71Thank you all for the warm reception for the first chapter of this story! It's made me feel very held by this community.
I want to make something clear in advance - this will not be a Ron Bashing story. Of course, on occasion, there will be a comment or two, but I really want to explore what happens when two good people break up because they no longer work as a couple. This story is about Hermione's journey to healing, and I don't believe that Ron needs to be collateral damage for that.
I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
March 9, 2004
To Do Today
Lunch with Harry
Hermione liked her mornings; she always had. She liked taking the time to get ready for the day. Waking up with five minutes to prepare had never done her well, so she made the effort. But in the week since she had moved, the mornings seemed to empty her, leaving her drained as she pulled herself up to face the world.
She wondered how long it would take for her own presence to outweigh Ron's absence.
That was the most frustrating part – she was in a new apartment. It was her own space, supposedly untainted by memory. But with every box she unpacked, with every square foot she tried to fill, she only saw where he was not. These were not his books, these were not his mugs, this all belonged to her. Not to them.
There no longer was a them.
She shuffled to the stove, putting on a pot of coffee, watching the steam rise quietly. Her eyes watered as she forced them to focus on the pot before her – this was all distraction. Filling the moments with useless activities, trying to make each minute pass just a tiny bit quicker.
There were all these moments of her day that Ron had occupied – she hadn't realized. From him holding her in the morning, chatting with her as they both avoided getting up as long as possible. He would make the coffee while she read the paper, telling her jokes so dumb that they made her snort.
He had always been funny.
But now, where there once was joy there was emptiness – a fundamental lack of. Now the only thing she had to do was fill it. With what?
Herself, she supposed.
The FML flashed through her mind again. With no other path before her, she had followed Ginny's advice and used the journal diligently over the past few days. So far, she had unpack books, drink a glass of water before bed, and go on a walk, written in neat scrawl under the previous three dates. Nothing had made an earth-shattering difference. But she liked having a plan, no matter how small.
She was clinging to this damn idea like driftwood near the Titanic.
But today, she had something to look forward to. Something that she actually was excited for.
The coffee pot began to whistle as Crookshanks mewed to get her attention.
All she had to do was survive the minutes in between.
Her own Herculean task.
"Hermione!" Harry shouted, waving her over to the corner booth at the Leaky. His voice was too boisterous for the empty bar at noon, but it made her chuckle. Brilliant, clumsy Harry, with his grin too big for his face and his Auror robes seeming to dwarf him as he stood up to wrap her in a hug.
"Hey Harry," she whispered, as he held her tight. Harry had always been a hugger – it was one of the things she loved most about him. She allowed herself to fall into her best friend for a moment longer than normal, but Harry's arms had not shifted. He held her quietly, his chin resting on her head as she took some calming breathes.
"Hey, love," he whispered, letting her pull back as those familiar green eyes appraised her face. She could feel him searching her – she wondered if Harry could see the cracks in her whole. "Thanks for making the time."
"No problem," she replied, slipping into the booth as Harry gave her hand a squeeze. "I got everything done early today so I could come straight here afterwards. No more Ministry for me."
"Great minds think alike," Harry replied, gesturing to Tom. "I also told Robards he could fuck himself if I got called back in this afternoon."
"Harry, you did not."
"You're right, I didn't, but the man is driving me up the wall. He wants me to lead the Warsaw expedition…"
"That's wonderful!"
"… I guess, technically, but I would not like to spend three months commuting to Poland. It's Quidditch season, remember? So, it's not like Ginny could come with me."
Hermione shrugged. "Fair enough."
"Regardless," Harry said. "Today is about you. And if neither of us have to go back into work, then firewhiskey all around!"
"Harry," Hermione hissed. "It Is noon."
"Time is irrelevant," Harry continued, nodding at Tom as he overhead, confirming their order. "Also, you deserve to unwind a bit. Your shoulders look like they invented the word 'tension'."
"Been a long week," she muttered, reaching her hand up to rub at a knot in her right shoulder blade. Ron had always called it 'the spot' when she was complaining about back pain – a mess of muscle and sinew hardened over years of carrying her book bag. Whenever she would complain, Ron would draw her a hot bath to soak in, before climbing in behind her and rubbing at it – calloused fingers from Quidditch always so gentle against her skin…
She slammed the memory shut.
"I figured," Harry said, smiling sadly. "How are you holding up?"
Hermione shrugged, hoping the noncommittal gesture could encapsulate the extent of her grief. "Alright. I like the new apartment."
"That's great!" Harry exclaimed with overbearing enthusiasm. "Crookshanks all settled?"
"You know Crooks," she replied. "Doesn't like change. But the light shines in through the kitchen window in the morning, and he's taken to falling asleep on the table."
"Unpacked alright?"
