Consequences of Falling

Ch. 12

In retrospect, perhaps not the best of moves on her part. But who was she to turn to other than a nearby friend who had, undoubtedly, not been there to see the depths of which she might flounder at the worst of times. A troublesome creature she had become - troublesome, but not wholly unworthy of affection.

As she lay awake in an unknown bed with a foreign arm wrapped around her tightly, Hermione felt every inch of the body pressed against her back, curling against her legs, and wondered why she was there. She could taste the bitterness of sleep and stale liquor, a taste that dried her mouth and made her tongue feel fuzzy. Rolanda was quietly sleeping, not even a snore to break the silence, only that of languid breathing which caused warmth to spread across the back of her neck. True to her word, she didn't try to sleep with her friend in a less formal sense, despite the fact that her body ached for it; not for the person, despite the attractive nature of the silver haired witch, but the act itself that would have released some tension. A frivolous fuck wouldn't have been awful, yet, this was her friend. At this time, what she felt to be, her only true friend in the world. One who lacked judgement in any capacity, one who was true - for the most part -, and that was all that caused her to hold her tongue and control her hands from forcing the one laying against her stomach between her thighs. Hermione knew it was destructive. And so she quelled the urge.

Through the curtains, a dim light began to filter in. Morning sun. The reddish, pink hues could only just be seen peeking through thin cream colored fabric as the rising star began to creep over the distant hills and begin the day. She couldn't tell for how long she had been laying there, pondering over herself and Ron's recent conversation. Too recent. Too abrupt. From the moment she straddled her motorbike and rode off into the unknown there had been nothing but upheaval and difficulty. She wasn't settled here. Not yet. What he had said, how he had said it, the way his eyes looked filled with anguish and moderate disdain… It would have been wrong, she thought, to act immediately. Maybe, she was wrong, but it didn't feel wrong to ignore his invitation, considering the weight of his feeling. The Burrow had been near, close enough to call it a forty five minute flight from the cottage, yet, she couldn't bring herself to face the woman she had known as a mother, and the man she could equate to a father, since her own were still living, lovingly, under the strength of her memory charms. How could she look into those two pairs of eyes only to see their disappointment?

"I can hear you thinking." Gravel. Morning speak… A voice that was both soft and, yet, somehow sounded somewhat amused. It struck the brunette in a way that made her uncomfortable immediately.

"You're awake." Grumbled the younger woman, unmoving. Neither one moved or shifted, made to get out of bed or separate, Merlin only knew why. She only felt the body behind her grow aware of itself and relax back against her with a bit more of a grip held around her middle.

"And you are a awake… At this ungodly hour." As seconds drew on, now knowing that consciousness had its grip on them both, Hermione's senses grew heightened. Highly aware, she was, and now every sound, every minute tensing of muscle sent signals to her brain that this felt incredibly awkward. She cleared her throat lightly and closed her hand atop the one against her stomach, readying to remove it.

"I'll let you get some proper sleep, then," She made to excuse herself. "I'll see you later for breakfast…" The warm hand beneath the covers, beneath her own cooler one which had been laying above blankets, didn't move - in fact, fingers splayed and laced with her own. They squeezed.

"Don't be silly, I'm awake. We'll have breakfast and you can explain to me why you came here, of all places, to find comfort - and from what." Finally… Finally… The body moved. The warmth that lay behind her shifted away and the hand that had gripped hers for that brief moment, too, was taken. Just that feeling - that one feeling alone -, Rolanda would never realize how it affected her.

Hermione listened as the woman crept out of bed and away, to the bathroom, she assumed, in order to wake up for the day at… Possibly 6 a.m.; or that ungodly hour, if the elder witch preferred. It never mattered how much she could have poured down her throat the night before, she would always awake in the early morning hours to regret the previous night. It gave her a good long day of it. Funny, how she could let herself stay there in that very bed while the faucet ran, curled up beneath the blankets as she listened to the shower running, and the sound of a body displacing the water in larger drips against the bottom of a claw foot tub. The awkwardness had faded, no longer did she feel out of place, quite the opposite actually. Perhaps, it was the firmness of the mattress or the way the pillow cradled her head, but it felt like home. Her home. Their home. Where Amelia always preferred to take her shower first thing in the morning while Hermione lie waiting in bed, just to listen contentedly to the sounds of her lover living.

.*'-HGMM-'*.

