Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: My thanks to Septentrion for alpha and beta reading - you're a love! Thank you for your constant willingness to help me. *muah* Also, I am indebted to Psykiapa, a dear friend, decidedly *not* a Hermione/Severus shipper, who has been with me since day one and kindly looked over the chapter to make sure it could stand on its own two feet.

*

9 January 2005

Severus hadn't returned for Christmas. Hermione had gone to her parents for the holidays once more, making her excuses for him. "Who has to work on Christmas Eve?" Jean had exclaimed, casting an all too wary eye on her daughter.

Hermione had been put through the gauntlet – the gauntlet every woman faces from her mother at some point in time. The marriage and children gauntlet. Even if she and Severus had had a decent relationship where they openly accepted his inability to commit and her overwhelming insecurity, it would have been torture.

Given their current situation, it was utter hell.

All things considered, it was best that he hadn't been there, but Hermione was still angry. He'd been gone for months with nary a word.

The damned necklace and bouquet of flowers that had been delivered to her parents' house on Christmas Eve had not helped her mood, but that had definitively put her out of depression and into rage. That the flowers had continued after she returned to Paris – that she had just received another bouquet – was positively infuriating.

"He says you're a good fuck and you get depressed. He sends you flowers to apologize and you get angry. If only Pierre had known the effect white gardenias would have..." Cosette had quipped just the other day.

"It's not enough," Hermione had said. "He's been gone since August. I'm through."

Right, Hermione thought as she put her earrings on. It was January 9th. It was his goddamn birthday – a birthday he was missing. Fortuitously, it was also a Friday night. She was going out with Cosette and some girls from work.

She heard a knock at the doorway and glanced at the clock. Cos was early.

"Come in," she called. "It's open."

She walked out into the hallway. "You're early so I'm not quite ready..." She trailed off.

He was standing in her doorway.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She glared. "No."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I deserved that."

"You're damn straight you do." She crossed her arms. "You've been gone for months." She paused. "Over four months."

"I'm back."

"Much good may it do you."

"You haven't been to the cottage."

"I moved out. You don't need me in your life, remember?"

"Hermione." He stepped forward, and she held up a hand.

"No," she said. "I can't take it anymore."

"That was the last trip," he said quietly, his hands in his pockets. "The last one."

She swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Our research is done."

She raised her eyebrows. "Research?" She grunted. "Naturally."

He sighed. "You never asked."

"You wouldn't have answered."

"Fair enough." He paused. "Move back in."

"A diamond necklace and flowers," she said slowly. "But no note."

"Then you didn't look closely at the flowers."

She raised an eyebrow, and he stepped forward, and then stopped.

"May I come in?" he asked beseechingly. "I'd like to show you something." He pulled a stack of cards out of his pocket and walked to her dining table, not waiting for her to grant him permission.

"Are those –" she started.

"The florist returned the cards that you returned."

"Oh."

"There are quite a few of these. December 24th through the ones you just returned today," he said, and he began laying the blue and white cards out on the table for her to read.

Christmas Eve – Forgive the gift; forgive its faults – it could never hope to be as beautiful as its new owner. And forgive the gift giver for an utter lack of communication. I've been in Asia. I will tell you more upon my return. – SS

Christmas Day – Merry Christmas, ma chère. – SS

26 December – These match your eyes.

27 December – And these your lips.

28 December – Forgive what I said that day.

29 December – Please accept my apology.

30 December – I beg you.

31 December – Happy New Year's, Hermione.

1 January – A new year – new beginnings.

2 January – I will be home soon.

3 January – I have reset the wards on my flat to allow you entrance. I'm sorry for your exclusion. It was necessary.

4 January – I still miss you.

5 January – I dreamt of you last night.

6 January – And again last night.

7 January – And again.

8 January – And again.

9 January – And again.

Hermione looked up at him. "I –" she halted. He held his hand out to her, and she accepted it.

"I have missed you," he said quietly. "Forgive me."

She wiped her eyes. "It's not that easy."

"Anything worth having is difficult."

She looked at him ruefully. "I'm mad as hell."

"Rightfully so. Do you still love me?" he asked, clearly sure of the reply.

She looked at him, annoyed. "Yes," she said. "I'm not moving back in."

"Let me try to convince you?"

She sighed. "I'm going out with the girls tonight. Life goes on, Severus."

He was still. "Yes, it does," he agreed. "Will you meet me for coffee tomorrow? As a birthday gift?" He quirked his lips at her.

