A/N: This will be quite a bit different in tone from Tasting Fire. I wanted to explore some darker subject matter and try my hand at some blow burn relationship building.

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of suicide and self-harm. Nothing graphic, but it is a plot point.

Disclaimer: I do not profit from Harry Potter or its related properties in any way.

Ex-Girlfriend

Hermione's stinging hex just missed Ron as he apparated into the bedroom. The force of the wayward spell exploded the water glass he'd left on her dresser that morning, making him jump back with a shout.

"Bloody hell, woman! What is your problem?!" he yelped.
"You tell me Ronald Weasley!" she chucked the balled up negligee she'd been clutching to the floor between them. His ears flamed in realisation of what she'd found.
"Hermione…" he pleaded, starting to cross toward her. She raised her wand and leveled it between his eyes. He stopped, holding his hands in front of his chest.
"Don't try and tell me it's not what it looks like. I'm not stupid. Do I even want to know who?" she gritted her teeth, as she contemplated the merits of hexing him into oblivion.
"Does it even really matter, 'Mione?" he slumped, eyes not leaving her wand.
"How long?" she bit out.
"Six months."
"Six months? When I was in St. Mungo's?" her face flamed with rage, her knuckles going white as she gripped her wand even tighter. Sparks began to jump from the tip.
"We can talk about this. Just put the wand down, love," he reached for her wrist, going for his own wand with his other hand. She called his wand to her quicker than he could blink.
"You may be an Auror, but I will always be quicker on the draw." She gripped both wands in her off hand, closing the distance between them with a solid smack across his face. He stumbled backward, staring at her in complete shock.
"I want you out, Ron, now. Your things are with your mother. Have fun explaining to her what you did, because I sure as hell don't want to hear it," she tossed his wand back to him as his eyes widened in fear. No matter how old he got, she knew he would always fear Molly Weasley above all others. Moments later, he was gone. The reality of what had just happened hit her and she sank to the floor with a wail.

She didn't know when she'd fallen asleep on the floor when her eyes opened suddenly. They ached from crying and her cheeks itched with the trails of her tears. She reached out in the darkness to push herself up. Her hand landed on the offensive piece of satin and lace that had shattered the peace and quiet of her day. A knock sounded through the flat, breaking her fixation on the bright red lingerie. She realised the sound of knocking was what had stirred her, to begin with. Bunching the garment in her hand, she made her way to the door to see who was calling at this hour. She'd turned the floo off before Ron came home and the wards would not let anyone in who didn't live there without her or Ron. She made a note in her mind to fix it so they would no longer recognize him, it was only her name on the lease after all. Any claim he had to it was void when she kicked him out. She wondered if he was stupid enough to try speaking to her again. When she looked through the peephole she was surprised to see Ginny fuming on the other side.

"Ginny?" she called through the door.
"Open up, Hermione. Mum says I can't kill him so I've come to check on you," she responded hands on her hips.
"I don't really want company right now…" she croaked, tears starting again.
"Look, 'Mione, I know the wards will keep me from getting in, but I'm guessing you forgot Ron added Harry to them when we watched Crookshanks for you last summer. If you don't want him in the middle of this, I suggest you open the bloody door. I have no qualms about dragging him away from work to let me in," she threatened. Hermione kicked herself, she'd forgotten they'd left Harry on the wards after their trip in case of emergencies. The last thing she wanted was him showing up and trying to fix things. She opened the door begrudgingly and the fiery redhead bounded across the threshold, flinging her arms around her.

