Waiting For You
Thanks to all who reviewed. Avanell – I agree, Ron was probably kicking himself for not saying anything…Jen – really? JKR said Krum returns in 7? I'm excited now! Shortie – I have finished Invisible Scars, you can check it out whenever and please, let me know what you think. WeaselbyBaby – I see Ron and Krum as opposites as well, and I really think that a girl needs both kinds of men in her life from time to time…Tamsin – I never write reviews either unless I love the story, so your words honor me. Freelancer – grammar and spelling are two pet peeves of mine. The second I see a story riddled with mistakes, I press the back button, never to return. They completely ruin the story…and to my trio of faithfuls (minus paulalou…I missed your review!) Jenulus, AngelicOne, Kelly Marie (don't be mad at me – the kiss had to happen for later plot development) thanks for sticking with me.
I always forget the disclaimer, so here goes. I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, maybe a few DVD's and a Tivo, but other than that, I work for the man!
On with the show…
Chapter 3 – A Consuming Emptiness
There was a moment, a very long time ago, when Ron had come face to face with death. Bill had just finished his second year at Hogwarts and was home for the summer vacation. Early one morning, Ron had awoken to a quiet house and had gotten out of bed in search of a morning biscuit. When he'd reached the kitchen, he saw Bill's school owl hovering wearily above the table. Ron watched silently as the bird flapped its wings too slowly to keep it aloft, and jumped in surprise when it dropped out of the air onto the table right in front of him.
Ron had shuffled up to the table, and as any four year old would, asked the bird if it was sleeping. Getting no response, he pulled out a chair and kept his eyes trained on the owl waiting for it to move once more. He even poked it a few times, nudged it, talked to it, but still nothing. Ron hadn't understood then – that death was permanent and there was no coming back to life no matter how much the people surrounding you willed it to be so.
Fifteen years later, it seemed as if he had come face to face with death once more. This time, however, it was his own.
He felt as if there were a hundred hands pulling at each muscle, every bone, waiting for something to crack or tear. He didn't even have the strength to cry out – but he liked to think that he wouldn't have, regardless. There was blood dripping from the deep gashes at his wrists, which were held tightly against the cold stone wall with burning ropes. His head continuously dropped forward onto his chest, but only long enough to grant him a quick reprieve from having to stare into Lucius Malfoy's piercing eyes before another curse was cast his way.
"CRUCIO!" Lucius yelled again, sending a jet of red sparks at Ron's immobile body. The pain was so intense that for a moment, he thought he would blissfully pass out and cease to feel anything. The moment passed, however, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the invisible hands that had been tearing at him for what seemed like an eternity traveled into his mind and began pulling that apart as well.
He would welcome death. He knew that now.
For months – actually, for years – he had been afraid of death…it came with being Harry's best mate. The idea that some actually preferred death had always seemed like such a preposterous notion to him. Why would someone want to die when they could live?
Now, he understood. Death would be so much better than this.
"CRUCIO!"
His body gave a violent jerk, causing the ropes to cut even further into his skin. His head slammed back against the stone, and if it hadn't split open, it would be a miracle. His lungs fought to fill with air, but they felt as if they were being squeezed in a vice grip. He tried focusing on something…anything that would make this intolerable pain mask itself, if even for a second.
In the end, the decision was made for him. Lucius lowered his wand and slowly stepped toward him, his eyes glinting from the dim light cast by the wall torches.
"I will kill you," he drawled, his voice cold and even. "It's only a matter of how much I wish to see you suffer first."
Ron thought of a million things he wanted to yell back at the vile man standing before him, but he couldn't even conjure up the strength to lift his head. All he could do was listen as Lucius taunted and threatened to his heart's content.
"You know, Weasley, I always assumed I would kill your father first. Perhaps this works in my favor, though. When word gets to him that his youngest son is dead, he'll be a shell of a man…easier for me to dispose of…" Lucius sneered, his hot breath close to Ron's ear. Ron made an attempt to pull his arms out of their restraints, to wipe that ugly smirk off Lucius' face, but his wrists burned too badly for him to make any progress.
"Your simpering bag of a mother will be crushed, obviously," Lucius continued, the cruelty in his tone almost a palpable thing. "There might not even be any reason to kill her. Your brothers will have to be disposed of, surely, since they'll most likely have delusions of seeking revenge. And your sister, of course," he said, stepping even closer if possible. "She'll be allowed to live as well. A long, tortured life without her great love, her filthy muggle-born best friend, her brothers…the Weasley family will fall to pieces, as they should have years ago when they made the decision to become blood traitors."
Ron's vision swam before his eyes, his head lolling from side to side on his shoulders. He knew Lucius was only trying to get inside his head, to torture him more with his words than with the Cruciatus curse, but he couldn't keep the images away. Somehow he knew that if Lucius was given the chance, all of the things he'd said would come true.
He felt like vomiting, and wished for once that he would do so. Lucius was standing close enough that he wouldn't be able to escape Ron's aim.
