It couldn't have been a worse moment when it hit Hermione. She really could have done without such a revelation. It was like a horrible taunt toying with her emotions as if they got a sick pleasure out of her pain. Before she realised it, it felt as if someone was ripping at her insides in a desperate vain to get to her heart and now that she had realised it, they had found what they searched for and feasted upon it viciously. All of a sudden, the basic instinct to breathe was somehow impossible and a strange nausea filled her stomach. A vile sickness of depression was beginning to consume her and she couldn't stop it.
It was bitterly cold in the tent, given it was the early hours of morning and snowing outside, but the temperature seemed to seep into her skin and claw at her bones. Ironically, she was in this predicament because she had thought it was cold.
After tossing and turning in her bed for hours, sleep seemed to be a glimmering hope. Truthfully she hadn't slept at all. Not since that night. The night he left. Time was such a distant memory she couldn't work out how long ago that was, and what could be considered more important was the fact she couldn't even be bothered too work it out. That's correct, the diligent hard-working Know-It-All couldn't muster up the tiniest piece of motivation to work out how many days had passed since he, the Boy-With-Dirt-On-His-Nose, had vanished from her side.
He'd never really left her before. Even in their numerous arguments he was still by her side somehow, whether that was trying to make amends with her in the worst possible way or standing up for her, he still remained loyal. He had never disappeared altogether.
Willing herself not to cry, she focussed her mind on fixing her insomniac like state. Wondering if it could be something as simple as being cold, she sat up and reached over for her small bag. She rummaged through it till she felt a soft woolly material and pulled it out. As she looked down to see what it was, her crumbling heart split completely. She stared at the jumper, running her fingers over the soft frayed material with a blank gaze before making the decision to take it out the bag completely. She laid it out flat on her lap and continued gliding her fingers over the maroon jumper, making sure she traced the 'R' stitched into it in an accurate grace. Sparks of comfort flowed through her while her eyes brimmed with tears and before she could think differently about it, she pulled the jumper on over her head. It was so large it seemed to consume her whole body but she was suddenly engulfed in a warmth she had long since forgotten.
She closed her eyes, letting a solitary tear glide down her cheek, and raised her shoulder so she could press her cheek against the material. A small smile managed to work its way onto her cheeks as it lightly tickled her skin. Taking a deep breath, she shuddered as the scent of him filled her nostrils. She was reminded of Summer as the smell of grass and the Burrow relaxed her. It seemed to engulf her completely and she allowed herself to reminisce past memories of the summers they spent together. She recalled him laughing at her awful attempts at Quidditch, playing Chess in his room, doing chores together with the odd prolonged stare. And finally, the last and most recent memory of summer at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur's wedding.
Fleeting memories of him looking speechless, jealous and happy swam through her. She unconciously wrapped her arms around her middle as she remembered him dancing with her. He was so awkward to begin with, unsure where to place his hands until he settled them on her waist, instantly setting her insides alight. She had placed hers on his broad shoulders and flushed unconciously. They swayed in eachother's arms for awhile timidly, aware they looked like nothing more than friends that way. When she eventually broke the silence, causing the awkwardness to fade away, they became more at ease and ended up much like what they really were. His hands had been on her lower back, holding her close to his body, as her arms were around his neck and her head was resting on his chest. She couldn't recall exactly how they had managed to work into that position, but could only remember how perfect it had been. Nothing had mattered in those moments, because she was with him. They were just Ron and Hermione.
As the crushing reality dawned on her, she opened her eyes and more tears fell. These were her own arms wrapped around herself, disguised as his in a vain hope she could forget that for a few moments and pretend he was holding her. Ultimately she had succeeded, but she couldn't stand knowing the cold hard truth. These were her arms, not his. She was engulfed in his jumper, not him. A facade of his scent was with her, not his actual scent.
So how was it she still felt him? She was painfully aware that he was no longer with her, no longer by her side. She knew she was holding onto small essences of him, not him entirely. But why could she still feel his presence? It was as if he was still around her. She had felt that way ever since he had left. He lingered with her, but only parts at a time. Whether that be a scent from a jumper, or an exquisite memory, he remained with her, but never whole.
She couldn't accept anything less than 'whole' though. She wouldn't accept it, but he seemed to have left her with no option. The stabbing shock was he had left and that was all there was too it.
She'd never have all of him, no matter how hard she craved for it. She would have to settle for the parts of him that she could still have. With that thought she laid back down in her bed and sobbed, knowing that even though Ron Weasley was no longer with her, he'd remain a part of her.
Give me these moments back
Give them back to me
Give me that little kiss
Give me your hand
Oh darling, make it go away
Make it go away now.
This Woman's Work – Kate Bush
A:N/ This song absolutely tears me apart, I can't really explain why but it's just so desperately broken, and I really wanted to portray that through this part. I personally think Hermione would have come to his racilisation during a time completely alone with her thoughts, so she could analyse it fully and what other time did she have more time alone to dwell on it?
I think it would have suddenly hit Ron, in a way that he really knew it all along but had never realised it before which is why it's during a far happier time.
Oh yeah, I clearly lied about the dialogue, apologies for that but I'm quite proud that I managed to write it without it in a way.
Anyway, I've grown fond of this two-shot, which began as a whim. I am also working on a multi-chaptered fic at the moment which is why I've been so absent recently.
Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated