Chapter Text
Keys jingled in the lock and Hermione stiffened. She wrapped and unwrapped her fingers methodically around the stem of the wineglass as she stared blankly towards the front door.
Ron’s shock of red hair appeared first as he frowned at the knob. His keys always got stuck and his frustration was evident as he wrenched them from the handle's grasp.
Hermione found she couldn’t care less.
Ron shut the door quietly and hung his jacket and bag on the rack by the entryway and turned. His breath sucked painfully through his lungs as he beheld her on the couch, a book on her lap and an icy look in her eyes.
“Jesus, Hermione. You fucking scared me.” He held a hand to his chest as his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She set her glass down and marked her page, setting it aside and stood.
“Where have you been, Ronald?” She appraised him with distaste. His suit was crumpled, his tie unbound as it hung limply around his neck. His shirt was untucked and he smelt of drink, something spicy and strong. Whiskey most likely. His face was tired and she could see the dark circles under his eyes, but his blue eyes flamed with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher.
“Our meeting ran late and I went out for drinks with a couple of guys from work. We got caught up, is all.” She crossed her arms and glared heatedly at him, her fury rising to insurmountable heights. It wasn’t the first time and she knew it wouldn’t be the last time he blew her off and came home late.
He had been distracted and aloof for weeks now. They gravitated around one another, neither quite breaching the other’s orbit. She couldn’t remember the last time they sat and had a meal together. She missed his laughter and his jokes. She missed his touch and gentle probing about her problems at work. She missed her best friend most of all and the absence of connection stung more than him being late.
But tonight was different.
Hermione remembered telling him a week ago she had planned this dinner. She remembered telling him on Monday and again last night before they fell asleep, leagues between them as she cuddled the edge of the bed.
She shivered with her anger and her hands clenched into fists as she crossed them in front of her. She could feel her leash slipping and struggled to maintain a calm demeanor. Losing her cool wouldn’t help either of them right now.
“We had plans tonight, Ron.” She was surprised her voice stayed level, if not a bit shaky. She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out of her mouth as she tried to ground herself in the moment. She watched him run a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up oddly.
“Fuck, Hermione. That dinner was tonight? I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few weeks and I can’t keep my head on straight.” He walked up to her and pressed his lips to her forehead. The overwhelming scent of whiskey eroded his usual comforting smell and she felt her anger deflate like a balloon. The previous heat that thrummed through her bones cooled and a familiar tiredness washed over her, drowning her in exhaustion. Ron held her at arm’s length and dipped his head down to peer into her eyes.
“I’ll make it up to, I promise Mione.” He searched her face before squeezing her shoulders once and releasing her. “I’m completely knackered. I am going to take a shower and go to bed.”
She watched him disappear up the stairs to their room and she don’t move from her spot until she heard the shower start. She collapsed onto the couch and rested her head on her hands.
It wasn't surprising that he had forgotten tonight, but to have seemingly forgot their anniversary altogether? It was unfathomable. She shook her head, damning the tears that formed. She was tired of crying, tired of fighting for something neither of them seemed to want anymore.
She felt the weight of their world on her shoulders and she sucked in a ragged breath as the tears fell faster now. It had always been her job to keep their friend group together. When Harry and Ron would fight, Hermione was the tape that patched them back together. She kept the peace and was often caught in the middle of everything and it was a position she hadn’t minded being in.
But when her and Ron started dating, it set a precedent for their group. There was a different kind of balance to maintain, one that could topple over as quickly as it had been built. And it was all in her hands.
She couldn’t be the one that tore their friends apart. They had been wrapped together from the start, overcoming obstacles and surviving against all odds. She couldn’t do that to them now. Not after everything.
Hermione gave in to her pain, letting it sink into her bones and her soul. She let herself feel it and when the water switched off, she gave one last silent sob before she wiped off her tears and walked up the stairs to the spare bathroom.
She brushed her teeth and washed her face, the cool water bliss on her swollen, tender skin. She stared at herself in the mirror. Dull, lifeless brown eyes gazed sadly back at her, the area around them raw. She was pale, her normally tan complexion wan in the sharp bathroom light. Her nose was tinged with pink and her lips were dry. She was still pretty, but she certainly looked like something was eating her alive from the inside.
Hermione sighed, dried her face and shut off the bathroom light. She entered the bedroom as Ron was settling under the covers on the far side of the bed. She stared glumly at the space between them as she too draped the quilt over her. She waved the lights off and put her wand on the bedside table. Ron was already asleep before the lamp winked out, his soft snores grating against her fragile nerves.
She forced herself to quiet her mind, the task nearly impossible with the flurry of thoughts racing through her. She tried reciting passages from her favorite books and counting numbers, anything to relax.
Eventually she succeeded and sleep beckoned her like a long-lost friend. She was nearly unconscious when she remembered their meal still sat untouched on the dining room table. Perfect, artfully placed dishes, a decanter of wine and a single red rose in a vase. She lay still, staring at the ceiling before deciding it could all sit there and rot.
