Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

Happy Saturday! The angst fest continues.

As always, thank you to these amazing HP writers and the best betas: accio-broom, be11atrixthestrange, sm_jl, and adenei.

Sweet Home Ottery

Chapter Four

What did I say? What do you want?

I swear I'll make it up

Oh my gosh, what have I done?

Pain in my chest, can't get to sleep

In these cold and empty sheets

Where did you go? Why did you leave?

Lie to me

It would help

Just lie to me

Say you found someone else

So I don't blame myself

Blame Myself - Illenium ft. Tori Kelly

12 Years Ago

Once Hermione murmurs the weekly password, the Fat Lady's portrait opens up into the cozy Gryffindor common room. It's one of her favorite places in the castle, one that can relax her worries as soon as she walks through the landing.

She takes in the large circular room decorated with crimson and gold. The roaring fireplace is perfectly situated with the portrait of a lion hanging above the mantle. Scarlet tapestries cover the walls, painted many shades of red. Her favorite feature, the large bookcases positioned against the wall, are home to the books she often reads while curled up in one of the many squashy armchairs offered to students throughout the common room.

The cozy, quiet atmosphere she's accustomed to is now gone, instead replaced by a boisterous commotion.

Celebrations are in full swing following Gryffindor's win against Slytherin in the latest Quidditch match. Loud thumping music echoes through the room, mixed with constant cheering and clapping.

Hermione searches the crowd for her boyfriend, whose vibrant red hair she can just barely see sticking out from the middle of the mob of people. He saved numerous goals with ease as Keeper and seems to be the center of attention during the impromptu party, with many of their fellow housemates chanting, "Weasley is our King!"

They were on frosty speaking terms before the match, having argued earlier that morning about Ron's potential use of Felix Felicis for added luck during the game, by the hand of Harry, of which Hermione expressed her disapproval.

Their argument ended with Ron storming off towards the changing room prior to the start of the match. She hasn't spoken to him since and hopes to convince him to find a private space for them to have a moment alone to talk through things.

Before she can squeeze her way through the throng of people, Hermione comes to a standstill as she watches Lavender Brown grab onto Ron's elbow, her voluminous brown curls tumbling down her back as she positions herself in front of him.

Hermione considers herself to be an observant person. She's more than aware of Lavender's attraction to Ron and the way she bats her eyelashes and flips her hair whenever he is around. On one occasion, she even overheard Lavender discussing Ron's increasingly muscular build with Parvati in the dorms when they likely assumed Hermione was sleeping.

The moment that follows next happens in slow, altering motion. Ron's eyes widen as he meets the mischievous glint in Lavender's eyes before she wraps a perfectly manicured hand around his neck and crashes their lips together, much to the shock and surprise to those around them.

The noise around Hermione drowns out as she feels like her heart is being punctured a million times by the sword of Gryffindor.

She can't watch for a second longer — she has to get out of here.

"Wait, Hermione!" She faintly hears Harry call out to her as she brushes past him and climbs out of the portrait hole. She doesn't stop running until she ascends staircase after staircase, almost tripping over her clumsy feet a number of times due to the tears blurring her vision.

There's a burning in her lungs that leaves her breathless, like she's just narrowly escaped the path of a bludger intent on knocking her down. Without even fully realizing it, she's entering an abandoned classroom on the top floor of the castle, swinging the door shut behind her with a flick of her wand.

Hermione collapses on the floor while burying her head between her knees, her body shaking with quiet sobs while growing numb, the painful aching in her chest dissolving into nothingness.

There aren't any magical remedies to heal her broken heart.

She doesn't know how much time has passed, or even what time of day it is, but just as she's considering locating the lavatory to wash her face, she hears the door handle turning as someone enters the room.

Hermione knows who it is before he even speaks, the pattern of his heavy-set footsteps all too familiar.

"Oh, thank Merlin. Hermione!" She can hear the urgency in his voice, and that only makes her cry harder.

His footsteps approach, but she can tell he's still quite a distance away. "Hermione, talk to me."

With an adamant shake of her head, she swivels in her position on the floor, turning her back on him. She doesn't want him to see the tear stains visible on her cheeks.

