The Inevitability of Change
August 17, 2001
Ron did not like change.
In his experience, change had never done him any favors. Instead, change had left him with scars and gaping wounds that never seemed to heal. Change had stolen his brother, had stolen his ex girlfriend, and had nearly stolen both of his best friends. Ron did not like change, and would’ve been quite content for life to stay exactly as it was.
But life didn’t work that way, and change, as it seemed, was inevitable.
At least that’s what Hermione had told him when he came home and found his things boxed up.
“People change, Ronald. It’s not a bad thing.”
“What are you even talking about, ‘Mione? I’m the same person I always have been, I’m right here!” Ron pressed her hand to his chest, his eyes wild in desperation. He needed her to see, needed her to stay. She placed her hand on his, moving it gently away from her.
“That’s the problem, Ron.” She said softly. “I have changed. I want to change! I don’t want to be the same, desperate, terrified girl that I was during the war.” Ron shook his head.
“No, Hermione you were never that girl. You’ve always been brave, and-“
“Ron, no.” She closed her eyes. “I’m trying to move past everything –“
“Then let me move with you!”
“Fuck Ron!” The words exploded out of Hermione, and Ron stepped back. She never swore. “I need you to listen to me, to understand this. I am moving past the war, we all are. You are clinging to the person you were before then. I mean, come on, an auror Ron? You’re really going to stand here and tell me that after everything we went through, you want to be an auror? You have no friends outside of Harry and I, no desire to get out and try anything new, you’re not supportive of any of the changes we’re going through-“
“Oh you mean like Harry dumping my sister? Or you throwing away your political career?”
“THEY WANTED DIFFERENT THINGS! And I want different things, Ron!” Tears began to well in Hermione’s eyes. Ron sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Have you called the healer I recommended?”
“I don’t need a mind healer, Hermione I am fine.” She sniffled, brushing tears from her cheeks. “Is it so bad to just want things to stay the same?”
“Change is inevitable, Ronald Weasley, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to be left behind.”
The flat had been in Hermione’s name, of course. Not that Ron would’ve tried to kick her out of it. He might’ve been angry and hurt, but not enough to force her out of her own home.
He’d went to the Burrow first. Molly had hugged him, reassured him that he was not in the wrong and had called Hermione a series of names that he’d been shocked to hear come out of his mother’s mouth. But after a week or so of being back, Ron had had enough. He had shown up on Harry’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, and had been stunned to discover that he was not, in fact, welcome to stay there.
“It’s not that I don’t want you.” Harry said uncomfortably. “It’s just that, well, I’ve started seeing someone. Been seeing her for a while actually. It’s getting kind of serious.” Ron’s jaw dropped.
“What about Ginny?”
“Mate..” Harry’s voice had taken on a pitying tone.
“I know you’ve broken up, but I mean, come on! You’re Harry and Ginny! You’re meant to be! If you’d just get your head out of your arse you’d be back together already.” Harry shook his head and summoned two bottles of butterbeer from the kitchen, passing one to Ron.
“Listen, mate. I know she’s your sister and everything, but even you have to see it wasn’t a good fit.”
“Why.” Ron hated the petulance that laced his voice. “Why aren’t you a good fit? You were a good fit all through school. You were a good fit for two fucking years. Why not anymore?” Harry sipped his drink.
“I want a family, Ron. And Gin, she… doesn’t. I mean, fuck, Ron, come on. She just signed a six year contract for the Harpies. Six years. I didn’t even know they did six year contracts, I thought the max was two!” Ron shrugged his shoulders stubbornly.
“So? Lots of professional quidditch players have families. S’not like she couldn’t play for the Harpies and have a baby.” Harry sighed.
“She doesn’t want kids, Ron. It’s a dealbreaker, for both of us. I’m not mad, neither is she. It’s just.. with the war and everything, talking about the future seemed kind of.. well, it wasn’t a priority. We didn’t know if we’d ever have a future. And then all of the sudden, Voldemort was dead, and we weren’t.” Ron stared at a small chip in the molding around the kitchen door.
“So what. Voldemort’s dead and that ruins your relationship?”
