A Mourning to Remember

“The devil…What beastly incidents our memories insist on cherishing!”
-Eugene O’Neil (Strange Incidents, 1928)

****

Funny how screaming didn’t need sound for him to hear it. Look at me, he thought desperately, just look at me. She did, and he recoiled as if he had been slapped. He struggled all the more. No, fight it Hermione, fight dammit!

“Hermione!” Ron continued to bellow her name, dragging his feet to slow down his captor. Her gaze had followed him to the end; but her eyes were dull and listless, as if she had already given up. This terrified him more than anything else.

He was thrown facedown on the stone floor, and he stumbled as he tried to get up; he was still tied to Harry, Griphook, and Dean. “HERMIONE!” he sobbed, scrambling to get to the stairs. Someone gave a deep throaty chuckle before the prison door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness. The hollow echo hadn’t yet faded away before he heard an awful, drawn out scream that made his blood freeze in his veins.

Ron woke, gasping for oxygen, his face drenched with sweat. He was staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath while the nightmare flickered across his consciousness. He tried pushing it away, but it pushed back.

“Ron, you alright, mate?” Harry murmured from his direct right.

“M’ fine,” he mumbled in answer.

“Same dream?”

“Same dream.”

He sighed, crawling out of bed with the air of someone who had done this many times before. Before, he was always the one asking that question, it had never been him who had been thrashing about in his sleep, trying to forget the images that seemed seared into his retinas. Crossing over to the door, he shook his head like a dog trying to rid its ears of water, but the screaming just wouldn’t stop.

Of course, it didn’t make it any easier, where he was. Shell Cottage had been their safe haven, a place of respite from the very dangerous world around them. This place had seen happy times, but this place had also seen pain and suffering in such high amounts that he was surprised that the very foundation of the house didn’t cave in from it. Ron wondered what the walls would say if they could talk. Would they sob or would they sing?

The house held its breath as he crossed the shadowy hall, his cautious steps making the floorboards squeak in protest. Every night he had stayed here, the routine was always the same. The door creaked as he poked his head inside. He spotted Ginny, caught in peaceful slumber, but that wasn’t who he was here for. Ron squinted, trying to find her unmistakable form among the shadows, but to no avail.

Praying that he wouldn’t wake his sister, Ron tiptoed to the other bed, peering down onto the mattress. No one was there, and both blankets were gone. His insides squirmed in anxiety.

Where was she? Ron glanced around one last time before returning to his room to fetch a jumper from his duffel.

“Where are you going?”

“Out for a minute, I need some air.” Harry didn’t pursue the subject any further. By now he was too used to Ron’s nighttime routine to be very concerned. He’ll be fine, he’s done this before; it’s nothing new. With that hardly reassuring thought, Harry turned over and went back to sleep.

She was nowhere to be seen; the bathroom, living room, and kitchen were all empty, empty, empty.

Ron’s feet were speckled with dew as he strolled into the cool, clear night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was easy to tell that it would be morning in a matter of hours.

Unconsciously, he found himself being drawn to the grave, like it was some great cosmic magnet. It was on his way there when he nearly tripped over a figure sprawled on the grass. He squinted through the dark.

“Hermione?”

Ron breathed in sharply; she looked so pretty lying there, her russet hair fanning out like a halo, her face upturned to the pinpricks of light that pockmarked the dark sky.

“Ron?” She got to her feet, surprised to see him.

“I had a feeling you’d be here.” He jerked his head towards the tombstone. She sighed, nodding.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, I reckon that makes two of us.”

She turned towards him, a questioning look in her eyes. He sat down on the blanket, and she followed suit. No one spoke as they both gazed at the tiny mound that was already flourishing with foliage.

“Can you believe that it’s been a year, Ron, a whole year since the last time we were here?”

“Not really.” It was true, though. After Harry’s triumph over Voldemort, everything seemed to have become a blur. There was the restoration of Hogwarts, and the inevitable start of a new term, along with the gradual readjusting to a very different world. But it was coming to terms with himself that had been so challenging over this last year. Every day was a struggle to overcome the past and face the present.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He hadn’t expected the words to come out so quickly and easily as they did. Yet there they were, invisible question marks hanging in the air.

She didn’t answer, but instead asked him the same. He stared at the ground, deep in thought. He didn’t want her to worry about him, she had plenty to worry about on her own.

