A/N: Thank you to all those who've reviewed so far,
oOo
Here's the day you hoped would never come
Don't feed me violins
just run with me through rows of speeding cars.
- "Speeding Cars" by Imogen Heap.
oOo
Two more days passed. Kingsley attempted another visit, but was quickly shooed by a furious Arthur. Hermione, to her disappointment, saw very little of Ron. When they were together, they were at dinner, surrounded by his family. Dinners were awkward, especially for Hermione and Harry. Hermione would've sounded incredibly pretentious if she praised Molly and Arthur on their attempts at light-hearted banter as she served up the meals, so she said nothing. Ron said nothing. Harry said nothing. Ginny said nothing. Percy said nothing. George was never there.
Hermione spent most of those two days politely obeying Molly in helping with odd jobs around the house: laundry and so forth. Occasionally, Molly would walk past the clock or a family portrait and rush off to cry. Hermione would again remain silent, but take up the task that Molly was doing. Whenever Molly returned, they would continue as though she'd never left, but Molly would tap her arm eventually, as a silent gesture of gratitude. Hermione would jump at the flicker of openness, but would lapse back into work mode moments later. Fred was family, she was not.
Another day passed. Bill and Fleur arrived to help Arthur and Molly with funeral preparations. The four of them sat in the living room with the door closed as they planned and wrote invites. Fleur slipped out occasionally to help Hermione with the dishes or the gardening, and Hermione grew quite fond of Fleur. It was natural, of course, as she was the only person who had really spoke to her in days.
"What's new?" asked Hermione one evening, as she and Fleur pruned the rose bushes around the back of the house. "Are the plans coming together alright?"
"Zey are coming along okay, oui. It will be ze day after tomorrow."
Fleur stood up and stretched her back. "Cette pauvre mere... I hope zere is closure for Madame Weasley..."
"I expect there will be," assured Hermione, tossing her hedge-clippers onto the ground and lying back. "But it won't be sunshine and rainbows just yet."
"Non, c'est evident... 'ave you spoken to your beau, yet?" Fleur nodded up in the direction of Ron's room. His bedroom light was on. Hermione could see no movement.
"No," she sighed. "I don't want to intrude."
"But he eez lonely, no?"
"Not lonely, just... just alone."
Hermione winced at the memory of her solitude at Shell Cottage, and how every moment she spent away from people made her more happy that they were there, and still could be. Although, she only really felt better when Ron came up...
"Regardé," said Fleur suddenly. She was looking out to the fenced field beside the house. "C'est Harry, non?"
Hermione followed Fleur's gaze and saw, obscurely in the evening darkness, a figure sitting alone in the long grass. Hermione sighed again.
"He's been like that for days."
"Que, sitting in a field?"
"No... just staring into space. I'd be worried, but he's been talking and helping out and... I just think this is his way of... oh, I don't know."
She hadn't lied. She was not worried. Selfishly, she did wish that he'd snap out of it. She was getting lonely. She and Fleur might've been closer had Fleur not become a Weasley herself. Fleur was their family, however tenuously linked she was with Fred. Hermione had only kissed Ron a few days ago, and as such felt as though she didn't belong there. If she could only speak to Harry, maybe she wouldn't feel so alone...
...maybe that's why they hadn't sent her away yet: because she had nowhere else to go.
"'Ermione?" asked Fleur quietly. "Ma chere, don't cry..."
Hermione wiped her face. A tear had fallen. How odd.
"Come on. We should prepare dinner. Allez."
Fleur had Hermione sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes within seconds. Another evening of silent tears, silent eating and silent mourning would pass, and Hermione would let the Weasley family mourn how they liked.
A fourth day passed. George emerged from his room for breakfast. Luckily, Molly did not break down as she had done every other time she'd seen his or Fred's face.
"Tuck in, everyone!" Molly said in a despairingly cheerful way. "Lots to be done today! Fleur, you're taking Hermione shopping, yes? Good. Ron, you're coming into Diagon Alley with me today to find a suit. Ginny, you've got a black dress, haven't you?"
"Yes, Mum."
"Excellent!"
Molly sat down with the family, a smile fixed on her face. Arthur started his routine small-talk with her about his work schedule and the weather, which she engaged in animatedly. Hermione had thought that their little pantomime, added to Molly's teetering on the brink of hysteria, would not help with the atmosphere among the other Weasleys. But, she was wrong. Ginny had extra helpings of porridge and ate quickly, as did Bill, who cracked a dry joke to Ginny and made her give a weak laugh. George and Percy were not changed, of course, but Ron... Ron had sat next to Hermione at every meal time for the past four days, despite not saying a word to her. Today, he dropped his arm to sit on his leg and the slid it across to Hermione's. Ever so gently, he laced his fingers with hers.
