Oh! I did write something like that, but I posted it on Quora and never bothered to put it elsewhere, I’m sorry! Here you go anon, for all your “TOO MANY FEELS” needs 😀
“You actually are joking, Perce… . I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were –“
The
air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione,
Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the
other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed
temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart, Harry felt himself flying
through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to
that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield
his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions
without a hope of knowing what had happened to them –
And
then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness: He was half
buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a
terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been
blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was
bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his
insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could
cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that
day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life…
And
Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three
redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted
apart. Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand as they staggered and stumbled over
stone and wood.
“RON!” came the terrible, deafening cry, and Harry’s heart stilled.
Percy’s
trembling hands were gripping, shaking his brother, Fred stared, eyes
lost and smile gone, at Ron’s prone form, and it couldn’t be, it shouldn’t be…
He
knew, rather than felt, that Hermione had fallen to her knees beside
him, that this piercing wail of despaired agony came from her.
And
as Percy sobbed and called his little brother’s name, as Fred’s breath
hitched with the understanding that Ron had given his life for him, as
Hermione screamed and cried, Harry felt like he’d just died.
[…]
He
walked, dazedly, out of the Great Hall, across the grounds, unable to
see or hear or feel. His heart was heavier than iron inside his chest,
and the only thing that kept him walking was the promise held by Snape’s
memories.
The world around him was nothing
but a blur, and it was pure luck that he didn’t stumble nor falter as he
made his way into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.
Yet,
Harry stilled, the numbness inside him unable to choke one final, sad
spark, and his hand dropped into his pocket, fishing out the Golden
Snitch he now knew the secret of. I open at the close.
Putting his lips to the inscription, kissing the world goodbye, he murmured “I am about to die.”
The
winged gold nugget seemed to split into two, revealing a dark,
onyx-like shingle with this now familiar symbol engraved onto it, a
straight vertical line and a circle encompassed in a triangle. It had
cracked down the Elder Wand’s line, where Dumbledore had killed the
Horcrux resting inside.
There was one single thought in Harry’s mind, and he just wanted the reassurance, he needed to be certain of it, and he turned the Resurrection Stone three times in his hand.
There
was a soft shimmer ahead of him, like someone lifting a Disillusionment
Charm from themselves, and the one he wanted to see the most left the
cover of the trees.
He wasn’t flesh and
bone, but he wasn’t a ghost, either; his eyes were as blue as ever and
his red hair just as fiery, every freckle clearly distinct despite the
obscurity, and he wore – Harry almost smiled – a maroon Weasley jumper.
“Lo, Harry”, Ron said, a kind grin etched on his face.
“I’m sorry”, he immediately blurted. “I… god, Ron, I…”
Ron walked up to him, wrapped him in a feather-light embrace that felt more like a memory than reality.
“Cut
it, will you? I made my choice and I don’t regret it. Well…” he drew
away, licking his lips, and letting out a small puff of laughter. “I
have regrets, of course, but I’d sound like a right prat if I said I’d
have liked for Hermione to kiss me again.”
Harry smiled.
“You’ll
take care of her, right, Harry? She… She’ll be okay, of course, but
she’ll need someone, she can’t do everything alone, you know?”
And
maybe Ron’s soul would be angry with him, and maybe no one would
forgive him, but Harry walked on still, the Stone firmly in his palm.
“… Wait. Wait, Harry, where are you going?”
He couldn’t help it. He… He wanted to know, there was this lingering fear, he had to know –
“Does it hurt? Dying?”
He
needn’t see it to feel it, how Ron bristled, drew himself up, full of
disbelief and indignation, with all the fight he still had in death and
all the fight that Harry had lost the very instant he’d heard that
terrible scream.
“Oh no you don’t. No, I swear, Harry, if you do that…”
“Ron… does it hurt?”
“It hurts everyone! Hermione, Ginny, Mum, everyone will be hurt, Harry, you can’t do that to them! You can’t do that to me! You’re the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, you’ll find a way, you’ll survive and have loads of babies and a happily ever after – Harry!”
He
let the Stone fall to the ground, Ron’s furious, fearful eyes fading in
the night, and resumed his walk toward death and Voldemort.
As far as Harry was concerned, his happily ever after had died with his best friend.
[…]
Dumbledore
guided Harry back to the train tracks and sunk into a seat. They stayed
silent for a few moments, Harry contemplating all that had been
revealed…
He had a choice, then. He could go back.
Go
back, and live, and keep going, and feel his heart heavy with ache and
loss and pain; go back, and what would he say to Hermione, what would he
say to the Weasleys?
Going back, when Ron
hadn’t been allowed that chance? All because of a damn Prophecy, because
Harry’s life mattered more than his, because Harry was supposed to be
more from the beginning?
Harry turned to Dumbledore, and saw understanding in the man’s eyes. So he sat down.
“How long til the next train comes in, Professor?”
Hermione
never marries anyone. She’s realized it in sixth year, but there truly
wasn’t anyone who could be as imperfect, insecure, grouchy, angry,
self-loathing, funny, witty, kind, gentle, compassionate, selfless and
as perfect as Ron Weasley.
Yes, there could be a happier ending, Ron’s shadow appearing to tell Harry to keep living for his sake.
But I really wanted to convey that Ron is what helps Harry live
– Ron is Harry’s human crutch. Hermione may keep Harry safe, but Ron
keeps Harry sane. Even though Harry is in love with Ginny, how would he
cope with knowing that it was at the cost of her big brother’s life?
I just wanted Harry – and the readers – to realize that, with how much he took Ron for granted time and again, he’d really come to need
him. Ron still underestimates himself, even in death, he’s still
convinced that Harry is going to be perfectly okay – but Harry knows
that he won’t be, not without his Wheezy.
I’ll have to return to that bit of writing and brush up on it – I’ve left a bit too much unsaid and rushed it, especially the ending at King’s Cross. Once I make it better I’ll probably post it as a one-shot on AO3 and FFN. 🙂
Oh and also… *gives handkerchiefs to her fellow Ron-lovers* I know, I know, I’m a horrible person.
Headcanonsandmore 