She sobbed as Ginny rocked her back and forth. She babbled incoherently into her shoulder, still clutching the cause of her troubles. Even she wasn't entirely sure what she was saying in the fresh deluge of angry tears.
"Wait, back up a second. You found what?" Ginny held Hermione at arm's length.
"This," she sniffed, thrusting the fabric into her hands.
"Bloody hell. Do you know who it belongs to? I don't care if he's my brother, I'll kill him. I've got five others..."
"No, and I don't want to know who it belongs to. And you can't kill your brother, your mum won't let you," she shook her head in disgust. Ginny crossed into the kitchen and tossed it into the sink.
"Let's burn it," she suggested with a wicked grin.
"How is that going to help, Gin?" Hermione choked on a laugh as she wiped the tears from her eyes again.
"Probably won't, but it can't make you feel any worse," she shrugged.
"You're right." Hermione nodded and pulled her wand, casting an incendio in the direction of the sink. They watched as the fabric ignited and turned to ash over the course of several minutes.
"Now what?" Hermione asked, sending the ashes swirling down the drain with a blast of water.
"Now, you put on the sexiest dress you have and we go to the pub," Ginny began to steer Hermione back to the bedroom.
"Why do I have to dress up to go to the pub?" Hermione dragged her feet, not feeling much like getting dolled up.
"We are going looking for your rebound. Or, at the very least, somebody to pay for your drinks tonight," Ginny laughed at Hermione's raised brows as she continued to drag her into the bedroom.
"Gin, it's only been a couple hours. All I want to do is scream and punch things. Maybe cry some more. I don't want to be chatted up by random blokes in the pub," Hermione argued. Ginny was digging through her closet, tossing options on the bed for her.
"Right, well, how about you put on something that doesn't look like you've been sobbing on the floor and we just go get pissed?" she changed tack, searching for a pair of jeans instead.
"I wouldn't mind a drink or two…" Hermione admitted with a sigh.
"That's my girl!" Ginny threw her arms around her again, jeans and a top tossed over her arm.

Hermione refused Ginny's offer to fix her hair and makeup before they made their way to The Leaky Cauldron. She didn't feel like looking cute or approachable. She could pay for her own drinks thank you very much. Ginny didn't push the issue for a change, insisting only that she change into something other than her now rumpled and tear-stained work clothes. Hermione had to admit that her friend had managed to select her favourite pair of dark wash jeans and the softest grey tee shirt she owned. If nothing else, she would be incredibly comfortable while she drank away her broken heart. The pub wasn't too terribly crowded when they arrived. They were able to quickly acquire their drinks and settle in at a table in the back. It was well past the dinner rush now, being near to nine o'clock. The only people remaining this late on a Thursday were the regulars.

"Thanks for dragging me out, Gin," Hermione tried to smile as she took a long pull from the whiskey sour in her hand.
"I couldn't very well let you sit there and cry all night. If you don't want to be alone, I can stay with you tonight if you'd like. I'd bring you back to the Burrow, but that's where Ron is."
"How did your mum take it? I feel a bit bad for just sending everything over with a post owl, but I didn't think I could face her," Hermione admitted with a grimace.
"Ron will be lucky if he's got any hearing left by the time she's done with him. Your note was pretty clear as to why you were kicking him out. When mum's finished tearing his head off dad will have a go," Ginny relayed, barely hiding her happiness at her brother's torment.
"Arthur? Your dad never yells…" she started, setting her drink back on the table.
"He raised his sons to be gentlemen and cheating is not gentlemanly behavior. Dad doesn't get well and truly angry about much, but this will do it." They sat in silence for a few moments, neither exactly sure what to say next.
"I think I knew before I found that negligee," Hermione whispered.
"What do you mean?" Ginny reached across the table and put her hand on Hermione's wrist.
"There have been signs for a while now. I just didn't have concrete proof. He said it had been going on for the last six months. I started to suspect something about two months ago," she sighed heavily and drained her glass with a frown.
"Six months? Weren't you in St. Mungo's then?" Ginny's face was glowing with rage again.
"It was right after… well, you know," she shrugged.
"You never really told us how your accident happened, actually… But that's beside the point right now. He was cheating on you while you were in the hospital, that's pretty low. Even for someone as emotionally stunted as my brother," she growled. Hermione scoffed at the statement and rose to fetch herself another drink.

As she waited for the publican's attention she tried not to think about how things with Ron had gone so terribly wrong. She sighed heavily to herself and leaned onto her forearms against the bar.
"Well hello, Granger! What brings you here this evening?" Hermione startled and turned to see George making his way to her, a quick glance back at the table showed that Fred had already spotted Ginny and made his way to join her.
"Your prat of a youngest brother."
"What did ickle Ronniekins do this time?" George teased.
"He cheated on me." she sighed heavily, avoiding his eyes.
"He what?!" Hermione spun to see Fred standing at the table in shock, his eyes darting between her and his sister.
"For Merlin's sake…" she grumbled, hanging her head in embarrassment as the other patrons looked at her curiously.
"I think, 'Mione, this discussion needs a bit more privacy. We've got a couple bottles back at the flat if you and Ginny want to come back to ours." George offered.
"That might not be a bad idea, actually. I'm not keen on everyone overhearing my personal business. And I suppose you and Fred should know what's happened before you see your mother next."
"Right then. Oi! Freddie, Gin!" George signaled that it was time to go. Ginny downed the last of her drink, ignoring Fred's barrage of questions as they all exited the pub.

