Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: Happy Monday, all! Been busy around here, but thank you all so much for the lovely comments so far!
Thanks as always to the most wonderful betas - be11atrixthestrange, sm_jl, adenei, and accio-broom.
Enjoy xx
Sweet Home Ottery
Chapter Six
Where do we go from here?
Have we gotten lost?
I'm starting to think we're out of touch
When did it disappear?
Settle in with the dust
Forget what it was that made us, us
Walking backwards, losing focus
Slipped so slow, we didn't notice
Never read the warning signs
But it doesn't matter where we're headed
Made our plans, we're gonna get it
'Cause I got your hand in mine
So where do we go, where do we go from here?
Highs and then lows, all that I know
Is that I'm gonna follow you wherever you go
Wherever you go, my dear, need you the most
And I wanna know, where do we go from here?
Where Do We Go - Mazare & RUNN
Ten Years Ago
Joyous screams echo through the open fields. The noise carries across the valley to Hermione, setting the hairs on her arm on edge as the anticipation for the day ahead pumps through her veins.
Spring in Ottery St. Catchpole is Hermione's favorite season, mostly due to the annual festival that the magical community holds.
Every March, the festival occupies a long stretch of abandoned land on the outskirts of the village, attracting an innumerable amount of witches and wizards from all over the world. The area is concealed under guidance of the International Statute of Secrecy to prevent muggle eyes from recognizing the existence of magic.
Despite the high level of security and protective enchantments all around the village on this one particular day, the celebration remains as an outward expression of love for the magical community.
Bright flashing lights reflect in Hermione's deep brown eyes from the rides glowing like holiday decorations. The musical roar of the festival grows louder and louder as they approach the entrance.
Ron kicks his feet up into the open air out of excitement, making Hermione burst out into laughter as their joined hands swing up and down between their bodies. They share mutual full-spirited grins, ready to partake in the event they've been attending together ever since the year Hermione found out that she was a witch.
Hermione pulls in a deep, clean breath as they walk through the barrier, preparing her body to be emotionally and physically drained by the end of the day. She's hit with sensory overload as people of all ages scurry about — cheering, chanting, popping balloons, and exploding fireworks into the sky.
She smells the delicious fare wafting through the festival, prompting her stomach to rumble with hunger. Her eyes quickly spot a number of food stalls, including Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream and one serving up a variety of mini cottage pies. Long queues of children wait at the sweet trolleys overflowing with treats like Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizbees, and Peppermint Toads. People merrily sip on mugs filled with butterbeer or pumpkin juice.
"I still can't believe that Professor McGonagall allowed us to leave Hogwarts for the weekend," Ron comments, bringing Hermione's attention back to her boyfriend.
With a cheeky smile, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and adds, "Perks of being with the Head Girl."
"And the Head Boy," Harry interjects from behind, giving him a hearty pat on the back with a chuckle.
Ron makes a sloppy attempt to shove his best friend, who darts out of the way of the blow without losing his footing.
"Shut it, you wanker."
Hermione shakes her head, incorporating an exaggerated eye roll. Boys.
"I think I see Ginny up ahead. I'm going to go say hello." Harry runs off with Ron's hawk-eyed gaze trained on the back of his friend's head.
"Stop it, Ron."
"Stop what?" Ron asks, still scowling in Harry's direction.
Squeezing his arm, Hermione stands on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder. "Are you going to pout all day about what may or may not be happening between Harry and Ginny, or are we going to have a brilliant day of our own?"
Ron sighs, finally tearing his gaze away to give Hermione a grin that makes her stomach lurch. "You're right, as always, 'Mione." He plants a quick kiss to the top of her head before pulling her towards a large contraption with flashing lights.
"Oh, no. No no no no no."
"C'mon, Hermione! You say this every year. Don't you think this year should be the-"
"No."
Ron pushes his lower jaw out while simultaneously sucking in his upper lip. "Look at how many people are having fun on the ride though!"
Hermione scoffs. "They're screaming."
"Because they're having fun!"
The ride in question is one of the most famous at the festival each year, consisting of people strapped into Hippogriff-shaped cars hanging in the air above a pumpkin patch. Although the cars rotate as if they're spinning on a central axis like a traditional muggle ride, there is no axis visible to the magical eye, giving off the illusion of floating.
