The Streets of Hell

Ron walked on through the charred street. He felt, rather than heard the crunch of his feet on the shattered cobbles. The sun refused to break through the clouded, darkened sky- ashamed of the evil it would reveal. No sound dared to puncture the heaviness.

No, not again. It was the same street he had walked many times in the past few days. It was the hell he would walk the rest of his life- however long that might be.

To his left, there was a large dog, barely bones, barely alive, scavenging in the ditch. Ron's stomach turned when he saw the small body that was lying there. But he had to move on. He had no choice.

He came to a small cottage, it's thatch still smoldering. A young boy, a toddler took a few steps out the door and just stared at him. His innocent eyes not blinking as he walked past. Ron tried to yell, scream, warn him to get back inside, to hide, but no sound could break through the heavy darkness. A woman, dressed in rags leapt out and snatched him in, bowing many times in fear. The door slammed shut soundlessly.

The road before him was blocked. He tried to avert his eyes, but they were drawn to his family who were tossed so haphazardly in the pile of other bodies and bones. But he couldn't mourn yet. He was drawn, forced to turn, forced to face his destiny.

And there it was. A figure dressed in moldy blackish green. As he neared, the dark figure turned, revealing a white face devoid of anything except glowing red eyes. It raised a lit wand and slowly pointed it at Ron.

Ron stopped his forward movement. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide. But he couldn't, His fate was written in that emotionless face. He closed his eyes, knowing what will happen, what had happened many times before.

This time, something was different. A warmth grew from his core. A hum found it's way to his ears. A shaft of light fell on his face. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself in his room. Freshly curled, with her back against him, was the only sunshine that could break the darkness. Pushed against his shoulders, rumbling softly was a flat-faced ball of fur.

Mum would blow her top. Dad would look disappointed. The others would laugh. Against all rules, a girl was sharing his bed. He didn't care. The battle had ended only days ago, leaving him to deal with this torment alone. He only knew now that with Hermione next to him, he will never be lost in hell again.

A/N I thought for sure that Healing was complete, that is, until Ron let me know that this tiny piece of his story needed to be told.