Part Nine
Part Nine:
Hermione managed to make it back to the 12 Grimmauld place un-splinched, although she knew she shouldn’t have risked disapparting when her mind was reeling. Malfoy seemed to make her careless, she’d have to watch out for that. He also seemed to make her unobservant, since it took her far too long to realize that someone was in the kitchen. It was Crookshanks that ultimately alerted her. She spotted the puff of his orange tail just peeking out from under the couch. When she bent down and offered her hand with a cooing “kitty kitty” all he did was give a rather pathetic hiss. He was only ever this determined to stay hidden when someone, usually a stranger, had frightened him. That’s when she heard the sound of a spoon hitting the side of a mug. She froze, still half bent in front of the sofa. No one was supposed to be home. Ginny and Harry would be gone for hours still, and she’d only just left Malfoys so it couldn’t be him. She drew her wand. There were footsteps then, coming from the kitchen towards the living room, towards her. Burglars, maybe. She thought, heart racing. Although, Hermione reasoned, what kind of thief would stop to make himself a tea in the midst of a robbery? She took a half step back, trying to at least get the couch between her in the doorway in case she needed some kind of cover.
Half crouched behind the couch, wand drawn, eyes and hair wild, she watched as the intruder rounded the corner. Before she’d fully registered who it was, just the looming shape of a man in the doorway, she let off an expelliarmus.
“Fucking hell, Hermione!” Ron yelled, the spell missing his shoulder and cracking harmlessly against the entryway wall. The shock had made him jump and hot tea was dripping from his hand as he shook it furiously. “What was that for?” He said, sounding particularly whiny as stopped shaking his palm and began wiping it on his jumper. Hermione had risen from her spot, chagrined but still charged with adrenaline.
“You scared me.” She said, tucking her wand into her pocket and holding up both hands in surrender. “I thought you were someone breaking in.”
“Clearly.” He said, and sat down on the couch with a bit of a huff. The last bit of Crookshanks' tail disappeared and Hermione thought she heard another hiss. That cat had always hated Ron, even living in the burrow hadn’t fixed that. The fear slowly ebbing, confusion began to refill Hermione’s brain in its absence. It was a strange sort of cognitive dissonance, to see Ron on this couch with a cup of tea as if this were a completely normal Sunday.
“Harry’s at Ginny’s quidditch match.” Ron said after a long moment of Hermione just staring at him, as if she might not know where her own housemate was.
“I know.”
“I thought you might have gone with them.” He said, avoiding eye contact by seriously studying the remnants of whatever was in his mug.
“I didn’t. I had a meeting.” Hermione decided, in that split second, that she wasn’t going to tell Ron about Malfoy. Obviously he knew that they weren’t matched, and anything beyond that wasn’t his business. He nodded, but didn’t offer further comment, just stared down at his mug, his foot tapping against the leg of the couch, waiting.
Hermione was suddenly exhausted. She’d already reached her limit for the day and it was still morning. She flopped down into one of the armchairs, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She hated when Ron did this. It was exactly like all their fights began. He’d be angry about something, but then refuse to tell her what it was so she was left just guessing the problem until she’d amassed a nice pile of possible mistakes for him to poke at once the row really hit its peak. He always made her do the heavy lifting, even now when they weren’t together. When it was clear he had no intention of saying anything else without prompting, Hermione sighed and looked back up at him.
“Why are you here?” She asked, and she could hear the weariness dripping from her voice. He met her eyes then, finally, and gave a noncommittal shrug.
“I can’t just come visit?” He asked. “Or are you not even my friend anymore?” It was a trick question, she thought. Or maybe he really was just that dense.
“We haven’t spoken more than passing pleasantries in nearly a month.” She said, trying not to let too much annoyance color her words. “I wouldn’t exactly describe that as ‘pop in for a chat and a tea’ kind of friendship. Would you?”
“I thought you might want to talk.”
“About what?”
“Well, that’s up to you.” She wanted to roll her eyes or scream, or maybe just throw something. She imagined grabbing the cup from his hands and hurling it against the row of bookcases on the opposite wall, the shock on his face, the shards of glass scattering, hopefully one getting lodged somewhere painful like his eye. What was it he’d called her once ‘a temper tantrum throwing toddler.’ That wasn’t quite right, but close enough to his meaning. She was sure if she indulged in her destructive desire he’d just use it as further proof in whatever argument was starting. And an argument was starting. Make no mistake, they may be sitting across from each other almost casually, but this is how it always started. Hermione felt it, the crackling energy coming off him, like a sky before a storm. She just didn’t know what kind of storm it would be. She tried to sound reasonable, instead of reactive when she responded, trying to stave off the rain.
“You’re the one who’s sitting in my living room. You came here. You clearly had something you wanted to talk about. So you can talk about it, or you can leave.” His lips drew into a thin line, as he blushed. Angry at her, no doubt, for asking for something as simple as clear communication.
“Fine.” He muttered, pushing himself up from the couch, the frame creaking, “I thought you might want to say goodbye to me. But if you don’t, that’s fine with me.”