"How does it feel?" Lucius continued, his voice dripping with maliciousness. "To know that right now, right this very moment, your closest friends are being murdered? My Lord must certainly have tired of torturing Potter by now, and is sending him to meet his parents." His eyes flashed sadistically as he put his hand around Ron's throat and held his head still against the stone. "And I'm sure my sister-in-law dispatched of that despicable little mudblood the second she had the opportunity. There's no need to dally with killing a girl who never deserved to hold a wand in the first place."
Ron's entire body felt as if it was being pulled in five different directions, but Lucius' last comment nearly destroyed him. If Harry and Hermione were dead…
He gathered up every last shred of strength he had left and spit into Lucius' twisted, evil face. The next second, his eyes rolled back into his head as Lucius tightened his hold on his throat, cutting off all promise of oxygen.
As he felt the darkness begin to consume him, the only thought spiraling through him was that he'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye to the people he loved. His parents, brothers, Ginny, Harry…Hermione…
The last of his breath was expelled from his body as he fixed an image of Hermione in his mind. Her lovely face was to be the last thing he'd see before he slid into nothingness.
"Release him, Lucius!"
From an immeasurable distance, Ron heard a voice that he'd never thought he'd hear again. At first, when Lucius' grip lessened and he felt sweet air filling his lungs again, he thought he'd been hearing things. But when he finally found the strength to open his eyes, he found himself looking at Snape's deadly glare.
"What for?" thundered Lucius, turning his spiteful eyes onto Snape. "Go find another of Potter's insufferable friends to kill. I heard they're all arriving by now."
"I said, let him go," Snape hissed, raising the wand at his side. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, so I suggest you do as you are told."
Lucius' eyes glinted dangerously, but his hand did slip from Ron's throat. "I knew it," he said quietly, spitting his words out as if they were poisonous to him. "You've been a traitor all this time, haven't you?"
Snape's lip curled as he glared straight through Lucius. "Never let it be said that you were a stupid man."
Lucius nodded slowly, then whipped around with alarming speed, his wand raised and poised to strike. Ron struggled to focus his eyes, not believing what he was seeing unfold right in front of him. Before Lucius' wand was even waist-level, Snape flicked his wrist and wordlessly sent an explosive jet of green light straight at Lucius' chest.
As he watched Lucius' lifeless body crumple unceremoniously to the floor, Ron's head swam dizzyingly. Snape was not supposed to be the good guy. He had killed Dumbledore…tortured the lot of them throughout their time at school…what was he playing at?
A second later, and he was falling forward onto the rough stone floor, throwing his hands in front of him before his face could connect with the ground. Snape crossed to him, pushing him up roughly so he was resting against the wall.
"I have no time or inclination to explain things to you, Weasley. It will have to be enough for you to know that I'm not the despicable, murdering villain you have all made me out to be," said Snape, flicking his wand quickly over Ron's wrists to heal them as best he could. "Now, where is Potter?"
Ron's head wouldn't obey him, and instead of shaking back and forth to indicate he didn't know where Harry had gone off to, it fell forward onto his chest as he leaned dangerously to the side. Snape shoved him upwards again, holding him against the wall with one hand.
"Focus!" he bellowed, his long hair falling into his face. "Do you know where he went?"
Ron swallowed painfully, finding enough of his voice to answer him. "I don't know. Lucius knocked me out from behind as I was running."
Snape swore darkly, then reached over and grabbed Lucius' wand. He shoved it into Ron's hand, then stood and glanced first down one corridor, then another. Looking back to Ron, he pinned him against the wall with his severe glare.
"Stay here. You are in no condition to play the hero, so don't even try. Lucius was right; the others will be arriving shortly. Wait for someone to come along, and get out of here," he said, barely waiting for his sentence to be finished before choosing the corridor to the left and sprinting into the darkness.
Ron was left in the middle of the stone passageway with Lucius' body sprawled inches from his feet. He couldn't take his gaze off of the open eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above them. It was odd, and mildly inappropriate, that the only thing that he could think of at this moment was that he'd be able to see thestrals the next time the occasion called for it.
He finally let his eyes slide shut as he rationalized with himself that he'd need every bit of strength he could muster to move sooner than later. He rested his head against the wall and allowed a hazy darkness to consume him, all thoughts rushing out of his mind except one.
He had to find his friends.
The next thing he was fully aware of was a stinging sensation in his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Hermione's face swimming in and out of focus.
"Ron! Don't close your eyes, Ron…WAKE UP!" she yelled, her voice sounding thick and very, very far away. He struggled to obey her, fighting with his first impulse to close his eyes and lapse back into the blissful darkness in which he knew no pain.
There it was again. A sharp sting in his cheek, and his eyes flew open once more. He saw her lower her hand, and realized she must have slapped him. It would have been funny to him if he could find the energy to laugh.
"That hurt," he said groggily, forcing his focus onto her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, but the determined glint in them was something with which Ron was very familiar. He wouldn't be passing out again on her watch.