She risks another cautious glance over at the riders. The people seem so small inside the giant ride that flings them around in all sorts of directions. Would she really want to trade the peacefulness of being on her feet for a chance to be tossed through the air like a Quaffle? Perhaps it's the thrill and excitement of surviving the ride that makes them want to go again immediately after it stops.
Hermione fights the rising panic in her chest, nails digging into Ron's forearm.
"'Mione, it'll be alright. I promise."
Although her legs are wobbly with fear, she can see the desire in Ron's eyes and can't bear to be the one to wipe the handsome smile off his freckled face.
Closing her eyes and inhaling a deep breath, she says, "Alright. I'm in."
Ron's blue eyes brighten, not wasting any time before grabbing her cheeks with both hands and kissing her full on the mouth.
"Fucking hell, yes!"
"Ron."
Hermione's cheeks burn from embarrassment over his very public display of affection, however Ron doesn't seem to notice as he's already dragging her towards the queue.
A lump in her throat pulses a short time later as they climb into the car before pulling down the lap bar that secures them safely into the ride.
"Oh, why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this?"
No matter how many times she repeats the question in rapid succession, she can't come up with a convincing answer.
The only sense of comfort comes from Ron's strong arms wrapped around her frame, stifling her whimpers. When the car starts to move, Hermione's grip on Ron only tightens.
As the ride gains speed she can feel her body tense up, unable to move as gravity propels her in every direction. She hears the buzzing excitement from those nearby, serving as a reminder for herself to let go of all fears and try to enjoy the thrill. Soon, she's dizzy and breathless from laughter despite having no sense of where she is in large part due to the frizzy hair blowing in front of her face.
The stomach-turning weightlessness doesn't end until they descend back down towards the earth. It takes her a moment to catch her bearings, but once she figures out how to balance on her own two feet, Hermione looks back towards the ride with an overwhelming sense of pride.
"You did it!" Ron exclaims, hugging her from behind. Leaning close to her ear, he whispers, "Wanna go again?"
Untangling herself from Ron's arms, forced laughter escapes her lips. "Absolutely not."
Ron sniggers, keeping a hold onto the crook of her elbow as they navigate their way through the festival. They spend hours and hours eating, drinking, and playing games as their laughter mixes in with the plethora of sounds during the festive occasion. They even stop to listen to the choir of croaking frogs on a dimly-lit stage.
The day passes by in a blur, and sooner than either of them are willing to accept, the sky fills with the light of bursting fireworks, signaling the end to the festival.
Hermione moans, letting her head drop onto Ron's chest. "I don't want this night to end."
"Me neither."
Despite convincing herself that she would have the energy to keep going, Hermione's heavy-lidded eyes droop to a close. The exhaustion is starting to set in, and she wants nothing more than to curl up in a comfy bed still bundled up in Ron's arms.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?" she mumbles back, barely coherent.
"Move in with me."
Hermione's eyelids snap open, her head lifting to peer into Ron's questioning eyes. "What?"
The corner of his lip turns up, the color of his cheeks matching the vibrancy of the chromatic sky. "After graduation. Just imagine it — all those nights we've spent alone in your private dorm could become normal for us."
"Ron!" Hermione hastily glances around to make sure no one is listening in on their conversation.
"What?" A broad grin spreads onto his face. "You're worried someone will find out about your recent desire to bend the rules?"
"Yes. There's still time!"
Ron simply chuckles, grazing a thumb down her warm cheek. "You haven't answered my question."
"Yes." The word tumbles from her mouth without another thought.
Ron's lips part, a short gasp leaving his lips. "Yes?"
"Yes."
His lips crash down on hers once more, and she can feel him grin against her mouth as his long fingers become tangled in her curls. The kiss sends tingles all the way down her spine, and she distinctly feels his heart beating beneath her palms resting on his chest.
Although she would have been perfectly content kissing him for the remainder of the evening, Hermione forces their lips apart, barely taking a breath before spewing out all of the thoughts running active through her mind. "But we have a lot to discuss and we need a plan —where we're going to live, how to divide up expenses. I mean, I have some money saved up, but not much, so of course we'll have to get jobs first-"
Ron presses a finger to her lips, effectively silencing Hermione's rambling with a knowing smirk.
