Chapter Four

May 2001

The ocean was calm and the sand cool between Hermione's toes as the fiery, orange sun lifted over the horizon and began to burn off the dawn's haze. With her hands relaxed over her thighs and her breathing long since having transitioned into Ujjayi Pranayama, she watched as an early arriving pod of dolphins frolicked in the distance. Finishing her stretch, she un-flexed her toes and lowered her legs the rest of the way down into the sand. Gently rolling to one hip she untucked her body and stretched her legs out before her as she laid back in the sand and watched the sky brighten. She had thought nothing could beat her runs around Kensington Palace while she had lived in the city. However the tranquility that came from the beach, easily outshone the manicured perfection of Hyde Park.

In the early morning, London was quiet and she was anonymous. It was an atmosphere that she craved, especially in those first weeks and months after the war. All around her the world had continued moving on. They acted as if she, Harry, Ron, and everyone else who had fought, hadn't died right alongside those whom they had buried in the never ending parade of funerals and memorials. It was there inside the escape from the city, where she had slowly begun to find herself - her new self - again.

Her exercise routine, or rather her continued survival training, had happened almost without her awareness. She had awakened one morning while it was still dark from a remembered dream of sprinting through the woods from snatchers. In her half asleep state, she had laced up her beaten up trainers, tucked Bellatrix's wand that she had still been using at the time into the waistband of the leggings she had slept in, and with an unconscious crack of apparition, landed blessedly uninjured in an alleyway near the South Kensington Tube Station. She had run the four miles of the Palace Jog and had followed it up with an additional two around The Serpentine when the phantom of her memories still clung to her. When she had finally collapsed on the sandbank, winded but lighter and somehow freer, she watched as a muggle she had seen on her path moved through a yoga series.

Hermione had continued running more mornings than she didn't, chasing those moments of serenity. She often saw the same man, their paths usually crossing on the paved trails before she came to collapse alongside the man-made water feature where she would watch him stretch, breath, and meditate. Then on one such morning while he was folded over his legs, he had gruffly asked her, "What are you waiting for? A formal invitation? Get into Uttanasana and start focusing on your breathing. It'll help prolong the banishment of war." And it was after that, that she and Gerard, a British veteran, had begun running and working through their traumas together until he had met a lovely American, fell in love, and followed her back to Tennessee, keeping up with her and her recovery through the occasional letter and perfunctory holiday card.

Sprawled out in the sand, she had been lazily counting the birds that flew across her line of sight when a tall figure came to stand above her, shadowing the morning sun.

"Ronald is on the floo for you," Viktor yawned, his voice gravelly as he arched his back with a groan. "Told him you weren't in bed and were probably out running. Don't think he's too pleased with me right now"

Taking in his shirtless appearance and inky blue boxer briefs that were acting as pajama bottoms, Hermione chuckled and shook her head.

"Gee I wonder why? If you're going to antagonize him and make me put out his ire, at least try for something a little more challenging than suggestive comments about where I may or may not have been sleeping. Goading him like that is like going after low hanging fruit."

Reaching his large hands down to help her stand up, Viktor responded, "Just because it's low hanging doesn't mean it isn't still worth bringing one's attention to."

"You and Luna are made for each other," she commented with a yelp as his strong arms yanked her up and momentarily lifted her feet off the ground before she came to stand. "Both of you always with those random moments of sage advice."

Collecting her discarded shirt, shoes, and socks, Hermione followed Viktor up the beach and to the weather-bleached stairs that led to his home.

"So you admit, my words about Ronald are prudent."

Shaking the sand loose from her things and dusting the granules from the bottoms of her feet before they crossed the sliding glass threshold, she avoided answering his statement by instead saying, "I'll be with Marcus until half three today. Since you have Wee Ones until five, I can make dinner or we can meet at the pub."

Successfully distracted, Viktor clarified, "Pennycomequick?"

"With a table overlooking the harbor," she enticed.

"Deal and I'll even pretend like I don't notice your less than subtle avoidance if you buy the first round."

"You drive a hard bargain Viktor but I accept your terms," she announced, shaking his hand before making her way towards the floo.

She briefly saw the impatient and scowling face of her boyfriend before he disappeared from view. A moment later, the hearth flared to life with bright green flames depositing Ron into Viktor's living room.

"Good morning, Ron," Hermione greeted neutrally, jerking her head back from his puckered lips as they tried to make landfall with her face. Withholding her usual acceptance of affection at his arrival, she fought back the hard bite of hurt and anger that was trying to leak into her words as she asked, "How have you been?"

