Though her time here on this earth had been cut short, she had still been loved. Loved fiercely.

The two had had the best marriage; fairytale wedding, beautifully in love, and they had even had a child… a little girl by the name of Jenna.

But she was dead now. Voldemort had once again taken his deathly toll on their lives, and had even taken their child.

At their own home in Godric’s Hollow, Ron and Hermione had been at a peak in their lives. Ron was moving his way up in the community, doing his dream job: An Auror.

Hermione had been a quiet, stay-at-home mother that had cared for Jenna while Ron was gone. The girl was three, after all.

But Voldemort had snatched them away, just like he had so many others.

Hermione, and even Jenna, were both dead �“ by the deadly curse of the Avada Kedavra. Ron was completely heartbroken; no matter how much he wished or stayed in his reverie, he knew that nothing could bring them back.

Hermione startlingly looked up from laying Jenna in her crib. Immediately, the baby started crying, and reaching out for her mother. Hermione scooped her back and laid her in her arms.

BANG!

The sound had come from the kitchen. It sounded like the same sounds that came from Fred and George’s bedrooms so long ago �“ the same blasting and crashing things around.

Hermione intended to place Jenna back in her crib to check out the noise, but she started screaming again. Hermione, still glancing through the doorway, picked up the small girl and rubbed her back, muttering, “Shhhh…”

Another bang.

“What in the name of Merlin?” Hermione thought, taking Jenna in the next room and walking down the stairs.

Her heart nearly exploded in her chest as she realized where the source of the noise was coming from.

A man with pale, ghostly white skin, long, yellowing fingernails, and nearly slits for eyes stood in the kitchen with an evil grin upon his face. Her slowly started strolling towards the two, wand in hand.

Voldemort.

Hermione gasped, nearly dropping Jenna. She took a step backwards, firmly clamping her hands around the child, shielding her from the horrid thing that had just entered the house.

“Well…Mrs. Granger. Funny how I should see you here.” He said shakily, coming to a stop near the fireplace on the other side of the room.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, yet no words formed from her throat.

“Are you…frightened by my appearance? Surely you would have known I was coming.” He sneered, looking at her almost comically.

Hermione stared at him, head erect, and shook her head shakily. She wasn’t going to be frightened by him. She was going to be brave.

She knew what he intended to do.

“N-No-” she started. She looked down and saw that Jenna was asleep in her arms.

“Ah…but you should have known. Little Harry’s always been afraid of me killing those he’s closest to. Well, now it’s happening.”

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, wishing that the thing in front of her would just go away.

When she opened them again, the man was still there. Hermione began to breathe very rapidly; she was frightened beyond anything that she had ever imagined. Hogwarts had had many dangers in and around itself, yet she herself had never come face to face with You-Know-Who.

“Harry’s been destroying my Horcruxes. Hasn’t he, Mrs. Granger?” Voldemort asked laughably, looking her straight in the eyes.

“Close your mind, Hermione,” she told herself abruptly, realizing what he was doing. He was trying to read her mind.

“He has…” he said tauntingly to the woman, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his wand. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to think of something else, just wishing that he wasn’t here…

All of a sudden, Hermione heard a pop. She imagined the worst possible scenario: Death Eaters filling every inch of her house, taking her child away, killing them both…

She opened her eyes slowly and saw Voldemort staring at something in the fireplace.

It was Ron’s head.

“Hermione, how are things-” he immediately stopped speaking upon the stranger he saw in the room. The silence was deafening.

“V-Vo-Vol-” he stuttered, trying to get the words out. Hermione just stared back at him with absolutely no expression on her face. She was terrified to even breath at the moment; she didn’t how Voldemort would react, and he could strike her dead on the spot with her husband watching without thinking.

She realized that she hadn’t breathed in a full minute, and paused to softly let it out. Voldemort did not stir, nor did Ron.

They all just stood there, watching and staring, for the longest time. Ron’s eyes continued to move back and forth from Hermione and Jenna to Voldemort. Jenna lay in Hermione’s arms like a rag doll, asleep, unaware that the Wizarding World’s greatest fear and enemy was in their very home. Hermione still had her arms wrapped around the child, protecting her.

