It had happened on an evening in late June. Ron had met her at a new place in Diagon Alley called Tea Leaves and Scrolls for tea and sandwiches. They were going to discuss the wedding. He was hoping for early summer of the following year, thinking the late part of May would be a good time. Perhaps early in the morning when the sun rose and the birds chirped. Or perhaps the fall. This fall even. Hermione liked the Harvest season the most. It'd be a little quick, but he didn't mind.
She was late for their date which was unlike her, but Ron instantly forgave her because she had the sad, doe-eyed look she hadn't been able to get rid of since the end of the war.
Hermione finally arrived and hadn't given him much time to talk. He was only able to get in a 'you look nice' when she sat across from him in the booth, her fist outstretched like she wanted to give him something. He offered his palm and the ring he spent most of his reward money from his service in the war fell into it.
"You don't want me," she had stated evenly and lightly caressed his gob-smacked face and then got up from the seat. "I'm leaving."
That was all she had said, and a full thirty seconds had passed before Ron had realized what happened. By that time, though, it was too late. The engagement ring was in his hand, and she was nowhere to be found. He had gone to her flat and found the apartment manager and landowner scratching their heads at the furnished area, overhearing them discussing whether to donate all of Hermione's belongings or sell them because she was gone.
It was literally like she had woken up one morning and decided to leave.
Ron made himself known to the two blokes, told him he was Hermione's friend and would be sorting out everything. They left him standing in the middle of the sitting room in front of Hermione's Magic Muggle Box, and he had no idea where to begin rifling, hastily coming to the conclusion he should start the following day with Ginny in tow.
The first place he went after was to see George. His brother was just closing up shop for the day, getting ready to turn in upstairs in the apartment when he walked in and told him that Hermione left him.
"You're barking," George had told him with a soft snort and started towards the stairs. Ron followed him, shaking his head somberly.
"She's left me this." He pulled out the ring from his pocket and held it up so his brother could see. "And then I went to her flat. She's gone. She didn't even bother to pack. Everything and I mean everything is still there, but I spoke to her landlord and flat manager. She's gone."
The last part came out kind hoarsely due to realizing that Hermione had truly left him. And everyone, for that matter.
George and him Floo-ed to the Burrow where their mother was making dinner in the kitchen. When she saw them arrive, she asked her youngest son if he and Hermione had set a wedding date. Not answering right away, he showed her the ring and said, "I don't think there's going to be a wedding, Mum."
His mother had thrown a right fit, becoming angry with Hermione and wanting to know where that 'little tart' was. When Ron answered he hadn't a clue and told her about Hermione's flat, she then grew worried and her fury deflated into motherly concern, wringing her hands and muttering to herself.
"I'll place a call to Arthur. George," she pointed to her other son, "fetch Ginny and Ron, pay a visit to Harry."
At dinner time, the meal being herb dumpling and beef stew remained untouched by everyone at the table. They tossed him theories about where Hermione could have gone, none of them having got the memo like Ron had.
"She probably just needs time," Harry had offered, scratching at a clean spot on the table. He tossed his focus out the window behind the sink, his jaw ticking.
"She probably went to find her parents. It makes sense if you think about it. She never went looking after…well…she never went looking before. She probably misses them," said Ginny, her eyes staring blankly at the bowl of stew in front of her. Ron wished she'd eat it. His sister looked thin and almost lifeless.
"Hermione said that they're in Australia. We'll look there. I'll dig into it," said Harry.
Ron hadn't slept that night. In fact, he hadn't slept all that well for a long time. When he did manage to doze off, he heard screams, he smelt blood, and he saw regret. Since he was living with George, he knew his brother was suffering, as well, with his starving form and bloodshot eyes. Their dad had suggested after the Battle they all go to a mind-Healer, but the sessions were expensive and Weasleys were anything if not prideful.
After a few days, Harry informed Ron and the rest of the Weasleys that he'd traced a purchase of a portkey to Sydney, Australia. His friend had also said he was taking an immediate trip there himself and was gone for a couple of days. He returned empty-handed, saying he had traced Hermione's magic but lost the trail and was confident to say she was no longer in Australia. When she vacated the country, she did not use a portkey, meaning there was no magical way of tracking her.
The media caught wind of Hermione's disappearance and concocted some rubbish tale of how she fled back to the Muggle World or some rot, but the rumor died as did the suspicion. After a few months, Ron had accepted that he and Hermione would not be getting married even if she returned. The girl he fancied and loved for years put it plainly she did not want to marry him nor did she love him anymore.
