author's note: This one has been sitting in my brain for a while. Loosely based off the song "Hard Feelings/Loveless" by Lorde off her Melodrama album. As much as I love Romione, there is not a happy ending with them together in this one. Still, I hope you give it a chance and enjoy!
hard feelings
"When you've outgrown a lover
The whole world knows, but you.
It's time to let go of this endless summer afternoon"
-Lorde
Hermione sat at the table, staring at the wilted flowers in the vase. She knew she should feel something, but there were no feelings coursing through her veins.
Hermione was a logical witch. She knew that she'd often been called the brightest witch of her age, and she'd tried her hardest to live up to the title since she had come to know of its existence. However, this was something she hadn't seen coming. In none of her wildest imaginings had she ever foreseen that this moment was a possibility.
She twisted the engagement ring on her finger, watching the way the light hit it and created a dazzling, sparkling effect. She bit her lip as she continued to twist it for a moment longer before she slid it off her finger and placed it on the table next to the slip of parchment she'd written out earlier in the day.
She wasn't sure she had the courage to leave the note, or the ring, for that matter.
Hermione knew she had to. She was too much of a coward to break his heart in person. Some Gryffindor.
She stood up, picked the ring up one last time to glance at it, placed it back down on top of the parchment, and walked quickly to her school trunk and suitcases. She shrunk all but one suitcase down and placed them in her pocket.
As she stood on the threshold, she turned one last time to take in the life she was leaving behind.
Her first home of her own, their home, and she was leaving it behind without a word.
Hermione stepped out into the bright late summer sunlight, momentarily blinded, and hailed a nearby cab.
As she stepped into it, she gave him the name of the hotel she'd be staying out until she found a flat of her own.
Scene break
When Ron stepped out of the floo after work, he expected to see Hermione curled up in her favourite chair with the latest book she'd been reading. What he was not expecting was for the lights to be turned off, or for her favourite chair to be gone.
He glanced around in confusion as he noticed that there was something else slightly off about the living room.
What was it?
He scratched his head for a moment as he stood in the grate, the green flames still billowing behind him. He stepped onto the hearth rug, wiping his shoes of the soot.
He walked past the dining room with the wilting flowers and into the kitchen. The kitchen looked the same, Ron thought. He moved straight to their bedroom, a sickening feeling churning in the pit of his stomach.
Everything was clean, as usual. As he opened up one of Hermione's drawers, Ron was immediately struck by how unnaturally light the drawer felt to pull out of the wardrobe.
It was empty, he realized. Without bothering to close the drawer, he opened the rest of them, finding only his clothing stowed in their places.
Something inside Ron froze. He couldn't move—just stood there, staring emptily at Hermione's drawers. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but finally, somehow, his feet moved him back to the living room where he numbly sat on the sofa, staring at that damned painting she had insisted on hanging above the hearth.
Now, as he glanced about, confused, Ron knew what had seemed off about the living room: all of Hermione's books were gone.
Her books had been the only thing she had never kept neat, and now they were nowhere to be found. Neither was she.
Ron leaned back against the sofa, placing his head in his hands.
Why?
It was the only thought running through his mind.
Why?
Scene break
They were sitting at their dining table, laughing with Harry and Ginny, Hermione's cheeks flushed from the red wine she'd served. She glanced over at Ron, warm inside from the sight of his smile.
This was the first time they'd all met as two distinct couples. She and Ron had been together, without ever discussing it, since the Battle of Hogwarts, and they'd spent plenty of time with Harry and Ginny, but those two had taken a while to gravitate back to each other, romantically.
She caught the way that Harry and Ginny were looking at each other as if checking that the other was still there and glanced at Ron again. She knew Ron would always be there.
It was just how it was for the two of them. She'd never really looked at anyone else—Viktor Krum hardly counted, even if he had been her first kiss—and had always known that it would be Ron she would have ended up with.
She knew that a lot of people had expected things to develop differently between her and Harry, but they had always seen each other as a sibling neither had ever had. Nothing romantic could ever have existed between them—not in any universe.
Ron, though, had always been the one that had fascinated her since she'd first met him on the Hogwarts Express before their first year, with the dirt on his nose and that spell he'd been attempting on Scabbers.