There was another pop and a quick crack as Ron disappeared from the fireplace and Apparated into the room.

Upon seeing the man enter, Voldemort responded by grabbing Hermione by the hair and yanking her back, pointing his wand at her throat. Hermione gasped in surprise and pain, but still didn’t let go of the sleeping girl.

But Jenna now sat up, her eyes opening sleepily. She started to wail again.

“Let them go!” Ron yelled, pointing his wand at the Dark Lord, now sneering.

“What are you going to do about it? I could… kill her-” he said, jabbing the wand at her throat once more. “Or your little daughter perhaps?” he asked; now pointing the wand in Jenna’s direction. Jenna looked up at him, and realizing that he was stranger, started to wail even more.

“STOP! EXPELLIARMUS!” Ron yelled furiously. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort blocked the spell, making the curse rebound upon Ron. Ron glanced at him for a moment before leaping across the room and hurriedly scuffling around trying to find the wand. He grabbed the wand and pointed it towards Voldemort once again.

But he had been too late.

Voldemort spun Hermione around with one arm, forcing her to the ground. She hit her head forcefully on the hardwood floor, nearly knocking her unconscious. She now was disoriented, and her head spun slightly at the impact. Jenna flew out of Hermione’s arms, hopelessly landing right at the same distance between Voldemort and Ron.

As Ron made a dash to grab the child, Voldemort shot a jet of red light near his head. Ron fell to the ground, his hands over his head, crawling near Jenna. He finally reached her just as another spurt of green light broke some of the rock over his head from the fireplace. He cradled the child with a free hand while he put his body over her to protect her.

But Voldemort had been too fast for him. Pointing his wand at Hermione, Voldemort shot the dreaded jet of green light right her way. Ron’s screams filled the air as he realized what had just happened.

His wife- his wonderful, beautiful wife, was gone forever. Her eyes still lay open and her body still on the ground.

Ron stared at Voldemort with a look of pure detestation as he grabbed his own wand from the floor. Jenna stared up at him as he stood up.

“You son of a-” he started.

“Now, now. Language.” Voldemort teased with an evil smirk upon his face. With a wave of his wand, Ron went flying across the room, hitting the brick in the fireplace. He blacked out immediately.

When Ron had woke up, both of the people he had loved most in the world had been dead.

The funeral had been a dismal one. After all, who has ever had a happy funeral?

Hermione’s parents had been completely inconsolable, as was Ron. He had literally stared into space the entire time, unbelieving that this was really and truly the last times that he would ever see his daughter and wife.

Hermione and Jenna had been buried side by side--- together. They were laid to rest near Harry’s parents.

Harry consoled a silently weeping Ginny and Mrs. Weasley as the funeral drug on. Ron had sat with his family and friends, yet none had the nerve, or the heart, to say anything to him. Mrs. Weasley did her best to comfort him, yet he had just ignored her.

Ron knew that Jenna and Hermione were in a better place, away from Voldemort and Death Eaters, away from death and magic; but he wanted them with himself.

Ron had been in a complete trance for the past few days. It had been four days since Voldemort had completely scarred their lives---no, it hadn’t. It hadn’t been the first time that Voldemort had made his mark upon them; he had already taken Harry’s parents, Sirius, Mr. Weasley, and Fred…

He shook his head. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He thought about just ending it--- just ending it all to where he didn’t feel any more pain or suffering for everyone that he had lost. He knew that life had to go on, but it just didn’t seem right without Hermione and Jenna.

Ron knew that he would have to go somewhere; just go somewhere to where he wasn’t alone and by himself. He had to go to the Burrow. It would still be a depressing and lonely one, but he would be around his family, and that was what mattered.

He trudged slowly up the stairs, trying his best to hold in the weeping that he knew would come on soon. It wasn’t working. Silent tears fell down his crimson cheeks as he fastened the catch on his black cloak.

He stepped outside into the- how appropriate- rainy and sleeting weather. He balled a piece of his cloak in his hand and kept walking, pulling it closer to his body; trying to keep in the warmth.