The walk back to the twins' flat was an easy one and it wasn't long before they were gathered around the kitchen island with fresh drinks in hand.
"Want us to kill him for you?" Fred offered.
"We won't even charge…" George added with a wistful expression on his face.
"Why does everyone always jump to killing Ron?" Hermione giggled.
"He's the least favourite brother these days," Ginny grumbled, adding a bit more whiskey to her glass.
"Ginny!" Hermione gasped, swatting at her.
"What? It's true!" She put one hand on her cocked hip and leveled a look at Hermione.
"You can't have a favourite and least favourite brother!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief.
"'Course I can. Least favourite changes pretty regularly though, always has. Used to be Percy, right now it's Ron."
"Who's your favourite then?" Hermione gave in with a chuckle.
"Charlie." The twins chorused before she could answer.
"You're not meant to know that!" her cheeks flushed as she sheepishly regarded her brothers.
"It's alright, Gin. Charlie's been your favourite since you were tiny. Though, we think you mixed him and Bill up for a couple years…" George explained.
"Only because they were at school so much when she was little. When they were home for hols she was Charlie's little shadow. Made him barmy." Fred grinned, tilting his glass in her direction.
"Here I thought you'd be hurt if you weren't the favourites." The twins laughed in response, clearly not bothered even a little bit by the thought.
"What about you two then, who's your favourite brother, besides each other?" Hermione asked, brows knit in thought.
"Bill." They answered in unison again.
"Why Bill?" she looked from twin to twin, confused by the choice.
"Who do you think brought us home our first poppers?" Fred laughed.
"Plus he's got that earring…" George added on, gesturing to his own good ear.
"...he is the prettiest of our brothers, even part werewolf." Fred tacked on, picking up the bottle from the counter and leading the group across to the sofa and armchairs.
"I think I get the picture." Hermione laughed as she settled onto one end of the sofa, balancing her glass on the arm carefully. George and Ginny each pulled up an armchair with Fred settling on the other arm.
"Who's your favourite brother now that you and our dimwitted younger brother are on the outs?" George asked with an impish grin.
"Ron was never my favourite." Hermione shrugged, taking a sip from her glass.
"Really?" Fred regarded her curiously.
"Who is it then?" Ginny pressed.
"You never did tell me which older brother you fancied most." Ginny balanced her elbows on her knees and swirled the ice in her glass, considering. Hermione laughed at her serious expression.
"Think you can guess?" she laughed lightly at the three gingers in deep thought.
"Give us a clue?" Fred asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"I'll give you three guesses and a new clue with each guess. First clue, he's great with charms work."
"Not Charlie then, always been bollocks with Charms…" George pointed out.
"Is it Perce? He's got a NEWT in Charms." Ginny guessed.
"No, it's not Percy. Second clue, he was there when we polyjuiced as Harry," she crossed her arms around herself smugly.
"Definitely not Charlie then." Ginny supplied.
"Is it Bill? He's good with charms and was there that night." Fred guessed. Hermione shook her head.
"That just leaves one of us then." George grinned, winking at her.
"That it does. Last clue, he's why Ron is afraid of spiders."
"That's me then! I didn't know I was your favourite, Granger. Is it my devilish good looks or my charming sense of humour that got you?" Fred raised his arms in victory, looking much like the cat who'd caught the canary.
"Honestly. You're an identical twin. And you've both got the same sense of humour," she rolled her eyes in his general direction.
