UPDATE: This chapter has been somewhat moderately edited (Read: substantially lengthened) as of 9 August 2023. As I furiously attempt to finish all of the other WIPs in my life, including a fanfiction inspired fantasy novel and the conversion of a retired school bus into a tiny house on wheels, I thought I might try to finish this as well.
While the chapter has been edited for clarity, flow and just now realised oversights in the publishing process, the gist and importantly overall plan of the story remains the same.
ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Firstly, a huge shout out to NuclearNik for creating the absolutely beautiful cover-art for this piece and for spending the time to beta, and another shout out to PartyLines for beta-ing and also for answering my endless questions and giving spectacular advice.
This was originally supposed to be submitted to a comp that got away from me but hey, better late than never. (UPDATE CONTINUED: Truly, my procrastination skills are epic. This original A/N is from several years ago.)
This starts off at the end of Hermione's relationship with Ron, with Dramione as end game, probably taking 3-4 chapters. I have no timeline for my next update but hopefully it won't be too far away. (UPDATE CONTINUED: LOL. Seriously. Epic procrastination skills. Let me reiterate the 'no timeline for updates' thing here.)
Trigger warning: There is one part of this chapter featuring dubious consent. It is needed for the plot, but you can avoid the outward scene and get the general gist of the thing in a conversation between Hermione, Harry and Ginny later on in the chapter.
UPDATED TRIGGER WARNING: I've added context to Hermione's relationship with Ron. This relationship was loosely based on my first relationship which was, as so many unfortunately are, rather toxic. I wrote this initially as a way to process, and now feel it only fair to add what I feel is necessary context.
A lot of the time, toxic relationships are hard to explain in a broad general context to someone on the outside of it. Microaggression and emotional manipulation is difficult to pinpoint, hard to nail down, but then there are these moments that sum it up perfectly with time to reflect and heal. With these updates, I am attempting to highlight some of these moments. But as I said, these are moments in a toxic relationship, based on one that took me a bit of actual therapy to heal from. So tread lightly if easily jostled. Stay mentally safe, please.
This will start off as very angsty, but will have a lovely, glowy, sparkling sunshine type ending. So stick with me - we will get , onward!
25th December 1998
Everything was fine. For a while, that was enough.
Hermione was happy being fine. After so many years of chaos and suffering and yearning for this, fine was just perfect.
It wasn't long though before fine became tiresome.
Seven months into her relationship with Ron, Hermione had returned to her lounge room from the kitchen, clutching a heat pack to her abdomen in an effort to control her period cramps. Collapsing onto the couch and attempting to snuggle into Ron's arms, she wasn't even surprised when he froze before almost violently flinching away from her.
"What, Ronald?" she demanded, turning to look at him.
He had the common sense to look embarrassed, but he didn't apologise, his face reddening as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
"It's just… Should we really be touching when you're… You know?"
"Periods are not contagious Ronald!"
Face flaming even more, Ron visibly winced, "Do you have to call it that?" he whined.
Her eyes had narrowed, "Sorry, do you prefer 'the shedding of my uterine wall'?"
He was already covering his ears, screaming, "La, la, la, la, la!" at the top of his lungs before she finished the word uterine.
"Or how about bloody tissue falling out of a hole?"
"Not listening to you, la la la la!"
"For Merlin's sake, Ron! How immature are you?"
"Look, it's just - hormonal women freak me out,"
"Do I seem particularly hormonal to you?"
"Can you just-" Ron had let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm going to go hang out with Harry and the guys tonight, okay?"
Hermione had merely blinked, very slowly, a grim smile starting to spread over her face.
"Yeah, sure," she'd agreed, sounding defeated and depressed even to her own ears.
Ron had missed it entirely.
"And if you think about it, there's really no point in me being here tonight, you know? It's not like we can do anything while you're… you-know-what-ing,"
"Did you just compare my period to Voldemort?"
"I didn't mean-"
"Also, are you saying that the only reason you want to spend the night - on Christmas - is because of sex?"
"Well, I didn't exactly mean that. I just mean that-"
"It's fine!" she'd stated, holding up a hand to stop him and closing her eyes. She forced a smile and looked at him. "Yeah, it's fine. You should go have fun,"
"Are you sure?" Ron was already starting to stand, heading towards the floo.
"Yeah, sure. Only one of us needs to be miserable at a time," She let out a harsh chuckle. "I'll be fine,"
"Right, well… I'll see you later then," And he had left in a puff of smoke to the Burrow.
"See you," she'd replied to the empty space.
Silence had reigned in the room. Hermione stared at her coffee table, noting with slight annoyance that he'd had tea and left a ring on the table, because he never used a bloody coaster when she bloody asked him to!
Her abdomen was throbbing, cramps spreading from her elbows to her knees, and a dull pounding headache started at the base of skull and her temples.
Worse still - her tea was sitting on the far end of the coffee table, just out of reach. She would have to stand up to get it.
Ron should have been there to ruddy well pick it up for her.
"This is fine," she had assured herself, standing up slowly, wincing as her knees cracked, reaching for her tea and sitting down just as gingerly. "This is fine,"
February 14th 2000
The next Easter holidays, Ron became an Auror, passing the test almost eighteen months early. While he took his training seriously when it came to practical spells, he had managed to avoid most of the manual learning that Hermione insisted was critical. Why learn how to talk your way out of a situation - or diffuse it as Hermione corrected often - when it was so much more likely you were going to have to hex the malicious bastards in the first place?
Harry joined him six months later in November. The Boy-Who-Lived was shoved rather forcefully into the role of deputy head-auror almost immediately. Suddenly, Ron had an even more active persuasion in the Department, and he used it quite to his advantage. By February the next year, he was the apparent spokesperson for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Daily Prophet's literal poster boy.
Hermione, however, had denied the press or the Ministry any opportunity to give her unfair advantage, instead choosing to sit only the NEWT's she needed - arithmancy, ancient runes, magical history, charms and transfiguration - obtaining four Outstandings and an Exceeds Expectations with only three months to prepare.
