La Vie en Rose

Chapter 5: Au Cimetière du Père-Lachaise

Ron was standing near the grave of Edith Piaf, in the cimetière du Père-Lachaise. He looked once again at the piece of paper he was holding in his hand, the piece of paper Hermione had given him earlier that day, when he had seen her at the café de la Galette. This very piece of paper was the only proof he had that he had really seen the woman he had been in love with for so long. Seeing her in the church or in the café could have been tricks his mind would have played on him. It had done that before. But it was her handwriting on the paper, she had written it in front of him, she had given it to him. She had written that she would meet him at five in the afternoon in front of the grave of Edith Piaf in the Père-Lachaise cemetery. But would she come? It was already five past ten.

Hermione was standing behind a tree, a few metres away from Ron. She had been hiding behind this tree for ten minutes, watching him. He was still the gorgeous man she had left five years before. He hadn't changed much. She sighed, trying once again to gather her courage, and go and talk to him. She had told herself she would go, she would do it, she would end her misery and finally tell Ron goodbye for good. For what else could she say to him but 'I'm sorry' and 'Goodbye'? They had made a mistake, she had made a mistake, had destroyed their friendship. She had to have the decency to make proper excuses to him. And to her, if she knew... Had Ron told her?

Ron had her back to her. She walked silently to him. He heard her feet on the gravel and turned round. She was standing four feet away from him. His hair was shining in the pale sun. They looked at each other in silence, taking in the changes in each other, changes brought by five years of absence. Ron thought Hermione was even more beautiful than before, but, Merlin, she looked so ghostly.

She licked her lips, took a deep breath and a step further and said, "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, his voice croaky.

There was an awkward moment. A silence that lasted more than a minute. He was the one to break it this time.

"I wondered if you would come."

"I almost didn't."

She ran a hand through her hair, watched by Ron, who was mesmerized by this sight. He so wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her, but he also wanted answers. Explanations.

"I hid behind this tree for ten minutes," she admitted, pointing to the tree, her throat tight with sadness. She swallowed painfully, not knowing he was doing the same thing at the very same time.

Silence. They both stared at their feet. She heard him breathe painfully.

"I hope you're not going to Disapparate like the last time," he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't even bother to wipe it away. He wanted her to see he was aching.

"No," she whispered in honesty, shaking her head. "I'm not going to run away this time, Ron."

Ron... it was so good to hear her call him Ron. Merlin, had he missed her voice!

"Why here? A cemetery?" he asked, looking around him. "Are you trying to convey some sort of symbolical message here?"

"No. It's a place I often go to." She turned and faced the grave they were standing in front of. "Have you ever heard that song, 'La Vie en Rose'?"

He turned and faced the grave too.

"The French one, you mean?"

She nodded. She felt the wind caress her face lightly. The sun was setting down. Setting down on both the cemetery and their relationship, this time for good and for ever. And acknowledging it for real was the most painful thing she had ever done. Even more painful than leaving London.

"Yeah, I think I've heard it once or twice. Don't know much what it says in French though," Ron answered. "Why?"

Hermione pointed to the grave. "Edith Piaf. She sang that song. I like it a lot." She closed her eyes and added, almost to herself, "I don't see la vie en rose, though."

"Do you think I do?" he asked, more bitterly than he had intended to. He sighed and wiped his face with his hand. "Excuse me. I'm sorry, I really am."

He sounded exhausted. As if he hadn't slept for years. She laughed dryly, mirthlessly. "No, you're right to be angry."

He closed his eyes, trying to slow down the flood of emotions which was invading his head. He buried it in his hands. Taken aback, Hermione stared at him silently for what seemed eternity. Eventually, she put her hand on his head, his darling head that she loved so much, that she had always loved, even back in their first year at Hogwarts. She caressed it lightly; it was shaking. Feeling her light touch, he looked up from behind his hands. There were tears in his eyes. They were pleading.

Time stood still. The wind once again caressed her cheeks, her hair, and she was fascinated by the way it made Ron's red hair move. She took a deep breath. She still cared for him... And he still cared for her, she could see it in his eyes... But... No, she couldn't do that. She had to say no. They couldn't. No, they couldn't. Not again.

She slowly removed her hand from his head. Quick as a cat, he caught it and kissed it. She shivered and looked down, trying to free her hand.

