I do not own the rights to Harry Potter and do not intend any copyright infringement here. I do not make money from the use of said characters.
Story is rated Mature for graphic violence, gore, language, death, and, of course, delicious smut.
...
Hermione slumped down the wall with an exhausted sigh, tears threatening at the corner of her eyes. She didn't know how much more she could take. She cringed at sounds of heart-wrenching cries from the room behind her as they echoed within the caverns of her own aching heart. She knew there was nothing she could do or say to comfort the wretched soul on the other side of the door, just as she knew there was nothing that could ease her own pain.
She reached up with one last useless effort to turn the jammed knob and groaned when she was once again denied entrance. She knew from the shrieking of the brass handle that none but a Weasley could unlock this particular spell and, for the first time, lamented that she had not crossed that explicit boundary.
Desperately, she wracked her memories for a happy thought – the idea absurd in her current state – but she forced herself anyway. Her mind's eye fell on an afternoon she'd spent down at Hagrid's hut with Ron and Harry. It had been late spring in their second year; finals had been canceled due to the Chamber of Secrets incident and the three of them had been attempting to cheer her of this disappointment with iced pumpkin juice, rock cakes, and quips from an Obliviated Professor Lockhart.
A smile on her face, Hermione Summoned her otter Patronus and duplicated it thrice; murmuring a pleading requisition for help and sent them on their way. Another cry of agony rang down the empty hallway and Hermione covered her ears as if this could stop the impossible anguish.
She didn't know how long she sat there; time had become baseless in this new, harsh reality. Her head snapped up so fast her neck cricked when footsteps bounded up the stairs of the cavernous house and she sighed in relief of the ginger hair that rounded the corner, though she did a double take at the face that greeted her.
"Charlie?"
"I got your message, what happened?" he panted as if he had run all the way from Romania. His broad shoulders filled the hallway, shorter than Ron but much more muscular. His hair was askew, his robes burnt and disheveled, but he was an angel if she ever saw one.
"She's locked herself in her room," she replied, jerking her head at the door behind her. "Only a Weasley can enter and she -"
"Say no more," he said, whipping out his wand and striding forward. He stopped suddenly and looked down. She had been rocking with her knees drawn to her chest, her hair in tangles from pulling at it, and she knew she must look as wretched as she felt.
"Fuck...Hermione, love...I'm so -"
"Don't say it," she snapped, slamming her eyes shut so she didn't have to look at the pity in his.
She squeaked when large hands grabbed her arms and dragged her up against a strong chest, enfolding her in their safety.
"We'll find him," he growled, his embrace tightening. "We're going to find him."
She nodded wordlessly as a lump had caught in her throat. He released her after a moment, dropping a chaste kiss to her hairline and moving her aside so he could unlock the door to his parent's room, slipping inside the dark chamber to console his grieving mother.
On shaking legs, Hermione made her way down the steps of the new headquarters to the kitchen and dug out cans of tomato soup for dinner.
...
Hermione glared up at her table companion after the third derisive snort.
"What?" she barked crankily.
"You call this food?" Charlie Weasley jibed, his eyebrow quirking in a manner akin to the twins when they were purposely trying to vex her.
"It's soup."
"If you say so."
She gave him a look of such hostility that he was instantly contrite, and he shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.
"I mean, mmm, thank you ever so much for this generous bounty of -"
"Oh stuff it, Weasley. You're welcome to cook anytime you like if you think you can do so much better."
Charlie choked on his curdled soup, coughing to cover his laugh which she answered with a menacing death stare.
"I spent half my childhood in the kitchen with mum. I promise you love, I will put this pitiful gruel to shame."
"It is not gruel, it is soup, and it is completely edible, but as I am trying to find your missing brother I apologize if I do not have time to cater to your palatial needs!"
Hermione returned to her mound of parchment, watching in her periphery as Charlie set down his spoon ruefully.
"I apologize. I was only trying to lighten the mood. Of course, I'm grateful for dinner and for what you're doing for Ron –"
"You can express your gratitude by helping me find him!" she snapped, her fist banging on the table without her even being cognizant of the action. She stared at her hand abhorrently and instantly retracted it.
