Behind the Written Wall
Hermione looked through a small box containing journals from her lifetime. She'd been journaling for years, jotting everything she could at the end of a busy day, sometimes going back the next day if she needed more time to study. But she'd always written in her journal at least once every few days, sometimes two or three times a day when she had a lot to say.
The volumes, usually plain with black leather, filled the semi-heavy box, and Hermione felt her mind grow heavy as she thumbed through the volumes, trying to find the one she wanted to look through.
She was fifty-seven, far too old to care much about her school days or the hectic days of motherhood that drove her half-mad from anger, frustration, and exhausted. She remembered those days clearly: what she saw, how she felt, and even the aside comments she made about what was going on before she even wrote her thoughts down. She could always remember the big things, the day she married Ron, the days her children were born, and now that she was older, the day her husband died.
The journal she sought contained the days before they were husband and wife, those mysteries weeks when Hermione drifted between two possible partners: Draco and Ron. Ron stayed near Hermione during her university days, she remembered, but Draco was in one of her courses, trying to get himself a nice Ministry position to make up for his family's ill deeds. Hermione remembered dating both, but something was bothering her.
As she sat in her black mourning clothes, mere days after Ron's funeral, she found the journal she needed. Inside were the detailed passages describing those days and what ultimately led for Hermione to end up in Ron's arms, wrapped over him with both of them fully exposed to the other-the first time both had been with someone else in a sexual manner. Her heart throbbed painfully as she remembered their first time, an awkward evening when the flood gates opened and Hermione knew she'd never choose anyone else, and when Ron knew the same.
Two days before, she'd been with Draco in a coffee shop, grabbing a to go coffee and pastry before heading to class:
D and I went to a small table near the classroom. The chairs were cold and he wanted to be funny. I wasn't in the mood. I wasn't ever in the mood for his poor attempts at humor. He said something to me that kept me from ignoring him. He was angry with me for tuning him out so many times, for not wanting to listen as he rambled about his attempts to get into the Ministry.
He called me that name again without realizing, that name, that word that drove me mad. He never lost his distaste for people like me, people born to Muggles. He called me a Mudblood again, softly, under his breath, but I heard it. I felt his anger and watched both our faces grow hot.
I won't see him again. I can't do that again.
Hermione lied to her journal that day without meaning to. Hours later, she was out of class and in her apartment, her heart pounding loudly in her ears:
I hate him. I hate him so much I want to cry. He blamed me. He blamed me for not getting his job. He said I was rueful, that I sent in a bad word because I was so sick of his selfish pride. I was sick of his selfish pride, but I didn't write to the Ministry. What do I have against him? So what if he hates my kind and finds it horrid to be in my presence? I wouldn't go after someone trying to succeed, especially if their success meant I'd never see them again, not for a long while.
He said it again. He pinned me against the wall and called me more names, his fathers names for people like me. He hated me for what I did, what I never could do, and I was too scared to say anything. I was terrified.
Ron saved me. He heard the commotion and kicked a glass bottle across the rough cobbled pavement to get him away from me. D ran, he ran so hard that I could hear his panting a kilometer away.
Ron understood. He comforted me, but it's scary to be out on my own. I want to leave here to be away from him, away from D. I want to be near Ron though. I miss his constant companionship. I miss Ron.
Hermione smiled to herself as she remembered her mind making the decision, drifting towards the freckly ginger that once found her unbearable. Now he threw himself into her path, walking her to school the next morning in case Draco returned:
He brought me breakfast, one of Mrs. W's specialties. He told me she wanted me to have it, but I heard his stomach rumbling. I can't be mentioned in that house because she's always trying to set us up since H & G are so happy together. So Ron gave up his breakfast for me, and I pretended not to notice. I also didn't notice him trip up the stairs. Shh, that'll be our little secret.
Hermione laughed, turning the page. Her smile faded:
He followed me from class, his face pink with growing rage. The Ministry asked him to stop calling, to stop writing. He's going insane with worry, trying to get his position through the wrong measures. He blames me. He hates me. He used to think he liked me, that he loved me. He said that once, and I believed him. I said it back. I loved Draco.
But I hate him, the revolting man! How dare he send his friends after me alongside him. Crabbe and Goyle and Draco chasing me away from the campus. He wanted to kill me. He swore he wanted to kill me.
But Ron is here. I'm in his house, wearing his clothes because the rain soaked me through without me realizing. I'm wrapped in him. I like it. I like that feeling a lot.
Hermione knew what happened next, and her heart ached again as she closed the book. She remembered falling in love with Ron the hero, but she forgot why she'd grown to dislike Draco, why she had to bite her tongue and tear up her daughter's letter when she admitted to doing a project with his child and enjoying their presence. She remembered seeing him every year until the last trip to Hogwarts, and she remembered her heart skipping a beat. She wondered if it was hormonal, if she liked him still. She wondered if she'd made the wrong choice.
