Chapter Five

I am making no money from this story--all belongs to JKR. Thank you to AmyLouise, my incredibly intelligent and amazing beta!

Chapter Five

Hermione had left the library feeling... well, she wasn't quite sure what she felt. She was certainly depressed. Ron was gone, and she didn't even want to consider the mess which would be waiting in every area of her life at the moment. Sure, she had thought about leaving him numerous times lately, but she was really just angry and wanting to back Ron into a corner in hopes that he might change back to the friend she once knew. The reality of having him gone... and Ginny...

Perhaps it was a good thing that Malfoy had hired her. She definitely needed the money, and maybe the distraction would fill the gaping hole in her chest that was slowly but surely opening. She had no idea what to do. Go to Ginny's? No, Ron might be there. Go back to the pub? Honestly, she felt too embarrassed to show up there again so soon.

She decided to finally face the lonely, echoing cavern of her empty house. Maybe just starting to clean up Ron's mess would make her irritated enough not to be sad. Besides, she had research to do as well, and she could not procrastinate. Narcissa may not be her favorite witch this side of Hogwarts, but she could not just let her die. She was a Gryffindor, for Christ's sake. Anyway, her mortgage payment was due on Thursday.

Hermione determined she was too tired to walk home, even if it was better for her figure. She Apparated to her front porch and instantly wished she'd taken the darn walk. Her home was lonely and utterly dark, a ghost of what it used to be. It made her insides churn, making her even more aware of the emptiness in her chest. She slowly lifted her feet, one at a time, ascending the steps. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath. Gryffindor, Hermione. Come on.

As her front room illuminated before her, she cringed. The place needed more cleaning than she remembered, and she knew she couldn't study with the house like this. She flicked her wand and immediately started to take the red sludge off the wall, spilling her books onto the couch. She decided humming a tune was in order, lest she go crazy in the silence, and after a few minutes, she was rolling along and successfully ignoring the ache in the pit of her stomach.

As she turned from the now disintegrated Insomnia Potion (which she really could have used tonight) toward the plant shelf...oh, my poor darlings!...she saw something flicker behind her and nearly jumped out of her skin. She brandished her wand, stared at the couch for a moment, looked behind it toward the window and door...nothing. Slowly, she twisted back toward her plants, and again, a twinkling of light. Okay, I'm losing it.

She turned to the couch again, this time taking a couple of steps toward it. Then the sparkle revealed its source...that faerie book. She had only taken it home in case she needed a break from her research, but now she rushed to the volume, opening it hurriedly to see what was shimmering so beautifully. Well, that was anticlimactic. Every page was glowing. However, she really felt she had seen something more than the shining pages that attracted her to the book in the first place. She couldn't explain it, but she felt she just had to leaf through this book before she did another thing.

The first few pages were illustrated with flower faeries, some elegant and some rather creepy, depending on the beauty of the flower. She was captivated by the illustrious wings, each mirroring the petals of their corresponding flowers in a small way, but more glorious and intricate. She turned the pages slowly, drinking in a loveliness that nearly took her breath away. There were grass faeries, snow faeries, and even those who assisted with the miracle of each baby which was born to the world. Hermione had never considered that everything natural on the earth had faeries that aided growth, beauty, and function. She still was not quite sure if she believed in these beings, but after all, she had seen pixies. They had always seemed like pests, though, and not something that blanketed her world with life.

She was intoxicated as she continued to read until she turned to the last section and gasped in horror. Death Faeries? Oh, they were horrid! Their bodies were pale, nearly gray, and their skin looked like it would feel rubbery, unhealthy. Their wings were frayed and black, and their faces were hideous as they contorted them into nasty smiles and terror-evoking expressions. Triangular ears stuck out of the sides of their heads, and their mouths were filled with sharp, pointed teeth. Their fingers and toes were knobby and worn, and their black eyes could haunt the bravest soul. What purpose could these creatures possibly serve? Were they similar to the Muggle Grim Reaper legend? Hermione hurried to read the first page, disgusted but compelled.

Hermione sat stunned, sincerely disturbed that any such thing may possibly exist. As one of the Death Faeries sent her an evil smile and lashed its teeth at her fingers, she slammed the book shut, vowing to herself to return it first thing in the morning.

She marched decidedly back to the plant shelf, willing herself to start humming and repairing again. She planned to research at least a bit more tonight.

XXXXX

Sunday morning at the Weasley residence was quite a sight to behold. Every member of the family religiously showed up by 10:00 AM to savor yet another breakfast prepared by Molly, and the chaos was unmatched. The ruckus was silenced after Fred's death, but after the first year slipped by, family time began to contain a bit of merriment again.

It was toughest for George, because his practical jokes were now executed alone, but even he knew that Fred would want him to try to enjoy Sunday breakfast. He was still not sure how to manage cheer in the joke shop, but he had promised Fred during a recent graveside visit that he would do his best not to let their dream slip away.

