"I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that."
Sometimes, the only thing to do was nothing. That certainly seemed to be the philosophy Hermione Granger was adhering to as she stood, still as the Spinx, watching Ron Weasley enter the room. He paused when he saw her as he was still half-listening to his sister.
Ginny came up quickly behind him, about to speak. But her mouth hung open in the air when she realized her news was not news anymore.
Harry glared at his wife and she gave a sheepish shrug in return.
For the briefest of moments, Hermione managed to take him in. Surprise filling his blue eyes, his hair no longer messy with errant strands in his face, but coiffed and parted.
He was wearing a faded Gryffindor t-shirt and jeans. His arms seemed more defined and his shoulders broader. He looked good, damn good if she admitted it to herself.
But in a flash that moment ended and he was barreling towards her, a grin plastered onto his and wrapping her in a huge hug, nearly lifting her off her feet.
"Hermione!" he said cheerfully, casually as if they were old friends, which of course, they were.
She was a bit surprised by his sudden embrace but she flung her arms around him just the same. Yes, his shoulders definitely had gotten broader. And his arms felt stronger than before. God, she didn't want him to let go.
Much too soon for her taste, they broke apart. "I'm so glad you're here," he said beaming at her. He turned to Harry. "There you are, mate. I was wondering when you're going to show your ugly face."
He embraced Harry quickly. "It's just like old times," he said with a laugh and Hermione envied his ease and comfort. Clearly, he was not concerned about being in the same room with her.
She could not decide if she was pleased about that or not.
"I'll grab a shower, yeah? Then we can catch up. I'll tell you all about how I trounced Ginny in Quidditch!" And with another beaming grin at them at a teasing scowl at Ginny he was off.
"Well," Ginny said finally. "That went better than I thought it would."
"You were supposed to tell him right away," Harry reminded her.
"Don't give me that, Harry Potter, all right? Practice ran long and I got here late and they were already kitting up for Quidditch and it just got away from me. Hermione, I'm glad you're here. I was afraid that he wouldn't be able to wrangle you into this."
Hermione shrugged as she embraced Ginny. "Who am I to refuse Molly's orders?"
Ginny laughed. "True. Actually, I should get in there and help with dinner. Mum and Dad will be delighted to see you."
"Yeah, I'll be right there," Hermione said as she took off her shoes and put down her coat and bag. Ginny scurried off, not wanting to incur Molly's wrath.
"See," Harry said once they were alone again. "I told you it would be all right. He's totally fine with you being here."
Hermione nodded. Harry was right. He was totally fine with her being there. Because he was happy, she realized. She could tell in his dancing eyes, his broad smile, the ease in which he carried himself. Ron Weasley was happy.
He had found happiness and not only was she not the center of his happiness, she had nothing to do with it at all. She suddenly felt a lump in her throat and a coldness tearing at her heart.
She shook herself out of it, scolding herself for even being surprised by this. He was getting married after all and they had broken up six years ago.
Besides, it wasn't like she wasn't happy. She'd been in a great relationship with a great guy for nine months. She squared her shoulders and told herself to walk a little taller as he made her way into the kitchen.
Molly Weasley was roasting a chicken with her wand and Ginny was making homemade whipped cream.
"Hello, Molly," Hermione called out with a smile.
Molly looked up from her chicken. "Hermione!" she called out with an eager smile. "There you are!"
She wiped her hands on her apron and rushed to hug Hermione. "How wonderful to see you, dear. I'm delighted that you could join us."
Hermione smiled but rolled her eyes at Ginny, after all, the woman practically ordered Harry to drag her here kicking and screaming.
"Of course, Molly, do you want me to help with dinner?"
"That sounds like a recipe for stomach flu," said Fred as he barreled into the kitchen. "Hermione cooking."
"Shut up, Fred, I can cook circles around you." He kissed both her cheeks and gave her a warm hug.
"An Inferi can cook circles around him," this from Charlie who was coming in right behind him. He dropped a kiss atop her head and Hermione realized, with another lump threatening to choke her, how much she had missed all of them. She hadn't even realized how little she'd seen them recently.
She had a standing invitation for Sunday dinner always, she and Ginny had dinner at The Hopping Pot in Diagon Alley every other Friday, but still it had been a long time since she'd been to the Burrow, smiling and laughing with all of them.
"I'd rather eat an Inferi than anything George cooked," this from Ron as he entered back in the room. Hermione couldn't stop her eyes from glancing at him. His looked redder, the way it always did when it was slightly damp.
He was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off his new muscle to the best advantage and blue jeans. He was smiling so warmly, so openly. He wrapped his arm around Ginny and stuck his finger in the jar of jam she had just opened.
"Ron! That's for the trifle!" she scolded, shaking her head.
"Oh, come on. I am the guest of honor!"