That following winter, Harry was busying himself with the Auror Academy and Ron had thought about joining him, but the holiday season was showering Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with heavy-pocketed customers. George needed the extra help, and he found he liked helping his brother with the jokes. Though Fred had been a better partner, Ron was catching on.
It was near Christmas, a few days before, and Bill, Fleur and Charlie were down for the hols. The brothers got together and paid a visit to the renovated Leaky Cauldron and ran into Seamus and Dean. They banded together, drank too much, many of them far too much, and began rudely discussing women's body parts. The topic caused Ron to think of Hermione's body parts and he missed them terribly. It had been six months since his last shag. He hadn't the heart to go out and get pissed and find a willing bint for the night. Since the concluding of the war, he was given plenty of offers, but since Hermione kissed him in the midst of chaos at the Battle, that was it for him. He hadn't planned on kissing anyone else for the rest of his life. When they first shagged, he hadn't planned on shagging anyone else either.
Seamus had wolf-whistled and pointed in the bar's direction. "Lavender's looking fine from this angle. Shame what happened to her face, though. Had such a pretty one."
Lavender Brown had been one of many regrets Ron dreamt of at night and not the reason many thought. He never regretted letting things end between them, but he wished he'd taken a mature stance on their relationship back in Sixth Year, but he had been seventeen and hormonal. No, his biggest regret with Lavender was not being able to save her. Yes, it was Hermione to hex Greyback off of her, but if Ron had been a little more observant, quicker even, the sweet girl who gave him a load of firsts would have a better life ahead of her.
"I don't see anything wrong with her face," slurred Charlie and stumbled over towards the bar where Lavender was.
Later that night, with Charlie gone and Bill having returned home, Seamus and Dean gave Ron their condolences for the broken engagement, but they also told him he needed to move on and start dating again, reminding him that he was a war hero and could have a pick at any lass.
"I want Hermione," he told them and lowered his head on the table, sullen from his empty glass and empty life.
A part of him hoped Hermione would show up at Christmas, but she didn't. There was a rumor circulating about that she was up in Bulgaria, but he, or anyone for that matter, didn't put much stock in it. Harry had just waved his hand and said, "She's not there. Why would she be?"
"Viktor Krum," Ginny piped, analyzing the engagement ring she got from her fiancée that morning.
The New Year approached and Harry's presence at the Burrow had become scarce because of his work. Ginny and Mum were keeping themselves busy with planning the wedding, and he and George had talked about elongating their holiday for a few more days before returning to work. But then Valerie had Owled them saying she wasn't returning from her holiday in Spain because she met some bloke.
"We'll need to hire someone," complained George, rubbing the cinched wrinkle between his brows. "Got any ideas?"
Ron hadn't but as for Harry who heard about the space opened provided them a horrible idea.
"Right now, I'm ensuring those on probation are getting their community service done. I have someone in mind, but you won't like it. I don't even like it, but the sooner she gets done with her hours, the sooner she can leave England the hell alone."
"Who do you have in mind?" asked George.
"Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson."
"No bloody way," shot Ron, waving his hand in front of himself. "We can't trust her in the shop. Have you gone mad?"
"You're off your rocker, Harry," George pointed out. "We need someone to help out, but we're not that desperate. We'll never be that desperate."
"Do it as a favor for me then. I want her hours done, so she can leave. She's a bleedin' menace and driving her parole officer spare. In turn, he's driving me spare"
"How many hours does she need?" asked Ron, not that he cared, but he was curious.
"Only a hundred and twenty-five."
"Only a hundred and twenty-five," George repeated mockingly under his breath.
"That's only a little more than three weeks of work if you give her the weekends off. And you won't have to pay her. She can be your mule."
George pursed his lips pensively and tapped his chin with a finger. "Mule, you say?"
"Are you actually thinking about it?" sputtered Ron. "Remember what she said when-"
"No, Ron, I forgot," his brother sarcastically replied and then turned to Harry. "Yeah, she can be our mule."
Against his wishes, Pansy started the following Monday, and Ron had to bite his tongue upon her entrance into the store. She had walked in and sneered at her surroundings and stuck that upturned nose to the ceiling which automatically dropped the moment George had her working the Muggle way, for she was not allowed a wand until her community service hours were met.
His brother was not daft enough having her work the register. He actually fancied the idea of making her be their guinea pig for new products but in the end, she ended up stocking items and doing shipment in the back. As much as possible, they kept her there once realizing her presence was bad for business. Many had stomped out of the shop when they saw Pansy restocking the shelves with a scowl on her face.