“I dunno, I’ve just had a lot to think about, that’s all.”

“Yes, I suppose having your first niece or nephew would give you a lot to think about.”

“Yeah.”

Fleur was scheduled to have the child within the next month, and she had asked for Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry’s help to set up the house for the baby shower which was to take place the following afternoon. It certainly gave them something productive to do during their Easter holidays, but now he was starting to have second thoughts about returning to the cottage.

As if she read his mind, Hermione said “Ron, to tell you the truth, before I really wasn’t sure why I wanted to come back.”

“Why?”

“Well, you do realise that it really has been a year since we came here, to the day, in fact. If I can remember correctly, by this time we probably would have just arrived.”

Ron shifted his attention to the beach, and suddenly the blanket and the grave had vanished. He was back by the shoreline with the cold wind numbing his skin, still recovering from the unpleasant sensation of abrupt Apparation. His feet had sunk into the soft sand from the weight of supporting a deathly pale and unconscious Hermione…

“Ron, what’s wrong?”

“What?” The trance was broken, and he abruptly found himself staring at her, who in turn was surveying him with deep concern.

“You look terrible, like you just saw a ghost or something.” He unclenched his hands, which he had unknowingly curled into fists so tight that he could see his blanched knuckles sticking out of his flesh.

“You’re shaking, what’s the matter?” She looked pained, miserable even.

Ron hastily wiped away the moisture that had collected in his eyes.

“It’s nothing, really. Listen, I’ve got to go, I just wanted to know where you were.” He started to get up, but she touched his hand and he halted in mid movement.

“Please stay.”

Her eyes pleaded with him, and he allowed her to pull him down into a sitting position again. There was another silence as Ron considered what she had just said. She needs me, she actually wants me here, with her.

“You know, I never got the chance to thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“For everything, Ron. I really don’t remember a lot from that night, just quick little moments, really. I recall getting here, and you taking me to one of the rooms. I didn’t want to let you out of my sight, if memory serves.”

Ron chuckled darkly.

“No, you didn’t.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing. It was just instinct, you know what I mean? It was like I was on autopilot or something. I did what I did because that’s just what felt right at the time. If there was anyone who was the hero that night, it was you.”

“Don’t say that, Ron. Just don’t.” Hermione stood up, brushing the grass off of her pajama pants and avoiding his gaze. “I-I think I’ll turn in, it’s been a long day.”

He stood up reluctantly as she gathered the blanket up in her arms. They headed back inside, each enveloped in their own thoughts.

“Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope’s true gauge,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.”

-Excerpt from The Passionate Man’s Pilgrimage by Sir Walter Raleigh


****

They neared the living room, and Ron stopped, turning towards her thoughtfully.

“Can you wait a moment, Hermione? I have something for you.”

She sank into the couch, wrapping herself up in the comforter. The fire was lit with a lazy flick of his wand, while he reached into his trouser pocket.

“I found this a couple of days ago, and I thought of you.” He pulled out a necklace that was endowed with a fine gold chain, and at the bottom was a scallop shell. Ron offered it with trembling hands, and her finger traced the outline of her initials that were delicately engraved onto the surface.

“It’s absolutely perfect, how did you-?”

“Trust me, it wasn’t easy, I must have ruined a dozen before I finally got it right. May I?”

Nodding, Hermione pulled her hair back and turned around obediently. In a heartbeat, he undid the clasp with tremulous fingers and got it around her neck.

“Hermione, what is that?” She shivered as goose bumps erupted on her body at his touch.

“What?” She tried to gather her thoughts, which had been thrown into a frenzied mess of cognition.

“This.” His index finger carved a path across her shoulder blade, and her knees nearly buckled as her bones had suddenly became as limp as overcooked pasta.

“What is it Ron?”

He didn’t reply, and she tried twisting around to see what he was talking about.

“A scar.” His husky voice was a mere breath of a whisper.

“Don’t be silly, I’ve always had that, surely you remember-”

“That’s not the one I’m talking about. These-” She could feel his probing stares burning into her back as he discovered more and more.

“Bloody hell, Hermione-” He was scared, she could tell. Guiltily, she faced him, but not quite meeting his eyes.

“Do you know how those got there?” he asked slowly.

