Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey Cam! To answer your question, yes, I've already submitted this fic to Checkmated.com a week ago as well as thequidditchpitch.org but they're both still pending at the moment. I hope it get picked up, I'd be super happy with that, lol. Currently, this fic is posted here as well as FF.net although I'm having trouble uploading this chapter on FF.net today...typical FF.net, such a diva, lol.
The party was beginning to die down by then, most of the guests had left, but music was still playing in the background. For the life of her, Ginny could never remember who the singer was, but she knew enough to know that it was one of her mother’s favorites. Fred and George were dancing together, making fun of themselves and Bill had Fleur tight in his grasp while Charlie sat with her dad, having a one sided conversation that didn’t seem to mind her brother a bit. Everyone was relaxed and jovial for a change and if she had known that it would only take her wedding to make them laugh again, she wouldn’t mind getting married to Harry Potter everyday.
Harry Potter, her husband. Who knew?
“There was a time when I find your lovesick gaze nauseating.” Ginny raised her head lazily to look into the face of her dance partner. “But tonight it sooths me. I’m happy for you little sister. Oh wait, it’s Mrs. Potter now isn’t it?”
She smiled. Yes, she likes the sound of that.
“My beautiful little sister, who knew eh?”
And he smiled, with that twinkle in his eyes and it was all it took for her to fling her arms around him and hugged him as if she never would ever want to let go. She felt safe here, in his arms, in this place, his soothing voice always lulling her to sleep, just like when they were kids and she couldn’t sleep and he’d talk and talk about nothing and everything and it bored her to death and eventually knocked her out. Sure she has six older brothers in the family, but it had always been him she looked for comfort when she was young.
Things changed for a little when they were both in Hogwarts. They bickered like no other and she always gave him a reason to put on that overprotective older brother streak to test. Oh how he used to annoy and suffocate her…but of all her brothers, she always loved him the most.
“Ginny…”
“I love you.” She cried into his chest. “Don’t you ever leave me.”
When she didn’t get any response to that, she unwillingly look up again, searching for his eyes and realized he was blinking back his tears. The light twitch from the corner of his mouth gave him away though. She wished he’d just give in and cry.
“Ron…”
“I love you too…and I’m not going anywhere.” He choked.
“Promise?”
He nodded. “You shouldn’t cry, it took Hermione forever to put that make up on your face. And that’s saying a lot for Hermione.”
He was brushing a tear on her cheek with his thumb and it reminded her of the day he left for Hogwarts. The train had just left platform 9 ¾ and immediately, she felt the lost. There would be no one left at home to play with her. She remembered hugging her mom and sobbing until she hiccupped and her mom had brushed her tears away just the way Ron was doing it now.
“I don’t think Harry and I should move out so soon, this house is big enough for the four of us.” She blurted out, almost pleading.
Ron was shaking his head, something she’d expected from him. “As much as our parents love us together in this house Ginny, they really want us to learn to live on our own and have our own experiences in life. Why do you think they let Bill and Charlie work so far away from home? Look at Fred and George. It’s your time now.”
“What about you then Ron?”
Ron shrugged. “Someone’s got to stay behind and take care of stuff here. If mom were still-” Ron paused; there was that sadness again, it was gone in a blink of an eye but she saw it. “When you leave, don’t be a stranger to this house yeah? Me and dad accept any home cook or take out food from any Weasleys, and Potters, with open arms.”
“What about Grangers?”
He smiled. His eyes strayed over her head and then fixed on a spot. Ginny didn’t have to look back to know that it was Hermione his eyes were fixed on. She was dancing with Harry.
“Ron?”
He looked down at her again and offered her a smile before pulling her in for a tight hug again. They stayed that way for a very long time. Part of her was excited over the prospects of living with Harry, having their own private house. She was also accepted into Auror training and if things picked up, she might just get to partner with Harry one day. But another part of her worries for her brother and dad, on their own in this house without mom. She had always been the one who took care of business around here.
Was Ron strong enough to restrain dad on his own when he had one of those fits at night? Would he be strong enough to do the laundry, cook a decent meal, clean the house, take care of dad’s every need all on his own?
