A/N: Wow. All I can say is wow. The responses from you guys has really been overwhelming, especially for the last chapter. And I'm really and truly grateful for all your reviews and reads and alerts and just everything. Seriously, it means so much to me to read your reactions.
So a big thanks to GameOver, Hilary, review, Marie, milan4ever, AddisonAddicted, Melissa, Sabosh, ObsessedRHShipper, TeaCozyElf, placeo13, ravenclawgirl27, oscarpaz00, Kelly, Weak4Weasley, DeLoreanDMC-12, Sandrinha, GingerPygmy99, MsEan, emmrupe4ever, MsBinns, anon, Grown Up Ron, avini, heronlove, tabitoo, onlyjune, anonymous, MonkeyBrains, stochmika, electra, Ugh, Athenais777, vlaovic, DeathEaterPoodle, FightClub18, RyanRow02, HermioneCanDoNoBadYou'reWrong, Love FF, RHrAddict, Mlgregg5, MaybeOnce, Beasley, hptk, selene86, antidote224, anon, newyearzgirl18, mellypotter1223, Nesapuliata22 (yes, even you), eliza surpriza, Pamela, nellysh, ozzel1 and highkicks. Oh and Anne Mary Ellen. Even if you haven't left a real review, I do appreciate the pm's.
God I just love some of your names. This chapter is dedicated to Beasley for giving this fic review #300. Also, one review for the last chapter actually helped me resolve a slight plot hole in a future chapter that I hadn't solved yet. I won't mention who it was yet because it might spoil things if you all rush off to read it, but I'll be sure to credit you when the time comes. Thank you thank you thank you in advance.
And I wanted to wish you all a belated Happy Easter since it somehow slipped my mind last week. I'm running a half-marathon on Sunday so wish me luck. Hopefully I won't drop dead and leave you all waiting for an update to this fic that will never come.
And superfan24…well, you know. I couldn't do this without you. You must be doing something right if everyone's trying to steal you away from me.
Chapter 20: Rid of Me
27 June, 1998
Unbidden by Ron, his feet began to move. They had no plan, no set destination in mind. Hell, they wouldn't even mind trying to walk back to England. They just went, before Ron did something stupid like try and to talk to Hermione about what he'd just witnessed.
They carried him quite a ways before Ron's brain started working again. But his thoughts didn't turn to where he was going, or to the increasingly chilly evening. He just kept replaying the moment Hermione's lips met…his. Squashface Ron dubbed him, even though he really couldn't recall much of what the fucker had actually looked like. It didn't matter really. He simply couldn't understand why Hermione had kissed him.
For that matter, why hadn't he done anything to stop them? Why, instead of standing there and staring as his world crumbled to ruin, hadn't he bum rushed the bloke, or at least shouted, done something to pull their attention off of one another before that moment of doom?
Had Hermione…had she hesitated? Had she taken a moment to wonder if she was doing the right thing, had thought of him before going through with it?
Ron quickly pushed that idea away. It would only make things worse—if such a thing was possible—if she had, if she'd thought of Ron and still went through with it and kissed Squashface anyway.
Then it struck him how stupid it was to think that was even their first kiss. Just because it had been the first one he'd witnessed, didn't mean it was actually the first. They could've kissed a billion times by now. Hell, Hermione might've snogged a hundred different blokes, and Squashface was simply the latest notch added to her belt. And suddenly he felt better about his utter lack of action to stop it from happening.
Ron knew that Hermione probably hadn't been snogging Australian blokes left and right, but there was no denying that she'd at least snogged one. His thoughts raced backward in time, remembering Ginny shouting how Hermione had snogged Krum, and how much that had hurt. But he'd never actually had to see Krum snog Hermione. It had eaten at him, driven him mad with jealousy at the time, but mostly he'd merely thought of it as confirmation that Hermione would never fancy him, poor, pathetic Ron Weasley…well that and how she'd been lying to him for close to two years about her Bulgarian pen pal. It had hurt more having to watch them dance together at the Yule Ball than merely hearing about a snog that had happened two years earlier.
But he would go back and relive that moment a thousand times over to escape the pain he was feeling now. Back then, he was still working out exactly what he felt for his bushy-haired best friend. He'd only just realized that he did in fact fancy her, that he had wanted to go to the ball with her, and not just as friends.
No, as he walked, he realized how little he cared about Krum. Yes, the sodding pumpkin-head had gotten there first, had nearly taken Hermione away from him. But in the end Krum had gone back to Bulgaria and Hermione hadn't seen him again until the wedding and by then, Ron Weasley had sorted his priorities and felt the two of them were finally on the verge of falling into something as scary as any Death Eater and more wonderful than the Cannons winning the League. Hermione had picked him that night, had danced with him that night, might've even kissed him if the wedding hadn't been interrupted. No, continuing to be jealous of Krum was a pointless endeavor that accomplished nothing.
The only thing that really compared was what he'd witnessed that night he'd destroyed the locket, watching Hermione and Harry entwined in each-other's arms, somehow seeming to sneer at him even as they only had eyes for one-another as their lips met over and over.
Briefly he reflected on his decision not to tell Hermione about what he'd suffered that night. He'd had plenty of chances to, both in those first weeks after his return and many times after. It wasn't like he thought she'd laugh at him over how ridiculous it was for him to believe that she saw Harry as anything other than a brother.
His reason for not telling her was twofold. First he knew the Horcrux had been a huge part in Harry forgiving him for leaving. He'd seen what had driven Ron to leave in the first place, seen what no-one else should've ever known. Yes, he'd been grateful for Harry's forgiveness. More than that: he'd needed it. But he hadn't wanted Hermione to forgive him for those reasons. He wanted to earn her forgiveness because that's what she deserved. And slowly but surely he'd done so.
Ron also hadn't told her because he refused to accept her pity and consolation. He hadn't wanted Hermione to feel obligated to tell him how she felt just to remove his doubts driven by his insecurities. If she loved him, she'd tell him when she was ready, when he deserved to be told. And in the end she had, hadn't she? Their kiss in the Room of the Requirement was proof that she'd wanted him. Not Krum, not Harry. Him.
Ron frowned, suddenly unsure. He'd thought that kiss had erased the last of his doubts, but now nothing was certain. Maybe that kiss hadn't been everything he'd imagined it to be. One kiss didn't change anything. It wasn't an Unbreakable Vow binding two people together. Hermione and Krum were proof of that. As were Harry and Cho, Lavender and himself for that matter.
