A/N: Buenas noches! This is something I had a quick inspiration for while watching DH1; it takes place right after Ron disapparates when he leaves Harry and Hermione by the tent. Hermione had run after Ron and Harry was watching their shadows from inside the tent, and I came up with this. :) I struggled with whether or not to make it a poem, because pieces of it came more easily in a less structured way; so as a whole, it's prose right now, but excuse some of the endless strings of commas!
And in case anyone was wondering why this was reposted, I just fixed a few minor things that had been bothering me.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way.
Harry looked over, at the rustling fabric of the tent his best friends had just exited. The firelight played games on the thin wall, casting shadows of the trees and the people outside. He watched one body disappear, instantly erased from view as if no man had ever occupied the space; and a fraction of a second later, he watched the second body crumble, down to the dirt and to the spiders and the mangled earth below. It heaved once, twice, as if being eaten, or burned with a fire that robbed the body of its sanity only to weep at the expense of a person she loved harder than was comfortable who left her so wrongly, too fast, too soon, with the empty "I love you"s bleeding out the corners of her eyes like agony, like a knife twisted deep into stomach, into soul, into soft, pretty skin on cheek and through jaw bone to torture the mouth that never managed to live brave enough or smart enough to choke out the only words that may have kept him here.
He watched the black shadows die slowly, as the light began to dwindle, and she dragged herself through the opening into the tent. She could barely hold her own weight on her feet. She heaved a harsh, shaky breath on the candlelight that had almost disappeared, and it went out without a fight.
Nothing was said or any noise made; only the soft, strangled sounds of someone crying, or dying, perhaps, in the unmade bed where Hermione collapsed.
Later, when maybe she had bled herself dry and gave in to sleep, Harry took the horcrux from the floor and hung it around his own neck. He brushed a dirty pair of Ron's socks from the table and sunk into a chair, lighting a fire upon the old candle that flickered orange like his ginger hair, and watched the new shadows on the wall, dancing like ghosts from the cold outside that had penetrated their sanctuary in the broken space without him. And with her heart left with him after he disapparated in those final desperate handprints clinging to his jacket, and Harry's mind freezing over - going numb - and now prepared to face only the task at hand with the locket tightly around his neck, maybe all Ron Weasley had left were shadows, anyway.
Thanks for reading; I don't know what I'm going to do with this quite yet, so give me your feedback. Reviews make my days so much better! =D So long!