A/N: How tempting it was to push this story forward and just have Hermione and Ron get stuck together…but that would be too easy, eh? Nope. Planning on drawing this out. Let me know of any moments you'd like to see or if there's some kind of massive hole in my plot. Thank you to the kind souls who took the time to encourage this story along! I'm having fun with it…I hope you're enjoying it too. xx
This should have been the best case scenario. Why did his heart feel like it was torn in two, lit on fire, and doused in acid?
Because she didn't choose him – again.
This fucking room with it's bloody marigold walls and cluttered desks made his skin crawl. It was as if nothing had changed.
Nothing had changed.
Gods, she was so damn pretty. Of course he had noticed her straightaway, walking in with her head hunched over as she dug through her bag, wearing the sort of skirt that even his wildest fantasies couldn't compete with. It was exhilarating to be this close to her, but also came with its own unique brand of pain. It was so different than following her home at a distance, keeping to the shadows and pretending that she was just someone he was being paid to keep safe. He now felt as though he was literally placing himself in front of an oncoming train.
When she recognized him, her jaw dropped. It was at that moment that he snapped his away abruptly, unsure of where to look or what to do with his hands or how to speak. Hatred for his boss and even Harry for being put in this outrageous situation flashed through him.
"Why did you ask me here just to make me feel like shite? Gods, Hermione, why can't you ever fucking make up your mind?" he had slurred, the vodka giving his voice a nasty edge. For the life of him he couldn't even remember what she said in response, but something possessed him to look her in the eye and retort that he hated her. That he hated her. The look of shock on her face was an image he'd never forget. As if he had slapped her. She was wearing a navy dress. Her hair was frazzled – she'd been pulling on it as they fought. Tear steaks down her face.
Now she looked flawless. All of her, really, from her shiny black heels to the lightly wavy hair framing her dumbfounded face. A small part of him wished he was bold enough to stare back, to make her feel as insecure as he felt encroaching into this space. Her space, as she had made perfectly clear on more than one occasion before they split. The damned department that gave her enough bloody work to cause her to lose herself completely, stripping her away from him from the moment she started and confuse her identity and use her up for every ounce of intellect and hard work she had to offer.
The morning after her mum died, Ron had woken up to find her side of the bed missing. Normally they would wake slowly, burrowing deep under the covers and teasing one another about whose turn it was to go put the kettle on. But that morning had been so starkly different, and marked the turning point of her escape from reality. He had planned on calling off work for at least a week just to be around with her, but she hadn't even bothered to tell him she was planning on jumping right back in to work. He had let it go at first, chalking it up to her needing a distraction from thinking about the loss of her mother. But it was only the beginning of a markedly different way of life for them both.
When he had heard someone else volunteer to help, he realized he was holding out one last shred of hope that she would choose him again. He knew her well enough to bet she still had a mammoth caseload and would have a hard time putting that aside to take on something urgent like this, but he still wondered if she might change her mind when she saw him.
But nope…the irritatingly priggish voice of the short boy in front of him was his answer. Ron took in his appearance – dark skinned, a bit pudgy, earnest expression written all over his face. He was shaking with a kind of excited energy, reminding Ron of a labrador retriever. Merlin's beard.
"Right then. Come on," Ron snapped, turning on his heel and beckoning him along. Getting out of that horrid office was his number one priority right now. Get away from her. She doesn't want you. Better without you, happier without you. You were a fool to think she would still want you back.
Hermione fought the urge to call out to him, choosing instead to quickly catch Harry before he could step foot outside the large oak doors to the corridor. He was a few paces behind the others and seemed to anticipate her approach. He stood nearly a foot above her, but had a defeated look in his eyes as he met her.
