Unrepentant

The day after Ron returned home he joined the rest of his family at the Burrow for Sunday dinner. Ron stayed later than he usually did as he waited for the rest of his siblings and their families to clear out. His mother went to bed leaving Ron and his father alone in the parlor. His father yawned.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son."

"Do you still have that big Muggle dictionary?"

"Of course," his father said, coming more fully awake. "Did you need to look up something?"

"Yeah, I heard a Muggle word the other day, and I don't know what it means."

"What's the word, maybe I know it," his father suggested.

"Unrepentant."

"Unrepentant, unrepentant," his father said, getting to his feet and heading to a wall of bookshelves on the other side of the room. "I don't know that one." He pulled out a large tome and thumbed through it. "Ah, here it is, unrepentant – showing no regret for one's wrongdoings. Remorseless."

"Oh," Ron said quietly.

"Where did you hear it?"

"On the street in Muggle London. One bloke yelling at another. I was just wondering what he was on about."

"Was there anything else?" his father asked, yawning again.

"No. Thanks for looking it up."

"All right, son, I'm off to bed then."

"Goodnight, dad. I'll pop off home."

"No hurry," his father said. "Stay the night if you like."

Ron didn't stay. He Apparated back into his flat and went out onto his tiny balcony for some air. It was cold, but he didn't care. He took a deep breath and thought for the millionth time about Hermione calling him an 'unrepentant coward.' Did she seriously think he didn't regret how things had ended between them? He couldn't understand how she could come to that conclusion.

xXx

Harry was in his office at Hogwarts the next day when the post arrived. The tawny owl looked like she'd traveled a long way. Harry took the letter from her and gave her treats and some fresh water. His own owl, Hafsa, made an irritated cluck at the visitor, but then closed her eyes and resumed napping on her perch. The envelope was addressed to him in Hermione's tidy script. He sat down to read. He looked up when he was done and saw that it was lunchtime. Rather than go down to the Great Hall, he decided to take the Floo to Ron's shop in Diagon Alley.

xXx

Ron was helping a customer when Harry stepped out of the shop's fireplace, so Harry milled about looking at the charmed televisions and radios on display and trying to look inconspicuous. He didn't venture into the alley very much because his presence drew a lot of attention. He regretted not doing a glamour charm before he left Hogwarts. It was easy to forget though, because the students had long since stopped fusing about him, and he liked that.

When Ron was done he went over to Harry. "Hey, what brings you out in the middle of the day?"

"I've had a letter from Hermione. I thought we could get some lunch and talk about it."

Ron felt all the blood drain from his face. He hadn't considered that she would write Harry about his blunder in Spain. He felt his heart sink. He needed to stall for time to come up with some kind of reasonable explanation for his behavior. "Now, isn't such a good time."

Harry looked around at the empty shop. "Oh?"

"I mean, I hadn't…" Ron looked around. Ken sat at the till flipping through a magazine. He sighed. "Yeah, all right. Ken, I'm going to lunch. I'll be back in an hour."

"Righto," Ken said without looking up from his magazine.

Ron looked at Harry. "Want to just go to my place? I can make sandwiches there, so we can eat without being interrupted every ten minutes, because someone wants to shake your hand."

"That sounds perfect." Harry followed Ron through the back of the shop, outside, and upstairs to his flat. He was surprised it wasn't messier. Dobby only came over once a week to clean. "The place looks good."

"Yeah, I don't want to live like a pig anymore. It's so nice to come home on the days Dobby cleans that I decided to try and keep it neater in the interim. It's not like it takes much effort with just me."

"Look at you being a responsible adult," Harry teased.

Ron sighed. "Some days more than others." He went into the kitchen and cut thin slices of cheddar cheese and an onion and took a jar of his mum's homemade pickle out of the icebox. "So what did Hermione have to say?"

"Right," Harry said. "Well, apparently when she was in Venice and Draco broke her ribs—"

Ron stopped slicing bread and looked up. "Hang on, he what?"

"They had a real fight, Ron, and you know she's not any good at that sort of thing. She ended up with a broken eye socket and cracked ribs."

Ron blew out a slow breath. "They didn't mention that in the paper. I mean, I saw the blood on her face in the photo, but I figured it was just a broken nose."

"No, but the team doctor fixed her up straight away."

Ron nodded grimly and started putting together the sandwiches.

