Shadow of Corruption

Summary: Ron and Hermione to the end. Inspired by Pygmalion and Artful Facade.

Genre: There will be Romance, but no light yucky Romantic mushy Romance. Just Ron and Hermione's Romance. Will have angst- but not too much.

Rating: Perhaps R later. Just angst and a mention of war angst... For now, rest safely assured that this is a safe work.

Note: The first part is still Hermione reflecting to herself. Don't forget, that after the letter, she's quite shocked and is a bit unnerved. Sorry about delay!

Chapter 3- Hermione

Deeply in thought, I sink into my, armchair and ponder. I think. Not critically because I don't believe even my mind wants to analyse every word in Ron's letter down to its detail. Not today anyway. Now, all I want to do is to drift along with some wilful flow. I want to sleep and rest, and perhaps to be contented without making decisions for a long, long time. But alas, how harsh and dreary is mortality!

Nevertheless, my mind persists to wander beside the soothing rivers of the past, and into a place where only old ghosts of attachment roam. Past the chambers of my confined heart, my emotions mark their fading territory. But I wonder sometimes, for how long?

Once, you would think that I was never at a loss for words. I was called the intelligent one, the girl who always had answers to her teachers' questions. Yes, even Professor Snape's, although he never let me. But right now, I am at a loss even for thoughts. Can you believe that? Must I really astound you further to emphasise my misery?

Tell me, Harry James Potter, aren't you shocked? Right now, your Hermione is witless, dull and fed up with your act. Then again, was I ever your 'Hermione' in the first place? Or was I 'Ron's', by some unwritten rule that no longer lingers in the air? Oh, call me whatever you want right now, and I will not care.

Don't even try to rationalise what I am feeling right now. You would be wasting your time, because even I cannot describe it. My mirror was always my twin. Yet today, it is a stranger. Because what is currently staring back at me is a girl with a wet face, swollen red eyes and streaming tears.

Have you ever woken up one day, and realised that the only thing you ever wished was to live? No? Then again, I suppose you haven't met Ron. Because to live is to be able to roll down on a patch of dewy wet grass, and have no one to tell you off. To live is to eat ice cream in the rain, and lick ice in the cold.

And I live no longer...

Oh.

Oh...

Oh, I do hate myself!

I loath, I dread, I shudder with a sense of shame. And even if you could not put two and two together, after seeing Ron's letter, you would still realise who caused the rift. What I did or rather what I didn't do has resulted in this hypocritical world where one friend seeks to slaughter another.

I might have only been eighteen then, but eighteen was a powerful age.

The things I could have done, I ignored. The things I should never have touched, I broke. And sadly, the broken pieces still remain on the ground to this day. Perhaps if I look at the brighter side, it doesn't mean that I will always be breaking, not mending. I am not a Goddess, or even half-immortal. And I doubt that with a foolish wave of my wand, everything would be back like it used to.

But can I try?

But I will try.

If any believed in me, they would not be disappointed that I am still the brave and bold Gryffindor of the moor. Perhaps I was in Gryffindor because of this fateful day. Perhaps Ron was in Gryffindor because despite these foreboding circumstances, he is a loyal man.

You tell me repeatedly that Ron has betrayed us all. You sneer at my belief in him, you state he has gone over to Voldemort's side. You call him a cowardly dog, never a Gryffindor Lion.

Then let me say back to you and ask, what is loyalty? Tell me Harry James Potter, what is loyalty? It is nor hand nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. Yet somehow, Ron is made of loyalty. You now take it for granted that he was sorted into Gryffindor, because he is another poor Weasley. And all poor Weasleys belong in Gryffindor. But, in times like these, where my mind plays rebel with my sense of security, I want to ask of you of so many questions...

Tell me Harry James Potter, what is Gryffindor? It is nor hand nor foot nor arm nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. Yet you are in Gryffindor, and look at yourself now. I am a Gryffindor, and look at me now. Ron is a Gryffindor, and where did you say he is now?

Gryffindor. Slytherin. Ravenclaw. And why is poor, poor Hufflepuff always last in our order of the houses? The brave? The sly? The smart? The open? Who were we in life that we were so easily sorted into one house and not another? Was it ever necessary to class us, tender children of eleven, into houses where virtues blurred the line with another?

Are we not all smart or brave or sly or open? Because in truth, there are many forms of courage, wisdom, ambition and warmth. Would Hogwarts have been our shelter, or was it really our bane? Being bought up with the expectations of our individual houses, can it not be said that Hogwarts moulded us?