"Harry, please look out for him. Elliot is just an intern," Hermione said breathlessly. The young boy had reminded her a lot of Harry, actually. Denied the opportunity to complete his fifth year at Hogwarts as both his parents were muggles (immigrants from Ghana), the young boy had proved himself a powerful wizard despite the assumption that his blood status disqualified him to be there. When he was finally admitted back after McGonagall became Headmistress, Elliot was already two years behind on his studies. Hermione remembered seeing the Hufflepuff hurry through the halls, bag brimming with books as he rushed to class looking a bit disheveled.
"Ron won't let anything happen to him," Harry whispered, a bit overwhelmed that he was finally uttering his best mate's name aloud in front of her after over a year and a half of averting the very mention of Ron's existence. "He's a better auror than anyone in our unit. This is some sort of bizarre challenge to see if he can handle taking lead on a crisis. If he succeeds, he'll have first pick of any future post in our department."
"And if he doesn't?"
Instead of answering, Harry breathed deeply through his nose and shrugged his shoulders, allowing the disappointment to finally show on his face.
"Finally thought this might get you two talking again. He misses you, Hermione."
Stop this at once. Survival mode. Hermione couldn't keep standing there listening to this nonsense. It was crumbling the resolve she needed to get through each day without the impractical fantasy that he would come back and act like everything was forgiven. If he really missed her, wouldn't he have interacted with her once in the past seventeen months? Pop into the restaurant when she dined with Harry and Ginny at the same place every single week? Send her a bloody owl at the very least? No, he did not miss her. The hope of that being any different hurt too much.
The lump in her throat was swelling to the point of pain as she brushed past Harry, sniffing back tears as she fought to maintain composure. The raven-haired wizard stood there alone, devastatingly caught between two people who carried so much weighty history that he couldn't make up his mind which one to follow after.
"Er…are you sure it's alright to do this now? It's only like, half past nine…" the boy whined apprehensively, eyes darting around the dark pub. He had diligently followed the redheaded auror, honored to be joining him on a quest to slay a beast that was terrorizing innocent muggles. He thought of his mum, likely watching the telly at home as she sipped her second morning cup of coffee. She would wring his neck if she caught her son sharing a pint in an empty pub while on the clock.
Ron's answer came in the form of a deep swig. The kid in front of him was only a few years his junior, but had all the trappings of a Hufflepuff eager to perform well. He had already remarked twice that they had better get started on strategizing the best way to capture the lethifold, whispering the word despite quite literally no one being around to eavesdrop. Ron wondered what the fuck he had done to let him tag along.
"Listen, Eli," Ron began before pausing, taking note of how the kid squirmed in his chair and clutched his drink with both hands.
"It's actually Elliot, sir."
Ron nearly spit out his drink. Sir?! They were at Hogwarts at the same time! Had he really aged so much as to lead eighteen year olds to call him sir?
"Elliot. First things first – you need to chill the fuck out," Ron began, taking a long sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Secondly, lethifolds only attack at nighttime. We've got time to figure out a plan. Just enjoy your drink, kid."
The boy's cheeks darkened, clearly not expecting the coarse language coming from someone in such an esteemed place of authority in the ministry. His mouth twitched, clearly unsure of what to respond with.
They sat in silence for a few moments as Ron ordered a second round, having to rouse the sleepy witch from the back room. He was still reeling from the encounter in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. From seeing her up close, nearly close enough to count the barely-there freckles on the bridge of her nose. Of course, he didn't need to count them. He had kissed them countless times before, admired them for years. He remembered how she'd scrunch her nose at him in Potions when he and Harry royally miscalculated, or in feigned irritation at his dirty laundry left round their flat, causing the freckles to wave in indignation on her pert nose. It was adorable.
The creeping buzz began to calm him down. He hoped it was doing the same for the nervous lad seated across from him. It was going to be a long night if he remained as tense as he was now. Ron wondered if he knew how to cast a patronus charm. If not, it was going it be an even longer night. He seemed bright enough, but with the complete dumpster fire that Defense Against the Dark Arts had been, he wouldn't have been surprised had he not learned. He downed the last bit of amber liquid from his class before making up his mind as to their next course of action.
