The Romanticism of Simplicity
Chapter Four
As the day went on, reports began to come in from all over England of strange groups of witches and wizards reaking havock. They had yet to discover the reasoning behind the attacks or what they were calling themselves. The only thing they knew for sure was that, somehow, it had something to do with Voldemort, no matter how much Fudge wanted to deny it.
That night, after finishing up dinner, Gemma, Hermione, Ron and Harry were sitting around Gemma's crackling fireplace, discussing the events of early that morning.
"Did you recognize anyone?" Harry asked her, taking a long swig of mulberry wine to calm his nerves.
She nodded, keeping her eyes focused on her coffee. "An old friend of mine."
"Who was it?"
"Ty Morrow." Saying the name out loud gave her chills.
"Morrow...Morrow..." The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Ty Morrow?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled. "Didn't you two..."
"Yeah."
"Didn't you two what?" Ron questioned, looking quickly from Gemma to Hermione,
Gemma gave up on the coffee and stood up, walking towards the dining room to avoid their stares.
"It was a long time ago," she explained, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to melt the ice that had apparantly settled in the pit of her stomach. "He was different then."
"Where do I know that name from?" Harry pondered, turning to Hermione.
"He went to Hogwart's," she stated. Harry shrugged so she added "Chaser for Hufflepuff."
"Oooohhhh! Of course!"
Ron, who was now the only person out of the know, followed Gemma.
"Do I know this guy?"
"Probably," she sighed. "He worked at the Ministry for about a year after training."
He thought long and hard, back to his first year at the Ministry, back to all the other aurors he had come across, but nothing clicked.
"I still can't remember him," he exclaimed.
"It doesn't matter," she shook. "He's no one."
He examined her pained expression. "What went on between the you two?"
Seeing Ty again had had a stronger effect on her than she would have liked. All day, she had been struggling with trying to wipe his memory out of her mind, a feat that had nearly been impossible the first time and which showed no sign of easing up the second time.
"Nothing worth talking about," Gemma assured him, picking up her cape and turning back to Hermione and Harry. "You guys can stay if you want, but I'm calling it a night."
They nodded.
"'Night," she said, mustering up as much of a grin as she could for Ron's sake and then pecking him lightly on the lips (the nick on hers was still rather sore). "I'll see you in the morning."
He glanced over at Hermione, who was obviously not going to tell him anything, and resolved to try and get a little more out of Gemma.
She had slipped off her robes and cardigan and was working on the buttons on her shirt when Ron came through the door, closing it behind himself.
"Are you all right?" he pondered, sitting on the foot of the bed.
"I'm fine," she lied, sliding off her shirt and pulling on the one Ron had let her borrow, bothering only with one button in the middle and then proceeding to unzip her jeans and kick them off.
"Give me some credit Gemma," he contorted, watching her fold up her clothes. "I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you."
"I'm fine," she continued. "Really."
She bent to pick up her jeans, but had to stop half way because of the pain in her side from a rogue spell that had plowed into her gut.
Ron took over, rolling back the sheets and setting her down on the bed.
"I'm staying with you tonight," he told her, buttoning up the rest of the shirt.
"You don't have to."
"You shouldn't be by yourself like this."
When he was finished with the buttons, Gemma took his hands and pulled him down next to her, savoring the heat from his body.
"Why won't you tell me?" Ron asked.
"It's a bad story," she answered, letting the soft thumping of his heart ease her into sleep. "It's not worth telling."
"Did he do something to you?"
"Yes...and no."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I was young. I didn't know what I was doing."
"How young?"
"Seventeen."
'Seventeen', he thought. 'Seventh year'. "How old was he?"
"Eighteen." She pictured a young Ty, sitting under a tree by the lake at Hogwart's. He had been such a good friend.
"Gemma?"
"Yes?" She was surprised to feel a lump rise up in her throat as she spoke. Thinking about him was never a good thing.
He heard the slight crack in her voice, but pressed on. "Were you together?"
"He wanted to be."
"But you didn't?"
"I didn't know."
"Did you two," he paused, unsure if he even wanted to know. "Did you sleep together?"
A few unwelcome tears trickled down her face onto his shirt. "Once."
"Did you love him?"
"No," a few more tears tumbled after.
"Well...why..."
"James had left and I..." she closed her eyes in an attempt to stop her crying.
"What?"
"I was lonely," she whispered, suddenly feeling very cold again. "It was my first time."
Ron tried to imagine what would have happened if he had been the one there for her that day. "What happened after that?"
"He told me he loved me...I didn't say it back."
"What did he do?"
"He avoided me. We never spoke again, until this morning."
Her tears were streaming freely now and Ron could feel them starting to seep through the fabric of his shirt. "What did he say?"
"He's changed. I barely recognized him."
"But he knew you?"
"Yes."
He couldn't bring himself to ask her anything else so he just got up, got undressed and slid in next to her under the covers.
As he rubbed away her chills, he kicked himself for never getting up the nerve to say how he felt about her in school. Being with her could have saved them both from so much unnecessary heartache that it made him sick. He couldn't stand the fact that they could have had what they have now back then, when they needed it most.
