SD ~ JKR owns it. And Scholastic. Probably Warner Bros. too. (gotta be careful Jo, that fine print is a killer.) the poem, "Who Ever Loved, That Loved Not At First Sight?" is by Christopher Marlowe.
Redemption
-dutchtulips-
She'd been crying for a long time now. Almost every day for the past three months, the tears never eluded her. Day in, day out, she'd find herself crying again. Trying to keep busy didn't work, like what she usually did when something terrible had happened. But this was beyond terrible. A piece of her heart was gone, missing - torn away from her.
In her cozy Winchester home, Hogwarts professor Hermione Weasley sat in front of the fire, watching the yellow flames dance across the hearth. Curled in her favorite plush red armchair, she gathered her face in her hands and felt her tears underneath her palms. Carelessly, she knocked her book to the floor, ignoring the loud thud as it met the carpet. What did it matter?
Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees and sort of rocked as the sobs shook her body. It was hard enough to have to feel this way, but the reason why. . .
Before she could complete the thought, the doorbell rang. She rose her tear-streaked face in puzzlement, and then slowly got up to answer the door. Who in the world could be ringing at nine o'clock at night? Hermione wondered. Jerking back the doorknob, she got her answer.
Harry stood there, draped in dark robes, a solemn expression on his face. He looked up into his best friend's cinnamon brown eyes. "I've been out walking, you know, thinking and stuff. Mind if I come in?"
She nodded glumly. "Not at all." Hermione watched him pass over the threshold, and then closed the door. Turning to him, she said, "Why did you ring the bell? You could have just come by Floo like usual."
Harry sat down on the sofa. "I didn't want to give you a fright. Besides, I was out, like I said. Strayed a little further from my apartment downtown than I'd thought. Doing a load of thinking."
"Yeah, I know." Hermione said down next to him. "Me too."
Harry was quiet for a long moment until he spoke again. "All day long, every minute I'm awake, it keeps going around in my head. 'I should have been there.' 'Why couldn't I have gone?' But it's not going to change anything. It's nobody's fault. No one could have known."
"No," Hermione agreed. "But I don't think I'm ever going to get through this, Harry. I really I don't. Three months have passed, and I still feel as dead inside as I have since the beginning."
Harry turned to her. "You can't expect to get over it quickly, Hermione. Since it happened, I haven't been back to my Auror duties. I've needed time to grieve. So have you."
"But I need to be needed, Harry. I need to be busy again so that I can live. Sitting here night after night and feeling sorry for myself is doing me any good. It just makes me feel worse," she told him.
"I understand." He put a comforting arm around her. "But we were the two people who were the closest to him. If we don't remember him, who will?"
Hermione wiped a tear off her nose as she sniffled. She glanced up at the wall, where there was a needlepoint sampler hanging. It had been a wedding present. "Do you remember that?" She asked Harry, pointing to the sampler.
"Of course I do. It was the poem he gave you when he first told you he loved you."
"Yeah." Hermione even smiled a little, despite her sadness. "We both loved it so much that his mum sewed it into a sampler for us." She'd read it so many times, but the diligently stitched red words seemed to say so much more now.
It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
She felt the sobs in her chest again, but tried desperately to suppress them. "Thanks for coming by, Harry. I find that we're just about all each other has now."
He smiled. "Just promise me you'll get through this. That we both will."
"I promise," Hermione replied.
~*~
It was even later than before, after Harry had left, and now Hermione was laying awake in her bed, trying to read. She and Harry had had a long talk, and she was even beginning to feel a little relaxed again. But, Hermione knew, it would take a lot more talks and a lot more time.
She finally laid her book on her beside table, and her eye caught a three month old roll of parchment resting there. Hermione stared at it now, remembering how she'd wanted to throw it away, but never having the heart to do so. Picking it up now, she unrolled it with trembling hands, to stare at the green inked words once more.
