Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Heartbreak
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Harry set Ginny down on her feet. If Ron wasn't in the forefront of his mind, he would've noticed that he still felt faint from his exertion at the Manor or, more importantly, the fact that Ginny wasn't meeting his eyes.

'Where is he?' whispered Hermione. Harry hated himself because he hadn't been able to stop Lestrange from taking Ron. He hated himself because he didn't know what had happened to Ron, and he didn't know what to tell Mrs Weasley. But mostly, he hated himself because he couldn't look at Hermione. He was afraid of what he would see in her eyes if he did.

Bill was the first to speak. 'He …' said Bill. 'He wasn't killed,' he said quickly, and Ginny inhaled sharply. 'But he's gone. He was … taken.'

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione, her voice rising with each word. 'What happened to Ron?'

Ginny hiccupped and collapsed into Harry's arms again. Harry finally found the courage to pull his gaze up from the floor and look at Hermione. She looked … lost. As if she didn't understand what was happening. As if she didn't know what to believe. Harry wanted to sit down and tell her, to explain everything, but he couldn't. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would break down. And then who would be strong for everyone? All of the Weasleys were crying or close to it. Even Bill and Charlie had tears in their eyes.

Tonks was crying, too. Lupin was holding her. Harry couldn't see his face, but Lupin looked as if he could be mourning as well.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were holding each other. Ginny had Harry. Lupin had Tonks. Even the Grangers had each other. Who did Hermione have?

She used to have Ron. Where was Ron now?

Harry's heart broke for her. If it was him, if Ginny had been the one who disappeared, he would be assuming the worst. He would be going crazy, because he would think that Ginny was … dead.

Harry shuddered.

Was Ron dead?

Hmm … I suppose a cage can't hold you anymore.

The words Lestrange said before doing her spell echoed in Harry's mind.

Perhaps I can do you one better.

She was ruthless. And there wasn't a doubt in Harry's mind that she would've found a way to convince Voldemort that Ginny was useless. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she would've found a way to get permission to kill Ginny.

But instead of getting Ginny, she had gotten Ron.

Hermione must've shared Harry's pessimistic mindset, because she began taking shallow breaths and shaking her head, now staring pointedly at the floor. Harry knew the exact moment that everything sunk in, for it was the moment that Hermione lost the colour from her face. And when she raised her eyes to his, seeking confirmation – because only Harry, after all the three of them had been through, could give her this – and he nodded tragically, her eyes suddenly seemed so much colder. Harry knew, right then, that he would never see her eyes dance again. He could just feel it.

Hermione leaned against the wall, shutting her eyes, slowly sinking to the floor. The tears did not start slowly. They came quickly, almost instantaneously, and she shook with the force of them. Her grieving was soundless and yet somehow louder, more obvious than anything Harry had ever witnessed before. She overpowered Mr and Mrs Weasley. She overpowered Ginny and all of Ginny's brothers.

Harry had never felt so strongly about her before. She was his best friend – his sister. And it literally tore him apart to see her this way. He wanted to go to her, to tell her that this was all a bad dream … that everything would be okay and Ron would be there when she woke up, but he couldn't. He didn't know if things would be okay. Truthfully, he hated himself because he didn't think that they would be. And he couldn't lie. Not to her. Not about this.

Hermione was on all fours now, her forehead flat against the cold floor and her fists pounding against it in what would have been an obnoxious display, had it been anyone else. Instead, it was quite the opposite. Harry felt as though he was intruding on something, as if he and the others were interrupting a private moment of Hermione's. As morbid as it sounded, he wanted to leave the room and leave Hermione alone to cry, and he might have if Ginny hadn't gone slack in his arms.

Mrs Granger pushed through the people and dropped onto her knees, attempting to wrap her arms around her daughter. But Hermione wouldn't have it. She pushed her mother away and half-yelled, half-sobbed, 'THIS IS YOUR FAULT!'

Mrs Weasley, who had broken out of Mr Weasley's tight embrace, went over to the fallen girl. Hermione clutched her tightly and the two women cried together on the floor as Mr Granger wrapped his arm around his wife and muttered something to her about how their daughter needed "her people" right now.

Harry didn't know when, or even if, he would ever see his friend's smiling face again. He didn't know if Ron would ever come back. He didn't know if Ron was still alive, or if Lestrange had done away with him immediately after realizing that she had nabbed the wrong Weasley.

Harry was feeling far too many emotions to let any particular one out. He just stood there, hanging onto Ginny with everything he had, as if she too would disappear. It could have been her. It almost was her. But Ron saved her. He was a hero. And if Ron didn't come back … then someday, when they were ready to hear it, Harry would tell Hermione and Mrs Weasley exactly what had happened to Ron.

