It was an explosion this time.

Ronald Weasley and Harry James Potter were on their very last mission as Aurors; about to retire at forty seven years old.

They had families, survived two wars and bested the worst Wizard their world had ever seen.

Both of their wives were at home, content on the sole fact that their husbands were heroes; and nothing could kill the people that had survived the odds- cheated Death, if you will.

Right?

No,

Because life isn't content to live that way.

They were after the last Death Eaters, you see. Two men and a woman; ready more than anything to live up to a dead man's words.

Harry's oldest son, James was with them- hiding under his grandfather's old cloak.

To paint a picture, this is what I saw.

-THE SCENE-

The middle of the night in the worst December anyone had ever seen. It was cold, and snowflakes like whispers fell from the stale sky. Two men and three Death Eaters squared off for the last fight they would ever endure. The woman pushed the pair into an unstable building, her dark eyes burning with something like creed. I stood beside them as the staircase collapsed, watched in tears as fire consumed the Boy Who Lived.

Ron, of course, was next.

James stood in disbelief. His father was the best of the best. Nothing could kill Harry Potter. Not anymore. The war was over, dead for years. This mission was something of a joke; it wasn't supposed to go this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this way; I could picture him whispering. It was beyond unfair- he had survived this long, faced more than anyone before him had.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

James looked down.

And Ron joined his best friend in the blood stained snow.

The next didn't happen for years.

Hermione, this time.

She was, as you all know, a widow- her husband and best-friend had died twenty years previous.

And alone, she watched them fall into the sodden earth as Ginny held her hand.

It happened in her sleep.

Come quick. The message said. Come quick, it's… its Hermione.

As I'm writing this, the burning words are still running through my hands- tracking around in my eyes.

I watched as the life drained from her body into His hands.

I'll assure you of one fact though. It wasn't anything she could've helped; Hermione Weasley's body had simply given up.

Her daughter, Rose was at her side when it happened; the severed sliver of hope that drained from her body at 1:29 that morning.

Cancer, they said.

And at last, it was as it said.

None can live while the other survives.

In a different sense, this phrase is undoubtedly realistic. Best friends lose something more than anyone else does in a loss- something special. Something that was created in an abandoned bathroom when they were eleven years old.

I watched them that day, watched as an uniform hate became friendship- and moved closer still: best friends, nothing but Death would ever separate them.

And it did, in two different ways.

In a fight to the death on the place they called home,

And a comfortable bed with not a soul left in the world.

Beacause together, they would live forever.

I hope you liked it, and a thousand thanks for all the response last chapter! Please don't leave without leaving a review!

Love,

-SN