A/N: Hey, long time no see, again. I'm bad at this. As an, albeit weak, excuse, I've been quite busy this week.
Please read this AN, despite its odd length. It'll help understand the format of this chapter!
To make up for the ten or something days that I've been MIA, this chapter is about 12.5k words long. I like reading things with long arse chapters, but you might not. So 12.5k words might not actually be the present that I think it is…
This chapter is set a bit differently, though, in order to 'spice things up'. You know on sitcoms and other tv shows, they sometimes have one whole episode dedicated to one room. My example is the episode of Friends where they're all getting ready for Ross' work thing, and the whole episode is shot in Monica's apartment.
So I've kinda done that, but instead of one room, all the segments of this chapter are set in the night. I've always imagined that the time between the Battle and leaving for Australia was just a whirlwind of emotions and everything happening, whilst nothing did, at the same time. If that makes sense? So I thought it'd be interesting to just write about the nights.
Also, this is a chapter where there are some M rates scenes (actually there's like one, but I dunno, gotta be safe) which I'm really bad at writing. I tried, I promise. I also tried to do it as 'tastefully' as I could, I suppose? Not that it's distasteful to write this kinda stuff… I don't know, is it? I'm just not very good at it, so I didn't wanna delve into toooo many details.
Right, I've dug myself a right old hole in the form of an Author's Note.
As always, thank you for reading and leaving reviews, all are very appreciated! Also, there may be some stuff in this story that isn't strictly correct in the HP world, but I don't think I'd run off course too badly. But if I do make a mistake, please forgive me, or don't. I probably wouldn't.
And this chapter might be a total flop. Please let me know if it is!
I'll leave you alone now
Chapter 30 - The Nights
Thursday, 7th May
Hermione tiptoed as quietly as she could up the stairs, wincing with every creek that came from under her feet.
"What are you doing?" Ron asked as he leant his arms on the bannister, watching Hermione walk up the final flight of stairs with caution.
"Sorry. Force of habit, I suppose. I still don't think your mum is too keen on the idea, so I'm just trying to be as quiet as possible," Hermione explained in a voice just above a whisper.
"Why? You heard her; she said she was fine with it!" chuckled Ron using his normal-volume voice.
"Yes, but, Ron, that doesn't mean she was actually fine with it," Hermione said as she reached the top of the stairs.
Ron just looked at her, perplexed.
"I think she only agreed because of everything that's happened, not because it doesn't go against her beliefs anymore," she explained further.
Ron shrugged nonchalantly. "Reckon if it takes a war for mum to change her mind on something, we should just be grateful that she's letting us do this," he chuckled, holding the door open and letting Hermione in first.
"That's true," Hermione said, putting her hands on his shoulders to hoist herself up and peck his lips.
Hermione was rather surprised, albeit pleasantly, at how easily Mrs Weasley obliged Ron's ask. Once herself and Ron had come back in, dinner was essentially ready and on the table. But before Ron went to get everyone down for dinner, he asked his mum, right there, right then, if Hermione could stay in his room from now on.
Hermione's eyes widened at how Ron had just blurted the question. Did he really not consider how his mum could react, even for a moment? Obviously not. Hermione's face quickly became a faint pink, as she awaited Mrs Weasley's response with baited breath.
Mrs Weasley's expression transpired from hesitant, to thoughtful, to overcome with glee in a matter of moments, before she cried her agreement, and then began to smother Ron with kisses.
"Didn't expect Mum's reaction though. That's put me off ever asking her about anything again in my life!" Ron exclaimed dramatically, helping Hermione unpack her things into his wardrobe and chest of drawers.
"I thought it was sweet, especially considering how she must be feeling," Hermione said, the exchange reminding her of her own mother. Not that her mother was very good at massive displays of affection, like Mrs Weasley was sometimes prone to.
Ron scoffed. "Oh, Ronnie, I'm just so happy that you have found someone as wonderful as Hermione!" He mimicked his mother's tone. "Seemed like she was even surprised I had managed to make friends with you. And why does my family call me 'Ronnie'? Pretty sure it's a girl's name," he huffed.
"Does that mean I can't use it, then?" Hermione teased.
"Absolutely not! Unless you want me to call you 'Herm'?" he smirked.
Hermione's face contorted with disgust. "Ugh, no! Okay, no nicknames then," she decided. "I must say, it feels weird unpacking my things here rather than Ginny's room," she remarked. They were unpacking her last few bits in the top drawer, where she could look into a small mirror that rested against the wall.
"I know. Didn't think about any of this unpacking when I asked mum if you could stay."
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him in the mirror.
"Just knackering, after today," he explained, continuing to help her.
Hermione recalled their almost-argument outside, earlier. Now she reflected, she supposed she'd acted quite irrationally.
"I'm sorry that I went to walk away earlier. What you said wasn't even that bad. It was selfish of me," she said, watching herself absently in the mirror.
Ron wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "An apology from Hermione Granger. Reckon I could get that in writing?" he teased.
Hermione elbowed him playfully, although her own grin was hard to disguise. Ron placed a kiss on the side of her face, before his mouth descended and his attention focused on her neck.
Hermione sighed with pleasure, leaning back into him and tilting her head to the side to allow him better room.
His hands travelled down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he took the items she had out of her hands, and chucking them in a draw before closing it.
Hermione turned in his arms to kiss him properly, and nearly squealed with surprise as Ron lifted her up onto the surface of the chest of drawers. She opened her legs for Ron to stand in between them, as her hands ran up and down his back under his top.
A loud and pointed knock sounded, breaking them apart. Ron rested himself on his hands, sighing into Hermione's skin as he laid his head on her shoulder. "This better be fucking good," he said under his breath.
Hermione chuckled. Though she, too, was annoyed that they were continuously interrupted.
"What is it?" Ron asked, not bothering at all to mask his frustration.
"Only me. Coming in to get my rucksack."
"Come in, Harry," Hermione called, crossing her bare arms so he wouldn't spot her 'mudblood' scar, which was usually wrapped up in a bandage, so the Weasleys wouldn't catch it.
Ron flopped down on his bed, large hands running over his tired face. Although, Hermione wished those gorgeous hands were being put to better use, which would probably be the case if they weren't interrupted. She couldn't quite pinpoint why she wanted him this badly, all of a sudden, but she had missed him, and she knew she'd enjoy it a lot more with the knowledge that they weren't going completely against Mrs Weasley.
"What? Haven't interrupted something, have I?" Harry asked with a smirk, sensing the moodfall of his two best friends. His expression quickly grew horrified when his question was met with silence. "Merlin, I was!" he half-laughed, half-winced.
"Harry, I love you, but don't you think your presence would be more greatly appreciated by Ginny?" Hermione asked, smiling as sweetly as she could.
"Alright, I'm going," he chuckled. But as he was almost completely out the door, he paused. "You know, there was a time when we were a trio," he laughed, before a cushion was lunged at him by Ron. "Okay, okay. At least charm the door before you do anything!" he called, his voice trailing away as he descended the stairs.
Hermione closed the door shut, before turning to Ron with lustful eyes. "Now. Where were we?" she asked.
"Bloody hell. What's gotten into you?" Ron asked excitedly, scrambling to sit up on his bed.
Hermione just shook her head, and pushed him by his chest to lie back down, before she climbed on the bed to straddle him. "Nothing, I've just wanted this for years," she admitted, blushing slightly, although she felt empowered by the dazed expression on Ron's face.
"Years?" he echoed, gulping heavily.
Hermione nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and putting her lips around his ear. "Years," she confirmed in a whisper, enjoying the shiver that ran through him.