"You hungry, Elliot?"
"Blimey, thought you'd never ask!" The rotund boy beamed at him, causing Ron to laugh heartily.
"Then I've got just the place."
An hour later, Elliot was helping Molly clear the dishes off the table as Ron sat back in his chair contentedly. Of course his mum was thrilled to whip up a lunch for her youngest son and his guest – with no children at home anymore, she was delighted to receive her hungry guests, even if they dropped in without warning.
"Now, dears, if you give me some time I'll be able to throw together a pudding – "
"S'alright, Mum. We've got some training to do," Ron interrupted, deciding that the longer he put it off the less time he had to work with Elliot. "Come on, you. Real work begins now." With a quick kiss on the cheek and promise to visit over the weekend, Ron itold Elliot their next task awaited them in the basement of the ministry.
"Oh, will we strategize for the lethifold once we're –"
"The what? What did he just say, Ronald Wealsey?!" bellowed Molly, bounding towards her son.
"Thanks again, Mum! See you Sunday!" With a crack both boys disapparated, leaving his bewildered mother standing alone in the Burrow's kitchen once again.
"Miss. Granger, your point has been clearly made, but your argument is based off the misguided assumption that we can't simply breed them in mass if reintroduced to the sport. I assure you, if we were able to get a few factories set up solely dedicated to –"
"This is not an issue of endangerment, Mr. Malchony! This is about the brutal treatment of a living creature for amusement!" Hermione couldn't believe they were still talking in circles about this an hour after opening statements for what should be an open-and-shut case. She knew the tactic of frustrating ministry officials until they simply gave up was regularly used to dismiss these sorts of disputes, but she would never succumb to such methods.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione triumphantly exited the courtroom with another notch on her record of successful cases. While it meant protection for the bird in theory, she anticipated she'd need to keep her eye out for those who disregarded the decision upheld by the ministry and choose to torment Golden Snidgets regardless. Perhaps a public service advert could go out if she networked with the right people.
As she rounded the corner to head back upstairs, she collided into something very solid, knocking the breath out of her. Strong arms flew around her waist, keeping her from slipping to the floor. Her ankle had rolled, causing her to grip the steady forearm as she straightened up.
Merlin. She thought lightning couldn't strike twice.
When he realized it was her, he didn't know what to do. All coherent thought evaporated from his mind and he was left standing like an idiot, his arms still outstretched to prevent her from crashing to the ground. The reaction was automatic, involuntary. She gasped, letting go of his arms to step back on one leg and turning her other ankle in a circle.
He snapped to attention. Was she hurt? Those damn heels were like bloody deathtraps. While she normally walked quite gracefully, Ron remembered how much she relished the end of the day when she could kick those bloody shoes off and enjoy a few hours of freedom. She sniffed and muttered something unintelligible, but he was too distracted to react. His eyes quickly scanned her body – eyes downcast, face flushed, both hands shaking as she gripped her bag. Her weight had shifted to her right leg and he thought he saw her grimace.
"Good afternoon, Miss. Granger! We're going to go practice casting patronus charms on the dementors. For, well…tonight," Elliot piped from behind Ron, excitement exuding from his voice.
Hermione started to lose balance and Ron's arms shot out again, steadying her as she hobbled to the nearest wall. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her left ankle was poised an inch above the ground, clearly dislocated.
"That's – that's great, Elliot," Hermione paused to wince, rolling her ankle again in a concerted effort to work off the pain.
"Can we help you upstairs? Looks like you might have hurt your foot," the boy remarked, bending down to examine his colleague's quickly swelling appendage. Ron willed him not to touch it, sensing the stubborn witch's embarrassment. He felt it radiating off her, saw the redness in her face and the determined way she was attempting to inch forward on one foot.
