Chapter 3

His finger glowed like windswept embers, and pressing it to the center of his chest, he etched into his perfectly pallid skin a fresh wound. He then turned to her and pressed the same smoldering digit into her own chest. Their eyes were locked in this exchange of hearts, and unbidden teardrops slid down to seal the silent promise.


Hermione Granger woke with a start. Blinking, she realized that she wasn't really crying and that there really was no need to blink back tears; but in truth, she had been crying, just last night in fact, and in reality, years before as well. A hand unsteadily grasped her dress, pressing against the center of her chest, and her fingers absentmindedly traced the scar beneath her clothes. Her mind raced back to the dream, and with a sudden transformation from startled to sad, Hermione realized that the dream was not a dream but instead, a memory. This time, she did blink, not to rid of tears but to wipe away the image of mercurial eyes and platinum hair. Emotions were running rampart this morning because as soon as she turned from startled to sad and from sad to nostalgic, Hermione ran into guilt. The events of last night crashed into her memory, and she would have collapsed back into a bed of tears if not for a certain savior.

"Hermione?" Ginny called out hesitantly from behind the door.

"Ginny?"

Sliding into the room, Ginny tried not to grimace at her best friend's disheveled appearance. Smudged eyeliner accompanied running mascara, and Hermione's pale skin was seemed to look thinner and thinner.

"Here," she said, passing a cup to her. "It's a homemade potion my mother used to make for me whenever I had a crisis—basically some pepper-up mixed with other things." She waved absently, "But I kept the base as your green tea! Mum would usually add it to hot cocoa for me..."

She was trying so hard. "Thank you," Hermione said. "And thank you for...for..." Despite her faltering, she knew what she was thankful for: her friendship, her support, her presence with her right now—

"For not being angry with you?" Ginny smiled warmly. "Don't worry, Mione. It would take more than just a dumped brother to separate us."

A dumped brother. It was a crude phrase that resounded in both of their minds, and even though the colloquialism was an attempt to lighten the situation, both girls knew that reality wasn't meant to be taken lightly. 'But he's my brother,' Ginny conceded. Was there a line of responsibility drawn between family and friends? Does blood ultimately decide which side should be taken? Ginny wasn't sure. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be sure. While family ties were strong because of blood, friendships were strong because of choice; blood bonded her to protect Ron, but Ginny chose to protect Hermione.

"Mione…I know how serious this is. I love you both, and I'd do anything I can to keep both of you from getting hurt."

"Oh, Ginny...Thank you." A small smile crept onto Hermione's lips, telling Ginny that at she was doing at least something right. Something in the back of her mind tingled, however, suggesting that there was still a missing piece to this catastrophe. Ginny thought back to her brother's conversations with Harry, all the assurances they gave each other, the time when Ron asked her for insight. She remembered Hermione hanging onto him, remembered the way an impromptu promise ring had settled so easily on her finger. It didn't make sense. There was nothing but good memories in their history, and yet, somehow, it still all came to this. What was she missing?

As she watched her friend sip tea, Ginny wondered if she should ask or if she should wait until Hermione said something.

"And Ginny?" her friend began, "Thank you for not asking why."

Well that answered her question. Will she ever understand why Hermione said no?

"I mean, you certainly deserve an explanation. All of you do. I—I'm just not up to it now, I guess."

Nodding, Ginny tried to push back her curiosity and frustration and assured her, "I understand, Mione. We'll wait for you." She gave a smile that she hoped looked more sincere than irked. She could wait, but she also knew that the only way to mend things was to start with problem. And right now, the problem was the only unknown.

-=-

"Harry. Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"..."

"Harry. Please tell me I am not gracing the cover of The Daily Prophet."

"..."

"Harry. Please tell me this article isn't about Hermione rejecting me."

"..."

"Harry! Say something, you bloody mute!"

"Uh..."

"Oh, Merlin. My Auror career! My Quidditch career!"

"Ron, you don't have a—"

"My right-after-this-damn-war-ends Quidditch career, then! Bloody damn, Harry! How the hell did people—"

"I'm sorry, Ron! People talk! Famous people have public lives! God knows how much I loathe it too..."

Ron looked at his best friend with newfound sympathy. They knew all too well how much trash was being thrown at the Boy-Who-Lived-But-Is-Still-Struggling-With-A-Nine-Year-War.

They sighed. "Well, I guess I should get it over with," Ron grimaced. "There are probably millions of cameras already flashing outside that door." "Gee, Ron. Even without the Quidditch fan club, I think you've got the center-stage act down already," Harry laughed, trying to find light in the situation. His face immediately became serious, though, as he said, "I think it's time we visit Mione."

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head, not in refusal, but in hopes of a clarity. Last night, the two boys had talked for hours, reminiscing about the past, attempting to joke around, and trying to understand the great girl enigma. They knew that it wasn't about getting her back as much as it was about getting everything back. In the end, Ron chose friendship over ex-relationship, and Harry wanted to do everything he could to make things right again.

He sighed and nodded, Gryffindor courage manifesting into two words.

"Let's go."

-=-

Friday evening was a showstopper for diners at the world renown restaurant La Terazza. Auror Ronald Weasley was seen proposing to muggle entrepreneur Hermione Granger...
...
The evening ended, however, with a remaining bachelor and an untouched diamond. Ms. Granger was reported to have returned to her flat in tears.
(continue on E2)


A wave of a wand had the offending newspaper burned, and as the figure turned to face the city beneath his tower, his fingers tapped a quiet heartbeat in the center of his chest.