Title: Altruism
Author: Minja
Rating: PG-13. It's tame now, but as we start uncovering all that's happened, it's going to get a bit hairy. Just be warned.
Summary: It has been exactly three years since Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger have seen each other, and now, only a single written plea for help from one to the other will bring them together again, at all costs. (R/Hm)
Notes: This takes place three years after the final battle between Harry Potter and Voldemort. Voldemort has been vanquished (yah!) but Harry has also perished (boo!). While I can't say why at the moment, you'll find out soon enough. Also, please understand that you aren't supposed to know everything yet, and most questions you might have will be answered eventually. But please, feel free to make guesses or suggestions or anything at all really in a review. ;)
Notes 2: Keep in mind that while this opening scene might seem odd, there IS a reason for it. Everything'll be explained soon enough. Thanks. ~~
Ron Weasley hated planes.
He had only been on one for an hour, and he already hated them with a deep hatred he felt would never go away. They were cramped, they smelled, and he was sitting between a tiny window and a morose looking woman. He knew from the bottom of his heart that he despised planes and hopefully would never get on another one. Unfortunately, he'd discovered this one hour into a nine hour fight from London to New York City, and being one hour into it, there was nothing he could really do about getting off of it. And he still had two connecting flights to go once he got to America.
America. Who would have ever thought he would end up there?
Up until now, he'd been living normally in England, never giving America a second thought. He had just been sitting around and suddenly, here he was. Did they even know he'd left? Everything had happened so fast. In the night he'd jotted down a quick note and headed out of the door. Everyone was probably waking up, noticing him gone. They'd wonder why, but the note wouldn't be able to tell them. He couldn't tell them any more than that she need him and so he'd gone to find her. Ron couldn't have written why he'd really left.
He'd left because he'd been miserable, because he'd been lost, and because he'd wanted an escape, a reason to leave.
And her letter had come. And she'd asked for help.
He couldn't say no. He had never been able to say no to her. He didn't even know why she needed him, but the need was enough. He was coming for her, to help her.
But he didn't know how.
~~
Moments passed very slowly on a plane, Ron decided. Ron shot a glance to his seatmate, who was avidly in her magazine and paying him no attention. He gazed at the seat before him with a fixed stare before shifting slightly to look out the window. The sky would be getting dark soon. He could see the sun fading on the opposite side of the plane and the moon rising beside him. The world was turning, the plane was moving, and he had run away.
Yet as soon as he had thought it, Ron shook his head. He hadn't run away. Running away meant that he was doing it wrongfully or without permission. Ronald Weasley was a 21 year old wizard, legal four times over. He didn't need permission to leave Britain. Besides, he paused to consider, who did he have to give permission? His parents could, but he didn't live at home anymore. He didn't have a job, and hadn't gotten one since the War had ended, so a boss was out of the question. He just took odd jobs, volunteered in the ongoing clean-ups, and helped Fred run the store sometimes.
You should have told Fred, a small voice inside of him murmured. Ron shook his head. He didn't have to clear it all with Fred. Fred didn't care. Fred didn't really care about anything anymore. Ron blinked his eyes rapidly as he always did when he started thinking about it again. About Fred. And about George.
Suddenly, Ron's train of thought was interrupted as the woman next to him abruptly put down her magazine and shoved a hand in his direction. Ron stared at it, momentarily still lost in the recesses of his own mind, before reaching out to take it. The woman gave him a brief, almost warning smile, and clenched his fingers in a firm, somewhat surprisingly firm, grip. When Ron faintly returned her smile, she nodded in his direction, pulling her hand back and letting a much broader smile surface on her face.
"I'm Jane Roe," she stated with a sudden air of friendliness. Ron was still somewhat of confused. Just moments ago this woman had been completely ignoring him, and suddenly she was quite personable. Ron opened his mouth with the intention of stating his own name, yet stopped momentarily. He was inexperienced around muggle women; maybe this was some kind of test. He glanced around the airplane to see if anyone was looking at him. Was she flirting with him? Yet before he could muse that question, a much more alarming question entered Ron's mind. Could she possibly know he wasn't a muggle? What if she did? Was she a witch?
