Chapter 8: False Realization

-R-

Later that evening as I sit on my bed reading, "Hope for the Best: History of the Chudley Cannons," a large tawny owl swoops in through my open window and lands in front of me on the bed. I remove the parchment rolled around its outstretched leg and pay the five Knut fee. It hoots in gratitude and flies back into the night.

Unrolling the parchment, I see Hermione's neat handwriting and a smile spreads over my face. But as I read, the smile fades, reading the words I thought I'd never have to read from Hermione.

"It can't be true," I say to no one except the ghoul upstairs, who has now taken to slamming things around because of the quiet. "This is all a big joke. It *can't* be true!"

I desperately search the room, not knowing what I'm looking for, but hoping I'll know when I see it. My eyes land on the picture that Colin took of us that day in Hogsmeade, which is framed on my wall, the only thing not of a blazing orange color. The way Hermione looked at me then, the way she laughed, the way she kissed me . . . "It *can't* be true!"

Determined, I stand up and Disapparate, appearing a moment later on the Grangers' front lawn. Checking quickly for any Muggles that might have seen me, I stride up to the front door. When I reach out to turn the doorknob, I encounter a sharp shock that burns my hand. I pull it back to me reflexively and stare at the doorknob, which I see now is sparking with green.

I hear a rustling behind the door and see an eye appear in the peephole. Words are muttered and the knob stops sparking. The door opens, revealing the pale, pointed face and blonde hair of Draco Malfoy, who is smiling that foul smile of his, a glitter in his charcoal eyes.

"Weasley, I knew you'd --"

"Where is she?" I cut in, completely disregarding the strangeness of Malfoy being at Hermione's house. "Where's Hermione?"

His face contorts into one of mocking pity. "Oh, I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment."

I grab the front of his robes, fighting to maintain enough cool to get something out of him. 'For Hermione.'

"I said, where is she, you foul, pathetic excuse for a human being?"

He pries my fingers away from his robes and slowly smoothes them down, keeping his eyes on me. "Now, now, Weasley, violence will get you nowhere. Miss Granger doesn't wish to see you -- I take it you got the owl? I would think that she made it clear enough, but I guess it *would* be hard for simple concepts to penetrate that thick, red head of yours. She doesn't love you; she loves someone else, someone who can provide for her like you could never --"

"Who, Malfoy?" I growl, thoughts of what I'd do to the bastard who took her from me swimming through my head.

"Why, I thought it would be obvious, Weasley. It's me." Seeing the total shock on my face, he smiles sadistically and continues. "Ah, so I see you really *didn't* know. Well, I'm sorry you had to find out this --"

I lunge at him, without Harry to hold me back by my robes, knocking him, and the wand that he pulled from his robes, to the floor. His wand skitters away, just out of his reach. I jump off him to get it, but he scrambles over and grabs for it just as my fingertips brush it. He stand up and holds the wand to my chest, panting slightly, and forces me back onto the porch.

"Go, Weasley. I'm feeling generous, so I'll spare your life. But next time, I will not hesitate to turn the Cruciatus Curse on you; of course, after I call Hermione to watch first." He pokes me with the wand. "Go!" One final shove and he slams the door.

I stand a few moments, unable to move, staring at the closed door. Despite the coolness of the night, heat begins to rise off of me, and I'm sure my ears are very pink. I run out onto the lawn and yell up to the upstairs window, "Hermione! Hermione, please! Come out here now! Please, Hermione! *Hermione!*"

I began to get frantic. Falling to my knees, I continue yelling. I feel the tears coming, and they come through in my voice. My heart is breaking inside me as memories of the past seven years come flooding back. . . .

*Flashback*

"Ron! Ron!"

I was walking around the grounds, enjoying one of the cool afternoons of autumn. I turned around to see who was calling for me, and I saw Hermione running out of the castle and down the stairs toward me. I stopped and waited for her, puzzled.

When she reached me, she doubled over, placing her hands on her knees and panting. Sweat trickled down her forehead and neck. She regained her breath and stood up, searching my eyes with her own. After a few moments, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me fiercely. At first, I stared down at her, wondering what on earth was going on, but soon I just let go and returned the kiss.

She pulled back a little, arms still around my neck, and smiled.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I asked, "Hermione, what's going on? What about Harry?"

Her smile broadened as she reached up to brush her fingertips against the hair at the nape of my neck, her eyes leaving mine. "I've just been to see Harry, and I told him about yesterday. . . ."

"But --"

"Don't worry about it, Ron. He understands." She directed her eyes back to mine. "Ron, I love you. It's taken me six years to discover it, but now I know. Oh, Ron, I love you so much." Her eyes started to glisten with tears and she laid her head on my chest, hugging me tightly.

At first, I was dumbfounded. 'She . . . loves me? But how? When? Why? . . . Oh, Ron, just shut up and kiss her!'

I lifted her chin and gazed into her watery brown eyes. "I love you, too, Hermione. I always will." Then I met her lips again, feeling truly happy for the first time in my life.

*End Flashback*

I hang my head and cry, not caring whether or not Malfoy is watching me; I just don't care.

Suddenly, someone pops up beside me. I look up, red-faced and tear-stained, and into Fred's worried face. He kneels down beside me, wiping my sweaty hair from my forehead.

"Ron, we were getting worried about you. What happened?"

I shake my head and stand up, casting a saddened, spiteful glare back to the house. Turning toward the street, I start walking.

Fred runs up behind me, saying, "Hey, why don't we just Apparate?"

I respond quietly, "I'm likely to get myself splinched in this condition."

"I think you'd probably look *better* if you were splinched. . . ." Fred replies under his breath.

I wheel around to face him, fire in my eyes. "Well, I'm glad you can make jokes, Fred! My heart has just been torn from my chest, and you're teasing me! That bloody Malfoy . . ."

Fred's eyes widen. "Malfoy? You mean, Malfoy . . . and Hermio--"

"Yes, Fred! That's what I mean!"

With that, I Disapparate, not caring what happens to me.