False Fate

By MD1016

Part I: Cup of Oaths

Chapter 6 - Happy Birthday, Hermione
 
 
 
 
The next couple of weeks went by without much in the way of excitement, which suited Ron just fine. He hadn't seen any condemning clues that Hermione and Harry were still at it. In fact, it was just the opposite: when the three of them were together it was more like old times than it had been in a long while. They were beginning to find a routine, while Ron continued to have very explicit sexual nightmares.
 
Harry and Ron received their Apparation licenses on the first try. Ron's mum beamed with pride and made the three of them a roast beef supper with all the trimmings. Hermione seemed happy for them, too, but Ron found her to be distracted much of the time, and occasionally (and for no discernable reason) on the verge of tears. Twice Ron watched as she cast a simple Second Year spell, only to have it blow up in her face. She tried to hide it from Harry and the rest, but she couldn't hide it from Ron. So, she began to withdraw from him, and made excuses to not be in the room with him. 
 
As the lessons with Moody and Lupin progressed, it finally became obvious to everyone that something about Hermione's magic was off. Both Harry and Ron's Patronuses grew stronger and easier to control.  Ron was even able to send an intelligible message through his little dog. Hermione's, though, began to change color, and at one point morphed into a pair of fluffy, yellow socks. This, of course, just furthered her distress, which made her more determined, which made matters worse. Lupin began to tutor her alone more often than not, supposing that without Harry and Ron present she wouldn't feel the need to compete. He didn't understand that Hermione's only competition was herself. Was Ron really the only one who could see that?
 
Lupin also worked with Ron while Moody had Harry and Hermione in the other room doing Merlin knew what. Ron was supposed to be learning to concentrate, which seemed akin to actively trying not to think about Hermione (and worked just about as well). Control was supposed to be the key to his talents as a Smisurato, but it was very clear to everyone - including Ron - that he was a sorry git when it came to control. Hermione, he decided, would've made a much better Smisurato. Well, not at the moment, he supposed. At the moment she was a mess. Ron had to remain silent to her new habit of questioning her own decisions, large or small, for fear that she'd erupt in tears. Harry noticed it, too, Ron knew, but the two of them didn't talk about her. Actually, they didn't talk about anything anymore.
 
And still, not everything was tense. When magic wasn't directly involved, the three of them got on well enough. Ron's cooking grew marginally better as he became more comfortable with the idea. He even took to wearing the apron his mother sent along once he ruined a pair of pants and shirt when a pot of woray boiled over, and Hermione refused to let him wear them anymore. She even took money out of his next week's pay to replace them, over his repeated protests. Spending good gold on clothes - the girl was demented!
 
The day before Hermione's birthday Ron opened his first-ever bank account with Gringotts using the money he'd managed to save from his salary at the shop. But he held back a couple of galleons to find her a gift. He'd never bought anyone a birthday gift with his own money before, and it made him a little nervous. What did one get the girl one's best friend stole? Jewelry, Ron decided. After all, what else did girls like? He went down to the Golden Box, and peered inside at the glittering, garish bobbles. There were so many to choose from. Rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets...he didn't even know where to begin. The old hag inside wave him in, and Ron reluctantly obeyed. The store was musty and dark, over-packed with boxes of treasures, table displays magically lit to make the shining metals and stones sparkle. There wasn't much room to negotiate, but that hardly mattered. Ron wasn't about to browse.
 
"Gift for your girl?" the hag asked. Her toothless grin reminded Ron he hadn't brushed his teeth yet that day. "No, not for your girl," she corrected herself. "For someone else's girl. Yes, I see that now." She meant that figuratively, of course. Both her eyes were clouded to a milky white.
 
"It's her birthday," Ron explained. "I thought maybe she'd like a necklace or something." Thinking back, though, he couldn't remember if she wore jewelry or not. Small stones in her ears, sometimes, he guessed. Maybe a thin chain around her neck. Maybe. Perhaps Hermione wasn't the type of girl to wear jewelry. He should probably get her a book. A book was safe. Or maybe sweeties?
 
"Wait," said the hag, holding out her hand to stop him from leaving. "I've got what she needs." She turned and opened a small cabinet, and pulled out a little wooden box etched with stars and fitted with a tiny, delicate, brass clasp. She pushed it across the wood worktop to him.
 