She shook her head resolutely, tears starting to fall. He studied her, anxiety etched into every crevice on his face. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright? Just drop it.” Hermione started to walk back to her room. He took her arm, gently restraining her.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he started delicately. “That curse wasn’t supposed to leave any-”

“I don’t know Ron, alright? All I remember was her t-torturing me and then I was close to passing out-t and t-then G-greyback was standing over me…” Teardrops now pouring down in torrents, she tugged her arm away.

How could she keep something like this from me? He deliberated this as he watched her wrap her arms around herself, whether for warmth or some other reason, he wasn’t sure.

He can’t stand to be near me Hermione thought, trying to hold back the sorrow that clogged her throat, suffocating her. I never wanted him to see that, how could I be so stupid?

“How did you know about them?” Ron inquired softly, coming toward her.

Should I really tell him more? Do I really need to hurt him more than I have already?

“I-I heard Fleur that night, before I went to see Dobby’s grave with you lot. She thought I was still asleep, but I heard every word.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Don’t be thick,” she said in a stuffy voice. “It wasn’t your fault, there wasn’t anything you could do.”

“Let me help you.”

“How?”

“Come over and I’ll show you.”

Intrigued, she did as she was told and sat down next to him.

“What’re you going to do, Ron?”

“I want to help, and this is the only way. Whatever happens, Hermione, just don’t-don’t look away.”

There was a gasp as it dawned on her what he was about to do. Hermione shut her eyes and moved away from him. “I can’t let you do that, it’s not right…. You’ve been through so much already-”

“I can handle it, I was there that night, wasn’t I?”

She still didn’t look convinced.

“ I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No, there’s no point-”

“No point, Hermione! For Merlin’s sake, you don’t think I see what happens to you every night you’re here-”

“What are you saying, were you spying on me in my sleep or something?!”

“No” Ron shot back defensively. “It was because, because I was worried about you.”

Worried about me? What the hell is he on about?

“I-” He looked down at his trainers, the tips of his ears starting to redden. “I have…err…dreams about you, about that night and sometimes… I get nervous about you, no matter where you are.”

The silence was deafening; only the mournful sound of the surf pounding the shoreline was heard.

“Ron, you’ve got nothing to be worried about. I’m fine, really. I’m alive, maybe a little scarred, but the worst is over now. We’re safe.”

“You’re not okay, and neither am I; we both know that.”

“Please, just trust me Hermione. It’ll all turn out. Let me help you.” His indigo irises were begging for confirmation.

I can’t do this to him, what if he can’t handle it, he can’t make me do this…

“I won’t force you, I know it’ll just make things worse if I do.”

“Ron, I just-” she looked away from him and continued quietly, “I don’t know if I can.”

He took her hand and squeezed it in response.

“It’ll be different this time, this time we’ll be together.”

Ron saw the fear flicker to life on her face, but there was something else as well, a look of determination, a hell-bent ferocity that he had never seen before in her.

“There’s one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Once you see what I saw that night, I get to see what you saw that night.”

“You know Legilimency?”

She gave him with such a typical, Hermione-ish expression that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Honestly Ron, d’you really think that while Snape was giving Harry lessons back in our fifth year I wasn’t going to read up on it, or even practice it on my own?”

When all she got was a blank look she pressed on.

“Ginny even let me try it on her a couple of times.”

“So you’re sure?”

She took a steadying breath, and nodded. He could see her arm trembling against the cushions.

Ron gave her an encouraging smile, and locked his eyes onto hers. Pointing his wand, he whispered “Legilimens!”

****

“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.”
-Pierce Harris

Immediately, the cottage disappeared, and they were back in Malfoy Manor. Hermione jerked away, but he held her fast.

He could see himself being dragged alongside Harry and the others, and he found himself being pulled into the middle of the room by the roots of his hair.

Bellatrix towered over him, sneering. “Where did you get the sword?” Silence greeted her, as he tried to think of something, anything.

Lestrange raised her wand, and he prepared himself for the inevitable pain. But it didn’t come. In amazement, he stared down at himself, watching as his body reacted to the agony he couldn’t feel.

Ron could hear shrieking and sobbing, and with a pang in his heart, he realised it was coming from him, somewhere deep inside himself.

Lestrange said something in her low and menacing voice. There was a grunt, then laughter as his legs gave out when he was pulled to his feet.

