A/N: I'm looking back and cringing at the excessive typos in the last chapter. In my excitement to post it, I neglected a much-needed review. Personally, reading stories littered with silly mistakes makes it hard for me to want to continue in the story. Sincere apologies, dear readers, and I promise to look more closely before posting next time.
The last one was meant to shed more light on Hermione's side of things. Reviewers, you're totally right - there are no such things as angels. Fanfiction can paint only Ron or Hermione as chief sinner, when I think both would have had their own demons to deal with. They both are at fault in this story, for very different reasons. Grief, perfection, and guilt are terrorizing our Hermione, while bitterness, addiction, and pride plague Ron. A perfect storm. Like I promised, however, there will be resolution and some Romione sweetness coming. Just stick with me.
Enjoy this chapter. Please give a review if you liked it or have ideas for what you might like to see.
It was Harry Potter who woke her up.
The banging on the front door roused the witch from her fitful sleep. She had woken up twice – once at 2am and again a mere half-hour later before finally falling back asleep. It was nighttime when she felt most vulnerable, so sure of her brokenness. It had been that way even before her mum died. Night was when she hated most the shame of permanent abandonment and relived the trauma of the past 14 years. But hadn't she partially done this to herself? Her mind was plagued with the same miserable thoughts.
The persistent knocking stirred her from the warm shelter of her bed, carried her down the hall, and brought her swinging the door open to her raven-haired best friend. His green eyes were gentle, coaxing. The thin, small smile gave her the dreadful feeling that something must have gone wrong.
"Harry! What's the matter?" She stepped aside to let him enter through the threshold into her flat and he took a breath, running a hand through his dark hair. Ice ran through her veins at the thought of the dreadful creature harming Ron or even Elliot, who she didn't know well but felt a sense of responsibility for. No, Ron would never let something happen to the boy. She had known the stubborn wizard long enough to trust that. Over his dead body. Dead body.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked in frustration, balling her hands into fists. He flinched, wiping the counterfeit smile off his face.
"Can we sit down?"
"Not until you tell me what's going on right this instant!" Under different circumstances, Hermione might have been embarrassed that she stomped her foot in childish indignation, but right now it felt justified. Spit it out, Harry!
The wizard let out a puff of air and dropped onto the sofa, patting the seat next to him. She made the three steps necessary to take a spot beside her best friend, dizzyingly imagining the worst possible case scenarios. Couldn't be Ginny – Harry wouldn't dare leave her side. It must be Ron. Why else would he pay her a personal visit?
The brunette felt before she saw the large hand gently cover her fisted one. Similarly to when Ron had carried her after their unfortunate run-in, it felt shockingly nice to experience physical contact. It was rare, these days, to be touched. The sensation was lovely but confusing. It made her edgy.
Hermione took in the expanse of Harry's hand over hers, knowing he was about to tell her something terrible. It made her wish she had Crookshanks curled up in her lap.
Wait a moment.
"Crookshanks!" Hermione cried as Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the little bell that she had fastened around his collar years ago. Fear was dispelled by a new brand of heartache. It hadn't even crossed her mind that something might have happened to her pet.
With a shaking hand, she took the lightly tarnished bell in her palm and heard the familiar chime. The sound brought tears to the corner of her eyes instantly. A horrid sound emitted from her throat as the reality sunk in.
Strong arms enveloped her, but it felt off. Like dancing with an earnest partner who just couldn't seem to get the steps right. Harry had comforted her countless times since they had fought off the troll that Halloween night so many years ago, but never so well as Ron.
"W-what happened to him?" Hermione sniffed, fighting off the sob lodged in her throat. Harry's hand lightly patted her back as they sat on her sofa. She began to feel a bit overwhelmed by his nearness and pulled back. "Was he struck by a car?"
"No, the muggle vet thinks he just died of old age," Harry answered, his green eyes sparkling with concern for his friend. "And I didn't find him. It was Ron. Found Crookshanks just a little ways from here. He let me know what happened and asked me to stop by. To ask -" Harry paused, eyebrows furrowing, before looking back into the wide brown eyes of his friend, "to ask if it was alright for him to be buried at the Burrow."
