Slowly,

Ron looked toward him, and Harry thought he saw a trace of scarlet in his eyes.

"Ron --?"

The sword flashed, plunged: Harry threw himself out of the way, there as a clang of metal
and a long, drawn-out scream. Harry whirled around, slipping in the snow, wand held
ready to defend himself, but there was nothing to fight.

The monstrous versions of himself and Hermione were gone: There was only Ron,
standing there with the sword held slackly in his hand, looking down at the shattered
remains of the locket on the flat rock.

Slowly, Harry walked back to him, hardly knowing what to say or do. Ron was breathing
heavily: His eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal blue: they were also wet.

Harry stooped, pretending he had not seen, and picked up the broken Horcrux. Ron had
pierced the glass in both windows: Riddle's eyes were gone, and the stained silk lining of
the locket was smoking slightly. The thing that had lived in the Horcrux had vanished;
torturing Ron had been its final act. The sword clanged as Ron dropped it. He had sunk to
his knees, his head in his arms. He was shaking, but not, Harry realized, from cold. Harry
crammed the broken locket into his pocket, knelt down beside Ron, and placed a hand
cautiously on his shoulder. He took it as a good sign that Ron did not throw it off.

"After you left," he said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Ron's face was hidden,
"she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads
of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone..."

He could not finish; it was now that Ron was here again that Harry fully realized how
much his absence had cost them.

"She's like my sister," he went on. "I love her like a sister and I reckon that she feels the
same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."