Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn.

A/N: Sorry if this took long. I know that no one was really expecting a sequel to The Fire, but I wanted to do it, for Abforth. Yeah, this is dedicated to you. I hope that this one lives up to the first chapter.

A/N2: And, I'd like to thank my reviewers. Thank you so much for making me feel better about that!


Hermione

It's been a year.

It's been a year since I last saw him.

A year, since I last saw his eyes, heard his laugh, and kissed his lips.

A year, since I've seen him alive.

It doesn't hurt as much now, since all that time has passed. I've used up all the pain I could possibly feel. Thinking of him, remembering him, no longer brings the sharp, shooting, pointedly piercing pains that come through the heart. All that's left—all that could be left—is a dull, throbbing ache that leaves me with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

I've become numb.

I visit him. Every night. If he could see me now, he'd probably tease me mercilessly about how much it would take for him to tear me away from my homework.

I'd visit him, lean my head on his stone, and I talk to him. I tell him everything that happened, everything that goes through my head, and I pretend, for the moment, that he's alive and well, whose shoulder my head was on, whose lips were pressed against my temple, whose voice murmured comforting words in my ear, not the stone, not the wind, and not the night. I would pretend that everything's fine, and normal, like those days we had, in front of the Fire.

That made me smile.

I can't remember.

I can't remember the last happy thing that's happened to me since—since he—

Oh, God, I can't say it.

I can't bring myself to say the one thing that's been shoving itself up my face for a year now.

I couldn't say it. I couldn't admit it to myself, because admittance would bean acceptance, and acceptance would make everything seem more…real, somehow.

I'm not ready for that.

I'm still not ready, after a year.

It couldn't be, when all that we had, all that was, still exists.

When I still have the Fire.

I still have, right here, blazing in front of me, late nights and homework stacks and wedding plans and insomnia attacks, and midnight trysts, and chess games, and lazy afternoons and tons and tons and tons of the essence of Ron. A thousand little details about him I've never paid attention to in the past, a thousand little details I've taken for granted. Now, they haunt me.

I curled myself up, pulled my knees to my chest. No, Hermione…

And, I still can't let it go. Not when it intoxicates me, drowns me in comfort.

No. Don't. 

How can you give up comfort when doing so would leave you in the coldest, most desolate state?

Stop it.

No. No reality. Not yet. Not now. I'm not…

"Herm?"

My head snapped up. "Oh. Hi, Harry." I motioned for him to sit beside me, by the Fire, by the symbol of comfort and love and beauty.

He sat, and looked at me with his worn eyes. "What are you doing here?"

It took a few moments for those words to register. "What are you doing here?" Ron asked me that, that night when he saw me here, slaving over my homework, because my roommates refused to leave the lights on for me. That was the first Fire Night.

I shook my head, to clear my thoughts. Not now.

I stared into the Fire. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't bear staying in that room."

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

A comfortable silence enveloped us, and I willingly sank into it, surrendered myself to the comfort that welcomed me. Ron and I used to sit like this before he—

"Stop it."

Harry looked at me. "Want to talk about it?"

I shook my head.

He shrugged.

I stared at the Fire some more, until I thought that I would go insane with the quiet.

"Make me okay, Harry," I blurted, pleading. "Tell me that everything will be all right, everything will be back to normal. Please."

He blinked. "I wish I could," he said quietly, the Fire flickering off his eyes. "I'm not even sure if I would ever get past this," he said, flicking at the carpet. "I lost my best friend."

            We stayed silent again.

            Suddenly, all those nights I've spent crying, when I've stayed wide-awake in bed, feeling alone and cursed, they caught up with me. The fatigue finally caught up, and all I wanted to do was to sleep. Sleep will help me. I can escape in my dreams.

            But, no.

            I can still see him. For the briefest second, when I blink my eyes, his face appears from inside my eyelids, and I see his smile and his eyes, and from some distant corner, I hear his laugh. Even the briefest moment of rest…he haunts me. I can't escape the reality that the one thing I want could never be mine.

            Ever.

            "I can't take this anymore," I murmured to the Fire, hugging my knees even close to my chest.

            Harry finally looked up from the Fire, and looked at me, some sort of sad light forming in his eyes. "Yes, I know what you mean," he nodded slowly. "It is hard—knowing that we have to go through our lives, each day—knowing that he's not here. Knowing that he never will be. Knowing that he doesn't have a life to go through anymore."

            I nodded. "Then, there's us," I said, still fixated on the Fire. "How do we get by? Will it always be this way? Will the sorrow ever end, Harry? Will I ever feel whole again? Will I ever move on? Will we?" I looked in his eyes, feeling myself, once again, nearly falling beyond the borders of helplessness and insanity.

            And, when I saw his eyes, I instantly regretted asking him all of my questions. He didn't need this now. He didn't need someone to barge in and start breaking down everything he's worked so hard to build. Yes, the Boy-Who-Lived has only one goal now: He wanted to move on. He wanted to feel again, without feeling the pain. His eyes were dull, devoid of the light and humor they used to possess, and reminded me strongly of green liquid metal. They frightened me, somewhat.

            But, he seemed unfazed. "Ron wouldn't want us to worry about him," he said slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. "He'd want us to go on with our lives because, he'd say, he's not worth this much bloody fuss."

            "You know what I'm afraid of?" I asked Harry rhetorically, after a moment's pause.

            "Herm," he said quietly, firmly, looking at me in the eye. "Listen to me. There's nothing to fear, all right? Nothing could go wrong. I know it's hard to move on, okay? I'm still there. I'm not ready to, not yet. I feel that I still have to mourn for him. I've mourned too much, in my life, but I still have to. For him. Maybe you do, too. Just remember this, okay? Don't weigh yourself down. If you think it's time to move on, then do. Don't waste time trying to save what couldn't exist anymore, anyway. You hear me?"

            I nodded. "It's just that—" I choked, and felt the tears well up in my eyes, finally, after months of cold, "moving on would mean forgetting him. And, Harry, I don't want to forget him."

            Harry's eyes softened, and they shone with the tears that he never shed, the tears he couldn't shed, and he pulled me in a hug, rocked me back and forth.

            "Shh…shh…" he coaxed quietly, rubbing my back as I finally released all the pain and anguish that pent up inside since the Vengeance. "You won't forget him, Herm," he said gently. "You never will. Somewhere in that great ole mind of yours (he tapped my head playfully) is a whole section dedicated to Ronald Weasley, to the Ronald Weasley we used to know."

            After that, I found more comfort and retreated to my room, and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought.

            I miss being called 'Mione. I miss those nights when we would sit there, comfortable in each other's company, those nights when we would quarrel like mad.

            I miss him.

            And, maybe, yes. I need to mourn some more, too.

            And, I'll move on. I would. When I could.

            A small, hardly noticeable breeze wafted along and ruffled my hair, the same way Ron used to in those Days.

            I smiled sadly. "I love you, too."


A/N3: Does that seem worthy of being a sequel? I personally think not, but I don't have anyone to proofread my stuff for me. Anyway, tell me what you think. I'm up for suggestions and constructive criticism. Thanks!

A/N4: I swear that I'll shut up after this final one: If you've noticed, I gave a lot of detail on Harry's eyes. Sorry about that. If you're wondering, no, I'm not turning this into an H/Hr thing. I just have a fascination for his eyes, that's all. See my fic, An Old Man's Eyes (geez, talk about shameless promoting!)