Moulded, out of flesh and blood, we are the real chess pieces of today's world. Magical or not, we are in every essence all human beings.

Yes, we are all humans, or we were once. For, once upon a time, there did live a boy with ebony coloured hair and a handsome smile called Tom Riddle. And once upon a time, there did live another boy with ebony coloured hair and another handsome smile. That boy was you, whom you once were, Harry. Are you and Tom Riddle so different in life? You both kill now, and take lives with sardonic need.

Ron, why was he treated so much differently from you? Was he not in Gryffindor too, did he not have courage in the face of danger? Yet he always played the part of the shadow. Your shadow. Ron Weasley, the sidekick with red hair and hand-me-down clothes. Harry Potter, the brave and heroic boy who would save our world. It seems to me that you two always shared some kind of bond. Linked by friendship, now chained by fate.

Fate. Unlike the fickle goddess Fortune, Fate is extremely picky. Fate is a mousetrap, as intricately planned as the labyrinths of the Minotaur. Fate is patient, much more patient than Fortune. She sits there and waits. Waits. Waits. And suddenly, she pounces on you, like lightening, snaring you with her poisoned web. Fate chose you, Harry, and everything then must end with you.

Someone once yelled that what we do in life echoes in eternity. Then it is all the more for me to right this wrong.

Perhaps it was today when everything smashed back into my face; everything that I've always subconsciously tried to deny. I loved Ron. I love Ron. Yet his love was wholly different from mine. His was deep, passionate and the very heart of the matter. His love was piercing, and could foresee all. Mine was hidden, ashamed, shallow and shaky when challenged.

Shake your heart. Scowl at me. But I am Hermione Granger, the girl who liked to have things under her control. I will always prefer logic to emotions.

I shunned Ron's love, because it was devoid of any rule or regulation. Because it meant freedom. And I was afraid of freedom.

Call me aloof, but I am Hermione Granger.

Time can pass, but I will still be Hermione. Time can stop, time can even rewind, but I will still have the same personality, strengths and weaknesses. Time changes nothing. The seasons always come back. It is your mind which alters who you are and much more. Looking back, which were my real memories of Hogwarts, and which were just lies to ease my thudding conscience?

*

She was an eighteen-year-old girl. He was an eighteen-year-old boy. She preferred libraries and hoped one day to read all of the books in the world. He hoped, well, the boy hoped for many things. He hoped that his robes were newer, that he had fewer brothers, that Chuddly Cannons would win for once in his life and that in one book or movie, the sidekick could somehow get the girl.

She was Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

He was Ronald Weasley, best friend of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

It was two weeks from the Spring Ball. Silly thing it was to have dances that celebrated every season of the year, the girl secretly thought. But even though she disdained the way her friends would always giggle as a potential partner walked past, she admitted that everyone did need more cheering up. Especially with Voldemort's killings going this way and that.

Hermione Granger was sitting in front of one of the desks in the Gryffindor common room. It was eleven o'clock, a time when only books and know-it-alls still lurked around Hogwarts. But even Hermione did not totally live up to her name. She was getting tired and after stifling another yawn, privately wondered if starting on her long application essay to Cambridge University had been such a good idea after all.

And just as Hermione was getting up to go to bed, a series of thuds came down the stairs. She immediately guessed who the owner of the noise was. No one else in Hogwarts had bigger and louder feet than Ron, except Hagrid and possibly Pinkie, the over-sized house-elf who was Dobby's best friend...

"Hermione, what on earth are you studying this time?" Came Ron's lazy tone from behind.

Hermione turned around and looked rather cross. "What doing mean by that, Ronald Weasley?" she accused. "It's not like our exams aren't next year or anything."

"Really, Hermione," asked Ron, faking an expression of pure shock, "Why, I never knew! You know, recently it seems the only things you've been talking to are your books. I'm really worried about it, Hermione. You might think they're humans next."

Hermione couldn't help feeling rather indignant at Ron's response. However, even she did not feel like another fight at the dead of midnight again, something the two were notoriously famous for. Attempting to avoid another collision with Ron, she changed the subject.

"So, why are you up at this time of night, Ron?"

"Secretly applying to Cambridge as well," he replied, trying to put on a straight face.

Hermione shook her head and primed the corners of her mouth tightly to show her disapproval.

