A/N: Truth be told, I've been having too much fun with this fan fiction, and have ended up writing lots of chapters so I'll be updating quite regularly, at least, for now. This chapter is quite short, but I thought we should see about the other two in the golden trio. Please, as always read and REVIEW!!
Disclaimer: Alas, no rights to Harry Potter do I own :(
The Burrow, Notes and Surrender
Ron Weasley sat at the kitchen table of his childhood home, a sombre mood enveloping the house that to so many, over the years, had symbolised comfort and love. The Burrow still held this symbolism for all who lived, or ever had lived there, however Ron could not help the sadness filling his heart at this moment.
Over the years he had lost his lankiness, his body growing slightly more into proportion. His stature had become more filled out and stronger, now he greatly resembled his older brother Charlie, minus the scars, and to look at him you would scarcely be surprised to find that he was now one of the country's best aurors. The War had affected him in unimaginable ways, but it was the years following it in which he, despite his young age, had proven his worth, his unerring loyalty and determination earning him high ranks within the Ministry. The years following had changed him in other ways too; Ronald Bilius Weasley had become a man.
In his hands he clutched a note; it was worn with handling, having been creased and uncreased numerous times but the words upon it had been read so many times they were known by heart. This was the new evidence that had come to light, pity it had not appeared sooner, but the world hadn't needed this damning evidence to assume Harry's suicide and Ron had been too stubborn to turn it over to the authorities until now.
Four Years, he thought bitterly, he and Hermione had been alone in their refusal to accept the facts as they clearly were, and everyone else had just looked at them the sadness in their eyes, the pity and sorrow. Even Ginny had given up, surrendered to the obvious, her heart too broken for hope. Hermione had been worn down over time until she had come to accept it and Ron, well; his announcement that week had been as much of a personal relinquishing of any hope as it was an admission by the Ministry.
Four years had been the amount of time he had had the note in his care, four years had been the length of time mostly everyone else had been urging him to give up what was clearly the suicide note of his best friend, Harry Potter. But he had been too sure, too deluded to realise the truth, Harry was not coming back, he was as gone as his brother was, as Lupin and Tonks were. He knew the fact that there was no grave for his friend, that no body had ever been found, had helped him keep up the denial for so long. There was no grave, but that was soon to change, and with it it would bring Harry's death into a reality he had never witnessed before.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps as Hermione entered the room. She looked at him, the pain showing in her eyes as her gaze travelled to the note he was holding. Wordlessly she went to him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that was as much to comfort herself as him. He hugged her back.
She kissed him as she drew away; trying to distract him from the moisture in her eyes no doubt. "You did the right thing, Ron." He frowned and turned back to the note, "Did I?" he asked quietly, genuinely wondering to himself, "Why do I feel like I've betrayed him, Mione? Why do I feel like I've given up?"
"He's gone, Ron, we know that, despite how hard it's been to admit, and he wouldn't have wanted us dwelling on this-" her voice broke and she stumbled, composing herself she continued, "-this horrible nightmare. You know how utterly selfless he was, ofcourse you're not betraying him and Harry would know that."
"I know." He conceded quietly, "But-I was just so sure Hermione-Harry would never…how could he…it's just not like…" he trailed away, looking down at the table. "I've been thinking that way so long, I guess it's still hard to accept."
Hermione nodded, "Do you feel you can come to the funeral? If not…if it would be too hard…you know I'll stay here with you, I'll be wherever you need to be." Ron looked up into the eyes of the woman he loved and knew he didn't deserve, "No, I'll go, I owe him that, at least." The following kiss was soft and comforting as they held each other in the kitchen of the house that meant so much to so many people. On the table there sat a note, worn with handling, having been creased and uncreased numerous times but the words upon it had been read so many times they were known by heart. The sentences were crossed through and rewritten, the ink splattered with tears, there were dents where the writer had pressed so hard the quill had almost gone through the page:
Life is too hard; I can't take it any more.
Each day is too much of a struggle; I see no point in carrying on with something so painful.
I'm so sorry, please, forgive me.
I love you all.
I have to do this, it hurts too much.
I have to surrender.
A/N: Thanks for all of you who put this story on your alert list. Does this last bit make sense? I was trying to tie in the chapter title with the suicide note, and trying convey the sense of 'giving in' all the characters felt, you know, surrendering to the grief, but if that doesn't come across I guess I was just thinking about it too much:)