La Vie en Rose

La Vie en Rose

by Elais

Chapter 12: Le temps ne peut pas tout effacer

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

(- from the song My Immortal by Evanescence)

Ron was in a strange room. Its walls were white. It was divided in two parts by a huge plate glass window. It was completely bare, except for one window on each side of the room, facing one another. The windows were open. Ron was standing in one part of the room, on one side of the glass. He looked around him and saw Hermione, dressed in a black dress. He was wearing a white suit, and white shoes and socks. It was almost invisble, the white of his suit merging into the white of the walls. His bright red hair was almost an offence to the purity of this white surrounding him. Hermione was bare-footed. She had her long bushy hair from before she had left England, not the new hair-cut he didn't like that much, but it was much longer than before. It reached her ankles. Her hair was very bushy around her head and down to her shoulders but it was thin from her shoulders to her feet. Her hair was no longer brown, but jet-black. She was a surprising vision, even a scary one. She was facing him but was not looking at him. She seemed to be asleep and was as white as a ghost.

Everything was silent, nothing could be heard. Ron wondered where they were, and when he tried to speak to Hermione, he found out that the part of the room echoed his words but that she hadn't heard them. She was looking down at her feet, as in a trance, tirelessly balancing her body from left to right. Her lips were moving but he couldn't hear what she was saying, and didn't even know if she was speaking aloud at all. He walked to the glass and knocked at it, trying to catch her attention. She eventually looked up, but he could see she had rather seen his shadow than heard the sound he had made. He saw her eyes were black as well. It scared him. They were lifeless. She walked to the glass and put her small hand on it. He placed his own on the other side of the glass, at the exact same spot.

She was talking to him, looking rather sad. She was pleading with her eyes and looked desperate but he couldn't understand what she was saying, he couldn't hear her. He tried to show her so, but it was no use. He tried to read her lips, to guess what she was saying, but he wasn't very successfull until she stopped talking for what seemed eternity before adding one last word, one word he could read on her lips and felt as if he had heard it in his head. He didn't want to hear this word, he didn't want her to be saying this.

Goodbye.

He saw her kiss the glass on the spot where his hand was resting on the other side of the transparent wall. He tried to prevent her from getting away by hitting the glass with his fists and feet but he was helpless. She looked at him in the eye and mouthed 'I love you' before walking away from the wall. She was walking backwards towards the window.

He was now frantically pounding at the glass with his fists, desperately trying to break it, all the while shouting, 'Don't, don't leave me! Hermione!'. But she didn't or didn't want to, hear him.

The glass shattered all of a sudden but when Ron was finally able to get to the other part of the room, she wasn't there anymore. The window in her part of the room was now closed and the dress she had been wearing was lying in a bundle on the floor next to the window. His own white suit was smeared with blood. He looked at his body, trying to see if he had hurt himself but he hadn't. This wasn't his blood. It was hers. He heard a sound on his right and looked towards his part of the room. His window was closed. He was alone in this empty room.

He started to cry.

*

Ron woke up with a start, his body wet with his sweat. What a nightmare. He had lived it with every fibre of his body and was exhausted. It took him some seconds to remember where he was. He had made this dream before, but he had never completely seen her in the dreams. She had always been a shadow, but minutes ago, he had seen her in his dream and she had scared him. Dressed all in black with long black hair, looking like a ghost. He was shaking again, just thinking of it.

He was cold. He was lying naked next to an also naked Hermione in her bed, but the sheet was only covering her body and not his. He pulled at the cover they had put at the foot of the bed after their love-making the night before.

They had stayed at Hermione's the evening before. When they had got home, they had made love all evening long, had done some talking, but nothing serious, just memories of Hogwarts and of Harry. They were now tomorrow. The truce was over. They might not be together in bed when the night would come and it scared him. He did not want to lose her. She was his life. He didn't want to let her go once more, but what if this was her choice? What if she did not want to start things seriously again? They could not hide forever in Paris. They did not belong to Paris, they did not belong to the Muggle world. She was a witch. He was a wizard. They belonged to the Wizarding world and they belonged to England where their families and friends lived. What if she didn't understand that? What if she was determined to stay in Paris? Ron loved her but knew they could not stay there. He understood she'd be uncomfortable facing all those she had left behind when she had fled away but...

His thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's voice. She was watching him intently, her brown eyes wide open. She had called his name many times, she told him when he asked her what was wrong. She wanted to know why he was awake. He did not tell her about the nightmare. Instead he said he had heard some noise outside and that it had woken him. She looked at a Muggle thing he had heard her call 'alarm-clock' and was told it was seven o'clock. Did he want to get up and walk to a café to eat some breakfast à la Française?

"Sure."

They got up, took a quick shower together and got dressed. A quarter of an hour later they were leaving her apartment and heading towards the nearest café. It was at the corner of Hermione's street. It was called Le Chien qui fume.

"What does that mean?" asked Ron, pointing at the name of the café.

Hermione smiled and answered, "The smoking dog."

"You know, I saw a smoking dog once..."

"Ron... "

"That's the truth! He was the dog of an old wizard. He was sitting in an armchair and smoking a pipe."

She laughed and pushed the door open and greeted the bartender over the noise made by the other customers. Ron could tell she came here often, when he saw that the bartender recognized her and greeted her with a wide smile.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Mulard."

"Bonjour!"

They sat in a booth and looked at the menu. They both decided on hot chocolate and croissants. They were facing one another. The booths were maroon, the tables brown. On the wall hung pictures of Paris and of Montmartre. They were old black and white pictures. Hermione felt Ron take her hand in his and caress it with his thumb. She smiled at him but didn't say a word. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the softness of his touch. She then turned her head and looked at the bartender who was preparing their breakfast. A song was playing on the radio but she couldn't get the lyrics. The café was almost full and people were chatting happily. She could just make out some words that were definitely English. She could feel Ron's eyes on her and looked at him. Worriness was filling his eyes and she knew hers were filled with this feeling as well. She squeezed his hand and excused herself to the bathroom.

Once the door to the ladies' loo was closed, she let herself sigh and leaned against the green wall, looking at herself in the mirror. She couldn't look at her own eyes. She hated this feeling if uneasiness that had been almost palpable between her and Ron since she had woke up. She hated it. They'd have to talk today, and she feared the talk might drive them away forever.

It wasthen she caught the chorus of the song that was playing. It nearly make her sob.

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

What if the singer was true? What if they could never overcome what had happened five years before? What if Ron could never forgive her for running away from him more than once. They could not be friends again. That was about all she was certain of. Could they be lovers? Did they have a future together? The song scared her and she suddenly felt the urge to get out of the toilets, out of the café and to hide in a mouse's hole.

She exited the small room and resumed her seat, but sat next to Ron this time. She kissed his lips lightly over the fuming chocolates.

"What was that for?" he asked, wondering but pleased.

"Well, I just realized I hadn't kissed you good morning."

"That's true. Neither have I."

He leaned in her and kissed her tenderly.

"Good morning."

She licked her lips.

"Good morning. Do I need a reason to kiss you anyway?" She then looked down at the croissants. "Mmm, I am starving!"

"Let's eat then!"

They ate their breakfasts in silence, but enjoying being close to one another. Once he had finished eating his breakfast, Ron put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and squeezed them. She drank her cup of chocolate and buried her head in the crook of his neck. She took his free hand into hers and kissed it lightly before resting both their hands on her lap.

"What now?" he asked in a whisper.

"Why don't we go for a walk and then go back to my flat?"

"Okay."

"We'll talk in my flat."

"Alright."

They got out of the booth and Hermione paid Monsieur Mulard. They walked to the door and exited the café, shivering as the cold wind blew. Ron took Hermione's hand and they began walking towards the Sacré Coeur. Hermione lookedp at the sky. It was going to rain. Violently. She could feel it in her veins.

She was scared. She tried to shake her head in denial but it was no use. The feeling was still there, deep inside her belly, running in her veins. Clouds were covering the sky.

"It's going to rain," Ron stated.

"A storm is brewing."

"Really? How do you know?"

"I just... feel it."

"Oh. Well, you're a witch after all, you have... powers..."

