Two weeks later. Hermione waves her wand absentmindedly over her butterbeer to warm it up. It's overcast, and she's agreed to meet Harry for lunch on the other side of town. He said he had a surprise for her.
Hermione had seen a lot of him since Ron's death; it seemed very natural. The only bad thing about it was the press, as usual. Bloodthirsty for more gossip, since it quickly got old trying to guess Ron's murderer, Hermione was used to seeing her face splashed across every newspaper. Some of the headlines were ridiculous, while others were just plain boring. It disturbed the Weasleys more than it did Hermione, who was used to it.
They still had no leads or any more clues to find Ron's murderer. There had been so many wizards in the building that night that the magic was all mixed up.
Harry comes in with a smile on his face, kisses her cheek and sits down. Hermione is happy to finally see him smiling; she had been wondering if he'd recover at all from the blow of losing his best friend in such a cruel act of violence.
"How are you, Harry?"
"A little better, I guess. I don't know," his smile fades for a moment, "But how are you?"
"Don't make me wait! Tell me what's put a smile on your face."
Harry reaches for her butterbeer and sips at it. "How would you like to get out of town?"
Hermione can barely contain her glee, before her grin fails. "Oh, I'd love to. But how could we leave the Weasleys? Don't they need us? And what about the investigation?"
"I've thought about that, too, but we're going to pieces here! And we'd think more clearly, away from the city. Besides, the Weasleys could come, too, if they want. It's a large cabin-" Harry covered his mouth quickly and blushed.
"Cabin?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise!"
"Is there a lake?"
"…Yes, but no more details!"
Hermione knew she wanted nothing more than to leave this city and recover out in the countryside with Harry. Everywhere was filled with memories of Ron. When she went into to the backyard of the Burrow, all she could think about was the fact that Ron's ashes were covering the ground. It didn't seem like the brave thing to do, but she hadn't even been back to their flat, yet. She knew that once she got back inside, she'd feel all the resentment, love, and regret come back.
When she looked at Harry, she could still see Ron in him. Their camaraderie, their childishness and adventures all shone out of his eyes. Hermione had known Ron and Harry the exact same amount of time, almost down to the second, and she loved Harry just as much as she loved Ron. Sometimes she wondered how she'd married one and not the other. While this wouldn't seem to say much about Ron, it was just the opposite. He'd just come to take that place in her heart.
She looked up to find Harry watching her intently – her butterbeer tankard was empty.
"What were you thinking about?"
"The first time I met you and Ron. On the train."
"Bossy brainiac," Harry remembered fondly.
"Naïve four-eyes," she replied with just as much affection.
After a pause, he added, "I'm glad you don't mind talking about him."
"I do, a little. Just ignore me if I burst out in random tears."
"Likewise."
Hermione sighed. "I hope this gets easier."
"It will. I promise."
"You owe me a butterbeer."
"Dually noted."
Harry and Hermione walked for a half hour on the sidewalks before stopping to sit on a bench.
"Before we go back, I should probably visit our flat and get that over with."
"What, you mean, you haven't gone back yet?"
"No. Harry, you've been with me these two weeks, of course I haven't gone back yet!"
"I guess I assumed…"
"Well, would you like to come help me? I guess I should go through some of his things. Can't imagine what I'm going to do with anything, but it's been a few weeks so I imagine the ice chest is a delightful mess."
"I'd take the fridge over going through my dead best friend's things any day of the year," Harry said morbidly. Hermione was silent.
"Sorry," he said eventually.
"No need to be. I was wondering where scary, angry Harry had gone to."
"Bad as it sounds, I guess it's easier knowing that you're hurting as much as I am this time," Harry took her hand reassuringly.
"That's fair. There's an up-side to knowing you have to be strong for someone else."
"So – shall we move on to your flat and start the really painful part?"
"Lovely."
The first problem presented itself in the piles of mail they found around their apartment when they apparated in. Charms around the place kept the really evil ones out, fortunately, and Harry offered to start sorting the good from the bad. It would take him awhile.
Hermione looked around. There were still piles of clean dishes waiting to be put away on the kitchen counter. Some mail was opened on the table. In the living room was a wineglass on a marble coffee table.
And the bedroom.
