Chapter 4
I sipped my tea as I dabbed at my hands with a rag. I hadn't even noticed that something in my bag must have caught me until I noticed the drops of blood on my coat. Bill and Ron had gone for a walk on the beach, it seems he didn't want to look at me at the moment, and I can't blame him really. I have no right to take this out on him. He gave me a choice; I chose, and that's the end of the story. If Ron didn't want to be on the hunt, then that was his choice. I keep forgetting that, in a time like this, choices are all that we have left. They are what make us really, they are what separates good from evil.
I watched as small figures walked together at the far side of the beach, seemingly in deep conversation. Bill and Fleur, well shocked wouldn't even describe how they reacted when we arrived at their door, dripping wet, covered in sand and looking worse for wear. Fleur gasped, rambling in French as she widened the door and summoned some towels for us, lighting the fire and fussing just like Mrs. Weasley as Bill and Ron shared looks that was obvious they were communicating without having to actually speak. I do wonder often, what it's like to have a sibling. Someone who not only shared your mothers womb, but who also shared DNA, childhood memories and common interests. I suspect it's like how Harry and I communicate, only with a much deeper bond. I only have to look at Harry or Ron sometimes, and I can tell right away if they're worried, or if they're in a bad mood. Of course with Ron, things are complicated. Much more complicated.
Fleur asked if I'd like another cup of tea, and I thanked her, accepting her offer. It had been a while since I'd had tea with sugar in it, proper tea, with clean water and fresh milk. I heard the kettle whistle and guilt ate its way through me once again. Harry would probably be drinking tea right now, but without the luxuries that came with a cottage by the sea. She brought it over a few minutes later, looking strangely motherly, a concerning look never leaving her features, her eyes showing clear stress and worry. The last time someone looked at me like that, it was my own mother. I remember her walking into my room, I remember smelling her perfume as she sat next to me on my bed. It was just before I replaced their memories. She said I'd been in my room a lot since we got back, and she asked how things were with Ron. I remember blushing, my eyes flickering over to the dresser in which letters stood, all from him. I wondered if he kept any of mine, that I sent him. I suppose one day I'll have to ask. My lip wobbled as I thought of my mother, and I pushed it aside. Now was not the time. My eyes flicked back to the window.
I wondered what Bill and Ron would be talking about. I caught the concerned look that Bill gave to Ron, nodding towards me as they left the room. Ron just shook his head and continued walking, as though I wasn't even there. Ron can be like that sometimes though, he ignores the problem and hopes it goes away. He's out there with Bill right now, walking away his troubles, scared to come back here and face me, face the wet clothes that hung by the fire and the soggy boots by the front porch because they only reminded him of what's happened. Whereas I had to look at my hands, and the corner of my coat, and the memory of the goodbye with Harry that Ron didn't even have to experience. There have been many times I've had to say goodbye to Harry, at the end of the year it would be a "See you soon", or "Don't forget to write", but never would I have walked away voluntarily, especially when he needed me the most. What had changed in me? Had loving Ron made me so receptive to change? Of course, I knew the answer to that. No. I have my own mind, and of course loving Ron changes the way I think about things, I mean how could it not? When ever there's danger, in fact even when there's not, he's always there, at the back of my mind, sometimes at the front. I could be doing a charms essay, or baking a cake, and somehow I can lead every single thing in my life back to him. Which scares me a lot. Charms essay...Ron hates charms. Cake...Ron loves cake. The beach, with the waves crashing against the banks...we had a conversation once about how we'd all go on holiday when all this was over, and Ron mentioned how he loves the beach, in fact he brought up the happy memories he'd had as a child at this very cottage.
But that was before. Before the war, before the death and the chaos, and I suppose the human body can only take so much before it has to shut down. Maybe this was my way of shutting down. I had always had curves, I'd noticed Ron stealing glances at them once of twice before, but I'm a ghost of the girl I once was. My clothes hung off me, my hair matted and straw-like. My cheek bones pale and sunken. Not that that's any excuse. I could clench my teeth through the hunger, I could wear more clothes to keep warm. There was always a way of getting around it. But when Ron said he was leaving, there was no alternative option. I had to go, I had to leave with him because – because! He is Ron, my Ron. I'd already lost Mum and Dad, who knew if I would ever see them again? I couldn't take the chance of letting Ron wonder into the night, with no way of knowing if he was going to be alright or where he was going to go. My heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. It was like there was a magnetism between us, we were polar opposites, and yet I'm drawn to him, like no words can describe. If there is anything worth looking forward to at the end of this war then it would have to be him. Finding my parents, and telling Ron how I feel. Because keeping it a secret isn't doing much good either.
