The Heiress

I was sure that the silence would end up killing me. Sure, I was used to being alone. I was even used to being alone when I was "with" someone - my last few months with Daphne were a good example of that. But I couldn't just pretend that Hermione wasn't right there, just separated from me by a door or a wall or a curtain.

No matter how much she tried not to make noise going to shower in the morning or going to the kitchen to make a cuppa when she thought I was in the loo and couldn't hear her - no matter how quietly she flipped pages while reading books I'd forgotten I'd had and no matter how softly she spoke on her mobile fellytone to Harry or Ginny, I knew she was there. I knew where she was every bleeding second, and the silence just made it all even more obvious. It was like being a Chaser surrounded by Beaters - even if you didn't see the club in their hands, you knew it was there and that you were going to get walloped by it, eventually.

I knew she didn't want to ignore me; what she really wanted was to tear into me about rot like how I needed to dust on top of the bookshelf, or how I needed to have more in my refrigerator than jam and bread and old takeaway cartons, and that. What she wanted was to be her normal, completely mental self, and that meant a decent measure of railing at me.

But she was keeping to her bloody vow of silence. After the second night, where she'd kept herself holed up in my room and only came out to use the loo, I thought about forcing the issue then and there. Just as a bit of an experiment, I stomped about, making as much noise as I could, and playing the Wireless so loud I nearly got a headache. Nothing happened, and the next morning, she came out and sailed right by me without even turning her head.

That's how it went for two days, then three; just hours of silence except for the Wireless playing the Quaffle Report or Hermione on her mobile fellytone. I'd known she was stubborn, but as the days dragged on, I was surprised, and then a little annoyed at how things weren't progressing. Instead of getting angrier, she seemed to get more calm with each passing day, and instead of being the one waiting for her to cork off like a Howler, I was the one hopping about like a bloke being stung in the arse by doxies.

A sort of respite came each evening, but I couldn't even be happy about that, because it meant having to shovel in Ginny's excuse for cooking. I don't know if Hermione had hinted to Harry that she didn't fancy being alone with me for so much of the time, but on the third night, without any warning, there was a knock on the door and Ginny came barreling in with a casserole dish and a scowl, with Harry right behind her.

When the same business repeated itself the next night, I tried to be philosophical about it. It could've been worse. Ginny might've tried her hand at making dessert, for instance.

We'd eat and talk for awhile - or try to. I didn't bother to pretend to enjoy Ginny's "cooking" and none of us bothered to pretend that we were having a good time. Harry always looked worried and Ginny always seemed like she was an ace away from kicking me in the arse.

We talked about the case some. Whetwistle was either being very crafty or he really was innocent. Harry had Urdsmore watching him, and said that aside from going to his shop and to the hospital where his little girl was being treated, Whetwistle didn't go anywhere or talk to anyone except his wife, his other daughters and his solicitor. Hermione hadn't gotten any other notes, and from what Harry could tell, Whetwistle's "admirer" was being a little stingy with the parchment of late.

"Need a pillow, there, mate?"

"Wha ...?"

I blinked my eyes open and it took me a second to figure out why I was stretched out on my bed with my head hanging off the side. I remembered dinner, Ginny shooing me and Harry away so that she and Hermione could "chat," Harry and me going to my room to talk about Whetwistle's latest moves ...

"Was I sleeping?"

"And snoring. Drooling, too."

"Shite. Sorry."

I sat up and swiped my cheek. Harry hadn't been taking the piss about the drooling thing.

"Uh, you were talking about the owl Whetwistle's solicitor sent to you?"

"Yeah. I'm working with him to get a Healer into the Muggle hospital. He thinks that we can try it this week sometime. The regular doctors are going to Bristol for some sort of conference."

"Brilliant."

"Yeah, though Whetwistle is still talking about meeting with Hermione." Harry's lips flattened. "He knows she's still in Britain, but it's pretty obvious he doesn't know where. I think Livesey's getting tired of Whetwistle's obsessing over this marriage stuff."

"Livesey is? What about Mrs. Whetwistle? Can't imagine she's jumping for joy over the idea either."

"Not even close. Y'know, I wouldn't half fancy skulking around their house to see how things with those two really are. He was all care and comfort to her in my office, but it seemed overdone. She didn't look all that happy around him," said Harry.

I didn't like the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Just a feeling I have. Livesey hasn't come out and said that Whetwistle and his wife aren't getting on, but he's sort of been hinting that if by some weird click Whetwistle did get Hermione to go along with marrying him, he wouldn't remarry his wife after it was all over with the money."