Ron snorted. He'd probably spent thousands of kisses on Lavender back in sixth year and taken altogether they still amounted to less than nothing in his head…and his heart. Maybe it was his fault for assuming things between himself and Hermione were different. He knew he'd never felt that way about anyone else ever before, didn't know it was even possible to care about someone that much. He'd felt that first kiss was something he'd been waiting for his whole life, like it actually was his first kiss, erasing the hours he'd spent with Lavender in broom closets and armchairs in the common room.
He didn't consider himself a romantic bloke, not really. His best ideas hadn't come from his heart but from advice Sirius had given him or from that little book from Fred and George. But Hermione made him want to be the type of bloke who swept girls—or rather one very specific girl—off their feet with flowers and poetry and kisses that made them weak in the knees and all that rubbish he'd thought he didn't care about.
Ron felt a sharp pain across his shins and looked to see that he'd walked right into a bench. He realized his feet had carried him to some sort of park with some swings and a little pond where kids probably fed ducks in the summer. Stiff from the cold and exhausted from walking, he collapsed onto the bench and laid his head in his hands.
His thoughts turned back to the Horcrux. During his many long self-imposed silences in those first days after his return done as penance, he'd pictured those horrid visions of his two friends a great deal. He'd finally admitted to himself that he hadn't really believed Harry and Hermione were secretly in love with each other. True, he hadn't known how Hermione felt about Harry, and the attention and praise she showered on their green-eyed best friend was a constant torment to Ron. But he hadn't needed to hear Harry tell him that that he only loved Hermione like a sister. There'd been enough talk about the two of them over the years to convince them that if Harry had harbored secret feelings for Hermione, he would've acted on them a long time ago. And it didn't take someone as brilliant as Hermione to see how crazy Harry was about Ginny.
It had just been…easier, in a way, to imagine the two of them together than it was to picture her with someone else. Against anyone else, even someone like Krum, Ron could hold onto some slight hope, some chance that he could prove to Hermione how he was the better choice, the better man. But not against Harry. He couldn't compete against Harry, and more importantly, he wouldn't want to. If it happened, he'd have no choice but to lay down and accept it or lose the two people he cared about the most. In a way, it had been an excuse; if she wanted Harry, at least Ron couldn't blame it on some failure on his part. Harry was the better man. There was no arguing with that.
But Squashface was nobody. Well, obviously he was somebody, but Ron was sure Hermione hadn't…couldn't have known him before coming here a month ago. It didn't matter if he played Quidditch better than Krum or owned half of Australia, he was still practically a stranger, a stranger Hermione had fallen for and let her forget about Ron Weasley.
A part of him wanted to believe that he was just another McLaggen, just some pretty boy to make him jealous. But not even his wild imagination could convince him that was true. If Hermione was just using him to make Ron jealous, to get Ron to come chasing after her and fight for her love, she was really doing a terrible job of rubbing it in his face. If that was her intent, she could've just owled Ginny and casually mentioned the wonderful and charming young man she'd met while sorting things out with her parents, making sure Ron would catch wind of it and fly off the handle to come and steal her back.
No, her lack of correspondence told a very different story. She obviously didn't want him knowing about Squashface. Of course he didn't know why. Perhaps she wasn't in love with the bloke, but only felt he was someone worth exploring and was stringing both of them along until she came to a decision.
As he sat there, his mind came up with a thousand reasons for why Hermione had been on a date tonight. Maybe he was forgetting something. Maybe he'd done something before she left, hurt her or offended her in some way to make her stop loving him. Not that she'd told him she loved him. Oh no, he'd been the only one to say that, to put his heart on the line. But while he'd been disappointed not to hear her say it back, something had told him that she loved him too.
Of course he didn't know what to believe now. Did she love him? How could she if she was snogging randoms here in Australia?
You snogged Lavender when you loved Hermione, a nasty voice in his head reminded him, the words sounding like sneers, almost hisses, in his mind.
But that was different, he argued back. I didn't know I loved her. I mean I did, but I didn't know I was IN love with her. And it's not like I knew how she felt at the time. At least I made it bloody clear how I felt before she left.
But did you? the nasty voice returned. Did you really?
Of course, he thought, though even inside his own head he didn't sound very convincing. And even if I didn't, she should've known.
Like you knew how she felt?
He didn't have an answer for that one.
Ron's fingers were starting to ache and he realized he'd been gripping the seat of the bench so tightly that it had splintered, the wood biting into his skin. Strangely, he didn't feel any pain however as he looked at his bleeding hands. He fished the Deluminator out of his pocket and turned it over and over. This little thing had brought him to her, twice. He knew it only worked with Hermione because she was the one who held his heart, who held his very soul. In a twisted sense, Hermione was his own version of a Horcrux. It certainly felt like his soul had been ripped in two.
The Deluminator slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Slowly he took out his wand. He didn't have any basilisk fangs handy so a Severing Charm would have to do. He pointed his wand downward.
q"Diffindo," Ron said, but nothing happened to the small silver lighter. "Diffindo," he said again, more forcefully. Again, nothing happened. "Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!" Ron said, growing more and more enraged each time the spell failed, feeling a wetness on his cheeks. Exhausted, he finally gave up. For all his efforts, there was only a single, small crack in the Deluminator. But he watched, mesmerized as all the light stored inside it began to leak out, floating into the air like small stars before dissipating into the black, leaving him alone again in the dark and the cold.
Ron slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.
…
He didn't know how long he sat on that bench thinking. Hours, days, he couldn't tell. It was still dark out so it couldn't have been that long, but he didn't know if he should believe anything now that his world had been turned upside down. All he was sure of was that he was bloody freezing and soaked to the bone.
"You really need to stop that."
Ron lifted his head, startled to see a young girl standing before him. He hadn't noticed her approach. For all he knew she might've been standing there for ages before speaking.
"I know it's late, but Muggles could still pass by and see you."
In his grief Ron didn't even register her mention of the word 'Muggles.' "The fuck are you talkin' about?"
"Your little cloud. It might seem a bit…odd…considering the weather tonight." The girl pointed a wand above his head and Ron looked up. Sure enough, about twenty feet above him floated a thick, black storm cloud amid an otherwise clear sky littered with stars showering him in snow.
