A/N: This is a little Ron/Hermione story (because if anyone still thinks they aren't destined for each other, they obviously haven't been reading the books and if they have, then they perhaps also failed to notice the equally subtle fact that Harry hates Voldemort). I wrote it on a whim because the first couple sentences appeared in my head and clamored to be written. It is occurring during the inevitable last battle.

Disclaimer: This is mine. (Because, technically, you will notice that I did not use any copywritted names, places, events, or ideas except in the author's note.)

Please God, please God, oh please God, let her be okay. I'll do anything, I swear. Oh, I'm begging, I'm groveling, aren't I, but I really would do anything for her, to have her be happy and alive. Alive. Oh, God. Please.


It is a fine summer evening just as the sun is setting pink and gold on the horizon and turning the windows of the tall, brick house golden. Two figures sit on the darkening grass of the front lawn. Never mind the rusty caldron several meters to the left and the pair of muddy Wellingtons half buried by a clump of weeds not too much farther away; it is the perfect sunset and they are the perfect couple to be watching it. In the dark, they are like silhouettes, shadows—faceless, all their impurities invisible. A slight breeze ruffles his hair. He puts his arm around her shoulders and she leans against him. The only thing this scene lacks is some music—perhaps violins, flutes, or some soft brass—in the background.

The tiniest motion catches the eye in this still life. When the sun finally sinks below the horizon and the couple is only lit by the stars and waning crescent moon, he rises and proffers a hand to help her up. She accepts this gentlemanly gesture; whether she needs it or not is irrelevant. They walk back to the house hand in hand and the light from the kitchen window illuminates her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes and their smiles as he opens the front door.


Ok, ok, fine. I love her, alright?! I have never admitted it, but I love her! I enjoy being around her, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, just basking in her existence, her radiance. I know it sounds corny, but you understand. Sometimes it's like, I dunno, it's like I want to take her and hide her away somewhere to be safe, so that she wouldn't have to see this. Any of this. So, please. If she-if anything happened to her, I think I'd die. Please let her be okay.


Alright, don't panic. I've remained calm under pressure before, so why should this be any different? Oh, heck. Where is he? Where? I promised I wouldn't freak out and here I am, doing just that. But I've looked everywhere! Help me, please! All I want is to find him and know that he is safe and whole. Anything could have happened! Oh, curse my imagination; it'll be alright: please, tell me, show me that. Just a glance, half of one, and it will be okay. Please.


It is a cold day and outside snow flies, hitting the window. However, the weather can do whatever it wishes; the family is warm and safe inside. The living room is cozily lit by red flames in the fireplace. A huge Christmas tree takes up nearly a quarter of the space and the large pile of brightly wrapped presents beneath makes the room even smaller. None of its occupants seem to mind, though. Three teenagers sit on a saggy couch, conversing brightly with a haggard man and several young adults. Laughter frequently fills the room, those who didn't even hear the joke join in the jollity but it doesn't seem to matter whether they know what's funny or not.

A scar-faced but laughing young man scoops his beautiful wife into his arms and she laughs, too. Two of the teens try to imitate them, but fall over giggling. The boy claims the girl weighs too much and their friend chuckles again. A plump woman comes in from the kitchen to announce that dinner is served and even though it's quite a squeeze to get everyone around the tiny, wooden table, no one cares.

They sit next to each other and exchange a glance that goes unnoticed. They show their bright happiness with huge grins because, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of family and friends, they are perfectly content.


You want me to finally get off my pedestal and admit it, don't you? Fine. You see, I love him. All along, since the very beginning, I have, whether I knew it or not. And now that I'm sure that he's the one thing I want for forever, I'm going to lose him. I wish that I hadn't been so self-centered, that I had told him. So, please, if only for his sake, let me find him. Let him be okay.


A/N: Like?

Elrond: I didn't.

Solo: Really. Why?

Elrond: There were no Elves.

Solo: NO kidding, genius. Thank you so much for informing me.

Elrond: You're welcome.

Solo: Please ignore him, he's my muse.

Elrond: The nine muses were all female. I should know. I met them.

Solo: Oh, just…review.