Chapter Thirteen:
Turn the Page
October 31, 2000
***
Ron walked over to the couch, a folded blanket under his arm. A faint trace of a smile crossed his long, freckled face, but his eyes were tender and a little sad.
Hermione lay with her eyes closed, curled into a fetal position. Her face looked serene in repose, but her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed, as from much crying.
Ron unfolded the blanket and covered her gently. He hesitated, then bent and lightly kissed her bushy brown hair, which fell in cascades over her shoulders.
All this Molly Weasley observed as she walked downstairs, a wide, flat box in her hands.
Ron was now approaching the stairs. He stopped, stared at the box in his mother's hands. He knew what was in it: Hermione's mourning cloak and veil.
Today marked the one-year anniversary of Harry's death. The traditional mourning period was ended. Upon their return from the cemetary, Hermione had quietly allowed Mrs. Weasley to divest her of the garments; then, emotionally exhausted, she had sunk into a much-needed sleep.
Ron's eyes were unfathomable as he briefly looked into his mother's face. He then glided up the stairs without a word.
Molly went into the kitchen, where she found her husband cradling a steaming cup of tea. He gave her an inquiring glance, gestured with his cup. She nodded shortly, and Arthur filled another cup and set it before her.
"How's Ron?" Arthur asked.
"That boy -- " Molly said, setting the box to her left as she sat down, " -- I don't know what's holding him together. On the outside, he's like steel -- but I know that, on the inside, he's breaking into a million pieces."
Arthur nodded.
"He has scars that have nothing to do with dragons. Those are the ones that worry me -- the ones we can't see.
"Even after all this time, I still can't quite believe it. When Charlie told us..."
"I was shocked," Molly said, methodically splashing cream into her tea, "but not surprised. I've known for a long time that Ron was in love with Hermione. He said nothing, of course. He knew how she felt about Harry. His one hope was that Harry wouldn't return her feelings. When he finally came around, it was just too much for Ron. I can see it all so clearly now. I knew there was more to his sabbatical than met the eye. He couldn't bear to be around them, especially after they announced their engagement near the end of sixth year. What was he to do? He couldn't risk doing or saying anything that might spoil their happiness."
"We raised a good son," Arthur said wearily. "But at what cost to Ron? And what happens now?" He tilted his head in the direction of the living room.
"Now," Molly said, "that girl needs something subtantial to hold onto. She's as fragile as Ron, if not moreso."
"They're both hiding behind walls," Arthur said. "But how to tear them down so they can see the truth that's right in front of them?"
"Only they can do that," Molly said. "All we can do is pray they do so before it's too late -- for both of them."
The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Ron strode into the kitchen, cradling Jaime in his arms.
"Look who's hungry, then," he smiled.
"Let me -- " Molly began, but Ron had already drawn his wand.
"No worries," he chimed. A cupboard opened, and a bottle floated toward Ron and hovered before him.
"How many refills left, dear?" Molly asked.
Ron craned his neck. Under the inscription Madam Magda's Magical Formula was a circle in which a small number 5 shone a dull red.
"Four more after this one," Ron said.
"I'll pop over to the store tomorrow while you and your father are at work," Molly said.
Ron touched his wand to the number 5; it instantly changed to a 4 as the bottle began to bubble at the bottom. Ron watched the formula rise until the bottle was filled to the top. Then, with an exaggerrated flourish (all witnessed by a thoroughly fascinated Jaime), Ron waved his wand around the bottle, which promptly tipped itself and splashed a single drop onto his wrist.
"Perfect," he said with a satisfied grin and a sidewise glance at Jaime. "Your mum taught me that Charm. Never fails."
Ron returned to the living room and seated himself in a stuffed chair, the bottle following like a balloon on a string. He nestled Jaime into the crook of his left arm, gesturing to the bottle until it was floating an inch from Jaime's anxious face. The little girl reached out and drew the familiar object to her.
Tucking his wand away, Ron stared into Jaime's bright green eyes, brushing a strand of fine brown hair from her face as she nursed contentedly.
"We visited your dad today," Ron said softly. "I wish you could've known him. He was a great wizard. And a good friend. I miss him.
"He was a hero, y'know. Still is. The world we live in today is all down to him, isn't it?
"He loved you and your mum. He didn't want to leave you. But he had to. He wanted to make the world a safe place for little ones like you. And no one else could have done what he did. He was special. He was -- he was -- the best..."
Ron's eyes grew distant, his voice strained.
"I wish...I wish I could change places with him. He should be here...holding you...loving you...watching you grow up to be a great witch, just like your mum.
"And you will, too! That's you, luv -- J.L.H. Just Like Hermione!
"Oh, she's the greatest, your mum is! Top of the charts! You'll find out when you get to Hogwarts! Smartest witch ever! Be talkin' about her a hundred years from now, they will!
"Why, your mum's going to be the first-ever Muggle-born Minister of Magic, you wait and see if she isn't! I heard your dad say it a hundred times! I mean, old Dumbledore's got to retire sometime, doesn't he?"
Ron smiled down at Jaime, who flashed her innocent green eyes once before lowering her lids heavily.
Seeing that Jaime was no longer nursing, Ron sprited the bottle onto the coffee table and lifted her onto his shoulder.
"I know I can never take your dad's place. No one can ever do that. But Uncle Ron loves you, sweetheart. Never forget that."
He kissed the top of Jaime's head as he gently rocked her back and forth.
And on the couch, her face hidden by the blanket, Hermione felt hot tears course down her cheeks.