Inside Ron found a thin gold chain, delicate and smooth beneath his fingertips. A small charm hung loosely from it, in the shape of a four-leaf clover. "A luck charm?" 
 
"'Tis not very big, neither's the magic, but it'll send a little luck her way. I never met a body couldn't use a little luck. But better than that, it's a ward."
 
"Is it?" It was terribly small. "It can't ward off much bad luck, can it?"
 
"Not much," the hag admitted. "But then, she's your friend's girl, now, isn't she?"
 
"Yeah." She was right. He had to get her something small. Something that a friend would give a friend. Something that wouldn't trigger a complete emotional breakdown. "It is kinda pretty," he told himself. 
 
The hag gave a confident nod. "I'll wrap it for you."
 
 

****

 
 
When Ron made it home the next evening, he'd left Hermione to close the store. She'd started the day in good spirits, but with every passing hour that Ron hadn't mentioned her birthday she'd grown more sour and difficult to tolerate. He was glad when he finally made it back to the manse, and the lively atmosphere in the parlor. The fire was roaring, the wall sconces were ablaze, and still the room was cool and comfortable for a late September evening. Balloons and hover globes and streamers in every color hung from the ceiling, and flowers in vases decorated the table tops. A dinner was set up on the sideboard, and Ron realized with glee that he wouldn't be expected to cook that evening.
 
Tonks and Lupin had arrived. Lupin wore his normally shabby tweeds and patched sweater. He gazed at Tonks with her hair bouncing and bright as ever. She looked happy, really happy, and it made Ron smile. The two of them were talking to Fred and George, who were telling a very physically animated story, and to Hagrid who looked both excited and desperate to fit in at the same time. 
 
Ron's dad came in, and clapped him on the arm. "Hear you're doing well, son. Your mother and I are very proud of you."
 
"Yeah, thanks," Ron mumbled. 
 
"Mad-Eye told me about how well your Patronus is coming. That was one spell I never really got the hang of. Mine always looked like a sickly cow or something. Your mum, though, do you know what her Patronus is? A dog! Just like yours! Well, not like yours. Moody tells me yours is a terrier of some sort. Your mother's is more a retriever. But I thought that was wonderfully interesting, don't you, Ron?"
 
"Is she here?" Ron asked, deliberately changing the subject. He looked around and saw Hermione's parents off to one side, a glass of pumpkin juice in each of their hands. They seemed nervous, and when Mr. Granger caught Ron's eye he inclined his head in acknowledgement. Not a smile or a hello, but then, the last time Ron had seen them their daughter was lying unconscious in a hospital bed and Ron had been the one to explain why. He'd told them it was all his fault, that she'd been trying to protect him. He told them he was sorry, as he'd truly been. He hadn't mentioned what he'd done to Draco. It seemed a long, long time ago now.
 
"She'll be along a little later," Ron's father said, and it took a second for Ron to remember that he'd asked after his mother.
 
Neville came in with Luna Lovegood, the blank-eyed blond he'd been friendly with for the last year or so. It was good to see the two of them, who were still at Hogwarts and were therefore still a connection to the past. Neville looked good. Taller and thinner than before. More grown-up. Ron nodded to his friends, and they came over to greet him.
 
"Good to see you, old man," Neville said with a toothy smile. "How are things on the outside?" 
 
Harry came in then, smiling and looking very put-together. He said his hellos to the Grangers, thanked them for coming, and then went over to Ron. 
 
"Is she on her way?"
 
"Shouldn't be too long," Ron told him. When he left she was adding up the receipts and counting the money in the cash box. They'd had a fairly busy day at the store so it could take a little longer than usual. He'd felt guilty leaving here there, it being her birthday and all, but he had to get home before her to make sure everything was ready. And it was. Dobby the house elf was just turning on some music when she came in.
 
"Surprise!" the room shouted. Hermione froze.
 
To say she was surprised was something of an understatement. She took one look around the room and then burst into tears, turned, and ran out. Not quite the reaction they were going for. Harry went to follow, but Tonks stopped him. 
 
"I'll go," she told him.
 
Harry let her, and turned back to Ron, his face full of concern and confusion. "Was she all right when you left her?"
 
"Yeah," Ron said. "Why? You don't think...you don't think that after I left the store...that someone...that something happened? Do you?"
 
