InsaneJournal

WHO: Ron and Hermione
WHAT: Ron's first conversation in the city is not a good one.
WHEN: Just after Ron's arrival
WHERE: Outside the Library, then Ron's flat
RATING: PG
STATUS: Complete.



This really was not one of her best days, Hermione thought to herself as she slipped through the stacks of the university library. Bad enough that the top floor of the building had been blown up under mysterious circumstances, and that Sherlock was obviously going to start investigating and risking his neck and would surely pull John along with him. But the explosion had sent John into a panic attack, and she hadn't gotten much sleep at all as she watched him and tried unsuccessfully to soothe him. And then she'd been working on a new layer of wards for the flat before arriving at work barely on time, when her PDA buzzed and told her that Ron had arrived in Colligo.

Why did he have to show up now? Just when things had finally settled down for a moment and she was back to herself, and when she really could have used a day to stumble through work and come home and collapse early. Instead she was casting a charm that would make her supervisors think she was still in the back of the invertebrate anatomy section and Apparating to the steps of the Great Library. All to see one infuriating, stubborn, immature, lovable, redheaded idiot.

"Ron?" She stepped forward, suddenly aware that her hair was a perfect haystack. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd seen it like that.

Ron had used about every swear word he’d known when he’d stumbled on a rabbit hole, fallen, and then got up in the middle of some large library. His first thought was Snatchers, or some messed up Death Eater plan. He’d done his best to fight back as some faceless Knights that reminded him all too much of chess pieces, but they’d been too strong and he was tired from hours trekking through woods after a mysterious orb of floating light. Bloody typical.

Ron stumbled as he was pushed out onto the street, a muggle box shoved into his hand as he automatically spun and ran after the Knight as they retreated. But he wasn’t quick enough, and found himself slamming into the doors as they were closed on him, calling the Knights a few more choice names in the process.

Less than half an hour later, Ron was sat glumly on the bottom step outside the doors, wand in one hand, muggle box in the other. At least Hermione and Harry were here, he told himself. They were who he’d been looking for, and he’d found them. Finally. Although... perhaps not quite in the same way he would have expected. And he was nervous about seeing them again. After all, last time he’d seen Hermione Granger she’d been crying and yelling after him to come back, but Ron had been too stupid and stubborn and angry, and the moment he’d realized he’d made a huge mistake and had tried to turn back... Well, everyone knew how good Hermione was at charms. He had no hope of finding them. Until the Deluminator and that patronus which had looked so much like Harry’s stag...

Ron’s head snapped up as a familiar voice sounded, and he jumped up, big feet slipping on the step so he stumbled clumsily down onto the pavement, catching himself just in time. “Uh... Hermione?” He squinted at her, taking in the suddenly older girl. She was different. Very different. But still Hermione. Ron suddenly felt shy, and splayed his fingers in an awkward wave. “Hey.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head, fond memories coming back. Yes, it was definitely Ron, and yes, he was definitely younger than the last time she'd seen him. Which was when they'd had yet another screaming row and broken up again. A common cycle for them, unfortunately, and one they'd been in the middle of when she'd found herself in Colligo. Suddenly the distance between them seemed both literally and metaphorically huge. He looked so exhausted. Which suited how she felt, she supposed.

"Hey," she echoed, walking over. "All the buildings for those of us who've been brought here are in one cluster in the north of the city. Do you want to Apparate there or would you rather walk and get a look at the city? Although I imagine you're rather tired of walking by now."

She wasn’t all that different, really. Not when you looked at her. Obviously she was, well...older. But there was the same out-of-control hair, the look of amused, fond exasperation she usually wore when he and Harry were doing something exceptionally stupid, the no-nonsense common sense that had guided them through so much. Yup. Definitely Hermione. Older, tired, but the same girl. Ron felt something relax in his chest, and a skewed smile blossomed over his freckled face as he stepped towards her, slipping his wand back into his pocket along with the muggle... thing.

“S’good to see you too, Hermione,” he grinned at her. “I’m fine, thanks. Bit of a run in with some mental Knights but otherwise it’s been great.” She wasn’t that much taller than she had been when he’d last seen her, and even with the small amount of added height he still stood a good few inches over her. Then again, Ron stood a good few inches over most people. Now stood before her, Ron recognized the tired, tight look in her face. Like she’d been up all night studying.

“You don’t look like you could use a walk either,” he pointed out, his grin fading to a small smile. “Apparition?”

Her smile softened as she looked up at him. "The knights are awful. They're actually hollow on the inside, did you notice? There are some people trying to figure out how they work." Definitely the Ron she remembered, from back in those frantic and frightened days. She could still remember when he and Harry had come back from destroying the Horcrux, the wild fluttering in her heart drowned out by a righteous anger and a sense that things were finally back to rights. But that hadn't happened yet for him, had it? And he'd said he didn't want to know. Sort of. She brushed a curl out of her face and nodded, rolling her eyes.