“Things change, Ron. I mean, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you and Hermione changed, drifted apart.”
“I didn’t change.” Ron snapped. “She changed.”
“It’s not a bad thing.”
“Feels like a bad thing.” Ron snorted.
“Look, mate. The fact is, we’re growing up. We’re no longer fighting for our lives or fighting for wizardkind or whatever. We have the ability to dream, and to pursue those dreams. And sometimes, those dreams don’t align with the person you thought it would. For me, I’m dreaming of a family and a house full of kids. For Ginny, it’s quidditch. Merlin, it’s always been quidditch, I really should’ve…” Harry shook his head. “Anyway. We both deserve to have our dreams free from guilt. So do you and Hermione.” Ron shook his head.
“My dream was her.” Harry sighed, standing up and whisking away the two empty bottles.
“Find a new one.”
April 12, 2004
“It’s been brilliant, actually. We haven’t found a way to restore memories yet, but it seems like major people or events leave imprints on the brain, imprints that not even an obliviate can take away. We’re starting another trial next week with a woman obliviated during the war.”
“That’s excellent, ‘Mione!” Harry said, elated. Hermione beamed at him.
“We’re really excited.” She said. “ For the first time ever I’m starting to have hope I may be able to reconnect with my parents. Even Draco’s optimistic!” Ron snorted.
“Oh we’re on a first name basis now with the git?” Hermione’s smile faltered and Harry shot him a nasty glare.
“Leave it alone, mate.” Ron downed the rest of his tumbler of firewhiskey.
“So we’re all just supposed to move on and accept the fact that she’s decided to get in bed with a Death Eater?” Hermione’s cheeks flushed.
“Former Death Eater.” She said softly. Ron snorted again.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot he renounced his Death Eater status after he was about to be tossed in Azkaban.”
“He was a child, Ronald. A child raised with certain prejudices –“
“Oh here we go again.”
“-Who was inducted into the Death Eaters because of his father come on Ron! You know it’s not a black and white issue!” Ron slammed the tumbler onto the table.
“It is black and white Hermione!” He shouted, ignoring the silence that had fallen over the rest of the pub. “You’re either a murderer, or not a murderer! There isn’t really an in between area!”
“He didn’t kill anyone!” Hermione’s voice had risen as well. Harry groaned.
“Shut up you two! We’re not getting into this again!”
“Why are you so obsessed with defending that bloody –“
“I am not defending –“
“You’re always defending him! Ever since you got this stupid fucking job at St. fucking Mungo’s you’ve been obsessing-“
“I am not obsessing!”
“Pining after him like some lovesick little-“
“It’s not like –“
“..acting like you’re in love with the bast-“
“Well maybe I am!” Ron’s eyes widened as Hermione’s words hung heavy in the space between them. Harry’s head whipped to stare at her. Hermione’s face paled significantly.
“What did you just say?” Ron’s voice was low. Harry shook his head.
“Hermione..” She closed her eyes.
“I said,” Her voice wobbled. “Maybe I am. In love with him. I love him Ronald. I love him.” Ron turned to face Harry.
“You can’t be okay with this.” He said bluntly. “I mean, for Merlin’s sake, Harry. You and Malfoy were mortal fucking enemies all through school! Talk some sense into – oh my gods.” He stared at Harry’s unblinking face. “You knew.” Harry’s head dropped slightly. “You.. you fucking knew? About her and Malfoy?”
“People change, Ron.” Harry’s voice was soft. Ron’s eyes hardened as he looked between his two best friends. The two people in the world that he would’ve said he knew better than anyone else.
Before today.
“I knew you’d react like this.” Hermione’s voice was high pitched and shaky. “I knew you’d fly off the handle like you always do.”
“My brother was killed by Death Eaters, Hermione.” Ron said softly. “Fred was murdered by them. So was Lavender. And Colin. Remus. Tonks. Padma. Katie. Lee. Or have you forgotten?” Hermione’s lower lip trembled. “Do they not matter to you anymore, ‘Mione? Does he really mean more to you than everyone we’ve lost?”
“That’s enough.” Harry voice cut through Ron. “That’s enough. You need to go.” Ron looked at his friend incredulously.