She shook her head of the thoughts and smiled at Ron, wondering how he would propose whenever he finally did it—probably the next year. She'd always mentioned to him that she wanted to date for at least three years before an engagement.
Hermione took another sip of her wine, grinning at something Ron said.
When their friends—their family—left, Ron turned to Hermione and placed a hot kiss on her lips.
He tasted like butterbeer mixed with firewhisky.
"Did you spike your butterbeer?" Hermione asked, giggling around his kisses.
"That's need to know only," Ron told her.
She giggled again, kissing him back. She brought a hand up to tangle into his hair, pulling his face closer against hers.
He groaned against her mouth and asked, "Bedroom?"
Hermione nodded, eyes closed, as he lifted her by her thighs and carried her along.
When they got to the bedroom, he tossed her onto the bed.
Giggling, Hermione beckoned him closer.
Scene break
Hermione sat upright on the soft down of the hotel bed, trying, and failing, to read her book.
She kept thinking of what Ron must be thinking and feeling.
It made her feel sick to think about, and she wished that she hadn't had to do it.
She knew that someday he would be grateful for doing what neither of them had had to courage to do. Today was not that day.
Finally, she put the book down and began to undress, running herself a bath. On a lark, Hermione grabbed a notebook and pen that the hotel had provided her and watched as the bathtub filled up with steaming water.
It hurt when she finally sat in it, but the scalding water made her feel a little better, a little less dirty. She took the pen and notebook, thinking of what she might be able to do now that she was on her own. The world was her oyster, as the Muggles often said.
She could go to University, if she wanted, and learn even more. Hermione had always wanted to go to University, had dreamed of the wizarding world having some sort of equivalent. She still thought it strange that she had been allowed to work in a government job at the age of seventeen with no training besides her time at Hogwarts and her NEWT scores.
But if she went to University, she could study anything she wanted. Was there a point, however, to spend all that money to further her education in a field that she wouldn't truly go into?
She couldn't forsake the wizarding world—it was as much a part of her as her Muggle parents.
So, University was out. What about traveling?
She could learn while traveling.
Hermione felt a smile make its way onto her face for the first time all day.
She wrote the word "travel," and placed the notebook down to the side. She began to scrub at her skin with a new fervour.
scene break
As she stepped out of the bathtub, Hermione wrapped a fluffy white towel around her body and wrung out her curly brown hair. It was so absorbent, she thought with a strange sense of wonder.
She padded back out onto the carpet and the main room. She sat back on the bed and picked up the telephone.
She dialed her parents' telephone number, listening to the tone as it rang and connected.
"Granger residence," her mother's voice answer.
"Mum, it's me," Hermione said.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, it's me."
"What phone number is this?"
"It's a hotel number, Mum."
"A hotel?"
She didn't want to tell her mother, but knew she had to tell someone.
"I left Ron, Mum."
There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the phone before her mother said, "Oh, honey."
Hermione felt any joy she'd managed to feel slip away. The enormity of her decision hit her fully, finally, and a chasm opened up within her chest.
A sob tore through her throat and she wished she'd gone home to her parents, instead of this sterile hotel room.
She wished she could feel her mother's warm arms wrap around her comfortingly, as they always had when she'd been upset as a child.
"Do you want me to come by, darling? I can get the next train to London, if that's where you are."
Hermione felt her chest constrict again as another sob threatened.
She sniffled. "No, that's alright, Mum. But I'll probably come see you and Dad tomorrow, if that's alright."
She heard the sound of her parents conspiring on the other end of the line, and then her mum said, "Yes, that would be good. We can do a lunch if you want, darling."
Hermione nodded, and then realized her mother couldn't see her, so she said, "I would like that a lot."
"Let us know if you need anything, love," her dad told her.
"I will. I love you both," Hermione said.
"We love you too, Hermione," her father said. "We'll see you tomorrow."
Hermione sniffled again. "See you tomorrow."
She put the telephone back on the receiver and stared down at her lap, picking at her fingernails. She'd thought she'd broken this awful habit years ago, but here it was, reemerging.
Had she really made the right decision?