"Anyway, obviously, in the fight, she dropped the glamour charm she uses on her scars, so when the doctor came to treat her, she saw the big one on her side and asked when she'd last had it seen to."

"Let me guess, never."

"Pretty much," Harry said.

"Yeah, I've never had mine looked at either."

"Right," Harry said, "Which is why she wrote me. Apparently, the team healer volunteered to work on the scar. Hermione was pretty resistant to the idea, but I guess Viktor insisted, so she finally went."

Ron frowned at the mention of Viktor.

"She said it was a painful procedure, but it only lasted ten minutes, and now the scar feels better than it ever has. She's going back for more treatments."

"Really?" Ron said.

"She suggested you and I might want to see healers and ask about the same treatment."

Ron rubbed his beard where the thick scar lay along the length of his jaw. "It would be nice if this didn't hurt so much."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Thing is, I know I have that big mark on my chest, but it isn't really a scar, it's more of a stain, and it doesn't hurt anymore. It did when it first happened but not anymore, and the scar on my head doesn't either, so I don't really need to see a healer, but I know your jaw still hurts, so I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the letter."

Ron smiled at him. "Thanks mate. I'll definitely look into it." He handed Harry a sandwich and to Ron's great relief, they talked about other things. No mention was made of his disastrous trip to Spain. Hermione hadn't ratted him out to Harry, which he found heartening. When Harry left, Ron didn't immediately go back to the shop. Instead, he sent a note via Pigwidgeon asking Ken to close up. He started a fire and sat down on the sofa to stare at the flames. Hermione used to be the one to start the fires. He used to love all the permutations of fire she could cast. Elementals were some of her best magic, in his opinion, and hardly anyone ever got see it. He supposed these days she made clever fires for Viktor, that Bulgarian bastard, with his fancy dancing and his bloody professional Quidditch. Ron blew out a frustrated breath. He hadn't slept well since he got back from Spain. He kept having nightmares about their life over Fred and George's shop, but the dreams were muddled and cloudy, like his mind had been after the war. He knew he drank too much back then and that she had gone virtually mute after her parents died. It hadn't been a good time. He knew that, but the details were all so foggy. He could recall shouting at her a few times, and vaguely remembered grabbing her, just trying to shake some sense into her, but none of it was clear. The idea of grabbing her like that, even for a moment, made him intensely uncomfortable. He wouldn't hurt her. He would never do that. Not that he could if he wanted to, she was more powerful than him, especially right after the war. He'd been so useless back then, no magic, muddleheaded, and all made worse with fire whiskey. He sighed. Unrepentant. He was not unrepentant. He regretted all of it. If he could go back and change it, he would. Some days, he'd give anything for a Time-turner.

xXx

A few weeks later, Ron was having breakfast with Harry and Ginny before they all went to play Quidditch. Ginny was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet while Ron and Harry debated the merits of the Chudley Cannons team roster.

"Hermione is just on fire lately," Ginny commented.

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked around a mouthful of toast.

"She developed that Quidditch pitch cushion at the end of last year, and now she's gone and found another use for dragon's blood," Ginny explained.

"I thought Dumbledore already discovered the last of those," Ron said.

"Not if you believe Ivor Dillonsby," Harry quipped.

"A thirteenth use for dragon's blood though," Ginny said. "That's a pretty big deal."

"Is it though?" Harry asked. "Because one of the uses is as oven cleaner, and that doesn't seem like a big deal."

Ginny read aloud. "Dragon's blood can be used to prevent a location spell from finding its target, even if the caster has a personal item like a fingernail or lock of hair."

"Huh," Harry said. "Clever. I guess biting Draco made her think of that."

"Probably," Ron muttered, feeling his face go hot.

"Not according to Hermione," Ginny said, and Ron felt his stomach drop. "The reporter asked if she'd thought of it because of tracking Draco and she said no." She read aloud again. "'It came to me mostly out of a desire for privacy. No one wants to be stalked across the globe.' When asked whether someone had been stalking her, Miss Granger evaded the question answering, 'we all like time to ourselves, don't we?" Ginny looked up. "Apparently, that's how she ended the interview." Standing, Ginny picked up her plate and returned to the kitchen. "A genius that girl."

"Yeah," Ron mumbled.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Ginny called from the kitchen.

"Okay," Harry said. When Ginny was out of earshot he turned on Ron. "Please tell me you weren't the one stalking her."

Ron hated that he couldn't control his blushing. "It's none of your business, Harry."

