Author's Note: Thank you all for your amazing reviews! Sorry this post was a little delayed; it was originally going to go up yesterday but my computer lost the document so I had to write it all over again!
Get your chocolate out, I ditched the fluffiness for a chapter, and like I said, it's a bit sad (sorry, 'dark' was the wrong word to use in the last AN, people took it the wrong way).
Enjoy!
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Chapter Twenty-Eight:
The weak city sun poked through the thin cotton curtains, bathing the bedroom in the half-light of morning. Hermione stirred, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the sunlight. She vainly clung to sleep, though she could feel it slipping away like water through fingers. Eyes still closed, she woke up in inches, slowly reacquainting herself to her surroundings. The right side of her face was pressed firmly into the pillow; she knew this because she always slept in the same way. Ron slept on the right side of the bed and she always faced him, so he was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed. It sounded horribly cliché in her head, but she couldn't help it; it gave her comfort knowing that he was always there, and would be right there when she opened her eyes again.
She knew that he would still be asleep; she could tell by the grey light in front of her eyelids that it was early in the morning. Ron hardly ever woke up before noon on weekends; if he had things his way, he wouldn't go to work before two in the afternoon. Smiling to herself, she slowly slid across the bed to where his warm body would be. Although spring was finally ascending in the city, the mornings were still cool, and she couldn't think of anything better than curling into him and feeling his arm around her.
But he wasn't there.
She was on his side of the bed now, and her eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep blinked away. She sat straight up, clutching the blankets to her bare chest; they hardly ever slept in pajamas anymore. She looked around the bedroom, her eyes scouring every corner. Her heard was beating quickly now, and her head was spinning.
"Ron?" she called out, her voice small and uncertain in the silent flat. She did not know why she had done it. She knew, though she didn't know how, that he was not in the flat. She could sense it, maybe, she could feel that he wasn't here.
She picked up her dressing gown from the floor where it had been discarded last night; specifically, where Ron had discarded it last night. She wrapped it around her body, as if the cold, unfriendly silk could comfort her. She padded into the living room, which was just as empty as the bedroom had been. She tried calling his name again (perhaps he hadn't heard her) but he did not answer. She hated herself for sounding so pitiful and…lost.
He would have left a note.
This thought entered her mind as she stared around the empty living room. She had no idea where he was, or why he had left; it was Sunday morning, and they usually spent a great deal of Sunday morning in bed. It was hardly past nine now, and she tried to keep her heart under control, but it wouldn't obey her. Ron wouldn't have left unless something terrible had happened. And surely he would have left a note.
She tore up the flat looking for that note. She tore off every pillow on the couch, she threw all of the contents out of the drawers and opened every cabinet in the bathroom. She pulled the blankets off of the bed and took out every single article of clothing from the wardrobe. But there was no note, no slip of parchment explaining where he and gone and why. As she searched, she became more and more hysteric. She hadn't realized that she had not been breathing, that her toes were numb and her fingers were cold. As she tore through the flat looking for his note, she began breathing fast, her eyes blinking furiously as she refused to let the tears in her eyes fall.
She walked back into the living room and collapsed in the middle of the floor, her face buried in her hands. Her heart rewound to winter two years past, when he had left her without an explanation, standing outside the tent in the rain. No she told herself; it's not like that. Don't think like that. She wiped her tears angrily and bit her lip to keep herself from crying again. She through to herself, twisting a piece of hair around her finger as she thought of what to do next.
She could go and talk to Ginny, who was right across the hall. But she quickly dismissed this idea. Talking to Ginny would mean that she would have to discuss a whole list of possibilities. She would have to think about things she was trying not to consider. Talking to Ginny meant thinking about what really was happening, and at this moment, Hermione wanted to keep reality at bay.
She could go see her parents, but she quickly shunned this idea as well. Her father would storm around angrily and curse under his breath while her mother would hold her hand on the sofa, her face carefully aligned into folds of sadness. Hermione didn't want that either, she didn't want pity. She wanted to know what was happening.
What she really needed was rationality. She wanted to know what was happening without someone talking to her in a hushed voice. The answer came to her: she would take a walk. A walk was a perfectly rational thing to do. She would clear her mind and think things through. And when she got back, Ron would be there. Because he hadn't left, he hadn't…no. She wasn't going to think about it.
Left.
The word echoed in her mind, reverberating and filling her brain. Her breathing hitched again as fresh tears cascaded down her face. Left. Gone. She picked herself up off the floor and pulled on the first things she found: a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt of Ron's. She knew she shouldn't wear it, she knew that she should put something else on, but she couldn't. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and sobbed a little harder; the smell of Ron was everywhere, but she couldn't take it off.
She stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her. It was a childish thing to do, but it was the only object that couldn't give her a pitying look. She was about to walk down the hallway when something caught her eye. It was a small square, posted on the door just under their flat number, fifteen.
It was a piece of parchment, worn and wrinkled, the kind one finds in the very bottoms of pockets or book bags. She froze, turning slowly and staring in disbelief at the piece of parchment that was attached to the door. With shaking fingers, she pulled the note from the door and held it in her hands, a lifeline. She blinked down at the piece of parchment that was covered in Ron's messy scrawl. For a few minutes she could not read it; her mind was so filled with relief and anticipation there was no room for anything else.
Hermione –
I'm sorry I didn't wake you up, but you looked so beautiful I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Love,
Ron
She read it through several times, blinking tears out of her eyes as she read the lines over and over again, trying to make sense of them. She gave a weak sort of laugh and leaned against the wall to keep herself standing. But then, as soon as relief washed over her, anger followed. This note explained nothing; she still did not know where he was or why he had left. She could picture him now, dashing out of the flat and then realizing as he shut the door behind him that he should probably leave her a note to tell her not to panic. She could picture him scrawling a message on a bit of parchment he had found in his pocket, quill between his teeth as he attached it to the door.
And he had left it on the wrong side of the door. Who left a note on the wrong side of the door? Ron, that's who. Anger coursed through her veins as she realized how many pointless tears she had shed looking for a note he had put in the wrong place. How scared she had been, how worried. And it had been here all the time.
"Ron!" she bellowed at the top of her voice, releasing some of the anger. But as soon as she shouted, she regretted it. Embarrassment began to settle in as people stuck their heads out of their doors to see who on earth was shouting. Hermione turned pink as people shot her accusatory looks, though she did not have an explanation for them; she knew she must look stupid standing in the hallway in a large sweatshirt and screaming. Harry stumbled out, his shirt on backwards and his slippers on the wrong feet.
"Hermione," he groaned, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes blearily. "What the hell are you doing? You know it's only nine, right? The rest of the world was sleeping!" he said, putting his glasses back on and giving her a look.
Her cheeks turned hotter as she mouthed worthlessly for an explanation. "I…Ron, he…I woke up and…here," she said finally, shoving the note into Harry's hand. She watched as he read it, and he too turned red. Hermione immediately wished she had thought better of it. She could practically feel Harry's embarrassment as he handed her the note without looking at her, his eyes adverted. He looked as though he had intruded on something private, as if he had seen something personal, something he wasn't supposed to see.
People began shutting their doors as they concluded that Hermione was done screaming and nothing interesting was going to happen. Harry and Hermione, now alone, stood in the middle of the hallway, the weight of the note between them. Harry was looking resolutely at his feet, his face still red.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Did he tell you anything about where he was going? It just so unlike him to just leave like this," she said, trying hard to leave the discomfort behind them.
Harry finally looked at her, then shook his head. "He didn't tell me anything. I have no idea where he…" but he broke off, his eyes widening. Hermione watched him apprehensively, every nerve on end.
"What?" she asked impatiently.
"Hermione," he said slowly. "What is the date today?" he asked.
"W-what?" she said, taken aback, not expecting this. She thought hard; on weekends the days seemed to blend together, there was no need to count them. "Well, Thursday was the twenty-ninth, because I had a meeting so today must be the…"
"First of April," Harry finished for her grimly.
Hermione's heart dropped out of her chest. The first of April, of course; it explained everything, it explained why Ron wasn't here. Today was George's birthday, the first birthday he wasn't going to share with Fred. All anger dissipated, Ron was more important now. She knew why he had woken up so early, why he hadn't told her where she was, and why he had put a note on the wrong side of the door.
"Oh no," she said softly under her breath, biting her lip and crushing the note in her fist. "I have to go find him," she said, though her mind was blank. She did not know where he would be, there were so many places he could disappear to.
"I'll help you," Harry said, running his hand through his messy hair. Hermione shook her head, and Harry looked slightly taken aback.
"No, you can't. You have to stay here, for Ginny. I'll…I'll go and find Ron," she said, and Harry nodded in agreement. He stood there for a moment, then patted her awkwardly on the back before opening the door of his flat and disappeared behind it.
Hermione stood in the hallway in front of her flat, thinking hard. She did not know where Ron would be; there were so many places where he could disappear if he wanted to. She thought of the pub he and Will had gone to last weekend to talk about the Cannons. But she quickly dismissed this idea. When Ron got upset, he got quiet. The last place he would want to be was a pub or a bar. She thought of the Burrow next, but she didn't think he would be there either. With so many people, the Burrow could be just as loud as a pub.