She knew that Ron must know by now, and he must be hurting. She knew she was. Their friendship would never be the same, and she thought that might be what distressed her the most about all of this. She, Ron, and Harry would never be the same. She would never be invited to another Weasley gathering. Would Ginny still talk to her? George? Bill and Fleur? She knew Mrs. Weasley never would speak to her again.
She had known that she wouldn't just be losing Ron, but likely his entire family, and possibly Harry as well.
Was this the right decision?
She wasn't so sure, now.
Maybe she should have stayed in her passionless relationship.
Ron would never want to see her again.
She didn't blame him.
Scene break
Hermione watched as Ron laughed at something she had said—she wasn't even sure now, what they were talking about. It hit her, seeing his smile, that she felt nothing for him, and that maybe she never had; the only thing Hermione felt for Ron was the comfort of safety. He had always been there. He would always be there, so steady, if she let him.
This was the first time she allowed herself to wonder: could she allow him to always be there for her?
Was that fair to him? With a sinking feeling, she realized that it wasn't fair to Ron. It was no fault of his own.
She could still remember so vividly that moment when they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other beneath the school during the battle—now, she wondered if it was a hollow moment, and she had wanted to feel something in that moment besides the fear that had been plaguing her since they had broken out of Malfoy Manor.
She glanced down at the scar on her forearm, Bellatrix's parting gift to her. Mudblood. She could still remember the pain, the raw fear that had filled her in that moment. The shame that she had never before felt for her blood until Bellatrix had carved it into her.
Hermione shook herself of the memories before they took over her mind. Sometimes, if she let it, those memories would be all she could see. She couldn't let that happen right now—she had far too many other things to think about. Like what she was going to do about her relationship.
Merlin, she didn't want to hurt Ron.
He was her best friend; she loved him—she just wasn't in love with him.
How many Muggle films had she made fun of for using that line?
What was she to do?
Ron was laughing still, face red, eyes bright with happiness. She couldn't crush that.
Scene break
It was a few days before Ron found the note and the ring. He wasn't sure if Hermione had meant for him to take so long to find it, or if she'd have expected him to go to the dining room for a meal. If it was the latter case, perhaps she'd never known him well at all.
Ron,
I am so sorry to be doing this—especially in a letter. I hate to think that I've hurt you, but I deeply sorry that I must have. I treasure our friendship and all our wonderful memories, but we weren't meant for each other the way we used to say. I can say that with certainty now, even though it breaks my heart to say it. You are an amazing man, Ronald Weasley, and I am lucky to have known you and loved you. I hope someday you can forgive me.
I need to go do things on my own for a while.
-Hermione
Hermione had always signed her letters with a "love from, Hermione," when they'd been younger, and now, all he got was a dash. Unthinkingly, Ron crumpled the piece of parchment in his hand as he picked the ring up off the table.
Suddenly, he was filled with anger.
How could she do this to him? How could Hermione leave him like this? With just a note and the ring and all her things taken away from their home?
He couldn't stand the sight of their house now, all empty and spacious without Hermione there to take up room.
In a fit of rage, Ron threw the ring as hard as he could at the wall. With a hard thunk, it hit the wall and clinked down onto their hardwood floor Hermione had begged to get refinished. If Ron wasn't mistaken, there was a chip in the paint where the ring had hit.
Good.
Hermione had painted that wall.
How could she have left him? Would she ever come back?
He supposed he needed to tell someone, but now that he was looking at the ring on the floor, gleaming innocently, Ron didn't have the energy to do anything else, or spare any more emotion.
Numbly, he glided to the bedroom and burrowed deep beneath the covers on the bed. It was like being in a cocoon, he reckoned. Emotions spent, he fell into a listless sleep.
He wasn't sure what time or day it was when he awoke, but there was an ache in his chest that he was growing increasingly familiar with. Was this all real? Ron wondered.
It must be, if his chest was hurting like this.
What was he going to do without Hermione?
Scene break
Ron, of course, eventually told Harry and Ginny first. Harry had put his head through the floo, calling out for Ron.
