Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I do own this story in its entirety. I do not make any money from this fanfic.
Title: Deconstructing Fractures
Author: Stardust of Orion
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence; Major Character Death; Mental Illness;
Summary: The war is over, but it still has far-reaching effects on the Trio. Ron races to find his friends in fear that something has happened to them. (Ron x Hermione)
Author's Note: My first completed story for the Harry Potter fandom. I'd appreciate feedback.
Deconstructing Fractures
Ron raced through the trees, branches and leaves – many still barely touched by the first hint of fall – bit sharply into his face and bare arms even as they snagged in his fiery red hair. He hardly noticed the pain; barely registered anything but the single thought coursing through him. He needed to find Harry and Hermione – had to find his best mate and girlfriend – amidst the silent woodland surrounding the Burrow where only seconds ago the loud crack of what must have been a powerful spell split the peace. There was nothing else – no shouting, no other spells, no pop of apparation, nothing.
He was dead – the Vile One – but his Death Eaters… No! He had to find Harry and Hermione; wouldn't think about anything else. The crunch of dead leaves and snapping twigs would alert all to his coming, but he couldn't force caution upon himself. The gut-wrenching emptiness in his chest told him something terrible had happened. Where were they?
Ron broke through the encompassing trees into a small clearing and stopped short as he caught sight of his lover – she's alive, she's okay! Hermione stood on the far right side of the leaf-strewn clearing, wand held loosely in her hand – pale and lovely, as the wind gently brushed her hair against soft cheeks – but she took no notice of his arrival. Her eyes stared into the center of the clearing, and he frowned at the blank look in those dark eyes. Her eyes had taken on a certain distant look after the war ended only a couple months ago – but we all struggle with this now. Still, the complete blankness was odd. He followed her gaze to the center of the ring of trees.
"Harry!" he cried out, startled to see his best mate lying face down on the dead leaves. Ron ran to the dark-haired wizard and fell to his knees beside him. Harry gave no response and the stillness more than anything struck the redhead to the core. He gently – dread, dread – pushed the younger wizard over onto his back and, still not receiving any response, ducked his head down to Harry's chest – Merlin, his unmoving chest – and immediately shouted in fear.
"Hermione! Help me! He's not breathing!" He brought his willow wand to Harry's chest and screamed "rennervate," but Harry remained as unmoving as before and Ron continued to cry out various spells for several desperate minutes, thinking only of alleviating the terrible stillness of his friend.
Tears streaming down his face, the stinging sharpness reminding him of the scraping branches as he ran through the trees – not fast enough, wasn't fast enough – he pulled Harry into his arms, gathering him tightly and protectively against his chest, though the other wizard hung heavy and limp against him. "Harry, wake up! Wake up, mate," he choked out but Harry didn't hear him; wouldn't heed his pleas.
Ron gradually became aware of a soft voice speaking to him and he squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the tender tone of his girlfriend. He paid scant attention to anything but her voice, which sounded so sweet – like a gentle breeze – as he rocked Harry in his arms. If he could just focus on that sound, maybe everything bad would just drift away on the wind - and this would all just be a terrible nightmare.
Perhaps it was the distance of her voice that first caught his attention. Whatever it was, his mind was forced to note that he couldn't feel her presence next to him. Finally the actual words started to trickle into his consciousness, though it took still longer for him to derive any kind of meaning from them. He felt so detached from everything, except Harry in his arms – the whole world narrowed now to just Harry in his arms and Hermione's lovely voice.
" – and we just walked, and kept walking, not speaking – we never speak," her words floated into his head, and he wondered idly what he had missed but couldn't find it in himself to feel any concern. He simply held his best mate, the chilling cool of Harry's cheek against his own making it virtually impossible to care about anything else.
" – you know how he is, keeping everything inside, like his is the only pain in the world though thousands have suffered torture and death in the name of Harry Potter – all to save the Boy-Who-Lived once more; always one more time."
