DISCLAIMER: HP's not mine.
CHAPTER 7: Smiling at Grief
She sat at patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
--Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II, 4
It had been a week since her husband left for Bulgaria, and every day since then, she would leave their so-called home to find solace beside her other best friend's grave. Why Hermione didn't just go to Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley who were very much alive and able to enclose her into a warm embrace, no one knew. And even if some did, still, they would never understand. It was always different that a person knows and understands at the same time, especially when half of the emotions were just locked up inside.
She felt alone.
But she wasn't miserable because Viktor left. She didn't miss him, not a single second. Though, it confused her, yes, because there was a part of her—that same logical, rational Hermione who has convinced herself to accept Viktor and look at all the good things he is, instead of living the rest of her life in regret—compelling her to want for his return. He is your husband, after all, says her other part.
She was supposed to return his love, and yet, there she was still grieving for Ron Weasley. There she was still denying he was gone. There she was still praying he will come back. There she was still believing in his words.
There she was begging the moon and the stars for Ron's return in exchange of Viktor's. She felt bad, but it was obvious their marriage would never sail smooth—without love, nor the chance of becoming a family.
What's more, this was the very reason Viktor left. "I'm going back to Bulgaria. The team and coach want their Seeker back." He told her, but Hermione wasn't numb, nor was she stupid. She knew very well that Viktor, after his accident on his last game, could never play again. She knew he was leaving to escape her regrets, and his regrets most of all.
"I understand, Mr. Krum, that more than three years ago, you had an accident during a Quidditch match. Your records show the amount of damage this had caused most part of your body. At some point of that incident, you may have had an operation to save your life…although, this only made you incapable of giving one…or making one, rather."
She felt Viktor became rigid on his seat beside hers as the Healer revealed the results of the tests Viktor, himself, suggested on.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of…many men suffer from this incapacity but they still were able to raise a good family, strong and happy family."
Several minutes had passed and the man beside her still kept his silence. Hermione was becoming more and more concerned that he might lose his temper, a side of him she hasn't seen yet.
"Adoption has always been the primary alternative, and that's what I would suggest seeing the growing number of homeless little witches and wizards, even muggle children."
The Healer continues in spite of the deafening silence from her supposed listener. The Healer was a brave woman, Hermione thought. Maybe because she had done this more than once, but she never showed too much emotion that could trigger anyone who's manhood, for that matter, had just been offended.
"Artificial Insemination is another option which is more popular to the non-magic people. This is a process of finding a sperm donor which will be…"
She kept on her propositions, and Hermione herself, was losing interest. Not that she was very much keen with the issue, but the idea of Viktor and her, alone, for the rest of the married life seemed disconcerting of a thought.
"The donor usually is a trusted friend or a stranger…"
It was a strange thing to ponder but perhaps, out of world-weariness, Hermione wondered if Harry would be a donor. A trusted friend, the Healer said, better him than a stranger…better him than anyone else…if not Ron.
Ron.
This would not be happening to her if Ron was just there instead of Viktor. Hermione inwardly smiled at the thought. Ron and her would have many redheads, bushy-heads, freckled faces, bossy, know-it-alls, comical, loyal, courageous little children who would all go to Hogwarts and be at the same house like their parents.
And even if either she or Ron would not be able to produce a child, it wouldn't be such a bother…she could grow old with only Ron to share a small house with.
"Are you sorry for marrying me, or just plain sorry for me?" He asked her on their way home after almost two hours conversation with the Healer.
Hermione didn't answer. Selfish as she may have become, but she was sorry for herself, Viktor should know that. "It doesn't matter." She said, thankful to have finally reached their front door. She pushed it open and marched to the kitchen where she started preparing their dinner.
It doesn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The day she lost her freedom to him, nothing ever mattered. Viktor decides, he always does; and he will this time. Hermione just follows; and she will until all these are over.
That night, Hermione ate alone. Viktor has fallen asleep (or was pretending to have fallen asleep) on their room. And the next morning when she woke up, her husband was dressed up with his luggage readied by the fireplace.
He said he was going to Bulgaria to answer a call from his former team and coach.
"Why so soon?" she asked suspiciously. "And, Viktor, you can't play…"
"I may not have the balls to give you a child, but really, Honey, I can still fly." He choked a scathing laugh.
Hermione stared at him guilt forming inside her. She has the duty to comfort him, but she couldn't. "How long would you be away?" she hoped she didn't sound too pushy.
He stepped forward her and planted a kiss on her forehead, "What's with the sudden worry? Shouldn't you be glad to finally have a time-off of me?" his lips were still forming a wide smile despite the grand betrayal of his eyes.
"Don't be stubborn, Viktor, let's talk about this."
But Viktor, self-centered as he may have been for the past years, was not completely insensitive, "It's all right. I know you're tired of me, Hermione, but I can't let you go. I'd be lost without you, but I'm willing to give you a break every once in a while. When I come back, we'll talk about this. Meanwhile, cry all the sad feelings and memories away. Make sure they're all gone once I return, so we could start anew."