"Don't do that Hermione. You look like Professor McGonagall."



"What's wrong with Professor McGonagall?"

"She's wrinkly, bossy and strict."

"Ron!" Hermione almost yelled in irritation, "Professor McGonagall's my favourite teacher. She's like a role model to me."

"That explains why you've been trying to wear your hair in a bun recently. It might have worked if it wasn't so bushy."

There was a pause as Hermione fumed and started listing the top ten most painful hexes in her mind. But it had seemed that day that even Ron had wanted to prevent another fight. As she painfully recalled it, he had said, in a rather strained tone, "Look Hermione, I'm sorry about the teasing just then."

"You should be, it wasn't very nice."

"Yes, well... well... you hair isn't that bushy if you squint at it in the dark." Ron stammered on, looking at the floor very earnestly. There was a pause, or at least Hermione thought so, as he continued, "Anyway, Hermione. That's not the point. I think we should be really honest with ourselves." More stammering in a more strained voice. "Not like in fourth year with that stupid Yule Ball."

At that time, Hermione had had a tinge of red across her cheeks. The fact that she knew or thought she knew what Ron referred to was the very cause of the matter. She wasn't stupid. The arguments the two had in fourth year had been very personal. They also should have been solved when the two were in fifth year, when Hermione told Viktor Krum she only liked him as a friend.

"What did happen before the Yule Ball in fourth year, Ron?" Hermione squeaked in a nervous voice, looking everywhere but at the person she was speaking too. It was embarrassing; not only because of the situation, but that the two of them were seventeen, a supposedly mature age.

There was a silence, and it wasn't really golden at all. It just went to prove how silly clichés could be in real life.

"Umm... fourth year, Hermione?" Ron said in an extremely strained and embarrassed voice. "I meant um... fifth year. That's right. It was fifth year that I was talking about."

Hermione's heart dropped. At time that, she had thought that Ron would have at least been brave enough to admit everything. It wasn't that Hermione was really unsure of her own feelings; she even suspected that Ron had a little in return. But that had never been the problem; it was just that he would never ask.

Perhaps at that time, it had never came across Hermione's mind that neither did she.

"But Ron, we didn't have a Yule ball in fifth year."

"Well... then, suppose it was during our fourth year okay?"

There was a tension that slowly mounted in the room. Still, Hermione tried to encourage a faint hope for one more expectant time. "So, what is it about fourth year that you want to talk about, Ron?"

At that time, Hermione had thought that she had been so stupid. And as sad as it seemed, she had believed that at that time, he was going to say it. She had thought that Ron was going to say that he liked her.

"Nothing about it Hermione, I just thought we should just be honest with each other. We're best friends."

"Oh."

"Well, what I really mean is that, you should just admit that you're going with Harry to the ball. Because that's what you and everyone else want."

"What... what are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione stammered in a daze, as her books came tumbling down from the desk.

Ron looked at her uneasily in the eye, and almost painfully, he opened his mouth. "I know you like Harry. Don't you?"

"Ron, don't be stupid," Hermione raised her voice angrily, only to be met with another pair of angry eyes.

"I'm not stupid. I bet everyone knows, except me. Was your relationship so special that even you didn't want to tell me? I would have understood Hermione." Bitter drips of poison almost sizzled in the room.

"Understood, with what? Your irrational behaviour like right now?" Hermione retorted sarcastically.

"So you admit it now," Ron challenged with a un-Gryffindor like snarl.

"I don't have any feelings for Harry!"

"Liar."

"You're being childish, Ron, if you think I'll join your little game of name-calling."

Ron, totally ignoring Hermione's sentence blurted out his thoughts. "You like Harry, Hermione. Because being with him is much much more safer." His voice although honest ant truthful, had seemed cold, like ice, sharp icicles that could stab...



And the last thing Hermione had heard when she dashed up the stairs in tears was Ron's voice. "I can read you, Hermione. You wouldn't want me."

*

If words could have ever prophesised the future, it had been Ron's. Hermione Granger took in a deep breath of the bitter and dusty air. She had so conveniently forgotten those words, that fight, but now they seemed determined to back to sting.

She sighed, sorrowfully afraid for the future, yet determined to go through with it nevertheless. True bravery, that was- to do something even though it was your greatest fear.

Hermione had no definite plan or course of action to take, but she knew nevertheless what she wanted out of everything... For Ron to be back. For the wonderful boy called Harry to return. For everything to simply heal and get better.