"More like guest of horror," said Bill as he entered into the room. "Hermione, Hermione, long time no see! And how is the Ambassadeur Anglais junior auprès du ministère Français de la Magie?"
"Jamais mieux chérie," Hermione responded with a grin. "And might I say, your French is very much improved."
"Well, I had to brush up on it, so I could understand what Fleur and Gabrielle say about me behind my back."
Ron scoffed. "I could have told you that, Bill. Hermione, how do you say 'long haired simpleton' in French?"
Hermione laughed "Naïf aux cheveux longs."
"I guarantee that's what they're saying," Ron said as he reached for another bite of jam and Ginny promptly swatted his hand away. "Hey, there's got to be some for dessert."
"That smells delicious," said Harry as he joined them in the kitchen. "I'm starving."
"Boys!" Molly scolded. "Out of my kitchen, all of you! Dinner will be ready before you all know it. Where's Fleur and Angelina? They're supposed to be roasting potatoes."
"Oh, I can do that," Hermione volunteered.
Molly smiled but Hermione saw instant refusal in her eyes. "Oh, Hermione, I couldn't possibly have you cook. You're a guest. Fleur! Angelina! I'm sure the poppets are napping by now!"
"Come on, come on," Charlie said ushering everyone out of the kitchen. "Mother has spoken. Besides, George and Ron have something they want to show us."
"Oh, yeah," said George and Ron as if they had both just remembered.
"Oh, and Ron, weren't you going to tell us about that big bad guy you just caught?" Bill asked as they cleared out of the kitchen.
"I can't actually talk about that, Bill," he reminded his older brother, suddenly serious.
Instantly curious, Hermione's ears perked up at that. She looked at Harry with a questioning glance who only shrugged and shook his head in reply.
"Oh come off it, Ron," Charlie said with a laugh. "Who the hell are we going to tell, Rita Skeeter?"
"It's classified," Ron insisted looking somewhat uncomfortable as he sat down.
"When has that ever stopped you?" asked Percy.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Maybe later," he said somewhat dismissively and Hermione could tell that he was somewhat agitated. She, of course, didn't know why, but she had a feeling that Harry knew something.
"Besides," Ron continued. "George and I have something to show to you. Our newest product."
"Yes, yes, we do," George said with a grin. "Weasleys, gather 'round," he said as he pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Prepared to be amazed," he continued in his most theatric voice. "Lights, Ron."
Ron pulled out the Deluminator and a wave of nostalgia threatened to send Hermione reeling.
The lights immediately went out and George called out "Lumos."
A light from George's wand immediately shone to the Weasley's coffee table.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Weasleys of all ages," George continued. "Allow me to present to you the newest spectacle from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes...the Mini Floo!" a small, miniature fireplace that looked about the size of Chocolate Frog Card appeared on the coffee table.
"Need to make a quick getaway," George continued in his best Ringmaster voice. "Ducking out of a storm? Running from a Dark Wizard or an ex-girlfriend? Don't feel like apparating? No brooms in sight? Well, we have just the thing. Introducing your transportation convenience...The Mini Floo! Whisper or shout your destination, the Mini Floo will transport you anywhere you need to go. It magically connects to the Floo Networks and sucks the user in within seconds. No need to enlarge it. It comes with a miniaturized amount of Floo Powder that activates upon the announcement of your destination, which should last you 100 trips."
"A Mini Floo?" Percy looked aghast. "Did you clear this with the Department of Magical Transportation? I didn't receive a notice."
George rolled his eyes. "Keep your knickers on, Perce. We followed all the correct procedures. If your bosses didn't tell you, take it up with them."
"How exactly does it work?" Hermione asked.
"Allow me to demonstrate," Ron said with a grin. He tapped the small fireplace and said in his clearest tone, "The Burrow."
In the smallest puff of green smoke, Ron had disappeared only to reappear in the fireplace behind them.
"Amazing," Harry said with a smile. "Can we get these for the Aurors?"
"Kingsley already put in a purchase order," George confirmed.
"We're already using them in a test program in the States," Ron added. "So far, so good."
"And which one of you geniuses came up with it?" asked Bill.
"Well, this one was all ickle Ronnekins," George said. "Something about a lot of young Auror recruits getting splinched."
Ron nodded. "It happens a lot, way too much for my taste. They're learning so much during training and some of them, especially in high pressure situations lose concentration on their Apparating and Disapparating. It'll save a lot of limbs."
The memory of Ron's own horrible Splinch filled Hermione's mind and for a second, she thought he was thinking of the same thing. The days when she could be sure of reading his mind were long gone, but the look on his face was a familiar one.
"I can see it having a lot of uses," Harry said and clearly the wheels in his head were already turning.
George grinned. "Not to mention, it'll be great for sneaking away from Angelina."
