Chapter 3 - Burn: Part II
As Ron was sitting on a bench outside in the sweltering sun, he wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead. He blew out a puff of air and leaned back, thankful they had decided to give him a five-minute break. Personally, he preferred going on missions to practicing and training in the facilities – for one, the actual missions were usually a lot less grueling than what they practiced, and for another, they were usually more interesting. Granted, Kinley, Ron's supervisor and boss, was usually pretty creative when it came to inventing hypothetical battle situations, but he had practiced with his co-workers for so many years by now that he knew all their moves by heart and it didn't take him much to guess what five spells they were going to use next – Battling is quite like chess, really, Ron mused inwardly.
Looking out over the field, watching Seamus dueling with Jack (and taking quite a beating, at that), Ron wondered how he ever really managed to get this job anyway.
A month after leaving school, Ron had received his acceptance letter from the Department of Mysteries, saying that he would be "a valuable addition to their staff" and requesting that he come in the following week to begin.
Once there, they had spent the next week or so training and testing him in all sorts of things, most of which he couldn't even remember now, seven years later, except that he was exhausted every night that week. Then there was the day which he would never forget, when the future course of his career, and life, was decided.
Ron was eighteen years old and walking nervously down that hallway he had first seen in his fifth year and had seen every day for the past week when he went to "work." The day before, they had told him that this was the day when his actual profession within the Department would be determined.
Upon opening the door and stepping into the circular room, letting the door swing closed behind him, Ron raised his wand. The room was now filled with a low rumbling sound and the streaks of blue light on the walls that signaled the room was doing its automatic disorientation technique. Once the walls slowed their rotation, he said calmly into the empty room, "Signumata Lion!" A door to his right swung open, revealing a brightly lit office space, witches and wizards occasionally walking past. The spell he had spoken to let him in was like the Department of Mystery's I.D. system; instead of some sort of card, or one of those Muggle inventions a rytnia, reitnesa… ah, an r-something scan (Ginny loved Muggle books, and tried to explain this contraption to him once, but he didn't really get it then, and could never remember its proper name), it was an ID spell. Each person's spell began with "Signumata," but the second word was tailored especially to the employee – though they rarely understood exactly why it applied specifically to them, and those who decided the words certainly weren't going to tell any time soon.
That was the main drawback to working in someplace called the Department of Mysteries – there were so many things you didn't know the answer to. They just were and that was all anyone expected you to know, or wanted to know.
In any case, Ron walked into the office space, gazing around at the office and wondering if he was going to end up working in there. I hope not. I think I'd go bloody insane stuck in a beige-colored cubicle every day. After what seemed to be the longest walk of his life, Ron reached the big oak doors that were his destination, on which resided a gold plaque reading 'William Kinley – Superior W.' Ron wasn't sure exactly what the second part meant, but little was he to know that he would soon find out.
Hoping to seem unafraid, he knocked boldly on the door, then shifted from foot to foot, glancing apprehensively at the people who were giving him strange looks. Finally, a gruff voice called from inside, "Come the bloody hell in, we don't have all day."
Shite. Ron turned the handle, his hand slipping on the cool metal, and pushed the heavy door open to reveal a room that was pitch black. It was not what he had expected from outside, where there were windows that had let light in through the shades. He supposed they were magically deceptive, as were so many things there.
Not seeing anyone, Ron was reluctant to close the door, and waited in the entrance, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to decide what to do.
When he heard the same gruff voice bellow, "Shut the bloody door before I'm forced to hex you into the next century!" Ron jumped to attention and immediately closed the door behind him.
As soon as the door was closed, dim lights blinked on, and when Ron had turned around, he didn't see a black hole, which was what the room had first appeared to be, but a musty conference room with a medium-sized circular table in the middle. There wasn't much in there, not even any pictures on the walls or magical windows.
He looked at the five people sitting around the table, one of who was laughing. "Oh, don't look so frightened, Ron, Kinley's just grumpy because he's stuck inside for more than half an hour."
Wait a minute, he knew that voice… "Tonks? What're you doing here?"
A man sitting to her left grumbled, "I've been asking myself the same thing for the past ten minutes."
Tonks, who was sporting curly brown hair that day, elbowed him unceremoniously in the side and smiled back at Ron. "I work here. This tosser sitting next to me is Billy Kinley, though everyone just calls him Kinley."
Said man stood up and met Ron halfway across the room to shake hands. Kinley was a man in his early thirties with a scruffy three-day-old beard and brown hair that accompanied, oddly enough, warm gray-blue eyes. Before returning to his seat, Kinley muttered to Ron, "Don't be a bloody chicken, you can't always wait for someone to tell you to do something before you do it. Have your own bloody mind – this isn't your little school anymore."
Ron gulped and nodded before returning his gaze to Tonks, who seemed to have taken the role as mediator for the meeting. She motioned to the man sprawled in the chair to her left and said, with a touch of a laugh in her voice, "That's Chris Reas. He's asleep now because he was up all last night but refused to postpone the meeting today. We'll wake him up later. This" – she pointed to the woman sitting primly to the left of Chris - "is Carlotta Salwen."
As she stood to shake Ron's hand, he noted that she only rose up to around his elbows. Her white hair was flecked with gray and there were small spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, not quite hiding intelligent, deep-brown eyes. For a woman of her size and appearance, Ron was surprised when she had a very firm handshake. There's more than meets the eye to everything around here, it seems, Ron mused. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Salwen," he said politely.
"Same to you, Ronald," she replied, and then added with a chuckle, "and you can call me Carlotta – unlike some people here, I've made peace with my first name." Her eyes twinkled and she shot a wry smile in Tonks's direction.
After Carlotta returned to her seat, Tonks motioned to the last person, sitting on Carlotta's left side. "And I believe you know Neel, here."
The mentioned person simply nodded his "hello" to Ron. Neel, or Michael Neel, as was his full name, was one of the people who had been training and testing Ron over the past week. A middle aged man who had half a head of brown-black hair and brown eyes, Neel had been one of Ron's more severe critics and seemed to be fond of telling Ron that he needed to "put his back into it" more often than not, the cigar he constantly kept in his mouth bobbing every time.
At this point, Neel took over the meeting, forcing Tonks to be quiet with one sharp glance before standing up and crossing his arms. After taking a long puff from his foul-smelling cigar, Neel spoke in a smooth, low voice that, though supposedly quiet, easily carried to the ears of everyone in the room. "So, Weasley, like I told you yesterday, today you're going to find out where you end up working for the next few decades of your life." Ron shuddered inwardly, trying to hide the fact that having a good part of the rest of his future being decided in one day was giving him a headache. "Over the past week, we have been giving you various tests to figure out what kind of job you have the aptitude for and, after some deliberation, have narrowed the list of hundreds of possible jobs down to four. Every one of the people in this room represent a different profession that you might be eligible for – well, except Tonks, here" – Neel glared pointedly at Tonks at this, who smiled in return and leaned back nonchalantly in her chair - "who, upon hearing that you might be entering her department, insisted that she be allowed to join the meeting. She and Kinley represent the same vocation, while Chris, Carlotta, and I are all from other subdivisions of the Department."
Neel paused for effect after that weighty statement, allowing Ron to puzzle over where Tonks worked – wasn't she an Auror? His confusion must have been apparent, because Neel continued without letting Ron get pulled further into his own thoughts. "Upon leaving here, you will only know of one of the professions that are possible for you to join – it is unnecessary and undesirable for you to know the occupations of those who will not be working with you."
This effectively taught Ron one of his first lessons about the Department of Mysteries: don't ask questions about what other people do unless it is vital to your own line of work. Still frowning, having accepted this small realization, Ron interjected, "How are you going to figure out where I'll be working?"
At this, Carlotta spoke up. "We'll be asking you one question, after which those of us who will not be working with you will depart and leave you to discuss the details of your career with those who will be working alongside you."
Seems like she knows more than she's letting on, Ron thought offhandedly. "Only one question? My answer to one question will decide what I'm going to do for a good part of the rest of my life?"
"Yup. Sometimes life's like that, kid – one choice can change the course of your entire future." A voice that was unfamiliar to Ron answered his question and his head swiveled around to face the one person he hadn't formally met yet, the man who had been sleeping when he entered the room – Chris Reas.
His dirty-blonde hair was sticking up on one side where he had been resting his head on the back of the chair's arm, but his green-blue eyes were bright and alert, as if he hadn't been sleeping for the past half an hour. Unfolding his lithe body out of the chair to lean across the table and shake Ron's hand, Chris smiled apologetically. "Sorry 'bout the cat-nap – late nights kill me."
Ron chuckled and returned the smile. "S'alright – couldn't honestly say I haven't done the same in class a few times." Chris laughed, as did Tonks, before returning to his seat.
Neel looked disgruntled with the interruption and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room's occupants back to him. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" A nod of assent swept around the table, and Carlotta opened a roll of parchment she had in front of her. Pushing her spectacles to settle more securely on her nose, she poised her quill above the paper, waiting for them to begin.
Moving to stand behind Carlotta, Neel took a puff of his cigar, letting the silence stand for another minute before he spoke. "Do you think that there is a solution to everything?"
At the time, Ron could never remember feeling more judged, looking at those five faces gazing expectantly at him for his answer. Taking a deep breath, and answering in complete honesty, he said, "Yes, though sometimes you have to find it for yourself."
Carlotta wrote something on the parchment, Tonks grinned broadly, Neel nodded, though his thick brows knotted together in thought, Chris smiled understandingly, and Kinley's expression didn't change a bit from the unconscious scowl he had been wearing the entire meeting.