She chuckled. "Yeah, fine."

"Seven at the Dam Café?"

She nodded.

He squeezed her shoulder as he rose and Apparated away.

She put her head in her hands and breathed deeply.

Count to ten.

Un, deux, trois...

*

Present

"How could you let him back in, Mum?" Rose asked, slightly accusing. "Oh, yes – you loved him."

Hermione sighed. "I was at the end of my rope. I still loved him. Of course I did. If anger and depression canceled out love, there would be far more single people in the world."

"That's what's dangerous about love," Rose said. "Love someone enough and you'll forgive them anything. Even the wrongs they do to you."

Hermione was quiet. "Don't say that, Rose," she said at last. "Please never say that again."

Rose looked at her, puzzled.

"You are here because your father loved me enough to forgive me anything," Hermione said. "Unconditional love, acceptance, and forgiveness are not bad things, Rose."

They were quiet.

"It just – how you acted – it doesn't seem like you, Mum."

"It's not," Hermione said frankly. "Those years with him... well, they have a lot to do with the woman I am now."

"You mean the 'take no prisoners' mentality?"

"In my desperation to be loved – to be needed – I put up with a lot in my youth. I overindulged bad behavior in those I adored – in your Uncle Harry and your dad during school, and then with Severus later on."

"I'd say Severus was a different kind of bad behavior," Rose said.

"Relationships are messy."

"Yours was a train wreck."

"Do you want me to continue?"

Rose sighed.

"Do you remember what year I said we're in, Rose?"

Rose thought a moment, and recognition dawned. "2005," she said slowly. "The last year."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. The last year. Actually, we're in the last three months."

*

Late February 2005

Cosette and Hermione were having their weekly Wednesday brunch at Amelie's café in Capois when Cosette dropped a bomb-shell surprise.

"I'm pregnant," she said, grinning.

Hermione choked on her drink. "What?"

"Eight weeks. I know it's early, but I had to tell you. It's such a surprise! Henri and I never even thought about having children, but –" She took Hermione's hand from across the table. "Oh, it's wonderful. Say you're happy for us?"

"Of course I am!" Hermione exclaimed, the news finally catching up with her brain. "Oh, honey." She grinned. "I'm just shocked is all. I didn't think you'd have kids."

"I know, right? It's crazy! But we're so excited."

Hermione squeezed Cosette's hand. "I'm so happy for you."

Her friend smiled. "Have you ever thought about having children?" she asked, sipping her juice.

Hermione looked down at her plate. "Yes."

"Do you want children?" Cosette asked tentatively.

"Yes."

Cosette whistled. "With Severus?"

"He doesn't want children." Hermione sighed. "He's told me as much several times."

Cosette shook her head. "I don't understand that man."

"He's brilliant, tortured, and has a dark past where he sacrificed everything, so now he's a selfish bastard who is unwilling to compromise anything."

Cosette raised her eyebrows. "You've thought about this?"

"He expresses any emotion he has through gifts and sex," Hermione added.

'He loves you. I know he does."

"Well, the gifts are expensive and the sex can be earth shattering. Draw your own conclusions."

"He loves you."

"He won't say it." Hermione rested her chin on her hand. "And he maintains that the trips have stopped, but how can I know for sure?"

"Have you moved back into the cottage?"

"No."

Cosette sighed. "So what the hell are you doing right now?"

"Trying to decide if I can stay with him."

"And what does Severus think about this?"

"He's acting like I'm a student working on a project that he will have the final say on."

"Idiot."

"What?" Hermione looked up, surprised.

Cosette shook her head. "Severus is a lot of things, and he's a Class A bastard, but I've never seen him be so genuinely stupid."

"He –"

"If he was smart, he would be groveling in front of you on his knees, professing his undying love and promising you whatever you want."

"Well, that's Severus. And that's assuming that he loves me."

Cosette threw her napkin on the table. "Christ, Hermione, you've been together for almost four years. He loves you. Does he realize how close he is to losing you?"

"No," Hermione whispered.

"Do you realize how close you are to leaving?"

"What?"

"I don't want to put any ideas in your head, but the writing is on the fucking wall," Cosette said, frustrated.

"Wow." Hermione sat back. "Are you angry or just hormonal?"

"Both, and I don't want my best friend to leave me because of her arse-backwards idiot boyfriend."

"Oh, Cosette." Hermione reached a hand across the table. "I'm not leaving you, sweetheart."