"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, appalled at her behavior. "I don't know what came over me –"
"Hermione stop, please, you have no need to apologize," Charlie said, his face dark with shame. "I should have come sooner; we all should have. I had no idea that mum...I thought the others were here, I shouldn't have assumed, I should have come at once, but there was a sanctuary breach in Afghanistan -"
"I know, I heard, I don't blame you," she said, looking up at her future brother-in-law. "You're all busy, it's my job to hold down things here -"
"But that's just it, Hermione, it's not," he shook his head. "It's too much to ask you to run headquarters and do all the planning and financing and cooking and housing and I honestly had no idea that mum had gotten so –"
"It's been a long process –"
"I knew that she was –"
"It's been in the making since Ginny –"
"And after dad –"
"I just don't know what to do anymore."
"You don't have to deal with it alone."
Hermione sighed, feeling the tears of frustration beckoning once more and shoving them back. "If not me, then who else? There's no one around. We're dwindling away –"
"That's not true –"
"Yes, it is!" she cried. "We're losing people nearly every day and the populace has lost hope! They've lost hope in us! Harry is gone, he was supposed to be the one to end it and he's gone and now Ron…and I…"
Her voice caught and she clamped a hand to her mouth to hold back the emotions, knowing they would do no good. Crying wouldn't bring back her best friend from the grave; they wouldn't find her fiancé who had been abducted in a stakeout-gone-wrong. It wouldn't bring back the life she'd thought she'd have all those years ago when McGonagall had shown up at her doorstep.
Charlie reached out and grabbed the hand still holding her spoon, squeezing hard. "Hermione, you don't have to do this alone. You are not the only person in the Order. We're still here; we're all still fighting, and none of us is giving up on Ron."
A harsh sob wrenched from her chest and she nodded as his grip tightened.
Ron had been missing for ten days now. Ten long, terrible, excruciating days. She was losing her mind, her will. Molly had shattered at the news that her youngest son hadn't returned from a routine watch. She'd been on the brink for a long time, and it seemed this was her downfall. She'd barely slept, eaten. She spent most of her time screaming, crying, locked in her room knitting sweaters for a son who may never return.
"I should have come sooner," Charlie rumbled across the table. "But I'm here now. What can I do to help?"
Sniffing, Hermione shook off his hand and shoved the closest maps towards her future brother-in-law, pointing out where they thought Ron had vanished and several different paths he may have taken had he been injured and on the run. Charlie pored over them thoughtfully before giving his wand a wave. Hermione gave him a confused look when two tumblers and a bottle of Ogden's settled on the table before them. Charlie shrugged.
"Gave mum enough Sleeping Draught to last her 'til noon. Might as well wash this pitiful dinner down enjoyably."
She would have scolded him for mocking her culinary skills once more, but he gave her a roguish wink and poured her a large glass.
"Just the one, then," she agreed, eyeing the overly full snifter. He frowned.
"This won't do, in that case."
"Charlie!" she laughed as he tapped her glass muttering Engorgio! until it was the size of a pint and filling it to the brim. "Don't be ridiculous!"
"Moi? Ridiculous? Jamais! I am offended, Mrs. Weasley."
Hermione looked down at the scarred table, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
"I'm not a Weasley."
Charlie's large hand covered hers once more, a jagged scar crisscrossing his knuckles.
"Soon enough, love," he said softly, squeezing her hand before shoving her absurd glass towards her. "Now, drink up; we have a long night ahead of us."
...
Hermione woke with a groan, grabbing her pounding head, detesting the weak October light filtering in through her curtains. She rolled and glanced at the clock on her nightstand, cursing Charlie Weasley with every expletive she could think of. The bastard had seen her well and thoroughly sloshed and they'd barely gotten any work done. She wanted to be angry but she had to admit, she'd laughed more last night than she'd done in years. There'd been precious little to laugh about since Harry was murdered at the battle of Hogwarts and their lives had become nothing more than the pawns of war.
Holding her temples as if she'd turn into Nearly-Headless Nick if she let go, Hermione stumbled her way to the bathroom and clambered around in the dark for the small bottles of Hangover Cure she kept in stock for Ron (and occasionally herself) when the nights were too much to bear. Cringing, she downed the potion in one and stumbled towards the shower knowing that she was running behind and Order members would be filing in any moment for breakfast and caffeine.
The potion wavered the most severe symptoms – leaving only a lingering fuzziness. She quickly dressed and ambled down the stairs, her hair still dripping. She didn't even realize what she was smelling until she jumped at the sight of Charlie Weasley at the stove, flipping pancakes and humming to himself. His token Weasley hair curled toward his collar, his biceps bulging as he worked. She stared at the image, gawking stupidly, until he turned and grinned.