"None of my—are you serious? I told you to talk to her, not to track her down like a dog."

"Well, you might have mentioned that the last time we talked about her," Ron grumbled.

Harry glanced at the ceiling, desperate for Ginny not to know he'd suggested Ron talk to Hermione about his feelings. "Sorry, but it didn't occur to me that I needed to tell you not to run a location spell on her. What did she say when you found her?"

"Um, well, we didn't really talk…per se."

"What's that supposed to mean? Tell me you didn't just peer in her windows."

"No! Of course not. I just cast a location spell to see where she was and she happened to be in Valencia."

"Spain?" Harry said, aghast. "You followed her out of the country? Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Harry clapped a hand over his eyes. "But you didn't talk to her?"

"No." Ron explained what happened.

Harry shook his head. "You're lucky all she threw at you was a champagne flute."

"Tell me about it. I expected her to start casting jinxes at me. She probably would have, but Viktor came out."

"I can't believe you let her see you. Why didn't you cast an obfuscation spell, or better yet, just go home?"

"Like I need you to tell me that." Ron considered telling Harry about his ability to feel Hermione's presence and his suspicions that she could do the same to him, but he decided not to, since it would likely just make him sound more like a crazy stalker.

"Why didn't you tell me this when we had lunch the other day?"

"Believe it or not, Harry, I'm not usually in a big rush to share the boneheaded things I do."

"But Ron—"

"But what? Were you going to do run over and fix it for me? You can't fix this. I can't fix this. It's just…we're broken. Okay?"

Harry shook his head sadly.

"Look, maybe you're right. Maybe she's not in love with Viktor, but they looked pretty happy in Spain, and she sure as hell doesn't want me."

Ginny came back downstairs, carrying her broom. "You guys ready to go?"

"Yeah," Ron said, standing.

xXx

The next day, Harry saw Hermione quite by accident in the main hall of the Ministry of Magic. She was on her way to lunch, and he had just finished getting permits for a project they were doing with the students at Hogwarts. He literally bumped into her in the crowded hallway.

"Hermione?"

"Harry!" They hugged.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm good. Just on my way to lunch."

Harry was pleased to see that she looked like herself. She still seemed too thin, but her hair was down and curly, like she used to wear it in school. "I was going to get lunch too, mind if I tag along?"

"I'd be delighted."

They made their way to The Leaky Cauldron, managed to find a table in the back, and sat down.

"So, what brings you into the city?" Hermione asked.

"Permits. You wouldn't believe some of the hoops the school has to jump through just to do the simplest things. It's like they don't trust us."

Hermione chuckled. "I'm sure that's annoying, but given some of the shenanigans that went on Hogwarts, can you blame them?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't suppose you have that problem in your line of work."

"The Ministry would rather not know what the Department of Mysteries is doing most of the time. There's a reason they call us Unspeakables."

Harry nodded. "Having been in your department fifth year, I can understand why."

"It's slightly less disturbing when you know what you're looking at."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Only slightly?"

"Yes. Many of the department's activities remain fairly terrifying."

"And yet you chose to work there." Harry shook his head.

She shrugged. "Terrifying but fascinating. There really isn't anything else like it."

"I'll take your word for it. Do you know what you want?"

"I'm starved. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, so I think I want bangers and mash with mushy peas and a glass of pumpkin juice."

"All right then." Harry got up to place their order at the bar. He was pleased that she hadn't ordered anything stronger to drink and wondered if maybe she was trying to cut back. She'd been completely legless at his and Ginny's wedding and fairly drunk at Seamus and Lavender's wedding. When he'd seen her at her place in London a few months ago, she was clearly coming off a night of drunken debauchery. Even when he'd seen her recently at the Burrow, he could smell wine on her breath. When he got back to the table, she smiled at him.

"You look good," he said.

"Thanks, so do you. How's Ginny?"

"Good. The pub is doing really well. I wasn't sure about it when she said she wanted to buy the Three Broomsticks, but it turned out to be a good idea."

"That's great."

"Everyone loves Ginny. I think she's half the draw for the place."

"I'm sure," Hermione said, smiling again.

Their food came sailing over and they both plucked their plates out of the air.

"Fish and chips still your favorite, I see," Hermione said.

"You know me."

Her smile faded. "I used to."

Harry sighed and put down the chip he was about to pop into his mouth. "I'm sorry about that. I've been a rotten friend to you. I'd like to change that if you'll let me."

