Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.
A/N: Happy Saturday! I'm floored by the comments left on the previous chapter. Thank you so much! I don't really have a spiel this time, so let's just dive right in, shall we?
Thank you, as always, to the amazing writers/humans that beta'd this chapter for me: accio-broom, adenei, sm_jl, and be11atrixthestrange. You all are awesome!
Sweet Home Ottery
Chapter Eleven
I've been broke and lost
Took you running off
Need you now like the air I'm breathing
You're still on my mind
And when I close my eyes
You're the only thing I see and
Fools go rushing out
I just don't know how
I'm supposed to be alright
When you're not around
'Cause now it's like
Nobody gets me like you do
I'm not the same, not after you
So many things that we've been through
I'm not the same
Not after all that's been said and done
I don't even feel like I'm back at one, no
Nobody gets me like you do
I'm not the same, not after you
After You - Gryffin
Four years and eleven months ago
Settling into Australia leaves Hermione with more time at her disposal than she had expected, and more time means more thoughts and emotions swirling through her mind without a proper outlet.
Minister Shacklebolt accepted her temporary transfer, and believed her fully when she cited that she'd like to get to know the logistics and working culture in another country, with the promise to bring back any information useful to sustaining a healthy work environment.
She may have left out the details of her personal life that contributed to her request.
Hermione goes about her day to day tasks at her new job with a strong desire to connect with her team, but is left with little emotional energy to do so. Despite striking up a few interesting conversations and diving headfirst into an extensive workload, she can't shake the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that surges through her body.
A constant reminder sits in the back of her mind that not all of the pieces of her heart are with her, a reminder that progressively chips away at her over time. It's like she's stuck inside a horrible dream that plays over and over again in an endless loop.
Someone who has carved his way through a large chunk of her existence is no longer in Hermione's immediate presence. She is very aware of the fact that she is now alone which, in all actuality, only makes her feel lonelier.
An intense longing fills her bones as she continuously checks the window of her flat for an owl, to no avail. Her gaze drifts down to the plain parchment on her desk that she's stared blankly at for over an hour. She wants to write to Ron, to say something — anything — but her quill seizes every time she tries to make it move.
Why is that? Why can't she take ownership over her own actions? She needs to garner the courage to be the first one to reach out, and she shouldn't expect Ron to do so when she was the one who left. Apart from the short updates that Harry has sent her over the last month, which pretty much consist of yes, Ron is alive, she hasn't received anything else.
Bugger, she just needs to do it. Dipping her quill into the ink on the table, Hermione begins to write.
Ron,
I've agonized over and over as to how I would write this letter. First and foremost, how are you? Merlin, that's such a silly question, isn't it? You don't need to answer it.
Just know that I love you. I am coming home tomorrow.
HGW
Hours pass, during which time Hermione is unable to concentrate on her surroundings. All she can manage is to stare at all of the empty spaces in her flat, imagining Ron in those spots, with his Chudley Cannons gear and oversized orange blanket that he always insists he needs to bring with them on holiday.
It's a period of profound loneliness, endless tears, and unsettling feelings that gnaw their way through the gaping hole in her stomach, until finally an owl can be heard off in the distance, growing larger and larger until it taps its talon against the glass window her eyes have been pinned to.
It's from her best friend.
Hermione,
Ron just got your letter. He's beside himself. I don't think I've ever seen him this distraught. When are you coming home?
I love you, friend.
Harry
He got her letter. He got her letter. Then why hasn't he responded yet? Just as she's about to dwell on that frustrating thought, a second owl screeches to signal its arrival and perches itself on her windowsill.
Hermione's heart constricts in her chest as she recognizes the messy scrawl in an instant. She leaps to the window, snatching the note and unfolding it without regard to wrinkling.
Only three words exist on the parchment. Three heart-stopping words.
Don't come home.
She flips the letter back and forth to make certain there isn't something else written on the note — anything else. Even tapping her wand to check for writing that has been charmed to conceal itself doesn't work.
