Chapter Text
Fifth Year, Hogwarts
Hermione huffed out a frustrated breath and lowered her book, even while she settled further into the couch and against his warm chest, melting into the comfort of him as she always did. They’d had this argument—this conversation, he always insisted—many times before. No matter what she said, he was undeterred.
He was exasperated with her now, but still absentmindedly ran his hands up and down her arms—craving the feeling of her skin.
“Hermione,” he huffed, “I know you don’t want to hear it, but they are. They’re using you. Of course, they don’t act like it, but can you honestly say that they have been real friends to you? Besides copying your homework, letting you figure out how to solve all of their problems, and dragging you into harms’ way at every conceivable opportunity, how are they actually showing you that they care about you?”
“We’ve been best friends since first year…I know how much they care about me. It’s the same way I care about them.” she replied in a quiet but determined tone.
“Really? You’ve memorized Potter’s entire life story, even come close to dying for him on more than one occasion. You go to all his quidditch matches even though you can’t stand it. You actually listen when Weasley prattles on about…well honestly I haven’t a clue.” He sat up straighter and wrapped her in his arms, leaning his head forward into hers.
“But them? In the years you’ve known them, how often do they listen when you talk about the things you love? Do they know that when you dance, you’re so overcome with joy that it radiates from every part of your body? Do they know that you started reading so much as a kid because you were lonely and stories about magic and adventure comforted you? Do they know you want to become a healer and find cures for as many magical diseases as you can? Hell, do they even know how you take your coffee?!”
For as much as this conversation was frustrating her, Hermione was momentarily silenced by his words. How closely he’d paid attention and how much he’d learned about her, in this room, while they whispered to each other late into the night.
She turned her head and kissed his cheek tenderly.
“I know it seems that way, but there is just so much going on. There always has been. It’s not that they don’t care. They do. I know they’ll always be there for me, no matter what. I can feel it in my bones.”
He gave a single, unamused laugh before kissing her temple. “Gryffindors…you’re all far too stubborn for your own good.”
She turned in his arms to face him, sitting back on her knees with a crooked smile on her face.
“You love me for it, don’t try to deny it.”
He moved his hands up to cradle her face, using his thumbs to softly trace the hinge of her jaw.
“I do love you. That’s why I don’t want to see you get hurt. I couldn’t stand it.”
His face was so open, so sincere that Hermione’s heart swelled in her chest. She leaned her face into his touch, placing a kiss on the center of his palm.
“I won’t get hurt, I promise. And if I did,” a mischievous gleam took over her eyes as she ran her hands up his chest, “I am a Gryffindor, and we lions have very sharp claws.” She curled her fingers and dug them into his chest, right over his heart.
He grinned, his eyes darkened, and she knew she’d won. But before she could blink, he’d reared up, grabbed her around the waist, and flipped them so his body covered hers.
He slowly ran his hands up her sides, leaving goose flesh in his wake.
“Is that so? Well, my little lioness, why don’t you show me just how you use those claws of yours…”
She was laughing when his lips met hers, and suddenly any thoughts of their argument vanished into the recesses of her mind.
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2001, The Burrow
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
The evening was unfolding in much the same way as all of the other Christmas dinners she’d attended at The Burrow, even though she and Ron had broken up less than two months ago.
She’d been unsure if she would attend Christmas dinner this year—or if she would even be welcomed by the family after ending things with Ron. She’d been prepared for a quiet Christmas alone to avoid any awkward confrontations, until Molly showed up at her door a week before the holiday to inform her that she would always be part of their family and under no circumstances would she skip Christmas. And if she didn’t arrive on time, Molly would personally floo to her flat and drag her to The Burrow by her ear.
Harry and Ginny had come just hours later to reiterate the message, and to assure her that Ron also wanted her to be there.
She smiled at the memory while looking up and down the table at the red headed clan that had become her family over the last ten years.
Next to her, Bill was laughing conspiratorially with Charlie while Fleur alternated between cooing over Victoire and rolling her eyes at what must have been the crude jokes being shared between the two eldest Weasley boys.
Ginny was ribbing Harry about a recent pick up quidditch match (she’d won, he’d lost, and she would not let him forget it).
From across the table, George, who had grown a bit more subdued in the years following Fred’s death, gave her a quick wink before slapping Percy on the shoulder and joining Ginny in taking the piss out of Harry, while Molly and Arthur looked on warmly, bouncing between the conversations.
Ron was the only member of the family behaving out of character, vacillating between half-heartedly engaging with the conversations around the table and staring down, unblinking, at his plate with a tense, almost fierce, look in his eyes.
Hermione sighed internally. The evening was bound to have its awkward moments. She and Ron had been together for three years, for heaven’s sake, and trying to figure out how to go back to being friends was going to take some work. But now that she was here and still felt the same warmth and love from the family, she was dedicated to finding a way back to the time when she and Ron’s relationship was easy, without any of the awkwardness that being lovers had caused.
Taking a steadying breath, she decided to make the first move.
Leaning across the table, she spoke with as much cheer as possible, “How’s the Figgen investigation going, Ron? I heard Tonks mention that you’d made some big developments in discovering how the dragon eggs were being smuggled into Knockturn?”
Ron’s whole body jerked in surprise as he spun his head toward her.
