Tear You Apart

by Hekate101

Rating: PG-13 (T)

Ships: R/Hr

Summary: AU. A challenge fic. Two years post-Hogwarts. Some things take time to resolve. 1,313 words. R&R.

Challenge: The Signature Challenge by AthenaRhea on FictionAlley.

A/N: Just a little thing inspired by on-the-edge-of-punk, the-edge-of-alternative music and not enough sleep. Oh, and a challenge.

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"Then he walked up and told her, thinking maybe it'd pass

And they talked and looked away a lot, doing the dance

Her hand brushed up against his, she left it there

Told him how she felt and then they locked in a stare

They took a step back, thought about it, what should they do

Cause there's always repercussions when you're dating in school

But their lips met, and reservations started to pass

Whether this was just an evening or a thing that would last"

- Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge

Ron took a breath. A five-year reunion. Apparently Gryffindors couldn't bear to be away from their friends for long. Though of course it wasn't a five-year reunion for him, or any of the seventh years that had graduated two years ago, but they had heard of the idea and decided to go to the event anyhow. He in particular was a bit anxious to meet…her. To meet her.

What would it be like? He hadn't seen her in over a year, since she'd moved to America eighteen…nineteen months ago with that Yankee playboy. And rumour had it she was coming back. Coming back for five more weeks of school, like school had been, except now everyone was older and so the first week would undoubtedly just be catching up.

But McGonagall had thought it would be enlightening, and the new Defense teacher had chipped in, and apparently Sprout and the new Charms professor, too, since Flitwick was killed in the War, so fifty adults, from nineteen to twenty-three, were going to be magically regressed for a month, turned back into fifteen-year-olds.

And rumour had it she was coming back, since her divorce two months ago. Who knew Hermione would ever get a divorce? "She had always seemed the 'marry and have kids type'", he heard Lavender Brown saying a few meters away, but he ignored it. What would she look like? Would she be the same? Of course not. The Hermione he had known in school would never have gotten married, then divorced six…seven months later. Maybe the War had changed her. Maybe life had changed her. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.

But it was too late. There she was, walking through the door, and he recognised her, though her hair was straight, and cut to jaw length, and highlighted, and apparently California had been good for her, because she was tanned and smiling. She was wearing too much makeup, but looked good. Merlin, she looked good. He turned and walked out of the Great Hall, toward the gardens. He needed a fag.

He pulled one out of a pack in his jacket pocket and went to light it up, but dropped the lighter from a trembling hand, and leant over the railing as a sudden bout of nausea hit him. He retched in the bushes, and wiped his mouth with back of his sleeve when he was done. He picked up the lighter, an old Zippo he had stolen from Harry years ago, and stuck it and the cigarette back in his jacket. Dinner would be starting soon.

The potion was disgusting, but par for the course. He felt himself shrink a few centimeters, but not more than that, and he was happy for having been a tall teenager. Some of his muscle stayed, though, and he was grateful for not being as lanky the second time around. She looked terrific, though there was the same head difference there had been four years before. Her hair stayed California, though, and she nearly looked like a different person. She would have, too, if he hadn't spent more than one school term memorising her features.

"Hey, Ron," she said as she walked out, and she had gotten an accent. Just a hint, but he noticed the difference. "I missed you at feast."

"Sorry," he said, not looking at her eyes. Her eyes were exactly. the. same. and if he looked at her eyes he might not be able to stifle the urge to pin her to the stone wall and make her scream his name. "I came in late, and couldn't find a seat by you."

"Funny," she said, "I thought I saw you when I first arrived."

He shrugged, just as McGonagall called, "Boys, this way!" As they were all adults, they weren't staying in Gryffindor tower, but would have their own rooms. He nodded, to McGonagall or her, he wasn't sure, but then waved a few fingers as he walked away, not looking behind him, because then he'd see her eyes.

The denial lasted all of two days, during which he couldn't stop thinking of that fifteen…sixteen year old body, with that new hair, new tan, but same Hermione. Merlin he couldn't stop thinking about her, even when he was supposed to be playing Quidditch, or practicing charms, or petting magical creatures, or any of the other things that were scheduled for his makeshift trip down memory lane. He managed not to be alone with her again, but she finally cornered him after a Transfiguration lesson.

"What's your problem?" she asked, with more than a little animosity, and that certainly was new. Maybe America had changed more than her appearance. Maybe marriage had been what changed her personality. Either way, her eyebrow was arched, and her hand was on her hip, and she was staring, and he could hardly keep his eyes averted. It wasn't until she pushed him, on the shoulder, hard, and made him bite his lip, that he reacted. He reached out, and pushed her. Against the nearest wall, and put his lips right down next to her ear. "I want to fucking tear you apart."

He definitely couldn't look at her after that, though she tried more than once to catch his eye, during class, and when he was roaming the grounds, or in Herbology, or during the meals, when he sat as far as possible from her, but she always managed to end up across from him. Lavender was giving him strange looks, but he ignored it.

He ignored it. He ignored her. Until the party the last Saturday. They would not be leaving until the next Thursday, but someone had decided that a party was exactly what was needed, and so a party was fashioned. He wasn't sure whose room this was, or who had acquired the Firewhiskey, but he was grateful for it. He was grateful. Until she pushed him against the wall, and spilled his drink, and somehow they had gotten in the kitchen alone. And she was looking right into his eyes, and she said, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" like he had only said so yesterday, and not three….four weeks ago.

He had never been one for words, so he dropped his drink. It made a satisfying clatter on the tile floor, but he was too busy switching their positions to notice. He lifted her easily, and her legs slid around his waist like they were meant to be there while he grabbed her hair. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, and she pushed back.

Except she didn't. And he didn't.

It was the last Saturday. There was a party. She was in one corner, whispering to her friends, laughing and shaking hands with people whose names she wouldn't remember later, and drinking vodka, and winking at men across the room. He walked toward her and Lavender walked toward the middle of the room. She tripped and her drink spilt on a stranger's shirt. And no-one was looking at them.

"I've liked you since first...second year," he told her. "And wanted to fuck you since fourth…fifth." He had drank too much, but he wasn't thinking about that. He was looking at her eyes, and her raised eyebrow.

"You're rather indecisive," she said, like they hadn't known each other for years.

"Mm-hmm." Everyone was still staring at Lavender, who seemed to be snogging the man she had just spilled Firewhiskey on. One hand reached over the distance between them, and ran along his arm.

"I've liked you since third year," she said. "And wanted to fuck you since seventh year."

He stepped back, and threw down a shot. Where the shot had come from, he wasn't sure, but she was sipping her vodka, and looking at him. He stepped back toward her.

And then they did.

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A/N: It doesn't fit the song exactly, but who cares? Good song, by the way, if anyone cares. R&R, please.