"Oh, thank God," she whispered, cradling his face with one hand. The next thing Ron felt was her warm lips on his face – everywhere she could kiss him, she was. "I thought you were dead," she sobbed brokenly, her hand moving to stroke back the hair on his forehead.
"Still here," he managed, his throat burning from the effort it took to speak. She hugged him to her then as best as she could, holding him carefully as if she knew what he must have gone through. It was only when she released him that he noticed her left arm was hanging uselessly by her side and that there were large, bleeding gashes across her beautiful face.
"What happened?" he asked, trying to lift his hand to her face. She stopped its progress and held it tightly within her good hand. Her eyes took on a haunted look, silent tears spilling onto her cheeks.
"It's not important," she said, her voice shaking almost uncontrollably. "We need to focus on finding Harry now."
"I don't know where he is," Ron said, struggling to sit up. Hermione helped him right himself with her good arm, her face growing even paler as she did.
"Do you think you can stand?" she asked, her eyes traveling over his blood-soaked clothing with anxious eyes. "If anything, we need to move. It isn't safe here."
Ron nodded, a searing blaze of fire shooting through his head at the action. Still, he propped his hand against the wall behind him and took a steadying breath. Calling upon every last ounce of strength he possessed, he slowly pushed onto his knees, then his feet. He felt Hermione guiding him the whole way, and the second he was standing solidly on both feet, she put her good arm around his waist to anchor him.
"What did he do to you?" she questioned softly when he shuddered from the weight of her hand against the side of his ribs.
He looked over at her. "What did she do to you?"
There was a darkness, a lifelessness in Hermione's eyes that had never been there before. It was as if Bellatrix had stolen something from Hermione that she would never be able to get back.
Neither got the chance to answer – for in the next instant, Neville came rushing down the corridor toward them.
"Are you two alright?" he asked breathlessly, his eyes scanning over them quickly, then taking in Lucius' dead body lying at their feet. "Is that…is that Malfoy's father?"
Ron nodded, feeling some of his strength returning to him. If Neville was here, then that meant reinforcements were on their way. Now all they had to do was find Harry.
As if reading his mind, Neville looked about him. "Where's Harry?"
"We don't know," answered Hermione. "We were just about to go look for him. Can you turn back and tell everyone where we are? We're going to need some help."
Neville's expression slid from one of concern to annoyance. "You two look half-dead, and you want me to go back? Take Ron and get out of here…I'll go find Harry."
"Neville, there isn't time to argue this –" started Hermione, but she was instantly cut off by Neville's intense gaze.
"You're right," he said forcefully. "Which is why I'm going ahead and you're going for help." He moved to stride past them, but Ron's hand shot out and grabbed his robes. Neville whipped around, jerking his robes out of Ron's loose grip.
"Look, it could have easily been me that Voldemort was after," he bellowed, surprising both Ron and Hermione into complete silence. "That's right. I know about the prophecy now, and although I think it was ruddy awful of the lot of you to keep it a secret, I understand why you did."
His shoulders straightened, and a look of fierce determination crossed his face. "But no matter how many people might think I'm rubbish at everything I do, I have to help Harry take Voldemort down. And that's exactly what I intend to do."
Hermione let go of Ron in her haste to jump in front of Neville, blocking his path. "Neville, think about this for a minute!" she said, her voice sounding high-pitched and frantic. "You have never faced him before…you have no idea how powerful he is –"
"And why is that?" Neville yelled back. "The three of you never let anyone else in on what you were doing. Did it ever occur to you that I have as much right to face Voldemort as Harry does?" His eyes blazed steadily, not a trace of his old insecurities and hesitancy to be found in his even gaze.
"My parents might not be buried, but they've been dead for a long time," he said, his voice now quiet in the darkness surrounding them. "You have no right to stop me from doing this."
Hermione made a choking noise in her throat as Neville pushed past her and began running down the same corridor Ron had seen Snape take earlier. She turned to Ron and grabbed his arm tightly, despite the pain she knew he was in.
"NEVILLE!" Ron yelled after him, stumbling a bit against Hermione. "NEVILLE, COME BACK!"
Hermione's grip tightened on his arm, making him wince, but bringing him to life all the same. The pain he'd felt as he'd endured the Cruciatus curse was nothing compared to the terrified, wild look in Hermione's eyes.
"Come on," he said, grabbing her good hand and beginning to move as quickly as he could down the corridor after Neville.
"Ron, you're in no shape –" she began, but he cut her off.
"Neither are you, but we have to," he said, focusing all of his energy on putting one foot in front of the other in a long succession. With time, he found more of his footing, and was even able to quicken his pace. Hermione was right by his side, looking quickly down the corridors that forked off of the main one they were now jogging down.
"I don't see him," she said desperately, cradling her arm close to her side to keep it from jostling about. "They could be anywhere…"
As soon as the words left her mouth, they heard a tremendous crash from somewhere to their right. They sprinted down the torch-lit corridor and saw a door partly opened halfway down the hall. Ron's feet were now moving of their own accord, and although every muscle in his body ached beyond belief, it was as if something inside had taken over and pushed the pain far enough away for him to function.