Ron's intent couldn't be clearer than a Demiguise in hiding. She betrayed him — betrayed their relationship — by leaving, and he no longer wants to be with her. The bile rises up her throat, threatening to spill out. Hermione grabs hold of the nearest solid surface for stability, taking several deep breaths before composing herself.
Murmuring Nox, the lights in her entire flat dim, much like the remnants of her previous life. Maybe one day soon she will draw up the divorce papers.
Maybe. But not today.
Present Day
As Hermione orients herself to the early morning light, she pulls the bed sheets even tighter against her naked frame. For the first time in a long time, she's not afraid of reality. The muscles ache in her body, her tattered, tangled hair, the lack of sleep for reasons other than an unwillingness to do so — she's filled with a state of mind that she can only describe as a combination of exhaustion and pure bliss. It surpasses the capacity for language, beyond what she's ever experienced before.
She can still feel Ron's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tight against his bare chest throughout the night in between bouts of lovemaking. Not much talking occurred after their confessions out in the rain the day before, instead choosing to rediscover each other's bodies and all of the intricacies that go along with those uncoverings — the way their limbs meld together, the feel of Ron's soft, supple lips caressing hers in a familiar, tantalizing rhythm, how he fills her so fully, finding all of the spots that make her scream without any effort, like no time has passed at all.
The sense of separation from Ron seamlessly melts away in a single evening.
Wait. She's been so consumed by the memory of Ron wrapped all around her, next to her, inside of her, that it hasn't occurred to her that he's no longer in bed. Jarred by the realization, she sits up and manages a quick scan of her surroundings.
A massive grin plasters to her face as her gaze travels around the room — their bedroom — that has remained untouched since she left. The sheets are still the same silky satin that she loves to skim her hands over, and the clothes she kept in the chest of drawers exist in the organized fashion she left them in, only now collecting dust.
Hermione extends her hand to pull open the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, searching for her wand that must be in here somewhere, and the air escapes her lips as her eyes land on a moving portrait of her and Ron on their wedding day. Her trembling fingers trail across the glossy finish, watching in awe as they smile at the camera before leaning into each other for a quick kiss, the memory as vivid in her mind as it was the day it occurred. The photograph itself has indentation marks all around the frame, indicating that someone has held this picture in their hands quite often.
With her heart swelling in her chest, Hermione dresses quickly, eager to have Ron in her sight again. As she walks towards the kitchen, the scent of toast and eggs fill her nostrils.
His back faces away from her when she steps into the room, and Hermione smiles at the sight of his bright orange pyjama shirt that clashes horribly with his red plaid pyjama bottoms. His disheveled hair is sticking up every which end, evidence of their night rediscovering each other between the sheets.
Just as her mouth opens to form a greeting, Ron holds out a piece of parchment clutched between his fingers without turning around.
"An owl came for you this morning."
Hermione squints her eyes to read the tiny scrawl, but it doesn't take her long to recognize the official seal. Australian Ministry of Magic.
"The Minister would like to know when you're returning with my signature." Ron slowly pivots, finally meeting her eyes with an unreadable expression on his face. He reaches behind to grip the edge of the countertop with his hands.
Her heart sinks to the floor, completely shattering the blissful box she had placed herself in — she didn't realize at the time how fragile it was.
"I didn't have a chance to speak to them yet-"
The words die in her throat as her eyes fall on a document that lays in the center of the kitchen table. The divorce papers that she's so stupidly kept inside of her rucksack that she carries everywhere with her.
Divorce papers that now brand Ron's signature, right on the dotted, color-coated, and highlighted line.
The bludger rams into her stomach at full force, exhausting all of the air straight from her lungs. Only one word leaves her lips. "Why?"
Ron closes his eyes with what looks like excessive force, taking a slow and steady breath. "You know, I decided a long time ago that if we didn't end up together, I would spend the rest of my life alone."
