SilentSea

I'm on here to read Harry Potter fanfiction.

[silentseashellsstuff]

Dead or Gone

Missing Moment set during the DH battle

-----------------------

Ron felt his composure slipping the longer he stood with his family, who were huddled around Fred’s unmoving body.

Grief rose in his chest like a tide, swelling until it was all he could do to breathe. The world blurred around him; all that remained was the ache—raw and unrelenting. It pressed against his ribs, clawed at his throat, and finally broke free in a shuddering breath.

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. His mother’s sobs filled the air, harsh and broken, while George knelt motionless beside Fred, staring at his twin’s face as if waiting for a punchline that would never come.

Ron’s heart twisted. He couldn’t bear to look any longer. He turned to tell Harry that time was running out—that they needed to regroup, that there had to be something left they could do.

Harry wasn’t there.

Ron frowned, scanning the shattered hall. For a moment, he thought Harry might be kneeling behind one of the fallen, helping someone—but there was no sign of that messy black hair anywhere. Panic began to stir low in his gut.

“Where is he?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Where’s Harry?”

No one answered. His words barely carried above the noise—the cries, the movement, the chaos of the wounded and the grieving.

He took a step forward. “Where’s Harry?” he said again, louder now, panic cracking through. “He was just here—he… he was just here!”

Hermione’s head snapped up, her face pale and streaked with ash and tears, her eyes wide and unfocused. When their gazes met, he saw his own fear reflected there.

“Ron,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, as if she already knew what he was about to say but couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

“Harry?” Ron called, shouting this time, the word echoing through the Great Hall. Heads turned. People stared.

“Has anyone seen Harry?” he demanded, his voice breaking. “Harry Potter—where is he?”

No one answered. The world felt suddenly too quiet, too still. Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled—or maybe it was another explosion from the battle still raging beyond the walls.

Hermione moved closer, her hand finding his arm. “Ron,” she said again, barely audible. “I think he’s gone.”

He stared at her. “Gone where?”

But the look in her eyes told him she didn’t mean gone as in away. She meant something else entirely. Something final.

And the air around them seemed to tighten, heavy with the dread of what Harry might have done.

Ron stared at Hermione, words forming and dying in his throat. Around them, the Great Hall pulsed with quiet sobs and whispers, the wounded being tended, the dead being counted—but all of it had receded into a dull roar.

Hermione’s grip on his arm tightened. “He’s gone,” she said again, her voice trembling. “Ron, don’t you see? He’s gone to face him.”

For a heartbeat, Ron didn’t understand. Then the meaning hit him like a curse to the chest.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t—not alone. He wouldn’t just—”

But he stopped. Because of course Harry would. He always had.

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears she didn’t bother to hide. “He knows something. He has to do it… he has to finish this.”

Ron’s stomach turned to ice. “You mean—? You mean—?”

She nodded once, quickly, as if saying it aloud would make it real. “He’s going to face Voldemort.” Her voice cracked.

Ron looked around wildly, as though Harry might appear at any moment, grinning, saying it was all a misunderstanding. But the space where he should have been remained empty.

“He can’t,” Ron muttered. “Not like this. Not after everything. He can’t just—”

He stopped again. The weight of it settled over him, heavy as stone.

Hermione wiped at her face with shaking hands. “We have to find him.”

'I'll help' He heard rather than saw Ginny say as he was already moving.

His heart hammered in his chest as they pushed through the hall—past the bodies, the wounded, the frightened, towards the entrance hall.

Voldermorts voice echoed once again through the hall. All three of them stopped in their tracks.

“Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.''

Then a scream cut through the air, raw and terrible. Minerva McGonagall’s voice echoed through the walls, sharp and full of dread. Every head turned. The sound froze the blood in their veins.

Ginny’s face went pale. She stepped forward, her hand tightening around her wand. “I—I’ll go look for him,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. She moved toward the source of the scream.

Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand. “We have to—” he started, but his words faltered. Then, almost together, their voices tore out:

“No, No! Harry! HARRY!”

[silentseashellsstuff]

The Dorm

Set during OOTP. Canon complient

Dean's POV.

-----

It had started that day, though Dean wasn’t sure why at first. Earlier, Harry and Umbridge had gotten into a shouting match. Dean didn’t think it was a coincidence.

Dean and the rest of the dorm were in bed. He was sketching West Ham’s new kit by the dim glow of his bedside lamp — in his opinion, their best yet. The quiet scratching of his pencil was almost comforting against the low hum of the other boys’ breathing.

He didn’t take much notice at first, thinking Ron and Harry were having one of their secret chats. But when he heard Cedric’s name, his pencil froze mid-line. He glanced over and caught sight of Harry twisting restlessly under the blankets, his face tight with tension. A cold knot of worry settled in Dean’s stomach.

Looking at Ron, he could see the worry etched across his friend’s face, framed by the faint flicker of moonlight through the curtains.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said calmly to the still-sleeping Harry. “You’re at Hogwarts. We’re in the dorm.”

His words barely reached Harry, who flinched in his sleep, a faint whimper escaping him.

“Should we wake him?” Neville asked nervously, the soft edge in his voice betraying his fear.

“No,” Ron replied firmly. “Never wake him up.”

Ron got out of bed and moved quietly around Harry’s, straightening a stray blanket and shifting books with gentle care, all while speaking in a low, steady voice.