Who would be there for Ron then? Godric, he’s only eighteen!
“Maybe we can ask Bill to stay here for awhile?”
Ron sighed. “Ginny, they live not far from the Burrow. Besides, I don’t think you’d like the idea of Fleur messing up mom’s kitchen much, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” She smiled. “Maybe Charlie then? He doesn’t have a family of his own to go to.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. Those dragons are his babies!” Ron joked. “We shouldn’t hold him back Gin. We can’t be selfish, there’s a lot of work to do after the war.”
“This is why I love you the most.” Ginny smiled.
Ron raised his left eyebrow and smirked. He then proceeded to kiss her forehead and hugged her again. War really changed a person, Ginny thought. Ron was never one who’d hug his little sister in the open for everyone to see. “I’m so happy for you.”
Hermione woke up in the middle of the night yearning for a glass of water. Her heartbeat was racing a notch faster than normal and there was a sickening feeling tugging at her navel, almost giving her cramps. Her throat felt dry and she was perspiring, the room too dark for her liking and her head felt a tad bit dizzy.
She wasn’t sick, she knew this. This was something else. She had felt this way before, in fact every waking hour during the second war, she walked with this same sensation always following her like blind faith.
Did something happen to Harry or Ginny?
She shook head; that couldn’t be it. She’d get an owl by then if that were the case. She wondered if she had a nightmare…
Blinking the remains of her sleep away, Hermione got out of bed and reached out for her wand on the side table. She muttered lumos under her breath and walked out of the room as quietly as possible. Perhaps getting a glass of drink wouldn’t be so bad after all.
There was complete silence throughout the Burrow and she knew she should be glad that Mr. Weasley hadn’t had a single episode so far (she’d know if he had, his thrashing could wake up the entire occupant of the Burrow), yet that nauseating feeling still tugged at her heart.
She muttered a lighting spell over the kitchen before settling down with a glass of water. She took a big gulp at once, as if the worry that was encompassing her entire being would be washed away by it.
She sighed inwardly, wishing there was a way to find out if Harry and Ginny were okay. She was quite certain now that something had happened to them.
And then it hit her.
“Of course!” Not waiting another second, she barged out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Mrs. Weasley’s clock! Oh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?”
The old clock stood proud in the living room, like a family heirloom. Hermione ran her eyes over the names at once.
Arthur – Home
Bill, Fleur, Rene – Home
Charlie – Away
Fred – Traveling
George – Traveling
Ron – Mortal Peril
Ginny – At Work
Harry – At Work
Hermione – Home
Hermione literally let out a huge sigh of relief, seeing that both Harry and Ginny weren’t in any kind of danger. Of course that only lasted a mere second before her brain finally digested the information fully.
Mortal Peril?
“That can’t be.” Hermione frowned. “He’s here with me!”
Well technically he’s in his room, alone. And he was looking rather pale earlier. And you still feel ill, you know something’s wrong.
“Oh Merlin, please let him be alright!”
She ran up the stairs two steps at a time. It sting her heart when it creeks on the sixth step but she didn’t slow down.
Logic would have told Hermione that she could have apparated straight to Ron’s room but Hermione was never known as someone who could reason with logic when she started to panic. It was just like back in first year when she needed Ron to remind her she was a witch!
She didn’t even pause at the door, didn’t care if she was making too much noise; she wouldn’t be satisfied until she could see his face.
His eyes were closed but his face was set to a frown. He looked as white as a ghost, his lips almost blue, his shirt drenched in cold sweat and his damped hair matted on his forehead. He was almost wheezing in his sleep and he seemed to be trembling.
“Ron!” Hermione reached for him, shaking his shoulders gently. The heat radiating from his body alarmed her at once. “Oh Merlin, Ron, what’s wrong with you?”
-
Ron loves to plan. He hates to plunge his head into something new without any clue what he was going to do when he got there. That would be Harry. The young man who was ruled by his emotions first. It wasn’t a bad thing really, to allow your emotions rule your decisions, it means that a person is sensitive when it comes to feelings.