He had meant to go to the Burrow… but something had happened. He wasn’t focused on the destination he desired, but on his own problems. He ended up in some random place… in the Muggle world?

He had absolutely no idea where he was.

~ * ~

Ron Weasley now walked down the small, dirt road he had landed on, just wishing that some stray Muggle car would just hit him.

He now had no desire to live.

Tears of emotion flew down his face. He just wished that everyone would go away and leave him alone. He knew that his wife and daughter were dead; he needn’t have people randomly coming up to him and apologising. He didn’t need their pity; he had enough on his own to go around to five other wizards. It wasn’t their fault anyway.

He wished that Hermione and Jenna were back with him.

Stop telling yourself that, Ron he told himself irritably. Nothing you do or think can bring them back. No matter how much you wish.

Or he was there with them. He had a plan; a plan that could do just that. It would be quick and painless; he knew exactly the spell and even the wand movements and the incantation. He heard Hermione back in his first year saying, “Swish and Flick, Ron. Swish and Flick. Wingardium Leviosa. Not Levi-O-sa!”

He silently chuckled at her hot-headedness. He knew how she could be.

He pulled out his wand carefully; he knew that with his luck it would just snap cleanly in two for no apparent reason.

Luck was definitely not on his side.

The wand did snap in two, but not just accidentally so. The Muggle car that Ron had been wishing for earlier went down the road noisily. Ron, startled from its sudden appearance, dropped the wand. The car ran over it as if it were just a small pebble in the dirt.

The car stopped, and the driver and its passenger got out.

“What the hell do you think that you’re doing? Huh?” the driver asked. He was a young man, roughly around the age of twenty. He had wavy, blonde hair that hung over his eyes.

A woman, apparently the passenger and the man’s girlfriend got out of the car, smacking a piece of chewing gum. “What’s this, hun?” she asked him stupidly. She had on the smallest pair of shorts that Ron had ever seen. He identified after a few moments thinking hat she had sunglasses on.

“I don’t know, but this son of a bitch just got in front of me! I could have hit you! Do you have any idea how much that would have costed me?” he asked furiously, glaring at Ron. Ron just stared at him, anger fuming through his system, but still saying nothing. He only cared about himself! He could have just hit Ron, and all that he would have cared about was the money.

“Oh, don’t yell at the boy, Mark.” The girl told him softly, pulling him in and giving him a long, passionate kiss on the lips. He pulled away a few seconds later.

“My car! My baby…” he crooned, jogging all around it to check out if there were any marks or dents.

“Hey! I thought that I was your baby!” the woman asked, the gum falling out her mouth and onto the ground.

Mark ignored her. “You got lucky on that one, mister. What are you doing out here all by yourself anyway? Do you want to get yourself killed?” he asked Ron, his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t care what happens to me anymore.” Ron took one last look at the couple and he started walking down the road in the opposite direction.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me while I’m speaking to you!” Mark yelled after him. He pushed his girlfriend into the car and backed the car up forcefully. As he backed up, he nearly missed Ron again, but instead actually hit something.

A telephone pole.

Ron heard him curse incessantly at the pole as he got out to inspect the damage.

“MY JAGUAR!” he shrieked as he got out of the car. He rubbed his hands over the spot where the pole had hit and had made a man-sized dent in the trunk area.

He turned around slowly with an evil frown upon his face; his eyes looked as if they had fire burning in them.

“You.”

He said it calmly, but with pure anger. Chills went down Ron’s spine at the way that he spoke it.

“Baby, don’t do anything! It’s not his-”

Mark cursed again at his girlfriend’s stupidity and walked towards Ron.

“You are going to pay for his. You are going to pay-”

“Whoa! I didn’t do anything to your precious “jaguar”, or whatever it is you called that thing! I’m not paying for anything. I didn’t do it. It was your-”

“Don’t you dareinterrupt me!” the man said furiously, wagging a finger in Ron’s face.

If I had my wand… Ron thought, shaking his head. He allowed the man to vent for a full minute before saying anything.