Yet before Ron could let his already unpleasant state of mind downgrade to full paranoia, Jane Roe seemed to understand his uncertainty. She waited a moment, and then began to explain herself.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "But I spend a lot of time on these planes." Ron took a brief moment to examine the woman next to him. As he looked, he noticed that she was in a very professional looking pin-striped suit. In fact, as he let his gaze drift over her, he saw that her entire being was colored with professionalism: her fingernails were polished; her hair was most likely colored the honey-blond hue it seemed; she wore a gold-toned wristwatch. Ron moved his gaze back to her face. Jane's eyes now held a look of apprehension.
'I'm an Executive of Sales Relations between the London and New York branch of the company L.S. Debus," she explained," so, I spend a lot of time on these flights." She let her gaze travel over Ron's face, seeming to look for some sort of damage done. "I didn't mean to startle you if I did. I just like to at least know the name of the person I'm seated next to. I've just learned that these eleven hours will go a lot faster if I don't feel like a total jerk every time I bump into you or almost spill a drink in your lap." She smiled hopefully at him.
Ron smiled faintly back. There was nothing to be worried about, no alterior motives... He took a deep breath.
"Ronald Weasley." He offered his hand as a sign of good will. She shook it again, once again with that surprisingly firm handshake.
"Nice to meet you, Ronald." She said grinning at him. Jane seemed to relax and sat back in her own chair, reaching once more for her discarded magazine. "I hope you don't mind if I read a bit." She glanced up at the dark cabin ceiling and over at the rapidly darkening sky outside Ron's window.
"No, that's fine."
Jane reached up, turned on her light, and turned back to the page that she had been initially reading when the conversation had started. She began to read quietly. Ron leaned back in his chair and turned to face the window. He could see the moon in the clear sky above, casting a pale glow on the clouds below. Ron wished he could see more below than just the clouds, but before he could ponder too much on them, Jane spoke again.
"So, Ronald, what takes you to America?" She turned her head to momentarily glance his way before turned her eyes back to her magazine. "Something tells me you have never been there before." Ron nodded.
"You're right." he answered.
Then there was silence.
Ron was unsure of what to say. He didn't really want to say too much. In truth, this was only a hyper woman he'd know five minutes. She was a muggle, an American businesswoman who probably knew nothing of the war that had just been won and of the sacrifices they'd all made to win it. She certainly didn't wake up every night in a cold sweat or double and triple charm her doors shut.
She hadn't seen her best friend die.
Jane seemed to tell she had asked the wrong question. She stared more intently at her magazine, seeming a tad uncomfortable by the long stretch of silence. "I'm sorry if you'd rather not-" Yet Ron cut her off.
"I'm seeing an old friend," came his answer, quick and precise. Yes, he told himself, he was seeing an old friend. An old, old friend who had sent him a letter two weeks ago that had said...that he was needed.
She's said she needed him. She'd sounded so...lost.
Ron didn't bother to elaborate on his situation and Jane didn't press matters. With a quick nod of the head, she went back to reading and Ron soon let his eyes drift back to the clouds. He closed them after a few seconds, weary of the incessant moving of the seats, the buzz of the engines, and the rapid clouds shooting past outside his window.
She needed him, she'd said in the letter. She was in trouble and needed his help. Ron sighed, not sure exactly what he was leaving behind to come to her rescue. He had five hundred muggle dollars in his pocket, plane tickets to get him to Nashville, where she lived, and one small bag with all his clothes, photos, and his wand.
He had everything dear to him in the world and he wasn't coming back to London, not as far as he knew. It was time to begin again, to live again, just like she had. Hermione hadn't let herself die with Harry. She had cried her tears and began again. She had held Ron's hand at the funeral, and then softly announced her decision to leave Britain. Ron hadn't understood her then, although he did now. He knew that every moment she spent with her father was spent in agony, as he was now blind, blinded by some spell the muggle doctors couldn't fix and that the healers couldn't un-do. He knew that every moment she had spent in the empty house without her mother had been marked with utter confusion and loss.
Ron knew how she felt every time he peered into Ginny's room and saw her gone, it collecting dust. How he felt when he saw the deep sadness in his mother's eyes and heard the tiredness in his father's voice. He knew what the loss was like when he woke up in his room in Diagon Alley and saw Fred in the next bed over and George no where to be found. Never to be found.
He knew how much they'd sacrificed in the war.
But he didn't know if they could ever get any of it back.
~~~ TBC!