"Bloody hell," he groaned, causing Hermione to smile. Ron quickly flipped them so Hermione was on her back, her frantic hands under his top. Ron grabbed his wand from the bedside table. "No one's interrupting this," he said, his wand pointed in the direction of the door as he conducted the spells, his husky voice doing no favours for Hermione's dire need for him.
He stripped his top off, before his mouth crashed back onto hers. Hermione sighed through her nose in content as their tongues battled, although when Ron's mouth began to expertly tend to her neck, a thought crossed her mind which halted her enjoyment.
Gently, she pushed back against his chest. Ron's lips immediately left her, which she instantly massively regretted, but Hermione knew this would only eat at her.
"Are you okay?" Ron asked concernedly.
"Yes, of course!" she was quick to answer, not wanting him to feel as though he had done anything, remotely, wrong. "I just… I have something to ask you. It's a bit odd, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, because I suppose it's none of my business, and to be honest I don't think I'll much enjoy the answer, but I know it will just gnaw at me otherwise-"
"Hermione," Ron paused her.
"Sorry, was I rambling?" she asked guiltily.
"Just ask me, I don't mind what it is," he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Okay… well, you know you and Lavender?"
"Yes," he answered hesitantly.
"I was just wondering, um, how… far you had gotten?" she asked, hoping he would understand what she was implying.
"Right," he said, scratching his neck awkwardly. "Do you really wanna know?" he asked.
She nodded, albeit with some apprehension.
"Alright, well, we snogged-"
Hermione scoffed. "I think everyone knows that, Ron, you weren't exactly secretive about that much."
"Watch it. Do you wanna get your question answered?" he teased.
"Yes, yes. Sorry."
"Right, well, things did escalate a bit when we found the odd abandoned classroom…"
Hermione's light hearted demeanour quickly vanished.
"Umm, I'm not really sure how to put this, to be honest. We never shagged," he was quick to clarify. "We just, uh, did a lot in between."
"Like?" Hermione probed.
Ron sighed. "Well we used hands, and mouths, especially, uh, tongues," he confessed. "The furthest we both went I suppose was - um - mouths, on… parts of the body that you would find.. south," he admitted, blushing.
"Right," Hermione said, feeling a hundred feelings of jealousy, sadness, even scarred by the thought of Lavender throwing her head back and chanting Ron's name as he brought her over the edge.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It's nothing to apologise for, Ron," she said, although she couldn't help the edge in her voice. Mostly she was just insanely angry that someone else managed to experience all that with Ron.
"Really?" he asked, noting the ice of her tone.
"Well, you know, it's not the nicest thing to hear in the world." Ron pulled her a face, but before he could retort, she continued. "I know that I asked you, but I also knew it wasn't going to be easy to hear."
"Alright. Can I ask you something, then?"
"Go for it," she stated, confident that she could place a bet on knowing what he was going to say.
"How far did you let bloody Krum go with you?" he asked, his voice full of resentment.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, I was fifteen. He was eighteen. All we did was peck each other's lips."
Ron looked at her confusedly. "But-"
"But, what?"
"But, Ginny said that you snogged him!" he exclaimed.
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. Why on earth would Ginny say that? When did she say that? "I don't know why she said that, Ron, because it isn't true. Why would I snog someone who I knew would be back in another country by the summer? That would've only complicated things," she explained.
"Really? Oh, Merlin, that's a relief," he sighed, flopping down on the bed beside her.
"What? So you can do everything but sex with Lavender, yet I can't even snog Krum?" she asked, outraged.
"No, no, Hermione-"
"That's incredibly hypocritical of you, Ron. I had no idea that you liked me, either, you know. In fourth year I was only just about sure that you knew I was a girl!" she ranted, turning on her side to face the wall. In hindsight, most of her anger was directed at the thoughts of him with someone else in such an intimate way, but she didn't know how to express that without sounding hypocritical, herself.
Ron sighed from behind her, before he tentatively inched closer to her, running his fingers down her arm. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Of course you were allowed to do anything you liked, it just drives me insane thinking of another bloke being able to even touch you, let alone snog you."
"Yes, well, imagine how I feel," Hermione stated.
"I know," he said defeatedly. "I'm sorry for that, too. I wish I hadn't gone that far with her, it wasn't fair on either you or Lavender."
"Bet she enjoyed it," Hermione muttered, causing Ron to laugh behind her. "What?" she snapped.
"Just never seen you act jealous before, apart from when Harry was beating you at Potions, of course."
"Harry didn't beat me in Potions. He was cheating, and that book shouldn't have been left in that cupboard to begin with," she huffed.
Ron was still grinning. He wrapped his arm around her waist, using his other hand to brush the hair from her face. "I love you," he said, knowing it would throw her off, although he did sincerely mean it.
"Yes, whatever," she mumbled.
"Aww, you're not gonna break my heart five days since we kissed, are you?" he asked in a mock tone of sadness.
Hermione shifted onto her back, looking up at him. "Some would say it's a miracle that we even lasted that long," she said. "But, yes, I love you, too," she relented, rolling her eyes.
"Good," he said, before kissing her once more and lying his head back down to the pillow.
Hermione shook her head at him, but still snuggled up to his body, for warmth, she told herself.
"Oh, um, Ron?"
"Yes?" he replied.
"Harry had been in here for, what? Three nights? And still hadn't unpacked his bag?" she remarked sceptically.
"Oh, well, uh- Harry and I kinda thought we'd have swapped him and you before it was worth him unpacking," he mumbled.
"Honestly," she chuckled, before kissing him once and falling asleep on his chest.
Friday, 8th May
Funerals. The word hung in the air at the Burrow's dinner table that evening. The Ministry were quick to help other families to arrange most of them, but allowed the Weasleys to organise Fred's without any pressure from others. Mrs Weasley stated that she wanted the funeral to take place the following Friday. A week from now; plenty of time to arrange everything. Although, Hermione couldn't imagine that planning an event in which burying your son was the sole purpose would be easy for Mrs Weasley. Everyone else seemed to share the same thoughts, as all family members were quick to offer their assistance, which was gratefully accepted by Mrs Weasley.
However, even though they had a week to prepare themselves for Fred's funeral, there were many more to come after this evening. The first one was to take place on Sunday, for Lupin and Tonks. Hermione felt sudden tears threatening.
"What's wrong?" asked Ron softly. They were lying on his bed, both on their sides to face each other. The somber mood of the evening infiltrated everyone, so when Hermione and Ron had retreated to his bedroom that night, not many words were spoken to one another.
"Just thinking about the funerals," she admitted glumly.
Ron nodded. "Gonna be a tough few days, I reckon."
"Me, too. I've never been to one before," Hermione thought aloud, playing with a loose thread of cotton from Ron's pillow case.
"Haven't you? I have; three times. Although, I can only properly remember my Uncle Bilius' one."
"I'm sorry. Were you particularly close?" Hermione asked softly.
"He taught me how to play chess," Ron nodded. "But I was still quite young when he passed away."
"I remember you talking about him when you were incessantly trying to teach me your family tree," she chuckled, thinking back to when Ron adamantly maintained that they could pass Hermione off as one of his family members, when they learned that the Ministry were keeping a track record of Muggleborns.
"Oh, yeah. Merlin, glad we never had to do that, actually," he said, taking her hand in his.
"Why? I was beginning to get the hang of the family tree."
"Yeah, but that's because you're brilliant," he stated as if it hadn't even needed to be said. "But would've been awkward to pretend you were my cousin."
"Yes, that's true. You would've been the first cousin I ever had," she mused.
"Really? You don't have any cousins?" Hermione shook her head at his question. "Bloody hell, I've got about fifty."
"Well, neither of my parents have any siblings. Even if they did, I doubt I would've seen them much. Mum and Dad thought it best not to spend too much time with any family or family friends when I received my Hogwarts letter, because everyone would ask too many questions and my parents didn't like the thought of lying." Her admission caused Hermione to feel guilty, as all she seemed to do the past few years was lie to her parents.