“I. Didn’t. Do. Anything.” Ron repeated, getting in the man’s face. Ron towered a full three or four inches over Mark. Mark backed off, but for only a second.

He pulled back a balled fist and swung at Ron, hitting him right in the nose.

So this is how he wants to play? Ron said to himself angrily, rubbing his throbbing nose. His eyes watered at the contact and he could feel the blood pumping through his face. Muggle fighting? Well he knew how that worked. Fred and George had used it all the time with each other; not to mention when Harry had gotten into the fight with Malfoy in their fifth year.

Ron swung at the man as well, knocking him off his feet. He had hit him full on in the stomach.

By this time, the girlfriend had gotten out of the car again.

“OH!” she squalled unpleasantly, bending down to pick him up. “Sweetheart, what happened? I wasn’t watching! I was putting on my-”

She looked up suddenly, glaring at Ron.

“Did he do this?” she asked blankly.

Ron rubbed his hand where he had made contact with Mark’s stomach. “Yeah, I did.”

“Please leave him alone. He didn’t know what he was doing…His car gets in the way of his life, it really does.” She let out a laugh. “Sometimes I think that he loves his car more than he does me…”

She pushed back his hair and set his head in her own lap.

Ron silently stared at the two for a moment before realizing something.

They loved each other; the two really loved each other. The guy, Mark, had a person that he could love, and he basically was letting a stupid car get in the way? That is pure idiocy and foolishness, Ron thought. When you have someone to love, why do you push them away or love some inanimate object more? Ron shook his head and started walking away again, leaving the two alone, the woman once again whimpering over the man as if he were a child.

An hour later, Ron found himself walking along the same dirt road. Who knew how many miles that he had traveled since he had left the two lovers? But Ron found himself thinking about love in the world, and it just made him even angrier to think that his own wife and child had to be dead, when someone else could love a car more than their own girlfriend.

He stopped.

Ron took each breath rapidly, trying to figure out what he could do. No, he had already thought of his choices; he knew what they were already. He didn’t have a wand anymore, so it all had changed now. Keep walking, he told himself calmly, trying to choke back the tears.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Ron fell to his knees, now completely weighted down with emotion from the losses he had experienced. How long he laid there, even he didn’t know; but soon he found himself choking on his own sobs.

Okay, get up, he told himself slowly, still gasping for air. With a grunt, he got to his feet and heard a sound like someone Apparating.

He wrenched his head around. There was a small…

Building? It hadn’t just been there had it? Surely it hadn’t; Ron would have seen it on his miserable way out here.

It was a rather old looking building, Ron concluded, when he jogged to it and saw it closer.

He immediately stopped.

What if this was some ploy by the Death Eaters and Voldemort to get him, Ron, as well? Ron couldn’t have that happen. He had already been through enough the past few days; he himself could not be another one of Voldemort’s victims. But then, a structure appearing into thin air was pretty apparent sign that something was going happen.

Ron knew as much to realize that it was a pub. It stood on stilts and looked to have been reduced to a dump. It looked like it hadn’t been tended to in a while; it needed a new coat of paint and lot of fixing up. Either the owner didn’t care about its appearance, or it was closed, and hadn’t been used in a while. The entire structure was made out of wood that looked to have been rotted and reduced to near brittle by termites. It had a green, vinyl roof that had many places where it had been patched with black roofing throughout. A rickety bridge attached to a small, stone walkway led to the front steps of the pub.

Ron collected that it was owned by the likes of Magical people by the sign that it had on the roof.

The sign said, “Waterbut’s Pub”. Every so often, the letters would rearrange, and then form back together after they had exploded. They colors changed as well; from purple, to blue, to orange, then green, then to exploding. It reminded Ron of one of Fred and George’s inventions.

Ron felt that what he needed was either a drink, or Hermione and Jenna back. Since he knew that he had willed the latter to happen so much he thought he would burst with no results, he figured that a drink would do him good.

Ron walked slowly up the bridge, pausing every now and then for signs of movement. All he could hear was the tinkling of glass and raspy music floating through the windows. He definitely saw lights on; he now knew that it was open.

