WRITTEN FOR THE HOUSES COMPETITION, YEAR 7, ROUND 7

House: Ravenclaw

Class: Muggle Studies

Drabble

Prompt: [Emotion] Distrust

Word Count: 980 (google docs)

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If This Were A Dream

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Some days, Hermione can't believe they won the war. She can't believe that Voldemort is truly gone, that she's alive to enjoy the Wizarding World in all its imperfection.

She'll walk into the Ministry of Magic in the mornings, and the sunlit atrium will feel hazy and dreamlike. She'll sit down at her desk in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and press her fingers against the sharp jut in the wood, willing herself to wake up.

She never does, yet she never stops needing reassurance that her life is real. The relief that she drowns in after confirming she's awake feels new every time.

Some nights, Hermione can't sleep. She can't close her eyes, for fear that when she opens them again, she'll be back at Hogwarts, staring at Harry's dead body on the ground and knowing that they failed. She can't let Ron spoon her, sleeping where she can't see him.

She'll get out of bed on those nights, slipping out of Ron's arms, and sitting in her armchair by the window, wand in hand. She'll stare at his sleeping face and wonder how he manages to slumber the night away so consistently. She'll wonder when he'll abandon her again; when fighting the good fight will become more than he can handle, and he'll walk away.

Hermione has never forgotten the night Ron threw a Horcrux at Harry's head and left them to slog through the war without him.

It's becoming too much. Day after day, she walks into the Ministry of Magic, goes into her job full of potential, and runs her hand across the grooves in her desk, the sharp pinch of the splintered wood reminding her that it's real. She meets with werewolves, with House-elves, with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and the mermaids in the Black Lake. It's exhausting – it's invigorating, and it gives everything she puts into it back to her tenfold. She's changing lives. She's actually doing some good for this world, a world that's been stagnant for far too long.

Then she goes home to Ron. He's never anything less than accepting and loving, though Hermione suspects that he'd rather she emulate his mother, staying home for him, quitting her promising career for him. She goes to the home she's built with Ron, the idyllic dream she's had in mind since she was fourteen.

Hermione isn't fourteen anymore. She's lived through a war, and even when she's home with Ron, where she's supposed to be safe –

Even when she's home with Ron, she can't put her wand down. Can't have it further away than arm's reach.

When Ron makes a reservation at the fancy French bistro in Diagon Alley, Hermione thinks that they're on the same page. It'll be a mutual break-up, where she'll try not to be too hurt that he can't share her love with her work, and he'll try not to be too hurt when she doesn't cry over him.

There's a sinking feeling shivering down her spine. A feeling that whispers, you were right not to let him close; you knew he was going to leave. Well done, Hermione. It sounds like affirmation, like the glowing approval of every teacher she's ever had.

The restaurant is perfect in every way, lithe candles lighting the tables, centerpieces of roses blooming before their eyes. No less than five forks shine on the napkin beside her plate.

She'd known it was fancy, but this far exceeds her every apprehension.

Ron orders a red wine without asking her opinion and turns to her with bright blue eyes.

"So," he says. "Nice, right?"

Hermione smiles weakly. "Nice," she echoes. The flickering candles twitch in her peripheral vision.

The waitress hasn't yet returned with the wine, and Ron seems content to sit there, staring at her in candlelight that's barely sufficient to see by in a restaurant that Hermione never would have picked.

She can't take it.

"I think that we should –"

"Hermione, will you –"

They speak at the same time, and Hermione winces. Ron smiles genially, leaning forward. "No, you first," he says. "I can wait."

"Ron, I know why you've brought me here tonight. I agree." She tries too hard to smile. "We should break up."

Ron's face freezes, his eyes sparkling hollowly. "What?"

"It's not working." Hermione wets her lips. "We should break up."

He falls back in his chair, one hand rubbing his forehead. "I don't understand. I – what?"

Hermione's stomach sinks as she realises maybe they weren't on the same page after all. Maybe they never were. "Ron… neither of us are happy. I don't have the time to invest in a relationship the way that you want me to. I'm never around, I'm more married to my work than I am to anything else – it's important work! I have the ability to make so many lives better, to fix so many injustices in our world; you see that, don't you? I can change things." She closes her mouth with a snap, realising that she's been getting louder the longer she speaks. People are glancing towards their table, whispering behind their hands.

Ron stares at her like she's a stranger to him.

"But – I love you. Hermione, I was asking you to marry me."

"Oh, Ron…" Tears bubble up in Hermione's eyes, and she blinks quickly, trying to keep them back. If she starts crying, Ron will start yelling, and everything will get worse than it already is.

His lips flatten, and she thinks he understands. That he knows why she can't let him sleep at her back, why she can't count on him to do simple things like pay their bills… why she has to do everything herself.

She loved Ron. But she doesn't trust him.

And in the end, without trust, love simply isn't enough.

a/n: beta love to sekdaniels, KeepSmiling1, and LadyS!