Wedlocked
Chapter 39: Soldier On
Sleep evaded her. Whenever she heard the breathing coming from just outside the portrait frame, she shot up in bed, expecting to see someone in her room, expecting to see Sirius in her room. Each time she was disappointed to find the door still closed and no one there.
Rather than fight for unconsciousness, she decided her time could be better spent. She sat up and started thinking about her situation.
"I didn't mind being married to Sirius," she sighed.
What she meant and refused to say, was that she not only did she not mind it, she really rather liked it. But the placement of her trunk had not been an accident or oversight. Sirius had intentionally set it apart from himself, leaving her in no doubt that her place was not with him. He had every right to separate himself from her; with his death the magic binding them together had been severed. According to the laws governing Wizarding marriages, they were over – muggle marriages, too, if 'till death' really meant anything. Which was all well and good, but it still left her in the dark as to how she was meant to behave.
She refused to look a child, clinging desperately to a toy she could not keep. No, trying to keep hold of Sirius when he was trying to move on would do neither of them any good. So she knew how not to act, but that only went so far.
What did a jilted but wholly accepting adult do? How was she to act when she saw Sirius again?
Slumping down against the pillow, she scowled and tried to think of all the girls she knew who had ever been dumped, for that's the closest thing she could come to calling her own condition. Ginny always did the leaving in her relationships, so she was no role model. Lavender and Parvati went through a fair few boys since she had known them; Parvati's lip would go wobbly when you brought up an old boyfriend, but that was the extent of her reaction. Lavender, by contrast, would spend three days wailing and wallowing in her bed but thereafter gave absolutely no indication that the boy had ever meant anything to her. Neither seemed appropriate or particularly adult.
The only adult model she had for how to behave was Tonks. Before Christmas, before Remus finally admitted his true feelings, the woman had been dull and lifeless, but she had carried on. So that's what Hermione would do, she would carry on.
Soldier on, as her grandfather said.
When a respectable hour came, she rose from her bed and made her way out into the house, head held high and her grandfather's voice in her head, repeating the words like a mantra. Soldier on. Soldier on.
The kitchen was bright with light and warmth from the fire. It was also occupied by two Weasleys.
"Hermione, dear," Molly cried and offered the girl a hug. "Oh, we have been so worried about you!"
"Really, Hermione," the woman's husband scolded. "You ought to know better than to leave for so long without word."
Hermione smiled. "I'm sorry, but I really couldn't leave. My parents would have known something was wrong if I only came to assure them I was alright and left too quickly."
"But three days?" Molly demanded.
"My grandmother's birthday was the seventh, I had to stay for that. I've missed it the past six years."
The woman sniffed rather crossly, but could offer no solid argument to counter family obligations. She turned back to the cooker and flipped a pancake with enough force to send the uncooked batter splattering across the pan and her apron.
Hermione joined Arthur at the table. The man shifted his chair closer and leaned in. "Be honest with me, Hermione," he said, his tone more paternal than her own father ever managed to make his sound. "You've been avoiding Sirius, haven't you?"
"No, I have not. Well, not the entire time," she admitted, continuing before he could say more. "You be honest with me. How long did you know about the Horcruxes? How long did you let Voldemort try to get his wormy hands on me while you lot ran about the country destroying them? Longer than three days, yes?"
The man looked shamefaced and so much like his youngest son that it was a struggle to maintain her ire. "Quite a bit longer."
"I'm not cross anymore," she assured him. "But I do not appreciate being used like that. Someone could have had the decency to tell me – Sirius could have had the decency to tell me."
"Quite right. Quite right. But, really, Hermione, that's no reason to leave a man."
Hermione wanted to tell him it was, in fact, a very good reason. That she had every right to take herself away until she regained her composure and the rage dulled into mild irritation. She had spent the better part of those three days of arguing with herself, using hard logic to sort through the reality of it all and even writing out a pro and con list before she was able to understand and agree with their actions. She still didn't like it, but she at least could see why they had done it. She wanted to tell Arthur at least part of this, but the door swung open and slammed hard against the wall before she could voice a single word.
"Agreeable as ever, I see," Molly said with more sarcasm than seemed to fit her round, pleasant face.
"My house, my rules," Sirius slurred, glaring at her as if daring her to argue. He stumbled to the icebox and threw the door wide with as much violence as he had the door to the kitchen.
"Haven't you had enough for now?" Arthur questioned. "We're going to Saint Mungo's later and were hoping you might be in a state to come with us for a change."
Hermione eyes darted between the two men, disgusted by what she saw and heard; Sirius was not only drinking himself to sleep at night, but spending his days in the same state. What good was saving him from death if this is what he was doing?