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Harry couldn't remember going to Grimmauld Place, but he knew he must have, for he was now sitting on the cold, hard floor that he had known so well in the summer before his fifth year.

Ginny had been checked out by Audrey, who said she would need to go to St Mungo's, but Ginny mumbled something about not leaving her family and despite Harry's concern for her well-being, he found himself nodding in agreement and carrying her upstairs.

It had been six hours since they returned from the Manor and there was still no word on Ron. They hadn't given up – not by a long shot – but Harry could feel some of the hope slipping away with every tick of the clock overhead. Harry knew that a part of them all had potentially died that night, along with Ron.

They had all wandered throughout the house, throwing things, crying, cursing and crying some more, until Hermione, Harry and the Weasley children wound up in the drawing room.

Hermione was sitting in a chair absentmindedly playing with two chess pieces, looking at them lovingly. She was hiccupping, having only stopped crying a few minutes ago. Harry hadn't known it was possible to cry as much as she had that night. Ginny was lying on the floor facing up at the ceiling, eyes closed and breathing erratic. Fred and George were huddled in a corner, occasionally throwing out things like 'remember when we teased him for making prefect?' or 'what about the time we pestered him about that Brown girl?' followed by a series of curses and dirty names, all directed at themselves. Percy sat alone in a corner, isolated from everyone, his head in his hands. Charlie was still pounding his fists into the walls and throwing books – a true testament to Hermione's grief, in that she did not stop him from such a heinous act. Bill was fidgeting in his seat, occasionally getting up to pace the room, never remaining still for more than a second as if the news of Ron would hurt more if he stayed stationary.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were downstairs, being comforted by Lupin, Tonks and McGonagall, who stayed behind when the other Order members and Ministry workers departed from the Weasley house after offering their sympathy and promising that they would do everything they could to locate Ron. Fleur was also downstairs, doing her best to not intrude on any personal family time, as she had still not managed to become a true Weasley, as Harry and Hermione had.

Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, thinking of his best friend. His head was swimming with images he did not want to see, thoughts he did not want to think. He could picture Ron on the train to Hogwarts during first year, holding his mum's sandwiches and stared at Harry with awe. He could hear Ron's irritable voice as he called Hermione 'a nightmare' and see his face when he found out Ginny was the one dragged into the Chamber of Secrets. He saw Ron with Scabbers on the night he turned into Peter Pettigrew, and the way he stood up to Sirius, back when they thought he was a cold-blooded murderer. He saw Ron underwater during the Triwizard challenge, he heard Ron yelling 'Accio brain!' at the Department of Mysteries. Every time he closed his eyes, Ron was playing chess or desperately trying to protect the rings during Quidditch. Every time Charlie ceased throwing books or hitting something and it became ghostly quiet in the room, he could hear Ron rowing with Hermione or laughing or telling Harry, as they stood mere feet away from Dumbledore's tomb, 'We're with you whatever happens.'

Whatever happens ... none of them could've ever predicted what would happen to Ron when he made that statement. Nobody would've imagined that Lestrange would mutter some strange spell that none of them had ever heard before, and direct it at Ginny. Nobody would've foreseen that Ron would jump in front of his baby sister and get hit with the spell instead, causing a ton of smoke and dust to fly into the air. Nobody would've guessed that when everything settled, both Lestrange and Ron would have disappeared into thin air.

His scar was hurting again – searing, really – and Harry felt a pressure in his head, soreness in his limbs, an aching in his very soul.

Suddenly, he remembered something that he hadn't before.

'Have you gotten one?'

'Yes, my Lord. It ... it has been taken care of. You can always count on me.'

Harry gasped when he suddenly detected something in his mind, something that should not have been there. Harry wasn't remembering. His scar gave a particularly painful throb and he could feel happiness – Voldemort's happiness – flare up inside of him. He was connected to Voldemort more now than ever, and for whatever reason, he was accidentally seeing what was happening on the other side. Harry knew that this had its advantages. But he bit his lip hard – so hard that he could taste blood – and focused on clearing his mind. He could not afford Voldemort entering his mind now. He was too vulnerable. He would not be able to fight Voldemort off.

It has been taken care of.

Ron was dead. Harry knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Lestrange would never lie to Voldemort. And if she would, Voldemort would see right through her in a second. Ron must have been dead.

Harry wanted to die. He wanted to grab everything he could reach – it all belonged to him, after all – and smash it into tiny pieces. He wanted to kick and scream and cry for his dead friend, who had so admirably sacrificed himself for Ginny. He wanted to forget everything he had to do – all the plans and arrangements he needed to make, all the Horcruxes he still needed to find – and just settle the score once and for all. He wanted to find Voldemort and Lestrange, and kill them both with his bare hands.

