Chapter 14:  The Heart's Tempest

Author's Note: Excuse me whilst I sob. This, my friends, my darling reviewers, is the end. I'm posting two chapters at the same time. This is not the end. This is the second last chapter. Please, read the last and don't hate me. I didn't want to make a note on that one because it would ruin the "atmosphere", honestly, it's true. Anyway, about this story – I like to think that it bloomed near the end. It was very simple when it began, but now when I look at it I get really sad and wistful because I'm ending it. I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I do. To all who reviewed, thank you so much. You fueled this story. And so, go on and read now. I'm saying goodbye to A Lapse in Logic. It's going to be hard to leave it.

Disclaimer: No. I don't own them. –sob-

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate Chapter 14 to all you reviewers, everyone who took the time to stop by and review. Thank you so much.

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The days after that didn't matter.

But soon it was the day of the ball, and Ron regretted the promise he had made to Harry with every ounce of being still left in his soul. Harry held him to it. What else would he do?

As he got into his dress robes, and as the satiny fabric covered his skin, he felt his eyes burn, and he didn't want to cry because he'd done it so many times before, muffled by the scratchiness of the pillow. He knew that his dorm mates knew anyway. He wasn't sure whether or not they would look down on him, and most of the time he was certain that they would not lose respect. But he hid it anyway, as if it was something to be ashamed of. These things were so uncertain in his mind. It was too full, and yet too empty – there were so many thoughts but nothing could be made from them.

He waited in the dorm because he couldn't stand to see all the people, sure in each other, holding hands and their faces glowing with the happiness of the moment. He wished that he could have only a moment, even if he knew that it was temporary; but he had already had his moment. It hadn't been enough.

Harry had his dress robes on and he tried to comb his hair with his hands, but there was always that peak that insisted on springing up. Ron reflected that he was more dashing without effort than he could be with help, or someone to believe that he was – he had neither. Harry looked uncertainly at Ron, and Ron knew what he was thinking. What place did he have in the romantic walk to the ballroom? And Ron was not yet ready to plague his friend with his misery. So he gave a little half-smile and walked out of the common room, to find a bench in the corner of the hall. It would be amusing to him, in another time and place, to see himself as this boy who sat by himself. But he only wished that he could fold in upon himself, like paper in the flame.

When Harry and Cho descended the stairs they were to Ron for a moment dazzling. They had everything he did not, and in his mind they glowed, shone with a light contained within. If he could have sheltered his mind's eye with his forearm, he would have, trying to hide from this eclipsing radiance, this indefatigable happiness. They walked as if dusted with brilliance, Cho's hair with illumination between the strands, Harry's face an orb of purity. He could never describe it later, but it was like being in the presence of those possessing something beyond his reach. The change in their appearance could have been from the sudden blurring of his eyes.

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The Hall was beautiful. How could it not be? The tables had been removed, once again, and it looked so much like that Ball two years ago that his throat felt sore. That had been a very long time ago. Around him other couples floated, ethereal, graceful. He plodded along behind them. Amidst the laughter and the smiles he felt weighted down. He would have liked to be able to say that it was a little overdone, the floor that was wreathed in mist so that one felt one was walking on air, the faeries who had been hired to hover in the air and let their dust float down amidst the scented haze, the moonlight that streamed forth from the enchanted ceiling, and the lilies-of-the-valley that had somehow been induced to grow over the walls. But he couldn't. From an outsider's point of view, someone not there it would have seemed so, it would have been exaggerated and false, but to someone there, there was no denying its perfection. He wanted to find fault with it and the people who walked through it, but it was impossible to do honestly. And lying to himself, again, was something he chose to stay away from.

Everyone walked through this gentle and dusky paradise, bathed in soft tempered light and it seemed magical even to witches and wizards. It was a different sort of magic, though, not one that could be grasped with wands and incantations, correct form and knowledge. It was a magic of the soul, not the mind. It wanted to take Ron in too, but he couldn't let it. If he believed in it again, he knew it would only fall down, when this flawless and soft world faded away into everything else.

So he sat down at their table. It was bound to be for the whole night, and he made himself as comfortable as he could bear to, watching others flit from place to place. He ate, with Harry next to him but not really next to him, next to Cho instead. Talking to the back of a head was difficult, and Ron didn't feel like talking anyway. After supper Cho went off to "fix" her hair and everything else that could be fixed within the confines of the girls' toilet, and Harry turned to Ron, apologizing within his mind for forgetting him, though he couldn't help it. Ron was watching with as much interest as he could muster the band that Dumbledore had obtained for tonight, setting up. Harry's eyes widened a bit when he saw who they were.

"Hey, Harry? I can't figure out who they are." Ron said, with an effort to be light and jovial. It was painful to listen to, but Harry tried not to think about that.

