Chapter 1
The flames in the fireplace died down as she stumbled out coughing, nearly dropping the box of picture frames in her arms. The ash from the Floo felt rough in her throat as she stared at the mountain of boxes in the sitting room, her sitting room, she reminded herself. Hermione Granger was officially living on her own.
A loud crash sounded from the other room and Hermione knew her mother would throttle her if she even thought about using any of the very colorful swear words that followed.
Well she wasn’t completely alone.
Footsteps thudded through the hall and the very redhead that had likely just made their new neighbors file a noise complaint appeared from around the corner. Sliding into view on sock clad feet, hand on one hip.
“You’re not even going to ask me if I’m okay? Wow some best friend you are.” Ginny crossed her arms, pouting her lips, “I could’ve been seriously injured you know.”
Hermione crossed across the sitting room and set the box she was carrying on the couch, collapsing next to it, “Well first of all you weren’t injured so it’s fine, secondly you’re wearing improper footwear while moving heavy packages so I’m not surprised any of this happened honestly.”
The responding eye roll had Hermione’s lips quirking up in amusement “Merlin you’re annoying, why am I your roommate again?” Ginny spun around to stalk off back to her room before looking back, “After I finish putting together my furniture you want to open some wine and order takeaway?”
“Yes please! Today has been absolutely exhausting!”
As Ginny left Hermione leaned back against the couch and rubbed her palms against her eyes, groaning loudly. Today really had been exhausting, starting with packing up all of her belongings from Grimmauld early this morning, Harry hadn't allowed her to pack a second earlier saying it would make him too sad. So Hermione, being the greatest of friends, had not packed a single item she owned until five o’clock this morning. Thank the stars for magic. Putting her packing off had made her skin crawl but anytime Hermione had even looked at the pile of cardboard boxes in the corner Harry’s eyes started to glimmer with unshed tears. That dramatic git, she had assumed he learned that annoying little trick from Ginny.
Ah, Ginny. Ginny, the girl who’s her best friend. Ginny the girl who’s an extremely talented Quidditch player. Ginny the girl who had also put off packing anything she owned until this very morning. Hermione still sort of wanted to strangle the redhead about the whole situation, made worse by her own exhaustion and Molly weeping on and off in the background about her ‘baby’ leaving the house. Ginny hadn’t had Harry breathing down her neck the past month, asking multiple times a day if she was ‘positive if she wanted to move or did she just want her own floor?’, meanwhile Ron had been steadfastly sulking at the edge of every room she was in. Honestly, her own floor at Grimmauld? The one room was creepy enough she didn’t need a whole floor.
No, Ginny had just simply, and incorrectly, assumed that packing her stuff wouldn’t take that long. She only lived in one room after all, everything must be in there.
Ha! That had been a right joke, Ginny had been so wrong Hermione would have laughed had she not felt so murderous. She’d lived in this house for nearly 18 years for Godric’s sake, did she really think her stuff would be contained to her bedroom?
The whole family had spent hours combing each room of the house, Ginny’s socks had a habit of hiding themselves in any nook and cranny, and Hermione’s dreams of being moved in by lunch time were crushed. Molly had then insisted they stay for a late lunch and she had her suspicions that the older woman would’ve found a way for them to stay late regardless. That lunch had then been one of the most uncomfortable meals she’d ever participated in, second only to the date with a muggle boy her parents made her go on at 16. James had had his eyes glued to her chest the whole evening and spent the entire hour talking about nothing but his Football prospects, alternating between calling her ‘babe’ and ‘Harriett.’ Which, Harriett, really? At least he got the first letter right, she supposed. Microscopic credit where it was due.
Lunch at the Weasley’s that day was a different type of uncomfortable compared to that horrendous date with James. Molly had announced that this was a very important day and thus wanted everyone who could to be in attendance. At the head of the table was a visibly sweating Arthur Weasley, the poor man had spent the whole day trying to console his wife who was becoming more and more deranged as the afternoon wore on and continuously kept refusing a Calming Draught insisting that she was ‘perfectly well.’ Apparently a ‘perfectly well’ Molly Weasley looked like Crookshanks after a bath. Her hair was limp, her robes soaked with a day's worth of tears, at that point she was going from sobbing hysterics to shrieking helpful life tips at her daughter every five minutes. Her fits were not helped by George who, everytime Arthur managed to console Molly for a mere 10 seconds, would utter some variation of ‘so sad to see you leave Gin.’ His mothers sobs would start all over again as he pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and on more than one instance Hermione caught Percy elbowing George in the ribs. Percy and Harry had seemed to join forces for the day, keeping up a constant stream of peppy chatter they forced Hermione into to try to keep everyone in a light mood, as if Molly wasn’t acting like the world had burst into flames. Ginny was ignoring everyone at the table completely, her eyes were glazed over and her lips were moving as she muttered under her breath. Quidditch maneuvers Hermione guessed, she’d been studying the Harpies new plays nonstop lately.