"I'm sorry that it was so difficult for you," said Ron, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, Hermione smiled softly at him. "How did your parents feel about you going to Hogwarts in the first place?"
"My dad, once Professor McGonagall had explained everything, was quite happy for me to. My mum, on the other hand, had… different ambitions for me. And those didn't change, even when it was decided I would attend Hogwarts."
Ron remained silent for a moment. He hadn't really given it much thought, how different Magical life was for him and Hermione. The arrival of his Hogwarts letter, after Fred and George had returned it to him, was met with cheer and pride. Hermione's, however, seemed to be met with bewilderment and possibly even disappointment.
"They wanted me to go to Oxford University. They hoped that I would pass my GCSEs (Muggle OWLs), and my A Levels (Muggle NEWTs), with flying colours, and then I'd go and study at the university that they had both attended. I daresay that my mum even wanted me to be a dentist, too, but I was only eleven so they hadn't disclosed as much to me yet," she continued. "I suppose when I began at Hogwarts, and found that I loved it there, they realised that those ambitions were lost forever."
"But you've been just as brilliant in the wizarding world as you would've been in the muggle one, Hermione," Ron said indignantly, pulling her closer to him.
Hermione smiled up at him. "They'll never understand the wizarding world, Ron. Goodness, I don't even think they'll want any part of it at all once I restore their memories," she confessed, biting her lip.
"'Course they will." Ron kissed her forehead. "They'll understand that you did what was best for them, what kept them safe."
Hermione shook her head in doubt. "I really hope so," she said.
Ron rolled them over so he was lying on his back, Hermione nestled into his side.
"They will," he said with a tone of finality.
Hermione couldn't say she carried the same confidence, but was feeling rather exhausted. She placed a kiss on Ron's jaw, and whispered "I love you," into his ear.
"I love you, too," he whispered back, giving her a final squeeze before they fell asleep.
Saturday, 9th May
Hermione awoke feeling groggy and disoriented, the worst outcome of having a nap. The feeling reminded her of when nights of working tirelessly led to falling asleep uncomfortably at a library desk, already hearing Ron's nagging voice about 'working herself too hard' as she collected her things and headed to the dormitory.
The thought of Ron caused Hermione to sit up on the sofa she had been sleeping on, blinking her eyes back into focus.
The family had migrated from dinner in the kitchen to conversations in the living room. Even after Mr and Mrs Weasley dismissed themselves to bed, the brothers and Ginny, Harry, and Hermione had all remained downstairs, exchanging light-hearted conversations about everything and nothing. Hermione imagined it had always been quite rare for all of the brothers to gather and converse with each other, with the age gaps and leading different lives. Even George was there, though he sat mostly quiet, sharing a settee with Charlie, who spoke very animatedly about his job in Romania, when the topic came along.
As Hermione prospected many Weasley conversations went, the subject had led to Quidditch. Although she couldn't really partake in the chat, or really even be greatly interested by it, Hermione was quite content to sit beside Ron on the sofa that they were sharing with Harry and Ginny. Hermione particularly enjoyed the arm that was draped over her knee quite possessively.
Naturally, the absence of Fred was still a gaping hole in the family, the blaring space next to George which should be filled by his twin, empty. But, Hermione found it oddly nice that the family could find some solace within each other, even though they were all hurting tremendously.
After the gathering of siblings dispersed, only Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were left in the living room. By this point, Hermione's eyes were persistently dropping. She couldn't understand why she exhausted so easily after the war, especially when everyone else seemed fine, but she didn't worry too much over it.
She could somewhat remember drifting in and out of sleep against Ron's shoulder, but when she awoke, he was nowhere to be found. Standing up, she stretched her tired limbs before picking up her and Ron's glasses from that evening, taking them into the kitchen and washing them. Glancing at the clock, Hermione assumed that Ron had gone up to bed, as it was nearing 2am. But before she turned around to go up the stairs to bed, she could see the outdoor lights, through the kitchen window, distinguishing and re-lighting every few seconds, an instant giveaway to where Ron really was.
Curious, Hermione slipped on some shoes and a coat before heading outside. The May night sky was clear, although the air quite crisp, as it was the middle of the night, after all.
As suspected, she found Ron sat against a tree in the bottom of the garden, playing absently with his deluminator. His eyes, however, were focused on a non-distinct patch of grass.
"Hey," she said in a soft voice. She wasn't able to decipher Ron's mood from his blank expression.
"Hey," he replied. "Did I wake you?" he asked apologetically.
Hermione shook her head as she sat down beside him. "No, I don't know what woke me up. I was pretty out of it earlier."
Ron chuckled, although the action didn't meet his eyes. "I was thinking about carrying you up, but you looked quite peaceful, so I came out here for a bit of fresh air instead."
"Would you rather be alone?" Hermione asked, wondering if he had come out here for some solitude.
Ron shook his head, "no, I'm glad you're here."
Hermione smiled, before resting her head upon his shoulder. "For future reference, Ron, please never hesitate about carrying me up to bed," she said at an attempt of levity. In all honesty, she did love being held by Ron's arms.
He chuckled again. "Duly noted," he said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, possibly longer, Hermione couldn't be sure. She knew there was something on Ron's mind, but couldn't assess whether it was general grief or something else that was bothering him. Her question was soon answered.
"This is gonna sound stupid, but-" he paused, licking his lips, "-d'you reckon there was something I could have done? Something that would've prevented what happened?"
Hermione knew exactly what he was talking about, and took his free hand which was previously resting against his thigh. "You shouldn't think like that, Ron. We all had to act on impulse, that night, we didn't have a second to plan or really think about anything."
"I know, but, he just-it-just happened so easily, y'know? His life was just, just taken," he said with a strained voice.
"I'm so sorry, Ron," she whispered, wrapping her free arm around his.
Silence resumed. Well, mostly silence. Every so often, Ron would give a sniff which indicated that he had begun to cry. Hermione had tears of her own trailing down her face as she clung onto Ron. She had thought it a million times, and imagined that she'd think about a million times again: it was not fair that the Weasleys lost a brother or a son. All of them could've survived this war, scratch-free, due to their blood-status, if they went into hiding. But, no. They were all incredibly self-sacrificing, none of them hesitated to help Harry, to fight in the war, and yet here they were, broken beyond repair.
"Teddy's gonna grow up without any parents," Ron announced suddenly. Hermione was rather taken aback by the subject change, although it was quite a relevant thought as she reminded herself that they would be attending Tonk and Lupin's funeral in only a few hours.
"Yes. He will. He'll have Harry, I suppose," Hermione said, recalling the last time she had properly seen and spoken to her old Professor, when he had asked Harry to be Godfather of his son, as if he somehow knew that he wouldn't make it though the war. The thought caused another wave of sadness to wash over her.
"Weird, innit? Harry being a Godfather when he's only seventeen," Ron mused.
"Some days I can't believe that we're only seventeen and eighteen," she chuckled dryly. The events of their lives had always meant that they had to act a great deal older than they really were.
"Ginny's not even seventeen," said Ron with a tone of almost-surprise.
"No, that's true. Yet if we go back to Hogwarts together, we'll be in the same year." Hermione's comment about Hogwarts was the first they had spoken of it all day. Earlier that morning, Professor McGonagall had sent the four of them letters of invitation to actually attend their seventh year.
Harry was quick to dismiss it, although Ron was more hesitant, no doubt to salvage Hermione's feelings. But, it was evident to Hermione that he had his heart and soul set on becoming an Auror, and the offer that Kingsley presented them with didn't even require them to sit their NEWTs, so it would make absolutely no sense for him to return to Hogwarts with her that year.
