The cold chilled her to the bone. The frigid wind froze the tears to her face. But still she stood in front of the smooth marble. So many wasted days, so many lost opportunities; each one haunted her thoughts. They had been on the cusp of something life changing; they had been on the verge of their joint destiny. And now all that promise had turned to ash and her love filled future seemed like a cruel joke.
Her fingertips stung painfully from the cold and her frozen tears made her cheeks ache. She flexed her fingers and winced at the pain; freezing herself to death wouldn't help anyone. She slowly turned her back on the marble stone and looked up at the sight behind her.
Hogwarts looked much as it ever had; the newly repaired towers blended into the old stone as if nothing had ever happened, as though nothing had changed. She knew the truth, though. She knew the pain and the agony of war. She knew the color of blood and the sounds of death. She knew the smell of burned wood and scorched stone; she was reminded of it all every time she tried to sleep.
She forced her feet to move, one in front of the other until she had reached the stone steps into the castle. The thought of disapparating home flitted through her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. Nothing awaited her there except silence and grief. No, it was best to join the other survivors in false merriment at their victory rather than weep alone for her loss.
Warmth burned her frozen fingertips as she stood in the entry hall. Her eyes glanced toward the Great Hall where her remaining allies were laughing forced laughs and pretending their grimaces were grins. She tried to make her feet move again, to put one foot in front of the other, but they wouldn't budge. She didn't want to fake a laugh and force a too bright smile; she wanted to melt into the floor, to sink into the puddle of melted snow on the stone floor at her feet.
Sometimes she disgusted herself. She should be able to choose happiness over all consuming grief. Mind over matter, isn't that the saying? Her mind had always been her greatest asset, but somehow her mind couldn't push away her pain no matter how hard she tried.
Ron was young, impulsive, and far too immature for her. It hurt to think about but she knew it was the truth. It didn't make any difference to her though, love was love. That was another thing her mind couldn't control; she fell hard for him despite her intellectual misgivings. Would they have made it, she wondered. Would the little cottage and the two beautiful children have happened? She wasn't sure even now but she would have liked to have had the chance to give it a go. Try and see if love was truly enough.
The scuff of a dress shoe drew her gaze back to the Great Hall. There in the door way stood Harry, the Chosen One who had saved the ones he could. She met his gaze with a tight grimace and saw the answering one on his face. He did not want to be here anymore than she did. If anyone could understand her grief at losing Ron, it would be Harry.
A wave of regret for her selfishness rolled over her. Of course. While she had been indulging in might-have-beens and self-pity, Harry had been putting on a brave face for the masses. She held out her hand in invitation, "Do you want to go home?"
His shoulders sagged with relief, "More than anything."
He donned his cloak, took her now-warm hand, and together they walked out into the night. They had lost Ron, but they still had each other.