Why is he talking like this? Why is he talking like they won't-
"There is no one else for me, Hermione." His eyes snap back open, a piercing shade of blue that cuts her deep to the core, like a shard of glass. "I'm one of the lucky few who has already experienced the great love of my life, and I am an even luckier sod to have been able to have that love from such a young age."
"Ron." Hermione takes a step forward, desperate to say anything, anything, that she can to try to make sense of what is happening right now. Tears blur her vision as she struggles to breathe.
"This is not…" Ron swallows hard, his sharp eyes noticeably becoming glossy. "It's not because I don't love you."
Her feet have welded themselves to the floor, unwilling to move until she gets some answers. "Then why?"
"I'm realizing that this is bigger than us." Ron holds up the note from the Ministry to emphasize his point. "I want you to succeed, Hermione. That's all I've ever wanted."
Although it was a large part of why she decided to come home — to finally put her past behind her and move forward as the Head of the Law Enforcement Department in Australia — she's in a panic as it's quickly dawning on her what she's expected to give up in return.
And she no longer exists in perfect happiness.
Hermione's voice cracks. "Last night wasn't meant to be a goodbye."
"I know."
His heartbreaking reply that leaves his lips, sounding just as cracked and broken as she feels, certainly makes it seem like he's saying goodbye.
"I lied to you. At the festival." Ron's confession brings Hermione out of her thoughts, her heart pounding in her ears.
"About what?"
Through his red-rimmed eyes, Hermione finds the guilt displayed in them. "I did write to you to tell you not to come home."
No. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, turning away, unwilling to listen to a rhetoric of the night that completely shattered her. Ron continues anyway.
"I-I was piss drunk, and not thinking clearly, and- fuck, I didn't deserve you, Hermione…"
"And you think I deserve this now?" The angry retort leaves her lips without warning as she whirls around to face him again.
Her heartbeat slows to a dull ache as she watches Ron's sullen gaze shift down to the signed documents on the table.
"No. You don't."
Hermione's mobile rings from somewhere nearby, disrupting their staring match. She knows who is calling without even looking, as there's only one person who ever does.
"It's Mum." She allows the ringing to continue, as afraid of what will happen when she answers as she is if she doesn't.
"Go. Your parents need you. Your father needs you."
And he doesn't? The insinuation makes her stomach churn.
"Fine. I'll-I'll go." Hermione snatches up the papers without giving them another glance over, stuffing them into her rucksack before hiking the strap over her shoulder. Taking a shaky breath, she meets Ron's painful gaze one more time. "But this isn't over."
A sad smile curls on his face. "It never really is, is it?"
The lock slowly turns, allowing Hermione entry into the Granger home. Lights are on, indicating that her parents are home, but it is eerily quiet, and she isn't quite sure what to expect when she walks into the sitting room.
"Flower? Is that you?"
She releases the breath she has been holding, twisting the strings on the rucksack in her hands as she walks into the common area to find her father sitting in his favorite armchair with a novel in his grasp.
He looks up from the page he's on with a soft smile, slipping a bookmark into the crease before setting the closed book on the end table. "Hermione."
"Hi, Daddy." Hermione bends over to give him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down in the empty chair next to him. "How are you feeling?"
Hugh leans forward to pat her hands that are folded over the armrest, releasing a heavy sigh. "Oh, I'm alright. How are you?"
How is she? It's not a question that is easy for her to answer. No matter how hard she's tried to rationalize, intellectualize, compartmentalize her emotions on the slow walk home, she's accepted that she can't cure her father's illness or Ron's feelings towards her, and neither can be controlled by magic.
"Processing," Hermione manages to respond. Wincing at the thought of what's caused her much distress, she adds, "I'm sorry I ran out like that."
"Flower," he grunts, sitting up straighter against the cushions. "I want you to treat me as normally as possible. I'm your Daddy, and that's not ever going to change, regardless of some silly illness."
