Chapter 18

The morning of the wedding came around all too quickly, in Hermione's opinion. The time she'd insisted she needed for thinking had been used to fret about the inevitable encounter with her fiancé. She was no closer to having the right words or even knowing what was going to happen– and knowing eventualities was something she excelled at. She hadn't felt this loss of control since the war.

"I'd heard rumours, but I never knew it would be this…" Pansy's whisper trailed off at her side, trailing a finger along the mantle in the Burrow's kitchen, glancing down at the invisible dirt in disgust. The pre-dawn light left the kitchen's interior in a dull grey haze.

"Play nice," Hermione hissed, snatching Pansy's hand back when she went to lift a china vase from the sideboard, "and don't touch!"

"Yes, Mum," Pansy drawled, using Hermione's same insult back on her. The china vase, however, was replaced with care.

Ginny chose that moment to step into the kitchen, still clad in her plaid pyjamas, scratching the side of her head as a great yawn escaped her, "It is far too early for you two to be bickering," she grumbled, flicking her wand at the stove, sending the kettle to fill itself with water.

"Mrs Weasley?" Hermione asked anxiously, looking up and straining to hear any sounds of movement besides the ghoul that lived in the attic.

"I heard her moving around on my way down the stairs. You should go up to see Ron now, before she stops you for something," her friend said, giving her a pitying look.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed, chewing the inside of her lip.

Ginny put her hand on her shoulder as she passed her to retrieve her cup of coffee, "It will be okay."

"I hope so," Hermione whispered, stepping away from her friends and heading for the stairs, each step heavier than the last, her heart pounding so loudly she thought she'd wake the whole house.

When she'd reach the top – narrowly avoiding Mrs Weasley as she stepped out of the master bedroom – she stood poised on the landing, feeling the tears sting her eyes as she realized how much she was about to throw away.

It wasn't just a relationship she was about to destroy, but a friendship. The loss of her best friend in all this was the most heartbreaking of all.

She huffed out a quick breath, then another, her hand turning the handle before her mind had a chance to catch up. Ron was still asleep, the covers around his waist, his chest bare and his hair looking worse than Harry's on a good day. She felt her heart tug as she remembered how many times she'd found him like this.

"Ron," she called softly, crossing his tiny childhood bedroom to sit at his side, the hand-me-down mattress dipping under her added weight.

He snuffled, but didn't wake up, "Ron," called again, shaking his blanket covered foot.

"Not now, Gabbi," he moaned, rolling toward her, his body spooning into her hip.

Hermione froze.

Gabbi.

"Ron," She finally croaked out, shaking his shoulder with force as a light snore escaped him, "Wake up."

Long let out a long snort and started quite abruptly, coming awake with a jolt.

"Hung over?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, despite what she really wanted to say.

"Big night," he moaned, pulling the pillow over his head only to fling it to the side of the bed seconds later.

"Hermione!" he blinked up at her, going even paler.

"Yup, it's me," she told him lamely, kicking herself at how blasé she sounded.

Eyes wide, Ron ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up worse than before, "Oh wow, I just called you…"

"Gabbi," Hermione supplied, her tight throat making it hard to get the words out.

Their eyes met, and the guilt there matched her own.

"'Mione, I'm sorry," he started at the same time she was saying:

"I know."

"You know?" he cried, his pulse visibly jumping in his throat as he shot upright. He went to grab for her hands but she pulled back from him.

"For a few weeks now. Whose Gabbi?" she asked, refusing to break eye contact first.

"Is that why you didn't come home?"

"Yes, and no. Whose Gabbi, Ron?"

Ron swallowed heavily, shifting to sit straighter as the colour returned to his face in full force, he blew his bangs from his eyes before meeting her stare again, "Gabrielle Delacour. Fluer's sister."

Hermione blinked, frowning heavily as this news surprised her, "But she's…"

"Nineteen. She's nineteen, she's been working on exchange with the British Ministry all year." Ron supplied, looking as defensive as the words sounded. Hermione recalled the last time she had seen Gabrielle, at Bill and Fluer's wedding, the quarter-Veela even more beautiful than her sister, her ethereal glow having lit up the dance floor before things had gone so wrong. She'd still been a schoolgirl then, a very young one, but the attention had definitely been split between her and the bride.

"Oh," Hermione blushed; feeling stupid for thinking the other woman was still student and the implications an affair with someone like Ron Weasley would have carried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the guilt of betrayal made the room feel heavy, "I don't know what else to say," he admitted.

Hermione swallowed, struggling to find the words, "We can't get married."

They were both silent for long minutes, the words hanging between them like a thick fog, only broken by the sounds of the rest of the house coming awake.

"No," he finally agreed, swallowing heavily, "I suppose we can't."

They fell silent again, until Ron began to nervously fiddle with his blankets, "Um, 'Mione… you're not going to hex me?"

She looked up sharply, "No."

He slumped in relief, "Oh good, because I thought for sure when you found out…"

"But I was going to find out, Ron" she reminded him, "Or were you just going to marry me and keep going behind my back?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I don't know…"

"You don't know?" she asked incredulously, feeling real anger rise for the first time.

"No, no I wouldn't have done that to you. I love you, Hermione," he confessed.

"Enough to let me go?" she asked quietly, unable to meet his eyes. The tears dripped silently as the time finally came to admit that things would never be the same between them again. She sniffed loudly, unable to hide her breaking heart.

