Yet again, here's to my big, bad beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja. Glad you're digging the similes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, do you hear, nothing! I just borrow from the Hogwarts universe, then place everybody nicely back in their box, if slightly more angst-ridden then when I found them in the first place. JK Rowling, don't eat me for breakfast, thou magnificent one!
Chapter II:
Glass
"It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die,
than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience."
~Julius Caesar
Oh, Ron...I thought I might be able to end this clean, quick and easy. You aren't going to give me that chance, are you? You won't let me make this easy on both of us. You won't let me walk away with my dignity; you won't let me give you some semblance of pride. I wanted to do this for both of us, so that I could touch happiness again, and so you could find someone who really loves you, who really cares for you like a wife ought to care for you. But I'm not going to get the chance to do that, am I?
I heard you and Harry talking last night. I was going to fetch my Potions text from the table downstairs, and as I crept downstairs, I heard the both of you talking. I paused, dead in my tracks, unwilling to walk into the conversation, more interested in what you and Harry had to talk about so late at night. Yes, I eavesdropped on you. You'd do the same, were you in my place, were you helpless and without a voice, afraid to speak. I heard the snap of the ring box and the sharp intake of breath from Harry. 'Oooh, Ron...are you sure?' he asked you, and there was silence for a moment-I can only assume you were nodding-and then you said, 'Of course. She's crazy about me, Harry, and...well, I can't see my future without her in it. This is the real thing, can't you see? She's meant for me, she makes me a whole person. She makes everything better. How can I let that go? She's the one, Harry. I'd be a nutter to let her slip through my fingers.' Harry was silent, and then you said softly, 'I'd die without her, I honestly would. I'd have nothing--no future, no dreams, no hope anymore. Don't you understand that?' 'I think I do,' he told you in reply. 'You understand, then? You'd do the same if you were as crazy for her as I am?' 'You have to do what you have to do, Ron. I've said this for years. My opinion doesn't matter. It's your decision, ultimately. Just so long as you're happy and Mione's happy.' 'I'm ecstatic, and of course she's happy. Why wouldn't she be?' And with that, I crept up the stairs, sobbing silently until I could drown my tears in the pillows and pray for some kind of peace that would permit me to sleep. I cry myself to sleep almost every night. No small wonder Ginny worries about me so much. You can only chalk it up to stress so long. Maybe I ought to make a sleeping potion and be done with it all.
Why, Ron? Why did you have to say that? Why do I have to endure this day, the entire thing, knowing you'll ask me today? After all, it's the night before Halloween. Our anniversary. I'll go through the motions, wearing the necklace you gave me, the one with the silver leaves and amber flowers. I'll leave my hair down, the way you like it. You'll give me flowers, I know it. Will you remember I fancy white chrysanthemums more than roses this year, Ron? Or will you get me the same red roses you try to make me love every year? Three years running, three years of dried red rose petals in my trunk, kept in a tiny jewellery box my mother gave me, kept in the same place where I keep the necklace, bringing it out only when the occasion warrants it. I love it, and I'm afraid to wear it. Afraid to get too attached to it then have to give it back when this entire world you've crafted shatters around us. Afraid to get too attached to anything, only to watch it shatter.
I'm glass, Ron. I'm going to shatter. Only you can't pick up the pieces.
Hermione took a look in the mirror, watching Ginny fuss with her hair and apply makeup, a procedure that Hermione had rarely undergone willingly and had never requested. Yet Ginny, in her own way, seemed to understand. When Hermione's reticence to speak became apparent that evening before dinner, Ginny more than willingly filled the air with her own bubbling chatter.
"Colin Creevey asked me to go with him to the Halloween Masquerade. It is the first Masquerade ever, and I know he's dying to go, but I don't know why he chose me. After all, everyone knows that Arabella, this Ravenclaw a year below me just dotes on him. If I have a choice at all, I'd rather go with Harry, honestly. It's so much simpler, you know? But it doesn't really matter who you go with, with the masks and the magic to ensure no-one recognises each other until the stroke of midnight. I'm so excited! Wait until you see my costume, Mione, it's to die for, honestly. Fred and George are doing so well with their joke business, so they sent Ron and me extra money for this term. I've never been able to say my name in the same sentence as 'extra money,' you know?"
