Evening had been creeping upon the Burrow all day. The sunlight had been smothered by cloud-cover then died with no great feeling. The celestial nightlights that remained shown half-heartedly, reflecting the inner thoughts of all who gazed upon them.

Dimly lit in the gloomy night, the Burrow's back porch became shelter to Hermione Granger. Hermione, for days, had drifted listlessly in her heart-wrenched haze. Death was all around, suffocating and smothering. The luxuries provided to her inside only served to guilt. Catching the last glimpse of the murky sunset, she sat upon the decrepit porch swing and waited.

Gently, Ronald Weasley opened the tattered screen door and stepped down onto the porch whilst carrying her favorite blanket and some Chamomile tea. Setting the tea down upon the armrest of the swing, he covered her with the blanket. "Stay warm, Hermione," he whispered to the darkness as he went to retreat back inside the house, like many nights before.

"Ron," she breathed.

Ron paused, halfway inside the house.

"Yeah?" he questioned.

"We're going to die."

Ron's heart ached. "Oh, Hermione."

As quietly as he could, he shuffled through the darkness back towards her. Seeing Hermione silhouetted in the darkness, he sat down on the wooden planks and took a moment to reflect. Barely visible, the lines on her face showed her anxiety for what was to come.

The year had already been fraught with sorrow and fear; too many deaths, too much heartache, not enough time. The journey that was to remain was not one that Hermione, Ron, nor Harry wanted to face. Finding Horcruxes seemed an awful big task for those so young. The odds most certainly were not in their favor. Hermione had been the love of his life for three years and his best friend for seven. What was he supposed to say to her?

"Yes, Hermione," he said, "I believe we will."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly to prevent the assault of tears, only to open them a moment later in frustration. "How can you be so calm, Ron?"

Ron shifted onto his knees and reached out to hold Hermione's hand. "I have a story to tell you."

Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt, but was silenced by Ron's tale.

"There once was this boy; his name was Roonil Wazlib."

Hermione's left side of her mouth gave an involuntary twitch upwards.

"Roonil Wazlib was still quite young and he was about to embark on a dangerous mission with his two friends Parry Otter and Herm-o-ninny Grangre."

"You know…this sounds oddly familiar-," Hermione noted.

"It's rude to interrupt!" Ron replied, chastising an amused Hermione. "Anyway... Roonil knew he would not survive; he was very scared. His whole life was ahead of him and yet here he was giving it up to try something that might not even work. But, Roonil knew it was the right thing to do. If he decided not to join his friends he may have had a longer life, but he knew many other people would have had theirs cut much too short. Roonil was a good person and he refused to be that selfish. He also knew that if he didn't make it, he would be going to a better place where he would meet up with those that meant so much to him, including the woman he loved…"

Ron smiled at Hermione.

"...Herm-o-ninny Grangre. So Roonil decided to do whatever he could as best as he could, and when he couldn't do anything else he would feel at peace knowing he did his part for the grand scheme of things. Roonil just hoped that someday others would take his example and follow it trying to make the world better, because it's the right thing to do. The End."

"Well. That was lovely Ronald."

"I know it's nothing like Hogwarts: A History, but I try."

"I love you, Roonil."

"I love you too."