For a heartbeat Harry stared at him, confusion turning to fear. Then the both of them bolted out of the room to find her. In the hall they heard her wet sobs coming from the kitchen downstairs, and the sound of Tonks' gentle voice trying to quiet her. Ron was about to push the door open when Harry caught his arm and motioned for him to be quiet. 
 
"There, now, have some of this. It'll help calm you."
 
"Milk?" Hermione hiccupped.
 
"My father always said nothing was as soothing as a nice glass of milk. You want to tell me about it? Did something happen?"
 
"Well..." She hesitated and Ron was about to go in, Harry's protests or no, when she continued with: "Oh, Tonks, I've had the most horrible day."
 
Hearing this Harry set his jaw and gave Ron a shove.
 
"Did you and Ron row again?"
 
"What? Oh, no. We hardly fight anymore. It's not Ron." 
 
And Ron, vindicated, shoved Harry back.
 
"I must look the fool." Hermione's voice got stronger as she became stern with herself. "All those people in there came here just for me, and I lose it like this. Ridiculous!"
 
"No one will care about that. They just want to know that you're all right-"
 
"Tonks, I'm not! I haven't been for a while."
 
"What is it?"
 
"I don't know!" The sound of her fists hitting the table startled the boys. "What if we're doing the wrong thing by being here? What if leaving Hogwarts was the worst decision in the world?"
 
"Hardly the worst decision," Tonks said to pacify her. "I can think of a lot worse."
 
"I'm no good with magic anymore. I've poured over the books for years now, I know the ins and outs of spells, and at the end of the day I'm weak. My magic is weak because I can't focus, I've no control anymore. I feel as if I'm coming apart at the seams.  I'm a liability to the boys, and to the Order."
 
"No," Tonks insisted. "Name one single time you've endangered Harry or Ron."
 
Hermione sniff. "And that's it, isn't it? Harry or Ron. Ron or Harry." She burst into sobs again, and Ron turned away from the door. It was difficult to hear her so sad. "Tonks, is it possible to love two wizards at once?"
 
"Uh...I dunno. I've only ever loved the one," she said honestly, and a little taken aback. "But don't tell me both Ron and Harry."
 
There was a sniffle, and the sound of a nose being blown. "I hardly know anymore. I mean, I've had...feelings...for Ron for some time now. Forever, maybe, I don't know. But then, recently Harry... It's different with him. It feels different, and still very compelling. And poor Ron is just miserable, I can tell, and I don't know how to make things better, and everything I do just makes it all worse. And still I can't help but do. Every choice I make is wrong, every thought is bad -"
 
"Come, now, Hermione, you know that's not so."
 
"Lupin," she sniffed. "He told me you're expecting. The two of you." There was a long drawn-out silence. "It's all right, I swore I wouldn't tell anyone. I only bring it up now because I wondered...how you knew...when you first knew...how did you know?"
 
"Good goblins, Hermione! Don't tell me you think you're-"
 
"I don't think," she said quickly, and her voice cracked. "In fact, I'm almost certain I'm not."
 
"Almost?"
 
Once he registered what she was implying, Ron stopped thinking. Nothing existed within his head but dark red fury. His hands went for Harry's throat, and when they made contact a horrible growling scream ripped from his belly. He drove his friend backward and into the wall next to the ancient grandfather clock. Harry struggled against the lock Ron's fingers had on his neck, over his windpipe, squeezing and crushing. The door from the kitchen banged open, people rushed down from the parlor, hands pulled at Ron to force him to release his hold, but the hatred made him strong. It took a blast from Arthur's wand to down him. And, once he was on the floor, he didn't move. 
 
"What the bloody hell?"
 
"Harry, are you all right?"
 
"Ronald Weasley! What has gotten into you?"
 
Everyone was talking at once. Shouting, really. Except for Harry who was coughing more than anything else. And maybe gasping a little for air.
 
Ron was pulled up by the front of his shirt, and forced to his feet. His father got in his face. 
 
"What is the meaning of this, lad?"
 
Ron shoved his father's hands away. "I'M. A. MAN." And men kill. His voice was low and controlled, and reflected all of the anger that blazed within him, and it sent his father back a couple of steps. Everyone in the room was staring, but Ron didn't care. His full attention was on Harry - a person he could no longer consider a friend; a person he wanted to hurt with every fiber left in his being; to make him feel just a miniscule amount of the pain Ron knew.
 