Hermione watched Ginny put the last few touches on her curls, letting the ringlets work their way down her back, the colour of autumn, of toffee, of sweet chocolate, of a million other things, rich brown with a tinge of gold to the highlights. "I think it works, Gin," she announced, fastening the amber necklace at her throat. The silver settled at the collarbone, cool and sparkling in the light.
Ginny smiled in appreciation. "Consider this a test run for tomorrow night. I have some ideas that'll just floor you."
Hermione tried to smile and took the other girl's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Off to dinner, then, I suppose. I know Ron's planning something."
"Of course he is. Now get going, or else you'll keep him waiting too long." Ginny laughed, and hugged Hermione. "Just wait until the dance, Mione. If you don't knock the boy over with how gorgeous you are now, tomorrow you sure will." With effort, Hermione managed a chuckle, managed to rise from the bench before the vanity in the girl's dormitory. "Thanks," she whispered, fiddling with the sleeve of her robe. For a long moment, she looked at her reflection. Whenever Ginny did her makeup and hair, Hermione could never get over how much older she looked, how beautiful, even. A genuine smile settled on her features, and that only helped to make her nearly radiant. Everything would be fine. He wouldn't have sense enough to ask her tonight. She had to believe that. Her head held high, Hermione went down to the Common Room, where Ron was, as per usual, waiting for her. Hermione waited for him to say something, anything about how she looked, but nothing came.
"Happy Anniversary," he managed after a moment, brandishing a bouquet of red roses at her. Hermione took the flowers, slightly less than thrilled by this, but she did her best not to let it show. After all, he meant well...that was what mattered, wasn't it?
"I'll take those up for you," came Ginny's voice from the stairs behind them; gratefully, Hermione turned and handed the flowers off to her. Ginny winked, and made a shooing motion with her free hand, as if to encourage the reluctant-and obviously so-Hermione.
"To dinner, then?" Hermione finally asked, and Ron nodded, taking her arm possessively. It always made Hermione uncomfortable, this display of control, but she had never said as much, never brought it up. It would only hurt his ego, she told himself, and Ron nursing wounded pride was a horrific sight. For a while, she had fought it, given him a piece of her mind and stormed off. Or he stormed off, one of the two. But a year or two of that, and Hermione found that she didn't have the desire to do so anymore. It never occurred to her now to fight him on the point. It was simply a fact of her life with Ron. She'd leanred to never bring his fits of pique on if she could help it, and it was with this mindset that she endured being paraded about, especially now as they headed down to the Great Hall. Hermione could simply feel people looking at her like an object, seeing her as simply Ron's Girlfriend as they walked to the Gryffindor table. He pulled out a chair for her, his eyes never leaving her, and Hermione felt as if she was going to be sick. She sat quickly, her hand clutching the table for support so tightly that her knuckles went as white as the tablecloth.
"You all right?" Ron asked, noticing the colour drain out of her face behind the makeup, the ferocity with which she gripped the table.
"Fine," she managed in reply. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."
As the meal wore on, leaving Hermione to pick at her food, to push it around with her fork, she found the nausea, the sense of dread wasn't leaving. If anything, it was growing in intensity, and it was only with her willpower and sheer refusal to make a scene in front of everyone that held it off. If nothing else, Hermione reflected, she had pride. Happiness, peace, affection, all of these had passed her by, but she still had her pride. Ron was ignorant of this, chattering away, and Hermione felt as if he was unaware of her, merely talking to the air to satisfy some need he had for conversation. He was funny, but in a way that made Hermione's skin crawl, that made her cheeks flush in embarrassment. Since when had Ron embarrassed her? For a long time now, a voice answered her, and inwardly Hermione cringed. Had it all come down to this? Had it all deteriorated so quickly? Stop kidding yourself, Hermione Granger. This was not quick. It was slow, painful and horrific.
