*Chapter Three*
Hermione wandered aimlessly around her room, the hem of her nightgown swirling lightly around her calves. She'd decided to forgo dinner in the Great Hall, and really didn't expect to see Ginny after the way the girl bolted from the Headmaster's office. Her heart broke for Harry and Ginny, almost as much as it had for herself. Life had not been kind to any of them.
Memories turned in her brain, bombarding her with images and feelings of a time not so long past. How had they gotten here, barely 25 and already so bitter and much older than their years? When had it started? Even after Harry left, Ron and her had been inseparable. She had been sure that nothing could have ever tear them apart. But something did, and now they were no better than strangers. Unbidden, the memory of their last time together, before that horrible night at the Burrow, rushed into her mind. She hadn't though about it years, mainly because of the tears that usually fell when she did.
She sank down onto her bed and curled into a ball, clutching a pillow to her chest as it overtook her. It never felt like just a memory. She could feel every brush of his fingers on her skin, every kiss of his lips on hers, every thrust of his hips as he filled her. Completed her. There had never been anybody but him, and she knew there would never be anybody after. She'd tried to date, of course. But it was like putting on a suit that didn't fit. How could you find a replacement for perfection? No one had ever evoked even half the response that Ron could from her. Whether they were fighting or making love, or just simply talking. No one even compared.
*Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all,* she thought, wiping tears from her face. The way Ron and Harry had almost torn into each other earlier was certainly not a good sign. She shuddered to think what might have happened if she hadn't had the presence of mind to do the binding spell. How were they supposed to work together to save the school, if they could barely stand to be in the same room?
Hermione was so lost in thought, that it took her a minute to realize that someone was knocking on her door. She took a quick look in the mirror and frowned when she discovered there was no way she could cover the signs of crying. With a sigh, she walked to the door and asked who was there.
"Ginny?" She repeated in surprise as she pulled it open.
"Hi. You didn't forget did you?" The red haired woman breezed into the room, a bright smile on her face.
"Er, no. Of course not. I just didn't think you would still want to." Hermione answered, shutting the door. She then turned to face Ginny and noted that the smile seemed a little forced. There also seemed to be some evidence of crying on the girl's face as well.
"Why would you think that?" Ginny asked with a shake of her head. The smile fell and she let out a deep breath when the other woman merely arched a brow in response. With a groan, Ginny sank to the edge of the bed and dropped her head in her hands. Hermione moved to sit next to her and waited. She didn't have to wait long.
"You know, I knew he was coming. I KNEW he was here. It just didn't feel real until I saw him." Ginny pushed her hands through her thick hair and sat up. Her eyes were shining with tears when she looked at Hermione.
"I know. I felt the same way when I saw Ron." Hermione admitted with a tight smile.
"All I wanted to do when I saw him was throw my arms around him and wail like a banshee. Then punch him because he broke my heart." A bitter laugh followed her words. The other woman nodded absently, thinking that she had a similar reaction to Ron. *Men,* she thought with a huff.
"Are you alright?" She asked, studying Ginny's face. The red head sighed heavily and shrugged.
"I don't know. I mean, how am I supposed to feel knowing that he is alive and whole and so damn sexy I could scream? How dare he look that good!" A tinge of pink settled over her cheeks at the audacity of it. "I spent MONTHS crying over him. MONTHS! I had puffy cheeks, red eyes and a blistered nose for most of my seventh year. And he has the nerve to fly in here, looking fit and muscular. You know, in theory, a ponytail on Harry Potter should look utterly ridiculous, giving me some revenge for my tears. But NO! It has to make him look like one those dashing heroes Muggles write about. And he's not wearing his glasses anymore!" Ginny had surged off the bed and started pacing the length of the room while she listed off all of Harry's flaws. Unfortunately, they WEREN'T flaws and that just made her angrier. "He told me he loved me. And then he left. Shouldn't he have warts, or something?"