"I'm here," Ron said, voice rusty from disuse. He didn't speak at home, anymore. It had been about a week since he'd come home from work to find Hermione gone, and he had gone to work and come back without talking with anyone beyond what was required of him.
Harry's face was crinkled up in that way of his that Ron had grown familiar with, and somewhere, he understood that it meant that Harry was worried. It was then, with Harry staring at him from the hearth, that Ron told him.
Immediately, Harry's head disappeared in a whoosh of brilliant green flames, and moments later he stepped through completely with Ginny in tow.
"Did I hear you right?" Harry asked, face crinkling again in worry.
"Yes," Ron said, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. It wouldn't do for his best mate and little sister to see him all torn up and heartbroken.
"What did she say?" asked Ginny, brown eyes glowing angrily.
Ron dug around in the sofa cushions for the crumpled piece of parchment, finally finding it and handing it to them. Ginny read it first, her face getting more and more red, and then passed the letter to Harry, whose eyes moved furiously down the page.
"That's all?" Ginny asked. "That's all she had to say?"
Ron shrugged. "I reckon so. She didn't say anything else."
Ginny was shaking her head, muttering something under her breath that Ron couldn't quite make out. Harry's lips thinned and he went silent as he frowned down at the floor.
"She owes you an explanation," Ginny told Ron.
Ron could only shrug. "I reckon I'm not going to get one, since she's gone and all."
Ginny cursed and Ron wondered if he ought to feel grateful that they were angry on his behalf. He'd spent his own anger, though he did wonder if it might come back at some point once he'd begun to feel again.
"Is that why we haven't heard from you two?" Harry finally asked.
Ron just nodded, staring at the wall again.
"She owes you an explanation," Ginny said again, this time more gently as she sat down next to Ron on the sofa. She put her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug.
Ginny's hug reminded Ron of their mother's hugs.
"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said, sitting down on Ron's other side, opposite of Ginny.
Ron just nodded numbly, staring into the fire. He wondered if things would ever get better. They had to, right? Surely things could only go up.
Scene break
Ron didn't want to tell his family. He knew there would be outrage, and while part of him wanted his whole family to hate Hermione, he also didn't want to think about her.
She was in his dreams, different memories and imaginings intermingling together to create a confusing mixture of heady emotion that caused Ron to wake up with a gasp sometimes, wondering whether his dreams had been real. When he awoke, he couldn't shake the feeling that reality must also be a strange dream.
Hermione had always been there. Why wasn't she there, lying next to him sleeping peacefully? Surely this all must be a fever dream.
Each day that he woke up proved to him that it was not a dream. Still, Ron kept waking up, thoughts of Hermione swirling about in his head.
If he pretended that she'd never existed, maybe the numbness would go away.
So, Ron didn't want to tell his family that Hermione had left him. But Ginny told their mum sometime, and then soon after that, everyone knew and were visiting him, in typical Weasley fashion.
George told Ron that he should sell the house and move in with him above the shop until he found a new place. Ron was tempted but didn't want to get rid of the house in case Hermione decided that she'd been wrong. If she did decide that, would he take her back? Ron thought so. He'd argue his case to her, if he could, but she'd also quit her job at the Ministry, and no one had seen her since that day. He didn't know where to find her, and so he waited for her to change her mind.
Scene break
Hermione ended up checking out of the hotel and staying at her parents' house for a couple of days. It struck her as she laid down on her childhood bed that this was not her home anymore, either, and it had not been for quite some time. It was truly just her parents' house.
Where did she belong in this world?
Hermione didn't know, but she ached to find out. She hated that finding her place meant leaving behind those she loved most, but she hoped one day they would accept her back willingly into their hearts. She knew that for now, she wouldn't be welcome anywhere near the Weasleys. She had to make her own way in the world, now, finally.
The future was bright and open for the first time since Hermione had entered the wizarding world.
The freedom of it all terrified her, she realized, still laying there, staring at the stars that her parents had stuck up on the ceiling in the shape of constellations.
Where would she go from here?
What had she left it all behind for? She prayed to being that might be listening that it would all prove worth it and not some foolhardy wanderlust.
