Hang Up the Gloves?
It was Boxing Day, he had to remind himself as he woke, the fight last night pulling him back in time. Man, I haven't had a fight like that since… Well he hadn't had any kind of serious fight since the last time he'd seen her. Putting his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the light seeping through his old curtains. He could hear the distant clucking of chickens and a slight wind rustling the trees as the 'heated discussion' came back to him. Slimy little bastard. He frowned, a little heat rising to his face; he touched his cheek, it still felt a bit warmer than normal and his stomach twisted a little as he remembered the confrontation. It had been so sudden, so short and…hurtful. Snorting, he shifted a little on his bed. Now who was being immature? His face grew hotter as he realised that he was really quite angry. He sat up abruptly, almost mouthing his indignant thoughts. She was the one who had walked out on him. She was the one who hadn't made any contact, any kind of effort. She was the one who hadn't needed him. Why was she so upset?
Calming a little, he drew on his years of learning patience to steady is breathing and think rationally. If his new experience had taught him anything, people only get angry about things that matter to them, or else they rant about things to cover up their real issues. So either Hermione still had feelings for him, or she was having some other problems and taking out her rage on him. But why, if she had done nothing over the years apart, would she still have feelings for him? None of it made sense.
At any rate, why did he care? Even though the break-up had pained him more than he could have ever imagined, he had managed. He had lived through a whole three years without her. Maybe he could do it permanently. At this thought, however, his stomach squirmed. He still really hadn't addressed all his feelings, at least not those underneath the surface.
He sighed; hearing the sounds of others getting up downstairs. Now wasn't really the time to go delving into his emotional depths, but he still didn't make any move to join the others. Going over again what had been said last night he tried to understand her point of view. Saying all of those things three years too late when I'm with someone else…She was with that suit; he was professional and charming and probably rich and powerful too – he certainly acted like he was – so in a way he was a perfect match for his ambitious ex. She had a great job which he gathered she loved; she may have missed her old friends but not enough to visit until an important Ministry occasion.
So what was the problem?
Ginny woke with her stomach churning, head heavy; she staggered to the bathroom and was sick immediately. She was hovered over the toilet for a few minutes more, her insides retracting violently every so often, threatening to force more slimy remains of the previous night from her tired body. A knock on the door made her groan.
"Hello? I'm sorry to bother you but I need to use the toilet pretty urgently!" It was Melissa. Staggering up very ungracefully, the red-head flushed and tried to leave without looking in the mirror but her weak legs buckled and she grabbed onto the sink sharply, jarring every muscle she could still feel. "Hello?" Another knock on the door found it open and a worn-out but polite face peaked round the door. On seeing who it was, and her state, the pregnant lady rushed in and set the weakly protesting woman on the chair in the corner, feeling her forehead. Sympathetic, she grabbed a hand towel and wiped the slightly feverish face.
"Oh honey, how many weeks?" But she couldn't get any coherence out of her sudden patient so rushed to the door to call for Harry. Instead she found a red-eyed, bushy-haired face approaching. "Oh, Hermione! I need your help!"
Harry was sitting at the breakfast table, chatting with Mrs Weasley and Charlie, the rest of the house pretty quiet. The house was still covered with decorations and discarded present wrappings but Mrs Weasley forbid either man to help as she left to clear up. The two talked a little more before Charlie went off the deal with the cold-resistant gnomes and Harry rose to wake Ginny. Ron walking in stopped him and he sat down again, smiling and wondering how he could broach the subject of-
"Well, since you've got that look on your face-" Harry smirked a little guiltily as Ron read him perfectly. Damn, he's getting too good at this! "me and Hermione had a fight last night." Eyes widening, his bespeckled friend urged him on. "She'd just read that letter I wrote her and took offence." Harry left his mouth open as his brain was unable to give him anything to say. Ron just nodded understandingly at the vaguely confused face before him and tucked in to some eggs and bacon.
"Woah, that's…" Not understanding what had happened, Harry didn't really know how to describe it.
"Not even all of it," Ron went on, "not only did she take such "offence" as to yell at me but she hit me too!" Ron showed Harry his red cheek and his friend winced. How did this happen? Seeing Harry's confusion, Ron smirked a little. "I know, right?" Shaking his head, almost laughing, he murmured. "Crazy." Whilst chewing, he looked back up at a silent Harry, who was trying to think how to respond without condemning Hermione completely.