"Morning, sunshine. Tea?"
Her mouth opened and closed several times before he chuckled and slid over a steaming mug.
"Not a morning person, eh?"
"On the contrary. When certain redheads don't pester me into drinking my weight in Firewhisky, anyway."
"I didn't pester, I merely encouraged."
"Yes, well, your encouragement was not well met this morning. What are you doing?"
He looked at her as if she were daft. "Well, Brightest Witch of Our Age, I am making what we commoners know as pancakes."
She brushed aside his flippant mockery and rolled her eyes. "Thank you, oh wise one, but why?"
"Because we cavemen frequently experience this sensation called hunger."
"For Merlin's – I mean what are you still doing here?"
With this he set down his spatula and everything around him seemed to still, a singular flapjack floating in mid-rotation.
"I told you last night. I'm not letting you do this on your own anymore. I put in my resignation at the sanctuary this morning."
He nodded to a pile of suitcases and crates that she only just now noticed were stacked by the fireplace. Hermione stuttered wordlessly, moved by his kind gesture.
"You can't...I couldn't ask you to...Charlie, your job -"
"Will be there when this is all over. For now, my place is here, where it should have been a long time ago. And you didn't ask me; this is one thing you don't get credit for."
Hermione bit her lip, unsure of how to take the information. On the one hand, she knew the work Charlie was doing with the dragons was priceless; they had used the creatures in multiple battles which had turned tremendously in their favor. On the other, the thought of having his buoyant nature around headquarters where it was now just her and Mrs. Weasley was like the feel of the sun after months of captivity – one of warmth and comfort. Recently headquarters, which had once been a sanctuary, felt like the dungeons of the Malfoy Manor with Ron gone.
And now his older brother was trying to pry back the bars of her prison.
"I…thank you."
"He's my baby brother. I'll do anything for him. We're going to find him, Hermione. We're not going to stop until we do."
...
Lightning lit up the street as Hermione shoved her way into the entrance hall of headquarters. She peeled off her sopping cloak and gloves then toed out of her mud-caked boots as she leaned wearily against the door. She left her sodden clothing where she'd dropped it, too tired to care, and made her way down to the kitchen to make a tray for Molly.
Disappointment clenched even tighter around her heart when she saw Charlie nursing a brandy at the table with The Evening Prophet. He looked just as downcast as she when he raised his eyes over the paper.
"Nothing?"
She shook her head, too exhausted to speak. The two of them had been scouring the continent for any trace of Ronald. She'd just returned from a promising-looking tavern that was hidden from prying eyes – except that she'd tortured the Secret Keeper until he'd revealed its location before killing him. She'd worked for two solid weeks for this lead only to find the place empty – and obviously had been so for months. She swallowed back the tears that threatened as Charlie sighed and she moved to the pantry.
"I already gave mum her supper. She seemed a little better today. Been knitting a scarf for Grawp. Could probably wrap around him about eleven times by now."
"Thank you," she groaned, relieved she didn't have to find the energy to cook. She was beyond grateful for Charlie's assistance in the kitchen lately. She had always hated cooking and she'd never developed a knack for it, even after years of feeding hordes of Order members. Charlie seemed more than eager to help, having little chance to cook at the reserve, and she was more than happy to pass the torch.
"I think I'll just take a shower then," she said, turning for the door.
"Hermione, you should eat something, I left you a plate..."
She heard him sigh again when she started up the steps wordlessly. She could never eat when she came home from another dead end. It had been nearly six weeks since Charlie had come to stay and they were no closer to finding Ron than they had been the day he'd gone missing – even with Bill and George's assistance.
She pushed down that little voice that nagged at the back of her mind. It had been so long, even if they found Ron, which was seeming less likely by the day, what state would be in? Would he be Confunded beyond recognition? Imperiused? Tortured to insanity like Neville's parents?
Dead?