They reached the doorway, and from the moment Ron forced the heavy wood completely open, he knew that his life would never be the same.
Time slowed down to the merest fractions of seconds. Ron felt as if he was watching himself and the events unfold from outside himself. Their footsteps had barely crossed the threshold of the door when he saw Neville's body fly across the room, slamming into a stone pillar and crumple into a heap on the floor. Mere inches from where he landed lay Snape, his motionless head turned toward the doorway, his eyes open but beyond seeing anything ever again.
Harry yelled out then, drawing Ron's attention away from Neville and Snape, and onto Voldemort himself. Ron's gaze clashed with Voldemort's for an eternity, in which he pulled Hermione in back of him and grabbed for Lucius' wand at the same time.
He heard Harry yell out again, and time began to speed up once more. The next few moments happened so fast that in years to come, Ron would never be able to recall it properly.
He raised his wand and aimed it at Voldemort, at the same time feeling Hermione ducking around him with her own wand drawn. Harry, he could see, was running at Voldemort from the side, his wand raised into the air as well.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The room exploded with multiple beams of green light, the force of the spells shattering the pillars around them. Ron saw Harry hit the floor through the green haze that had saturated the room, and turned in time to see Hermione fall to the ground at his side. A large stone from the pillar grazed his shoulder, and he looked up to see one of the structures falling down around them.
He dropped to the floor beside Hermione, covering her body with his own. He thought he heard voices screaming through the chaos and rubble, but in the next instant, he felt something heavy crash down on the back of his head, and he finally allowed his body to drift into the darkness it had been longing to go toward all night.
The cold, damp November air moved into Ron's lungs and made his ribs hurt despite the intensive healing he'd had to go through for the last week. His mother had raised a dozen objections to his leaving the hospital, but in the end, she'd relented because she knew it was no use to try and keep him away.
He walked slowly past the grey stones sticking out of the dying grass, his eyes fixed on his point of destination. With every step he took, his chest constricted even more tightly, making it very hard to breathe properly. His mother had her arm securely around his, holding him close to her body as if she could transfer her strength to him. He felt comforted by her presence in a way he'd never appreciated before, and he squeezed her hand lightly as they continued their journey.
Just ahead of him, Harry was walking with Ginny. Their hands were tightly clasped between them, and Ginny kept looking at Harry out of the corner of her eye as if he was going to disappear right in front of her.
"The Grangers are here," his father said, pointing off in the visible distance.
Ron looked up instantly and saw Hermione standing with her mother and father, looking utterly lost and alone despite the close proximity of her parents.
"Come on, I'll go over with you," said his father gently. "I want to talk to Helen and Thomas for a moment." Ron nodded, releasing his mother's arm and following his father over to where the Grangers stood.
Hermione raised her gaze from the ground at the sound of their footsteps getting closer, and Ron recoiled at the lifeless look in her usually alert eyes. He went immediately to her, saying a quick hello to her parents before his father took them off to the side.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes moving slowly over her, searching for any outward injury the healers may have missed.
"Fine," she said, and even her tone sounded lifeless and hollow. She wrapped her arms around herself and refused to meet his eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied, knowing full well that neither of them was fine. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a small stone. "Mum didn't want me out of bed this soon, but – well, you know."
"Yeah," she said, shuddering slightly as the wind kicked up. Her hair whipped about her face, but she didn't even bother pushing it away. It was like she wanted it to cover her completely, hiding things from her view that she just didn't want to see.
They stood there in complete silence for a long time. Ron had absolutely no idea what to say to her – especially today of all days. She had not been herself since waking up next to him in the hospital, retreating further and further into herself every day they were there.
Ron's father came back over with Hermione's parents then, and Mr. Granger put his arm around his daughter's shoulders.
"I think they're ready," he told her quietly, pulling her up against his side protectively.
Hermione nodded dully, finally meeting Ron's eyes for one quick moment before looking out over the expansive field. The moment was all it took, however, for Ron to realize that a little part of Hermione had died during the final battle.
If he was being honest with himself, a little part of himself had died as well.
"Come on, son," said his father, putting his hand on his shoulder. Ron nodded as well, walking slowly behind Hermione and her parents until they reached the small crowd of people gathered ahead of them. Ron stood next to Harry, and felt oddly comforted when Hermione moved to her mother's side so she could be next to him as well.
A tall man with a flowing, pointed beard stepped to the head of the crowd and quietly spoke with an old woman dressed all in black, a veil covering her face from view. The old woman nodded and the man turned to face the small crowd.
"Neville Longbottom was a beloved son, grandson, nephew and friend. It is in his honor that we gather here today, to share in our grief over losing one so young. However, it is with pride in our hearts that we remember him, for he gave us a most precious gift. He chose to live his life honorably and chivalrously, giving of himself until the end. It is with that in mind that I implore you to remember Neville as the caring young man he was, and live your lives fully in due respect to him."
