Hey you guys! This is the next chapter, I hope you like it, and I'm sorry for not posting a chapter in a while. Enjoy the chapter everyone! Also please, please review and tell me how to improve my story! Now please enjoy Chapter 2!
The bright sunlight slipping in through a crack in the curtains woke Ron.
Squinting, he glanced at the clock. It was half past eight. He sighed and heaved himself up onto his elbows, smiling fondly as he noticed the bump in the duvet beside him. He had woken up to that for the last two-and-a-half years. He hadn't gotten tired of it yet.
He lifted his legs out of bed with effort, as if they were made of lead.
"C'mon, honey – time to wake up," he mumbled groggily.
A groan came from the bump in the duvet. "Go away!" a female voice muttered. Her husband laughed. He stood up shakily, went round to the other side of the bed and bent down. A lock of her silky blonde hair had been shaken free of her tight bun. He brushed it back from her face, and kissed her lips softly.
"Come on," he coaxed softly. "It's Sunday – you know what happens today."
Hermione sat still in shock at the breakfast table. The newspaper fell from her hands and landed with a rustle on the floor.
How could he? How could her husband – her husband – have done something like this?
She leaned down to retrieve the newspaper, picked it up, and turned to the rest of the article. She skim-read it, phrases like 'wild night out' and 'abandoned family' leaping out at her. As she read, a single tear welled up in one eye, and spilled. It made a plop as it landed on the paper.
Before she knew it she was full-on sobbing – complete with choking, snorting and shaking of shoulders. She should have known something like this would happen. She should have anticipated it, she should have done something.
Then a small voice brought her sobs shuddering to a halt.
"Why are you crying, Mummy?" Stefan asked. His face was concerned.
Hermione looked up into his peaky face. "M-Mummy's fine, Stefan, baby, d-don't you worry," she stuttered. "She just... um, hurt herself. That's why she's crying."
Her son didn't look convinced. He took a step forward and reached out his arms to hug his mother.
"I hope it feels better soon." As he pulled back from the hug, Stefan glanced down at the newspaper. Hermione quickly tugged it out of sight. "Go and get dressed, sweetie," she said. "Then maybe you and Andrei can go to the park with Nanny." She waved her hand.
"Go on. I'll be up soon."
With a last worried glance back at his mother, Stefan toddled away on chubby little legs. It was hard to believe he was only three years old. Hermione had a feeling that he knew she was lying about her tearstained face.
Ron began to brew coffee in the kitchen. The smell drifted around the room, reminding him of days back at the Burrow at summertime. Images of his mother cooking breakfast, of his brothers, of Percy and George and... Ron brushed thoughts of Fred from his mind as a pang of loss filled him.
A voice came from the door of the kitchen and Ron looked up.
"Good morning, darling." His wife was standing in the doorway, wearing a filmy pink nightshirt and sporting a bad case of bedhead. She sauntered into the kitchen and propped herself up against a barstool.
Ron smiled. "Morning, Gabby. Sleep well?" he asked.
She nodded her head. "Yes – I always sleep well when you are 'ere." She took the mug of coffee he offered her, and, leaning forward, planted a sweet and simple kiss on his forehead. Ron grinned.
He cupped her chin in his hands, looking at her properly for the first time that morning.
She definitely was her sister in miniature – she had the same pale eyes that were deep pools, and the silky, white-blonde hair that marked her as having Veela heritage. Her face was heart-shaped and well-defined. She had flawless skin – although she achieved this with many creams and potions. Ron marveled at her beauty and at the fact that she had deigned to marry him – him, a Weasley, and not even the most attractive or exciting Weasley boy at that.
He knew that he loved her more than anything else in the world, and that the feeling was mutual.
But he also knew that his attentions had not always been directed towards her.
Throwing powder into the living room fireplace, Hermione waited.
Soon enough, the charm had worked. She looked around and saw her husband crouching by the fireplace of his hotel room in his underwear and nothing else. He looked tired and hungover. Hermione scowled.
"I read The Prophet, Viktor," she spat. "I saw what you did. Start explaining." Krum frowned, his forehead wrinkling.
"I am so, so sorry, my loff," he began. "I-I did not know vot I vos doing. I suppose I vos excited about vinning the match. The team and I decided to go out for a few drinks and a dance... I got a bit carried avay."
"A bit carried away?" Hermione said incredulously. "You put our names all over today's papers, Viktor. You humiliated yourself and your family. You can't just apologize to me and expect it all to be over." She shook her head and sighed.
Krum leaned forward. "Baby, I promise I vill never do anthing like this ever again. I loff you so much, you and the children. I vud never do anything to hurt you – ever. I feel so guilty about vot I did. I am, so, so sorry, I can't even find the words to say it. Maybe I can make it up to you – I vill apparate back this afternoon and spend an afternoon vith all of you. Okay?"
