The celebrations had grown stale, the drinking excessive and the violence unnecessary.
They were starting to become like them. For over a month, he walked around in a flurry of emotions listening carefully when Blaise came to their meetings. He hung onto every word of his former rival hoping for any news as to Hermione's well being.
She was all he had left.
When Blaise relayed Bellatrix's demise the room erupted in cheers, Ron snuck out the back unaware that a pair of dark brown eyes watched him. Kingsely too had his reservations and at the start of the singing made his exit as well.
The others drank into the early morning with Neville only reining in the group a little after dawn. Many times in the past weeks he wanted to scream to act out his anger at having lost the two people he loved. But he didn't want to reveal his conflicting emotions regarding Hermione or the affection he held for Bellatrix.
He was grieving the loss and people would judge, especially now.
Ron looked around the table his gaze shifting from the former death eaters, to classmates, and reformed neutrals. Neville stood raising his hand before speaking; quietly Ron fell into the shadows and as the young man began to recount the group's victories he slipped from the room and up the small uneven staircase.
On the third level he entered his room a small broom closet he had extended with a few charms. The space was very similar to the one he shared with Bellatrix and the confinement along with the bare necessities of the room reminded him of their time together.
He sat Indian style on the rug under the window and let his mind wonder.
Ron closed his eyes as he recalled the aroma of her skin and the softness of it as he ran his fingers over the small scars on her upper back.
"Don't," she whispered softly as his hand ghosted over the longer scar that ran transverse halfway across her lower back and partially around her left hip. She rolled over her deep brown orbs fixed on his.
"Why?" he asked pulling her closer.
"Because, I said so," she grinned.
"So, I'm supposed to do what you say?" he stated in between the soft kisses he placed on her lips.
Her laugh was deep hearty and she couldn't recall a time she had been happy but pushed him away gently.
"Stop."
Ron was confused. She moved to get up but Ron reached out wrapping his arms around her.
"Love, tell me what's wrong."
The older witch turned slightly and he could see that her cheeks were damp.
"Bella?" He whispered against her forehead and he held her closer.
"This can't, it won't last," she whispered as she clung to him.
"Why?"
"I'm old enough to be your mother. Does that bother you?" She pulled herself from his grasp and sat up the blanket covering her chest as she stared down at him eyes red.
He stared at her for a moment and truly thought on the question his reply was simple, "no."
"Does it brother you that I'm young enough to be your son?" It was his turn to worry as she regarded him for several seconds.
"No."
He grinned, "see it doesn't matter to either one of us."
She didn't share his optimism, "this won't last. It can't."
"Yes, it can," he scooted over closing the gap between them, "with Voldemort occupied we could leave this chaos behind, be happy. Me and you. I've always wanted to go to the colonies."
She giggled, he noted the sadness in her features as she roughly pushed him away. This time she stood allowing the sheet to fall from her body. She hurriedly gathered her clothes a small sob escaping her.
He stood confused, "Bella, what's wrong?"
Bellatrix held the clothes to her chest as she was halfway to the door.
"Nothing is wrong, that's the problem. I don't deserve to be happy Ron. I am not a good person never have been."
"No, you deserve happiness, you won't let yourself be. The Dark Lord has moved on you have acknowledged that many times, you need to let it go. It wasn't your fault you were under the lies of a madman. Bella, it wasn't your fault, not all of it anyway."
He was at the point of begging; Ron wanted his lover to see reason and the young man thought he had won when her shoulders dropped and she turned to face him.
"No, it is my fault and no Ronald as much as my heart wants to go with you I can't. I wouldn't be any good for you. You can't give me what I want, what I need."
Ron sat on the bed defeated, "what's that?"
She regarded him a moment before responding, "revenge."
Bellatrix left her young lover calling after her.
A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts and he would have been angry if it had been anyone other than Kingsley.
"Dinner is ready."
Ron rolled his eyes, "so I take it another round of whiskey and cake for everybody then," he stated sarcastically.
Kingsley sighed entering the small room and closing the door behind hime, "I understand your reluctance with all of this," he sat on the small stool across from Ron, "I know you have reservations."
Ron sighed, "yeah, that's putting it lightly."
"I know it's tough Ron, Hermione is...was our friend but everything has changed. I think they drink to forget. Somewhere along the way lines got blurred and the mission changed. It's no longer about taking down a tyrant everyone's out to settle personal vendettas. I was hoping Neville would put an end to it and focus everyone back to the main goal but," he trailed off.