He smiled.

"Yes, I'm a witch."

"I bet you haven't said that for a while."

"No. I tried to forget I was a witch at all."

"That's not an easy thing to forget..." As she kept silent, he added, "Since I've been here, it hasn't stopped raining."

He laughed and she tried to smile but couldn't. They were now standing in front of the Sacré Coeur. They looked at it for a minute and then headed for the placedu Tertre.

"I am going to miss Montmartre," Ron sighed, looking at her from the corner of his eye, gauging her reaction.

She stiffened, but did not look at him.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, staring at her feet.

"I'll have to soon. They need me."

"Are you still working for the ministry?"

"Well, I was suspended for three years. I couldn't work anymore, I didn't want to. I was granted some time after Eileen's death but once that time was over, I couldn't go to work. I was drunk most of the time; I couldn't work. I kept going to bars and pick up women. But that's not a life. That's not the life I wanted anyway. I was reintegrated two years ago. Harry and Ginny, my family, everybody helped me to overcome my addiction and I was able to work again. I worked day and night. I wanted to... make up for those three years. I was still sending owls all over the planet asking for you. Then finally one month ago, they told me I should take some holidays. I'd been in Paris for three weeks when I met you in that church."

"I'm sorry about... your addiction."

"It was a tough time, but it's over now. Let's not talk about it."

"Okay... Why did you come to Paris in the first place?"

"I don't really know. I wanted a break from my job. I was really tired. I thought that maybe I'd manage to rest in Paris. It was as if someone was telling me to go to Paris. I guess I know why now. My unconscious probably felt you were there." He snorted. "But I really came here because I thought that maybe I'd manage to forget you."

"Forget me?"

He looked at her right in the eye, sadness filling his eyes and tears threatening to roll down his cheeks.

"Yes, forget you. Hermione, for the past five years I haven't stopped thinking of you."

"I haven't stopped thinking of you either, Ron."

"So much time wasted. We've wasted so much time, Hermione. I've wasted so much time. When I figured out you would not come back to England, that you had left for good, I started looking for you everywhere. And I mean everywhere. But you had stopped living like a witch, you had assumed another identity," he said reproachfully, "and no one has been able to find you. I stopped looking for you a year ago. I had no idea when I decided on a trip to Paris that I would find you here."

She kept silent, her eyes riveted to the ground.

"I feel so old, Hermione." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm only twenty-five but I feel like I'm fifty. I've changed a lot. Before I left for Paris, my mother told me she didn't recognize me anymore. That she wished my old self would come back soon. But the thing is I don't know if that's possible. A part of me died when you left me. Well, 'left me', I mean when you left England, because technically speaking, we've never been 'together'. And I was feeling so guilty... I kept on thinking I had killed Eileen. I only realized a few days ago that I hadn't killed her. That it wasn't entirely my fault. My family, Harry and the others have tried to make me understand that for ages but I would not listen to them. It was easier thinking that everything was my fault, that if you had left it was because I wasn't good enough for you, that if Eileen had killed herself it was because I hadn't been a good fiancé for her. Which in a way is true. I never was a good fiancé for her. Of course I bought her flowers, I took care of her, I promised her the moon and the stars. But I was such an hypocrite. All the time I told her I loved her I was thinking of you. When I was making love to her, I wished it was you I was making love to. And the worst thing is that I asked you to be one of my witnesses for my wedding."

She was now crying. How could she have been so blind? How could she not know he was in love with her? He was right, they had wasted so much time. Five long years, and even more if they counted the years they had denied having feelings for one another, out of fear the other might not feel the same way. She managed to ask, "Why did you ask Eileen to marry you, then?"

