He couldn't sleep again.
It was still too loud here. He could hear the waves crashing against the rocks incessantly. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He was grateful for the privacy of his own room on nights he couldn't sleep or had nightmares. He knew several times he'd woken up in a sweat, listening to her screaming his name again.
Was it possible for a person to regret something so much?
He admitted defeat and walked over to the window, looking down towards the rolling sea. His brother couldn't have picked a lovelier place to call home. Secluded, lots of space, and undeniably beautiful.
He hoped Hermione would get to see it one day. He reached into his pants pocket and fingered the Deluminator, which he kept on him at all times. Several times he had seriously considered tossing it off the cliff, but had not wanted to regret something else done in anger. It was his last link to them.
He had thought about that moment over and over again in his mind. Had he really been that angry that he had left her like that? Saying his name like that…
He pulled on a coat, for his room suddenly felt stifling again. He made his way out of the cottage as silently as possible, as it was probably several hours before dawn still.
Wrapping himself tighter in his coat, he sat as close to the edge as possible. He closed his eyes…the noise of the sea just wasn't loud enough to drown her out of his mind…
~*~
"Then GO!" Harry yelled at him. "Go back to them, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and--"
He had never remembered anger building so fiercely, and by the time Harry mockingly said "Mummy" the second time that night something deep within him snapped. He reached for his wand instinctively, and was thrown backwards just as quick by Hermione's shield.
He was sure the look of hatred on Harry's face mirrored his own.
"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said coldly. Ron felt like sneering; of course he wasn't going to take the bloody thing. He wanted to wipe that look off his face; he felt no hurt or remorse, only deep red anger that burned hotly in his chest.
"What are you doing?" He turned and waited for Hermione to stand next to him, after all their discussions and huddles and close, subtle touches…there was no way she'd…
"What do you mean?" She looked terrified and anguished.
Ron was exasperated. "Are you staying, or what?"
"I…yes-yes, I'm staying." His brain exploded. His heart compacted.
He interrupted whatever she was still saying. "I get it. You choose him."
And he turned his back on her, relishing strangely in her cries and screams. For him. Not Harry - him. *
~*~
God, it made him sick now to think about now. That those feelings existed down inside of him for the locket to bring out, that they had brought out such feelings in him and no one else, even Harry…that he had caused her so much pain.
He thought some of it had reflected in his face when Bill asked him about it, but as he hadn't had the courage to think about it sometimes, it was easy not to talk about. For how can you tell someone you admire so much the worst thing you've ever done?
He fell backwards heavily, staring up at the black sky. Was she looking at the same sky, too? Or was she inside of their tent, with Harry?
And god, Harry….he must hate him. He had avoided thinking about Harry even more. For how selfish had he been to abandon Harry with the weight of the world on his shoulders because they weren't, as Harry so eloquently put it, "staying in five star hotels?"* He knew without a doubt that Harry would continue through hell or high water until Voldemort or himself were dead, so that Ron and Hermione could finally have normal lives.
And Ron had abandoned him.
Would he ever forget these moments, these feelings? A part of him hoped not, because he never wanted to feel like this again. He felt empty, and worthless, and wanted, in the absolute worst of times, when he couldn't block out the guilt, when it was as if Hermione herself was condemning him, to see what it felt like to never feel anything again at the end of the cliff.
But those moments were few and far between. Because for the most part he wanted nothing more than to find them somehow and fall to his knees in aching apology. He knew it was hopeless; he would be here until they chose to find him. Though how, he didn't know, as he wasn't quite sure if they even knew Bill lived here. But everyday, Bill would relay updates, and he would patiently, though eagerly and with a heavy heart, listen for anything related to Harry or Hermione.
One day, he might pack up and go searching on his own; maybe if they saw him wandering around somewhere they'd make themselves known. He had another fear that if they were to see him…they wouldn't say anything.
He wondered how they were faring in this weather…
He didn't know how long he stayed out there, thinking over and over again the same, random thoughts, all centred around the two people he cared most about in the world. It was like this every night.
The dim brightness against his eyes alerted him to the fact that he had fallen asleep lying on the cold ground at the edge of the cliff. He blinked away unwanted images of faces of anger, and sat up and stretched, his muscles cramped and achy.
As he made his way into the house, he smelled coffee. Fleur and Bill were sitting in the living room in front of a small fire, talking quietly.
He headed for his room, groaning as Fleur called his name. He thought he might actually be able to get a few hours of sleep for once…
"Ron, what are you doing up so early?" Bill called.