“Don’t worry, I got you girlie.”

A small moan escaped his lips as Bellatrix advanced, finally stopping inches from his face.

“That’s just a taster, Mudblood. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me how you got it.”

His brain was being tugged in a million different directions; he had to make something up, try to get her off the scent…But before he could even finish the thought, the Manor had disappeared and he knew that his thoughts were no longer his own…

Ron heard, as though she was miles away from him, “If you’re not going to tell me, missy, then you’re going to have to show me.”

He was on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, passing a compartment, when he spotted a youth with flaming orange hair chatting with a frail looking boy sporting untidy jet black hair and crooked glasses.

He instantly recognised the infamous Harry Potter, (he had read plenty about him already) but he found his gaze lingering on the other boy. He wanted to impress him, so he started blabbering on about all the course books he had learned over the summer. To his dismay, the red-headed boy just stared at him in puzzlement.

“I’m Hermione Granger by the way, and who are you?”

“Err…Ron Weasley.”

“Ron” he thought as he turned around and headed back to his compartment. “I hope he’s in Gryffindor…”

The scene disappeared, and now he saw himself being clobbered by the White Queen in the catacombs of Hogwarts. He cried out as he fell to the ground with a muffled thump.

“Pathetic,” Bellatrix hissed, her wand rising and falling multiple times. But still the images kept coming….

Now he was looking down at himself in the hospital wing, muttering.

“Erm-i-o-nee” he groaned, turning over on his side.

Ron’s spirits soared as tenderness exploded inside his chest, feeling happier then he had ever felt in his life…

“Where’s the sword?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” he wailed.

Ron gaped in wonder as his seventeen-year-old self came forward, holding the mangled remains of Voldemort’s locket and wearing a bemused expression.

He saw him open his arms rather gracelessly, and he wondered if this was just another dream…

Bellatrix’s fury broke as the spell seemed to reverberate through his body, and he screamed worse than before.

“How dare you try to conceal-”

Then a truly evil grin lit her gaunt face. She fixed her gaze on him with a undying fervor, and he yelped as images started to flood into his mind that he had never seen before…

He saw himself running toward them, and there was a flash of green light before he tumbled to the ground, his prone body thudding to the floor with an awful finality, his eyes glassy and barren.

“NOOOOO!” He fought against his captor, but the wolf held him fast, cackling.

“Where’s your hero now, Mudblood?” Bellatrix leered as she cut through the air once again with her wand.

“Stop, please-”

Now he saw himself being cornered in a dark forest, and Greyback was advancing towards him. Then there was an awful yell and a strange ripping sound…

* “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?” *

* “We found it-we found it- PLEASE!” *

He was being buffeted with countless horrendous images at once, Ron being tortured, Ron being killed, Ron being attacked…

* “You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!” *

Ron could hear Bellatrix yelling again, and his strength was gradually seeping away….

“I don’t know anything about it, please… LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

He clutched at his skull, his brain feeling as though it were being pried apart layer by layer with a scalpel.

“It’ll be his turn when I’m through with you; you know that don’t you?” Bellatrix sauntered over, glaring at him through her heavily lidded eyes.

“Let’s see if we can make him scream a little louder, shall we?”

Sharp nails were scraping into his skin, digging in harder by the second. He could feel the blood rising through his shredded coat, and there was a mangled, almost inhuman cry for mercy. It did not come.

I want to die, I want to die….Death is better than this. Without warning he was dropped onto his back, and he cried out as his wounds and the ground made direct contact.

“I could let him have his way with you, Miss Mudblood, unless you have something to show me.”

The odd feeling of Legilimency returned, and he was terrified that he would reveal something…but he shouldn’t have worried; it seemed his visions gravitated around one person.

I can’t let her do this…

Suddenly, there was a noise coming up from the floor below, a frantic pounding that seemed to coincide with the desperate thumpings of his heart. The vibrations tickled his back, and he desperately twisted his head around to find the source. But there was something else as well, someone screaming his name without end…

His own face swam before him, as vivid as though he was standing there in front of his face.

I have to do this…For Ron, for Ron…

With an enormous effort, he closed his mind to the intruder, black spots starting to blur his vision. Briefly he spotted Bellatrix getting to her feet, a look of pure shock and anger plastered to her harsh features.