So, she gave him an encouraging smile, and it was silently settled that the girls would be returning to Hogwarts without the boys, this year. Since the letters, neither Ron or herself had spoken about Hogwarts, or Auror training, until now.
"Wonder if many people will return to Hogwarts next year."
Hermione shrugged. It wasn't as though their conversation had become awkward, but it definitely wasn't as easy going as they usually were with each other.
"My bum's starting to hurt from being sat here now," Ron complained. Hermione playfully rolled her eyes, seeing as it was him who had wandered out here.
"Bed, then?" she asked, standing up and brushing the grass off of her.
Ron held his arms up to her, like a child who wanted to be picked up. Hermione laughed, taking his hands and helping him up to a standing position. "You're eighteen, not eighty, might I remind you," she said.
"I know, just lazy," he smiled, taking her hand as they walked back towards the Burrow. Before reaching the back door, he pulled Hermione into a kiss. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything." Hermione wanted Ron to know that he didn't need to feel grateful for her being there for him, it was a given that she'd support him.
"You didn't have to," he answered, leading them up to his bedroom.
Sunday, 10th May
It had been an incredibly solemn day. There had been a huge turnout for Lupin and Tonks' funeral. Hermione was glad, just for a moment, that so many people were there to appreciate what the couple had done for the wizarding world. Otherwise, she felt awful.
Andromeda had brought along Teddy, although the infant couldn't understand what was going on. This had led to a random outburst of giggles from the baby, in the middle of one of the speeches that an Auror, whom was close to Tonks, was giving.
All eyes turned to the source of laughter, the least-expecting sound from a funeral. But, the only reaction anyone had was sadness, knowing that that happy little baby would live a parentless life. This was enough to send Hermione completely over the edge, as she sobbed into Ron's shoulder whilst he held her in a one-arm hug.
All of the Weasleys had attended, even George. Once they had all returned to the Burrow in the afternoon, there was a grim silence settled over the family. Not only out of grief for Lupin and Tonks, but because today was perhaps only a taste of how burying Fred will feel, in only five short days.
After supper, the family all made their ways straight to bed. Bill and Fleur had returned to Shell Cottage, and Charlie was making plans to return to Romania shortly after Fred's funeral. The thought of the Burrow becoming quieter caused Hermione to feel more guilty. She knew it partly came from a selfish place: if there were less siblings at the Burrow, then Ron's presence would be more needed, reducing the chances of him coming to Australia with her. She knew he would come regardless of who was still at home, but that wasn't fair on his family. Even though the last few months weren't exactly paradise, she at least had Ron, and it wasn't fair for her to ask him to travel halfway around the world with her when his family needed him more.
Ron was exhausted, so after one quick kiss and an 'I love you', his head had hit the pillow and he was out like a light. Hermione envied the way he could so easily fall asleep, and he wasn't a light sleeper, either. Major thunderstorms could erupt around the tent, on their hunt, awakening both her and Harry, but Ron never even stirred.
She smiled softly, flipping on her other side in an attempt to fall asleep. But her thoughts quickly turned melancholy as she recalled the day.
Since the funeral, the nagging urge to find her parents became more insistent. Watching Teddy had enhanced the importance of family to Hermione, and she knew she had to go find her parents soon.
The thought encouraged more guilt, as she knew she would have to leave Ron at a time of vulnerability. But the sooner she brought her parents back, the sooner they could all begin to restore their lives, together. She would obviously stay for the funerals, especially Fred's. But after Friday, Hermione knew that it was only right for her to go. It had been a week since the war, there was no reason to keep her parents away for another minute.
But as she shifted onto her other side, the sole reason she hadn't left yet was snoring beside her. Hermione snuggled closer to him, who unconsciously wrapped his arm around her waist. She smiled at him in his sleep, resting her head on his chest, waiting for her eyes to droop close.
Monday, 11th May
Of course, Hermione internally groaned from her position on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The first significantly intense nightmare since the war, and I'm physically sick because of it.
Today's funeral was for Colin Creevey. Hermione could remember feeling slightly under the weather during the service, but assumed it was because of the horrifying thought that a child so young and pure had been so barbarically murdered. Now, as she rested her head back against the wall of the Weasley's bathroom, she didn't know whether it was a coincidence that she had woken up to violently throw up in the middle of a nightmare, or if she was genuinely unwell.
It was a terrible nightmare, the worst she had experienced thus far. She was beginning to hate the word nightmare. Nightmares were what little children had about monsters in cupboards, maybe causing them to wake up frightened and crawl into bed with their parents. What Hermione was experiencing would always cause her to jolt awake, in a pool of sweat, struggling to breathe, and having to adjust to a sore throat from her own screams.
Due to her upset tummy, Hermione was drained and the first to fall asleep, Ron not long after, so they didn't even think about silencing the room. Obviously, that was something she would have to remember to upkeep, as Ron was now outside the bathroom, trying to disperse the crowd of worried Weasleys that had all awoken from the commotion.
Through the fuzzy headache, Hermione felt terrible guilt for troubling the Weasleys. As if they didn't have enough going on as it was. Also, Hermione was yet to even consider telling them about her torturing. She hardly thought it was relevant, but late night screams and sprints to the toilet were obviously going to raise some questions.
She drew her knees up to her chest, holding her head in her hands as she violently shivered whilst simultaneously feeling boiling hot.
A knock from the door caused her to lift her head, although her eyes weren't staying open very well from the bright light of the bathroom. "Come in," she managed, hoping only to see one person.
"Just me," that one person reassured, kneeling down beside Hermione.
"Thanks, Ron," she said shakily, taking the healing potion with trembling hands. She handed him the empty vial and took the goblet of water he had also come in with.
"Everyone's gone back to bed." Ron moved into more of a comfortable position, crossing his legs and placing down the empty vial.
"Thank you," she whispered again. "I bet they're all incredibly confused."
"More concerned, really," Ron said.
"Can we just say that I had a nightmare about the war, please?" she asked.
"What was it really about?" His tone was more curious than accusatory.
"Well, the torturing. But, the last thing I want to do is worry your parents about that; they have plenty on their minds, at the moment."
"We'll tell them it was about the war," he reassured, not because he agreed that her torturing was an inconvenience that would just be pestering his parents, but because he had more concerns on his mind.
"Have you ever, y'know.." he gently trailed off, nodding toward the toilet.
Hermione shook her head. "I didn't feel very well earlier today, but I didn't think anything of it. I suppose the nightmare just tipped me over the edge," she said.
Ron looked at her worriedly.
"It's normal to have a bad stomach sometimes, Ron," she huffed, resenting the look of fear he had on his face, even if she knew it came from a good place.
"I know, I know," he said in surrender. "But I was just… thinking that maybe you should visit St Mungos?" he asked apprehensively.
"Why?" she scoffed. "I'm mostly fine, Ron. There's nothing they can do about a few nightmares that we can't do from here."
Ron couldn't really understand her reluctance. He guessed it was because she would have to inevitably retell her torturing to a Healer, but surely it was worth it if she got better? It just saddened him to see her like this, couldn't she understand that?
Instead of arguing, for tonight at least, he stayed silent. The air suddenly became awkward, juxtaposing the easiness that their rare silences usually held.
"You can go back to bed if you like, thank you for looking after me," she said in an even tone.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, ignoring her offer.
"Better."
"Do you want to go back to bed?" he asked weakly.
"Maybe I should stay on the sofa with a bucket," she answered.
"Did I say something?" he couldn't help but ask.
Hermione sighed. "No, Ron, I just-I'm fine, and I don't need you to babysit me."
Ron chuckled incredulously. "You're quite difficult sometimes, do you know that?"