"I think I have the perfect place."
Present Day
The memory of the festival from previous years flashes through the front of her mind like a vivid dream, despite her best efforts to shut it all out.
Making the decision to come relive it all could potentially be the worst idea she's ever had.
Hermione stands at the front entrance, watching as familiar and unfamiliar faces whip past her in an excited frenzy, full of the same exuberant joy that she once had. She tenses up as a group of young wizards circle around her before jetting off towards the spinning Hippogriffs, paying no mind to her still-as-a-statue form.
The great roar of a fire-breathing dragon simulation situated above an arch at the entrance reminds Hermione of the Triwizard tournament, and she reckons that the feature must have been added for dramatic effect sometime in the last five years that she hasn't attended.
Crossing her arms, Hermione strolls through the grassy field, scanning her eyes over each of the food vendors and drink stalls. Her feet come to a complete stop once she sees a booth full of baskets overflowing with various practical joke objects — Wildfire Wiz-Bangs, Skiving Snackboxes, Puking Pastilles, among many other comic magic items. Fred and George stand behind the booth, wearing their signature magenta robes that clash with their striking red hair.
"Hermione!"
Fred spots her before she can sneak away and Hermione pastes a tentative smile on her face.
Walking towards the booth, she waves. "Hello, boys. Fantastic set-up!"
George claps his twin on the shoulder. "We try our best, don't we Gred?"
"Sure do, Forge."
The twins wear matching, cheeky grins that Hermione can't help but shake her head at.
"Ron has actually been a huge help with our product launches," George adds, side-eying Hermione.
She doesn't miss the sly mention of Ron, and she fights back a smile. The twins are Weasleys, after all, and they can't help but meddle.
"That doesn't surprise me," Hermione remarks. "Ron has always been the most hard-working person I know, and he would do anything for his family. Always."
Fred's eyebrows raise as his gaze shifts to something, or rather someone, behind Hermione. "Hiya, Ron."
Her eyes widen in alarm, not expecting to see Ron so soon. When she slowly turns around, the uncomfortable look on his face indicates that he heard what she had just said.
"Oh. Hi."
Oh. Hi. Really Hermione?
Ron clears his throat. "Uh, hey there." Averting his eyes, he brushes past her carrying a huge box. "George, reckon you could help me with…"
Together, the three Weasley siblings work to unload the box full of gadgets and potions. Hermione slowly backs away, realizing that her time to make a quiet escape is now.
"I'll see you all later."
"Bye, Hermione," the twins express in unison, and she tries hard not to feel the sting of Ron's lack of response as she walks in the opposite direction.
Several minutes later, after an increased desire for something to get over her sulking, Hermione finds herself holding a cup with two scoops of Earl Grey and Lavender ice cream. The frozen treat is rich, creamy, and smooth in texture and she blissfully closes her eyes, recalling Florean Fortescue's stall being a permanent feature of the festival each year.
When she opens her eyes again, she almost spits out the cold dessert from her mouth, the image of Ron and Lavender directly in her line of sight from a booth across the way. Lavender, yet again, has a hand on Ron's shoulder, eyes never straying away from Ron's face as they talk back and forth. It's one of these moments where Hermione really wished she could read lips, or at least have nicked one of the Extendable Ears from Fred and George's booth.
Hermione's feet blindly walk backwards until her legs hit a wooden bench that she finds herself plopping down on.
She fights to remember the words Ron uttered to her the day before. I'm not with Lavender.
Easier said than done.
She can't seem to tear her eyes away from the pair. Although they are standing close, Ron is not giving off any indication that he wants to be closer, appearing as if he is merely chatting with an old friend.
At least, that's what she tells herself.
Hermione swallows the hard lump in her throat, shifting her gaze to the caramel-colored custard with a purplish tint now melting into a pool of liquid in the bottom of her cup.
Just brilliant.
Two shadows appear overhead, shielding her from the sun. At first she's annoyed by the change, however the irritation dissolves on her face once she looks up to find Harry and Ginny peering down at her.
"You're giving that ice cream quite the menacing glare."
Hermione grimaces, sticking the spoon back into the center of her ice cream. "I think I've just lost my appetite."
Harry's eyes light up as he wiggles his fingers towards the cup in her hands. Rolling her eyes, Hermione hands the remaining ice cream off to him, which he happily accepts.