"I'll do as a damn well please. Not as if I have a w—" Sirius shouted, spinning around and swaying on his feet when he saw the pair sitting at the table.
"Hermione's back," Molly said with such saccharine joy that it was clearly meant to hurt him.
"Nice of you to join us," he spat.
"Yes, isn't it just?" Arthur said with an honest smile; he had to be wilfully ignoring the biting sarcasm in Sirius's words.
"Well, for a little while, at least." Hermione was surprised her voice didn't shake. She had tried to sound indifferent, and managed a reasonable approximation of it. "I've seen so little of my parents; I forgot how lovely it could be, but it does get old living in the same jumper for three days."
Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice as she spoke the words. It took all her effort to not let the pain show on her face, but, in truth, it was agonising. It was the same crippling pain that had struck her when Sirius faced the Horcurx, that impossibly beautiful woman that was meant to be her. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, assuming it to be a powerful combination of anxiety, fear and magic, but there was little of that now. She could not explain this near-debilitating pain gripping her chest so tightly.
"Uh, will you be joining us at Saint Mungo's?" Arthur asked hurriedly.
"Yes, I've been wondering how Fred and George have been," she said, turning away from Sirius and feeling the pain increase with the loss of eye contact.
"Oh, those two are—"
The icebox door slammed shut, followed by the kitchen door, interrupting all talk for several moments.
"Has he been like this every day?" Hermione asked, her hand rising to her chest, the heel digging in as if physical pressure might dull the pain.
When Arthur finally replied, he sounded disappointed. "It varies. I had thought seeing you… Never you mind what I thought. How about some pancakes?"
His false brightness carried them through the start of breakfast, though Hermione had little appetite. The mood lifted with the arrival of the two youngest Weasleys, who chattered and argued their way through the meal. Hermione was genuinely happy by the time the plates were being cleared away, but as she laughed at something silly Ginny said, she felt the pain spike in her again.
"You all right?" Ron asked. "Made a face there."
"Hm? No, fine, just—" She stopped, not at all sure what to call it. "It's nothing."
But it wasn't nothing. It was the opposite of nothing. It was like she had a shadow, unseen by everyone, stabbing her in the heart every time she breathed, every time she laughed or smiled, every time she looked at someone who made her even a little glad.
Soldier on, her grandfather had said, so that is what she did. She put on a false smile and pretended she felt nothing.
"When are we going to the hospital?" she asked.
"Not for another two hours at least," Arthur said, checking the clock on the wall. "The nurses change shifts as twelve."
Hermione frowned her lack of understanding at him, but it was Ginny who answered.
"Mum made a bit of a scene when they were first brought in. She got us kicked out." The girl fought a smile. "The morning nurses still remember her and won't let us in. Need to wait for the afternoon shift to start."
"I did not make a scene," the woman huffed. "I was tending to my boys!"
Ron snorted, earning a smack from his sister.
"Come on," the girl said, pulling Hermione from the kitchen all the way to the room they once shared, the room she now slept in alone. With the door securely fastened, she rounded on her. "What is going on?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione replied with absolute honesty.
"Sirius. You," she prompted and waited expectantly, but when no answer came, she asked, "Have you left him?"
"No, I only went away to settle my nerves and make sure my parents knew I was fine. He's the one shoving my trunk into this room. Rather a cowardly way to end a marriage, I think, and he the one who insisted we be absolutely honest with each other. I knew he was trying to let me down easy before the train ride that morning, but this is really too much." Hermione was surprised by the unrestricted flow of words. She had been more upset by the end of the marriage than she had realised.
"You are the smartest person I know, Hermione," Ginny said, "but there are some things you are just absolute rubbish at."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You should talk to Sirius."
"No, tell me what you mean," Hermione insisted.
The girl just shook her head. "I will not be the one to sort this out for you."
"Sort what out? It's over. He doesn't want me. Never did. He said so himself on our wedding day, and I quote: 'I didn't want to marry you! I didn't want to marry anyone, ever!'." The imitation of the tone he had taken when he shouted those words was perfect, though Ginny would never know it. Hermione still remembered his face when he had screamed at her in the kitchen, and no amount of time would dull the pain it brought her. Their marriage had never been real, though he had come close to convincing her otherwise.
"Talk to Sirius," Ginny said simply and left her standing alone and angry and with a heart that felt as if it were breaking.
"Hearts can't break," she muttered. "They're a muscle; they can only be crushed." It was pointless trying to talk herself into believing it, because she knew what being broken felt like. She felt broken now.