After watching Carlotta finish writing on the parchment, Neel strode over to where Ron was sitting and smiled for the first time that Ron could remember over the past week. Holding out his hand once he reached Ron's chair (Ron hopped up to return the gesture, though he wasn't quite sure what the handshake was for), Neel said, in what was apparently supposed to be a pleasant voice, "Nice working with you for the past week. Hope you enjoy the rest of your time in the Department."
Ron, still befuddled, watched Neel walk out the door and, in turn, shook hands with Chris ("See you around, kid") and Carlotta ("Pleasant meeting you, Ronald – do stop by for tea some time").
After watching the door close for the last time with a look of utter confusion on his face, Ron turned back to the remaining people in the room – Kinley and Tonks. Still grinning, Tonks didn't get up from her chair, but leaned back in it farther and said cheerily, "Thought your answer would be as much."
Kinley stood up and paced behind his chair for a minute before turning back to Ron with a slight smirk on his sun-weathered face. "Congratulations, Ron – you're going to be a Wauror."
The present-day Ron was jolted out of his memories by the sharp sting of someone biting his ear. Rubbing it in displeasure, he looked up to see an owl sitting on the bench beside him in the burning sunlight, looking rather annoyed. Ron untied the parchment from the bird's leg and let it sip a few drops of water from his bottle's top before it took off into the sky. He didn't even need to look at the envelope to know what it was, and he sighed, turning the all-too-familiar parchment over in his calloused hands.
For the past three months, Ron had sent a letter every week to Hermione, and every week he had gotten the same letter back, unopened, with no marking on it to show she had acknowledged it at all, except to return it to him.
Sendin' pages I ain't supposed to,
Under his bunker was a box filled with the letters she had never read, and he knew that as soon as the workday was over, this one would join all the others. For the moment, Ron carefully tucked it into the side compartment of his workbag, next to his wallet. Resisting the urge to take out the picture of him and Hermione on Commencement Day and sit there with tears in his eyes, he quickly zipped up his bag and, after taking one last gulp of water, strode over to where some of his co-workers were talking.
"Bleeding exercises. I nearly got my back broken this time – thanks for that, by the way, Seamus." Jack groaned before leaning back in his chair and using his wand to conjure a wave of water to splash over his face. His chestnut brown hair was now sopping wet and dripping on Ron's shoe, which Ron quickly moved away. He had met Jack Hert three years ago, when he was finally assigned to a section and his station was finalized. They were put in the same group, along with Seamus and two other guys – Pete Aswell and Mike Johnson. Ron ended up getting along with all of them pretty well, and they frequently spent time together after work.
"Anytime," Seamus deadpanned before gulping down water himself – neither of them looked better for wear after their mock battle.
"At least you both still have all of your appendages this time, mate," Pete, a tall blonde-haired, broad-shouldered bloke smirked.
Seamus scowled at him for the reference he made to something that had occurred a few months ago during a training exercise similar to this one, but chose not to comment and continued to guzzle down all the water he could conjure.
Seemingly recovered by now, Jack opened his relaxed brown eyes and questioned in Ron's direction, "Hey, you joining us at the pub tonight? Kinley says we get off in half an hour until eight tomorrow morning. I sure as bloody hell am not gonna waste it here – and preferably, wherever I end up, I won't be alone." He grinned, a somewhat wicked gleam appearing in his eyes.
Ron frowned thoughtfully. His thoughts drifted to Hermione… But it's over, it's done with. You screwed up, now get over it. He realized that the other four were waiting for his answer. "Yeah, I'm coming," Ron stated decisively.
His four friends nodded, laughing, and continued their banter. Ron forced himself to join in and push aside any guilty thoughts that were threatening to change his mind.
Two hours later, Ron found himself pushing past what seemed like an endless amount of bodies to get more drinks at the local pub he and his 'coworkers' frequented, mainly because it was close by and the drinks were cheap – who cared if it was technically run by Muggles? Alcohol was the same wherever you drank it, and right then, all Ron wanted was to get as much alcohol in him as possible. He was doing pretty well on that count; he'd already consumed six bottles of a drink the Muggles called something that sounded like Hinnykin and had just been sent up for more by his friends.
He reached the bar and leaned over the counter to shout in an attempt to get the barman's attention. "Oi! Oi, can I get five… er, Hinnykins over here?" Finally, the man nodded to show he'd heard Ron, who leaned his elbows on the counter to wait. Glancing around him, all he could see was what seemed like hundreds of bodies on either side of him, fluctuating to the music's sinuous beat.
After waiting awhile, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Expecting it to be the barman with his drinks, he turned around and said irritably, "Finally, mate, what did you do, fall…" but his voice died away when he saw who had tapped him.
Staring back at Ron under heavily mascara-ed eyelashes was a girl whom he could only describe as breathtaking. She had mahogany brown hair falling past her elbows in waves, sparkling blue eyes, a perfect complexion, and was wearing an outfit that Ron was sure he had seen someone wear as a swimming costume once – very short shorts and what looked to be a sports bra… that was much too small.
The girl giggled and Ron immediately closed his mouth with a snap. "Can I help you with anything?"
She giggled again and leaned closer to Ron, who had unconsciously straightened to his full height, before holding out her hand and saying in an all-too-cheerful voice, "I'm Sammy."
Ron took her much smaller hand in his large one, wondering silently whether or not her hand would break if he gripped it too hard, and replied, "Ron. Nice to meet you."
Vaguely, Ron noticed that the barman had finally put the tray of drinks down beside him as Sammy leaned in even farther. On closer inspection, Ron decided that her eyes seemed more glassy than sparkling, and rather than having a perfect complexion, she was wearing a lot of makeup.
"The pleasure's all mine." Sammy giggled again and sipped the cherry-red margarita that she grasped in her left hand. Normally, Ron would have just ignored the suspicion that she had meant more than she had said, but this time, with this girl, he wasn't so sure that what he was thinking wasn't justified.
Motioning to the tray of drinks beside him on the counter, Ron said, "Well, I really should be –"
"You know, I adore redheads."
Ron's blue eyes widened to the size of saucers when Sammy started rubbing his right arm with her free hand. Internally, he shook his head. What has got into you? A year ago, this wouldn't have fazed you – she'd be drooling over you by this time back then. Get a grip on yourself!
Somewhere inside him, though, he knew why he wasn't himself. Every time he looked at Sammy, part of his brain would immediately compare her to Hermione, and poor Sammy just couldn't compete.
Got somebody here, but I want you, 'cause the feelin' ain't the same…
Ron frowned slightly, his indecision weighing him down. But Hermione isn't here with you now, flirting with you like mad – Sammy is. Get over it, Weasley.
Grabbing one of the five bottles, Ron popped it open and gulped half of it down before grinning down at Sammy. "Do you, now? Well, I think we may have to do something about that."
Sammy giggled again (Ron was noticing she did that a lot) and downed her margarita. "You know, I think we just might." At that, she put her glass down on the bar and pulled Ron after her into the crowd of people on the dance floor. As she turned to him and began rubbing her sweaty body against his, locking her arms as far around his neck as they would go, Ron decided that his friends could wait for their drinks.
Around an hour later, Ron wasn't quite hammered, but he certainly wasn't feeling any pain, especially since he had a very attractive and very drunk girl pressing him up against a wall. Sammy had proceeded to drink two more margaritas and, after forty minutes of dancing (if that's what people are calling what she did to him these days), had pulled Ron outside, only to begin snogging him like there was no tomorrow.
Somehow, twenty minutes after that, Ron found himself in a lust-induced haze up against the wall outside of Sammy's apartment while she tried to find her keys and continue to kiss him all at once. Being intoxicated certainly didn't help the matter any, so Ron took the opportunity to pull his lips away from hers and ask huskily, "Are you sure you want to do this? I think you may have had too many margaritas –" but was silenced by Sammy shouting triumphantly and holding up her keys.
As she clumsily tried to unlock her door, she slurred, "I may have had too many margaritas, but let me tell you one thing: I always know exactly what I want. And right now, I want you." Having opened the door as she finished talking, Sammy grabbed onto the front of Ron's shirt and pulled him forward into the apartment, using her foot to shut the door after her.
In the small, dark living room, Ron found himself being snogged practically to death. Her warm, wet lips were ordering his around, and her body was pressed so close to his that he could feel every muscle moving in her body as they walked backwards - well, he was walking backwards; she was guiding him - through the room.
Her kisses are too wet, and her lips are just a little bit too small…. Now, Hermione knew exactly how to use – No! Prat, you're snogging an incredibly sexy girl who is already wearing almost nothing and you're thinking about someone else? How thick are you? – Not thick, just madly in love with that someone else. In an attempt to dissuade his thoughts, Ron returned Sammy's ministrations twice as fervently, roughly picking her up off the floor and continuing to the room that was clearly her bedroom.
Before he knew it, Ron was as naked as the day he was born, and lying on Sammy's bed, kissing her neck and shoulders, slowly moving lower.
However, as Ron reached Sammy's breasts, she let out a heated moan and breathed into his hair, "Now, I want you now!" Not one to disobey a direct order, Ron repositioned himself, eliciting another moan – though this time he wasn't sure if it was from her or himself.
It's been too long…. Ron's thoughts were hazy as he continued his actions with…. Wait, what's her name? But when she wrapped her legs around his waist, Ron realized he didn't care.
