Hermione struggled with setting a hefty hardback upon the dusty bookshelf, puffing from the weight as she finally placed it on the topmost ledge. She breathed a sigh of relief a second later, deeming that it was not going to fall, and stood back. Turning around she surveyed the room, taking in the dim and shadowy atmosphere of the place, wondering on the decisions she had made recently.
In the past year, she had not used magic. She had tentatively, and sorrowfully, stowed her wand away in a box and placed it under her bed. The temptation of drawing it out and revealing she was still able to cast spells was apparent, but she had resisted it so far with great endeavor. Her love for enchantments and the magical world had dwelled profoundly within her as she resided in Muggle London, but she felt that this was the best way for her to live. Thoughts of the treasured people she had left behind in her old life were not dismissed but cherished. She missed them dearly and thought of them every day, especially her two oldest friends.
Harry Potter, the man who had saved the Wizarding World from the darkest wizard of all time, had taken over Hogwarts and become the next Headmaster, relieving Minerva McGonagall of her position as she retired for her health. Being blasted once by Professor Umbridge and quite a few times during the last battle by some evil spells had taken its toll. Harry oversaw all the ongoing things at Hogwarts, and the Chosen One had finally found his place among the occupational world. He, too, had been offered the post of the Minister of Magic, just as Dumbledore had, but had refused, the job ultimately going to Kingsley Shacklebolt instead. Harry had never approved of the Ministry’s doing, and while he would have been able to set things straight because of his good nature, he found the job too daunting. His devotion for Hogwarts had surpassed it anyhow. His devotion to Ginny Weasley held firmly, too, even after her death in the final battle.
Ron Weasley had become a top Auror. Three years after Voldemort’s fall the Death Eaters had found it appropriate to appoint a new Dark Lord. Their usual antics had resumed and death tolls had mounted again, but the Aurors had prevented it only months after the mission had gone into operation. Ron was the head of his department, the supervisor and chief being. He had been the one to bring Fenrir Greyback to justice, walking away scathed but unbitten by the werewolf’s monstrous jaws. His never-ending workload had been the thing to wander into Hermione and his relationship, eventually finishing it. They both had been heartbroken but not discouraged.
Hermione’s love for books had soon buried her mind, and she had discovered a secluded shop on the outskirts of London to establish a bookstore, a place where she could wield her own adoration as well as assist others in theirs. She had bought the store with next to no money and pawned off some of her belongings to purchase the books from retailers to sell to interested customers. What had started out as a shop that many thought would go out of business in weeks had established itself as a very worthwhile enterprise. The owner was described as someone very likeable and organized, thorough and well kempt. The few books she had possessed when the shop had opened had turned into thousands, and Hermione had eventually had to relocate to a larger building to fit everything inside. Customers poured in by the hundreds every day. She had had to move away from her flat only miles away from the Burrow only to sustain her current occupation. With the many drives back and forth she had had to make between the bookstore and her home, her move had been the best thing to do. She could have Apparated, she knew, saved time from the thirty-minute travels, but she chose not to. She had no real use for magic now, having a Muggle occupation as the one she did. Hermione now lived in a nice apartment complex on the outskirts of town, only a fifteen minute drive from the shop. She was happy.
Satisfied with her success though she was, her workload too had crashed down upon her. Her visits with the Weasleys and other friends had grown fewer and fewer, eventually growing to naught. The last time she had even seen Ron and Harry had been at a small outing at the Burrow after Christmas, and it was now nearing October of the following year. She longed for companionship dearly, especially from her childhood comrades, but the many demands of customers and retailers had rained down upon her. The only friend she had now was her current boyfriend, Mark, but his constant whining and demands only reminded her of her customers, and he tested her nerves so much that she wondered why on earth she didn’t end it. She didn’t love him. Usually an eleven-month relationship amounted to something, such as marriage, and she dearly hoped that Mark wasn’t planning on proposing. He was rather wealthy, a doctor among the many shopkeepers and lawyers in this part of the town. He was a Muggle, though, and Hermione had thought it best to keep secret her old life--- the life that she loved, filled with magic, good friends, and her loyal upstanding. He had been the main reason she had decided that stowing away her wand had been for the best--- he surprised her at her apartment incessantly, always bringing flowers or maiming her with gifts. One day she could be watering plants with the tip of her wand, stirring soup on her stove with power emitted from it, combing her unkempt locks with a brush she had transferred across the room with forces unseen and him stopover. She couldn’t let him witness that or she’d be on the news so fast her head would spin. Mark loved her but he definitely possessed a strident mouth as well. His love for gossip would surely surpass anything she could give him.
