Author: Swishy Willow Wand

Title: Physically

Summary: Physically, he was there. She could reach out and touch him, like a statue or a fluffy pillow on the bed. But emotionally, he was gone. He was with her. RonLavender, RonHermione Oneshot Spoilers Angsty!

-ATTENTION-

As the summary says, this is angsty. Or, at least, an attempt has been made at angst. No promises. Don't know how good I am at the whole sad, boo-hoo thingy. So sorry if it's not up to par.

"Fight the good fight," was a reference, incase anyone cares, to the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you knew that, and thought it was cool, yay! If you knew that and were like, 'whatever,' oh well. If you had no clue, then it doesn't really matter now does it?

And when I say I think I did badly, I am NOT fishing. I'm thinking oh-so down on myself, but never fishing. So I'd hate for you to think that!

Disclaimer: Nothing. Nada. Zip. There are many other words that mean the same thing, and can be used in the same way: I own nothing. Nada. Zip.

-"There's a difference in spending time with me and killing time while I'm there." (Three Doors Down song)

Physically

Physically, he was there. She knew he was. It was no illusion, or mirage, or daydream. She could reach out and touch him, like a statue or a fluffy pillow on the bed.

It felt tangible; solid and real. They felt real. She felt whole with him. There was no one like him. He was the missing puzzle piece, the last brick in the wall. He was the one for her.

But sometimes, she felt, maybe she wasn't the one for him. She thought it on those dark days, on the sad, cold days, on the days when he would go into his study and cry, and then come back out and pretend as if he didn't.

At first, she had tried to think herself silly and paranoid. A jealous woman, fighting a ghost. When she saw his eyes cloud over when they kissed, she ignored it. When she felt him shudder every time they touched, she'd push the thought aside.

But eventually, there was no ignoring it. No laughing it off, no consoling thoughts and memories. No matter how hard she tried, the fact still gnawed at her. And oh, how she tried.

When it had happened, people had been disgusted with her. Taking advantage, they'd called it. Desperation, they'd said.

But Lavender wasn't a desperate woman. She was a woman in hopeless, heart-shattering love. A woman who needed the man she loved to love her in return.

And sometimes, it seemed, he did.

Physically, he was there. Right beside her every day and night, with her and her thoughts every waking moment. But emotionally, he was gone. He was with her. Where ever she happened to be.

Hermione had been the bane of her existence back in their Hogwarts days. Always smarter than her, with closer friends than her, with more accomplishments than her. It could drive a girl bloody well mad, after a fashion.

Hermione had even died better than Lavender knew that she eventually would. It had been the year after their sixth year at Hogwarts; what should have been their seventh and final year, had it not been shut down.

There had been lots of people there: vigilantes who opposed the Ministry in every way possible; members of come bird group-Phoenix, perhaps?-who had been led by Dumbledore; loads of former Hogwarts students, like Hannah Abbot, and Padma and Parvati Patil, anyone who had been in the DA back in Lavender's fifth year, and almost anyone who had been a Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or, surprisingly enough, Hufflepuff. Witches and wizards from America, Scotland, Africa, Asia, some country called Zimbabwe, and Canada. People were there to, as one rather odd group from America, led by a petite blonde woman with many teenaged girls at her command, put it, "Fight the good fight."

And what a fight it was. It became known later, by many respectable wizards who had been too afraid to come and stand their ground, as the 'Final Battle.'

And in some ways, it was. It was certainly the end of an era. Harry Potter, a young boy Lavender's age, was either supposed to kill Lord Voldemort, a very powerful Dark wizard, or to be killed by him. Either way, not so good for Harry.

Not so good for the people fighting, either. Much to Lavender's protests, she and Hermione had been in the same group in the battle; the group at the front, trying their hardest to repel dementors. Respectable, yes, and dangerous, too. But not was hard as some jobs.

Voldemort had recognized this fact, and had seemed to think that they were somewhat slacking in their efforts. And as any good Dark Lord does, he absolutely detested slackers.

And so he had sent the giants their way, with their long swords and clubs, and even longer legs. Only seventeen giants in total, which wasn't as bad as they had been expecting.

But not as bad was still excruciatingly difficult, and many of them hadn't made it through.

Like Hermione. After helping the group of fifty or so take out about fifteen of them, she had been given a good whack with one of the long, wooden bludgeons and had been sentslamming into the castle walls.

And he had ran to her, despite the many shouts telling him to do otherwise. He had ran away from her. Her Ron. Her sweet, precious Ron who had quickly disposed of her last year, went running off after another woman, and Lavender's heart ached.

And so she had raced after him.

When she found him sitting with Hermione's head in his lap, there hadn't been much left in the girl. One final breath, and three final words.

Those three final words were Lavender's downfall. They were the reason Ron got up every night and slept on a couch in their den. They were the reason that, on their wedding day, Ron had showed up late for the ceremony. They were the reason she never had any children with him.

They were the reason that, three years later, on Lavender's twenty-fourth birthday, he served her with divorce papers.

Physically, he had been there for her. In the five years they had been together after Hermione died, he had left her side for maybe ten days.

But he had never been there for her emotionally. He never loved her like she had loved him.

And maybe, Lavender decided once Ron had moved out, she was better off without him.

Maybe.

Well, it's not very good. But it's there. I've been in a very one-shoty mood lately. One-shots are so less complicated. No strings attatched, no hurry to write another chapter ASAP. (Not that the hurry has ever seemed to really get to me, huh?)Well, please review. I live off of criticism.

-Turkey