After a few days, Hermione packed up one suitcase—equipped with a spell she hadn't used since she'd been on the run with the boys during the war—and bid her parents goodbye. She was going to France first, she decided. She was going to travel for a while and learn how to properly be alone.
She needed to learn to be alone, or all of this heartache would have been for naught. Merlin, she missed Ron, she thought. She wished that she hadn't been so quick to leave him, but she knew, still, despite the pain, that it had been the right thing for her to do.
Ron will thank you someday, Hermione reassured herself for the millionth time.
She hoped it was true.
Scene break
Six months after Hermione had left, Ron finally caved in and decided to sell their house. It no longer was their home, and he wouldn't call it such. He knew that by now, Hermione must not be coming back.
Sometimes he was still struck with an unbelievable anger at it all—mostly with Hermione, leaving with no explanation. He at least had deserved that, some real closure. A concrete reason that could justify how she had broken his heart.
He sold her ring, hoping some poor bloke would find it at the pawn shop and get lucky with how cheap it was.
He hammered the FOR SALE sign into the garden the Muggle way, taking all his frustration out on the little metal rods that stuck into the soil.
Ron walked back into the house and plopped onto the sofa next to Bill, who was listening to the wireless.
"Good game?" he asked.
"The Cannons are actually in the lead," Bill told him, face showing his shock.
"Of course, they are," Ron defended his team, wondering what Hermione would say if she were here for the game. She wouldn't say anything, Ron reminded himself. Hermione hated Quidditch.
Ron shook his head and grabbed the unopened butterbeer waiting for him on the table in front of him. "Thanks," he said gruffly to Bill.
Bill nodded and stayed silent for a few moments before he said, "So, do you have another place lined up for when you get a buyer?"
"I'm going to start looking for a flat tomorrow," Ron told him.
Bill nodded. "Just so you know, you're always welcome at Shell Cottage."
"Thanks, Bill," Ron grinned lightly. "No offense, but I hope I won't have to take you up on it."
"None taken," Bill waved him off. "But the offer is always open."
Ron nodded, taking a swig of the butterbeer and listening to the game. Blimey, the Cannons were actually winning. What was the world coming to?
It was as if the world ended and Ron had somehow found himself in some sort of alternate universe where Hermione didn't love him, but the Cannons were a winning team.
How strange.
Shaking himself of the morose thoughts, Ron allowed himself to get into a celebratory mood for his favourite team.
Scene break
Ron ran his hands through Hermione's wild, curly hair. For a moment, his fingers seemed trapped before he managed to extricate them and pull her body closer to his. They'd been up all night, making love and talking, and now they were finally resting together.
He smiled gently as he looked down at her face—he'd dreamt about this moment more times than he could count, after he'd realized his feelings for her. She was his and he was hers.
How could life be so brilliant?
Her body burrowed deeper into his in her sleep, her full lips opened just the smallest bit as she breathed in and out.
Ron didn't know how he could have gotten so lucky to be able to be hers. He'd wanted it for so long—daydreamed about it as he watched her studying in the library countless times when they'd been at Hogwarts, heart stopping for a moment in wonder as he would watch her chew on the end of a sugar quill, her real quill nearby in case she found anything she needed to make note of as she read.
He placed a soft kiss on Hermione's forehead as he closed his eyes and snuggled closer to her body, drifting into a deep, comfortable sleep next to her.
Scene break
With a jolt, Ron woke up, chest aching. It took him a moment to remember where he was, before the tendrils of sleep would let go of him and his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room.
Oh yes, he was in his bedroom above the shop. Could he truly call it his? He wondered for a moment, trying to push away the details of the dream. It still felt like Fred's room, what with the Weird Sisters and Pride of Portree posters on the wall and the various stains that must have been caused by numerous experiments.
He pushed the memories inflicted by the dream again as he swung his feet down the side of the bed and sat up.
"Lumos," he said roughly, grabbing his wand from the bedside table. The end lit up, illuminating more details of the room and blurring the edges of the dream. Good.
Merlin, he needed to do something with himself.
He hated how much time he'd spent being a git and out of sorts about Hermione. He just wanted to move on. If only it was as easy to do as it was to say—moving on from Hermione Granger was proving to be quite difficult.
He stood up from the bed began to pace and plan.