In September, she'd applied to a low-level Ministry job under a false name in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and been immediately hired without an interview - the extensive cover letter she'd provided apparently all that was needed to convince the hiring staff. Disturbingly, as she was muggleborn, this was the place she would be referred to should she have issues with employment, housing, or overall civic feedback. While the job was tedious in its day to day slog and requisite monotony, she felt a great satisfaction in the idea of cutting off the head of the snake from the inside out.
She denied the promotion she felt she didn't deserve when her identity was discovered on her first day in the office.
When promotions came twice more and Hermione refused them, struggling to afford rent the same week, Ron had started becoming loud in his distaste for her career goals.
"You're an idiot, Hermione," Ron had yelled after forty minutes of increasingly hostile mocking. "How exactly do you intend to pay me back for that daft hippie scarf you made me buy for your daft mother if you're only taking in basic salary?"
She'd disguised her onslaught of tears and whispered that she wasn't an idiot, but he'd already slammed the door in his haste out of her flat.
Hermione had only managed to put forward one piece of new legislation in her five months of employment at the Ministry, it was true. But Ron's refusal to listen, to try to understand that these things take time and careful planning, began to take it's toll on Hermione's soul. Where once, he might have worn down her patience, and she might have fought with him, after a year and a half of being in a relationship with him, she began to feel his words like sandpaper on her heart.
But she tried. Hermione was never one to give up, and she felt like she'd waited so long for this. She'd dreamed of this since childhood, and held onto that dream through the darkness of the War. It had to mean something. She had to make it last.
Which was why on Valentine's day, she sat in the Leaky Cauldron, watching in awe as Ronald stuffed his face with fish and chips, followed by a steak and kidney pie and washed it all down with three butterbeers and a firewhiskey. She'd tried to start the evening off with a smile, but as his blind, disgusting self-gratification continued, she couldn't find it in her to hide her disappointment and hurt. He'd asked her what she was ordering for dinner and she'd blushed and asked for the thousandth time just how much money did he think she made on essentially a glorified interns salary?
"Well, it's Valentine's day, 'Mione," he smiled.
Hermione thought for a second, this moment might make the next few months worth it, that he'd put in just a bit of effort just this once.
But the moment was shattered just as quickly as it came.
"Surely you can spoil yourself?" he continued.
"I had to pay rent, Ron," she murmured, feeling the spark of hope die in her chest. "And Crookshanks needed his vaccinations. I've got some two-minute noodles at home though," she smiled around the tremble in her lip that Ron never noticed. "I'm fine,"
After he'd finally finished an apple pie and custard later, and another butterbeer and firewhiskey, just for good measure, he'd staggered with his arm over her shoulder through her floo and collapsed on her couch.
When her microwave signalled her supper's readiness, she tried to be excited about the spicy noodles, about the fact that the flavouring included more than stock but also sauce and spice and prefried onion. But then Ron had whined from her couch that the smell was making him nauseous, and the tears had finally come. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
She took a breath and apologised, and retreated to the hall with her supper. She slid down the door till she was sitting crosslegged against it. Tears made silent tracks down her cheeks as her fork went back and forth between her bowl and her mouth. She chewed on autopilot, focused on the wall.
When her bowl was empty and her diaphragm was no longer twitching, she wiped her face and stood up slowly.
"This is fine," she whispered as she turned the handle and walked back into her overpriced, delipidated flat. "I'm fine,"
November 17th 2000
Hermione didn't like being called stupid. Instead, she'd started to expect she might actually be insane, at least in the traditional sense, the definitive sense. For it seemed she could not stop doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome.
She had finally done it. She had finally drafted a groundbreaking, precedent-setting reform bill that would completely demolish house-elf enslavement and exploitation. It had taken months, eight and a quarter to be specific, but she had finally submitted her draft to be read and, hopefully, approved by the Wizengamot no later than the following Thursday.
She was absolutely bursting, brimming, buzzing with excitement as she raced home to tell Ron.
She expected him to be excited. She was disappointed - instead he squirmed like a worm on a hook.
His large right hand grasped two thick pieces of glossy reinforced paper, though he was clearly attempting to hide them. He murmured a congratulations but said nothing more. She frowned and asked what was wrong, her jaw dropping as he sheepishly explained that he'd made plans with Harry.
Her excitement buzzed out of her as violently as it arrived, leaving her hollow as she stood in the threshold of Ron's childhood room, his orange Cannon's paraphernalia blinding in the afternoon glare.
"What plans?" her voice was thin and reedy, like she'd been winded.
"We're going to see the Wicked Sisters," he explained, smiling like he'd won the House Cup, as if she should be excited for him. "I managed to get VIP tickets - took me days of asking people who knew people, you know?"
"Days, you say?" she hoarsely intoned.
His smile almost faltered, "Well it helps being the deputy-head's second, you know, I add security to the place so they pretty much begged me to take a ticket,"
"A ticket? But you're bringing Harry?" she wondered briefly if she should sound more accusatory, but she only sounded confused and sad.
"Well, to be honest, 'Mione," and now, his smile definitely faltered as he scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Harry being deputy-head, he can... you know... afford his own ticket,"
It was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, but it slashed through Hermione's psyche like a razor sharp blade.
"You didn't even ask me, Ron," she mumbled into the floor, her arms crossing, fingertips clutching elbows. "I was the one who told you they were touring. I thought we could go see them together. Not even VIP, just in the crowd, Ron - it's the Wicked Sisters. You... you didn't even ask me. I got a promotion today, I accepted it finally just like you wanted and you... you didn't... you didn't even ask me,"
"Look, I just... I know you get embarrassed when you can't afford these things. So I just wanted to avoid upsetting you,"
"So you thought booking tickets to a show you know I want to see on a day you know I've been working towards for months was a way for you to avoid upsetting me?"
"Hermione, don't you want me to be happy? Why should I be here, bored and miserable, just because you are? It's not my fault you choose to stay down - why should I be punished for it?"
