Disclaimer: Still don't own HP :)
A/N: Hey guys, another regular Wednesday update! This one is kind of long as well. I want to THANK YOU guys so much for reviewing my story - it's given me a lot of help. Specifically the annonymous reviewer who left me a message along the lines of "the interrogation was stupid, why not use a pensieve?" The thought of using a pensieve had never crossed my mind before that and I realized how much easier that could make everything - as well as interesting. So part of this chapter is dedicated to whoever left that review. :) Thanks!
Ron had slipped from the room a few hours after the ordeal had calmed. Hermione had quickly, albeit cautiously, fallen asleep. Her breath on his neck had tapered and warmed, her eyelids fluttered swiftly down. It tickled his skin, making a sickly shiver crawl through him. His arms had shifted to rest more comfortably around her thin waist. Ron rested his cheek on the top of her head.
He wanted this so badly, but it could never be. He would never let himself purposely feel that way about Hermione again. It was wrong. Leaving someone for two years was immoral, illegal, sinful. Every time he looked at her, watched her smile, gazed in her heavy eyes, all of those profoundly wicked emotions welled at his surface. They were as fresh as the first day he encountered them.
Ron inhaled her worn, dusty scent – he took away with him all her fear and falter – and laid her gently on the warm pillow he had been resting against. He heaved a great sigh, knowing that once he stepped out of the room all of the rest of the world would come rushing back to sit thickly on his shoulders. He would be reported, he would be disciplined, and he would be none the better from it. Smoothing the blanket that lay across Hermione's shoulders, Ron quietly wished her a happy sleep. Then, he went downstairs to start dinner for Gus.
---
Two days later, Ron received multiple letters in the post. As he leafed through them, shocked at the sudden influx in correspondence, he came upon a rather large one with a red Order seal embossed on the back. He decided it would be best if that was the first one read.
To Mr. Ronald B. Weasley,
This is a letter on The Order's behalf informing you of the complaint filed against you by one Mr. Seamus P. Finnigan. Said complain was issued on Monday at 5:09 p.m. on the subject of your inability to cooperate with Mr. Finnegan's interview techniques. Mr. Finnigan has decided not to press any further objections. However, due to your long-standing record, The Order cannot overlook such an infraction. Please consider this your one and only warning on the matter.
-Snr. Hd. Ralph McKinney
Ron sat back in his chair, tossing the letter to the ground. He stroked Gus' head and then rubbed his eyes. He did not expect any of his other mail to be any better.
Weasley,
This letter is a compromise. I've spoken with some colleagues at The Order and they've agreed to loan out a pensieve for Hermione's memories. It'll be painless – can't believe we didn't think of it before. Have her pluck it out and put it in, no questions asked. The bowl will be sent in a couple of days and hopefully you'll return it quickly.
As for you, mate, I have no idea what the fuck to do with you. Honestly, you drive everyone who tries to help absolutely mad. Wish you wouldn't. Gave McDowell an awful fright – won't say a word of it to anyone, lucky for you. Here's your part of the deal: get over it. Just ask her what happened – it'll make a lot more sense once you know – trust me. Don't go poking around in her pensieve, either.
Ginny says hello. She's been stopping by my office quite often. Says she misses you and all that bloody trash.
-Seamus
Ron's brow furrowed. Trust me, the letter read; it'll make a lot more sense once you know. His fingers tightened around the paper. Did Seamus know something? Did Seamus know why she left him so suddenly? Did everyone else know and it was only him left in the dark all these years?
Ron tore the letter into shreds furiously. "Damnit!" he screamed, rising so suddenly that Gus skittered away from him, his ears pressed against his head. "Damnit!" His vision grew hazy and narrow. Rage sprung to life in his chest and like wildfire, spread through his arms, neck, legs, and head. No connective, decipherable thought ran through his mind – simply the notion that he would burst if he did nothing.
Heat seared through his arms and burned his hands. Ron swung them blindly and beat them against the wall. He managed to punch quite a few holes into the slim boards, ignoring the splinters and bloody knuckles. He could hear himself breathing in his ears, feel the fast pumping of hot blood in his veins, practically taste bitter hate sitting fat in his mouth.