"Love, want to walk outside with me? It's nice out," Ron asked, getting up from the table, and Hermione found herself jarred back to reality, almost painfully.
"Of course," she responded automatically. This, however, was not the time to go on autopilot. Deep in her bones, Hermione could tell something was coming, and she had a sinking suspicion she knew what it was. Ron took her arm again, guiding her outside as if she were blind and knew nothing of her surroundings.
The air was crisp and chilly, almost downright cold to Hermione, and she felt goose bumps begin to appear across her skin. Hermione willed herself not to shiver, for fear of arousing one of his deadly protective streaks. She hated those. They were endearing at first, the sense that there was someone out there to ensure her safety and well being, but by this point, they were...old. Just like everything else. She looked up at the stars, at the moon that was almost full, and it seemed to beam back at her, as if to say 'hang in there, it'll be okay.' Hermione, however, wasn't certain if she shared the sentiment anymore.
"Here, have a seat," he told her, guiding her to sit on the bench, and as always, Hermione did exactly what he wanted her to do. She looked up at Ron, and watched as he fiddled with something in the pocket of his robe. Was this it? Hermione froze, and her eyes were like those of a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. The look passed as she forced herself to appear normal, to not let him know what was going through her mind.
"What is it, Ron?" she finally asked after several moments of silence had passed.
Ron took a deep breath, ceasing to fidget as he spoke softly to her. "We've been together a really long time, love. And...you know I love you, and I know you love me. We've been crazy about each other for years. You're a part of me, the best part of me. You make me whole, and I'd die without you. So...please. Marry me." With the last few words, he was on his knee, holding out an open green ring box towards her. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at the box, at the ring she knew to be inside it. She couldn't hide from this forever, and she dreaded to see the ring Ron had procured for her with the extra money Ginny had told her about. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes.
There in the box was a simple silver-coloured band-was it white gold, Hermione wondered-and set in the centre of the band was a square topaz the colour of sunset. Set in a channel around it, going halfway down the band, were small diamonds. She looked from the ring to Ron's face. He seemed eager, nervous and ecstatic all at once, and again, Hermione cringed inwardly. This was not the ring of her dreams, not in the least. It was pretty, and quite different, but this wasn't what she had dreamed about. Like so many other things in her relationship with Ron, it seemed her engagement ring would fall flat, too.
"Oh, Ron," she sighed, and he seemed to interpret this as a positive sign.
"Is that a yes, dear, is it?" he asked her eagerly, leaning forward a little.
Hermione wanted to say no, and the word was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be given voice by her vocal chords and the air in her lungs. But her vocal chords had all ready proven untrustworthy with Ginny, had always proven untrustworthy with Ron, and though she wanted with everything in her to say no, to run away from this situation that had gone from bad to worse, she couldn't. She opened her mouth to speak, and found herself saying, "Yes, Ron."
Ron was elated. He pulled the ring out of the box, and tossing the box aside, he slipped it on her finger. Distantly, Hermione realised that her hand was shaking, that she was shaking. She also realised that he was kissing her. It was one of those empty kisses she'd endured over the years, filled with something on his side while she tried to mimic it, praying he would interpret her reticence as innocence, as delicacy. "We'll be so happy, love, just watch. Everything'll be perfect," Ron told her between kisses, giving her just enough time to reply simply.
"Just perfect."
Read on for the Masquerade Ball at Hogwarts. Costumes, flirting, mystery and intrigue abound. What happens when the clock strikes midnight? And what kind of costume does a Weasley wear?
All's Well That Ends Well: glad to see there's someone else out there that thinks the Ron/Hermione relationship isn't meant to be. I'm writing as fast as the Muse permits. She's testy, especially in humid weather...much like my hair...