Not many people know that Ron loves planning. You would never see him walking around with an organizer in his hands. And his behavior of leaving everything homework related to the very last minute didn’t really scream ‘good planner’. Well-organized was Hermione’s forte anyway. She set out a goal and made sure she followed it through.
Ron mapped out his plans in his head. He saw a goal and had at least ten ways planned to get about doing it. He made sure there were no loopholes in any of the links and saw them played out before he even begins. On the outside though, you’d never guess that Ron had a plan brewing. He didn’t feel the need to tell everyone what he was thinking about unless he deemed it fit to do so.
He always laughed when people called him a good strategist yet claimed he was never good at planning. Ron always thought that planning and strategizing come together.
Therefore, suffice it was to say, that Ron was a balance for both Harry and Hermione. The same way that Harry was a balance for both him and Hermione. And that Hermione was a balance for both him and Harry. That was why the three of them work so well together.
And so on a Sunday afternoon, while everyone were busy volunteering to do something, he stayed in his room, like the invalid that people seemed to think of him these days, and planned ways to push Hermione out of his life. And because he loved her more than life itself, he had to make sure that it worked.
He started his plan the next day, early morning when he knew he’d find her already up and busy in the kitchen. She had self-designated herself as the official cook in the house and that was saying a lot because Hermione might be a lot of things, but cooking wasn’t one of them.
When he found her that morning, she had burnt a toast and since food was scarce in the first place, she tried to scrape off the burnt bits and salvage the rest.
He would offer to help – like cutting the potatoes – and then talked about news they had read on the Quibblers. Ron would only talk about specific subjects though and they all concerned the welfare of homeless children or the aged and wizards and witches who were badly injured in the war. He asked her opinion on what she thought could be done for them.
Ron had never seen Hermione more alive than when she started talking about them. Her eyes would water in sympathy, and then fired up with all the ideas she had came up to assist them. He found them all fascinating and with every desire oozing out from her, Ron was even more convinced that he was doing the right thing.
He supported her ideas and told her she should do something about it. That the Ministry could do with someone like her helping out the less fortunate.
Because the Ministry is so bent on fighting left over death eaters, they’d forget about these people unless someone speaks up for them. You could be that someone Hermione, in fact I believe you’re the perfect person for the job, he had said.
“I can’t just barge in there and tell them of my plans, can I?”
“No, you need a plan.”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course! I think you should write a proposal and have Harry signed it. You know the Ministry pretty much kiss his arse these days.”
“Ron!”
“It’s true!”
“I won’t use Harry just to-”
“Do you want to help these kids or not?”
“I do, but-”
“Harry will sign it in a heartbeat, trust me. You’re not using him at all.”
Over the next few days, it was all that Hermione could think of. Ron even turned Percy’s room into a study room for her to do her researches. He woke up early in the morning, taking over duties of preparing breakfast and he wouldn’t see her until late in the afternoon, when she came down for dinner. She would let him read what she had drafted and offered his opinion on them.
When she was ready, it was Fred and George who accompanied her to the Ministry. Ron couldn’t have gone with her if he wanted to, not in his condition. He spent the day taking care of his dad, who has yet to regain all his memories.
When Mr. Weasley was fast asleep (which was often), Ron would sit on the rocking chair next to his parents’ bed and pretended that his mom was out there, busy as always, making sure that the Burrow was taken care of. He was confident that the Ministry would take up the offer Hermione proposed and with it came the next step in his plan.
When the owl came to officially accept her offer and requested that she start working on the new department and recruiting volunteers to work with her, Ron suggested that she buy a house in Hogsmeade.
“What’s wrong with living here?”
“Well, Bill and Fleur are going back to France for awhile and then they’ll come back and buy a house. Charlie’s leaving in two days. The twins’ old apartment miraculously survived the battle. Harry is covered by the Ministry so he’s getting an apartment, I heard all aurors are getting one, sort of a safe house to protect them. That leaves you and me and my dad. And it’s not nice since we’re not…you know…”
“I understand.”
“Besides, didn’t you say in that proposal that the best site to start this whole rebuilding project would be in Hogsmeade? If you stay there, you’d be closer to the people, you get to understand them more and all that stuff. And it’s easier to get to the Ministry from there. And it’s more accessible to Diagon Alley, you can visit your parents more frequently.”
