Hello again, that is, if you've read my other story. If so, well done! I like you. If not, well. Anyway, in the author's note of "Connections" I give you my thoughts on flammers. Read that because I really can't be bothered typing it twice. Just know that I hate them and don't bother with people like that. This is the full summary: After Ron's death, Hermione swears revenge on every Death Eater. Draco's caught up in a war he doesn't believe in. And harry and Ginny try desperately to cling to each other asall else crumbles. As they journey through heaven and hell, for the pieces of a broken soul. When all is forsaken, what would Hermione do for a Death Eater's soul? And what would Harry give for Voldemort's? HG/DM, GW/HP.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine. And neither arethe rest of them. It's a game for a god- the way I twist their lives. I'm sure J.K. isn't as nasty. But I happen to like being a god. Apples.

For a Death Eater's soul.

Chapter 1- after the battle

Afterwards, Hermione could never sort it out in her mind. Was it the Death Eater who leapt first, or Ron? Was it Harry, or Ginny, who knocked her out of the way? Did Voldemort scream "ATTACK!", or McGonagall "RETREAT!"

Did it matter?

Did anything matter now?

Never the less, no matter how hard she strained her mind, a single image was frozen there: The arm shoving her out of the way of the spell, and Ron falling.

McGonagall had called a retreat somewhere. Harry had sidelong apparated her when it was clear she could not move. Her mind had closed and a choking scream was welling up in her throat, threatening to escape if they didn't bring some sanity back to the world. If she didn't see him. Didn't hold him.

They arrived back at the burrow. Harry was white and shaking. No doubt he was blaming himself- he always blamed himself. Hermione herself refused to believe any of it. Refused to listen to the terrible voice inside.

Ginny seemed to be the only one coping, although she should be the one suffering the most. A girl of only sixteen, she had lost two brothers already that summer. Ron, who was also the closest to her, would be the third. Ever strong, she allowed herself but two steadying breaths, before pulling Harry into her arms, letting him wrench his soul out onto her.

Hermione glared at them. How dare they? How dare they both be alive and whole? How dare they release their grief and anger in each other when she had no-one to ease the deafening pain inside? When she has damned to the eternal hell of his passing. To wake in the night with him not beside her. And to know, no matter what she did, he would never again be.

Hermione had never felt like this. She loved Ginny and Harry, but right then she hated them. She hated them because they were everything she couldn't have. And she wanted to kick, and scream, and cry and, and, and….

"NOOOO! Oh God no! Why! Why him! Tell me! Just TELL me! TELL ME!"

And it didn't matter that they didn't answer her.

Because nothing they could give would ever be enough.

Draco stared around himself. Bodies littered the ground and the air was ripe with flies. They were mostly Death Eaters, but here, and there, was a figure he didn't recognise: McGonagall's people.

He felt numb. As he walked through the devastation, the countless people whose lives had been cut short- hair-raisingly- in the middle. And then, out to one side of him, he saw a red head.

Draco fought the urge to throw up. Oh God. he thought. Please, please don't let it be someone I know!

He moved slowly over to the flicker of red. Where, Ronald Weasley stared blankly up at the sky. And this time Draco really did throw up. Oh God. he thought. Oh God!

And it didn't matter that he'd always hated Ron. Didn't matter that they had been enemies since before they'd met. Because here was a boy his own age, a person he'd known since he was eleven, deadly staring up at him.

Draco backed away. Why am I here? he thought silently. I never wanted to be part of any of this. This is a nightmare. This is hell. I didn't want any of it.

He scurried away from the body. So eerily looking at him. And tried to find some sense in something. In anything.

How must Potter and Granger be feeling now?

Draco had yet to loose anyone close to him in this war. But it was only a matter of time.

Oh God. He begged his mind: What am I going to do?

A black figure had come up behind him. "Enjoying the sights there Mafoy?" he asked, grinning.

He doesn't care, thought Draco, he really doesn't care. But they're dead. Everyone's dead.

"Come on Draco," said the Death Eater coolly, "we have business to attend to."

Draco reluctantly followed him, glancing back once at the lifeless Weasley. Then they disapperated.

Harry caught Hermione. She was kicking, screaming and biting, but he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. And Hermione, who could not stand the gapping emptiness a second longer, collapsed against him sobbing. "He…he…he…" she gasped.

"I know whispered Harry into her bushy brown hair "I know."

He looked at Ginny, who nodded. "I'll meet you upstairs" she said quietly into his ear before disappearing behind him. Harry turned back to Hermione.

It took Harry almost an hour to get away. He found Ginny in Ron's room, as he'd known she would be. Lying face down on the tired old bedspread with the fading orange walls closing around her. Harry walked over and sat down beside her. She moved so that they could lay together, bodies entwined. Ginny rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. "How's Hermione?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "Not good. Your mum arrived a little while ago devastated. They're comforting each other."

Ginny nodded. "Mum will find it hard after Charlie, then Percy, it's her worst fear."

They lay in silence for a time, staring up at the whizzing Chuddly Cannons members and the shadows moving slowly across the walls. Both knew what needed to be said, but neither felt strong enough to say it- Ginny hoped not to at all.

"I'm OK," she whispered, not moving her face from Harry's chest, "really."

"Ginny," Harry had to force each syllable out, "he's gone Ginny. Ron's dead."

And there it was. She did cry then, they both did. She'd needed someone to say it, to make it truly real, and she was glad it had been Harry speaking.

She began to cry harder, then to sob, her entire body racked with it. Harry too felt the utter inexpressibleness of it, but crying came close. They gripped each other closer, exhausting their grief in each other, so as not to break with it all. Harry knew it was dangerous, even this comfort that he shared with her, but right then it was more strength than he had to let go, and Harry didn't want to. And, as night broke around them, they could do nothing but plunge deeper into each other, and pray for the dawn.