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Chapter 3

The streets of London were dark, and wet; it was raining something fierce Ron had been soaked to the bone within minutes of Apparating in an alley, but he would worry about that later. Right now he was too preoccupied with finding the bloody arse who had made Hermione cry; sure, he didn't actually know where to start looking having no idea of where Shawn happened to live, but when one is angry, one's head doesn't usually function to full capacity and Ron's fury was such that it reminded him of all the times he had wanted to kill Malfoy back in the day. The major difference between Ron's days at Hogwarts and his life now was that the anger he'd felt back then didn't even compare to what he felt now. He didn't know what exactly he would do when he found Shawn although beating him to a bloody pulp would probably come into play. Telling Hermione that he was going to kill him had been a little extreme, Ron was the first to admit it, but he had been taken-over by a jealous rage. How dare that bloody tagnut spread nasty rumours about Hermione around the office…how dare he even dream of hurting her like that? Sure, Ron didn't really know what Shawn had said exactly, but he knew that Hermione had been terribly upset by it. The look on her face would have been enough to stop any man in his tracks. She had been so heartbroken, so desolate. Ron could still hear her heart-wrenching sobs as she'd cried on his shoulder and could feel his own heart breaking in response. If he hadn't known how much he loved her before, he would have been a fool not to know now. Ron would have given his right arm to make her stop crying, would have taken his own life if it could mean taking the hurt away from her, and perhaps that's why he was acting like a bit of a git right now. Whoever said love was simple was out of his mind, Ron thought.

Admitting to himself that he loved Hermione had been the hardest thing he'd ever done and living with the knowledge that he loved her while she thought of him as a brother had practically ripped his heart to pieces. If he couldn't be with her, then the least he could do was make sure she was happy. She'd be happiest with you, a voice inside his head told him, but Ron ignored it. He'd had enough of wishful thinking, enough of pretending that maybe she might love him back. He'd wished on so many stars he doubted there were any left; he'd dreamed so many dreams where he and Hermione were together, happy, in love, that he was all dreamed out. This was reality, now. Wishful thinking hadn't gotten him anywhere, and dreaming had only caused him to oversleep. He had to face the facts: Hermione didn't love him. He had thought it possible to be able to tell her how he felt, had been determined to do it earlier, but then his world had crumbled around him.

He'd never seen her so upset, never seen her cry so hard, and the reason she was crying was because of another man. Shawn's words hadn't been the source of her tears, at least not totally; he knew Hermione better than that. If what he'd said had been the only thing upsetting her she would have gotten back at him, she would have gotten angry, not sad. No, if she had been crying it had been because of Shawn himself…had she truly cared about him? Had she really loved him and was crying over the fact that she'd lost him? Ron had no idea of the answers to any of those questions but he knew one thing for certain, and that was that he'd never seen Hermione cry like that over something that he had ever done to her. She had never broken down like that over something that he had ever said, and if there was one thing that hurt more than maybe everything else put together it was to know that he didn't have that kind of effect on her, that he never would.

Ron walked a bit more further, not really seeing where he was going, not really caring either way. The world didn't make sense any more. Hermione had been the one thing he knew he wanted, and now she was the one thing he was certain he couldn't have because her heart didn't belong to him…it belonged to a man who didn't even realise what he'd held, what he'd given up. Ron was suddenly thankful for the torrent of rain and for the darkness around him as the tears that had threatened to spill over so many times before finally broke through. He didn't try to hold them back, knew that it was no use. He cried silently, his fists clutched by his sides. He cried for himself, for the fact that he would never love anyone as much as he loved Hermione, for the fact that he didn't want anyone else, the fact that he'd rather lead a life alone than settle for someone who wasn't her. He cried for all he knew he'd lost, cried until he had no tears left and after his body had stopped shaking, after the sobs had subsided, he stood in the middle of the street. His head was bent as he let the rain wash over him, leaving him cold and shivering, feeling completely empty inside. He heard a door open to his right, heard some stray laughter coming from inside a pub. Ron ignored the sounds at first, too tired to care anymore but he finally lifted his head, water pouring from his hair and into his eyes. He wiped it away, and looked towards the sounds that had alerted him that he was no longer. He didn't understand what he was seeing at first, but there he was—Shawn—the man that had taken everything from him. The latter was obviously somewhat inebriated; he was alone, walking crookedly along the street, hiccuping every few seconds, oblivious to Ron's presence. A rage unlike any he had ever experienced washed through Ron, and he roared as he charged towards the man.

Any thought of magic was gone as Ron tackled the object of his destruction; he was reacting on pure animal instinct, his first punch landing across Shawn's jaw, sending him staggering into the ground. The sight of blood oozing from a gash in Shawn's lip brought little comfort to Ron, and he was able to land two more to the man's face before a pair of powerful arms pulled him off.

"Oi, Ron!" Harry's voice sounded in his ears but it took a few seconds before Ron registered who it was. "That's enough!" Harry continued, restraining a struggling Ron who was trying his absolute hardest to continue his assault on Shawn. From within the corner of his eye, Ron caught a glimpse of Hermione, however and immediately stopped struggling.

"Let me go, Harry," he whispered, to Harry who still had a tight grip on him, worried no doubt that it was merely a fake-out so that he might pounce on Shawn again…Ron had used it enough with Malfoy that Harry knew to expect it, but Ron's tone of voice made it clear to Harry that he'd regained control. Harry let go of Ron who took a few steps and slowly walked to stand directly in front of Hermione. She was just as soaked as he was and he could see her eyes were still red and swollen from when she'd cried, but the glimmer in her eyes from unshed tears showed him that she hadn't stopped weeping since he'd last seen her. Ron flinched in surprise as he felt the sting of her palm on his cheek, but he welcomed the pain that followed the slap if it could somehow succeed in overshadowing what he felt inside.