Well that explains why I feel like I've been swimming in the Black Lake, Ron thought, finding no amusement in the observation; it was cold out, but nowhere near freezing, and the snowflakes melted on contact rather than sticking, and he noticed a rather large puddle had formed around the bench with the girl standing just on its edge.
"You didn't do it on purpose," the girl continued.
"Uh, no," Ron said, embarrassed despite his heartache. He hadn't done accidental magic since he was six. It was practically unheard of for it to happen to a fully-qualified adult wizard.
"I can stop it if you'd like," she offered.
"Sure, yeah."
The girl waved her wand, muttering Finite Incantatem quietly and the storm cloud dissolved. "You should dry yourself," the girl told him after it was gone.
Ron wondered why she didn't just wave her wand and fix that for him as well, but he supposed he should just be grateful for the help she'd already offered. After all, if Muggles had seen, he'd be in loads of trouble. And that was without factoring in the fact that he was in the country illegally, without permission from the Australia Ministry. "M'okay," Ron told her, shrugging off her suggestion. If he was performing accidental spontaneous magic, he didn't really trust himself with using a wand safely.
"How did you get here?"
Ron looked at the girl, really looked at her, for the first time, and started. It was hard to make out details in the light of distant streetlamps, but unless his eyes deceived him, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. Her skin was white as porcelain, her hair straight and long, falling down her back almost to her knees, so blonde it was almost silver, and big blue eyes that never seemed to blink, shining and glassy in the starlight. She reminded him of the dolls his mum had tried and failed to get Ginny to play with as a kid.
Actually, what she really reminded him of was little Gabrielle Delacour. Only this girl…witch…would make Gabrielle look like Millicent Bulstrode if they stood side-by-side. Ron half-expected to find himself drooling as a result of Veela magic, but found his chin surprisingly dry when he went to wipe it.
"Who're you?" he asked blankly.
"Elana."
Okay, that didn't really help, Ron thought dryly. "What are you doing here?"
"Helping you."
"And you're a witch?"
"Yes."
"But…but…" he looked her up and down, feeling a bit of a perv for doing so. "But you're no…you don't look…how old are you?" There was absolutely no way this girl was seventeen. Which meant she had to have the trace on her and wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school. He quickly racked his brain, trying to remember if his dad or Hermione had ever mentioned something about other countries not using the trace but came up blank.
"Older than you think," was Elana's infuriating answer.
Obviously the girl was being obtuse on purpose, so he tried another approach. "You don't sound Australian."
"I'm not."
"So where're you from?"
"England, the same as you."
"You don't sound like me either."
"I was born in Spain, but I've spent enough time in England to consider it my home."
Ron didn't think that said much, considering she couldn't possibly be older than fourteen or fifteen.
"If you're from England, what are you doing here?"
"Helping you," she repeated.
"So you followed me?" He didn't know how such a thing was possible since he'd used the Deluminator, but it was his best guess.
Elana said nothing. Merlin, it's easier to get a straight answer out of a sphinx, Ron thought.
"How did you get here?" she asked.
He pointed to his feet. "Same way as everybody else," he said dryly. Two can play this game, he thought. After all, why should he trust this girl? Just because she'd helped him get rid of his little storm cloud?
"You're supposed to be in Devon."
Now how the fuck does she know that? "What do you care anyway?"
"It's my job to know." What did she mean by that, Ron wondered. Did she work for the Ministry? He'd certainly never seen her at Hogwarts, so maybe she wasn't just some kid. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on things."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "You mean Hermione?"
"Yes." With absolutely no subtlety Ron pulled his wand out. "I don't intend her any harm," explained Elana. "Quite the opposite. I'm merely tasked with making sure she remains safe." Ron didn't really believe her, but he was in no state to puzzle things out. "Do you have a way back?" she asked.
"What?"
"Back to England? Can you go back the same way you came?"
"Uh…" Somehow Ron had the feeling the Deluminator was more of a one-way ticket. And he doubted it would work at all now that it was broken. "No, I can't," he admitted.
"You do realize you'll be in a lot of trouble for coming here if the Ministry finds out."
"Yeah, thanks for the warning," he said sarcastically, finally standing and casting a Drought Charm on himself which only managed to siphon up maybe half the moisture soaking his close. But it was at least an improvement.
"Do you have means to get back the Muggle way? By ship or airplane?"
Ron knew he had six Galleons and four sickles in his pocket. Even if that was enough, he didn't know where he could go to exchange it for Muggle money, let alone knew the first thing about figuring out how Muggle transport actually worked. Hell, he didn't even know where in Australia he was. "No," he admitted.
"I can take you back."
"You can?"
Elana reached into her robes and pulled out some wrappings. "What is it?" he asked, eyeing it warily while remembering Malfoy's cursed necklace from sixth year.
"A Portkey. It'll bring me back to where I left. You're welcome to come with me and make your way back to Devon from there."
"Uh, yeah. Thanks."
"Are you ready to go now?" Elana asked.
Ron didn't know how to answer. Honestly he wasn't ready to do anything. He wanted to talk to Hermione, but couldn't bear to think about what he'd actually say. Yes, he had a very strong desire to shout at her and demand some sort of explanation, but what was the point of that? He had a very strong suspicion that anything she said would only make him feel worse, not better. And after seven years of fighting with her over every little thing, Ron Weasley was exhausted.
Well if he wasn't going to confront her, what point was there in staying? She was his whole reason for coming, and now he'd seen what a wasted effort that had been. "Yeah," Ron said. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"You shouldn't leave that here," she said, pointing to the puddle. Ron had no idea what she was talking about until he remembered the Deluminator. He didn't really want the thing, not anymore—it was broken after all, so he doubted it would still work—but he did as instructed anyway. Better not to leave any evidence behind.
Elana used her other hand to carefully unwrap the Portkey, revealing a sphere—reminiscent of the prophecies he'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, though the Portkey contained none of the strange, swirling liquid the prophecies had and seemed to be made of simple glass. As she worked, careful not to touch the sphere, Elana's robes slid down her arms a bit and Ron caught a glimpse of some strange markings on her wrists which seemed to continue in a strange pattern up her arms. Tattoos, the strangest ones he'd ever seen. They almost looked like runes, but Ron couldn't be sure as the only runes he'd ever seen were in Hermione's copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, which he admittedly hadn't looked at too closely having never studied the subject.