"Bit of a long night. We... there is no way this isn't going to sound horrible. The top floor of our building blew up in the middle of the night. Everyone's fine," she hastened to add, before he could fly into a rage. "But - well. Hard to go back to sleep after that." Did she want to explain why she couldn't go back to sleep? Or who she'd been with? Not particularly, she found. That could wait till they were off the street. "Let's get you home and I'll tell you the rest." She held out her hand so she could Side-Along Apparate him. She'd only splinched him once.

“Hollow?” Ron shook his head, crimson fringe dangling. “Nah, I didn’t see. Too busy trying to jinx them. Didn’t work. I kinda assumed they were cursed.” Trust Hermione to get all caught up in the mechanics and theory behind some bloody violent and faceless figures that dragged people across the floor. Not that he was complaining - her way of looking out of things had saved them more times than he cared to imagine. The redheaded boy cocked a grin in his friends direction, watching the familiar way she pushed her hair from her face. The smile, however, soon fell.

“Blew up?!” he repeated. “Blimey, ‘Mione! You’d think we’d manage to get away from exploding stuff after...” He trailed off, hesitating before taking her outstretched hand, two pairs of fingers twisting together in the same way they’d done a hundred times before. Ron wasn’t a huge fan of apparating, but he trusted Hermione. She’d splinched him once, of course, only a month or two ago, actually. But it had either been that or a Death Eater attached to their ankles, and he only had a bit of scarring to show for it. Matched the ones up his arms. “Alright. 303C. Apparently.”

Ron held his breath, waiting for the pressure and the motion sickness and not being disappointed as Hermione whisked them away. A moment later he was standing in the middle of an empty sitting room, looking around him with a mild bemusement. It was very... muggle. He realized he still had her hand, and released it quickly, long fingers flexing. “This is it?”

Hermione put her hand in her pocket, taking a deep breath as they arrived and the knifing pressure around her lungs disappeared. "Yes. They're all pretty much identical when you see them for the first time. We're actually on the first floor of this building. Which is the one with the explosion last night." Oh, shit, she'd said we. "Me and my flatmates, I mean." And now he was going to ask and she was going to have to explain and it was going to be horrible, wasn't it?

Ron nodded vaguely, moving to peer into the kitchen with a completely baffled expression etched into his freckled face. Bloody hell. He was definitely going to starve. Ron had never lived anywhere besides the Burrow. Unless you counted Hogwarts and that bloody tent. But all three of those had a hell of a lot more character than this place. And magic. He turned, mildly surprised once again by the sight of Hermione stood in the middle of the room. He’d never get used to her looking like... well, that. He kept expecting to see a curly haired teenager giving him a reproachful look.

“Flatmates?” he asked, curiosity piping up. “Who’s that? S’not Harry is it? Or... I dunno. Sirius or Regulus or Snape. Merlin’s here! The Merlin! He spoke to me! I was... What is it?” He stopped mid-sentence, stepping another long stride out from the empty kitchen and into the emptier sitting room. The plain walls and the lack of comforts made the place very cold. (That might have been the fact that there was an explosion here the other night. Only he wouldn’t think about that. It was a mark of what his time with Harry had been like that this wasn’t a big challenge.) But even he wasn’t dense enough to miss the anxious expression on his best friend's face.

“‘Mione?” Ron asked again, his tone suddenly a little apprehensive.

"No, no, Harry's with - well, with his children, actually. He's from even further on than I am." Her hands twisted together as he stared at her, and Hermione looked away. No, she could face this, she'd been through much worse. And she could bloody well look him in the eye while she did it.

"I live with Sherlock, who's an absolutely mad detective, and John. He's a doctor. He's... we're together, Ron." And it really wasn't about him, but she still felt like she was stabbing him through the heart as she said it.

The fact that Harry had children was momentarily at the front of Ron’s mind, so much so that he almost didn’t catch the rest of her words. But he heard that last bit. The words seemed to crash through his skull with all the grace and charm of a bludger, smashing hard into his and pushing the air from his lungs. For a moment, the floor turned beneath him and he felt like he might puke all over his crisp, clean new carpet. He was aware he was staring at her, mouth partly open, eyes wide and hurt. He knew she was older, knew this was weird. But she was still Hermione. He hadn’t thought.... Was it so stupid to think.... Ron shut his mouth with a snap.

“Oh,” he croaked. “..... Right.” Then he turned on his heel, striding straight back the way he had come into the empty kitchen. The surfaces were shining, cold and hard when he gripped the edge and pressed his lips hard together, staring down. John. A doctor. ‘One of those Muggle lunatics who cut people open.’ Fan-bloody-tastic.

He almost wished he hadn’t found her again. Almost.

"Ron." The name came out sharper than she meant it to as she followed him back, hanging at the doorway and watching him. "Please. Don't be like this. I... when I was brought here, you and I had broken up --" again "-- and I met John here, and - there's nothing I can say that's going to make this any easier, is it?" She was so used to knowing exactly what to do that this left her feeling horribly unsure of herself and perhaps even a little scared. Around her ex-boyfriend who was currently seven years younger than she was.