~Minja
Author: Minja
Rating: PG-13. It's tame now, but as we start uncovering all that's happened, it's going to get a bit hairy. Just be warned.
Summary: It has been exactly three years since Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger have seen each other, and now, only a single written plea for help from one to the other will bring them together again, at all costs. (R/Hm)
Notes: This takes place three years after the final battle between Harry Potter and Voldemort. Voldemort has been vanquished (yah!) but Harry has also perished (boo!). While I can't say why at the moment, you'll find out soon enough. Also, please understand that you aren't supposed to know everything yet, and most questions you might have will be answered eventually. But please, feel free to make guesses or suggestions or anything at all really in a review. ;)
Notes 2: Keep in mind that while this opening scene might seem odd, there IS a reason for it. Everything'll be explained soon enough. Thanks. ~~
Ron Weasley hated planes.
He had only been on one for an hour, and he already hated them with a deep hatred he felt would never go away. They were cramped, they smelled, and he was sitting between a tiny window and a morose looking woman. He knew from the bottom of his heart that he despised planes and hopefully would never get on another one. Unfortunately, he'd discovered this one hour into a nine hour fight from London to New York City, and being one hour into it, there was nothing he could really do about getting off of it. And he still had two connecting flights to go once he got to America.
America. Who would have ever thought he would end up there?
Up until now, he'd been living normally in England, never giving America a second thought. He had just been sitting around and suddenly, here he was. Did they even know he'd left? Everything had happened so fast. In the night he'd jotted down a quick note and headed out of the door. Everyone was probably waking up, noticing him gone. They'd wonder why, but the note wouldn't be able to tell them. He couldn't tell them any more than that she need him and so he'd gone to find her. Ron couldn't have written why he'd really left.
He'd left because he'd been miserable, because he'd been lost, and because he'd wanted an escape, a reason to leave.
And her letter had come. And she'd asked for help.
He couldn't say no. He had never been able to say no to her. He didn't even know why she needed him, but the need was enough. He was coming for her, to help her.
But he didn't know how.
~~
Moments passed very slowly on a plane, Ron decided. Ron shot a glance to his seatmate, who was avidly in her magazine and paying him no attention. He gazed at the seat before him with a fixed stare before shifting slightly to look out the window. The sky would be getting dark soon. He could see the sun fading on the opposite side of the plane and the moon rising beside him. The world was turning, the plane was moving, and he had run away.
Yet as soon as he had thought it, Ron shook his head. He hadn't run away. Running away meant that he was doing it wrongfully or without permission. Ronald Weasley was a 21 year old wizard, legal four times over. He didn't need permission to leave Britain. Besides, he paused to consider, who did he have to give permission? His parents could, but he didn't live at home anymore. He didn't have a job, and hadn't gotten one since the War had ended, so a boss was out of the question. He just took odd jobs, volunteered in the ongoing clean-ups, and helped Fred run the store sometimes.
You should have told Fred, a small voice inside of him murmured. Ron shook his head. He didn't have to clear it all with Fred. Fred didn't care. Fred didn't really care about anything anymore. Ron blinked his eyes rapidly as he always did when he started thinking about it again. About Fred. And about George.
Suddenly, Ron's train of thought was interrupted as the woman next to him abruptly put down her magazine and shoved a hand in his direction. Ron stared at it, momentarily still lost in the recesses of his own mind, before reaching out to take it. The woman gave him a brief, almost warning smile, and clenched his fingers in a firm, somewhat surprisingly firm, grip. When Ron faintly returned her smile, she nodded in his direction, pulling her hand back and letting a much broader smile surface on her face.
"I'm Jane Roe," she stated with a sudden air of friendliness. Ron was still somewhat of confused. Just moments ago this woman had been completely ignoring him, and suddenly she was quite personable. Ron opened his mouth with the intention of stating his own name, yet stopped momentarily. He was inexperienced around muggle women; maybe this was some kind of test. He glanced around the airplane to see if anyone was looking at him. Was she flirting with him? Yet before he could muse that question, a much more alarming question entered Ron's mind. Could she possibly know he wasn't a muggle? What if she did? Was she a witch?