"Isn't it obvious? I thought I could never have you. I had been in love with you since I was thirteen or fourteen. You are so clever, I thought you would never be interested in me. I was glad I even had your friendship. I didn't want to risk losing you as a friend. And I was living under the constent fear that one day you would come to me and tell me ' Ron, I've met someone, he's so wonderful, we're going to get married'. I could never have borne that. Then I met Eileen. She was nice and she liked me. I liked her too. Then she fell in love with me. I thought that maybe, as the years would go by, I'd fall in love with her too. I thought that maybe she'd manage to make me forget you. She was fragile,.. so fragile. I never realized how fragile she was until..." He paused. "She had nobody on earth. She was all alone. She had lost her parents, and her grand-mother, she only had a few friends. I soon became the centre of the world for her... and I liked it. I liked being loved. You didn't seem really jealous when you saw us together. I could see you liked her as well. Everybody liked her, Harry, you, my family... So I thought, what the Hell, let's get married. I believed that if I was married, it would be easier to bear the day you would tell us all about the love of your life."

He broke into tears. Hermione squeezed his hand tighter and whispered, kissing his neck, "But you didn't know that you were the love of my life."But he didn't hear her.

"I never dared thinking that you could have this kind of feelings for me."

"And yet I had," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to control her emotions. "I had Ron."

He sobbed. "Why, Hermione? Why do we have to go through this? Why are our lives so complicated? Why is it never easy for us? After all we went through at school, after the war and the pain and grief we've had to endure, why couldn't we have some rest? Why are our lives such a mess? "

"I don't know... If only... if only I had taken some of my supposed Gryffindor courage and had told you how I felt about you, if only I had done that we wouldn't be here today."

"And where would we be?" he asked, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I don't know. In England. In a house with a white fence. With a little child with red hair running on the lawn. Every sunday we'd go to see your family, we'd meet with Harry and Ginny for lunches or dinners. Fred and George would play tricks on us. Your mother would be knitting jumpers and Crookshanks would be chasing gnomes in the garden. That is if he could still do so. He's old now." She paused, sobbing violently. "And every saturday we'd go to see my parents. That's the kind of life we could have had. If only..."

"Maybe it's not too late."

"Maybe... What if it was?"

"It's not," he answered, pulling her into a tight hug. "It's not. I promise you it's not. "

**

Hermione and Ron hugged one another for what seemed forever until rain started to fall and they had to walk back home, via la place du Tertre. Hand in hand, they walked slowly, each lost in his own thoughts, each hoping that everything would be okay eventually. They were about to turn right to go to the street in which was Hermione's flat when Ron spotted someone with red hair at the other end of the square.

"Hey, isn't it your friend Sophie?" he asked, pointing at her.

"Ron, it's not polite to point!" she couldn't help but answer.

He grinned. "So, is this person with red hair other there your friend Sophie, the girl who gave me your address?"

Hermione looked around the crowded place until her eyes fell on the red-haired girl. It was indeed Sophie.

"Yes, it's her. Why?"

"I'd like to thank her again. After all, she brought us together again."

But Sophie wasn't alone. She was chatting with Aymeric, who had opened an umbrella over his easel to protect his canvas and paint. Hermione didn't want Ron and Aymeric to be face to face. Aymeric was as sanguine as Ron was, she feared the encounter might end badly. But it was too late, Ron was already dragging her towards the French friends.

Under the umbrella, Sophie and Aymeric were talking about the weather. They soon spotted the couple walking towards them, the woman looking somewhat reluctant at the idea of having to talk to them. The man had a broad smile on his face.

"Regarde Aymeric, c'est ... Lily," Sophie said uncertainly. (Look Aymeric, it's... Lily.)

"Elle ne s'appelle pas Lily. Elle s'appelle Hermione," her friend answered, his eyes throwing daggers at Ron. (Her name's not Lily. Her name's Hermione.)

"Comment le sais-tu?" (How do you know that?)

"Elle me l'a dit il y a deux jours." He looked at her quizzically, "Et toi, comment le sais-tu?" (She told me two days ago... What about you? How do you know her name's not Hermione?)

"C'est l'homme qui est avec elle qui me l'a dit. Il est anglais." (The man with her told me. He's English.)

"Il s'appelle Ron." (His name's Ron.)

"Je sais." (I know.)

Aymeric looked at her, the question evident in his eyes.

"Je l'ai rencontré il ya deux jours. Il cherchait Li... Hermione. Il voulait savoir où elle habite. Il suffit de le regarder pour voir qu'il est fou amoureux d'elle." (I met him two days ago. He was looking for Li... Hermione. He wanted to know her address. You just have to look at him to see that he's head oveheels for her.)

