Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
Happy Saturday again! Thanks to my lovely betas for helping me sort out the tone of this chapter. Happy reading!
Sweet Home Ottery
Chapter Three
Yesterday, I found an old picture
I took of you, back in the dorms
Wearing my old hoodie from high school
It was too big, you said, "It was warm"
Lately, I been having these flashbacks
Of us in the car, driving nowhere
Yeah, I could write a book with the words that
I should have said, but I was too scared
I never said it then but
I always felt in my gut
And now you've moved so far
There's so much to keep us apart
Tell me, do you ever think about forever?
Baby, I do all the time
There's so many nights that, felt just like a movie
I wish that I could hit rewind
Are we out of time?
Midnight Kids (ft. Yueku) - Out of Time
15 years ago
Hermione doesn't think any wizarding village can surpass Diagon Alley, but from the moment she steps foot on the grounds of Hogsmeade, her feelings change.
She's enchanted by the picturesque village with twinkling candles hanging in the trees, signaling the start of the holidays. A number of specialty shops and pubs line the cobblestone pathways, all vibrant in color with piles of autumn leaves decorating the rooftops and streets.
Ron insists that their first stop is at Honeydukes, of course. She rolls her eyes as he drags her inside, the aroma of sugary sweetness flooding her nostrils. Shelves upon shelves of delectable sweets fill the walls, and the entire shop is packed to the brim with other students. Many of them are also eager third years, like Ron and Hermione, indulging in their first trip to Hogsmeade.
"Look at the size of these nougats!" Ron gushes. "And multiple rows just for chocolate?"
"Oh, here we go." Hermione shakes her head, trying to hide the smile on her face. He's adorable when he — wait. Did I just call my best friend adorable?
"Oi! Let me have my fun, woman!" Ron sends her a lopsided grin that intensifies the fluttering feeling in her stomach.
Stop it.
"We should pick up some chocolate frogs for Harry. I hate that he's poorly today."
"Yeah, yeah, we should do that," Hermione mumbles in agreement, still distracted by the uneven curve of his mouth.
"You alright?" Ron peers down at her, concern etched across his face. She's sure he can read her like a book, despite the very few instances she's ever seen him open one.
Hermione jumps. "Oh, I'm fine! Really, I-"
A hard body slams into her shoulder, making her wince and hiss in pain.
"Oh. Sorry, Granger!" Seamus Finnigan calls out as he brushes past her.
It's only then that she realizes that she is now holding onto Ron's hand, who must have reached out to steady her when she lost her balance.
At the same time, they both look down at their joined hands, releasing their hold as if their fingers burned to the touch. Hermione feels the heat creeping up on her cheeks, and she attempts to look anywhere but at Ron.
"I'm just going to go — oh, look! Sugar quills!" she fumbles, rushing off to the opposite side of the shop in embarrassment.
The moment passes, and after they each pay for their sweets, Ron and Hermione set off down the street towards their next destination. Hours go by, neither one broaching the topic of what transpired at Honeydukes, but they remain their usual giggling and happy selves, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence.
"Can we sit?" Hermione asks near the end of their outing, finding a bench at the end of the street to plop her bags on while blowing stray strands of curly hair out of her face. A slight tremble rolls through her body from the cold breeze that hits her rosy cheeks.
"Sure."
Hermione leans over to rub her sore ankles, only to freeze when she hears Ron's breath hitch.
"Is that-"
Hermione follows Ron's gaze to the wool jumper peeking out from under the collar of her coat that she's tried to hide. The maroon-colored garment with an R stitched across the front is unmistakable, and she knows she's been caught.
"Your jumper," she admits. "I'm sorry. I saw that you left it on the back of a chair in the common room, and I knew it would be a bit chilly today-"
Ron shakes his head, his mouth still slightly open. "No, I'm not mad. Just surprised. I reckon I would've offered you the jumper off my own back if I realized you were cold."
Hermione wiggles in her seat, burying her nose in the soft material. "Well, I'm not now."