"Ron... Please, no... Don't do that," she pleaded.

He let go of her hand, staring at the floor, not daring to look her in the eyes. He didn't know she had felt like she was dying inside when he had let go of her hand.

"What are we doing now?" he asked.

"Why don't we walk back to the entrance?" she suggested. "It's getting dark."

He nodded in agreement. They walked past Edith Piaf's grave and many others before he finally spoke again.

"So... You've been hiding in Paris for five years?"

She flinched at his choice of words, but then innerly agreed with him that that was what she had been doing: hiding.

"No," she answered a few seconds later. "I lived in Italy for a year first. Then I moved to Greece before coming to France."

"How long have you been in France?"

"A little over a year."

They were walking slowly, side by side, but not touching one another. Hermione had her hands behind her back. She was twisting them. Ron had his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. He had finally learned how to dress properly in the Muggle Universe, she noticed.

"Where are you staying?" she asked.

"In a little hotel near the Arc of something.... How do they call that in French, actually? I've forgotten."

"L'Arc de Triomphe," she stated.

"Yes, that's it. Very beautiful place."

"Indeed."

She twisted her hands once more. She wanted to ask him a question very important for her, but didn't know how he would react. She swallowed hard and then finally asked, "How is Harry?"

Ron didn't look at her; he wasn't surprised. He knew she would want to know how Harry was doing. He had been her best friend after all.

"Harry's fine. He and Ginny got married two years ago. I was his best man. Ginny wanted you to be her bridesmaid, but..." He paused, leaving his sentence unfinished. "Anyway, she's pregnant now. They're very happy to become parents."

"They're married? I don't know why I'm not surprised." She smiled.

"I was. I didn't know, would never have guessed that Harry was having feelings for my little sister."

She laughed. "You were so blind about him. I always knew he liked Ginny more than he would say."

"Anyway, he's now officially part of the Weasley family, even though Ginny's last name is now Potter."

Hermione's smile disappeared.

"What about your family?"

Ron was silent for some time.

"They're all fine. We gather every month or so, as often as we can." Silence. "They miss you. We don't talk about you much, though..." Another silence. "I became very close to your parents. We don't talk about you much either. They hurt too much." Pause. "I hurt too much."

Hermione stopped walking and looked at him right in the eye. She was sad, but anger was also flashing in her eyes. Did he believe she hadn't missed him, she hadn't missed them all? That her heart hadn't break when she had decided it was best for everybody if she left?

"I find it very surprising that Mrs. Weasley allows you to visit my parents," she snapped. She sighed and quickly added, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that, I shouldn't have been talking about her that way..."

"No, indeed, you shouldn't have," said Ron angrily. "Why do you think my mother would not want me to visit your parents? She likes them very much, too. We all needed to comfort one another, and to be comforted, when you left us without an explanation."

Hermione shook her head. Ron was definitely not going to make this easy for her.

"No, Ron, I wasn't talking about Mrs. Arthur Weasley. I was talking about Mrs. Ronald Weasley."

"What are you talking ab..." Ron's face fell.

She didn't know. Of course she didn't know. How could she? She had left before...

He felt the tears sting his eyes. He bit his lower lip hard. Hermione saw his trouble, but didn't say anything. The sun had set. It was now dark in the cemetery, except for the lamp posts which were casting a gloomy light every three metres or so.

"You don't know..." he stated aloud. "You don't know..."

"Don't know what?" Hermione asked.

"How could you have known? My owls never found you."

She lowered her face. When she looked up again, Ron could only see one of her eyes; the other was hidden by a lock of hair. She licked her dry lips and whispered, "They found me, Ron. I sent them back. without opening the letters. I thought it was for the best, after... and you were to... Anyway, I sent them back, then cast a spell on myself so that I could not be found by any owl you or the others would send. That actually was the last time I used my wand. That is, until the other day..."

She lowered her head once again.

"Your parents looked for you... Asked the pleasemen to find you back."

"I knew they would do that."

"They said they could not do much. They looked for you. We thought you had been abducted or something... Then I realized... I realized... you had left willingly." There was reproach in his voice. "I told your parents that that was what I thought, and they could not do anything but agree with me."

"Did you tell them..."

"I had to, Hermione," he cut in. "They had to understand that you would not let anyone find you back if you had decided not to be found. I managed to convince them. But I only stopped looking for you a little over a year ago. When you were closer to England than you had ever been for three years."