The Burrow? Why, of all places, would that be a place for her ginger half-kneazle to be laid to rest? And why, of all people, was Ron the one proposing this?
As if sensing her questions, Harry continued. "Ron thought it might be nice, since Crookshanks loved to hunt gnomes there and prowl around the place like he owned it. Molly and Arthur kept him there for a while after we went off – remember? It's sort of like his first home."
For reasons other than the death of her beloved pet did Hermione begin to weep.
His dad had come out to help him as the late Saturday morning rays washed the garden in blazing light. Birds chirped happily all around, but the gnomes were nowhere to be seen. Having a lie-in, he imagined.
Together they had dug a small grave for the cat but waited to place the little box inside until he heard from Hermione. Just thinking her name aloud was freeing. For months he had kept it under lock and key, painfully hearing it mentioned at work or if Ginny or Harry slipped up, or during incidents like running into Padma at the pub. He could go for a Guinness right now, actually.
With a jump, Ron heard a distinct pop as someone apparated several meters away. Molly poked her head out the window and gasped before hurrying out the door into the garden. His dad turned to address the visitor as a huge beam broke out across his face, arms outstretched to the gorgeous, distraught witch whose tear-streaked face made Ron's heart twist quite painfully. Arthur hurried across the yard to meet her and Harry.
"Hermione! Merlin, it's been too long. We've missed you, dear," he said tenderly, hands on her shoulders as he kissed her on the cheek. "You get prettier as time goes on. Doesn't she, Molly?"
Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes as his mum rushed towards the pair, pulling Hermione into a crushing hug. Harry moved to come stand by Ron, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "They don't give me that kind of welcome anymore, do they?" he teased.
"Well, they've seen you in a year in a half, haven't they?" Ron answered bitterly, immediately regretting the icy tone. Harry ignored him and took in the scene before them.
Arthur and Molly were practically doting on Hermione, smoothing her hair and complimenting her and offering their condolences for Crookshanks. Ron couldn't hear her replies, but knew the witch well enough to understand that this was positively overwhelming her.
Almost as if in a trance, Ron found himself walking towards the beautiful girl. The light from the sun drew out the honey-colored highlights of her curls. She had an emerald long-sleeved shirt on over denims and her hair fell naturally over her shoulders. It was odd to see her dressed so casually, as he normally just witnessed her adorned for work.
His parents stepped away and she turned to take him in. He felt a punch to the gut when he saw just how sad she looked. Horrid memories flooded him. He hated to see her like this. But that didn't keep him from walking right up to her, unsure of his exact next move but succumbing to the draw.
Completely unexpectedly, the witch took a step towards him and threw her arms around his neck, rising to her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his left cheek. Though it lasted merely half a second, the skin where her lips touched blazed. Instinctively he had reached his hands out to steady her, lightly holding her waist. They snapped back to his sides once she moved.
Her cheeks were rosy and she averted her eyes from his, keeping them cast down at their shoes as she pulled back. "Thank you," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear over his mum and dad chatting with Harry. "You didn't need to do all this."
He shrugged, unsure of what to tell her. To be honest, he hadn't even done anything for the cat in order to please Hermione. He had done it because she deserved, at the very least, for someone to take care of things. They stood there a moment longer before he found the words to speak.
"He was a good cat. Protected you, 'specially when I was a git in school," Ron started, unsure of why he was saying all this. "And he always knew more than a normal cat, like that time with Scabbers. I'm sorry I was ever mean to him." Hermione's big brown eyes rose to meet his. "And I'm sorry he died, 'Mione."
She nodded solemnly, eyes glazing over with unshed tears. Ron fought the urge to pull her into a hug.
"Alright if we do it there, over by the flowers? Please don't say yes if you prefer him in London or…erm, wherever else…" Ron finished lamely, afraid to say or in Cambridge, with your mother. Blast. This was hard.
"This is fine," she whispered, wiping under her eyes with a curved index finger. "Thank you. He loved it here. Some of the best memories for both of us."
