A/n: Thank you all for the love you send my way with your reviews. I know it has been a very long time since I updated this or any of my stories. If you aren't following me on Tumblr or missed my post, I am stuck big time with some high priority RL issues. As such writing time, and more importantly, the motivation is scarce. Thanks a tonne to one of my rl friends and amazing Beta, Callieskye for editing this chapter that was sitting in my drive. I really needed the positivity that updating a fic provides. I sincerely hope you love this chapter. It was always one of my favourites and now with the changes, it's way more so.

Chapter 10: Make-Believe and its Repercussions

With only two days remaining before the wedding, the Burrow was at its chaotic best. It was noisy and bursting at the seams; the entire Weasley family busy with preparations. If it wasn't enough that Ginny was the first daughter in the family, the wedding itself was also a long time coming. Both the bride and groom's celebrity status made it an extra task to keep the frantic paparazzi at bay. Auror level protection had to be set up by Ron and Harry on Thursday morning after a few reporters were caught hiding in the orchard.

Hermione, after the first night of overwhelming emotions, had managed to pull herself together. Despite the whirlwind life had suddenly thrown her way, she was determined to stay strong and survive. She was not ready to give up her safe haven to anyone, not even Ron. And, provided she could turn a blind eye to his presence(and the turmoil within), this could be the best time she had had in a long time. She was adamant about soaking in all the happiness life was bestowing on her for a change.

She approached the kitchen earlier the next morning, eager to make up for the time she had stayed away. As expected, Molly was ready with an enormous scroll outlining all the tasks that still remained to be done. Rooms had to be made guest ready, large batches of food had to be cooked, every inch of the house had to be made spotless, and the garden had to be prepped before the Magical Marquee Makers arrived.

With the fifth batch of cauldron cakes in the oven, and the rest stored safely out of reach of the children, Hermione wiped her hands on the towel, feeling more relaxed than she had in years. Molly was prepping the third batch of chicken with Angelina.

"Hermione dear, if you are done with those cakes, would you mind taking out the china?"

"Sure, Molly! Top shelf, left. Right?"

"Yes," smiled Molly, as Hermione manoeuvred her way.

She had perhaps forgotten how stuffed the pantry was, or never really appreciated how much food Molly needed to feed the huge family, but what she had initially assumed to be an easy task aided by magic, was anything but. Not only was the box heavy, but her task was made infinitely more tricky due to the presence of the large crates of grocery items on the floor. With her wand supporting the enormous box, she made her way out, eager to place it on the table in one piece.

And then the unthinkable happened.

A two-foot tall hurricane burst into the kitchen, running like a Fanged Frisbee and followed by a shrieking Fleur. Instinctively Hermione raised her wand higher to levitate the box out of range of the impending barrage. However, scared by the combined yells of the other ladies in the kitchen, the child took an unexpected turn, crashing straight into Hermione. The spell broke and gravity took over the crate of chinaware. Hermione shrieked, closed her eyes tightly and crossed her arms in front of her face. However, the hit she was expecting never came; instead, there were loud sighs of relief and a cacophony of voices that didn't seem to make sense. She opened her eyes and was pulled to her feet by Audrey. It was only then that she noticed Ron carefully levitating the crate to the table while holding a beaming blond toddler in his free arm.

"Oh my goodness! Are you alright, my darling?" exclaimed Molly, hurrying over to her, and Hermione managed a weak smile.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, dusting off the back of her jeans. Ron, she noticed, was making silly faces with his niece, keeping her away from her furious mother.

"Thees girl she never listens!" exclaimed a highly flustered Fleur as she rushed ahead too. "I am so sorry, "Ermione! Thank goodness Ron arrived just in time!"

As the women all went back to their tasks, still talking about the stroke of luck, Hermione's eyes sought out her saviour. But Ron was already on his way out, still carrying the giggly tot in his arms.

…

In hindsight, the incident from the morning should have told Hermione it was not going to be her day. Hours later, she found herself in close quarters with Ron once again. This occasion, however, was most likely premeditated by the Weasley matriarch herself. She could think of no other reason why she would be sent to change the sheets in all the bedrooms while Ron was already in there cleaning.

Had she known, she would have been more prepared, or not entered his room at all. But by the time she noticed the tall figure at the window with his back towards her, she had already made a loud entrance. Suddenly she found herself alone with him as the door closed shut behind her. As if it wasn't enough of a punch in the gut to be in this room, his room- he turned around. Perhaps he was too startled by her presence or she had caught him at the wrong moment, but his mask of indifference was not up yet. His smile, which now on closer inspection, did appear extremely forced, died a slow death. For seconds which seemed to stretch on for years, they stood rooted to spot before he nodded towards the sheets in her arms.

