The Death of Him
Challenge Number and Letter: 1A
Word Count: 1812
http:// community. livejournal. com/ themomms/
A/N: The first challenge from The Menagerie of Missing Moments. I probably will not be as dedicated as I'd like, but I'm in a bit of a writer's block currently and I miss writing. Really, really badly.
A/N 2: 1812! Go check out the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky. I am not kidding. Do it. Unless you love it like I do, you won't know it until about four minutes in, but it's excellent.
They talked about everything and nothing. That was how it had been before Harry had arrived at the Burrow. Ron hadn't expected that behavior to return, especially now that their search for the Horcruxes had begun. Hermione had come to him for comfort after her attempt to save her parents. He had spent much of his time at her side, helping her to cope with the reality that her parents weren't her parents any longer. A few long nights—too many, in Ron's opinion—were spent holding her, promising her that she had done the right thing. Ron ensured her that they would be proud of her and it was good that she had done it.
Most nights, however, were spent laughing with Hermione. She had sat on Harry's make-shift bed and they talked about nothing. Although the seriousness of what was to come weighed heavily in their minds, on those nights, Ron and Hermione were able to escape into the olden days. They were able to bicker and laugh at each other for those precious moments.
Now that they were in Grimmauld Place with Harry, Ron expected Hermione to close up again. He expected her to be strong for Harry. Hell, he planned to do the same thing. They couldn't show how the war was affecting them. That would only serve to make Harry feel guilty. As if the whole war was his fault.
Her sorrow was much more controlled now when she spoke of her parents. She didn't often cry anymore. She was able to keep the pain inside. But they were both more careful, walking on eggshells when it came to her parents.
"Mum taught us to dance," Ron responded when she asked where he had learned. They were sitting at the kitchen table in the pajamas Hermione had packed. Harry had long gone to sleep now. He had claimed exhaustion at least two hours ago. "She said we'd learn willingly, or she'd tell everyone we loved to dance with our mother." He chuckled. "We took the offer quietly."
Hermione laughed. "My mother sent me to ballet when I was five. She spent at least ten minutes arranging my tutu and then stood back and smiled at me. I went and I did the same moves for an hour under the watchful eye of an elderly French lady. She barked the move and we did it. If one didn't, she barked at you. I did the same three things over and over and over. When they told us we could go home, I ran out of there, got into the car and sat for a good five minutes fuming at my parents for making me go. Then I said to my mum, 'Please don't make me go back. I think if I have to do one more plié, I'll have to get rid of you and get new parents.'" Her eyes were now shining with unshed tears and she smiled sadly. "They laughed and didn't make me go back."
He smiled encouragingly, and place a hand atop hers on the table. "They knew you didn't mean it."
She looked down at the table. "I still wish I hadn't said it."
"Hermione," he said, searching for the right words. "You don't want new parents. You haven't gotten rid of them." He pressed a finger under her chin to force her eyes to his. "You will go back for them. I know it." They were reaching a forbidden area. An area in which she might start crying. Not uncharted, but definitely not their most traveled or chosen route. And they were too close. Ron was too close to her for rational thought. He might start telling her his closest secret. He might start sharing his love for her.
She cleared her throat and glanced around the room, looking anywhere but at him. "I think I'll make a cup of tea." Hermione said quietly, standing to leave her place at the table, her hand leaving the cover of his.
Ron laughed wryly. "If they have any in this wretched house."
She turned her back to him and began to look through the cabinets. He noticed she wasn't looking carefully, haphazardly opening and shutting cabinets. No order in the search. She just wanted to turn away.
"Sirius used to keep some in his bedroom while we were here, I think. Trying to keep it away from Kreacher, I suspect. Third floor."
She huffed a little at that. Ron guessed she would say more if she wasn't close to tears. "I'll check," she said, leaving the room with her face turned away from him.
Ron put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. Hermione Granger would be the death of him.
Then he heard her shriek from a couple stories up. He launched out of his chair and took the stairs two at a time. "Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!" she yelled, tears in her voice.
"I'm coming!" he bellowed, hurrying up the next flight and down the hall to Sirius's room. "What's wro—Oh! Fuck! DearfuckingMerlinwhydidyoucallmeuphere?"
There were spiders. Massive spiders. Bludger-sized spiders crawling around in the closet. Emerging out into the room.