She shrugged again – god, trying to display indifference was torturous – "I've got a few boxes to go. Should be done by the end of the week."
"Happy to hear," he answered just as Tom brought over the drinks. Hermione ordered a burger while Harry got fish and chips. As the elderly bartender waddled away, the Saviour of the Wizarding World turned to her, glass raised.
"To you, Hermione Granger," he said. "My best friend. I love you."
She felt a wave of emotion wash over her, threatening to break the dam she had built over the past week in order to function. Ignoring it, she clinked her glass against Harry's before taking a sip – the liquor burned down her throat, like the unshed tears in her eyes.
She put the glass back on the table and spoke before reason could prevail.
"Have you seen him?"
The question had been bouncing around her head all morning. She had not seen Harry since the breakup, but she was certain Ron had. And she shouldn't want to know – she shouldn't care – but maybe Harry knew how he was doing, how it felt for him in the mornings when the other side of the bed was empty…
She asked the question before repercussions could make their arguments. Was this a boundary? But it… it was Harry… Harry and her and Ron and her and Ron…
Harry pursed his lips, considering her for a moment.
"I… yes, I have."
"How is he?"
It wasn't her business she needed to know it wasn't her business she needed to know it wasn't her
It wasn't her business anymore.
Harry hesitated and her heart fell.
"No, sorry," she muttered, taking another quick swig of firewhiskey. "I shouldn't have asked."
"It's alright," he said softly. "I know how hard this is for the both of you."
"I don't want to put you in the middle," she whispered quickly, voicing a fear that had become entrenched in her over the past few months.
Harry sighed, reaching across and taking her hand.
"'Mione, I am going to tell you exactly what I told Ron when he said the same thing to me. You two are my best friends in the world, and whether you are together or not will never change that. I am here for both of you, and I want to be here for the both of you as you navigate this. Neither of you asked me to take a side – not like I would anyway – which tells me you are trying to do this as respectfully as possible. So please, for the love of Merlin, do not feel bad for merely speaking his name in my presence. You have nothing to feel bad about – and I never want to make you feel worse."
"Oh, Harry," she whispered, feeling the always-at-bay tears start to spring forward. "I never wanted to make you choose."
"And neither you nor Ron have made me feel that way. But Hermione, saying his name is not a sin. What are we going to do, pretend the man doesn't exist? Obviously, if you want to shit talk him, maybe Ginny is the better choice…"
"… why does everyone assume I just want to shit talk him…"
"But you can talk to me about him and ask questions within reason. Pretending that he isn't the missing elephant in the room when you and I see each other is not going to help anyone – and avoidance is not healing."
"That's very sweet," she answered, letting her gaze burn into the table as a couple spare tears fell.
She heard Harry sigh. Glancing up, she felt him reach across and wipe away the saltwater from her cheek.
"You're going to survive this, 'Mione," he whispered. "I know it feels damn near impossible right now. But I promise you."
"You sound like Ginny."
"I have never received a higher compliment. But to get back to your question… yes, I've seen Ron. George and I went over to the house that first night to spend some time with him."
"How… how was he doing?" Hermione asked, allowing selfishness to take over.
Harry pursed his lips.
"Probably as well as you were doing that night."
Hermione snorted – the sound emotionless. Perhaps it as just her pain and insecurities talking, but even though she knew that Ron was as broken up about their split as she was, she wondered if he had bounced back quickly. Gone to the pub, had some drinks with his friends, maybe taken a pretty witch back to what had once been their home…
She slammed the thought down.
Not her business she needed to know not her business she needed to know not her business
Harry finished the rest of his drink. Wanting more than anything for the feeling in the pit of her stomach to dissipate, Hermione did the same.
"It's only been a few days, 'Mione," Harry said, lifting his hand and gesturing at Tom for another round. "I know you probably feel like absolute garbage."
"I do."
"You need to let yourself feel terrible."
"Pardon, you want me to feel bad?"
He chuckled as Tom dropped off the drinks. Hermione tried to ignore the cavern of emptiness in her core as Harry took another sip of Firewhiskey, contemplating his response.
"Genuinely not at all," he said, his voice softer than the moment before. "You know how I feel about you, 'Mione, and I would rather be splinched than watch you suffer. If I could snap my fingers and take it away, I would do anything."
Tears and firewhiskey mixed in her soul. "Harry…"
"And I have never gone through what you're going through," Harry muttered, his eyes growing tender. "A long-term breakup, I mean."
"Not all of found the love of our life at age sixteen," Hermione smiled, taking Harry's hand.
"I view it as cosmic balance for all the other stuff."
"The other stuff? You mean a prophecy, a war, and being orphaned?"
"Yeah, that stuff," Harry continued, waving his hand dismissively. "But on that note, I can't immediately empathize with your situation. But I do know a thing or two about grief and loss."