"That son of a bitch," Ron's teeth were clenched terribly. "That son of a goddamn bitch!" He had so much energy and nothing to do, he felt like he was crazy. Dangerous thoughts surged through him, clawing to get out, skimming beneath his skin.
Ron had to know.
He threw himself up the stairs, slamming his feet down hard upon the wood, hoping to break them. The bedroom door was closed, so he slammed his hand – palm forward – against the wood painfully and gained entrance.
Hermione awoke with a jolt. She had been resting until dinner, not expecting to hear a word from Ron all day. That was the way things had become since the Ordeal had passed.
"You tell me!" Ron screamed with every ounce of air in his lungs. He swerved to tower over Hermione, his finger pointed directly in her face. "You tell me now!"
"Tell you what?" Hermione responded quickly, shocked.
"Did you tell Seamus?" Ron shouted, burning from the inside out.
"Tell Seamus what?" Hermione begged. Her heart was beating erratically. This was going to go very badly, she could tell already.
"Where you went when you left!" he shrieked in reply. Sweat was pouring from his forehead, from his chest, from his arms. Could he not escape the torment? "You never thought of telling me – the one who really cared about you – but you thought of going off and telling that prick your travel plans? Did you write him, too? Send him your apologies for not making the Holidays?"
"No!" Hermione cried, backing herself up against the wall. "You don't understand!"
Ron leaned closer, one knee already on the mattress. "Then enlighten me," he barked between his teeth. His jaw was aching horribly, but it didn't register at the moment. His anger was turning into morbid fascination, curiosity. Finally, finally, he was going to get his answers.
Tears welled on the rims of her eyes. This was the part that hurt the most, even now. It was the moment she had ached to explain. The decision wasn't hers – if only Ron knew all along.
"I couldn't tell you when I left," she whispered, looking him the eyes. His were narrow, harsh, and livid. His long, drawn face was a vibrant red. His chapped lips had curled around his teeth. Though he look almost animalistic, Hermione saw the man she had left behind. His freckles still remained, along with his copper hair and big ears. Even his fingers, hands, arms were the same, albeit withered.
Ron scoffed viciously in her face, shaking his head. "Bullshit," he countered.
"It's true! You know that The Order doesn't like to publicize mission dates. This one was big, Ron, really big."
"Bullshit," Ron countered again. Fury was once again growing impatiently in his stomach. He wanted answers, not excuses. "Bullshit!" he barked.
Ron flew at Hermione. While she flinched, terrified, he pinned her against the wall. His fingers dug harshly into the frail skin on her shoulders. The tears began to fall in heavy streams. She didn't want to be touched. His face came within inches of hers.
"You tell me the truth this time," he demanded.
"Fine!" her voice failed, coming out as a coarse whisper. "Anything you want, okay? Fine!"
"Start talking."
Hermione began to sob, but Ron did not relent. She hiccupped, but began. "I didn't tell Seamus, but he knew. He was one of the coordinators of the plan. I couldn't tell anyone where or when I was leaving and he couldn't either. It was part of the rules, no one wanted the mission compromised."
She began to shiver and shake, her tears staining the top of her pajamas. She managed to blink through her tears, breathing deeply, and saw Ron's face. He was searching her face, trying to collect all the things she wasn't saying. It made her want to bawl all over again. This really was her fault. She had ruined everything for him.
"They made me go. I didn't have a choice – it was a long-term assignment, they wanted a female - I was a perfect candidate, Ron. It's not like we didn't leave each other before for those kinds of things. Sometimes for months, even. I thought it would be just like that!" she pleaded, hoping that he would see the sincerity behind her words.
Hermione had thought upon taking the mission that it would only last a few weeks. That was the way those things worked. No agent was kept in one place for long. However, this was not the case for The Shop.
"Even the Order didn't know when I'd go," Hermione appealed, "I was abducted. That was part of the initiation into The Shop. Part of their secrecy."
"Am I supposed to believe that?" he snarled into her scared, wet face. His fingers dug further into her skin. He was sure he felt bone.
Hermione's face contorted into one of pain. "Yes!" she struggled to get the words out. "I'm being completely honest; you've got to believe me. I went to the market and I never came home, right?"