A thud, followed by a whoosh came from the dining room above, and a moment later Ron's mother Molly, and his sister Ginny, both covered in ash and smiling broadly, came down the stairs. They stopped short as they realized everyone was standing and waiting for something to happen. Ginny's eyes widened at the sight of Harry and she ran over to him.
 
"Sprites abound! Harry! What happened?  Are you all right?"
 
"Fine," he said through a choke. 
 
She put a few fingers against the already forming bruises on his neck. "Oh, Harry, this is why I hate being back at Hogwarts without you! I worry about you getting yourself hurt all the time!" She threw her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "You must be more careful, Harry. What happened?"
 
"Yeah," he said non-committally and glared daggers at Ron. Harry pushed her away a little, and Ginny looked adoringly up into his face. Her eyes poured into his, and he had to look away.
 
That's when she leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him.
 
"No, Ginny," he said as kindly as he could. "You see, a lot has happened."
 
Ron snorted. "I'll say."
 
Harry carried on, ignoring him. "You see, Hermione..."
 
Ginny turned and smiled at her friend. "Right! Hermione! Happy birthday!"
 
"Thanks." For the first time Ron saw true guilt on Hermione's face. He found some satisfaction in that.
 
"I meant to say, Ginny, that Hermione and I..."
 
"What?" she asked, as if she couldn't imagine what could possibly be so horrible that he wouldn't want to tell her. Poor, clueless Ginny.
 
"You." Mr. Granger said; a statement not a question. "And my daughter. Here. Under one roof. Unchaperoned."
 
"Calm down, Clive," Mrs. Granger said quietly, and placed a hand on her husband's arm.
 
"I will not!" he insisted, and pointed to Hermione. "You will come home straight away. Tonight."
 
Her face dropped even more if possible, and then went stony and blank.  "I won't, Father."
 
"Like hell you won't," he took a few steps toward her, but Harry stepped between them. "Get out of my way, son."
 
"You can say what you like, sir, and do what you think is best, but the fact is that Hermione and I are Fated. I'm her True Love, and she is mine. You can't stop Fate any more than you can the tide."
 
Lupin put a hand up to cover his shocked, troubled expression. Ginny gasped and took a couple of steps back.
 
"Fated?" Mrs. Granger asked.
 
"What did you say?" Hermione asked. 
 
Harry turned to her. "We're Fated. You know it's true."
 
"It...it can't possibly be..." She looked confused, frightened. A fresh stream of tears poured down the sides of her face. She looked at Ron but he turned away. She was no longer a friend, either.
 
Harry didn't waver. He took her hand. "It's true, Hermione. I feel it so I know you must."
 
"Tell her why," Ron commanded in a low and gravelly voice. "Tell her how she and I were Fated. Tell her how Draco hexed her with that curse, and how I tried to save her but I couldn't because I was already her True Love. I was the one the Fates meant her to have. Me! Tell her, Harry, how you kissed her and stole her from me! Tell her!" His breath was labored, ragged, and the hole at his center burn like an inferno. He shook from the effort of standing still.
 
"I was cursed?" she asked. "How could you keep this a secret from me? Both of you!" She rushed past them and fled up the stairs. There were a handful of moments when nobody moved.
 
"Shall we retire into the parlor?" Lupin asked. He began to herd people in that direction. "Tonks," he said quietly, and then motion to the stairs with his chin. She nodded, and followed Hermione up. 
 
Everyone else wandered shell-shocked into the parlor, except for Ginny who wore an expression of betrayal as she watched Harry leave her behind. Ron knew that look, understood that feeling all-to-well. Hermione had been her great friend, and Harry her first love. If Ron hadn't already been over his head in raw emotion he might've tried to console her some. But then, she did something completely unexpected. Ginny wiped away the tear that had fallen along her straight nose, then raised her chin and stomped up to the dinning room. From where he stood Ron heard her disappear through the Floo Network after two words: "the Burrow."
 
Lupin's voice drifted down from upstairs, but Ron still hadn't moved. Every part of him was disconnected, his mind, his body, his anger. 
 