"I didn't deserve that promotion Ronald, I've told you before! That was Agatha's proposal far longer than mine and the promotion was hers! I can't push other people down just because I have prestige now, that's exactly what my bill today was about!" She found her voice the moment before she lost it again, tears clogging her throat as she continued. "I told you today was important. I thought you understood that I needed you with me tonight, however it turned out. It didn't have to be at the concert - we could've just stayed here and spent the night just... you didn't even ask me,"
Maybe he looked embarrassed then, but it was too late. The hope, the joy and exhileration that had driven her to Ron's company had once again and all too cruelly been entirely dashed.
Hermione had started to wonder then when exactly it was that she had lost herself, because once again, she had just retreated, gone back to her flat and shared a can of tuna with Crookshanks.
When Ron rang her the next day, she accepted the phone call, and his apology. She sat for an hour while he raved about his brilliant night. She hung up the phone. She sat in the quiet that followed, and she realised that while she hadn't given up, she was no longer fine.
March 1st, 2002
Four years had passed. She laid in her double bed - the only thing she ever bought for herself that was new. Tears ran down her face as she recovered from her latest pain attack brought on by the scar on her arm, made by the cursed blade of Bellatrix Lestrange. Every few months, pain would pulse through her body, reminding her of that horrible night. For the first couple of years, the spikes were manageable. But after years of agony, she could no longer fight through the suffering without screaming. They were also lasting longer, spreading and throbbing for hours rather than minutes.
At the start of their relationship, Ron had attempted to care for her during her pain seizures, but as they progressed and increased in regularity, he began to resent having the task, and soon after, required payback for the effort.
"Good, you're alright now, yeah?" he surmised as he too collapsed on her bed, scowling at her as though she'd intended this latest seizure.
She tried to smile through her tears, "I'm sorry, I know it was horrible timing,"
"That's fine, you can finish what you started now,"
"What?" she whimpered, wincing as rising even a few inches off the bed caused a spike of pain to race through her spine.
"It's just… You're better now, you know? And we already started and once guys start, it hurts if we stop,"
"Couldn't you just… can we just go to sleep, Ron, please?"
Her tears had nothing to do with her physical discomfort anymore.
"But don't you want to help me?"
Her eyes snapped to his, sending him a look of complete shock. When she didn't reply, he almost glared at her, and she realised he'd already latched onto himself, pumping away. She tried not to flinch, but his hardened gaze made it clear she had not succeeded.
"It's my birthday, and you started out so perfectly and it's always better with you,"
"Ron, did you not just see me cry and scream in pain?"
"But it's just… you said the potions had started working. You got off the floor! You're on the bed now. You're even facing the right way!"
"But I still fucking hurt, Ron!"
"Yeah, and again, not my fault, is it? In fact, I'd say that if I weren't here, it would be a hundred times worse, yeah? Can't expect gratitude from you, can I?"
"Gratitude? For a hot water bottle? That I told you to get?"
"Well, if gratitude and reciprocation is impossible, can you just… tell me a fantasy then? Put that supposedly brilliant mind to good use for once?"
She closed her eyes as she breathed, feeling tears leak out from behind her eyelids and down into her hair. She should have known this would be her fate. She should have realised what she was to him - merely a recepticle for his ego.
But she didn't want to fight anymore. She was so tired of fighting. She was tired of fighting with Ron, and about Ron and for Ron and because of Ron.
She was just so tired.
"Just you and me or someone else?" She hated herself even as she posed the question.
The smile that took over Ron's face then was triumphant, smug. As though he'd won a wizarding chess tournament.
"Maybe," he panted, starting on himself again. "You and another guy?"
"Sure," she agreed, trying once again to smile.
She knew right then that that was it.
She was no longer in love with Ron.
And even despite that, she drew in a breath and continued.
"So you're on your knees, tied with your hands behind your back in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts. I come in with Dean Thomas and lock the door…"
March 27th 2002
It was raining again. Hermione stood holding her umbrella, her long woolen coat warm against her body but scratchy against her wrist.
For some reason, that small detail seemed important.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Grimmauld Place, waiting until Harry opened it.
"Bloody hell, Hermione. Why didn't you just come through the floo?" he demanded, pulling Hermione's coat off her shoulders and her umbrella from her hand, placing them in the rack by the door.
"I didn't want Ron to know I was over here and he installed that new tracker thingy on our floo," Harry was silent for a moment, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Is something wrong?"
"I need to talk to you. And Ginny," Hermione sniffled, feeling ashamed of how much she had been crying the past few days. "I just… I think I'm going crazy Harry, and I need some advice,"
"Is that Hermione?" The duo turned towards the stairs where Ginny was making her entrance.
She was dressed in one of Fred's old Weasley jumpers and jeans. She was wearing sneakers with her hair cut short, reminding Hermione of Tonks. Ginny claimed that Mrs. Weasley always made Ginny's jumpers too small and they made her look lumpy, whereas Fred's were the right size to be cosy, and then she didn't have to steal George's. As for the hair - she said that brushing long hair after playing Quidditch was a nightmare.
They'd all struggled after the War. Ginny, who figuratively and literally wore her heart on Fred's sleeve, was really no different to Hermione - no matter how far her smile stretched or her laughter boomed.
"Hey, Ginny," Hermione greeted, sending a smile her way.
"Hi! What are you doing here?"
"I came to talk to you and Harry," she answered simply.
Ginny beckoned towards the kitchen, asking if Hermione wanted tea. They sat down at the kitchen table and fixed their tea, quickly catching up.
"So what did you need to talk about, Hermione?" Harry asked, leaning back in his hair, his wild black hair falling into his eyes.
Hermione quickly swallowed a gulp of tea, her nerves beginning to unsettle her stomach.
"I need to talk to somebody about Ron," she breathed out, feeling a strange sense of courage overtake her as she said the words. "We've been having issues. Well, at least I have. He doesn't know,"
"What?" Ginny asked, looking confused.
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. "I've been feeling this way for months," she confessed, running a hand through her hair. "At first I thought I was just being fussy but… I'm not happy anymore,"
"Why not? What's wrong, love?" Ginny reached for her hand and smiled encouragingly.