He closed his eyes and pressed his face into the girl's shoulder, licking her soft skin. Behind his eyelids, memories infiltrated his mind… memories of doing this very thing with the woman he loved, whose name he could actually remember – Hermione. Ron groaned, though only half for the reason the girl he was with thought he had. You're thinking about Hermione again, stop it… don't…. But as he lost control of his body, he lost control of his mind.
Visions inundated his closed eyes, visions of Hermione when they made love: her brown eyes locked with his, her slightly bushy hair fanning around her head on the pillow, her voice whispering in his ear, her hands rubbing his back, her lips brushing his collarbone, her body shaking beneath his….
Ron was transported there and it seemed he was in Hermione's apartment, in her bed. He swore he could hear her breathless voice calling his name. It was her he was with, her that was making him lose control…. Suddenly, he cried out hoarsely a promise yet to be fulfilled, "Hermione…."
Find myself callin' her your name…
Gasping for breath and shuddering, Ron lay still, slowly coming down.
A shrill voice cut through his haze like an axe through butter, "Who is she?"
Ron's eyes snapped open as he remembered where he was and that he had not just made love to Hermione, but had just had sex with… with… oh bloody hell! Did I say Hermione's name out loud? Blast, I think I did. Bugger, bugger, bugger! "Who is who?" Maybe playing dumb will work… I think she's hammered enough to buy it, actually….
"This – this Herminey person you just yelled about!" Or not…. "And don't you dare try to say that it was a mistake. There is no way that atrocity for a name comes even close to sounding like 'Sammy'!"
Oh, Sammy! That's her name! Hey, I think Hermione is a beautiful name - wait, bugger, I better think of an excuse q- Ron's train of thought was interrupted as said girl roughly pushed Ron off of her and out of the bed to land on the floor. "OW! Bloody hell! What was that for?"
Standing there in all her naked glory, Sammy was wildly waving her hands around in the air, gesturing as she spoke, only a little slurred. "I don't settle for… for whatever that word is that has to do with you not being, like, totally here with me! Get out!"
Ron shook his head and held up his right hand in what he hoped to be a peaceful gesture as he hurriedly pulled on his boxers with his left one. "Wait a minute, Sammy, I can explain –"
"I don't want you to explain, get out!" At this, Sammy picked up a rolled-up newspaper and began to beat Ron with it as hard as she could – wherever she could reach, anyway.
"Hey, wait – ow! Stop that! Sammy –" Ron sputtered, trying to fend off her attack with his hands. Suddenly, he realized how ludicrous this would have looked to a third party; here he was, a grown man at the towering height of six feet, three and a half inches, trained in the most advanced wizard fighting techniques, being beaten with a newspaper by a naked five-foot-something girl, not particularly physically strong, who may or may not have been his age.
Before he knew it, Ron was doubled over laughing in the middle of the room, clad in his boxers, his pants pulled up only to his knees, completely oblivious to the fact that Sammy had stopped her attack in confusion at his reaction. As he laughed hysterically at the mess he'd gotten himself into, the annoying voice in the back of his head nonchalantly mused, You know, Hermione probably could have crippled you with just that newspaper – that woman knows how to take care of herself. And you, for that matter. The memory of Hermione sobered Ron enough so that he could shake his head, stand up completely, and finish pulling on his pants.
Wanting to retreat before Sammy started to hit him again, Ron quickly gathered the rest of his belongings and turned to her with an apologetic, still half-amused, smile. "Sorry, Sammy," was the last thing Ron uttered before walking out of the bedroom. As he got to the apartment's door, a thought struck him, and using his shirt to cover what he was actually doing, he pointed his wand at Sammy (who was standing across the apartment and staring at him as if he was a lunatic) and quietly muttered a Contraceptive Charm. Then he turned around, walked out the door, and didn't look behind him once before Apparating to the safe point outside the barracks.
Before going inside the gates, Ron slipped on his blue button-down shirt (the one that still faintly smelled and reminded him of Hermione) and glanced at his watch. He realized with a start that he didn't need to be back at the barracks for around ten hours yet. Frowning slightly, Ron studied the gates of the place where he spent almost all of his time. He thought vaguely of returning to see if his friends were still at the bar but quickly decided against that – he didn't want to go back there any time soon.
So, in a moment of indecision, he abruptly turned around and began to walk.
- - - - - - - - - -
Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair as she listened to the distracting chatter of the interns on the late-night shift at the Ministry. In an attempt to keep herself distracted at all times from thoughts of one insufferable redhead, Hermione usually tried to work the late shifts, when she could work them around her sessions with Minerva. Now normally, she would have put spells up in order to silence the high-pitched talk of the younger girls, but tonight, before she had put up the necessary charms, she had heard a tidbit of a discussion that intrigued her.
"Annie, I can't believe he asked you that!"
"Oh, I know! That's horrible!"
The third girl was what interested Hermione, though, because through her friends' protests to something, she sat there quietly, not saying a word, clearly lost in thought. She had sandy blonde hair tied in a loose bun behind her head, gorgeous long eyelashes, and strands of hair that fell out of the bun hid her eyes from sight and scrutiny.
"He is such an arse, Annie –"
"But I love him." Finally the third girl spoke. The other two stopped abruptly, looking at her incredulously.
The tall, platinum blonde one found her voice long enough to squeak, "Don't you get what he's asking you? Friends with benefits –"
"He asked you to be 'friends-with-benefits'?" Hermione interrupted sharply, drawing scandalized glances from the friends of Annie. The latter, however, just raised her head to look into Hermione's brown eyes with sad gray-green ones and nodded.
Ignoring the other two interns, Hermione stood up and walked over to occupy a chair near Annie, and took the younger girl's hand. "You're absolutely sure about how you feel about him?" Annie nodded again. "Then say no." A confused look graced Annie's face, to which Hermione bent her head and smiled sadly. "Trust me, if you love someone, becoming friends-with-benefits is the last thing you want to do. If you really love him, tell him. Whatever happens will happen, but the heartache buried in the other option is just not worth anything."
Hermione raised her head to find Annie studying her face closely before nodding and smiling. Her voice was low and decisive when she spoke, "Yeah… you're right. Thank you."
Sighing happily, Hermione returned the smile, though the shadows in her eyes belied how she was really feeling at that moment, thinking about friends-with-benefits. "No problem… Annie, right? I'm Hermione."
Annie grinned. "Yeah – nice to meet you." The two laughed, then Hermione stood up to return to her desk, allowing a soft sniffle to escape her lips, and Annie returned to her two miffed friends.
Before she could re-seat herself, though, Annie spoke again. "Hermione? How did you know… I mean, have you – that is, if it isn't…." She trailed off uneasily as Hermione turned to look at her.
Ladies, tell me do you understand?
Allowing regret to enter her face, Hermione sighed, looking at the floor briefly before returning Annie's gaze. "Yes… I recently agreed to be one of my best friend's 'friends-with-benefits.' Let's just say that it ruined one of the best things to have ever happened to me." Not even attempting to smile anymore, Hermione turned to walk back into her office, and this time, instead of leaving the door open, she locked it tight. Though she charmed the door to block all sounds, she wasn't able to get rid of her tears, which began to stream down her face. All her denial of what had happened was for naught, now, as she kneeled on the floor of her office, crying enough to fill oceans, letting the memories of Ron Weasley burn her soul like the fire of a thousand flames.
- - - - - - - - - -
Ron found himself walking up and down the streets of a town he had never been to before, into alleyways and through buildings that were completely unfamiliar and oddly comforting. Though Ron's section was based in this town, the only place they ever ventured to was the pub, and that was quite close to the barracks – their hectic schedule didn't allow them much time out of work, and whenever they had free time (until recently), Ron would usually return to London. All that was different now, of course. Ron couldn't bear to go somewhere that would remind him of Hermione. Thus, the fact that he had no idea where he was made him feel more relaxed than he had for three months.
Yet despite his attempts to block out anything regarding Hermione, including the past few hours, Ron's mind drifted back to what could have turned into one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. Oh, wait, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life! Look at that, Ron reflected irritably. How could I have said her name while with someone else? Well, at least I never have to see Sammy again, so that solves that... and you might never see Hermione again, either, so all your problems are solved! The evil little voice was back.
"No!" Ron shouted vehemently into the night air, scaring a group of teenage girls - who were much too young to be wearing those outfits – so much that they scurried away from him and across the street. Grunting petulantly, he continued to walk, albeit at a slightly faster pace.
No, someday I will see her again, and I will tell her how I feel, and everything will be back to normal. But Ron knew that wasn't true… nothing would ever be normal between the two of them again. And he would probably never be able to tell Hermione how he felt, either.
It's the thought that counts, though, right?
Frowning sadly, Ron continued to walk down the lamp-lit streets that were filled with happy people, head bowed and oblivious to anything but the fear that he would never be happy again without Hermione nearby.
Of course, walking down a decently populated street and not watching where one's going is never a good idea if one wants to avoid walking into people, so it was no real surprise when Ron walked straight into another person - oddly enough, a person he recognized.
"Harry?" Ron gaped incredulously, reaching a hand out to his black-haired friend, whom he had knocked backwards onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing here?"
Adjusting his glasses and patting down his shirt, Harry grinned at Ron, green eyes twinkling in the streetlights. "We've been practicing at a field they've set up near the town. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, ah, we're set up outside of town too, for practice and stuff." Ron hated being so vague, but it was part of his job description to be "mysterious" after all.
Harry simply nodded in understanding. The two best friends just stood there looking at each other for a moment before embracing in a long, yet very manly, hug, laughing.
