A/N: Shall we just call today "Multiple Story Monday"? Can I Be Your Wife and The Thunder Rolls are both quite short, so I thought I would share both of them, hopefully you will enjoy.
For those of you who haven't read any of my other stories...This is the 3rd story in my new collection, the Song of My Heart Series. Each story is based off of a different song, and each story revolves around a different Hermione/? pairing. If you are interested, please consider following my writing. I will be including some very common pairings, but also exploring many of the less common, and some that are entirely unheard of. It should be a lovely time for all involved!
If you're interested in knowing the songs which these are based on (or just this fic in general) consider following me on Twitter under LadyChristineM.
Without further ado, The Thunder Rolls (based off of Garth Brooks' song of the same title).
Thunder rolls outside, and Hermione jumps.
Scolding herself lightly she glances towards the clock again. 3:15 a.m. She knows she should go to bed, and knows that he's probably just running late because of paperwork. Wasn't that always the reason? But that didn't stop the incessant thrumming of her heart, or the unstoppable twitch in her left eye.
When he had joined the ministry, she had understood. She had understood that after 10 years of chasing monsters with Harry, he just had keep going. They couldn't split up their magic team, and they couldn't stop—they didn't know how to.
She understood, she always understood.
The war had affected her differently though. She didn't feel that insatiable urge to fight evil doers, or the sense of purposeless which plagued both of her boys. She didn't need to be the hero; she just wanted some peace for a change, some normalcy. So she worked days at Flourish & Blotts, they couldn't exactly turn her down for the job. War Hero status aside, she had spent enough money in their store over the years to buy it herself, how could they tell her no?
The boys were Aurors though, and they were great at it. She had worried about Ron, when he followed Harry in. Despite everything she had always told him, he wasn't quite as good as Harry, and goodness knows he lacked dedication. Yet he had moved through the ranks at an equal pace, and shocked everyone. Privately, Hermione thought that he was fighting to keep up with Harry—and Harry was no longer happy to lag behind with Ron.
It was good. No, it was wonderful. They were happy, and Hermione was happy—well, except for nights like this.
She stopped sleeping around the time they joined up, at least on the nights they worked. She couldn't help it; she had always been with them on their adventures—never the one at home waiting. She worried about the straggling Death Eaters taking revenge, she worried about stray magical accidents, or Ron's temper getting the best of him again. She just worried.
But lately, she was worrying more and more.
Ron had gone from working two nights a week to four, and those nights seemed to be getting later and later. He explained how long the paperwork took, and she believed him, but—well, she was only human.
Every early morning which she sat staring at the clock alone, she grew more and more uneasy. She knew she wasn't the same person she had been in school. There were no more trolls to drag her away from her books. And she knew that fact made her much less interesting to her fiancé.
Tonight, as the clock ticked ever closer towards three-thirty, she began hoping that there had been an accident. Hoping that he was only mildly injured, and therefore detained. Hoping.
Thunder crashed again, and she heard the light pop of apparition outside of their wards. Running outside, she didn't care about the mud on her feet, or that she was only wearing an old ratty t-shirt. She threw herself at the red-head; clinging desperately to him and feeling the guilt wash over her for the thoughts which had been polluting her mind.
She just needed a new book—something to take her mind off of things.
Clutching at him she tried to show him how desperately she loved him, and he smiled lightly. "Hey Mione," he whispered into her hair. "You alright?"
She inhaled to answer, a smile playing on her lips, and that's when she caught the scent.
It was a scent which had nauseated her ever since it permeated the walls of her dorm at Hogwarts. A stench which so many women adored, but she could never stomach. It was faint, so faint that she would have almost thought she imagined it, but as she inhaled again, and watched his ears redden she knew this wasn't her overactive imagination.
Lavender.
That type of perfume, sickeningly dripping off of her fiancé's lapel, could only come from one place—from one woman.
She stepped back, her mind in a fog. She could practically hear Ginny's voice in her ear, all those years ago, "Really? What, can't she remember her name? Must she wear it as a scent?"
Looking at him, she wanted to see the innocent face of her best friend. Of the man who had held her heart for ten years, but that wasn't what she saw. What she saw was a sickly complexion filled with guilt and fear because he knew that she knew.
Running for the front stairs she tore into the house, desperately trying to cling to the tears in her eyes, to stop them from falling, desperately grasping at the slowly boiling rage which she felt deep in her chest. Now wasn't the time for tears. "Hermione, wait!" He called as she ran, chasing her up the stairs of their small home.
Tearing into the bedroom she picked up her wand off of the nightstand, she always seemed to be forgetting it there. As he walked in behind her, into their bedroom, she shuddered slightly. Trying to push away the rush of emotions she felt from just looking at that bed.
He would never do this again—she would never be this woman again. She wasn't that girl.
Turning around quickly she sharply pointed her wand to his chest and he let out a cowardly whimper. Her hair sparked with unkept magic and lightning flashed in her eyes. "I could remove your heart, right now, if I wanted," she said quietly, and he paled. "You know that, don't you?"
"Yes," he croaked, his voice little more than a whisper.
"There is a reason they call me the most powerful witch of the age," she growled. "I could probably do it even without my wand, if I really wanted."
"Hermione, please," he begged slightly, obvious fear in his eyes.
She laughed darkly, "Some Gryffindor you turned out to be." With a twist of her wand, and a slight step, she disapparated on the spot, breaking their wards down in the process.
Ron Weasley shakily dropped onto the bed, willing the bile down in his throat. He knew that he was lucky to be alive that night.
Harry jolted from his sleep and grabbed his wand from his bedside table. There were some people who would say Harry Potter was paranoid, but those people obviously hadn't lived his life.
Alastor Moody's words rang in his mind, "Constant Vigilance".
Could he have imagined the faint crack which came from his living room—certainly. He hoped he had, but he was never one to wave off an uneasy feeling. Creeping around the corner he glanced carefully into the hallway.
He silently moved towards the main room, for once thankful for the small size of his apartment. As he peered into the living room, he found the source of the crack—he had been right, that had been someone apparating. But he was still surprised.
"Hermione?" He questioned, trying to clear the sleep from his voice. "What are you doing here?"
He tried to remain calm, and control his blush as she turned around. Wearing little more than a t-shirt, and drenched in rain and mud, stood Hermione Granger—the brightest witch of their age—at nearly four in the morning.
She stared at him unblinkingly before slowly sinking to the ground, tears gushing forward as she sobbed. He ran forward, wrapping an arm around her quickly, terrified. What could have Hermione this upset? Only during the war had she ever even come close to this, she wasn't an overly emotional person by nature.
"Hermione," he tried again, "Are you alright? Please tell me what's going on."
She stared up at him for a moment, her eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed, trying to find the words. "Did you—did you know, Harry? Did you know about Ron?"
Harry looked at her confusedly, Ron? Well obviously he's fine—otherwise she would have just said so. And obviously he had done something, something which had upset Hermione enough to send her here. "No…" he said with a pause, "Mione, what did he do?"
Obviously relieved to know that he hadn't known whatever secret Ron had been keeping, she threw herself at him, all but crushing him with her tears. He could scarcely understand a single word which she sobbed, but one word stood out clearly, and that was enough. Lavender.
Completely unsure of himself, he just pulled her closer and ran a hand over her back, "It'll be okay, Hermione. It'll all be okay."
The End! Thank you for reading! I do believe that there will be a continuation of this story, at some point. Let me know if you're interested! As always, if you have a moment, your reviews are GREATLY appreciated, and inspire me to keep writing daily.