1Disclaimer: I own NO Harry Potter characters, for if I did I would be writing the 7th book right now instead of this pathetic fic. Also, I got my inspiration for this from the cermmercial (I can't spell that) for the upcoming show THE WHISTLER. It's of these two boys digging a grave and drinking, and I love it. It thought it would good for this. So, the idea didn't come DIRECTLY from my mind, though I thought to use Harry and Ron in the story as the two boys on televison.

Summary: A painful silence surrounded them, drowning them in their sorrow. Snowflakes fell furiously from the dark sky, covering the ground around them. The whiteness penetrated their eyes. But even in the bitterness, Harry and Ron continued to dig Hermione's grave. H/Hr, R/Hr, One-Shot. Sad.

White Regrets

Silence.

A painful silence surrounded them, drowning them in their sorrow. Snowflakes fell furiously from the dark sky, covering the ground around them. The wind whistled, chilling their ears and noses. Nothing could be heard, but the sound of Harry digging the shovel into the cold, hard ground.

They were in an empty field, iced with whiteness. Snowflakes kept flittering into the rectangular hole Harry continued to dig. The icy metal of the shovel pierced into the stone ground, crunched, and then sliced out. Newly dug dirt lined the hole.

Ron watched from behind Harry. Snowflakes fluttered into his red hair. His dark, dangerous brown eyes bore at the hole. He tilted his head back and took a swig of something in his round, glass bottle.

It haunted him. The empty, deep, hole haunted him. It haunted his dreams, and filled his thoughts every moment of every day. He couldn't escape it. Everywhere he turned he saw her face. Every place he went, her ghost seemed to follow him.

Ron listened as the shovel crunched into the ground once again.

His heart gave a jolt, and a lump seemed to form in his throat. His eyes slitted and he threw his head back, swallowing more of the burning liquid in the bottle.

"Want some?" Ron asked, holding the glass bottle out in front of him. His gloved hand clasped around it.

"Sure," Harry spoke quietly as he grabbed the bottle from Ron's hand. His cold lips met the edge of the glass and he took a gulp. The liquid burned going down his throat, but it felt soothing at the same time. His throat was horse, cold, and tired. Tired from all the crying, screaming, anger, and despair. So this is what him and Ron did. Drank down the coldness fighting to erupt inside of them. Drank away the anger boiling in their blood. Drank away the grief that sickened their hearts.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Harry stuck the shovel fiercely into the ground and pulled out more dirt.

She wasn't supposed to die. She was supposed to live. She was supposed to go on and have a wonderful, happy, joyous life. And instead, she died. She died for him. She died at the hands of HIS enemy.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to die, not her. But instead, she had so bravely stepped in front of him, giving him the opportunity to kill the man that had haunted him all of his life. The man that had caused every death, every sorrow, EVERY heartache in his pathetic life. This was all HIS fault! If she had never met him, if he had never let her come along, if he had never been born, none of this would have ever happened!

So he drank for happiness. He drank to forget. But most of all, her drank for her.

Harry tilted his head back and took another sip. He handed the glass bottle back over to Ron who took it willingly. He had, after all, lost her too.

Ron's hands began to shake feverishly. His eyes squinted up as he glared at the dark, threatening, hole. His teeth clenched, and anger boiled inside of him.

"I wish you would have let me kill him," Ron whispered dangerously, his eyes still squinted at the hole.

Harry stopped in mid-shovel and glanced back at Ron.

"It doesn't help to wish," Harry answered, his green eyes glowing in the whiteness around him. They penetrated the cold air and bore into Ron, watching as Ron took another swallow.

"It doesn't help to regret either," Ron replied, his eyes never leaving the dark, menacing hole.

Harry felt his insides drop. He wasn't sure how much he could take. If only it was that easy. How could he not regret anything? Every moment he breathed, he regretted ever meeting her. Every step he took, he wanted nothing more than to go back in time and tell her to never meet him. How could he not be angry? How could he not regret?

But at the same time, he was glad he knew her. She had touched him in every way possible. She had taught him a lot while they had been in search for the Horcruxes. Everyday she'd sit down beside Harry, and tell him some good advice. Tell him to live happily, forgive easily, and love deeply. She'd taught him to look at life in a different way, instead of how he looked at it right now.

Full of regret, sorrow, angst, and sadness.

"Why did she do it," Ron spoke darkly, his grip tightening on the glass bottle. His knuckles turned white, and his eyes began to water.

"Why did she do what?" Harry spoke quietly, knowing the answer that came. Snowflakes fell into his jet-black hair and landed on his eyelashes. He blinked them away.

"WHY IN THE BLOODY HELL DID SHE DO IT! Why did she just give up? Why did she just sacrifice herself so easily?" Ron screamed, gritting his teeth dangerously. He turned and faced away from Harry. He breathed deeply, fog erupting from his nose and mouth.

Harry leaned against the shovel. His eyes swirled around in color, reflecting the snowflakes that fell around them.

"Hermione wouldn't have wanted this you know," Harry spoke,"She wouldn't have wanted you to be so mad about it. She wouldn't have wanted us to grieve."

"Then what– ," Ron spoke darkly, turning to meet Harry's gaze,"does she want us to do?"

"She wants us to forget about her death, and live for her. She wants us to remember all that she told us, and to never give up on who we are..." Harry's voice quivered in the harsh breeze that now blew.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He wasn't supposed to be digging Hermione's grave.

Ron continued to squint his eyes and breathe deeply. His grip slowly loosened on the bottle. He lifted it up to his lips and drowned some more of the burning liquid.

"I'll dig now," Ron spoke, his voice breaking the momentary silence.

"Alright.." Harry replied, handing the shovel over to Ron.

Ron's hands took the shovel unwillingly. In his other hand he gripped the bottle. The snowflakes came down now in fury, falling onto his and Harry's heads. Their noses were red with cold, and snowflakes dotted their eyelashes. Their lips were pale with numbness and their cheeks rosy.

"I just wish–" Ron began, sticking the shovel furiously into the ground. His eyes narrowed at a pile of dirt as he tilted it out of the shovel. It felt so, so wrong...

"I just wish she were still here..." he choked. His teeth clenched and his eyes squinted once again. Tear threatened to fall down his face. His hands shook dangerously as a crystal tear ran down his cheek.

Harry embraced Ron, wrapping his puffy, thick arms around him. Ron dropped the shovel and wrapped his arms around Harry, still clutching the glass bottle as if it were a treasure. Harry felt Ron shake in tears as he cried onto his shoulder. His whole body shook, and sobs escaped from somewhere in Harry's coat. A small, glittering tear ran down Harry's cheek. Snowflakes fell onto his hair, and his green eyes stood out against the pure white around them. Harry patted Ron on the back as he continued to sob.

Ron brought his head up gently from Harry's shoulder and brought the bottle to his lips. He took a shuttering gulp and held his grip still firmly on Harry.

"I loved her..." Ron sobbed. The wind whistled around them. Harry continued to hold Ron as he sobbed.

"I loved her too..." he whispered.

A/N: Please review. I think I just want to get some feedback. I might take this down, but I don't know yet! But PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!