"This is disastrous," Lupin began. "And I don't just mean to your friendships, Harry. The Order needs you, and we need Ron. The two of you have to be able to work together. It's crucial."
 
"We can," Harry said. Ron didn't think even Harry believed that sorry assertion.
 
"When you said True Love..." Mrs. Granger said slowly.
 
"He's talking about the Fates, dear," Ron's mum said. "Every once in a good long while the Fates intervene and cast their mark on destiny. Surely you've heard of True Love?"
 
"Yes, but what does that mean?" Mr. Granger asked, frustrated.
 
Harry spoke up. "It means I Love her. And she Loves me. And whether you like it or not, even Muggle law says she's an adult now. She can make her own decisions."
 
"Like hell she can! If you think for one moment that I'm going to leave my teenage daughter in this - whatever this place is! - with you, you little bugger, you're out of your bloody mind!"
 
"Clive," Mrs. Granger said with sternness to her tone that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's. 
 
"Shelia, I will handle this," he insisted through a clenched jaw. "And you, Mr. Lupin, assured me that the children would be appropriately supervised!"
 
Posturing. Ron shook his head. Hermione was upstairs crying her eyes out and everyone was standing around defending their territory like a bunch of animals. Ron left the hall and went upstairs to his room, allowing only a glance at Hermione's closed door. 
 
He had to get out of there. There was simply no other choice to make. He'd gotten rid of the boxes and satchels and bags he'd used to move his things in, and looking around, there's wasn't really that much he'd need to take. Best to go simple, he thought. To be a wizard free of place and things. He pulled some clothes from the closet and wrapped them in the top blanket on the bed. He already had his wand in his pocket. Well, that hadn't taken long, had it? The rest of it, he assumed would eventually be swallowed up by the old house and disappear into the ether; the games, the music box and ear clip, the knick-knacks and trinkets and amusements from his childhood that seemed silly now. Good riddance.
 
He collapsed on to the side of the bed and cradled his head in his hands. It felt like his mind was melting in his hot, throbbing skull. 
 
So, they'd been going at it all along, and Ron living just a couple of meters away hadn't cottoned on. He really was as dense as people always said he was. Blind was a better word. Well, he'd asked them to keep it a secret, so it's not like he could really blame them. Except that he did. They had done this. They had broken up the team, ruined their friendships, and destroyed him completely. 
 
No, not completely. Ron had a job, so technically he had a means of sustaining himself. He could still go on. There didn't seem much point, but there it was. 
 
"You're leaving?" She was in the doorway, her voice still watery. He didn't look at her. Didn't even acknowledge she was there. "Do you have to?" When he snorted she sighed. "Well, does it have to be tonight? We need to work this out, Ron-"
 
"Don't! Don't say my name like that!"
 
Her red, puffy eyes went wide. "Like what?"
 
"Like you care!"
 
"But Ron, of course I care. I'll always care about you. You're my best friend."
 
"No," he said quietly. "Not anymore. Never again."
 
"Don't say that." She crossed the room and sat beside him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
 
That was a good question. He thought back and couldn't seem to come up with an answer. "Would it have made any difference?"
 
"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." She sniffed back a sob and wiped her cheek with the back of her delicate hand. "God! I can't believe this is happening!"
 
His heart wrenched in his chest at her cry, and the hatred and fury inside quieted a little. Perhaps it didn't matter that she'd slept with Harry. It didn't even matter that she Loved him. This was still Hermione sitting next to him. Ron pulled the small etched box from the drawer in his night table and handed it to her. "Happy birthday, Hermione."
 
She choked on a sob as he placed the gift in her hand. "It'll be all right," he told her.
 
She laughed and cried at once. "How can you say that? How could things possibly be all right?"
 
"I'm going away," he explained. "You're still Fated, so you have a Love. You have the Order. You'll forget about me in no time, and you and Harry will defeat You-Know-Who, and everything will be fine." 
 
"Where are you going?" Funny that she would cling to that part.
 
"No where special. To the Burrow, I expect. Until I can clear out the flat above the store. But you don't have to worry. I'll steer clear. You're Harry's now. I get it."
 
She scowled. "I'm not Harry's. I'm not a thing. And does this mean you're firing me?"
 
"Firing? You can't be serious."
 