Stepping quietly through the door, he saw a middle-aged man with once handsome features looking sadly at him. Ron flashed him a weak smile back.

The man, obviously the owner of the pub, looked to be around fifty or so years old. He had graying-white hair that was balding somewhat on top. His face displayed a soft expression, with pale-gray stubble for a beard as well.

Ron carefully went to sit down at the bar on a high, faded-orange barstool that looked to have been used many times. Ron squirmed around on the seat a bit before finding a comfortable position.

“What can I do you for?” asked the barman casually, coming to stand in front of Ron while he dried a mug with a brilliantly white dishrag.

Ron hesitated somewhat before speaking. He had never drunk before- he had never needed to; but he thought that now was a good a reason as anything else.

“Want to start with a butterbeer?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows. It was as if he had read his mind; he knew that Ron didn’t know even what kind of drink to order. He pulled out a wand and tapped it to the glass of the mug he had been drying, making it fill to the brim with a drink.

Ron looked into his eyes as if saying, “Thanks,” and took it off the counter to take a swig of it.

“Need to talk?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t know what I need to do anymore,” Ron said sorrowfully, not even daring to look at him.

The man walked over to the other side of the pub and started wiping down a table with the same dishrag. He still looked over at Ron while he scrubbed a particularly nasty spot.

“You look like you need to talk,” he repeated again, giving him a sly look.

“You don’t want to hear about me,” Ron replied quickly.

The man shrugged. “Name’s Blenkinsop Waterbut. People usually just call me Blen. I’m right over here if you need to. I find that speaking about your problems always helps.” He gave him another devious gaze. “That’s how you got here.”

Ron looked up slowly. He knew this was a trick by Voldemort. He had known it from the start.

He slowly turned around and stood up to face the man. Blen was still cleaning the table, completely unaware that Ron had even gotten up.

“What-What do you mean? Have you been spying on me?” Ron asked peculiarly, putting his hand to his back pocket. He realized that his wand was gone and in the street. It had probably already had been run over again. He now had no weapon to use against him if he attacked.

“Goodness no,” he said laughingly. “People who are lost in their own selves or are in a certain state of mind when they feel they can’t go on any longer-” He motioned to the room around him. “They end up here,” he whispered. He paused for Ron to speak.

“And that’s why…”

“You’re here,” Blen finished for him.

The man gave a sly smile and continued to clean the pub.

Ron continued to stare at him for a couple more seconds, finally realizing that this man was possibly the farthest away from being a Death Eater, besides himself.

He turned around and raised his own mug of butterbeer to his lips, taking a long drink. He set it down softly.

He hadn’t realized it until now, but there was another woman in the room. She was just sitting there as well, possibly even wallowing in her own sorrows. Ron flashed a pathetic smile her way, yet she didn’t see him.

To put it lightly, she was quite scary-looking. Her nose was too big for her. She had moles that were the only thing that kept her face proportional to her body. The eyes that she had were way too close together, not to mention the slight hairs that she had growing out of a fuzzy mustache.

Her teeth were severely buck-toothed. It looked like she had had a mean spell cast on her as a child, or even just recently. And then…Hermione floated into Ron’s mind.

Hermione had had buckteeth in her first few years at Hogwarts. It was quite sad, even Ron had to admit, at how many things that he could just come across and he would think of Hermione. He sighed and put his head in his arms, shielding himself from the bright lights of the pub.

“Drain your drink…your sorrows will stay!” the witch cackled behind him.

Ron raised his head slightly from under his arms and saw the barman, once again in front of him.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to her,” he told Ron lightly. “She doesn’t have that good of an outlook on life.”

“What’s wrong- I mean, what happened to her?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, honestly,” Blen said. “She won’t tell me.”

Ron suddenly felt the urge to speak.

“It’s my wife and daughter,” he started out slowly.

Ron felt himself growing lighter and lighter as he told Blen everything. He told him about how he and Hermione had met at Hogwarts. He told him how they had gotten married, and how they had had a beautiful child. Most of all, he told him how he had even ended up here in the first place.