"Tell us, love, why is Fred your favourite of the two of us if we're so much alike?" George pressed.
"Yeah, 'Mione, why Fred and not George?" Ginny gestured between her two brothers.
"S'not because I've got both my ears still is it?" Fred joked.
"It's nothing to do with your ears." She sighed and sat up a little straighter, taking a long pull of her drink.
"If you really want to know it's because you gave me that bruise paste when your punching telescope got me. Anyone else would have let me walk around like that for days thinking it was funny," she smiled softly in his direction.
"George would have given it to you, I just saw you first." Fred shrugged, returning her smile all the same.
"Didn't you give her a Daydream Charm too?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence between them.
"Yeah, she said the magic was 'extraordinary'," his cheeks pinked at the memory.
"I don't suppose it was my handsome twin that you dreamed of instead of ickle Ronniekins?" George teased. Hermione brought her drink to her lips quickly and drained it, trying to mask the growing flush of her cheeks with the glass.
"Can we change the subject, please?" Hermione pleaded, reaching for the whiskey bottle to refill her glass, cheeks still noticeably pink. She was met with a light giggle from Ginny who eventually took pity on her flustered friend.
"You'd be proud, got her to burn something today for purely therapeutic purposes. Barely had to even talk her into it!"
"Cor! What'd you set aflame, Granger?" George's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"A negligee that Ron's… what would you call her, Gin?"
"Slag? Homewrecker? Trollop?"
"Point is, she left it behind and I found it. Burned it up in the kitchen sink." Hermione downed her drink in one, pouring another.
"Might want to slow it down a bit…" Fred took the bottle from her gently and set it back on the coffee table.
"This is my pity party. If I want to drink myself into a stupor I'll bloody well do it. That arse… after all this time," she grumbled.
"Do you know who it was? Want us to send her some Canary Creams?" George asked.
"No idea. Don't much care. Does it really make a difference who it was? After all the time I spent waiting for him to get his act together? Back at school and when he went into Auror training. Ran myself ragged rearranging my schedule around him just so we could see each other more. Moved him into my flat and everything, then he goes and does this…" angry tears pricked at the back of her eyes, a dark look coming across her face.
"How long?" Fred asked, quietly.
"Six months I think. Pretty sure it started when I was still in St. Mungo's," she slumped back onto the couch, clenching her glass tighter than necessary.
"After your potions accident? You almost bleedin' died! And he was off with some other bird?" George jumped to his feet in indignation.
"You sure you don't want us to kill him?" Ginny cut in before George could ask.
"I appreciate the thought, but no. I think your mum and dad will have him pretty well in hand by now." Hermione laughed darkly. The room sat in awkward silence as she drained her glass and set it on the table.
"If I'm honest? I'm not exactly surprised. I kind of always knew I'd end up his ex-girlfriend," she sighed heavily, a look of defeat crossing her face as tears started to flow.
"What makes you say that you seemed to be doing alright until this?" George asked with a slight shake of his head.
"You shouldn't have to fight so hard to keep things just 'alright'. We spent more time trying to have a relationship than we actually did in the relationship. I'm not shocked he stepped out, we weren't even sleeping together at the end."
"Oh, Hermione…" Ginny crossed to her and wrapped her in a hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head. It was only a matter of seconds before she felt the pressure of Fred and George joining the hug, none of them speaking.