She ate his every word and agreed to move.
The day Hermione moved out, Ron was confined to his bed with high fever. He also requested that no one was to disturb him. He hated being treated like a child who couldn’t do anything on his own. His back was killing him and the wound seem to bleed twice as much lately and he knew if he told even a soul, everyone would be on his case. And even though he was in so much pain, nothing hurt him more than knowing that Hermione had left. He assumed it was easier to let her go without saying goodbye. He knew then he assumed wrong.
She wrote him a letter everyday, asking about his well being and telling him about her first day at work. She told him about her plans in reuniting lost children to their estranged parents and setting up a home for the orphans and promoting and encouraging adoption among Wizarding families.
For every three letters she sent him, he would reply once. And he didn’t write much about what was going on in his life. Gradually, he would reply once every five letters she sent him. Even in her busiest days, Hermione never failed to write to him but Ron was determined to see through his plan. So one day, he stopped replying altogether.
His plan was working; Hermione was soon too busy to write and he never picked up a quill to write and ask about her. He would decline offers when his friends invited him for a night out on the weekend because he knew Hermione would be there.
And because he didn’t need any reminders of how everyone he knew were moving on with their lives with jobs and a place of their own with plans of starting a family with that girl they met in some convention when he still wakes up every morning drenched in his own sweat over a nightmare he couldn’t even remember and having to go another day with the whispers of his mother’s laughter in every nook and corner of the Burrow haunting him.
Would they want to hear about his struggles trying to calm his dad down when he had one of his fits and of late afternoons when he would sit down with him and fed him and told him stories of their family in hope that he’d wake from his catatonic self and said ‘I remember that son!’ and smiled?
Or perhaps he should tell them of his struggle having to adjust living with this bleeding curse? Would they still want to hang out with him if he told them he couldn’t enjoy the taste of firewhisky or spicy food because it gives him cramps and sleepless nights?
Then one day, almost a year after Hermione moved out of the Burrow and when his dad finally started talking and recognizing people, Ron decided to take his dad for walks along Hogsmeade. Ron hated to mingle with crowds because on a busy street, you get shoved and pushed and for someone in his condition, it could mean days stuck in his bed being sick. But he did it anyway, because it would be healthy for his dad.
They were having ice cream because dad said he missed the taste of it, when he saw Hermione coming out of a store with a man. Ron wasn’t familiar with him but enough to know that he was slightly older than he was, probably about Percy’s age if he was still alive.
The man opened the door for her and offered a candy to the young boy who was standing next to whom Ron assumed was the young boy’s father by the door and ruffled his hair. They bade them goodbye and he even let Hermione led the way and offered to carry the extra files she was carrying. It was clear to see that whomever that man Hermione was with, was a gentleman in every sense of the word.
Plus, he’s good looking.
To say that it didn’t hurt him was a plain out right lie. It hurt so deep he thought he was going to pass out right there at the ice cream parlor. But he chose to smile, because his plan was working, very well. This man could very well be the answer.
Of course, Hermione had to turn up at the Burrow the very next day.
She said she came to see how Mr. Weasley was doing. His dad was very happy to see her. Ron left them alone in the living room shortly after, without even telling her how good it was to see her again. He went out to the backyard, tending to the garden. Perhaps it was what he said or the tone of his voice, whatever it was, it must have upset her, because she didn’t come out to talk to him.
It was his latest project – the garden. He figured he should start to try and grow something; it would definitely help to lessen their financial burden.
Ron started loosening the soil, toiling under the hot sun the entire day. He dug weeds and wild plants that were beginning to grow and started adding magical fertilizers in the soil, blending them well. In his head, Ron was reassessing his plans, working out ways to patch this one broken link.
Hermione shouldn’t be there.
He didn’t think he could start from scratch should this plan fell apart. He didn’t think he could handle the heartbreak the second time around. But oh how beautiful she had looked when she appeared at the front door earlier that day. Ron would have pulled her in for a hug if he hadn’t remembered his mission.