Chapter Four
As the day went on, reports began to come in from all over England of strange groups of witches and wizards reaking havock. They had yet to discover the reasoning behind the attacks or what they were calling themselves. The only thing they knew for sure was that, somehow, it had something to do with Voldemort, no matter how much Fudge wanted to deny it.
That night, after finishing up dinner, Gemma, Hermione, Ron and Harry were sitting around Gemma's crackling fireplace, discussing the events of early that morning.
"Did you recognize anyone?" Harry asked her, taking a long swig of mulberry wine to calm his nerves.
She nodded, keeping her eyes focused on her coffee. "An old friend of mine."
"Who was it?"
"Ty Morrow." Saying the name out loud gave her chills.
"Morrow...Morrow..." The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Ty Morrow?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled. "Didn't you two..."
"Yeah."
"Didn't you two what?" Ron questioned, looking quickly from Gemma to Hermione,
Gemma gave up on the coffee and stood up, walking towards the dining room to avoid their stares.
"It was a long time ago," she explained, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to melt the ice that had apparantly settled in the pit of her stomach. "He was different then."
"Where do I know that name from?" Harry pondered, turning to Hermione.
"He went to Hogwart's," she stated. Harry shrugged so she added "Chaser for Hufflepuff."
"Oooohhhh! Of course!"
Ron, who was now the only person out of the know, followed Gemma.
"Do I know this guy?"
"Probably," she sighed. "He worked at the Ministry for about a year after training."
He thought long and hard, back to his first year at the Ministry, back to all the other aurors he had come across, but nothing clicked.
"I still can't remember him," he exclaimed.
"It doesn't matter," she shook. "He's no one."
He examined her pained expression. "What went on between the you two?"
Seeing Ty again had had a stronger effect on her than she would have liked. All day, she had been struggling with trying to wipe his memory out of her mind, a feat that had nearly been impossible the first time and which showed no sign of easing up the second time.
"Nothing worth talking about," Gemma assured him, picking up her cape and turning back to Hermione and Harry. "You guys can stay if you want, but I'm calling it a night."
They nodded.
"'Night," she said, mustering up as much of a grin as she could for Ron's sake and then pecking him lightly on the lips (the nick on hers was still rather sore). "I'll see you in the morning."
He glanced over at Hermione, who was obviously not going to tell him anything, and resolved to try and get a little more out of Gemma.
She had slipped off her robes and cardigan and was working on the buttons on her shirt when Ron came through the door, closing it behind himself.
"Are you all right?" he pondered, sitting on the foot of the bed.
"I'm fine," she lied, sliding off her shirt and pulling on the one Ron had let her borrow, bothering only with one button in the middle and then proceeding to unzip her jeans and kick them off.
"Give me some credit Gemma," he contorted, watching her fold up her clothes. "I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you."
"I'm fine," she continued. "Really."
She bent to pick up her jeans, but had to stop half way because of the pain in her side from a rogue spell that had plowed into her gut.
Ron took over, rolling back the sheets and setting her down on the bed.
"I'm staying with you tonight," he told her, buttoning up the rest of the shirt.
"You don't have to."
"You shouldn't be by yourself like this."
When he was finished with the buttons, Gemma took his hands and pulled him down next to her, savoring the heat from his body.
"Why won't you tell me?" Ron asked.
"It's a bad story," she answered, letting the soft thumping of his heart ease her into sleep. "It's not worth telling."
"Did he do something to you?"
"Yes...and no."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I was young. I didn't know what I was doing."
"How young?"
"Seventeen."
'Seventeen', he thought. 'Seventh year'. "How old was he?"
"Eighteen." She pictured a young Ty, sitting under a tree by the lake at Hogwart's. He had been such a good friend.
"Gemma?"
"Yes?" She was surprised to feel a lump rise up in her throat as she spoke. Thinking about him was never a good thing.
He heard the slight crack in her voice, but pressed on. "Were you together?"
"He wanted to be."
"But you didn't?"
"I didn't know."
"Did you two," he paused, unsure if he even wanted to know. "Did you sleep together?"
A few unwelcome tears trickled down her face onto his shirt. "Once."
"Did you love him?"
"No," a few more tears tumbled after.
"Well...why..."
"James had left and I..." she closed her eyes in an attempt to stop her crying.
"What?"
"I was lonely," she whispered, suddenly feeling very cold again. "It was my first time."
Ron tried to imagine what would have happened if he had been the one there for her that day. "What happened after that?"
"He told me he loved me...I didn't say it back."
"What did he do?"
"He avoided me. We never spoke again, until this morning."
Her tears were streaming freely now and Ron could feel them starting to seep through the fabric of his shirt. "What did he say?"
"He's changed. I barely recognized him."
"But he knew you?"
"Yes."
He couldn't bring himself to ask her anything else so he just got up, got undressed and slid in next to her under the covers.
As he rubbed away her chills, he kicked himself for never getting up the nerve to say how he felt about her in school. Being with her could have saved them both from so much unnecessary heartache that it made him sick. He couldn't stand the fact that they could have had what they have now back then, when they needed it most.