Ron's eyebrows arch up, his expression giving away that he's not convinced. "Really? You must be shivering from the blasted heat then?"
"Oh, hush."
Without speaking, Ron stretches his arm across the length of the bench, allowing Hermione to nestle in the crook of his arm. An instant warmth spreads through her as they watch the passers-by strolling down the street. It's not the first time they've huddled together for warmth or comfort, but the air around them feels different this time.
"Hermione?" She doesn't miss the way his voice rises an octave when he says her name.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you wearing my jumper?"
She fixes Ron with a quizzical look. "I just told you, didn't I?"
"No, I know that," he says, slight frustration edging his tone. "But why mine? I mean, I think I saw Harry leave one somewhere in the common room too-"
"I didn't want Harry's jumper, Ron."
"Oh."
Hermione can feel Ron's hand tense on her shoulder. Her heart pounds within her chest as she stares straight ahead, forcing her eyes to settle on an owl perched in a large tree. She starts counting the contour feathers on its wing. 1, 2, 3...
She doesn't get very far before her inner thoughts take over.
Great, Hermione. You've just made things incredibly awkward.
She's desperate to ease the tension, and she's just about to suggest that they head back up to the castle when a chuckle — sounding more like a nervous reaction than anything — escapes Ron's lips.
"This is bollocks. I've known you my whole life."
"Don't be crass." She makes a move to give him a light punch on the shoulder when Ron catches her hand at the last second.
Hermione's throat closes up as she meets his fiery gaze, their fingers naturally intertwining in between their bodies.
His lips curve up. "Hi."
"Hi."
Ron's eyes flicker back and forth from her eyes and her lips as Hermione loses all sense of time. The gravitational pull between them increases, like Ron's cast Accio to summon her closer.
He's looking at her in a way that he never has before — at least, not in a way that she's noticed. Could it be?
She finds it hard to catch a decent breath as she can feel Ron's hot against her cheeks. Buzzing with anticipation, her eyelids flutter closed, waiting for the simple sweetness of Ron's lips on hers —waiting to fall into what she's hoped has been building between them for years and never look back.
Present Day
Hermione's eyes snap open, her hand immediately finding her racing heartbeat. The memory was so real, up until the point that she was ripped from the experience as fast as someone yanking her head out of the cloudy liquid in a Pensieve.
She stares up at the lofty ceiling, the blankets covering her body feeling heavier against her chest than normal.
"I guess I won't be able to escape reality even in my dreams," she murmurs as she sits up in bed, her mood already sour from waking yet again after having dreamt of happier times with Ron, before everything blew up in their faces like an exploding cauldron.
She stretches her arms above her head before rummaging through her beaded bag for a change of clothes. After getting dressed, and although not quite ready to face the day, Hermione meanders her way down the staircase and into the ornate kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. She finds Harry sitting at the end of the large wooden table in the center of the room, sipping from a cup of tea while scanning through the latest Daily Prophet.
He glances up as she enters. "Morning, Hermione. Sleep well?"
"Hi, Harry. As well as can be expected, I suppose," she responds with a shrug while pouring herself a cup from the kettle before settling down in the seat next to Harry.
"Thank you for letting me stay here. I just couldn't face my parents last night, especially after the way things ended with Ron."
"And whose fault is that?"
Hermione's head does a sharp turn towards the fireplace, where she finds Ginny sizing her up with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Hi, Ginny."
"Hi? That's all I get after five years?" Ginny glares at Hermione through unblinking eyes. "I guess it's a bit more positive than what Ron received — divorce papers and a cake to the face."
Harry cuts in, "Ginny-"
"No, don't." Hermione holds a hand up. "I deserve it."
She wants Ginny to know she has permission to freely express her anger, no matter how much Hermione wishes to eradicate it.
"I know that a simple hi doesn't even begin to make up for the time we've lost, Ginny. Believe me, I know that."
Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, the vivacious redhead shakes her head. "I don't think I can believe anything you say anymore."