"What, he'd expect Hermione to stay bonded to him?" I laughed, but I didn't find anything about it particularly funny. "Stupid blighter."

Harry shrugged. "If we get to the bottom of what's made Marie Whetwistle sick, then it won't really matter what he thinks. For what it's worth, though, I don't trust him, either. Uh ... Ron, are you feeling okay?"

I caught myself just as I was starting to nod off again. "M'fine.

"You look exhausted, mate. You're getting enough sleep, aren't you?"

"Er ..." Out of all the questions he could've asked, he'd gone for that one? I was suspicious, but then again, I had been snoring my head off while he'd been trying to talk about something important.

"Well, not really. Just ... y'know ... late nights, and all. Nothing serious."

"I could tighten up the perimeter wards. There's no reason for you to be up all night keeping watch."

I shrugged. It really didn't matter, since I had other things to occupy my attention. All the nothing that had been going on had made me a little restless, so it was a nice surprise when Warren sent an owl mentioning that the goblins really missed me. I took that to mean that they'd forgotten just how much rubbish they'd been able to dump on me and wanted to be bailed out. I'd suggested doing some work from my flat and those bloody prats couldn't owl fast enough with all sorts of nonsense for me to look over. I was staying up long after Hermione turned in, getting caught up on all the paperwork.

I thought that having something to do would distract me from the current situation - or, at the very least throw a hint to Hermione that she wasn't the only one who could find better things to do around the flat, and if she didn't want to talk, well bloody good on her.

I didn't dare mention this to Harry, though. He might've gone mad thinking that I wasn't taking my "responsibilities" seriously, and then I'd have to tell him that he didn't have a thing to worry about, because I'd know if Hermione was in trouble, since she'd actually have to say something to me.

Harry and Ginny left soon after that and everything went back to its borrowed arse-backwardness again. I took out a set of scrolls. I was knee-deep in requests for bigger scoops to clean out the dragon cages when Hermione drifted out of my room. I gave a glance out of reflex, and then went back to the parchment spread over my knees. She padded behind the couch, not saying a word.

When I didn't hear the footsteps bend toward the kitchen or the loo, I knew that she was at the bookshelf next to the mantle, looking for something to read. I wondered when and if she was going to say anything about the changes on the mantle and "our" picture being gone.

I'd owled the picture of the two of us dancing to Diagon Alley to get the frame fixed. In its place, I'd put another picture from the wedding. This one was a little less ... sentimental. It was of the twins, right after they'd gotten into Charlie's special "Dragon's Breath" punch. They were stumbling into each other, shouting swear words and making rude noises. Mum had nearly taken their heads off for it, but in the end she'd just been happy that they hadn't been that pissed during the family photo.

Hermione walked off just as Fred and George started belching in time with the orchestra Fleur's parents had hired. I knew she'd noticed it, but as she floated by me, she only murmured good night, speaking so softly that if I hadn't stopped my quill at that moment, I wouldn't have heard her.

~*~

"Ron ...?"

Funny thing about dreams is that there's no smell to them. Sometimes they have a flavour, like if you're dreaming about tucking into a pumpkin pasty, and I've had tons of dreams where I felt I was freezing or boiling. And you can see and hear things in dreams, of course. But you never smell anything, which is probably a good thing if you're dreaming about being trapped in a hippogriff preserve or something.

Anyway, when I heard someone calling my name and jostling my shoulder, I chalked it up to a rather annoying dream, but then I got a noseful of a soupy, sickly sweet-sour smell - sort of what you'd get if you overturned all the bottles in my mum's bureau, added some dragon droppings to it and let the mess sit for about a century.

I forced my eyes open. Hermione was at the foot of the couch, staring down at me, and suddenly all my brain functions kicked in. I jumped up, pulling my wand from beneath the cushion.

"What's happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine -"

"What did you hear? What did you see? Lumos!" I spun around, pointing at shadows on the wall. "Where's your wand?"

"I have it right here." She poked me in the back with it. "Ron, calm down, please. Nothing's wrong."

"Then why're you up? It's ... blimey, what time is it?"

"Not quite three o'clock."

"What?" I reckoned that if she was getting me up at that hour, the least she could've done was to make up something being off. "What are you -"

"I am sorry to wake you, but ... well ... I've been unable to sleep and I knew that the only way out of it was to ... to ..." She stopped and took a long slow breath. "To ... talk to you."