"C'est un connard. Il l'a fait souffrir. Et elle lui pardonne." (He's an asshole. He made her suffer, and yet she forgives him.)

"Aymeric!"

"C'est la vérité. Et tu le sais. Hermione a toujours cet air triste... maintenant on sait pourquoi. C'est à cause de lui." (It's the truth. And you know it. Hermione's always looking sad. Now we know why. It's because of him.)

"S'il te plaît, tais-toi. Ils arrivent par ici." (Please, shut up. They're coming this way.)

Hermione and Ron were now standing before them. Ron shook Sophie's hand, blowing half his French when he greeted her with a "Bonjour." He looked at her with gratitude.

Hermione reluctantly introduced Ron to Aymeric.Aymeric's eyes no longer held pity for Ron. Ron was about to shake his hand when Aymeric's hand flew towards his face. It hit Ron in the jaw violently, and, surprised, he fell to the floor.

"What the hell?" asked Ron, tasting blood in his mouth. "What's wrong with thisguy?"

He lifted a finger to his injured lip.

"Aymeric, tu es fou!" cried Hermione. (Aymeric! You're mad!)

Sophie helped Ron standing up. "I am sorry, Ron. I don't know he was going to do that."

"That's okay, Sophie. What is the matter with you?" he asked Aymeric.

"Ron I'm sorry! Aymeric doesn't speak English," explained Hermione.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?" asked Aymeric to Hermione. (What did he say?)

"Il m'a demandé ce qui n'allait pas chez toi. Et moi aussi je voudrais bien savoir..." asked Hermione, angry, nursing Ron's lip and keeping Aymeric away from him. (He asked me what was wrong with you. I'd like to know, too.)

"Ce qui cloche chez moi? Ce qui cloche chez moi? Mais c'est chez toi que quelque chose cloche, Hermione! Tu retournes vers lui alors qu'il t'a fait tant souffrir." (What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you , Hermione. You're going back to him after all you've been through because of him!)

"Je t'ai déjà dit que ce n'étaient pas tes affaires!" (I already told you it was none of your business!)

"What are they saying?"asked Ron to Sophie.

"They... they are... quarrelling about you," answered Sophie, ill at ease.

"About me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Aymeric says... Aymeric says you are bad for Hermione."

"Bon sang, Hermione, tu as tentée de te sucider à cause de lui!" Aymeric was now saying. (Good grief, Hermione, you tried to commit suicide because of him!)

"Ce n'est pas vrai?" asked Sophie. "Lily... je veux dire, Hermione, tu n'as pas fait ça?" (It's not true! Lily... I mean, Hermione, tell me you didn't do that?)

"Oh oui elle l'a fait. Avant-hier soir. Sur le Pont Royal. Elle avait accroché une pierre à sa cheville et elle s'est jetée dans la Seine!"(Oh yes, she did! The night before yesterday. On the Pont Royal. She had tied a huge stone to her ankle and she threw herself in the Seine!)

Sophie took Hermione in her arms, crying softly.

"Oh, non, mais pourquoi, Hermione, pourquoi?" (Oh, no, Hermione but why, why?)

"Je n'ai pas envie d'en parler! Mais ce n'était pas à cause de Ron! Pas directement, en tous cas!" (I don't want to talk about it. But it wasn't because of Ron. Not directly anyway.)

"What's going on here? Could someone explain it to me?"

It was the first time Ron's request was heard by one of the three others. Sophie spoke before realizing Hermione was asking her not to translate.

"Hermione... tried to kill her..."

"Kill who?"

"Her..."

"Herself?"

"Yes," Sophie answered, crying.

"Non, Sophie!" (No Sophie!)

Hermione let herself fall on Aymeric's stool, burying her face in her hand.

It was all of a sudden very silent. The rain had chased away of the square most of the tourists and it was now very quiet. Aymeric and Hermione were not yelling anymore, Sophie had stopped translating Aymeric and Hermione's conversation to Ron, and Ron was not asking 'what's going on' any longer.