I’m sorry, so sorry Ron, I love you. Then nothing.

***

Ron’s grip slackened, and Shell Cottage came back into view. A million questions swarmed his brain, but all he was concerned about was Hermione, who had curled into herself, sobbing.

Sickening guilt gnawed at his stomach.

“Hermione, I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry,” (How many times was that going to be said tonight?) “I didn’t realise that when I saw all that stuff…so did you.”

Ron shuffled his feet.

“But I really don’t get why I didn’t feel-”

“Any pain? You shouldn’t have.”

Hermione continued her deadpan stare at the wall, her expression unusually hard. He could sense the sadness behind the every syllable.

“Legilimency only extracts emotional and mental memories, not physical ones.”

Ron embraced her, clenching his jaw against the emotion that welled up inside him like a near-erupting volcano. Hermione was shaking, and he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I was being so selfish, I just wanted to help, and now look where we are…”

Hermione brought up her head to stare at him, brown into blue. “You must think I’m a twit, I hate being so, so-”

“Utterly brilliant and amazing and the single bravest girl I’ve ever met?”

She inhaled deeply. “Ron, I’ll never regret what I did that night…never.”

“Hermione, I had no idea. As if the Cruciatus curse wasn’t enough…How were you able to shut her out?” He shook his head in amazement.

“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?” She straightened up against the couch. “I remembered you when you were trying to get to me from the cellar. Thinking about you gave me focus…it always has, Ron.” She gave a small smile.

He was silent, and looking down on her, he was flooded almost overwhelmingly with affection for this woman, his best friend, who had been willing to give up everything for him.

“I just… I can’t believe that you thought of me, of all people. That whole time we were there, you never stopped. Bloody hell, you didn’t even think of your parents.”

She looked down at the floorboards, the corners of her mouth turned up, and there was a faint pink hue apparent on her cheeks.

“Well, I guess that’s that. I have no more secrets, Ron. I suppose it’s your turn now.”

“What?” It caught him off guard.

“Ron” Hermione said quietly, but he had already passed her his wand; she had cocked her head slightly, revealing a thin, jagged mark that glowed white in the dim light.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

He nodded, bracing himself against the onslaught of memories.

“Legilimens!”

They were both back in the cellar, and he once again felt the sting of his knuckles slamming repeatedly against the stone. He yelled himself hoarse, ignoring the bruises that were surely festering under his skin.

She screamed again above him, and he got a flash of her laughing, just laughing at one of his many antics. Ron pounded the slabs, and his mind was starting to drift….

Hermione had her hands on his shoulders, and he tried to keep his breathing even as they swept over the dance floor. Her lilac-colored dress whispered over the ground, and in one blissful moment he forgot how bloody clumsy he was, and how tight his dress robes were.

Quite frankly, he couldn’t care less that Krum was jealously scowling at them over his glass of champagne, or that soon, much too soon, the three of them would embark on the most dangerous mission of their lives…

He and Harry had just escaped from their prison, but Ron still found himself trapped in his own personal hell. He spotted her, lying there at Bellatrix’s feet, not moving.

The musty odour of Grimmauld Place overpowered him as he looked up at Hermione, half-asleep.

“Ron, what if something happens to us, to Harry…what if we…” Her whispers broke off abruptly as he, despite the logical voice screaming in his head to stop, grabbed her hand for reassurance…

He dragged her out from underneath the shattered remains of the chandelier, his heart somewhere in his throat, breaking.

He was eleven again, staring at the bushy haired, rather bossy girl who had her hands on her hips, trying to keep up with her.

“I’m Hermione Granger, and you are…”

The cellar dissolved, and now the room where Ginny and Hermione had shared in the cottage came into view. The latter had just woken up hyperventilating, sweat cascading from her scalp.

Ron bolted from the chair as though electrically shocked. “Shhh…you’re okay, you’re okay…”

He gathered her up in his arms, and started to rock her. Before he knew it, he was singing, actually singing to her, the same lullaby he had heard since he was a small child. She quieted down, her fingers still tightly clutching his shirt.

****

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”
-Mark Twain

Once again the scene disappeared and they were thrust into the present, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth.

Ron shuddered involuntarily, his indigo irises haunted and glazed. “We couldn’t get out…” he trailed off in a strangled whisper, looking at her pleadingly.