“What? I…oh…um, right, Figgen. It’s, well, it’s…”
Well, this was worse than she’d imagined. If Ron was incapable of even speaking to her, she’d need to do the work for both of them.
Typical, she thought, before shaking her head and opening her mouth to try again.
But before she could get a word out, Ron looked up and locked eyes with her with a look of determination she hadn’t seen on his face since the war. She tilted her head and raised her brows, before he took a deep breath, nodded his head, and looked away.
Suddenly, he pushed his chair back from the table with so much force it screeched and toppled over behind him, causing a brief cry from Victoire.
All eyes turned to Ron.
“I need to make an announcement,” he said with a steely confidence, his back ramrod straight and his hands clenched in fists at his side.
“Ron…not tonight.” Charlie murmured in a half pleading, half chastising tone.
“Mate, let’s just…” Harry said at the same moment, reaching up to grab Ron’s arm.
As Hermione looked around the table, she saw a mixture of emotions flitting across the faces of her family. Confusion, surprise, and from Harry, Ginny, Charlie, and even Arthur, fear.
“What is it dear?” Mrs. Weasley intoned, while looking between Ron and Hermione—clearly hoping that Ron was about to announce that they’d gotten back together.
Hermione’s stomach dropped. Was Ron about to make some overwrought declaration of love while their family stood by? How would she get out of this unscathed? Just as the mortification began to set in, Ron finally spoke.
“I’m engaged.”
Hermione had been girding herself for whatever he was about to say, but suddenly she wasn’t certain if she’d even heard him correctly.
“You’re…what dear?” Mrs. Weasley whispered, hope still sparkling on her confused face. “Did you and Hermione…”
Arthur put his head in his hands.
As if he had not even heard his mother, Ron continued.
“I’ve asked Daphne Greengrass to marry me and she’s said yes. We’ve been together for quite some time and we’re very much in love. We’re planning a long engagement and will marry in…”
“Wait a moment, mate,” George interjected, “You asked some girl to marry you after dating her for…what? Six weeks?” He waved over to Hermione in explanation before turning back to Ron.
“We haven’t been dating for six weeks.” Ron answered quietly, sparing the briefest glimpse toward Hermione.
George gave a single bark of laughter.
“So, seven then? Are you feeling alright, mate? Should we check him for curses?” George replied, looking across the table to Charlie and Bill.
“Sweetheart, I’m confused. What’s happened?” Molly said hesitantly, her hands shaking slightly.
“Molly, dear, let’s talk about this –“ Mr. Weasley began, setting his hand atop his wife’s.
Molly looked to Arthur, and then slowly around the room.
“What’s going on? Arthur? What do you know? Did you all know about this? Is this some kind of prank? Did George put you up to this Ron?” Molly’s voice rose with each word, as color began to rise on her cheeks.
“Oi!” yelped George, affronted.
“Mum, we, well…” Charlie began, before Molly put up a hand to silence him.
“No. No. I want to hear from Ron. What is going on? Who is Daphne Greengrass? Is she a member of that Greengrass family? What do you mean you’re marrying her? You cannot marry someone you’ve only known for a few weeks, Ronald!” Molly was screaming now.
“We’ve been together for two years, mum! Not weeks, TWO YEARS. She’s the love of my life!” Ron yelled back, his hands now spread wide and his eyes shining with conviction.
Sound exploded in the room, but Hermione couldn’t hear any of it.
Her brain felt like it was at once working faster than ever before, while at the same time wading through the thickest molasses.
Never one to shy away from deducing an answer to a riddle, even in the worst of circumstances, Hermione began to run through what she knew.
Ron was marrying Daphne Greengrass.
Ron had been with Daphne Greengrass for two years.
Ron had been with Daphne Greengrass for two years?!
Ron had cheated on Hermione for two years.
The conclusion was as definitive as it was incomprehensible.
And the look on Harry’s face. On Ginny’s and Charlie’s and Arthur’s…
She slowly turned her head to look around the room. Everyone else was standing now. Molly was crying and yelling in Ron’s direction. George was red faced and yelling right alongside her. Percy was stock still, his mouth hanging open. Fleur was shielding Victoire’s ears and speaking in rapid French to Bill.
But Harry, Ginny, Charlie, and Arthur…They were all ashen faced, trying to calm down Molly and George. They didn’t appear shocked by the news, and when Harry briefly glanced toward Hermione, the resigned, almost embarrassed way he looked at her made it clear: He had known.
They had all known. They had all known he had cheated on her. And they hadn’t told her.
Unbidden, Hermione’s eyes drifted down to her left forearm, where the words that meant more to her than any others were now inked over the hate carved there by Bellatrix Lestrange: Amor Vincit Omnia.
Hermione’s vision began to blur as a deafening roar started in her ears.
Unnoticed in the midst of the screams still volleying around the kitchen, Hermione got up from her chair, grabbed her bag, and made her way toward the floo.
Her brain had emptied of all but one thought.
He was right.
He was right about them.
They didn’t care about her.
He was right.
Her mind began to slip back into the memory from fifth year as she grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the green flames. No one turned to see her go.
She heard it like a heartbeat echoing through her soul, over and over again.
He was right.
He was right.
Draco was right.