Turn the Page
October 31, 2000
Ron walked over to the couch, a folded blanket under his arm. A faint trace of a smile crossed his long, freckled face, but his eyes were tender and a little sad.
Hermione lay with her eyes closed, curled into a fetal position. Her face looked serene in repose, but her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed, as from much crying.
Ron unfolded the blanket and covered her gently. He hesitated, then bent and lightly kissed her bushy brown hair, which fell in cascades over her shoulders.
All this Molly Weasley observed as she walked downstairs, a wide, flat box in her hands.
Ron was now approaching the stairs. He stopped, stared at the box in his mother's hands. He knew what was in it: Hermione's mourning cloak and veil.
Today marked the one-year anniversary of Harry's death. The traditional mourning period was ended. Upon their return from the cemetary, Hermione had quietly allowed Mrs. Weasley to divest her of the garments; then, emotionally exhausted, she had sunk into a much-needed sleep.
Ron's eyes were unfathomable as he briefly looked into his mother's face. He then glided up the stairs without a word.
Molly went into the kitchen, where she found her husband cradling a steaming cup of tea. He gave her an inquiring glance, gestured with his cup. She nodded shortly, and Arthur filled another cup and set it before her.
"How's Ron?" Arthur asked.
"That boy -- " Molly said, setting the box to her left as she sat down, " -- I don't know what's holding him together. On the outside, he's like steel -- but I know that, on the inside, he's breaking into a million pieces."
Arthur nodded.
"He has scars that have nothing to do with dragons. Those are the ones that worry me -- the ones we can't see.
"Even after all this time, I still can't quite believe it. When Charlie told us..."
"I was shocked," Molly said, methodically splashing cream into her tea, "but not surprised. I've known for a long time that Ron was in love with Hermione. He said nothing, of course. He knew how she felt about Harry. His one hope was that Harry wouldn't return her feelings. When he finally came around, it was just too much for Ron. I can see it all so clearly now. I knew there was more to his sabbatical than met the eye. He couldn't bear to be around them, especially after they announced their engagement near the end of sixth year. What was he to do? He couldn't risk doing or saying anything that might spoil their happiness."
"We raised a good son," Arthur said wearily. "But at what cost to Ron? And what happens now?" He tilted his head in the direction of the living room.
"Now," Molly said, "that girl needs something subtantial to hold onto. She's as fragile as Ron, if not moreso."
"They're both hiding behind walls," Arthur said. "But how to tear them down so they can see the truth that's right in front of them?"
"Only they can do that," Molly said. "All we can do is pray they do so before it's too late -- for both of them."
The uneasy silence that followed was broken when Ron strode into the kitchen, cradling Jaime in his arms.
"Look who's hungry, then," he smiled.
"Let me -- " Molly began, but Ron had already drawn his wand.
"No worries," he chimed. A cupboard opened, and a bottle floated toward Ron and hovered before him.
"How many refills left, dear?" Molly asked.
Ron craned his neck. Under the inscription Madam Magda's Magical Formula was a circle in which a small number 5 shone a dull red.
"Four more after this one," Ron said.
"I'll pop over to the store tomorrow while you and your father are at work," Molly said.
Ron touched his wand to the number 5; it instantly changed to a 4 as the bottle began to bubble at the bottom. Ron watched the formula rise until the bottle was filled to the top. Then, with an exaggerrated flourish (all witnessed by a thoroughly fascinated Jaime), Ron waved his wand around the bottle, which promptly tipped itself and splashed a single drop onto his wrist.
"Perfect," he said with a satisfied grin and a sidewise glance at Jaime. "Your mum taught me that Charm. Never fails."
Ron returned to the living room and seated himself in a stuffed chair, the bottle following like a balloon on a string. He nestled Jaime into the crook of his left arm, gesturing to the bottle until it was floating an inch from Jaime's anxious face. The little girl reached out and drew the familiar object to her.
Tucking his wand away, Ron stared into Jaime's bright green eyes, brushing a strand of fine brown hair from her face as she nursed contentedly.
"We visited your dad today," Ron said softly. "I wish you could've known him. He was a great wizard. And a good friend. I miss him.
"He was a hero, y'know. Still is. The world we live in today is all down to him, isn't it?
"He loved you and your mum. He didn't want to leave you. But he had to. He wanted to make the world a safe place for little ones like you. And no one else could have done what he did. He was special. He was -- he was -- the best..."
Ron's eyes grew distant, his voice strained.
"I wish...I wish I could change places with him. He should be here...holding you...loving you...watching you grow up to be a great witch, just like your mum.
"And you will, too! That's you, luv -- J.L.H. Just Like Hermione!
"Oh, she's the greatest, your mum is! Top of the charts! You'll find out when you get to Hogwarts! Smartest witch ever! Be talkin' about her a hundred years from now, they will!
"Why, your mum's going to be the first-ever Muggle-born Minister of Magic, you wait and see if she isn't! I heard your dad say it a hundred times! I mean, old Dumbledore's got to retire sometime, doesn't he?"
Ron smiled down at Jaime, who flashed her innocent green eyes once before lowering her lids heavily.
Seeing that Jaime was no longer nursing, Ron sprited the bottle onto the coffee table and lifted her onto his shoulder.
"I know I can never take your dad's place. No one can ever do that. But Uncle Ron loves you, sweetheart. Never forget that."
He kissed the top of Jaime's head as he gently rocked her back and forth.
And on the couch, her face hidden by the blanket, Hermione felt hot tears course down her cheeks.