"I'm fine. It's nothing," Hermione gritted, boldly stepping forward in an attempt to prove she didn't need assistance. A horrid instinctive cry of pain emitted from the girl, and Ron couldn't help but move forward and prevent her from falling a third time. He surprisingly found himself holding her up like a small child, allowing her legs to drape over his left arm.
She made a surprised sound in her throat and threw her left hand to grip his shoulder, clutching him impulsively. Ron could tell her entire body was tense, but at least she wasn't sliding all over the floor. He wasn't going to watch her injure herself more by doggedly edging against the wall to get help.
Ron couldn't believe his first thought was how bloody good she smelled. That scent nearly knocked him sideways, tail spinning him through an avalanche of memories.
Merlin, he missed her.
"Hang on. We'll bring you to the clinic," Ron muttered softly, not wanting to risk harming her further with apparation. He knew the first floor usually had a mediwitch on duty.
She sniffed and gripped him a fraction tighter, handing her bag to the boy walking alongside them. Elliot seized it proudly, considering this ministry-official business. "Out of the way, folks," he announced much to Ron's chagrin, clearing the lift for the trio to enter.
They otherwise moved in silence, with Ron staring straight ahead and doing his best to not jostle the woman in his arms. His right arm was supporting her upper back and his left under her knees. Where his hand made contact with her skin was pure overstimulation, causing his entire body to heat up. She was effortless to carry, but being this proximate was so incredibly overwhelming that he had to remind himself to breathe.
He glanced to his left, trying to assess the damage done to her ankle. The stupid black shoe that had caused her to roll her ankle seemed to mock him as they ventured further through the busy lobby of the Ministry of Magic. An angry pinkish-purple knot was growing steadily. Instinctively Ron held her closer, trying his best not to bump her leg into any passing witches or wizards. He heard Hermione clear her throat lightly – in pain or surprise, he couldn't tell.
At last they made it to the mediwitch's corner, complete with one kiosk and two plastic chairs. Ron delicately lowered her to one, simultaneously reaching around to pull another chair in front to prop her leg upon.
As Hermione explained through gritted teeth where the pain was located, it suddenly dawned on Ron that he missed holding her. His fingers longed to feel her again, to grip her hand as the healer removed her shoe and began prodding the offensive injury.
"Not to be insensitive, but shouldn't we get going? It's nearly two," Elliot murmured, discreetly placing the witch's bag in the seat next to her and edging away.
Ron didn't answer him. His attention was raptly focused on the girl below him, who was gripping her knee and wincing again as a series of spells were administered to the knot on her ankle. He saw her nod to each question, biting her lip reflexively, and he couldn't help but recall the irresistibly sexy way she used to similarly bite her bottom lip when he would run his hands over her, encasing her in a hug from behind. Or when he'd pull his shirt up over his head before sliding into bed, enjoying the reaction it provoked.
"Should be right as rain. Stick to flat shoes for a few days and give it some rest," the cheery witch said while helping Hermione to her feet. "Thank goodness you had this handsome lad to rescue you," she winked at Ron, causing both him and Hermione to blush furiously.
"Well," the brunette began, avoiding eye contact again with Ron. "I should be getting back to work now – I'll just head home for different shoes first. Thank you," she paused, looking from Elliot to meet Ron's gaze. "I'm…well, I'm glad you were there."
He swallowed thickly, torn between wanting to escape the tension he felt being so near to her and also fighting the addicting effect her presense had on him. Without thinking, he blurted out something that could have given away what he prayed she never discovered.
"Don't walk home. Apparate or floo." Ron wanted to swallow the words as soon as they left this mouth, but there was no taking them back. Hermione shot him a curious look before curtly walking away, a slight limp now evident in her stride.
A/N: I was going to wait in having these two interact but couldn't help myself. I'm craving some Romione!
I've got a busy week ahead going back to work and getting some life stuff figured out. If you want more of this story, please let me know! Would love your thoughts, dear readers.