She hears the swishing of his robes as Ron crouches on the ground next to her. "'Mione, please."

A hand touches her shoulder, causing her to reflexively flinch and recoil away. "Don't touch me!" Fixing him with an icy stare, she snaps, "Why don't you just go back to snogging Lavender Brown!"

Ron's brows furrow, mouth set in a grim line. "That's rubbish and nowhere near what happened. I pushed her off of me. Didn't you see?"

Hermione huffs, lifting her chin. "I didn't prefer to stick around."

"Well, if you would've, that's what you'd have seen. Hermione, you have to know, I would never-"

"I know we argued this morning, Ron, but I didn't realize we were over-"

"Over? What in the bloody hell are you on about? You think just because we had another one of our silly rows that I would-" He abruptly stands, fury written all over his red face. "For someone so intelligent, you can be very dense sometimes, Hermione."

Hermione's irritation flares, not taking kindly to his insult. "If you want to date other witches, Ron, you should just say so now. I guess I shouldn't have expected-"

"I don't want to date anyone else!"

Her eyes narrow to slits. "And why not?"

"Because, you barmy witch, I'm in love with you."

Hermione freezes in her spot, staring at Ron's blazing expression without blinking, stupefied by his admission. Her mouth slowly opens, and she's not certain that she's still breathing, becoming acutely aware of her irregular heartbeat thumping wildly in her chest.

"You-you are?"

"Well, yeah." A sheepish smile breaks out on his face. "I always have been."

Her voice drops to a low, innocent whisper. "You've never said that to me before."

"I guess I never felt like I needed to. I thought you just knew." He intertwines their fingers together, and she allows it, the spark igniting between them. "I thought we just knew."

Although her initial instinct is to reject the information that Ron offers her, she knows deep in her heart that it's the truth. It's always been the two of them, and she feels silly now for ever thinking otherwise.

Hermione sniffles, grabbing ahold of Ron's scarlet and gold Quidditch jersey to pull his face just inches away from her own. "Ron Weasley, don't you ever let another woman kiss you again."

Lifting an eyebrow, Ron's cheeky smirk sends her heart aflutter. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

Feeling sharp with intelligence, she already has a response prepared. "I happen to know how to conjure up a flock of yellow birds that I'm sure I could convince to do my bidding."

A visible gulp rolls down Ron's throat. "You're a bit scary sometimes, you know that?"

She flashes him her most brilliant smile, remaining silent as she stands by her soft threat.

"For the record, I only ever want to kiss you. And if, for some ungodly reason, another witch tries to kiss me again, I'm gonna hold you to that spell. I reckon I'd deserve it." He sends her a subtle wink, stirring up the flobberworms in her stomach.

"I promise. And I love you too, Ron Weasley."

Present Day

Hermione's fingers grip the delicate moving photograph in her hands, the image of a younger Ron and Hermione staring back at her. Harry had taken the photo —they were curled up in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, arms around each other and full of smiles. The photo was taken the same evening they had said 'I love you' to each other for the first time. Hermione was only seventeen, and Ron was sixteen, and their relationship was full of promises that now seem like they were made in another lifetime.

To her surprise, it's not a stinging pain she feels, just the ever-present soreness that makes it hard for her to function in her daily life — much less get a decent night of sleep as all of these memories she's suppressed have started flooding back.

She places the moving picture back into the crease of the book she found it inside of, careful not to wrinkle it as she closes the book and tucks it away on the bookshelf full of similar memories.

Hermione stands back, letting out a heavy sigh as she takes one more glance around the study before flicking off the light with her wand and moving back out into the living area.

She's inside the cottage she once shared with Ron, waiting for him to come home from work. After their unexpected run-in at the Burrow the day prior, she knew she needed to try speaking with him again in hopes of clearing at least a fraction of the tension palpitating between them.

The interior of the cottage looks almost the exact same as she had left it, much to her pleasant surprise when she arrived. Hermione lowers herself onto the sofa, her mouth curving up into a small smile when Chudley licks her feet before resting against her leg on the floor.

She was always quite proud of the work they put into redecorating the space, and it all wouldn't have been possible without the help of their family and friends.