Cry until everything's gone? Cry the memories away? Like, accepting, he meant. But Hermione didn't want that. She hasn't cried in years to acknowledge Ron's death. She cried out of frustration from Viktor, but not because Ron died.
Ron didn't die.
He was still very much alive…inside her mind, her heart, and her soul.
And even sitting before his grave, she still couldn't bring herself to tears. It was just a tomb, an epitaph with his name and some familiar dates.
This only made her feel more alone than ever. Because he wasn't there, not as a skeleton, not as a spirit, not as a ghost. Ron just wasn't there and could be anywhere…completely lost; or he could have been held prisoner of Voldemort's remaining allies—being tortured, being enslaved. He could be just as alone as she was.
He needs her, Hermione could feel him calling her name out, yet she couldn't be where he was.
The darkness of the sky and the light of the pale moon and stars beat into Hermione's chest and she drifted even further to worry and isolation. The night was still, and she tried to listen more intensely for his voice, even this was such a nonsensical thing to do. Besides, it was because of him that she learned to do things preposterously.
It was also because of him that she learned to become ever so patient.
Crack.
A sound that she was not asking for but came as unexpectedly; a sound of a tree branch having been stepped into and broken to several pieces. Someone was there, watching her.
Hermione twirled around, scrutinized very vigilantly the bushes not too far from where she now stood, "Lumos.", and her wand emitted a bright glow at the tip, lighting a wide section of the area.
Crackle. Crack. Crack.
She pointed her want to where the sudden noise came from, and silence reigned once more. "Who's there?" she demanded, walking slowly but bravely towards the thick bushes across. She stopped midway, "Step out, or I'll shoot!" There was no reply. "I said step out!" she ordered.
A tall, dark figure slowly walked out from the shrubbery. Its whole body covered in chocolate-colored cloak, with a hood falling over its face.
A Death Eater. Hermione instantly thought. For a moment she willed to hit the figure to avenge those who suffered from the war until she shortly remembered her deliberation, he could have been held prisoner of Voldemort's remaining allies—being tortured, being enslaved. Was this the answer to her doubts?
"Show yourself!" yelled her, wand still aimed at the figure. But it didn't obey. Instead, it moved its hand inside its cloak and slowly pulled a wand, pointed this to itself which Hermione knew as an act of escape through apparating. "Accio wand!" but she wasn't the cleverest witch for nothing, and the wand flew roughly to her free hand. She clasped it tightly, "I said show yourself! Don't play games with me or I'll blow you into pieces."
The figure bowed its head, and leisurely lifted both hands to its hood. Hermione's hand was shaking. She wasn't prepared to see Lestrange or Malfoy, to be revealed from the cover. Truthfully, she was afraid to face the two suspects for Ron's disappearance. She knew once their faces smirk on her with taunt, then everything she had been denying inside would instantly turn out to be true. And once this registers on her head, she might just let them slay her just as how they did to him, with that they could finally be together…her misery would finally end.
But she shouldn't let that happen. After all, it was her responsibility, as a member of The Order of the Phoenix, to protect the magical world from danger. Hermione readied her wand for an attack.
The hood was, at last, completely pulled back. Red head was bowing before her. Long ginger hair falling at the sides of its face.
"Show yourself." She commanded lowly. Her heart beating fast. It wasn't either of the two Death Eaters she had suspected, but the figure was all too familiar, just the same. Tall, lanky, redhead…she never knew such description to be one of the Dark Lord's followers. But, she did know someone to fit this description. Could it be? "Please.", her tone suddenly beseeching.
It looked up to her. Face whitish against the fighting Lumos and moon lights. However, his sleepy eyes were still as bluish as the sea; his nose, his lips that were just too recognizable.
She must be dreaming.
Hermione nervously stepped closer, she halted and gasped when his freckles became more visible from where she stood. Suddenly, her mind was shouting that it was not possible.
But, it should be. It must be.
"Ron?" she asked rather breathlessly.
"Hermione." He answered in apprehension.
She continued her stride until she was finally facing him. Her wand still raised before her chest, still dazed that he was standing there, in front of her. "Are you a ghost?" she asked foolishly.
A smile curled into his lips, "No." and seeing his grin again made her heart swell with so much happiness. She was, at long last, crying for him.
As though his word was not enough, Hermione held her hand to his face dropping the wand she had previously confiscated from him. He felt cold, but his cheek was soft…his breath warm on the top of her nose. "You're alive." She said as she dropped her own wand and wrapped both her arms around his neck.
AUTHOR's NOTE:
Ron's back, everyone! I know you've been waiting for this day (or night), and here he is…expect more R/Hr on next chapters.
Thanks a lot for all the reviews! The advices, most especially. I know Legofiance had been telling me to get a beta…it's just that I'm used to posting the chapter right after I've finished it…heheh…but I will get a beta when I'm able to control my excitement on posting the new chappy…heheh…for now, please bear with the errors!
Reviews please.
And also, if you have time to read and review my other fics! Thanks…