The bed was unmade. Hermione couldn't look at the indentation on Ron's pillow. The purple jewelry box was still open on her bureau. It was only now that Hermione remembered the pearls. Where are they? She ran her hands across his shirts and robes in his closet. Pushed her fingers through his silk ties. Sat on his side of the bed and remembered the nights when arguments would keep her lying awake. If he were here right now, what would we be doing?
Harry found her sitting in silence with a blue tie in her hands.
"I've changed my mind, Harry. Let's just keep things the way they are, not move anything around."
"As you wish. The ice chest is clean, by the way."
Hermione was puzzled. "How long have I been sitting here?"
Harry checked his watch. "Awhile, actually. We should eat dinner soon."
"I'm not hungry, are you?"
"Nah. Haven't been eating much at all. Come to think of it, when was the last time I was at my flat?" They shared a weak smile.
"Can I make a suggestion? You may not like it," he warned.
"Suggest away."
"Would you mind looking around? You know, for something that might give us any ideas as to why…"
"Or who," Hermione finished. "Sure we could, but I doubt we'll find anything that I haven't seen before."
"Have you ever checked around for Concealing charms?"
"No, to be honest. You know Ron, he's kind of an open book." Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to use the past tense, especially when she was teasing Ron.
"Why don't we start there?"
Almost immediately, Harry discovered a small, Concealed package, levitated at the top corner of his closet. He handed it to a bewildered Hermione to open.
"Are you sure I should…?"
"It seems like an obvious place to hide something, Ron had to have known you would find it. To tell the truth, I bet he thought you'd find it a lot sooner. Besides, it could be important."
Swayed, Hermione took off the brown paper wrapped around an old shoebox. She had no idea what to expect, but she wasn't prepared for it's simple content. The first thing she saw was a magic, moving picture of herself in first year. A self-conscious, eleven-year-old Hermione tucked pieces of frizzing hair behind her ear while smiling uncertainly. She turned it over. "Hermione," it said in Ron's scrawl.
She had just enough time to shove it into Harry's hand before stumbling to her bathroom to vomit.
A half-hour later found Harry and Hermione sitting on the cool tiles of the bathroom. Harry had rubbed her back while she emptied her pain and guilt into the toilet. She asked him to bring the box to her - she was more prepared now. There were a few more photos underneath the one of her, as well as some mementos. There were several photos of the three of them – one in front of Hagrid's hut, another by the lake at Hogwarts, another in Ron's room at the Burrow. They looked to be taken by Ginny. There was a picture from their wedding at the Burrow that Hermione had never seen before – she and Ron just after they'd said their vows, and just before they'd kissed: a strange sense of anticipation and happiness. Harry was as absorbed in the memories as Hermione, handling each photo gently.
There was a lock of Hermione's hair, which she'd given him in a Christmas card. There was a roll of parchment, a homework assignment of Ron's that Hermione had meticulously proofread. "You're a dolt, but I love you anyway," Hermione had written jokingly near the bottom. There was a scrap of paper naming the song they had danced to as teenagers at Bill and Fleur's wedding. There was a solitary dried and pressed flower, an orchid.
Harry held it up and asked where it was from.
"His wedding boutonniere."
"And how about this," he asks, holding a cork.
"From the champagne on the night we, uh…"
"Say no more. I don't want to know!"
"It was our first time."
"I said I didn't want to know!"
"Sure you do, you're curious."
"I'm really not."
"When was your first time?"
"I'll leave."
"You wouldn't dare. Anyway, I think we're through most of this. Want me to make you something to eat?"
"Please. Mind if I put some music on?"
"I'd rather you didn't – Ron picked most of our music, and I'm not too sure if I'm ready for it. He always had some on."
It's very quiet in the kitchen. Harry sits at the table and watches her move around the kitchen. With everything in the ice chest spoiled, there's little choice for dinner. The heels of her shoes make a distinct noise on the tiles.
After a few minutes, Harry suddenly stands up and stops Hermione.
"Do you hear that, Hermione?"
"What? I don't hear anything."
"Walk around again." Hermione obeys and retraces the same steps. There's a very faint difference in sound when she steps on a certain tile. Then lean down at the same time and examine it; Hermione uses her wand to levitate it, separating it from the surrounding tiles. There's empty space underneath - and a plastic baggie filled with letters.
"He didn't put a Concealing charm on this," Harry determines, "Which made it all the more difficult to find."
"And I don't recognize that writing."