She'd repressed the bad memories, choosing what she would remember. She remembered Ron, sharing his house with him for two weeks while she waited in fear. During that time, she had Arthur put in a good word at the Ministry, just to get Draco away from them. That made her wonder if she'd done it for another reason, to help him so she could be with him again, but she remembered her heart belonging to Ron. It always had, and it always will.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ginny laughed, looking over the volumes. "What is all this? Did you want to look at your old Hogwarts notes or something?"
"Yeah, something like that," Hermione murmured, accepting her help to get the books back into their boxes.
"All of this reminds me of when Mum passed. People kept going through boxes, trying to get a few last memories before the Burrow got turned over to that rambunctious George," Ginny chuckled. "He did good in that house, but he also got rid of the things I remember the most."
"Same here," Hermione agreed, thanking Ginny for helping her with the box. She stood and put the journal back in her closet.
"You look relieved about something. You don't look as sad as you've been," Ginny whispered. Hermione shrugged, sinking into the rocking chair she'd kept by the bed since her children were born. "I...I wanted to ask you something, on Harry's behalf. He's been curious about something, but I thought it'd be rude to ask, since you are grieving and Harry is as well."
"Those books were more painful than anything you could ask me, Ginny. Say whatever you'd like to say," Hermione said softly, nodding for Ginny to continue.
"He wants to know why you were always so loyal to Ron. He remembers you two having a fight at his house years ago and it didn't turn out well. You stormed out and flew off into the night by broom, and Ron sulked around his house for days avoiding everyone. He doesn't know how or why you two ever made up, why you ever ended up together," Ginny said, sighing softly. "I hope I didn't say the wrong thing."
"I-I just forgot about that fight," Hermione smiled, laughing softly. "He called my cat a hideous fleabag because she had a rash that made her part bald. I was so offended that I went straight home, but I couldn't stay mad at him over something like that. He only sulked around his house because he was waiting to catch a mouse for him."
"Really? So you didn't actually fight-fight?"
"No," Hermione shook her head. Ginny laughed, sitting on the foot of the bed. "It was tough to decide in the beginning, I think, but something told me he was the right man for me."
"You sound so sure. I thought you dated other people for a while."
"I did, and that taught me everything I needed to know," Hermione said, standing up again and pointing directly at the box. "If I pass before you, I want you to have these. They're journals filled with everything. I've stopped writing lately. I'll do one last entry and add it to the box. If you're alive when I'm gone, I want you to read them. Otherwise, they'll go to my daughter."
"Hermione, I couldn't-"
"I'm only putting it that way because I knew you wouldn't take them off my hands now."
"You…. What?" Ginny gasped. Hermione nodded: She wanted someone to take them now, now that she knew what she needed to know. "But I can't do that. It's so personal, and what if you wrote something-?"
"There's nothing too graphic, Ginny," Hermione smiled. "If you don't take them, I'm going to burn them. Yes, I want them gone. I see that now."
"But it's your life story!"
"My life won't have much excitement after this, not with Ron gone and the children living elsewhere. Please, and then you'll understand why it was Ron; it was always Ron."
Ginny protested, but she could tell Hermione was serious: If she didn't take the journals, Hermione would have them burned by the end of the day. So, she put them in the family car, dodging glances from Harry as she did. Hermione entered the room a few minutes later to enjoy some of the treats people had brought her. The house was quiet aside from the chatter of grandchildren, and since night was falling, people were ready to leave.
When Hermione was alone, she ventured into Ron's study and sat on the couch. They'd usually share a cup of tea and stare into the fire together, but not tonight, not ever again.
She stared into the empty fireplace, comparing it in her mind to the feeling Draco always gave her. He'd always made her feel empty; Ron always made her feel full. Draco had an empty heart too, but Ron always had enough care and compassion for everyone, even horrid people like those in the Malfoy family.
As Hermione thought of the things that made her love Ron, her heart began to hurt more and more, like it was shattering into a million pieces. When one last vision came into her mind, the view of him passing and staring at her and saying, 'I'm sorry to be leaving,' her heart let out a pain so strong that Hermione slipped off the couch and to her knees.
Suddenly the fire was there, as was Ron. He smiled, helping her up from the floor.
"I knew you couldn't be without me too long," he laughed, taking her hand and leading her out of the study and towards their room. Everything was the same, but Hermione knew it was different. She knew she was gone, but not to a strange new place. She was with her husband, the man of her dreams, Ron Weasley.
~End
Theme 017: Reviewing Decisions
To complete the themes yourself, I have the list posted on my profile. The list is for any type of fan fiction (one-shot, drabble, etc.) and any fandom. Challenge yourself in other ways to make it more fun, and enjoy!