Hey brother! There's an endless road to rediscover
Hey sister! Know the water's sweet but blood is thicker
Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do
-Avicii
In the stillness of the first few nights, they had all found each other. The three of them, huddled in the same bed as if they were once again twelve year olds, looking for comfort in the one thing they all believed and trusted in- themselves.
Hermione was crying (he doesn't know why) but the two of them move to her like she's the sun and her gravity is keeping them anchored to her. One on each side. They both carefully escort her to Ron's bed and they hold her, laying her down between them.
This is the only way they sleep for the next week.
Hermione is always between them.
He takes his place.
At the time, he felt triumphant. He had won the girl and the battle. More so, he held her hand as a victory (the smart, pretty girl that had always been the fulcrum between them). Briefly, he laid claim to her. The one thing Harry Potter would never have.
She is the balance. No, she was the balance, because for a small moment, the scales were tipped just so in his favor.
If the brightest girl in their year picked him, then that said something, didn't it?
But, she didn't. Not really. She volunteered to go with him when he left.
She offered to die.
She had offered herself up to die, so that he wouldn't be alone.
"I'll go with you." She had said.
In the end, when the dust had settled, and certain graves were dug he didn't ask anything of her. He turned his attention to his family-to be the man they could be proud of.
A small part of him wants to prove to Hermione that he could be that man. The man that stood up and became the pillar-the strength- for his weeping kin. (And maybe not the man that drags her by the hair into danger.)
But taking a step back, it almost doesn't matter. His two best friends occupy his rebuilt childhood home; the three of them are underneath the same roof. That alone is enough to put him at ease. Yet, they both still tiptoe around as if they were ghosts themselves.
Don't wake the dead.
And he sees how they cling to each other, just like they had as children (but not Harry, he never really was a child, was he?) And he doesn't begrudge their bond. He's too busy with George (he lost a brother too, but not one he'd shared a womb with.) And he tries so hard.
His sister says something about Hermione's parents and Hermione leaves so quickly from the table her chair falls over. He watches as Harry follows her out, and he can't help himself from following too.
So the three of them sit in the grass that reaches up to their shoulders and stare at the setting sun.
He wakes earlier than normal and stumbles downstairs to put the kettle on but stops when he sees Gin standing still, looking out the window.
"Morning."
Ginny doesn't acknowledge him, and he thinks little of it because they're all kind of like this.
"You're not going to ask where Hermione is?" Ginny asks, still not looking at him.
Ron stops serving himself from the massive piles of food constantly left in the counters at all times. "I-no," he blinks. "Okay, er, where's Hermione?" He hadn't even thought about where Hermione might be.
Ginny shakes her head. "In bed. With Harry." There's something in her voice that isn't accusatory, just sort of an expected hurt, like it's the natural course of things.
What she says is enough to engage his heart in some sort of frantic dance. He didn't even realize Harry wasn't in the bed he normally occupied. He puts his plate down and turns towards the stairs-but something isn't right. That familiar feeling of jealousy, that normal suspicion didn't worm its way through his limbs like it would have before.
He stops because the pain he feels from his little sister is something he's all too familiar with. That 'left out' sensation. "Gin? It's just…" he sighs and picks up his plate again, making his way to the table, "did mum tell you? About when I came home?"
She shrugs, still gazing out the window.
"The bloody fucking Horcrux shit, and I just left. D'you know how hard that was?" He waits for some acknowledgement, but when he doesn't get it, he continues anyway.
"I mean, it was easy leaving when we were gone, you know, and Hermione was there and told me she wouldn't leave him. As soon as I left, I regretted it. Without the locket, I couldn't even…give an excuse. That was- when I came back- that was the hardest part, right? But, Hermione stayed with him. Always. No matter what." It's not even about giving Ginny a justification-more just saying things he's been too ashamed to say out loud. But, in the end, life's too short for all of that-excuses and jealousy and grudges. He ponders the times when he let all of that anger consume him- and how that led to the greatest act betrayal he had ever done.
And maybe he tells her all of this to put into context why her ex-boyfriend and his…something (his crush, his love, his mistake, his nightmare, his best friend) have grown closer (closer than they were before, that is.)
He finds George sitting in the dirt with bare feet, bottle of White Rat Whisky clutched in his hand. Ron lowers himself to sit beside him, sidling about to get comfortable.
"Where'd you get that?"
George doesn't hear him maybe, but fingers his ear under his hair (no, where his ear should be) and takes a drink.
"Pass it here, then." The neck of the bottle is twisted in George's hand, so Ron reaches for it and waits for a reaction. When none comes, he takes a drink and his eyes never leave his brother.
They sit together, Ron nudging the bottle over to George every now and then.
And Ron doesn't let himself cry until George starts to weep. And when the weeping turned to heartbreaking sobs, Ron finishes the rest of the bottle and wraps his arm around George (holding him together and trying to be the brother that's gone.)
His eldest brothers have already left, off to their own lives. That just leaves him and Gin (and also George, but he's just a phantom) to be strong for their parents. There's some unspoken agreement-Ginny takes watch over Molly and Arthur while he stands sentinel over George.
He hardly thinks about where that leaves his best friends.
"Whuddya say, mate? Clear up the shop? I reckon lots of people would want in."