Besides Mark’s droning nature, another problem that Hermione suffered with was his temper. Anger problems were his key element and his answer for everything. When he was irate he would throw objects at walls and break them, cursing loudly--- horrid things such as smashing car windows, releasing the air in tires, throwing bricks at houses. These things sounded childish if spoken about lightly, but when you were the firsthand witness such as Hermione was, then you became extremely frightened. The one time Hermione had gained the courage and tried to break off their relationship, Mark had turned furious, possessive, crazy, and had turned on her. When her regular customers had come in for their morning coffee and paperback the next day and asked what had caused her two black eyes and broken hand, Hermione had lied and said that she fell down the stairs and dropped a book off the topmost shelf and onto her face. Clumsiness, she blamed it on.
It was nearing five o’clock and Hermione hadn’t seen a customer trickle inside in the past hour. The sign upon the glass door formally stated that she didn’t close until six, but a dinner with Mark tonight prompted her to close early. She stacked the few returned books back on their correct shelves and altered the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ She hummed delightfully to herself the theme of Hogwarts as she locked the front, back, and side doors. She exited and went to her car, finding a bouquet of roses stuffed mercifully in the front seat as she opened the door. Almost smiling she scanned the surrounding area for Mark’s green Suburban but came up with nothing. The smirk hastily went away as she compulsorily picked up the flowers and threw them in the passenger’s side seat. Even a dazzling bouquet of her favorites couldn’t alter Hermione’s feelings for Mark. The dread of going to dinner with him played in her mind and she critically thought of canceling, calling Mark with a fake, sickly voice and telling him that she had caught the flu. But in a matter of four hours? She suddenly remembered that he had stopped by for lunch and she had put on the most cheerful persona possible because of the many surrounding people. He’d certainly insist on visiting her as well to bring soup, daunting on her every hand and foot as if she were a child. She’d already tried that. Couldn’t pull that one off. She put the car in drive and hurriedly sped home to shower and change.
Hermione had just arrived home and placed her keys on the dining room table when a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, glancing at the clock on the mantel above her fireplace. He was thirty minutes early. She groaned inwardly and strode to the door, peering through the small peephole to see if her suspicions were correct.
“Honey? Hermione?” came a voice from outside. She closed her eyes and prayed inwardly for strength. She pried the grimace off her face and replaced it with a smile as she opened the door.
“Got to take a shower,” she said hurriedly, turning away from him before the door was even halfway ajar. “Be right back, make yourself at home.” Hermione knew that he wouldn’t have a problem with that. She jogged to her bathroom and shut the door, clicking the lock into place as she undressed and stepped into the warm, comforting stream of water coming from her showerhead.
~ * ~
The drive to the restaurant was only ten minutes, but to Hermione it felt a lifetime. With Mark’s overprotective nature, he had not released her for even a second. His hand was always somewhere on her body, her knee, hand in hers, caressing her cheek. She tried not to seem too disgusted and feigned an authentic smile to satisfy him. It did and that only prompted him to touch her more. Hermione’s insides writhed and twisted in abhorrence at herself, but she couldn’t prevent it. If she attempted to leave him again then she would surely suffer worse than a broken hand this time. He might even kill her, and with all the connections he had it wouldn’t matter if he had or not--- he’d get off just as any other guilty criminal would. No remorse would play inside him either.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“All right. The coffee machine decided to break at seven in the morning, so most of the customers were pretty angry that they couldn’t get their drinks when they found out.”
“Do you need to pick up a new one?”
“No, I went out after you left and picked one up.”
“I certainly would have taken you. Why didn’t you ask?”
“I just didn’t think it that important, and besides I forgot when you came by anyhow.”
Mark grimaced and his hands turned white against the steering wheel. “Well, it would have given us more time together.”