"It's just… I can't remember the last time he told me I was pretty. I can't remember the last time he took me somewhere. He never asks how I am and actually means it. I don't feel like I can talk to him anymore,"
"It sounds like you need to talk to him more, work on your communication?" Ginny reasoned.
Hermione shook her head, wishing she could find those perfect words to explain, to make them understand.
"He won't let me listen to my music in my own house. I try to save up so I can cook fancy meals for him and he doesn't even say thank you. On his birthday, I got this pain seizure during… you know… and after it started going away, he manipulated me into… helping him… finish,"
"He what?" Ginny shrieked. Harry's face turned to stone, his eyes blazing.
"I'm not even going to comment," he said, sounding absolutely furious. "I've got nothing helpful to say about this."
"What do you mean 'he manipulated you'?" Ginny demanded. "Hermione, he didn't…"
"No!" Hermione shouted. "No, he didn't. He just… He started… You know and then started asking if I could tell him a fantasy since it was his birthday and everything, and he had helped me get through the pain seizure and," she winced, "I ended up just doing it myself,"
Silence reigned for several moments. Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a sip of tea, sniffling. The disgust that took over her as she'd taken him into her mouth reappeared tenfold, and his degrading encouragements echoed in her head.
'Such a good slut,' he'd insisted. 'All you're good for, isn't it? This is what you love, isn't it?'
She shuddered as she thought about it, remembering that triumphant glow in his eyes.
"I don't even know what to say," Harry whispered, staring blankly down at his cup.
"He didn't even come to my birthday because he went to go see the Cannons play the Falcons,"
"Is that where he was? He told me he was working on the Goyle case!" Harry said.
Hermione shook her head, "Do you remember when you guys went to that Wicked Sisters concert? He didn't even ask me if I wanted to come,
"But you're the one who told him about it!"
"I know," she said sadly. "I came home having finally completed the first draft of the House-Elf Liberty and Progress Act, expecting we could spend the night celebrating at home, but he told me he already had plans. That I was trying to make him as miserable as I was by trying to make him stay home,"
"But the HELP Act was... Hermione, that legislation is ground-breaking!" Ginny declared, sounding absolutely outraged. "You should have had a night of celebration after that!"
"Well, your brother disagreed. I went home and had dinner with my cat, and he went to the concert, and the next day I asked him how the concert was and he informed me it was one of the best nights of his life,"
Her tears were making silent tracks down her cheeks, her diaphragm barely shook. After years of crying silently to appease Ron, she'd mastered the art of letting tears fall unimpeded and unaccompanied by noise.
"Okay, Hermione," Harry consoled, getting up from the table to give her a hug. "It's okay. You don't have to say anymore,"
"I can't do it anymore, Harry. I can't go back when he's there, exuding this pity because I can't afford all the things he does, looking down on me all the time. He still lives with his goddamn mother! And he's mean to my cat!"
"I know, honey. I know," Harry patted her back softly, standing awkwardly, clearly having had enough of the hug.
Hermione let him go, "I have to break up with him,"
Harry looked like he agreed with her, but wasn't saying anything. Ginny looked sad and shocked.
"Do you want to sleep here tonight?" Ginny asked, trying to smile.
Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.
April 6th 2002
Ron had always been gangly, Hermione thought. But at this particular moment when he was standing there crying, his hands hanging limply by his sides, he had never looked more lanky.
"But I don't understand," he blubbered, his blue eyes shining with tears as more made tracks down his cheeks. "I didn't know there was anything wrong,"
"You didn't?" Hermione questioned, shouldering her bag as she stood in the threshold of Ron's room, trying to hold back her own tears as she watched him cry. She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to remain firm. "We fight all the time, Ron,"
"But that's not fighting! I thought we were debating,"
"In what universe does a debate end with one of the participants crying?"
"I didn't know it was upsetting you so much!"
"I told you it was!" Hermione screamed before closing her eyes and burying her face in her hands. "I told you it was, Ron, several times. And either you forgot, which means you don't care, or you do remember and you just enjoy pushing me,"
"That wasn't what I meant!"
"But it's how you made me feel," Hermione looked down at the floor for a moment before squaring her shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "You've made me feel useless and small for years, and I can't do this anymore, Ron. This isn't working, and I can't see a way we can make it."
"We can try counseling or-"
"Ron," Hermione stated, giving him a firm look. "I'm done. I'm just… I'm done,"/
She watched as Ron realized she wouldn't be swayed. She watched as the sadness hit him, watched as his heart broke. And then she watched as the anger surfaced, as she knew it would, and she watched him turn into the Ron that she hated.
"Well then. If that's how you feel, get the fuck out of my house," he hissed.
Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat and turned towards the door, turning the doorknob.
"That's it, go! I don't need you!"
Ron started chasing her down the Burrow's staircase, causing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Bill and Percy to look up from what they were doing.
"Don't even think you can come crawling back to me when no one wants you, you frigid bitch!"
"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. "How dare you speak that way to Hermione?"
"She's fucking leaving me, Mum!" Ron spat, his arm gesturing violently towards Hermione as she stood uncomfortably at the fireplace. "Suddenly, I'm the worst fucking bloke in the universe, and she's leaving me!"
"That wasn't what I said," she tried to say, but her voice was drowned out by Ron's roar.
"Shut up! Just fucking shut up, you disgusting, pathetic, bossy cow!"
"Ron…" Hermione whimpered, knowing that while she had expected a tantrum, she never expected for Ron to go after her insecurities like that.
"I can't believe you just think you can walk out that Floo! Let me tell you something, Hermione," Suddenly, Ron was eerily quiet.
He stalked towards her like a lion stalking its prey. Hermione looked behind his shoulders towards the Weasleys for help, but they just stood where they were, staring with a mixture of fascination and horror at the scene unfolding.
"You may think that the war changed something. But you're still just that ugly, frumpy, bossy, unlikeable know-it-all Harry and I took pity on in first year. You wouldn't be anything without us. And when you go out there and realize that no one wants you - with your weird Muggle obsessions and your crazy parents and your dodgy apartment and fucking evil cat - they're all going to leave. Do you know why?"