"Talk about bad taste," harrumphed a scandalized middle-aged witch and hurriedly escorted her children out of the shop.
If Pansy was bothered by the customers' openness of their opinion, she hadn't let it show. The first few days of her working in the store made Ron realize she was made of steel and if she didn't want something to hurt her, it wouldn't.
On a late wintery evening, his brother, overwhelmed with shame and perhaps on the verge of tears, had told him he was sleeping with Angelina and had been for the past two months. George added that he hated himself for it because she and Fred were together before he died, and Ron hadn't known how to respond, his emotion divvied up into three parts. One part felt betrayal for Fred, the second felt understanding, and the third was simply indifference if that made any sense at all.
What he did was send George up to the flat and closed the store with Pansy. When it was time for her to leave, she peered out the front door with a troubled frown, eyes glaring at the blizzard outside.
Dislike was putting it mildly on how he felt about Parkinson, but she was a lady after all so he offered to cast a Warming Charm on her. She responded by snapping, "How chivalrous of you. No thanks, Weasley. Spare your less than half-decent magic on someone else," and threw the hood of her cloak over her long dark hair and barged through the door. Shrugging, he locked the door and was about to turn around when he heard a thump, a screech, and a popping-crack. Pressing his face against the window of the door, he saw Pansy in a heap at the bottom of the snow-covered concrete stairs.
"Bloody hell," he mumbled and fumbled with the keys to open the blasted door. Finally unlocking it, he carefully descended down the slippery stairs, seeing a smeared foot print on the third step down.
Grimacing, he stooped down and found Pansy unconscious with her leg kind off in a weird angle.
"Parkinson," he said and went to touch her, changed his mind, and then changed his mind again by lifting the hood and cursed loudly, "Shit!" when seeing a deep crimson gash starting from the middle of her forehead and outwards towards her left temple. The wound trickled blood heavily down her face, covering her left eyelid.
He reckoned he should call for George but didn't waste the time and Disapparated her to St. Mungo's where he had to carry her like she was someone important to him to the emergency level because the healers and medi-witches and wizards on the other levels sniffed haughtily at the unconscious Pansy and told him to take her there, none of them bothering to lend a hand.
When he had arrived to the emergency level, he met up with a medi-witch who narrowed her eyes at Pansy and told Ron she was probably sleeping and was fine without actually touching her.
After some huffing and cursing, he was able to get her admitted and have a healer check on her injuries, but the bloke had not been pleasant or careful, blankly telling him of her broken leg and a cracked frontal bone along with a concussion. She'd be able to leave in the morning when everything was mended.
He left Pansy there and returned to the store, informing George of what happened, even about the unhelpful staff at St. Mungo's.
"Shame but she brought it upon herself, you know," he said.
"I know but I feel rotten leaving her there. We should probably contact her parole officer and tell him what happened."
The following morning, he and George opened up the shop, assuming Pansy was not going show. At 8:30, her usual time to arrive for work, Pansy arrived outside the entrance looking tired but healed with Malfoy beside her, his arm linked through hers and Disapparated before Ron and George got to the door.
"Surprised to see you," Ron commented as she entered and shirked her cloak, her shoulders and arms trembling. "You sure you're all right?"
"I got discharged. Draco was kind enough to take me to work. Need not worry your poor Weasley selves." She slipped on her bright orange stocker apron.
Her work that day was dismal, but neither Ron or George had the heart to chastise her. A few days later, though, she was back to normal and up to speed again with her daily assignments.
A week before her last day, she left the shop for the evening, her cloak in place. Ron had formed a habit of watching her climb down the stairs and when she reached the sidewalk, he abandoned the window and resumed tidying up before leaving, as well. He fancied having a drink at the Leaky Cauldron.
The air was chilly and the streets were vacant as he trekked towards the establishment. He entered and was pleased to find that the area wasn't overly populated and stole a seat at the bar, ordering a shot of Firewhiskey from Tom. Once he downed it, he asked for another and nursed it slowly. Halfway done with that one, he noticed Pansy a few seats down from him looking dodgy underneath the lush, dark blue hood of her cloak. In front of her, she was tracing the circular rim of the half-empty glass with a plain but manicured fingertip.
"I don't think your parole officer would approve of your choice in drink, Parkinson," he said.
Her tracing stopped and she rested her hand delicately next to the glass, using the bar as leverage, turning upper-half to face him. With her other hand, she lowered her hood and met his gaze with trivial irritation.