Surely no fourteen year-old would have markings like those covering her arms, he thought.
Elana must have finally noticed her tattoos were showing, or else she'd caught him staring, for she fixed her sleeves to cover them once more before holding out the orb between them.
"It's touch-activated, so we'll have to grab it at the same time or one of us will be left behind," she told him.
"This Portkey's illegal, isn't it?" he asked, already sure of the truth but curious if she'd actually admit it.
"It's as legal as the method you used to get here. Now come. Watch my hands and grab it when I do."
Ron reached his fingers out and held them near the orb. As Elana's fingers inched closer and closer he wondered if it wouldn't be the worst thing to leave her stranded there and go back to England without her. But that would mean leaving her near Hermione, and he didn't like that idea much either, regardless of his current feelings toward the bushy-haired witch or the possibly benign intentions of the strange witch before him. And besides, surely whoever had asked her to 'keep an eye on things' would come looking for her sooner or later.
So he waited until Elana's was about to touch the orb before reaching his fingers across that that last half-inch and felt himself pulled into oblivion.
…
It was quite dark, wherever the Portkey spat them out and Ron guessed they had to be miles from any city, though the warm June air felt wonderful on his chilled limbs. He was still picking himself up when Elana started giving him directions.
"You should be close enough to Apparate back to Scotland, somewhere near Hogwarts. From there you can Apparate to London. I'm sure you can make your way back home to Devon after that."
"We're back in England?" Ron asked, looking around. The terrain was barren and rocky. He could hear the crashing of waves and looked behind him to see they were on the edge of a cliff that fell into the sea. "Where are we?"
"What does it matter exactly where we are? You'd be best served to forget this place. And myself," said Elana.
"Why?" he asked. He was quite fed up with the mystique and women who liked to keep secrets.
"Because if you tell anyone, I'll be forced to reveal that you entered Australia without permission and performed magic in an area where you might've been spotted by Muggles," she threatened.
So she was going to play dirty. "Fine," Ron said. "Maybe I'll just hang around for a bit, get my strength back."
"Suit yourself. Stay as long as you like."
Ron tried to do just that, plunking himself down and drawing in the dirt with the tip of his wand while he waited to see if Elana did anything. He didn't really understand what this girl was all about. She seemed so young, so weak and fragile, but her words carried an authority Ron felt would be smart to obey. But if this was some secret hideout or something, why bring him here in the first place? Or why not just stun him, Obliviate his memory and dump him in Diagon Alley.
Actually an Obliviate didn't sound too bad. Downright tempting, he thought. He could forget everything about this horrid night, including Hermione.
But that wouldn't change anything. He'd just go back to worrying about her and waiting for a letter that probably wasn't coming. Meanwhile, she'd still be off snogging Squashface while he sat around a loyal yet gullible dunce, pining for a girl who'd already moved on.
Ron had been set on waiting around to see if someone came to meet Elana or if she wandered off and revealed something important, but she seemed perfectly content to stand there like a statue and wait for him to leave. And his impatience and exhaustion were finally catching up to him; if he didn't find a bed soon, he might fall asleep right there on the ground only to wake up gagged and chained in some dungeon or something. So he stood, dusted himself off and prepared to Apparate, hoping his magic was back under-control.
"Thanks," he told Elana. He still didn't trust her, or particularly like her for that matter, but there was something innately innocent about her that made it impossible to think of her as evil or dangerous. And he was grateful for her help.
"Safe travels, Ronald Weasley. It would be wise to remain cautious, especially when you find yourself down darkened alleyways."
Ron didn't know what to make of that. He took one last look at Elana staring out over the sea, though something gave him the impression she wasn't really seeing it, then Apparated just outside of Hogsmeade, and then again to Diagon Alley.
It was draining, harder than ever before. And as soon as he arrived, he checked to make sure all his vital body parts were still where they should be. Thankfully everything important was still there. He'd never felt so exhausted by such relatively simple magic and decided to use the shop's fireplace to Floo home rather than risk another Apparition. But the moment he stepped out of the fireplace at the Burrow he was beset on all sides by anxious Weasleys and Harry, bombarding him with questions before he had the time to wipe the soot from his nose.
"Where have you been?"
"Are you alright?"
"You know you missed supper."
"Complete irresponsible of you to disappear like this again…"
"Why are your clothes soaked?"
"Where have you been?"
"M'fine, m'fine. Just tired," Ron said, shaking off Percy and Fleur who had both been trying to examine him for injuries. "Just got held up at the shop and lost track of time," he lied.
"Oh really?" said Bill. "Because Harry went to check on you when you didn't turn up for supper and found the place locked up and the lights out."
"Err…well yeah. I wasn't at the shop."
"But you just said—" started Percy.
"I got held up with stuff for the shop. Had to go meet some suppliers, y'know? We needed more boomslang skin and tentacula leaves," Ron said, doing his best to improvise.
Everyone continued to look at him suspiciously. "You weren't doing anything shady, were you?" asked Percy. "Nothing…illegal?"
"'Course not. It's all on the up-and-up," Ron said.
Bill, Harry and Ginny were still eyeing him warily, but his dad spoke up. "Well as long as you're alright," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm sure you're hungry. Fleur saved you some leftovers," he said, moving toward the kitchen.
"Thanks," said Ron, never feeling more grateful for his father's implicit faith in his children. He didn't want to know what everyone would say if he told them how he'd really spent his afternoon and evening. He turned to Fleur. "Sorry I didn't let you know I was gonna be late."
"Do not be zilly Ronald. Come, I made a brisket and lemon tarts for ze pudding."
"Excellent," Ron said, feeling his mouth water as he followed her to the kitchen. Percy and Bill sat with him as he ate, but their father's presence kept them from asking any of the questions they were clearly dying to have answered.
"Well I'm knackered," Ron said, yawning dramatically when Fleur took the last plate away. "Think I'll turn in. Have to get an early start tomorrow to get things in order so the new recruits can muck it all up on Monday." And without waiting for a response he raced up the stairs to his room without even stopping by the loo to wash up for bed. He could only hope between sleep and the shop he could avoid everyone until the matter was forgotten.
Unfortunately he found Harry and Ginny waiting for him when he opened the door to his room. "Uh…hey," Ron said. "What's up?"
