Summary: He bound them together. In life and in death. They'll have to pick up the pieces after he's gone. But for just now, they'll pretend. AU. Oneshot. Romione. Major Character Death. Some swearing and non-explicit sex.

A/N 1: This story has now been added to. I have feelings about these kids and the effects of war on them and the Wizarding World at large. Don't expect any real continuity or connections between posts, or any real scheduling. Sporadic, would be a good word choice for my posting habits. Endangered species, another.

A/N 2: Thanks to WanderingAlbatros for pointing out that I cribbed from Lady Altair's story Cauterize. Strange, the way scenes can stick in your head long enough that you forget they didn't come from you.

triangles make for stable structures (even stars collapse, my dear)

There was only one thing that ever bonded them together.

Insistent green eyes and a panicked voice and Ron thinking "Oh Merlin" except more so along the lines of "Mum's gonna kill me" rather than "She could die". But that voice, he should have know right there and then that life was never going to be easy, and that one day he'd look into those bright green eyes and they wouldn't look back. He didn't know when he accepted a pasty on a scarlet train from the first someone to make an overture of friendship how everything would end.

And "Oy, pea-brain" ringing out across that room, shattering her mantra of "ohgodohgodohgod,I'mgoingtodie!", in the same voice that hates her and that says the words that Hermione has heard ever since she started school and didn't belong. Here she does though (belong that is), with a little black-haired waif urging her on, away, to safety, and jumping onto trolls for her.

That was the bond between the two of them, tying them together for eternity. A little boy with black hair and green eyes and the mark of Fate on his brow. (They were the only ones who looked and didn't see Lily or James or Harry Potter. He might have saved the world by accident, but he saved them from themselves. HarryHarryHarry.)

And so they grow up: dragons, Flamel, Ceberus, "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?", keys, chess "NO!" and the white queen pounced, "Books and cleverness,", watching over him in the Hospital Wing (again and again and again), flying cars, trees that hit, hissing, muttering (and again, later) in the hallways, Polyjuice, holding her hand, the dread of "Ginny...", broken brooms, crazy convicts, time spinning, almost losing your soul (your humanity), green in the sky, betrayal, Cedric on the ground, whispers, trials, learning to fight, rebellion, panic, fightfightfightrun, "He's gone, Harry!", scar on chest and welts on arms, prophesy, burnt hand, ring, Horocruxes (seven), worry, he's dead (disbelief), run...

And so they grow up, and forget that they were ever children.

Except: giggling under a cloak, sweets in Hogsmead, smiles, games, jokes, rolled eyes, hugs.

They stand in the Hall. The ceiling is cracked, but the stars still shine brightly overhead.

They stand in a line. Him at the center, tying them all together. The Other, alone, with eyes of malice. And the quiet. (everyone's dead, stop fighting, (the locket's gone, but the voice of misery and despair still lingers))

They hold their breaths in respect for this moment. (His hands itch for a tap to throw, he thinks they need that full circle. Not much of a nose to shove a wand up though.) Then it's lights and sounds and neither will ever really remember what happened, they'll just remember the After.

They move in tandem. He might be the Chosen One, but they've always fought for him. Mind, Body, Soul. He breathes life into their triad.

Every moment of seven years has been building to this.

...

...

Screams.

Silence.

Two bodies on the ground and they too fall and collapse and cover and nonono he can't leave them alone. Not just the two of them with a great big gap where he's supposed to be, between them and leveling them and filling in their holes.

They sit, After, in their spots at the Gryffindor table. Opposite sides. Feet entangled. Eyes glassy. Eyes red.

Outside - outside the smoldering wreckage and away from all the Death - fireworks light up the sky.

(Somewhere in Surrey, Petunia Dursley looks out her window, sees the coloured stars in the sky, and mourns the little green-eyed boy who loved her and whom she never loved.)

The joyous singing reaches them, but all they can hear is the lack of his voice.

Hands brush up against them, as light as butterflies (in regret, in thanks, in sorrow). No one stops to speak, because no one can overcome the watery depth of their loss.