It was the subtle change in tone that first brought his mind back around to what she was saying, jagged hardness beneath the gently spoken words. What was she talking about? He struggled to pay attention now, letting his fierce grip on one piece of his soul – Harry!– to loosen so he could focus on the other piece of his soul.
He noted the change in her voice once again as it softened. "He's so maddening sometimes, isn't he? Usually I feel such anger at him, as if I need to focus everything on him and only him so I don't shatter, but today I felt only emptiness as I watched him walk ahead of me. Strange isn't it?"
Ron glanced around, only mildly surprised that she was still across the clearing, standing where he first saw her – I need help, someone please help us – but when their eyes met, she walked slowly toward him as if she understood his need. Apparently he was still rocking the younger wizard all this time because he felt the motion of his body cease as his brain slowly shifted to decipher what was happening – what had happened.
"It was just one of those things that occur sometimes, Ron." Hermione's voice had turned sweet again and he wished he could close his eyes once more and only hear the sound – not the words themselves – but just the comforting sound of his lover as she spoke gently to him. "Really, it was just…an accident." The meaning of the words pierced through the haze and jangled along his nerves and up his spine.
"H-her-er-mione?" his own voice whispered, croaking painfully from his throat, reminding him of screaming spells and crying – Harry! – though a crawling fear, or perhaps revulsion, now constricted his throat. A swift glance down showed that Harry had slipped lightly from his grasp and was now lying against the warm ground once more, shoulder propped against Ron's knees and arm splayed across Ron's lap. The redhead laid his hand on the other wizard's hand, fingers unconsciously trying to soothe away the ache (though whether Harry's now distant pain or Ron's own grief was anyone's guess).
He looked back up through his long lashes at Hermione – always looking to her for guidance – and she gave him a sad little smile; a mockery of a smile. "We'll go on. We'll survive this too, somehow. Have our little house filled with children, like we've dreamt about. Remember our dream, Ron? He wouldn't want us to give up." Ron nodded at her, shoulders tipping forward slightly as her words sat uncomfortably against his chest, though there was nothing wrong with them except perhaps timing.
He again let the soothing timbre of her beloved voice soak through him, calling for him to only feel the pitch and rhythm, but words will not be denied and he was forced to heed them once more. "You just have to help me, Ron," Hermione said softly – so softly – and some twisting, serpentine thing in his gut sent a wave of sickness washing through his body before it crashed against the edges of his brain.
"What?" he managed once more to whisper a word, though even he wasn't sure what he meant by that word – whether to find out what she needed help with, simply in confusion, or perhaps in surprise, but maybe it didn't matter; maybe nothing mattered anymore – Harry! He looked back down at his best mate, tears stinging his eyes as Hermione's voice took on a tender and sweet quality – cloyingly sweet now! – and he once again forced himself to listen though he didn't want to hear; didn't want to understand. Just want to drift away…
"We can't let anyone know what's happened to Harry."
He didn't want to listen… He didn't want to listen… He had to listen.
"They'll bring Aurors, Ron. They'll figure out what happened." There was a quiet plea in Hermione's voice now, he realized, though the tenor was just as sweet as ever and Ron was reminded of the stench of the dead – sickly sweet – after the battle. Her voice thrummed along the synapses of his brain and he felt the impulse to scream again, if only to drown out her words.
"Ron, you have to help me."
"What did you do, Hermione?" The question startled him, the thought not fully formed or registered until it was already hanging in the air between them. He couldn't bear to look up at her, so he stared down at his best mate – so very still –; couldn't bear to hear her anymore, but he had to – for Harry.
"I told you, it was an accident, Ron." The pitch of her voice turned colder – annoyed – he supposed, though she still sounded for all the world like his loving girlfriend; their loving best friend – just Hermione. "Harry's just so –" she made a tiny exasperated noise which she quickly smoothed over. "We can still have what we dreamed about, Ron, with no danger hanging over us. Without the reminder of all we lost for him." Bitterness in her tone now, though it was buried beneath the layers of melodious love for him, almost enough to hide the truth.