"I most certainly am. I've put a lot of work into that store. A lot of time and energy and emotional investment."
 
He stared at her in disbelief. She was heartless. "You're talking to me about emotional investment? You'd force me to spend all day with you, every day, knowing how I feel about you and what we once were, and with you going home at night to your True Love while I slink back up to my empty flat? You cold-blooded, selfish trollop!"
 
"You're calling me selfish? Have you even once looked in the mirror?"
 
"What's that supposed to mean?"
 
"That this is all about you, and how much you've been hurt. About what's been done to you! Never mind that there are two other people directly affected by this curse - and yes, we were cursed, it's not like we wanted to be Fated together-"
 
"Two other people? You mean the two people in your bed?"
 
She slapped him hard against his cheek bone and his head whipped back. Not that he could blame her. He deserved it. But he grabbed her by the upper arms anyway; a knee-jerk reaction.
 
"You should've told me!" she screamed and cried, tears flowing again, her face red and strained and crumpled. "Damn you, Ron Weasley! You should've told me!"
 
What was left inside him twisted and pulled, and his own face went hot. Tears flowed. And then he kissed her. He bowed his head and pressed his mouth against hers. Masochist, he called himself in his head. Bloody stupid sod.
 

Until, that is, her lips moved beneath his, and she kissed him back. Something hot and electric bolted through him, his entire body tingled with a sensation he'd never quite experienced before. His hands went to her face, and he cradled her head. Her mouth opened and her tongue quickly found his. Immediately a ball of excitement shot from the base of his belly to, well, lower. He groaned with arousal. She was amazing; her lips, her hands on his chest, her warm, moist breath in his mouth. He ignored the emptiness inside him that cried foul. He wanted more of her and he didn't care about the rest of it. Her finger tips explored down the sides of his ribcage, and then to his abdomen muscles that triggered another amazing jolt of excitement. He couldn't help it, couldn't control himself; his mouth kissed and kissed and his hands had to touch her. They slid down her neck, her back, to that gentle dip at the base of her spine he'd held in his fantasies for weeks now. His fingers slipped under her shirt and then behind the waistband of her jeans. She was warm and smooth as silk, just like he'd always imagined she would be.

 
Without warning she pulled away, wrenched herself from his arms, and she practically flew across the room putting the heavy bed between them. She was as breathless as he was; her mouth red and swollen to match her eyes. She was a mess, and never had she looked more lovely. Or more scared. 
 
She threw the box on the bed, and pressed her hands over her offending lips. A new, gut-wrenching sob erupted. Her eyes held nothing but tears and anguish. "What is wrong with me?"
 
"That's what I'd like to know." Harry stood in the doorway, wand in his fist, all color gone from his hardened face.
 
"Oh, god," she muttered, now visibly shaking. She regretted kissing him, Ron knew. She wanted to take it back, and even while he loved her it made him hate her even more. Without saying a word she was choosing Harry. She Loved Harry. Harry Effing Potter.
 
"Get out of my house." Harry's voice was low and dangerous, foreign from the boy Ron had known all these years. "Get out. And take her with you."
 
 

****

 
 
It was sometime around dawn when Hermione finally stopped crying and fell asleep. Ron had listened to her weep all night, impotent to do anything else from the narrow twin bed in his Burrow room. Ginny's old room was two landings down, and that's where Ron's mum had tried to make her comfortable. Hermione had been inconsolable.
 
Lying flat on his back, Ron measured exactly one hand width between his body and the edges of the mattress. The light in the room was an orangish-red and poured in from the curtained window over his bed, just as it always had when he'd found himself up at some unnatural hour of the morning. And still, the bed was smaller than he remembered. Ridiculously small. No man should have to sleep in a bed where his feet hung off the end, and where he faced the very real possibility of rolling over and waking on the floor. It was indecent. 
 
As was the tattler his parents had put above his door. He glared at it, but it watched silently, not caring. It was meant to be a deterrent for Hermione and him; she couldn't step foot in his room without it sounding, and an identical one hung above her door. No privacy meant no torrid love affair, apparently. Never mind her complete emotional breakdown. Never mind that she was Fated to Harry. Never mind that he hated her as much as he loved her. Honestly, what were his parents thinking? Indecent. 
 