Scene break
Hermione held her hat to her head as a gust of wind threatened to pull it from her head and toss it into the air. Her hair whipped around wildly, and as she glanced down at her shadow, she was reminded vaguely of the Greek myth of Medusa, the beautiful, cursed gorgon.
Doomed to turn anyone who dared gaze upon her to stone.
Hermione sometimes felt like she'd accidentally caught a glimpse of her own reflection and turned herself to stone.
As she'd begun to travel the continent, she'd come to realize rather quickly that she missed Ron. Too bad for her, she'd ruined any chance of having him near her.
This was what she'd wanted, Hermione scolded herself. She had to stay strong—she never would have been able to do any of this travel if she'd still been with Ron. He wouldn't have wanted to come, wouldn't have been able to afford to take leave from his position at the Ministry. She felt a little guilty; she'd taken the gold she'd saved for their wedding and was now using it to travel and sight-see and learn.
And, truth be told, occasionally, she also spent an evening with some handsome stranger she'd met on her travels. It was never anything serious—just a way to make herself feel a little less lonely, and to test her own resolve. She'd learned quite a bit and had had so many laughs and fun nights at local restaurants with good wine.
Hermione continued to walk through the Piazzo della Signoria, heart hammering excitedly within her chest as she took in the view. Oh, beautiful, historic Florence!
She could almost picture herself living in this city, studying and writing… and, oh, why shouldn't she? Everything she'd seen so far of Florence had been lovely—inspiring, even.
She could study magical history here, even. She'd passed a magical library the day before that she'd been itching to visit. She could almost imagine the types of texts they'd have available.
She could drink Italian coffee every day.
Hermione shook her head at herself—now she was being just slightly silly. She couldn't make a move because of coffee. Even if she had fallen in love with coffee through her travels.
But, she could make this decision based on the history and a desire to learn more about the city she was in. What would it hurt? She had enough saved up that she could get a part-time job and study and write when she wasn't at work.
How could life be so brilliant?
Scene break
"Ron, were you even listening to me?" Hermione asked.
Ron looked up from the article he'd been reading in Quidditch Illustrated. "Erm, yeah, I was."
Hermione raised a single eyebrow at him as she crossed her arms. "Oh, well tell me, then. What was I saying?"
Ron tried to remember back. Fuck, he thought. He hadn't been listening. He couldn't tell Hermione that though. What would she most likely be talking about? SPEW? No, probably not that. What had he last heard her say? Had it been something about work?
Oh, fuck. What if she'd been asking him about chores around the house?
"Er…"
"That's what I thought," Hermione's lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Her hair seemed to crackle with her frustration, and even though Ron knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but kiss her.
She was so bloody glorious when she was angry.
"Ron!"
"I'm sorry," he tried to look contrite. "You just look so gorgeous when you're angry with me."
"Well I don't feel gorgeous when I'm angry with you, Ron," Hermione told him. "I feel angry. I want to be listened to."
Ron couldn't stop imagining her lips on his and the way his hands would tangle into her wild hair.
"Ron!"
scene break
Ron shook his head, not sure what had brought the memory on. Perhaps it had been sitting on the periphery, just waiting for him to pay attention to it. It was the first time he had thought of any of their real fights that they'd had. For months now, he had only remembered the good times—none of the bad. He'd forgotten all about that moment, until just now.
He scratched his head for a moment before shaking out his hair and pulling on his nice set of everyday robes. He was going on a date, for the first time since Hermione. Merlin, he didn't have much experience with first dates. His heart was pounding nervously in his chest. He wasn't even sure if he was really interested in this witch, but he thought it would be good to at least begin to try.
"Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," George reminded him from the doorway.
"Bloody Hell, George. Warn a bloke next time!"
Ron gave his older brother a two-finger salute.
George just grinned and walked away, whistling a merry tune.
Ron stared at his reflection in the mirror, making minor adjustments here and there to his appearance. He glanced down at the wristwatch his parents had gifted him for his seventeenth birthday. It was time.
He headed towards the door and down the stairs, into the backroom of the shop, and out into the soft sunshine of the early evening.
He prayed that this time, things might be different.