"They're Muggles, that's why, Ron. I heard that he was going to be hiring someone surprising, but I never expected them. Her - " Harry stopped short, and tried to pretend that he hadn't been going to say what it was so obvious he was. He dodged Ron's glance and looked down at the floor instead. "Someone told me that Dumbledore cast the memory charm himself, so that this entire night will seem perfectly ordinary to them, and then next morning they will not remember the oddities of it. I think he wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any permanent damage, or something."

Ron nodded. Why did it hurt to know that Hermione was still speaking to Harry? Well, why shouldn't she? He hadn't taken every chance given to him and broken it.

The band started. Cho came back, and Harry gave Ron yet another apologetic look, then drifted off to the dance floor. It was like Ron was finally able to touch his one and only Divination, Cho and Harry spinning on what looked like wisps of cloud, but he and Hermione had been excised neatly from it, leaving not even an empty space. He searched the ballroom, but wouldn't admit what he was looking for until he finally saw it, just as the band began their third song, rather ironically, he thought, as if the soundtrack to his life had already been planned out. There were no words yet, and Ron tried not to let the simple chords affect him.

She hadn't bothered with anything. Far from the sleek and poised Hermione of two years ago, hair in place and face glowing, with that powder blue dress, she had not even put on dress robes. Her daily robes were dusty, and worn. Her hair had no semblance of being controlled, instead it created a brown-gold corona around her face, tangled and unconstrained. Her brow was furrowed as she looked down at some papers, doubtless her continued studying.

Come up to meet you -

Ron realized something that seemed almost absurd at first. And that was that it didn't make the slightest difference.

Tell you I'm sorry

He looked at her, and it didn't matter to him that she wasn't polished and prepared and perfect like all the other girls. It didn't matter that her hair right now was larger than her head, and she was absent-mindedly chewing on a few strands. He looked at her and she was unutterably beautiful.

You don't know how lovely you are

And he had never realized it before. He hadn't noticed her before that night when it was as if an angel was dancing with Viktor Krum. He had thought that was the only reason he had started to realize that Hermione Granger was always going to be more than a friend to him. But that was all wrong. It was all wrong.

I had to find you, tell you I need you

Because that wasn't Hermione. The person who had sleek and gleaming hair, who walked almost primly in a gown of sapphire, who spent four hours to try and impress everyone, there was no use loving that person. Loving that person was – he understood everything so suddenly – a falsehood.

Tell you I set you apart

You couldn't love someone because they made themselves into something different from themselves. He thought of how awed he had been by that form that was somehow Hermione as well as a complete stranger, and he felt a little sad that she had had to completely change herself for him to notice what was inside him. He tried to think of whether or not he would have gotten it without that little push.

Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions

He looked at her now and he felt as if he could go the rest of his life without seeing that other Hermione. Because he loved the way her hair refused to be conquered, and how her hands were perpetually ink-stained, creased with black, and how her robes always smelt dusty because she spent all her time with books. He thought she was the most beautiful thing on the earth, even if something behind all this love said to him that it wasn't really true. But that voice didn't matter at all, he could accept it and he knew why she would always be the brightest thing for him, he knew why not once would he have asked her to do something new, or try to find some new robes.

Oh let's go back to the start -

He looked at her and it was oh so bittersweet, realizing just how much you loved someone and yet knowing that you would never hold them again. He felt as if somehow everyone in the room, despite how much he had envied them and their golden shapes only moments ago, was missing out on something, something spectacular that they would never see. It was Hermione and that was why – it wasn't because it surprised him that it was Hermione, because it was unexpected and sudden – instead it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It was Hermione. It was her essence, not something she had carved and moulded herself into, trying to show the world that she could be what they asked of her.

Running in circles, coming up tails, heads on a silence apart -

He wished he could somehow go back and try it all again; he would do some things differently, without doubt, and some things the same. If he could have another chance, he wouldn't have let a moment go by when he didn't understand just how precious the person he had been blessed with was. The days would go by like eternal blossoms, opening, but not fading at night into dim memories of happiness.

Nobody said it was easy

He was so forlorn, sitting there at his table, alone, while others danced out their dreams on the clouded floor. He kept looking at her, very still, but if one could see his eyes, it was as if they were reaching somewhere we couldn't see, somewhere beyond our sight, yearning and longing and yet knowing that it is out of reach, overpowerfully wistful and filled with grief, remembering days long past.

It's such a shame for us to part -

She never once looked up. There was no locking of eyes, whether it solved everything or only confirmed the irrevocable loss. She never noticed that his eyes were fastened on her form and that slightly moving head, quivering in the slightest as she worked. She was oblivious to the stream of consciousness being sent her way. It was almost more painful that way.