Shell Cottage. It was where Ron had gone last time, when he had felt lost and miserable and needed to think. It had been the place he had gone when he had left Harry and Hermione. Hermione started, her breath stuck between her heart and her throat. He was at Shell Cottage.
Checking to make sure that there was no one in the hallway to see her, she turned on the spot. The smell of the salty air met her nose and she could feel the wind of the sea whip her face as she arrived on the cliff-side a moment later. She pushed hair out of her face as she looked around the small cliff.
She saw the tell-tale flash of red on the other side of the cliff, and her heart stopped beating. The crash of waves coming from all sides of the cliff was making her feel slightly claustrophobic.
She was frozen for a moment, staring at him. His back was to her, he was sitting on the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling over the edge of the rocks. Although he was far away, she could tell he was crying. His head was bowed and his shoulders hung in a defeated sort of way.
The sea had masked the sound of her Apparating, and it masked the sound of her footsteps as she walked over to him. Wordlessly, she sat down next to him, hanging her feet over the edge of the cliff. Ron didn't turn to look at her.
"Did you get my note?" he asked after a few minutes, his voice hoarse and rough. He still wasn't looking at her, and Hermione took this as a bad sign. She needed to see him, to look and him and help him.
"Yes, I did," she said simply, thinking that now would not be the best time to tell him she had torn through the flat looking for it and thought that he had left her.
They sat in silence for a long time, Ron staring out at the horizon, his eyes fixed on the line where the sky met the ocean. Hermione sat waiting for him; she knew he would talk when he was ready. She chanced a glance at him, and saw that his face was screwed up in pain, a line of tears tracking a path down his face. She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. He looked down at it, and then looked at her.
His eyes were broken and fragile, and Hermione had to restrain herself from touching him, kissing him. He looked so lost and alone, and it made her want to cry out; his pain was her pain. She wanted to do something for him, help him, but his eyes were searing her. They went through her like fire and ice at the same time; it was a strange sensation that made her brain feel oddly fuzzy and blank.
"I can't remember," he said in an anguished whisper. Hermione looked down and saw that he was gripping her hand so hard her fingers were turning white.
"You can't remember what?" she asked, her voice soft and barely heard above the waves, but she knew he heard her.
"I can't remember the last thing he said to me," Ron said in a whisper, and Hermione's heart broke open. She felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at him, her throat blocked by his words.
"It – everything went by so fast, Harry was there and then he was gone, and then we were fighting. And I didn't realize it until this morning, but I can't remember the last thing I said to him, or the last thing he said to me," Ron said, and he crumbed in front of her. Dropping her hand, he put his face in his palms and began to cry out loud, his sobs breaking through the sound of the waves. They carried heavily in the air, and Hermione felt her heart rip out of her chest every single time he gasped for breath. She was crying too, tears blinding her.
"When I woke up this morning, and…and I realized I couldn't…couldn't…couldn't remember. It just got me thinking. Now it's that I forget the last thing he said to me, but what will it be next time? What happens if I wake up in a few months and I forget what it sounded like when he laughed? What if I wake up on his – their next birthday and I forget what his favorite food is or something? I just…" but he broke off, his eyes very wet again.
Hermione still hadn't said anything, though she did not think she needed to. There was nothing she could say to Ron to make him feel better, but being her, next to him, could help him.
"I'm just scared, you know? I can't…I can't remember. And I've been trying, I've been trying so hard to remember what he said, what I said. Because if I can't, maybe that means that one day, I'm going to lose him for good," and he started crying again. This time, Hermione gently reached out and touched his shoulder, bringing him closer to him. He rested his face on her shoulder, and she could feel his tears drip from his nose onto her shoulder.
"Ron," she said softly, and it sounded as though she had not spoken in a very long time; her voice was gravelly and broken in places. "You'll never lose him forever. There are so many people who remember Fred. There might be…details that you can't remember, but he's still here. Love is more powerful than death," she said, her voice hitching in spots as she tried to control her breathing. She needed to be strong right now, but it was so hard.
Ron nodded, tears still collecting in the corners of his eyes. "I know that, but it really got to me. I want to think it was something good. I want to believe that the last thing I told him was something…something alright. But what if it wasn't? What if the last thing I said to him was 'piss off' or 'go away'? I just…I didn't know. I didn't know I wouldn't be able to…to…talk to him again," he said, collapsing again against Hermione's shoulder as he cried. She stroked his hair, crying too as their heavy breathing matched.
"There was something else too," Ron said after a few minutes. He lifted his head off her shoulder and looked at her. He had stopped crying, though his eyes still had that broken look.
"What is it?" Hermione whispered. She was not sure if she wanted to hear it, if she could hear it. Ron's words had ripped through her soul in so many places, she was not sure if she was strong enough to hear anything else.