"Maybe you should shut the door," Ginny said sweetly. A little too sweetly, Ron thought, but complied nevertheless.
"Sure."
"So where were you today?"
"I told you. I was—"
"Where were you really?" corrected Ginny.
Ron tried to look innocent but Harry spoke up. "Come off it mate. You're a terrible liar."
It was true. He hadn't expected anyone to be convinced; he'd only hoped the lie would buy him enough time for everyone to forget the whole incident. He should've known these two wouldn't let it go so easily. The question now was how much of the truth did he need to tell them?
But then Hermione was one of the most honest people he knew. And she had no trouble lying when it was necessary, when it came to ruddy pumpkin-headed gits and Australians with squash for brains and faces. He just needed to omit certain truths, and he had the perfect example of how to do it.
"I…I got in contact with…Her-with Her-." It was amazing how hard it was to say her name now without his heart feeling like it was being ripped in two.
"Hermione?" Ginny asked and Ron nodded.
Both their jaws dropped. Harry recovered first. "Did she write you again?" he asked. Ron said nothing, letting them draw their own conclusions.
"What did she say?" asked Ginny.
"Is she alright?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, she's fine," said Ron, struggling to keep his voice even. "She's great even. Think things with her mum and dad must be going pretty well."
"Did she say when they're coming back?"
"She…it's a bit more complicated than that I think." They looked at him confused. "I dunno, she really didn't get into it." Merlin this lying thing was hard. But he was resolved not to tell them about Squashface. That had nothing to do with Harry or Ginny, and surprisingly, a large part of him felt like it wasn't his place to tell them either. "I don't-I think it'll be a while before they're ready to come back." If they ever do, he added silently.
"Are you gonna write her back?" asked Harry, a strange expression on his face.
"Can't," said Ron. And he couldn't, couldn't imagine what he'd say, what he'd want to say.
"She didn't leave a return address again?" asked Ginny.
Ron shook his head. How could she, when there hadn't actually been a letter?
"Are you sure it's from her? I mean what if someone's forcing her to write these letters or pretending to be—"
"It was her, Harry," Ron said. "I'm sure of it."
The two best friends looked into each other's eyes for a long moment before Harry finally turned away, satisfied by whatever he'd seen there.
Ginny stood. "Well. I guess I'll let you two turn in," she said, "since Mr. Bigshot here has so much to do tomorrow." She kissed Harry on the cheek and left the room.
The boys undressed in silence and Ron slid the Deluminator into a drawer, laying it beside the broken locket, before shutting off the light and climbing into bed.
"You sure you're okay with this mate?" asked Harry in the dark. "I mean you and Hermione—"
"Me and her what, Harry?"
"Well I mean I thought you'd be…I thought you missed her?"
"Oh so now you admit I do care about her?" Ron bit, remembering their last conversation concerning Hermione. Even in the dark he could practically see Harry cringe.
"Ron what I said…I didn't mean—"
"I know."
"It's just—"
"Let's forget it, alright?"
This time he could practically hear Harry's grin. "It's forgotten."
Ron sighed in relief, grinning a bit himself for what felt like the first time in weeks. At least that hadn't changed; they might both act like gits at times, but they would always be Harry and Ron.
"Harry?" Ron asked.
"Yeah Ron?"
"You know…about that promise I had you make..."
"Uh…" Harry said, sounding confused.
"The one about…y'know?" It was too much to even say her name.
"Yeah."
"Well, you can forget it."
Harry was quiet for a moment. "Ron?" he asked, speaking more softly than Ron had ever heard him. "What's happened? What did Hermione write to you?"
Ron couldn't answer. Hearing her name, remembering what he'd seen…he couldn't lie to Harry, but neither could he explain what the problem was.
"Ron?" Harry questioned again. "You still awake mate?"
Ron rolled over, trying to forget his best mate's questions. It was a long time before he finally heard Harry give up and lie back in rest.
13July, 1998
"Well done mate," Harry said, clapping him on the back as the last customer left Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Ginny flipped the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED.
"It was nothing," Ron said immodestly, unable to suppress a smug grin. Today had been the joke shop's grand reopening and Ron had thought it'd gone rather well. They wouldn't know for sure until they counted the gold in the register—something Ron was looking forward to very much—but there had been a crowd inside the shop all day, bigger than any he'd ever seen back when the twins first opened the place. Apparently coming out on top in a war put people in the mood for a bit of fun frivolity.
Ron paid Patrick and Melanie for their work as he'd promised to once they started getting paying customers again and then gathered a third lump of gold.
"Alright, let's have it," Ginny said, holding her hand out expectantly.
"What do you say Harry? Do you really think she's earned it?"
Harry shot his girlfriend a nervous glance, then looked to Ron, his eyes pleading not to be drawn into the Weasley siblings' games.
Since he'd come back from Australia, both Ginny and Harry had been coming around to help with the shop, going in with Ron first thing nearly every day and staying until Ron packed up to head home. Rather than force him to start interviewing for more help and have to go through the arduous process of training someone new how to make all the twin's various gadgets and concoctions, they'd agreed to do the job themselves, at least until Harry started his Auror training and Ginny had to leave for Hogwarts.
Mercifully, they'd spared him any excessive displays of affection and even managed not to comment on where he might've come up with the idea for Canned Canaries when he invented them one afternoon. It was obvious that they both sensed his distress when it came to Hermione, though they probably misinterpreted his restrained anger and wounded pride for wistful longing, and for that Ron was grateful, almost as grateful as he was for their company.
He'd worked tirelessly after his revelations concerning Hermione and her feelings (or lack thereof rather) toward him, pouring all his attention into the shop to avoid his pain and self-doubt. And Harry and Ginny had been right there with him, going beyond the call of duty to always make him feel included. It was almost like the trio was back together, only with Ginny there in place of Hermione. And while Ron sensed Harry wasn't completely satisfied with leaving Hermione to her own devices in Australia at times, he was clearly committed to putting his faith in Ron's explanation of the matter. At least for the time being.
"Oh just give it to me, already," said Ginny impatiently. "You know you're going to sooner or later." It was true. It had actually been Ron's idea in the first place to pay Ginny and Harry for the time they put in at the shop. It was only fair after all, since Ron was paying himself the same wage he was paying Patrick and Melanie. Harry had of course declined as Ron knew he would, citing that he had more than enough gold already, but Ginny had jumped at the chance to earn some pocket money.