The others weep on their knees over the lives stolen from them.

They sit in the Hall. The ceiling is cracked, and the stars now fall brightly overhead.

Later, she'll talk to the God she's forgotten, and pretend that she believes in Heaven, because if that exists, then he's surely there, the brightest of souls.

Later, he'll crouch with his family, and try to muster enough grief to mourn his brother. The loss will seem petty in comparison to the hole in his chest.

Much later, they'll pick up the pieces of their world and pretend that the pieces of their hearts aren't strewn there too (across the country, in a Black house, in a castle, on the floor of a Hall). They'll be the heroes that the people need, the hero that the world would have demanded of him and now will demand of them in his place.

If they will cry at night (scream in terror, scratch at scars, break objects in fury), no one else will have to know.

Years later, they'll get together with all the others who knew him, and give toasts and exchange memories and tears. Neville will be the worst, because he'll come up and say "I'm sorry it wasn't me.".

Every time they will walk by the memorial, they'll cringe.

Every time they will see a picture, they'll flinch.

Every time the anniversary comes around, they'll go the parties and give speeches and accept praise, and afterwords, they'll go home and drink and fuck and not reprimand the other when "Harry!" escapes their lips.

They'll get married in a small muggle ceremony. Her parents won't be there (Wendel and Monica will send the long lost niece they didn't know they had before '99 a gift when they will get a picture in the mail of two sad eyed children dressed up in wedding clothes: a blender, she will laugh.). When Molly will suggest that they hold a gathering in the garden to celebrate and will ask who they would like to invite, she'll gasp and blink back tears at the empty looks they will give her.

The magazines won't be happy, they'll have wanted a big fancy wedding. The Quibbler will remark that the bride carried lilies and and the groom wore an emerald tie and the ceremony was held in a small chapel whose books declare it married a James and Lily back in '79.

They'll wear matching wedding bands and matching triangle tattoos and they will raise children and laugh and sing and smile and love and live.

(Parts of them will be buried in a marble tomb where wizards and witches will stop to scrawl notes of thanks.)

A cloak will hang in their wardrobe. A ring will sit on their dresser. A wand will hide under their bed. A transfigured branch will sit in that marble tomb. (Hermione always was good at transfiguration. And he was theirs, not the world's.) An urn full of ash that the children won't be allowed to touch will hold court on the mantlepiece. It will be the most carefully warded thing in the house.

An album will lay on a bookshelf, amongst books like Beadle the Bard and Hogwarts, A History and Most Potente Potions.

The kids will grow up, and they will to. They'll help mend the wounds that have been festering in their society for too long. The world won't be perfect, but it will be safer. And they'll hope that no little boy will ever have to make the same sacrifice that theirs did.

Dennis Creevy will unveil a photo collection on the twenty fifth anniversary. They will all be from the After, taken with Collin's camera.

When they will go to see it (held in a muggle warehouse, apparition prohibited), they will see pictures: heart breaking and oh so familiar.

All the people they know that survived. Scars on display, unflinching.

The picture that will be the most disputed by the art world will contain two figures, silhouettes standing under a tree, overlooking the lake.

"Awkward spacing." will say one critique.

"Missing an element." will say another.

Dennis will just shake his head and look at them.

Of course it will be missing an element.

Ron and Hermione will be the figures staring out, down the hill at where a marble tomb is sitting where the water laps the shore. Between them will be a gap, fit for another person.

They spent seven years flanking Harry.

They'll spend the rest of their lives trying to fill the void that he leaves with his death.

For right now, they sit at their spot at the Gryffindor table. Opposite sides. Feet entangled. Eyes glassy. Eyes red.

For right now, they'll ignore that the war is over.

For right now they'll ignore that Voldemort is gone.

For right now, they'll wait for Harry to burst through the busted Great Hall door and to whip off the Invisibility Cloak and to give them a giant grin. And they'll wait to hear his laugh, to see his smile, to feel his touch.

And they'll wait a very long time for Harry to fill the whole he's left to them in dying.

(It wasn't supposed to end this way.)