He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Harry stared out the window, at the rain hitting it and running down in sheets. His best friend was dead at the age of eighteen. His green eyes hardened until they could cut stone. Voldemort would pay. Malfoy would pay. Ron would be avenged.
He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Hermione sat in her office, reading through the morning paper with a cup of coffee. A bold yet small headline caught her eye, and she began to read the article.
Weasley killed in battle royale near Hogsmeade, attack on Hogwarts feared
Yesterday morning, during the mass murders near Hogsmeade by Death Eaters, Ministry wizard, Ronald Weasley, was caught in the crossfire of two Avada Kedavra spells. The explosion was so fierce it took out an entire ten kilometer plot of land, killing twenty Death Eaters and many witches and wizards on the side of good. The family and friends of the now deceased were unavailable for comment.
Hermione gasped and dropped her coffee, hearing it shatter on the floor, but not really hearing it. She felt the hands shaking her, but didn't feel them. Her world was crumbling. Her best friend was gone.
He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Young Virginia Weasley stared, wide-eyed and unseeing, at the headmaster. Dumbledore's blue eyes were weary, and his smile was gone like so much summer smoke. Ginny's own blue eyes were starting to fill with tears that she didn't feel. Ron…no, it couldn't be. It had to be someone who only looked like Ron. Her brother couldn't be gone forever. Not yet. She still needed him, he was a guiding light to so many. She looked up to him. It must be a mistake. She opened her mouth to tell him so when the wail started and the tears flooded from her eyes. She screamed in front of the entire one thousand students she was supposed to be leading.
He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Molly Weasley was automatically scrubbing the pots in the sink, even when there were no more to scrub. Her eyes were blank, staring. Arthur Weasley sat, head in his hands, on the sofa, tears softly dripping past his fingers. No one in the house believed it. Ron couldn't be gone. He was the one who would live the longest, best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. Why hadn't that kept him safe? Why?
He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Fred sat outside, on his broomstick, staring at the sky that promised rain. Yes, it would rain. The world was crying… Ron was gone. He heard George coming, the owl sent to their family on its way. Soon they would all be home… soon…except…Ron wouldn't be coming home. Not anymore. They wouldn't be able to play tricks on him and Harry, wouldn't be able to tease ickle Ronniekins anymore. Angrily, Fred brushed his sleeve across his eyes, swiping at the tears he knew were coming. No, he couldn't stop to dwell on it. Not until he was home. Despite all reason, the twins collapsed against each other, their eyes streaming. Ron was dead. He was never coming home.
He's dead.
He's dead.
He's dead.
Death. It came unexpectedly for Ron Weasley. No one could have seen it, and yet…he died a Hero's death, one that he will be remembered for, maybe forever. Revenge…denial…shock…pain…remorse…anger…heartbreak…he was the cause of them all. Ron Weasley's death marked the beginning of the end for the world.