Chapter 3- Last Day
Now
The train stops, eventually, and I slowly climb to my feet. Cedric and his friends are gone already. I know I will soon have to face everyone I've avoided since Harry died, two years ago.
I realize, startled, that this is the first time I've thought of him that way- dead- since the funeral. That is one memory I won't think about.
I walk slowly from the train, wondering idly what it's going to be like to be back at Hogwarts...and as a teacher, no less!
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" I hear the familiar voice and glance over the heads of the students to see Hagrid, holding a lantern and calling. My throat aches as I realize how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.
"Good ter see ye, Ron," Hagrid adds softly as I walk up beside him.
"D'you mind if I ride with the first years? It's been too long since I've seen the castle." I ask the question casually, not wanting Hagrid to know how much I've missed this place.
"'Course you can, Ron. We've missed ye."
I know the "we" is a silent rebuke on Hermione's behalf. She must have been furious when I didn't write her. But after what happened...I just couldn't face her, or anyone else.
I follow the first years to the lake, and climb into a boat with three students, all of whom give me the looks of awe I remember always going to Harry. Don't I want to scream. I didn't do anything to be proud of!
But they honor me anyway.
As we approach the castle, I'm somewhat amused by the looks on their faces as they get their first glimpse of it- absolute awe mixed with a sort of terror I knew too well. They were going to school here?
I could almost smile.
Hagrid knocks on the door three times, exactly like in my first year. Minerva McGonagall opens the door, unsmiling, and nods. "Thank you, Hagrid."
I listen to her speech to the first years, the same as it was then. When the new students troop off to the Great Hall, Minerva looks at me and smiles.
"Ron, I'm glad you came." The years, and the war, have softened her. She is no longer the thin-lipped terror of all the students. Instead, she's the sympathetic ear to listen to their troubles, the teacher they can talk to.
I haven't written 'Mione, but she's written me, and I always read the letters.
When I don't respond, Minerva's smile slips and she shakes her head. "Ron, I know you miss him. So do I...so do we all. Everyone lost someone, whether lover or friend or family... But you have to move on. Albus once told me that it doesn't do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. He was right, Ron. Harry wouldn't have wanted you to give up, simply because he's gone."
It is quite possibly the most emotional speech I've ever heard her make, excepting the one she made at the funerals...no, I won't think about that.
But the feeling of bitterness that's never far away since the final battle has risen again at full strength, and I can't keep myself from reacting to her words. "You're as bad as Hermione - "Honestly, Ron, he wouldn't want this!" Well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you very much for your concern. If he wasn't so damned obsessed with keeping me alive he'd be here, wouldn't he? But you know what, I don't care, because there's no point trying if he isn't here!"
I realize, too late, that I've just let slip to Minerva the one thing I swore never to tell anyone. And she understood. Damn.
"What do you mean, pushed you aside?" And then, her voice considerably softer, "He saved your life, didn't he." It's not a question. "And died for it."
No, I think, trembling. This is my private shame, my inner darkness that she has no right to. No one should know that I'm the reason they lost their golden hope, their savior. I as good as killed him, but they shouldn't know that, can't know that. It's my secret, my pain that will never go away. The one thing that would make those looks of awe on the children's faces vanish, the one thing that would turn 'Mione from me, the one thing that would make me an exile, not by choice but by force...
To my immense shock, she steps forward and embraces me. "We all have to live with things that happened during the war, Ron. But don't let it ruin everything. Harry wanted you to live very much, or he wouldn't have saved you. Don't make his sacrifice worthless."
She steps back, tears sparkling in her eyes, and I feel my own eyes begin to water. She's right, probably - she always has been in the past - but I still can't...
"If you want to skip the Feast tonight, I'll understand completely. You know where your rooms are, of course." Her voice is more normal now, and she smiles, slightly, before walking back to the Great Hall. "And, Ron, try to think about what I said. You're only thirty years old."
I nod and walk out of the Entrance Hall. As I pass by a small sheltered alcove along one wall, a memory flashes through my mind - a quick kiss before a game, Harry flushed and excited, me nervous and tense. Both of us so frightened of getting caught that we never thought of the time we were wasting, hidden away with our stupid secrets.