"Good to see you, mate! It's been-" Harry began, mussing his hair – old habits die hard.
"-too long." Ron finished, grinning. "So how've you been? How is… everyone?" He succeeded well in not asking the question that had been on the tip of his tongue – asking how Hermione had been.
"I'm great, really, the team is doing really well and we might have a shot at the Cup next year."
"That's bloody fantastic!"
"Yeah, I'm really happy doing this. Anyway, everyone's fine, I think…. I ran into your Dad last week and he said that the family's doing fine and Ginny seems to be enjoying her training in South Africa. Though I guess you'd know all that through their letters, huh?"
Ron nodded, and acquiesced to the fact that it seemed he would just have to ask that question he was hoping would have been answered first. "Yeah… so, erm, how's Hermione doing? Have you seen her recently?"
Harry seemed to be thinking when he replied, "Er, yeah, I saw her a few weeks ago. She seemed all right… but haven't you been keeping in contact with her yourself?"
"Er, well, not so much, I, er, haven't heard from her in ages, really…" Ron stuttered uncomfortably.
Raising an eyebrow at his friend's reaction, Harry didn't push the matter; clearly Ron seemed to not want to talk about it.
After a decently odd pause, Ron cleared his throat and said, "D'you fancy a drink?" He motioned to a café right behind where Harry was standing.
Harry nodded, and the two of them grabbed a seat at one of the tables outside. After putting their orders in (both black coffee), Ron looked at his friend. It really had been too long since they had seen each other and just hung out, enjoying the other's company. He realized he really missed being at Hogwarts, where they could see each other every day. "So, you found a girl to settle down with yet?" Ron teased, appreciating the eye-roll that Harry rewarded him with.
"No, not so much. Can't seem to find one I want to spend more than a couple of days with."
"And nights," Ron quipped.
Harry laughed. "And nights," he agreed. At that moment, their coffee arrived, and there was a pause in the conversation as they set to trying to drink their coffee without scorching their tongues (had they been in a magical area, they would have simply used their wands to cool the liquid for them, but this town seemed to be primarily inhabited by Muggles).
"Howabout you?" Harry asked over his too-full coffee cup.
Not really paying attention, Ron replied absentmindedly, "Howabout me what?"
"Have you found the love of your life yet?"
Ron spat out the coffee he had just sipped onto the sidewalk and his pants, swearing. Harry, obviously surprised at the reaction he had gotten from this only half-serious question, handed Ron a bunch of serviettes, which he took gratefully, attempting to dry the burning liquid as much as possible. After he had done as much as he could to dry off, Ron leaned back in his chair, trying to slow his speeding heart rate.
"You all right, mate?" Harry asked kindly, a surprised look still on his face.
"Yup, yeah, I'm fine, perfect, great, super, never better." It didn't help that, at that moment, an image of a smiling Hermione popped into his head. Ron yelped as quietly as possible and busied himself in taking large gulps of his coffee.
"All right, tell me. What's wrong?"
"What? No, nothing's wrong, I'm fine."
"Ron…."
Ron sighed. "Oh, all right." He paused, deciding that maybe talking about it would help. After thinking for a minute, he took a deep breath. "So, around a year ago, I suppose, I started this relationship with a girl at my work that I've got to know pretty well. Okay, so I reckon it wasn't really a relationship… it was more of a 'friends-with-benefits' thing. You've heard of that, yeah?" Harry nodded, outwardly unsure of where this was going, as Ron plowed determinedly on. "So, okay, it was going fine… actually, it was brilliant. I've never been as happy with anyone as I am when I'm with her; it was perfect. Except that we were still technically friends. And then, three months ago, we had a big fight about it and she told me that she was seeing someone, and that was that. I left and I haven't heard from her since. She won't reply to any of my owls, and it's been driving me mad! I just – I miss her so much, you know? And I don't know what to do."
Now all my fellas do you feel my pain? It's the way I feel…
All through that, a gleam was growing stronger and stronger in Harry's emerald green eyes, though when Ron glanced up, the suspicious smile that was threatening to burst out into the open was well concealed. Looking sympathetic, Harry nodded. Ron let out a deep breath – it felt so good to get all of that at least partially into the open.
After thinking for a moment, Harry inquired, "Right… well, what exactly happened in the fight, anyway?"
Unsure of how to tell Harry this without making it completely obvious who it had been, Ron stumbled over his response. "Oh… well, erm, I was going to go… do something for work, without telling her, and she got really upset and was talking about how it was time we ended it and stuff and that it had been eventual that it would end anyway, and when I asked why it really needed to end, she said she had a boyfriend, and then…." Ron gulped, hesitating. "And then she asked me to give her a reason for it to continue and I just… I couldn't. So she made me leave." His head dropped into his hands, trying to press back the tears that he would refuse to shed in the presence of his best friend.
Harry reached over to pat his friend's back. "And you haven't talked to her since then?"
"No. She won't reply to any of my owls, and since she lives in – er, since she's assigned to a different post than I am I never saw her regularly in the first place, so this makes it even harder to see her. And I'm sure she doesn't want to see me ever again…. That morning, right before I left, she said, 'We need some time apart as friends.'" Ron let out a harsh laugh. "Plus, she also ruined any hopes of anything ever happening between us that even resembles a relationship, seeing as she also said, and I quote, 'It was the idea of you and me that's the problem. Which is why we need to end this.' Blast, I'll never forget those words. It's just like at the bloody Ball, when she said that we're 'just best friends….'" Ron trailed off, realizing that he had perhaps let go of too much information. "Er, there's this ball that we have every year… the… the, ah, Department Ball, you know. And, er, we'd become quite close…." Merlin, that is the lamest cover ever, jackass, Ron berated himself.
Looking at Harry, Ron was surprised that it seemed he had accepted that excuse and was staring thoughtfully into his coffee cup.
It was a few minutes before Harry spoke again, seeming to still be half absorbed in thought. "Must say, mate, that friends-with-benefits idea sounds fairly stupid to me."
Ron glared at him and shot back crossly, "No shite. Gee, I wonder why I didn't think of that – I'm only madly in love with her and even being around her makes me feel lightheaded and stops my brain from functioning properly."
"As if it ever did in the first place." Harry smirked at the scowl Ron now wore on his face, before continuing, "You should try to talk to her, see if you can fix it."
"Bloody hell, Harry, haven't you been listening? I can't fix it! It's over and I don't know how to make it stop hurting. I feel as if I'm going to implode and explode all at once and there's nothing I can do about it."
Harry studied his face before saying quietly, "Nothing's over 'til you're dead."
After pausing to consider the possible truth of that statement, Ron sighed darkly. "Well, this is. She'll never speak to me again – and the worst part is, she isn't even my friend anymore. She's just… gone. And she won't come back."
I know I made a mistake, now it's too late… I know she ain't comin' back.
Looking away over the city, Ron studiously ignored the frustrated sigh that escaped Harry's lips and the look he was giving Ron.
Harry glanced at his watch and, after fishing some Muggle money out of his pocket and putting it on the table, he tapped Ron's arm to get his attention. "Look, Ron, you obviously care for… this girl very much and I seriously think you should consider not letting it go. Do you want to look back the rest of your life wondering what could have been?" Ron shook his head, knowing his best friend was right. "Think about it. Anyway, I have to go – we have practice early tomorrow morning. Hey, owl me the next time you have a night off, all right? We're gonna be staying around here for a while, I think."
Ron nodded numbly and replied quietly, "I will. And… thanks, Harry." The two best friends smiled at each other before Harry clapped Ron on the back and turned to walk down the dimly lit street, pulling the collar of his cloak up against the chilly night wind.
After sitting there for a few minutes, staring after the one honestly good friend (whom he wasn't related to) that he had left, Ron suddenly had a vague idea of what he had to do. Ascertaining that it was eleven o'clock (Not too late, he decided), Ron dumped a few Muggle coins on the table to pay for his drink and walked determinedly down the street, now knowing exactly where he was going.
Ten minutes later, Ron reached the inner line of trees in the forest right outside the town. After he double-checked that he was the only person in the area, he Disapparated.
- - - - - - - - - -
Finally, Hermione thought, I am out of there. I don't think I could have taken their pity-filled looks for even another second! After the talk she had had with the younger interns, they had obviously gotten the hint that something had happened to her very recently to make her depressed, and proceeded to tiptoe around her the rest of the night. Thankfully, they hadn't questioned her about it, but the fact that they seemed so determined not to ask her just plain pissed Hermione off.
Currently, she was walking down the street leading up to her house, very much looking forward to a small, private sob session before bed. As she reached the door to her apartment, keys already in hand, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Turning around, she was surprised to see that certain face there, talking to her, of all people. "Oh, hello."
- - - - - - - - - -
Ron immediately arrived in the dark alleyway not too far from Hermione's apartment. He couldn't have Apparated directly into her building because it was a Muggle building and she had warned him, and Harry, for that matter, never to Apparate directly into it because Muggles had invented these things called carmens, which visually recorded everything in front of them.
He nervously flattened his hair as he started towards the building. But he hadn't expected the sight that reached his eyes at the entrance: Hermione talking to –
- - - - - - - - - -
A very handsome, tall, chestnut haired man with piercing gray eyes said cheerfully, "Hey, Hermione."
"Hi, Logan. What're you doing here so late?" Hermione had gone out with Logan Goldman a few times in the past months, but it wasn't particularly serious, and it certainly hadn't led to sex (as of that moment, in any case). They had met at a dinner the Magical Creatures division had hosted for its employees, discovered they had a number of similar interests, and gone out for coffee right after that event – and they had continued to meet every so often.