But he could not do any of this. Mostly because he would only make a bigger mess of things, but also because his body was betraying him. All he could really do was sit there and stare into space, trying to pinpoint exactly when he had sealed his best friend's fate.

Was it when he didn't order him to stay behind on the mission to rescue Ginny, or was it at Dumbledore's funeral, when he didn't insist that he battle alone? Could it have been even earlier than that, on the train during first year, when they met? Had it been then? Was that when Harry should've realized that he was making his best friend a target and should have turned back, should have turned away from Ron?

What would Professor Dumbledore think if he could see Harry now? He would think that Harry had failed, that he had failed Harry.

Harry suddenly wanted to return to Hogwarts and see Dumbledore's portrait. He needed to speak with his former Headmaster, to ask if Ron was really dead and if so, whether or not he was at peace.

Because, really, that was the most important thing.

'How can you be so composed?' Hermione whispered. Harry summoned all his energy and turned to look at her. She was staring at him through puffy red eyes, still shaking.

'Dunno,' said Harry stoically. 'I guess I'm used to losing everyone who actually means something to me,' he whispered bitterly.

'Well I'm not!' Ginny mumbled, still on the ground. 'If I hadn't been so stupid ... if I hadn't gotten captured and needed rescuing ... this never would've happened.'

'If I hadn't let my parents convince me to stay ... maybe I could've helped him,' Hermione moaned. Harry winced, feeling instantly guilty that everyone thought it was their faults, when really, it was his. It was only his. Couldn't they see that?

'We were there too, y'know,' Bill said regretfully.

'Yeah,' Charlie seconded, sounding just as defeated. Harry clenched his hand into a tight fist, desperately trying to control his emotions. He knew he was failing, and thought that perhaps Umbridge had been right when she said he wouldn't make a good Auror. 'We're to blame more than you are. We're older; we should've been able to protect him from –'

'SHUT UP!' Harry yelled. Everyone looked at him, shocked by his outburst. 'What happened wasn't your fault, any of you! It was MINE!'

'No it wasn't, Harry,' began Percy, sounding exasperated. 'You were fighting Amycus at the time.'

'That's not what I mean,' explained Harry, still yelling. 'I ...' he couldn't begin to explain all the things he was at fault for. It was his fault because he had befriended Ron, because he had put Ron's entire family in danger. It was his fault because he had fallen in love with Ginny and because he had let Voldemort use her to manipulate him, to draw him out into the open. It was his fault because – 'It's my fault for living when Voldemort killed my parents!'

'Harry,' George argued, 'that isn't your fault!

'Yeah, mate, just think how terrible it'd be if you hadn't survived,' Fred added, though neither twin sounded particularly sure of themselves.

'Okay, fine. But I've known for a long time now how dangerous being Harry Potter can be,' Harry said, 'and I let Ron get involved. I let you all get involved.' He stood up and walked over to the door. Knowing, just as he had known at Dumbledore's funeral, that it was a horrible thing to do. But still, he couldn't bear to face them. He couldn't bear to hear them trying to reassure him. 'You don't have to pretend for my sake. Ron wouldn't have been there tonight if it weren't for me. Ginny wouldn't have … none of you would've.'

'Sod off, Harry!' Bill yelled. 'We were there because this is our fight, too!'

'Not anymore, it isn't,' Harry snapped. 'I've done too much to this family already. Mrs Weasley can't take much more of this! I don't want any of you coming along on any more Order missions.' He knew that he was no longer in the position to make those sorts of calls, but he couldn't control the words from flying out of his mouth.

Charlie turned to glare at Harry, turning bright red, as if he were about to strike him. 'Incase you haven't realized, you're a member of this family, whether you like it or not. Nobody blames you for what happened. Ron was of legal age, he knew what he was getting himself into. You may not have the red hair, but you are a Weasley and Weasleys stick together no matter what. So shut up, because Boy Who Lived or not, I'm going to hit you if you don't!'

Harry watched Ginny, who was now sitting up and staring at him with hurt, uncertain eyes. A silent understanding passed through them and Harry hoped that she knew how much he cared for her, and that although he was utterly defeated by what happened to Ron, a part of him would always be relieved that it had been his friend and not the love of his life.

She nodded slightly, as if knowing what he was about to do and telling him she would forgive him for doing so, and so Harry nodded back before turning away from them all and walking away like the coward he felt he was.

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This wasn't happening. Ron wasn't really gone. This was just a stupid joke that he was playing on her. He always did have a twisted sense of humour.

Even Ron wasn't twisted enough to do this to her.

Where was he?

She was back at The Burrow now. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George were still at Grimmauld Place with everybody else. They were … well, she didn't even know what they were doing. But they were trying to find Ron. That was really all that mattered.