"You haven't been a rotten friend. You're married to his sister. We put you in an awful position."

Harry shook his head. "No. I never meant it to seem like I'd chosen sides. Anyway, you've both moved on. It's time I did too. I want to see you on a regular basis, like real friends do."

"How does Ginny feel about that?"

"Fine. Gin knows breakups are never just one sided."

"Right," Hermione said softly, looking away.

"So, I was thinking, we could have dinner, the four us. What do you think?"

"Really?"

"Absolutely. You and Viktor have been together for quite a while now, it's time we got to know him better, don't you think?"

Hermione twisted the napkin in her lap. "I guess."

"Great," Harry said cheerily. "When do you think you two might be available?"

"Well, it's the middle of Quidditch season, so it could be awhile," Hermione said.

"Okay. Talk to Viktor, then let me know some dates, and we'll work it out."

Hermione nodded. "All right then." She poked at her food for a moment and then remembered she'd want to speak to Harry about another matter. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you today. I keep trying to remember to bring up an issue at work with you."

"Really? I thought you couldn't talk about work." Harry popped another chip in his mouth.

"This isn't a project, well, I suppose it might be tangential to a project, but not one of mine. Anyway, one of the others wants to talk to me about my experiences with a Time-Turner."

Harry set down his fork. "Why?"

"Because he investigates time for a living, and I've had an unusual experience with it."

"Oh," Harry said. "So, what did you tell him?"

"Nothing yet. I keep putting him off. I wanted to talk to you first before I said anything."

"How did he even know you had one?"

"Apparently, the records of their use are quite thorough."

Harry leaned toward her and whispered. "Does that mean he knows about Sirius and Buckbeak?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd just leave that bit out. I have plenty to tell him about using it to increase my class load."

"I should think so. Make sure you mention how crazy it made you after a while."

She frowned at him. "So, noted."

"What will you say if he does ask about the other thing?"

"I don't know. It wasn't exactly legal. On the other hand, Sirius has been exonerated, so I can't imagine that would come back on us, especially given who you are."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Who we both are."

She made a noncommittal noise. "I could just leave you out of the story."

"That might work, as long as the person you're telling doesn't know your history of flying."

"Oh, you're right. He'd know I'd never be able to fly a hippogriff on my own."

Harry shrugged. "If he knows to ask, tell him the truth. I doubt he plans to have us arrested."

"No. Fine. I'll tell him, but only if he asks."

"Good." Harry picked up another chip. The rest of the meal was spent catching up on mutual friends.

xXx

The following week, Hermione was in Thomas Greene's office trying not to appear as nervous as she felt.

"Relax," Thomas said. "Nothing you say to me will go beyond this office. No one will get in trouble."

"In trouble for what?"

Thomas arched an eyebrow at her. "You know for what, but I'm not interested in that. I'm more curious how you got the Time-turner in the first place and what the ramifications were for using for it for such a long period."

"Um, well..." Hermione nervously clutched the fabric of her long robes. "I guess it started when I was discussing the classes I wanted to take with Professor McGonagall, and she told me that some of the courses overlapped, so I'd have to choose which ones to drop."

"You're kidding," Thomas said, his eyes wide.

"No. That's how it started."

He shook his head. "You were handed one of the most dangerous instruments ever invented so you could take extra classes?"

"Yes," she said, biting her bottom lip.

"Wow." Thomas sat back in his chair, clearly dumbfounded. "I've heard people say Dumbledore was reckless, but that borders on depraved. How old were you?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. She'd thought much the same thing about Dumbledore at times. "Fourteen." Saying that out loud somehow made it worse. Giving her the Time-turner could have gone horribly awry.

"Why do you think he would risk something like that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he trusted his opinion of people and thought I could handle it."

"Given his history with Grindelwald, I don't know that he was such a great judge of character," Thomas said, frowning.

Hermione let out a soft snort. "Maybe not. Nonetheless, I got it."

"Right. And you used it for most of the year. What was that like?"

"At first it wasn't bad, but as the months wore on, it was exhausting, but also kind of exhilarating. The workload was tremendous, and given everything else that was going on that year, I was pretty frazzled. Thank goodness for Ron. He really stepped in to help keep me sane."

Thomas nodded. "All right, so walk me through a typical day."

Hermione recounted her daily use of the Time-turner. Thomas had more questions. She didn't leave his office until late that night.