Ron sighed and turned back to the living room, lying down in front of the fire. "I was outside."
"Right," Bill said slowly, "…at dawn? I must say, you certainly have grown up. Or at least, developed strange new habits, such as waking up at dawn." He was looking at Ron closely.
"Would you like some coffee?" Fleur asked.
Ron shook his head; maybe he could fall asleep in front of the fire, and forget his dreams.
"Happy Christmas, Ron," Bill said. "Did you want to do anything special today?"
He slumped down heavily in front of the fire; today was Christmas. Shock and guilt flooded into him heavily, for not once in his life had he ever forgotten Christmas. And he found himself completely not caring, for here he sat, enjoying a warm fire, while Harry and Hermione were probably hungry and cold.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'd, uh…just like to relax."
As he stared into the fire and watched the flames dance, he heard Bill and Fleur whisper for a few minutes; he gave a fleeting thought Bill would prevail before focusing on the colours, trying to drown himself in them.
A few minutes later, the radio burst into life. He glanced over; Bill and Fleur were snuggled on the couch and some lovely Christmas music was playing, distinctly not in the style his mother so favoured. He sighed and closed his eyes. Now a feeling of jealousy seeped in.
Ron had finally understood how a person could feel so many things at once. He could be jealous of his brother for catching the girl of his dreams in domestic bliss…he could be utterly in love with someone whom he was sure now would never speak to him again…he could be guilty beyond words for an action taken in anger…he could be horrified at his own being for his capacity to hurt another person...he could feel a determination like no other to somehow make it right.
He felt a rainbow of emotions at once, each one taking its own turn at being at the forefront of his mind.
He stuck his hand in his pocket again, fingering the Deluminator once more.
He sighed and stood up. "I'm going to try to catch some sleep in my room…Happy Christmas, guys. I'll be out later, okay?"
Bill looked up. "Are you sure you're all right, Ron?" He untangled himself from Fleur, and stood, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I know you won't tell me anything, but…I can still help if you'll let me. With whatever."
Ron nodded, as he always did when Bill offered help, and the shame overtook him again. He didn't deserve a brother like Bill.
Once in his room, he stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before turning on his own radio, finding the station of sweet, slow songs that had been playing downstairs.
He allowed himself one Christmas present…to think about Hermione as if she might still look at him like she did before he left. Hints of something, glances when she thought he wasn't looking, brushes of hands when it wasn't necessary. Opportunities he hadn't taken for his own lack of courage and for Harry's sake.
He was convinced now that they were gone because of what he'd done, though he had fleeting moments of hope. He allowed himself those, the daydreams of Hermione throwing herself into his arms and kissing him with passion at their reunion. The other ones involved her vicious birds, or terrible words, or the worst of all…that she had sought comfort and solace through Harry.
Hearing the romantic songs…he wondered if they'd ever find the normal, domestic life he'd encountered downstairs. To be able to just be with one another without the world depending on them, without Harry needing their help, without the pressure of this or that. Without restrictions. Just Ron and Hermione.
He really liked the sound of that. He could picture them snuggled together on a couch, her crazy hair in his face…he wondered what it smelled like. What she would feel like against him…
As he lay on the bed, thinking of her, he fingered the Deluminator absently.
"Ron," Hermione said.
He jumped. She continued talking…from his pocket. He thrust his hand in and removed the Deluminator, listening in awe.
"When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."**
He didn't move for several moments. Was this real? He knew her voice like he knew his own; it had definitely been Hermione, though she had sounded shaky and uncertain. He sat up and turned it over, investigating it, but it didn't look any different. So…he clicked it.
As the light went out in his room…another one came on, just outside his window. It was a hovering, bluish, glowing ball, and he stared, astonished.
The rainbow of emotions splintered, and a hope like he had never felt the likes up exploded inside of his chest, overtaking any and everything he had ever felt before. He grabbed his sack, and began packing. Hermione, I'm coming for you. It really was a new day.
The Dawn by ahattab33
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belong to the fabulous JKR, who I am obviously not.
The suicide warning is very brief and only alluded to.
Chapter Endnotes:*Dialogue from Deathly Hallows, American version, pages 309-310
**Dialogue from Deathly Hallows, American version, pages 383-385
The actions taken that you recognize come from Jo-I've just written them from Ron's POV from what we were told happened on the pages already referenced.
Whew! Angsty Ron...was it a bit too much or not enough? Feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!