"Your Mum asked me to change these," she replied by way of an explanation, although he didn't ask for any. "I'll just leave them here," she added, dropped a couple of them on his bed and turned away, eager to leave the room before the place brought back more memories than she could handle.

Things were spiralling out. At the door, she paused briefly, contemplating if she was supposed to thank him for saving her from the falling crate this morning. But even facing the other way, Ron's familiar old room was triggering a lot of emotions that she had no hopes of being able to handle without a breakdown. This was the room, the very same bed where she had- where they had-

She nipped that thought in the bud. Feeling his eyes linger on her, she pulled the door open and left without a word. Ron didn't stop her.

…..

Ron watched her leave, standing silently in the background and battling the shadows of their shared past. For the few brief moments she was in his room, life seemed to have come full circle. With a pang in his chest, he realised that he was still holding on to a feeble, impossible hope. But she had walked out this time- and just as he once had, closed the door behind her, leaving him alone to grapple with the echoes of their happier times.

He glanced at the sheets she had left on the bed, and thoughts that were forbidden emerged from deep within. Did she remember those nights too, he wondered. It had been years and yet, the memories were painfully vivid. He remembered every touch, every moan, every single whimper...

"Stop," he pleaded aloud into the empty space, and shut his eyes firmly, grabbing the windowsill till his knuckles turned white. Her image, however, was imprinted in the shadows behind his eyelids. He could almost hear her laughter, could see her rolling her eyes and huffing in annoyance. Perhaps memories of her were embedded in every brick of this room. He opened his eyes, breathing in gasps, and contemplated if Disapparating away for a few hours would hurt anyone as much as staying was hurting him.

The door opened before he had come to a decision.

"Ron?"

"Harry," he replied without turning around. The floorboard creaked behind him and the door was shut before Harry came forward to stand next to him.

Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, and sighed. "I'm sorry, mate," he said softly.

"Why?" Ron asked, trying hard to sound normal. He even attempted a smile though he knew Harry wouldn't buy it. Hopefully, his mask of control was back on.

"Shouldn't have made such a fuss about the wedding. I know how hard it must be for you to be here," Harry said as he looked out over the open grounds.

Ron let out a dry chuckle and clapped Harry on his shoulder. "As if Mum would allow that, mate. And, honestly, I'd hate if you did that. You've waited too long for this. I want you guys to be happy."

"D'you really think a big wedding can make up for seeing my best friends miserable?" Harry asked.

Ron looked away quickly. "I'm sorry, mate, but I'm trying," he replied. Harry let out a frustrated groan.

"Really, you prat?!" he fumed, "I don't expect you to act happy for our sake, Ron and I don't want you to stay away! I want you guys to be actually happy!"

"I can't do much about that, now can I?"

"Yes, you can, Ron. Talk to her! Tell her what happened! Sort it out!"

Ron dragged his hands through his hair, sighing quietly to himself. "Y'know I can't do that."

"Why? Because you are a bloody masochist?" fumed Harry.

"No, 'cause I've hurt her enough for a lifetime, already!" he snapped back, exhaled heavily and softened his tone. "I forced my decision on her once, Harry. I won't put her in that situation ever again."

"I'm not telling you to force anything on her, Ron. All I am saying is- tell her the truth. And then, let her decide."

"You aren't getting me, mate. She doesn't want to hear me out, and I won't force her to."

Harry grumbled under his breath, words Ron couldn't decipher, but he thought he heard a 'wanker' and smiled fondly.

"You're getting married. Stop thinking about us. Enjoy yourself."

Harry walked away to slump on the bed. He ran his fingers through his ever unruly hair, catching the sight of the freshly laundered sheets Hermione had left behind.

"I saw her carrying these earlier. Was she here too?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Ron replied and turned away to gaze out the window again.

"Heard about the accident in the kitchen. Did she say something?" he asked hopefully.

"Glad she didn't," he replied. Did Hermione realise that he'd been unintentionally looking out for her? He hoped not. He wasn't really supposed to, but on the other hand, he shuddered to think what'd have happened if he'd been a minute too late. "We never used to thank each other for watching our backs, did we? I don't want her to start now."

He heard Harry let out a tired sigh; Ron was exhausted too.

"I always reckoned you guys were made for each other. What happened, Ron?" he asked sadly.

"I messed it up," he muttered.

…..

The length of Molly's intimidating to-do list had convinced Hermione that they would all be busy until the very last minute before the wedding. Having so many people in the house was a hidden blessing though; there was never a dearth of helping hands, and by late afternoon the next day, to the relief of all, most of the work was wrapped up. Post a delicious meal and a lot of laughter (which she, surprisingly, found herself a part of), the family began to disperse. She had decided to focus on the celebrations and ignore Ron completely and was happy to be able to stick to the plan. It kept her sane and happy.