Hermione looked at him close to murderously before her expression cooled into one of soft defeat.
"I'm sorry," she said, leaning her head against his arm. "I'm just sick of them, Ron," she cried. "They're nothing but a nuisance, and I can't do anything to get rid of them!"
Ron put a comforting hand upon her knee. "It's just something you can't control, but that's alright." Ron was interrupted by a ginger head pushing upon the bathroom door.
"Bloody hell, picks his moments, doesn't he?" he remarked, as Crookshanks walked over to Hermione, rubbing his head affectionately against her leg.
"I think he can tell something's not right," she said, stroking him behind the ear.
"What? You mean to say he hasn't always been this mind-numbingly clingy?" Ron asked sarcastically.
"You're mean to him," Hermione whined.
"He started it!" Ron argued indignantly.
"He's a cat, Ron," Hermione laughed, whilst shaking her head. Ron didn't look all too convinced. "Once I've brushed my teeth, can we go up to bed?" she asked, feeling okay again.
Ron nodded, standing up and holding his hands out to her as an offer. Hermione took them to help herself up, like she had done for Ron the other night on the grass.
They had returned to bed, half of Hermione lying on top of Ron.
"Ron?" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too," he whispered back, lifting his head ever so slightly to peck her lips.
"Ron! I've just been sick!" she laughed.
"You brushed your teeth," he shrugged off.
Hermione smiled, although he couldn't see it with his closed eyes.
She rested her head on his shoulder, kissing it once before falling asleep herself.
Tuesday, 12th May
Fred's funeral was drawing nearer. The air of the Burrow was drawing more somber.
Obviously, no one had been at their highest spirits since returning from Hogwarts, and the task of arranging your own brother or son's funeral did nothing to improve it.
Preparations certainly became more frantic as the funeral was only a mere three days away. The strangest thing to Ron, was the fact that so many people had visited the Burrow since yesterday, either to express their condolences or ask his mum if there was anything they could do for the funeral.
It was an awful feeling. They were preparing for the funeral in the same way they'd prepared for the wedding. It just didn't feel right.
Conversation at dinner was becoming more forced. His father would spark a conversation up about how the Ministry was doing, but it was only met with murmurs of reply. Apart from Harry and Hermione, who would contribute polite responses every time.
No one spoke about the funeral at dinner times, although it was evident that the thought was on everyone's mind. There had been three funerals today, which may seem as though the Ministry were trying to rush them along, but the truth was so many people wished to wave their loved ones one last goodbye before normality crept in, and the immediate sadness and remorse for the people who had fallen would weep away.
Personally to him, Ron couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that the way he felt would ever go away. His brother would always be dead, right? So how was there ever going to be a time where he didn't feel shit about it. Bollocks to 'time heals everything'. How was anything, let alone bloody time, meant to heal the death of a brother?
Maybe it was a pessimistic thought, but sod it! He reckoned he was allowed to be more than a bleeding Negative Nelly right now.
He huffed, unable to get to sleep, which was very unlike him. Hermione's hair was tickling his face as they lay together, and he smiled at the fact she was at least able to sleep so peacefully.
He was worried about her, though. He knew she must be itching to retrieve her parents, but he wanted her to visit St Mungo's first. It might be nothing, but the Cruciatus curse hardly left nothing, as frightening as the thought was. He didn't know why she was so bloody adamant about being able to take care of herself. It wasn't just now, this had been her attitude for the seven years he'd known her. But he wasn't going to let her brush it off this time.
Wednesday, 13th May
"When was the last time you shaved?" Hermione asked curiously.
Ron shrugged. "Not sure, I'll sort it out tomorrow, don't worry," he replied.
"Oh. Well, you know, you don't have to get rid of it on my account," she admitted with a faint blush, running the pads of her fingers along the roughness of his stubble, which was what she was referring to.
Ron smirked at her. They were lying in bed after another sad day, and with each day the apprehension of burying his brother was steadily increasing, which seemed to be the case for everyone in the house.
His mum was around the house less and less, only coming out of her room to double-check arrangements for the funeral. George, Ron hadn't seen for days, apart from at mealtimes. Ron didn't often look up from his plate most meals, he couldn't stand the sullenness of them, it was all a harsh reminder of having to accept the fact his brother was gone. And that pill was becoming so tough to swallow that it was starting to choke him.
The one thing that did make him happy though was lying in his arms, watching him intently.
"You're gorgeous, y'know," he whispered, happy that he was allowed to admit that aloud, and not worry it would be met with laughter and disgust.
Hermione blushed deeper, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. He loved kissing her, as much as it made him sound like a bloody wally. It was different to when he had kissed Lavender. It wasn't as if Lavender was a bad kisser or anything, but it was just different. He realised it was probably because he actually loved Hermione, but that made him sound like even more of a bloody wally.
"Ron?" Hermione began, after reluctantly pulling away from his warm, soft lips.
"Mm?"
"What-what are we?" she asked half-nervously.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, you know…" Hermione trailed off, hoping Ron would understand. When it was established that he certainly hadn't caught on, Hermione realised she probably wasn't that blatant. "Are we, um, boyfriend and girlfriend?" she blurted out.
Ron smiled at her. "Dunno. 'Suppose I never asked you."
"I suppose I never asked you," she mused.
Ron rolled them back so that he was carefully resting himself on top of her. "Alright. Hermione, fancy being my girlfriend?" he asked bluntly.
"Well, that was poetic," she teased.
Ron playfully rolled his eyes, before mustering a face of seriousness, saying his next piece in a formal tone that mimicked the one of a Howler, delivering a message of importance. "Hermione Jean Granger, would one vow to the great honour-"
"Such a prat," she interrupted with a laugh.
"You didn't let me finish!" he protested.
"Do I really want to hear the rest of it?" she challenged.
"Well," Ron pondered, moving himself down her body, "I was only going to talk about how gorgeous-" he kissed her jaw, "-amazing-" he kissed her neck, "-funny-" neck, again, "-wonderful, caring, beautiful, incredibly sexy you are." He punctuated each compliment with a kiss, either down her neck or on her face. His wandering lips found their way back to her own, and Hermione's attacked his with as much enthusiasm that she could muster.
She moaned into his mouth as their tongues collided, but Ron was far too eager to remain at her lips for much longer, and his path down her neck resumed.
Hermione sighed happily, feeling deliciously immobile underneath him. Ron moved even further down her body, where his lips could meet her stomach. He pushed his top, which she was wearing, up gradually, placing kisses along her stomach and up to her ribcage, before pausing and looking up to her.
Hermione frowned when he had stopped, but immediately realised what he was trying to communicate, once she had realised how far-ridden her top had become.
She bit her lip in contemplation. It wasn't that she didn't extremely want this, because she did. She had gone so far as dreamt about nights like these with Ron, and the real thing was a million times better. But, in her dreams, her insecurities had been left with the real-life Hermione. Now that she was real-life Hermione, she couldn't help but fear the potential disappointment that she'd see in Ron's eyes, when he saw for her all that she was.
But Ron wasn't like that, she reiterated in her mind.
"Y-you can take it off," she whispered.
"You sound hesitant," he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear before beginning to move off of her.
"No!" she halted him by raising her knees, locking his body between her legs. He raised an eyebrow up at her. "I really want you to do it, Ron, it's just… and I know I've said this before, but I really am not anything special," she said weakly, nodding down at her chest.
Ron shook his head. "Do you honestly have no idea how beautiful you are?"
She blushed again. "That's a really kind thing to say. But, I just don't want you to be… disappointed."
"We don't have to go any further, if you don't want to, but I promise you I could never be 'disappointed'," he assured, looking at her intently.
