My Boys by Chloroform Perfume
There they stood, Hermione's boys.
Rated PG for Character Deaths
This story is short and sad, but it means a lot to me... there's too many romance stories out there, you know?
There they are, so tall and strong. My boys. Both in a different sense, yes, but they're my boys. Late night kisses with Ron at the Burrow and in strange, dark places. His red hair had illuminated the dark and made my heart light again. Soft, innocent kisses that had soon turned to deep and passionate, fiery like the hair on his head.
I also remember, from the other boy, Harry, hugs of friendship and promises to protect me, no matter what. I feel a tear slip down my cheek as I gaze up at his heroic face, stern but smiling, the boy that would save the world. Had this burden not been placed on him...
Ron's hand is resting on Harry's shoulder, and he has the goofy smile on his face that I fell in love with. His eyes are shining, shining with something good and whole and pure, something that you wouldn't expect a boy that had lost his innocence in war to possess. On his face, there are no discrepancies from the killings that he was forced to do, from what he had seen. Just a smiling, happy face. It was the smile that he shared with the world, not the smile that he had shared with me alone. That smile was different, it meant something much deeper.
Harry's face has no sign of anything that he had dealt with, either. No sign of him having to see loved ones die, innocents be taken from life, the ending of evil... He just is. His smile is brave and heroic, and it makes me smile as well. Again, it is not the smile that he shares with just Ron and I, it's the smile that he gives the world, when he puts on his brave face and hopes for the best.
Heroes, my boys are, I decide, as I drop a rose to their feet. Their expressions do not change from happiness to sadness, they keep smiling for me as tears drip onto the base of the statue, darkening the light gray stone. Pictures lay scattered, pictures of Ron and his sister, the entire Weasley family, the three of us, Ginny and Harry...
I touch their stone shirts, and it's cold, nothing like a real body should feel like. The statues of angels seem to go on miles and miles behind them, guarding them, as they make their way to heaven.