A/N: Thank you to grownuphermione for the beta on the entire fic! Your feedback and careful eyes were so helpful.
Thank you to Avanell, ronniemione, and kareem33 for your feedback! I would love to hear from some of the rest of you reading...
Disclaimer: Still not mine... Though JKRowling could give it to me for Christmas. :o)
Not a Memory Yet, Chapter 2 (Late Night Musings)
I rolled over for what seemed like the hundredth time, listening to the creaks and groans of the flat. Other than the ordinary noises, it was silent. So, why was I awake in the middle of the night?
Ron. Thoughts of him often kept me awake. Unfortunately, it wasn't always the most pleasant of thoughts stealing sleep from me.
If someone had told me months ago that my greatest worry would be what to do about my situation with Ron, I would have laughed in their face. If someone had told me we would finally defeat Voldemort and move the Wizarding world forward, I would have fervently prayed they were right. If someone had said that I would make the first move with Ron and he wouldn't reciprocate, I might have been shyly optimistic that they were wrong.
It had been seven months since the defeat of Voldemort. Time felt so skewed for those months; some moments passed by in what seemed like the blink of an eye and I was left wondering where the month went. Other moments passed by agonisingly slowly, to the point it seemed as though one could live several lifetimes between the stretches of days and weeks.
In the days immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts, we survived. We paid our respects to the dead; we honoured their lives, their memories, and their legacies. We buried the broken bodies and set free the souls. We mourned; we tried to heal.
I tried to be strong for Ron, to let him lean on me. He was having none of that. Strong and stubborn, as always, Ron held his family's pain, lending himself to whomever needed comfort. I didn't actually see him cry until after all of the funerals. He was hunched over on his bed, head in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking roughly. A couple sobs escaped his mouth, but he quickly squelched them down. I almost rushed in to comfort him, but a small voice told me to leave him be, to allow him this small privacy to grieve properly. The moments I waited for him in the Burrow's sitting room felt long and drawn out, much longer than the short time he was taking to himself to mourn his losses. I had to force myself not to run back up the stairs to him. I wanted to hold him to my chest and rock him back and forth. I wanted to soothe him. I wanted… something to do, otherwise I knew I'd go mad with the feelings threatening to burst out of me.
He came downstairs and the moment passed. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it as he walked by me; he smiled softly, but I felt the distance between us. Those couple days before I left to get my parents were excruciating. I tried to get him to open up to me. I tried to be understanding and give him the space to grieve without feeling utterly alone. I could literally see the chasm between us growing day by day.
The emptiness and dead look in his eyes haunted me. I thought he'd hardly notice when I left for Australia- he'd only said a handful of words to me, to anyone, in days.
But, he did notice! I remembered the moment with bittersweet satisfaction.
For the entire twelve days I was gone, I dreamt of the embrace he gave me before we left. Part of me wanted a grand gesture, for him to beg me not to go, so I would know he cared. Of course, logically, I knew those things even without a sweeping declaration of his love for me. Nonetheless, I really wanted something I could hold onto instead of logic and reasoning. I wanted proof.
The strength of his arms clutching me tightly to his chest was a tactile memory I'd never forget. The feel of his stubble rasping lightly against my cheek and his warm, wet breath ghosting over my ear sent tingles down my spine. I still felt a flush rise on my body when I thought about his softly whispered "I wish you weren't leaving, I'll be miserable without you". The gentle caress of his lips on my cheek and the extra tight squeeze before he let me go were better than any grand gesture he could've made in those moments.
Of all people, George asked if he could accompany me on my trip. Though we'd never been particularly close, he and I had always got on well together. When he said he needed to get away from it all, I didn't hesitate. Ron promised to take care of everything and didn't show the slightest sign of jealousy- which was shocking, to say the least.
George turned out to be a lovely companion, though a bit on the quiet side, and helped far more than I had imagined. Luckily, my parents had stayed right in the house I had planned for them and we didn't need to search for them. I almost wished we had- I wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of my actions or the mess I had made, but I couldn't wait to see them. George silently supported me the entire time, gently prodding me to do what was right and then it was done and I had my family back.
My parents were none too thrilled with me, as I'd only partially explained to them how their safety would be achieved. They didn't know they would forget I existed; otherwise, they never would have let me go through with it. Watching the "childless" couple suddenly tear up and rush at me was one of the best feelings I had experienced in a long time. We- no, I- had a lot of mending to do, but we survived.