"My crime wasn't because I was a slave to the sauce, Weasley," she told him, her voice soft and almost a little amused. "Though you're right. He wouldn't approve. Are you going to tattle on me?"
Ron debated the answer, and then realized how childish that would be if he had. Bloody hell, if the bint wanted a drink, she could have a drink. Like she stated, drinking wasn't her offense.
"I've better things to do," he muttered under his breath and took another swallow of Firewhiskey, a gesture to Pansy, physically telling her he was done speaking with her. It was bad enough he spent the majority of his day around her.
Yet, clearly she wasn't done speaking to him, for she asked, "Do you even know what I got arrested for?"
"Everyone knows, sweetheart." He lightly snorted and shot her a humorous side-glance.
She paused for a moment and then stated, "What I did. What I said was not a crime. It wasn't illegal. Foolish, perhaps. Illegal, no. And I was treated with as much care as a captured Death Eater for it. I was even put on trial, and you and your self-righteous friends may think I deserved that, but I didn't."
The bleedin' harpy was killing his buzz. With a grunt, he pushed at his glass and told her, "It's not like you went to Azkaban, Parkinson. You got a slap on the wrist, so go whine to Malfoy."
"It was Draco who got slapped on the wrist, Weasley. Not I," she clarified indigently, her shoulders straightening in defiance. "I got two years of parole, eighteen months of those serving community service as a punishment for saying what a lot of people were thinking."
His ears burned from exasperation, but he withheld unleashing his temper and thankfully she stopped speaking and dropped a few sickles on the bar beside her glass and exited the place, throwing the hood of her cloak back over her head.
A few minutes later, after draining another glass, he tossed some sickles down and walked out of the Leaky Cauldron. When passing the alley between Gladrags and Tea Leaves and Scrolls, a hand shot out from the darkness and fisted his collar, catching him by surprise and reeling him out of the street. Pressed against the cold brick of the tea shop, Ron's eyes narrowed at the blue hood obscuring most of Pansy's face.
"What the bloody hell-"
She silenced his inquiry by pulling his collar downward and fusing her lips to his. Caught completely off guard by her attack, he barely noticed that they had Disapparated. Once their feet stabilized firmly, she let go of him and began pulling on the thick strings cinching her cloak together.
Gawking at her, he backpedaled and saw that she had taken them to a prissy-looking flat in the middle of what appeared to a bedroom with a comfy spacious bed donned in bright purple floral patterns.
"Parkinson," he croaked, his eyes bugging out of his head when her cloak was long gone and she was un-tucking the hem of her sweater from the waistline of her trousers. She peeled the material off of her torso and over her head and like dozy sod, he watched it fall to the floor and then saw her little hands unbuckle her belt and unzip her pants, stripping herself of those, as well.
"It looks silly when I'm the only one undressed, Weasley." She stretched her hands behind her back, her black-lace clad bosom jutting out at him.
Getting the impression she was about to take off her bra, he snapped out of his daze and coughed out, "Stop!"
"I don't really want to." And the frilly, lacy piece of lingerie fell to the floor, and he placed his hands over his eyes.
"You have gone mental! What are you doing?" He whirled around away from her and tore his hands from his eyes and patted at his pockets in search of his wand.
"Looking for this?"
He refused to turn around.
"You stole my wand?"
"How else could we have gotten here in such short of time? Here," she heard her say, picturing her topless with her arm stretched out in front of her with his wand in hand. "You can have it back."
"What are you doing, Parkinson?" he repeated and combed his fingers through his hair. This was not how he thought the night was going to end up.
"I'm in desperate need of a shag, Weasley. I haven't been touched in ages, and I've been driven spare because of it. We're both adults, and we can be mature about this. Take me now, and it won't mean anything. I'll send you on your way when we're done. We'll see each other in the morning and pretend it never happened."
"I'm going to pretend this isn't happening right now." Ron chose to turn around and pointedly kept his eyes on her face and like he imagine, she was offering his wand. He took it from her and said, "Besides, I'm sure Malfoy won't want me touching his girlfriend."
"I'm not his girlfriend," she hissed and then blushed, like she was beginning to realize the situation was not going at all as she planned. Her arms wrapped around breasts, and she bent down to pick up her cloak and slipped it back on. "If I had been his girlfriend, why would I have sought you out?"
"I don't bloody know." Ron rubbed his head, a headache from the Firewhiskey developing beneath his fingers. "I'm going to leave."