Hermione stands, wringing out her hands that rest on her belly, anxiety bubbling through her stomach. "Ginny, it's been so long, and I owe you an explanation. I'm home for three weeks. I'd like for us to find a time to sit down and talk-"
"Well, I wouldn't."
"Gin," Harry warns.
Ginny scowls through steely eyes at Harry, who backs down quickly. "I think she deserves a taste of her own potion." Her scrutinizing gaze shifts back to Hermione. "You fix things with my brother, and then maybe we can talk."
Hermione exhales, rubbing her temple. "Ginny, there are just some things you don't understand-"
"Oh, I don't understand? You're right. I don't understand how you can just abandon your family."
Frustration boils through Hermione's veins and she bites her tongue to stop herself from throwing out a defensive retort, silently reminding herself that Ginny lacks the context needed to truly understand why she even left in the first place.
Her eyes briefly dart over to find Harry shifting in his seat, obvious discomfort displayed on his face as he removes his glasses to inspect the lenses, likely an attempt to avoid looking at either of the two hostile women in his kitchen.
"Ron wasn't the only one you left behind."
Hermione can no longer hide the shame on her face, knowing that despite the numerous attempts to convince herself that removing herself from Ottery five years ago was the best decision for everyone involved, it clearly wasn't. Her past is finally catching up with her, and it's filling her with more regret than she can put into words.
"Send me an owl once she leaves." Without another word, Ginny grabs a fistful of floo powder and disappears through the bright green flames.
Silence fills the room, and Harry shoots Hermione a sympathetic look. "I'll talk to her."
Hermione's hands grip the teacup in front of her. "No, I — I'm going to give her some space. She's right. I do need to talk to Ron again. Preferably in a more civilized manner."
Harry's eyebrows raise up underneath the jet black fringe on his forehead. "You and Ron? Civilized? I don't think I've ever seen either of you back down from a fight."
She grimaces, finding the truth in Harry's statement to be foreboding. "There are some things we need to work out, whether he wants to hear it from me or not."
Hermione takes a moment to observe the detached two-story home in front of her. The front garden is filled with perfectly trimmed trees and bushes. A sign by the door proudly displays the words 'Granger Home' as she walks up the front steps.
Taking a deep breath, she knocks twice on the door. After a few waiting moments, the door swings open to reveal an older woman with short, brown curly hair, holding a flannel in her hands.
"Hi, Mum."
The wrinkly lines on Jean Granger's forehead grow more prominent as she stands in the doorway, very stiff and formal.
Instead of responding, Jean turns her head and calls back into the home, "Hugh, your daughter has finally decided to grace us with her presence."
Hermione lets out a loud exhale, discouraged by the awful start to the first two conversations she's decided to tackle today. "How did you find out that I was back?"
Jean leaves the door wide open as she wordlessly strolls towards the kitchen. With careful hesitancy, Hermione crosses the threshold into the house, closing the door with a soft click behind her before trailing after her mum.
When she steps into the kitchen, Hermione watches her mum busy herself with cleaning tasks, wiping down the kitchen table with more force than Hermione presumes is necessary.
"Molly called this morning. She wanted to check up on you, to make sure you were okay after your confrontation with Ron yesterday."
The guilt sinks even deeper into the growing pit that has become Hermione's stomach. "I had intended to come and see you both right after, but I just needed some time to think."
Jean humphs, filling the sink with hot water before adding a few squirts of dish soap. "So, where have you been?"
"I stayed with Harry last night."
"Interesting," Jean spits out, discontentment evident in her tone. "I would've thought you knew by now that you always have a place here."
"Mum, please."
Jean fails to reply, instead choosing to keep her back turned away from Hermione as she scrubs at the dirty pile of dishes in the sink. Hermione walks around to sit on a barstool at the kitchen counter, placing herself in a better position to have a face-to-face conversation with her mum.