It stung a little how much she made it sound like talking to me was just a bit less horrible than Sectumsempra.

"I've been going over it in my mind, and while I suppose the best thing for me would be to keep my mouth shut -"

"Well, I'm not about to tell you what you can and can't do with your mouth."

She whirled on me with a scowl. "Really, Ron, if you're going to be hateful, then I'll simply go back to my - well your - room and -"

"You're the one who woke me. The one time that your mad idea to shut me out makes sense, and now you want to talk?"

That seemed to take the fire out of her a little, and I saw her face start to shift back into that mask that she'd been wearing since the day she'd popped into my flat.

"You're right. It was thoughtless of me to wake you up. Goodnight."

I growled low in my throat. No. It wasn't going to be that bloody simple. She couldn't just get me out of a dead sleep and dismiss me as if I were some bloody House Elf at her beck and call.

"I don't think so. You want to talk? Then talk -"

I snagged her nightdress and tried to spin her round to face me, but I suppose I yanked a bit harder than I'd intended or they didn't make nightdresses the way they used to, because it ripped right down in the middle, leaving Hermione gasping with a puddle of fabric at her feet.

I looked down and then up ... and up ... and up ... and as I stared, I fancied I could feel my pulse coming through my eyeballs.

"Shite! I didn't mean to do that." I tore my eyes away and shoved my blanket in her direction. "There. Wrap up in this. I'll, uh, I'll fix your, um -"

"That's - that's all right. It was rather worn out anyway. A Reparo charm would be wasted on it, I think."

I felt something soft and warm being pressed into my hand. It was my blanket. I took it without thinking about it, looked over, and -

"I am sorry I woke you, Ron. What I have to say can wait until later in the morning, I suppose. So I won't need this. I'm going back to bed. Goodnight."

She turned and walked off, just as calmly as if it were nothing unusual that she was walking away from me wearing just her knickers. Years ago, it wouldn't have been out of place, but now ...

Hermione had her ruined nightdress in her arms, and it trailed down to the floor, calling attention to the fact that she wasn't wearing very much at all. Her hair hung down her back, rather like an arrow, pointing out the same, and by the light of my wand, I could see make out stretches of smooth, creamy skin and lace and legs ... legs that seemed to stop just below her chin.

The door shut softly about the same time I forgot how my own legs were supposed to work. I collapsed onto the couch clutching my blanket like it was the bloody Quidditch British League Cup.

At that moment, somewhere in the flat, the clock chimed the hour. It was three o'clock on the nose. I was definitely up now.

~*~

"That's it?"

"Oh, Ron, how can you say it that way? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care. It's not as if I'm against the idea, but I don't see what that has to do with me. Or you. Or anything else, for that matter."

It was well into morning and Hermione and I were well into our second pot of coffee. We'd not said anything about what had taken place hours ago. In fact, we'd not said anything much besides "good morning" before Hermione launched in on what she'd wanted to talk about when she'd woken me earlier.

After so many mornings where Hermione had just taken her coffee without saying much of anything, the sudden transition from silence to ... whatever this was a little jarring. For the first little while, though, I didn't have to do much except listen. Probably a good thing, because I was still trying to understand what had happened earlier that morning. I couldn't think of any good reason that Hermione wouldn't have scurried back to her room and locked the door when that had happened with her nightdress.

I couldn't really understand it - I didn't think she'd been teasing me, or giving me a reminder of days past. She'd just ... done it. Sort of without thinking about it, the same way she'd been taking books from the bookshelf or putting my bread in the refrigerator the way she used to do or using that flowery, sickly-sweet foaming Muggle soap in the bath.

I couldn't quite understand how she could feel so comfortable as to do those things and walk around nearly naked, too, and yet it had taken her almost a week to have a conversation with me that lasted more than two seconds. But it was happening - and she was in a new nightdress, too.

"It has everything to do with us. It's all our fault, you know. Harry and Ginny come around every night because they're afraid that we might drive each other mad."

"Wonder where they'd get that idea."

"The point is," Hermione went on in a voice that made me understand that she was going to just ignore me if she had to, "Ginny so wants to have a baby. She and Harry have been talking about it for months."

"Talking's not going to quite make it for that."

"Ron, you're being deliberately obtuse -"

"No, I'm just trying not to think too hard about what my best mate and my sister have to do to give me a niece or nephew."

She almost smiled. "All right. Fair enough. But the problem remains. Ginny told me - and this is in confidence; she'd be mortified if she knew I was telling you this - that, well, she's in, well, her most fertile phase this week -"

" - Can I be mortified that you're telling me this?"

