CHAPTER 11 :Rain and a Rosebush

Ron woke at three o'clock in the morning, to the steady rhythm of rain drumming against the roof. He had barely slept; he'd tossed and turned constantly all night, nightmarish images and thoughts drifting in and out of the crevices of his mind, until he could bear it no longer. He'd gotten out of bed, switched on the light, paced the room until his legs were weak with tiredness, but still he could not exhaust himself to the point where he could sleep. He was so churned up, in fact, that it didn't even occur to him to cast a sleeping charm.

He sat up in bed and rested his forehead against the window pane. He recoiled slightly from the freezing touch, but didn't move. There was something oddly comforting about having one's head resting against a rain-splattered window, he decided.

Had he really killed it with Hermione? Had he pushed her one step too far? They'd had their rows – far too many to count, in fact – but none that had ended quite like this. And though he didn't know if he could bring himself to admit it out loud to anybody else, he knew it had been his fault. His stupid, stupid pride had once again managed to creep in between himself and his lovely Hermione. Now she had disappeared – and he had no idea when and if she would return.

His thoughts began to divert to terrible what-ifs and nasty possiblys, when he noticed movement in the garden. Startled, he squinted, trying to see what it was. Perhaps Crookshanks had escaped. Typical, he thought. Even Hermione's stupid cat had stormed out in protest.

But it didn't take him long to realise that it wasn't Crookshanks. It was a figure, he realised, and a human figure at that, huddled in a lonely corner of the garden.

Without thinking, he tore downstairs and into the backyard, forgetting until it was too late that it was raining; cursing silently to himself, he contemplated whether to run back upstairs to get his wand and fix it magically, but he decided he didn't care enough to be bothered.

It was Hermione, he realised as he made it closer to the figure, and his heart ached more than it ever had before when he saw her shoulders shuddering and tears running down her face. For all his selfish ponderings during his sleepless nights, he hadn't stopped to realise that he had done this to her, that he had hurt her enough to make her cry amongst the rosebushes.

"'Mione," he whispered hoarsely, not knowing what to say beyond the obvious. "I…um…er…"

She didn't say anything. It was almost as though she hadn't noticed he was there, although he also sensed that she wasn't purposefully ignoring him. It seemed as though, just like him, she couldn't speak, couldn't respond. It was almost worse, he decided, than the shouting he'd expected on her return.

But then she spoke. Her words were slow and quiet, almost as though she were trying to translate her thoughts and feelings into a dozen languages at once. "Why?" she whispered. "Why, Ron?"

He sat down wordlessly beside her, and yanked a leaf from the bush and twirled it between his fingers. Before he could answer, she pulled her wand from her pocket, pointed it at Ron and whispered, "Impervious!" Suddenly, he was dry again; and it was only then that he noticed she wasn't wet at all, aside from her tears.

"I was a prat," he said finally, not looking at her.

"I know." She sniffled. "You hurt me."

He took a deep breath and continued on, hardly believing that he was speaking so coherently and so maturely. "I thought that if we couldn't fly to Paris, then you'd think less of me. Like…I dunno…I was useless or something."

"Why would I think that, Ron?" she said, turning to face him. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his heart throbbed all over again. "I love you. I don't care where in the world we are or how we get there – just as long as I'm with you."

It was that moment that he knew. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he couldn't ever live without this girl. That despite everything they'd been through together, he wouldn't be able to tolerate a moment where she wasn't in his life.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," he said, pulling her against his body tightly. She let out another howling sob and buried her face against his shoulder. "I won't hurt you again. I promise."