Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters and their world, I own the plot and the words that string it all together.
A/N: I realized after writing this that a good song to listen to while reading it is "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan.. plus the first verse and chorus or so kinda match up with the story, a bit.. funny the things you notice after writing something. Anyways, thanks to my super beta Aoi Me! haha, I got your review... heh heh I wondered if you would pick up on them! Good on ya! My only excuse is that I liked most of the corrections, others I didn't, and some were just ones I had changed on my copy after I had sent you the original. Oh, and I did put a space in your name before, but it must not have copied correctly or something. Still luv ya, babe! Haha, and if anyone can figure out which exact line in this story is similar to a very famous speech made by Macbeth (Shakespeare), I will bow down to you! (virtually, of course) (pyrolord: um, I guess it could be bellatrix lestrange. She's evil, so yes. Everyone else who reviewed already: thank you so much! Your words make me happy! Keep 'em comin'!) So, now, get a box of tissues, read, and review!!
We'll Go Dancing
Bodies were everywhere, blood spilling across rancid ground like water across a table. Lost limbs flung across the terrain, dead eyes staring upward to the eternal sky. The lifeless ground gave comfort to these souls no longer.
There were few people left alive on this desolate land, and those who were, were searching to either save – or to kill.
A boy who was forced into manhood just two hours ago ran across this field of death, searching, crimson hair splattered with the scarlet blood of comrades and foes alike; frantic, icy blue eyes looking for the one friend who was not yet lost, but was who he was still unable to find. Panicked and confused, he stopped amid the rotting bodies, scanning the ground for the familiar figure of his best friend.
A rasping, pain-filled voice whispered, "Ron."
He whipped around so fast that blood spurted off his filthy, torn clothes, at the sound of that barely recognizable voice. A hand rose toward him out of the field stinking with destruction and victory, and he ran to his friend. As he reached her, he fell to the ground next to her.
"Hermione..." his voice caught in his throat. She looked like death; blood seeping out of an unidentified part of her body only to mix with blood already caked onto her skin. It was obvious she couldn't move, except for her arm, otherwise she would have been standing. He shook his head as if to rid his heart of tears threatening to leap from his desperate blue eyes. A grin was forced to his face, as he gently pushed stray hairs away from his friend's haunted, chocolate-brown eyes, and leaned closer to her. "Hermione," he repeated, "I – I'm so glad you're alive..."
She interrupted in a hoarse voice, "I won't be for long."
He stared at her in abject horror, shaking his head furiously. "Don't talk like that, you – you're going to be fine, you have to –"
"How's Harry?"
It was just like her to change the subject... not that this one was much easier to talk about. He cleared his voice, "He... he, uh, he defeated You-Kn- oh, sod it, V-Voldemort... but..." his voice shook so violently that he had to pause. "But Harry... Harry died too. They... they killed each other." Two tears forced their way out of his eyes at this point, but he smiled unsteadily, as he stroked his last best friend's face. "But you're alive, and that's what really matters now."
All through this she had remained silent, seemingly expecting his response. At his last remark, however, she gave a dejected laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough. After her coughs died away, she began to draw shallow breaths. She tried to smile for him. "I'm not going to get off this field, Ron." At his signs of protest, she lifted her one working limb to his mouth in order to stop his flow of arguments before they began, still smiling. "I do have one regret, though."
Ignoring her first comment instinctively, he continued to stroke her cheek as he took her remaining, working hand. "What's that, 'Mione?"
When she tried to speak, she broke into another bout of coughs that shook her whole body, blood spattering his robes and the already crimson ground beneath them. He tried to get her to stop speaking and lie quietly until the mediwizards came, but she wouldn't listen. After she began breathing again, albeit shakily, she started to talk, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she was fading away into the wind. "Two, actually. The first is that we won't be able to spend our lives together..." At this, seeing it was fruitless to argue, and understanding the inevitable, he broke down into sobs that racked his entire body.
As she reached up to pat his cheek tenderly, her hand shaking all the while as though it took all that was left within her to do this one action, he cried desperately. "No, you can't leave me, 'Mione, I love you... you can't leave, not now, never..."
Gently she shushed him, and he looked up to her face, crying silently now. "Don't you want to hear my last regret?"
Numbly, he nodded. Her faint smiled never wavered. "We never got to dance at the Graduation Ball."
He broke down again, crying uncontrollably. He didn't notice his love beginning to struggle for air. "Hermione, you're going to be fine, you're going to be okay, please, and when we leave here, we'll go back to the Ball and dance all night. We'll go back and dance together, I promise, please, you can't leave me!"
A shuddered gasp broke through his anguished words, and his whole focus turned back to her. She was breathing irregularly, her smile vanished, replaced only with pain and distress. "Ron," she panted, and he bent towards her, never letting go of her hand, still stroking her face. "Ron, I'm sorry... I love you, never forget that." His silent tears dripped onto her agonized face, mingling with some of her own that were slipping out. "Ron, someday, it'll be ok. Someday, we'll go dancing."
"No, no, no…" He whispered frantically, touching her face all over, trying to keep his grief-stricken blue eyes locked with her fading brown ones, still sobbing.
Her final breath shook her whole body, and in her last gasp of air, she whispered for the last time two barely distinguishable words, "love you..."
She was gone.
He bent over her body, cradling her torso and head in his arms, crying uncontrollably. "Hermione, please, no, come back, please, come back, I love you, please, please..." he muttered, like a stream of consciousness, over and over through his tears dripping down to land on her broken body. So absorbed in his grief was he, that he didn't notice the faint footsteps approaching him from behind. Suddenly, through the air a harsh voice cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
He barely noticed anything, except that, all of a sudden, he couldn't feel her skin beneath his hands. Confused, he sat up, and yelled in shock, as, when he straightened, his body did not come with him. He looked down, and saw his dirt and blood covered body lying peacefully over hers. He yelled again, and stumbled to his feet, his body still lying on the ground. Looking at his hands, he noticed they were a faint golden color, giving off a soft light, translucent. It was if he was some sort of walking shadow... yet, he was still giving off this light, similar to that of a fading candle. And he was clean... no blood on or around him... but, then, he couldn't feel anything when he touched the ground. Frightened, not quite understanding what had happened, he stumbled backwards through the bodies.
"Ron." A gentle voice, like the whisper of the wind, floated to him. He turned around violently, and his jaw dropped at the sight of who was standing behind him. It was her, standing before him, emitting the same ethereal glow as him. She looked like an angel, clothes just as they had been before the Last Battle, her hair flowing in some intangible wind, smiling her breath-taking smile.
Had he been able to, tears would have poured out of his eyes at the beautiful sight before him. "Hermione... you're... you're here."
She cocked her head, continuing to smile softly. "Yes, and so are you."
He gazed around them in confusion. "What are we-?"
She gently broke in, "Never mind. It doesn't matter anymore." Her eyes gazed into his, still the color of melted milk chocolate, and she reached her hand out to him. He looked down at it, and then returned his gaze to her smiling eyes. "Come on, Ron. Let's go dancing."