Without speaking, she reached towards him, and he allowed her to hold him. For a moment his tears mingled with hers.

“I begged them” he bleated feebly, continuing to shake uncontrollably, “I wanted them to take me instead.”

“I know you did, I know-” Her voice broke.

She cleared her throat. “It was you that night when I woke up… I thought I had remembered singing, but I assumed I was dreaming…Ron I’m so sorry.”

“What in the name of Merlin’s saggy Y-fronts do you have to be sorry for?” He stared at her incredulously.

“It was her fault, Hermione, that monster’s fault-”

“Don’t say that-”

“Surely you don’t deny that, do you? You know better than anyone what she’s capable of…”

“Yes, yes I do. But-”

“But what?”

Hermione rose, staring at the glowing embers.

“That night, when you were trying to...err…comfort me, that wasn’t the only time I ever had nightmares about her. In fact, every damn night she was there, taunting me like my own personal demon, bent on my suffering.”

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with moisture.

“I hated her, Ron. I loathed everything about her. Actually-”

Her skin flushed with embarrassment.

“When we got to Hogwarts to look for the Horcruxes, I hoped I would find her; I hoped I could inflict a tiny piece of the agony that she forced me to endure. I wanted her to understand the hell that I went through.”

“Then something strange happened; when your mum finally finished her off, I felt no triumph, no satisfaction. Actually, those feelings of anger and resentment towards her died when she did.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was glad she was gone so she couldn’t inflict any more pain; cause any more suffering. When I saw her lying there in the Great Hall, I saw firsthand how hatred and fury can twist a person, how it can kill them slowly from the inside out.”

“I didn’t want to turn out like her, Ron, I really didn’t. You have no idea how much I felt like you did when Fred died. You wanted to kill Death Eaters, to avenge his memory.”

She didn’t quite meet his gaze. “You had a better reason for causing someone else pain. I didn’t. I was selfish.”

Shock rippled through Ron’s body and incomprehension froze his brain.

“But you still forgave her?”

Hermione examined him with mild interest, as though he was one of her old Ancient Rune assignments that needed to be analyzed and translated before she could make any sense out of it.

“Surprised, are you?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be; I mean you are you.”

She grinned, and then sidled up to him, sitting closer to him then she did before.

“And what does that mean?”

“It proves exactly what my suspicions were, Hermione. You see the best in everyone, even in gangly gits like me.”

“That’s fine with me Ron, because you’re my gangly git.” With that, her lips found his, and she kissed him harder than she had ever kissed him before.

He detached himself after a moment, the shadow of a grin on his face.

“What?” For the first time all night, she looked self-conscious.

“Am I shocking you Ronald Weasley?”

“No, it’s just…toothpaste.”

The look she had made him want to burst out laughing.

“It’s just, after all these years, I see that being the daughter of bentists, or whatever they’re called, hasn’t affected your personal hygiene one bit.”

She giggled, and shook her head in exasperation.

“They’re called dentists, Ron, dentists.”

Their lips connected again, but this time, he was ready. He wound his fingers in her sweet smelling hair, every pore in his body filling with her intoxicating aroma.

Ron pulled back rather unwillingly, panting. Their foreheads rested against each other, brow on brow.

“That’s…it.”

Ron drew in a shaky breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt.

“I can’t stand this anymore, Hermione. Take it off.”

She pushed herself back on her hands, bewildered.

“Come again?”

“Take it off.”

Hermione’s eyes were blazing, and with a sinking feeling he realised what he had just said, the exact opposite of what he had meant.

Ron instinctively caught the hand that was meant for his face.

“Let me go-Let me go you absolute arse, Ronald Weasley, how dare you-” She tried to wriggle out of his grip.

“Hermione, Hermione” he said softly. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh really, you masochistic, royal pain in the-”

“I meant the necklace, Hermione.”

“The-?”

Her eyes widened, and the struggle ended immediately.

“Ohh. Ron I’m sorry, I just thought…”

“Yeah, well that just shows how much faith you have in me, huh?”

He wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he found himself fighting a bizarre desire to laugh.

Hermione started to undo the clasp, but then she noticed a small seam going down the side of the shell.

“Ron, what’s this?”

“Wait.”

