Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

A/N: Happy Saturday! It's been a hot minute, but I hope you've been reading all of the fic goodness from the Romione Trope Fest on Tumblr! Reading those stories is one of the best parts of my day 3

Here's chapter 3. Thanks to adenei and accio-broom for looking over this chapter for me!

xx Cheesy

TW: Mentions of death/destruction. Post-Battle of Hogwarts.

Brave

Chapter 3

Can't escape the rolling dice

Crowded space and flashing light

Chasing ways

To feel alive, to feel alive

Staring straight, the days go by

Passing trains to paradise

What it takes

To feel alive, I feel alive

I will follow you for miles

Take me deep into the wild

'Cause in the darkness all the while

It's you and I, it's you and I

Save me from my mind

When I can't sleep at night

Keep me by your side

We're running through the fire

To Feel Alive - Forester & Kidnap

TW: Mentions of death and destruction

Fuck.

It hurts. Everything hurts all over, and Ron's not even focusing on the physical pain he's in. The past several hours had passed in a flaming blur. All Ron can recall are his limbs moving around, flicking his wrist to cast spells and fend off Death Eaters without restraint.

But the final duel is over—they've won the war.

Through the long window stretching from the floor to the ceiling, he spots the sun rising high into the enchanted sky, finally bringing a smidge of light into the main gathering area where the wounded and their families are congregating. To his left, his Mum is repairing wands with Spellotape. To his right, Harry sits in stony silence, watching people shuffle past him as if they're in a trance. Ron's best mate might as well be, too.

He meets Harry's eye, taking note of the deep red gash underneath his scar—Merlin knows the extent of the cuts and bruises on Ron's own face—and they nod in unison. Together, they exit the Great Hall without speaking a word.

They both know where they are headed.

Ron swallows down the bile rising in his throat as they ascend what's left of the staircases. Chunks of marble are missing, and it's sickening to see the bloodstains on the rubble as they walk. From a nearby window, Ron catches a glimpse of the collapsed wooden bridge, reminding him of the explosions and bringing his thoughts back to the one person who has never left his mind.

Hermione.

One more step.

Hermione.

Two more steps.

Hermione.

Ron's own screams echo through his memory, followed by a vision of his girl lying lifeless in his arms. An ache deep in his chest grows more prominent as he recalls the moment he found Harry so they could continue the fight—without Hermione.

He had met Harry's eyes over the noise and the lights. Instant recognition of Hermione's absence unfurled across Harry's desolate face, quickly followed by a nod of acknowledgment that they both knew meant they had to go on anyways.

Harry is quiet as they continue on their path to the closest apparition point. What's going on in his mind right now? He's no longer in imminent danger. He's free. Ron reckons his best mate doesn't see it that way. He bites his tongue to stop himself from berating Harry over his bloody attempt to sacrifice himself to Voldemort during the battle. It almost did Ron in, the thought of losing both—

You haven't lost her.

The reality of the fucked-up situation is that he doesn't know that. He hasn't heard a fucking word from Fred since Ron trusted his brother to take care of Hermione. His steps pick up speed without even fully registering the urgency, but Harry keeps up with him all the same.

Once they reach the barrier of protective enchantments around the castle, Ron inhales a deep, yet shaky breath. He can't save his heart any longer from what he's about to face.

"Are you ready?" Harry croaks out beside him.

"No." Ron's response is instant, however he follows up with, "But we have to."

A visible gulp rolls down Harry's throat. "I know."

With no other words needed, they apparate with what little energy they have left, depositing themselves in front of a set of double doors that Ron has become too familiar with. The reception area is crowded and bustling with witches and wizards. Many of them gasp and stare at Ron and Harry as they walk through the entrance, but Ron doesn't care if they see the dirt and grime on his face, or if he's giving off a terrible odor.

Hermione.

He needs to find her.

His eyes dart around the room, searching for any semblance of ginger hair—or wishful thinking, a single head of bushy curls. But Ron's shoulders collapse as his search ends without success. Did they even make it to the hospital?

"Harry!"

Sprinting towards them is Ginny, who flings herself into Harry's arms. He catches her with ease, closing his eyes as he buries his nose into her hair. Although relieved to see his sister, Ron's stomach jolts as he scans the area for other occupants. He's afraid to blink, or else he might miss her.

Hermione.

Ginny releases her hold on Harry, turning towards Ron. Lines form between her brows as she begins to speak. "Ron, I—"

"Where is she?" Ron paces a few steps across the linoleum floor before facing Ginny with his hands on his hips. Eyes boring into hers, he demands again, "Where is she?"

Ginny's mouth opens to respond, but Harry's low growl fills the void.

"What do you mean, Ron? You said she was here." Harry's eyes darken as he steps closer. "Are you telling me that she could be—"

Ron's palms start to sweat, only realizing now in the midst of all the chaos that he had never explained Hermione's situation to Harry other than tossing out, "St. Mungo's."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't you…" Harry trails off, loosening the fists clenched at his side, and likely rethinking his choice of words. Ron reckons his best mate has a strong tendency to keep fighting—like he has his entire life—without conscious recognition, and not even realizing he doesn't have to anymore.

A wave of violent fury washes over Ron as he points a finger at Harry's chest. "You made me think you were dead. So I don't want to bloody hear it, Potter."

"Hey, let's take a step back." Percy appears, stepping in between the two boys. "Take a deep breath."

Harry moves one hand to his hip as the other rubs his temple. He blows out a long breath. "I'm sorry. I know it's not what you need right now, Ron."

"How the fuck do you know what I need?" He jabs his hand into his own chest with more force than intended, significant enough to leave yet another bruise on his tattered body. "I don't even know that."

Percy lowers his voice, placing a tentative hand on Ron's shoulder. "This is neither the time nor the place."

You think? Ron wants to retort, but he bites his tongue. A bitter taste in the back of his mouth, that he can't seem to get rid of, distracts him from his thoughts.

A ding sounds from the opposite end of the open reception, and Ron's head pivots as someone emerges from the lift.

It's Fred.

Ron's brother looks down at his feet as he walks, scratching the back of his neck. It takes him several paces to lift his head, proceeding to halt all movement once he spots Ron and Harry.

All it takes is one look at Fred's face—his droopy eyelids, pale skin, and lips pressed into a thin line—for Ron's heart to sink.

He takes two small steps backward, holding his palms up.

"Wait. Don't."

Fred's eyes grow cloudy. "Ron—"

"Just wait. Give me a second."

"But Ron…"

Pulse beating through his ears, he blocks out all other commotion in the busy commons, including Fred's voice as his lips continue to move. Every muscle in Ron's body is frozen, his feet paralyzed to the spot.

Ushering his eyes shut, Ron takes a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. He's not prepared for the words, but he comes to the stomach-churning conclusion that they will find him whether he's ready or not.

"Ron, she's alive."