Not without smart planning, of course.

It was Hermione's idea to keep a neutral base for their cream-colored walls, preferring to add color through the use of floral wall art, throw pillows in a wide assortment of colors — even orange — and furniture with various patterns of upholstery. The cheerful, homey space contrasts the heavy grey skies that often characterize Ottery St. Catchpole.

Her eyes sting as she filters her gaze around the room, bringing back visions of her time spent with Ron lounging on the soft-cushioned sofa, basking in the glow of the fire on colder evenings.

The house tells the story of their relationship, providing an intense, overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, and a sense of appreciation for the past and what could have been their future.

The fireplace in the center of the room roars to life, startling Hermione out of her reverie, and her eyes filter over the bright green flames as Ron appears. He brushes soot from his robes and hair before stepping out of the Floo, giving a slight yelp when his eyes land on Hermione.

"What the bloody fuck?"

Hermione stands, hands on her hips. "I was planning to Floo call you, but as it turns out, I'm still on the direct Floo-in list."

Ron pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud exhale. "Yeah, I s'pose you are."

"Why?"

"Why did you use it?"

"We need to talk."

Ron throws off his Auror robes, tossing them in a messy heap onto the back of the closest armchair. "O'course we do."

"But first, I have something for you." Hermione swishes her wand, their attention falling on the cake that floats in mid-air from the kitchen before landing on the side table next to the sofa. It looks like an exact replica of the cake from his birthday. "Call it a peace offering, if you'd like."

Ron's face scrunches up with distaste. "I'm not going to eat that. You probably laced it with something."

"Oh, honestly, Ron. Do you really believe that? Besides, your Mum helped me. You know I don't particularly enjoy baking."

He rubs his temple as if he's trying to soothe a headache. "Fine. Just leave it there."

Ron's tone clearly indicates that he'd prefer it if she'd leave, but Hermione isn't backing down yet.

"You haven't changed much here," she comments, nodding her head around the room.

He shrugs. "I don't spend that much time here, so I thought, why bother?"

Hermione hums, starting to slowly pace the length of the room back and forth. "The garden could use some work."

"Be my guest — oh wait, you've already made yourself at home." The bitter words leave Ron's mouth as he shoots her a simmering glare.

Hermione fights the urge to roll her eyes, knowing the rude gesture would do nothing to ease the hostility in the air. "Technically, I am still part-owner of this cottage, Ron. Which, if it's such a burden to you, we could sort it out if you'd even bother having a conversation with me for more than five minutes."

Ron groans, flopping his weight onto the armchair before resting his head back and closing his eyes. "Not now, Hermione."

He hasn't fled from the room yet, which Hermione takes as a positive sign. She makes another attempt to initiate conversation. "How-how are you?"

He barks out an incredulous laugh. "M'fine. Just brilliant, actually."

"I'm serious," Hermione insists, studying him with piercing scrutiny. "You're not straining yourself too much on your missions still, are you?"

"I said I'm fine, Hermione," he growls, keeping his head tilted back on the chair cushion, eyes cast upward towards the ceiling.

"We need to sit down and have a proper chat."

"Not tonight. I'm busy."

A wave of exasperation rolls through her as she bites back her tongue. After taking a steadying breath, she states in a calm manner, "I've got some time off, Ron. I'm not going anywhere."

Ron wiggles in his seat, appearing uncomfortable with her admission. "Suit yourself."

Hermione's eyes can't help but stray to his bare left hand resting on his bouncing knee. No ring.

She looks away just as quickly, fighting the lump in her throat. What was she expecting?

"Well, I suppose I'll go now." She tries to control the shakiness in her raspy voice. She has to leave before she breaks down, not ready to lose it in front of him. "I'm staying with my parents. You know where to find me if-"

"Yeah, okay."

With a final nod, Hermione bends down to ruffle the fur behind Chudley's ears, and he responds by giving her an enthusiastic lick on her cheek. She wordlessly strolls toward the fireplace, picking up a handful of Floo powder before ducking her head into the hearth. Her gaze flickers over to Ron for a brief moment, the breath catching in her throat, swept up in the way his thick eyelashes blink back at her.