“I need to go?”
“Yeah mate. You need to go. Go, and get some help. Talk to a mind healer or something.” Ron looked between the two of them again.
“I’m not the one who needs help! I’m not the one dating a fucking Death Eater! I’m not the one quitting my career, or breaking up with my fiancé, or, or any of that! I’m not the one that needs help here!” Harry shook his head, and Ron stood up, throwing his hands up as he did. “Fine. You know what? Fine. I am going to leave. Have fun fucking your Death Eater, ‘Mione. Hope he’s fucking worth it.”
Ron waited for their owls. Waited for the apology he knew had to be coming. He wasn’t wrong. He knew he wasn’t wrong. Malfoy was an asshole, a blood purist, a fucking Death Eater and a bloody prick to boot. Sure, maybe he could’ve gone about it in a better way, but really, how was he supposed to react to finding out Hermione was shagging the bloody dick. And then Harry, of all people, to defend her. Like he hadn’t almost killed Malfoy their sixth year. He’s okay nearly murdering the guy but once his best friend starts shagging him suddenly they’re all the best of friends.
Yeah.
He wasn’t wrong.
So he waited. A week passed with no owl. Then two. Then three. And suddenly.. a month had gone by with not a word from Harry or Hermione.
He still didn’t think he was wrong. But apparently, neither did they.
And so, Ron grabbed his jumper, grabbed his wand, and quickly apparated out of the tiny flat.
Ron had never been much of a drinker. It wasn’t that he’d never, or that he wouldn’t. He’d had his fair share of nights he couldn’t remember while partying in the common room with the rest of Gryffindor house, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it. Drinking lowered your inhibitions, made you lose control of things you kept a tight fist on, and Ron had never liked losing control.
Which was ironic, given the explosive temper he was known for. He was not unaware of the irony. But seeing as he could never seem to control those moments, Ron worked hard to control every other facet of his life to ensure that nothing ever slipped.
But tonight.. tonight Ron wanted to be out of control. He wanted to forget. He wanted to drink.
It was out a desire for familiarity that he found himself shoving through the door of the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta, who had somehow both survived the war with her and her pub fully intact, greeted him as he came in.
“Weasley! Nice to see you! Can I get you anything?”
“Firewhiskey.” He grunted, holding up two fingers. He slid into a booth in the back corner of the pub and gratefully snatched one of the tumblers that appeared on the table, downing it in one go. He sighed as the liquid burned down his throat and a familiar warmth spread over him. If he couldn’t have his friends, he’d have to settle for forgetting he’d ever had any.
“Take it easy, mate. Last I recall you weren’t that great at holding your liquor.”
Ron looked over the rim of his fifth tumbler. A tall man with a round face and a thin speckling of facial hair was staring at him, smiling.
“What do you know about my drinking habits?” He sneered. The man smiled a little bigger.
“Well I seem to remember cleaning your vomit off the common room floor more times than I’d have liked to.” Ron lifted his head and squinted, staring at the man a little harder.
“Oh, fuck me. Longbottom! Sorry mate, I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a long time.” Neville slid into the booth beside him and gestured to Rosmerta, and a tall glass of butterbeer appeared on the table. Ron shifted uncomfortably.
“It certainly has, Ronald. I think the last time you and I were together was.. maybe the memorial? The year after the war?”
“What? No! It hasn’t been that long, has it?” Neville nodded, chuckling lightly and sipped from his glass. “Well, how have you been anyway? Post war life treating you well?”
“It has.” Neville said contentedly. Ron waited a beat, but Neville didn’t elaborate.
“Paps haven’t been at you too much?” Neville laughed at this, a loud, booming laugh that seemed uncharacteristic for the Neville Ron had known at Hogwarts.
“Reporters? No. No, I should say not. Killing the snake doesn’t afford the same notoriety as killing Voldemort.” Ron gaped at him.
“What? But Harry wouldn’t have been able to do shit with the snake still alive! You were the hero of the whole affair! You mean to tell me no one knows what you did?” Neville shrugged.