Somewhere along the way, Ron's vision began to blur, unable to focus on anything that was happening before him. His throat ached painfully, and he found it impossible to swallow. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder again, and when he was finally able to blink fast enough to keep his tears back and see properly, he saw Ginny's arms go around Harry's waist, anchoring him when it looked as if he would spiral out of control.
As the man continued to speak, Ron looked to his other side and saw Hermione standing completely still, her face a frozen mask of tight control. She wasn't looking at the coffin or the old wizard who was speaking. In fact, it appeared as if her eyes weren't seeing anything at all.
His hand moved to hers of its own accord, clasping hers tightly within his grasp. He saw her lower lip quiver slightly, but she kept her gaze straight ahead. He could feel her fingers wrap more firmly around his hand, however, and he felt that at least it was something.
"Mrs. Augusta Longbottom and her family would like to thank you all for coming, and request that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to St. Mungo's Hospital in Neville's name."
Ron expelled a painful breath. His jaw clenched tightly as Neville's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. He could hear the old woman sobbing behind her veil, whom he now guessed was Neville's gran.
The guests began dispersing, walking off in several different directions. Only a few people remained behind, none speaking, as the dirt was filled in around Neville's coffin. He lost track of time as they stood there, sniffles being heard every so often as everyone paid their last respects. Hermione's hand remained nestled in his, and although she didn't budge a muscle the entire time, Ron could tell that her mind was working doubly fast to process everything that was going on.
McGonagall nodded at them from across the grave, a representative of the Hogwarts staff. Since the school would be reopening within the month, the rest of the teachers were working hard to prepare for the arrival of the students. She crossed to Neville's grandmother, speaking in quiet, soft tones to her for a long moment before nodding once again at them and walking off into the distance herself.
Ron saw Neville's grandmother look in their direction, and as his parents walked over to the Grangers to speak with them, the older woman came striding toward them purposefully. She lifted the veil off her face as she approached, and Ron could almost feel as well as see the depth of grief she was feeling.
She came to a stop in front of the four of them, looking at each of them in turn. "I want to thank you all for being so good to my grandson," she said, her voice sounding as if she hadn't used it in days. Her skin looked as if it was stretched too thin over her bones, especially in her face where her cheeks appeared sunken and hollow. "He talked about you all the time, and it was very important to him to have you as friends."
Ginny made a small sound in her throat, and had to turn away quickly so no one would see her tears. Harry's body tensed at Ron's side, and Ron knew exactly what he was thinking. Neville had been so much better of a friend to them then they had been to him. Even throughout this last year, when they'd been in hiding and had to go without answering his letters for months at a time, he had never stopped writing them about news from home. He'd kept them connected to their lives while they couldn't be a part of them.
"We were lucky to have him as our friend," Harry said finally, his eyes downcast.
Neville's grandmother nodded slowly, looking down at her grandson's fresh grave. "He was a good boy, my Neville. I can't tell you what a comfort it is knowing that he wasn't alone when…" Her voice trailed off, and she sniffled suddenly, straightening her shoulders. "Thank you for coming today."
Ron could only nod at her as she turned to join the rest of her family. The lump in his throat that had been growing steadily since he got here was now constricting his air passage. Finding it hard to catch his breath, he turned away and saw Hermione staring blankly at the floral arrangement adorning Neville's grave.
"Hermione?" he questioned lightly. She was really beginning to scare him now, and although he knew that people felt grief in their own way, this reaction was so wildly different from her reaction to Dumbledore's death that he was having trouble recognizing her at all.
Her hand slowly pulled away from his, and he felt the coldness of the air replace the warmth she had provided.
"My parents are waiting," she said tonelessly, already starting to back away from them. Ron stepped forward and put a hand on her arm before she could retreat completely.
"Come by Godric's Hollow in a few days. I'm going to be staying with Harry for a while, and Ginny will probably be there as well," he said, trying to catch her gaze.
She avoided looking directly at him, and although Harry was voicing his agreement with Ron's plan, she didn't look at him either.
"Alright," she said quietly, moving away from Ron's hand before practically fleeing across the field toward her parents. Ron felt all of the life drain out of him as he watched her, looking incredibly small, get engulfed under her father's arm as they steered her toward their car parked along the side of the road.
When he turned toward his sister and Harry, he saw the same concern etched in their faces as they watched Hermione disappear, and knew that if something didn't give soon, they might lose her for good.
"Do you suppose she's going to ditch out on us?" Ginny asked, glancing at the clock above Harry's mantle for the millionth time that night. "She wouldn't do that…would she?"
"Normally I would say no, but with the way she's been lately, I don't know," said Harry, sinking further into the cushions next to Ginny. "You spoke to her yesterday, right?"
"Well, yes, but only for a minute. Dad couldn't get the telephone to work properly, and the reception was too bad to hear very much," she sighed.