"Well, I guess Hermione took the break-up as hard as you did but… just didn't show it? And she still…?" Swallowing, Ron wasn't really angry or surprised by this observation but felt the need to defend himself.
"Oh, and how do you know I took it hard at all?" Harry just gave him that look which Ron sighed and nodded to. "Alright, but that still doesn't excuse what she did." When Harry said nothing, the red-headed man put down his fork. "It does?" The green eyes, protected by the glasses a little, bore into the hard pair across the table, drilling through such strong defences. Still, he didn't say anything, knowing that often, people realise more when it's like they're having an argument with themselves. He soon discovered that his wounded friend was still that, wounded. Ron began to raise his voice.
"You want me to apologise? For being honest?" He shook his head like trying to shake away a mosquito. "I can't understand what the hell her problem is, but whatever it is, she shouldn't be taking it out on me! God! We're just…strangers now." Seeing the bitter sadness in this last admission, Harry was stirred from his silence, trying to be gentle.
"Of course she wasn't justified. But Ron, all through everything, you're not strangers. You can't just ignore your history. Think about the incredible things you've been through, we've all been through!" He sighed a little. "You were friends first; can't you ever go back to that, at least?" Melissa came in at that point and told them that Ginny was feeling ill. Pausing briefly to look meaningfully at Ron, Harry got up and rushed upstairs.
Since he was already talking about it, Ron updated Melissa on the latest events.
"Wow, I thought she was meant to be the logical one." He shrugged before pouring her some water. She sat back in her chair; thinking back to Hermione's reactions the day before and this morning she looked for what it was that he had, and still, loved in the brown-eyed Ministry-woman.
Throughout the day, she had seen some of Hermione's not-so-covert looks over at her ex. She thought that Hermione had looked sad when hearing of Ron's achievements, disappointed almost, but through his advancement or her absence during it? This morning, now Melissa knew of the night before, she could say that the look in Hermione's eyes had been sorrow and, regret? It was a conscious decision not to tell Ron of her scarce understanding, feeling that he needed to sort through his own feelings, without considering anyone else.
It was through conversing with Melissa, that Ron pondered what Harry had said, and realised, a little begrudgingly, that he was right. As much as Hermione had hurt him, and no matter what came of this mess, he still cared about her. Again, he didn't think it the time to discover the reason why, but anyway, the feelings were there. He was still angry. Merlin knows he still couldn't believe what she'd said. But thinking of the ill Ginny and her carer, and even the heavily pregnant woman sitting across from him, he concluded that would be best for everyone to endeavour to take the high road and apologise. Who knows? Maybe she'd follow his lead and they could be civil. That would be best.
Even if he still felt broken.
Not thinking anyone would mind, Ginny being well-cared for and no one else really around, Hermione decided to have breakfast with her boyfriend. Her stomach clenched at the word and his face in her inner eye, she seriously needed to address this issue soon. Knocking on Percy's door, she breathed in deeply and opened her eyes with steel. Mouth gaping after he opened door she swallowed. God, she really wished she had known that sometimes in the morning, Percy answered the door in his dressing gown. Trying not to look down, she forced a smirk into an awkward smile and slid into the house reluctantly. Walking into the kitchen quickly, she was not prepared to see her rigid, confident and charming boyfriend to be clad in a matching dressing gown, eating a piece of toast in the most nonchalant way she could imagine. Through everything, she felt like laughing, she couldn't wait to tell-
Who? She sighed, going into autopilot as she listened to her boyfriend's droning. Sitting down, she replayed the previous night in her head and shivered. Even the thought of him, the image of his hurt made her stomach churn, her insides squirm with fear, shame and sympathy. There was no way that she could let everything tumble out. She would have to get herself together more solidly before she saw him again. Determined not to let her own needs interfere with his happiness, she concluded that it would be best to keep her hurt inside. He was happy with his new girlfriend, he was expecting a child for goodness sake! What possible point would there be to him hearing the confused and impassioned ramblings of his crazy ex?
She rubbed her forehead, toying with some mashed up banana that had appeared before her. In his letter he'd talked about being friends again. She guessed that returning to the beginning was all she could hope for. That thought chilled her, making her want to cry. The two men around her were laughing loudly over something, it was so grating. Standing, she resolved to go and get her head sorted out, fast. They nodded vaguely as she left, holding her head high. Preparing to squash all of her love back into the box that had begun to crack the minute she'd seen him again.