As Ron Apparated to the Burrow, he knew that any emotional progress made over the last year was about to disintegrate, and his guilt weighed on him like an anvil.

When he opened the door, though, he could hear his mum yelling, "Arthur, please! I need you to move the tables together right away!" and Ron's lip quirked upward in a half smile as his father flitted straight into action like a well-trained pet. The amusement was short-lived, however, because as soon as Molly caught sight of her son, she knew something was very wrong. "Ron, dear, what is it? You look as if you haven't slept in a week! Where is Hermione?"

"Er," Ron stammered, "I need to speak to you and Dad in private."

"Dear gods, Ron! Is she okay? Arthur, into the living room immediately!"

Although his parents nearly ran into the front room, Ron lagged behind, unsure how to even begin this conversation. He shuffled through the door, closed it, took a deep breath, and turned to face his parents. They sure weren't making this any easier with the completely panic-stricken looks on their faces. "Listen, uh, you guys should sit down."

Molly's lip started to quiver, and Arthur took her hand to lead her to the couch. She knew this was going to be bad, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

"Ron? What's happened?" Arthur asked gently. Although Molly wore the pants in the family most of the time, in a situation like this, he knew he had to be the steady one.

"I don't know how to begin." Ron sat fidgeting with his fingers, unable to meet his parents' eyes. Come on, Ron. Just say it, for Christ's sake. "Okay, well, first, Hermione is okay. I mean, she's not hurt or anything. It's just... we've... well, we've split up. We are divorcing."

Molly gasped, her hands flying up to cover her face, while Arthur just stared, frozen. Seeing that this was going to be every bit as bad as he'd expected, Ron rushed on to try and explain. "You know I love Hermione and she loves me, but we've never had what you guys have. We've mostly been friends trying to be something more, and it just isn't working any more."

Molly began to glare, and Arthur kept his arm around her, trying to delay the explosion, while Ron continued. "Listen, I never meant for this to happen. I thought I was doing the right thing when I married her, but you have no idea how bad things have gotten. We can't even have a decent conversation anymore!"

"Have you considered, Ronald, that your marriage has been spiraling down the toilet because you have wallowed in self-pity without a job for months, and you can't even function without firewhisky nearby?" Molly shouted, shoving Arthur's arm off of her and rising to her feet. "I am ashamed of you! Your father and I have been through hell after losing Fred, but do you see either of us shutting down and expecting the other to handle it? And what about George? Has he just abandoned the shop? No! I just knew that poor girl would lose her patience with you, Ron, but I hoped to the gods I was wrong."

"Maybe this isn't all about Fred," Ron spat back. "Have you ever considered that? Maybe I also have a problem living a lie. Maybe I am sick and tired of her bitching. Maybe I can't stand one more night of fighting and ripping our relationship into even smaller pieces! If you are so ashamed of me, then why don't you just kick me to the curb and keep her? Maybe then you'll see what I've been dealing with!"

"I am absolutely disgusted with you. Disgusted! Blaming her for bitching and fighting you when you spend half your time drunk! Acting like it's her fault that your relationship is a mess when you won't even contribute! I've had quite enough of this conversation." Molly's tears began to spill as she shoved past her son and out the door. Her angry footsteps could be heard on the stairway, and Ron knew she was heading to her room and most definitely not planning on continuing breakfast.

Arthur stood slowly and said, "Ron, your mother loves you, but this is quite a blow. I'm going to go talk to her, but you had better tell the others that our morning festivities are canceled." With that, he brushed past his son, unable to look him in the eye.

Ron turned and headed for the kitchen, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. He knew everyone would want some explanation, but he didn't think he could handle any more of this today. When he looked up, he saw that Charlie, Fleur, Bill, and George were just staring, and they had obviously heard enough to know that the living room conversation hadn't been pleasant.

"What's all this, then?" asked Charlie.

"It's nothing. I mean, I don't feel like talking any more," answered Ron.

"Oh, no, you don't," replied Bill. "We aren't going to listen to yelling and watch Mum sobbing and pounding up the stairs and just let you be off. What have you done?"

Ron was just about to resign to another brow beating when Ginny and Harry pushed through the kitchen door. "Hello, everyone! What's for breakfast?" Harry asked jovially. As he took in the grim faces staring back, however, he looked at Ron. "So, you've told them, then?" he asked softly. Ginny pushed around her husband to join her brothers at the table, not even bothering to look at Ron.

"Not exactly, mate. I mean, I've told Mum and Dad, and I was just about to tell this lot."

"Perfect," muttered Ginny. After Ron's explanation last night, she hadn't felt much sympathy, and she hadn't wanted to come this morning at all. Harry, however, had reminded her that her mum might need her, so she had grudgingly complied.

"What is ze problem, zen?" Fleur inquired, flipping her silvery blonde hair over her shoulder.

Ron reluctantly pulled out a chair and sat, feeling a bit of grateful relief when Harry sat next to him. As his brothers looked on warily, he replayed his story for the third time.