Ron nodded curtly.
"Someone pushed me into a portkey while I was just about to Floo home, I swear. I never saw it coming."
"And you never thought to write me? Send me any kind of batshit message to let me know that you were okay?" Ron fumed. "I thought you were dead. I thought someone took you away. I thought that you left me because I was too boring, too mediocre, not good enough for the likes of you." His eyebrows furrowed and his face was inches away from hers. "I thought you were never coming back."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to look at him fully. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Are you really?" Ron pushed her delicate frame harder against the wall.
"I wanted to write you every day!" Hermione cried out from pain and grief. "Please, Ron, you know that I wouldn't do that to you. I wanted to come home and be with you. I would've given anything to. It broke my heart when The Order told me I was staying.
But you know that I couldn't talk to you, no matter how much I wanted. That's the way it always is. The Order wouldn't send any messages. My letters could have been kidnapped, read, and I might never have the chance to make it home. I figured this was better than nothing. I would rather deal with you now than not at all." With her last words, Hermione dissolved back into tears again. Her limp hand went to rest on his forearm, craving the touch of his skin.
"All I ever wanted was to be with you."
Ron did not withdraw his arm. Her hand was cool and relaxed his taught muscles. He could not move at all. He could not speak.
Hermione whimpered pathetically, her chin resting against her chest. She had said all that she was able to. It was his time now.
Ron felt cheated. It hadn't really been her fault at all. It hadn't been anyone's. There was no one to be angry at, no one to exact his revenge from. All that he was left with was a great pile of hatred that could not be spent. He felt heavy all over. His regret piled on him until he could no longer stay rigid and cross. Everything that had crossed his mind in those two years had all been in vain.
His arms collapsed at his sides. He backed away from Hermione, who was watching him with wild, scared eyes. She had wanted him all along. He had never expected such an answer.
Shifting off the bed, eyes still tiredly focused on hers, Ron's mouth opened and closed. He was unable to draw up any words to express his thoughts, probably because there were too many clawing to get out at once.
"Ron?" Hermione asked timidly, letting her shoulders relax. It was a slow process, for she feared he might leap back at a moment's notice.
He turned sluggishly and left the room without a word. He did not bring her dinner. He did not come to turn out the light. He did not say goodnight. He did nothing.
---
Four days later, Ron opened the rusty screen door in the back of his flat and called for Gus. He had let the dog out over an hour ago and only now remembering to bring the old mutt back in. A warm burst of wind met his cheeks and took him by surprise. June had slowly fallen upon Lawrence, bringing with it eye-blinding sunshine and a playground smothered with small children in the community yard. Gus had been playing with a few of the younger locals who were reluctant to give him back.
Smiling, Ron called for his dog and was obliged. Gus bumped the screen on his hasty way inside. A sound that could only be described as metal-on-metal tinged the air. Ron watched the dog curiously as it made its way arthritically up the stairs. Gus turned and revealed a small bowl clutched in his taught jowls.
"What on earth," Ron sighed, tugging the silver basin from his dog's purchase. It was heavy – like stone – but gave the appearance of steel. He examined it thoroughly and found runes traced on the sides and on the bottom a small inscription. Property of The Order of the Phoenix. Confidential. 38294. He turned his attention back to where Gus was standing, but found only empty space. The dog had wandered off in search of a view of the birds.
Hermione was surprised to hear a knock on the door just a few minutes after she heard the faint slam of a door downstairs. She had never been downstairs, but that was beside the point. Ron had never knocked before.
"Come in," her voice faltered. She put away her book and pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her legs worked themselves into a crossed position. Lately, she had been trying to build up precious muscle all by herself, seeing as how Ron would not touch her voluntarily. She didn't want him to now, anyway. He had made himself very clear that night.
Ron walked in with stiff joints. He handed her the metallic bowl and left silently. Hermione watched him leave, expecting a remark before he hit the door. None came.
She examined the object, wondering what it was. She read the message on the bottom, running her fingers over the tiny grooves it left. When she reached the number code, her hand began to shake inexplicably. Before she could shout for help, there was a flash of blue light and a wand was clutched in her frail grasp moments after.