"You will," Cosette said. "I saw what you did to your friends back home. They didn't hear from you, didn't hardly see you –"

"I'm not going back anytime soon, but if I ever did, I would write you and see you. You know this."

"Do I?"

"Yes. I promise." Hermione paused. "Can we just talk about the baby? Do you know what gender –"

Cosette grinned. "We're having a little girl."

*

Present

"I should have liked to meet Cosette," Rose said, trying to keep an accusing tone out of her voice.

"That's my biggest regret, you know," Hermione said automatically, and Rose was taken aback. Hermione continued, "I don't – can't – regret leaving Severus, because then I would never have had you and Hugh, and the two of you are more precious to me than anything in this world. But I do regret that because of my own selfishness and desire to keep my record – I don't know, spotless – I never introduced you to my dearest friend aside from Ginny. And Luna, as well." She rubbed her forehead. "Cosette has been a far better friend to me over the years than I have been to her. We've been constant correspondents, and I have visited their home several times a year, but she has never even met you and Hugh, save when you were inside me," Hermione choked, and for the first time Rose recognized her mother's severe self-recrimination. "She is a far greater woman than I – far more forgiving, far more understanding."

"She wasn't at Dad's funeral, then?" Rose asked.

Hermione rubbed her face. "In a cruel twist of fate, Henri's mother died the day before your dad's funeral. She had her own family's grief to attend to."

"She met Dad, though?"

"She and Ginny were my attendants. Our wedding was small – family and friends only – and Cosette merely said she was a longtime friend. It was true, and everyone thought she was a girlhood friend from my summer holidays in France. We didn't bother to correct them."

Rose paused. "How many children do Cosette and Henri have?"

"Just their daughter, Claire. She was born September 4, 2005. I'm her godmother, and her namesake – her middle name is Hermione. Claire Hermione Bedard Dubois," her mother said. "She's the spitting image of Cosette – petite, wild black hair, and a fierce disposition to boot. She's got Henri's eyes, though. Ice blue. She's a beautiful girl and she's smart, too. She's studying art at the Vrije now." Hermione chuckled. "Cosette pitched a fit about her going there, said she didn't want her only child going to school in Amsterdam." She snorted. "It's funny what motherhood does to a person. Henri had to call me over from work to help calm her down. She was in a right fit."

"How often were you there?" Rose asked quietly.

"Several times a year. More when you and Hugo were at Hogwarts. And we'd all run into each other at the occasional conference."

"And Pierre," Rose asked. "Have you kept in touch with him?"

Hermione laughed. "It's very difficult to keep in touch with that man. He's a wretched correspondent." She shifted in her chair. "He retired five or six years ago and, last I heard, had moved to Florence with his latest twenty-something girlfriend. No offense," she added.

"Oh, none taken." Rose grinned.

"The company turned over to Philippe Caron, who was the second in command even when I worked there." Hermione smiled, amused. "Claire always wanted to meet you, you know," she said, returning to the original subject. "She asked me every year when she was little – for her birthday, could I please bring Rose? It broke my heart to tell her no. But after a while she stopped asking. I think as she's gotten older, Cosette has told her... more than what is probably advisable about the situation, to help her understand my family's distance."

"So she's twenty-one then?" Rose asked.

Hermione nodded. "She's eight months older than you."

"We could have been friends," Rose said.

"I'm sorry – I am so sorry, darling. I made my own bed, and I forced everyone to sleep in it. It was wretchedly selfish. I'm well aware," Hermione said apologetically.

"Could I meet her – meet Cosette and Henri?" Rose asked tentatively.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I think you should."

"Thank you," Rose said, grateful. She hesitated. "February 2005. Grandma Molly died in March...?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and launched into the last portion of her tale.

*

2 March 2005

Hermione had just arrived at her flat after work when a letter shot through the Floo. She walked over to the fireplace in the pending dark, beams of twilight and city lights streaming through the windows. She bent awkwardly to pick up the parchment – damn this skirt! It was uncomfortably tight. She had no idea why she'd bought it.

No, she did. Cosette.

She shook her head and attempted to make out the writing on the letter. She could hardly see anything.

She flicked a finger and the lights came on.

She recognized the handwriting instantly, and her knees almost gave out. She barely made it to the sofa.

Ron.

*

Fifteen minutes later, she was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the unopened letter which she'd placed on the coffee table. Her hands were tucked under her chin in a prayer like position.

Her lips tightened.

Clearly, Harry or Ginny had caved.

It was Harry. She knew it was Harry.