I heard voices and soon footsteps across the porch and then they entered the room. Ron took off Bill's coat, handing it to him and I watched as his eyes searched the room, looking for me. As soon as his eyes found mine, I felt myself relax in the warmth that was there. He looked a bit better, a bit more flushed in the cheeks. He walked forwards, taking the chair opposite me, and looked out of the window. We said nothing for a few minutes, watching a seagull fly in circles on the beach, diving to catch its prey, but alas, the tide went out and it was not a success.
"I'm really sorry" I found myself whispering. I hadn't even known that the words left my lips until he looked at me, his eyes searching mine for an explanation.
"What for. It's not your fault Hermione- wha- what the hell happened to your hand?" he had reached across for my hand, and there on the palm of my right hand was a gash, not deep enough to be serious, but deep enough to have drawn blood. "When -?"
"Something in my bag must have caught it, I threw things in not thinking. Something's broken, a pot of ink maybe"
"Why didn't you show me- here let me" he reached across for the rag, but I placed my hands on top of his and pushed them away.
"You need to listen to me first. My hands fine, I've had some Dittany on it, it looks worse than it is".
He pulled his hands back, looking rejected, and I instantly regretted my actions. I smiled at him, and continued;
"I'm sorry, for the shouting, the pushing, the-" I felt myself flush at my earlier actions, regretting the nature n which I treated Ron "- behavior that I earlier addressed you with. None of this is your fault. Neither is it mine, nor Harry's but I think this has been coming for a while. There is only so much you can handle when under such pressure and confinement, and I think that we all needed a way out. It was just a shame that it happened like this".
He looked at me for a moment, taking in what I had said. "I'm sorry I made you choose. I should never have done that, there's no excuse Hermione I-"
"I would have always chosen you no matter what. I thought we covered this earlier".
"No, that's not my point. It doesn't matter who you choose, I should never have made you. You shouldn't have to choose, don't you see? If you chose Harry, well then that's something I would have had to accept"
"In an alternate reality somewhere, I would have chose Harry, and the only reason for that would have been because I felt I owed it to Harry, as his friend, to continue hunting for the Horcruxes with him"
"And now?"
"Now we will have to come up with a plan B is all" I nudged the rag towards him and he picked it up, and began dabbing at my hand gently. I tried not to allow my heart to race at a time like this, but I couldn't help it. His fingers touching my skin, so delicately, like he was afraid I would break.
"Plan B" he echoed. We heard footsteps behind us, and both of us blushing, I withdrew my hand and we tried to put as much distance between us as possible. Fleur coughed, and we turned towards her, Bill stood by her side.
"How is your hand Hermione?" Bill asked kindly.
"Better, thank you". He looked pleased at this news, and nodded.
"Tomorrow, we are going to discuss what is going to be done next, but for now we need to rest". It seemed the days and nights had blended into one over the past months, it seemed surreal to go to sleep just because it was dark. Right about now I would just be finishing watch, and it would be Ron's turn. I would never sleep though, I would close my eyes but I would be on edge for hours, jumping at any small noise, certain that he was in danger, that he was going to be hurt. I nodded at Fleur.
"We both have clothes you can borrow, and you can both take the rooms on the top floor, there are already beds made" Fleur said. Ron nodded, thanking Fleur and went to step forward. My mind rushed at the thought of Ron across the hall from me, alone in an empty room.
"Okay?" Bill raised his eyebrows, placing his hand on Ron's shoulder. I watched it there for a second, slightly jealous of the human contact. It had been a while since a simple hug was initiated between myself and anyone else. I didn't see Ron's expression as I followed him up the three flights of stairs, something you wouldn't believe the cottage had from the outside, but I'm sure his expression would have been similar to mine, exhausted, drained, sad, yet guilty relief. We finally reached the top floor, and the doors facing each other, even thought they were only a few metres apart, seemed miles. I turned towards the right, and Ron towards the left. I felt myself being pulled again, like a magnet, towards him, and I turned, but he was already there, with his arms open.
There is only one way I can describe when I am in Ronald Weasley's arms, and that's home. I have said it before, and I will say it many times again, but I only ever feel safe, and complete when I am here, his heart beating against mine through the layers that separated us. And then I turned and bade him goodnight, shutting the door, putting on the fresh bed clothes that were placed at the bottom of my bed and sighing. I'm sorry I left his arms, I wish I was back there, but I was afraid that if I didn't pull away from his arms at that moment, I never would.
xoxoxo
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