Hermione was busy with the dishes when she heard Ron and Harry say their goodbyes. Harry still had a packed schedule, needing to wrap up his official duties before taking off for the wedding and honeymoon. Ron, she assumed, was at the Burrow only on his mother's insistence. If she was not mistaken, he had not yet resumed his Auror duties, but that didn't stop him from leaving the house under some pretext or the other.

With the Weasley matriarch having retired to her room for some much-deserved rest, Hermione and Ginny cleaned up the kitchen before trudging up to their own bedroom. Ginny was the first to crash on the bed.

"I can't wait for Kreacher to take over the housework!" she exclaimed, words muffled by the pillow as she flopped onto her stomach.

"Now you know how hard they work," Hermione replied, sitting down on hers, removing her shoes and pushing them aside.

"I don't care, Hermione," Ginny replied in an exhausted voice. "Mum should never be allowed to plan weddings."

"You know that will never happen. She's too good." she grinned, as she leaned back and let out a relieved sigh as her sore back muscles hit the mattress.

"Good? Hah! She works us like elves! You guys better elope," muttered Ginny, her voice now heavily laced with sleep. A searing pain shot through her heart.

"Ginny, I- " she began uncomfortably, and turned to face her friend, but the bride-to-be had already dozed off.

She had hoped for a lie-down, but with the complication of the situation brought to the fore by one simple sentence by her friend, she only managed to twist and turn uncomfortably for a while before she gave up all hope. Hoping a warm bath could help soothe her anxiety, she picked herself up and pulled out her bag from under the bed.

Ron was trying hard to appear normal, she thought, as she collected a fresh dress and her toiletries from the bag. He spoke little at the mealtimes- not that Hermione was observing discreetly- it was just obvious that she barely heard his voice, which she could still make out distinctly no matter how loud the Weasley dining table got. She dropped her wand on the bed and picked up the bottle of shampoo, wondering to herself if she had enough energy to wash and then untangle her hair.

A part of her was disappointed that most of the work was finished. It was easier to keep those painful memories away while she was busy following one of Molly's recipes or wrapping the gifts. However, the dreamy silent afternoon along with the familiar creaking of the old staircase brought along the memories she had so far managed to hold at bay. She wandered up the staircase slowly, pushed open the bathroom door and absentmindedly dropped the bottles near the tub.

Her hair was a mess, all frizzed up from the humidity of the kitchen. She had to wash it. Her fingers undid the braids while her thoughts strayed back to the one person she was trying very hard not think about. Had everyone noticed that Ron and she were barely talking? Perhaps not. George was only musing the other night that Ron had changed a lot since his return. She had to agree. He had always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Love, hate, pain, jealousy- every emotion written clearly on his face. Now it was as if there was a mask over it all the time- a blank slate that made it so hard to decipher what he was thinking. What had changed, she wondered before chuckling bitterly to herself. Everything had- their life, their feelings, their dreams- even they themselves. She stripped down absentmindedly and dropped her dirty laundry down the shoot. Finally, she lowered herself into the warm water, sighing with pleasure.

She could fall asleep here, but deciding she ought to wash her hair first, she took up the daunting task. Hours later (or perhaps days), with her curls feeling sparklingly clean and arms aching, she rested her back against the bath again.

Two more days, and then she could return to her flat and her normal, familiar life. Lonely perhaps, but she was used to that by now. Her job and her life would keep her busy and Ron would be busy with his. Would they ever come face to face again? And what would happen once the family came to know the truth? Something told her Molly and Ginny would not take the news well. How would life be after that disclosure? And, Ron? Would he move on? Could she?

It was that last thought pulled her out of her reverie. Annoyed and furious at herself she pulled herself out of the bath; she was not supposed to be thinking about Ron!

She grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped it around her body only then realising that whoever was supposed to restock the shelf with extra towels had forgotten to do so. With her wet hair dripping onto her shoulder she drained the tub and looked around for the rest of her items- only, there was nothing.

"Merlin's pants!" she groaned aloud. She had forgotten her clothes and even her wand back in the room!

…

Ron was tired of sitting on the couch in his parents' living room waiting for Harry to get back. He looked at his watch as he rolled his wand between his fingers.

"Bloody hell," he murmured and leaned back; it had been half an hour already. The old couch creaked under his weight as he grumbled and pushed himself off. "How much longer, mate," he said to himself and decided he could at least fetch himself a cup of tea. What he really wanted was a firewhiskey, but tea would have to do. If he and Harry were not planning to meet the boys later, he'd have left alone. In fact, all he wanted to do was get away from the crowd, but his best mate had taken it upon himself to not let Ron brood in solitude. Wanker.

Harry wasn't back even after he had finished his tea. How long could that bloke take to discuss one little thing? He made his way to the living room and stopped mid-step as another thought occurred to him- she could come down any moment. And that, he realised miserably, would be the last thing he needed. Never in his worst nightmares had he ever thought, he'd be better off not seeing her. As the pain in his chest intensified, Ron reckoned it'd be wiser for him to hide in his room. She'd never go up there. Having made the decision, he dropped his jacket on the chair so Harry would know he hadn't left, and trudged up the staircase.