*
“You look like shit.”
Hermione’s head snapped up from her desk and she narrowed her eyes at the small witch in her office doorway. Pansy Parkinson stood there with two to-go cups of what smelt blissfully like coffee. Pansy’s red lips spread into a sad smile and drifted farther into the room and slid into the comfy chair at her desk.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was going to for humor and that doesn’t seem to be the solution.” She proffered one of the cups and Hermione wrapped her cold hands around the cup, soaking in the heat. She returned the sad smile and choked back a small sob. Her throat already ached from the night before. She wasn't sure how she still had the ability to cry.
She had cast a muffliato in the bathroom, not that Ron would have noticed anyway, and cried. When she finally emerged from the connected bathroom, Ron hadn’t moved and she tugged a blanket from their closet and slept on the couch. When she woke, he was gone.
She had moved through her morning routine sluggish and removed. Her head felt heavy and her eyes were grainy. Each action was robotic, a pattern she performed every morning and usually comfort was found in the monotony of it all. Shower, clothes, hair and makeup; it was rudimentary.
Before she left, Hermione stood rooted to the dining room floor staring dejectedly at the wilted rose. She had been so distracted she had forgotten her morning coffee with Pansy.
Sitting across from her friend now, Hermione never felt more grateful for Pansy.
“I take it your night didn’t go as planned?” Pansy sipped delicately from her cup, her dark eyes trained on Hermione like she could wring every thought from her head with just a glance. She sighed heavily and looked down.
“He didn’t come home until nearly midnight, Pans. He said the Auror meeting went late and they went out for drinks. He forgot.” Somehow her dehydrated body still had the capacity for tears and another rolled down her cheek, splashing against the outline she had been working on. She watched the ink swirl on the parchment before meeting Pansy’s gaze.
“He forgot about our anniversary.” Pansy looked down at Hermione’s hand still wrapped around the cup and looked quickly back up. Hermione pointedly ignored the metal burning a mark into her skin.
“And you didn’t end things with him?” Pansy lifted a brow in question, her eyes simmering with familiar disdain.
Pansy had been a welcome surprise when Hermione had decided to pursue other avenues besides the Ministry and a catch-up year at Hogwarts. It felt juvenile after everything they had endured. So, she had explored other avenues working in Flourish and Blott’s selling books.
Harry and Ginny were supportive and Ron said he understood her need for peace. But, that had been before told her she was wasting her potential working at a bookshop. It was backhanded, but she carried on and settled into a satisfying routine.
A few months later, Pansy had come into the shop and after some awkward conversation, apologized for her past behavior and asked if they could get drinks. Hermione had tentatively, albeit, curiously agreed and the following night they met at the Leaky Cauldron. The pair had spent hours acquainting themselves with one another.
She was pleased to find Pansy was well-read, witty and a joy to be around. They fell into a comfortable friendship, despite Ron’s hatred towards the former Slytherin. His prejudice ran far deeper than she had realized. She had hoped he would overcome his childish pretenses, but Pansy hadn’t seemed to mind. Her opinion of Ron rivaled his own and she frequently spoke to him with impressive wordplay that often left Ron puzzled. Hermione didn't intervene, realizing that if Ron ever figured out Pansy was insulting him every chance she got, it would only make her life more miserable.
She didn’t see much of the other Slytherin’s, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion Pansy kept them away for her sake. She wouldn’t have minded if they did come around, but she could feel Ron withdrawing from her and having members of their old rival house around would only exacerbate things.
Regardless, when Hermione thought back to when it all started going wrong, she felt all signs pointed to this.
Ron had always felt second best to those around him. His brothers, Harry and now Hermione. He was easily jealous and his temper usually got the better of him. It tended to alienate him from those closest to him. She still tried to plan dates and nights together, but work was busy, so she’d turn to Pansy with her free time.
When Hermione felt comfortable enough, she tentatively revealed her desire to write an updated Muggle Studies textbook. Pansy had fully supported Hermione and helped her draft her first outline, stating she could find a potential investor to publish for her. Hermione had been hesitant at the idea of an independent publisher, but Pansy had assured her there was very low risk and they genuinely wanted to help.
The benefactor had read the outline and agreed to her terms. They supplied her with a cozy office on one of the buildings they owned under the terms of remaining anonymous and Hermione had graciously agreed. It was a generous offer and although she yearned to know who it was, if only to thank them, she respected their wishes, only conversing with them through Pansy. Who, annoyingly enough, kept equally as tight lipped about their identity.
She supposed she could look in the public directory as to who owned the building, but that seemed too obvious and they’d probably have hired a separate company to represent them and so on and so forth.
It just so happened, that was a rabbit hole Hermione couldn’t quite commit to.
So, she worked at Flourish and Blott’s until it became too much for her and she quit to work on her book full time. A year later, she had a complete manuscript. It needed last minute revising, but within the week she would be submitting it to her publisher.