“Goodbye? You’re leaving?” Hermione asked quickly, standing up herself, her hand twitching as if she might reach out and touch his arm. She’d had been so wrapped up in her own matching, that she hadn’t even considered him. Was he matched with someone terrible? Was he leaving Britain? Where was he going to go? She would like to say that her worry was only for Harry’s sake, but she knew deep down that it was her own fear. She hated him some days, yes, but did she really want him to leave the country? To never see him again? As she processed, he was watching her, his own expression caught somewhere between confusion and some other emotion she couldn’t quite name.
“I’m not leaving.” He said slowly, as if applying a question mark behind each work “You are. Aren’t you?” Hermione’s mind worked furiously, trying to connect the threads that Ron had clearly woven together, but she came up blank.
“I’m not leaving. Who told you I was leaving?”
“Harry told you about your match.” He sputtered. “Are you seriously telling me that you plan on marrying Draco Malfoy? He’s a fucking death eater, Hermione!” It was like she’d been slapped. Harry’s betrayal, benign as he probably thought sharing the secret was, felt like a physical blow, knocking her back a full step so that her heel slammed against the chair.
“Well that’s…” She said, but lost the words. What was it? None of his business? Probably, but she’d been ready to barge into his home just a few days ago with similar questions. But then again, she wasn’t the one who had done the dumping. Didn’t he lose some rights to information when he was the one that did the leaving?
“You haven’t signed the papers yet, right?” He said, “You can still change your mind. I’m sure the ministry would extend the deadline for you if you explained the situation.” She, briefly considered lying. She’d set the signed packet on top of the mantle when she’d been looking for Crookshanks, so it wasn’t as if he’d spot it in her hand. She could just tell him she was considering it, let him leave and he wouldn’t be the wiser until it was too late. Then again, she realized, they would all be at the grand meeting room at the same time. And maybe here, in the privacy of Grimmauld Place, it was better to let him air it all out. She had no doubt that he would shout and make a scene in public if he wanted to. Better here than where Malfoy would witness how much even her old friend hated her now.
She set her mind to it, to bear it, and with as much confidence as she could muster she shook her head and said, “It’s already settled. Everything is signed.” There was a beat, a moment of silence as if the words got stuck in the space between the two of them and took a few seconds longer than normal to reach his ears, and then his face turned from an angry pink to full on red, splotching down his neck and disappearing beneath the jumper’s collar.
“I really can’t believe you!” He said, louder than was strictly necessary. She felt an old panic rise in her chest. She hated when he yelled. It made it hard for her to think. “You’re supposed to be the smart one. Agreeing to marry a death eater is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done. It’s like you’re spitting on every sacrifice we made in the war, everything Harry and I did.” Not for the first time, Hermione noticed how he seemed to leave her out of the Voldemort defeating efforts, as if he’d forgotten the months she’d spent tracking horcruxes. Her tongue felt heavy and bitter in her mouth.
“It’s more complicated than it seems.” She eventually said but he was shaking his head before she’d even finished the sentence.
“It’s really not.” He snapped. “You either leave for France or Australia or somewhere, or you give up your magic. There isn’t a third option.” And seemed to pause for effect before finishing. “I don’t think anyone will be able to look at you if you go through with it. Marriage law be damned.” There was a prickling in the back of her throat and in her eyes that felt an awful lot like tears.
“Those are terrible options Ron.” She said, voice a strained whisper. “And if I stay I can work to fix the law, or get some kind of exception. If I leave, that’s it. There’s no fixing it for me or anyone else.”
“Do you really think so highly of yourself that you think you’re the only solution to this mess?” He said with a cruel laugh. “Come off it, Hermione. You’re a glorified school nurse, you don’t have any legal training. I’m sure there are others that will get the law repealed, actual professionals, and then you can come back and everything will be normal.”
“If you’re so sure it’s going to be repealed,” She snapped back, her own anger beginning to rise to meet his, the tears making her vision blurry “then why does it matter if I marry Malfoy in the meantime. Then I’ll get to stay here, with the people I love and I won’t have to give up work. Isn’t that the best option? Can’t you see that?” She waited, blinking to try and clear her eyes since she absolutely refused to wipe at them with him standing right there to see.
“All I can see,” He said, the words colder than she’d ever heard from him “Is that you are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You’re picking yourself, your magic, your convenience, over the right thing. If it was me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d hand in my wand over marrying a death eater any day. That’s why we broke up. You said it was me, that I was never satisfied with you, but this is exactly the reason. You never think of anyone but you.” And without giving her a moment to let go of her held breath, let alone formulate a single word in response, he shouldered past her, pressing the still warm mug into her hand, and threw a handful of floo powder into the fire, leaving her standing in the center living room alone. The mug left her hand without much thought, hurling towards the fireplace and into the stone with a sharp and sudden crashing, the embers sizzling as the tea splashed against them. She’d have to apologize to Ginny for the mug, it was part of a set, she thought. But as she crawled along the floor, cleaning the shards up by hand, she had to admit she felt the smallest bit better.