His illness isn't silly to her, and it's a serious matter that should be taken as such, but she bites back her tongue.
"You're right," Hermione affirms, moving the hurt out of her mind and heart as she sniffles through the wetness forming in her eyes. "As always, Dad. Merlin, I should be the one comforting you."
Hugh appears uncomfortable at her comment, his gaze shifting down to his lap. "I don't, uh, I don't want to become a burden to you or your mother."
"Never." Hermione's response is instant, hoping that she can alleviate at least a fraction of his worry. "Never. We could never think like that."
"Ah, well." A subtle pink flush appears on his cheeks. "Your old man gets a little prideful sometimes."
The corner of Hermione's lip lifts at her father's quip, grateful that he hasn't lost his sense of humor through all of his hardships. "But that doesn't mean that I won't still be here when you need me. From now on. I promise, I'll be here."
And it's a promise that she intends to keep. This is her opportunity to leave the past how it is, now matter how imperfect it may be, and forge a new path towards forgiveness. There is no single right way to move forward, but she imagines this is a decent start.
"What I need is for you to be happy."
Her father's statement opens up the floodgates, and Hermione can't quell the tears escaping her eyes no matter how hard she tries to blink them away. So many pent-up emotions are released, no longer reacting through the lens of anger or resentment, and no longer allowing her hostility to take root. The loss of these emotions comes in large, heaping waves, cleansing her of any burdens and rewarding her with a new insight into her own life.
And blimey, it does feel good.
"Oh, Hermione." Hugh uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe some of the tears from her eyes before giving her cheek a gentle pinch like he used to do when she was a child, an action that elicits a giggle from his daughter.
"Ah! There's that beautiful smile." He beams, settling back into his chair as Hermione regains control over her emotions. "You know, I spent a lifetime being the responsible adult for you. Sometimes it doesn't feel real that you are not my little girl anymore, and there may come a time where I will need to ask you for help, and that's okay."
Hermione doesn't want to think about the reasoning behind him asking for assistance when he needs it, but she needs to find peace with what's happening through a deliberate process that takes a lot of mental effort and practice. For now, her willingness to have an open and honest conversation with her father is the start she accepts.
Pointing an accusing finger at her dad that is true to her bossy nature and controlling self, she adds, "And to remind you to take care of yourself. Don't skip meals. Eat regularly. Get enough sleep and take walks when you can."
A devilish grin appears on Hugh's face. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Overcome with adoration that makes her heart swell for her father, she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you, too, Flower," he murmurs in her ear.
She doesn't know how long they remain in their peaceful bubble, but her mother's voice echoes through the room, and Hermione lifts her head to view the timid expression on Jean's face as she hovers in the doorway.
"Can I join?"
"Actually, I think I'll give you two a moment." Hugh stands up on shaky legs, a brilliant grin forming on his face, and Hermione knows that grin to be one signaling his ulterior motive. "I've got my eye on some biscuits in the kitchen."
"No more than two, Hugh," Jean instructs, raising a stern eyebrow.
Ignoring his wife's order with a quick wink at Hermione, Hugh hobbles towards the kitchen, leaving the two women in a room filled with nothing but awkward silence. As with most of their recent encounters, Hermione is sitting close to her mum, but couldn't feel further away. She's not quite sure at what point they both fell out of sync with each other with such severity that makes it difficult for them to live harmoniously together, but she's determined to make a step towards rectifying their dysfunctional relationship.
"I'm sorry, Mum," she breathes out after several moments of agonizing over what she should say. "I know I've been hard on you. I didn't realize — you've been so strong."
Jean's dark chocolate brown eyes — much like Hermione's — soften as they glisten with tears, and she finds her way into the armchair that Hugh left warm for her. "So have you, darling."
"Well." Hermione pauses, lifting up one shoulder. "I take my lead from you."
