This was what grief felt like, she supposed.
This is what it felt like to have your young heart, full of joy and hope, to be torn apart.
The air felt stiff and suffocating. Almost killing her.
It didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense.
The war was over. Voldemort was dead. The Light had won. Harry had won.
Then why did it feel like her entire world just ended?
Ron. Ronald Weasley. The only boy to annoy the hell out of her and aggravate her through puberty. The only man who loved her enough to make her feel beautiful was now lying on a hospital bed with no life in his eyes. She had faced the wrath of an insane Bellatrix, she had fought against the coldest megalomaniac who terrorized over five generations and his countless brain-dead followers. But nothing had prepared her for this.
Her Ron, sleeping peacefully, waiting to go home. It seemed like a harmless thing to do. Placing trunks filled with old school robes and books in the attic. Everything was as normal as it could be. That was until a part of the roof that was kept in place magically, gave way and came crashing down on her beloved Ron. He was now in deep sleep, his brain having suffered serious damage. The healers couldn't tell when he would wake or if would wake at all. They couldn't even tell if he would be sane or retain his memory when he woke up.
He was supposed to start his Auror training in three weeks time. He had just gotten through the entrance exams along with Harry and was going to start his life afresh. Hermione and Ron were to get a flat together soon once they settled down at work. They were to get engaged, married, have babies and grow old together.
Life was so unfair, so cruel, so brutal.
Just when they thought they had it all, just when they thought all their misery was over, an innocuous task changed her life upside down. She didn't know how to cope. Infact she wasn't even coping. It all just seemed like one big joke. All her life, she had only known Ron. She had known they were going to share something significant the second she walked into that compartment looking for Neville's toad. She knew she would fall in love with him and want to marry him ever since the incident with the troll in the girl's bathroom. She also knew he would dump Lavender eventually and come back to her because he was hers. Her Ron.
He fought with her and for her during the battle with a courage she never knew he possessed. He had come out of the battle as a young, battle scarred man who had given up his childhood in order to ensure she, Harry and his family could have a future. On nights when she couldn't sleep, he just held her, lending her the kind of unconditional love and support one needed after war. They had won the war. But they never did. No one could ever win a war. Both sides grieved the loss of their loved ones.
She held him while he cried about Fred and he held her when she couldn't restore her parent's memories. They had a little world of their own which no one could enter. Not even Harry. In this world, they loved each other deeply and in ways that no one could understand. Harry inherited his life and circumstances from Voldemort. But Hermione and Ron chose this life, they chose to give up their childhoods and their otherwise normal lives. All for Harry, each other and the greater good. And their sacrifices had not gone waste. They had bliss. Bliss that lasted a little short of four months.
Her Ron.
She wanted to cry, but couldn't get herself to. She wanted to scream, to throw things, to hit someone, do some damage but couldn't. It felt like she had been immobilised. She knew the heart was in the centre of one's chest but she felt like someone had placed weight over a little organ in her left side. Only the heaviness of the weight made the whole situation seem real. Otherwise she would have never believed it to be real. Only the weight made her realise that she had very little left to live for. That and George's face.