Ron held his hand to the cool surface of the doorknob, trying to delay going in as long as possible. He knew what would be waiting for him when he finally did go in, and it wasn't good. He'd lingered leaving for home that night, and even then he'd taken the muggle way, not bothering to apparate or floo.
But there wasn't any stalling anymore, so he turned the knob and went in. Hermione was sitting on the very end of their little couch they had bought last summer. She didn't look up when Ron walked in, but he could just see the side of her face, a cool, unmoving mask.
"Where have you been?" She asked, her voice determinedly light and airy, though in her eyes grew a brewing storm.
"Y'know," he said, after hanging his coat up. "Out."
"So, I got an owl from your office today." Ron froze, mid-stride. "It was your first severance package. Ron, why didn't you tell me you got fired?" She was standing now, whirling around to face him.
Ron looked down, saying nothing. What could he tell her? He didn't really have an excuse. Not a good one, anyway. He was supposed to take care of her, provide for her and he couldn't even do that much. It was the only thing he had to do and he failed at that, too, just like everything else. So when he got fired from his first job after only a little over a year - and he'd only kept it that long because he was part of "The Golden Trio" - he didn't want Hermione to know that he'd let her down.
But Ron didn't say any of that. He just let Hermione's eyes burn into him as he counted the threads on their rug, starting over every time he lost track. When she spoke again, her voice was so small and quiet, a shiver ran down Ron's spine.
"If you don't talk to me, Ron, if you don't trust me, the this is never going to work." It felt like someone had captured a cool gust of wind and wrapped it around Ron's insides. Hermione sank down onto the couch again, like the magnitude of what she had said had drained the energy from her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said, and he tried to keep his voice from sounding so pathetic. She looked up at him, and he finally allowed himself to look back. Her eyes were round and sad, full of misunderstanding, but there was a longing to forgive him in them, too.
"But why did you do it? Why didn't you tell me? And where have you been going the past two weeks?"
"Harry's flat. While Ginny was at practice." Hermione's mouth dropped open in what seemed to be a mixture of shock and hurt.
"You told Harry?" As soon as Hermione said those three words, Ron knew this fight was going to be bad. Very bad. "Ron, Harry cannot come first in our relationship. We don't go to Hogwarts, anymore. We aren't teenagers. All we have is each other and you lied to me and you won't even tell me why!"
There was a note of pleading in her voice, but Ron didn't want her to know he wasn't good enough for her. He couldn't ever be enough for Hermione. But he didn't want her to go, either.
"Hermione, I'll be better, I swear-"
"Oh, you and your petty promises, Ronald." Again, she was standing, seething with anger, flecks of spit flying from her mouth. "Well, I'm done. I'm sick of it. Let me know when you can tell me the truth." Before Ron could call her name, she flickered and then vanished, the pop of air letting Ron know she had apparated away. He collapsed onto the couch, holding his head in trembling hands, feeling the trace of her warmth dissipate until the fabric of the couch was cool against Ron's hand. He wondered if it would ever be warm again.