"It would be only fair, wouldn't it." Hermione agreed. She definitely wished that Ron had had some horrible disfigurement of his own, just so she wouldn't feel like some awkward school girl each time he looked at her. She'd had to struggle to keep her composure every time she felt his eyes on her in Dumbledore's office. The bed bounced lightly as Ginny flopped down next to her, her hair fanning out vibrantly behind her.
"We're pathetic." The younger woman said with a definitive nod. "How can we still be in love with the men that went on so flawlessly without us?" It didn't feel odd to her to be talking to her brother's ex-girlfriend like this. She and Hermione had always had an easy relationship, that, thankfully had never faltered when Ron had crowned himself the King Of Idiots by letting Hermione go. They hadn't seen much of each other in the last few years, but they had made sure to write often. Ginny had needed the female friendship in the wake of her world falling apart, and she supposed that Hermione needed to keep some form of hold on Ron however possible.
"I wouldn't say it was flawless, really. Despite being strong and gorgeous, I don't think they've faired much better than we have." Hermione theorized, laying back on the bed herself. Another sigh exploded from Ginny at that.
"No. I guess not." She acquiesced after a moment's thought. They stayed there, silently staring at the canopy above them for a few minutes, lost in memories of yesteryear. The silence had grown so deafening, that when Ginny broke it, Hermione jumped. "Do you supposed it's true? The rumors?"
"Which rumors?"
"That Harry's. . .that Harry's out killing Deatheaters?" She said it in a rush, as if merely voicing it would make it true.
"Yes." Ginny's eyes widened when Hermione answered without hesitation. But the other woman didn't notice as her eyes never left the canopy. Her face had turned thoughtful and sad as she went on. "I can only imagine how it was for him when Sirius was killed. I sometimes try to put myself in his place, to try to understand how he was feeling the day he left. But no matter what sorrow I feel, or how many tears I shed, it's nothing compared to what he must have felt. Voldemort and the Deatheaters stole so much from him. His parents, his youth. Hagrid. And finally, his god father, the only real link he had to his parents. I think, on some level, he was leaving to try to keep up safe. But, I also think, that he knew EXACTLY what he was going to do when he left the Burrow that day. He wasn't going to let them take anything else from him, and he didn't want us involved in that."
"But it didn't work, did it? Mum, dad and Percy." Ginny's voice sounded so small, that Hermione's heart squeezed painfully.
"No. It didn't." They fell back into silence for a moment after that. "Ginny, why do you suppose Ron didn't tell you he was coming here?" Ginny blinked at the sudden change of subject.
"What? Oh, after. . .after what happened, he took to not telling any of us where he was or what he was doing. I dunno, maybe he thinks he's protecting us. Don't understand how, though. Just being related to him put us in danger." Ginny replied with a shrug. "I think that's why he talked me into coming to work here. Wanted me somewhere Deatheaters's wouldn't be able to just apparate inside."
"Yeah." Was all Hermione said. She knew this was the perfect opportunity to question Ginny about what had been happening at the school. She was just too tired to deal with it at the moment.
"What are we going to do, Hermione?" The tone of Ginny's voice reminded Hermione of the little girl she had met 13 years ago. With a heavy heart, she turned to face that girl, to see her own pain reflected back at her.
"I don't know, Ginny. I only wish I did."
~*~*~
Ron could only think of a handful of experiences in his life that had left him feeling this wretched. The first was when Hermione had been petrified by the Basilisk their second year. Followed closely by the discovery that his baby sister had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets. The next event that had caused his stomach to twist and his insides to freeze was when Harry and Cedric Diggory had been transported by the Tri Wizard Cup (which had been turned into a portkey) to Voldemort's layer. There was no specific day or time in the war that followed that incident that could claim that prize, since he'd been pretty much terrified through the entire thing. The next, was the news of Sirius Black's murder and Harry's disappearance.
But, the day his parents and Percy were killed was by far the worst. The next, worst day of his life, was the second Hermione had disapparated out of his flat and he KNEW she wouldn't be coming back. What he hadn't realized at the time was that she had taken his heart with him.
