Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or any there to related characters, events or places. Never have and never will. They all belong to J.K.R (how does she do it?! O)
Author's note: Yay, I wrote yet another fic. This time it's Ron/Hermione, which is quite unusual for me, I'm not really that into canon pairings, but I warmed up to them after having read book seven, and I finally managed to write something about them two weeks ago. Don't worry, it doesn't contain any spoliers what so ever )
It's based on the song "Might as well be now" be Moneybrother, an amazing band and an amazing song. All the lines in ithalics are lyrics, which I've used as dialogue, hope it doesn't confuse anyone )
Oh, and ignore the lines about 'number', I'm very aware of the fact that they don't have telephones in the wizarding world, but the lines were in the lyrics, so please, work with me, alright ;-)
Enjoy!
Ron sat at a table in the almost empty bar. It was three o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, no-one else would even dream of entering a bar at that time of day, or on a week-day. But Ron did.
He stared miserably into his whiskey, twirling the glass in his hand, and like so many times before, he thought he saw her face in the ripples.
"I've been here before. Too many times, you know," he whispered, wishing she was there for real. But she wasn't. He'd almost fallen over himself three years ago making sure she would never come back ever again. He sighed, focusing on his current misery. "And time to time it seems I got no place else to go."
He hadn't exactly been kicked out of the Burrow, although if he continued his drinking, Molly was sure to soon exercise her threats. But since she'd left, he couldn't bare to spend all his time there. The house held too many memories, those of his childhood being pushed aside by those of her. How they'd sat in his room, scheming, making plans. Christmas in front of the living room fire, drinking hot chocolate and opening presents. Doing the dishes in the kitchen, both of them ending up covered in soap and bubbles. Making love for the first time in his bed. And the most painful memory of all, the day they'd broken up. Correction: he'd broken up.
Ron swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, and blinked, then raised the glass to his mouth and emptied his drink. He drank to forget, why couldn't his mother understand that?
He looked up to motion for the waiter to come over with the bottle, and saw the door open. And there she was, looking as beautiful as she'd done when he last saw her three years ago. Her hair was pinned back and she was dressed in work robes and carrying a briefcase under her arm. She scanned the room, looking for a suitable table, and their eyes met. For a moment he thought she'd turn around and leave, but instead she seemed to take a deep breath and braise herself, and then she walked over.
She stopped in front of his table. She didn't sit down, he didn't get up. They didn't say anything. She stared at the surface of the table, he stared at her. He should say 'hi', he knew that, but he couldn't make himself form the word.
"I can't believe you're here," he said instead, looking into his empty glass. "Walking like it's nothing through the door." He dared a look at her. Would she leave, had he been too rude, too blunt? Again?
She took a deep breath again, looking up. "I'd never come around if I knew you stayed in these parts of town. I just had an hour 'til next appointment so I thought I'd stick around," she said apologetically.
They eyed each other. Ron felt bad about how good she looked, and how bad he looked. The difference was stunning, as was the reason why they'd broken up in the first place. He knew what she must be thinking: why had she ever fancied a guy like him?
"Is this your kind of place?" she asked after a moment, smiling sadly and putting her briefcase on the table and resting her hands on it. "Seems like you've been here for days."
Ron just shook his head, not knowing what to say. He was ashamed; he didn't want her to see him in this state. He was embarrassed, because he wanted to shove the table aside, grab her hand, Apparate home and shag her senseless. He was happy, because she was here.
"We had some good times, girl," he murmured finally, looking at his hands.
She laughed bitterly. "Oh yeah, but long ago."
He nodded in agreement. "Seems like in another world." He looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes.
Her smile faded and she grabbed her briefcase harder. "Let's just leave it so."
He wanted to say more. He wanted to remind her of what exactly had been good about them, all the great times. And he wanted to ask her, what if I'm not ready to do that yet, leave us behind and move on, into yet another world? But he knew what she would say, could already hear her voice in his head. Then just be glad we met, she would say. And she was probably right. She always was.
He was still looking at her, and as the memories of how they'd been passed through his head, he thought he saw in her eyes a sliver of what he himself was thinking. If just for a while, we'll get right back along again. When they'd been good, they'd been great, and there was no denying that.