"I like the new decor," Hermione comments as she scans the walls, taking note of the floral wallpaper decorated with framed landscape portraits and family photographs. Her eyes land on a familiar photograph of her and Ron as children, wearing matching toothy grins at the camera with their arms around each other. She remembers that exact day — they had spent hours out in the back garden of the Granger home, searching for bugs that Hermione could identify in her informational 'Bugopedia' book until they were forced to come inside for supper.
Hermione forces her gaze away, the memory burning a hole through her heart. She meets her mum's eyes, which appear to soften a bit after catching Hermione staring at the reminder of her past.
A deep guttural cough echoes through the room, and Hermione turns to find a tall man with thin, graying hair entering the room, adjusting the spectacles resting on his nose.
"When did my little girl become not-so-little anymore?"
A smile lights up her face, a wave of relief coursing through her from the warmth of her father's greeting. She bounces off the stool and folds into his open arms.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
"Hi, Dad."
Hugh pulls out of the embrace, distancing himself until he is an arms-length away from Hermione. He peers down at her with dark circles around his eyes and paler skin than usual, and she wonders if he's getting enough sleep.
"Let me get a good look at you. It's been quite some time since our last visit, Flower."
Hermione smiles at the nickname her father coined for her, ever since he saw her obsessively picking at the sunny wildflowers in the family garden.
"How is Australia?" he inquires, lowering himself into a seat at the kitchen table with a grunt.
"It's beautiful. Would have loved to have you both for a visit using the plane vouchers I offered." Hermione's eyes shift between both of her parents, who silently exchange unreadable glances before turning away from each other and resuming their independent routines — her mum drying plates and dad reaching for the morning newspaper.
"Why don't you want to come to Australia anymore?" she presses. "We used to spend a part of every summer holiday on the Coast. Now that I've moved there, you seem to have no desire to go."
Jean whips around, her mouth set in a hard line. "Visiting goes both ways."
Hermione's lips part, a small gasp of air releasing through the open space. "I-I know that. It's just — I have a career, a life, there."
"A life that doesn't include your own family?" An expression of sadness clouds her mother's features.
"Mum-"
Jean drops a flannel on the counter before making a swift exit out of the kitchen. Feeling defeated, Hermione ignores her instinct to maintain proper composure by slouching into the seat across from her father, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.
"She's a complex woman, dear," Hugh reassures, reaching over to give her arm a squeeze. "Just give her some time."
"I just want to fix this."
"What's this I hear about your run-in with Ron?"
Hermione sighs. "I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it."
"It sounds to me like you both need to talk. Ron's a good man. I'm sure he will be receptive to what you have to say."
"Are you really on his side, Dad?" She can't help but get defensive when she feels the walls closing in on her from the pressure she's receiving from the circle of people around her.
Her dad shakes his head. "Hermione, I know that things have been hard between you two, but-"
"Nevermind." She forces a tight-lipped smile. "I'm really glad to see you, Dad."
"I'm glad to see you too, Flower."
It feels wrong to be showing up at The Burrow again after the disruption she caused the day prior, but she doesn't know where to go after her discouraging interaction with her parents. They didn't exactly both welcome her with open arms, not that she expected them to. However, an apology sits at the forefront of her mind, and she knows she won't be able to sleep another night without clearing the air.
Hermione makes the lengthy trek up the path leading to the house, surprised to find the matriarch of the family waiting for her at the front door as if she sensed her near.
"Hermione." Molly smiles with what looks like tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mrs. Weasley." Her voice is shaky, stopping several paces away from Ron's mum, unsure of what to say next.
Molly places her hands on her hips, scanning Hermione's appearance with a crease between her brows. "You look a bit peaky. Have you eaten enough lately?"
The question elicits a nervous laugh from Hermione. "Not likely."
Molly waves an arm, ushering the young woman through the front door. "Well, come in, then. I've got some fresh biscuits, and I'll put the kettle on."