"I heard that," called a teasing yet menacing voice from the kitchen.
"Well, it looks like another money spinner," Charlie said with a grin. "Another flying off the shelves during the holidays."
"So Ron," Charlie said with a pointed tone. "About this bad guy that you just caught..."
"Charlie, seriously, I can't talk about it," Ron said firmly. "It's classified."
"Who the fuck are we going to tell?" asked Bill, incredulously.
"Classified means classified," Ron argued. "I'm not permitted to speak about it. You want me to lose my job?"
"Like you need that job," Charlie scoffed. "Triple W is trading at 300 Galleons a share on the Wizarding Exchange."
"He's getting married, Charlie," said Ginny as she re-entered the room and promptly sat on Harry's lap, eliciting slight grimaces from all her brothers. "He'll need all the money he can."
"Oh, please," George scoffed. "Allie's loaded. That girl has more money than God and Harry combined. I can't believe you convinced her to move out here."
Hermione's eyebrows leapt up to her forehead. She saw knowing glances exchange between Harry and Ginny.
Before Ron could say another word, Molly called them all to dinner. They quickly filed out of the living room and into the dining room. Harry and Hermione lingered behind and Harry put an arm around as they filed in.
"He's moving back to England?" she asked in a hushed whisper and hoped she didn't sound as frantic as she felt.
"Kingsley's calling him back," came Hary's brief and completely unsatisfactory answer. There was no time for him to answer.
Of course, all the Weasleys were sitting in their respective places. Molly and Arthur at the two ends and all the Weasleys sitting next to their significant others.
Which meant her place would be where it always had been: next to Ron and opposite Charlie.
If Ron felt any awkwardness or discomfort, he didn't let it show. He seemed perfectly at ease. His indifference irritated her. They'd had maybe 10 conversations over the last six years and he was acting like it didn't matter.
Was he really that free of her? Had he really moved on to the point where her presence had only the effect of welcoming an old friend?
There she was, aching and soul-broken, with the realization of how petty and stupid and trivial the MOAF (Mother of All Fights, as she retrospectively referred to it) had been beating down on her like a drum.
And he was practically weightless, he hadn't a care in the world. At least, not one that concerned her.
A lump filled her throat. Had he invited her just to so she could see how little she affected him now?
The thought left her as quickly as it had come. Ron, like herself, could be a lot of things: moody, jealous, cranky and competitive. But he simply wasn't capable of cruelty.
No, it was worse than cruelty. It was happiness. She knew him like the back of her hand, she knew his moods better than her own. She watched the smile on his face, the spark in his blue eyes. A spark that she couldn't help but love, especially when she was responsible for it.
The conversation flowed as easily as it had ever done. With the Weasleys, there was always so much laughter.
Charlie had them on the edge of their seats with his story of wrestling a Hungarian Horntail. Bill enthralled them with his tale of breaking the curse of ancient Chinese wizard's tomb. Ginny was over the moon about the newest members of the Harpies, including a Greek girl who was apparently a Quidditch prodigy.
Percy had a rather dull story about banned magic carpets, but everyone did their best to listen with enthusiasm.
They talked about...everything. Everything but Ron's return and upcoming wedding. Hermione quickly surmised that there had been previous agreement not to mention those topics around her.
Harry hadn't mentioned that Ron was moving back and that was on purpose. Why her best friend in the entire world would keep something so important from her she couldn't fathom.
And then she realized that there was probably a lot more previous agreement going on than she first realized. The Weasleys had, of course, know about Ron's homecoming and subsequent wedding for an extended period of time.
She was just finding out today. It was like being cast in a play where the only person who didn't know their lines was her. This had all been carefully written and scripted and they had picked the perfect scene to bring her to center stage.
She found her face growing hot. Her cheeks flushed and the ease that she felt slipping away to parts unknown as all the initial trepidation and discomfort she'd felt about this evening came crashing down on her like a Knockback Jinx.
Why, why in the name of Merlin had she Harry talk her into this? She had absolutely no business there. There was some beautiful American heiress who she was currently warming the seat for.
She barely held up her end up the conversation during desert, which was always the time that made the majority of the Weasleys the quietest. But she did manage to autopilot her way through the retelling a chess tournament she'd won.
Ron started at that.
"You won a chess tournament?" he asked, barely keeping the incredulity out of his voice.
She turned to in her seat to face him, a dancing smirk across her features. "I shall have you know, Ronald, that my skills on the chessboard are much improved. I'd wager that I could even beat you."
"Have a care mademoiselle," Ron returned in the same teasing tone. "Those are dueling words." They exchanged a brief, familiar smile and for a second, Hermione thought she saw something more in his eyes than the ease and effortless humor she'd seen since her arrival.
