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He held my shaking hands, his face barely outlined by the light of the streetlamp. It was 2 AM, and I was screaming.
My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else as it cried out for him, for my mother, for Harry, for anyone to just help me. It was too much, and my face was contorted, my mouth twisted open as I cried and gasped for air.
He held me as he sat with his back against the headboard, my face against his chest. He stopped telling me that it’ll be okay, because he’s an honest man, and he always keeps his promises.
We held hands during the Battle, and I kissed him with all I had left. We fought with our backs against each other’s—we were ready to die together. We almost did.
He held my hands until I fell asleep, and when we awoke, I disentangled myself from him. I wrote letters to my parents who no longer knew I was theirs, and I said prayers to a God I never believed in, that this god could make Ron happy and bring him peace since I couldn’t. I had never been a person of faith, but ever since my well-researched magic had failed me, my hands had been stretched out, grasping for anything. Sometimes, my hands scratched at my arms in anger and fear; sometimes they folded into themselves in prayer.
Days passed in a haze, and we laid beside each other one night. The light from the street illuminated his lashes and his furrowed brow, and I wondered if it was me he was worried about.
“Ron?” I asked. My voice sounded strange; I had stopped talking. The power of my words frightened me since the moment I saw my parents but they didn’t see me.
“Hey,” he replied, and he reached for my hand.
“Thank you for being here with me,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Hermione,” he murmured, “Where else would I be?”
“Don’t know. Would you be happier being with someone… happier?”
“Not without you I wouldn’t.”
I had never been religious, but I’d read about grace before. I wondered if there was any grace for me.
I felt his arm pull me close against him, and it felt so pure. This love he had for me- maybe my mum and dad had felt that too. Christians call it grace, but I understood it as unconditional love.
And with the streetlamps coming through our window like stained glass, I prayed silently that he would find happiness and peace, but that time, I added my name in too.