"Oy, there's a war on here." Harry, Deathly Hallows

Chapter 3, Day 2

Ron waded into the water. Somehow, he thought he'd never feel clean. So much had happened in nine months that was just...dirty. He had taken off his shirt and shoes, leaving them on the water's edge and walking into the water wearing only his shorts. He lay on his back, looking up at the sun, knowing he already had a fierce burn on his face and arms. He could heal it with magic, of course, but...

He hadn't performed much magic since the Battle. To light a fire. To cast the necessary protection charms. To set up the tent. But that was it. Somehow, doing magic was dirty too.

He had killed someone. God, he had killed a person. A living, breathing human being. That made him no better than the Death Eaters they had been trying to defeat. What if that person had had a family? A mother, friends, a father and sister,

A brother.

Ron closed his eyes, though he didn't need to. He remembered the scene. He had been on patrol, just him and Lee Jordan. Harry had gone into the forest. Hermione was tending to the wounded with Madame Pomfry and various other students. Even though there had been a ceasefire called, the Order didn't want to take any chances, so they set up a patrol.

Ron had been hit with Sectumsempra from behind. That's what had caused the huge welts that Harry had seen when he first arrived. Lee had been worried, shocked, and had tried to heal the wounds without looking to see who had cause them.

The Death Eater -- he couldn't have been much older than Ron -- had pointed his wand. Ron saw him open his mouth, had known that the next words out of it would be Avada Kadavra. He had known that in seconds, he or Lee would be dead.

So he had rushed forward, forgetting about magic and law, feeling a primal urge to defend himself kick in as he hit the Death Eater, a solid smack to the side that sent him tumbling out of a huge hole in the side of the school. He had fallen over fifty feet before Ron heard the sickening crunch.

Lee assured Ron in the minutes after the death that it had been necessary. He even thanked Ron for doing it, saying that he would be dead if Ron hadn't acted so quickly.

For the briefest second, a terrible thought blew through Ron's mind. Why was Lee any different from the boy Ron had killed -- murdered--? Except for the obvious fact of sides, Lee being on one and the Death Eater on the other, the boy could have been either one of them. And most of the people, kids, fighting on the other side didn't want to. The damn Imperious curse.

The pond was shallow, and Ron allowed himself to disappear under the surface. At the deepest point, his feet could touch the bottom and his head would be covered by a foot of murky water, shot through with the beginnings of sun rays.

Ron allowed himself to sit there, literally drowning in self-pity. He was a murderer. He had killed a member of someone's family, taken away a life. That was irreversible, unforgivable.

It was beautiful at the bottom of the pond. Small fish swam to him, completely unafraid. He felt something larger -- a turtle? -- move past his ankles.

Suddenly he was on the surface, gasping for air, and Harry was behind him holding his head above the water. The scene was so reminiscent of their Fourth year that Ron would have laughed out loud. They had been so much younger three years ago. They had known nothing.

"C'mon, mate, there you go. What were you doing down there anyway?" This was a different Harry from the brooding boy he'd first met in the clearing. This Harry had much more in common with the boy he'd befriended in First year. The boy who had no idea what Hogwarts was, who stood up for Ron against Malfoy…that boy was still in there, somewhere, hidden behind layers of guilt and anger.

Ron hesitated from telling Harry his reasoning, though, because in seven years fighting the forces of Voldemort, he'd never killed a person. He was incapable of it. Something inside Ron didn't want Harry to know that he had slipped, come up short, and stopped another boy's life.

"Nothing, Harry, just….Hermione." He hadn't realized he'd been ht inking of the girl until her name came out of her mouth. She would understand, and Ron would tell her as soon as they met again. A sigh escaped his lips, one of longing and regret. He shouldn't have left her like that, she would be mobbed, of course. Where has the Chosen One gone? He was abandoning the world at one of the most pivotal times in history. And Hermione would have an answer for them.

She's have an answer for him, Ron, too. They would sit together someplace -- the Burrow, maybe, or Grimwald Place, and he'd tell her everything. He'd talk to her about Harry, and she would give him the advice he so desperately needed. He would let her know about the Death Eater boy, and the Kill or Be Killed situation, and maybe they'd both understand it. And she'd talk to him in her soft, beautiful voice about Him, about Them. And Ron wouldn't cry thinking about the laughing red-headed boy and a mountain of rocks.

Tears stung his eyes, and he quickly blinked them away. This was supposed to be Harry's week. He was here because Harry had left, and whenever Harry leaves there's a problem to be solved. Always. And Ron was the sidekick, after all.

Suddenly, Harry wasn't behind him but next to him, spread-eagled on the grassy meadow. They sat in silence for a time, and Ron found himself peering at his battle scars.

He had quite a few, more even than Hermione. He touched his leg where he had begged Madame Pomfrey not to sew it completely, leaving a memento of the broken leg and that long, long night in third year.

His arms were covered with more memories. On his left were the deep welts left by the brain from the Department of Mysteries. He remembered little about that night, but Ginny had told him all the details he missed, including the fact that Hermione had been hurt worse than him. His right arm, and indeed most of his body bore the remnants of the small cuts he'd sustained during the cave-in of the Chamber of Secrets, and event that he had long tried to forget. That night always brought to mind, not the basilisk or the tunnel, but his brother's faces as they realized their own sister had been taken. When they realized they hadn't protected her.

Further up on his arm was the patch of slightly discolored skin. A newer scar than the rest, it was from splinching. He really needed to learn how to Apparate. Passing the test and doing it legally was up there on his to-do list as well.

At last his finger rested on the long scar above his eyebrow, stretching across his forehead. The only thing that remained from their first adventure. He had fallen hard against the chessboard, and that fall would bring with it so many more. It was Hermione he had seen when he first woke up, a younger Hermione, and less confident one, though she had the same smile.

"You love her, don't you?" Harry's voice ripped through the quiet day like a gunshot. Ron turned slightly and saw Harry was smiling wryly. Thinking it was unnecessary to deny it, he nodded.

"I guess I always knew you two would end up together. Still kissing during a battle? Not your smartest move, Ron." The smile remained on his face, making the teasing that much lighter.

The friendly banter made Ron certain of his suspicions. He knew a moodier Harry would follow this one, but decided to take advantage of this friendlier version while he could. "She kissed me, if you remember, and not even a cage of Lockheart's pixies can stop 'Mione when she has her mind set on something."

Harry laughed and nodded, but the laugh didn't reach his eyes. The green orbs stared across the lake, through the beautiful clearing, looking at something invisible and terrifying. Cautiously, Ron placed his hand on Harry's jeans, assuring him that the monster would be conquered by the two of them, eventually.

"You really love her…" Harry murmured again, as the invisible monster sent spikes of terror to pierce his heart.

How do you like it? Next chapter is serious Harry angst, and a not-so-patient Ron, so stay tuned.

As always, please review.