Hermione considered this. She was about to agree – after all, her husband seemed regretful enough. Of course he loved her – he would never, ever repeat his actions. But then a voice came from across the room.
"Oh, Viktor!" purred the voice. "Are you ready to come back to bed? Do you vont me to tuck you in?"
Hermione's stomach lurched as a blonde woman strutted in from what appeared to be the bathroom. She was wearing a tiny thong and a bra that seemed incapable of holding up her impressive chest. As she came closer, Hermione could see that she was followed by another woman who seemed to be exactly identical to her. She saw Krum swallow.
"I... I, um, I...," he began. But Hermione cut him off. "You bastard!" she cried. "You complete bastard! I-I trusted you! I believed that you were sorry!" She paused for breath. "You can bet on it that when you come home, your family won't be there!" And she wrenched herself back into her living room.
When Ron had first met Gabrielle Delacour, she had been ten years old, and wet and dripping from the Black Lake of Hogwarts. Although he had been labeled as her saviour, he hadn't really paid her much attention. He had been fourteen, after all. A boy that age doesn't pay attention to the sopping ten-year-old when her grateful – and pretty – older sister is around.
Several years later, at the wedding of his brother Bill and her sister Fleur, they had met once more – but again, there were prettier girls around, and Gabrielle had only been thirteen years old anyway. Ron had been seventeen then. At that point in his life, there was only one girl that made his heart race.
When he was nineteen, after a short stint working at his brother's joke shop, he had taken a job as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons.
Travelling around Europe and America with them had been fun. And once, at a game in France, he had run into Gabrielle. She was seventeen, fresh out of school, and very pretty. He was twenty-one, a successful Quidditch player, and bigheaded. He hadn't recognised her. He was too drunk to even know her name when he slept with her that night. He left the next day, confident in the knowledge that he would never see her again.
And then... then he turned up at his brother's house and she was there.
He walked in – twenty-four years old, with an enormous fortune and an ego to match. In his eyes, he could do anything. And then he saw her – her – sitting at the table. She looked up at him with eyes that he remembered clearly from that night three years ago. They were bright blue, deep and glittering. They seemed to mock him.
After that, they ran into eachother too many times for it to be mere coincidence. Gabrielle grew on him, and at the same time, took him down a peg or two. She stripped away the layers of ego that had smothered him for so long. And he showed her that forgiveness is possible, even in the most extreme circumstances.
Eventually, romance bloomed. He proposed – she accepted. And now, their lives were growing even more.
"Kids, I've got something to tell you."
Hermione gazed at her children, who were sitting on the sofa looking inquisitve. Katerina was lying in a carrycot by the side of the sofa, gurgling to herself. Andrei looked at his mother.
"What is it, mummy?" he asked. "Are we in trouble?"
"No, no, Andrei, darling... it's nothing like that," Hermione reassured him. She paused. "But I think we're going to have to move out of the house for a while. Your father... your father... well, anyway, we can't stay here for a bit."
Andrei's forehead wrinkled. "But why?" he asked, trying to understand.
His mother sighed. "Your daddy isn't coming back to the house for a while. He's going to stay in Norway. So he said that we should stay with... some friends... until he comes back. And maybe after he comes back, I'm not sure. But anyway, we can't stay here."
On the inside, Hermione was in turmoil. She didn't know what to do – all she knew was that she couldn't stay in that house. She didn't know who she was going to stay with, who she could rely on. But she just couldn't stay here for now. She knew that she was probably being stupidly irrational – her husband hadn't really committed the crime of the century. But she just couldn't help herself.
As the children went back to their rooms looking more than a little confused and quite upsetm Hermione ran through her mental list of friends and acquaintances.
There was Celestina Warbeck, her long-time girlfriend and celebrity best friend. But she couldn't just turn up on her doorstep, and besides; Celestina was doing a tour in America right now anyway. Then there was... Hermione thought for a while. She couldn't really think of anyone else – after becoming a celebrity wife, her circle had friends had gradually dropped away until there was nobody left in it. Her old friends from Hogwarts had drifted away into their own lives.
But... maybe... no. She hadn't seen either of them in years, not since... well. Not for a long time, anyway.
Ron stopped reflecting on past times and instead leaned down to kiss his wife. He knew that whatever had happened in their past, he wouldn't give her up for the world now. She leaned against the barstool and kissed him back softly. Suddenly she broke off the kiss and put her hands to her stomach.
"Ah!" she squeaked. "I felt it move."
Smiling, Ron looked down. His wife's stomach was slightly rounder and larger than it normally was. They had found out a month ago – she was expecting a baby in December. Today was her first check-up at St. Mungo's, and he couldn't wait to here what was going on inside his wife, couldn't wait to know what his child would be like.
He patted Gabrielle's stomach. "It knows something's happening today, eh?" he laughed. His red hair fell over his eyes as he spoke. Chuckling, he pushed it away. "Anyway, we'd better start getting ready, shouldn't we?" he asked. "Our appointment's at eleven." His wife nodded.