….

Clad only in a soaking towel and stuck inside the bathroom, Hermione grumbled under her breath. How could she forget everything back in Ginny's room?!

"Got no option, have I?" she mused aloud. At least, no one apart from Ginny and Molly was home.

She wrapped the towel more snugly around her chest, grabbing the open ends in her hand at her chest and opened the door, eager to rush downstairs.

Unfortunately, there was someone on the landing already…

…

He was sure the world had stopped spinning.

Ron stood where he was, with one foot hovering between steps and stared transfixed. How had he forgotten how insanely beautiful she looked fresh out of a bath- her wet curls dripping on her shoulder, cheeks flushed scarlet, lips apart and glistening with moisture…

His eyes were drawn to a spot just below her ear. 'Pleasure point' she had told him once, and he had pressed his lips to the soft skin with wondrous results. That night, and on many others that followed, he had traced every single one of those with his lips, and Hermione had come undone in his arms- again and again.

In that moment, Ron understood what 'breathless' meant. His eyes sought hers again, perhaps in hopes of finding the girl he had lost, and the spell broke; Hermione looked uncomfortable under his gaze.

He looked away immediately, his heart berating him and ripping into pieces, again. He'd briefly forgotten that he was no longer allowed to watch her this way. Not supposed to remember those memories...

He turned away, still struggling to breathe, unable to erase the vision from his eyes. He heard the door shut and soft footsteps made their way downstairs. The words were out of his lips before he could stop himself.

"Harry's in Gin's room. You might wanna get dressed first."

He heard her pause and shuffle but didn't give in to the urge to turn around.

"I-I left my clothes and wand in her room," she replied in a small voice.

"Do you-" he began and stopped. What was he about to say? That he'd bring her, her clothes? That he still couldn't imagine anyone else seeing her this vulnerable? Nah, he couldn't. The only thing he could do was conjure her a robe, he decided at last and patted his jeans. Fuck, the wand was in his jacket downstairs.

"I left my wand in the kitchen," he explained, not sure what he wanted her response to be.

"It's okay," she murmured, and took another few steps, but he called her again.

"You're soaking..." he said very quietly.

…

Hermione couldn't have imagined this situation in her dreams.

"You're soaking..."

His voice ignited a fire deep within her; one, she thought, she had lost forever. The way his eyes lingered on her body before he looked away evoked emotions that scared her. Hermione wanted to run away and hide, even from herself, but some stronger force rooted her to the spot. She could do nothing but stand and watch him fumble.

And then, he untucked his shirt from his jeans, and whatever little sense she had left was lost.

Her brain told her to look away, but she was too helpless, captivated by the sight in front of her. The buttons were undone slowly, she could tell that by the flinching of his shoulder muscles. The shirt slid off his back and her cheeks flushed crimson. At least Ron was wearing an undershirt. The brain scars, Hermione noticed, were still visible, a mesh of white lines crisscrossing across his arms to end near his upper arms. It was all so familiar, even after years. Her fingertips tingled, recalling how his skin felt under them. Why were the memories so strong? Why had they not faded over the years? Why were they so fresh despite all the hurt? Everything was painfully familiar as if it was only yesterday that she had woken up in his bed. As he pulled his arms from the sleeves, Hermione noticed that the only difference was that his body was that of an Auror now- hard, strong, toned and scared more than before.

She averted her eyes quickly when he turned around and came down the few steps that separated them. When Ron wordlessly extended the shirt, she looked first at his hands and then his eyes. But he was looking at a spot a foot above her head, his mask firmly back in place.

She could have bolted downstairs or yelled at Ginny to bring her the clothes, but she did none of those. Instead, she took the proffered article- a small blue and white checkered shirt that smelled of Ron. He paused for the briefest minute and then turned away. Within two heartbeats, he had climbed up the stairs and was gone.

She walked back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her brain was begging her to throw the shirt away, but the girl in the mirror was saying something else. She dropped the wet towel on the floor and slowly put on the large shirt. It was huge, reaching almost to her knees, and very comfortable- just like always. Somewhere, in a different lifetime, Ron's clothes were her favourite sleepwear. They smelled of him and reminded her of his touches when the cloth rubbed against her bare skin...

She stood watching her own reflection and wondered if she had indeed changed in these years. Yes, she had, reminded her brain, fighting furiously to cling to her resolve. But then, why did the girl in the mirror still look like she had already lost the fight?

A/n: Please do leave a review and thanks for reading. (If you have any spare, could you send some positive thoughts our way? Perhaps that'll help sort the mess we are in and help me get back to writing and posting more frequently.)