She couldn’t be here, not with him. Not after he had convinced Bill and Fleur that they should start a life of their own and move out of the Burrow. Not after he had convinced Charlie that he should continue doing what he does best and not worry about him and their dad. Not after he had convinced the Twins that living with them while working undercover for the Ministry would jeopardize the safety of their dad. Not after he had supported his baby sister’s decision to be an Auror and then worried for her safety all the time.
He felt dizzy all of a sudden. He was tired; from the physical torture he was exerting himself to and the mental torture going on in his head. He was about ready to give up.
“Oh great.”
He was bleeding. He had forgotten to renew the spells and bandage that was supposed to be done three hours ago.
Making sure the stained shirt was hidden from view, he rushed through the kitchen where unfortunately both his dad and Hermione were having their tea, passed them and ran up the stairs to his room. How he even managed to get in there in time would stay a mystery to him.
He locked the door and cast the muffliato spell in the room and set about to change this dressing.
It didn’t surprise him when she knocked on his door.
“Ron?”
He couldn’t bear to stand any longer, not when his back felt like it was on fire. With trembling hands, he muttered a cleaning charm over himself before collapsing on his bed and quickly cut out the bandage.
“Ron can I come in?”
He groaned loudly as he undid the binding spell and started to bleed. Hermione couldn’t hear him, he kept telling himself. It was okay.
“Ron, I know you’re bleeding, there were stains on the steps…”
Ron drowned her voice out by his own screams, willing for the salves to quickly heat up in his hand. He didn’t think he could knead it any second longer.
“Please, let me help you?”
The salve was hot enough now and without giving himself a chance to dwell into what he was going to do next, he slapped the offending object to the wound. It sizzled immediately upon contact.
He knew she couldn’t hear him, but Ron still gritted his teeth and forced himself not to cry.
“Ron, why are you doing this to me? Don’t you miss me? It’s been almost a year since I heard from you. What changed? I…Ron…don’t you love me anymore?”
She was crying, right outside his door and every being in him wanted him to open that door and tell her how much he missed her. How much he loved her.
But he remembered. He loved her, and because of that, he had to do this.
“Please open the door Ron, let me in, let me help you.”
As the pain subsided, Ron used what was left of his energy to bandage the wound. He lay in bed in a fetal position, listening to Hermione’s never ending pleas right outside his room.
He didn’t let her help him that day, but for the first time since he had cradled his dead mother in his arms, Ron allowed himself to break down and cried along with Hermione. The door the only thing that separated both of them.
“Ron, please, wake up!”
Ron didn’t even flinch. The only sound emitting in the room other than Hermione’s pleas were the wheezing of his breath.
“Ron, don’t do this to me! I know you can hear me, please, open your eyes!”
His eyes remained closed, didn’t as much as flutter for her. And as if to add insult to injury, she noticed his nose was beginning to bleed.
Hermione was lost. She couldn’t apparate and left him there alone yet he needed help.
“Think Hermione, think! What do you do to wake some-” She didn’t even finish her sentence when the idea struck her. “Of course!” Reaching out for her wand, she waved it over Ron’s body and muttered Ennervate.
She waited in anticipation, her brain already thinking of other alternatives she could try out should this one failed.
Ron’s eyes didn’t flutter but went immediately wide opened as he gasped for air painfully, his hand reached out for hers. Hermione grabbed for it and her vision blurred from her own tears. She knew she needed to make him stay awake as long as possible while she think of the next step to get him to St. Mungo’s.
“Ron…Oh Godric…you’re very sick, I need to bring you to St. Mungo’s! Please stay awake for me okay? You can’t go back to sleep Ron, do you hear me?” She said through her tears.
She thought she saw Ron nodded slightly before his lips parted. She moved closer still, trying to make out what he was saying. She felt her tear dropped on his cheek as she lowered herself and his hot breath hitting hers. It unnerved her for a second, realising how high his temperature must have been.
And then she heard his voice, barely a whisper in her ears. “Help me.” It was all that Hermione needed to hear. She’d bring Ron to St. Mungo’s if that were the last thing she’d ever do.