"The Granger home!" She shouts before disappearing through the flames, Ron fading away from view.

Hermione lands in the living room of her family home, feeling thankful that her parents don't seem to be around and she can take a moment by herself to decompress.

A single tear trails down her cheek as she points her wand at her ring finger. A solid gold band appears, previously charmed to conceal the reminder of her past and the small bit of hope she's holding onto, although not entirely sure why.

It's been years since she's stepped inside of the Leaky Cauldron, and it's still as dark and shabby as she remembers. If anything, the space has only grown, with a large number of tables spread throughout the shadowy corners and a bar with a polished oak countertop that extends the width of the dimly lit room.

The atmosphere is loud with lots of chatter. A group of wizards croon in the corner, belting out the chorus of Celestina Warbeck's latest song. The pub smells of stale ale from spillages that haven't been properly cleaned up off the floor.

"Hermione Granger!"

Hannah Abbott grins from ear to ear from behind the bar counter. She looks exactly as Hermione remembers her, with her sweeping blonde hair pulled away from her face into two signature pigtails.

"Hannah!" Hermione greets as she approaches the bar. "Wow, it's been so long. Do you run the Leaky now?"

"Sure do!" She responds as she wipes down the sticky spot on the counter in front of Hermione. "It must be a special occasion for you to be showing your face around here."

Hermione squirms on the barstool, letting out a nervous laugh. "Oh, not really. I'm home visiting for a bit and thought I'd pop by."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Hannah turns to the unknown wizard next to her, who also works behind the bar. "Anything she wants tonight is on the house!"

"No, I couldn't possibly-"

"Oh, hush!" Hannah waves off any protests, setting a pint in front of Hermione with a wink. "Looks like you could use this. Let's catch up later!"

The blonde woman rushes off to fulfill other drink orders, and Hermione stares at the hazy yellow liquid. Taking a small sip, she grimaces as the bitter, cool ale travels down her throat. Pint in hand, she walks through the crowd in hope of finding a familiar face.

When she does, she's not met with the friendly face she was hoping for.

"Of course you're here," Ginny comments through pursed lips as Ron stands at his sister's side.

"I told you I was busy tonight," he mutters.

Hermione's eyes flicker to the dark-haired man standing next to the two Weasleys. "Harry invited me."

Ron's head slowly pivots to glare at his best friend, gritting his teeth. "Did he now?"

Harry shrugs, hiding his face behind his pint as he takes a large swig. "Oops."

If she wasn't the center of the conflict, Hermione might have cracked a smile at Harry's meddling. Instead, she says nothing, reveling in the awkward silence that falls upon the four of them.

"Hermione!" Neville Longbottom appears at her side, flashing his buck-toothed smile. He takes note of the others lingering next to her. "With Ron! Oh, you don't know how thrilled I am to see the two of you together."

Hermione's eyes shift to Ron, who she can tell from his tense jaw and the vein popping in his neck that he's putting in a lot of effort to ignore her gaze.

"It's just like old times," Neville rambles on, "I don't have a single memory from Hogwarts that doesn't have you two in it."

Hermione winces, knowing that if she grips the glass in her hand any harder, it might smash into a million pieces on the floor. "Neville, er, it's not really the best time…"

Neville's eyes widen, appearing to catch on to the tension. "Oh, you know what, I think I see Hannah at the bar. I'm just going to go get a pint. I'll catch up with you all later!"

"I'll join you," Hermione blurts out, tipping her head back to let the final contents of her glass swirl down her throat before making her hasty escape.

She's definitely going to need another drink to get through this night.

The evening continues in a foggy blur, and Hermione doesn't dare approach Ginny or Ron again, not in the mood to infringe on their plans. Harry pops by the bar from time to time for small chat, but she always ends up telling him to go back and socialize with the others, knowing she can hold her own against the curious glances and hostile glares.

Her eyes are glossy as they drift around the room, gaze floating about the busy surroundings. The alcohol has already started to blur her inhibitions, and she blinks to clear away the swaying sensation that makes her feel as if the room is spinning.