He tipped her chin up; forcing her to meet his eyes again, "There's someone else? Isn't there?" he said, his voice hushed as realization struck him.

Surprised by his astuteness, she was unable to hide the truth, taking a shaky breath; she whispered, "Please don't be mad."

"Who?" he demanded. She caught him looking at her as if she'd sprouted fur and was speaking Parsletongue. Her behaviour of late had been out of character, but she was a young witch, with an extremely active sex drive – a sex drive Ron was more than aware of. The fact that they hadn't been physical in months should have clued him in to a change in her life, but obviously he'd been too caught up in his affair that he hadn't noticed their lack of intimacy.

"It was never meant to go this far…"

"Who?" he demanded again.

"… It was just a fling; something stupid I did while you were away. I never meant for it to go on this long. I never meant to fall in love," she confessed.

"Who?" he growled, still gripping her chin.

Her eyes stopped darting around the room and she took a very deep breath before confessing, "Fred and George."

Ron's hands dropped from her, his body scrambling back away, "My brothers? You were with Fred and then George? Sweet Merlin's hairy ball sack, Hermione!"

"No" Hermione said, feeling the lump in her throat grow, as his reaction got worse, "Fred and George."

Ron blinked rapidly at her, his face flaming and chest heaving, "I don't…"

But whatever he'd been about to say was cut off abruptly by the sounds of yelling far below them, the bedroom door was flung open seconds later. Harry, looking as dishevelled as the rest of them, barely took in the tension between his friends, "Your Mum's gone mental," he explained, "You better come downstairs, quick."

Hermione was already halfway out the door, the shouting downstairs growing louder, when Ron's words stopped her, "My brothers, together? How could you?"

"You're not the only victim here, Ron. We've been lying to each other for a long time. But there were so many times that I needed you, and you weren't there. They were, and yet you were still the one I was going to marry," she told him, leaving him to pull on his robes.

Hermione had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs, coming up short behind Harry and Ginny, who weren't able to enter the kitchen past the crush of bodies.

"I take it she knows about the baby then?" she asked Ginny. Her friend turned to nod her head in the affirmative, catching sight of Hermione's tear stained cheeks and gave a sad smile in comfort.

"Yup, Percy isn't going to be able to sit for a week if she keeps hexing his backside," she said with sadistic glee.

Mrs Weasley looked formidable as her adult son's tried to calm her down. Hermione's attention was drawn to Pansy, who sat in the middle of them all, looking serene as hexes barely missed her and her current state was discussed as if she weren't there. Drama, they had discovered, was what Pansy Parkinsons lived for.

"How dare you abandoned this poor girl!" Mrs Weasley was screaming at Percy, who had clearly been placed in a full body bind, his eyes bulging as he received the berating of his life.

"So, let me get this straight," Harry said, turning back to Hermione, his arm slung around his bride's waist, "The baby is Percy's, not Malfoys?"

"Yes, Pansy got a little jealous when Percy left her and thought our dear 'Mione here was the other woman. Tried to hex her into next week," Ginny answered, kissing Harry's cheek softly.

"It's true," Hermione confirmed, "She's a little insane."

"Percy's had sex," Ron said from behind her, avoiding looking at Hermione as he peered down into the kitchen, taking in the destruction his formidable mother had wrought.

Ron's words must have carried, because the whole Weasley clan suddenly turned to take in the foursome on the stairs, including Mrs Weasley.

"Ladies," Mrs Weasley greeted with pursed lips. Hermione and Ginny shared a frightened look, "You knew about this?"

"Yes," Hermione said slowly, "But not for very long…"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley. You kept my first grandchild from me?" the ageing matriarch demanded.

"Not kept, Mum," Ginny said with a huff, "Just…" she trailed off.

"It's all a bit of a mess really," Hermione started to explain, "and well, we needed to ensure that Percy would listen to reason. He has been the one, after all, to insist the baby wasn't his. And well, if anyone can get a Weasley man into line, then it's you."

Mrs Weasley turned slowly to her son, looking more maniacal than Pansy on one of her rants, "You will do the right thing by this girl, by my Grandchild," she growled, flicking her wand at him once more, releasing the body bind and watching his lank form slump to the floor.

"But Mum, she visited Malfoy the same day she told me she was pregnant! How am I suppose to believe it's mine when she's still engaged to that… that criminal!"

"Because…" Molly started.

Pansy cleared her throat delicately, forever the pure blooded lady, "May I?" she asked Molly, a serene smile on her face.

"Here we go," Ginny muttered in Hermione's direction.

Pansy, having heard the words shot her friends a silencing glance before addressing Percy herself, "If you had allowed me to explain the day you left my life I would have informed you that I went to visit Draco to break off our arranged marriage," she turned and addressed the room, "It seemed only fair, considering the length of our engagement, that I should tell him in person that I had met someone else. Someone I thought I loved, and that I carried his child."

"You love me?" Percy croaked, still on the floor at her feet, looking a little worse for wear.

Pansy softened, turning back to her lover, "Of course I do, you fool."

On his knees he shuffled up to the dark haired witch, "I love you too," he said, leaning up to capture her lips in his.

Molly allowed this display to go on for a moment before cracking her hands together, "Right, enough excitement for one morning," she smiled brilliantly up at Ginny and Hermione, "We have a wedding to get to."

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