"I can't believe this," she lamented, raising and lowering her arms in an exasperated gesture. "I can't believe you don't want to. Am I truly that hideous? I know my nose isn't fantastic, but the rest of my face and my whole body shouldn't be shunned because of that."
"I'm not shunning you because of your nose, Parkinson. I'm not taking you up on the offer because I don't like you. End of story."
"And you think I like you? Just because I offered sex doesn't mean I fancy you, Weasley. I simply needed a male, so I went to the Leaky Cauldron hoping I'd meet someone, but you came along instead. You were the only one available."
Ron wondered if not being offended was a good sign or a bad one, so he shrugged and said, "I'll go."
He Disapparated and the next morning when she arrived for her morning shift, neither of them said anything about the events (or lack thereof) from the night before. They both worked through the day ignoring each other spectacularly.
That is, up until George left work a tad early.
While they closed up the store for the night, Pansy climbed up one of the ladders attached to the shelves of merchandise and removed a few products George and Ron no longer wanted to market. As she picked up a box of toy wands, she froze when seeing a large black hairy spider crawling down the box and scurrying onto her hand. At first she stiffened, a startled, frightened gasp escaping her lips and causing Ron to gaze up at Pansy who then let loose a screech and whipped her hand back and forth, losing her balance on the step of the ladder and soaring backwards.
For two seconds, Ron gaped at the scene before snapping out of his trance and bounding towards the falling girl and breaking her fall. (Later, he would ask himself why he simply didn't stop her with his wand). When her back collided with his chest, his bent knees gave and they fell to the floor in a pained heap.
"Gow," mumbled Ron into the material of her sweater, for her bum had made painful contact with his private bits.
"Oh my Gods, it's still on me!" she howled and leapt from him and danced on her feet, shaking her hand. "Get it off! Get it the hell off!" She waved her hand back and forth, a keening whimpering sound dislodging from her throat.
The large tarantula, the size of a tea biscuit, persisted to grip on to her skin and continue treading up her hand and making way past her wrist. She stuck the limb towards Ron who rolled over onto his front with a pained groan and climbed to his feet. He shook his head to clear the distortion and stared at Pansy, making an 'eeping' sound when seeing the arachnid so close to him.
"Get it off!" she demanded, her eyes watering with unshed tears. "Dammit, get it off now!"
"Unlikely." He stumbled back, tripping over a forgotten box and falling backwards, his legs flailing up into the air.
"Oh Gods," he heard, his eyes now up at the ceiling and parts of his body sore. Muttering curses under his breath, he sat up to see Pansy running around in circles waving her hand about with that blasted spider still on her arm.
Poor bint. He wondered if there was a way he could help her from this far away.
"Hey, Parkinson, hold still for a bit." He withdrew his wand out of his pocket and pointed at her. She halted her running, her chest heaving erratically and eyes wide in fear. "Perhaps I can kill it from here."
"Kill it from there?" she screamed. "You think you can kill it from ten feet away, Weasley? You'll blast my arm off! Get over here and yank it off, coward!"
"I'm not touching it. Just…" He halted when having a thorough look at the spider and its large pinchers which appeared to be gleaming with venom. "Shite! Pansy, don't move. Stop moving!"
"I have," she said quietly while the spider crawled up her arm nearing her shoulder.
"No, you don't understand. That is a baby acromantula, and it will kill you."
"WHAT?!" she burst, her glistening eyes shedding a single tear at the revelation. In a small voice, she pled, "Don't let it, Ronald. Please don't."
"I-I won't," he stammered, caught off guard by her vulnerability. Nodding his head firmly, he pointed his wand at her arm and said, "Just hold still. My aim is fine."
The stupefy on the tip of his tongue failed to flop out when the spider scurried up Pansy's shoulder to the exposed part of her neck and sank its fangs into the soft tissue over carotid.
A few minutes later, he found himself on the emergency level of St. Mungo's again, hurriedly telling the admittance medi-wizard what happened. Thankfully this wizard was nothing like the former medi-witch. No, this medi-wizard was a Yank and hadn't even flinched when Ron said the dying girl in his arms was Pansy Parkinson. The young man frowned in concern and grabbed her wrist and studied his watch before taking a gander at her neck, the heel of his right hand unnecessarily resting right above her left breast.
"Her pulse is frighteningly weak. Such a shame for a looker. The bigger shame is that nose. Would you like me to consult with another healer while she's in our care? I'm sure we can fix that puppy face in a jiffy."
"Uh…" Ron stared blankly at him. "Can we just…you know…save her life right now?"
"Good idea. She's turning blue."