"When I woke up this morning, before I realized that I couldn't remember, I saw you," Ron said. Hermione realized she was holding in her breath. "Do you remember how at Fred's f-f…how George said we had to remember how he lived?" Ron said, and Hermione nodded.
"When I saw you this morning, sleeping and just looking so…I realized that it isn't right, it's not right that we have to remember how he lived. Because he really didn't, did he?"
Hermione's forehead knit with confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, taking his hand in hers again. Ron didn't seem sad anymore, he sounded angry. He swung his legs around so that they weren't hanging off the edge anymore. He stood up and began pacing; Hermione turned to face him, bringing her knees close to her chest.
"I mean, he was twenty. He never got the chance to live. When I looked at you this morning, I realized how much I love you. You looked so peaceful and happy and beautiful, and I thought, 'damn, I would do anything for you'. And then I realized that Fred never got that. He never got to wake up next to the one person he loves more than anything in the world. He never even got the chance to find her. They say you're supposed to remember the person how they lived, well, that's for old people, isn't it? It's for people who had the chance to live. Fred didn't have that," Ron said, pacing angrily back and forth.
Hermione stood up, extending her hand, but he ignored her. She lowered it, and watched him pace; his hair on end from where he had been ran his hands through it.
"I just…I realized how unfair it all was. We get to live and he doesn't. I get to be an Auror and be with you and be happy, and he doesn't. And how am I supposed to remember his life when there's so much that is missing from it?" Ron said. He was shouting now, and he paused for a moment to breathe. Hermione took the opportunity to grab his hand and stop him from pacing again.
"Ron," she said. "Fred did get to live. Remember all the things he did? Students are going to be talking about their break-out from school for a long time. He was a member of the Order; he got to be in the middle of the action. He might not have…lived for a long time, but he lived Ron. And even if he…missed some of the things we get to have, he did live," she said. It might have been the hardest thing she had ever said; the lump in her throat was making it impossible to talk, and every word was pulling at her heart.
But something terrible happened. All of the anger that had been bursting out of him was gone; he had lost all of the fight. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, his hair hanging down so that she couldn't see his face.
"You're right, of course. You're always right," he said softly, and she almost managed a smile. She took another step closer to him and he raised his head. Their eyes connected and Hermione felt her spine tingle as he looked deep into her. He didn't look broken anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, feeling his chest pressed up against hers, his arms around her back. "I...well, it's just that...you...what you said, it...thank you," he said softly, and Hermione smiled soflty into his chest.
They stood like that, on the cliff overlooking the sea, for a long time. Hermione lost track of how many minutes, though it felt as if time did not exist at all. Ron started crying again, and Hermione pressed her head into his neck, her head on his shoulder. She rubbed his back in comforting circles as his breathing became jagged and uneven. There were so many reasons he was crying, so many things to cry for. So she stood there with him, knowing that her presence, her arms around him, was the only thing that could help. And the wind whipped around their entwined bodies, tangling in her hair and whispering on the back of their necks, the sound of the sea crashing down on them.
~*~
Author's Note: I realized that in a lot of "after the war" stories, people usually skip Fred and George's birthday. I always wondered what would happen with that, because it always seemed really important to me. Anyway, I won't be writing a chapter for May 2nd, I'm done with depressing things (I almost cried writing Ron's part here... embarrassing and strange, I know).
I've decided to make a promise to myself. I'm going to write responses to every review I get! I promise! This way I'll get to write something to all of you! I like doing Author's Notes at the beginning at the chapter where I use ever adjective known to man to say "thank you", but this way I'll be able to address every one of you!
Get ready for fluff in the next chapter; I've already started writing it. It wasn't in my original plan, but I thought it might be a good idea after this one. There's bickering as well, because I realized I've neglected it a bit and a few of you have been asking for a good, typical Ron and Hermione fight.
Sorry to disappoint you if you thought Ron and Hermione were going to get engaged in this chapter. Honestly, though, they're nineteen, that's a bit young, don't you think? However, I spend a lot of time "writing in my head" and I have the whole scene planned out. I know how it'll work out and what he'll say and how he'll say it (and where). It's definitely not in the next chapter, but it's coming, hang in there!
Reviews would be great! Like I've said before, writing the emotional stuff is hard because there's a very fine line between heartfelt and just plain corny. When I'm writing chapters like this (or ones like chapter three) I try hard not to go too over-the-top. I want to be genuine without being forced. So...I'd love to hear what you all have to say! The romantic bits are hard, but I think chapters like this are the hardest!
Also, I just posted a one-shot called "The Line Crossed," Please check it out if you can! I actually like this one!