Hermione accepts the offer, taking in the cozy living room filled with familiar knickknacks and mismatched furniture. A clock remains positioned on the wall with several hands, each inscribed with the name of one of the Weasley children. She finds Ron's name pointed between work and lost, with the hand teetering dangerously closer to lost.
"His name doesn't often move as of late," Molly murmurs from behind her. Hermione tears her gaze away from the clock, meeting the older woman's melancholic stare.
A heavy weight falls on Hermione's heart seeing Molly's typically cheerful demeanor instead replaced by sorrow, knowing she likely contributed to that change.
"Well, let's sit." Molly claps her hands together, her tone much more light-hearted than before as she bustles off to the kitchen with Hermione in tow.
She finds a seat on one of the vibrantly-patterned chairs at the old, rickety wooden table, with Molly rushing to bring over a plate of biscuits and two mugs filled with hot tea centered between them.
Hermione offers a nod of appreciation before taking a gentle sip from the rim of her mug, finding the warm liquid soothing as it travels down her dry, aching throat. Molly is silent as she studies Hermione with curiosity gleaming through her eyes.
"I don't really know where to start," Hermione mutters, keeping her eyes focused on her mug.
"How about at the beginning? Why did you leave?"
Molly's questions come out fast as if she's had a list prepared for the inevitable day she'd be able to ask them.
"I'm not sure I can give you any answers that would prove my reasoning to be sufficient."
"Oh, my dear," Molly is shaking her head, leaning forward. "I might be getting older, but I'm not blind to what's going on around here. I may not know the exact details as to what happened between you and Ron, but I never once for a second believed that you would walk away without a reason. In fact, I don't believe you would ever make a decision without thinking it through."
Then why am I filled with so much regret?
"I think you're wrong there. If anything, it was the most rash decision I've ever made in my life." Hermione winces, recalling the events from Ron's birthday. "Right after charming the beautiful cake you made to smash into Ron's face. I am truly sorry about that."
Molly covers Hermione's hand with her own warm one. The gesture is enough for Hermione to swallow the emotion that threatens to pour out.
"Don't you worry."
Although the advice is genuine, Hermione finds it difficult to take in, knowing full well that worrying is an integral aspect of her personality.
"Molly, I don't want you to feel like Ron is at fault for anything that happened yesterday. I'm the one who chose to leave."
Molly is quiet, deep contemplation written all over her face. After several moments, she meets the pair of soft brown eyes that match her own, ready to speak. "Hermione, I've known you since you were a baby. You were going for walks in the meadows with Ron before you could even talk. I considered you very much as a daughter before you ever legally became one."
The young woman's brown eyes well up with tears as Molly continues on,
"Look, I know you and my son have a complicated history. You know, Ronnie's always the one who wears his heart on his sleeve. I can tell every emotion he's feeling just by the look on his face. And you two…" Molly shakes her head with a grin on her face as if she is reliving a happy memory.
"You two share a bond that will never go away, despite all of the hurt and pain you've caused each other."
Molly casts her eyes downward, clearly hesitating about the next thought rummaging through her mind. "Hermione, are you sure...are you sure that divorce is the right choice?"
It breaks her heart to see the hopeful look on her mother-in-law's face — the woman who has chosen to be so kind and warm and forgiving, even when Hermione is certain she's done nothing in the last five years to deserve it.
Molly squeezes their still-joined hands to emphasize her point. "You two are lost right now, but you can find each other again."
Hermione's heart sinks. "I just can't hurt him anymore."
Molly doesn't get a chance to respond, for the roaring of the fireplace sounds, alerting them both to another person in the house. Out from the green flames steps Ron, whose body goes rigid once his eyes land on the pair at the kitchen table.
"Of bloody fucking course."
Hermione stands. "Ron-"
His eyes darken, turning Hermione's blood cold from the lack of warmth in any of his features, the exact opposite of his mum's presence.
"Save it. It's my turn to leave." He departs the way he came, extinguishing the small slither of hope Hermione had gained following her conversation with Molly.
Are we truly out of time?