It was easy to think of indecencies as one watched the sun rise over the horizon. For instance, Hermione had come back to the Burrow instead of going to her parents' house. Even after they were caught snogging by her True Love, with whom everyone now knew she'd been bedding. She most certainly was a trollop, Ron decided. It didn't make him not want to kiss her again or anything. It was just a realization. One would think that he'd be thrilled that she was at the Burrow, actually. One would think, yes, but one would be wrong. This just made matters worse. She hadn't come because she'd chosen him, because she loved him. Ron wasn't that delusional. For Hermione, it had been a question of going back to the Muggle world with the very real threat of never returning, or finding a safe place to land in the magical world for a while until either the storm blew past, or carried her away completely.
 
So, it was no real surprise when she didn't make it down for breakfast. Very little was said between Ron and his parents during that meal. There was an awkwardness between the three of them that had never been there before. Ron knew his father was upset both at Ron, and himself for not seeing the signs sooner and intervening. After all, the entire Order was directly affected, and Arthur had taken an oath to protect it. As had they all. 
 
That was an interesting twist in Ron's already miserable, guilty existence. He had given an oath to the Order. Would he continue to honor it? Could he allow Harry to continue to take and take from him? Would Harry even agree to? It was difficult to say at this point, and Ron was mildly interested to know what he and Harry would do.
 
 

****

 
 
Rather than stay at home, Ron decided to head out to the shop. It was his job, after all, and if Hermione was going to lock herself in Ginny's room all day, someone had to be responsible to the business. Besides, he couldn't remember if they had decided she was actually fired or not. 
 
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was swamped, and it was all that Ron could do to keep ringing people up all day long. By closing time the shelves were nearly empty and in complete disarray, and the rest of the place looked like a cyclone had hit it. Ron spent another couple of hours setting everything right, anything to avoid going back to the Burrow. He even spent some time in the flat above the store trying to figure out how much time and money it would take to make the place livable. It seemed more effort than he was able to muster at the moment.
 
Supper was hot and on the table when he got home, a wonderful change from his recent domestic norm. Ron's father and mother sat waiting for him, both with solemn expressions on their faces. 
 
"How was your day, dear?" asked his mum, as he slid onto the bench beside him at the table. She passed him a bowl of potatoes.
 
"Fine," he told her. The potatoes smelled and looked wonderful, and he put a spoonful on his plate. His stomach was still in knots, though, and he doubted he'd be able to get them down. "She still up there?"
 
"Haven't heard so much as a peep all day. Your father and I thought we'd give her some time, but now I'm beginning to worry."
 
"Maybe you should check on her then," Ron suggested. "She'd take to seeing you better than me, I'd imagine."
 
"Maybe you're right, Ron. I'll take her up a plate." She pulled her wand from her apron and waved a plate from the cupboard, then began filling it. 
 
"Have you thought, son," Ron's dad began in a quiet and careful voice, "how you're going to right this?"
 
"Me?" 
 
"This is Harry and Hermione we're talking about, Ron. The two people who mean the most to you, I daresay even more than your mother and I. Which is as it should be," Arthur added quickly. "The question is, how are you going to right this? The three of you can't go on indefinitely in a Lover's triangle. There must be some resolution."
 
"Could we not describe the three of us as Lovers? Honestly!"
 
"Exactly my point. You're not ready for this," Arthur concluded. "Any of this. You're only seventeen!"
 
"Not now," Ron's mum said quietly. "Leave the lad alone, dear." Ron's dad relented and stuffed a chunk of meat in his mouth. "Now, Ron, eat something," she prodded before going up the stairs.
 
Ron sighed and popped a piece of cooked carrot in his mouth. It tasted amazing, better than he remembered his mother's cooking to be, but he still had trouble chewing and then swallowing. It was as if he was already so full of emotion that there simply wasn't room in his stomach for anything more solid. He tried the pumpkin juice that had been poured for him, and it went down a little easier.
 
A shrill scream rang through the house, and had both men on their feet and running up the stairs two and three at a time. Ron's mum stood in the doorway of her daughter's room, the plate and food in pieces at her feet.
 
"What is it?" Arthur demanded. He pushed past her and into the tiny room. It was empty. And over the teen posters and Hogwarts pennant on the wall was a skull swallowing a snake, drawn in blood.
 
Hermione was gone.

End of chapter 6