The conversation stills, this time creating a quietness that is much more comfortable and assuring than only moments before.
"Have you been with Ron?" Jean's curiosity shines through, although Hermione doesn't even feel a twinge of annoyance at her Mum for asking, unlike previous mentions of her estranged marriage.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"It's…complicated." Honestly, when is it ever not?
"Always is, huh?" A wry smile appears on Jean's face as her lips part to add, "I love you, sweetheart, but you can be difficult to deal with sometimes."
There's her mother that she knows, and loves, regardless of her brash nature of saying what's always on her mind.
"Thanks, Mum."
"I'm just saying, you're headstrong. And it can be tricky to get through to you sometimes, but you always come around." Jean leans forward, whispering as if it's her best kept secret, "You get that from me."
Hermione swallows back a lump of emotion, averting her gaze to the floor. "And that's why I feel like I've only been dragging him down. That's also why I didn't fight him when he presented me with the signed divorce papers this morning."
"Oh, Hermione..."
She can't bear to look at the sympathetic expression that she knows will be coloring her mother's face at her confession, so she keeps her eyes trained on the scuff markings upon the polished wood floors.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jean asks, her voice more gentle and calming than ever.
Even if she did, where is she supposed to begin? Ron dealt her a massive blow this morning with those papers, and after their amazing, wonderful, passionate night — which she doesn't care to share with her mother about — she reckons that anything else would be overwhelming and unbearable.
Hermione's throat tightens as she wipes a stray tear from her cheek using the delicate pad of her thumb. "It's not sensible to find the person you're meant to be with for the rest of your life at eight years old, right?"
"The only way it doesn't make sense is if you believe that. Do you?" Jean's challenging gaze makes her think.
Shaking her head, Hermione rasps, "We had our chance."
"And you're certain that chance is over?"
Hermione keeps telling herself that she needs to prepare for what might come next, to validate her own hurt and move forward, and the ticking time bomb in the back of her mind screams at her that she needs to allow the past to be done.
"I don't think second chances exist."
Horizontal wrinkles appear on her mother's forehead and her mouth hangs loosely open before speaking what's on her mind. "What do you think you're doing here right now? This is your second chance, darling. Take it."
Hermione doesn't respond. She doesn't have to for her mum to recognize the spinning thoughts shuffling through her mind.
"There's a lot of history there with Ronald, and you've both experienced many ups and downs. It sounds rather complicated to me, but relationships are complicated."
"Well, the latest complication seems to be him thinking that I want to go back to Australia." Hermione sighs, letting her head fall back against the armrest. "And part of me does. I'm in the process of accomplishing something monumental if I pass this law that would not only protect my rights to have the future I deserve, but also the rights of every other Muggle-born witch out there. I don't know if I can give that up."
As Jean opens her mouth to put in her two sickles, Hermione fills the gap. "But Ron. And you. I came back to Ottery, not really knowing what to expect, and it fits. It's my home. I just don't really know what to do."
"I'd advise you to follow what your heart wants, but I figure that's not nearly practical enough for my daughter." Her mother challenges her with a knowing smirk. "So…why can't you have both?
"And given time…" Jean murmurs, gripping one of Hermione's hands tight between both of her own. "Fall back in love with your husband. Fall back in love with each other."
Falling isn't the hard part. That would insinuate that she'd ever fallen out of love with Ron in the first place, which simply isn't, and will never be, the truth.
Perhaps what Hermione has struggled to cope with the most isn't, in fact, the dismantling of her relationship with Ron. But rather it's accepting her new self as she is, and recognizing that although she's become a complete stranger to the version of herself that used to exist, it's okay.
Of course her relationship with Ron will never be the same again, but maybe it was never meant to be. She's not supposed to turn back time in hopes of a different life. Instead she needs to embrace the one she has now, and determine exactly what that means for her future as not just a wife, but also a witch.
And that journey starts today, like Fawkes's ashes rising again.
One. More. Chapter :)