I don't own any part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co. No profit made here.

AN: This is the prequel prequel to my George/Hermione fic 'What Brings Us Together'. It's a oneshot for now, since I have too many other things to work on, but someday I might expand it. (Ha, yeah right.)

The curse flew wide of him and for a moment, a shining moment, Hermione knew he'd won the battle. He'd a clear shot at Bellatrix and she watched him take it. She screamed and turned to Ginny, ready to celebrate, so happy that he'd done it. Ron – her Ron, her boyfriend – had jumped into a battle to save his brother, to avenge her injuries, and had won. She started to hug Ginny, saw she was too stunned to move, and turned back to the scene. Fred and George were moving towards Ron, ready to congratulate him and she started down the incline of rubble as well, shouting his name, practically crying from the tension of it all.

Ron, her brave, wonderful Ron. She loved him, she did, and she was going to kiss him again and again until he'd believe it forever.

"Oh, Ron," she sobbed with joy, and looked down to catch her footing again. Someone else was shouting his name – shouting her name, too – and she moved faster. And then she felt it, a pair of hands on her shoulders, hoisting her back up the rubble, moving her away from Ron. She struggled immediately and glanced up to see the face of George, who looked terrified and so very, very conflicted.

A noise filled her ears – a terrible crash, followed by a roaring. She gripped his forearms as he pulled her up the incline and then covered her body with his and a second later Fred flew past them to land above them on the pile. It was a spell – someone had blown him back…Hermione's eyes went wide and she froze, not helping George's movements, but not hindering him either. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear a word of it. His lips continued to form shapes – words. She thought she may have said something in reply and then a cloud of dust obscured her vision. She felt George push her down and knew he was sheltering her with his lank form. A second pair of hands joined George's and she knew Fred had moved over to be with his brother. Then a spell began to clear the dust and she could see again, could see Ginny scrambling down the rubble past them. George let up and Fred with him and Hermione sat up and pushed them out of her way. She followed Ginny, that same strange roaring in her ears.

She was screaming his name. She could feel it, because her throat hurt and the air rushing in and out of her lungs burned through her vocal cords. Behind her, George sent Fred on to find the rest of the family and George was at her side again, then rushing ahead of her to help Ginny. Ginny, who was crying and digging at a pile of stones because a wall had come down. The curse that had flown wide of Ron just moments before had hit a wall at its weakest point and it had crumbled to its very foundation – and she knew instantly it was he who'd taken the time to send his brothers out of harm's way. Hermione stopped moving and stared at the new pile of rubble and all the sound came rushing back into her space. Her feet shuffling in place sounded loud and alien to her ears. She swallowed and without a word began spelling the stones and rubble away. George glanced back at her once and shuddered, as if he couldn't bear the look on her face. Then he turned and gently pulled Ginny up and into his arms before he began waving his wand at the pile as well.

A shock of hair, so bright and very ginger.

Hermione gave a strangled cry that turned into a sob – loud, mouth open in grief so unbearable she couldn't breath, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything but feel a hole appear in her chest where her heart was beating steadily as ever.

"Ron," she cried and her voice sounded ugly; his name on her lips was ugly in that moment. She dropped her wand and stumbled forward while George kept working. Ginny left her brother's embrace to come stand at Hermione's side and then kneel there when her friend's legs gave out. The younger witch finally lifted her wand and began to help her brother move the stones as Hermione collapsed to her knees and reached forward to touch that hair. That beautiful hair.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

She was speaking, no, sobbing and chanting words – any words, it didn't matter which – and she didn't realize it. Ginny slid an arm around her shoulders and leaned her head there and Hermione could feel her tears soaking her shirt, but she couldn't look at her. She couldn't see that hair just then. She needed something else, anything else. She needed Harry.

She needed Ron.

A tortured keen escaped her lips and she bent low over Ron, touching him, wiping the dust and debris from him as best she could the more of him was revealed. More sound filtered into her space, but she wouldn't have even realized what it was, or what it meant, if Ginny hadn't suddenly left her.

"Granger," George said, coming over to her, taking Ginny's spot. "Come on, love."

"Come where?" she managed to voice. "I'm not l-leaving him."

"I wouldn't ask you to," he said and the quality of his tone made her tear her eyes from Ron's dead form to look George in the face. He was crying as well – he was barely keeping himself together. She cried harder and slumped down, but didn't protest when George gently lifted her away from Ron.

Other voices came to her ears and she realized it was the sound of cheering, that dull roar elsewhere in the castle. And that dull roar was getting closer, which meant one thing.

"He's dead. It's over."

The familiar voice of Harry. Calm, for once, with no underlying anger. Just…satisfaction. George turned her and she felt Harry's arms round her, holding her tight, felt him smile against her shoulder before lifting his head.