And now, there was today.
Ron shoved an agitated had through his hair, which, with age, had darkened to a burnished copper. The ridiculous thought that he should have had it trimmed before he left home ran through his mind, when he realized the ends were now grazing his collar.
Anger, which always seemed to be at a constant simmer in his blood, was threatening to boil over. On some level, he realized that Hermione was right. He was being irrational. Harry had not sought out Ginny. And it certainly was silly to think that they would be able to avoid each other, even in a castle this big. But, rational thought had not been his friend in a long time. At least where his personal life was concerned. He lost his hold on it the night his family had been attacked. He'd do ANYTHING to keep that from happening again.
He never blamed Harry for what happened. No matter what anyone thought, that had never been it. Ron had chosen to become and remain friends with the Boy Who Lived. Even after the danger became very real. So, there was no one to blame for what happened, except for the Deatheaters. No, his anger at Harry stemmed straight from the fact that Harry had just left, not even giving his friends the chance be there for him, like they had so many times before. He broke Ginny's heart. Which to Ron, was unforgivable.
The thing was, he knew Ginny well enough to know that once she was over the shock of seeing Harry, she would seek him out. Probably shadow the man until she could corner him into talking to her. Ron did feel a slight pang of sympathy for Harry at that. Ginny could be very persistent when she put her mind to it. The second's solidarity he felt towards the other man had him scowling. He had a feeling that it wouldn't take much for Ginny to forgive Harry and then work on him to resume where they had left off. No thought to who Harry was now, or the danger she'd be putting herself in. She was always a touch on the blind side when it came to him.
Which was EXACTLY why Ron had to look out for her. It was of no matter to him that she would probably not appreciate his efforts.
Vigilante. He'd had a feeling, when Deatheaters started to be found, dead, that that was what Harry had gotten up to. Rumors had flown around, hinting that it was Harry, but there had never been any proof. Until today. Dumbledore had all but confirmed it.
He couldn't say that he blamed Harry. Hell, half he reason he became and Auror himself was so he could track and capture the renegade Deatheaters and send them to Azkabahn like they deserved. But, where he chose to do it with a badge and the backing of the Ministry, Harry was out killing for revenge. And while wanting revenge was not a concept foreign to Ron, he refused to break the law to do it.
However-if he were honest with himself-no matter how much his blood boiled over the possibility that Harry and Ginny might resume their relationship, that wasn't what had him itching for the bottle in his case. No. That, he solely accredited to on person.
Hermione.
God, it hurt just to look at her. So bloody beautiful. But then, she'd always been beautiful to him. Not that he'd admitted it to anybody, not even himself , for a long time. He'd been too daft to get it until the Yule Ball. Even then, he lied to himself, saying that the only reason he as so angry she had gone with Krum was because he was Harry's opponent in the Tournament. What a git he'd been. An absolute, total prat. He would have had no one to blame but himself if Hermione had finally given up on him and moved on. Luckily for him, she was stubborn. Or, unluckily for her, depending on how you looked at it.
He was so far beneath her now, it was scary. Ron remembered the way his heart had tripped in his chest when he saw her. She was hugging Harry as if they hadn't just spent the last seven years wondering where the hell he was. His first reaction had been to rip them apart and teach him a thing or two about touching what didn't belong to him. Ron had managed to remind himself, before he took the first step toward them, that she didn't belong to him either. He didn't know it had been possible for his heart to break again.
Resentment had slammed into him at the ease she had with Harry. The one who had tossed their friendship away without a backwards glance. But when she had looked at Ron, her eyes cool, her face calm, as if he had been a passing acquaintance in her life. Like he hadn't worshiped her for countless hours and had given her his heart. Like they had never been best friends. Like he hadn't let her walk away, and never once tried to get her back.
He really was an arse.