Seeing Ron delicately place the box into the ground and begin to cover it with small shovelfuls of soil reminded Hermione painfully of when Harry had done the same for Dobby in Tinworth. While their young lives no longer hung in perilous danger, she had been so much more connected to the wizards during those times of mad uncertainty. Life with Ron had been interesting then, too. The beginnings of their more forthright affection for one another had bloomed from that awful day. She recalled how he had beckoned her to him, holding her steady and keeping her close by his side from then on. The terrible experience ignited something in him and he became her protector. Nothing, however, could change the fact that their faithful friend had died, necessitating the seaside burial.
Harry was so much happier now. The anguish from carrying the burden of saving the world from Voldemort's terror had obscured the more laid-back side of her friend. Harry had a wonderful sense of humor and hadn't let the pain of all that he'd lost tempt him to bitterness or seclusion. His green eyes met hers and he smiled, not patronizingly, but empathically. She recalled how distraught he was when Hedwig was killed.
Ron's arms flexed with the movement of the shovel, careful to cover the little grave without too much force. Arthur cast a spell that sent fresh green grass to sprout up over the disturbed earth. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat.
Another funeral. Life still goes on for everyone else.
"Please do stay for dinner, dear," Mrs. Weasley shamelessly requested, after having refilled Hermione's tea three times. The kitchen table was laden with treats Ron would normally have devoured, but the nerves were keeping him grounded. She was in his bloody house! It was like sitting across from a ghost.
After burying Crookshanks and agreeing to a spot of tea, she had stayed for over an hour to catch up with his parents as he and Harry played the part of offhand observers. His dad asked her about things Ron could have answered himself – what her muggle neighborhood was like, how she spent her time on the weekends, whether she had been on any holidays lately. Hermione also asked in return all about the grandchildren – a topic his parents could babble on and on about for ages. The conversation began to dip into dangerous territory when Arthur inquired as to how her latest cases were going, causing her to light up as she detailed the most interesting aspects of what she was working on at the ministry.
Pushing back his squeaky chair out in what he thought was a discreet manner, Ron stood to go busy himself elsewhere. Harry and his parents seemed enamored by the various tales of oppressed creatures who all needed her undivided attention. Damn her fucking work. Did they know that it stole away any opportunity for her to properly grieve her mum's death? How it mirrored any kind of success or failure she saw in herself? Or how it had ultimately led him to find solace in the bottom of an empty glass when the love of his life shut him out?
"Ron! What are you doing here? Someone might see you!" she had hissed as she pushed him back, causing him to teeter on unsteady legs.
"Missed you," he had confessed with a slur. "Come home. Please." Reaching for her again as she ducked back.
"Not when you're like this! What if my boss walks in? You can't be here!" she had muttered, clearly annoyed after scrunching her nose up at his breath. "Did you not think this through?"
His facial expression must have betrayed him because she stopped talking. All eyes snapped to him – his mum looking disappointed, his dad confused, Harry irritated, and her… well, she looked horrified.
"Goodness, it must be getting late. Thank you so much for all of this, but I really should be heading home –" she stammered, pushing her chair back as well.
"Don't go so soon! It's been lovely having you here, Hermione." Molly argued as Arthur prudently added another toffee scone to her plate. Harry sighed audibly, frustration written all across his face. Ron wanted to smack him.
"Really, Molly. In fact, I ought to go visit my dad."
"Not till tomorrow," Ron heard himself argue before he could even register the words. Damn.
Buggering fuck. Did he really just say that? Ron felt his entire face erupt in red-hot shame. He'd given himself away – he knew it. The slip up when he told her to apparate home instead of walking when she hurt her ankle was a drop in the bucket compared to this. He could not being himself to look up at the faces surrounding him, but especially not hers.
"I certainly should be heading home. Promised Gin I'd clean the flat," came Harry's jumpy response. Without giving anyone time to reply, he was gone.
Ron leapt from the table and evaded the kitchen, wishing to be anywhere in the entire bloody world except for there.
Her words from seventeen months hung in the air. "Just leave, Ron! Might as well storm off for good this time. I'm better off without you."