Though George and I could've had them packed in hours, my parents opted to sort their belongings and affairs the Muggle way. They needed time to organise and prepare and say goodbye to their friends and patients. That gave us a bit of free time to explore and relax. I sent Ron several letters, as well as Ginny, knowing full well that a couple wouldn't arrive until after we returned. George seemed to enjoy the quiet time we spent near Sydney harbour. He talked about Fred some and we laughed about the good times we'd all had together. He told stories about pranks they got up to as children and various things he wished Fred would've lived to see.
I thought all of those moments we spent talking about Fred were George's way of trying to say goodbye in his own way. It was strange to be a part of that with him, seeming a bit too intimate for our friendship, and I tried to give him a lot of space. But, he said it was better that way, because he didn't have to worry about someone else's grief- not in the same way he would've if I'd been a family member. The entire experience was oddly comforting to me. I hadn't been able to be there for Ron in the way I wanted to, but I was for his brother, something I knew he'd appreciate.
I'd somehow convinced myself that when I returned, everything would be different. Ron would've had ten days to miss me and realise he couldn't live without me. I wanted him to scoop me up when I came back and never let me go. I eagerly anticipated his embrace, so sure he would clutch me tightly and finally kiss me again; I wanted it so badly that I could hardly concentrate on anything else. I dreamed of his supple lips pressing against mine, possessing me, showing me that nothing was more important than me, than us.
But, he didn't kiss me again, I thought sadly.
Ron did hold me tightly when we came back and told me I was "never allowed to leave again", but that was it. I waited for the kiss that never came. I waited for him to drag me into the backyard or up to his room for a good snog. Surely, he just didn't want to do anything in front of his family. That made perfect sense, but the days and weeks stretched on and on and nothing happened.
Still, I tried to be thoughtful and understanding- he'd only just lost his brother for Merlin's sake. I chastised myself for even thinking about something so unimportant at such an inappropriate time.
Life moved on as it had the tendency to do. When I told Ron and Harry that I planned to get a flat in Hogsmeade, both jumped at the chance to get one together. We'd all been Apparating daily to the reconstruction efforts and it made good sense to live in the centre of all the changes. More than that, I longed for a place of my own. I was so grateful to have my parents back, but I missed my own space. My boys must've felt the same way about the Burrow, because we found a flat and moved in within two weeks of making the decision.
In the back of my mind, I thought that this was a first step for me and Ron, a step to something bigger. I made up my mind to drop little hints to Ron so that whenever he was ready, he'd know I was open to anything from him.
First, it started with always sitting next to him at meals and whenever we watched something on the telly. I let my thigh rest against his and sometimes I leaned into him a bit or rested my head against his shoulder. Not for long, but always long enough for him to get the point. Extended physical contact between us had only been a recent development in our relationship and I knew he would notice I was initiating it even more than usual. I tried that for a couple weeks, but perhaps I had been too subtle.
When that didn't work, I started squeezing his hand or his knee when something startled me on the telly or if I was trying to catch his attention. One would've thought, with the fair amount of touches and caresses and bloody hints I threw at him, he would've caught on. But, no. Nothing.
So, after nearly two months of that, I decided to step it up even a tad more. Each night before heading off to our respective bedrooms, I hugged both of my boys goodnight. I had been doing that since we went on the hunt together. With Ron, I began to give him short pecks on the cheek, thinking that definitely would get my message across. A few nights of that and I simply couldn't help myself: I kissed him, right on the lips. It was nothing compared to our first one, very chaste really, but it sent a thrill right through me.
The day after, I thought of little besides doing it again. Ron appeared as though he'd looked forward to it as well, because he smiled shyly when I went to hug and kiss him goodnight. Did he reciprocate or take it any further? No, not at all. Still nothing!
Well, not nothing, I thought and smiled wryly at the thought.
He flushed a deep red and his voice cracked when he said goodnight. Twenty minutes later, I heard him groan my name in the shower. Clearly, I affected him the same way he affected me; the thought made me giddy. Poor man must've forgotten to put up a silencing spell. Thank goodness Harry wasn't there that night- he and Ginny would never have let Ron hear the end of it.
Knowing what I'd done to him, I thought my baby steps were finally getting to him. I was trying to be patient, really I was. If I hadn't been holding myself back, I probably would've thrown myself at him again and snogged the life out of him. I knew he was grieving and needed time, but the wait was nearly killing me.
Despite everything, Ron didn't make a move. My birthday came and went with no declarations from him. At that point I had kissed him eight times on the lips. Those were eight opportunities for him to show me he wanted me as I wanted him. I knew he was attracted to me; the shower was proof of that. A horrible thought occurred to me: what if he just wanted a one-off with me?
I told myself that would explain why he hadn't made a move yet. He wouldn't sacrifice our friendship for a pull; he must've been holding himself back from me. The logical part of me reminded my impatient heart that he had just lost his brother. He had nobly given up his dream of being an Auror, at least for the short term, to take over for that brother and keep their business from falling apart.