It wouldn't be hard to convince him to give her address up, she thought. Work was stressful and James' first birthday was in a few days. George had just married Angelina Johnson last month, and there were two newborns in the family – Percy and Penelope's Lucy and Bill and Fleur's Louis.

Life goes on.

Ginny's last letter – exhausted but undeniably content – had been difficult to read.

She didn't want to see what he had written...

At the same time, she did.

She shut her eyes tight. Ron hadn't been seeing anyone for months, Ginny had said. He's bloody miserable and tries to be cheerful, which is worse than him taking it out on everyone. Ginny had speculated that this curious development in Ronald Weasley, the King of Lashing Out When Upset, was a result of his being depressed about a situation he didn't think would change.

Ginny was a wonderful friend who could say the most damning things without assigning blame to anyone.

She had practically said that Ron still missed Hermione.

Hermione sighed. She still loved Ron – how could she not? – but she was not in love, had never been in love with him.

She missed him and his warmth and joy and unassuming demeanor. The camaraderie. He loved to do "nothing" with her – oh, the number of times they'd laid out on the Burrow's lawn at night, finding constellations and making stupid jokes, just laughing.

She missed Ginny. Harry. Luna, who was engaged to Dean Thomas.

That's long overdue, she thought absentmindedly.

Ron's letter.

Fine.

She reached for it and tore it open.

Hermione was scrawled across the top in all-too-familiar writing.

Her heart was pounding.

2 March 2005

Hermione,

I can't believe I'm writing to you after all these years. Can't believe that Harry gave you up – you know it was him. It was torture, knowing that Ginny was writing you all the time, knowing that you knew about everything that was going on here but that I couldn't tell you myself.

Mum is sick. Mum is... very sick, and everyone is worried. That's why I'm writing. She got sick yesterday morning. I told Harry and Ginny that I would tell you.

Dad is a mess.

That's why I'm writing – my dad has loved my mum all his life, and the mediwitches and Healers at St. Mungo's don't know what's wrong, and he's scared that he'll lose the person he loves the most in this world.

We all watch Dad with Mum, and Bill kisses Fleur's cheek and George hugs Angelina and Percy holds Penelope's hand and Harry takes James so that Ginny can go pace in the hall and I realize how much I need you right now.

I know you're with him. Ginny and Harry haven't said anything, but I'm not dumb. I saw a picture of the two of you at a conference in the papers when I was in Italy on holiday last year. I have no idea how the Prophet didn't get a hold of that picture, but I saw it.

Yesterday, I asked Ginny if you were happy. She didn't tell me anything, but she hesitated, and I know my sister, and if you are happy, Hermione, you can Incendio this letter right now, but she hesitated enough for even me to notice, and I still love you, so I'm taking my shot.

I miss you. I can't even write how much I miss you. I've dated other people – tried to get back together with Lavender, who is a Healer now – but no one is you. No one is you, no one can be you, and I'm done pretending that anyone can be. It's not fair to them, and I'm just cheating myself.

I've grown up now. I wish you were here to see it.

I just reread what I've written, and it might sound like I just miss you because my siblings all have their spouses here to cry on. That's not it. I've known how badly I need you for a long time. I've just been stupid about realizing it.

I've been depressed for a while. I've been drinking and trying to be happy, and I haven't gone out with anyone in over six months.

I still love you. I'm still in love with you. I will always be in love with you. That's a fact. That's just how it is.

I'm asking you if you are happy with him. I hope that he treats you well. You deserve the best because you are the best. I didn't realize how good I had it until I lost you.

I lost you once. I can lose you again. Tell me not to write, and I won't.

But if you would let me, Hermione, I would give you everything. Love you every day, marry you – you do know that we never technically broke off our engagement. (Which is sort of funny.)

I would marry you, have a family with you, build a life with you.

That's all I really wrote to say. You can take it or leave it, but I had to tell you. If you're happy, then I can be man enough to let you have your happiness, and I won't bother you again.

And – Mum is sick. You needed to know.

There's no good sign off to use for this kind of thing, is there?

Okay.

Love,

Ron

Trembling, she set the letter down, laid down on the couch, and cried herself to sleep.

*

When she woke up, Severus was standing over her, perusing a –

"That's my letter!" she said fiercely, bolting upright, skirt askew.

"Oh, really," he said casually. "How... touching."

"Severus," she said, holding her hand out. "Give it to me."

"What is your answer?" he asked, not giving her the letter.