Molly had gained a renewed sense of purpose when those Weasley grandbabies arrived. Hermione had witnessed it firsthand when the older woman held the newborn infants and sang to them, and when the knitting exploded from an occasional hobby to a personal mission, resulting in tiny hats and mittens and socks always on the end of her knitting needles. She seemed to come alive again. Arthur, on the other hand, appeared to have aged significantly. The war had taken a toll on him. The wrinkles on his face grew in tandem with the loss of hair on the top of his head. He's grown skinnier while Molly put on weight. But deep down, they were the same adoring couple she always remembered them as.
When Ron left in a rush, Arthur audibly debated going after him. Molly intervened, asking him to help her clear the table instead. Hermione was at a loss, feeling the comforts of the old home evaporate as tension filled the air. Sending her discomfort, Molly walked around the table and stood before the girl.
"We love you, Hermione," she smiled, putting both plump hands on the brunette's face gently. "So does he. Now, please make yourself at home before dinner. We'll eat at six, I think." With a smirk, she turned to help Arthur.
Unsure of where to go, Hermione stood in the cheery kitchen that had hosted so many meals. She imagined Ron as a tot, clambering down the stairs from his room high above the rest of the house to take his usual space at the table. She remembered the first time she had come to visit, enamored by all of the magical trinkets and books scattered about the house. It gave her a warm feeling – even now, so stark compared to the home she had grown up in. The place just her father now inhabited was sturdy and classically built with modern upgrades. Elegant. Efficient. Clean. So unlike this home.
"Nice afternoon for a walk. Care to join me up the road?" Arthur asked cheerfully, wiping his hands on a rag. Hermione nodded gratefully, looking forward to an excuse to keep her around. Going back to her empty flat to pack away Crookshanks' food and toys sounded miserable. She would choose the unknown this time over guaranteed melancholy.
Ron apparated to the flat he shared with Harry once he reached the safety of the yard, furious that his best mate ditched him so casually back at his parents' home.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he bellowed down the hallway. Harry was dutifully tidying up as he said he would, carrying heaps of clothing to consolidate in a basket near the bathroom.
"Me? You're the one who made her feel bad when she was just answering a question about work," Harry retorted, not bothering to look up at the red-headed wizard as he went about his task.
"You fucking know what work did to her. It made her into some – some kind of machine. It consumed her entire fucking life!"
Harry signed angrily, adjusting his dropping glasses on the bridge of his nose. When the f word came pouring this easily from his friend's mouth, he knew he was in for it. Pausing, he turned to Ron and answered calmly.
"She didn't know what else to do. All that guilt from when she had to erase their memories and send them off to-"
"I know!" Ron shouted, reaching to pull at his hair in frustration. He remembered it was short so he kicked the leg of Harry's armchair instead. He was met with a frustratingly long moment of silence before his friend continued.
"When are you going to grow up, Ron? Quit thinking about yourself. She needed you! She needed you to be patient with her."
"Oh, that's rich, Harry. Needed me? She told me to leave!"
"She wasn't herself!" Harry cried, rounding on his friend. "She didn't mean it! You know that she tried shutting me out as well? That for weeks she ignored Ginny, too? You would if you bothered to ask." Harry's green eyes flashed angrily as he took a step closer to a speechless Ron.
"It's not all about you! You're telling me you've never said something you regret? Something you didn't mean that hurt the people you care about?" A fleck of spittle hit Ron in the face as his friend raised his voice higher. "Forgive her. Move on. Whether you want to get back together with her or not, she deserves that."
Harry's words stung. Probably because deep down he knew they were true. And that truth was scarier than staying mad. Hating her was far easier.
Arthur had chatted nearly nonstop as they walked down the hilly road, enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine. It reminded her of the childhood longing to spend afternoons like this with her own father when she was a little girl. On occasion, she would ride her bicycle to the park as her dad ran to keep up alongside her. He had always worked so hard at the dentistry that days to enjoy him were rare. It was easier to coax him into helping her with her homework or read aloud the books he was interested in. Her mum had shared once that they never anticipated having children, but that Hermione was a delightful surprise. While she wasn't entirely sure whether that was actually true or not, but never questioned their love for her. She did sometimes wonder, however, how much her father enjoyed being a father.
