Author's Note: Hey everybody! So, I have a lot of issues with this chapter. I wrote most of it while being extremely sleep deprived, so that is the excuse I'm running with. I've read it back over a bunch of times, and I'm at a loss as to how to improve it, so I'll just go ahead and post it.
This chapter takes place the day of Fred's funeral, which I guess I don't know how that would work with so many funerals, but I'm just assuming it worked kind of like normal. In the context of this story it would be a few days(3 I think?) before Nightmares. I spent a lot of time thinking about the contents of this chapter, but I think I'm okay with it now. If any one wants to tell me the focus should be more on Fred and less on everything else, write me a review or a PM and I'd be happy to discuss it.
Special thanks to LillyMay77, oldlady, F Maurice and an anonymous reviewer. And to every one who favorited or alerted. Reviews are the most awesome things in the world:)
There were more things I wanted to say, but for the life of me, I can't remember it. So I guess that's it, enjoy and I'll see you in January I guess!
BarbedWire
He almost didn't hear the quiet knock on his door. The fact that he did hear it did not prove to be enough to make him react. Instead he remained where he was, staring out the window at the careful arrangement of chairs on the lawn below. There had been too many gatherings of chairs around a plot of earth in the last weeks. Too many groups of people called together to watch the great finality of death. He was tired of it, tired of dressing up and remembering who someone had been only to remember that they no longer existed.
He rested his head exhaustedly against the glass of his window pane as the door opened quietly behind him.
"Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively from his doorway. "Are you okay?"
Everything in him wanted to snap at her. To point out how ridiculous a question it was, how he was obviously not okay. But he resisted, because it was obvious from her tone that she had no idea what to say to him. Instead he gave a little shrug, fixing his gaze on the cuffs of his dress robes so that he did not have to watch the arrangement of a coffin beyond the chairs.
"Fred would hate this." With a soft sigh, she closed the door and moved into the room. He watched her reflection in the window as she sat down on the edge of his bed.
"It is more for everyone else. For George and your mum and dad," he nodded, not really willing to embrace the logic she offered him.
"I spent four hours last night trying to come up with something to say." She didn't say anything. Just continued to watch him with the same look of helplessness she had begun wearing in his presence. He hated it, hated that she spent all her time with him looking for the right thing to say to him. As if she was certain that somewhere in the depths of her mind existed the words that would save him form all this pain if she could only find them. Every moment that she was unable to find these words made her feel inevitably helpless, and he hated it. She had no idea of course that every moment she spent combing her mind looking for the magic cure was really only serving to remind him how broken he was. He didn't want to be reminded that he was a hollow shell of what he really was; he didn't want to be poor pitiful Ron who had to be saved. He wanted her back, he wanted her to roll her eyes at him, to tell him that everything hurt and he wasn't the only one. He wanted her to offer him her hand and promise he wouldn't be alone. Hell, he even wanted her to vent her frustration by saying that she had no idea what to be saying. He wanted to be her friend again, the way they always had been through shitty times. He wanted her to care about him the way she always had, not feel sorry for him. He wanted to be nagged to eat and sleep and annoyed and aggravated by her endless knowledge and in love with her the way he always had been. He didn't want this.
"I have no idea what to say." He continued despondently, ignoring her pity. "I need to say something."
"You don't have to say anything, Ron." She said, her tone quiet and comforting. "No one's going to force any expectations on you."
"And how many people do you reckon expected that we'd all have to get together to bury Fred?" he asked, half of her, half demanding the universe to answer for the injustice. He looked at her reflection in the glass by his face again. Silent tears were making their way down her face. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, unable to look at the hurt on her face.
"I'm sorry Ron. I'm so sorry, and I wish there was something I could do." He cut her off by slamming his fists unceremoniously into the window panes. The glass shook violently and for a moment even he was startled.
"What in the bloody Hell do you want me to say right now?" he asked, almost more of the air than of her. It seemed that he had spent nearly every minute since the battle walking around without knowing any of the words to say to anyone. He felt like there was something he needed to say to everyone, but he couldn't find a way to say any of it. And after everything, it really needed to be said. He'd faced every part of his worst fears. He'd seen his best friend proclaimed dead, his brother smashed lifeless, kissed the girl he loved more than anything. There were a thousand things to that needed to be said. But no matter how much he wanted to, or needed to, he could not force his mouth to open and tell Harry that he was probably the bravest person he knew; to tell any of his brothers that were a million times better than him, and he didn't hate them for it. He couldn't tell Hermione that he loved her no matter how sick he was of the words sitting on the edge of his tongue.
For a moment, he fully hated himself for the tears that formed in her eyes. But he was too exhausted to apologize again. All he'd done lately was to apologize. He'd said I'm sorry too much, and he was thoroughly tired of it.
"I don't want you to say anything, Ron." Her voice was pleading and he had to fight the urge to contradict her. To remind her that what she really wanted was for him to tell her what she could say to help him. He wanted to tell her how much she was killing him. He'd lost so much already. His brother was dead. He was expected to put him into the ground in a pine box today. He was expected to say something beautiful about the man his brother had been and to stand in line with his family and shake hands and accept condolences. Right now the only thing he thought he might be capable of doing was to scream.
