A/N: Ha! Awkward timing, posting mega-angst on Valentine's Day! Well, wherever you are, I hope your day is going better than Ron's, in this story! :D
As aforementioned, this story will update every Tuesday. This is so that I can be on a regiment that works for my schedule and also allows me to stay two (or eight) steps ahead of this plot, so I won't leave you all hanging when I inevitably end up busy for a few weeks, unable to write. At the moment, I'm nearly ten parts deep into this thing, so my plan is going swimmingly!
Companion track:
The Joy Formidable, "Anemone" -
http : / / www . youtube . com / watch?v=ZGduOyDz2sI [remove spaces]
Chapter Two - Another Unfinished Story, Part One
3 weeks earlier...
They sat by the lake, Ron's faded jeans rolled up to the knees, his freckled feet dangling down into the cool water as the sun moved low in the sky, reflecting gold and orange off the surface of the water. His ruffled, shaggy hair blew furiously in a fresh breeze, tickling Harry's neck. He'd been buried against Harry for what could have been hours, head atop Harry's shoulder. And it seemed, only today, that Ron's overly tall form, a skeleton which had once seemed safe and protective in its towering height, had suddenly shifted to a different type of overgrown, like a neglected field of rough, country grass.
Harry's hand smoothed down the thin, cotton sleeve of Ron's white t-shirt, squeezing lightly as Ron's body tensed against Harry's side with his next shaky breath.
Harry felt the ghost of all of the tears he'd cried today, echoing out around him and making his head pound lightly, and Ron shuddered against him again. Harry wondered how it must feel for Ron, the weight of being physically unable to cry any longer, eyes finally dry but aching with a much more prominent reflection of all that had happened.
There was a small part of Harry that wanted to tell Ron that everything was going to be alright. But a much more nagging, insistent part of him was too doubtful that it really would be. And he remained silent, turning his head left to rest his chin gently on top of Ron's head. But as the wind around them settled, still and warm, Ron sniffed thickly and removed his left arm from his own torso, where it had been tightly wrapped inward, across his stomach... and he wiped his wrist across his cheeks, heaving as steady a breath as he could manage and knocking against Harry to signify his desire to move away.
Harry dropped his arm from around Ron's shoulders and sat up straight, allowing him room to do the same. But, as Ron pulled himself upright, his spine curved and he slouched forward, staring down into the glowing water of the lake.
"Still feels like I'm dreaming," he said quietly, swinging a foot gently through the water, rippling it without making a splash.
"I know," Harry said, because it had felt the same way to him, like if they only went to sleep, they'd wake up tomorrow and it would all be over. He was familiar with this feeling, as the end of the war had brought so much sadness and need for healing. And just as they'd done that, Ron had been tossed back into those depths from which he'd only recently emerged…
"Reckon we need to go inside?" Ron asked, blandly, and Harry couldn't tell what he wanted to do, and if going inside to face his family was going to be easier at this moment or better left for later, dragged out until the last possible moment...
"If you want," Harry said softly, looking sideways at Ron's pale profile. And anger boiled as he considered what she'd done, for the millionth time.
Harry had been too busy with his own life. Maybe he'd missed the signs. But they had seemed so perfectly happy! And Hermione... to say the things she did. It was aggressive and untrue... and bleeding uncalled for...
But that's when the anger turned to that sting of reality. She knew Ron too well. She knew he'd fight to fix things if she wasn't honest with him. So she'd been honest, at last. Brutally. But only after utterly betraying him, lying and deceiving him. And truthfully, Harry felt just as betrayed. He wanted her to suffer just a little bit for hurting Ron like this. Was that really so wrong?
Harry was startled by Ron's movement then, suddenly, as he'd been so very lost in his own thoughts, absorbed by replaying something that he could not change. It was his way, he supposed, to try and fix things with thoughts, which ultimately could never really fix this.
"Let's get it over with," Ron sighed, and he stood, reaching a bony hand back down to help Harry to his feet.
"Thanks," Harry rasped, and together, they turned to make the long walk back up towards the Burrow.
Nothing but the swishing sound of their trouser legs against each other and their shoes through the grass filled the open air, and the sky was growing darker by the moment. But at last, Ron broke the silence with a puffed out breath...
"I don't want to tell them how it happened, alright?" he said, still facing straight forward as Harry glanced left, to view Ron's profile again.
"Alright."
His mother was smiling. It wasn't a bad thing, he supposed. Only he didn't want to be the one to wipe that smile away. But as soon as she'd had a proper look at him, he didn't have to say a word.
"Ron, what is it? What's wrong?" and she bustled up to him, inspecting him for signs of damage.
"M'fine," he muttered, but he could feel Harry's eyes on him and he knew he might as well rip off the bandage. If he was here now to mope about, his mother had to have some idea what he was moping for, or else he'd be questioned every single day and drive her mental in the process. "I'm just... I..."
The words stuck in his throat. They made it too real. Much too real. Merlin, if he could only hold his breath and will them not to be true... But he had to face them, like he had to face waking up every morning now. Like he was going to have to face eating at the times when he was probably supposed to, to go on living...
