Introduction:
There seems to be a misconception on FF.N that H/H shippers hate Ron. I can't speak for others, but I certainly don't. While I DO subscribe to the notion that Ron is forever destined to play second fiddle to Harry-Artful dodger to Harry's Oliver, if you will-I believe, overall, that he is a decent bloke (or will be once he's matured a bit).
And while I firmly believe that Harry and Hermione are the perfect couple, that does not preclude Hermione having feelings for Ron. Those feelings are simply overwhelmed by her stronger feelings for Harry.
Ah, but what if Harry were no longer in the picture? Whither Ron and Hermione then?
The following story does not change the writer's ship. Say, rather, that it shows Ron in his true light: A good man who, victim of circumstances beyond his control, finds himself relegated to the shadows while the spotlight falls on another-and who, when that light is forever extinguished, steps forth from the shadows and into a light all his own.
A/N: This story does not take place in the AU of Patronus and Key To My Heart. (Ahhgh! Cheap plug!). This is a stand-alone piece. I hope some of you, at least, enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Onward…
***
Chapter One:
Garden Of Heroes
November, 1999
The tall young man stood motionless at the gravesite, the cold, damp ground sending a chill through his body which was exceeded only by the one clutching his heart.
A sharp wind sprang up, tossing his red hair about. A light rain began to fall.
The stone before which the man stood was graven with letters at which he stared with unwinking eyes:
HARRY JAMES POTTER
Son of James and Lily
Husband of Hermione
Father of Jaime
Friend to Many
Loved by All
He Died That The World Might Live
July 31, 1980 - October 31, 1999
The rain fell harder, plastering the man's hair to his forehead. Yet he made no move to pull up the hood of his cloak. His wand remained in his robes, which were now clinging wetly to his spare frame.
Then, with the suddenness of a puppet having its strings cut, the man fell to his knees on the sodden earth; his hands clutched the stone marker as great trembling sobs wracked his body.
All this was witnessed by a young woman who stood at the entrance to the cemetery, her eyes clouded with fathomless sorrow.
She was dressed in traditional mourning garb. She wore a black cloak upon which a spider-web pattern was etched in silver. The veil masking her face was of black silk, similarly woven into a web. She held her wand up beside her, its tip casting a water-repelling barrier over her. The dampness on her face was unrelated to the weather.
Though the cold rain did not touch her, yet she felt a chill that made her tremble.
"Oh, Ron," she whispered tremulously. "Dear, sweet Ron."
She walked over to the grave, knelt beside her friend. Ron fell into her arms, sobbing desolately.
"Oh, Hermi," he shuddered, his voice a rasping croak, "Hermi -- what are we going to do without him?"
At these words, Hermione's tears began to flow copiously past the dam of her rice-paper facade.
Ever the proper witch, Hermione disdained nicknames of any sort. Only two people in the world had she ever permitted to address her in this manner. One was the man she now held in her arms, their tears falling in concert with the November rain.
The other was the man on whose grave they unashamedly wept.
To Be Continued...
There seems to be a misconception on FF.N that H/H shippers hate Ron. I can't speak for others, but I certainly don't. While I DO subscribe to the notion that Ron is forever destined to play second fiddle to Harry-Artful dodger to Harry's Oliver, if you will-I believe, overall, that he is a decent bloke (or will be once he's matured a bit).
And while I firmly believe that Harry and Hermione are the perfect couple, that does not preclude Hermione having feelings for Ron. Those feelings are simply overwhelmed by her stronger feelings for Harry.
Ah, but what if Harry were no longer in the picture? Whither Ron and Hermione then?
The following story does not change the writer's ship. Say, rather, that it shows Ron in his true light: A good man who, victim of circumstances beyond his control, finds himself relegated to the shadows while the spotlight falls on another-and who, when that light is forever extinguished, steps forth from the shadows and into a light all his own.
A/N: This story does not take place in the AU of Patronus and Key To My Heart. (Ahhgh! Cheap plug!). This is a stand-alone piece. I hope some of you, at least, enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Onward…
Chapter One:
Garden Of Heroes
November, 1999
The tall young man stood motionless at the gravesite, the cold, damp ground sending a chill through his body which was exceeded only by the one clutching his heart.
A sharp wind sprang up, tossing his red hair about. A light rain began to fall.
The stone before which the man stood was graven with letters at which he stared with unwinking eyes:
The rain fell harder, plastering the man's hair to his forehead. Yet he made no move to pull up the hood of his cloak. His wand remained in his robes, which were now clinging wetly to his spare frame.
Then, with the suddenness of a puppet having its strings cut, the man fell to his knees on the sodden earth; his hands clutched the stone marker as great trembling sobs wracked his body.
All this was witnessed by a young woman who stood at the entrance to the cemetery, her eyes clouded with fathomless sorrow.
She was dressed in traditional mourning garb. She wore a black cloak upon which a spider-web pattern was etched in silver. The veil masking her face was of black silk, similarly woven into a web. She held her wand up beside her, its tip casting a water-repelling barrier over her. The dampness on her face was unrelated to the weather.
Though the cold rain did not touch her, yet she felt a chill that made her tremble.
"Oh, Ron," she whispered tremulously. "Dear, sweet Ron."
She walked over to the grave, knelt beside her friend. Ron fell into her arms, sobbing desolately.
"Oh, Hermi," he shuddered, his voice a rasping croak, "Hermi -- what are we going to do without him?"
At these words, Hermione's tears began to flow copiously past the dam of her rice-paper facade.
Ever the proper witch, Hermione disdained nicknames of any sort. Only two people in the world had she ever permitted to address her in this manner. One was the man she now held in her arms, their tears falling in concert with the November rain.
The other was the man on whose grave they unashamedly wept.
To Be Continued...