"Name the time and place, monsieur," she quickly replied, before the silence could linger. "And I shall have you checked in no less than fifteen moves."
"Oh god, please don't get him started on chess," Ginny said with a groan. "We'll be here for hours."
Ron rolled his eyes and the moment was over. "Like you've got somewhere to be, Gin."
"I would literally go anywhere, including back to first year History of Magic than listen to you prattle on about chess."
"Hey, I liked that class," came Hermione's mock protest.
"There wasn't a class you didn't like," Harry reminded her as they finished up dessert. Everyone laughed at that including Hermione, because, of course, it was true.
A nighttime Quidditch game was soon proposed, which everyone readily agreed to except Fleur and Hermione. They contented themselves as being observers from the roof of the Burrow.
It had been ages since Hermione had been there, though it would always be familiar to her. Ron's room was at the very top of the Burrow and therefore, she'd spent many a night lying on that roof, looking up at the stars.
She wondered if he had been back home and no one had told her. Had he brought her up here? Had she laid down on that ragged, worn, beloved rooftop, clutching his hand tightly, promising to never let go.
Had she, had this Allison Forell, ever climbed up here after a harrowing nightmare in nothing but her pajamas on a chilly March night?
All the places, all the spots, all the memories that she thought belonged to her, he would make new memories with someone else.
"This is weird for you, no?" came Fleur, disrupting Hermione's thoughts.
She laughed dryly. "A little," she lied. "But it's to be expected, I suppose. We've...moved on."
"Zat is something you English say, 'moved on'. It sounds like death to me. And I don't believe it ever happens. What does that even mean, moving on?"
"You can't live in the past, Fleur."
"No, but you must live with it. Otherwise, what will you do? Forget who you are and how you came to be so? Zat also sounds like death to me."
"Well, somethings do die. And we can't dwell on that."
"You think a day goes by that Teddy does not think about his parents? They are dead. Or 'Arry for that matter? His are long dead. You think a day goes by where George doesn't think of Fred? Just because something is dead, does not mean is not alive."
Hermione's logical brain wanted to scoff at that comment, but she knew what Fleur meant.
"And something that died is actually dead," Hermione said as good naturedly as she could manage. "I'm glad to be here."
"You lie. If not to me, to yourself. He didn't think you would come, you know. He insisted that Harry bring you here."
Hermione started at that. "He did?" Fleur nodded. But Hermione was quick to dismiss it. "Well, we are old friends. I would insist that Harry bring him to my wedding."
Fleur gave a large, visible eyeroll. "You will make an excellent politician, Hermione. All your cards near to the vest, no?"
Hermione cocked her head in agreement. "Sometimes to my detriment."
To Hermione's thanks, Fleur didn't push the subject any longer and the conversation turned towards neutral ground. They chatted about Fleur's kids, about whether Charlie would ever get married, if George would stop messing about and propose to Angelina. Currently, the wager was on "not anytime soon".
They turned their eyes to game of modified Quidditch. With only eight players, it was just enough for one of each Position. Percy and Ron were the Keepers, Harry and Charlie were the Seekers, Fred and Bill were the Beaters and Angelina and Ginny were Chasers.
Everyone was where they were supposed to be, everyone but her. Granted, in terms of Quidditch, on the sidelines was exactly where she belonged. But still, she wondered if it was the last time she'd ever watch a Weasley Quidditch game.
Sure, she could go and see the Holyhead Harpies anytime she wanted, she was a season ticket holder. But this—The Burrow, hanging out in the kitchen with Molly, her standing invitation to Sunday dinner, in a few months' time, it would all be truly lost to her.
She looked down at him guarding the rings and wondered how did everything so good and right and real slip out of her fingers to become lost and foreign and someone else's.
"Fleur, humor me for a moment," Hermione began trying to sound casual and breezy and unaffected.
"Of course, ma cherie,"
"Tell me honestly: what do you think of Alison?"
Fleur didn't answer right away, her hesitation obvious. She chose her words carefully, like she was weaving them through a minefield. "She is lovely, Hermione. Very, very lovely. You would like her...well as much as you could like her."
"I suppose I'll find out soon how much I can like her, very, very soon."
There was a loud hurrahing cry and Fleur and Hermione turned to see that Harry had just caught the snitch. And if Ron's cheering was any indication, the game had just been won.
Hermione and Fleur, ever diligent to their roles as cheerleaders stood on the roof and whooped and cheered and clapped from the roof as the winners celebrated and the losers simmered all the way back to the shed.
Hermione and Fleur were just about to make their way downstairs again when they heard the sound of a broom ascending. It was Ron, cradling a bottle of Firewhiskey.
"Fleur, mind if I steal Hermione for a moment?"
I know an awful place to leave it, but this definitely won't be my usual two months in between updates. Most of is it is written. I'm dying to know what you think. Please read and review.