"Okay," Ginny huffs, sitting next to her on the bench. "Spill it, Sis."
Through a full mouth, Harry mumbles, "Gin, I'm not sure how much we should be getting involved-"
"Oi, shut it, Potter!" The fiery redhead snaps. "She's our sister and she needs someone to pull the broomstick out of her-"
"Ginny," Harry warns.
Hermione's mouth drops open. "Excuse me?"
Ginny makes a noise of disgust, having followed Hermione's line of sight to Ron and Lavender. "Not this again. You know there's nothing going on there, right?"
"Do I?"
Ginny lets out a hard scoff. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. I haven't seen Ron with another woman since you left. Especially not Lavender, no matter how hard she tries to make herself a relevant fixture in his life."
"Why wouldn't Lavender go after him?" Hermione sighs, leaning back against the bench.
A startled gasp escapes her lips when Ron chooses that moment to glance their way, only giving her a mild sense of satisfaction when he immediately puts more distance between himself and the blonde attached at his side. He continues staring in her direction, fixing her with a scrutinizing gaze, leaving her to wonder what he could possibly be thinking.
She looks away, unable to stomach the intensity of his eyes for a moment longer. "I mean, he's free to do what he wants."
"Rubbish!" Ginny protests. "That isn't true in the slightest, and you know it."
"That he isn't free?" Hermione furrows her confused brows.
"That he wants to be."
"Ginny..." Hermione murmurs, knowing her tone is unconvincing.
Her sister-in-law places a warm hand atop her own, in a gesture likely meant to be comforting as she softly says, "You two were so in love. It was...everyone was jealous of what you had."
The sharp pain in Hermione's chest intensifies. "All the more reason for everyone to stick around to watch us crash and burn."
"That's not what happened."
"Yes, it is."
"Then tell me this. If you two are truly over, then why the hell are you still married?"
Although Ginny makes an excellent point, none of the information presented is anything new to Hermione. She's been asking herself the same question for years. Why are they still married? What is it about their relationship that neither one can seem to let go of?
"Ron's hurt," Ginny whispers. "He's thought for five years that he's lost you. Yet, I think there was a part of him holding onto hope — hope that maybe, someday, you'd return. And you did."
The rapid thumping of Hermione's heartbeat in her chest slows down as she processes the idea that a reconciliation could still be possible. "I came back."
"I believe-"
"We believe," Harry interjects, pulling Ginny close to his side. The gesture elicits a genuine smile from Hermione.
"We believe that you two will find your way back to each other. You just need to figure out how."
After encouraging Harry and Ginny to go on a few rides and reassuring them that she would be fine on her own, Hermione decides to take a walk through the fields, basking in the warmth of the sun despite the chilly spring air.
She comes across a group of children squealing with delight as they play with their newly-acquired toy wands, taking turns making lights flicker as shadows dance across windows.
A particularly determined little girl with two brown pigtails shakes her wand around, whimpering when she can't seem to make anything appear or disappear on the black screen.
The scene tugs at Hermione's heart, and she can't help but walk over to her.
Hermione crouches down to the child's level, making sure that the smile on her face does nothing to frighten her already stiff composure. "Hi there. Would you like some help?"
The girl silently nods her head, giving permission for Hermione to continue. "Here, just twist your arm like so."
With a flourish of her wrist, Hermione declares, "Swish and flick!"
Following her instruction, the young girl narrows her gaze on the darkened pane, repeating the hand motion that Hermione had just demonstrated. When she successfully makes a beam of light streak across the window, her tiny feet enthusiastically bounce up and down off the ground.
"Thank you, Miss!"
Hermione applauds the young girl's efforts before standing up to her full height. Sensing someone watching her, her gaze travels through the sea of people before landing on the deep azure blues that she's managed to find so many times already that day despite the crowded event.
And he's looking at her like he's seeing her for the first time since she returned, a flicker of adoration on his face from having witnessed her exchange with the young witch. The intimacy of his gaze that lasts for seconds and seconds seemingly narrows the physical gap between them even though neither are moving. Hermione resists the urge to glance away, just wanting more time to figure out why he could possibly be looking at her like-
"Granger!"