"It's different," Hermione whispered, being suddenly struck with the fear that she was overreacting. "Ron isn't… he isn't gone, we just broke up."
Harry shrugged. "It is different and it isn't. No, Ron isn't gone, and someday he'll probably be in your life again."
"I hope so," she said quietly.
He gave her a gentle smile. "But your relationship is over. He is gone as your partner. And that is a huge loss, 'Mione. Your entire life has been upended – I'm not saying that to make you feel worse, but don't discount your pain because our paradigm of suffering is based on a fucking war. This is a massive loss, and you need to mourn it. In my experience with loss and mourning, you only prolong the pain by ignoring it. You need to sit in it."
"I don't want to sit in it."
"I know," Harry whispered. "But you need to in order to heal. You can't ignore it or distract yourself into pretending it's not real. And though it feels like torture, you need to face it head on."
"I've felt torture before," Hermione muttered, reflexively rubbing at the scar on her arm under her shirt – she hadn't done that in years. "I don't want to do that again."
Harry's eyes flared, as they always did when Bellatrix and Malfoy Manor was brought up. "And it's not like that. Nothing will ever be like that again, I promise."
His voice had taken on a protective tenor.
"This pain is different, but it's no less hard," Harry whispered, pushing her untouched second glass of firewhiskey towards her. "And I will be here for you every step of the way in the meantime. As will Ginny, and Luna, and all our friends. I will come over at any hour if you're crying and need to be held. Hey, Ginny would definitely be fine with me coming over to help you sleep with the nightmares."
Hermione could not help but snorting. "Listen Harry, as lovely as that would be, I'm not sure you holding me through the night is the way out of this hell hole."
He shrugged. "I'm just saying that I will be here any way that I can to find a way through this."
"And I appreciate that," she said quietly. "But this is primarily something I need to do myself."
"I'm not saying it isn't. But we are here to support you nonetheless. Absolutely, the groundwork needs to happen yourself, just know that you can always lean on me."
She glanced up at him. "I love you, Harry Potter."
"And I love you, Hermione Granger," he replied, lifting his glass towards her. "Now, drink up. I would be shirking my responsibilities as a best friend if I did not facilitate you getting sloshed within a week of a breakup."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, throwing the firewhiskey back without another thought. And for a fleeting moment – this felt normal. Harry and her at the Leaky, drinking too much in the afternoon after a grueling week at work. They were chatting about their lives, telling stories, waiting for Ginny to arrive after practice. Ron was just in the bathroom and would walk out any moment before pulling her into his arms, kissing the crown of her hair softly…
But he wouldn't.
He wasn't here.
And this was not normal.
It was worse – it was her reality.
Hermione took the tube home. She hadn't filed the paperwork at the Ministry to set up her muggle apartment up to the floo yet and did not feel steady enough to Apparate. Besides, she liked having the time to think.
The world was a little blurry as she travelled beneath London. It was only early evening, and the underground was filled with folks on their way home from work. Hermione watched them get on and off the train, she observed the man sitting across her reading a novel, glanced over at the woman rocking a stroller back and forth. She watched them all have intricate lives in front of her and was reminded of a word.
Sonder – the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.
It felt impossible that she be sitting there in such excruciating pain and those around her did not realize – did not feel it as their own merely by being in her presence. Even more, maybe they were feeling overwhelming grief that she had no access to.
She couldn't believe it – because in that moment, it felt like no one had ever felt hurt like she did, and never could.
Maybe the man reading the novel across from her was recovering from leaving his partner and trying to lose himself in the book to forget. Maybe the woman with the stroller had been left by the child's father and was trying to find the strength every day to keep going. Or maybe they both were heading home to the loves of their lives, waiting to sweep them up in their arms and hold them until the sun rose the next morning.
Either way, it changed nothing.
She was beneath London, alone.
Gods, she felt alone.
Her brain felt like morning fog on the river as she walked up the steps to her apartment. She should feel happy – she had just seen her best friend, had a blast of a time, but yet, Ron had creeped into her mind and made a home there.
A home in her regrets to replace the one that they had shared.
She stumbled up to the entrance as a man exited the building. Her intoxicated brain registered that he looked vaguely familiar – but all men with brown hair looked the same to her. He held the door open and she muttered a quiet "thanks" as she walked through. Ron was flashing through her mind, distracting her from everything. She could almost hear his voice.
"Hermione?"
But that was her imagination playing tricks on her. Alcohol and grief were a dangerous pairing – convincing her that reality was off-kilter. She did not bother looking back for his ghost as she took the stairs two at a time. She entered her apartment, locking the door behind her, and her back slid down the wall until she was sitting on the ground. Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere to curl up at her side. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
Four days down.
A lifetime to go.
Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you think :)