She glared at him and did a non-verbal Accio.

He smirked and sat down in the chair opposite her.

"Well?" he asked.

"This is mine. My personal paper. My letter. You had no right –"

"You've gone through my papers. I was merely returning the favor."

She tensed. "That happened once and it was years ago."

"November 30, 2002."

"You're keeping track?" she asked incredulously. "You're keeping a tally of my mistakes?"

He shrugged.

She rose from the couch violently. "Did you read the part about how he hopes you treat me well?" Her nostrils flared.

"I treat you fine," he said.

"Fine is not well." She stalked over to the kitchen.

He followed. "It's a touching letter."

"Don't make fun of him! He loves me – an affliction you have never experienced!" She grabbed a bag of Columbia coffee. She needed a drink. A caffeinated one, preferably.

"You don't think I love you?" He leaned against the counter.

"No. You've never said it."

Hermione could swear she could hear the hum of the tension.

"I do," he said slowly. "I am not – good – with words."

"Bullshit."

"I love you," he said. "I have showered you with gifts and –"

"Lots of orgasms and a key to your cottage?" Hermione slammed a cupboard door shut. "Yes, Severus, because every time a man makes me come I just know that that means he loves me –"

He grabbed her by the arm and swung her body around so that it pressed against his. "I do," he said firmly, "which I have been showing you for three months now."

"Two questions," Hermione said. "First, how do you prove to a woman that you love her when you've never actually said it? You usually prove a claim, and you yourself have said you have no claim on me." She sneered. "Second, you've only loved me for three months?"

"See? I tell you, and you throw it in my face."

"I've been telling you I loved you for years, and you only tell me now?"

"What does 'now' mean, Hermione?"

"Do you even know what you feel, Severus, or are you so steeped in self-induced denial and misery that you refuse to acknowledge any good emotion –"

"And what good can come of love?"

She stopped in her tracks. "Just because you've been hurt in the past doesn't mean that it has to hurt now."

"Your reaction to this isn't reinforcing your words –"

"Because you have hurt me!" she exclaimed. "I have given you everything and you don't care! I gave you my heart and you broke it! It went to rot on your watch."

"Do you love him?" Severus asked after a moment.

"I'm not in love with Ron," she said, walking back over to the coffeepot as it stopped brewing. She poured them each a cup.

"I wrote a letter like that once," he said, accepting the cup she offered.

She looked up at him sharply. "To Lily?"

He nodded. "She never responded."

Hermione slammed a hand on the counter, startling him. "How long are you going to let her affect your worldview?"

"I don't love her anymore."

"But you have never dealt with the damage she did to you – or the damage anyone else did to you." Voldemort. Dumbledore. Your father. Your mother.

"She's dead," Severus said, ignoring the implicit references. "You don't get closure from a dead woman."

"You can achieve closure on your own."

He snorted.

"So you love me?" Hermione asked flatly, trying not to shake.

He grimaced. "Yes."

"So what now?" She crossed her arms. "Do we just carry on –"

"If you're asking about marriage and children, the answer is still no."

"Are we moving in together permanently?" she asked.

"No."

She threw her cup against the wall, and it shattered in a dozen small shards. Coffee sprayed everywhere.

"You're out of control," Severus said. "Evanesco."

"You want me to give you everything without you offering me anything," she said through gritted teeth. "Story of our relationship."

"I love you."

"Too little, too late."

He threw his own cup against the wall. "So what now, Hermione?" he practically shouted. "You go back to England? To him?" He walked back to the sitting room.

"I don't know!" she yelled.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes! It doesn't mean I like you, though, because I don't like you at all!" She followed him over. "You have treated me like shit, and you refuse to acknowledge it! How can we have a relationship now? We've tried to have one for years without any success!"

"You've spent a lot of time blaming the trips. They're over."

"They were a big part of it, but even when you were home..." She trailed off. "Merlin, Severus, have we ever had an open conversation?"

"Listen to yourself, Hermione," he said, walking over to her. He cupped her face in his hands. "I beg you, consider what you're doing."

She shook his hands away. "Now that we acknowledge how far this has disintegrated, now that –" She breathed heavily. "Now you want to fight for it."

"Don't destroy us."

She looked up at him, fury washing over her in waves. "Personal responsibility, Severus – have you ever heard of it? Take responsibility for what you have done."

They stared at each other for a long while, mouths set in matching thin lines.

"Will you leave?" he asked, going over to stand in front of the fireplace.

"I don't know."