The insecurities which always lurked below the surface were only somewhat appeased by my logical offering. I was still a woman, a sensitive one at that, and I had put myself out on a limb. I'd opened my heart and let myself be vulnerable, which was something I had some difficulty with, but it had felt right because it was Ron.
I somehow convinced myself to have faith, to be patient, and to give Ron the benefit of the doubt. Ron would never have wanted a one-off with a best mate; he was too loyal and honourable for that. I was ashamed I'd even been capable of thinking that of him. I also told myself to back off a bit, physically, though in reality it was more that I slowed the progression than actually took any steps backward. I contemplated not touching him at all and going back to how we had been, but then I heard Ron crying out in his room. That most certainly hadn't been pleasure and when I found him he was tangled up in his sheets as much as he was tangled in his nightmares.
I climbed onto the bed and woke him up, shushing him and rocking him with my body. He clutched me tightly and tears leaked out of his clenched eyelids, great gasps resounding from his lungs. He held me against his chest, saying my name over and over again. It was heartbreaking. When he finally calmed down and went to lay back in his bed, I started to leave. His whispered "please don't leave me" and sweaty palm grabbing my arm were all the invitation I needed. Without hesitation, I climbed under the covers and put my arms around him.
He finally needed me, I remembered with some relief.
Offering him comfort during his nightmares became a routine for us. I may not have gotten exactly what I wanted, but he sometimes let me in. He needed me and that was enough.
Amidst this development between us, the rebuilding efforts had moved along much more quickly than anyone anticipated. By late September, Headmistress McGonagall announced that enough of Hogwarts was repaired for students to be allowed to safely return at the beginning of October. Despite the late start, the staff had planned for an entire academic year to take place. I wanted to go back desperately, but what about my life with Harry and Ron? Neither would return and I didn't want to leave them.
I didn't want to leave Ron in particular. I mentioned it briefly and the look of terror in his eyes spoke volumes. True to his Gryffindor roots, he told me that I should go back if that was what I wanted. He didn't even look me in the eyes when he said it. I didn't want to imagine nights when Ron might call out and I wouldn't be there to catch him, to stop him from falling too far.
I confided my fears and anxiety to Headmistress McGonagall, though I left out the parts about comforting Ron in his bed several nights a week, and she surprisingly understood my hesitation.
I always knew there were good reasons for her to be my favourite, I thought fondly.
She agreed to let me Floo directly to her office before school began each day. Ginny tried to get the same deal, but her parents shot that down, despite her being of age by the time school started. Instead, she was given special permission to study at our flat a couple nights a week. We were in several classes together for the first time and we were both quite excited about it.
I thought my arrangement would help matters and I knew it did somewhat, yet some days it was painful to leave. Ron got this look in his eyes, but it was so difficult to pinpoint. It was somewhere between fear and horror, anger and jealousy. I tried to get him to talk about it, but he refused. Seeing Ginny on the nights she came over seemed to smooth things a bit, but the nights I came home later than planned could be torturous. The unspoken accusations clear on his face frustrated me to no end.
He's so infuriating sometimes! I sighed and rolled over again. It seemed silly that I was ruminating about Ron when a million other things could be bothering me more. I could've been fixating on my classes and final exams the next week or thinking about how to continue bridging the gap with my parents. I could've been thinking about the upcoming Christmas break and how I wanted to spend it. I wasn't.
All I could think about was how to help Ron get beyond these nightmares. He was so stubborn; sometimes I wanted to tear my hair out or grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Problem was I'd probably snog him senseless before I got the chance to shake any sense into him.
Tonight was a perfect example of how stubborn he could be when he wanted. In the past couple weeks, I spent countless hours researching treatments for post-traumatic reactions, especially nightmares. I'd spoken extensively with George about the treatment he was receiving at St. Mungo's. Both through talking to George and my research, I'd found out that the most promising treatment involved removing the memories and working through them in a bit more detached manner. When I suggested it to Ron, he became tight-lipped and short with me. He took off for his nightly run before he even heard all the details. I wanted to know what he was running from, but he wouldn't tell me even if I asked- he brushed off those questions so quickly and easily these days.
I decided to give Ron a bit of space and time to think about it, but I definitely hadn't given up. I took several deep breaths, stretched, and then pulled myself out of bed. Sleep simply wasn't going to quiet these ideas running about in my head. A bubble bath seemed a perfect way to start the morning before class, especially since it wasn't even sunrise yet. I had no idea how long I'd be able to maintain the status quo before something needed to give.
I'll get through to him yet.
Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be posted in a couple days. Reviews are loved and appreciated! -Risie :o)