Ron sat in the chair opposite the sofa, watching the two of them worry and fret over Hermione. He was reaching the limit of his patience and was afraid that he would do something foolish like apparate to Hermione's house and toss her over his shoulder.
It had been almost two weeks since Neville's funeral, and every letter he'd sent her about dinner had come back with an excuse as to why she couldn't make it. Finally, two days ago, she had replied with one word to his request.
Alright.
Alright. Things were most definitely not alright. She wouldn't talk to him, or Harry, or Ginny for that matter. Something was eating away at her and she wouldn't let any of them know how to help her.
Truth be told, it was becoming bloody annoying.
He wanted to be there for her; to be the best friend he'd always thought he was capable of being to her. He wanted to wait patiently until she was ready to open up to him about whatever was bothering her and he wanted to be a shoulder to cry on if she needed it.
At the same time, however, he wanted to throttle her. He wanted to shake her until she confessed what was wrong and he wanted to scream at her that she wasn't the only one suffering after the war. He knew he had to be careful, because given the opportunity – if history had taught him anything – he would probably be stupid enough to choose the latter option.
Sighing again, his own eyes traveled to the clock and watched as the minute hand slid past the time of her supposed arrival. Hermione was never late, and up until now, Ron had never thought her capable of bailing out on a commitment. Apparently, Ginny was thinking along the same lines, because she got up off the sofa and tossed her hair sharply over her shoulder.
"Well, I'm going to eat now, before everything gets cold," she said, crossing to the dining table. Harry shared a look with Ron, which clearly meant that it was better to have only one out of sorts female on their plate at a time. He got up and joined Ginny at the table, followed closely by a severely put-out Ron.
They ate in silence, none of them even looking toward the door throughout the entire meal. Ron pushed his food around his plate, trying to keep his temper under control. He wanted to throw something…he wanted to break something into a million little pieces so he wouldn't feel that he was the only thing falling apart.
They just didn't make complete sense without Hermione. Her absence was palpable, and with one look at his sister and Harry, he knew they felt the same way.
Ron tossed his napkin onto his half-eaten meal. "I'm going upstairs," he said without preamble, and without waiting for any kind of response from Harry or Ginny, he pushed away from the table and trudged up to his room.
This was maddening; this waiting for Hermione to regain some sense of herself. Never, in a million years, would she have ever kept them waiting without word before. She knew that they'd be worried about her, and she was always that thoughtful. When Hermione made promises, she kept them.
He threw himself down on his bed, reaching for the wizard's magazine on his nightstand. He supposed the only thing he could do right now was put her out of his mind until tomorrow, when he was thinking more clearly about how to handle his frustration with her and his irritation with himself. In the past, no matter how many arguments and fights they'd had, he'd always felt that he helped keep Hermione grounded. Whenever she got to uptight about school, or following an impossible set of personal rules, he'd swoop in and tell her she was mental. They'd row about it for a few days, but in the end, she'd always listen to him. She'd always take his advice.
Grumbling incoherently, Ron flipped the pages of his magazine without even taking a second to look at the pictures. He'd reached the end and turned it over to the beginning to start flipping again when he heard a soft rap at his door.
"What?" he called out testily, silently berating himself for letting his foul mood overtake his every thought.
"Can I come in?" his sister asked through the heavy oak door.
"Yeah," he replied, tossing the magazine onto the floor and pushing himself up into a sitting position. Ginny opened the door and he could tell by her expression that something was wrong.
"What is it?" he asked immediately, making room for her on the bed, which she sat on wearily.
"Hermione showed up," she said, looking down at her trainers. "She just walked in, no explanation, no excuses."
Ron sat up even straighter. Hermione was downstairs…
"And?" he pressed, disturbed by the hesitant look on his sister's face.
"And," Ginny continued, shuffling her feet a bit, "I might have gotten a bit short with her."
"How short?"
"I may have told her that it was insufferably rude to keep us waiting without getting word to us that she would be late," said Ginny, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.
Ron knew Ginny was waiting for him to take her to task for how she'd treated Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when he wanted to yell and scream at Hermione, himself.
"Well, she was late, and she should have sent word," he rationalized, shrugging.
Ginny looked up finally, surprise evident in her eyes. "So you don't think I was out of line?"
"No, I don't. I don't know what's going on with Hermione right now, but that's no reason for her to keep shutting us out like this," he said.
Ginny nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I don't want to press her too hard, but it's becoming impossible to know what to say to her. Harry tried talking to her a bit when she first came inside, but she would only nod and shake her head at his questions, and when they actually required some kind of response, she would mumble something short and then clam up."
"Is he still down there with her?" Ron asked.
Ginny nodded. "Before I threw my little tantrum and stormed out of the room, I saw her heading out back, and Harry followed her."
"You know, Gin, I kind of want to yell at her myself," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "Just to get her hacked off – hear her yell, or whatever…"
Ginny laughed quietly. "Well, if anyone can do it, you can."
Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the one thing he could do for her. He could be her outlet…the one person she could yell at, scream about, cry over, and have it be alright. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.