Instead of leaving her like before, he opted for staying. He waited in the lobby area, flipping through out-of-date Quidditch magazines. After an hour or so, a medi-witch came up to him and told him that Pansy was stabilized but her recovery was going to take a little while.
"You should probably come back later," she suggested and then bit her bottom lip and tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. "But before you do, my shift is done. Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me down in the cafeteria?"
St. Mungo's coffee was dreadful, and he had to keep adding sugar and cream packets to make the scalding liquid drinkable. Even then it was barely tolerable, so he kept himself busy by tuning into Megan Jones. She had been a Hufflepuff in his year whom he hadn't paid much attention to back in school. But he listened as she talked about herself, discovering she was a Pisces. Also, her favorite food was chocolate-flavored anything which he appreciated, and when she was younger, her dream was to become a model.
"I couldn't become one, you see," she said with a forlorn sigh. "I'm barely five feet tall."
Her mother was a Muggle, and she taught secondary school . Her father was an Unspeakable, and Ron wondered how they got together.
She jabbered on until midnight, and he told her he had to get home but wasn't able to vacate the premises without her Floo address written on a napkin. When Apparating straight into his bedroom, George came stumbling in not long after asking where he'd been and Ron told him the story, including the part about Megan.
"You should go for it. I remember her. She was wicked attractive. Had a habit of wearing shorter skirts than permissible."
Expectedly, Pansy had not shown up for her morning shift at the joke shop and seized doing so for the rest of the week. During those days, Ron went on three dates with Megan Jones, each one leaving him more depressed than before. She was not Hermione, and he couldn't even pretend with her unnervingly short stature, straight blonde hair, and aqua blue eyes.
On their third and last day, he noticed the hints she'd been dropping. She wanted a snog or even a shag, but he wasn't up for it and told her so, thus, earning him a slap and a threat of castration if he ever went near her again.
A week since Pansy's run in with the acromantula, she returned from St. Mungo's appearing better with the exception of a white square bandage covering a part of her neck.
That evening with George gone again, they closed up the shop, both keeping a look out for spiders when Pansy asked in a low soft voice, "Why didn't you come and visit me?"
"Why would I?" he replied. Yeah, he had thought about it, but why was she coming off all sad and whatnot?
"Weren't you at all worried? I almost died."
He was worried, but he wasn't going to admit it, so he shrugged, thus earning a miffed grunt from Pansy, and she told him, "Three times my heart stopped after I got bit, and you have nothing to say? And they call me cold."
Three times? Bloody hell, Ron inwardly cursed and remembered his father being bitten by You-Know-Who's snake and how the man had almost died.
A few days later, Pansy showed up for her shift without the bandage and in place was smooth, flawless skin, giving both George and Ron the impression the Healers healed her nicely and perfectly. That was until Ron caught her in the back room with a pocket-mirror in one hand and a small jar of Glamour Cream in the other. Out of curiosity, Ron read up on acromantula bites that night after work and learned that no healing charm could undo the scarring left behind.
By the end of the week, Pansy had finished up her community service and left the shop for the last time. Neither her, George, or Ron bid adieus to each other but simply kept busy as she walked out the store. The moment she left, though, George commented, "We need to hire someone now."
That night, Ron made a trip to the Leaky Cauldron and had a few more shots of Firewhiskey than necessary and stumbled out of the premises a couple of hours later. Journeying back to the joke shop, he felt a demanding tug pull him into an alleyway and came face-to-face with Pansy, her blue eyes slit and glinting dangerously.
He may have been sloshed to the nines, but he knew when he was in trouble.
"Parkinson, what are you doing?" he slurred and wrinkled his forehead.
Her mouth curled like she was utterly disgusted by him and then placed that repulsed snarl on his lips and started backing him up against the brick wall of Flourish and Blotts. He tried pulling away from her, but he was in no sober position to do so against her unrelenting kisses which caused him to wince as her teeth bit harshly at his bottom lip.
"Ow," he said into her mouth and frowned. She pulled away and stared at him murderously before unsheathing a wand from her pocket and he whined petulantly, "That's mine. Give it back. Why do you keep taking my wand, Parkinson?"
"Because you won't let me at your other one, Weasley," she hissed venomously, and the world went wonky before landing bodily at her feet as she stood beneath a miniature chandelier. He craned his head around and groaned. They were in her bedroom again, and what did she say about his other wand?
"My other wand?" he yelped as she shirked her cloak. In seconds flat, she was only in knickers again, but this time he couldn't look away, so he ungentlemanly gawked at her. Bloody hell, her knockers…
No, no, no, no, no!