"I was having a drink with a few of my mates in that coffee shop across the street" – Logan motioned in the direction of one of the three coffee shops on Hermione's street, at which Hermione squinted because she could have sworn she saw someone very familiar with brightly colored hair walk out of the alleyway nearby… but then decided she must have been hallucinating, and continued to listen to Logan - "when I saw you walk by and I thought I'd come to say hello." Logan gave her a smile, which she returned, her eyes still flicking to that coffee shop, hoping against hope that her hallucination had been anything but.
To her surprise, Logan took a step closer to her, taking a lock of her hair in his fingers and proceeding to play with it as he spoke softly, clearly flirting. "I was thinking maybe we could go out sometime this week. I've missed you – you always seem to be busy."
Mildly flattered, Hermione chuckled nervously. "Oh, yeah, busy time at work, you know, those goblins just seem to get greedier…."
Logan laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "So, how does Tuesday sound to you, around seven? I know a great little place we can Apparate to, fantastic Portuguese food."
Smiling bemusedly as Logan continued to wind her hair around his finger, Hermione replied, "Yeah, sounds great."
"So I'll pick you up here, then?" Logan continued, satisfied, and oblivious to how preoccupied Hermione was acting.
"Sure, see you then." Before he turned around to jog back over to the coffee shop, Logan pecked a chaste kiss on Hermione's lips.
- - - - - - - - - -
All Ron saw was a decently attractive man talking to the girl he was sure he was meant to be with. You idiot, how could you have forgotten that she has a boyfriend? Halting at the entrance of the alleyway, Ron froze as he saw the man move closer to her and begin to play with her hair, talking in a very intimate way.
Mesmerized, Ron couldn't look away, but the moment the attractive and seemingly perfect other man's lips touched hers, his original intention of coming here to try and talk with Hermione (despite the fact that he never really had a clear idea of what he had planned to say) flew out the metaphorical window. He watched as the man straightened and headed for the coffee shop Ron himself was standing next to. He watched as Hermione's beautiful brown eyes followed the man, a smile that wasn't really a smile gracing her face. He watched as she turned the lock on the building's door and disappeared inside, along with any vague thought Ron had of trying to fix this.
She's bloody seeing someone. This shouldn't be such a surprise, prat, she told you that she was going out with someone. So, he's the one she chose instead of me…. Ron had to use every ounce of the self control he had learned during training to not walk over and pummel the bloke to the ground. Forget wands – Ron wanted to kill him with his bare hands. This was the man who had taken the love of his life away from him. This was the man who had destroyed his life. This was the man who had beaten him again, the man who was better than him. This was the man whom he couldn't do a bloody damned thing to.
Instead, Ron turned around to go back into the alleyway, watching carefully to make sure no one saw him. Standing in the dark shadows for a moment, trying to block out the noise of the happy people in the coffee shops and on the sidewalk, Ron attempted to calm himself down. He had learned the hard way, more than once, that Apparating when you're distressed had very unwanted effects.
Once again, I'm Apparating away from her. I can't get her back… I'm just so lost without her. Ron closed his eyes and made himself Apparate away, to a life ahead with too many feelings and no love.
What I gotta do now to get my shorty back? Man, I don't know what I'm gonna do without my boo…
- - - - - - - - - -
Hermione looked after Logan as he walked away, but he wasn't really what she was watching. A small part of her was convinced she hadn't been hallucinating, there had been a flash of red hair walking outside the coffee shop. But it clearly wasn't the right red hair, idiot; he isn't the only person in England who has red hair. Hermione sighed and knew she was just hoping for some things to be true even though they weren't. After a moment of prolonging her unfounded hopes, she turned and unlocked the door, heading to her solitary apartment.
Going up the stairs and then walking along the dim hallway, she wasn't really watching where she was going, still absorbed in between many conflicting emotions: pleasant surprise that Logan had asked her out again, guilt that she had agreed to go out with Logan again, anger that she was feeling guilty, and heartache because the reason she wanted to have for feeling guilty was off working somewhere and would be gone for months more - not that she had exactly encouraged him to come see her.
She wasn't really sure why she refused to read Ron's letters. There were conflicting thoughts about that, too. Mainly, Hermione rationalized that she was simply hurt because all he had needed her for was sex and she was still stupidly in love with him. In the end, she had decided she didn't want to know what was inside those letters, because logically, the only reason he would be writing to her was to try to convince her to have another go at the detestable friends-with-benefits relationship. Though the more sensible part of her mind always seemed to ponder on the fact that he was still the best friend she had known for over fourteen years, Hermione just couldn't bear the thought of him trying to ask her to start again... and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to refuse him.
What about that man is so bloody overwhelming? She wondered angrily, attempting and failing twice to unlock her door. After the third try, she screamed "Bugger!" in frustration before kicking the door and collapsing to the ground, her back leaning against the door and arms crossed. "Does nothing ever go right in my life?" she muttered wrathfully, studiously ignoring the frightened look she got from her 74 year-old neighbor, Jacob, who shuffled past at just the right moment.
Abruptly, Hermione realized just how stupid she must look and how childish she was acting. Shaking her head at the mini-tantrum she had just thrown for no legitimate reason, Hermione was able to successfully unlock her door without having to resort to magic. After dumping her coat and purse on the couch, she moved to check to see if she had received any voice messages while she was out (having all-Muggle relatives, she really needed to have some Muggle communication devices; along with a magically-altered television, one of the electronic devices she owned that her parents had insisted she get was a telephone).
The screen showed a blinking '1,' so Hermione pressed the play button before going in search of a glass in which to pour herself some water.
After the machine-man spoke the regulatory introduction, and a beep, Hermione was so surprised to hear Harry's voice that she stopped in the middle of opening a cupboard to listen.
"Hey, Hermione! I thought you'd be home by now… oh well," machine Harry said, barely to be heard above a large amount of noise in the background. "You're probably surprised that I'm calling instead of just sending you an owl, but I thought this might get to you a little quicker. I'm in a pub right now, actually, and you won't believe who I just ran into – Ron!" Hermione's heart skipped a beat. (See? The mean little voice countered. That couldn't have been Ron you saw, he was out at a pub.) "Yeah, turns out he's based in the same place that they just built our new practice field. I was wondering, he said you two haven't really been keeping in touch – did you get in a row before he left the Burrow the last time or something?"
Hermione was hearing a sharp beeping in her ears to the double-time beating of her heart – Wait, isn't that supposed to be ringing? Oh, right, that's the machine, not my head, Hermione realized, thankful she wasn't going insane.
"Oh, blast, I've run out of coins. Right, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up some time next week for supper? To catch up and all – seems like we haven't seen each other in ages! Just owl me when you get the chance. Cheers!" The machine clicked and the voice of her best friend disappeared.
It took a minute for Hermione to realize she was supporting all her body weight with the kitchen worktop, gripping onto it as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. I can't believe he saw Ron… and that they're going to be working in the same town! It isn't fair…. She shook her head, releasing her grip on the counter, only to slide down to the floor. You shouldn't care, you and Ron aren't speaking anyway –
– But I miss him so much.
Staring at an unidentified spot on her white kitchen wall, Hermione numbly acknowledged that there were tears running down her cheeks to splash on the cold tile beneath her. She began to sob harder, not moving an inch, the tears coming in silent torrents down her face. Suddenly, she gave up trying to hold it in, and put her head into her hands, the same thoughts repeating over and over again in her mind: I miss him so much it hurts! Make it stop hurting… make me stop loving him… I feel so lost without him….
You've been gone for too long… it's been fifty-eleven days, umpteen hours, I'm gonna be burnin' 'til you return.
- + - + - + - + - + -
Two weeks later, sweat was dripping down Ron's face as he shot a spell straight at a masked person. "Venas!" he yelled as loud as he could, the purple beam of light hitting its target squarely in the chest. On contact, a red line of blood immediately began flowing down the coarse, brown robes. The person stopped mid-stride, mouth mid-shout, eyes behind the mask widening numbly, wand pointing uselessly at Ron.
It seemed like an eternity before the nameless one collapsed onto the plant-filled dirt, robes nearly blending into the ground, mask sliding off of… her face, black eyes staring sightlessly skyward.
Breathing deeply, Ron wiped his left hand over his forehead. Never moving his wand down, he yelled, "Clover!" shattering the empty forest's deafening quiet. Within a minute, Seamus appeared out of the underbrush, not even glancing at the body still on the ground as he stepped over it to get to Ron.
"Check the body before we move out," Ron said, eyes scanning the trees around them.
Not needing an explanation, Seamus nodded before turning back to the corpse, raising his wand and muttering an incantation as he slowly moved his wand through the air above it.
Ron knew he needed to be concentrating; they were on a mission that was almost successfully completed. It wouldn't do to blow it now, especially not with their review coming up in a couple of weeks, but the fact that it was a woman under that cloak had opened a door to a memory buried inside him. Not to say that in the past three years since he had officially finished training he hadn't fought and taken down cruel women who had deserved what she got, it was just that the eyes of the woman who he had killed triggered something inside him, a very unpleasant memory of the Last Battle.
"Done, I'll take her." Seamus glanced back at Ron, who nodded sharply with assent, before grabbing the cloth of the victim's robes and Disapparating.
Taking one last glance around, Ron was assured that there wasn't another soul in the forest, and he quickly Apparated to the M.A. (Mission Arrival) room at the base.