He and Ginny made their way downstairs again, and were both surprised to find Harry alone in the living room, staring moodily at the wall in front of him.
"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around for any sign of her.
Harry nodded his head toward the back door. "Outside still. She's acting so strange…I just don't know what to say to her anymore."
"Join the club," Ron muttered in frustration. He made up his mind swiftly, in one sure, clarifying moment. She wouldn't go home tonight until she'd told him what was wrong. He strode purposefully toward the backdoor, barely breaking stride when Harry called out to him.
"What are you going to do?"
"Whatever it takes," Ron replied, pushing the door open almost violently and stepping out into the cold darkness.
It took him a minute to find her in the extensive yard, but there she was – curled up on a bench overlooking the pond near the edge of the property. He walked over quickly, keeping his entire focus on doing exactly what he'd told Harry he'd do.
Whatever it takes.
"Nice of you to finally show," he said by way of greeting, watching her give a startled jump where she sat. "Too bad we'd already finished supper without you."
She met his gaze quickly before averting her eyes out toward the pond once more. "I got held up at home," she said tonelessly, wrapping her coat more tightly around her.
Ron stood in front of her, his hands jammed into his pockets. "And I suppose it was too much trouble to let us know you'd be late?"
Hermione shrugged, irritating him even more than he already was. This was not the Hermione that he knew, and he meant to make her see that before the evening was over.
"What's going on with you, Hermione?" he asked, dropping down next to her on the bench. "Why won't you talk to us about what's wrong?"
"I'm fine," she replied, almost mechanically. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, watching a few leaves fall off of the branch hanging over the water.
"Are you really?" he said sarcastically, turning on the bench so he was facing her completely. "Well then, I suppose you won't mind if I just sit here with you while you don't brood over whatever's not bothering you."
Hermione didn't answer him, as he had hoped. He had thought that she'd at least react to his tone and tell him off for speaking to her like that, but she remained completely motionless. Not wanting to be the first to give in, he settled himself in a more comfortable position and joined her in watching the leaves fall into the still water of the pond.
It seemed to him that an eternity passed in complete silence; the only sound coming from the wind as it rustled through the trees. He should have known that she'd be just as stubborn as he was about things. It occurred to him that they could possibly be out here for a very, very long time. Still, he kept silent.
Finally, just when Ron thought he couldn't handle another second of it, she put her palm out in front of her and stared down at it.
"I was helping my mother wash the dishes last night and I dropped a glass," she said quietly. "When I picked it up, I cut my hand."
He looked down at her small hand and noticed the jagged lines marring the usual smoothness of her skin. He wanted to ask her if she was alright, but somehow, he knew that the question would most likely shut her up again for a good, long time.
She ran a finger over the raised cuts absently. "I didn't feel anything, Ron. The cuts were bleeding pretty badly, but they didn't hurt at all. At least, I couldn't feel it."
He studied the side of her face and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You were pretty banged up during the last battle, and before that, we were walking around with scrapes and bruises for about a year straight. Maybe your body is just so used to pain, you can't feel it anymore," he reasoned.
She shook her head, a sadness flooding her features. "It's more than that. At Neville's funeral, Ron…I didn't cry. I thought I would, but I couldn't." She paused, covering the scratches on her hand with her other. "Actually, that's not entirely true. As I stood there, the only thing I kept thinking was how glad I was it wasn't you or Harry being buried."
She cringed and shrunk down even further into her coat, almost as if she was disgusted with herself. Ron sat completely still, not really knowing how to respond to that. He wanted to tell her that the same thoughts had been going through his head, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Besides, she was talking again, and he didn't know if something he would say would make her retreat back inside herself. Again, he opted to remain silent.
"I'm a horrible person," she whispered. "Neville was my friend, and I couldn't cry for him. But when I…" She stopped herself quickly, turning almost a ghostly white.
"When you, what?" Ron asked, unable to keep himself silent any longer.
Hermione swallowed thickly, folding and unfolding her hands around each other. Her gaze was once again fixed out onto the water, and from where he was sitting, he could see that the hollow, dead look was slowly leaving them.
"I killed Bellatrix Lestrange, Ron. I killed her without a second thought, and when I saw her body hit the ground in front of me, I couldn't stop crying. Tell me," she implored, her voice now sounding utterly desperate, "what kind of person cries over a murderous, despicable creature like Bellatrix Lestrange, but can't shed a single tear for a friend?"
"It's two completely different things," he said, shaking his head. "You cried over Bellatrix because she made you do something you never thought you'd have to do."
"Murder," Hermione cut in shallowly. "I'm now a murderer."
"That's not true," he argued. "We all had a hand in killing Voldemort, and several other Death Eaters…but they would have killed us first without a second thought. You were defending yourself against Bellatrix, so I don't see how that could be murder."
"I still took another person's life, no matter how you dress it up," she said morosely. "Her face is the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last I see when I go to sleep."
"Well then, after all the fighting we did, they wound up winning after all," he said. "You've given them all the power here, Hermione. You've let them beat you."