As my feet follow the familiar pathways to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and the adjoining professor's rooms, I decide abruptly not to venture there yet. Instead, I wander the hallways I know so well, every corridor full of memories. For a moment, I wonder where to go, and then the answer strikes me. The place that was my home for the seven happiest years of my life. Gryffindor Tower.
When I reach the portrait hole, I feel an unexpected pang that the painting I had seen so often in my youth was gone. During the Death Eaters' attack on Hogwarts the day of graduation, the Fat Lady had been destroyed utterly. Now the painting guarding the portrait hole was a knight, clunking about in armor that didn't seem to fit.
Sir Cadogan peered at me for a long moment, brows furrowed in concentration. Trying to place me, I realize. It's nice for someone to not know me on sight.
"Aren't you a Weasley?" he demands suspiciously, and when I nod he glares. "In that case, I suppose I have to let you in, password or no password." I nod again. "Well, then." And the portrait swung aside.
I enter the common room, and feel as though I have inadvertently stepped into the past. Everything is the same as when I last saw it, except for the complete emptiness.
A fire crackles merrily in the hearth, and puffy armchairs are scattered about the room, some pulled up to tables and some not. The Gryffindor banners hanging on the walls look the same, if a bit newer. McGonagall's really made an effort to restore the place after the attack. For a moment, I can almost see different banners, of a boy on a broomstick, and a dragon. Then the image is gone, and instead I see a young bushy-haired girl attempting to read a thick book. Two redheaded boys collapse, laughing, into armchairs near her as Filibuster's Fireworks explode around them, and she shakes her head tolerantly, amused. Two other boys play chess nearby, one also redheaded, one raven-haired and emerald-eyed. Then they're gone, too, and I am left with an empty room and entirely too many memories which threaten to drown me.
This has been happening more and more, recently, this terrible pressure of the past, when everything that ever was between Harry and I plays through my mind with absolute disregard for how much I hurt, and I can't even fight the immense suffocation of it all. It's blackness coming in through my thoughts, the only things I can never escape, and I'm not sure if I want to let go and never come back up for air, or if I want to fight for just one more breath, one more moment when I'm not quite dead yet, though I really might as well be and what's the point of fighting, again, anyway?
Slowly, I pull myself out of the relentless tide of what once, I'm sure, was an emotion I reveled in, but now is only another source of torment. Gryffindor Tower is too thick with what we once were, and I run, gasping for precious air even though I know that, rationally, there's no reason I should be short of breath.
Twenty minutes later, in considerably more control of myself, I'm in another familiar corridor. There is a flood of water on the floor, and I feel a shock. She can't still be...
With an almost-smile on my face, I open the door labeled "Girl's Restroom" and hear the sound of sobbing coming from the end toilet. As I open the door, Moaning Myrtle floats out and stares at me.
"What are you doing here? You're a boy. " And then, evidently getting a better look at my face, "Aren't you the boy who used to hang around with Harry all the time? You made that potion in here, once."
That sounds oddly right, being "the boy who hung around Harry" again. That's who I was when I was nobody and he was famous and we were happy. Tears start up again in my eyes, only this time one escapes to trickle down my cheek. Myrtle notices it and brightens considerably. "What's upset you?" she asks delightedly.
"Memories." She peers at me closely again, then shakes her head sadly.
"He was a very nice boy. I think he was the first person I liked since I died," she says, and for once it's not self-pity that tinges her voice with sadness. She truly had cared for Harry.
"I...liked...him too."
She nods. "I remember. You two used to sneak in here when you thought I was gone and snog."
I blush furiously. Not even 'Mione had known about those impromptu snogfests we had enjoyed in dark corners and broom closets, and, occasionally, Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom.
The thought that's been chasing, half-formed and nerve-wracking, through my mind since I realized I was coming to Hogwarts suddenly solidifies and I quietly ask Myrtle for a favor.
Later...
I sit, almost calmly, in my new rooms. Everything has been brought up already, and I have little to do. So I plan my first lessons. It still seems odd...me, a professor.
I give up on the lesson plans and start to pace, waiting. Myrtle has agreed to speak to 'Mione for me, and now all I have to do is wait for her. And it isn't easy.
And then the door bursts open, and Hermione enters the room. She doesn't knock, not that I would have expected her to in the first place. In seconds she's thrown her arms around my neck and is hugging me frantically, murmuring my name again and again.
Mental. I've thought so since I met her. But I love her for her very craziness. That slight spark of insanity had started many a wild time with the three of us.