Ron was standing still, under the rain, completely drenched. Thunder was heard in the distance. The wind blew and made their hair fly around their faces. Ron wiped away the water from his face. He was looking at the floor as if he wasn't there, as if he hadn't fully understood what Sophie had said. His body then began to shake violently and he clenched and unclenched his fists rapidly.

"Hermione," he whispered, "Hermione. Tell me it's not true."

She sniffed but didn't answer.

"Tell me it's not true!" he yelled, looking down at her, his voice resounding on the walls of the almost empty square. He was crying.

"Arrêtez de crier sur elle!" (Stop yelling at her.)

"Aymeric, s'il te plaît, tais-toi," pleaded Hermione. (Aymeric, please, shut up.)

"So you'll talk to him but not to me."

Ron's voice was full of reproach.

"Ron..."Hermione started.

"Why? Why! How could you... When?"

When Hermione didn't answer, he asked these questions to Sophie.

"Aymeric says it happens two days before."

"Why? Because of me?"

Hermione shook her head as Ron looked at her but Sophie answered, "Yes."

Ron stared at Hermione in disbelief.

"What did you do? What did you do?"

Hermione was sobbing frantically.

"I threw myself in the Seine. I tied a stone to my ankle," she moaned. "Ron, I..."

"He saved you?" asked Ron, pointing at Aymeric.

"Yes," she answered without looking at Aymeric. "And I'm glad he did."

"Why?"

"Why did he save me?"

"No. Why did you do that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Hermione, there must be a reason!"

"I think I wanted to be even with Eileen."

"What?"

"She killed herself because of me. Because I had driven you away from her."

"You never drove me away from her! I was never hers! I know what a bastard I am but I was never hers! You had no right, Hermione. You had no right to want to kill yourself. You had no right to want to leave me alone. How could you do this to me? No... No! Were you going to tell me? Were you going to tell me you had tried to... to..."

He looked down at her.

She shook her head no. "No, Ron. I wasn't going to tell you. I wasn't goingot tell you because I realized right after that it had been a mistake!"

"A mistake! A mistake..." he laughed myrthlessly.

He looked at her shaking his head, then glanced at Aymeric with rage in his eyes, before he told Sophie, "Thank him, Sophie, thank him for saving Hermione. I came here because I wanted to thank you for giving me her address. But I almost wish you hadn't. Goodbye."

He started walking away from them three, his hands in his pockets. The wind whirled around the square and Hermione only realized that he had left - and understood what he had said- when he was thirty metres away. She stared one last time at her friends then rushed after Ron, angry and confused.

"Ron! Ron!" she yelled as she was running after him, trying to catch the back of his coat to make him stop, "Ron! Ron listen to me!"

She collided against him as he turned round and faced her, "What for Hermione? What's the use?"

"What did you mean?" she asked as he started walking again, "What did you mean when you told Sophie you almost wished she hadn't told you where I lived?"

"I'm tired, Hermione. I'm tired of running after you, I'm tired of seeing you disappear, or running away from me!"

"Excuse me but it seems that I am the one running after you now," she shouted.

"Well, yes, for once it seems you're the one running after me. And that's a nice change."

"Oh, that's what you want, isn't it? Some puppy dog like Eileen to follow you everywhere you go!"

Ron wheeled around with his hand poised to slap her. Anger was flahing in his eyes, but she could also see hurt in them and guilt filled her entire body and mind.

"Go ahead, Ron! Slap me! I deserve that one! Go ahead!"

He drew back his arm to swing it at her. She dared him with her eyes. She was almost pleading with her eyes. She wanted him to slap her, she wanted him to punish her for what she had said. Because she felt she deserved it. He had the right to be angry after all she had done to him. After what she had just said...

But Ron slowly began to lower his hand. He couldn't. He just couldn't hurt her. No matter how much she had hurt him, he couldn't slap her.

"I can't Hermione. You know I can't."

"But I deserved it," she whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have. I've never wanted a dog to follow me everywhere, Hermione. Eileen was like that because I was all she had on earth. She had lost everybody. EVERYBODY!"

"I'm sorry, Ron.... I really am."

"Well, you can be."