Ron studied her, looking at her properly for the first time in nearly a year. She had dark circles, almost like purple bruises under her eyes. She attempted to hide it with a little eye shadow that blended with her complexion, but he wasn’t fooled. Hermione doesn’t need to wear makeup.

“You know you’re brilliant, right?”

“Ron-”

He held up a hand to silence her. “Just hear me out, will you?”

She nodded, curiously appraising him.

“You deserve someone so much better than me, Hermione. Someone as clever as you, someone as selfless as you, someone who could protect you…” His voice faltered as he swallowed, his eyes glistening.

“That night, I-I never thought I was going to see you again, ever. But that’s not the worst part.” Ron paused pensively.

“I thought you were going to go without knowing how I-how I felt and still feel about you. I reckoned that it should be here, the very place where I had believed I’d lost you, where I should set things right again.”

His hands covered hers.

“I’m mad for you, and I always have been, I know that now. You’re the most important person in my life Hermione, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else says.”

He let out a soft whoosh of relief. “Blimey, that feels better. I really should have done that before, shouldn’t I?”

Ron released her hand, and Hermione slowly slid her fingernail down the seam, opening it with the air of someone uncovering a long forgotten treasure of yore.

Her mouth formed into an “O”. For once, she was completely speechless. Nestled inside the smooth shelter of the shell was a small ring, silver banded with a cerulean sapphire, flanked by a couple of tiny sparkling diamonds.

“Where did you-how-is that my-?”

“Birthstone? Yeah, it is. They’re pretty rare those. They’re not made in Britain though, they mainly come from-”

“Australia,” she finished in awe.

“You got this when we went to set my parents’ memories back, didn’t you?”

Ron bobbed his head, a bit sheepish. He gleefully took in her stunned countenance.

“I did a spot of research to find that out, I figured you’d appreciate that. It was around then when you asked me to come with you to set your parents straight. The timing couldn’t have been better.”

“Then I was looking up some Muggle marriage customs after we set the date for our trip; I read that the bloke is supposed to ask the dad before he… I reckoned I could…err…how does that Muggle saying go, ‘kill one bird with two rocks…?’ ”

Hermione disregarded his obvious butchering of Muggle proverbs.

“They knew all along, even mum?” She questioned indignantly.

“Both of them were thrilled, but to be honest, it took everything for her in particular to not to drop you hints about anything.”

“I can’t believe you did all of this; the ring, asking my dad, even cracking open a bloody book…”

“All for you, love. So, umm…” Ron got off the couch, and bended awkwardly to one knee. Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?"

***

“Ron, you stupid, stupid-” She launched herself at him before she could get out another word.

“Is that a yes?” he said, the light dancing playfully off his eyes. He slipped the ring on.

“It suits you Mrs. Weasley.”

She squealed and slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“I can’t believe I had this around my neck the whole time…” The darkness that had been marring her gaze was obliterated in one sweeping instant.

It matches his eyes Hermione mused, lightly outlining his jaw with her fingertips. She scrutinized him, permanently etching his every feature into her mind’s eye.

“You’re still a git, you know that, don’t you?”

“That’s all right, because I’m your git.” With a devilish grin, he snogged her senseless and all thoughts were shattered into a million tiny pieces.

****

“No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and mind the morning can be.”
-Bram Stroker


Ron sat up, light starting to gradually seep into the quiet cottage from the outside world. He watched with fascination as her chest rose and fell steadily underneath the layers and layers of quilts and blankets she had been entwined in during the night, making a small little whistling sound with every breath.

“What do Muggles do after they propose, Hermione?” he had asked as they sat there by the flames, her head warming his chest.

Hermione’s face scrunched up in such an endearing way that it took all his self control not to start snogging her again.

“I dunno, but I think we should go for a break in tradition this time.”

When all she got was raised eyebrows, she blushed, and mockingly punched his arm.

“Not in that way, idiot.”

She pressed her palm to his. They both examined their interlocked fingers; Ron’s were rather man-like and slightly stubby, while Hermione’s were very slender and long (piano hands he remembered her telling him.)

It was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced, there was no doubt of it in his mind.

Then they had talked. Ron was bursting with questions about her childhood, and he listened closely to every detail; from the days she spent scribbling on the bathroom tiles as a toddler to her first day in primary school.

