A little one-shot whilst I procrastinate working on my WIPs. I had a dream about this, so I had to write it lol. I know that the movie's not everyone's favourite version (it certainly isn't mine) but it got me thinking. How would Hermione and Ron react if they knew that Harry was going to sacrifice himself? I haven't seen the movie in forever, so it may not be 100% accurate to that, but it should be close.
All italicized quotes are from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2.
~Dot
"I'll go with you," Hermione cried.
"No, kill the snake, kill the snake and then it's just him," Harry responded in a serious tone. Hermione rushed to hug him, and reluctantly let go as he walked away, putting his invisibility cloak on as he did.
"'Mione," Ron said tentatively, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's going on? What's Harry doing now?"
"He's going to sacrifice himself," Hermione said through sobs, painfully reminded of what Ron had done during their first year. "He's going to sacrifice himself to save us."
She could remember how brave Ron had been during their first year, choosing to harm himself so that Harry could continue on and find the stone. She had been so proud of him—that he cared enough about her and Harry to do that. But, he wasn't surrendering his life then, and while their lives had been in danger, they weren't in nearly as much danger as they are now. She fell to the ground in grief at the same moment that Ron began stumbling forward—after Harry.
"He can't bloody do that," Ron said adamantly as he began to rush down the corridor. "There has to be another way." He turned back and saw Hermione's crumpled form, and in a softer tone added: "there is another way, right?"
Hermione kept sobbing, burying her head in her hands. She was going to lose both of them—Ron was going to follow Harry to his death, and there was nothing she could do about it. She sat there immobile, unable to move an inch even though she begged her body to do so; to do something.
She couldn't let this happen. She had told herself before, at the start of the war, what she had to do. If someone had to die, it had to be her, she needed to make sure of it. Harry, of course, needed to survive—he needed to keep fighting. And if it came between her and Ron, well she wouldn't let him die for her. She was expendable, or so she told herself. Her family didn't know who she was, and Ron and Harry would be able to move on. Ron had his family, who would never be the same after his loss. She would never be the same. But instead of doing something, instead of stopping her pig-headed boys, she just sat there—pathetic and unhelpful. She had never hated herself more at that moment.
"Ron," she said in a small voice, resigning herself to the fact that he had already left—that she would never see him alive again. To her surprise, she felt a hand on her back. Looking up, she saw it was Ron. He was pale and looked like he would pass out at any moment, but he was there.
She collapsed into his arms, sobbing harder than ever.
"Is there anything we can do to stop him?", Ron whispered. But they both knew it was too late. Once Harry set his mind to do something, especially something self-sacrificial, there wasn't anything that could stop him. All they could do now was hope, hope and pray that he was unsuccessful; that his luck which had gotten him this far would get him just a bit farther.
Hermione felt like a terrible friend; of all of the times to not have a plan, to not have a way to solve things, this instant was surely the worst. She tried desperately to come up with something to save him. Maybe, she thought, if they moved fast enough they could catch him, though he had his invisibility cloak on and would be difficult to find. The chances are that they would end up dead too. And since they were the only ones who knew about the Horcruxes, Voldemort would prevail, and they would have nothing to show for it.
"We have to kill Nagini," Hermione said through her tears, planning their next steps as if their friend wasn't on a suicide mission. "And after that…" she looked into Ron's deep blue eyes, which displayed a terrified look, terrified but sure—they would have to kill Voldemort themselves. She didn't know why the notion of killing Voldemort gave her pause—he had killed so many; he was the embodiment of evil—but she couldn't think of herself as a killer.
They held each other for a moment more, knowing that they must move forward, but needing each other's comfort and safety for as long as they could possibly manage it. As they began to walk towards the Great Hall, their minds were once again penetrated by the haunting voice of Voldemort.
"Harry Potter is dead," the voice taunted. Hermione lost her footing as she heard it, screaming as she fell, not from the pain of falling, but from the pain of losing Harry. Ron was yelling too, tears streaking down his face as he lent over and helped her up. Even though they knew it was coming, the news of Harry's defeat pummeled them, as if rocks were cascading on their petrified bodies. They stood up shakily, knowing what they had to do. And they would do it.
For Harry.