"You killed him." The dull statement hung in the silence; the humid air absolutely stifling now as the sound of insects swelled to replace the void left behind after their voices died. He supposed her silence spoke more loudly than anything ever would.
"What's done is done, Ronald," she snapped, but quickly let her tone become soothing again. "I didn't mean for this… God, Ron, of course I didn't intend this to happen! There was just so much empty space between us –"
"You murdered him," he whispered, almost to himself though she must have heard because her eyes finally lost the last of the blank emptiness and she frowned at him – had the nerve to frown at him like he had done something wrong once again.
"You know I wouldn't hurt him on purpose. This isn't me!" The last was said with a hint of desperation, a haunted look filling the void in her eyes; truth in her eyes and lies in her gentle tone.
She's cracked. She's mad – or I'm mental and dreaming this all – no, no! We're all cracked, but she really is shattered. She just doesn't know it yet.
"Please, Ron, please help me. We have to hide him, so no one will ever know."
Ron sat silently on the ground, head lowered though his eyes were wide open as he stared down at his best mate and his ears heard all that his future wife spoke – as his dream spoke a nightmare. He felt more than moved his wand minutely toward Hermione before he whispered "stupefy."
She dodged from the spell – his quick, clever Hermione – and the look in her eyes told him she wasn't so far gone to at least have an inkling of right and wrong. She still comprehended enough to realize she needed to hide what had happened. He jumped to his feet, anger suddenly coursing through him – fury for himself; wrath for Harry – at this betrayal. They were almost through all of this shite. They had won the war; they were healing! He felt like clawing out his brain – treacherous organ that couldn't comprehend how this had happened to them; that couldn't understand until it was too late.
"Confundo!" she yelled, and he jumped aside, barely missing the confusion curse's streak of light.
"Hermione, stop!" he shouted, still trying to keep a hold of himself and the rage that was even now licking at his insides like the cold-fire burn of ice. Merlin, he loved her – still he loved her – but he couldn't help her with this; wouldn't help her cover up what she had done. His allegiance had to lie with his best mate who was so wrongfully taken from them – I love Harry too and she loves Harry, even if she can't remember.
Thinking of Harry and Hermione made tears prick at his eyes. He furiously tried to wipe them away, smudging dirt across his face and mixing it with dried blood and salty tears, but finally gave up as he ducked behind a large fallen tree. Let him cry for all he had lost – all he was still losing – he no longer cared.
"Why do we always do this? Why do we give everything up for him!" she screamed, sending a batch of curses and hexes flying his way.
"Hermione –," he wept for her, but forced himself to raise his voice to be heard, sending a body binding spell toward her, still hoping not to hurt his lover. "'Mione please, we chose to follow him; to die for him because he's our best mate!" A strangled sob broke from her at his words and he squeezed his eyes closed as her pain swept through him.
"You give our future away," she cried. Another hex slammed into the log shielding him, giving him no chance to reply. They continued to exchange jinxes, hexes, and curses for a couple minutes until Hermione upped the ante with a potentially deadly spell, "Confringo!"
No, this isn't happening! The log Ron was hiding behind exploded into thousands of shards and he instantly rolled away, though nowhere near fast enough to avoid impalement by the splintering tree. She screamed a scalping curse for good measure just as he finished his roll. He was shielded now by a tall, wide, ancient oak and he scrambled to his feet, almost immediately losing his balance. He flailed, wrapping his arms back behind him as he clung to the bark, heart beating wildly as he leaned against the rough tree.
Luckily she missed with that particular curse, but he could barely stand now. Most of the log now imbedded in him was merely splinters, but a large chunk of wood had skewered his left calve causing it to bleed profusely. He leaned heavily against the tree for quite a while – still somewhat in shock – and finally realized he could hear her creeping across the clearing, obviously assuming that the long silence meant she had done serious damage to him.
We survived everything only to have this happen to us!
Rage fully consumed him and he stepped out from behind the tree unafraid. He no longer cared about anything except seeing this to an end; making sure she was punished for what she had done to Harry; stopping her before her mind slipped any further into insanity.
