Whiskey Lullaby
Disclaimer: This is a songfic, based on the song Whiskey Lullaby as performed by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss. The song is not mine!!! Anything recognizable (characters, places, etc.) are also not mine, but JKR's.
A.N.: This has just been a little thing floating around in my head for awhile. Warnings are as follows: suicide/main character death, alcoholism. I DO NOT support either of those ideas, but I had to write this to rid my head of the evil little plot bunnies. Please don't read if they offend you. Thank you, Lyse, for letting me bounce ideas off of you, and encouraging me to write this!!
"Hermione Jean Granger… I love you more than I ever thought imaginable. More than life itself. We've been friends for nine years, now, and we've been together for three – but I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Ron Weasley waited, on bended knee, in front of his girlfriend. His face was full of hope, happiness, and worry as he anticipated Hermione's answer. In his hands was a small, black velvet box, propped open to show a small, lovely diamond ring situated in the center… probably something that cost him a good bit from his savings.
However, on Hermione's face was not the elation that his brothers had boasted about after proposing to their wives. His face slowly fell as he registered that there wasn't even the smallest amount of happiness showing in her eyes. There was only shock, to be replaced by sorrow as she reached out and closed the ring box.
"I'm sorry, Ron. I just can't marry you." With worry, grief, and tears on her face, she ran from the park where the now-former couple had had their first date, Apparating to her flat as soon as she recovered herself and remembered she was a witch.
She loved him! But she wasn't… in love with him. Curling up in a ball, Hermione pulled the covers over her head and cried herself to sleep.
Meanwhile, Ron wasted no time at all in making his way to the Leaky Cauldron. As he sat at the bar, memories flashed before his eyes: their first kiss, in the middle of the Final War, their disastrous first date, their perfect second date-
"Fire whiskey, Tom. And keep 'em coming." And that the bartender did, night after night once Ron left work…
She put him out
Like the burning end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart
He spent his whole life trying to forget.
"Ron, mate, don't you think you should tone down the whiskey?" Harry nudged his friend, jolting Ronald momentarily from his blissfully drunken stupor.
"Nope. 'Mione… still there… mem'ries… hurt." He raised his hand, calling for another one from Tom.
The bartender shook his head, knowing that, now that Harry Potter was there, his nightly customer would not be needful of another drink. Instead, he focused on his other customers, only looking towards Ron's place at the bar again when a few galleons landed on the table – payment for the drinks.
"Come on, mate, home. It's been a month, and this can't go on anymore. Go home, wash up, move on." The Boy Who Conquered knew it wouldn't be so easy for his redheaded friend, but he couldn't just sit here and watch Ron waste away at a bar. His performance as an Auror was dropping considerably, and a few times this month he had shown up to work drunk. Kingsley was about to have to drop him, and Harry knew that that job was the only thing keeping Ron as stable as he was.
It took a little more persuasion, but finally Ron was coerced off the stool and Apparated home. Ginny was waiting, fixing dinner. Together, she and Harry forced Ron to shower, and then eat, and drink some water.
But when they left, Ron went to his cupboard, and poured himself another glass of whiskey. The memories… of his Hermione.. they hurt.
Another month passed. Another. A few more… and then half a year had gone by. Ginny had all but given up on her brother, who had been suspended as an Auror, and was now only rarely sober. Harry was slowly on his way to giving up on Ron, too, but… they were best mates, had been since they were eleven. He had to help him through this.
"Pain… it's goin'. Slowly. She's ne'er off m'mind, though."
We watched him drink his pain away
A little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough
To get her off his mind
Until the night…
One night, Harry could tell, was worse than the others. Ron had been getting a small bit better… a minuscule bit. But tonight, the redhead just sat at the bar for hours, until Tom refused to serve him. Then he Apparated to another bar. And then home, to his trusty whiskey cupboard.
Ginny and Harry checked up on him, and performed a small sobering charm, sending him to bed – something they hadn't had to do for awhile. But there was something off, they could tell. So they stayed a little longer, hoping that the man would just go to sleep. And, finally, they went home.
As soon as they were gone, however, Ron went back to his cupboard. The memories, the pain, were worse tonight. He didn't have the strength to stand on his own two feet anymore. No more.
He finally Apparated to his bedroom, and then crawling into his bed, Ron took a last swig of whiskey. The bottle neck clutched in one hand, his wand in another…
"Avada Kedavra."
He put that bottle to his head
And pulled the trigger.