With the exception of yesterday morning when everyone had gathered at Hogwarts for the annual remembrance ceremony, they hadn't spoken since their fight the week prior. Even still, after she and Marcus had ironed out the details of his recovery schedule while she examined his progress from his first round of healing, she had sent a copy to Ron. The hope that he would eagerly respond to her offering with an apology and the desire to pack her free time with his presence had swiftly dwindled when he hadn't answered her owl that afternoon or her fire call that evening. It had died completely when the entirety of the following day passed with further silence. Then arriving in Scotland for the saddest of anniversaries, he had approached her as if the last week hadn't transpired and wrapped her up in a hug. She had thought it a nonverbal apology and had begun to melt into his embrace, happy to have weathered the latest storm in their relationship. However she was crushed when she pulled back and saw the veneer of Wizarding Britain's war darling plastered onto his face as cameras began to flash around them. Looking into his always expressive eyes, she found them full of malcontent. The look served to renew and stoke higher the flames of her indignation and anger till it burned brighter than the painful fissure in her heart and a day later the fire had yet to be put out.

"Can we talk?" He asked, looking not at her but at Viktor over her shoulder.

"I need to shower and get ready for work," she said shortly. Glancing at the parchment he clutched in his fist, she added, "But seeing as you got my work schedule you already knew that."

"It's why I'm here," he bit out, barely containing the snarl that she knew was trying to leave him. "So can we talk? Privately ."

"Fine," she conceded, turning around to head for the stairs. Not hearing him move to follow, she prompted, "Well, are you coming or not?"

With Ron's long gait eating up the space between them, he quickly came upon Hermione's heels as she walked into Viktor's guest suite that was acting as her room. Stepping aside for him to enter first, she closed the door behind her and made her way over to her dresser. Pulling out a second pair of athletic leggings, this time in navy, along with a strappy coral colored sports bra and mint colored tank that scooped low enough in the back to show the cross-crossing pattern of the bra, she headed through the closet and into the en-suite. Tossing the clothes onto the counter, she opened the shower's glass door and began to fiddle with the knobs, making water begin to pour down from the rainfall shower head above.

"You wanted to talk Ronald, so talk," she said, quickly shucking off her sweaty clothes and stepping into the glass stall, turning it opaque before setting her wand on the small tiled shelf.

"Seriously Hermione? You're not even going to shower in front of me anymore?" He asked in exasperation.

Freely rolling her eyes since he couldn't see her while she soaked her hair, she repeated, "Talk Ron. I haven't got all morning, I have to meet the contractors at half seven and Marcus an hour after."

The sound of the Falcons' chaser's name worked to catch his attention. In an instant, the longing that had colored his exasperated tone had vanished and his voice matched the impatient scowl he had worn earlier while waiting on her to arrive at the floo.

"That's why I was calling before I decided to just come through since you and Vick-y were taking forever," he spat, while she rinsed her hair free of her coconut and vanilla scented shampoo. "You're spending nearly every day of the off-season with him. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you're with him from one to six and on Tuesdays and Thursdays half eight till half three. And as if that isn't bloody enough already, alternating Saturdays and Sundays from ten to two. Just when exactly am I supposed to get to see you?"

Finger combing her conditioner through the strands of her hair, Hermione dully explained, "That's why I owled my schedule to your flat on Monday afternoon. So that we could plan around it but I didn't hear from you until I saw you at Hogwarts yesterday."

"Well I wasn't in Chudley. I went to Cambridge with some of the blokes from the team. Only got back late last night after all the remembrance drivel was finally over."

"That rememberance drivel, is so that people don't forget what we fought for and what was sacrificed for the world we now have. It's to honor those who gave their lives so that people like me wouldn't be hunted down and executed. To honor people like Professor Snape who allowed us to hate him so that we could win; like Remus and Tonks who chose to fight over running knowing they could orphan their son; like Colin who was too young to be apart of the fighting but jumped in anyways so that his brother could have a chance at living in a world free of persecution; people like your brother."

Forcefully turning the water off, she summoned a towel and wrapped herself in it before stepping out dripping wet.

Jabbing a finger into his chest she said, "If we don't honor their memory and remember what happened not only that day but in the days and years leading up to it, our world will fracture once more and open the doors for another Voldemort to rise into power. Don't you ever disrespect that day and what we have given again Ronald Weasley."

Snatching her clothes from the variety, she stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. More out of needing a few moments of peace instead of preserving her modesty, Hermione locked the bathroom door with Ron still inside of it as she dried off and dressed. Knowing she couldn't delay it for much longer as she adjusted the straps of her sports bra, she opened the door back up and haphazardly threw the plush white towel over the warming rack.

Taking a deep breath as she picked up her comb and tried her best to remain calm, she said, "Now if all you have to say to me are disrespectful remarks on the war then I'm going to ask you to leave and to not bother contacting me again. However ," she said slightly louder as he went to interrupt her. "If you wish to continue speaking about my work schedule, I would be amicable to that. It's your choice Ron."

Facing the mirror, she began to work the wide teeth through her hair, occasionally adding a combination of magical and muggle products as she went. Once she was satisfied that her persistent knots were temperialy going to be kept at bay, she combed the middle portion of her hair back and divided everything into two sections. Taking a section and loosely twisting it away from her face, she fed it into the larger section, winding it as she went till it began to curl on itself into a bun. Securing it into place just above her neck, she repeated the style on the other side. After pulling on the twists so it wouldn't look so severe, she was satisfied with her hair and turned her attention to a light application of makeup, still waiting on Ron to speak.