Hermione said nothing for a moment as she calculated what she should do next. Before she could talk herself out of it, she quickly lifted the top up and over her head, having to sit up slightly to take it off. Ron didn't dare look down, instead his eyes met hers.
They stared at each for what felt like an eternity before Ron captured Hermione's lips again. She leant back down to lie on the bed, and almost gasped at the feeling of their bare chests pressed to each other.
Ron was less implicit about the sensation, as he groaned into her mouth, before his lips began their burning trail down her body again.
He continued until he nearly met her breasts, and waited for permission. Hermione nodded, granting his ask impatiently, even if she did find it incredibly endearing that he was so respectful of her.
Ron continued, a hand travelling up her body to cup one breast, whilst the other was occupied by his mouth. Hermione arched her back immediately at the feeling, whimpering as she grabbed the sheet around her.
Ron was amazing at this. It wasn't as if she had a frame of reference in the slightest, but Hermione just couldn't believe anyone else could do this so well. For a fleeting moment, she was incredibly angry that Lavender had got to experience this for potentially months, but it was only a brief thought, as her whole body was mostly consumed with how she was feeling.
But all too soon, his lips had left her breasts, and she nearly groaned in protest, before his lips found her abdomen and continued from there. She gasped as he began planting soft kisses to the inside of her thighs. Her legs were still raised from when she had locked him in place earlier, which she was now quite thankful for as it seemed to have given him better access to her.
Her breathing grew close to erratic as his mouth inched tantalisingly close to the centre between her legs, but once again, he paused at the pinnacle moment.
"We should probably stop," he announced, although he didn't make an attempt to move away from his position.
"Why?" she whined with impatience.
Ron chuckled. "Because you might regret it when we're not, y'know, in the moment. And I don't want to do anything more unless you're completely sure."
"Ron, do I seem as though I'm even the tiniest bit unsure, or ever going to regret this?" she asked, her arms folded over her chest.
He knew the current look on her face all too well, he wasn't afraid to admit he feared such a determined expression that she could wear at times. This time, though, he was only smug that this time she was only determined for him.
"Fine," he said.
"We don't have to continue if you don't want to, though," she said, sounding a far side less confident than only a moment ago.
Ron shook his head incredulously. "'Course I do," he said, inching up her body to kiss her once. "By the way," he said, the words lingering next to her ear. "You're fucking perfect," he whispered huskily, causing her breath to hitch, before he moved back between her legs.
He gave her one last look, providing her one last chance to object, before hooking his fingers in her knickers and drawing them down her legs, she kicked them off once they had reached her shins, and took a deep breath in anticipation. And then, she felt it; his tongue, on the most sensitive part of her. She cried out, thanking every moon and star that they had remembered to silence the door, in preparation for her nightmares. She gripped the sheets harder, her palms becoming sweaty.
Ron continued to probe her with his tongue, which was already causing Hermione to feel as though she was hyperventilating from pleasure, but then a finger crept down her thigh, until that had reached her as well.
She couldn't believe the sensations that were drowning her as Ron worked below, and Hermione was pretty sure the volume of her moans could rival a mandrake's shrieks.
And then, she could feel it. The tipping point. Although she had never experienced it before, there were no second guesses about what was about to happen, so she allowed herself to relax as Ron brought her to her climax, her final, breathy scream of pleasure echoing through the room.
They were both panting as Ron crawled back up her body. "That alright?" he asked once he had caught his breath, pulling her into his side.
"Are you joking? That was wonderful," she admitted, still slightly flushed.
"Good," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I love you." His voice was soft and his eyes were already drifting shut.
"I love you, too," Hermione replied, not noticing his signs of sleepiness. "I better put my top back on incase anyone wakes us," she said, despite the fact that the door was locked. It would be truly mortifying if Ron's mum found her naked underneath his covers. Speaking of covers, she lifted their quilt to find her knickers, but was met with the evidence of Ron's own desire, that had gone forgotten.
Hermione was about to muster up the boldness to suggest that they do something about it, but when she turned back to Ron, he was already fast asleep.
Finding her top and knickers, Hermione nestled herself back against Ron's side. "I love you," she whispered once more.
Thursday, 14th May
There were less than twenty-four hours now. The invisible clock hung over all of the family's heads as the day went by agonisingly slow, yet painfully quick. The kitchen was cluttered with miscellaneous foods, wrapped up in cellophane for the party afterwards.
Ron knew it wasn't actually a party. But, the way they had prepared, the way they had realms of guests coming over, the way everyone was settling for an early night - like children did when excitedly awaiting their own birthday party - made Ron feel as though there was cause for celebration. But, there most definitely wasn't.
He didn't know what to expect from tomorrow. Although he had been to what felt like millions of funerals these past few days, he suddenly had cold feet when thinking of his brother's one. How on Earth were they meant to all stand there, watching his brother's body get lowered into a ditch, where he'd remain. For ever.
The thought made him physically tremor, and Hermione began stroking his hair again. They had been sitting in the living room for Merlin knew how long, but Ron had no intention of going to bed. The sooner he went to bed, the sooner he'd fall asleep - if it were even possible - and then the sooner he'd awake, and have to bury Fred.
He supposed he felt tired. It's what he told himself to justify the fact his head had been Hermione's lap for the last - once again, Merlin knew how long. The living room had been empty all evening apart from him and Hermione. In fact, he hadn't seen much of his family at all today.
He wished he could stop feeling. He wished he could stop the guilt, and the grief, and the sadness that came with the guilt and the grief, which flooded him to the point where he felt suffocated. Fred hadn't left his mind for the whole day. He just couldn't work it out. He just couldn't associate Fred, being the witty, energetic, alive soul that he is - or rather, was, with death. The finality of death. The inescapability of death. The fact that no matter how keeled over with grief any of his family were, they would never be relieved of it. They would never see Fred in his smart suit that he wore in the shop. They'd never see him in the moment where he had sparked a new and wonderful idea for a good product. They would never even see him live past twenty.
He squirmed in his position; lying across the sofa. Hermione had said little in the time that they had been sitting down here. He knew her, though. He knew that she was throwing him nervous glances every so often throughout the last few days, but he also knew that she wouldn't treat him with the same, meaning-well but meaningless niceties that he was sure to be greeted with in the day to come. She was just there for him, in a way he knew she probably didn't understand, but that was okay.
Hermione was watching Ron with sad eyes as he stared stoically into the dying fire. She could do little more than stroke the short hairs behind his ear, trying to reassure herself that if he wanted her help, he would ask for it. She had no idea how tomorrow was going to go. Ron hadn't been asked to write a speech. That painful job was taken up by Bill, who would speak on behalf of the whole Weasleys, as the siblings presumed that Mrs Weasley wouldn't be able to speak at all. Not that anyone of them would, really. Hermione leaned her head back against the sofa, closing her eyes and willing the travesty away, but there was no time to be in denial.
Ron hadn't spoken much, neither had she. She had no idea what to talk about, for once. Notoriously, she had been able to rattle on for hours about everything and nothing, especially to Ron. But tonight, there seemed to be no words that could fill the silence appropriately.
More time passed, before footsteps could be heard approaching. Hermione was surprised to watch George enter the living room, slumping down into a great big armchair.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. So the silence resumed, although Hermione's hand had gone from stroking Ron's hair, to resting on the sofa beside her, in light of George's presence.
Abruptly, George stood up and walked interestedly into the kitchen. Hermione heard the sound of the pantry door open, before George called out, "anyone for a drink?"
Hermione could only raise her eyebrows in surprise, which neither Ron or George could see.
"Go on then," came Ron's raspy voice, from not speaking in so long. He then turned his head to face Hermione, silently reiterating George's question.
"Uh- not for me, thank you," she replied.
