Chapter 1 : Prelude
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She ran over to his body, and checked his pulse. Still beating. Faintly, but there was still a heartbeat.
Ron came to her side after a few moments, noticing both of their absences. He still kept on checking behind them periodically, seeing if any one was nearby.
"Sectum sempra, Ron. Help me with healing charms." Together, they muttered different spells that sewed up and cleansed Harry's wounds. After a few minutes, Harry awoke.
He groaned as he sat up. Once he took in his surroundings, he shot up.
"Come on, you guys! We're in the middle of a fucking war. What are you doing tending me like a fucking mother?" They followed him into the battle once more.
That was eight years ago. Exactly. August 2nd. What a horrid day.
It was the day the Dark Lord was defeated.
But just because it sounded like a happy ending, and her best friend, Harry Potter survived, many did not.
Seamus Finnigan, George Weasley, Colin Creevey, Professor Slughorn. And so many more.
She didn't think she could take going back.
She wouldn't be able to look at Fred, without George.
She wouldn't be able to look at Dean without crying over his broken hearted expressions. If she had lost the love of her life in her own arms, as he had, she'd be so much more pathetic. He was strong. But she couldn't take seeing him try desperately to find some relief from the sadness.
How could she?
She had so much history. So much sadness, grief, misery.
But so much happiness, too.
Merlin, there were memories.
She didn't think she could take seeing him again.
No she wouldn't think of him.
She would not allow him to influence this decision.
Alright, she guessed she'd have to.
But it was going to be Harry's big day.
She couldn't deny him one of his best friends.
She must go.
For Harry's sake.
Not for hers.
And if she ended up getting a broken heart in the process, who cared?
She certainly didn't.
And who knew? Maybe she was over him, and it was just habit to think of him in that way.
She pictured his lovely face in her head. Ocean blue orbs for eyes. Bright red hair that reminded her of sunset and autumn and happiness.
Okay, so maybe she wasn't exactly over him.
But that didn't have to matter.
Ron dropped his bags on the front porch of the Burrow.
How had they gone by so fast?
He hadn't been to this house in eight years. There was too much. Mourning, mixed with relief, mixed with sorrow for Ron.
He hadn't been able to look at his mother without her face turning into a sympathy well.
She had left.
And instead of mourning for the lost loved ones, they were mourning for him.
Well he didn't need it.
No fucking way.
It was too much...
But now he was back.
For Harry's wedding.