"Come on, darling… We're going to be late!" Boots were pulled on quickly then sounded over the floorboards. Fingertips took up leather jacket and pulled it on, one arm at a time, before finding hair to release from beneath the collar. They had approximately an hour before dinner, it only took forty minutes to ride, still, Hermione hated being late. She listened as noises, grumbling and muttering from the floor above, drifted down and she knew, without a shred of doubt, that Amelia had raided the closet for something that would suit her.

"Coming!" Called the woman as she took the stairs, two at a time, while her lover checked herself in the mirror by the back door. A flash of a look, disgruntled and annoyed, passed behind Hermione as she watched the womans' reflection in the mirror, habitually. A small smile curled the corner of her mouth.

Amelia was nervous. The thought was entirely delicious. Oh, so rare a sight.

"You look lovely, darling…"

"Shut up."

The back door swung open and out walked the blond into daylight, leaving Hermione to trail behind and lock it, snickering to herself with glee.

"I told you not to be nervous." She called over her shoulder as the lock clicked. A muttering of all sorts of little curses and fuck you's was her only answer. She turned on the back step and appraised the woman whose back was turned upon her, hands on hips, in the middle of their backyard, staring off passed the garden at the shed. Hermione schooled her expression to not convey the humor she found in knowing just how deeply Amelia cared about meeting the Weasley's. It was a simple Sunday dinner; there had been many before, there would be many more to come, it was customary. It had only been a very long time since Hermione struck up the courage to attend, despite keeping in close contact with Molly and Aurthur all those years. At least a few months had flown by.

When she received no real answer, the brunette stepped down to the grass and crossed those few feet. She didn't touch the woman, she only stopped when at her side and slipped her hands into the confines of her jeans pockets. Amelia wouldn't turn her eyes away from the place where they would soon have to back out the bike. So, she waited.

"Babe… I'm freakin' out," She heard at long last. In frustration, the blond raised her hands and brushed them back through her hair, shifting her weight. "I look like trash, I couldn't find my good shirt so I stole yours, I couldn't find my good jeans… So, again, I stole a pair of yours, and my boots… "

"Are quite shiny… I can't even remember the last time I saw you polish your shoes." An arm shot out and swatted her unexpectedly, which caused a slight noise of surprise. Hermione grabbed that arm before it could be pulled away and turned her partner so that they could peer back and forth, face to face. Amelia was red, her eyes watery, and she did, indeed, look absolutely crestfallen. A deep sigh parted her lips and Hermione lifted her hands to rest on the sides of her neck, her thumbs softly tracing the lines of the other womans' jaw. Amelia stared only at her chest.

"They will love you, they will love you because I love you… Because you treat me with the utmost respect and love me like I'm something very special, which is a task in itself because I am difficult and can be hard to love," The smell of fresh air and her partner's perfume was intoxicating, it made her feel free to express whatever was needed, and true, right there and then. "I know we've kept to ourselves because I required it, because I asked it of you, and maybe it just got easy for you to accept introversion… But I want to have a life with you that's full and I know it's scary to meet people who've known me my whole life but they are good people. They don't care about the clothes that you wear, it's the person that's in the clothes, the good person wearing my shirt and my jeans, that's all that matters to them So, don't be scared. The minute you met them, you'll understand just how little they give a shit about material things."

Sometime between when Hermione started talking and finished, Amelia's hands had found hers and brought them down to her chest, holding them both, and her reddened cheeks began to fade to a more comfortable color. She was starting to relax, if only just.

"I've never let someone take me home to meet their family… Hell, I've never bought a house with someone before, I've never been in a relationship this deep before," Hermione watched her lover state, earnestly. "After mom died I just didn't want to have these sorts of experiences because I would never be able to share all these things with her and say 'Hey! Guess what! I'm a fully functioning human being in a stable relationship with a great person', I never thought I'd let myself have these experiences." The strength in Amelia's resolve was surfacing and Hermione was watching it, watching her pull strength from nothing, and she knew it was difficult. She knew it must be hard, they had both suffered damage, one way and another, and it was each other that was bringing them back. Healing together.

"I promise you, I will never put you in a position where you regret opening the door for me… I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would want to bring someone home, meet my friends, live with someone again, love someone again - not in this capacity, at least." Hermione returned, offering up her truths with sincerity and affection. Crystal eyes searched for face for any sign of a lie, Hermione could see that much, Amelia's scars ran just as deep and, every once in a while, the fear of this new reality still gripped them both. They were in a dangerous business, in some dangerous times, and now everything had changed over the course of a year. It was new territory.

"I'm trusting you." She said simply.

"Let's get going."