It's Ogden's now, balanced carefully in George's lap.
"I mean, you know. Folks will be linin' up, needin' a laugh. Especially after."
George takes a drink, and the smell wafts enough for Ron to crinkle his nose.
"I'll help. I mean, I'm not-I'mnotFred, but it'd be a good idea, I dare say."
"Didja hear that, Fred? Lil' Ronnie here wants to help." George looks over his shoulder.
This time it's Ron who starts to weep.
He wants his friends' help, but this is a family matter- a Weasley matter.
His mother is fidgety and spends her time cooking and cleaning and dusting areas that aren't dusty, and his father hasn't returned to work (he spends his time in the shed or staring out the window.)
And George is drinking himself to an early grave.
He remembers being jealous of the twins when they went off to school, because it left him and Ginny at home with their mum. He remembers feeling bitter that he was left with the baby (even though she was eight and he was nine.) But still.
But still…he wouldn't ever admit that he and Gin were closer than any one else thought. That they had played together willingly and he was quite fond of her, despite the impression he had given that she was annoying and whatnot.
And now, as he watches her try to juggle her own feelings while keeping their parents together and sane, he admires her. When he looks at her, he sees the baby toddling after him – but he also sees the making of a matriarch of her own family.
Hey brother! Do you still believe in one another?
Hey sister! Do you still believe in love? I wonder
Ron lowers his broom when he sees his sister pacing near the lake. He readjusts himself more comfortably and hovers near her.
"They're going, you know. To Grimmauld."
"Who is? Harry?"
Ginny looks at him as if he's the stupidest person alive, and he rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "Harry. And her," she says.
He sort of flinches, but thinks he can piece out why. "You know this isn't home for 'em. I mean, everyone here is…" he trails off and waves a hand toward the house and his broom dips a little.
"I understand, Ron," Gin bites out.
Ron hears her, but doesn't say anything because his attention is on the house. The house that burned down and the replacement that now stands in its place. It looks the same, but under one of the kitchen windows is missing the streaks of brown where Charlie would crawl in, boots leaving an unmistakable trace where they dragged and that no cleaning charm could ever truly get rid of.
He's staring at the place under the kitchen window and lowers himself until his feet touch the ground.
"Fred had a thing for Hermione, you know. Ages ago. Yule ball." George stopped and wiped his mouth and looked at the ceiling. Ron watched the drunk half-twin roll around on the carpet.
In all honesty, Ron's drunk too. "No. What do ya mean? Her? He liked Angelina- he asked her to the ball." The notion is so absurd, he can't accept it. Fred is-was- not at all the type to be into an uptight swot.
Ron took a drink, and looked up at the same ceiling as his brother, as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. "Hermione? Granger? Fred what…did he want her to do his homework or something?"
George propped himself on a wavering elbow, facing him. "You're so fucking stupid sometimes, Ronniekins. Fred was smart. He knew a catch when he saw one. He just thought Harry wanted to go with her."
"Do you love her?" The words come out nonchalantly.
"Ron, of course I care about her."
Ron is sitting on the back step, heels of his shoes digging into the dirt, making rivets, while Harry clutches his knees to his chest. They're alone outside, and Ron knows they're leaving, Harry and Hermione, and he just wants some honesty, or something.
"I care about Ginny, too." Ron says. "But I was talking about Hermione."
Ron expects some dramatic outrage at what he's just implied, because that's what Harry does.
"What? Ron, I-"
"Not just like, I dunno, love her like a best friend, or love because she'll translate runes, or something. Just like…love. Like you want to kiss her or marry her."
"What are you playing at?" Harry asks as his body constricts, waiting for some sort of Weasley-esqe fallout.
"I aint playing at nothing. It wasn't ever Cho for you really, was it? Or my sister." Ron pauses and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Or Fleur."
"Ron, that was you going on about Fleur."
"Let's not get bogged down in details," Ron responds, red in the face, unwilling to revisit the Fleur debacle. "But it was Hermione, wasn't it? Always. It is Hermione, even now for you."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I'd expect my best mate to tell me true."
"Tell you…" Harry looks away and rubs an eye underneath his glasses.
"Yeah, true. Go on then. It's not about my sister. It's about us, yeah?"
Harry stands up and takes a step down the new stair before switching and going back up.
"I- Us?" Harry stops and looks.
"Yeah us, you deaf? You? Me? Hermione?" Ron gets up and brushes off the seat of his pants. "You're going to Grimmauld. I heard. You and her." There's a heavy weight in Ron's eyes. He can feel the sting. There's heavy feeling in his stomach too. It's familiar, but now it's welcome.
"Take her, will you? She's been driving me mad for, shit, I dunno, years now."
"Ron."
"Harry," Ron replies with a fake equanimity.
"Ron?"
Ron suddenly wants whatever George has. Whatever liquor he can drink that can make him forget that his two best friends are in love- with each other.
"C'mon. You're not gonna saddle me with all that Hermione nonsense are you? You two always got on better than her and I."
"Is that you're weird way of a blessing?" Harry asks. "You going to officiate our handfast?
Ron rolls his eyes so far, he may well have fallen off his step.
"Handfast? It's like that is it? Knew I never had a chance." It's a false chuckle.
"Hermione and I…it just…I'm going to marry her, Ron."