His last sentence was barely a whisper.

Hermione was crying softly. She had made herself the promise that she would not cry in front of Ron but she could not help herself. She asked the question that was burning her lips.

"Did you tell Eileen?"

Ron looked up straight into her eyes. They were full of shameless tears he would not, would never wipe in front of her. His face was however expressionless. All of a sudden, it twisted in agony, wrinkles of pain and sorrow invading it. He cried out loud, big, pearly tears rolling down his distorted face, getting into the little cracks the nervous fit had created.

"Ron?" Hermione asked, frightened, uncertain.

"Eileen's dead. She's dead, " he cried, burying his head in his hands again.

Hermione took a step back, shaken. Eileen... Dead? How? When? She shook her head in disbelief.

"No, no... She can't be... She's not..."

"She is. She's dead. Eileen's dead, Hermione. I killed her."

Hermione was shocked. She had trouble breathing, she felt like she was going to fall down on the floor any minute now.

"What? Ron...."

She was now crying too.

"I killed her, Hermione. I killed her."

Her nostrils were flaring in disbelief. The wind was slapping harder. Her hair was flying around her head. Rain started to fall slowly. She was looking at him, scared. What had he done?

His sobs were becoming deeper and more painful. Painful to hear and painful to go through. The wind made a mess of his hair.

"Ron..." she tried. Her voice was shaky.

A sob answered her.

"Ron, did you... did you..." The words seemed not to want to leave her mouth. "Ron!" she tried once again.

He looked at her. Her mouth was trembling. Her eyes were filled with tears. She had a look of disbelief on her face. He saw her open her mouth many times without speaking until, finally, "Ron..." she stammered. "You didn't... You didn't... kill her?!"

It was both a question and a statement.

"I did! 'Mione, I did!"

He fell on his knees, his hands pulling at his hair. Hermione tried to prevent him from hurting himself, but it was no use.

"Well," he added through his sobs, " I didn't kill her with my own hands. My words killed her. My words killed her."

Hermione fell on her knees too, and tried to take his hands which were still pulling at his hair. He let her do, and locked eyes with her. They were both crying without restraint.

"What do you mean?" Hermione urged.

Ron closed his eyes at the memories. He let his face fall into her lap, like a child. He had hold this to himself for too long.

"She... She... She... "

"Tell me," Hermione asked gently, her voice full of concern and pain. She was caressing his hair, kissing it lovingly, looking at the graves around them as her tears were falling on his head along with the rain.

"She... She... committed... suicide... She hung herself in the shop."

Hermione stiffened. She feared what he was going to say.

"Why?" she managed to ask.

Ron raised his head. There was love and shame in hie eyes when he answered, "After... after... that night... The very next day... I went to see Eileen, thinking you had gone to your flat... and I cancelled our wedding. I cancelled it on the day it was due to happen!"

Her fearful eyes looked at him as she took in the news. He had cancelled his wedding with Eileen...

"Why?"

Ron looked hurt.

"Why? You ask me why? Because I loved you! Because I love you! Because I thought you loved me too! Because I wanted to start a new life with you, like I had always wanted but had never dared to express the wish aloud. Because I knew this was time to stop pretending being in love with Eileen when the only person I was, the only person I had ever truly been in love with was you!"

Hermione hid her face in her hands. What had she done?

You killed Eileen. You killed Eileen. You killed Eileen, her mind kept on telling her.

"No! No!" she said aloud, shaking her head in denial.

She got up. Ron was still on his knees in front of her, sobbing. She looked around them. The cemetery was deserted. She was so cold. So cold.

You killed Eileen.

"NO!" Hermione repeated, louder. This time, Ron looked up at her, but could not really distinguish her figure: the tears and the rain were blinding him. He did not see her frightened look, her mad, guilty eyes. But he saw her begin to step back, still facing him.

He tried to get up but could not.

"Hermione!" he called, foreshadowing what was going to happen. The sound of running feet proved him right. It echoed in the empty cemetery. When he looked up again, he could only see her blurred figure running away in the distance. He hit the ground hard with both his fists, water rebounding on his already drenched body.

"Hermione!" he howled.

This time, Hermione heard his desperate call, but did not turn round. She knew what she had to do.