.*'-HGMM-'*.

The taps shut off. Hermione could hear the shower curtain be pulled back and she opened her eyes. This was not her bed. Not her bedroom. And the woman stepping out of the shower wasn't her girlfriend, it was her dear friend. There would be no kiss, no droplets of water from hair against her cheeks, and no wet towel dropped to the floor beside the bed. It was back to the reality where the blond no longer existed; back to the world where the Weasley's hadn't seen a glimpse of her in years. All but one.

Hermione mustn't have heard Rolanda take her clothes into the bathroom on her way, but when the woman returned to the bedroom and began lighting the room with lamps and spreading the curtain, she was dressed in clothes that weren't the pajamas she crawled into bed with the night before. The brunette didn't move, she watched. Yellow eyes kept their line of sight rather trained upon her as well, before long the room was lit and the ambience was dashed. She came and sat on the bed and leaned over Hermione, one hand planting behind the brunette's back,

"I don't think I want to eat." The younger woman stated. Rolanda pursed her lips briefly in thought, then gave a short nod.

"You don't have to eat… But you do have to talk, I think I deserve that much."

It was fair and just. Hermione knew that. She had come at a rather inopportune time and imposed herself in such a way that took privacy out of the equation for her friend for the night, stolen a half of the bed, and not moved. Defeat washed over tanned features and she gestured for the woman to move so she could, at least, seat herself rather than lay there like a corpse for much longer. Rolanda did shift and moved to seat herself further down the bed, doing so in such a way that they could somewhat face one another. Hermione allowed herself to drop her legs over the edge and sat up, brushing her hair back and away from her face. Oh, how she wished for a stiff drink to dull the beating drums in her head.

"You were drunk last night." She heard the woman state, knowingly. The way she said it almost made it seem like she was starting her off, giving her a starting point, and an accurate one at that. Hermione tossed her a short look before focusing her sights on the window panes across from where she sat, and the pointed towers beyond them, obstructing her view of morning.

"I had been drinking, Ron came by to see me, we spoke, he left, and it was… Traumatic. So I came to you because, right now, you're my person." Honest, pointed, and clipped - It was the Cole's Notes of the circumstance. It said everything without saying too much, or too little.

Rolanda seemed to pause for a moment and hummed to herself quietly, Hermione didn't watch the womans' eyes shift to match her sights, but she could feel the woman considering; considering maybe how to proceed, or if she really wanted to pursue the topic further. Maybe she was considering how Hermione would react, being that the brunette often could switch course and mood at the drop of a hat.

"Weasley… You two were quite close, I remember that," Hermione hummed in response, affirming the assessment. "Not anymore?"

"No, not anymore"

"Why is that?"

Chocolate brown eyes turned themselves from brightening sky and laid themselves on the face of the other woman, meeting golden, and lips formed a grim line. Rolanda could see that Hermione wasn't angry, frustrated, or about to pop a top, as she was prone to do, which meant she was processing - she was choosing her words and carefully so. She was beginning to understand how the younger woman worked, how she had difficulty stitching her heart on her sleeve. Cool calculation, similar to another witch she knew, probably still sleeping in a bed on the other side of the castle, sprung to mind. Similar, yet, unique to the individual.

"Because I was starting to have a life once, after everything had happened and ended with Minerva and I went mad," She shook her head, brows knitted, as she tore sights away to peer somewhere beyond the stone floor, somewhere other than the face, and look about those yellow eyes; not pity, never pity, only concern. Concern that she didn't feel wholly deserving of at the time. "Ron liked my partner, my friends really enjoyed her, we enjoyed them together, we were starting a family of our own… Amelia's father left when she was just a little girl, her mother died when she was in school, she had her own sets of issues - I had my parents, but I could never quite bring myself to reverse the obliviation after the war when I saw just how happy they were in Australia, without me. Amelia never pushed me to do otherwise, she accepted me as I was."

She bit her lip, pausing. A brief memory, almost like a dream, she remembered appearing at their apartment in the disguise of a postal worker delivering the mail, she almost reached for her wand, but… They had a life. They had trinkets on the mantle, pictures on the walls, and she… Well, she wasn't the girl they raised anymore. She delivered them a letter from their own mailbox, in person, garnering a strange look but a warm smile, nonetheless, and left without a backwards glance.

"We would routinely see the Weasley's for dinner, we found a little property together, a cottage, where we could garden and have a quiet life away from the dangers of work and… it was lovely there… We were quite close by, but it's difficult to go back to a place where I would bring her and see her laugh, watch her grow close to the people I had loved, and see how they responded to her, they loved her so much, and the joy she brought."

