Well, here's the final installment for your perusal. Thank you for reading it, I hope you enjoyed it, I enjoyed writing it, and thank you to those of you who took the time to review. All of them are much appreciated.
Well, that's all for this one. Cheers again :D
Sarah XxXxX ;)
Chapter 7 – Unknown to the world
In those first few weeks after Ron died I tried to envisage a life without him, but as hard as I tried I couldn't. I was given extended paid compassionate leave from work, which didn't really help matters much as I then had hours with nothing to do; there is only so much housework you can do before there really is nothing else that needs cleaning. I tried to read some of my favourite classic muggle novels but I found that every few pages my eyes glazed over and I relived the night Ron died over and over in my head.
I had plenty of visitors, Harry had practically moved in, as had Ginny. They felt it was up to them to make sure I was all right, and for the first week I was back at home, they took it in turns to stay the night so I would have someone to talk to if I wanted or needed to. I didn't though, I didn't want to talk to anyone, and I didn't want to do anything. I lost a stone in weight, not that I was particularly bothered, eating was the last thing on my mind, but Harry and Ginny had taken getting me to eat upon themselves too, and it was just easier to eat than to argue. For the first few weeks though I couldn't eat a great deal without bringing it back up. It wasn't pleasant, if there's one thing I hate, it's being sick. I hated it as a child, and I still hate it now.
Two months later and I seemed, to everyone else, to be getting on with things. I was back at work and glad of the distraction for eight hours of the day, nine or ten if I didn't leave when I was supposed to. It didn't bother me though, anything was better than going home to an empty house.
My friends around me were happier now that I had put the weight I lost back on, I was slightly bothered that I had put more on than I had lost to start with, but that really was the least of my worries.
Three years later and I look back upon that time wondering what would have happened if I hadn't made the discovery I did. Weeks and weeks after the funeral I found a battered old shoebox in the cupboard where Ron kept his pride and joy, his mark two Firebolt. I had put off clearing out that cupboard for as long as I could, but eventually I felt drawn towards it, knowing that the only things of Ron I had left where in that cupboard.
After tentatively peering on shelves, not wanting to disturb anything, I opened the shoebox and at the bottom I found a piece of parchment, which had been crumpled and then flattened out again. I looked at it and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. It was a letter Ron wrote to me the Christmas before we killed Voldemort and, therefore, the Christmas before Ron proposed to me.
As soon as I opened it I knew what it was, because I had done exactly the same thing, so had Harry, so had Ginny. We never discussed it, but we all caught each other at some point during the brief time we spent together that Christmas Eve and day, huddled over various pieces of parchment trying to get our innermost thoughts down to be left for the ones we loved in case of the worst happening.
When the war ended I destroyed mine, I suppose it wasn't necessary, but I didn't want that type of negativity and the memories of those dreadful times clouding our new life together. Apparently though, Ron had kept his letter to me.
My eyes looked at each word and my heart broke in two again but there was something in those words that made me stand tall and hold my head high. In doing what I was doing, moping around and not talking to anyone about Ron, not even the good times, I was depriving myself and those around me of remembering what a truly wonderful person he was.
I wish I could say from that second on I was different, but I can't. I tried and tried, and sometimes I managed to be the person Ron wanted me to be if anything happened to him, strong, supportive to others and happy for the times we had had. But other times I just wanted to hide away and never see the light of day again.
A week after I found his letter everything changed. I was at work and I collapsed, I came round a few seconds after I hit the floor but my work colleagues were insistent on taking me to St. Mungo's for a check up. It was there, two months after Ron had died that I found out I was carrying his child. The Healer didn't know what to say, she knew about what had happened to Ron, but didn't know anything about me. She was spared any small talk by Ginny hammering on the door, insisting she be told exactly what had happened to me. The Healer had finished her checks and looked at me for some agreement to letting Ginny in the room. I nodded my head a fraction and the next thing I knew Ginny was at my bedside wrapping her arms around me asking what had happened.
After several prompts from Ginny I found my voice.
'I'm…er…I'm pregnant.'
Ginny's mouth fell open and she stared at me.