George came back in with two goblets of - from the pungent scent - Firewhisky. Ron sat up and accepted his drink gratefully. "Bet Fred would've loved all this - us all moping around in his wake," George chuckled. The first time he had mentioned his twin's name to his family since it happened.
"Nah. Bet he'd love the attention," Ron remarked, causing both of the brothers to laugh.
Hermione smiled at their exchange, however, she felt rather out of place.
"Yeah. He was quite good at getting all eyes on him. It was his idea, after all, to surprise Umbridge with that pretty nasty firework whilst we fled the school on brooms," George recalled.
"That was brilliant," Ron commented fondly, laughing at the memory of Umbridge's sorry face as she ran away from the firework-dragon.
George tipped his goblet back and forth, as if in contemplation, before standing up again. "Another?" he asked, offering his hand out to take Ron's goblet.
"Yeah," said Ron.
Hermione eyed him warily. She knew he wasn't downing volumes, at the moment, or anything, but she knew he hadn't had much experience with alcohol, and the night before your brother's funeral probably wasn't a good time to start.
"Hermione?" George asked, tipping his goblet as an offer for her own.
"No, thank you again. I'm quite tired actually," she replied, hoping George wouldn't be offended by her declining.
"Why didn't you go to bed, then?" Ron asked simply, turning to look at her.
What? And leave you all alone on the eve before Fred's funeral? she wanted to ask, but didn't, all that came out instead was, "I - um - I didn't-"
"You can go up now if you like. It's got to be like- I don't know. What's the time, George?" asked Ron.
"Nearly midnight," George called from the kitchen.
Ron turned back to Hermione, waiting for her to decide. "Are you sure?" she asked, scanning his face.
"'Course. I'll be up, myself, soon," he reassured, standing up to head to the kitchen.
Hermione pondered it. Maybe she should stay in case things become too out of hand. But, Ron was a grown man, and George hadn't socialised like this in a while. "Okay. Well, Goodnight."
"'Night," he echoed, wrapping an arm around her waist and dipping his head to give her a kiss.
"Deary me, Hermione," George said as he reentered the living room. "How do you keep such a straight face when kissing that plonker?" he mocked.
"Dickhead," Ron smirked, receiving the second goblet.
Hermione shook her head between the two brothers with a smile, before heading up the stairs.
"Hermione?"
Hermione's eyelids were stiff with exhaustion, as she tried to adjust to the whisper that was calling her name.
"Ron?" she asked, her voice groggy and muffled by the pillow.
"It's Ginny." Hermione's eyes snapped open, as she looked around the room and then back to Ginny.
"What? Is everything alright? What's the time?" she asked hurriedly, sitting up and noting that Ron hadn't come up to bed yet.
"It's about four," Ginny explained.
"In the morning?" Hermione exclaimed. In her normal state, common sense would've told her that the room wouldn't be so dark at four in the afternoon, or that she wouldn't have been asleep that late. But she was still waking up.
"Yes," Ginny chuckled, although Hermione was beginning to gauge her uneasy expression. "Um, do you know where Ron and George are?" she asked.
Hermione's heart dropped. "The living room? The kitchen?"
Ginny shook her head. "They're not in the house, or around it, at that. There was a note left on the kitchen table, saying that they were 'off to the pub'." Ginny stood up as Hermione scrambled out of bed, clad in one of Ron's t-shirts and some light blue pyjama bottoms.
"The pub?" she asked incredulously as both girls left the room.
"Yes. We assume they mean the one on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, but it's about a half hour walk, and from the goblets and empty bottles, it seems as if they were in no state to apparate," Ginny further explained as they made their way down the stairs in a hurried fashion.
Panic flooded Hermione. She knew she should have stayed and looked after them when she had the chance. They could be anywhere right now, not to mention in their dreaded state of inebriation. Hermione had no idea what she would do if something happened to Ron, but willed herself to keep a clear mind.
Once they entered the kitchen, worried yet desperate faces turned towards Hermione, as if they had all been waiting months to hear from her.
"Oh, Hermione! Do you have any idea where they are?" Mrs Weasley cried, handing Hermione the scrap of parchment that was previously clutched in the mother's hand.
Off to the pub. Back in a bit
George and Ron
Hermione took a deep breath. "I - I was downstairs with Ron last night. George came down at about midnight, and offered me and Ron a drink. Ron accepted, I didn't, I was quite tired, so I...I went to bed." She said the words with guilt and regret. The whole family seemed alarmed by the story, probably just the fact that George had ventured downstairs for anything but family meals.
"I'm so sorry. If I thought even for a moment that they were going to up and leave at some point in the night, then I would've stayed with them." She couldn't believe how naive she was. Grief and alcohol didn't mix well.
"It's okay, Hermione. We don't place any blame on you, at all," Percy said soothingly. Mrs Weasley, however, remained tight lipped, and Hermione was sure that she was feeling differently to her son.
Hermione noted that Mr Weasley and Charlie were missing, but the rest of them had gathered in the kitchen. Harry and Ginny were leaning against the sink, watching nervously outside the window.
"We tried to disapparate and go looking for them, but by the time that we had gotten there the pub was closed, and the barmaid had gone home," Percy informed. Hermione nodded. "Dad and Charlie are still out looking for them, but sent Mum and I back home."
Hermione closed her eyes as she willed herself not to think of the worst scenario possible. They had just stumbled out to a pub, half an hour away, an annoying voice inside of her head reminded her. They were going to be found, she told herself. Really, how big could Ottery St Catchpole be? Ron wasn't so keen on walking long distances, she remembered from their months on the hunt. He wouldn't have gotten far.
"Did they mention anything about going to the pub? Going out, even?" Mrs Weasley probed, nodding at an empty chair for Hermione to take.
Hermione lowered herself to the chair slowly, watching out of the window for as long as she could.
"No," she shook her head. "Ron only said that he wouldn't be long before he went up to bed, but neither of them mentioned a pub or going out. They were talking about… Fred, when I left them." The silence became thick once she had uttered the words. Ginny turned around at his name, to face the conversation.
"Fred?" Mrs Weasley asked, her voice a shaky mix of happy sadness.
Hermione nodded. "They were talking about all that Fred and George had done at Hogwarts, especially fifth year," she explained with a sad smile of her own, wondering if this was helping Mrs Weasley at all.
The matriarch smiled at the thought, but even that expression was marred with worry. "Would you like any tea, while we wait, Hermione? Of course, you can go back to bed if you like. You all can," she announced the last part to the whole room, but no one made any inclination to move.
"No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. If it's alright, I'd like to stay for a bit and wait," said Hermione.
"Of course, dear," Mrs Weasley replied. Silence fell as they all waited. Hermione had no idea what they were waiting for, Ron and George could be anywhere.
Anger and worry battled in her mind for attention. She was angry that he had just disappeared, let alone disappeared the night before the funeral. But, she was so incredibly worried that she almost couldn't bring herself to be angry for too long.
About half an hour had passed, before the whole kitchen jumped at the sound of the back door being fumbled open.
Boyish giggles could be heard as the pair clambered through the living room. Hermione could hear furniture being knocked into, but she just stayed in her seat and waited, unable to move.
Once they had entered the kitchen, the smell of alcohol reeked through the air.
"We found them," Mr Weasley announced the obvious, him and Charlie squeezing passed the pair of drunks, before sitting down at the kitchen table. "Reek of a brewery, of course, but they're here." Hermione wondered if he was somewhat amused by his sons' state.
"Did we miss something?" George asked dumbly, wincing in even the dim light that the few candles provided.
Mrs Weasley's expression was thunderous. "Where have you been?" she shrieked, leaping out of her chair and marching towards her sons, who both towered her.