She shuddered at the thought of her fiancé cold and un-moving. He was always so full of life she couldn't imagine him otherwise. He'd been the rock of their dwindling family since that fateful day at Hogwarts. He'd held her through the loss of their best friend, comforted his family when they'd lost Fred, then Percy, then Ginny, then Arthur. He'd held strong when Hermione couldn't stand the death of another friend, another innocent soul. He'd brought laughter and love into her bleak existence. She could vividly remember the day he'd dropped to one knee after a particularly gruesome battle and asked her to be his wife when they finally won the war. She'd never felt so happy in her entire life; even covered in mud and sweat and blood. He'd made love to her so desperately that night, telling her over and over again how much he loved her, how she'd made him complete.
And now he was gone, he'd left her to live in this hell alone.
No, he's not gone, she scolded herself. He's out there struggling to survive, to get back to you. He's always done everything for you. He's saved your life numerous times and now he's counting on you. You can't let him down.
She continued this mantra as she scrubbed every last dreg of Falmouth from her body, tossing on a pair of Ron's ratty pajamas before padding her way to Molly's room.
She opened the door quietly in case Molly was sleeping but she found the aging woman in her rocking chair by the fire with heaps of multi-colored wool around her.
A skinny, malnourished version of the once vibrant woman looked up at her entrance and smiled with a vacant sort of expression.
"Oh, hello dear. Did you have a good day at school?"
Hermione smiled sadly and sat on the settee next to her.
"I had a very long day. I'm afraid it wasn't as successful as I'd hoped."
Molly tutted and leaned forward to place a cool hand on Hermione's cheek.
"Now, now, dear, don't you say that. You're such a smart girl, you'll find it round in the end."
Hermione's heart clenched at Molly's words, realizing the woman had completely lost her mind at yet another tragedy. She knew she shouldn't play into the delusions: Madam Pomfrey had warned it would only make her worse. But she desperately wanted the comfort her pseudo-mother used to bring her, so she gave in.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh pish, call me mother like a good girl. You and Ron will be married any time now, it's only right. Have you set the date?"
Hermione wondered at the woman's ability to believe that Hermione was back at Hogwarts one moment and then remember that she was engaged to her son (which hadn't happened until several years after they should have graduated). Ignoring this fact, Hermione shook her head wretchedly.
"Not yet."
"Well, where is that silly boy of mine? Bring him here, I'll talk some sense into him. We'll have you down the aisle in no time my dear, you mark my words. We'll take you somewhere nice to get your dress robes. And we'll have to find something decent for Ginny, she never did have a sense of formality that one. But with six brothers you really can't blame the poor dear. Now, about the flowers..."
Hermione let her plan, Mrs. Weasley's rambling a soothing balm to her tired heart. It was nice to think of the future, even if that future seemed so unsure.
She didn't know how long Molly had been talking before Charlie sidled into the room with three steaming mugs of tea. He joined the conversation, promising to hold down Bill so he could finally get the trim she'd always wanted to give him before his youngest brother's nuptials. When the older woman began to drift in her chair, Hermione took her laced tea out of her hands before it clattered to the floor and Charlie lifted her easily, tucking her into bed. They made their way to the drawing room where a fire was raging against the storm outside. Hermione didn't argue when Charlie shoved a glass of wine into her hands, drinking deeply of the dark red liquid and holding it out for a refill, knowing she'd get no rest tonight without it.
"She's completely gone, isn't she?" Hermione muttered, staring into the flames. Charlie sank down onto the couch next to her and sighed.
"I don't think she could handle losing another child."
"No one should have to bear that."
They were silent for a while as they stared into the crackling fire, hoping for answers to impossible questions.
"Sometimes I feel like it will never end," she breathed into the quiet.
"It has to," Charlie replied lowly. "Everything has an ending."
Including Ron? she wanted to ask but refrained.
Hermione didn't know when she'd drifted off but stirred when shifted and realized that Charlie was pulling a blanket over her and that she'd somehow sank to lay her head in his lap. She didn't move when his arm came down to rest along her side, his other hand stroking her hair. She hadn't felt this comfortable in so long...
Realization of how intimate this seemed hit her like a ton of bricks and she sat up quickly, dislodging the blanket and Charlie's arm.
"I'm so sorry, dozed off – I – I should get to bed – I'll see you in the morning."
She dashed away quickly and ran up the stairs to the room she and Ron shared, slamming the door and sinking onto the bed. She grabbed his pillow and pressed it to her face, inhaling the fading scent of his shampoo. It was hardly distinguishable anymore.
Tears pooled in the fabric as Hermione rocked herself back into a fitful sleep.
XOXO
RynStar15