Follow Through

These reeling emotions they just keep me alive
They keep me in tune
Oh, look what I'm holding here in my fire
This is for you
Am I too obvious to preach it?
You're so hypnotic on my heart

So, since you want to be with me
You'll have to follow through
With every word you say
And I, all I really want is you
You to stick around
I'll see you everyday
But you have to follow through
You have to follow through

"Follow Through" Gavin Degraw

**

The four of them gathered here every year. Hermione didn't remember how the tradition began, but she had a feeling they would continue it for the rest of their lives. It always made them feel infinitely cold and queasy, but at the same time, it always made them feel just a little bit better. It helped facilitate the healing process that was still very much underway. After all, you don't recover from a horrendous war in just a few days. It takes years--it had been three years since the fall of Voldemort, and not one among them was completely cured. There was still a long way to go, and by undergoing today's ordeal, they would be a step closer to a complete recovery.

They would come together, but after walking through the iron gates without a word they would split up. They would meet back at the gates when they were ready to go, which sometimes took a good long while. Harry, especially, had the tendency to linger, but then again, he had all too many people to see.

Harry was always the one to split off first, hands jammed into his pockets as he wove his way through the headstones to the west end of the cemetery. Since he always went alone, Hermione could only guess whom he was visiting. She assumed it was Sirius and his parents, but perhaps there were other people he felt compelled to see. After all, no one knew where she went on this somber day, and she knew they wouldn't guess in a million years.

Sliding his hand out of her tenuous grip, Ron went next. He trudged straight ahead toward the family mausoleums, and although Hermione had never joined him, she knew that he was going to see Percy. He and Ginny preferred to spend time visiting their estranged brother alone, so they had worked out that he went to the mausoleum first and Ginny went there last. Other than that, Hermione didn't know if Ron went anywhere else. He was usually already waiting at the gates when she returned and she had never asked. This day of grief was always very private and intimately personal.

Ginny gave her a half-smile before turning around and walking out of the cemetery to Apparate. She always went to visit Dean in the muggle cemetery his mother buried him in first before returning to see the others. Hermione waited until her friend had disappeared with a pop before making her way toward the east end of the graveyard. In some ways, she was the lucky one. She was the only one who hadn't lost a family member in the war, so she always began her journey at Dumbledore's monument. A majestic statue presided atop the memorial building that had been erected in a prime location on top of a gentle hill. As always, the graveside was showered with flowers, but Hermione still dropped a rose onto the soil. She knelt down in front of it, fondly smiling up at the kindly face of her headmaster. She still missed Dumbledore very much. In a way, she was glad that she never had to know Hogwarts without him. Professor McGonagall was an exceptional teacher who she still kept in close contact with, but it just wouldn't have been the same. There was a yawning hole in the entire magical world since Dumbledore's death--Hermione couldn't even imagine how vast that gap had to be at Hogwarts where Dumbledore's absence was felt most profoundly.

She only lingered for a few more moments before rising and dusting off the knees of her pants. It was time for her final visit, the trip that haunted her the most, the graveside she stayed at the longest. It resided in a far, secluded end of the graveyard, where those unfit to be buried alongside decent people were laid to rest. There were no ornamentations, no flowers, and no loved ones who visited these graves. It was possibly the loneliest place in the world. It was the corner of the cemetery reserved for those who not a single person truly missed.

And still, Hermione picked her way through the worn, weathered headstones until she reached one on the far end. Weeds strewn across the bulky mound of dirt and ivy weaved their binding way across the headstone, but his name was still clearly visible: Antonin Dolohov. 1949-1998. Beloved Father. Loyal Servant. Faithful Friend.

Hermione let out the breath she was unintentionally holding. She still had to remind herself at times that he really was dead. A part of her expected to find the mound unturned, the coffin gaping up at her, horribly empty. Or perhaps while she stood unremorsefully at the foot of his grave, his meaty hand would abruptly burst through the dirt, seize her surprised ankle, and yank her down with him.

She took a careful step backward just in case, arms crossed guardedly over her chest as she continued to stare. She didn't know why she was always drawn here. Well, she did, but Hermione didn't want to think about it too much. Not when his bones were only six feet beneath her.

Something deep inside her was infinitely bothered by the fact that she still hadn't a bloody clue about what had happened after being thrown into the kitchen that fateful night. Dolohov's scowling face was that last vivid memory she had of that night. The next thing she knew, Ron had been waking her up in Harry's dining room. Every now and then she had sharp, random flashes in her dreams: cowering in a corner as Dolohov threatened to use the Cruciatus curse on her; crawling into the foyer and desperately trying to reach the front door; and finally, burying her face into that comforting place on Ron's shoulder, being so exhausted and weak that she could scarcely breathe, let alone cry. Ever since those jerky flashes had started happening around a year ago, she had forced herself to write them down straight away. She had accumulated quite a list by this point but it was all too disjointed and disorganized to give her a clear idea about what had happened. She was aware that she had been tortured for quite a bit of time and probably would have been killed if Ron hadn't shown up in time, but for some reason that wasn't enough. Perhaps it was the journalistic instinct brewing inside of her, but Hermione couldn't help wondering what the whole truth was. Recording these dreams seemed to be the only way to find out since Dolohov was dead, she was cursed with selective trauma-induced amnesia, and Ron had arrived only seconds before Dolohov had been about to finish her off. For his part, he refused to talk about the state she was in upon first regaining consciousness. She knew he had helped her downstairs where she had passed out again, but that was all Ron would say. If she wanted to learn anything further, she would have to find out herself.

And now it appeared the pieces were finally falling into place. The Healer had said that fragments of memory would return to her over time, but she hadn't thought it would take almost three years, which disturbed her more than she cared to admit. Whatever had happened must have been incredibly traumatic if someone as logical as Hermione Granger was repressing it so forcefully, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest until her memory returned. She couldn't very well move on with her life if she didn't even know what was haunting her.

A fresh gust of wind sent several of the large leaves of ivy to the side, revealing something minutely purple underneath. Frowning curiously, Hermione knelt to the side of the headstone, not being able to bring herself to stand on top of the actual grave. Her exploring fingers extracted the small bushel of violets that had been carefully hidden underneath the ivy.

Her heart almost turned over. Someone did care about Dolohov.

She dropped the flowers as if they had just scalded her. It wasn't as though she fully expected for everyone to despise Dolohov as much as she did; Death Eater loyalties were rather strong among the comrades. It was just that if someone cared enough about Dolohov to visit him with flowers, they might care enough to seek vengeance on the one who had ended his life: Ron. The Ministry had pardoned him, but that didn't mean that he couldn't still be punished for his crime. Granted, he had committed the crime to save her life, but it probably wouldn't matter to whoever this person was. If he was friendly with Dolohov, he probably upheld the same ideals: hating Muggle-borns with a burning passion. He wouldn't give a damn if Ron had killed to save a Muggle-born witch. He would only care that Dolohov was dead and that justice had to be served.

Letting out a small sigh, Hermione rested back on her heels. It wasn't as though she wasn't used to worrying about Ron. She couldn't count all of the times that she had borne the almost unbearable burden of watching Ron in pain. And logically, she knew that she would see him injured many more times in the near future. Ron was due to take his Auror exams in a few days, and when he passed, his dream would finally come true and he'd be an Auror with his best mate Harry.

She was happy for him. She really was. Hermione rubbed her palms on her pants. She didn't even believe herself just now. Well, she did, but--it was complicated. A part of her truly and honestly was thrilled to death for Ron. She was so proud of him for being almost ready to become a full-fledged Auror. She had never seen him happier or more absorbed in anything before. But then there was the flipside of the Galleon: she was absolutely terrified for him. She knew how high the fatality rates for Aurors were, even after the war had ended. Harry was one of the lucky ones who only spent a few times a year in St. Mungo's, but not many Aurors were that lucky. At best, she would only have to rush to the hospital once or twice a year to see her boyfriend. Hermione knew she was going to have to learn how to cope with the constant worry and fear, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. A part of her wished that she could demand that he back out and take a sensible job, but she would never put him in that position. She saw the way Ron's eyes lit up whenever he talked about training, or how excited he became when discussing the future with Harry; he absolutely loved his job. He had never devoted himself to any course of study at school with so much energy and passion, and Hermione wasn't about to tell him to stop now. She had always told Ron that if he applied himself he would be absolutely brilliant at whatever he wanted to do. Now that he had finally done so, she couldn't tell him to quit. He had found his passion, and Hermione was not going to be the one to take that away from him.

With that thought firmly rolling in her determined mind, Hermione reached over to the grave and picked up the flowers, returning them to their hiding place.

And that's when it hit her like a sharp, searing bolt of lightning.

A memory. A powerful, haunting, yet deeply repressed memory flew to the forefront of her thoughts. It slapped her senseless, and for a moment, Hermione could only sit and stare straight ahead with wide eyes. She had been on her hands and knees like she was right now when he had slammed the back door shut. The walls had trembled with the impact, jarring her out of the stupor she had slid into after slamming her head on the counter. He had practically hurtled her across the room when he had come in. But then she had regained her senses and twisting around to face him. She had pushed herself up to a sitting position, scooting backward on her hands and knees as he menacingly approached her, one deliberate step at a time. She had backed herself into a corner with no possible means of escape except to close her eyes and beg: Ron, please...

"And if I remember correctly," Dolohov continued, "you are the only one of your little friends who hasn't felt the Cruciatus curse." Hermione's stomach instinctively turned over as she recalled what she had read in various textbooks about the spell, but she kept her face decidedly blank as she stared up at him. He tutted and shook his head unremorsefully. "Now we can't have that, can we?" Hermione jerked as his hand shot out to grab a fistful of hair, effectively holding her in place. "Little Mudblood has to understand every spell in existence, right?" The wand jabbed through her mass of curls and poked into her skull. "So here's lesson number one..."

The electric current of surprise jolted through her once again, this time knocking Hermione clean out of the past. She was back at Dolohov's grave, panting slightly, one hand still limply resting on the slightly wilted violets.

Whoa.

She sat up on her knees, absently resting a hand against her flushed forehead. She hadn't realized that her memory would return to her in such sporadic, intense flashes. But at least it meant that any day now, she might be able to remember everything. Hermione Granger would finally have all of the answers to the questions she had about that chilling night. And then she could move on with her life, blissfully free of Dolohov. As much as she hated to admit it, the bastard still haunted her. Ignorance had always haunted her, and now that ghost was taunting her more than ever. Dolohov could have done anything that night, and Hermione had to know just how far he had gone. She just had to know, regardless of the fact that many people thought she was mad for trying so desperately to recover painful memories.

Hermione finally stood up, taking a moment to steady herself on the profoundly cold headstone. She had lingered far too long here--no wonder she was starting to wallow in the dredges of the past. But Hermione still didn't leave straightaway. She stood numb for several long minutes, not certain what she was waiting for until she felt him come up behind her. His warmth flooded her senses, easing the troubling cold from her tight chest.

"Sorry if I bothered you," he apologized in that low, concerned voice that never failed to make Hermione feel like the most cherished person on the planet. "But you were--" He broke off as Hermione's head gratefully fell back against his chest like it did whenever she needed to be comforted. Bending his head down to brush against her hair, he quietly asked if she was all right.

Wordlessly, Hermione turned around and pressed her face against him, feeling a bit like a lost little girl who had finally found her way back home. It wasn't often she let her guard down like this, and whenever she did, it was only with him. She didn't particularly like being so vulnerable at times like these, but she had to admit that Ron always took care of her so famously that in the end, she always felt much better. "I'm fine," she reassured eventually. "Just got caught up in the past for a minute."

She wondered if Ron could sense she wasn't telling the whole truth, but if he did, he knew not to push the subject. Their uncanny empathic connection hadn't wavered in the slightest through their years together, and it had become second nature to them both. Hermione didn't even have to consciously focus on Ron to know what he was feeling; when he emoted intensely, she knew it, and vice versa. Although she didn't believe in auras and other Trelawney-taught nonsense, she had to admit that people did have a certain energy about them, and she could always on some level pick up on Ron's unique glow. His thoughts unconsciously passed through her mind, and his heart thudded within hers. Although they never talked about the unusual connection, both knew that they were closer than most couples ever hoped to be. What they didn't know, however, was that they were destined to become even closer than they possibly imagined.

Despite this connection, however, Hermione still didn't mention what had just happened. Ron had never been entirely supportive of her attempts to remember what had happened that night. The last time they had discussed it, a fairly nasty row had occurred, and Hermione didn't want to get into it now. Ron would accept her quest for the truth eventually, and if he didn't--well, she'd cross that hurdle if and when they came to it.

"I'm fine," she repeated. She glanced up at him to find that he was staring at the tombstone, his strong jaw clenched. Apparently she wasn't the only one who was still affected by Dolohov. Her hand slid up to move his arms, which had automatically wrapped around her even closer. As intended, it shook Ron from his disturbance, and he focused again on his girlfriend.

"I never knew you came here," he murmured with slight surprise.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here myself," Hermione admitted pensively. She shifted her position so that she too could stare at the grave. "But I just have to see it, you know?"

"I reckon," Ron said offhandedly, and Hermione knew that he really didn't understand. But he didn't have to understand her, he just had to accept and love her. "Helps you get over it?"

"If that's even possible," Hermione muttered.

Ron moved her hair away from her ear with the bridge of his nose, his lips a mere millimeter away from her ear. "It is. I swear. One day it will all be behind us."