Yet before Ron could let his already unpleasant state of mind downgrade to full paranoia, Jane Roe seemed to understand his uncertainty. She waited a moment, and then began to explain herself.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "But I spend a lot of time on these planes." Ron took a brief moment to examine the woman next to him. As he looked, he noticed that she was in a very professional looking pin-striped suit. In fact, as he let his gaze drift over her, he saw that her entire being was colored with professionalism: her fingernails were polished; her hair was most likely colored the honey-blond hue it seemed; she wore a gold-toned wristwatch. Ron moved his gaze back to her face. Jane's eyes now held a look of apprehension.
'I'm an Executive of Sales Relations between the London and New York branch of the company L.S. Debus," she explained," so, I spend a lot of time on these flights." She let her gaze travel over Ron's face, seeming to look for some sort of damage done. "I didn't mean to startle you if I did. I just like to at least know the name of the person I'm seated next to. I've just learned that these eleven hours will go a lot faster if I don't feel like a total jerk every time I bump into you or almost spill a drink in your lap." She smiled hopefully at him.
Ron smiled faintly back. There was nothing to be worried about, no alterior motives... He took a deep breath.
"Ronald Weasley." He offered his hand as a sign of good will. She shook it again, once again with that surprisingly firm handshake.
"Nice to meet you, Ronald." She said grinning at him. Jane seemed to relax and sat back in her own chair, reaching once more for her discarded magazine. "I hope you don't mind if I read a bit." She glanced up at the dark cabin ceiling and over at the rapidly darkening sky outside Ron's window.
"No, that's fine."
Jane reached up, turned on her light, and turned back to the page that she had been initially reading when the conversation had started. She began to read quietly. Ron leaned back in his chair and turned to face the window. He could see the moon in the clear sky above, casting a pale glow on the clouds below. Ron wished he could see more below than just the clouds, but before he could ponder too much on them, Jane spoke again.
"So, Ronald, what takes you to America?" She turned her head to momentarily glance his way before turned her eyes back to her magazine. "Something tells me you have never been there before." Ron nodded.
"You're right." he answered.
Then there was silence.
Ron was unsure of what to say. He didn't really want to say too much. In truth, this was only a hyper woman he'd know five minutes. She was a muggle, an American businesswoman who probably knew nothing of the war that had just been won and of the sacrifices they'd all made to win it. She certainly didn't wake up every night in a cold sweat or double and triple charm her doors shut.
She hadn't seen her best friend die.
Jane seemed to tell she had asked the wrong question. She stared more intently at her magazine, seeming a tad uncomfortable by the long stretch of silence. "I'm sorry if you'd rather not-" Yet Ron cut her off.
"I'm seeing an old friend," came his answer, quick and precise. Yes, he told himself, he was seeing an old friend. An old, old friend who had sent him a letter two weeks ago that had said...that he was needed.
She's said she needed him. She'd sounded so...lost.
Ron didn't bother to elaborate on his situation and Jane didn't press matters. With a quick nod of the head, she went back to reading and Ron soon let his eyes drift back to the clouds. He closed them after a few seconds, weary of the incessant moving of the seats, the buzz of the engines, and the rapid clouds shooting past outside his window.
She needed him, she'd said in the letter. She was in trouble and needed his help. Ron sighed, not sure exactly what he was leaving behind to come to her rescue. He had five hundred muggle dollars in his pocket, plane tickets to get him to Nashville, where she lived, and one small bag with all his clothes, photos, and his wand.
He had everything dear to him in the world and he wasn't coming back to London, not as far as he knew. It was time to begin again, to live again, just like she had. Hermione hadn't let herself die with Harry. She had cried her tears and began again. She had held Ron's hand at the funeral, and then softly announced her decision to leave Britain. Ron hadn't understood her then, although he did now. He knew that every moment she spent with her father was spent in agony, as he was now blind, blinded by some spell the muggle doctors couldn't fix and that the healers couldn't un-do. He knew that every moment she had spent in the empty house without her mother had been marked with utter confusion and loss.
Ron knew how she felt every time he peered into Ginny's room and saw her gone, it collecting dust. How he felt when he saw the deep sadness in his mother's eyes and heard the tiredness in his father's voice. He knew what the loss was like when he woke up in his room in Diagon Alley and saw Fred in the next bed over and George no where to be found. Never to be found.
He knew how much they'd sacrificed in the war.
But he didn't know if they could ever get any of it back.
~~~ TBC!
~Minja