"I await your decision."

Hermione watched him disappear into the flames.

She took a deep breath, willing the rage away, and then summoned her Patronus. She held her wand to her throat. "We fought. Please come." She sent it to Cosette.

She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, her head in her hands.

She couldn't think.

There was nothing left to say.

*

5 March 2005

Hermione walked down the corridor to her office, completely exhausted. She'd been up all night packing. She had informed Pierre that she was taking a leave of absence. She'd sent Harry and Ginny James' first birthday gift. His birthday had been yesterday. She felt... she didn't know what she felt. It was over. It had to be. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She was out of rope.

She was going to Sydney for a while. She'd stay with her mum and dad and sort things out... take time to think.

Her mind was entirely scattered, and the coffee she'd inundated her system with was only just beginning to help her thoughts coalesce. She nearly bumped into two of her co-workers.

"Excusez-moi," she mumbled as she walked into her office – which was open.

She looked up, and her jaw dropped.

"Harry," she barely managed. She dropped everything – coffee included – and ran to him. He threw his arms around her in a crushing hug, and she wanted to cry. She put a hand on his head.

"How did you –"

"Not to brag, Hermione," he said in a low, controlled voice, "but I'm Harry Potter. I could have found you long ago if I wanted."

She gulped. "Thank you for finding me."

He nodded.

"Why –"

"Molly died this morning."

Any air she had in her exited in a swift breath. Harry caught her as she sagged against the desk.

"I got Ron's letter –" Shock. Numbness. Shock. "He said she was sick –"

She looked up at Harry. His eyes were black. Black with exhaustion. With grief.

"Oh, God, Harry." She took his hand. "How – what –"

"We don't know."

"Oh, God."

She wasn't crying. She was heaving – gasping for air – Molly was a constant – how –

"We need to get back. That's why I came. To take you back, if only for a little while. You have to be with us."

"Ron – Ginny –"

"Luna's with Ginny right now, but I need to get back soon. Hermione –" Harry caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You need to be seen. Face the music, sweetheart."

She nodded dumbly.

"Come on." Harry got her off the desk and supported her at the waist. "I've talked to Pierre and he's writing to your parents. Let's go."

And they left.

*

London

They arrived at Harry's flat in record time. Ginny came immediately into Hermione's arms crying before she went to her husband.

"Hullo, Hermione."

Hermione's head jerked around and she saw Luna waltz into the room, James in her arms. She looked... adult. But the radish earrings were still there.

"It's good to see you," Luna was saying.

Hermione practically ran to embrace Luna, making sure to hug her tenderly as James was squashed in between them. "I'm so sorry I didn't write," she whispered, regret hitting her full-force.

"It's all right," Luna said, patting Hermione's back reassuringly with her one free hand. "I always knew you'd come back." She released Hermione and handed James to Harry. She took Hermione's hands in hers.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, but Luna's eyes were radiating nothing but warmth and forgiveness.

"It's good to see you," Ginny said, coming over, and the three women held each other tightly.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said. "So sorry." She kissed her friend's head.

Ginny took her hand. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course." Hermione looked around the room, suddenly noticing... "Where's Ron?" she asked.

"He's at his flat," Ginny said quietly. "He won't see anyone right now."

"Is everyone else at the Burrow?"

Ginny nodded.

"I'll go see him," Hermione said.

"That would be best," Ginny said.

*

Hermione opened the door to Ron's flat slowly. Harry had given her his key.

"Ron?" she called softly. She stepped in and immediately saw him sitting by the fire.

The sight of him shocked the hell out of her. He filled up the whole chair – broad, tall, scruffy hair, five o'clock shadow, and his clothes looked like he'd slept in them... which he probably had.

He looked up at her, eyes drawn, face worn with exhaustion. "You're here."

She nodded. "I'm here." She stepped forward. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

"For what?" he asked, his voice surprisingly level.

"Your mum's death," Hermione said. For hurting you, she thought. "For everything," she murmured, walking over to him.

He rose from the chair, and their bodies met with a hard smack as their arms wrapped around the other.

He wasn't her... he wasn't that right now.

He was one of her oldest, dearest friends who had just lost his mother.

"I'm sorry," she said again and felt that he understood exactly what she meant. "It's all right, Ron." He was tense, but Hermione thought that he felt as breakable as glass. "You can let go."

He started to cry.

And she cried with him.

*

6 March 2005

Severus,

Molly died.

I'm in London for the funeral.

I'm staying.

*