Finally, after taking much longer than he should have, he said, "I just don't understand why you are putting in so much effort with him. It's not as if he will ever play another professional match again," making her wish he had remained silent.

Whirling on him and pointing the wand of her lip gloss at his face, she scrutinized him while asking far too quietly, "Are you saying you think I can't do it? That despite all my accomplishments while in the program, which include getting published not once but twice before I even took my oath, you believe my methods won't work?"

"It's not that," he backpedaled, scooting back on the toilet lid as though it would provide him with a safety net.

"Then what is it?" She demanded. "If it's not my skill then it must be something."

His mouth sputtered like a fish caught on land while he started and ended several attempts at a reply with little more than faint croaks coming from his throat.

"Go on Ron, tell me. I mean it isn't as if I just spent three years studying to become a healer, nine months of that specializing in sports injury and recovery, while also studying the muggle equivalent.

"So please, tell me in your expert opinion, why it is you believe someone with my qualifications in healing and an athlete of Marcus's caliber and dedication won't succeed in getting him back on his broom so he can kick the Cannons' arse next season!"

"His caliber and dedication..." Ron slowly repeated. "What, you think that troll is a better player than me, Hermione?"

Before she could think better of it, Hermione snorted, "Marcus Flint has to be the most fit man I have ever seen. And you still calling him by that cruel taunt from school just goes to show how insecure you really are, Ron."

Her eyes went wide as the truthful words left her mouth and her boyfriend jumped up from the toilet and exclaimed, "What the fuck, Hermione?"

"Well it's not like I'm blind," she retorted.

"Oh, that's why you jumped at the chance to move to Falmouth isn't it? Just like you would squirm in your seat when Snape would ask a question only you knew the answer to? Overly eager to get approval from another snake pit prick who wouldn't give you the time of day otherwise? He will use you and discard you, mark my words."

"I'm done talking, you can see yourself out," she said flatly, her passion for the argument evaporating as his sharp and painful words pierced her heart.

Stepping around him as her eyes burned with the urge to begin shedding tears, she grabbed the trainers that matched her outfit from the closet and her book from her nightstand before going to her dresser for socks.

Catching Ron's reflection in the mirror as he went to sit in her chair, she looked down so he couldn't see her and said, "In case I wasn't clear, that means get out."

Not bothering to watch if he complied, she bent over and tugged on the socks before stepping into her shoes and lacing them up. Heading down the stairs with a rapid clomp, she avoided Viktor's gaze as well, instead looking at the kitchen's tiled floor as she grabbed the smoothie he had made for her.

She quickly called out, "I'll see you at Pennycomequick, this evening," and snatched her purse from the entry table before darting out of the house, the sound of Viktor's demanding and heavily accented words to her boyfriend getting silenced.

Slumping against the front door of his home, Hermione dropped her purse onto the deck and hung her head. Her relationship with Ron had always been volatile, even when they had only been friends, but more and more it seemed like every day with him was another war she was having to fight. She was tired of fighting and exhausted with always having to walk on eggshells for the sake of his delicate pride. Sliding further down the door as the weight of the morning sucked the lightness from her, she plopped down and wrapped her arms below her knees, resting her cheek on top.

Where did all the good go? We were content once so it can't always be like this.

This season can't last much longer before we turn the corner. Right?

I can't take much more of this. I feel like I'm about to break, but if I can't make this work, I'll feel like such a failure.

And if I was wrong about Ron when I was so sure of him, what else have I been wrong about? What impulsive decisions have I made that could turn as equally sour if given enough time?

"Nope, not going there," she decided, feeling her mind begin to spiral. "If I give in to my self-pitying, maudlin thoughts now, I'll be late to meet the contractors and be too distracted to properly help Marcus and he needs me at my best."

Squashing the giddy, girlish flare of excitement that accompanied his name, she grabbed her purse and trotted down the stairs on her way to the disillusioned apparition spot.

Finding him attractive was one thing, but being attracted to him was another beast entirely. One that her already fragile, trust-damaged relationship couldn't survive if he barreled into it. Hermione already knew she couldn't trust herself to not transfer her unfulfilled romantic needs onto him. Therefore, keeping him off the pitch of her love life was the safest place for all of them. Marcus Flint had to stay sidelined on the bench designated for platonic co-workers, otherwise, she knew he would win. And how true could her feelings be if they were built upon the shambles of her relationship with Ron? And worse, what if Marcus won and Ron was right about him?

Yes, it would be best for everyone involved if she kept him lumped with Viktor, or better yet, with Harry, Draco, and Theo. After all, Ron may have cheated with Lavender and had more than probably met up with her while in Cambridge, but that didn't mean he deserved her opening herself up to an emotional affair. And more than that, Marcus didn't deserve to be cast into the role of romantic rival and third part of a love triangle. Especially when he was most likely just a flirt who had no real interest in her.

AN:

Pennycomequick is a real, long standing pub in Falmouth, if you wish to see Google them.