But she couldn’t find it in herself to focus.
She hated that her tumultuous love life was spiraling and creating a mental block in her writing. She secretly resented Ron for making her feel this way, but she knew she wasn’t blameless. She knew she played a part in whatever was dividing them.
She was just desperate to close the gap and move on.
“He’s just been busy,” Hermione said with little conviction. It sounded weak even to her own ears and Pansy had an uncanny way of always seeing through her.
“That’s shit and you know it, Hermione. You can’t possibly believe that?” She didn’t, but what was there to say? She didn’t want to end things between her and Ron, but it got harder and harder to wake up and experience the same sad day over.
“That’s just what he told me Pans.” She sipped her coffee, letting the obnoxiously sugary drink soothe her frayed nerves.
“And did you corroborate with Harry? He was in that meeting too, right?” Hermione shrugged and set down her cup. She hadn’t thought to ask Harry. Ron had never given her a reason to suspect his word couldn’t be trusted and she didn’t like mounting suspicion curling in her chest. “I didn’t,” she said tiredly.
“So, how do you know?” Pansy said gently. She reached forward and grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed softly.
“I don’t mean to ask these hard questions so early in the morning, but babe, no man in his right mind would ‘forget’ that you’re home waiting for him. Especially on their anniversary. You’re smart and beautiful and accomplished. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand once more before leaning back in her chair “Besides, I’d shag you if I didn’t have my sights set on your spectacled friend.”
Hermione laughed. “I’m flattered but you can’t set your sights on someone you already have. The sentence implies chasing.” Pansy waved her off with her own laugh.
“You should see what we do when we’re alone.” Pansy wagged her eyebrows at Hermione suggestively. “There’s plenty of chasing.”
“Ok, gross I don’t need to think of you two shagging. He’s like my brother Pans. Now, I love you and I appreciate the coffee but you have go now. Before I vomit all over my manuscript.” Hermione rounded the desk and pulled her friend into a tight hug. She appreciated Pansy’s ability to set anyone at ease and she wondered slightly if she slipped something in her coffee. She wouldn’t have minded if it cleared her head.
Pansy separated them and held her shoulders. “Just talk to Ron, okay? Maybe that’s the best place to start.” Pansy touched her hand to Hermione’s cheek before reaching for her bag and leaving with a tossed, ‘have a good day!’ over her shoulder.
Hermione, still smiling, sat back down and pulled her quill and manuscript closer and got to work with renewed vigor.
*
When Hermione got home that evening the house showed signs of Ron having not been home. The food still sat on the table and the rose had fully wilted, the drying petals drooping lamely. She sighed and deposited her bag and coat on the rack and ran upstairs to change.
Once comfortable, she set to cleaning up the meal with her hands, preferring the routine of cleaning the muggle way. It calmed her and gave her purpose. Elbows deep in suds, she had the sudden thought to call Pansy and see if she wanted to share dinner, but she didn’t want to be a third wheel to her and Harry.
Pansy and Harry’s relationship had shocked some, Hermione the least of all. She had seen the heated glances and shared smiles, so it had only been a matter of time before they told them all. She loved Harry and Pansy together. They complimented each other well and she appreciated Pansy’s patience with her friend.
Harry struggled after the war with coming to terms with their new lives. Their childhood had been fraught with so much peril that it hadn’t given any of them the opportunity to just live. The freedom set Harry on edge and he often spent his days looking over his shoulder, which in turn had torn him and Ginny apart.
Ginny had understood and suffered with her own trauma, but she didn’t soothe Harry the way he needed and Harry hadn’t been the balm to Ginny’s hurt either. They had split amicably and were closer as friends anyhow.
Harry had gotten help at Hermione’s request and she slowly saw the changes in him over time. She was proud of him and the milestones he completed. Harry had never been too proud to ask for help and ultimately wanted a life of peace and it had motivated him to heal.
Pansy had been that to him. She saw a different side of the war, one from a higher pedestal of fear. Her family had chosen to sidle the edge between opposition and conformity. Pansy had nearly been forced to take the mark with Draco and serve Voldemort, but her father had given a high percentage of Galleons and that somehow assuaged him from taking her.
Instead, Pansy had been forced to watch her closest friends bend to the will of a mad man, a helpless bystander to the abuse and carnage.
But Harry and Pansy together made sense. Where he faltered, she provided. Where she struggled, he carried. They were the opposite of her and Ron. They didn’t just gravitate around one another, their orbits fused, and they circled as one. Their love was beautiful, and Hermione didn’t know if she could stand to spend her night with them. She was still to raw and Ron not being home rubbed salt deeper into her wounds.
She finished the kitchen and fixed herself a cup of tea and settled into her spot on the couch with her discarded book. Time passed and it was soon time for bed and with no word from Ron she trudged up the stairs to their empty bed.