"Hermione? You're not…" he began, automatically assuming she'd been injured again, tortured. She lifted her eyes to his and couldn't keep a fresh wave of tears from them.

"No, Harry. It's…"

Harry's face changed – she saw the horror, the anguish, and finally a face she recognized – the one he'd worn as he'd watched Sirius leave him for the last time.

He pushed past her – she didn't mind, she knew what he was feeling. She knew. And then Molly Weasley was there, and Arthur and all the others and they all had to see him, to touch him, to cry over him. Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand briefly in passing and gave it a squeeze, as if to say, I'm sorry, I am thinking of you, but I have to be with other people now. Please be alright. I'll be back.

Hermione just shrugged at that and watched as Ginny ran over to hug her family, her brothers. To be with Harry, who would need her more than ever now. Even George, with a regretful, sorrowful look at her, turned and huddled with his clan.

She'd known they would. She also knew that if she went over to stand with them they'd welcome her…but she couldn't do that. She'd never wanted to be adopted by the Weasleys, and especially not in a moment of grief so profound they would feel it all their days.

No, she'd wanted to marry them. And now that would never happen.

She managed to shuffle over to the same pile of rubble she'd scrabbled down earlier and sat down, hunching low over her knees, wishing she could shrink into a tiny ball, just a little speck, and be blown away. Or wishing to just be invisible and sit there with her grief and unfulfilled future that was crumbling and blowing away like the dust she wished she were. She continued to cry.

A few minutes later she was startled to feel a presence behind her. She looked up to see Hagrid, peering down at the scene below, tears streaming down his face and into his big, black, bushy beard and she suddenly remembered every good thing that had ever happened to her: every adventure with Harry, every challenging class and terrifying nightmare, every sweet laugh with Ron.

"Hagrid," she said, her voice catching and ending in a soft sob. The gentle gamekeeper looked down at her and without a word he cleared enough rubble to make his way down to her and then he sat down beside her, scooped her up into his arms, and held her in a great hug.

"That boy loved yer," he said gruffly. "I reckon more 'n he loved food – 'n that's sayin' somethin'!" He rocked her some and she felt ridiculous and wonderful at once. She was practically grown and she was being held like she was a baby – but it was nice and he was warm and made her feel safe, even if he did smell like dirt and dust and, well, Hagrid.

"But I'll never know," she wept, finally voicing the fear that had overtaken her. "And neither will he! It's not fair, Hagrid. It's not fair!"

"No, that it isn't," he responded, gingerly stroking her hair. "But yer haveta know, Hermione, that he loved yer and that's all that matters. Not everyone is made for growin' old, that they aren't. But it don't keep us from lovin' 'em, just the same."

Hagrid went on in softer, more soothing tones. "Look at James 'n Lily," he said. "Do yer think they wanted ter leave Harry on his own?"

Hermione pulled away from Hagrid and he let her go. She didn't want platitudes just then. She was grateful for his company, and she knew he meant well, but just then she wanted to be with her grief. She leaned up and gave him another hug, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I do…I know that. And it will help, I'm sure. But James and Lily…at least they went together."

And just like that, the small light in her eyes that had returned with Hagrid's embrace flickered out. He started to protest, but as he watched the set of her shoulders and saw her turn away from him, he seemed to think better of it. There was nothing to help Hermione now but long, hard months of grieving – and there was no guide for it.

He let her go.

She shuffled away from him and looked to the scene before her. Weasleys, Harry, Shacklebolt, too many students to count. Above it all she could see that brilliant hair and it mocked her. One head turned and caught her eyes. The bright green gaze was wet with tears and its owner was holding onto the redheaded girl at his side. She returned his look and his eyes flickered away from hers for only a second – and then he called her name.

The other Weasleys turned and Hermione saw them all looking to her, tears in their eyes and on their cheeks, sorrow settled heavy on their shoulders…and Molly stretched out a hand towards her.

Hermione clutched at her chest uselessly, felt her face collapse in more helpless sobs, and still Molly stood there, only now with both arms outstretched. Harry called to her again and her feet began to move of their own accord.

She ran to them – or at least, it felt like running. It was more of a quick sort of stumbling and Fred and George met her first and dragged her forward to their mother, who quickly wrapped her arms about Hermione and held her tight and then Harry was clinging to them as well and Molly's arms embraced him too and Hermione wondered how they were ever going to get through it.

They'd survived the war and yet none of them were intact…and the one person Hermione had thought she might one day share everything with was dead.

She wept, knowing the tears were never going to end, not really.

Ron.

Oh, Ron.

AN: True story - I cried while I was typing this. I'm sorry, Ron! *sobs*