It took a minute, but Hermione realized the wand as her own – her old one, her familiar one – and felt content. She also knew the basin's purpose and felt more relieved than she had in a long while. She didn't have to talk about it anymore, assuming that Heather McDowell wasn't coming back. She hoped Ron would keep her away.
Her reprieve from her problems continued when she touched her wand carefully to her head and felt a warming sensation crawl around her skin. The sick ache that seemed to fester behind her visage alleviated while she watched ghostly strands of memory slither across the air, led on by the wooden tip of her wand. Hermione heaved a sigh of relief when all of it hovered like a cloud above the bowl. She touched the bottom and the wisps sunk effortlessly.
There, she thought with a hint of a smile on her mouth. Done.
The pensieve sat on her bedside until a deep red horizon filled the sky. Yellows and oranges filled the room and lulled her into a deep, wonderful sleep. Ron was able to walk in and pick up the basin without hesitation. He did, however, stop before his hand touched the pensieve to glance at her.
All I ever wanted was to be with you.
Did she really? Or was it just another lie to placate him? Ron wrapped his hands around the bowl and took it downstairs. He went to his bedroom and locked the door behind him, for some unknown, paranoid reason. His heart was skipping. Ron knew what he was about to do was illegal, but he honestly didn't care.
Ron set the pensieve on his own bedside table and sat on the lumpy mattress. His hands were knotted together. He was preparing to work up the courage to finally delve into the mystery he had given up on so long ago. He stared at the gleaming gray until he could no longer control himself. He held his face close over the bowl and felt a pull on his shoulders. The pensieve soon engulfed him.
Ron was standing in the corner of a small, cramped office. Shelves lined the walls, books and files and extraneous papers popping out haphazardly. He managed to find his way out of the mess and soon was standing behind a woman. Her brown hair reached past her waist, curling and twisting exotically.
"…I guess I can't turn it down," she sighed. Her shoulders slumped. "Are you absolutely sure Francesca can't?"
"Positive." A stocky man stood behind the desk the woman was in front of. Ron recognized the voice, but not his face. His jaw was extremely square and he had a pronounced – almost beaklike – nose. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you, Hermione, but we can't find anyone else this late. The spot is bound to close up in a week."
"Alright," Hermione sighed again. She looked up. "I'll do it for you, Viktor."
Viktor?
The man who was supposedly Viktor Krum smiled and showed a row of straight, yellowed teeth. "I really appreciate this, you know that? It's a big assignment and I wouldn't trust it to just anyone."
"How long?"
"What?" he asked, his brow furrowing. This assured Ron that the man was Viktor. Krum had dropped out of existence during the war. Ron had figured him for a spineless wanker – he had no idea Viktor had gone undercover. Nothing really surprised him anymore, though. He took the information in stride, slightly uneasy.
"How long will it last? I can't be gone that long," he could almost hear a smile in her voice.
"No more than two months," Krum answered promptly, handing her forms. "That's a promise."
Hermione took them and turned to leave. Ron smiled at her, but she looked blankly through him. In fact, her head spun around and she said quickly, "It'd better be."
There was a sick feeling in the pit of Ron's stomach before the scene he was in began to swirl and disconnect. He was launched into another memory soon after.
Ron was standing in a hovel of sorts. There were desks set up messily in row and they were vacant. The only people left in the basement were a woman and man. Ron recognized Hermione immediately. She had cut her hair and grown pale, but still remained relatively the same.
"Ellie," the man said, his hand on her arm. "What's wrong?"
Hermione brushed his embrace off tenderly, hesitantly. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, a pleading look on her face.
"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?" the man smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up sharply. He was tall and thin, but his forearms were roped with muscle. His dark blonde hair shimmered eerily beneath the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling.
"Ted," the name sprung out of her mouth warily.
So this was Ted. This was the Ted that was soon to beat her. Ron felt anger rising in his chest, though he knew he could not do a thing to stop the scene. He couldn't do a thing to that bastard.
"Ellie," Ted sidled up to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. They were inches apart.
Hermione glanced into his eyes; her focus stuck on his face, and couldn't seem to turn away. However, her whispered reply was, "I can't."
