A/N: Well, this plotbunny just wouldn't go away. Please read, and give us feedback. We're always looking to improve!
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and storyline are all the property of J. K. Rowling.
1. The Kitchen Conversation
In which there is some angst, and the first, but not the last, kitchen conversation is held.
Ron stared, unseeing, down at the waves which were lapping at the shore beneath the sheer cliffs, as the tide ebbed. The sky was pitch black, and the stars were incredibly bright out there where there were no streetlights to compete with them. The icy wind tugged at his hair and coat, but he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the cold.
What possessed them to come out here? he thought, for the one hundred and twelfth time. After the initial shock had worn off and he had found himself able to think rationally again, he had become obsessed with finding out why. Why had they gone to Cornwall? Why had they been standing on this cliff, the night when the Death Eaters had found them? They should have known better. They had known better, Ron was absolutely sure. Under normal circumstances they would never have gone off alone at night, not after everything that had happened to them in the last ten years. They had been perfectly capable of defending themselves, yes, but they should have been more careful. (Of course, him standing there alone at night was a different matter altogether).
Ron felt convinced that something must have happened during the time he and Ginny had spent in Romania, visiting Charlie. Something had forced them to…
To what? Go stand on a cliff?
But something must have happened to make them go to the place on such short notice. It must have been something important, something urgent, because otherwise, why hadn't they waited for him? Why hadn't they sent him an owl?
He had in fact received a letter from Hermione a day before it had happened, but it had made no sense to him whatsoever. He still carried it with him, and had read it so many times he had it memorized – but he couldn't decipher a meaning in its contents. He knew it must have some kind of hidden message, and if he could just figure it out, he might be able to fix things, to…
Bring them back? You know you can't do that. They were stunned. They fell off the cliff. There is no way they could have survived, even if the bodies have never been found. Nothing you can do can change that.
In the end he pulled out the letter and looked at it anyway, just to see her handwriting. He couldn't believe he was standing on the exact spot where they had been killed. It felt unreal. Part of him still refused to accept that it had happened. It was impossible to think that they were gone and that they had died on this very spot, and that there was nothing he could do about it.
On this spot, around this time at night.
Ron frowned. Something wasn't right. It was niggling at the back of his mind; something about how they had died didn't fit. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was.
But he knew it was just wishful thinking, and that he had been thinking the same thing for over a week without reaching any conclusions. Yet now that he was there, at the scene of the crime, the feeling that something was wrong intensified instead of subsiding like he had thought it would do once he'd seen the place for himself. It was obvious that nobody could have survived the drop from that cliff, and since they had been stunned they wouldn't have been able to swim even if they had.
Ron didn't want to think about it any more, so he decided it was time to leave. He checked his watch. It was already way past one o'clock, and Ginny would be worried. Those days, neither of them went to sleep while the other was out.
With a last glance at the dark sea, he turned on the spot and disapparated.
The lights were shining in the windows at The Three Broomsticks where Ron appeared a few seconds later. He started walking to his and Ginny's cottage.
The decision to live together had been quite natural. After Harry and Hermione had died, neither Ron nor Ginny had wanted to be alone. Besides, it was cheaper to share a place, since both of them were still in training – Ginny as an Auror, Ron as a Healer – and only had small incomes from their part-time jobs. The house had belonged to their aunt Muriel, and was riddled with protective spells and charms, seeing as they were both obvious targets for what remained of the Death Eaters. Recent events showed that they still had reason to be afraid.
When he reached the front door, he knocked. While he did have his own key, walking in without announcing his presence would certainly scare Ginny, and earn him a vicious Bat-Bogie hex.
"Ron?" said Ginny, from behind the door.
"Yeah, it's me. When was the last time you were car sick?"
"The last time we had a car," said Ginny. "During our trip to Norfolk when we fished for crabs. I was ten."
"Right," said Ron. "Ask my question quick, it's freezing out here!" He hadn't realized how cold he was until he had seen the bright, warm light spilling out from the kitchen window.
"Why did I push you off your broomstick when you were ten?"
"Because I said you had the Quidditch technique of a drunken Augry that had been walloped over the head repeatedly by a beater's bat," said Ron.
"Proved you wrong, didn't I?" said Ginny, as she let him in. Ron shrugged.
She had made a pot of tea. An old used copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them lay open on the kitchen table. Ron glanced at it. She was reading the chapter about how the ministry had worked with classifying beings and beasts. Ron had never bothered to read that part. He had always thought the subject matter was excruciatingly boring, had always figured Hermione would tell him about it at some point, so that he wouldn't have to research it himself.
"I'm just freshening up my memory," said Ginny, seeing what he was looking at. "It's for my Auror training. I have a feeling I have to know these things. You know – why were vampires difficult to classify? Why do ghosts not want to be considered beings? Stuff like that."
"Yeah," said Ron absently, sitting down at the table, with his cup of Earl Grey. He wondered if the copy he had shared with Harry was anywhere in this house. He couldn't remember having thrown it out, but still, you never knew. He would have to search for it.
He yawned. He really ought to be in bed, but felt that he needed to talk to someone. Ginny didn't look like she was about to budge, so he said,
"So what's your plan for tomorrow then?"
"I promised I'd help Sarah Cottington clean up the attic. She doesn't want to go up there alone. She thinks it's infested with Ashwinders. I'll probably stay there for tea, her mum usually bakes lovely chocolate muffins. You?"
"Oh, I still have to deal with all the legal stuff you know. I can't put it off any longer, the wills, all the old papers…" he paused. Ginny twiddled with her teaspoon. When she noticed him looking at her, she hesitated before saying,
"Well, If you want help, I'll tell Sarah, it's no problem –"
"No," said Ron, "no, no, I'll take care of it."
There was a couple of minutes silence, during which Ron contemplated how stupid he actually was to keep bringing it up, when he knew it was just as painful for her as it was for himself, while Ginny determinedly kept playing with the teaspoon.
"Look, Ginny," he said at long last. "I know there's something wrong, alright?"
Ginny looked up at him. Her eyes were a bit shiny he noticed, but he continued anyway.
"Why would they go out there without telling anyone? It wasn't like them. I just know there was something wrong, but I can't say what…"
"Ron, when are you going to accept that they're gone?" said Ginny angrily.
"When I see the bodies!"
"They were washed out to sea, obviously! I wish you'd stop talking about it."
"I can't. Ginny," said Ron, as he got up and started to pace. "I know there's something wrong about what happened. Something about it doesn't work. I just don't know what it is."
"Yes, you've said that," said Ginny. "I know how you feel. Don't you think I also wish they were still alive?"
"I'm not just saying this because I wish they were alive," said Ron, even though he himself had thought so before. Her refusal to believe in him made him want to defend his suspicions all of a sudden. But he really didn't feel like arguing with her right then, so he bit back the sharp retort that formed itself automatically in his mind.
"Okay. I can't stop thinking about it, but I'll try not to talk about it. I think I'll go to bed."
Ginny looked astonished and a little dismayed, when he got up, stretched and left the room. He hadn't been himself since it had happened. Of course, none of them had.