And Hermione believed him. She always believed that boy. Well, he wasn't a boy any longer. There was no denying the fact that Ron Weasley had grown up quite a bit in the ten years she had known him. It was funny, Hermione reflected as she snuck a peek up at him again. Although she knew that he bore no resemblance to the gangling eleven-year-old with the dirt smudge on his nose she had met that day on the train, it was still one of the clearest images she had of him in her mind. Hell, sometimes it almost surprised her to see him look like--well, like a man. He certainly no longer looked like a child. He was tall--goodness gracious, he was tall--he had developed out of the gangling look that Percy had never lost, growing broader shoulders that resembled the build of his twin brothers, and he had grown his hair out longer than his usual short, boyish cut to mimic Bill's haircut. He had always wanted to grow his hair out like his big brother, but his mum would never allow it as long as he lived under her roof. Yes, there was no denying that Ron Weasley had grown up, and she had to admit she rather fancied every single bit of this new, mature man she was dating. It was pretty wonderful that even after the three years she and Ron had officially been together, she was still this hopelessly in love with him. She reckoned it would never go away, and that was perfectly fine with her. If she had her way, she'd keep Ron by her side forever.

She pressed her hands into his, guiding his arms from her waist. "I guess we should go."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He continued to glare at the grave for another moment until Hermione diverted his eyes by running her hand over his jaw, willing his suppressed fury to pass into her fingers. Her fingers paused on his chin and she smiled fondly at the faint stubble that adorned it. He needed to shave. She sighed. He also needed to get back home and study. Of course, she always offered to help, but both had decided that tonight it might be better for him to study alone. Ron had a tendency to get distracted whenever they were in close quarters, and even he understood the importance of these exams. That meant that she would be spending the evening alone.

Of course, it was possible for her home to be his home. He'd asked her to move in with him several times, especially after Harry and Ginny had moved in together, but Hermione was adamant. As much as she loved having Ron in her flat when she first woke up in the morning, and when she fell asleep at night, and all the minutes in between, she didn't want to live with Ron until they were married. She realized that it was rather old-fashioned of her to feel that way, but she couldn't help it. She also knew it was logical that she should live with Ron for a bit before committing to him for the rest of her life. They got along famously now, but who knew what odd quirks and issues would arise when they actually lived in the same place and saw each other every minute of the day? It was logical to have a trial run so to speak before they said 'I do' to ensure that they weren't making a mistake.

Ron had tried to use that practical argument several times against her, and although it pleased her to no end that for once Ron was actually being logical, she wouldn't give in. She had learned from all of the years she had loved Ron that you couldn't be practical and logical about love. You couldn't plan it; you just had to let things take their course and follow your instincts and your heart. If it was meant to be, she and Ron would be together, and they would get through any troubles that might arise from living together. Besides, she didn't need a trial run to know that it was meant to be--there would never be anyone else for her but Ron.

She knew that. Ron knew that. Harry knew that. Ginny knew that. The entire United Kingdom knew that.

So why weren't they married?

Hermione moved her hand away from Ron's face. She was only twenty-one, but damn it, she was ready. She wanted to get married. She wanted to have a husband and children and a family of her own. She wanted to grow old with someone by her side, and she wanted that someone to be Ron. Of course, she couldn't very well come flat out and tell Ron that she wanted to get married, because being a typical man he would probably run away as fast as he could. So she had starting dropping discreet hints in various conversations she had with the thick prat about moving their relationship to another level. Ron usually got a disgusted, 'oh great, she wants to talk about the relationship' look on his face. Then, she would get annoyed and snap at him, and the conversation would either quickly get changed or a petty row would ensue. Ron was like a typical man and preferred that the important, intimate issues were known but left unarticulated, however he also felt that because of their empathic connection, it wasn't necessary. She could feel what Ron felt about her of course, and she knew deep down inside of her that he wanted the same things she did. But it wouldn't bloody kill him to say it. Sometimes, a girl just needed to hear the words aloud.

Hermione knew there were several reasons why they weren't married just yet. Ron was still in training, so he had to take another job working for his dad to pay the bills. Hermione knew how important and touchy the issue of money was for Ron, so she understood that he would be reluctant to merge two lives together when he could barely support himself. However, she also had two jobs--well, Ron wasn't aware of her second job, but she would tell him if he would let her help out with the financial burden. Perhaps Ron had some outdated idea about who should be supporting whom in the relationship financially, but in her opinion it didn't matter. As long as they worked through everything together, she was content to be the primary breadwinner in their family.