Rage made him envision only the younger wizard in his mind's eye – Harry walking mournfully through the trees, his back toward Hermione because he completely trusted her, and Hermione drawing her wand and striking him; Harry lying so still amongst the leaves.
She shrieked "sectumsempra mortifera" – deadly cutting – and he didn't have time to fully register the venom in her voice or her intent to seriously hurt and possibly kill. "Avada kedavra," he cried, watching the green light dash from his wand and chase toward her. Her look of triumph changed to one of horror as she too realized what was happening – he meant to kill or it wouldn't have worked – but before he could see anymore of what was happening, he flew off his feet as her own curse sliced into him. He screamed and writhed in pain, drowning out any noise she made, as deep gashes appeared across his body.
Ron wasn't sure how long he was lost to the misery – agony, nothing but agony and, madly, the word 'agony' pounding against his brain – but when he had fully come to himself, he had managed to stand. He looked toward Harry and Hermione – both still loved so very much – and staggered toward them. He needed to see what had happened to Hermione; needed to be with his friends.
They were lying near one another, motionless and silent. His spell must have blown her half way across the clearing he realized. Hermione's head was angled oddly, her eyes staring unblinkingly toward Harry, but she looked…soft, quiet. And Harry, well, Harry looked peaceful – tranquil – at least.
Unfathomable pain swept through Ron and the redhead sank slowly to his knees between the two people dearest to him in the world – pain, pain, go away. Let me stay in this moment; let me stay here with them. He glanced down at himself, thoughts fluttering around his muddled mind, and remembered that he hadn't been wearing a red shirt when he started out before comprehension finally dawned.
His arm was latched tightly across his stomach – barely holding yourself together, a distant part of his brain whispered – and the world swam in front of his vision. He allowed himself to tip until he was falling backwards, dimly noting the crackle of leaves beneath him as he thudded onto the warm ground, agony once again lancing through him at the sudden jolt.
He stared up at the overhanging branches and leaves that filtered light down amongst the trio and then let his gaze expand beyond the arch to the blue, blue sky. The heat of the humid afternoon was intense, but Ron didn't mind. He felt suddenly chilled and was grateful for the sun shining brilliantly on him – on them.
He supposed then, that he was dying – not so bad, really – and tried to imagine what they would look like to the first person who found them; tried to imagine the scene. As though he was flying and looking down on the panorama, his mind's eye could trace their forms lying amongst the leaves beneath the trees.
Another intense pain wracked his body, making his back arch painfully, but soon subsided into a less dense ache (though no doubt it would have felt horrendous if not compared to the pain of a dying body).
After the dizzying shock of agony wore thin, he turned back to the sky and languidly wondered if anyone would bother to check the wands and figure out what really happened or if they would simply assume a group of Death Eater's – angry over their lord's demise – had caught them unaware. He hoped the three of them remained in people's mind's as they were meant to be: best friends – the unbreakable trio.
Ron longed to rest next to the two beside him; longed to be with them forever, regardless of what had happened. He would never know for certain what happened to Hermione; what led to this, but perhaps death would fix her brokenness – all their brokenness – quicker than life would have if it had been given the chance. Then all would once again be as it should; they would be as they should.
He reached out until he held Harry's arm and, stretching to the other side, managed to touch Hermione's ankle – connecting bridge between his best friends – and contentment settled over him.
The sight before him flickered for a moment as the muscles in his eyes contracted. When his vision stopped jiggling – dimmer now – he realized the heavy pressure in his chest had subsided. He could once again hear the swell of cicadas – calming and so peaceful – now that his own harsh rattling breath had ceased.
He heard the echo of their laughter, or perhaps the memory of their laughter, amongst the trees and he smiled – Harry and Hermione will be waiting. Closing his eyes he finally let himself drift amongst the blue of the warm sky and the whirring chirrup of the cicadas.
Author's Note: Been working on several Harry Potter fics, but mainly a huge multi-chapter one, so I thought I should see how a one-shot goes.
Copyright 2011 by Stardust of Orion