And finally drank away her memory.
Life is short, but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees.
Harry and Ginny found him the next morning, when he didn't go to work." Ron was lying on the bed, his face buried in a pillow… in one hand, his wand. The other, a bottle of whiskey. And beside him, on his nightstand, was a note.
"I'll love her till I die."
The Weasleys buried him beneath a willow tree, quite the solemn affair. And when they were lowering his casket into the ground, they all later swore to here the whispering of angels – yes, angels – singing some sort of lullaby.
A Whiskey Lullaby, Fred and George later called it.
We found him with his face down in the pillow.
With a note that said 'I'll love her till I die.'
And when we buried him beneath the willow…
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby –
Lalalalalalala. Lalalalalalala…
Hermione always felt guilty, horribly guilty, for turning Ron down. It drove her to drink, something she had never done before. And when she heard of his suicide, the guilt increased tenfold.
Surprisingly, the people to help her through this guilt were the twins. Harry and Ginny wouldn't speak to her – it was up to Fred and George to try and cheer her up. But it didn't always work. Even the two pranksters couldn't pull her out of the deep depression she sunk into for practically killing her best friend and lover.
"Love, you can't blame yourself for our brother's death," Fred – or was it George? – told her time and time again. This only made Hermione sink further down… because she had killed their brother – flesh and blood!
Still, she tried to assure them feeble statements. "I'm not, you guys. Promise. I'm getting through this."
But once they left, she'd go to the cabinet, pull out a bottle of fire whiskey, and tried to slake her guilt and pain once more. Around Fred, George, and the rest of the world, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath. It went on for years, but Hermione wasn't sure she fooled anyone.
The room was blue
But nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years
She tried to hide the whiskey on her breath.
The years began to meld together, but however normal she managed to act while around other living, breathing people, Hermione's comfort came from her evening whiskey. Every night, sometimes for hours on end. She'd be falling over herself most nights as she got into bed.
Because the pain, the guilt… it slowly faded away. But Ron was always on her mind.
Fred and George always tried to get her out with men, hoping that it would bring her out of her depression. But she refused to go out on more than a first date, claiming that she wouldn't waste her time on someone she couldn't see a future with.
True enough, but really she just didn't want to hurt another man the way she had hurt Ron.
Ron.
Hermione missed his smile, his laugh, his talent at making her laugh with him. His horrible eating habits, badly-timed comments… everything that made Ron Ron. For, while she never was in love with him… Hermione had always loved Ron. Always.
She tried to drink her pain away
A little at a time.
But she never could get drunk enough
To get him off her mind
Until the night…
A few more years passed, and Hermione was still as bad as ever. Fred and George made her smile, made her laugh, but life still wasn't the same. And the twins began to give up on her, slowly – Fred more so, because his wife, Angelina, was becoming insanely jealous of the brunette and all the time he spent with her.
So when Fred came into check on her one night, and found her with a whiskey bottle, he threw his hands up in the air, scowled, and left.
And that's what did her in.
Tears ran down her face, because she had known that it would only be a matter of time before the twins gave up on her. Hermione's emotions ran haywire, and the guilt grew. She killed Ron, Fred gave up on her, George was about to, and she just couldn't cope. Gone was the strong, wizarding-world famous Gryffindor.
She found a picture of Ron in her bedside drawer and, clutching it to her chest, went up to bed. Taking a final swig of whiskey, Hermione lay down on her head.
Grasped her wand.
Strengthened her hold on the picture.
"Avada Kedavra."
She put that bottle to her head
And pulled the trigger.
And finally drank away his memory.
Life is short, but this time is was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees.
Feeling guilty about walking out on her, Fred went to her house the next morning to explain himself. He knocked on her front door and, when there was no answer, let himself in. The redhead walked back to her bedroom, expecting to see Hermione getting ready for the day.
Certainly not expecting to see her lying facedown in a pillow, his late brother's picture clutched to her chest, with her wand in hand and a whiskey bottle next to her. He immediately Apparated to George's flat, telling his twin to call the rest of the family… because Hermione was dead.
In family agreement, Hermione was buried next to Ron, beneath the willow. And as she was lowered into the ground, everyone later claimed that they heard the whispers of angels… singing… another Whiskey Lullaby.
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life.
They lay her next to him beneath the willow
And the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala…
Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala…
A.N.: Constructive critisicm, please and thank you, but please refrain from flaming me!