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks, and she heard George stand and make his way over.
"Because you are. Nothing. Without me. And when you realize that, I won't be here,"
"You shut your filthy mouth, Ron!" George cried, shoving his brother and grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt, dragging him outside./
When Ron and George had left, no one said a word. Hermione felt her stomach churning with betrayal, shame, and guilt and she couldn't say a word, focusing all her energy on staring at the floor. Finally, it was Mr. Weasley who spoke.
"Hermione, dear," he started. "Did you have a reason for hurting my son like that?" Hermione took a shaky breath, trying to wipe away all the evidence of her broken heart.
"Mr. Weasley, I… I love your son," she replied, trying to put every ounce of feeling into the words that she could. "I promise I wouldn't be doing this if I saw another option," She heard him sigh, and all of a sudden, his arms were around her.
She returned his hug, slightly uplifted at knowing at least he didn't hate her.
"It takes a lot for a woman to end a relationship. I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry it did," he whispered.
Releasing her, he handed her the Floo powder and gave her space to step forward.
"You're always welcome here, Hermione. Give Ron a bit of time to cool off, but don't lose touch,"
She tried to smile, she honestly did, but she couldn't see anything through the tears apart from fuzzy outlines.
"I love you all," she swore. "I'm so sorry for this,"
In a puff of green smoke, she was gone.
September 16 2002 - Morning
It could be worse, Hermione thought, as she wrestled her hair into a semi-neat bun, quickly buttoning up the top two buttons of her cardigan. She could have run out of tea again.
Hermione opened her front door and walked out, closing and locking it behind her. Walking quickly to the apparation point nearby, she thought of how things had been the past few months.
For three days, Ron had managed to keep quiet. Then he'd started sending owls.
At first, it was fine. He had insisted that he was sorry and that he hoped they could still be friends. He did mention the fact that he wanted to change, that he would do anything to have her back in his life.
She had replied, ignoring the last part, focusing instead on the fact that they were friends long before they had been in a relationship, and they could work this out. Communication was key, she had insisted.
A few weeks passed and the owl letters became longer, more pleading, more reminiscing, more promises of changed behavior that, no matter how hard she tried, Hermione just couldn't believe. She stopped replying, hoping that would discourage it, but instead, more owls arrived with letters that remained unopened - sometimes for days. When Hermione finally summoned the courage to read them, she was horrified to read how terrible he was feeling - going on and on about how he wished he could change things.
Then the letters began to change. Ron started talking about hurting himself, talking about how much he wanted to end everything, And that he didn't see anything to look forward to - that his future was gone.
Hermione finally replied, trying to get him to turn to Harry or his brothers, but nothing she said would dissuade him from harassing her and no matter what logic told her, she couldn't bring herself to shut him out completely.
As she walked from her Apparation drop off point towards St. Mungo's, depositing her wand back into her handbag, she rubbed her cheek and let out a sigh, exhausted from dealing with an entire night of writing Ron.
Crookshanks was furious with her, having got no sleep at all, and her owl, Horus, was exhausted. So was Errol and frankly, so was Hermione.
But it was her one day off a week to visit her parents, and she had no time to be tired today.
As she wandered through the hallways of the hospital and took the lift to Level Four, the Janus Thickey ward, Hermione hugged her arms over her middle.
She would never admit it out loud, but Hermione honestly hated coming here. When the War had first started, Hermione had obliviated her parents' memories of her, deleting herself completely from their past and sending them to Australia under false names to keep them safe. That had worked. She had even found them again; it had almost been easy.
She had even brought them back home, using a confundus charm to give them the idea.
But when she came back and tried to reverse the spell, something had gone wrong.
Now, all that was left of her parents were blank, smiling faces and staring eyes.
They were permanent residents of the Janus Thickey ward, and Hermione made sure to visit them at least once a week. She had a rule to visit them every Sunday without fail.
Ron had never joined her, insisting that to do so was foolish, that she was filling herself with false hope. Besides, what was the point of a muggle family when she had a perfectly good magical one at the Burrow?
Harry and Ginny had visited a few times over the years. Most of the other Weasley's had as well. However, most of the times she visited, the only familiar face that presented any sort of emotion was Neville Longbottom, who still dutifully visited his parents every weekend as well.
She opened the door to the ward and made friendly conversation with the nurse at the counter, before moving in the direction of her parents' room.
Her mother was in the chair by the window, staring vacantly at a beetle as it buzzed against the glass. Her father was sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, a small coffee table next to him holding his uneaten lunch of a sandwich and pear slices.
Hermione grimaced - her dad hated pears.
"Hi Dad. Hi Mum. It's me!" she greeted brightly. Her father turned towards her briefly, before his eyes glazed over again and he was gone. Her mother barely moved.
"I brought you some new scarves, Mum!" Hermione declared, refusing to be upset.
She reached into her handbag and pulled out two new scarves: a blue and green one that she had knitted herself, and one silken, yellow one that she had found in a vintage clothes shop. She walked over to her mum and brought them in front of her eyes.
"What do you think?" She asked hopefully, bending her knees to be on the same level with her mother.
She swore her mother's eyes lit up ever so slightly as she looked at Hermione's homemade scarf, but she knew the doctors would tell her it was just wishful thinking, however.
"Do you want to wear it?" Without waiting, Hermione wrapped the scarf securely around her mother's neck. "There you go - what do you think?" Her mother barely moved, but Hermione hoped it was at least comfortable.
"Dad, I've got you the new Top Gear magazine," she went back to her bag and pulled out the magazine, flicking through some of the pages. "I'll get Henry to read it to you later, shall I?" The silence that followed filled Hermione with sadness.
She allowed herself to wallow in it for just a second, before she took a deep breath in and reached into her bag again.
"Alright, where were we?" She asked rhetorically, finding a place on the bed and opening a tatty, hard-cover book. "'Chapter 6: It's Not My Fault I Didn't Know Your Pants Weren't Waterproof!'"