While debriefing with Kinley, Ron had trouble keeping his mind off of those haunting eyes set deeply in that stranger's face, a woman he didn't know who reminded him of one he had known once but wished he never knew existed.
Once he was free to go get showered and relax for what was left of the night, Ron marched off down the hallway, intending to go back to the sleeping quarters as soon as he made a short detour. Taking a right instead of a left, he quickly arrived at the mini-mortuary they had for victims of missions. Soon the body would be taken to the closest proper wizard mortuary, but that wouldn't be for another couple of hours yet, when they had someone to spare for an hour or two.
Looking through the glass windows, Ron knew immediately the woman lying on the table was the one he had just killed, her deeply set eye sockets guaranteeing that. In traditional respect for the dead, whoever had put her in there had closed her eyes, but the image of those cold black portals wavered tauntingly in the forefront of Ron's mind.
He was reminded of a woman with midnight hair, and a history even darker, who had tortured his friend's parents into madness. Of a soulless woman who had almost killed the woman he loved -
No, Ron halted his thoughts abruptly, don't think about her. Remember, Lestrange has been dead for seven years – though you didn't have anything to do with that, unfortunately – and she is fine, safe and sound in London with her boyfriend.
Aware that he didn't want anyone to see him standing alone down this hallway, Ron turned away just as abruptly as he had stopped and walked briskly back to his bunker.
I can't keep thinking about her, I need to get on with my life, Ron told himself as walked down empty hallways. And I have a date in a couple of nights with that girl Mike set me up with, a friend of his sister or something. No thinking about her
One last turn and Ron entered his thankfully empty bunker. Stripping into his undershirt and boxers, choosing to shower either later or in the morning, Ron lay down on his bed and closed his eyes… only to have pictures of the one person he couldn't let himself think about push their way into his mind. "Bloody hell," Ron muttered, his eyes opening warily to stare at the bottom of the bed above his. He turned his head to the side and caught a glimpse of the box containing those letters that he told himself repeatedly he needed to stop saving.
Reaching over, Ron pulled the box out from under the bed so that he could look at it. His brows furrowed deeply, injured azure eyes studying the box as his mind studied the thoughts that were rolling around his exhausted brain. Finally, Ron made a decision and drew his wand out to point it at the box. "Incendio," he growled, hoping that watching the flames destroy his failed attempts at communicating with her would soothe him, help him to get to sleep, or at least help him to forget about her for a little while.
When the remnants of the box were almost gone, Ron's eyes almost closed, but just before his lids dropped, he caught sight of four words that made his eyes fill up with tears that weren't going to be shed. They weren't.
A last charred piece of paper disappeared into ashes, once inscribed with 'I love you, Hermione….'
I'm twisted 'cause one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on, on the other side I wanna break down and cry.
- - - - - - - - - - -
"And then, the house elf said 'Actually, sir, it was me!'"
Hermione laughed at the punch line of Logan's joke as they walked down the night-bathed streets of London.
As Logan started talking again, Hermione's eyes wandered to the cheerful people walking past them, happy that work was over and their real lives could begin.
She saw the back of a man's head that had raven-black hair reminiscent of her best friend's. Unable to pay attention, Hermione let her mind wander to the week before, when she had met up with said best friend for the first time in months.
"Harry!" Hermione squealed, just as when they were in Hogwarts, at seeing her best friend sitting at a booth in the restaurant they had agreed to meet at for lunch.
After twisting around in his seat and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, Harry grinned when he saw Hermione behind him and quickly stood up to envelope her in a hug. "Hermione! It's so good to see you!"
He hugs a lot like my dad, Hermione mused, warm and comforting. "We need to meet more often," she said, smiling happily up at him.
"Absolutely," Harry agreed as he pulled her chair out for her before seating himself in the seat facing her. "So, how're the elves? Won them health benefits yet?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes and was about to scold Harry when he started laughing. Realizing that he had been teasing her, she joined in laughing, taking the menu the waiter was handing her.
As they skimmed the menus, occasionally pointing out something that sounded good, they resumed their conversation.
"Seriously, how's it been going at work?" Harry asked, green eyes lighting up occasionally when he saw a dish he liked the look of.
"Fine, uneventful, really. I rarely have much to do. A sixteen-year-old could do this job," Hermione muttered.
Harry looked up from the menu, raising an eyebrow as a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Oh? Are my ears deceiving me? Is Ms. Hermione Granger, Elf-Rights-Activist-Extraordinaire, actually bored working as Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"
Shooting him the briefest of one of her trademark glares, Hermione shot back, "Shut it, Mr. Potter. Otherwise, if I get the job I've been training for, I could take away all of your House Points."
There was a pause in the conversation as they ordered, but Harry's confused look remained on his face through the duration. "Care to explain that? You've been training for something?"
Hermione made a big show of taking a long sip of water before answering. "Yes, for a year and a half now I've been training with Minerva – yes, McGonagall – to take over her position as Transfiguration teacher when Dumbledore chooses to retire and she becomes Headmistress - which, frankly, I'm hoping will be sometime soon, because in all honesty, I'm bored to pieces at the Ministry." She looked up to see Harry staring at her, agape. Smiling, she reached across to tap his chin upwards to close his mouth.
He came to his senses and grinned broadly. "That's bloody brilliant – wait 'til Ron hears this, he always said you were McGonagall Junior!"
At the mention of him, Hermione moved her eyes down to where her fingers began fiddling with her serviette. "Oh… well, how do you know I haven't told him already?"
She could feel Harry's eyes penetrating her façade and chose to ignore him and continue studying her lap. "He said you two haven't been speaking. What happened, anyway?"
"Between me and Ron? Oh, nothing, nothing at all." She cursed the fact that her voice got smaller and smaller the longer this part of the conversation went on.
"Then, what's the matter? And don't you dare say 'nothing.' I can tell, you aren't acting as if there's nothing the matter, that's for bloody sure." Hermione could tell that Harry was getting annoyed, and sighed.
"Don't swear," she said, before smiling sadly and moving her head up to meet Harry's angry gaze, which turned into worry at the sight of her face. Just then, their main courses arrived, at which Hermione thanked the stars because she was able to let the conversation lapse into silence as they ate.
Twenty minutes later, as their plates were being cleared away, Harry brought the conversation back to what Hermione least wanted to talk about. "What's been going on that's got you so upset?"
After hesitating for as long as she could, setting her fork and knife primly on her plate at 4 o'clock, Hermione sighed. Might as well tell him, at least part of it anyway; he is my best friend – my only best friend, now. "Well…there was this guy I had been dating awhile ago –"
"This Logan bloke you mentioned?" Harry interrupted, leaning back in his chair and clearly getting ready for a long talk.
"No!" Hermione rebuffed, a little too quickly. "I mean… I am seeing Logan now, but he isn't who I'm talking about. This guy… is someone else." A sad smile flitted across her face. "He really is something… I've known him for so long, a work connection. Anyway, we were dating, and it was going fine… actually, it was brilliant. I know I've never felt about anyone the way I feel – felt about him; the whole thing was almost perfect. He just…" she paused, searching for a way to tell this as accurately as possible without mentioning the dreaded 'friends-with-benefits' concept, "didn't seem as committed as I was. And then, three months ago, he tried to leave to go somewhere for work without telling me, and we fought, and it blew out of proportion… just like it always does."
Harry had been studying her face during this, and when he noticed a rogue tear of frustration escape her eye, he leaned forward and wiped it away. "What do you mean it blew out of proportion?" he asked gently.
Sighing again for the umpteenth time in five minutes, Hermione attempted to hold her emotions in check as she continued. "I suppose it was inevitable, really… but I just said some things I suppose I didn't really mean and some things that were just outright lies… but he didn't help at all! He was being a jealous prat, to start off. And I basically told him that I wanted to keep it going, but he just… didn't say anything. Again! He never said anything when it was important…. We were standing right there, looking at each other, and he just shook his head! And that was it! Argh, it's just like the stupid Ball! I was standing right there, waiting for him to say something, but... nothing!"
Hermione could tell her cheeks were pink with anger and the effort of trying not to cry, but she didn't care. Finally, though, she pulled herself out of her thoughts and saw Harry looking at her curiously. "What?"
"What Ball?" was all he said, appearing to be simply curious.
Bugger! "Er…th-there's a… Department Ball every year, you know. And, er, he went with me a few years ago…" she stuttered, flustered that she had let that detail slip.
"Oh, right." Harry nodded. "So he left?"
"Yes."
"Has he tried to contact you at all?"
"Yes, he owls me."
"How often?"
"Once a week."
"Do you respond to any of them?"
"No."
"But he keeps sending them?"
"Yes."
"Sounds to me like he still cares about you."
"Not very bloody likely," Hermione scoffed. "More like he still wants to sha-" she broke off abruptly, pretending to cough and keenly aware of what she had just been about to say.
"Ah…" was all Harry muttered, frowning in thought and, thankfully, ignoring what she had almost said. After a minute, he sighed and leaned forward on the table to look Hermione straight in the eyes. "Look, Hermione, you clearly care about this bloke a lot, whoever he is, and whatever you say, I think he still cares about you. Call it best friend's intuition, if you will. In any case, I say you should contact him; owl or something. If it was as perfect as you say, you shouldn't let it go so easily."
"You don't understand, Harry. I have to let it go," Hermione replied softly. Looking at her hands in her lap, tears pooling in her eyes, she muttered under her breath, "I've been hiding it for so long now the rest of my life won't make much of a difference."
She could hear Harry sigh in pity. "Nothing's over 'til you're dead," he pronounced quietly.