"Yes, you can. Whoever was waiting for you at home isn't waiting anymore. You've been here quite a while. The line has broken and you're free, Ellie. You and I can be together. We can keep it secret from Agent Skillen and the other Heads, I promise." Ted pulled her closer still, until he was practically breathing down on her.
Hermione put her hands on his chest. Ron's fists clenched, but he remained a safe distance away. "Ted, you just don't understand. I can't just let the past go – there was too much riding on it. I'm going to find him again someday."
"But what about the here and now? We're miserable without each other, Ellie, and you can't deny that. Even if it's just for a day, I'll be happy," Ted gripped her shoulders, his face the perfect image of hope.
Don't, please don't, Ron pleaded. Don't mess this up. Don't let everything be wrong.
Hermione glanced down. "No." She shook her head furiously as tears sprang to her cheeks. "I'm very sorry, Ted, but I can't."
Ted lowered his face and kissed her harshly. Ron took a few impatient steps forward until he was a few feet away. His fists were raised. Hermione made a muffled sound and pushed him away, crying. Ron watched as she ran towards the darkened exit, Ted's eyes close on her back.
The picture blurred and Ron's shoulders were grasped again. He was almost thankful for it. He settled down in another view instantly.
Ron was surrounded by a shocking black and a disgusting, rancid smell. He backed up, scared, and hit a moist, stone wall. He could figure out where he was.
A piercing shriek came from across the way as the stones next to his shoulder collapsed and vanished in a steady pace. Ron took a few steps away from the wall and watched with morbid fascination as a tall, cloaked figure stepped through the now-apparent passageway. He was dressed in deep red robes. With him, he brought a spectral light that filled the room, even as the stones began to close up again.
"No!" Hermione's voice cried. "Don't! Please, Ted, just go away!"
Ron jerked around and saw her. Hermione had her wrists shackled above her head and to the wall on the opposite side of the room. She was stark naked and painted only with the drying crusts of her own blood and blooms of bruises.
Ted did not say a word. He drew a wand from deep inside his robes. He flicked it towards her, muttering, "Defodio."
A long, harsh gash cut its way across her stomach. Blood welled in the wound and sickly trickled its way down her legs. Ron felt the need to vomit. He was trembling and wanted to turn away. He found he could not.
"Unless you want another," his voice was deep and deadpan, "I suggest you offer up the information I've been asking you about for three days now. This is getting tiring and I'd rather just end your life than keep it up."
Hermione began to sob. "I promise," she wheezed, "I promise I've told you everything I know."
"Who are you working for?" he snapped, crossing the space between them. His wand was pointed to her neck. "Answer," he hissed.
"No one," she choked on her own words. "I came here on my own agenda."
"Liar," Ted seethed. "Flagrante."
The skin on her collarbone began to redden and blister horribly. Hermione howled in pain.
Ron reached out to touch her. He wanted to smooth her hair, run his palm against her cheek, and tell her it would be okay. She was tough; she was going to make it through this. He would help if only he could.
"That's," she managed from behind clenched teeth, "the truth! I swear to God it is."
"So you expect me to believe you came here to infiltrate the largest organization of Death Eaters by yourself? With no assistance at all? That you just up and left your husband and family to fulfill a fucking whim?"
The blisters began to ooze and pop. The salt of Hermione's tears burned them even more. "Yes," she swallowed, staring him hard in the eye.
Ron watched the rounds of torture continue for what seemed like ages. By the time he was pulled from the location, Ron had curled into himself on the floor. He could hardly bear to listen to the interrogation. He wished he had never delved into this mess – he would have been much better off with his goddamned grudge. His eyes were wet and his muscles sore. He flinched every time he heard Hermione scream in pain. Eventually, she had passed out and Ted had left her still in shackles.
It was hard for Ron to stop shaking once he had exited the pensieve. He would not go back again, ever. Trembling, he sat back down on the mattress, holding his head in his hands. The room seemed to sway before his eyes. Ron went to stand up, to do something, to take his mind off what had just occurred, but vomited instead.
He then saw black and nothing else. He was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.
A/N: Hoped you guys liked it! Things are really moving along and I'm really liking where this story is going. Thanks again to everyone who read this. :) Have a great rest of the week!
Also, leave me a review!
Katie