"Don't worry, mum. We only popped out for a drink. We're fine, right, Ronniekins?" George wrapped an arm around Ron's shoulders, although it seemed he did it to steady himself, rather than engage Ron.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, we're great!" Ron agreed, offering his mother a wide smile.
"Unbelievable!" Mrs Weasley huffed. "You leave, in the middle of the night, without telling a single soul, and get yourselves drunk!"
Ron and George looked between each other, their giggles becoming guilty glances. "We left a note," George tried. Ginny scoffed at his attempt to lament his mum.
But much to everyone's surprise, Mrs Weasley just looked between her two sons, before throwing an arm around each of them. "My boys!" she cried, the anger absent from her voice.
Both Ron and George stood awkwardly frozen, before they began to each pat their mother on the back. "Yes, mum, your boys." George rolled his eyes, although it was obvious that he didn't completely resent the hug from his mother.
Once she released them, she pointed two fingers at them. "Never, ever do that again, do you hear me?" she demanded.
"Yes, mum," they said in unison, defeated and tiredly.
"Oh, you better go and sleep it off, right away. I dread to think how much you both drank!" she ordered, summoning two goblets of water.
"Idiots," Ginny commented as she and Harry walked past them to head back upstairs.
"Indeed," Mr Weasley chuckled, following his wife up the stairs.
Charlie followed after. "Next time you pull something like that, at least invite me!" he called, earning him a 'tut' from his mother.
"There will most certainly not be a next time!" Mrs Weasley shouted down the stairs.
Percy stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, as if contemplating his next few words. "Y-you didn't happen to see Penelope, at the pub, did you?" The Clearwaters owned a chain of small pubs, much like the one at Ottery St Catchpole.
"Nah, her mother was there, though. We put in a good word for you," George smirked. Percy immediately flushed.
"W-what?!" he stammered.
"Don't worry, Perce. Only joking, ya." George patted his brother on the back before they both headed up the stairs, leaving only Hermione and Ron in the hallway.
Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her arms crossed against her chest, not willing to forgive as easily as Mrs Weasley.
"Alright?" Ron asked.
Hermione gave him an imploring look.
"What?" he groaned, downing the goblet of water, before walking over to the sink, too drunk to even think about where his wand was, let alone perform magic.
"You're off your face," she remarked. Ron's mannerisms were beginning to have an influence on her.
"I'm off to bed," he said smugly, staggering up the stairs, Hermione trailing annoyedly behind him.
Once they had reached his room, the interrogation began. "What were you thinking?" she asked, opening the window as she noted the heat of the room.
"What d'you mean?" he asked, pushing his coat off of his body and letting it fall to the floor, toeing off his shoes.
"Ron, you disappear into the night, drunk, and all you leave is this measly note!" Hermione said incredulously, holding up the scraggly-written note that had been in her hand all night.
"You're acting as if I did something wrong," he groaned, pulling more items of clothes off until he was stripped to his boxers, flopping down onto the bed.
"Well, you could've at least let me know," she said, sitting on the bed.
"Why? You're not my mother, Hermione!" he snapped, catching Hermione off-guard.
"Alright, Ron," she said defensively, in order to mask her hurt.
"Well, you know what you're like," he grizzled.
"No," she said matter-of-factly. "Please enlighten me."
"Try to control everything and everyone. Can't help yourself," he stated.
Hermione went to retort, but thought better of it. He's burying his brother in a few hours. He doesn't mean to hurt you.
"Right," she responded in an empty voice. Slipping into bed, she turned to look at the rest of his room rather than at Ron himself. She felt awkward now. She didn't know whether to say something to help, or if that would just provoke another nasty comment. Truthfully, Hermione didn't think it was a bright idea to share a bed while they were not happy with each other; they could probably both do with their own space. But, she didn't consider leaving to go downstairs and sleep on the sofa a good alternative. It wasn't really about them, anyway. He was just grieving. She wouldn't pretend to know how he was feeling, so instead she just remained silent and waited for sleep to take her.
This time when she awoke abruptly, it didn't take her as long to adjust. Hermione could immediately gauge the source of her awakening, from the unappealing noises and the empty space beside her. She quickly ran down the stairs to the kitchen, before coming back up to the bathroom.
She knocked gently, "it's me," she called.
"Come in." Ron's voice was raspy and frail as he knelt before the toilet, his shaky arms holding him up above the bowl.
Hermione knelt beside him. "I brought you some water," she said softly.
"Thank you," Ron said, accepting the goblet and drinking thirstily, before sitting back and collapsing against the bath.
Hermione readjusted her position so she was sitting beside him. It had only been a few nights since she was the one, pale and sickly, crashed to the bathroom floor.
"I tried to find a Hangover potion that I've read about, but-"
"Mum doesn't keep them anymore," Ron explained. "Not since Dad stopped getting bladdered at the pub, so since Bill was born."
"That's a long time," she remarked. Ron's eyes were closed, and his expression didn't convey much, apart from the fact he was clearly suffering the fate of drinking too much.
"Well, I think there's been a few times since, but Mum just made him get on with it, instead," he chuckled, rubbing his head. "Hermione, please don't let me drink again. I feel awful. And I can't remember anything."
"Can't you?" Hermione asked.
Ron shook his head. "Why? Did something happen?"
Hermione wasn't sure if she should tell him about what he had said. She didn't want him to feel guilty, but she similarly didn't want to lie. "Not much. Your mum was angry with you at first, but eventually seemed rather pleased that you and George had had fun. And then we came upstairs, and you weren't really in the best of moods.."
"Why?" he asked.
"Well, you obviously didn't feel very well. Really, Ron, it was only a few hours ago. Can't you remember?"
"Did I say something?" he asked concernedly, ignoring her question.
"Nothing too spiteful," Hermione replied in a teasing tone in an attempt at levity.
"What did I say?" he groaned apprehensively.
"It was nothing, Ron. You just asked me to stop trying to control you," she dismissed.
"I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arms around Hermione's waist and resting his head on her shoulder. It was an awkward angle but neither had any qualms about it. "I didn't really mean it, bloody hell, I can't even remember saying it so I couldn't have meant it."
"Is that how it works?" she laughed.
"I don't know, I've never really gotten drunk before," he whined, as she brushed his sweaty fringe from his eyes.
"How would you rate the experience?" she asked conversationally, wondering if he realised it that it was the morning of Fred's funeral.
"Wasn't great," he concluded. "What's the time?"
"I don't know. Are you wearing your watch?"
Ron lifted his arm and squinted at his wrist. "Bloody hell, it's seven o'clock. Mum'll be up soon," he noted anxiously, not wanting his mother to find him like this.
"Well, I imagine you could go back to sleep for a bit, to regain your energy, but I would suggest showering first," she remarked.
"What? You saying I don't smell like apples and flowers, right now?" he smirked.
"Not quite," she chuckled.
"Today's gonna be fun." His comment was sudden and recited in a dry tone.
"No," she sighed. "I'll be here for you," she promised, playing with his hair.
"Thank you," he said. "I am really sorry for being an arse, when I was drunk, to you, Hermione."
"Arse is a bit of an exaggeration. Plus, you're allowed to be agitated."
"Yeah, but, you don't deserve that," he argued.
"It's okay," she dismissed again. "Think you'll be able to stand up without your head hurting too much?"
"It's gonna hurt when I stand up?" he winced.
"Well, I don't know. I've never been like this before," she laughed, standing up herself.
Ron slowly raised himself up, rubbing his temples.
"Enjoy your shower," she said, unsure of what else to talk about while they were both thinking of the day ahead of them.
Ron bent down to kiss her, but Hermione stopped him by pressing against his chest. "Have you brushed your teeth since being sick?" she asked sceptically.
Ron rolled his eyes. She chuckled and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you upstairs," she said, before leaving him to shower.