"This is." The finality in her tone was enough to shock even herself out of her reverie and dry the tears that had been threatening to spill over. "I'm moving on now. I'm dating Logan."
Harry didn't comment on the fact that she had just spent a good amount of time telling him about a relationship that she stubbornly insisted was over.
After a minute or two of regret-filled silence, Hermione mentioned Harry's work and conversation flowed well enough from there to keep going for the two hours they spent catching up after that. Neither of them mentioned Hermione's love life again.
"And the vampire just wanted a bloodsicle!"
Logan's hearty voice jolted Hermione out of her thoughts, which were drifting dangerously close to him, and she realized he had just told her the ending of what was clearly an amusing story, as he was looking at her expectantly. "Oh, brilliant!" she exclaimed cheerfully, chuckling an appropriate amount.
The man who she was supposed to be in a relationship with began talking again, as Hermione's thoughts drifted over to the man who she wanted to be in a relationship with. No! she said to herself angrily. I can't think about him! I won't think about him! I'm with Logan now, and that's that.
Linking her arm with Logan's, she started to chat happily with him about this and that, the stubbornness she had acquired before birth allowing her to make the decision to bury any extra emotions she might accidentally allow herself to feel. Especially ones regarding the redhead who threatened to make her eyes create their own river because of him.
I'm twisted 'cause one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on, on the other side I wanna break down and cry.
- + - + - + - + - + -
It was late November, and the weather outside was impeccable. Blue skies and barely chilling wind graced the outdoors on this day, an incredibly rare event for this time of year.
Inside the barracks, in one of their extra-secured meeting rooms, the minute hand on the clock seemed to be moving slower and slower the longer Ron stared at it. He was unable to peel his eyes away, the saying his mother had once quoted, "a watched pot never boils," repeating itself uselessly in his head over and over again.
All those in his group, section eight of the B.W. (British Waurors), were meeting with section three to discuss a possible joint mission coming up soon. Apparently, this one was so large that it needed more operatives to cover all of its aspects.
Ron had stopped listening awhile ago, his mind wandering towards the dangerous territory of her, the one he couldn't bear to think about and couldn't bear to live without. This would be perfect weather to help her practice flying, I'll bet she hasn't touched a broom since the last time I made her try at the Burrow, he mused.
"Brilliant, so we'll move out December twenty-eighth."
At the sound of Kinley's voice making what sounded like an important proclamation, Ron snapped to attention and shot out, "We're going where on December twenty-eighth?" before he could fully think out the fact that asking that question would tell everyone in the room, including his boss, that he clearly hadn't been listening.
Kinley's sharp gray-blue eyes glared daggers at him, and Ron could feel his ears heating up. With a scowl, Kinley growled, "If you'd been paying attention, Weasley, you'd know we're leaving on the Final X Mission on December twenty-eighth."
Knowing that his whole face must be red, Ron cleared his throat and asked sheepishly, "And what would Final X entail?"
Had Ron not known that Kinley was just putting up a show for the commanding officer of section three, Ron might have wet his pants at the glare he was receiving. "We'll be hunting down the last of the Anveli clan in Malaysia for approximately two years, no contact with anyone outside of the mission's sphere and informants – at least, that's the short version of it. Finnigan, brief Weasley later on the finer points of this mission."
Kinley went on to finish the rest of the meeting, but Ron's mind was spinning too fast for him to catch any of what was said. The Anveli Clan – standing for Antiveritaliberium – was the most potent Dark wizard association left after the defeat of Voldemort, and many of its higher leaders were former Death Eaters who had evaded capture. They were ruthless and somehow always seemed to know the best ways of achieving their usually sinister goals without widespread notice.
But that wasn't what rendered Ron speechless – it was the "two years, no contact with anyone outside" part that he dreaded. He knew he should be thinking of his family and best friend and all that could happen with and to them in two whole years, but there was only one person who caused him to be utterly dismayed at the thought of no contact for two years. Bloody hell, I feel like shite and I only haven't seen her for four months! Two years – I'll be twenty-eight. She…hell, two years is more than enough time to bloody marry some other bloke and have his bloody baby!
Suddenly, Seamus was pulling on Ron's shirt, urging him to stand up and walk out the door. Ron never heard a word of what Seamus told him because all he could think was, Away from her for two years…two years!
So many days, so many hours…
- - - - - - - - - - -
The weather couldn't be more perfect, the sky blue and the wind gently cool, twirling what was left of autumn's leaves in its joyous fingertips. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had been this happy as she ran through the park near her apartment, arms stretched out in front of her in order to tackle her unwary best friend into the nearest leaf pile.
Harry let out a yell as the impact of her body came in contact with his back. He toppled over, much to Hermione's satisfaction. Now lying on his back, Hermione laughed giddily, unaware that Harry was not one to let an unfounded attack go easily. He quickly turned around and began to tickle her mercilessly. Hermione shrieked and tried to get away, all for naught, of course, as Harry had a firm grip around her waist.
Over Hermione's uncontrollable laughter, Harry commanded, "Say 'Harry Potter is the best Seeker in the world and my master and I obey his every word!'" As she shook her head no, Harry dug his fingers even deeper in her sides, going for her most ticklish spots. "Say it or I'll tickle you forever!"
"All right, all-all right!" Hermione gasped for breath and Harry ceased his attack, without releasing her from his grasp, and waited for her to have enough oxygen in her lungs to speak. "H-Harry Potter is the best S-Seeker in this park – AAH! Okay, okay, in the world! And…wait, I've forgotten the rest…" Hermione trailed off, wiping tears from her eyes.
Letting her go, Harry rolled away to lie next to her, as he said cheekily, "Good enough." For quite a while, the two of them simply gazed at the sky, watching the cotton-white clouds float lazily across the azure sky.
It wasn't long, though, before the sky's bright color reminded Hermione of the person missing from their fun and from her life in general. As tears of laughter dried, she fought to keep tears of sadness and longing out of her eyes. But the longer she looked up at the color she admired so much in his eyes, framed by the red of the leaves in the trees above them, the less she could keep her thoughts away from him. My heart aches…I miss him so much….
I'm still burnin' 'til you return.
Abruptly, she sat up, sniffling and furiously wiping her eyes and face with the backs of her hands.
Harry sat up too and knelt in front of her, trying to make eye contact. Tilting Hermione's head up with his right hand, forcing her to look him in the face, Harry frowned and sighed. "Go talk to him. Tell him how you feel."
Angrily standing up, Hermione brushed her clothes off. When she next spoke, her tone was as icy as the wind blowing around them. "You don't know what you're talking about, Harry." Hermione glanced at her watch as Harry stood, and grimaced internally. "And I'm supposed to meet Logan in five minutes at Diagon Alley… brilliant. So I have to be off."
Her smile warm again, all traces of whatever emotion that had been there moments before erased, Hermione held her arms out to Harry for a parting hug.
Before he pulled away, Harry whispered in her ear, "It isn't too late."
Hermione pecked a sisterly kiss on his cheek, ignoring his remark. "It was great to see you, Harry, come visit more often! Ta!" After checking to make sure there was no one else around, she Apparated away, leaving a very obviously saddened and frustrated Harry Potter behind.
She arrived a nanosecond later in the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, quickly smiling and waving at Tom, the old innkeeper, before walking out back to tap the bricks on the wall to gain entrance to Diagon Alley. After walking past the brick pillars, she unconsciously patted her hair as she looked around the crowded street, noting that even after fourteen years of coming here, it hadn't changed in the least. It still seemed different to her, though, as if something was wrong that didn't have to do with the alleyway itself.
It's me that's changed, Hermione realized unhappily. I'm what's different…I'm what's wr-
"Hermione! Over here!" She turned to see Logan smiling at her from one of the tables in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Hitching up her grin, she walked over to him and they embraced warmly before she took her seat. Logan gestured sheepishly to the sundae sitting in front of her and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for you – butterscotch with fudge and whipped cream."
She grinned and, after pecking a chaste kiss on his cheek, picked up her spoon. "Not at all. Thank you – it's my favorite."
Already digging into his own sundae, Logan grinned even wider, if possible. "I know. So how was your day? You must be glad to see Harry, he's away so often."
The conversation flowed from there, but in the inevitable silences that came from them eating and talking at once, Hermione's thoughts intervened. Why can't you just love Logan? He's a wonderful man – sweet, generous, attentive, intelligent, funny… well, okay, so he can take the jokes a little too far sometimes, but nonetheless! He's virtually perfect. Scooping up the last bit of fudge from the bottom of her glass, Hermione frowned. But he isn't Ron.
Logan stood up to pay for their ice creams at the counter (after forcing her to put her purse down), and Hermione continued to make sure she licked all the chocolate off her spoon. Once she had gotten every morsel, her mind came up with a decision that her heart detested – but if she had to die trying, her mind was going to control how her heart felt from now on. I'll make myself love Logan. He seems to be quite attached to me… and he listens to practically everything I say. How can I- brilliant, I know! This has to work, I can't keep thinking about Ron. I need to love someone else and that someone else is Logan.
Said man walked over to her and pulled out her chair so she could stand up. Looking very obviously down at her watch, Hermione linked her arms easily around Logan's neck and leaned into his embrace. He smiled happily at her, waiting for her to tell him where they were going now.
Hermione stared deeply into warm gray eyes and brushed a lock of brown hair out of his face before whispering so only he could hear, "I was thinking, why don't we head back to my place. We can go out again… after."