Hermione brutally fought the urge to scoff or laugh. He stopped by the shop every day at least once, and he took her to dinner almost every night. Hermione felt that she saw him quite enough.
After pulling into a nearby parking location from the restaurant, Hermione gasped in awe at where they would be eating. The nicest French eatery in town, The Ledbury, stood to her left and she immediately turned to Mark and smiled.
“You didn’t have to do this. It’s really expensive, it’s just---”
But he put a hand up to silence her. She fell quiet and he stared into her brown eyes deeply, as if confirming to himself that she was really his. Hermione forced herself not to look away, but he finally concluded his gaze and opened the car door. Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the handle, but Mark yelled through the windshield for her to stop. With wide eyes she freed the lever and waited for him to come around and tell her what was amiss, but he only smoothed his hair and buttoned his coat outside her door. She waited anxiously for him to complete whatever it was he was doing and he finally opened the car door for her. Mark didn’t want her to have to lift even a finger tonight. Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned, realizing that tonight would be another night that he would be solemn and complaining.
They walked into the building, hand in hand, and were seated by a very handsome waiter. Many people lingered out of doors, so Mark and Hermione’s ability to walk right up to the counter and be seated showed that Mark had most likely bribed the man.
The drinks and food were ordered, and Mark finally found himself alone with Hermione. He grabbed her hand from across the table and held it delicately, taking in its scent as he ran it across his freshly-shaved face. Hermione, this making her feel uncomfortable, looked around warily to make sure no one was staring.
“I love you, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled to let him know she’d heard.
~ * ~
“Weasley?”
Ron looked up from surveying the beauty of the streets and raised his hand, indicating he’d heard.
“Only one?”
Ron sighed and nodded accordingly. He was seated near the back of the restaurant in a booth alone. Every person around him seemed to have a companion, a lover. He longed for someone to be with, but he understood that he didn’t desire just anyone. He knew exactly who he wanted.
Only seconds after he had decided his order, the waitress returned carrying a large bottle of scotch and set a heavy glass to his side. He gave a smile and she gave it back, offering a ‘What will you have?’ in return for his order. He told her the special and she clasped her hands together after she had written it down, promising to return in a bit with his food. He poured a sip of the drink into the wineglass and drank.
Ron watched another woman as she crossed to his other side of the room with a rather large tray of at least four entrées in her hands. She only got a few tables down when, without warning, a man stood up quickly, carelessly, and knocked the woman down. Ron almost gasped as he saw how hard she smacked the floor. Ron believed that the man would immediately swoop down and apologize, assisting her up from the floor, but it didn’t happen. The man only yelped and looked down upon the woman spitefully as she cringed, searching her elbows for signs of blood as she attempted to stand. The entire restaurant fell silent and many looked around for the cause of the stillness. The others’ eyes were fixated upon the scene unfolding.
“In my way! The service here is truly horrible, can’t even look where they’re going!” He scoffed and kicked the booth he was seated at, grabbing at chunks of broken meatballs and spaghetti sauce littered across his nice jacket. His companion stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what was happening, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing. The next thing their audience knew, the man pulled the strands of spaghetti into his hands and forcibly threw them at the waitress on the floor. Uproar came from the crowd in the form of gasps and shrieks of disbelief. On impulse Ron leapt from his seat and grabbed the man’s fist before he could do any more harm, wrenching it behind him.
“What the hell? Let go of me!”
Ron released him and the man dropped the food from his now clenching fists. Both men’s nostrils flared as they stared at each other, hate boiling and raging. The man’s companion stooped down and helped the poor waitress from the ground, but she flung her arms away and fled toward the kitchen, weeping and stumbling as she ran. She didn’t bother to pick up the food or broken glass.
“Mark, let’s go.”
“No, if this guy wants to be smart then he---”
“Mark, don’t be ridiculous. I’m leaving. Please, come on, we’re being stared at. I can’t even believe this.” She placed her head in her hands, then looked up to see if Mark had obeyed. He hadn’t, of course, and she only put her fingers to the sides of her face so she couldn’t be identified.