Dear Mrs. Hermione Weasley,
It is with great sorrow and sympathy that the Auror Corps' Windsor Unit must write you this letter. As you know, your husband, Ronald Weasley, was assigned to a mission to Austria, 10th March There was a heavy werewolf problem there in which we sent him to correct. It is now 24th April and he was set to return two weeks ago. Because we have completely lost his contacts and the other Auror whom accompanied him on the mission has been reported to have met his death while in Austria's Dark Forest, we only fear the worst for Ron. I am very sorry to report to you that we can only presume that he has died as well. We are still waiting for any contacts from Ron, but we have intercepted that his communicator has completely ceased from all response. His body has not yet been recovered.
Always,
Chester O'Reilly
Auror Chieftain
Hermione rolled the scroll back up and placed it back on the nightstand. She reached up her hand to scratch her face, only to find it was damp with tears. The letter had gotten her thinking about that last night she had seen Ron before he'd left for Austria, the last night she'd seen him alive.
They'd been sitting together on the sofa, watching the yellow fire burning nicely. Hermione had been leaning against him and Ron had wrapped his arms around her waist. She could remember him whispering to her. Something about the mission.
"It won't be a long one. Just a couple of weeks. There's a bunch of ruddy werewolves in Austria that I've got to sort out."
She had reached back and stroked her fingers through his hair. "What about after that?"
"Well, 'Mione, I'm long overdue for my holidays, and you'll be off too, because Hogwarts' summer holidays start then, too. " Ron had grinned at her then. "You and I can spend every waking moment together."
Hermione blinked back to the present. She looked around the bedroom, at the empty side of the bed, and thought about how ironic of a statement Ron had made. He had been hoping for a speedy trip and taking a vacation from his Auror duties to be with her. Alas, three months had passed, and Ron had never come home.
~*~
It had been a very restless day. Hermione had mooched around the house, trying to keep busy. As this was the summer holidays and Hogwarts wouldn't be back in session until September, she hadn't any place she needed to be.
Hermione had sat around for a little while, reading almost every magazine in the house. She'd sewed for a little while, something her mother had taught her a few years ago. After that, Hermione had dusted, scrubbed, and washed almost every room in the house.
Keeping busy was the only thing she could think to do anymore. Brooding over Ron's death had been an activity of hers almost every night since she'd gotten the letter, but after Hermione had been talking with Harry a lot lately, she found it really helped to work out her sad feelings.
But she missed Ron. She always would. As she stepped outside on the front porch to get a bit of fresh air, Hermione knew that. And she knew no one else would be able to refill her heart where Ron had once been.
"Oh, Ron," she whispered against the evening breeze. "Why did you have to go? I loved you so much. We had so much life left to live together." But, of course, there was no answer.
Hermione let out a very long, very sad sigh. She couldn't wish him back, she'd finally realized. I can beg and plead and cry all I want, but it's not going to make Ron alive again.
She rose from the front steps where she had been sitting and went back inside, having enough of the stuffy July air. It was nighttime now, and all Hermione wanted to do was take a bath and go to bed.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Hermione leaned over the clawfoot bathtub and turned the taps until they were just the right temperature. As the tub filled, she picked up a plastic bottle of clear blue liquid and poured it into the water. The smell of rosemary filled the room.
Quickly Hermione undressed and slid into the water. It felt refreshing after the sweltering day. She gently splashed herself, washing off the weariness of the day, and closed her eyes to rest.
If Ron were here he'd go ballistic because I've been working endlessly all day,
Hermione thought, smiling a little. I can hear him now. " 'Mione, you need to sit down and rest." " 'Mione, you don't need to be working yourself silly around the house all day. Why don't you read or something?" Of course, he'd been saying it before he left, too.Hermione relaxed her muscles, letting them go limp. She rested her hands on her stomach. The tiny life within moved a little. She let out a sigh, thinking about how Ron had been so worried about leaving her alone when he left for the mission. Hermione had just laughed and told him she'd be fine.
"The baby won't be born until August," she had said to him.
~*~
To Be Continued