"No," he said, his eyelids stretching back into his skull while one shapely, tanned leg swung around his lower torso in a straddle and, uncaring about his verbal dismay, took his hands and placed them on…
"When I asked how you and Pansy came together, I was actually hoping you would give me the fast version," Hermione said to Ron as they walked rigidly next to each other in halls of Malfoy Manor.
"That was the quick version," he told her.
Staring at him skeptically, she let out a soft short chuckle. "No that was an unnecessary detailed catch-up story, Ron. You could've just said you two decided to start dating after her community service was finished. Goodness, I only said that Malfoy got me pregnant, I quit school, and got a job."
His ears reddened as his broad shoulders hunched, avoiding eye contact with her. "But what Pansy and I had at the beginning wasn't really…practical. I guess that she liked me or something, but I had been lonely. It wasn't until a while later when things started changing. My parents, no one, not even George knew about Pansy and I until…well…we had to get married. You understand, right. If anyone does, it's you."
Hermione let that assumption slide but couldn't help but comment, "Draco and I never got married, Ron."
"But you know what it's like to make certain decisions when becoming a parent unexpectedly."
Hermione nodded and looked away, her hands clasping as she frowned at a silenced portrait of a man with a rectangular golden plaque beneath it with the name Gaultier Malfoi. The man sneered back at her and mouthed 'Mudblood' at her.
Exhaling softly, she faced Ron again and said, "I'm surprised you're not angry with me. I was expecting…something that was not this. You've changed. Grown up, I guess."
He shrugged and grimly admitted, "I don't know. I was reduced to a few choice words when seeing the Prophet article Sunday morning, Hermione. I felt like…I don't know…betrayed. It's Malfoy and I know that sounds bleedin' hypocritical coming from me, but I can't help it. I love Pansy, but everything she came from I can't stand. Only tolerated the bastard because she and him were close. Sometimes I thought they were hiding things. Maybe I was right."
"Oh, Ron." Hermione patted his arm and smiled reassuringly. "If Pansy knew, then I had no idea. But like I told Harry, I wasn't hiding and Alex wasn't necessarily a secret. No one really came searching for me, and I moved on. Like you, I became busy with being a working parent."
"Can't believe that pillock didn't help you and your son out," he accused and Hermione rolled her eyes and refrained from grinning. The Ron she knew was not all gone; that was for sure. It almost pleased her.
"I only received as much as I saw fit. Believe it or not, he helped me and loved Alex very much. More than anything. Gave him everything…literally. It's sort of why we are here…whether I like it or not."
"Pansy told me," he said sympathetically. "I'm sorry that Mr. and Mrs. Death Eater are your son's grandparents. It's bad enough when the in-laws are You-Know-Who sympathizers. I keep trying to persuade Pansy's parents to shrivel up and die, but they won't bloody listen. Can you believe that? The other day Pansy let her mother watch Rose while I took the boys out for new shoes and later at the dinner table, she's asking me and her mother about Mudbloods and Blood Traitors and how she had been forbidden by her grandparents to marry one."
"Oh no." Hermione covered her mouth. Was this how it was going to be if she and Alex weren't careful? If Draco's parents even hinted at such things with her son, they could forget everything and get used to the idea of being without an heir.
Ron seemed unperturbed by what he had just said and smugly expressed, "I reckon she'll marry a Muggle-Born out of spite. She doesn't like Pansy's parents which is a good thing, but she's not fond of mine either. Mum thinks she's a bit of a handful, and Dad is scared of her. What about Alex? Is he a tad crazy?"
"Mmm." Hermione tilted her head left to right indecisively and said, "He can be mischievous and sometimes drive me batty, but he's my boy. What about your boys? I hear you are having another. That must be…interesting."
"I don't know how Pansy keeps them in line while I'm away at work during the day. Everyday I come home to a house that's fully intact, and I'm shocked. The twins are six and Jacob is four. This next one, Pansy and I can't decide on a name. Keeps tossing pompous, old family names at me that no one will be able to pronounce or spell. I don't want my kid getting beat up in school, you know."
Hermione let out a quiet laugh and was about to reply when they turned the corner and saw Alex and the four Weasley children scampering towards them earnestly.
"Mommy, come with us to build a snowman. We're going to do a whole bunch," her son pleaded and grabbed her hand.
"A whole bunch?" she asked in faux surprise and sighed exaggeratedly. "I guess you'll need my help then." She turned towards Ron. "Are you coming?"