There are hot tears falling from her eyes onto my shoulder, but she doesn't let go, and neither do I. I've missed her, this bushy-haired, bossy, brilliant girl. This bushy-haired, bossy, brilliant, pregnant girl, I realize, startled. What on Earth...
I don't realize until too late that the last was spoken out loud. She grins up at me, patting her rounded belly. It's not huge but it's not her usual size, either, and I'd guess that she's about four months along.
"Vicky?" I ask aloud. She glares for a second, then loses control of the expression. She's missed me, too.
"Of course it's Victor's. Who else? And, Ron, we're getting married next month. Isn't it wonderful?" she laughs up at me, daring me say otherwise. I answer her the only way a smart man could, and then spin her around a few times.
Life really has gone on, while I've been sequestered away.
We talk for hours. She admits that she should be at the Feast right now, as Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House. She took over that position from Minerva after Dumbledore died in the attack, and Minerva became Headmistress.
She and Vicky (old habits die hard, and he's going to remain Vicky in my thoughts) have been happy together since we were in fourth year, and he proposed the day he found out she was pregnant. What had amused her, though, was that he had intended to ask that day anyway, and her announcement only spurred him on. I'm glad for her, glad that she, at least, has done something since...that day. As we continue to chat, I let myself dwell silently on the last day we'd had together, before the war truly began and everything went to hell. If only we'd known, we would have forgotten fear and made the big leap...
Then
Harry laughed, emerald eyes dancing, as I kissed his stomach, right where he was most ticklish. The indignant squeal - though I'd never call it that to his face - that emerged from him as I licked said ticklish spot was the funniest thing I'd heard all morning.
"Ron!" he managed to gasp out, between desperate pants of laughter, "We can't do this now!"
I stopped tormenting him, for the moment, and grinned goofily. "I don't see why not. Best way to celebrate the end of our career as Hogwarts students, wouldn't you say? Make our predecessors proud by doing something that would shock the entire wizarding community?"
"Oh, God, I can see the headlines now - 'Shocking Sex Scandal Revealed: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley Caught In the Act!' Frankly, Ron, I'd rather skip that part."
I pouted, but I knew not to push. It was the one thing Harry demanded out of our whole relationship - secrecy. Personally, I could give a flying fuck what other people thought of us, but Harry worried about things like that, so I gave in. It wasn't much to ask, really, when he made me happier than I'd ever been in my life. No, the price was, overall, shockingly low.
I should have known better.
At that moment, though, all I could think about was the wonderful silk-smooth softness of his skin beneath my hands and the sweet smile on his face. Yes, I was deliriously in love.
"Oh, honestly you two. It's wonderful that you're together, really it is, but do you have to be so very public with it? Imagine if someone besides me had walked in," Hermione's voice calls from the open dormitory door. She's exasperated, as she has been since we told her to keep our relationship a secret. She doesn't see the point, but respects Harry's wishes, and scolds us for his sake.
"Seamus would've found it hilarious, Neville would've stuttered and run for it, and Dean would've just ignored the whole thing. What are you so worried about, 'Mione?" I asked, still grinning as I climbed off Harry, and extended a hand to help him up.
"No, Ron, she's right. We should be more careful-"
"Why? This is our last day If they haven't figured it out by now they never will. And after today, we won't be staying in the dorm anymore, so no need to worry about privacy."
"Yes, Ron, because your family are so much less nosy than the rest of Gryffindor."
"Well, the Burrow's only temporary, and I don't know why we can't tell them, they won't care in the least!"
Hermione groaned, sick to death of this particular bit of bickering, and slammed the door behind her.
Harry bit his lip, and I felt a pang of regret for even touching on the subject. He'd been so happy.
"Stop worrying, Harry. We'll be careful, okay? I promise to be good," I said, leaning over to kiss his forehead, amused that he was still so much shorter than me.
"I- Ron, I know it must bother you to be so quiet about it, and I'm really sorry."
Oh Merlin. Not the guilt thing again, please not the guilt. "Harry, drop it. We're okay...and what are we doing thinking today, anyway? It's graduation. We should be pulling stupid pranks with everyone else."
"Yeah..."
I dragged him down into the Common Room, then to the Great Hall for a late breakfast. For once, today, the teachers didn't care particularly when we got up, ate, or did anything.
