Obviously the characters belong to J. K. Rowling and not to me.

This is my first time publishing. It's a one-shot for which I would appreciate any critical reviews in order to improve my writing skills.

Reasonable Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Look at him.

Four and a half hours ago he was all tightly coiled springs and anxieties, pacing back and forth like a soldier steeling himself to charge the enemy lines. He stayed by her side, simultaneously cajoling and comforting, calmly handling her curses, screams and tears. I guess his wartime experience does have civilian usefulness.

Now, his grin practically outshines the overhead lights and his green eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. Harry bounces among his gathered relatives in a high energy display of hugs and hearty handshakes. They all listen with rapt interest to his expounding on Ginny's courage and strength. He regales us with details of the labor and birth from his point of view. Some of his descriptions draw smirks from George and red-faced embarrassment from Ginny and Molly. Yet, Harry seems oblivious to either reaction. Knowing it's his first time, some recall their experience, while others store away the information for their turn at St Mungo's. His joy is infectious and overpowering as he bellows, "James Sirius Potter, my son!"

I have to smile and congratulate him. Harry thanks me with a gorgeous smile and a too-long hug. The tension starts, again.

I turn to Ginny and catch a fleeting cautionary look before she quickly beams and squeezes her newborn. Despite her ordeal, her beauty is overwhelming, alabaster skin, bright brown eyes and long thin limbs. Her disheveled red hair looks better than mine on a good day. Harry, of course, takes every opportunity to tell us all how stunning she is. Now she has produced the next generation of Potters.

She is perfect.

As I release my grip on Harry, I see she can tell what's happening but still opens her arms for a best friend hug. "Come here, Hermione!" she cries out. Reluctantly, I paste on a smile and hurry over to envelop her thin torso. I am now literally face to face with the bundle that is James Potter. His scrunched up face smooths out as he opens his grey-blue eyes and looks right into mine. He's so cute! My heart practically stops. I smile as the tears come. They leak onto Ginny's arm and she pulls me back from her. At that point I am grinning widely and crying, as I tell her how happy I am for her. Her face briefly shows a hint of suspicion before she smiles and pulls me down again into a bone-crushing hug. She whispers in my ear, "You're the sister I never had before Hogwarts. I love you…I trust you….I need you."

I release Ginny to turn back to the others. They are all silent with smiles that don't reach their eyes. They know too.

I concentrate on Ron and see his eyelids tense into a slight squint. Not much, but enough to clue me in that he's pretty sure I will try to leave, tonight. I'm not going to make it…not this time. The chest-tightening panic is gripping me again. I predict another horrible night which is the hell I must endure as my existence with him lately.

Suddenly Harry is there blocking my view of Ron, holding me by the shoulders and mock-yelling, "James Sirius Potter" with a laugh in his voice. I now know my mask is slipping, for there is distress in his eyes too. His hug is fierce as he breathes, "Please, 'Mione….please don't…not tonight." All I can murmur back is "I love you so much, Harry!" I do love him deeply but the Chosen One who faced his own death and defeated the Dark Lord….is a coward in our relationship.

I should have realized as much after running to him the first time.

On a Saturday shortly after Ron discovered that I wanted to leave, Gin was at the newspaper office finishing up the Sunday sports edition. I had gotten away from Ron, and found myself still in my night clothes, pounding on Harry's door. My wand had been in Ron's possession for several days already. I was forced to use a broom, terrifying but my desperation demanded it. He had also placed spells on me that limited where I could go and what I could do without him. Harry's home was on the "allowed" list. Ron had even tried potions to control me but they lost effectiveness very quickly. He could have use the Imperious curse, but he said that wouldn't take care of my 'problem'.

Harry answered the door in his pajama trousers and slippers, no shirt. He saw my distress and immediately pulled me to him, ignoring the salt water and snot that transferred to his chest. My minimal clothing allowed him full view of the black fresh bruises on my arms and legs, along with the yellowing marks from days before. Tears welled up in those beautiful emerald eyes.

I took the chance. "Harry, please h-help me. Take the spells off me. I can't g-get away on my o-own!"

He was sobbing then, "You know what you're, asking? Do you know what he would do? If we do this, I'll lose you anyway; I'll lose everything."

