Yay! It's a Hermione story! :) Hermione's my favourite character (because she's amazing). :D Soo ... enjoy.
Try to Miss Me
'Ron!'
Hermione screamed through the trees, barely aware of her throat aching, barely aware of how she was bitingly cold and how the ceaseless rain had plastered her clothes and hair to her skin. Her whole body shook, and she felt her mind spinning. All around her, darkness loomed up, rain driving down towards her, causing her vision to blur, strange lights popping in front of her eyes.
'R -ron … '
It was little more than a whisper, but somehow Hermione felt that if Ron didn't hear that, then he wasn't truly listening to her. Maybe he had never truly listened.
Why did he leave? Why did it have to end like this?
A thin vine snapped across her face, drawing a well of blood to the surface, glistening over her freshly-formed cut. Hermione paid no attention, her mind numb as slowly she turned and began to hobble back towards the tent. She could see the light now. Harry would be in there, waiting for her return. She swallowed, her heartbeat and breathing strangely magnified against all other sounds.
Would Ron remember her? Would he miss her? Or would she just become a thing of the past, never to be found or thought of again? Hermione shivered. She wanted to be remembered. She wanted Ron to miss her, as she was already missing him.
Hermione reached out, her hand brushing aside the course fabric of the tent as she stepped inside. The briefest, faintest of glances at Harry and she felt her legs trembling. She didn't know what she did next, if she spoke or sobbed, or if she remained perfectly silent as she slumped into a chair, curled up in a ball, her face pressed into the squashy upholstery.
Faintly, she felt Harry cover her with a blanket. Ron's blanket. She drew in a shaky breath, eyes pooling with tears as the faintest trace of Ron's scent washed around her. With a shock, his face appeared, clear and brilliant in her mind's eye. It was cold, unfeeling, his eyes two chips of ice. So unlike the Ron she knew. So unlike her Ron.
Hermione felt herself convulsing, choking on her tears. Foolish. That's what she was. Foolish. Ron wouldn't be crying over her, crying like a small child. So why should she cry? Because I love him.
Why did he go? Didn't any of their time together mean anything to him? All their arguments, all their smiles, all the times they had each saved the other's life. Nothing.
Hermione moved to wipe her eyes, and she felt her hand juddering back and forth, quivering uncontrollably. Her vision swam, Ron strolling comfortably into her mind once more. His hands, thrust loosely into his pockets. His stride, long and loping, strangely fitting to his gangly frame. A lopsided grin. A firm handshake. A dirty nose when he was eleven. A loosened tie and scruffy uniform. Cheeks bulging with food.
The thinnest glimmer of a smile flickered across Hermione's face, soon replaced by another sob. Tears streaked her face, and she burrowed deeper into the chair, wrapping the blanket tightly about her.
How could she live the rest of her life separate from Ron? She would still talk to Ginny, Ginny was one of her best friends … Ginny could tell her about Ron, everything he did. And there were photographs, plenty of photographs.
But I miss him. I need him, I want him. Why isn't he here? Help me. I need his voice. I need his hair. I need his eyes. Why has he gone? Why? Why? Why is Ron gone?
Hermione could feel herself slowly going mad. She clawed desperately at the armchair, her fingers pulling at the cloth. A strangled cry escaped her mouth, and she slammed a hand into the arm of the chair, pounding at it wildly, her form no longer still, but writhing hopelessly. Why was there no light? She wanted to see – she needed light.
Hermione swallowed and suddenly collapsed back into the chair, her mind clear and fresh like a sheet of clean parchment. Her eyes still streamed tears, but she was calm, controlled. It felt familiar, safe. Hermione was not used to losing control of herself like that.
She missed Ron. She missed how rude he was, how blunt and inappropriate. She missed his humour, immature and childish at times, but always there, ready to please. At the same time, anger boiled inside Hermione, raw and harsh. Ron had betrayed her, betrayed her and Harry. More than could ever be forgiven. I ran after him. I called his name.
Hermione gasped, shuddering. What was wrong with her? Her mind seemed overflown with a million different feelings, and yet all she could do was cry. She wanted Ron back more than she could ever say, and yet she could do nothing. Fat lot of good her cleverness had been here.
Hermione's eyes glinted softly in the darkness of the tent, reflecting light from faraway stars, just visible through the tent entrance. Tears flowing down her face, Hermione let herself cry.
He's never going to miss me.
:'( You've got to love Hermione. She's the best. I know it might jump around a bit in terms of feelings, but I remembered when my dog, and later my rabbits died, and everything, all my thoughts, were just chaos. So I figured losing Ron was a bit like losing them, so I tried to translate a bit of that chaos into this.
Thanks! I'm all depressed now. I'll have to write something happy for Christmas. ;)
Tabs :D