16 2002 - Noon
Three tentative knocks sounded at the door, followed by a familiar head poking through.
"Hey, Hermione," Neville Longbottom greeted. "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Mind if I visit?"
"Neville, hi!" Hermione said, finding a bookmark. "Come in, we just got to the end of the chapter,"
"I wouldn't want to interrupt reading time," he sheepishly walked into the room, digging his hands into his pockets. "Mind if I have a word, Hermione?"
"Sure," Hermione replied, standing up slowly and walking towards him, raising her eyebrows at him.
"Look, I just… I thought I'd better warn you," he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at her.
"What's the matter Neville? You look awful,"
"I just found out something a few days ago and I thought I should warn you - Malfoy is a doctor here now,"
"What?" Hermione demanded.
"Yeah, he started a few months ago," Seeing the look on her face, he held up his hands. "I've been watching him, Hermione. He's entirely professional! What's more, he's normally supervised. He's…"
"Yes?"
"He's good at his job, Hermione," he assured her, looking entirely genuine. "I've kept an eye on him around my parents and the common area, and I honestly don't see the kid we knew. I don't know what happened to him but he's… normal now. Tolerable,"
Hermione's head was spinning. She couldn't wrap her mind around what she was hearing.
The last she heard, Malfoy was off living his best life, exploring all over the world on private tours with mysterious and infamous guests, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. To think he would give all that up to work in the Janus Thickey ward…
"It doesn't make sense," she insisted, shaking her head. "Why would he - he's a millionaire!"
"It doesn't make much sense to me either but it is what it is. I just thought you should know," Hermione didn't speak for a second, lost in thought.
Coming out of her reverie, she managed to smile at Neville.
"Thanks for telling me," she told him genuinely. He nodded, before turning back to her parents.
"Grangers, it's been a pleasure as always. Mr. Granger, you need to lend me that magazine when you're done. Mrs. Granger, you look lovely - that scarf suits you," Hermione's smile was real now, and the hug she gave her friend as he left was as well.
September 16th 2002 - Afternoon
Hermione waited all day for Malfoy to turn up. At half past four, he finally arrived with the Grangers' regular healers, Healer Carmichael and Healer Benet. Malfoy was holding a clip board in his right hand, scribbling notes with his left. His platinum blond hair was tied back with an obvious black hair tie, his healers' robes fitting him better than any other healer Hermione had seen, though they still weren't very flattering.
"Hello, Hermione. How are you?" One of the other healers greeted.
"Hello, Healer Carmichael. I'm fine, and you?"
"Very well. Have you met our new healer, Healer Malfoy?"
"We're… acquainted," Hermione replied, sending a begrudging glance to Malfoy. "It's been a while, Malfoy,"
Finally, he looked up from his clipboard, locking eyes with Hermione for the first time since he'd walked in the room.
His eyes were still blank. Like they had been that night at Malfoy Manor. His face gave nothing away, his mouth a straight, thin line.
"Hello, Hermione," he said, barely reacting to Hermione's wince of surprise. "Unfortunate to be meeting again in these circumstances," she narrowed her eyes at him.
"What would you know about it?" she snapped.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, Healer Malfoy has indeed been briefed on your parents' case. He's eager to take over as their lead physician," Healer Carmichael hurried to calm her.
"What?" The volume of Hermione's shriek was too much, even to her own ears. "But you are their lead physician! You've been working on their case for three years! What could he possibly contribute? He can't even have graduated his study yet!"
"I informed you I was retiring at the end of this year and would be training my replacement six months ago, Miss Granger," The healer's tone was firm.
Malfoy subtly leant back and went back to examining his clipboard. Healer Benet awkwardly adjusted her glasses and went searching through her pockets for something.
"I trust Healer Malfoy implicitly. He was first student in all his classes and has been invaluable to us at St. Mungo's since joining us on the second floor, and I believe that he is the best choice to take over your parents' case,"
"How could he possibly have been top of any class when he was off gallivanting around Europe on a yacht with a bunch of bimbos clinging to his arms?"
"Alright, that's enough," Malfoy interrupted, tucking his clipboard underneath his arm. "Granger, a word?"
He walked out without waiting for her to reply. In order to avoid the judging glances of the other healers, Hermione had no choice but to follow.
He stopped just outside the door, leaning casually against the wall.
"Look, Granger," he started, "I understand that I wasn't exactly the… friendliest of blokes to you and your friends and… all that. I'm sorry for that," Hermione snorted at his choice of wording.
He looked up from the floor and their eyes connected. For the briefest moment, Hermione could swear she saw some hint of emotion there - some regret or shame that almost made her believe he was genuine.
"I'd like to apologise too for what happened at the Manor," Hermione's whole body froze. "I should have helped you. I have a million reasons why I did what I did but I don't think you want to hear them," She didn't. "So all I'm going to say is this: I'm sorry for not helping you,"
"I'm not sure I can accept that," Hermione stated after a brief pause.
Malfoy definitely reacted that time. His entire face morphed into an expression of complete surprise as if he had anticipated her to be the "good girl" she used to be and forgive him straight away.
"I haven't seen enough evidence to allay my doubts,"
"I suppose that's fair," he replied, nodding as if trying to convince himself. "Would you consider allowing me to help your parents then, at least?" At her look of apprehension, Malfoy quickly spoke again. "Look, I did gallivant a bit around Europe on a yacht, that's true, but what the papers didn't say is that I was gallivanting with some of the topmost medical specialists and professors in the world, and travelling from place to place talking to local healers, gaining knowledge. It wasn't the most conventional education but I promise I'm fully qualified to care for your parents,"
Hermione stared at him, feeling her mind whirring.
"Must be nice to be able to throw all that money around," she said blithely.
He smirked, straightening his shoulders and showing that familiar Malfoy swagger.
"Well, it did certainly help that I am significantly wealthy, yes,"
She blew out a frustrated sigh, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling.