The day passed quickly, joking and relaxing with the rest of the Gryffindor seventh years, then becoming more and more serious as the hours slid away, as we slowly realized that this was our last day at Hogwarts.
And then, the Graduation Ceremony was coming up, and we were frantic to be dressed and presentable. Harry started trying to brush his hair, a sure sign he was nervous, and I kept trying to alter my dress robes, which, even though they were far better than my old set - I still don't know where Fred and George got them - were at this point two and a half years old, and a bit short. Neville's stutter, which had been steadily improving over the years, was in full force, and Seamus was releasing his tension with a full-fledged Irish serenade of "Take Me Home Again, Kathleen." Dean just got quieter and quieter.
And then the world exploded.
At least, that's what I thought it was at the time. Fire and pain and stone shattering all around me, and in the background I vaguely heard someone screaming.
There was green light everywhere, and through a haze of blood that seemed smeared over my thoughts, I knew what green light meant. Avada Kedavra.
Harry.
It was all I could think coherently - though "coherently" might be a bit of an overstatement. I just knew I had to find Harry, protect him, somehow...
I don't know if I walked or crawled to his side, I truly don't. I remember agony flowing through my left side and down my leg, remember that I grabbed his arm and shook him, desperate for him to answer me, to live.
Green eyes opened, stared at me in a daze. "Ron?" His voice was scratchy, and there was blood trickling from a cut next to his eyes in an obscene parody of a tear.
"Harry, love, they've attacked Hogwarts." My words were calm, because there was no emotion to express what was going through me.
He sat up, shaking, and took in what remained of our dorm. It was all smoke and ashes, obscuring my vision, and his glasses were cracked, so he couldn't have seen much of anything, but we noticed Seamus at about the same time.
He was dead, there was no doubt of that. His wand was clutched in a rigid grip, his laughing eyes now glazed and unseeing. Beside him lay another body, shrouded in black, and I realized what had happened. He'd fought our attacker while Harry and I lay unconscious, probably saved our lives, and been killed in the process.
I'd never seen a dead body before. I was doomed to see many more before the day was over.
We fought, of course. Harry and I managed to pull each other to our feet, and we didn't stop to look for Dean and Neville. If they were alive, they wouldn't be for long.
The stairs were mostly smashed, but we stumbled down them awkwardly, and ended mostly upright in the Common Room.
There were Death Eaters, probably ten of them, I don't know. I'd never been very good at dueling, but I knew how to play dirty. I did. It took all my fledgling powers to keep myself alive, and I'm fairly sure I only did that because Harry was too tired to cover his own back, and I couldn't risk him.
The whole night we fought for Hogwarts. It was surreal, watching people I knew die around me as I killed for the first time. At first, the smell of blood and death threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to become accustomed to it. I had no choice.
I gave up hope of ever seeing Hermione again after the first few hours with not even a glimpse of her. I was sure she'd died in the first attack, and I wept for her even as I fought.
There were occasional snatches between the battles, moments when Harry and I stumbled through the wreckage of familiar hallways, searching the rubble for those we knew. These breathers never lasted long, and then there were more black cloaks coming at us.
We met up with some of the teachers at one point, McGonagall and Snape hurling curses side-by-side, but got cut off from them fairly quickly. I watched Draco Malfoy defend the castle as desperately as I did, and watched him fall before a Death Eater who, when his hood fell back, was revealed as Draco's father.
Years later, I would remember that moment when I killed Lucius.
With dawn, though, came a reprieve. The Death Eaters retreated, and the straggling survivors fell into the Great Hall, looking around to see who lived and who didn't.
Hermione was there, bleeding from a dozen wounds and streaked with tears, but she'd never looked more beautiful to me. Harry and I didn't let go of her for an hour, I'm sure.
Dumbledore led a group of Ravenclaws in, and somehow he didn't have a scratch on him. That gave us all a little more cheer, and people kept looking at him, then over at Harry, and smiling.
They had hope, at least.
Harry and I...well. He looked at me, and there were tears in his eyes. "Ron," he whispered, holding me close for a long time. "I love you, okay? Just make sure you know that."
He left, then. He went with Dumbledore, I never found out exactly where to.
I stayed behind, and Hermione and I worked with McGonagall in organizing resistance cells, once we realized Voldemort had attacked more than Hogwarts.
It was ten years before I saw Harry again.