There was sadness in his eyes, but he was too angry to forgive her what she had said. As she was silent, he told her, "You want to know why I'm so angry, Hermione? You really want to know why I said that to Sophie?"

"Yes, I do!"

"I'm angry because I don't know where to stand with you! You never believe me when I tell you I love you. You always run away whenever you see me. You tried to commit suicide because you wanted to be even with Eileen! Really clever, Hermione! Do I make you so unhappy you feel the need to die or go away whenever you're with me?"

"You know it's not that!"

"Why then, why? Why trying to commit suicide the day after we were finally reunited? Why?"

"Because of Eileen!"

"Don't you understand, Hermione? You're not the one to blame! Nobody's to blame! I couldn't see how possessive she was about me. I didn't realize it wasn't healthy to be the centre of someone's universe!" he yelled. "I thought it was gratifying for me! If someone is to blame, it isn't you, it's me!"

"Don't you get it Ron? Don't you get it? I wish I had never come to your flat that night! Eileen would still be alive!"

"And I would be married to someone I don't love! Is this what you want for me?"

"No!"

"Hermione, Eileen was a grown-up! If she killed herself, we're not to blame. Of course it wasn't fair what we did to her that night, but would it have been fair to marry her when I was thinking of you all the time? Eileen did not realize that it wasn't worth killing herself because her fiancé had dumped her! This happens to hundreds of people every year! And do they all kill themselves? Of course not! She had problems! I realize it now! And you should as well. I really believe Eileen's not the matter. I should have told you how I felt about you long ago."

"I should have too."

"Because you love me?" he asked, starting walking again.

"Of course I do! How dare you ask me that!"

"I really don't know if you love me, Hermione. If you really loved me, you would have stayed with me that night five years ago." He was speaking very calmly. His tone was very low. "You wouldn't have run away the way you did. Or you wouldn't have run away the other day in the church, or in the cemetery."

"I thought you were still going to marry her!"

His apparent calm alarmed her.

"When I told you she was dead?" he deadpanned.

"No, Ron, five years ago!"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, are you deaf or what? I told you many times I loved you that night!"

He stopped in his tracks. When he looked at her, he instantly understood what she wouldn't say.

"You didn't believe me," he stated, taking a step backwards, "You didn't believe me..."

"I'm sorry... I thought you were only saying that on the spur of the moment... I'm sorry..."

"Stop saying you're sorry! You can't be sorrier than I am!" Their ragged breathings were coming out of their mouths in little white clouds. "Just let me ask you one question."

She nodded.

"Do you believe me now when I say I love you?"

She looked right into his eyes.

"Yes. Yes I do, Ron! And I love you too!"

"Really. Why didn't you believe me five years ago then? Did you need me to have to run after you for four years to believe me?" He was yelling again.

"You know it's not true!"she yelled back.

"I don't know where's the truth anymore, Hermione. Do you really love me or am I only a good shag from time to time?"

"How can you..."

"I thought we would start a new life together after our first night together, you know. I thought we'd be happy together ever after."

"I thought you were going to marry her the day after! You never said you would cancel your wedding with Eileen!"

"I believed it was obvious when I told you I loved you!"

"But what was I suppose to do, Ron? To become your mistress? Or to wait until Eileen was dead so I could have you all for myself?"

All colour drained away from her face as she listened to her own words. She quickly put her hand on her mouth but it was too late. Ron's contempt was clearly visible on his face.

"And I thought I knew you..."

"Ron, I'm..." she said, lifting her hand to touch him. He jerked away.

"Don't you dare saying you're sorry."

She tried to touch him again.

"Don't you touch me!"

"Ron..." she pleaded as he started walking backwards, getting away from her.

"No, don't... don't speak to me, just, just leave me alone."

He whirled round and started to run. She ran after him. He turned right all of a sudden and when she arrived at the narrow street he had entered a few seconds before, it was empty. She felt the tears cascading down her cheeks, and she fell to her knees on the wet cobblestones. She cried Ron's name aloud, and then whispered, remembering what she had heard at the café, "These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real, there's just too much that time cannot erase."

She put her head in her hands and cried until it stopped raining.