"I don't trust you," she admitted, turning towards him again. "But I do trust Healer Carmichael. If he says you're up for the job then… I guess we'll see,"
His shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, and he gave her a polite, professional smile, "Thanks, Granger."
"Who knows?" Hermione threw out, turning and beginning to walk back into her parents' room. "We might get lucky and my mum will strangle you with a scarf,"
"Nonsense, they'll love me," he replied, following after. "She'll be swooning into my arms within ten minutes,"
September 16th 2002 - Late afternoon
The first time Malfoy visited with her parents, it had actually gone surprisingly well. He seemed to become this whole other person as he was treating; his voice was soft and kind, he spoke slowly and carefully, and he never let his patients' lack of reply deter him from his work.
He started off having an odd conversation with Hermione's mother, talking about his own mum and all of her interests. He watched her mother intently, trying to see if she had any reaction.
"How about gardening, Mrs. Granger? My mother has this rather lovely rose garden that blooms all throughout the year,"
Suddenly, her mum turned away from the window and towards Malfoy, staring at him with those empty eyes.
Hermione was stuck rooted where she was, watching the interaction unfold.
"Mum always had a garden," she blurted out like the words were pulled from her. Malfoy turned towards her, raising his eyebrows. "She always grew fruit and veggies. But she could never get the hang of roses,"
Malfoy almost smiled and sent Hermione a look that could almost be interpreted as appreciative.
"Would you like me to bring in some of Mum's books on the subject? We could read them together and see what we can come up with," Malfoy waited, but the woman was gone again, lost in her head where Hermione could never reach her. "Alright then, I'll write her tonight. And she's always had an issue with fruit trees so I'm sure that she'd love to get your advice once you're out of here,"
"Uh, Malfoy should you-" Hermione cut herself off at the look Malfoy sent her.
"Of course, we should! We'll just have to change the wards around the Manor," he looked reassuringly at her mother, squeezing the woman's hand before standing and walking towards her father.
"Hello, Mr. Granger. I'm Draco," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. "Have you not had lunch?"
"He normally takes it from Heather but I think she's on her break," Hermione explained quickly, feeling the odd need to defend herself.
"Well, no worries," he replied easily. He reached for his clipboard again, lifting some pages and reading carefully before reaching for her father's lunch tray. "We can make Heather's life easy for an afternoon,"
He started carefully tearing the sandwich into small pieces before gently holding them in front of her father's face.
Shockingly, he actually opened his mouth and accepted the food, gobbling it down quickly. It took only a few minutes for him to get through his sandwich before Malfoy started reaching for the pear slices.
"Wait!" Hermione cried. "Not the pears!"
"Is he allergic?" Quickly, Malfoy dropped the pears and started going through his notes again. "There's nothing about that here,"
"No it's just… He just doesn't like them,"
Malfoy blinked in surprise before reaching into his pocket and bringing out a Granny Smith apple.
"Well, that's unacceptable. How about apples?"
Hermione shrugged as Malfoy brought out his wand and performed a silent charm to slice the apple into pieces. He reached for a pear and ate it himself while passing an apple slice to Hermione's father.
"Here we'll swap. I haven't had a break yet," Around a mouthful of food, he turned to Hermione again. "Weren't you reading? Don't let me stop you," he swallowed his bite and handed out another round of slices. "I'll be back on my rounds in a minute,"
Hermione blinked before going back to her spot, picking up her book and finding the bookmark. She noticed, briefly, that the other healers had left. She couldn't even remember when.
And she honestly didn't care.
December 24th 2002 - Late Evening
The next couple of months passed much as they usually had. Hermione would wake up, feed her cat, go to work and come home to silence and a frustrated, hungry feline. She would read or watch the telly and then go to sleep in her bed that seemed suddenly too big.
On Saturdays, she would visit Harry and Ginny. They would have lunch or dinner, and they would tell her that she needed more in her life than just work. And she would sit there and feel horrible, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get Ron's angry, hateful words out of her head.
She couldn't find it in her to go out and enjoy herself. She couldn't find the will to do something different, to 'spice up her life" like Harry and Ginny encouraged her so often to do. While she promised over and over again that she would try and do something new, she knew that she would just go home to her cat, drink her tea in her pyjamas and maybe go to sleep listening to her new Carmen Live album.
And then Sunday would roll around, and Hermione would find herself in St. Mungo's again visiting with her parents. Around one-thirty, Malfoy would appear, bringing books and puzzles and board games, and a somewhat annoyingly chipper attitude.
He would sit and have lunch, chat with her and her parents. When Henry went on his annual leave, Malfoy started reading Top Gear magazines to her father, and he always seemed to have a new book on gardening or cooking or astronomy for her mother.
The two of them struck up an odd camaraderie, sitting, reading, talking and somehow managing to not argue.
She admired the way he treated her parents, the same way, reportedly, he treated the rest of the patients. He took an interest in them. He dedicated all his time to them. While Hermione loved the way Healer Carmichael cared for her parents, there was a certain passion that Malfoy had that the older man did not.
It was inspiring. And after a few months of knowing him, Hermione could admit that.
Through it all though, the letters still came. No matter what she said, she could not seem to get it through Ron's thick skull that it was over. It had been over for a long time.
He always managed to spin everything she said into an accusation or something hostile. When she got frustrated, he manipulated her into apologizing by threatening self-harm. She could barely sleep, she wasn't eating, and she could hardly keep anything down.
Tomorrow, she would go over to the Burrow. She knew that the Weasleys would be all over her.
They meant well; she knew that. But she was honestly so exhausted, she just wanted to curl into a ball and hide somewhere.
After today - after Ron's unstopping letters and her horrible day at work - she decided that she would do something different. And that's how she found herself in a dodgy bar in the middle of Muggle London drinking horrible liquor because it was all she could afford, alone and miserable on Christmas Eve.
She'd decided an hour ago that she didn't understand why people drank. But that hadn't made her stop.
She slammed her glass down on the bar and winced as the bartender came over and immediately refilled her drink - she kept forgetting that was a signal.
"You really need to slow down, Granger," she turned when she heard the familiar voice. She wasn't even surprised when she relaxed after noticing it was Malfoy.