Hermione's eyes left the water and found his at his words. He could see the beginnings of what looked like real emotion swimming in her eyes as she stared at him. Sure, it might be anger, but at least it was something.
"They haven't beaten me," she said harshly. "I just never thought that killing someone would leave me so empty. We didn't cover anything like that in school – so forgive me if it's taking me a bit of time to adjust to things."
"Hermione, we're all adjusting to things. We all had to do things we didn't want to do, a lot sooner than we should have been expected to do them," he said, purposely trying to bait her further with his arrogant tone. If it worked, he didn't care if she was angry with him for a good, long time. "We all saw things we wished we would never see, so I don't see why you get to be the only one who gets to shut off completely."
As he'd hoped, her eyes began blazing with unmitigated anger. She clenched her hands in her lap and he could see from the stiffness of her posture that she was gearing up for one of her famous rebuttals to his lack of compassion.
Then, the strangest thing happened. In the past she would have turned to him all in a huff and systematically ripped him to pieces with her biting words; but now, he could only watch helplessly as she opened her mouth, closed it again, and then turned her face away from him. A second later, he saw her clenched fists begin trembling in her lap.
"You don't understand," she said softly, after quite some time had passed. "Not at all…"
"Dammit, Hermione!" he bellowed, finally having enough of this. "How in the bloody hell am I supposed to understand when you won't tell me what's really wrong?" He grabbed her arm, making sure it was the one she hadn't injured during the battle, and forced her to face him. "You tell me all that stuff, and then you say I still don't get it. If I'm so damned thick, maybe you should just spell it out for an idiot like me!"
Her gaze was zeroed in on his hand, which was gripping her right above her elbow. He felt like he should loosen up, but was afraid that the second he did, she would stand up and bolt from him and never come back. So he kept his hand firmly in place, and waited until her eyes finally shifted and focused on his face.
Her eyes began shining brightly, and Ron realized she was very close to tears. The tightness in his chest loosened a bit, and although he still hated seeing her cry, he hoped that this time, she would start crying and never stop. At least he'd know she was alive again.
"I was the first person to wake up, you know," she said, her voice sounding small in the thick night air. "When we were in that room with Voldemort, and the pillars came down…I opened my eyes and saw your father and Bill running toward us." She began blinking rapidly, trying her hardest to keep her tears from falling. "They were the only ones I saw at first, and then I looked over and saw Harry lying completely still. I tried to move, and there you were, draped across me, and you weren't moving either."
She paused again, and the tears she hadn't been able to cry since the night of the final battle began slipping unnoticed down her cheeks.
"It was the second time that night that I thought you were dead. When I found you in the hallway…and then in that room, thinking that I'd lost both you and Harry…" She grew quiet, lowering her eyes away from his.
Without realizing it, his hand moved from her arm to cup her chin. He brought her face back around so he could see her eyes. The tears were still spilling freely onto her cheeks, wetting his hand as he moved it to cradle the side of her face.
"But you didn't," he said quietly. "We're both still here…everyone we care about is safe, Hermione. It's over."
"I want to believe you, but it feels like there's this emptiness inside me that I won't be able to fill," she said, her voice broken and thick. "I keep thinking that if I close my eyes for too long, if I stop paying attention even for a second, I'll lose everything that means anything to me."
His thumb absently wiped the tears off her cheek, moving in slow strokes across her soft skin. "These past two weeks, that's exactly how I've felt," he said, realizing altogether too late that he'd revealed more than he probably should have. His pulse began racing out of control, waiting for her to pull away or look at him pityingly.
She did neither.
Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned into his hand on her face. Her tears were coming quicker now, her lower lip trembling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Ron."
"Don't apologize," he said in a low voice. "Just don't ever shut me out again…"
"I won't," she quavered, moving quickly and surely into his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as she sobbed into the crook of his neck. A few times, he thought he heard her speaking…about Harry and Ginny, her parents…Neville…but if she was, the words were too jumbled and laced with fresh tears to be made out properly. All he could do was hold her as she finally let out everything she'd been keeping bottled up for over a week.
It seemed as if she cried forever, but Ron didn't care. She had come back to him – to them – and he'd hold her as long as it took to begin to fill that emptiness inside her.
Okay, so that was probably the most difficult piece of fanfic I've written yet. Seriously. I've written three stories, and countless chapters, but that really put me through it. I hope I did it justice, and that it came out half of how I envisioned it in my head.
Again, thank you to those of you who have reviewed. I've gotten some amazing feedback from you all, and some pointers, too. Now I know to spell Lavender's name like that, something which I should have looked up in the first place, but thank you for letting me know. Nikiki, you honor me with your words, and it would be my pleasure to help you out any way I possibly can.
Please keep reading – I promise more goodies to come very soon. The next chapter will be the crew splitting up a bit and tackling their careers, and a visit to Ron that doesn't exactly end the way that anyone anticipated.
Hope everyone is happy and healthy.