"I don't know…" Ron said, enjoying his height as he held the coins above his head and out of Ginny's reach. Of course, he should've expected what came next. Ginny socked him in the gut and when he bent over in pain she snatched the gold from his hand. "Ha! Told you you'd give it to me eventually."
"Technically that's stealing," Ron wheezed out.
"Oh quit harping on about it. I'm only taking what's coming to me."
"Yeah Ron, don't be so cheap," said Harry, laughing at the red heads.
"Traitor," Ron said when he finally managed to get some air back in his lungs. Harry just gave him a rather insincere look that seemed to say 'What else could I do?'
"So, should we count our haul?" asked Ginny eagerly.
The boys agreed and the three of them quickly went through their first day's take. Ron couldn't help but feel satisfied as he looked at what seemed to him a small fortune as they counted.
Things were off to a decent start. Patrick had turned out to be a better worker than expected, though he was obnoxiously chatty; he'd come to Ron with some question every few minutes and then try to pry war stories out of Ron after he'd given Patrick the answer. Melanie on the other hand was almost completely useless—her clumsiness would've made Tonks look graceful—and Ron couldn't understand how she'd been in Ravenclaw with her seeming inability to remember anything unless she wrote it down. He didn't want to think about how he'd manage once Harry and Ginny left.
"Not bad," Harry said with a grin once they'd finished counting. "Should we grab a drink to celebrate?"
Ron was surprised. He'd been looking forward to a home-cooked meal and a warm bed at the Burrow. "You want to?" he asked uncertainly.
"Oh come on," said Ginny. "We can go to the Leaky Cauldron. We haven't been for ages."
Ron should've suspected something was going on, especially after Harry insisted on a third round of butterbeers. Instead, he was caught completely off-guard when they got home, finding a small, but surprising, congratulations party waiting for them in honor of the shop's reopening.
It felt good, being the guest of honor in his own home. Fleur, who had recently moved back to Shell Cottage with Bill, had come over to cook all his favorite foods and everyone was in good spirits as they played round after round of exploding snap. Even his mum joined them for a bit, giving him a rare smile at one point, though she spent most of the evening merely observing everyone else's fun.
While everyone seemed to want to make it Ron's night, to him it felt like a triumph for the whole family, especially with his mum there. Fleur and Mr. Weasley had been his biggest supporters, both at home and with the shop, constantly encouraging him when he needed it. Percy and Bill had been the ones to make it possible in the first place by getting him access to WWW's Gringotts' account and Bill had even gotten a friend at the Daily Prophet to advertise for the grand reopening. And Harry and Ginny had been right there with him every step of the way. It was the first truly wonderful thing to happen to all of them since the end of the war.
Unfortunately, what should've been a joyous occasion was marred by the absences of two people that really should've been there. The first of course was Hermione. Ron couldn't help but wonder if she'd be as proud of him as his family. Or maybe she wouldn't care at all. Maybe the shop would've just convinced her further how he could never be good enough for her, spending his life on something as silly as gags and jokes, only managing to rebuild his brothers' efforts rather than find success on his own.
The second and ultimately more bothersome absence was George who once again was out, no doubt drinking himself into a coma somewhere. Ron had done his best to leave George alone since being thrown out of his room, and though he understood if George didn't want to come back to the shop, he couldn't help but feel his brother should be there. After all the shop would never have existed without his and Fred's ideas and efforts.
"To Fred," Percy said, lifting his pumpkin juice late in the night.
Almost as one all eyes in the room shifted to Mrs. Weasley. But though she became misty-eyed, she voiced no objections and soon the rest of them were chorusing Percy's toast.
"To Fred and George," Ron said lastly before they all drank.
Soon after Ron excused himself for bed. It was nice having the room all to himself again now that Bill and Fleur were gone and Harry had moved into their bedroom, but sometimes Ron wished they were fourteen again, sharing everything willingly with each other. Those had been easier times, better times to his current way of thinking.
Instead of putting on his pajamas, Ron slipped back out of his room and went to Harry's. "Mate, you awake?" he asked.
"What's that?" Harry asked groggily, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.
"I'm going out for a bit. Thought you might want to tag along."
"Sure," said Harry, getting out of bed and throwing on street clothes and Ron couldn't help but smile. Harry was always willing to go anywhere with him these days, no questions asked.
They used the Invisibility Cloak to slip out of the Burrow and made their way across the field. "So where're we going at…twenty to midnight?" Harry asked after checking his watch..
"You'll see," Ron asked holding his hand out to Harry who eyed it warily. "C'mon you poof. No one's looking."
"Shut it," Harry said, finally grabbing Ron's hand before Ron Disapparated the both of them.
"A pub?" Harry asked once they arrived at their destination.
Ron nodded. "Thought we could do some real celebrating." He went inside. He looked around for all of two minutes before pulling Harry back outside. "Never mind. Don't like the look of the place. Let's go somewhere else." And before Harry could protest, he'd taken them both by Side-Along to another town a few miles further north.
This process was repeated nearly two-dozen times. They'd Apparate, take a look inside the pub Ron brought them to and leave again after Ron gave some excuse about 'That bloke at the bar looking shifty' or 'That last place smelled a bit ripe, dinnit?'
Eventually they ended up on the streets of London, where they could walk from pup to pup instead of Apparating, something both their rather full stomachs were thankful for.
"You wanna tell me what we're looking for exactly?" Harry complained. "Thought we were just grabbing a drink? All this running around is making me a bit thirsty."
"Quit whining," said Ron, grinning. "You weren't doing anything important."
"I was sleeping. You of all people should know how important that is."
"We can sleep when we're dead." Ron paused. "Or can we? I mean you'd know better than me," he said. Harry only groaned in exhaustion. "C'mon mate. I've got a good feeling about this next one."
Ron's feeling turned out to be wrong. And he continued to be wrong until they entered lucky pub #38 when Ron's eyes lit up in triumph. Harry followed his eye line. "George?" he said, surprised.
"George," Ron agreed before walking over to his brother seated alone at the bar. "Hey there brother. Fancy seeing you here," he said as he took the stool next to George.
George looked up from the glass of whiskey he was nursing, though it took him nearly twenty seconds to recognize Ron and Harry. Must be good and pissed by now, Ron thought. "Wuzzit you two doin here?" George slurred.