For Hermione, it was like speaking about a dream. It was nearly as though it hadn't really happened at all to begin with. The memories were intact, always - but the rest? The feeling? The in the moment of it? Enough time had passed that now it all felt somewhat detached and disconnected, the rawness of it lingered, but could Hermione actually feel what it felt like to be listening to Arthur and Amelia discuss the differences between Muggle and No-Maj electrical sockets? Or the way Ron would make his sly innuendos which made the blond howl with laughter as Hermione grew bright pink? The plans they would make with Harry and Ginny, how much the kids loved to try and mimic her subtle Midwestern accent?

"I can't imagine." Rolanda told her, and Hermione met her gaze.

"And now I have to try and navigate how to go back and take responsibility for myself, when I would rather avoid anything to do with… The mess I made," Sighed, the woman with a groan as she flopped back onto Rolanda's bed and stared at the ceiling, folding her hands upon her stomach. "Because Ron is right, I've been selfish and they are still my family. The only one I have left, so I must set aside my feelings and try to crawl my ass back into the good graces of my friends so I can return to my work properly." It was this that made Rolanda's features scrunch for a moment.

"Return to work properly?" A brow arched fractionally.

"Kingsley sent me here to be exiled, I guess… Keep me distant from trouble, Ron told me so, and so Minerva offered me a job and, in my arrogance, I couldn't deny wanting to stick it to the woman so I came back. Rather smart move, really. But it would have been nice to not be involved in all the non-truths and just be suspended."

"And, what," Rolanda pieced it together and shot Hermione a glance of some slight amusement. "Kingsely was probably petrified that you might string him up by his toenails, you aren't the most predictable sort, from what I've seen. You were incredibly mild once."

"I was, wasn't I?" There was an agreement in Hermione's tone, a confusion lacing notes, as well. Hermione couldn't remember it, but she knew that it was true.

"Indeed."

The women sat in silence for some time, both quietly folding over their thoughts and filing pieces of the interaction away. As time drew ever onward, the flying instructor began to feel confident that her friend was beginning to try, once more, to pull herself together. She'd made progress over time, fast progress, just as she had when she, herself, was a pupil running these halls. But rather than an academic discovery, this was far more personal. Maybe it was best.

"Thank you for listening."

"I always do."

.*'-HGMM-'*.

Returning to her quarters later that morning, Hermione sighed once more while picking up bottles and random bits she'd tossed around in anger on her way out the door. She was growing tired of herself, tired of constantly picking up the pieces of broken glass, of papers, or of herself that she left carelessly strewn in all directions. It was easy to talk to Hooch about these things, for some reason. Maybe it was that from the get-go, it seemed like the woman genuinely felt a kinship. Strange, considering the fact that many years prior, neither cast a glance in one anothers direction under the assumption of far too different. Age had a large part to play - age and experience. Hermione forgave Rolanda for doing what she had done, for lying by omission, and it was easy to forgive her for it. Something about the woman gave her peace.

Wandering into her bedroom, she looked over the few luggage cases that remained unpacked in the corner, hidden, beside the wardrobe. One in particular stood out from the rest, as it was covered with various travel stickers and random doodles with a black, felt tipped permanent pen. Hermione strolled over to the pile of suitcases and freed it from beneath another. The grip of the leather handles felt worn and accustomed to another hand. She placed it down on her bed and reached for its zippers, opening it, and layout it out before her. Pictures in frames, knick knacks from travel, some more books… Another wand. She started taking these things out of the suitcase and, with her own wand in hand, began wandering the lengths of her quarters. She placed pictures on walls, began filling book cases, set down the little things she, or Amelia, had purchased as they traveled. The most precious of all these was placed on a small holding rack above the fireplace on the mantle; Amelia's wand. When she was done, she looked around and felt the place to be less cold, less lonely. Surrounded by her things, the woman took the time to glance at the face beside her own. There, confined in a moment in time, she was almost happy with herself. Her reward was a hot mug of coffee and a moment of silence. Before long she would find herself in the shower with an outfit laid out on the bed, her traveling gear waiting by the door, and then out onto the grounds where she would find her bike by Hagrid's hut. Ripping off the band aid was better than not knowing what festering mark lay beneath, the faster it was done, the sooner she could make way toward finding if whether she could ever be more herself again. She would have wanted it. In her heart of hearts, Hermione knew that much.