Author's Note: Howdy every body!
This chapter takes place in Prisoner of Azkaban, after Buckbeak's execution. I guess it's only in the movie that Hermione puts her head on Ron's shoulder, because I couldn't find it in my book but it was cute so oh well. This was actually suggested by smkffnut and is therefore dedicated to them. I'm sure your idea could have been executed a lot better, but I tried. Do any of you have suggestions? I'd love to hear 'em.
I wanna thank Harrypotterandpercyjacksonfan, LilyMay77, and smkffnut for their reviews. Thank you to all who added this to their favorite or alert lists and to those who added me to their favorite authors list. You guys are seriously amazing.
Niftygirl is still super, well, nifty for reading through this, and I still don't own Harry Potter.

There was more finality in the sound of that axe falling than in any other noise Ron Weasley had ever heard. With its crashing, something had ended. Not five minutes ago, Buckbeak had been sitting in front of Hagrid's hut. Now, with the falling of that axe he was gone. Death was not something that Ron really understood, and though he might wish to deny that it bothered him, it did. It seemed incredibly strange that something could be there, and then in the next moment it was gone from this world. He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

But it wasn't really the concept of the death that he was most struggling to understand, no matter how confusing it might be. What he truly wished to understand was just how he had ended up standing here with Hermione's head upon his shoulder.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was sobbing into his shirt. Harry was standing on her other side, rubbing her shoulders gently. He was aware that he probably ought to be comforting her too, but he was too shocked. Instead of offering her comfort he simply stared ahead, trying to pretend that her head didn't feel incredibly warm and nice on his shoulder.

Pull yourself together. He ordered himself frantically.

So she's laying her head on your shoulder, so what? His subconscious had hit on the question nagging him perfectly. What exactly did she mean by resting her head against him?

She just wants some comfort. She did just hear Buckbeak get offed. That was it of course, that was precisely why Hermione now had her head rested upon his shoulder, her arms around his neck. She was turning to her friend for comfort after a traumatic experience. It made sense.

Why didn't she turn to Harry's shoulder? Now that didn't make sense. He might be Hermione's friend today, but they had been fighting all year. They had hardly spoken for weeks over Harry's stupid Firebolt. And even when they weren't fighting, Harry was always a much better friend to her; he always had been. So why then, was she resting on his shoulder, when she could have just as easily turned to the other direction and had Harry? It just didn't make sense.

Ron couldn't have explained why, but he felt a sudden burst of hope deep within his chest.

What're you so hopeful about, you smarmy git? He was tiring of his internal discussion, or perhaps he simply did not want to answer the question his subconscious demanded. Why was he so hopeful? Just what was he hoping it meant that she had turned to him and not Harry?

He tried to assure himself that all he was hoping for was that this meant their friendship was saved. Yeah, that was safe-er exactly what he was hoping for. He could just see his mental subconscious smirking at him unconvincedly.

That's all I want. What else would I be hoping for? His retort was lost on the image of his subconscious who he imagined as continuing to smirk in an 'if-you'd-just-admit-it-to-yourself-you-already-bloody-know' way. It was infuriating, what was the matter with his mind? Creating all these sick ideas and then holding them over himself like some kind of threat. It was just mental. No one should have long, in depth arguments with themselves over their best friends it just wasn't right-

Are you going to ruin this whole moment by fighting with yourself? What was there to ruin? He was just failing at offering comfort to Hermione. What was there to ruin in that?

"Scabbers!" Ron exclaimed ending his internal debate as the rat slipped out of his hands. The rat scurried along in the grass, and Ron hurried after it, ignoring Harry and Hermione's calls.

He was never really sure how the next few minutes happened, but before he knew it he was being dragged by the Grim towards the Whomping Willow. He couldn't help but feel that this was the end, and perhaps he should have spent more time contemplating death while he had instead argued with himself over Hermione. In a minute he too would join the great expanse of nothingness which he had no hope of understanding.

The pain from the where the dog had ahold of him was dulled for a moment as he realized that would be the last time he would ever talk to his friends.

Not such a bad last moment was it? Hermione's head on your shoulder, felt nice didn't it?

He didn't bother to argue with himself. He didn't want to die calling himself a nutcase and besides, there was no point in arguing with himself because if he was honest, he knew that he was right. As far as last moments went, that was one wasn't so bad at all…