“I mean, they know. The whole story was out and everything, horcruxes included. It just.. wasn’t as big of a story as your guys.” Ron shook his head.
“That’s not right.” He said. “People should know!”
“Honestly, Ronald. It’s alright.” Ron thumped his fist on the table.
“No! I mean, what. Harry kills Voldemort, sure. That’s a big deal, I get it. But what about all the grunt work that went into that? What about the horcruxes? What about the snake? What about every other bloody person who put their blood, sweat and tears into getting that bloody evil bastard to a place where he could be killed!” Ron’s nostrils flared and his chest heaved as his eyes bored angrily into Neville’s. Neville quirked his head, his lips turning up slightly.
“Huh.”
“What?” Ron demanded.
“Nothing, Ronald. It doesn’t bother me, though. Not having the fame. Quite the contrary, actually, I much prefer my quiet life.” Ron sank back against the booth, his anger ebbing away.
“You don’t care.” He said flatly. “After everything you did, you don’t care that people don’t know?” Neville shook his head.
“I don’t care that people don’t care.” He clarified. “Listen, mate. You want to know something about my life? It’s gorgeous. I have a beautiful home, a large garden I could’ve only dreamed of, a career that I love. And more than that, I have freedom. I have the absolute freedom to do what I want with my life because nobody is hounding me, or following me, or reporting or gossiping about it. My life is my own, Ronald. Which is more than I could’ve ever hoped for. Surely you can understand that?”
He could. The only people who probably understood that better than him were Harry and Hermione. Swirling rumors of infidelity followed them after their respective breakups, with every interaction with a member of the opposite sex becoming fodder for more gossip. They all understood all too well the need for a quiet life.
“Yeah.” Ron sighed after a moment. “Yeah I get it.”
“I figured you would.” Neville said softly, and a comfortable silence settled over them. Neville signaled Rosmerta again, and this time two butterbeers appeared on the table. Ron accepted it gratefully, and took a large gulp, letting the sweet, foamy liquid wash the fiery bitterness away.
“I like the beard.” He said after a moment, and Neville laughed that loud, booming laugh again.
“I don’t know if I’d necessarily call it a beard.” He said, wiping his eyes. Ron furrowed his brow.
“What would you call it then? It’s right there, a little bit of..” He reached out his hand, fingers brushing the dark brown stubble on his chin. “Right there.” He finished softly. He lifted his eyes to meet Neville’s, fingers still barely grazing the man’s chin.
“Right there.” Neville’s voice was husky. Ron pulled his hand back sharply, clearing his throat. He grabbed his butterbeer and downed the rest in one go.
“Right. Like I said, a beard. Clearly.” He stood up, his hip ramming the table and he fell forward, knocking his empty glass to the floor. “Oh! Shit. Fuck.” Neville scooted across the bench to the other side as glass exploded underneath his feet. Ron pulled his wand out, his cheeks and ears burning and he wordlessly vanished the glass. “Sorry, mate. Are you.. did any get you?” Neville shook his head.
“Nah, s’alright. I’m all good.” Ron smiled sheepishly.
“Anyway, on that stellar note I should probably get going. Got stuff to do tonight and everything.” Neville nodded and stood, and the two men made their way to the bar where Rosmerta was waiting. They each dropped a few coins on the counter and headed for the door.
“Oh.” Ron said as they stepped into the cool, night air. “It got dark.” Neville nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Astute observation, Ronald.” Ron grinned.
“I just didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
“It’s been fun, Ronald. I’m glad I ran into you.” Ron felt a strange fluttering in his chest, and his cheeks burned again.
“Same, mate.” Neville waited a beat, then turned, making his way down the alley.
“I’ll see you around.” He called. Ron watched as the man walked away. He should go. He should.
“Neville!” The man turned around. “I, uh,” Ron ran his hand through his hair. “You think.. you think it’d be okay if we did this again? Got together like this?” A curious smile spread over Neville’s face.
“Yeah, Ronald. I’d like that.” Ron smiled and relief flooded him.
“Great. Yeah, great. I’ll uh, I’ll send you an owl?” Neville nodded. Ron gave a small wave and turned on the spot, apparating to his tiny apartment.