How Voldemort had come into his life and ripped everything away from that happy picture; how he had murdered his wife and daughter. They were his life, and he told Blen how he didn’t think that he could go on for much longer without them in his own.

Blen sympathized and comforted him greatly.

“Ronald, I’m sure that Hermione would have wanted you to go on without her. I know that it hurts her to see you this way. You’re a nice guy- you don’t need to waste your life away,” Blen told him softly.

Ron suppressed a laugh. “That’s a bit harder than it sounds.”

“You can try. There’s no harm in that,” Blen told him.

Ron pointed to his empty mug and looked at Blen.

Blen sighed and pulled out his wand. He muttered an incantation, and with a small flick, Ron’s glass was filled again. He took a drink.

“You need to stop this. You don’t need a drink to help you through life.”

Ron looked at him with half-closed eyes and drunkenly shrugged.

“If I go on without them, it would be like I’m… forgetting their memories.” He banged his glass back down on the counter, empty.

Blen shook his head. “It’s not like that. Hermione wouldn’t have wanted you to forget her; just live life the best you could now. I’m sure that it hurts her to see you this way.”

Ron turned away.

“I know. I know how hard it is. I’ve seen so many good people come in here, day after day, and even week after week. They all have their problems. Everyone has problems, Ron; you’re not the only one. I can promise you that. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be sad for your losses; if it were me, I probably would have done something horrid to myself by now; I don’t know how you’ve done it. I’m glad that you found this place when you did, Ron. I’m glad to have met you; you’ve inspired even me, and that’s saying something.”

Ron gave him a very weak smile, and then put his head down on the bar.

“Do you wish that you had never been married, Ronald?” Blen asked firmly, looking him straight in the eyes and crossing his arms. He leaned against the counter of the pub, eyeing Ron intently.

Ron looked up at the man and smiled. “I… I know what you mean, I really do,” Ron told him.

Blen looked at him as if forcing him to answer the question.

Ron faltered.

If he said no, then that would mean that he had truly loved Hermione, loved that they had had a child…and then be forced to accept the heartbreak.

But, if he answered yes, then that would basically be saying that he could have gone without, and could care less about, Hermione and Jenna. Even though he would have gone without the heartbreak, he couldn’t imagine his life without the two. He couldn’t picture himself having a child and getting married to anyone but Hermione, either.

Ron licked his lips and shook his head slowly. “No,” he said finally. “No way in hell.”

A smile gradually came across Blen’s face.

“And I’m going to try.”

“That’s the best you can do, Ron.”

~ * ~

Ron stepped out into the sunlight of the day from the dilapidated bar he had been in in high spirits. Even though it was an old, sodden building that needed quite a bit of fixing up, Ron felt it was the most beautiful building he had ever seen. He waved one last goodbye to Blen, who nodded to him with a smile through a murky window. The weather was perfect.

The weather conditions didn’t necessarily match Ron’s feelings at the moment, but it lifted his spirit just the same.

As he made his way to the main road, Ron heard a distinct popping sound, just like the one that he had heard a few hours prior.

Ron turned around and looked out to where he had just stood a few seconds before.

The pub was gone.


Ten minutes later, Ron Weasley hiked up the road, fully content and set on getting on with his life. He knew that it was going to be hard, yet he hoped that he would get through it somehow. Blen had helped in more ways than he could ever know, and then he, Ron, had amazing family and friends to help him through his great losses. He could make it.

He finally got to a spot where he could Apparate.

~ * ~

Mark was in a fury. His girlfriend had begged him to turn around; they had already been driving for nearly two hours looking for him.

Finally, Mark found who he had been searching for.

Ron looked up from his thoughts, and was struck by the car immediately.

He died in St. Mungo’s the next day.

~ * ~

Ron is now finally home with Jenna and Hermione.

~AH! I'm sure that you all must absolutely hate me now; I killed Ron! But, you must think; he is home with Jenna and Hermione- the loves of his life. Thank so much for all of your support and reviews, everyone! Thanks again to Melissa for beta-ing! ~Lindsey :)