He felt like he was drowning; being pulled under by the weight of grief and inadequacy and completely unable to save himself. He needed her to save him. Never mind that everyone was just as broken as him, more so even, he was still selfish enough to reach for her. But she was nowhere to be found, and as he sank further and further into the depths, instead of the strong, steady friendship and love he needed he was met only with pity and remorse.
"I just," she trailed off as he watched her reflection turn away from him. For a very long moment, they stayed like that. His eyes fixed studiously on the image of her sitting on his bed reflected in his window while she continued to look anywhere but at him, while all the words that remained unsaid between them seemed like a tangible presence.
"Nothing's right anymore." He wasn't really sure why he said it, but he was pretty sure it was the only honest thing he had said in days. He could practically hear the cogs turning in her mind, working as fast as they could to come up with something to say to him.
"Everything is shit." She hunted for the right words for a moment longer, before with a sigh that seemed to bounce around the room, she gave up.
"I know." She said quietly, full of resignation. Which he hated worse than anything, because the one thing that Hermione Granger did not do was give up. Never had he known her to give up on anything. Not trying to convince him and Harry to do their homework, or fighting You-Know-Who, or SPEW. Her stubbornness was part of her, part of what he loved about her even if he didn't agree with her. Nothing had ever been enough to stop her. Not Bellatrix's curses or the fact that he and Harry would never believe in homework or no one cared about SPEW. So why then should the fact that he was making her lost stop her from trying?
"Just stop," he said suddenly, no longer able to restrain himself. Everything about his feelings for her was muddled; for as long as he could remember they'd been muddled. Ruined by his inadequacy and constant jealousy. And even now, when after all that had happened there should have been nothing left between them, it was still just as messed up as ever. Now standing between them was his hollowness. It was a thousand times better destroyer then all the doubt and fear that had been there before. It fed off guilt and pain that he felt for pulling Hermione into this position of uselessness.
The emptiness scared him worse than anything else in the world. He tried as hard as he could to push it away, but it would not budge. At any moment it was likely to overcome him, and then he was sure he'd be lost. It was inside him, it was all around him and he couldn't escape it. He needed her to save him; otherwise he'd disappear inside it.
"Please, just stop it," he pleaded, at last leaving his position by the window to stand in front of her. She looked up at him, tear tracks down her beautiful face. She was everything that was good and right in the world. She was what he'd fought for; she was what he'd continue to struggle to live for. He needed her, now more than ever. She had to come back to save him. She just had to.
"Stop what?" she asked, her voice quivering. He had no idea if she was about to cry again, or if she was afraid of him.
"This," he gestured at the air around them. "All of this. Stop tip toeing around me. Stop looking at me like all you want in the world is to absorb all this shit for me. Stop trying to think of something to say to me."
"I can't do that Ron." Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it. Impulsively, he took her face in his hands.
"I need you to, Hermione. I need you right now."
"And I'm here, but you can't ask me to just give up on you-"
It was stupid. It was presumptuous. It was probably wrong and he would almost certainly regret it in the morning, but for a moment he let himself forget everything. Without thinking he leaned forward and crushed his lips to hers. He could taste the salt of her tears, and he wasn't sure exactly but he might have been crying a little bit too. But all that mattered was the pounding of heart in his chest. He could feel it, not whole, not healed but there; still stubbornly pumping life into his drained body. For the first time since the adrenaline of the battle had worn off, he felt something almost like being alive. It wasn't quite the way he had remembered feeling in the past, when he had no doubt that he was alive, but it was a thousand times better than the deadness that had been settling inside him. He didn't want the moment to ever end. He was terrified of what would happen when the moment finally had to end, terrified that the second his lips parted with hers that the pain would come back tenfold and it would cripple him and leave him bleeding and dying on the ground.
She could stop him. She could pull away or slap him, but he didn't think she would. After all, if she could kiss him in front of Harry with a battle going on around them just so she could have something to remember other than destruction, then he could kiss her in his bedroom before his brother's funeral because he was tired of feeling so dead inside. He was too tired to fling reason at himself; too weary and eager for the feelings of being alive and desperate to lover her to stop himself. So he didn't. He kissed her until at last the need for air forced him to pull away.
"Just stop trying to save me." He breathed his face still just millimeters from her.
She only hesitated for a moment before she shook her head. "I can't give up on you."
"I'm not asking you to. Just do it like you. Make me eat, make me sleep. Ask me to talk about it." Reluctantly, he let his hand fall away from her face and he took a step away from her. "I guess we better get out there." He said hesitantly, finding himself incredibly reluctant to end this moment. He had barely been alone with Hermione since everything had happened. Once he left this room, he would have to bury his brother. Somehow putting him in the ground seemed to imply more finality to the fact that his brother was gone. Once the words were written onto the stone it would be much too real, much too permanent.
He had no idea where he got the strength from, but somehow he managed to walk away from Hermione to the door. He put his hand on the knob and was about to open it when she spoke.
"Ron, when you get up to speak. Don't worry about what you say. It'll be right as long as you mean it." For a moment it was all he could do not to kiss her again, but somehow he resisted.
"Thanks," he mumbled, unreasonably grateful for the tiny piece of advice. No matter how terrible everything was today, and would be tomorrow and probably the next day and maybe even the next day he would be okay. Or at the very least he wouldn't be alone…