"You've fought this type of war before Kingsley. We're becoming them aren't we? Like before?"
The older wizard regarded the red head for a moment. He avoided the question afraid to voice his thoughts and observations out loud, "you cared about her?"
Ron bit his bottom lip, "we were on the run together for months."
"Not Hermione. Her."
Ron looked at Kingsley forgetting to hide the shock on his face. The bald man chuckled.
"I know that feeling, I know the look. Forbidden love. How you held on to every word Blaise said about her death you have to pay attention to see it but I know what that's like. Loving someone you're not supposed to; as for your question, it's getting harder to distinguish between us and them."
Kingsley stood before Ron could probe further.
"I'll make your excuses and have a house elf bring up a plate."
He left the room.
The first time he had seen her since that night she mumbled his name. It was a whisper that had given him a renewed sense of hope. It was confimation that she remembered and held the same love for him.
The evidence was thin at best but it was something. Now, with her being awake he had a second chance to claim the young woman for his own.
He returned to the manor on an emotional high. As he stepped through the fireplace he was overcome with the smell of polish. He knew it was her, he had strictly forbade the house elves from using the products. The scent of peppermint oil stung his nostrils causing a slight throbbing in his left temple.
Lucius summoned an elf demanding to know the whereabouts of his wife. They directed him to the second-floor and he climbed the stairs noting the shine of the banister.
He entered the library to find her sitting on the sofa deep in thought fingering the silver chain ending in a small locket around her neck.
He often found her like this, lost in thought, worried, holding the necklace. Lucius knew it was a portkey, his wife's contingency plan in case there was retribution for the sins and lunacy of her sister.
She had a right to worry. They all did.
He sent Draco away that same night as a precaution. In his weakened state, he doubt his son would have been able to effectively use a portkey.
Lucius also made arrangements activating his own in the event that he needed to make his escape as well.
For weeks, he had waited the portkey always within in his grasp; many nights he and Narcissa sat in silence the fear of death endearing them to one another.
"Narcissa," he whispered her name.
She seemed momentarily startled as she looked up at him. Narcissa relaxed and moved to stand but sank back into the cushion when he put his hand up halting her movement.
"Don't. How are you?" He asked joining her on the small sofa careful to leave several inches between them.
She sighed placing her hand delicately in her lap.
"I don't know how to answer that, Lucius. She…I didn't think Bellatrix was capable of such. It's been what over a month and I am still worried as if it just happened."
He chuckled, the cynic in him couldn't let his wife's lie slide.
"Really, Bellatrix? If you think your sister wouldn't do something like that then you're naïve. And one thing I know about you Narcissa is that you have never been naïve."
She regarded him for a moment. Temporarily she became angry but he made the statement with no malice and she let her shoulders fall. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, the constant fear they would have to pay for the deed of her sister had left her tired. She was too drained to taut her husband and from the way he had fell into the sofa she could tell he was just as exhausted.
"Lucius?"
She reached for his hand.
"Are you tired? Does this ever get old?" she gestured into the room.
He placed his other hand on top of hers angling his body towards her.
He furrowed his brow in confusion.
"The fear, the lies, Lucius. The constant walking on egg shells. You would think with victory we would be as we once were. I am more afraid now than when the Order was around. Serving him has destroyed you over the years and don't say it hasn't."
She held up her finger stopping his protest.
Lucius studied her and he could see that she was sincere. He looked away.
"Yes, it's exhausting. Serving the Dark Lord has become…a strain." He looked back at her. Her eyes had grown watery, and a sadness overcame him. He hadn't seen her like this in years and it had been ages since they hadn't been at war with one another.
He closed his eyes as he squeezed her hand; a piece of him still loved her and would always hold some affection but it was nothing akin to what he felt for Hermione.
"Why didn't you stop? We could have left went to Scotland, something." She slid closer.
"It wasn't that simple, Narcissa, never has been not with him."
She placed her free hand on the side of face and caressed his cheek.
"I wish Lucius," she trailed off. "I don't know what I wish for; I'm glad the mud-, Hermione didn't die. That would have been catastrophic." She sighed her hand falling to her lap.
He had no reply but secretly agreed, and the two sat in silence hands intertwined.