"Hermione's split up with me," he breathed out, and his mother's eyebrows shot up as she gasped.
"No, she hasn't!"
"Yeah, she has," he countered, already needing to get away. "It's... not something I particularly fancy talking about... right now. But she has. And it's over."
"Ron!" she gasped again. "If this is some kind of a joke-"
"Why would I joke about this?" He didn't want to sound as angry as he did, but he was too vulnerable and unpredictable. "Mum, please," he continued. "I'm going up to bed. Please, just give me a while..."
"What's going on?" and Ron looked up, startled, as his father entered the kitchen, carrying an empty cup in one hand and an Evening Prophet in the other.
"Oh, Arthur! Ron's just told me Hermione's split up with him!" his mother cried, and Ron winced, hearing those aching words from her lips.
"Dad, I'm going up to bed," Ron said, begging his father with his own creased forehead and sparkling eyes.
"Yes, of course," his father said, at last, so quietly he might have been talking to a St. Mungo's patient.
But Ron could do nothing but nod and back out of the room, turning to head upstairs. He could feel Harry following him, and it was exactly what he needed, comfort in knowing he was not alone, but that he wouldn't be expected to say anything, or to feel anything he didn't think he was ready to feel. Whatever he would have to do to 'get over' this… well, right now, he couldn't see it. It was too far away, too theoretical.
When, finally, they'd reached Ron's bedroom, he stripped off his jeans and crawled into his bed, trying not to pick up on the smell of her skin, thickly interwoven with the threads of his blanket... He tried not to feel a shadow of that compression of her body on the bed next to his...
And at last, head pounding, he fell off into a light sleep, watched over by Harry, who Ron felt crawling up the bed to join him, sitting against the headboard, on top of Ron's blanket, his body providing a barrier between Ron's broken heart and the rest of the world outside that awaited him...
He should have known Ginny would dig into this further. Of course, she'd heard from her parents what had happened. And by the time Harry quietly slipped out of Ron's room at half midnight, Ginny was chewing her lip in the tiny sitting room across the hall from the loo, by lantern light.
"Harry!" she hissed, and Harry moved into the room quietly. "What's happened?"
Harry sighed out a deep breath and shook his head once. She stood, face to face with him, and he watched as she studied his eyes for some kind of sign.
"Mum said she didn't know why, but that Ron and Hermione had split up?" Her breasts heaved beneath her nightdress, and Harry was momentarily distracted... "Is that true? Please, Harry, tell me it isn't true!"
And Harry was back where he'd been before, almost too stunned to admit it.
"Yeah, it's true," he whispered, at last.
Ginny clamped her eyes shut and let out such a sad little sound. Harry took her hand as she opened her eyes again.
"Harry, tell me why. Tell me what happened!"
But he couldn't tell her. It wasn't his place to tell her.
"Ron should be the one to decide who to tell, and when. I'm sorry, Gin. He's really..." but there were no words, exactly, to describe what Ron was feeling right now.
"Do you want me to go and talk to Hermione? I've been thinking of it all night and-"
"No," Harry cut her off, firmly, and by the way his tone had shifted from sad and regretful to angry and solid, he was sure Ginny now had some idea of what had happened. At least, who had been at fault...
"Harry..." she began, slowly, "I know you can't tell me. I understand why you won't. And I respect that. You're too good to him. But... will you just tell me..."
Harry was afraid, before she even asked, that he would not be able to sustain this conversation for long, wherever it was leading. He found it difficult even to think her name, much less have to say it aloud to Ginny, right now...
"If she hadn't done anything wrong," Ginny continued, "you'd be with her, too. You'd be sorry for both of them. They're... like you're siblings or something. I know how close the three of you were."
Harry nodded, reminiscing off to places he probably shouldn't. He didn't want to dwell, to remember the past muddled up with the present. Because the past looked so much more beautiful now in comparison to what had transpired, what had brought them here at last. Some kind of ill-fitting culmination of years of perfect friendship... It was too devastating to risk thinking about for long...
"She's done something wrong, to hurt him, hasn't she," Ginny concluded, and Harry could do nothing but look sadly into her eyes, confirming the truth. "And you don't want me to see her?"
"No," Harry admitted, because he'd rather pretend she didn't exist, at the moment, to be honest.
Ginny nodded and said no more, and he thanked her silently for being so understanding, one of the things he'd always loved so much about her. Before long, they'd made their way to the couch and she'd drifted off to sleep, head resting on top of Harry's shoulder as he stared off into the distance, trying not to imagine what tomorrow would look like. Or the next day. Or the day after that...
Ron sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting here. Hours ago, his mother had brought a tray of breakfast up to him and said nothing. But the way she'd looked at him, like someone on their deathbed, with no possible way to recover... It was depressing. And somehow too true, in a way, to look directly at.
He'd eaten what little he could stomach, and was now stuck somewhere between a dream and a memory. They were merging now, in a colourful way that didn't quite make sense. He knew that, eventually, they'd separate again, and he'd see everything more clearly. But for now, he was content with this place, to feel comfort in what he'd had, so recently, and not to have to know, with that agonizing blow that lingered just out of reach, that it was gone forever.