The only other Weasley at the table was Ron whose jaw was clenched so tight Hermione thought his teeth might crack. He’d been silent all day, minus his scoffs and the occasional huff of irritation, brooding in the corner and glaring at anyone who tried to approach him.
Ron had been acting like this the past month for the most part, ever since Hermione had decided she wanted her own place. His attitude generally depended on the day. Some days he was cordial, some days he outright ignored her and on others they fought. As it was, Ron hadn’t spoken to her in three days, instead using Harry as his personal messenger if he needed something from her.
The level of their fights over the last month had steadily progressed from bad to worse to god awful until the one 4 days ago that had resulted in Ron’s silence. Which to be fair it had been a pretty big one.
Considering that they had broken up and everything.
Honestly, Hermione wasn’t quite sure how everything had happened but there was also a part of her that wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Their romantic relationship had been confusing at the best of times over the last year and well, really this should have probably happened sooner.
Last summer the air after the war had been tainted with sadness and despair and everyone had seemed to cope differently. Harry, who was so ridden with guilt because of those he could not save, had an obsessive need to help anyone in any way he knew how. Ron and Hermione had latched onto each other, desperately trying to use the other to fill the gaping wounds of loss they both had. The loss of Fred was eating away at Ron and Hermione needed someone there for when she woke screaming from the nightmares of torture and death and so many bodies it made her ill. Everyone had thought the war had made them realize they loved each other all along but maliciously or not they had used each other.
But then summer had come to an end and Hermione went back to Hogwarts to finish school and Ron and Harry were going to officially start Auror training and everything seemed to go back to normal. The boys owled her often and every letter from Ron was just so friendly, he was her best friend again, the boy who always made her laugh. She felt so confident that they were just friends until the first Hogsmeade visit of the year that left her confused as hell. Ron had immediately been all over her. Holding her hand, constantly wanting to kiss her, exactly everything a loving boyfriend does. All of this had left her even more confused when the next time the post came his letter had not even a hint of romance or anything other than friendly banter. The rest of the year's visits were exactly the same and Hermione honestly hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to really raise any questions.
She still wasn’t if she was being honest with herself.
So she had let the school year play out, focusing on her classes and pretending like she wasn’t on the verge of a mental breakdown while also playing pretend boyfriend/girlfriend on the weekends. Hermione floated through the whole school year in a haze, barely registering N.E.W.T.S. actually happening, recalled the Remembrance for the Battle making her feel suffocated and reality had kicked her in the chest the first night she moved into Grimmauld Place.
She hadn’t realized that living with Ron and Harry meant Ron and her living with Harry. Sharing a bedroom. He had just assumed they’d be living together because that’s what couples did and she hadn’t been present enough to clarify anything. The first night hadn’t been too bad, it almost brought her that comfort from when they slept together on the run but the following two weeks made her increasingly more irritable. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, because they did albeit in a best friend way which was making things forced and awkward. It was like Ron was overcompensating for the fact that they were romantically incompatible by being clingier than even Lavender had ever been. At the end of the first two weeks was when Hermione finally said she wanted her own place, she didn’t say she wanted to break up, she just wanted space but Ron had immediately jumped to conclusions.
So, the last month fights Ron started had kept building up and up until everything came crashing down four days ago. Her eyes started to sting if she thought about it too much, the conversation had replayed in her mind on loop the whole first night. She was sad that they had broken up but they weren’t right together, they had both agreed on that at least. Harry had told her yesterday that Ron was more angry with himself than anything, he needed time to work through what he was thinking apparently. Ginny had told him to ‘grow the fuck up’ and told Hermione it wasn’t her fault and he’d get over himself eventually.
She guessed he was still working through his thoughts considering he’d been silent and moody all day.
A large part of her felt guilty for the way things had come about, maybe she should have said something to Ron during the school year. Okay, she definitely should have said something to Ron during the school year but she had been trying so hard to keep in control of her emotions she was scared what would happen if she delved too deep into the trauma bond they had developed. She had to be the strong one in people’s lives, Hermione Granger the war heroine, can’t let the mask slip.
The popping of a cork from the kitchen jerked Hermione from her thoughts.
“Wow, starting without me?”
“It’s been a long day of tuning out my mother’s incessant wailing. Seriously, you’d think I was moving to the moon or something. But hey! We finally have our own place like real adults and everything!” Ginny came into the sitting room, thrusting a glass of wine towards Hermione before gracefully falling to the couch.
“So,” she said, taking a long swallow and twirling a strand of red hair around her finger, “what should we get for our first official dinner together roomie?”