A man came over, someone she knew from work, and they hugged and started talking. Ron sighed and motioned for the waiter to come over with that bottle, at long last. He needed a drink.
There's always been one of us, girl, that's blessed with luck, he thought darkly as he took a swig of his whiskey, eyeing her as she laughed at something her colleague had said. Prat. The man looked in Ron's direction, his nose wrinkling and his brow furrowing at the sight of Ron's dishevelled appearance and the drink in his hand. Ron stared back at him. If looks could kill…
I can see everybody in here thinking, why'd you wanna hang around with me, wondering just what it took, he thought as he looked around the bar, at the very few other patrons, the barkeeper, the maid. They would probably faint if he was to tell them he'd actually dated this goddess for quite some time. Or…no, they wouldn't believe it. He hardly did himself. And no wonder, just look at them now! She was perfect, and he was…not. She was too good for him, had always been.
She said goodbye to her colleague and turned back to Ron, smiling apologetically.
"Please, just sit down for a while," he said, before he could change his mind, and before she'd had time to make up an excuse to leave. "I'll try to bring back a smile," he joked, and she really did sit down, after a quick glance at her watch.
The conversation flowed surprisingly easy considering she'd been crying and he'd been drunk the last time they talked. But they avoided the subject of them and focused on what they were doing "nowadays". Ron tried to let in subtle hints about how much he'd changed since they last saw each other, that if they got back together he'd be a much better boyfriend. But she didn't seem to understand what he meant. Perhaps that was for the best. She really was way too good for him.
"I guess I knew it would be, some time," she said suddenly, looking embarrassed and staring at her hands, clasped together on the surface of the table, "That I would just run into you." She smiled then, a small smile, yes, but still a smile. "And if it's about to be happening, love, I guess it might as well be now."
He reached out his hand, thinking it was now or never, and took hers. And she didn't pull away, just continued to smile.
"We had some good times girl," he whispered again, caressing the back of her hand with his fingers.
He thought he saw tears in her eyes as she glanced up at him. "Oh yeah, but long ago," she breathed, sadness in her voice.
He sighed, following a crack in the table with his gaze. "Seems like in another world."
She sighed and reluctantly pulled her hand back. "Let's just leave it so."
He knew this was it, if he didn't say anything she would leave, and it would probably be another three years before he got to see her again. He took a deep breath. "What if I'm not ready to do that yet?" he asked, looking steadily at her.
That seemed to surprise her, and she looked up and stared at him for a long while. But then she shrugged and pushed her chair back. "There's another place where I should be," she murmured and stood.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his drink and staring at his knees. "There is always another place we should be, right, love?" he asked sadly, not really caring anymore what she'd think about him. He couldn't reach her, he realized. She didn't care about him anymore, didn't feel neither love nor hate nor pity. She'd stopped caring about him years ago.
"You know, that's the thing about me," she murmured, her voice trembling. She was still avoiding his gaze, but he could see her hands shiver as she fidgeted with the buttons of her robes. Maybe she wasn't unmoved after all… He decided to give it one last shot.
"So why don't I get your number, maybe call you some time?" he asked, getting up and moving around the table to take her hand.
She looked up at him in surprise, hope written clearly in her features. "You've got my number, it's still the same."
He reached up and traced her cheek with his fingertips, smiling lovingly at her. "I deleted it so I wouldn't call you up late at night," he whispered, wishing he could lean forward and touch her lips with his.
Her cheeks turned a very sweet pink and she closed her eyes, a content smile playing on her lips. "Now at least you seem to do some things right."
He laughed softly, resting his forehead against hers. "I told you, girl, I've changed, I swear." And then he let his lips brush hers, tasting her again. It had been too long.
When at long last she pulled back, she looked flushed and a bit confused. But when he smiled reassuringly at her, she smiled back and closed her eyes again. "I don't know what I'm still doing here," she whispered, opening her eyes and giving him a teasing smile and a questioning glance.
"Since you're not into staying for a drink…" he suggested, nodding towards the door.
She seemed to hesitate suddenly, looking worried. "I guess I could, let me think…" But he wouldn't give her the opportunity to pull away. He cupped her face in his hands, caressing her hands with his thumbs.
"If just for a while…" he whispered.
…we'll get right back along again
Along again
Author's note: Reviews are love! )