‘Don’t be like this?!’ How exactly did she want him to be?! Ron turned to face her, braced against the counter in a tensed, defensive position, his face contorted. “Broken up... We weren’t even...” But how did he know what happened in six years time? Apparently he’d finally. after seven years, got what he’d wanted, only to lose it again. He’d arsed up, like always. Lost out to some Doctor-bloke from a messed up city in some bloody mental reality. He rather wanted to hex something. Where were the bloody Snatchers when you wanted them, eh?

Ron stared across at Hermione, jaw set stubbornly, fingers curled tightly at his sides. “This” he finally snapped at her, “isn’t even our real bloody life. You don’t... you can’t... It’s not fair, Hermione!”

And this was a weird conversation (argument, if he was honest) to be having with someone who you hadn’t actually shared your real feelings with yet.

Hermione stood her ground, even as she felt miserable. "We were. But you didn't want to know what happens, did you?" They were together and then they weren't, more times than she could count, and everybody just sort of expected that they'd end up together because it only seemed right. And perhaps they would. But then he was snapping at her, and that - well, that was the same familiar pattern they always fell into, wasn't it? That was why they broke up over and over, because they couldn't have a discussion about serious matters without fighting. Or about anything. It was exhausting sometimes.

"If it's not our real life, then what does it matter? We don't even remember it when we get sent back. People have been here multiple times and they say when they were back where they belong it was like it never happened." And of course it wasn't fair. Nothing ever was. If things were fair she'd be in London instead of trapped in an impossible city, and Ron would have been on his way to help Harry destroy a Horcrux.

Even the fact that they were together in the future did little to help Ron’s hurt anger. The redhead glared at her from across the blank room. “What does it matter?” he repeated back to her, numbly. What did it matter if she did this to him? Clearly, not that much. He set his jaw again, swallowing and glancing down just to escape her steady stare, the one which made his stomach twist. After all those weeks trekking through the forest, sleeping in grotty pubs and escaping Snatchers, feeling like he was the worst bloke in the world for doing what he’d done... Ron felt indignation mix with everything else in his chest.

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” he told her, crossing his arms over him tightly like a barrier, eyes narrowing nastily as he forced himself to look back at her. “Doesn’t seem to be a big issue for you, anyway. How bloody quickly did you move on, eh?” This was mental, piped up a voice in the back of his head. He was arguing about a break up he hadn’t even experienced yet, with a girl who was seven years older than she should be. But then when did their group do anything by the book?

Yes, all right, maybe she wasn't being fair. But this was never going to be easy. Still, as much as Hermione tried to remind herself of his perspective, it was awfully hard to stand there and take his anger. She shouldn't have felt guilty. He hadn't even been here. And it may have sounded like an excuse, but it was true. Besides, she was hardly going to leave John for a stroppy schoolboy who was currently looking at her like she was something on the bottom of his shoe.

"I haven't seen you in ages, and you wouldn't believe what's happened to me in that time," she said finally, struggling to keep her voice steady. He was so young still, and living through what she remembered as the worst year of her life. She couldn't treat him as if he were the Ron who'd broken her heart yet again in London. Even if it didn't seem as if his emotional maturity had increased one whit since this age.

Ron’s freckled face twisted into a disbelieving expression. How long could she have been here? They’d spent almost seven years together, fighting trolls and death eaters and every bloody horrible thing under the sun. Didn’t that count for anything? What could she have possibly done here to top all that. Although he knew he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t give her the bloody satisfaction of explaining how she had thrown whatever it was they’d had aside. However, Ron had never had the world’s best vocabulary, and he managed a few stuttered syllables (“I.... You..... We.... Uh.....”) before exhaling angrily and crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Fine! Fine, Hermione.” Although it wasn’t fine. It was about as far from fine as it could get. “Bloody hell. Do whatever you want. I don’t... Fine.” He scowled at her over the kitchen, before glumly casting his gaze down to where his scuffed trainers were treading mud over the floor. Merlin, why couldn’t he be back in that bloody forest?

Trolls and Death Eaters and balefire and the battles, to be sure, but none of them compared with actually dying and coming back to life. And John had been at her side for that one. But she wasn't going to explain that to Ron right now, not when he was being - she wanted to call him stubborn and childish and infuriating, but he had every right to be upset. It just hurt having him be so angry at her for being happy. Without him. What was she supposed to do, leave John for him? That was ridiculous and unimaginable and would only leave more hurt feelings in its wake. And she didn't want to, which she supposed was the root of the trouble.

"I wasn't looking for your permission," she said, the words gentle and cold as snowfall. "I'll see you later, Ron. You should talk to Harry. I... I really am sorry." She was, even if he couldn't see it. And then she focused and turned and Apparated, back to the shadowy stacks of the library where nobody would bother her for the rest of the day.