"Oui, darling. I shall go and get dressed now, then," she smiled. "When I get back, I expect there to be toast on the table!" And she slipped past him and out of the kitchen. Ron grinned.
He was just about to get some bread out of the bread bin, when there was a crack from the living room and a voice called out, "Hey, mate, came to wish you luck!" Ron hurried into the room. A man was standing in the middle of the room, having obviously just apparated into it. He had messy black hair and glasses balanced on his nose. Ron didn't have to look to know that under the untidy fringe, he would find a lighting-bolt-shaped scar.
"Hey, Harry," he said cheerfully.
Harry Potter grinned back at him. "Sorry for the interruption, but like I said, I wanted to come and wish you luck for St. Mungo's today," he said apologetically. "I've got a big thing at the Ministry in an hour and I've got to apparate back to Norway this afternoon, so I decided to come now and say good luck."
Ron laughed. "Thanks, mate. Although you are kind of showing me up with the whole I'm-an-Auror-plus-I-play-for-England thing. I've got a wife I need to hold onto."
Laughing, Harry said, "Nah, I'm fine with what I've got, thanks." Ron smiled back. "Speaking of which, how is Cho, anyway? Still doing her Daily Prophet thing?" Harry nodded. "Yeah, she's fine. A bit annoyed that she hardly gets to see me these days, but what can you do?" He brushed his hair back from his face. "Anyway, I've got to get back to London to get ready for this Ministry business. Hope it all goes well for you today."
Ron nodded and gave his friend a hug. "Good luck yourself – heard England beat Sweden last week. You're playing France soon, right?" Harry nodded and grinned, then stepped back into the middle of the room again. "Yeah. Tough game. But anyway, I've got to go. Good to see you – I'll call in when I'm free next, 'kay?" Then he was gone, apparated away. He was always like that during tournaments – especially big ones like the Eurocup.
Hermione flipped through her address book – the one that was encrusted with gemstones that Krum had given her. She went from name to name to name, but couldn't find a single one that sounded right. She wished she had actually planned something before telling the children instead of letting it all out in a panic-induced rush.
She bit her lip as the book fell open on the P section.
Harry. She could go to Harry. Couldn't she? No, she decided. Now that she thought about it, his loft that he shared with Cho was far too small to house three children. And besides, he was at the Eurocup, she remembered now. He played Seeker for the England team. Cho was lucky to have him.
So who could she call? Who could help her now? She flicked through page after page... there was Dean and Ginny Thomas, but they lived had two small children of their own, and were expecting a third in five or six months. She couldn't just dump her own children on them too.
Seamus and Lavender? No. They lived in Ireland. Besides, she didn't have a recent address, and they had probably moved again by now.
She had lost all of her friends from Hogwarts after marrying Krum. They had all just slipped away without her really noticing, and eventually she was left with only two or three people she could contact. She flipped a page in the address book and her eyes fell upon a name she knew only too well. She didn't know why she had his address; she hadn't spoken to him in years. Hermione hesitated. She couldn't think of anything else to do. Nobody else would let her in after all those years of no contact whatsoever. But he was different. He would help her.
She started slowly up the stairs to pack.
As they apparated back from the hospital, Ron contemplated the situation. He was going to be a father! The nurse at St. Mungo's had told them that they knew the gender of the baby and could tell them, but they had decided to keep it a surprise.
"It seems much more real now, does it not?" Gabrielle asked pleasantly as they arrived back in the living room. She yawned and stretched. "I think I will go for a little nap. All this has made me quite sleepy."
"Sure, sweetheart," Ron said.
Leaning down, he kissed her softly. "You give that baby all the rest it needs," he laughed. Gabrielle laughed too. Then she started to walk slowly and carefully up the stairs to the bedroom. Ron began to make his way to the office; he needed to research some Quiddicth moves to practice for next year, when the Chudley Cannons were playing in the British League.
He sat for about half an hour on the Muggle computer they owned. But just as he was turning it off, a page of notes clutched in his hand, the doorbell rang.
Ron wrinkled his forehead. "Who could that be?" he asked, mainly to himself.
The doorbell rang again. Ron hurried to the front door and pulled it open. He got the shock of his life.
There, standing on the doorstep, was Hermione Granger. She was surrounded by two bulging suitcases and two little boys. She held a baby in her arms. Ron didn't know what to say or do. He stepped back. "Eer… um… I…" he stuttered. Hermione smiled weakly.
"Er… hi!" she said, and stepped forward towards him.
A/N: And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Chapter 2 of Dwindling Flames and Roaring Fires. I tried not to make it too long, I'm really sorry if it gets boring in places! I hope you like the style of this chapter and the way it goes back and forth. Please, please review and tell me what you like, what you don't like, whatever! Thanks!
-Ellie