"Just over this hill here is a spectacular view of the village. Really nice place, good people. The boys used to enjoy going in sometimes to observe the muggles," Arthur laughed. His mind was clearly elsewhere as his eyes seemed to glaze over. Hermione smiled to herself. Arthur was a gem of a man.
They walked another few minutes before Hermione was compelled to ask an odd question.
"Did you row with Mrs. Weasley when you were younger?"
Arthur squinted his eyes and slowed his pace, again looking as if he was in another time and place. "Why yes. I believe we argued over which one of us should be next to set the kettle on this morning. About seven o'clock, I think it was," he mused.
"I mean… like really rowed. Fought. More than just an argument." Hermione immediately regretted her question. As she was about to apologize for asking, Arthur responded.
"Oh, more times than I could recount to you, dear. We have decades of regretful words between the two of us. But we forgive and move on. Forgiveness grants us the opportunity for a new beginning. Molly and I have had many delightful new beginnings."
Hermione pondered that for some time as they strolled back towards the Burrow. Could Ron forgive her for telling him to leave? Did she really forgive him for actually doing it? Oh, what she wouldn't give to take it all back.
"How do you know when you've forgiven one another?" Hermione asked quietly. She wasn't sure she even really wanted an answer.
"It takes a brave person to admit their faults and an even braver soul to forgive, Hermione." Arthur paused a moment before continuing. "There is always a risk involved in giving a second chance, but there's risk in unforgiveness, too. It can be worse than the pain inflicted if it remains unresolved. You know you've truly started a new beginning when you decide the risk outweighs the second pain."
All of this talk of emotions was making her head spin. She never allowed herself to dwell on feelings of the heart. It was safer to attack problems logically. Even issues of morality felt more black and white than this. Does Arthur know the whole story? Does he think I'm the one who needs to forgive his son, or the other way around?
As they came closer to the magical home nestled among the hills, Arthur stopped. Hermione turned to the older man and was shocked to his tears in his eyes. He muttered an apology, and Hermione felt the guilt tearing her heart in two. He loved his children so much, and she had caused one of them unbelievable pain. He couldn't even stand to be in the same room as her, and yet was so wonderful. She thought of how awful it would have been if she had found Crookshanks herself. No, he had spared her of that. She didn't deserve his kindness.
"Mr. Weasley, I'm –" she began, but he held a hand up to quiet her.
"No matter what happened between you and my son, I'll always think of you as a daughter. Please don't stay away from us so long. Molly and I love you as one of our own." Arthur held back his tears, but Hermione felt one slide down her cheek. Meeting his blue eyes, she nodded shakily.
They made their way inside, but only Molly remained in the house. She turned to them and shared that Ron and Harry couldn't join tonight. The brunette witch swallowed her disappointment.
"Gone out for the lethifold," she shuddered. "This time, there'll be four or five aurors on it. The ministry can't let this go on much longer."
How could she have forgotten? Since their heated exchange the night before, Hermione had completely overlooked the situation with the creature. Ron must be absolutely exhausted if he had gone all night searching for it and then dealt with her cat that morning. Another wave of remorse washed over her. What a burden she was becoming.
"I don't feel good about you being in London by yourself tonight, dear. Would it be too much trouble to stay the night after dinner? You'll have Ginny's room to yourself." Both Molly and Arthur looked pointedly at her, eyes bright with expectation.
"Um, well… sure. I would love to, actually."
"That's that! How lovely it will be to have someone else in the house. It's been far too calm with just the two of us old bats." Arthur beamed, rubbing Molly's shoulders.
For the first time in ages, Hermione felt the glow that came with being wanted and enjoyed. It was like coming home after a lengthy and arduous journey to a foreign land – one she dreaded inevitably returning to. For now, she decided to bask in it.
A/N: Guys, the next chapter is going to have some RESOLVE. I promise. You've stuck with me long enough. I suspect this will continue another two (longer) chapters. Please give a review and let me know your thoughts!