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" she asked without a smidge of hostility. She managed not to slur her words.
"I'm just finishing up a dinner with Blaise," he replied, gesturing with his thumb behind him. "You look like you're here for different reasons,"
"Ginny and Harry keep on telling me that I should get out more," She tipped back her drink again, being careful to place it on the bench gently.
"I don't think this is quite what they meant,"
"Yeah, well, it's what I'm doing," She let out a long-suffering sigh. "Why are you in a Muggle neighbourhood with Blaise Zabini?"
"I like this place. I've been coming back ever since I came back home,"
Hermione shook her head. "You keep freaking me out,"
Malfoy raised his aristocratic eyebrows. "Is that so?"
"You're nice to my parents, Malfoy! You're hanging out in a Muggle pub! And how the bleeding hell did you become a healer so quickly?"
"I was in Azkaban for a pathetically short amount of time, considering," he told her, sounding oddly pensive. "But I learnt a bit during the war too. You actually taught me a lot," Hermione tried to bite back her surprise at the admission. "When I got out, I wanted to help right some of the wrongs I contributed to. And I'll be honest, being wealthy did help a bit. I just don't flaunt it around like my father or the Weasel does,"
"Ron doesn't… He just hasn't had money before,"
"Yeah, that's blindingly obvious to anyone who can damn well read a newspaper. The pig has no class,"
She couldn't even find it in her to disagree with him, staring dejectedly into her empty glass instead.
"Why are you actually here, Granger?"
"Because it's Christmas. And all I've got at home is my stupid fucking cat and my empty fucking apartment," she sounded depressed even to herself.
"Well, fuck that. What are you drinking?"
"I don't even know anymore," she confessed honestly, examining her glass.
"We'll get the good stuff; it's Christmas," Malfoy told her, settling into the stool next to her and calling the bartender.
"I can't afford that,"
"Oh, put your bloody wallet away, Granger. I've got this,"
She stared at him in surprise as their drinks were poured.
"Where the hell have you been?" she wondered out loud.
"Eh. Probably somewhere stupid," he joked. "Cheers, Granger,"
December 24th 2002 - Midnight
They stayed and talked for a couple of hours. Hermione managed to enjoy herself.
He was funny. Clever. Different.
"So, what are you doing for Christmas, Granger?" he asked, nursing the drink he had been holding for the past half hour. Hermione hadn't touched her drink in a while either - though she had finally started liking it after Malfoy started paying.
"I'll go over to the Burrow in the morning for a few minutes and then head to the hospital for the rest of the day,"
"But aren't the Weasleys like family to you? Why aren't you staying for lunch?"
Hermione shrugged, feeling a blush creep up her neck.
"Ron still lives there. It makes it… hard,"
"Hm," was all he said in reply. "Anyone coming with you to visit your parents?"
"Well, Neville will probably head in but everyone will likely just stay at the Burrow,"
"That's ridiculous," He sounded offended, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
"Excuse me?"
"No offence, Granger, but that sounds like a truly fucking awful Christmas,"
"It does not!"
"Yes, it does. For any reasonable, sane human being that is a horrible Christmas," he sent her an annoying look of pity. "Look, how about I come and spend Christmas lunch with you and your parents? Mum's not expecting me till seven,"
"You want to come spend Christmas lunch with me and my Muggle parents?"
"Look who suddenly cares about blood status,"
She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling slightly mollified when he looked away.
"Look, I was probably going to be there anyway. Like I said, Mum isn't expecting me till seven,"
"And you said my Christmas sounded awful!"
"Come on, Granger. It'll be fun,"
She paused for a minute before relenting, running an exhausted hand over her forehead.
"Fine. I'll see you at, what, eleven-thirty?" she offered, accepting his simple nod.
"Come on, I'll take you home,"]
"I'm perfectly capable of getting myself-"
She broke off as she slipped off the stool trying to get up. Malfoy helped her up and started walking her towards the exit.
"Don't be so stubborn, you silly bookworm,"
December 25th 2002 - Wee Small Hours of Morning
I never thought I would be in this position, The thought flitted through Hermione's mind as she sat on the couch waiting for the tea Malfoy had promised. When they Apparated to the front of her apartment complex, Hermione had rushed inside and almost immediately headed for the bathroom, worshipping the porcelain gods with a previously unseen enthusiasm
Malfoy held her hair and handed her a towel before directing her to the lounge and ordering her to lie down. She listened to his footsteps as he ambled to the kitchen, and heard as he set about making her tea.
"Out of the way, mate," she heard him softly command.
She opened her eyes to watch in complete astonishment as Crookshanks did as asked and moved out of Malfoy's way, finding a new perch on top of the recliner in the corner of the room
"Here you go," he declared, passing her a steaming mug of tea.
"Thank you," she replied gratefully, taking the cup and drinking deeply.
"No worries," Malfoy rustled through his pockets before nodding to himself. "So, you've got your hot beverage, you've got a bucket for emergencies, you've got an alarm set for tomorrow morning, the kitchen light is off and… I am out of here,"
"Are you sure? You can stay for tea, if you like."
"It's alright," he assured her, carefully retying his hair back. "I should get to bed anyway. I've got plans tomorrow - important plans!"
Hermione chuckled, taking another sip of tea. "Alright then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow,"
"You'll be alright?"
Hermione paused at his tone.
From the look on his face, she could tell he actually meant it. And unlike Ron, he was actually waiting for her answer, instead of hovering in the threshold of the front door.
How strange.
She wondered briefly what would happen if she said she wouldn't be alright.
"Sure. You head on home,"
"You can let me know if you need to change tomorrow or you need a hand with… anything," he finished, after a brief glance at Hermione's bucket. Hermione fought back the odd urge to cry.
"Where have you been?" she wondered out loud again, an unwelcome disconnect between her brain and her mouth making itself known.
Malfoy flashed a grin, turning the doorknob and starting to step out. "Probably somewhere stupid," he informed her. "See you tomorrow Granger,"
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