"Same as you George; we're celebrating. Two more of whatever he's having," Ron told the barkeep.
"Wha we cebelrating?"
"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' grand reopening. We're back in business Forge."
It took a moment for George to process this, but when he did his eyes darkened, though Ron couldn't be sure if it was the mention of the shop or his old nickname that did it.
"Well alrigh' then," said George, tossing back the rest of his drink.
"Barkeep. Another," said Ron, with audible relief.
Gratefully, the three of them managed to sit together without much animosity. Ron and Harry did most of the talking, though George did manage to add his two pence every now and then, even if he didn't so much as crack a smile as Ron and Harry grew more and more ridiculous with every drink.
Eventually Ron was pissed enough to feel a bit daring and looked over to his brother. "You know…if you wanted me to close the shop I would. I…I know it's not…I wouldn't want you to think I'm trying to take it away from you," Ron said, wanting to make sure George understood. Even if he worked there fifty years, the shop would always belong to the twins. Sensing that he was intruding, Harry excused himself to go to the loo.
After Harry disappeared, the two brothers sat there a moment before George finally shook his head. "Fred wou be happy the shop's open again," said George.
"Yeah he would. But I reckon he'd be happier if you were there, too," said Ron.
"I…can't," George croaked after a moment's hesitation. And Ron understood. George coming back to the shop without Fred would be like…would be like Ron going back to Hogwarts without Hermione.
He wondered if she would come back for school, or if she'd just stay in Australia forever and they'd never see or hear from her again. Did he and Harry really mean so little to her? And what would she say if she did come back? What would he say?
"She's cheating on me," Ron said to no one in particular as he looked down at the bar, though he was sure George had heard him. His throat burned as he said it and he didn't think he could blame it on the bitter ale he was drinking.
"Howzzat?"
He didn't know if it was the fault of the alcohol or the pressure of keeping such a painful secret from everyone, but words started pouring from Ron's mouth in a rush. "A couple weeks back I went to Australia to check on her and I saw her with some other bloke."
This got the biggest reaction Ron had seen in months from George as his eyes widened and he tipped back off his barstool when he tried to appraise Ron and tumbled to the floor.
"M'alrigh, m'alright," George said, picking himself up and holding his hands up to discourage anyone from helping him. Not that anyone had; it was a Monday so the place was practically deserted. "You saw Hermione?" Ron nodded. "With another guy?" Another nod. "Shagging?"
"What? No! What's the matter with you?" Ron said, outraged. He hadn't even considered that possibility, and he certainly wasn't going to entertain it now.
"Sorry. It's just…you said—"
"She was snogging him," Ron stated emphatically.
"Oh," George sobered a moment. "You sure it was Hermione?"
"Yeah," Ron said, taking another drink. "It was her."
"What're you gonna do?"
Ron wondered if George even knew they'd been together before she left, if he'd even noticed during those two weeks when he'd barely left his room. "Nothing," Ron said. What could he do? She didn't want him and had found someone else, someone better.
Suppose I should be thankful she waited to do it behind my back, he thought bitterly. Maybe this had been her plan all along. Maybe their kiss during the battle had all been in the heat of the moment, maybe she'd only done it because she thought they wouldn't survive so why not? Perhaps she'd regretted it as soon as the dust settled, only staying with him because she didn't want to hurt his feelings or because she was afraid he couldn't cope with rejection so soon after Fred's death.
After all, she hadn't said that she loved him. They'd touched and caressed one-another, but so what? Most of that he'd done with Lavender and he certainly hadn't been in love with her. Maybe Hermione had tried to love him and couldn't. If that was the case, he really couldn't blame her, could he?. Ron would never want Hermione to stay with him out of a sense of obligation, wouldn't want them to stay together if it made her unhappy. And if he ever did see her again he wouldn't be a jealous git, wouldn't stand in the way of her happiness with someone else. He was finished hurting her with his clumsy and misguided attempts to express his feelings.
Of course, actually following through with this plan was another matter entirely and he wasn't sure he was really up for it. And a part of him hoped she'd just stay gone; at least then he wouldn't have to pretend to be happy when he watched her with someone else.
George held up two fingers for another round, and Ron told the barkeep to make it three, remembering Harry. "So thas it?" asked George.
"That's it," Ron agreed. He'd had his shot and somehow he'd blown it. Maybe if he'd gone with her this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe if he'd figured out a way to find her sooner, if he'd gone to Kingsley the minute her letter arrived, Squashface would never have had the chance to enter the picture. Or maybe all he'd need to do was talk to her, try and explain his reasons for staying, for why he was pushing her to leave.
Ron mulled all this over his ale. What he'd done to screw things up, what he should've done instead; it didn't really matter. They'd made it a grand total of twelve days before he'd gone and mucked it all up. Even if he'd done things right this time, it would've only been a matter of time before he did something that convinced her how much more she deserved, how much better she could do.
It really wasn't surprising. In fact, it was almost like he'd expected it, like he'd been waiting for the surreal dream of being with Hermione to come crashing back to reality and dump him on his arse. He'd left her once already. It was only fair for her to leave him. But payback certainly was a bitch.
Guess I should count myself lucky, he thought bitterly. At least I got twelve days with her. More'n I deserve. More than most blokes will ever get the chance for.
While he obviously wished things could be different, wished there was no Squashface, that he would wake up tomorrow to find Hermione in his arms, he surprisingly he didn't feel spiteful or bitter or even angry anymore. And it also didn't stop him from still loving her.
Ron's thoughts were disturbed by a call of "Weasley" from across the bar. He looked over his shoulder, forgetting that George was sitting next to him to see a girl approaching their seats at the bar, a very pretty girl in fact. Actually she seemed familiar, which was strange considering this was a Muggle pub. Come to think of it how did she know his name?
"I thought that was you George Weasley," she said, ignoring Ron to peak at George's face slumped over the bar.
"Verity," said George.
That's right, Ron said, remembering her from the shop. So she was a witch. Not every day you see a witch dressed in such…provocative Muggle clothing and he found himself peaking down her low-cut top as she squeezed between him and George, his mouth suddenly rather moist.
