Disclaimer: the usual. I don't own any of these character's, they belongto the author J.K. Rowling, and if I did, not only would I not be bothering with typing on this site, but I would also be the richest woman in Great Britain. Cheers.
Harry stumbled blindly to his feet and stared around the open plain. His mind only mutedly registered the yelling and great confusion of noises mixing bizarrely with the dull thudding in his head. Flames licked at the parched and dry earth, and the earth itself seemed to be rumbling as if in protest. There were Aurors everywhere, brandishing curses and jinxes at Death Eaters, who were running maniacally while occasionally deflecting a spell or sending one themselves. Harry's mind slowly began to function once again, his befuddled conscience only dimly reflecting on everything that had happened in the last 24 hours.
Voldemort...I…I killed him, he thought. As if to make sure this thought had substance rather than simply falling into his head, he turned around in a circle, as though expecting Voldemort to be standing there laughing at the ludicrousy of the thought that Harry could possibly kill him. But no, he was nowhere to be found.
Then the memories came flooding back, the realization that Voldemort had come for Harry, his friends coming with him, even to certain death. He could still see the look on their faces as he told them he knew this was the last battle. Ron's eyes wide as though surprised, Hermione's face, pale yet determined to fight till the end. Ron… Hermione…where were they?
Harry slowly began to search the ground, scanning frantically over the dead bodies thrown askew across the land. A snatch of flaming red hair or a glimpse of bushy brown, anything….
"Harry?"
He spun so quickly on his heel that he nearly lost his balance. Grabbing his arm to keep Harry standing, bloody and battered but nevertheless alive, was Ron.
"Ron! I was just looking for you and Hermione…thank God you're alright. Do you know where Neville is? We need to find everyone."
"Hermione isn't with you?I swear I saw her take off after you when she saw MacNair nearly hit you with that Cruciatus Curse." Harry shook his head.
Ron's eyes widened, frightened at the prospect that no one knew where Hermione was. "Well, we need to find her! C'mon!"
Taking off at a sprint, the pair desperately began searching throughout the clearing. Hurriedly turning over bodies, a task that in any other circumstance would have been done with the deepest of reverence, Harry and Ron split up, to double their efforts of finding their friend, of whom they had just realized how much meant to them.
At the farthest end of the field. Harry finally began to slow down. He had searched everywhere, without the smallest trace of his friend. Staring out beyond the field, he hoped Hermione had found some sort of safe haven away from this epic battle, though in his heart he knew she would never abandon him or, he thought intensely, Ron. Especially Ron.
Suddenly a twisted and awful sound echoed from across the field, making Harry's stomach turn over and his blood run cold. Snapping out of his reverie, he spun around to see Ron, yelling at the top of his lungs at almost the complete opposite of the grassland, running as fast as he could to a point on the ground, then dropping to his knees unexpectedly. His cries, guttural and wretched, permeated the innermost core of Harry's soul and enveloped him in a rush of cold, and caused him to lose his breath.
Oh God, he thought. Hermione…
He didn't know how he made it there so fast, but within moments he appeared, with a sick plunge of fear, at Ron's side. A sound escaped his lips as if on their own accord, desperately gasping for air, and a twisted and unrecognizable wail ripped from him.
He had not seen her fluffy hair (how he had come to love it over the years!) and soft blue eyes that he knew to be hers staring fixedly back at them, Harry doubted he would have even recognized Hermione. The most warped and brutally cruel injuries obstructed most of her body. Though blood was not pouring from her, Harry knew that the dark scarlet pool shimmering around her meant that she had lost most of her blood already, leaving her the most deathly pale Harry had ever seen on anyone other than the Inferi. Her breathing was coming in forced and irregular gasps of silent pain.
"Hermione!" Harry managed to choke out as Ron knelt, agonized, by her white face, "Ron and I will get you out of here, we'll get you to St. Mungo's, you'll be just fine."
Ron, clearly trying to raise his morale just as much as Hermione's, nodded fervently. "You'll be okay," he whispered to her, now stroking her hair, "we'll be outta here in a second and—"
Hermione made a noise for the fist time other than her irregular breathing. She actually snorted.
"Don't even try," she muttered hoarsely, "there are people with far more treatable injuries to attend to. Don't you dare stay here. Go help them, you both know I can't be saved."
Her voice was so matter-of-fact, so resolute, that Harry's heart thumped painfully, causing him to clutch his chest. She wasn't afraid of dying. She had already accepted her fate with surprising grace and nobility. Nothing less, Harry now thought fiercely, than he had ever expected from Hermione.
But Ron became wracked with anguished sobs and in a cracking voice said, "Hermione, please don't leave me, I need you, there's so much I—I never got to tell you—you can't go now, not when the war is finally over!"
This was greeted by a long and sustained silence. Alarmed, Harry peered at Hermione again, fearing she had lost the strength to speak. But he saw, on the contrary, Hermione carefully scrutinizing Ron's tearstained face.
"Don't be stupid Ron," said Hermione quietly, "you know I've always loved you."
At this, Harry turned away, another howl of despair clawing at the bottom of his lungs, desperate to be freed. This, more than anything to him, was the most unjust and horrific thing of all. They were so young… they could have had a life together. But no one would ever know, nobody would ever get to see the love that Harry had always known was right there burning deeply inside them, that was showing now. It would remain forever between Ron and Hermione…right in those moments, as their last few slipped by like whispers in the wind. Not just one, but two lives were being ruined forever on that suddenly quiet open field before them.
"I love you Hermione."
"I know."
And turning, Harry saw the last dying embers of the life that had meant so much to them, that they had at first hated, then persuaded, laughed with, conspired with…and loved with, flicker and finally go out.
Head bowed, Harry pulled Ron up by the elbow after a few minutes, whose face was gaunt and looked utterly broken.
"C'mon, we need to find the others… you don't have to talk, I'll explain…"
Harry knew Ron would never love again. He would always know that no words on the face of the earth, or even deep underneath, would ever be able to describe Ron Weasley's feelings for a particular muggle-born witch with distinctive bushy-brown hair.
Author's Note: sigh That was not very fun you know. But still, I felt compelled to write it, as though by starting outon a painful and oft-avoided subject, then my future fanfic writing conquests will be at least reasonably easier than this one. Please read an review, this is my first fanfic; suggestions, constructive critisicm, and (I am not the least bit ashamed in hoping this) praise would be most valued!