"Please Harry. I thought you loved me."

"Oh 'Mione, I love you so very much, but not this. I-I can't … I won't!"

I moved from his chest to arm's length and saw the anguish on his face. He flicked his wand, conjuring up a handkerchief and handing it to me. In a flash, I frantically grasped for his wand, but Harry was too quick and pushed me away. Damn Auror reflexes.

I dropped to the floor, knowing I was at my end. I crawled to him, crying out in great sobs, showing him my complete desperation.

"Oh gods Harry, please….please….I need to…..he won't let me go! I'll do anything….be anything! I'll be your slut, satisfy you any way you want…if y-you just help me leave." To show my resolve, I reached up to grab the waistband of his pajama trousers and pulled my face toward his crotch.

"Merlin's beard! No! Hermione…No!" Harry yelled as he scrambled away like I was a Fiendfyre demon.

I crumpled into a blubbering heap. Of course Harry didn't want me. I wasn't perfect. I was broken, undesirable.

Then I heard a whoosh, saw reflected green flickering light and I knew. Ron was there. Harry had given me up. I was betrayed by my best friend.

I jumped to my feet. "You told him I was here?! How could you? I begged you!" I screamed, "I hate you, Harry Potter!"

"You don't hate him, Hermione." Ron said quietly, "Thank you, Harry." He gave Harry a quick hug, thumping him on the back. Harry was still crying and Ron, the condescending git, patted his cheek, eliciting a weak smile.

Ron looked at me solemnly. He gently grasped my elbow, speaking softly, "It's time to go home."

The calmness of his voice sparked the panic in me. I knew what was coming. "I won't! I don't want to be there! Please!" I cried, but I could hear the defeat as I said it.

"Yes, you really do", he tenderly said, "Let's go."

Ron tightened his grip, tossed in the Floo powder, spoke "Hermione's House" and moved us both into the firebox. I was back in my prison.

Harry's house remains on the "allowed" list.

With my mask back in place, I pull out of Harry's hug and maniacally yell "James Sirius Potter!" There are no tears on my cheeks and laughter is in my throat. The others laugh and, somehow, we all shout, "James Sirius Potter!" at the same time. This, of course, brings a healer to quiet us down.

Arthur Weasley produces 5 bottles of champagne and a dozen glasses from his top pocket, the Engorgio spell bringing them to full size. Drinks are passed all around, with toasts to James, then Ginny, and, finally, Harry. Refills are distributed to continue the celebration. Ron allows my request for a second drink but gives a quick shake of his head when I, again, approach George.

I think, 'What a bastard', but it hurts more that George obeys him.

Ron is watching me more closely, now. He has become an expert at surreptitious glances, but I know him too well. Any change is noticeable to me. I can see the chess master inside, calculating all possible moves I could make, along with his necessary response to each. He adjusts as fast as I come up with something new. Lately, I am reevaluating the worth I have placed on obtaining depth of understanding about everything. Ron is teaching me that a successful strategy does not require exhaustive knowledge.

I drift over to an empty chair by the small bed where James lies sleeping. I peer at the little face, marveling at how he already has Harry's nose but Ginny's chin. The group quiets a bit as they realize what I am doing. Their eyes are on me. I reach down and gently put my finger in his tiny hand. It instantly curls around my digit, shade of an arboreal past. I gasp and smile. Holding his hand, I allow my thoughts to wander to my last episode with Ron, eight nights ago.

As soon as we entered the house, Ron put up the Muffliato charm, to keep the neighbors from hearing. The Floo powder was already locked up and anti-Apparition wards in place in case I got his wand. He's very careful.

I am already upset. My outburst in front of his family is why he forced me from the Borrow to our house.

He asks me to sit and I refuse, which earns me a walk to the couch and a quick push downward. It's useless to resist it, so I don't, but my attitude shifts to fight mode as a result. He asks what kind of tea, because it's always tea. I say, "Darjeeling oolong tonight, I think." It doesn't matter much. Two sips in and it will be cold. I also realize that he'll probably be wearing it later. It's a dance, choreographed a bit differently each time, strenuous and forceful, always ending in injury.