Nobody said it was easy

Other people watched however. The wiser members of the staff, mostly, and a grave old man with a great beard looked on, and for once that twinkle in his eye was dimmed, and subdued, as it grew solemn and contemplative. A stern woman observed with sad tenderness that somehow suited the lines of her sharp face. They had always seen much more than people credited them with, and the people most definitely never dreamed of how much they cared. We cannot steal inside the thoughts of these, but there is a silent imploring as to why these things must happen, events drawn together by the uncaring fate.

No one ever said it would be this hard

From far away he was merely a lanky boy, filled with a powerful grace he did not yet know he possessed. His red hair stood up in tufts over his smudged face, and he was consumed with an intensity, a last denied wishing that swallowed all the rest of him. Around him was a current of anguish trying to remember joy, sharp against the harmony of everyone else, and yet the most painfully beautiful thing there. Everyone who saw him was reminded of their loss, of their still tangible sorrow.

Oh, take me back to the start

Ron didn't know any of this. As he looked at her, his head swam with images of her, memories of her, the little nothings that couldn't be described and shouldn't make him want to cry like they did. All he could see was that girl with brown hair and chestnut eyes, whether she was laughing in that delighted and almost surprised way that made him want to make her laugh even more, or telling him with perfect seriousness and concern how to figure something out for Potions, or the way if you snuck a glance at her and she was sneaking one too, and your eyes met, she gave a sweet startled intake of breath that was like a blessing.

I was just guessing at numbers and figures

He could remember perfectly what it was like when he snaked his arms around her waist from behind and she didn't even jump, because she knew already it was him, with no moment in between. He remembered when they were in the library, and she was tired and fell asleep on his shoulder, with small breaths and a warmth that made him want to stay there forever, just watching her when she didn't know he was watching and drinking her very presence in. He thought that that one memory would be enough to live and die on, sitting there and almost being able to understand just how lucky he was. It had been forever, and yet he had known that it could not be forever, somehow, even then.

Pulling your puzzles apart

And for a brief fleeting moment he saw them as they could have been, without that miscalculated gesture of his. He saw them, nearly as ghostly as the swirling fog about them, but not fading, not dissipating. People brushed through them, yet they were all alone in that room, dancing with pale faces and shadowy robes, her face buried in his shoulder and his hand on the small of her back which seemed to fit perfectly. Sometimes Ron could see small intimate laughs, and smiles so blissful they broke his heart. They were dancing to a music that could not be heard by him; their feet perfectly in time, turning like music box figures. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see them, synchronized and flawless spirits.

Questions of science, science and progress

He wished he could tell her, tell her not ever to change, without even yet another plea for forgiveness that he knew did not deserve to be answered. Just a word, asking her to remain as she was, and when she grew up not to compromise herself for what she thought others would prefer, would suffice. The pain of that possibility was yet another ache in this throat. He wondered if it would all be easier if he could think that she was in the wrong, that she should take him back. When he knew inside that she shouldn't, that he couldn't bear hurting her again for whatever reason that he could not foresee.

Do not speak as loud as my heart

And still she did not look up. If she had, would she have seen the truth in his eyes? He had been sure that it would work so many times before. He didn't hope this time. It was a desperate longing, one that goes against reason. It hurt to feel this much, a slow and steady throbbing in his heart.

Tell me you love me

The other Hermione and Ron in their other dimension, their other world where things had not strayed so badly, continued. They were all too distinct in Ron's eyes. Their dream-like and gentle dance haunted him; he tried to look the other way, but found himself drawn back to them, invisible to all but him. As a passing, regretful fancy he wanted to pass into their world, become completely the Ron that was there and leave this tortured vessel behind him.

Come back and haunt me

He could slide from it merely as a second skin, discarding the part of him that would betray her when all his heart said otherwise. He would walk over to that still twirling couple, and for just a moment look into the eyes of that other Ron – catch a moment of understanding – would that other Ron see a tormented wraith of himself, alone and grief-ridden? – and then easily, smoothly, slip into that other Ron, feel the hands holding Hermione become real, feel her skin himself. Have the misty world sharpen and harden and become what he longed it to be.

Oh and I rush to the start

He knew, of course, how impossible this was. He let the dream linger anyway, in the stained halls of his mind. Before his eyes there hovered the two images, of what was, Hermione sitting oblivious, too oblivious, and what could have been, the eternal dancers. For a moment what had been hovered there as well, and he knew it had been real, and that made it all the worse.

Running in circles, chasing tails, coming back as we are

It was too hard to keep looking. But he did anyway, not wanting to find out that it could lessen, become something less grave.

Nobody said it was easy

Oh it's such a shame for us to part

He was a ship amongst the swirling tides of lovers. She was a rock upon which he would dash himself.

Nobody said it was easy –

No one ever said it would be this hard

The storm within his heart went on.

I'm going back to the start.

The night faded.