"Well aren't you a right mess," Verity said, looking her former employer up and down. Ron opened his mouth to tell her off; Fred was gone and George had the right to look liked he'd just been hit with a batch of Stinksap from a Mimbulus Mimbletonia if he wanted (though Ron strongly hoped George would remember the existence of personal hygiene before things got that bad). But Verity turned on him next before he could respond. "And you're almost as bad. Don't you Weasleys know what a razor's for Percy?" She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, which made her look rather adorable Ron thought. "Or a bath for that matter,"
Immediately Ron felt his angry retort wither in his throat and he doubled over in laughter.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked, finally back from the loo.
"She…thinks…I'm…Percy," Ron spat out between laughs. George scowled and Harry just blinked.
"Err, yeah," he said, smiling slightly, though he looked at Ron a bit worriedly as he continued to laugh manically. "That's a good one mate."
Verity was indignant. "Well how am I supposed to-Merlin's sagging tits! You're Harry Potter."
"Am I?" asked Harry a bit drunkenly. "If you say so."
"So that makes you…Ron, right?" she asked.
"Well at least she got it on the second try," said Ron weakly to Harry.
"I'm standing right here," Verity huffed, refusing to be ignored.
Ron's brain was a bit fuzzy and he took a long time to look her up and down. "Yes. You are."
A brief flicker of...something—embarrassment perhaps—passed over Verity's face before she smiled and turned to the bartener. "Allen, give me whatever the boys are drinking. And better bring another round for the idiots too. Put it on my tab. Oi! Leslie," Verity shouted across the bar to a raven-haired girl sitting with two muscle-y looking blokes. "I'm gonna talk to this lot for a mo'. You going to be alright?"
Leslie didn't seem to mind being left in the company of her two male companions in the slightest and Ron turned back to the bar and their new round of drinks waiting.
"So which of you fellas are going to give up his stool so I can sit next to old Georgie here?" Verity asked.
"Here. Take mine," Ron said, suddenly leaping up from his seat. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him as if to ask 'What was that?' Ron only shrugged. Like I even know.
Verity apparently found his behavior odd as well. "Settle down there tiger," she said, taking the seat. Ears slightly pink, Ron walked to George's left.
"Budge up," he told Harry.
Harry looked up and down the otherwise empty bar. "You're joking right? Just sit anywhere."
Ron considered taking the seat to Harry's left but feared being left out of the conversation, so he took the seat to Verity's right instead, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers.
"You do have a brother named Percy, right," Verity asked as he sat down. "Or did I just make that up?"
"Nah. He's our older brother. Can't remember anyone ever confusing us before though. Me and him are like night and day."
"Well I hope I didn't offend him. Make sure to apologize for me when you see him."
Ron grinned. He was starting to like Verity very much. "Sure. No problem."
"I'm sorry," said Verity, sincere this time. "Fred and George always said Percy was the tall one."
Ron waved her off. "I passed him up years ago. Only found out recently though. The prat was on the outs with the family for a bit."
"Yes, I remember them mentioning that." She looked him up and down. "How tall are you?"
"Six-three," Ron said proudly.
"Ooh. Big boy," she said, winking. Ron's face turned scarlet and she laughed before turning to George.
"So boss, what've you been up to?"
"Nothing," George said, taking a drink without looking at her. Ron and Harry exchanged an awkward glance behind the backs of the others.
"Well good on you. I always said you worked too hard. Didn't I always say that?"
"No."
"Well I meant to. No, wait. That was me working my arse off for you two slave drivers."
Every time the subject touched on Fred for a moment, Ron felt himself cringe. He could only hope she didn't upset George. Ron felt he'd pushed him far enough already tonight with the news about the shop. Thankfully she turned her attention to Harry and Ron. "And what about you two? What do war heroes do once the war's been won?"
"Well Harry here's gonna be an Auror. Lives for danger, this one. Dies for it too come to think of it."
"For the moment," Harry said, interrupting, clearly not amused while Verity looked confused by Ron's quip, "we're both in the joke shop business."
"Yeah we're a couple of enter-enter-enterpeeners," Ron said, struggling with the Muggle word.
"You don't say? I was wondering what nutter reopened that place. I figured George was back at it, but I guess you two fit the bill."
They all laughed. "And what're you doing these days?" asked Harry.
"Same as George: taking a well-earned holiday. But I've been starting to get a bit antsy lately, need to get my hands dirty again. How'd the big reopening go?"
"Great," said Harry.
"Absolutely mad," said Ron. "You should see the rest of the staff. It's like trying to coach a Qudditch team that's two Chasers short of a full squad."
"Is that an invitation?" asked Verity coyly. "Or should I say job offer?"
Ron hadn't meant to suggest anything of the sort, but he saw Harry nodding fervently over George's shoulder; clearly he shared Ron's opinion of Melanie.
"You'd want to come back?" Ron asked. "I mean we'd love the help, but I dunno if you remember how mental that place is. And this was just the first day."
Verity's eyes flashed dangerous. "I like things a bit mental. And I reckon the same goes for the two of you," she said wryly.
Ron had the feeling that Verity wasn't a witch to be underestimated. He caught Harry's eye and they both grinned. "You don't know the half of it. Allen, was it? Four more," he called to the bartender before looking back to Verity. "Now, let's talk terms of contract."
A/N: This chapter's title comes from the song "Rid of Me" by PJ Harvey off her album Rid of Me.
Well there you have it, our last look at Ron before we first see him in chapter 1 when Kinglsey comes a callin' for him and Harry. And as you might've guessed, Elana is the other witch mentioned way back in chapter 9 who also helped out Ron. Is there anything else connecting these two women? You'll have to keep reading to find out.
Anyway, this chapter closes what I consider to be the 'second act' of this fic. The first ten were all about confusing and showing how happy Ron and Hermione were before she left. The next ten have separated them even more in the present while giving you most (but not all) of the answers behind how things got so messed up between them in the first place. The last ten still to come are all about the resolution, and meant to show not only the roots of how things could get so bad, but how it's still possible that despite everything, there's still hope.
I'm really excited to see what you guys think of what I still have in store. I'm not sure if I'm more excited for the 'present' story line or the last few flashback chapters I have planned. But I will say my personal favorite chapter (which should be ch. 24) is still on the way. I wrote most of it ages ago and have slowly been tweaking it here and there to keep it consistent with everything else. It's totally self-indulgent and maybe even a little unnecessary, but I don't care. I love it and I hope you guys will too.