"OhGodHermioneOhGod!" He tore his eyes away from the bastards to look at her. Her eyes and cheeks were red from crying. She was shaking. Shaking so badly he could hear her teeth rattling even over the sound of the buggers scuttling across the floor towards them. He took a couple of deep breaths and pulled out his wand. "Okay. Okay. What kind of spell can we use to get rid of them?" he asked quickly, wishing to end their skulking lives.
"Er…er…"
"Oh dear God," he said as one crawled over his bare foot.
"Er…Evanesco!" she shouted, pointing her wand at a group of them. They disappeared.
They spelled the spiders out, Ron shuddering when the spiders approached them.
When they finished, Ron sighed and turned back to Hermione. "Now, I definitely need some tea." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sor—" she began.
"Don't worry about it," he interrupted, wrapping an arm around her. "Let's just get some tea."
He took his place back at the table and she made tea silently.
"I forgot that you hate spiders," she said quietly.
He laughed in disbelief. "I'm sorry, did you just say you forgot about the thing that scares me most?" That wasn't strictly true. If he was to be completely frank, her pain scared him the most. "Hermione Granger forgot something so vital?" he asked, mocking her playfully.
"Shut up. It was stupid. I'm sorry. I just—I was startled and I knew you would fix it." She put the cup down in front of him and sat down at his side, both hands on the mug, staring into it's contents.
He smiled at her softly. "I would try as hard as I could."
She looked up at him and smiled in the same manner. "That's what I know."
There was a brief moment of silence and then, he had to lighten the air. "Just for future reference, did you just say you were stupid?"
"I'm warning you, Ron. Don't test me," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"I just wanted to know, because honestly, I may never hear those words again, and I want to save—"
She gave him a glare that could stop his heart if he didn't know her so well. "I will tickle you. And I will tickle your feet in your sleep."
She had hit his weakness. She knew he couldn't stand his feet to be tickled. Ginny must have told her. Shit. "Yes, ma'am. Shutting up," he said, raising his hands in surrender.
She yawned, stretching like a cat. "Well, I think we've had enough fun and adventure tonight. Don't you?"
He grinned. "Yes."
He put out the fire while she put away the cups and they slid into their makeshift beds in the living room. She rustled around for a bit in the dark before turning to face him. He had sprawled out, one arm thrown off onto the floor next to her bed. She grasped that hand and whispered, "Thank you."
He squeezed her hand in reply and closed his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him to sleep.
----
Waking up in the morning light, Ron found his hand no longer in hers and the emptiness hit him squarely in the chest. Although her fingers were merely inches away, it might as well have been miles. The feelings from the night before weren't sure to last. Always, the next morning, it was as if it had never happened. Little to no recognition of anything she had said. She bottled it up for the next go.
He sighed and turned over to see how Harry was, but his best friend was not there. He rose from the floor and went into the kitchen, expecting him to be drinking tea, barely awake. Harry wasn't there.
"Harry?" he called. "Where are you, mate?"
No response. He went around the first floor, calling his name, but there was no answer. He hurried quietly up the stairs, searching for Harry in every room, but there was no sign of him. He went back into the living room and sat the corner of one of Hermione's cushions, gently shaking her.
"Hermione?"
"Hmmm?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking around the room sleepily. "What's wrong?"
"Can't find Harry."
"What?" she asked, sitting up, placing her face inches from his own. The familiar smell of her hair, like cinnamon hit him full in the face. "What do you mean?"
"I've looked on the first and second floors, and he's not there."
She got out of the bed and hurried up the stairs, not quite as fast as he had for her last night. "Harry?"
They ran through the floors. On the fourth floor, Ron went back down to search more thoroughly, in case they had missed Harry while Hermione continued up. Panic filled Ron as he got back down to the ground floor. Then he heard Hermione. "Ron! I've found him!"
Irritation filled Ron's still tired frame. "Good! Tell him from me he's a git."
He shuffled back into the kitchen, going to make tea for the three of them. As he had almost finished, he heard her screaming again. "Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!"
Dear Merlin.
Ron rocketed up the stairs. Please don't be more spiders. Please don't be more spiders. Please don't be more spiders. Wand in hand, he came to the door they were in front of. "What's up? If it's massive spiders again, I want breakfast before I—"
And then he saw the sign. He frowned at it, irritated that he'd run up all this way for a sign.
Hermione Granger would be the death of him.