A/N: Written for the If You Dare Challenge, Prompt: #135. Resentment and the 24 Hour Pairing Challenge (Ron/Hermione).
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, clearly.
She meets him outside; it's cold, even in the middle of May and she shudders against the breeze that sweeps through the hills surrounding them. It's peaceful here, and quiet. Ron is quiet too, but hardly peaceful— his face is shadowed, and even in the dim light that emanates from the Burrow, she can see that his shoulders are rigid.
She doesn't speak, just slips her hand in his, and she feels his fingers curl around hers as if it were second nature. After a moment, she tucks into him— she feels safe here, the steady beat of his heart thrumming beneath his sweater.
"Are you alright? You were quiet tonight," It's a stupid question, but it's all she can say; something has to fill the silence that presses in around them— it reminds her too much of the winter spent in the Forest of Dean; quiet, eerie, and discomfiting.
"Yeah, M'great." His words are hollow, and it sounds muffled, as though he can't quite bring himself to speak them— he's lying.
"No, you aren't." She clutches his hand tighter in hers and pulls him to the nearby stump. They sit together, close, his knee pressing into her thigh. Ron tugs his hand away, rubbing his face vigorously.
"I— I couldn't… save him, Hermione." His hands open and close, clenching helplessly. His knuckles are white and the freckles on his hands stand out in the cool light of the moon.
"Ron—" Hermione protests, her hand resting on his arm, his muscles taut with anguish, his face tortured. "It's not your—"
"Don't, Hermione!" Ron yells, his voice breaking in the cool summer air as he launches himself away from her, turning his back to her. She can see his shoulders shuddering as he speaks, his voice measured. "Don't say it's not my fault! Percy, he shouldn't have been there!" He spins on his heel, and Hermione pulls back slightly, shocked by the anger and ferocity she sees in his eyes. "I should have— I should have saved him."
Hermione wishes she could take away his pain- she'd do anything. She reaches out for him, but he is consumed with anger, with his own guilt— it hurts her. He drops to the ground, defeated, a puff of breath escapes him, and Hermione curls around him, her chin resting on his shoulder, her arms holding him tightly. "There was nothing you could've done, Ron."
Ron picks at his worn trainers, the sole coming apart from the fabric. "You don't understand, Hermione, of course you don't." At this, Hermione joins him on the cool grass, looking up at the inky sky.
"It's just… I see my mum, everyday, and she looks so— hurt, like she's trying so hard to keep it together, and she can't quite— And I can't help but think that it should've been me, Hermione."
Hermione slams her eyes shut at that, blotting out the inky sky and the light and Ronald, wishing that she could take away his pain. "Ron," she pleads, "No, I shouldn't have been you. No one deserved to die."
Ron sighs.
"But it should've; what have I got? Bill's got his family, his career, Charlie's always been gifted with Dragons, Percy's always been smart, and Fred and George— they were always the funny ones— what am I? Nothing. I'm a sidekick, Hermione, that's it, so why shouldn't it have been me?" Hermione's eyes sting with tears as Ron tucked his hands into his pockets.
"You— you can't mean that, Ronald." Hermione's chest pangs at his suggestion.
"No, Hermione, I do— I mean it. I couldn't save you, not at Malfoy Manor, when that bitch tortured you, I couldn't save Remus, Tonks, Fred… None of them, I couldn't help them. Couldn't save them," he murmurs.
"No, you couldn't have, but that doesn't mean—"
"Yes, it does!" Ron stands, pacing frantically, his voice rising in the still night air. "It is my fault. Do you know what it's like, to wake up in the morning with a hole in your family, to watch everyone around you fall apart? It's not fun, Hermione. I should've just— I should've been better, been more. I'm not a hero, I'm not brave, so you can all just stop pretending."
Hermione fights her impulse to gather him into her arms, instead clutching her cardigan closer to her, warding off the chill of the cool night air.
"But you are, Ron, you are so incredibly brave," Hermione speaks, her voice trembling, "You saved us, Harry and I both, so many times. The troll in our first year, saving Ginny in the Chamber, the Department of Mysteries, the Forest. All of those times. Anyone else would have run a mile— but you, you stayed. You fought for us, for the good. You saved us all, you remembered about the Basilisk— you did that, Ron, you are a hero."
Ron snorts, lifting his face to the sky, and then Hermione sees the young boy he had once been, the innocence that brightened his face once had all but gone, the brutality of war and all he had seen having wiped it all away. His face is tired, drawn, and the bags under his eyes speak of the nightmares that plague him nightly. Hermione beckons him towards her, and he slumps to the ground, huffing lightly as he dropped his head to her shoulder.
"M'sorry, 'Mione. I'm just so tired… So tired of watching my family fall apart."
Hermione presses a light kiss to Ron's red hair and cradles him closer.
"Then rest. Don't try so hard. Let me pick up the pieces."
His hand finds Hermione's in the dark, and for the first time since the end of the Battle, Ronald Weasley breaks. His cries are sharp and anguished, his pain echoing through the small yard as he finally mourns for all he has lost.
A/N: I'm not so sure about how this turned out, but here it is. Leave a review?