"He was going to propose," Hermione revealed, somewhat bitterly. "He told everybody he wanted to marry me. I walked into the office today to loads of congratulations, and balloons to find out that he had planned on proposing to me at dinner on Friday, but changed his mind. I had to pretend to know all about it; I had to come up with some lame excuse and proceed to sit through work all day with people staring at me out of pity. 'Poor Hermione, dumped by yet another guy;' 'poor Hermione, surely she'll never find anyone at this rate'," Hermione took a deep breath, and looked Ron in the eye trying as hard as she could to be strong, but her bottom lip quivering nonetheless. When she spoke to him, her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek where it mingled with the raindrops already there. "All I needed from you tonight was a little support. All I wanted was for you to tell me that things would be all right, but you had to let your temper get the best of you again; you had to jump to conclusions. I – I don't think I can be around you, anymore, Ron. I think that this friendship has gone as far as it can go," she whispered. "I was scared of you, Ron; I've never been scared of you in my entire life, not even when I thought you hated me. I can't be with you like this, Ron; I can't stand having to walk on eggshells around you because you might lose your temper the next second. I just can't," she said, the tears falling freely now.

Hermione turned away, but Ron reached a hand out to her. "Hermione," he began, but she interrupted him.

"No, Ron. It's too late for that, now," she told him, moving out of his reach. Her voice was so steady, so quiet despite her tears, but she couldn't look him in the eye. Ron would have done anything right then to have her shout at him. At least when she was shouting he knew she was angry. Right now, she looked so weary, so dejected; it was as if she'd lost her best friend. Ron couldn't help but smile sadly at the irony of it all—she had lost her best friend, and that could only mean that he'd lost her too. He'd really done himself in this time. When Hermione turned to leave for the last time, Ron didn't try to stop her. She'd Disapparated a moment later.

"Give her a few days," Harry told him, having come to stand behind him. Ron looked around him in a daze; Shawn was nowhere to be seen which meant that Harry had probably cleaned him up and sent him on his way while Hermione had been busy destroying his reason for living.

"I don't think so, Harry," Ron muttered, his hands in his pocket as he looked at the ground, oblivious to the rain that was now pouring even harder than it had earlier. "I've gone too far this time, Harry; she won't forgive me. I've lost her," he said, feeling just as dejected as Hermione had looked.

"I'll talk to her," Harry said, the eternal optimist, the peacemaker in the group. Ron smiled sadly, and nodded, knowing that even Harry wouldn't be able to fix things this time.

~*~

Loren Chapman was surprised to hear a knock at her door in the middle of the night, let alone open her door at what her alarm clock had told her was 2am and find Ron standing on the other side, soaking wet. It was by no means raining outside, and Loren was going to make a crack about him falling into a lake when she saw the look on his face. He looked as if his dog had just died. She opened the door more widely in a wordless invitation, aware that he would talk when he was ready. Ron walked in, thankful for the silent support, and Loren steered him to the guest bedroom where she took-in his dishevelled appearance from the welt forming on his cheek to his bloody knuckles. She left the room and returned with towels, and one of Charlie's sweaters and slacks. She handed the small pile to him, her eyes sympathetic.

"Here," she said, and squeezed Ron's upper arm lightly before leaving the room to let him change. He did not remain in the room long, and emerged a few minutes later. Loren, who was waiting outside the door, took him into the living room, handing him a package of frozen peas. She ignored the fact the clothes she had given him were several sizes too small for him and pointed him to the chair he had sat in the night before. "Put this on your face," she told him in an authoritative, but compassionate voice. Ron obeyed, too tired to argue and winced when the cold package came into contact with his cheek, which was still warm from being hit. "Let me see your hand," Loren directed next, taking Ron's right hand tenderly into her own, and proceeding to bandage the swollen, bleeding knuckles. She fetched another ice pack, frozen carrots this time, and put it over the bandage she'd just made. It took Ron a few minutes to look up from staring at the floor; he was still disoriented. He didn't know what had made him go to Loren instead of to Charlie or one of his other brothers. Harry had offered to let him stay with him, but Ron could tell that Harry would have rather spent the night with Ginny. Ron had already been enough of a nuisance to his friend, he didn't want to impose more than he already had, and he knew that his brothers just wouldn't understand. The only person who knew of his history with Hermione was Loren; going to her had been an act of pure desperation on Ron's part, but he was thankful that she was so understanding. More than ever, he knew that Charlie had made the perfect choice in finding her. Ron looked-up from his bandaged hand and he met Loren's worried gaze in a silent thank you, the light having disappeared from his eyes.

"I—she--" he tried, but his voice cracked and he couldn't go on. Loren nodded in sympathy, and kneeled in front of him, placing her hand on his knee.

"I'll make up the extra bed; we can talk in the morning," she whispered.

"Thanks," Ron replied, the tears starting up again, but he quickly suppressed them with an awkward swallow and deep, shaky breath. Loren stood slightly and kissed his temple, stroking his hair gently like his mother used to do when he was a child. She left the room to make up the extra bed at which Ron smiled bitterly – what was the use? He wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway; he'd never be able to do anything ever again.