'You're pregnant? Is it…is it Ron's?
I was so annoyed by the fact that Ginny had thought there might be a chance it was someone else's that I sharply turned my head to her and glared at her. On seeing my reaction she held her hand up in apology.
'I'm sorry, that was a terrible thing to ask, of course it's Ron's.'
I dropped my gaze and stared at nothing in particular. I couldn't take it in; I was going to have a baby, Ron's baby. I thought back to the last night we spent together, the night before he died – but then something must have gone wrong, we hadn't decided we were trying for a baby until the next night. I decided we mustn't have cast the charms properly, that was the only explanation.
I started shaking, I couldn't cope with this, not without Ron, it would have been hard enough with Ron there with me, never mind on my own whilst barely able to look after myself properly.
'Hermione, are you ok about this?'
'I can't do it…Ginny I can't do this on my own, I'm not strong enough, how am I going to look after a child?'
'You can do this Hermione; you will have so much support throughout everything. This child will have five uncles, six if you count Harry, it'll have me, it'll have two sets of grandparents, and it'll have you. And when they're older and needs to think about things, he or she'll go outside and look at the stars, and they'll have their dad too. He'll be watching over them with the most protective hand, guiding them on their way.'
'I wish he was here now. I need him and he's not here. He should be standing here with me, this is what he wanted Ginny.'
'And if he could stand here now and tell you something, do you know what he'd say? He tell you to make sure you teach his child how to play Quidditch, and how to break as many rules as possible at school without being caught, and to bring them up supporting the Chudley Cannons and take them to a game once in a while. He'd tell you that you are going to make a brilliant mother, which you will be.'
I fell silent; I wanted to believe what she said, but I wasn't sure if I could.
I was discharged from the hospital that night and even though Ginny wanted to stay with me I had insisted she go home. I also asked her to keep my news to herself, well I said she could tell Harry – she might have gone insane if she couldn't tell anyone – but I wanted to be the person to tell the rest of my family and friends my extremely unexpected news.
I sat on the sofa all night, not wanting or needing to go to sleep. I expected myself to break down and sob all the night through but I didn't. Inside I was screaming and cursing the world for taking my unborn child's father away from him or her, I was crying because I would have to do this on my own, yes I would have support but it wouldn't be the same as having Ron by my side at every difficult decision, or to take it in turns to be the bad guy and tell them they can't go out and play; it would have to be me every time. Although I was torturing myself with all these thoughts you wouldn't have known it to look at me. I looked as calm as anything. Just sat there.
That was how it was from that moment on, that night I made the decision that I had to be strong. It wasn't just about me now, there was a child, mine and Ron's child involved and I had to do everything in my power to protect them and give them as good a life as I could.
Three years later and I look at our son, Joshua Ronald Weasley and see his father in him in everything he does. Ron got one of his wishes, he has my eyes, but I got mine too; he has Weasley Red hair and the odd freckle on his nose. It has yet to be seen whether Ron will get his other wish, and Joshua will turn out to be a bookworm like me, but whatever he turns out like I know Ron would be so proud, as I am.
I still scream inside occasionally, when Joshua's crying, or he's being naughty and won't do what I ask him to – namely the times I could do with another helping hand, that of his father – but I don't show anyone else, especially Joshua.
I talk to him about his dad all the time, I tell him what a good person he was, how he was brave, sensitive and kind, and I keep telling him I'll buy him his first broom as soon as he's old enough to learn to fly.
I kept Ron's cupboard as it was, it was in there that things changed for me and it is in there that I hope Joshua will learn about his father and the person he was.
Last night I was putting Joshua to bed and he said something that made me stop in my tracks.
'Night night my darling, sweet dreams,' I said after kissing his forehead.
'Night mummy,' Joshua replied.
I stood up and walked towards his door and I heard my son speak again.
'Night daddy,' he said waving out the window as he did.
I turned slowly and saw him waving still. He stopped and put his arm back under his quilt and shut his eyes.
Tears burned my eyes but I stayed silent.
That was the seventh way I cried – Unknown to the world.