Hermione's heart stopped. Tears sprang uncontrollably to her eyes as he affectionately stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She blinked them back, knowing that misery would ensue if the Weasleys saw her crying. In response, she briefly stroked his ankle with her socked foot. At this, he weakly smiled.
The day of the funeral arrived. The sunshine was beautiful.
Hermione woke in her usual place, on the camp bed in Ginny's room, with glorious sunlight pouring in through the window. For anyone else's funeral, she might've been angered. But not for Fred's. For Fred's funeral, people should've been wearing yellows and pinks and greens and orange... especially orange... people should be dropping whoopee cushions on each other's seats and casting Dancing Feet hexes at each other and laughing and smiling.
Hermione slipped into her black dress. Yesterday, Hermione and Fleur had shared a light-hearted moment when Fleur insisted on paying for the dress, calling it a "Congratulations-on-winning-a-war present". It was a nice dress, no doubt about that. It was shallow, though, that Hermione should analyze herself so closely in the mirror, picturing ideal reactions from Ron when really, Ron would be paying no attention to her at all. He wouldn't even notice she was there. His brother was going to be put in the ground. He was going to be lowered into the family plot just a few yards into the woods by their house, where several dozen of his ancestors were currently rotting...
Hermione wretched and ran to the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and took deep breaths against it.
"Pull yourself together..." she whispered to herself. When she was sure she was not going to be sick, she hauled herself up from leaning against the door. Before leaving the bathroom, she allowed herself to quickly check herself in the small bathroom mirror, where the light was a little harsher. Apart from the dress, she was a sorry sight: impossible hair, dark circles under her eyes... a patch of violent red on her arm that she had not allowed herself to think about since the Shell Cottage. There really was such a thing as a nightmare scar... she would just have to wear a cardigan.
The funeral began. Hermione sat at the back, clutching Harry's arm, sobs wracking her body from the moment the coffin entered the giant gazebo. She listened numbly to the emotional speeches made by Arthur, Percy and Fred's old friend Lee. Arthur had to pause during his speech as his wife let a distraught wail escape her. She fell into her chair. Ginny slid down into the seat beside her and stroked her back as Arthur continued.
By the time Fred's body was being lowered into the ground, it had been made clear to those who it mattered to that Fred's soul was not in that coffin. It was already gone, and it was just the shell that was being buried. That knowledge helped. Nobody cried.
The funeral ended and the sky began to darken. Lingering old friends of the Weasleys began to depart and as night drew nearer, Hermione's arm began to sting. She tried to ignore it, but it would not let her be. She'd ignored it long enough. It wanted to be heard...
Hermione was standing idly alone in the kitchen when she almost gave in to it. She toyed with the hem of her sleeve and peeled it backwards. Only the raw pink flesh of what she knew was a horrific sight was visible when something outside caught her eye. She peered out the window, grateful for the distraction. There was a figure standing out in the field. It was not Harry anymore, but Ron. He faced away from her. Her mind raced unthinkingly back to what she remembered of Shell Cottage, and how he'd managed to bring her out of her incessant misery. With that in mind, she forgot her arm and rushed outside.
A million possible things to say to him raced through her mind as she approached him: "Are you alright?" That was a stupid question. "It's nice out here," Who cares? "What are you doing out here?" Standing. "I love you." Whoa... Oh summon the Daily Prophet, what a revelation! Hermione loves Ron... fancy that...
She'd been standing next to him in silence for a whole minute before she realised she'd said nothing. There was no way she could say anything now, she'd just look ridiculous. But did she really care? This was Ron she was with. They were... friends? No. Boyfriend and Girlfriend? ...not quite. Lovers? God, no.
"Hi," Ron said finally. Hermione's heart leapt. She fought the urge not to cry with happiness. She'd really missed his voice...
"Hello," she said back.
"Nice dress."
"Thank you."
"You look... you look really nice. You know... pretty."
It was an entirely inappropriate time to be grinning and blushing, but Hermione did so none-the-less. "Thank you, Ron."
"You know what today reminded me of?" Ron asked abruptly. The mood of the conversation sunk.
Hermione shook her head. Ron took a deep breath.
"There was this one time a few summers ago when Harry was staying over. I woke up and came downstairs and he was standing in the kitchen. His hair had sort of flopped over his scar and he wasn't wearing his glasses and... I tackled him."
Hermione's head snapped round to face him. He was smiling nostalgically.
"I didn't recognise him. I thought he was an intruder," he explained. His smile faded. "I don't really recognise George without Fred. He's not really George anymore. I fucking hate it."