"Please, Daddy," his four children chimed in unison. Rose tilted her head back and poked out her bottom lip and jiggled it like a professional. Her father caved with a half-hearted smile, swooping down and throwing his daughter over his shoulder as his boys fought over who got to ride on his legs as he walked.
Dressed in her snow gloves and thick puffy coat, Hermione watched from the sidelines as her son and the Weasley kids collaborated together in erecting the third snowman. She and Ron helped with the first two but both tuckered out after that. He had gone to check on Pansy, saying his wife was a week overdue and the baby was taking its sweet bloody time baking.
As the children were rolling the large ball of snow for the plump middle of their third creation, she saw two figures approaching and groaned when recognizing one of them as Theodore. Merlin, why can't that damned fink go away? Hadn't he caused enough trouble?
The other was Blaise, and judging by his pinched face, he was just as pleased with his friend being there as she was.
"What is he doing here?" she asked Blaise when they got close enough, unconsciously wrapping her arms around herself.
"I'm always welcome at the manor, Granger," Theodore said and glanced over at the giggling children, eyeing her son appraisingly.
"Blaise, why did you bring him?" she hissed at scowling man and then glared at the other. "Perhaps you should spend your spare time with your fiancé and not here harassing me."
Stoically, he said, "Yes, Blaise told me that you met Daphne. I hope she didn't claw you too badly."
"Mate, please," Blaise growled out between clenched teeth. "I get you want to get to know Draco's boy but-"
Hermione didn't catch the last part of what he said due to a gust of brisk wind snatching her cap. The knitted fabric fell to the powdery-fresh ground a few feet away from her, so she reached over to grasp but another breeze pushed it farther away, this time sliding further.
"Come back here," she muttered underneath her breath and sighed in relief when her cap stopped, and she was able to catch up to it. Leaning down, she picked it up and dusted off the ice particles before yanking it securely over her head. She turned around and started back towards Blaise and Theodore when she heard the former shout at her.
"Hermione, don't move!" he ordered as Theodore un-pocketed his wand.
"Mom, what are you doing over there?" Alex called out to her which was when she heard it.
The cracking.
In horror, she inhaled sharply and hastily pinned her eyes at her feet, and she felt the ground give beneath her, her stomach dropping as did her entire body, plunging into frigid water. Instantly, the water soaked her clothes, weighing them down as the current dragged her away from the hole she fell through. Her hands clamored at the ice above her, lungs burning for air. She hadn't caught her breath before falling into the river.
Her arms were growing tired from the weighted cloth and fighting against the current, and she was moving too fast. Gods, she was going to die.
Blindly, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her cloak and grasped her wand. Thank heavens it was still in there, and she pointed it at the ice above her when suddenly the current of the river changed, losing her grip on the wand. The lighter object floated away from her, and she tried to grasp it, but it quickly disappeared out of sight. She attempted banging on the ice again, but her cloak was dragging her downwards. The idea of removing it drifted through her clouding mind, but she was unable to focus on nothing but her seizing lungs and the unbearable cold. Her limbs were frozen. She couldn't move. She couldn't think beyond closing her eyes and succumbing to the darkness enveloping her.
A/N: Phew! Been a little busy with everything, so I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, following, and have put this fic on their favorite list.
Thank you to: MMWillow13, alina290, Angelus Draco, Kimee08, Kat, Vidicon666, hkmac, Aya Diefair, Guest, Musette Fujiwara, and Team Dramione for the reviews.
To answer some questions and comment on some reviews: I'm going to be honest about how long this story will be. It will be very long. I'm not sure how long, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's another 100,000+ words. There's still so much that I want to touch on and share with my readers.
Also, I agree. Hermione does not need to end up with someone to be happy in the end. She can find happiness without it. And as for Astoria ever meeting Alex, I haven't decided yet, but I can't say the same for Hermione.
And alina290 was right. Both Draco and Hermione caused their unhappiness, but we are mostly seeing it from her perspective, so it is easy to think it's primarily her fault. I agree, though, that she didn't treat him right, but I can't say that Draco treated her perfectly either. We'll see uglier sides of him, just wait.
Last comment and then I'm done. I got a question if Hermione still has that ring? Sorry, but I can't say. We will just have to see.
I hope the chapter was good. I'm sorry for any mistakes. I'll probably go over the chapter again within the next few days and tidy it up some more. I'm also sorry that it mostly about Ron, but I wanted to get the majority of his story now in instead breaking it up and popping it in here and there. Please read and review and tell me your thoughts. Thanks so much and have a great day!