The gray eyes widened, lips smiling hesitantly. "You're sure-"
"Well, we have been dating for almost three months… and that sundae seems to have put me in a very good mood," she responded pleasantly, gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Very well, then," Logan's voice became suddenly huskier than usual, and he dipped his head so his lips were millimeters away from Hermione's. His breath fanned her lips and she closed her eyes, preparing for a sweet kiss. "I'll race you." And with that, Logan had Disapparated, leaving Hermione standing there with a small smile on her face.
Laughing, she Apparated straight to her apartment and saw Logan had clearly beaten her there, as he was standing in the middle of her den.
Suddenly shy, Hermione walked over to Logan so that they were very close but not quite touching. As he looked deeply into her eyes, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.
When his lips met hers, she convinced herself to put thoughts of anything and anyone else aside and concentrate on the man she was with. When his skin touched hers, she forced herself to look in his eyes and see only him and what he was, not see who he should be. When he led her to the bed, she made herself enjoy everything she was feeling. When his hot breath mingled with hers, she persuaded herself to close her eyes and open her heart.
Looking at the man lying over her, she knew nothing had changed. But she would keep trying – she needed to make herself love him.
When your feelings ain't the same and your body don't want to, but you know you gotta let it go 'cause the party ain't jumping like it used to…
Ten minutes later, Logan was fast asleep and Hermione was standing in front of her bathroom sink, staring in the mirror. She knew she didn't like what she saw; she never had. She knew she wasn't like the other girls, wasn't pretty in the same way they were, but that had never really bothered her. In the grand scheme of things, looks didn't matter, so she never really paid attention to them in her daily life. But what she saw in the mirror now was beyond anything she had ever witnessed.
The reflection looking back at her was defeated. That was the only way to describe it.
Hermione Granger had never felt or been defeated in her whole life, not really, and now the eyes staring back at her were saying that she was in that layer of mud underneath rock bottom. She had lost whatever battle she had been fighting, had landed in the pigsty instead of on the grass, had jumped into the river instead of onto the dry bank across from it.
What have I become? she wondered miserably. When did I become dependant on him? It's only been four months and I'm bloody pining! I can't be pining, blast it! I don't need him or anyone else, I'm fine all alone! Her shoulders slumped and she realized that the washbin was supporting all of her body weight – and there was water running into the drain, in spite of the tap being off.
A moment of lucidity allowed her to put a Silencing Charm on the bathroom and lock the door with her wand before dropping it limply to the floor, falling next to it herself. As she lay there, bathrobe only half covering her still naked form, head resting on the cold tile and tears dripping into her hair, she grinned mirthlessly to herself. No, this is the layer of sludge underneath the mud and rock bottom.
She lay there for what seemed like years, her mind racing with regrets, before pulling herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were staring hard at the gray-white wall in front of her, gaze never wavering. As she stood up, not one limb shook and her eyes were as empty and dry as the Sahara. The robe tied tightly around her waist and hair in a neat bun, she walked gracefully out of the bathroom, taking the Locking and Silencing Charms off as she went.
Whistling to herself in the twilight as she put on a pot of tea, she reverted to the self-preservation tactic she hadn't had to use since she was eleven years old – suppression of everything inside. Having no one didn't hurt when you couldn't, wouldn't, feel. And she wasn't going to let her control slip away from her, she wasn't going to let anyone in under her guard and sweep her heart away. Not again. Not this time.
Reading the Daily Prophet that she hadn't gotten to that morning at her kitchen table, Hermione Granger, the stubborn, bossy, know-it-all, workaholic bookworm, was back.
Even though this might bruise you, let it burn, let it burn…gotta let it burn.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Weasley! Get your bloody head out of the bloody clouds! Christmas holidays aren't for three weeks yet and I expect bloody good performance until then! We leave in a month for the mission that could make or break your career – or your neck, for that matter - so you bloody well better be ready!" Kinley barked in Ron's general direction on what seemed like the coldest afternoon of the year.
"Yessir," Ron muttered in response, rubbing his hands together briefly before getting into battle stance again. Bloody hell, I was just trying not to freeze my arse off in this bloody cold! We can't even practice well! Should just cancel it or move us inside the practice rooms, but nooo, bloody boss has to make us practice until our bloody bollocks fall off. Bloody Kinley….
Ron paused as a flicker of recognition flashed through his ice-logged brain, those particular thoughts reminding him of another very cold day when he was outside when he didn't want to be. However, the main difference was what was waiting for him once he finally was allowed inside; plus he couldn't just leave this practice.
It was another hour of mock-battling in the frigid cold before Kinley barked, "All right princesses, you can go inside! No leaving the barracks, though; strategic meeting at nine-thirty!"
Thankful grumbling from Ron and his four coworkers ensued as they trudged to their bunkers. Once inside, Ron stripped to his boxers, ridding himself of his damp, cold clothes before rummaging around in his trunk for warm, dry ones. Once he had found what he was looking for, Ron turned and sat on his bed while he was dressing, his legs feeling as though they would fall off if he stood for much longer.
"Only one bloody hour to rest and eat! After our hardest session this week! Not bloody fair," Jack grumbled bitterly.
"And we can't even leave the barracks. I really need to-" Seamus paused mid-sentence and shut his mouth abruptly as he continued to stare at the bottom of the bunk above him, hands clasped behind his head.
Ron, whose bed was right next to Seamus's, studied his friend's face as he continued to put on his clothes. "What's wrong, Seamus?"
The lanky Irishman turned his head to look at Ron, a questioning look on his face.
"You didn't finish your sentence, you said, 'I really need to-' and trailed off. What's up?" Pulling his warm socks on, Ron stared critically at his friend, who looked like his dog had just died.
Seamus paused before replying, a frustrated look entering his facial features. "It's just – Lavender was really moody last week and we had a huge fight before I left. She won't reply to any of my owls, and I really needed to try and talk to her tonight – we usually get Wednesday nights off, you know."
Trying to hide his surprise, Ron asked curiously, "You're still seeing Lavender? I assumed you'd broken up after school ended… you always go to the pub."
Chuckling, Seamus returned his eyes to the bottom of the top bunk. "Yeah, I go to the pub a lot… but within half an hour you're all so pissed – well, when you come, that is, Ron – that none of you notice I disappear. I usually visit her then. And we actually did break up for two years, during the most intense part of our initial training. But we got together again and we've been together for five years since then… almost six, actually."
"You're not married, are you?" Ron couldn't hide his shock this time.
Full out laughing now, Seamus replied bitterly, "No, I was actually going to try proposing tonight, or next week on our anniversary, but it looks like that's going to have to wait. Bloody hell… I'm just afraid that if I make her wait much longer, she'll leave me for someone else. I don't think I could bloody well handle that."
Sighing in understanding, Ron nodded. "Mate, do I ever understand that. Look, we'll probably get off for part of this weekend, so you can try then."
"Yeah, I s'pose so…" Seamus muttered. He turned his head again to look at Ron before sitting up and beginning to pull dry clothes out of his trunk. "You know, in school, Lavender and I would joke about how we thought you and Hermione were a cert to beat us up the aisle."
Ron coughed, bending down to hide his face behind the lid of his trunk as he pretended to be rummaging through it. "Yeah, well, not so much. We don't really keep in touch anymore, though I've heard she's seeing some bloke at the Ministry."
"Funny how things work out, isn't it?"
Funny how they don't, Ron thought miserably.
Deep down, you know it's best for yourself, but you hate the thought of her being with someone else…
"Well, I've got to post an owl to Lavender and then I'm going to head to the dining hall – you coming?" Seamus was standing up, looking at Ron expectantly.
Leaning back on his heels, Ron noticed that everyone else had left for dinner by then and it was only the two of them in the room. "I'll be down in a minute."
"Right," was all Seamus uttered before walking out the door without a backwards glance. It was a good thing, too because otherwise he would have seen the sadness creeping across Ron's face like the clouds crept across the sky on a day destined for a storm.
Losing his balance, Ron fell back onto the floor, only his hands supporting the weight of his upper torso. He let his head settle on his chest, not bothering to move out of this position, chuckling mirthlessly.
Across his mind's eye, unbidden and unwanted images replayed scenes of the past, both ages and mere months ago. A brown-eyed eleven-year-old girl telling him to get on with turning his rat yellow… a brown-eyed twelve-year-old girl looking admiringly at him as he belched up slugs… a brown-eyed seventeen-year-old girl telling him that nothing was wrong when it clearly was… a brown-eyed twenty-four-year-old woman standing in front of him wearing a white summer dress… the voice of a brown-eyed twenty-five-year-old woman telling him to leave….
Part of him wanted all those memories erased, rationalizing that it wouldn't hurt if he didn't remember anything. But his heart told him the truth, that losing any memory of the woman he loved would end up killing him; even if he didn't know what it was, he would know that part of him was missing. A part of him was already missing as it was: his heart. He knew it was with her, wherever she was, whomever she was with, whatever she was doing.
He also knew that he would never get it back.
I'm sure she's happy with that bloke, whoever he is. That's all I want, for her to be happy… even if it's not with me. His cobalt eyes closed shut in denial of the acute pain tearing at him from merely thinking those thoughts.
Sitting on the dusty floor of a barracks that he wished to leave and never return to, Ronald Weasley put his head in his hands and let the tears fall for the woman he loved, acknowledging that not only his chance at love with her was lost, but also all chance of rekindling the friendship he had been blessed with for fourteen years.
But you know that it's over, you know that it was through, let it burn, let it burn….gotta let it burn.
A/N: please don't hate me! and review, while you're at it...