He supposed, that's why he had asked for the hug. He just wanted to rattle her. He hadn't counted on her rattling him. The second her smooth arms had slid around his neck and her hair had tickled his cheek, he felt like he was home. Her scent-some sweet, flowery perfume-clouded his brain. It struck him then, that he could very easily lose himself in her again. His whole body had screamed out in loss when she had stepped back. He at least had the satisfaction of seeing her skin flushed and she seemed a bit unsteady. Her eyes had been unreadable, however. That was something he wasn't used to.
*What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into THIS time, Ronald, old boy?* He asked himself as he lay sprawled across his bed. The silence in the room was starting to get to him. It gave him too much time to think. And he usually tried to avoid that at all costs. He wished that he could have brought his telly. Having a Muggle born best friend turned girlfriend had had it's advantages. The first time he'd met her parents as her 'boyfriend' instead of just 'friend', Hermione had tutored him on all things Muggle. She felt it was best after his disastrous phone call to Harry's house.
So, he'd dutifully learned about telephones and televisions. Radios, computers, cell phones, streetlights and whatever else she had deemed important. She'd even sat him down and explained Muggle money to him. Something that Ron compared to Madame Trelawney's class. Although, he secretly thought that reading tea leaves was less painful.
By the end of it all, Ron had a very large headache and reckoned he could take over as Muggle studies professor. Of course, all his new found knowledge didn't seem to help when he saw all of these objects in action. All of a sudden, he'd turned into his father and stared, gaped mouthed at all the gadgetry. He'd nearly upset their table at lunch when Mrs. Granger's purse started to ring. Luckily, since their daughter was a witch, her parents understood his wonderment.
Eventually, the novelty wore off. Now, he could blend into the Muggle world as easily as Harry or Hermione. He'd found it quite useful in his work, when his mark decided to hide from him amongst the non-magically inclined.
But, God, did he miss his telly. It made the long nights when he was home not so lonely, and helped him to alleviate boredom when he was in the field, staying in hotels. Right now, he could have used the distraction. Even his radio would have been nice, even though he had been told that his choice in music was ear splitting. Anything would have been good. As long as it kept his mind off Hermione. Or the bottle in his case.
Ron didn't even really know why he had brought it. He didn't consider himself a drunk. He could go weeks, even months without a drink. But, every once in a while, when his brain just WOULDN'T shut down-like now-he'd take a shot to get the edge off. Then, because the first shot had burned so nice, he'd take a second. Then a third. Before he knew it, the whole bottle would be gone and he'd wake up the next day with the Queen of all hangovers.
The first time he had ever gotten drunk-sick drunk-had been the night of his parents and brother's funeral. Hermione had no way of knowing that the bottle she'd found him with had not been his first of the night. He'd already been through two and had thrown them up before starting on that one. He just couldn't be sober right then. Memories and voices kept swirling around his brain, making him crazy. The knowledge that his mother would never scold him again, or tell him to cut the hair he always forgot to trim, weighed heavily on him. The fact that he'd never be able to tell his father about some new Muggle device that had come out and watch the fascination and wonder slide across his face made him want to scream. That he would never be able to tease Percy about being perfect or laugh when Fred and George tortured him nearly crippled him.
So, he'd drank. And drank, until he'd finally passed out. Only to wake up to Hermione's beautiful, hurt, yet disapproving face. He had no clue what had started the fight, or even most of what he said. He had still been pretty well pissed by then. He couldn't even say why he'd been pushing her away in the first place. But, his pain had been so raw, so all consuming, that he couldn't see anybody else's. All he could remember clearly, was the way her face had gone sheet white and her eyes had gone blank. That's when he knew he had lost her.
*Bloody hell!* He thought, getting up. All this was getting him nowhere. He decided to take a shower, then maybe read over the lesson book that sat ominously on his dresser. Or, maybe he'd just go to bed. He didn't care what he did, as long as it kept his mind off Hermione, Harry, Ginny and this fucked up situation that had him facing his past all over again. Anything, but that bottle wrapped up in one of his t-shirts, with its promise of sweet oblivion.
~*TBC*~