The trajectory of her hands nearly misses the bar counter as she reaches out to grip the edge to keep herself from falling over. She pulls her wand out, deciding to practice some spellwork to keep her mind off of the disastrous turn the evening has taken.

She's only two minutes in when Ron approaches the bar, seeking another drink and doing his best to pretend like Hermione is invisible. He drums his fingertips on the counter in a repetitive manner as he waits. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione can tell that he's trying hard not to say anything to her but keeps sneaking suspicious glances her way from time to time.

His curiosity wins in the end.

"Okay, what are you doing?"

A sullen look appears on Hermione's face as she keeps her eyes focused on the wand in front of her as she waves it up and down, watching the empty glass in front of her rise and fall over and over again.

"I'm Wingardium Leviosa...ing."

Ron snorts. "How is it you still manage to perfect that spell even when you're drunk?"

"It's a simple first-year spell, Ron." Hermione glowers at him, her gaze aversion causing the glass to topple in a messy fashion onto the countertop. "I could do it in my sleep."

He smirks, folding his arms across his chest. "I'd bet galleons to watch you try."

Hermione clucks her tongue, breaking eye contact. "I don't want to play any more games with you, Ron."

Hannah arrives in front of the pair, handing a glass with a clear liquid over to Ron, leaving Hermione stumped as to what he's drinking.

"Cheers, Hannah," he calls out before he leaves, gesturing over to Hermione. "Let me know if you find the broom shoved up her arse."

Hermione's jaw drops as Ron saunters away without another word.

A sympathetic expression appears on Hannah's face. "Another?"

The brunette blows a stray curl out of her eyes. "Yes, please."

It doesn't take long after her next pint arrives — having lost count on how many she's had at this point — for her eyes to travel around the room in search of Ron again.

The wind is knocked out of her lungs as her eyes fall on Lavender Brown sidled up against Ron's side. She's whispering in his ear, making Ron laugh as if she's just told him the funniest joke in the world.

"She's been coming around more, starting about a year ago," Hannah's voice answers the question Hermione was already formulating in her brain.

"Really?"

"Can't say I really understand what's going on there, though."

Hermione's eyes burn as she witnesses Lavender lean over and place her lips on Ron's cheek.

The sharpness of the pain is unmistakable and distinctive. Shockwaves ripple through her bloodstream as images of a younger Lavender Brown kissing Ron flood her brain, almost making Hermione crumple to the floor from the impact of the blow.

How is she even sitting upright? And what, in Merlin's name, are her hands doing?

Could he really fancy her?

Ron and Hermione haven't been Ron and Hermione in a long time, and she wasn't expecting the sight of him with another woman to bother her as much as it does. She's not naive to believe that he hasn't dated since their split. But then again, did they ever really split? That part of their relationship is fuzzy and frustrating, and Hermione really just needs another drink.

I've shown my face, she reasons in her thoughts, so I'll have one more drink and then make my quiet escape.

Quiet escape. She laughs inwardly at herself. She's quite good at quiet escapes.

"One more, please," Hermione mumbles.

Glass in hand, she slides off of the barstool while unpredictably lurching forward, finding it difficult to stand on her own two stumbling feet. She brushes off anyone who comes into close contact with her, not even really sure where she's heading until her feet plant themselves in front of Ginny.

The fiery redhead raises her eyebrows, inspecting Hermione's appearance with distaste. "You're drunk."

"M'not that drunk," Hermione slurs. "Besides, even if I were, what's it to you? You've made it clear that you want nothing to do with me."

"And Ron shouldn't either. Yet, here you come flying back, having him question everything he's worked hard to rebuild after you left."

It could be her combative nature or the influence of alcohol that breaks her resolve, but Hermione is unable to contain the fresh swell of rage that boils through her blood.

"You know what, Ginny? You're quite quick to judge a situation that you know nothing about."

"And why is that, huh?" The younger witch sneers back.

"Because it's not about you!" Hermione shouts, simultaneously slamming her frosty mug down onto the closest table with a solid bang, the entire contents of the drink dripping onto the floor. The disturbance causes several heads to turn their way, an eerie silence falling upon the pub.