Gradually, Harry’s breathing slowed, becoming slow and even. Satisfied, Ron turned to face the group, his gaze sharp and commanding.

“This doesn’t leave this room. Is that clear?”

Dean had never heard Ron speak with such authority. Usually, it was Harry, or sometimes even Hermione, who spoke with that kind of firmness.

“He’s mental, he is,” Seamus muttered. Dean knew better — the fear behind the words made them less cruel than they sounded.

Ron’s wand rose slightly. “You’re an idiot,” he hissed quietly. “If I hear even a rumour of this, I will make your lives miserable. Is that clear?”

Neville nodded immediately. Dean nodded too, frozen for a moment by the weight in the room.

Ron glanced once more at his best friend, seemingly satisfied that Harry was finally sleeping peacefully, before slipping back into his own bed.

“Is he alright?” Neville asked quietly, eyes still fixed on Harry’s resting form.

It was a while before Ron answered. “No. But if anyone can get through it, he can.”

[silentseashellsstuff]

Realisation

Short Missing Moment set after Bill has been attacked by Greyback.

-----

“Bill’s awake,” Ginny said as she stepped through the portrait hole.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in their favourite spot by the fireplace.

“I saw Fleur,” she continued, slumping into the seat next to Harry.

“She asked if I’d go up to keep him company — which of course I would, he is my brother,” she said, frustration dripping off every word.

“Honestly…” she sighed dramatically. “I’ve almost let myself accept that he’s going to marry her.”

She gave Harry a cheeky wink.Harry squeezed her hand and grinned back.

“Enough, you two,” Ron chimed in, looking pointedly at Harry and Ginny. “Let’s go now, before you start giving each other lovey-dovey eyes.”

Harry thought about that word — love — a lot while they were sitting with Bill in the hospital wing. He watched Ginny animatedly talking to her brother. He knew she was hurting, afraid for her family, for her friends. Yet watching her now — smiling, laughing with her brothers and Hermione, taking each moment as it came — he felt a warmth that made his chest ache.

He was in love with her. The feelings had been there, almost since their first kiss, but he hadn’t known what they were. Harry had never really heard the words I love you — at least, not that he could remember.

“You okay, Harry?” Ron’s voice sounded distant, almost muffled, like it came through water.

“Huh? I’m fine,” he mumbled, standing up. “Just need some fresh air.”

He knew it couldn’t last. He’d been kidding himself, thinking he could stay in this happy bubble with Ginny. I’ll end it tonight, he thought. Yet even thinking the words filled him with a sense of dread..

[silentseashellsstuff]

I usually write fanfiction for myself. I thought I would try posting one for a change.

This is a 'Missing Moment' from HBP, after the funeral.

-----

The Platform

It hadn’t really occurred to him before—not until the train began to slow, the hills outside the window giving way to the grey sprawl of London. About half an hour from King’s Cross, Harry finally turned to Ron.

“You should leave first,” he said quietly. “Tell your family to go on ahead too—quietly.”

Ron looked up from the game of Exploding Snap he’d been half-heartedly playing with himself.

“What?” he said, frowning.

Harry didn’t answer straight away. He could feel Hermione’s gaze on him; she’d put down her book, watching him with that familiar mix of worry and impatience.

“You should both get off the train before me,” Harry said, more firmly this time.

“Why?” Ron demanded, his tone edged with suspicion.

“Because most of the wizarding world knows I’m close to your family,” said Harry. “If anything happens—if people are watching—it’ll be better if you all go first. Or better yet…” He hesitated. “Pretend you don’t know me. Tell everyone to ignore me.”

He half-expected Hermione to tell him he was being ridiculous, to roll her eyes the way she always did when he was brooding. But she didn’t. She just pressed her lips together and said nothing—which told him she agreed, even if she hated to admit it.

“If that’s what you think is best,” Ron said at last, his voice low but steady, “then that’s what we’ll do.”

Harry nodded once, feeling the tightness in his chest ease just a little. He leaned back against the worn seat and stared out at the city drawing nearer. Beside him, Ron and Hermione exchanged one of their silent looks—the kind that spoke louder than words—but he knew they’d do as he asked. They always did.

“Just know neither Hermione nor I are happy about it,” Ron muttered after a while.

Harry gave a faint smile but didn’t reply. They lapsed into silence, the rhythmic clatter of the train filling the carriage.When at last the brakes squealed and the train began to slow, the three of them moved quickly. They had only moments before the corridor would be packed with students.

“We’ll come get you soon, Harry,” Hermione said softly. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before reaching for her trunk.

“They won’t like this,” Ron said grimly, meaning his family.Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he pulled Ron into a brief, awkward hug.

“Go,” he said. “Now. It’ll be better this way.”

With one last look at him, Ron and Hermione slipped from the compartment. Through the window, Harry watched them join the Weasleys on the platform, speaking quietly to Mr. Weasley, who nodded once. Ginny had joined them, her eyes flicking uncertainly toward the train.

Harry stayed where he was for a long moment, feeling the familiar ache rise in his throat. He felt like an outsider—a ghost watching his old life carry on without him. So close, yet untouchable. Squaring his shoulders, he stood, grabbed his trunk, and stepped into the corridor. As he passed the Weasleys and Hermione, he could feel their eyes on him—but he didn’t look back. He walked straight for the barrier.