Several hours later Hermione found herself sitting on the couch and staring into the flames of the floo Ginny had departed through. She swirled the last of the whiskey around the bottom of her glass, absently wondering just how she'd gotten to this point. George had excused himself to bed already, leaving her and Fred in the two a.m. quiet. His head was resting on her thigh as he told her tales of product testing gone wrong. She was only half listening, her thoughts elsewhere. She emptied her glass and set it on the floor, not wanting to shift him to reach the coffee table. She unconsciously began to run her fingers through his hair, the soft sliding of the ginger strands through her fingers oddly comforting. He sighed contentedly at the attention, losing the thread of his story as she continued to play with his hair. She glanced down at his face and saw a soft smile there, her own lips quirking slightly. She resisted the urge to smooth the back of her hand down the side of his face. She let her mind wander over the last six months, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she truly knew her relationship was over.

"Fred?" she whispered, the need to share her thoughts with someone suddenly urgent.
"Hmmm," his soft eyes opening to lock onto her sad ones.
"Can I tell you a secret?" She worried her bottom lip, debating exactly how to broach the subject she had in mind.
"Sure," his brows knit in confusion.
"You can't tell anyone. Except for George, I guess, because you'll tell him even if I ask you not to."
"If you really don't want me to I won't." She readjusted pulling her knees to her chest and turning to face him as he sat up on the couch next to her.
"I'd prefer if as few people as possible know what I'm about to tell you."
"Alright," he nodded, his face going serious.
"It wasn't an accident," her voice was so low she wasn't sure if he'd heard her at all.
"What wasn't?"
"Six months ago. It wasn't an accident..." she looked away from him, her cheeks aflame.
"What are you trying to say?" he urged, setting a hand on her crossed arms.
"I didn't mess up the ingredients for the potion. I'm the brightest witch of the age, Fred, I didn't mix up the vials." She scoffed and shook her head at the story she'd told everyone months ago. He stared at her in surprise for several long moments, his eyes rapidly searching hers for answers.
"You… were you…Hermione, we're you trying to kill yourself?" he stumbled over the words. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes as she slowly nodded her head.
"Now I really am going to kill him. Did he know?" Fred tightened his grip on her arm unconsciously, his body tensing in anger. He turned away from her for a moment, collecting himself before turning back.
"I don't think so. I think Harry suspected something wasn't quite right with the story, but Ron didn't catch on." His eyes locked on hers again, filled with the depths of numbing despair that she knew from staring at her own reflection. Suddenly, she felt herself begin to cry. To his credit, Fred did not shy away from the display like Ron would have done, he pulled her to his chest and held her there without saying a word.

Her body slowly became racked with sobs, the floodgates from the past several months opening at the kindness. She had cried over Ron on and off all night, but in six months she had not allowed herself to cry over her own pain. The pain he'd been too blind to see, the pain that had driven her to make an attempt on her own life. Fred didn't offer the empty platitudes or concerned murmurings she was expecting, just held her without speaking. It took several moments for her to realize some of the choked sobs were not her own. She clung harder to him, realising he had likely hidden the severity of his own struggle for just as long as she had. She had suspected some of his own injuries since the final battle were not shop accidents, but his own attempts at controlling his pain. Her body shuddered as her tears began to subside, pulling herself from his arms. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks as he rubbed his own face with his sleeve.

"Hermione?" his voice was thick with emotion as he addressed her.
"Yes?"
"I've tried it too. Couple times. Only George knows."
"I thought you might have done," she admitted.
"How did you know?" He sat up a little straighter, trying to figure out how she could have figured it out. She reached out for his left arm and unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, rolling it to above his elbow. She ran her fingers gently over the bright white scar that ran down the length.
"Caught sight of this. That's no shop accident, that's self-inflicted. You didn't go to St. Mungo's though if you had the scar wouldn't look like that. They would have treated it with dittany, but you didn't go because they would have asked questions. George healed it for you." He nodded at her explanation, watching as she traced the scar again.
"I tried to use my wand as a blade. George found me before I'd bled enough to do any permanent damage. He healed me himself, afraid that St. Mungo's would have me committed. He won't leave me alone anymore. Thinks I'm still trying to bump myself off."
"Are you still trying to?" She rolled his sleeve back down and held his hand in between hers.
"I think about it sometimes, but I haven't tried since that first time," he shrugged. She nodded her head and smiled at him, the emotion not completely reaching her eyes.
"Do you still think about it?" He asked.
"Depends on the day. I'm okay most of the time and don't dwell on it," she explained, beginning to play with his hand.
"And the rest of the time?" he pressed.
"The rest of the time I'm not so sure. I haven't tried anything since then…" she bit her lip as she shook her head.
They sat in silence again, she continued to turn his hand over in hers; gently stroking the fingers and twining them with her own.
"Fred?" She looked up at him again.
"Hmm?" He took his eyes off what she was doing with his hand and sought out her eyes again.
"I'm glad George caught you. This world would be so much darker without you," she squeezed his hand in hers before setting it back on his knee.
"I'm glad too. It's not often the brightest witch of the age fails, but you did when it mattered. My idiot brother may not have seen what was going on with you, but he was smart enough to get you to the hospital that night." He tangled his right hand in her hair and leaned her forward so he could leave a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He released her and made to stand, running his palms over his knees.
"Do you want to take my bed and I'll take the couch?"
"I'd rather if we could just sit here, I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight. My body is tired, but..."
"Your mind is still running?" She nodded and he settled back into the cushions, pulling her over to lean against him.
"It's your turn anyway," he teased, running his fingers through her hair.
"And you wonder why you're my favourite Weasley." He chuckled and they sat in silence, watching the flames flicker in the grate.