Hermione stayed silent for a long time. She knew he was right. Somehow, she got the impression that Ron was waiting for her to respond. She'd never been good with consolation, no matter who she was with. Finally, she decided on saying the most irrelevant yet absolutely appropriate thing that she could think of:
"Don't swear, Ronald."
There.
While she let that sink in, she tried to think of ways to back-hand any accusations of being cold or heartless. Can you not see that I'm grieving? You've been in your room for most of the time. I can say whatever I like. Me too. Don't swear. Why aren't you comforting me? It wouldn't help.
In that moment, the wind changed. Ron laughed. Not in a hysterical masking way, but in a joking, happy way. The sound made Hermione's heart sing. The heavy tension they'd been saturated in lifted, and what was left was the Ron and Hermione that had kissed each other days ago.
"I spoke to Mum earlier," said Ron. "She asked me to thank you for all your help around the house and stuff. She really appreciates it."
Hermione smiled to herself. At least Molly didn't think she was too big for her boots or in the way...
"You know, when I take the mickey out of you and tease you and stuff..." said Ron, this time in a voice Hermione was much more familiar with: awkward. "...I don't really mean it."
He still didn't look at her, but was no longer gazing at the darkening horizon. He was just avoiding her face. "I think you're incredible, actually."
Hermione turned to face him, stunned. Something in her chest was hurting, but in a very good way. Ron cleared his throat, as though preparing for a big speech.
"...Ron?"
That's when he turned to face her. Wow, he was a lot closer than she'd thought...
"Okay, please don't take the piss... and don't laugh..." he said quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans. "erm... will you be my girlfriend?"
He watched her carefully. He'd sounded so shy, so young, so keen... that Hermione unashamedly grinned.
"I said don't laugh!" he exclaimed, going bright red.
"Oh, Ronald, I thought we'd established this!"
"The hell are you on about?"
"You survived the war, you owe me a date. Wasn't that the deal?"
"Yeah, I guess... so... is that a yes?" he asked. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. His face was on the liminal between shouting for joy and crying with sorrow. None of this made any difference to her answer.
"Yes, Ron. I'll be your girlfriend."
Ron's eyes lit up. A boy-ish grin grew wide on his face as though he were about to burst and she couldn't help but giggle in return. Then, he stopped.
"Does that mean I can kiss you again?"
Hermione's heart stopped. Vivid memories of their first kiss flashed around in her mind, and her lips suddenly burned in their craving to feel his lips again.
"Isn't that... isn't that what b-boyfriends do with their... erm, girlfriends?" she asked, internally cringing at her flustered, spluttery attempt at being flirtatious.
"Cool," he smirked, though he still looked very, very nervous...
It was so quick that Hermione didn't even register it until after it happened. He stared at her lips for a second, deliberating how to approach this monumental task. Then, quick as a flash, he ducked in and barely brushed her lips with his. When she realised he'd done it, he was looking up at the sky.
"That was rubbish!" she exclaimed, not even feeling bad when he looked embarrassed. With a sudden shot of determination pulsing around her body, she reached out to him and snaked her arms around his neck.
"We do it like this," she instructed breathily, nerves coming back to her as he leaned his head down once more. She closed her eyes. Gently, but still much more firmly than he'd done it, she pressed her lips to his.
His lips were just as soft and warm as she remembered them. They were gentle, and moved slowly with hers. He wove his arms around her back and hugged her closer to him. This was perfect: the new feelings of desire mixed with child-like awe at first discoveries in his kiss, combined with the years worth of suppressed love and distant adoration in his embrace. It was somewhere that Hermione didn't even know that she'd always wanted to be.
When the kiss ended, their arms stayed around each other. They stared at each other, both of them trying to read the other person. He looked just as dazed as she was, until finally, he smirked.
"Wicked," he said. Her laugh echoed around them. They hadn't realised how dark it had become.
"We should probably get some sleep," Ron said glumly. Hermione's heart sank as he pulled away. "I don't really fancy Mum coming out here and finding us like this,"
"No, I guess you're right," she agreed, but as Ron began to walk back to the house, her arm flared up again. She really had ignored it for too long now.
"Coming?" he called. She shuddered back into the present and jogged up towards him, threading her mauled arm into his. Had he seen her scar?
Hermione envied the victorious little grin on Ron's face. She would've given anything to be able to have an internal happy dance like he was...
It was so unfair. She'd just kissed Ron. She'd just become his girlfriend. And now, after all that happiness, she knew she was going to sleep with her suppressed memories of pain, torture and Bellatrix Lestrange exploding back into life like firecrackers. She would be totally at her mind's mercy...
A/N: Well I hope that was alright- please go to my profile where I've posted a link to my TUMBLR for update notifications and pointless other fandom stuff :) if not, I'll see you next Saturday! Please review!
Yours faithfully,
Nel.