for an old fashioned lamp and a picture frame.
Hermione sees the picture, reminding her of happier times. She closes her eyes and lets the memory overcome her.
It was a clear spring day; the sky was blue and clear of clouds. The seventh years were all gathered on the green grass next to the lake, their class size substantially smaller than years past.
The day was bitter sweet. It was the day the class was graduating. They knew they must grow up and face the cruel world outside of Hogwarts. At the same time, they were immensely grateful for the chance to be together, alive and well.
Ron and Hermione stood slightly detached from the group. For them, there was an obvious something missing.
"I can't believe we went an entire year without Harry," Hermione murmured.
"I know," Ron said. "But he wouldn't let us come, and he wouldn't stay at school."
Hermione sighed and leaned into Ron. "I just hope he's okay."
Ron placed his arm comfortably around Hermione's shoulder, and stuffed his left hand in his pocket. "We'd know if he wasn't. He is Harry Potter, after all."
Hermione placed her head on Ron's shoulder and closed her eyes. After a long, easy, silence, Ron spoke again.
"Hermione, I've been thinking."
"Yeah?" Hermione asked, opening her eyes.
Ron pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened his fist to reveal a delicate diamond ring. "Well, I was thinking we should get married."
"Best think you've thought of in awhile," she says.
Hermione looks at her ring with a small smile. It sits perfectly on her finger, its small diamond glitters and reminds her of all those months of saving that Ron went through to buy it.
Hermione shifts her weight and stands, the bed creaking beneath her. She opens the top drawer of the night stand and takes out a small coin, falling into her usual routine.
She presses the coin into her palm, forming a fist around it, and she feels its coolness. Hermione turns and makes her way towards the window. She positions herself in front of it and grips the coin in her fist. She scans the skies. She watches and waits.
She is ready.
Years have passed since Ron and Hermione took their vows. It was a quiet evening, and the two were sitting in the living room with steaming cups of coffee, still enthralled by each other's company after all these years.
They were interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. Ron extricated himself from Hermione's arms to answer it. When Hermione heard Ron's cry of shock, she ran to the entry hall, trying to fix her hair as she went.
Hermione was just as shocked as Ron was to see Harry standing on their doorstep. She hadn't seen him in years, and he looked completely different. His hair was more disheveled than usual, his face was thinner, and he looked like he hasn't showered in days. He looked older, old beyond his years.
Ron seemed too shocked to moved, so Hermione quickly stepped up and wrapper Harry in a hug, He returned it, then greeted Ron. He congratulated them on their marriage, which was news to him. They hadn't been in contact, for safety reasons.
Then he turned to the couple, saying gravely, "We need to talk."
The trio sat in the living room, Harry across from Ron and Hermione. He leaned forward. "It's about the Horcruxes. I've tracked down the locket. But I've realized I can't find the others alone. I want your help, if you're still offering it."
"Of course we are," Hermione said.
"No," Ron said.
Hermione turned to him in confusion. "What?"
"Not you," he said. "Just me."
"But-"
"Just me and Harry," he said with finality.
Hermione waits and waits. Time passes even more slowly than usual. Maybe she woke up too early. Maybe the owls are just running late today. Maybe the anticipation is making time seem longer.
She continues to watch the skies. She still holds the coin in her fist. She is still ready.
She is about to give up when she spots something in the sky. It's impossibly far away. It inches closer, growing slightly larger, but not enough to see what it is.
She's not sure how much longer she can wait.
Ron and Hermione sat together in their bed, a tense silence between them.
Ron spoke first. "I don't want to argue," he said.
"Fine," Hermione said curtly.
Ron sighed. "I can't let you go for the same reasons Harry isn't with Ginny."
Hermione tried to hold back tears unsuccessfully. "What if I have to go to your funeral?"
Ron pulled Hermione toward him, framing her face with his hands. "You won't."
Hermione sobbed. She threw her arms around Ron, needing to be near him. "When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow," he said.
Hermione sobbed again, growing hysterical. "No," she murmured over and over again.
Ron stroked Hermione's hair, looking like he might cry as well. "I love you," he said. He repeated it again and again until Hermione calmed down.
"I don't know how long I'll be gone," Ron said. "This could be our last night together for a long time."
Hermione nodded, and tried to wipe away her tears.
Ron leaned forward, kissing her tenderly. She kissed him back, and Ron and Hermione spent their last night together in a fitting manner for newlyweds like themselves.
As the speck grows, it becomes painfully obvious that it is indeed an owl. When she can see the steady rhythm of its brown wings flapping up and down, she jerks open the window in preparation.
The owl lands gracefully on the window sill, carrying her copy of the Daily Prophet. With shaking hands, Hermione slips the coin in the pouch on the owl's foot and unties the paper.
She turns from the window an walks toward the middle of the room, unfolding the paper as she goes. Her eyes quickly find the column on the front page that tells the public about Harry's progress. It doesn't tell much of anything , but at least she knows where they are from day to day.
As Hermione scans the column, Ron's name jumps out at her. The column doesn't usually mention Ron, preferring to focus on the Golden Boy. Something must be wrong.
Before reading, Hermione heads toward the bed. She should probably be sitting down for this.
Things started to feel wrong. Everything without Ron was wrong. But a few months after he left, things started feeling wrong with her body. She felt different somehow. Her Muggle instincts kicked in, and she walked down the street to the drugstore to buy a pregnancy test.
It was positive.
She knew this baby was conceived the night before he left.
She didn't know what to do.
The next time she wrote him a letter, she left out this new information. She didn't want him to worry.
The newspaper falls to the floor. She is in a state of shock. She throws the words around in her mind, but she can't comprehend them or accept them.
She picks up the paper and reads it again. It still does not make sense.
She reads the article again and again. Somewhere around the seventh time it sinks in.
It's there, printed in black and white. It's not written by Rita Skeeter, it's credible. Hermione has never once doubted the printed word.
But this. This is just too much. She drops the paper, collapses backwards onto the bed, and weeps. Heart wrenching sobs escape from her lips. Her grief must be the worst in the world.
He is dead. He died a hero, saving Harry. Saving the world. She should have seen this coming, but she didn't. Too happy and in love to acknowledge that Ron could actually die. He was too full of life to die young, yet he did.
She clutches her stomach and thinks of the tiny life inside, a little boy or girl that will never know it's father. She cries and cries and wonders if the pain will ever stop.
Authors Note: Um, "corny as hell" if you will. I don't really like this but I've had it written forever and felt like posting something. Italics were flashbacks, obviously. Reviews?