A/N: I was listening to Eva Cassidy, and suddenly I got this urge to write some angst. I do a lot of fluff, and that is fun, but the angst is where I feel that I can truly work on my writing. This is a very short piece, and hopefully something that will never happen in canon, but I'm writing in nonetheless. I hope you like it.

For someone so bright, she took the news in a very surprising matter. She had always been the one who understood things first. Had always been the one who had to explain it to everyone else. But this time it was as if her brain, the brain he so often had admired, could not grasp the facts.

I looked at her in worry. Looked at the way her overzealous mind was trying to sort out the information it had just received.

"Is this…? I mean, it can't be. It's just not…" She trailed off, lost in her own denial.

"Are you allright?" I asked her carefully, not knowing how to deal with this. Not knowing how to cope with her inability to accept the truth, and at the same time manage my own grief. And for a split second I knew I was glad that I at least, despite the fact that the hurt was tearing me apart, managed to accept what had happened, and that I could eventually start to heal and move on.

"I have to go," I said slowly, after having watched her for a while. Maybe if I left her alone she could take time to process the news.

"I'm worried about her, Harry," I said once I was back home. "I don't know how to get through to her."

Harry looked at me through bleary eyes. They were red from all the tears he had shed, and he looked unshaved and tired.

"I know," he said and rubbed his forehead. "I just don't know if I can deal with her right now."

I looked at him and felt that the tears were pressing on for the millionth time that day. For the first time since I met him Harry had admitted that he was feeling helpless. For the first time since I had fallen in love with him, I heard him say that there was something he couldn't do. And that hurt me almost as much as the grief and the overwhelming feeling of loss I felt. To me Harry had always been a rock and a place of comfort. And now he was torn apart by his sense of duty and the fact that he had just lost the first person to ever offer him love and friendship, the only person who had ever truly understood him.

"Do you think I should go over there again?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Please don't." And in two quick strides he was standing in front of me, holding me, whispering my name over and over. Only then did I realise that I was crying. And when he put his arms around me, only then did I realise that I was hardly able to stand on my own. And as we stood together, sharing our pain, I thought about her, and I worried about how she would manage to go on when she couldn't even believe he was gone. And once she believed, how she would manage when she no longer had anyone who could hold her and share her tears.

The funeral was the worst day of my life, and I don't know how I would have been able to hold on had it not been for Harry. He stood by my side through the entire thing, never leaving me. I clung to him like a child clinging helplessly to its mother. Once again he proved himself to be the rock of strength I knew he was, and he held me up.

Occasionally I would look over at her, at her tearless eyes. In my mind I would beg her to cry for the man she had lost. For the love of her life. I would beg for her to show some kind of human trait, to prove to me and the rest of the world that her feelings for my brother had been real. But she only stood there, motionless, not saying a word. When people came over after the service to offer their condolances she would nod in a way that left me wondering if she really heard any of what was being said to her. I watched her as she hugged my mother, and as she got into her car to drive away. I watched her escape into the distance, and in my heart I was afraid that when we lost my brother we had lost her also.

Almost a month after the funeral I suddenly heard someone knocking at my door. I was standing in the kitchen putting the few finishing touches to the dinner when suddenly I was interrupted by a loud knock. I went to open up, and outside was the last person I had expected to see. It was her, and tears were welling up in her eyes. In her hands she clutched an envelope, and without saying a word she handed it to me. I looked at her in confusion, but I took the envelope and opened the letter that was in it.

My dearest Hermione, it said.

If I knew the words to say I wouldn't have been writing you this letter. If I knew how to explain what I am about to do, I wouldn't have to search for the right words. And if you knew why I am doing this, I never would have had to explain, because I know you'd understand.

I'm not coming back, Hermione. I've been found out, and tonight I am to receive my punishment. I've lived through it before, but I don't think I will do that tonight. My sin is too great, and the penance too big. For the first time in my life I am really afraid, because I know there is no way I can get out this time. I have seen many hard days, and this will be my last.

My only real regret is that I will never see our son grow up. I wish I could be there when he is born, when he takes his first steps, and when he starts school. I wish I could have seen him play quidditch, and I wish I could terrorise his girlfriends. More than anything I wish I could be there on his wedding day, and hold your hand when it becomes too much for the proud mother. And I wish I could love him and his wife and our grandchildren. I wish I could tell you all the rest of your days that I love you, and that you will be the greatest mother to ever walk this earth.

But that is not to be, Hermione. Because tonight I am facing my unevitable fate, and I am not coming home again, I'm sorry.

I am yours, always and forever,

Ron.

As I was reading, tears were falling for my brother and for the sacrifice he had made. For the last three years he had been a spy in the ranks of the remainder of Voldemort's followers, and he had shown great courage. We had all been afraid of what could happen, Hermione most of all. She was his wife, and she was carrying his unborn son. And when we had lost him she hadn't wanted to believe what the rest of us knew for a fact. But apparently she had found this letter, and finally, finally she was able to grieve her husband. Finally she could face the truth, and the relief I felt almost overshadowed everything else.

"He's gone, Ginny," Hermione said through the quiet sobs. "He really is gone."

"I know," I said and let her into the hallway. "I know. And I'm glad you do, too."