Ginny refused to go to St Mungo's until things had settled down more. Audrey had given her some pain-relieving potions, but the effects were still there and Hermione wasn't the only one who noticed. Harry was being too careful, too cautious around Ginny. He was acting as if he would break her. And all the while, his mind was elsewhere. Hermione knew.

Hermione sighed. Her head was throbbing and her throat was sore. Her limbs were exhausted, as if she had just run across the entire Hogwarts grounds. She was shivering, as if the warmth had left her entire body, and she didn't feel as though she'd ever feel anything other than emptiness ever again.

She trudged up the stairs and ended up in Ron's bedroom. She hadn't meant to. Her feet had just taken her there. Ginny came in. Harry wandered up a moment later.

'I'm glad you're okay,' said Hermione, her voice sounding raw and emotional. She tried her best to smile, failing miserably.

Ginny went over to Harry's bed and sat down. 'We were here,' she whispered. 'This morning, we were all here.'

Hermione could only bring herself to nod. She felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit her and Harry must have sensed it, or perhaps she had been swaying on her feet, because Harry wrapped a protective arm around her and held her still.

'You should sleep,' he advised.

'Can we sleep in Ron's bed?' asked Ginny. 'The three of us?'

'I'd like that,' said Hermione.

'It'll be squished,' Harry said, and Hermione muttered a spell. The bed seemed to grow wider, suddenly. She pulled down the blankets and got in, not bothering to change out of her Muggle clothes. Ginny motioned for Harry to move and he hesitantly stepped up to Ron's bed, sliding under the covers. He and Hermione made as much room as they could, which proved to be enough because of the spell. Ginny, still in her gold dress, eased herself in. Hermione felt Harry shift to wrap an arm around each of them and she closed her eyes.

She wasn't used to Harry being this way. Normally, he was angry or demanding that he be allowed to go out and fight. Now, he seemed … subdued. As Hermione thought about it, she realized that Harry had been acting differently for quite some time. It was only after Ginny had disappeared that he converted back to his old hot-headedness.

She wondered how much of an effect Ginny had had on him. Harry had obviously changed, for the better, because of her.

She wondered if she would've changed Ron, given the chance, and realized that she didn't want that. Ron couldn't get any better, anyway.

She recalled what Ginny had said and her heart ached at the memory of this morning, when she had woken up in Ron's arms. She had slept in that very bed with him.

And for a brief moment in time, Hermione allowed herself to believe it was Ron who was holding her close and telling her everything would be alright, instead of Harry. And for that moment, everything seemed okay.

But that moment passed.

Because whether for a week, a month, or for the rest of their lives, Ron was gone.

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Harry did not sleep through the night. He did not sleep at all, actually. He felt drained and more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling before in his life. But he could not sleep. He stared up at the darkened ceiling, listening to the deep, even breathing of Ginny and Hermione.

He hadn't realized that he was waiting for something until it came.

Hermione was the first to cry out his name, the first to clutch Harry tightly and whimper in her sleep. He was surprised that Ginny hadn't awoken from Hermione's outburst. Harry, feeling slightly guilty for not knowing how to comfort her, merely stroked her hair and didn't let go of her until her breathing went back to normal and her cries ceased.

Ginny was next. Her nightmare was more intense, though. And it sent a chill down Harry's spine when he heard her whisper, Tom.

Tom … please … no …

She was having the same nightmares she had suffered from after her first year at Hogwarts.

I don't want to go down there …

Harry closed his eyes as the image of Ginny, down in the Chamber of Secrets, appeared is his mind.

How had he not fallen in love with her then? How had he not fallen for her the very first time he saw her? He didn't understand it. Every time he saw her now … every time he thought about her, he fell in love with her a little more. But why had he been so thick back then?

It wasn't as if he had too much on his mind to notice girls. He had noticed Cho. He had really noticed Cho. And he had noticed Hermione. He had never felt anything for her, but he had noticed her, still.

But Ginny … she was always Ron's sister. Perhaps that was why Harry had never paid her much attention. To him, she was off-limits. Ron was his best mate. There were rules about those sorts of things. But really, when did Harry follow the rules?

Ron … oh … Ron, no!

Harry winced at the sound of her voice. She was vulnerable and raw and full of anguish. He whispered in her ear and she calmed down almost immediately, though Harry now noticed that her cheeks were damp.

Harry.

Her voice was different now, happier, and Harry smiled genuinely, something that felt awkward and inappropriate and disgraceful, somehow. But he couldn't help it. Ginny was dreaming about him. He was in her dreams, calming her. Comforting her. Perhaps they still had a chance, after all.

Love you.

'Love you, too,' Harry whispered. Finally, when he could stay awake no longer, he dropped off to sleep.

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