The entire time the woman pleaded with Mark to leave, the two men didn’t stray their eyes from the other’s. There was something catching and familiar about the woman’s voice that attracted Ron greatly to her, but he thought nothing of it and didn’t turn to identify her. Mark pulled back a fist to swing at Ron’s face and the woman screamed for him to stop. “MARK!” she shrieked, almost crying now. His fist stopped in mid-air and went to his pockets. Ron could tell that he was struggling with his emotions and the thoughts of pleasing his companion.
The only sound in the restaurant now was silence. No china clinked against china; no sweet conversation came to anyone’s ears. The woman’s last yell had echoed across the restaurant and she now stayed in her chair, weeping, staring at her friend as if he were about to do something even more vile than he had already done.
“It wasn’t the waitress’ fault, it was yours. Let’s go, we’ll apologize later---”
“My fault?” He scoffed and stared at her, enraged. “She pushed me! Didn’t you see it?”
“You were in your seat and you got up! Please don’t argue, don’t be a child, please---” But the man cut her off again.
“Look, I was going to do this tonight anyway, so here it goes.” The woman looked at him incredulously and he knelt on the floor on one knee. After dismissing the fact that he wasn’t going to hit the other man, Hermione felt a bit more at ease, but the shocked patrons’ stares made her weary. He pulled a small black box from his back pocket and opened it in front of her.
“Hermione, will you marry me?”
Ron’s ears perked at the sound of the name.
The shock of the marriage proposal paired with the abuse of the waitress forced Hermione to burst into laughter. Had he really just proposed with an entire restaurant staring at him in incredulity because of how rude and awful he had just been to someone? She found that even their stares couldn’t stop her laughter, this was just too much.
His smile faded into a deep grimace. “What is so funny?”
“Mark, we need to go,” she said, finally able to impede her tears that accompanied the giggles. She grabbed her purse compulsorily and placed a large bill onto the table. “I really can’t believe--- never mind, please.”
Ron finally decided to glance at the woman, cautious that the man would strike him earlier. He saw a face that he hadn’t seen in nearly a year and his heart leapt with happiness. A smile lit his features and he didn’t even think as he shouted excitedly, “Hermione?”
The woman looked up quickly and cautiously, this happening to be the first time she had glanced the man’s way as well. How did he know her name?
But after only a second of staring at him, her heart bounded inside her chest. His hair had grown longer, his face unshaved, but he was unmistakable. “Ron!” she said delightfully, fully overlooking Mark and how he still rested on one knee on the dirty, food-laden ground.
“This--- This is the last place I would have expected to see you!” she said hesitantly, looking around.
“You know, being an--- er, what I am,” he added, realizing he was in a room full of Muggles, “makes a bit more than what you’d think, you know. Thought I’d treat myself. Sorry to see you’re here with uh--- this guy.”
Hermione gave a fleeting look upward at the rising Mark as he brushed the noodles off his pants and placed the black box back into his pocket. “Wait a minute . . . you know this guy? Please don’t tell me that.”
“We’re friends from school,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, not daring to take her eyes off Ron. She felt that if she released her gaze they would lose each other again, this time forever.
“What about the question I asked you?” Mark asked almost jokingly, straightening his tie.
Hermione waved a hand in his face, still not dropping her gaze. “Later.”
After their stares lasted more than a minute, Mark’s jealousy flared. With Mark’s utter reprisal and tugs at Hermione’s shoulder to leave, Ron followed her outside and to their car.
“Do you want to catch up?” he asked loudly, over Mark’s commands for Hermione to get in the car.
Hermione smiled and placed a hand on the glass behind the closed door, as if it were her prison. She nodded as they sped out of the parking lot, leaving a confused manager running out of the front door, screaming just as loud as Mark could for them to come back. But Ron only smiled.
The Unexplained Files by Ron x Hermione
Chapter Notes: This story has been rewritten, so it is new and improved for all of the fans it had acquired from the last time. I apologize to all of those I left hanging, but I am hoping that this time around that I keep up with the story and update as soon as I am possible. Thank you to all of the fans, reviewers, and hopefully some newly-acquired ones for sticking with me! A huge round of thanks as well for the lovely Melissa [solemnlyswear_x] for doing a great beta job.