"Ron?" Ginny said softly, and Ron looked up, having not even realised she'd been standing there, in his open doorway.
He nodded up at her and turned back to face the window again as she clearly took his dismissal to mean she could enter. She sat far away from him, on the edge of the bed.
"Mum said you didn't want to talk about it," Ginny began, slowly, and Ron didn't bother with a nod. She wasn't asking him. "But, Ron... I'm her friend."
Ron sucked in a sharp breath, unprepared for this direction.
"Listen, I just..." Ginny tried, "I want to know if I need to be hacked off with her, or if I need to send her nasty howlers or... something..." and Ron looked over to see her attempting a smile. He had to thank her, in some ways, for trying to make a joke. After all, he'd spent his life crafting ways to cheer people up by deflecting their sorrow through a well-timed bit of humour.
"It's okay, Gin," he said, lightly. He had no idea what was okay, exactly, only that it had seemed the proper thing to say at the time...
But he felt his sisters' eyes on him as he turned his own eyes back to the bright sun, streaking in through the glass across from him.
He supposed, in a way, it might be nice to tell her. Ginny'd always been a bit of a brat to him, but not when it had really counted. She was a good person, someone he could rely on and trust. And he needed all the honesty that he could get, at the moment...
"She's... found somebody else," he said, words slipping softly free.
He could feel the air shift as Ginny went from sad and curious to angry and offended.
"What?" she hissed. "That's not possible."
He licked his lips and closed his eyes briefly before rolling his shoulders to relax his tense back muscles.
"Of course it is, Ginny," he said, opening his eyes again and turning to look at his sister. "She's brilliant and-"
"No, not like that!" Ginny shouted. "She belongs with you! You've always..."
She fished for something more to say, lips parted as her eyes darted with alarm. She couldn't believe it, just like he hadn't been able to. Things had seemed perfect, hadn't they. Well, perhaps he'd been blinded. But he'd save that kind of thought for another day...
"Well, not anymore," he said, stiffening his muscles again as he watched his sister boggling at him.
"Just like that?" she shouted, and Ron knew she wasn't trying to upset him, but it was starting to grate on him, the way she was carrying on when he craved silence, for once in his life. "Why aren't you trying to get her back?" and he felt a rip through his chest that he could no longer ignore. She didn't understand... "I don't-" she began, but he cut her off.
"She was with him when we were still together!" He hadn't meant to shout so forcefully either, and he actually winced at his own volume.
Ginny breathed in shallow bursts, scanning his room, looking so very lost. After a moment, she stood, pacing the rug in front of Ron's bed as he watched her from his position still slouched over the edge...
"No," Ginny whispered. "No, that's... no. She wouldn't. Ever."
"Yeah, I know she wouldn't," Ron heard himself agreeing, because he had known it. As well as he'd known that the sun would rise and set again, or that History of Magic would be dull and boring... or that the Cannons would lose another game...
Ginny blinked down at him.
"Then... I'm not following..."
"She wouldn't," Ron breathed. "But she has. And that's the truth. There's nothing... we can do about it, is there."
Ginny shook her head, breathing out through her nose.
"You've missed something," she stated, firmly.
But he hadn't, had he. He knew that...
He shook his head back up at his sister, trying and failing, yet again, to swallow the lump building up in his throat...
"I even checked," he said, "to be sure it was really her... who was... cheating. I saw her clearly, when she was..." He paused as he choked on every option he could come up with for a word to end that sentence. It was useless, so he moved on... "But you never know... And after the war, we were really suspicious. We came up with a code word, just to be sure. Even Harry didn't know it. I asked her for it and she gave it to me."
He swallowed again, and tried to ignore the growing ache behind his eyes, signifying that though he thought he'd never be able to produce another tear after all he'd cried yesterday, he might just be on the verge again now...
"Wait. But why would she do that?" Ginny demanded. "Did she... want to get caught? Why would she tell you the word after she knew you'd already caught her... cheating?"
Right. Because he'd discovered just how good of a liar he could be, hadn't he...
"Because I asked for it before she knew I'd seen her," he admitted. "I... did a pretty good job of pretending not to know, until she'd said the word."
Ginny gawked at him, hands shaking lightly at her sides.
"There must be something else!" she shouted.
"There's nothing else, Ginny!" he shouted back, pleading with her to believe him. "I would know. It wasn't just about someone else. The things she said to me... she was through with me long before I ever caught her with... him."
And it was no longer any use trying to hold back his tears. Ginny melted down to sit next to him again as he ducked his head, squinting as his eyes burned furiously. He felt her trembling hand against his back, fingers fanning out. But though she was there with him, he felt completely alone, all of a sudden...
And he knew, as much as it hurt, that he had to get used to that feeling.
Twilight, be my torch
Burn a hole in these hungry eyes
Make the secrets easy
It's a luckless game and a loveless fortune
You burn away the white sun, gone
I've predicted this
Now the secret's on you
