Title :: The Center of Her Focus
Summary :: It was like hell, wondering whether or not she was still alive. Set during DH, when Ron leaves Harry and Hermione on their own.
Why I'm Doing This :: I got all inspired by a few Ron/Hermione fics I read. No, seriously. They're meant to be together. I just like writing other pairings because they're less...well...plausible.
She might be dead.
The thought plagues me every day, every night; I dream about it. I have nightmares. I miss her. I miss Harry, too, but not nearly as much as I miss Hermione. He's my best mate and all, but I love that girl to pieces. He would understand. He feels the same about Ginny, anyway. I'm sure he'd get it.
I feel sure that there would have been some sign. Surely the Ministry wouldn't have kept quiet that they'd captured and killed Harry Potter, and his female accomplice? Surely there would have been word...the Order would have discovered the truth. Even if the Prophet tried to cover it up. There will be news. Yes, definitely. They wouldn't not shout the news to the world. They can't help it. They're bloody gits that way.
Merlin. I miss her.
I even miss the way she yells at me. It's the best feeling in the world, really, being the sole focus of her attention for a few bloody minutes. I hardly ever hear what she's saying, and that probably just draws it out. She only sees me and what I've done to offend her. For once, she only sees me: not worrying about schoolwork; not strung out with anxiety over Voldemort; just angry with me. Good moments, those. And she kissed me on the cheek, once. That was nice too. Wish I would have appreciated it at the time.
What if she's dead? What if I wasn't there to protect her? What if she's hurt? How torn up is she that I just took off? She was crying. I hate it when she cries. It's usually my fault. I'm bloody useless, I know that. I never seem to be able to get her to stop crying. Third year was the worst. Well, other than sixth year. But we didn't even talk for weeks, for months maybe. That's the worst. When she just tries to pretend you don't exist.
I can't believe she'd still like me after I've made her so effing miserable.
I can't believe I didn't go back. She was begging. I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have left her. I shouldn't have left them alone to do the impossible. We've always been together. Ever since that mountain troll. And now I've left them both. Brilliant, Ron. Well done. You're a bloody embarrassment. They're well shot of you.
I've lost it now. Her voice is in my pocket.
I dig around in it, hoping that maybe I'll pull her out of the black hole potentially hiding in my jeans. No, just the deluminator. Interested, I click it. There's a light, and it races out to the garden, like it knows where I want to go. I pack my stuff. Anything's better than sitting here waiting to see if the news comes that she's dead.
I'm soaking wet and stiff and terrified, but having her yelling at me and hitting me and looking at me is the best feeling in the world.