The calling of her name breaks their heated stare, only for her to find Cormac McLaggen strutting in her direction. Groaning inwardly, Hermione wishes she had seen him first so that she could have avoided the insensitive jerk.
The large, wire-haired man plasters a snarky grin on his face as he comes to a stop in front of her —much too close to be considered friendly territory. "Are my eyes deceiving me, or has Hermione Granger decided to finally grace us again with her stunning presence?"
The flirtatious remark makes her want to vomit back up the small amount of ice cream she was able to consume.
She doesn't even have time to answer, for Cormac continues on babbling as if he just likes hearing himself talk. "Just in time as well. I've been looking for a partner to go on rides with. There is one with these peculiar-looking motorbikes. I've been told that the old groundskeeper, Hagrid, set it all up — something about showcasing replicas of the rarest magical creatures. Sounds a bit dull, if you ask me, but it's a two-seater."
The idea of going on a ride with Cormac and being forced to sit close to him does nothing but make her stomach queasy. "I don't think I should. I'm prone to motion sickness."
Cormac's eyes shift to an emotion close to irritation, and smugly pouts. "Aw, come on, Granger. Where's your spontaneity?"
Crossing her arms, Hermione tilts her chin up. "I don't enjoy spontaneity."
Sending her a condescending smile, Cormac rakes his eyes up and down her body. "Clearly."
Something about his unwanted gaze sends shivers down her spine. "I'm sorry, do you wish to extend your commentary?"
"Everything okay here?"
Ron's deep voice cuts in, and Hermione pivots her head in his direction, finding him at her side while glaring daggers at Cormac.
"Granger here was just about to hop on the motorbikes with me."
"Technically," Hermione insists, standing her firm ground. "It's Granger-Weasley, and no — I was not."
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ron's head snap towards her, appearing shell-shocked by her defensive retort.
"Cormac, it's been a-" she wrinkles up her nose in disgust. "Pleasure, as always, but I need to be absolutely anywhere else."
Spinning on her heel, Hermione speed walks in the opposite direction, desperate to put enough distance between herself and the impending argument that is likely to follow between the two boys.
"Hey, wait just a minute."
Except Ron apparently has decided to follow her.
Sighing, Hermione comes to a stop and waits for Ron to catch up. And there's a scowl on his red face, likely stemming from anger.
"Cormac? Are you bloody serious?"
Something about the accusation makes her blood boil. "Didn't you just hear me? I never had any intention of spending time with that vile man at the festival."
"Intended to spend your time with him elsewhere, have you?"
Her frustration kicks in, and she shakes her head in disbelief at the preposterous nature of his words. "You're being ridiculous."
"The man tortured you endlessly at school."
"I don't feel tortured by anyone right now except for you."
The words leave Hermione's lips before she has time to process them, and judging by the way Ron's face contorts into a look of agony, she instantly regrets them.
Growing quiet, Hermione bows her head, keeping her eyes trained on her shaking hands. "You clearly don't want a divorce. But you don't want to be in the same space as me either. You're cold whenever we're together, but then you've been giving me looks all day that I have no idea how to decipher and it's absolutely maddening. What do you want from me, Ron?"
"I want you to care!" He shouts back without pause. "To allow yourself to feel something instead of giving everyone a closed-off version of yourself."
"Care? Care? All I did for months after-" Realizing there are still people trickling by, she lowers her voice. "All I did was care, Ron. And where did that lead me?"
"I wanted you to come home. And apparently that wasn't going to happen unless I came and got you myself."
"You think I didn't want to come back? That I was just waiting for you to come find me? I would have come home! You told me not to!"
His expression morphs into one of confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?"
Despite the anger rippling through her, another sensation — one more recognizable as dread —fills her bones. What is she missing?
Ron's jaw remains clenched, and the way his brows are snapped together indicates that he doesn't have an answer for her at the moment.
Defeated, Hermione's shoulders sag. "I can't keep doing this. I can't be here right now, like this, tainting all the wonderful memories we have of this festival together. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that."
"Hermione-"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
As their eyes meet, Hermione finds that the tears shimmering in his eyes mirror her own, now both operating on a similar wavelength of despair.
"Me neither."
It is a far cry from anything remotely resembling resolution, but at least they can both agree on one question:
Where the hell do they go from here?