He filled her in on stories that he had been too shy to share with her before, and they laughed and laughed until the tears started to roll down their cheeks, until their sides ached from the spasms of mirth that were wracking their bodies.

At times, they had to clamp their hands over their mouths to prevent the steady stream of snickering that would have surely woken the others.

He grinned at the memory despite himself. It was the best night of his life, and the first with his new wife.

Back in the present, the muse of inspiration had murmured into his ear. He gently unwound his arm from around her waist and snuck back into his room. Ron rummaged around for a minute, then finally found what he had been searching for.

It was an old flannel shirt of his, which hadn’t been washed since the night he had used it. He pressed the fibers into his nostrils, and it reeked of blood. He briefly registered the small stain that had spilled onto the once clean fibers.

Just like that, another memory flashed across his consciousness, as swift and unpredictable as lightning.

“Ron, it hurts,” Hermione whimpered, as something dark dripped from her neck onto the wet sand.

“I know, I know, but I’m going to make it better, okay?” His voice cracked from the strain.

She nodded, and winced.

Fury exploded inside him as he noticed the film that seemed to be in front of her eyes, a haze of confusion and pain.

He picked her up as though she were a delicate soap bubble ready to pop, and headed toward the house.

“You saved me.” Ron looked down at her, startled.

“You saved me,” she mumbled again, and she turned over, snuggling closer into his jacket.

Then he heard steady breathing, and knew she had fallen asleep at last.

Ron laid her tenderly on the mattress. Suddenly her breathing wasn’t so normal anymore. Her eyes were moving rapidly under her lids, beads of perspiration forming.

“No-please, stop-STOP!” Her feeble frame convulsed from some unseen terror.

He couldn’t stand to see her like this. Where was that witty, gently teasing Hermione who could out-duel him with one arm tied behind her back? He pondered this while stroking her fingers with his thumb, back and forth, back and forth.

She stirred, and jolted awake with a shriek.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

But she didn’t seem to hear him.

“Where am I, how did I get here?”

Hermione tried to get up, but he put a hand to her shoulder to hold her back.

He leaned over her, and a little piece of him died as he saw her eyes darting wildly around the room in anguish.

“It’s me, Hermione, it’s just me. We’re at Bill and Fleurs’, we’re safe now.”

“But how did we escape? You and Harry were in the cellar, you couldn’t get out-”

She started crying weakly.

Ron felt pressure welling up behind his eyes, but he forced it away.

“It’s a long story, but the point is, you’re safe.” He reached across her and wiped away the wet tracks that had wound their way down her cheeks like fast flowing rivers of despair.

“They can’t hurt you anymore. I would die before I’d let them do anything else to you, all right?”

He took her face in his hands. There was a creak as Fleur came into the room carrying a small blue potion.

“ ’Ow eez she?”

Ron didn’t answer.

“Fleur’s going to help you, all right?”

He started to get up, but Hermione grabbed his hand.

“Don’t leave, okay?”

“Hermione,” he smiled wearily, “Where else am I going to go?”

This seemed to calm her down, because she had finally settled down onto the sheets.

Ron slowly shut the door behind him, and headed into the empty sitting room. He fell to his knees, finally succumbing to the grief and regret that obstructed his vision and snatched the air right out of his lungs.

***

Still holding the shirt, he walked past a softly snoring Harry, down the stairs, through the living room, and out to the lawn.

Halting in front of the grave, he crouched and folded it up neatly, finally placing it near the tombstone. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

“Dobby, I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for us a year ago. I’ll never forget it, and neither will she. You’re the real hero, and you’ll always be.”

A soft breeze stirred the salty air, and he swallowed.

“Without you, I wouldn’t have had-”

“Ron?” Hermione called from the doorway, bidding him to come back.

“I’ll be right there.”

He lowered his voice, starting to get choked up.

“Without you Dobby, I wouldn’t have gotten a second chance.”

Ron stood up, soaking in the fiery rays of sunlight that were caressing his limbs. He gave the mound one final look, and noticed the tiny little flowers that had sprung up from the dirt.

“Forget-me-nots, her favourite,” he whispered to the wind. He took a couple, tucking one into his chest pocket for good measure. Ron turned towards the house, whistling as he faced the future with a clear conscience and a happy heart.


****

She Walks in Beauty
- Lord Byron (George Gordon)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!