Oh my, this is my first Harry Potter one-shot, and I'm a little afraid, to be honest.

It's not my best work - but definitely not my worst. I've always loved the Ron/Hermione shipping, and I couldn't resist posting this.
I'm not particularly a 'fluff' person, but Harry Potter makes you do crazy things. You know, like Stupefying your Math teacher?

Erm, anyway, Enjoy!

It's over, he's gone, Ronald Weasley thought.

It definitely happened, there was no denying it. Voldemort – he was not afraid now to think – was dead. Completely and utterly dead. For this, Ron felt tremendously triumphant. The world was saved, both Wizard and Muggle alike. But, just because he had been defeated, didn't mean that he'd left deep marks in his path. So many casualties to face after the euphoria of victory.

Ron slowly escaped the Great Hall without a word to anybody – not even Hermione. Ah, Hermione. He fought for her tonight. She made a lot of the pain worthwhile. Though, he was still suffering deep down, where nobody but himself could see.

He took refuge in his own dormitory, the place he had slept for years. Then, brushing past his four poster bed, he entered the bathrooms. It was completely empty and unscathed, apart from the mess that was completely the boys' doings. Not thinking about the change of clothes he didn't have, Ron stepped into the first shower he'd had since breaking into Gringotts, thinking of the battle.

Every jinx, hex and curse he'd attacked a Death Eater with stuck to his brain like an irritating bug. The images of Fenrir Greyback's animalistic face, the hooded figures, the bright lights shooting across the room, the dead people and the injured. They all shot through him like wind against the trees outside.

Ron then thought of Bellatrix Lestrange, and his own mother. She was so brave; she killed the evil witch. He almost smiled at the memory, but caught himself thinking of his brother, Fred. His heart shattered into pieces once more. A laugh still etched in his face, but his eyes so dull and empty. Poor George, Ron thought, picturing his other brother's vacant expression of pure shock, and utter denial; the agony pouring from behind his cheerful eyes.

Even under the streaming water, Ron's eyes began to tear up, and he involuntarily slid to the slippery floor, clutching his head in his hands. Fred. Gone. His own brother. His head pounded as he thought of the other victims. Remus, Tonks, Colin (Why in the world did he join in?), Dobby, Mad-Eye…The list just went on and on. But one of the worst was Harry's.

Though Harry hadn't been dead at all, Ron still sobbed at the memory; the absolute desolation that he'd felt. His best friend's lifeless body, lying limp on the grass at Voldemort's feet. Harry, the strongest person he knew. Ron could never have imagined Harry dying. Voldemort was never supposed to succeed. For a moment, after hearing Hermione release a small scream, he'd wanted Voldemort to take him. He wanted to die for Harry. He'd seen it in many eyes.
And all of those moments before the war. All the travelling, the fights, the adventures, the risks, the sleepless nights, the hunger, the longing, it was all worth it. Voldemort was finally dead.

At last, after a good twenty minutes of anguished cries, Ron spun the taps of the shower, and wrapped a clean towel around his waist, swaying for a moment. It felt odd to be clean.

Ron smelled food as he emerged from the bathrooms, and light murmurs in the common room echoed up into the dormitory. He stood beside his bed for a moment, wondering where he could nick a pair of clothes, when a voice spoke from behind him.

"Here." Ron jumped with a start, and spun around, his senses alert. But it was just Hermione, still dirty, holding out a small square of fabrics. Clothes.

"Thanks." His voice wavered, and she gave him a small, lopsided smile.

"Put them on," she said, turning her back to him and examining the Quidditch posters a few beds down. Hurriedly, Ron fit himself into a pair of jeans and a knitted jumper that may have been a little too small now. After a few extra seconds, Hermione spun on him.

"I swear that fit you ten months ago."

"I guess I may have gotten a little bigger somewhere in between."

Hermione chuckled, and perched on his bed, looking suddenly very grave.

"Come sit." Ron obeyed immediately, and sat on the edge of the bed, his arm brushing against Hermione's. "I'm so tired. My head is spinning. I just can't believe it."

"I – same." He was about to suggest that she lie down on his bed, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Bloody nerves.

"Listen, Ron. I'm so sorry about – about – "

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"I'm feeling the same way. I was rude to you when we were…travelling. I couldn't help it – "

"We were under so much pressure; we were deprived of food and sleep. It's difficult not to drive yourself completely mad. Whatever we fought about, I forgive you." Ron couldn't say anything as Hermione took his hand. "I'm sorry, too, about – Fred," she whispered. His eyes stung with a new coat of tears, and Hermione already had them streaming down her face as she noticed his bloodshot eyes for the first time.

"At least – we know that he – he fought for something. He...died fighting for what was right." Hermione nodded vigorously and let out a whole sob, her body racking. This always happened when Hermione cried: Ron's nerves instantly dissolved and he took her straight into his arms, where she wept into his shoulder.

"The deaths. Oh, Merlin. It's horrible." Ron could say no more, as he stroked her back, hoping to reassure her. Then, after a minute or so, she looked up at him, her eyes almost dry.

"We should eat." Eat? Ron caught himself thinking. His mind had completely strayed from the concept. But when it resurfaced, his stomach rumbled greedily. They stood up, and Ron was reaching the top of the stairs, when Hermione stopped him, and threw her arms around his neck.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. He knew she was going to kiss him. But, for the moment, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his face in her bloody hair, his face heating up and his insides boiling with anticipation. Then, finally, her face moved away from his chest, and she gazed straight into his eyes; his soul. Hermione's hands softly caressed his face, and she leaned in, her lips connecting firmly with his own. It was different than what happened during the war. They knew what was happening. They knew they could enjoy this for the rest of their lives. And so they kissed, a kiss that was more magnificent than their first. Her fingers curled at his jaw and brushed at his damp hair. She inclined her head to kiss Ron with more desperate passion. He responded eagerly, of course, almost lifting her off her feet again.

Ron heard cheering and applause below, and broke out of the kiss to see many people – some not even Gryffindor – beaming up at them.

"Finally!" Ron heard people shouting the most. He looked to Hermione who was blushing deeper than he, and promptly snatched her hand in his. They descended the staircase together, unable to keep a straight face.

"I knew you guys would," Harry said to him as they ate on the floor of the common room. For a moment, he sounded sincerely cheerful.

"Everybody did!" Ginny piped in from beside Harry. Ron noticed they were holding hands, and for a change, he was glad it was Harry. "We were just waiting for the moment. I told you months ago, Harry, didn't I?"

"Sure did. Well, I'm glad you finally got it over with."

"So am I," Hermione murmured, turning a more vibrant shade of scarlet.

"It was downright crazy, Ron, how you didn't notice Hermione trying to get your attention."

"I was not trying to get his attention!"

"Fine," Harry relented, as Ron's flush rose to his hairline. "She was merely just…trying to make you notice her."

"I did! Don't you remember all the compliments I've been giving you all year?" Hermione huffed and took a bite of potato from her plate, her face fading to a flattering pink.

After possibly the finest meal Ron had eaten in too long, he settled back on his favourite squishy couch, Hermione lying almost lifeless beside him. Soon, though, as she grew more drowsy, her head ended up resting in his lap, her level breaths lulling Ron into a half-conscious state.

Soon after, he caught Harry and Ginny kissing fervently in his peripheral vision and decided to call it a night, right there on the couch. He thought again about the extraordinary journey he'd been through this year, but no longer felt sad. At least he was alive. At least his best friend and the girl he loved were right there beside him. At least Voldemort would never murder again.

I swear it looked better in MS Word.

Review, if you please. I won't kill myself if you don't.