Ginny's lips part, speechless over Hermione's sudden outburst.

"Hey!" Ron emerges beside Hermione, grabbing her elbow. "Calm down. What is the matter with you?"

Rage coils through her veins, and she's lost all control over keeping her emotions in check.

She's done with this.

"Unbelievable. And now I need another drink."

Ron trails after her, his voice low and deep. "I think you've had just about enough, haven't ya?"

"Absolutely," she spits out with clear disdain, "I've had enough."

Hermione spots Hannah at the bar, frozen in place with wide eyes, looking unsure of how best to handle the situation. "I-I don't think I can serve you anymore, Hermione."

"Fine. I need to go somewhere."

She needs to get out of the stifling pub before she breaks down into incomprehensible sobs out of frustration.

"Where are you going to go?" Ron questions, leaving Hermione irritated that he's chosen this moment to care about what she does or doesn't do.

"I'm going places, that's for sure, as soon as I find my wand-"

"Oh, no, you don't." Something slides out of her back pocket, and she whips around to find Ron twirling the vinewood between his fingers.

"Ron Weasley, you give me my wand!"

Ron's glare hits her with unnerving thoroughness. "Like hell."

With a wide-sweeping flail of her arms, Hermione reaches for the wooden stick just outside of her grasp, disgruntled when Ron only holds the wand even higher above his head.

Curse him and his height.

"I'm taking you home. Now." His tone doesn't leave any room for argument.

Ron wraps an arm around Hermione's waist, making her shiver from the contact, her entire body growing warm from being nestled into his side.

"Don't. Let. Go."

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, preparing for the spinning sensation as the colors change around her, the faces in the pub becoming blurry.

Her body feels like it's being stretched and pulled in all sorts of directions until her feet land on solid ground, gripping Ron's arm tight to hold herself up as she comprehends that they are now standing outside of her parents' home. A wave of nausea hits her, and she bends over, vomiting straight into the greenery beside the house. Ron's hand never leaves her back as she expels what seems to be every last drop of ale in her system.

"Ohhh, my Mum's tulips."

"She'll forgive you," Ron reasons, pulling Hermione towards the front door as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand.

"Not likely."

After knocking three times, the door swings open to reveal Hermione's dad rubbing his eyes before putting his glasses on.

"Good evening, Mr. Granger."

"Ron!" The older man's eyes widen in surprise to see him standing on his doorstep, his pupils only growing larger once he notices Hermione's disheveled state. "What's happened to my daughter? Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine, just a little intoxicated. May I?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Hugh steps aside to allow Ron to bring Hermione inside, and Hermione shuffles her feet along as Ron half-carries her up the stairs.

Hermione falls onto the bed once they reach her room, finding relief from the welcomed coolness of her face hitting the pillow cover. The bedsheets fold over her body as Ron helps her get situated. She feels the weight of the mattress sink in as Ron sits down on the edge.

"You're better than this," he murmurs, so soft that she almost doesn't hear him.

Hermione's lip quivers as she meets his gaze with watery eyes. "Yeah, Ron. I thought you were, too, before you drank one too many Firewhiskeys. Doesn't feel so good to be on the other side of it, does it?"

Ron's expression hardens from her words. An intense, indescribable emotion flows between them, neither speaking for a solid minute. Ron breaks the gaze first, using his wand to conjure up a goblet before reciting "Aguamenti."

"Here's some water. Drink it." He thrusts the cup into her unsteady hands before extracting a vial from his pocket and setting it on the bedside table. "And some pepper-up potion for tomorrow morning. I always have it handy for a night out at the pub. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

Ron stands, making a move towards the door. Without fully realizing what she is doing, she reaches out to grasp his hand before he can walk away.

"Ron."

He turns, his eyes falling on their joined hands before flicking back up to her face.

Hermione takes a deep breath, fighting her eyelids that want to close. "I let you kiss another woman, didn't I? I promised."

She's tired now, finding her muscles giving out and releasing her hold on Ron.

The last thing she sees before she falls into a deep slumber is the penetrating blue of Ron's shimmering eyes, the closest thing to remorse she's received from him since she's returned.