"Ron, all I'm saying is that Harry and Ginny deserve a night or two to themselves. I'm no longer staying with them and Harry's workload is relatively light at the moment -"

"Right. All he's doing right now is trying to track down a mad git who probably wants to kill you and another bloke. He's practically on holiday."

"Why are you being so sarcastic about this? Harry and Ginny are forgoing quality time together in order to watch over us. I feel incredibly guilty about that. Don't you?"

"Why should I? I wasn't the one who told them to come round every night." I tipped my eyebrow at her, and she flushed a little. "Though it hasn't been all bad. At least I have someone in my flat who actually wants to talk to me for a couple of hours."

"I explained that I thought it would be easier -"

"Well it'd be easier for me to knock all my teeth out rather than having to cast a cleansing charm on them every night, but you don't see me doing that, do you?"

Hermione frowned. "Actually, it would be much more difficult - and painful - to knock out ... oh never mind! We're getting quite off the subject. Harry and Ginny wouldn't come round if they thought we're getting along, so I hoped we could find a way to convince them that we are, or that at least we're not rowing. Thoughts?"

"Short of casting a glamour on both of us so it looks like we're smiling all the time? No." I rested my chin in my hands. "We're not really getting along. We're just like flatmates, really: sleeping in the same flat and using each other's bath soap in the loo - you're almost out, by the way. And we're not talking, so technically we don't have the opportunity to row."

Her eyes widened. "You ... you ..."

"What?" I half-stood, uneasy at the look in her eyes. "What?"

"You've been using my soap? The one you said smelled like goat pi- ... like goat urine with roses stuck in it?"

My face started to sizzle and I sat down again. "Well, I was already in the shower, and it was there so ... wait - Harry and Ginny. We're supoposed to be talking about them, remember?"

She sighed and twirled her spoon in her cup. "Ginny doesn't know that we haven't been speaking, but she senses that something isn't quite right here. Harry does, as well, of course."

"Harry isn't daft. But he probably thinks this is the best he can hope for, with us."

"Yes," she said sadly. "Rather ... depressing, isn't it?"

I looked away from the mournful expression on her face. "You're the one who wants to bang on with this mad idea not to talk. I never said we couldn't - or shouldn't."

"Everything we've said to each other in the past days has turned into a blazing row. I simply don't have the energy for it, and it would be a rude way to repay your hospitality."

"We're not rowing now, are we?"

"Give it another minute or two. I'll say something that you'll interpret in completely the wrong way, you'll say something that will hurt me, and - oh, never mind! Harry and Ginny! This is about them, not us."

"Well, you're making it about us, because you say that the reason they aren't ... doing things is because of us. Which, I suppose, brings us back to the point."

We both went quiet, trying to remember, I reckon, what the point was.

"Why can't we just tell them to stay home for a couple of days and we'll order takeaway or something."

"Harry will still want to check in on us." Hermione toyed with a bit of muffin. "If we start insisting that he stay away, he'll probably be more suspicious than if we were to find some other way to go about this ..."

A sharp buzzing sound cut her off. I was up and aiming in a second, but in the next, I was sitting down again. It was just that silly mobile fellytone that she carried everywhere. She glanced at it and nodded at me.

"Hello? Oh, good morning, Harry. Yes, I'm fine ... no, nothing's happened ... no owls ... right. Yes ... he's here. I ... oh, hold a minute, please."

She put the thing against her chest when I started waving my hand in her face. "What is it?"

"Let me talk to him for a minute."

"Ron, what do you -"

"I know what I'm doing." Half-truth, half-lie. A vague idea had skidded across my brain that I thought might or might not work. "Come on!"

"Harry? Ron wants a word."

She didn't look especially happy as she passed me the little metal thing, and I wasn't particularly happy trying to talk into it. It was like speaking into a bloody goblet - it seemed obvious where your mouth should go, but you couldn't really be sure.

"Wotcher, mate. At headquarters?"

"Just got in. Good news - we got our Healer. We're going to try to go in today for the Whetwistle girl. We're taking an Obliviator just in case. He, uh, owes me a favour."

I breathed out softly. Finally, things were looking up.

"Godricspeed, mate. You'll let us know how it goes, yeah?"

"Definitely. Ginny and I might be a little late for dinner tonight, but there'll be a good reason for it, hopefully."

"Oh. Er. About dinner tonight ..."