It was strange, because although Hermione longed to see Ron once more, she was sorely afraid of what the future would give. Like Juliet Capulet, she did not truly wish to taste her vial of potion just yet. But she had to...

Hermione got up from her armchair. Resignedly, she walked towards the kitchen and started preparing for a quick dinner. And perhaps a good night's cry later on in the evening. As Hermione shifted from one methodical cooking spell to another, she was mentally making a list of the steps she could take. She could go through Harry's classified papers, contact Sirius and Remus on the whereabouts of the inner circle of Voldemort and probably look for Ron from there. A visit to Ginny was also needed, to say goodbye if Hermione did decide to take the journey into actually physically finding Ron...

Or an early death, she added wryly.

And as Hermione finished preparing the dinner, she was invariably stunned by the sound of a doorbell.

"Ding Dong."

The doorbell rang again, almost impatiently. Still, Hermione stood on one spot transfixed and distressed, wondering why her life was starting to seem like a never-ending hex. Only one wizard in the universe would presume to actually ring on someone's doorbell and that wizard was probably arriving for supper too.

His name was Harry James Potter, occupation- British Ministry of Magic and Fudge Junior extraordinaire.

"Hold on Harry, I'm coming." Hermione shouted resigned, as she quickly muttered a summoning spell and set the table." She certainly wasn't in the mood for entertaining, not after reading Ron's letter. But neither did she want Harry to realise what was going on.

As she opened the door, it was all Hermione could do to abstain from a look of pure... venom? No. Hate? No... It was too confusing, Hermione thought as she fixed her eyes on Harry's firm features. Deep down, she didn't really know whether it was right to hate Harry at all. Because... well, because this aloof and changed man that was standing before her eyes had shared some of her best childhood memories. In honour of their friendship at Hogwarts, Hermione could never contract her heart to complete bitterness. Everything was her fault as well.

Harry greeted in her in his usual way, short and to the point. "Good evening Hermione." His voice was flat and with a rather pompous air. "How has your day been?"

"All right." She murmured. "How was yours?"

"Hectic as usual, it turned out that there's been someone illegally smuggling rare Chinese Goblins into Edinburgh Woods. I had to sort through dozens of restraint and international endangered acts and later put up with outraged calls from the Chinese Embassy." There was a pause as Harry continued in his usual manner again, "Aren't you going to let me in the room, then?"

"Well, Harry." Hermione absentmindedly began. As she looked in his blank green eyes, she decided she wasn't going to hate him but neither was she going to forgive.

"Well what, Hermione?" There was impatience in his tone.

"Harry, it's just that I don't feel..."

"Look, Colin already informed me that the goblins around the Weasley's house saw you disapparating from there, Hermione. I was hoping to give you the chance to admit it." Harry's manner was stern and his face contorted into disgust as he muttered that word, 'Weasley'.

"What?" Hermione was clearly thrown off the balance, and then angered as she regained her composure. "What are you doing now Harry, placing your spies around me?" she asked rather acidly. "I have a freedom to go wherever I want to. A freedom, Harry."

"Even if it means seeing Ginny Weasley? She's a Weasley for your sake. You never know what harm could have come to you with her."

"Ginny Weasley? This is Ginny we're talking about! Ginny wouldn't hurt an ant. And if you haven't remembered, Ginny was once your girlfriend, Harry!" Hermione screeched.

Harry stood in the doorway, unfeeling and cold, like Hermione's last words had no impact on him whatsoever. "The past is not the present, Hermione. People change, they take the wrong path. I'm the one who's here helping everyone else. Besides, Ronald Weasley wasn't who he is today, is he?" Before Hermione could retort with further rising hysteria, Harry coldly handed her a rather old envelope. "There's a letter from Sirius and Remus, asking you to visit them again. I'm going now Hermione, and hopefully this childish behaviour will disappear by tomorrow." And after those words, Harry abruptly and sternly apparated away.



Hermione closed the door softly, afraid that anything would shatter if she let alone breathed. Clutching the envelope in her hands, her mind screamed for herself to calm down and breathe deeply.

One... I can make it. I am stronger.

Two... I must make it.

Three...

*

Terribly sorry for the delay of this chapter, but my school and social life took up too much time. Please review, and I'll reply to them through email if necessary. I'm on fictionalley.org as well, under Elanoroddsocks.