The tea takes a little time to steep. As we wait, I become more adamant about what I want, and more intensely angry at him for controlling me. Finally the tea is ready and I sit, sipping it without speaking.

Ron talks first. His strategy doesn't allow simply sitting in silence. The instant he speaks, my hatred finds something to latch onto. He is the focus. He knows this and accepts it as his part of the dance. It allows him to lead. He tells me that I need to work harder on adjusting to the way things are now.

"I don't want to 'adjust'. I want to leave"

"Hermione, we can't move forward together unless you try at the hardest times as well as the easier ones. I don't know why I'm not good enough to keep you here. You can't leave; too many people would miss you. I can't live without you and I won't let you go."

"I can't move forward and don't want to. I don't care if you live or not! You're a monster."

"No, I'm not. You do care, when things are better. They are getting better. It's time to bring back the reasonable Hermione."

"Reasonable doesn't live here anymore. Not since…..you…can't….Oh please, Ron…take the spells off, give me my wand; let me go. You can't tether me here like a balloon in the wind. I'm broken, no good, not able to give you anything. I want the wind to take me."

"I will fight the wind to keep you, 'Mione. I will fight anything and I need you to keep fighting too. You already do fight. These hard times are happening less. Today was just a really bad event for you."

"Ronald, nothing is better; I don't want to fight it."

"Things are better. You will fight again. You're not broken or no good. You will love your new niece or nephew. You will love your children."

"You son of a bitch! I do love him!"

The warm tea flies into his face. The china cup smashes on the table. I snatch up a large shard, angling it at my wrist trying to hit the scar, but get stopped again by one of Ron's spells. I am incensed by this and leap at him, slicing wildly and drawing blood. For some reason, he never used a spell to keep me from hurting him.

"If I kill you, the spells will drop! I'll be able to do it finally!"

Ron blocks with his arms, purposely allowing me to inflict wounds for a bit. "I didn't put the spells on you, and you don't know who did. I have told you this. Kill me, if you must, but it won't help you."

Suddenly, I'm a wild cursing flailing banshee, lost in my own madness, furious at him, Harry, Ginny and all those damn Weasleys for allowing this imprisonment, this dark all-consuming pain, to continue. He grabs my arms tightly and wraps his legs around mine as we crash to the floor. The spells only prevent intentional self-harm. Ron holds me, taking hits from my elbows, hands, feet and head, all to keep me from severe damage. Eventually, all worn out from my cathartic rage, I break down into a weeping mass. He continues to hold me until I fall asleep.

I return to the present, looking down at baby James Potter. His little hand still clutches my finger. It's a blurry sight through the tears pouring down my face completely unchecked. I am transported to the scene of another baby, born at 23 weeks with red hair and a tinier hand grasping the end of my finger as he lay on my chest and his heartbeat wound down to silence. Joseph Daniel Weasley came into this world and left it on the same day almost three months ago. His little body lies under a marble stone in the Weasley graveyard close to Fred's. Between that day and this, I have tried to lie down beside him a number of times. Each time Ron has stepped up, keeping me here. This big family has backed him the whole way.

The room is quiet except for the occasional sniff. Many are crying….for me…for Joseph. Just the thought is ripping fissures into my façade. I stifle a sob and hear movement behind me. That would be Ron preparing his next move if I break down. I smile at his readiness to keep me safe, but the dark pain is rapidly closing in again. I keep the smile and look up at Harry and Ginny's tear streaked faces. They smile back.

"Ginny, you have a beautiful baby boy. Thank you for letting me be part of this."

"Of course" she says weepily, "You're our family!"

I look behind me at Ron as I feel the crumbling accelerate. "Ron, I believe we need to go home."

"Er, all right", he says, surprised that I am suggesting it. Taking my hand he stands me up and walks me out to the Floo exits.

Tonight, Ron will fight the wind and I will hate him for it.

Tonight, Ron will fight the wind and I will love him for it.

Reasonable doesn't live here, but hopefully it will move back in, someday.

I will wake up tomorrow, shower, leave the bruises untended and resolve once more to fight beside Ron, instead of against him. He is hurting too.

He is right, though; it is happening less often. I am healing.