I looked across the table. Hermione was watching me closely, drawn up like a Kneazle who knew something was about to happen and was preparing to jump, just in case that 'something' turned out to be a pan of water to the face.

"Yeah? Um, I think Gin's making beef stew. I know it's not your favourite, but -"

Merlin, that was an understatement. My stomach knotted in protest, and I knew that I had to press ahead with this.

"No. I mean ... there's no need. For you to come, that is. Hermione and I ... well, we've been in the flat all week and we're both going -"

I cut that off when Hermione started shaking her head wildly and motioning for me to change tack.

"I mean, we both need a bit of air. We were ... ah ... we're going out. To dinner. Together. Tonight."

Hermione gasped. Harry started sputtering. I just sat there and tried not to get crumbs on the metal part that I was speaking into.

"You and Hermione. Going ... out?"

"Uh, yeah ..."

There was a very long silence.

"Ron ... all right. Listen to me carefully. If someone is there holding a wand to your head and making you say that, cough once -"

"Blimey, Harry, I'm being serious! You never said we couldn't go anywhere. My flat is only so big and ... and I'm almost out of bread."

"And soap," Hermione muttered from across the table. I pulled a face at her and she glared, but I could see her trying to hide a smile behind her cup.

"Well, I never meant that you should be prisoners in your flat, but I didn't think that the two of you would ... well, great." Harry paused. "This is just, uh, great! Really. For us, too. Not that we don't like coming round, but Gin had mentioned to me that it might be nice to stay at home a couple days this week for some reason ..."

"I'll bet." I gave Hermione a thumbs-up. "So, uh, I guess we'll see you -"

"Wait. Where is it, exactly, you're going?"

"Uh ... what?"

Hermione's expression changed from cautious happiness to one that clearly read "Oh, shite."

"The restaurant. Which is it, exactly?"

"Oh. Which restaurant are we going to? Um ..."

I looked at Hermione, hoping she could read the rising panic in my eyes. She raked her fingers through her hair, and then came the twist of lines across the forehead that let a bloke know that she was deep in thought. I wasn't sure how long I could wait for her usual cleverness, though. The more we stalled, the more suspicious Harry might become.

"Well, it's, uh, you know. A Muggle place. In, um ..." a vague memory skipped across my brain. "Knightsbridge."

Hermione looked puzzled for a moment and then she caught on and gave me a smile so bright I stopped breathing for a second.

"Knightsbridge? You're going way out there for dinner?"

"Knightsbridge is nice in its own way. There's a little inn with a restaurant in it there. Great, uh, scones."

"All right. What's the name, and can you Apparate somewhere close by? I don't want to take a chance that someone has found out where Hermione is and is hanging about waiting to follow you."

I gave Harry the name and the adress of the Gainsvert, and assured him we'd manage it somehow and would ring him if we saw anything or anyone "suspicious."

"Brock's just come in, so I'd better go. I'll ring as soon as we have any word on whether our Healer's able to do anything for Marie Whetwistle. Have a good time tonight." He sounded partly uncomfortable and partly amused. "Tell Hermione I'll ring her as usual in the afternoon."

"Well, that's it." I passed her the fellytone. "We're going out to dinner, and Harry and Ginny are going to be in their flat, working on a right corking Christmas gift for my parents, I suppose. Satisfied?"

"It wasn't for my benefit, Ron. But yes. I am." Hermione stood up. "We don't have to go, you know. Harry will likely never know, and I know you'd rather ... not."

I just looked up at her, trying to swallow down my anger with the rest of my toast. I'd done what she'd asked in giving Harry and Ginny some time to themselves, and now she was trying to make me out to be some sort of backtracking tosser? Charming, that.

"You think you know me so bloody well, don't you?"

"Don't I?"

"Do you? Not anymore, you don't. Sometimes I wonder if you ever did at all."

She gazed down her nose at me. "That's not fair."

It probably wasn't, but I didn't want to concede the point.

"You wanted me to come up with something," I said. "Well, I did. If you don't like it, then you ring Harry and tell him so. When I say I'm going to do something, I follow through with it."

"How fortunate for me," she said dryly, turning to leave. "I suppose I should find something suitable to wear, then."

"I suppose you should." I flashed on an image of her from earlier in the morning, and I felt my neck grow warm. "You can't just walk into the place starkers, you know."

Hermione stopped and turned back again, eyebrows high. "You almost sound disappointed, Ron."

She went off, and I wiped a suddenly sweaty hand over the front of my jumper. Yeah. I reckon I did.