And then there was the issue of Ron's chosen profession. As of right now, Ron had fairly regular hours and a moderate workload. The most dangerous things he faced were angry citizens at the Ministry or controlled simulations in Auror training. But once Ron passed his exams--and Hermione knew that he would--everything would change. Ron would be thrown into the thick of the most dangerous job in the magical world, and she would constantly walk around with a perpetual gnawing sense of worry in the pit of her stomach. He would be sent on assignments for long periods of time, and she would have to live with not knowing where he was or what he was doing. A great deal of secrecy was required for the Aurors, and Hermione knew it had initially caused a bit of a strain with Harry and Ginny's relationship.

Harry had passed his Auror exam after only a year of training, and after two years on the job, Ginny had somewhat gotten used to the idea of Harry being constantly in danger. However, there were periods in the first year when Ginny found it very difficult to be unaware of what Harry was doing, and Harry had found it equally disconcerting to not be able to tell her. Eventually it had all worked out, although Hermione wasn't sure exactly how they had sorted out their issues. Neither Harry nor Ginny had confided in her about it, and it was none of her business so she hadn't asked. All that mattered was that they had sorted things out, and Hermione knew that she and Ron could deal with it as well. It could be done--she could live with all of the fears that came from being the girlfriend of an Auror.

The problem was that Hermione didn't know how to do it now.

"Hermione?" From the tone of his voice, Hermione had a feeling that he had said her name several times. His hands were folding over hers, and he shook them ever so slightly. He knew how absorbed Hermione could be in her thoughts. "Knut for your thoughts?"

"You," Hermione answered honestly. She managed a smile. "It's always about you." Ron's grin wiped all worrisome thoughts from her mind, much to her relief. She didn't want to think about this now. Ron would be able to handle himself; he was one of the most talented wizards she had ever met. He would be fine--she was just being paranoid. But Hermione had a sinking feeling that no matter how many times she told herself that, she was going to worry about Ron for the rest of her life. It was one of the setbacks to being in love with someone.

"Come on." Ron tugged on her hand and she allowed him to lead her away from Dolohov's grave. And despite her earlier dark thoughts, she had never felt better about leaving this particularly haunting site than she did now with his hand in hers. A soft smile crept across her face. Maybe she should start having Ron accompany her here more often.

She slid her hand free and wrapped her arm around Ron's, leaning her head comfortably against his shoulder. She may be cursed with one of the crippling setbacks of being in love, but damn it, she wouldn't change her place with the Queen of England. Auror or not, she was going to spend the rest of her life at Ron Weasley's side. Regardless of all of the doubts, worries, and concerns she may have, she knew that this was where she belonged. There was no other place she was supposed to be but here with him. And it may not have been written in any of the millions of books she had read, but if there was one definitive fact she was certain of in all of her years of scholarly research, it was that she belonged with Ron.

Fate works in funny ways, however. She stealthily slides into peoples' lives. She tears people apart only to bring them back together again; she manipulates, twists, pulls, rips, slashes, claws, and shatters the world as we know it. But she doesn't do it to be cruel, and she doesn't do it because she has a twisted sense of humor. She does it, because every person must be tested. Even with all of the trials and tribulations human beings have to endure just from living ordinary life, we are still forced to face even more tests. We have to prove to the fates as well as to ourselves that we belong. We have to show them what we're made of, that in a world filled with billions of people, we deserve to live. We have to constantly fight for what we rightfully deserve, because it is through these tests that we remind ourselves and the fates and whatever higher powers that are out there of who we really are and just how precious everything we fight to sustain really is.

Sometimes we don't pass. Sometimes we fail miserably and we are knocked down from the carefree pinnacle we've been living on top of. The only thing to do, then, is to claw our way back and desperately seek the happiness we once had. Perhaps that happiness lies down another road, or maybe we have to journey down the same path once again, but one day, we'll find it. It may take us ages of misery to discover it, and some of the weaker ones give up along the way and succumb to the pain, losing themselves to hatred forever. But the stronger ones always find it. It's always there. Eventually we'll get it back. We just have to learn how and where to find it.

It is an unfortunate aspect to life, but everyone has to go through it. James Potter and Lily Evans did. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black did. Albus Dumbledore did. Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewitt did. Everyone had. And now it was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger's turn.

But as mentioned before, Fate works in funny ways. She sees all and knows all of our agony, but she realizes that just one of these painful tests isn't enough. These tests have to continue throughout your entire lifetime if you really want to discover what you're made of. So with a misty flick of her finger, she decreed that the Auror exams weren't the only tests that Ron Weasley had to take.

It was time for the happy couple to take another one together.