The Heiress

Harry didn't want to waste time getting started on the research. I was fine about helping him, but I wondered what he meant for me to do with Hermione. Leaving her alone was definitely not on after all that had happened that night. Harry thought about it and then decided that he'd do some a bit of work on it himself. In a couple of days, he and Ginny would invite themselves to mine for dinner and the two of us would slip out and talk about what he'd found.

In the meantime, Harry wanted me to study the Compendium for anyone that might've been connected to Whetwistle Senior in some way. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to do that, exactly - the bleeding book was hundreds of pages and growing every day, and when last I checked, there weren't any mentions of other Whetwistles, and information on the man himself was pretty thin. But I told Harry that I'd get on it right away. He'd been through enough that night, and if he had to hear any more bad news, I didn't want it to be from me.

Since we couldn't Floo or Apparate to my flat from Harry and Ginny's, Hermione and I took the tube. We didn't speak much on the way. In a change from earlier that night, Hermione sat with her back straight and no part of her touching me. There were times during the ride that I wondered if she even remembered that I was there. I could see little squiggles of chalky white on her cheeks where the tears had dried. There were similar marks on her cloak where Whetwistle had blubbered all over her.

I knew I was probably being a berk, since I really didn't think that Whetwistle's sorrow had been an act. I hadn't even been all that relieved when Livesey had finally pried Whetwistle from Hermione, saying that it was probably best that they leave and look in on how Sarah and Mrs. Whetwistle were coming along.

But aside from that, the one thing that made me a little uneasy about it all, was something that happened at the end. Right before he'd left, Hermione had pulled Whetwistle aside and had said something in his ear that made him go red from eyebrows to chin. I wondered what she'd said, but I supposed under the circumstances, it'd be better if I didn't find out.

The train pulled into a familiar station, and my stomach started to remind me that I'd only picked at dinner at Harry's. I stood up just as the doors were beginning to open.

"This isn't our stop."

"I know. But I'm starving. And I promised you dinner out. I know a place not far from here."

"I don't even want to think of what sort of place would be open and serving food at this hour."

"It's not so bad. The food's a bit of all right for any hour - and it beats beans and toast, which is about all I have back at mine. You barely ate earlier."

"I'm not really very hungry, Ron - but I do think I could use ... a drink. Maybe more than one."

I could tell that it cost her something to admit that. Hermione and I always argued about the 'medicinal' values of a good piss-up. I was never able to successfully argue with her that the lovely oblivion that a good bottle of Ogden's could produce was worth the cost of a splitting headache and knotted stomach the next morning. That the horror of the night had overwhelmed her natural tendency to shy away from drink made me nervous - and angry beyond belief.

The "place" was a Muggle pub that had seen better days. That was evident not only in the smoke-blackened bricks that made up the entrance, but also in the name - "Bygones." Except that some parts of the Muggle lighting were undecided about staying on. The "y" and the "g" often sputtered out, making the sign read: "Bones."

That might've been an even better name, since the inside of the place was like a tomb in how quiet and dark it was. There weren't any of those buzzing blinking Muggle games in the corner or billiards at the back or fellytision over the bar. This looked like someone's attic with just a few tables and chairs and a little hole at the back where the "kitchen" was.

It was just as I remembered it - empty, quiet and badly lit. Hermione and I had to wait while the woman behind the bar limped out and cleaned one of the tables for us. That done, she rattled off all the things that the place was out of, and stepped back as if she expected us to stampede out the door.

Hermione was talked into trying the tweed pie. I got bangers and mash and a pint. After some hesitation, Hermione asked for a glass of scotch, which was the first thing to arrive at the table - I reckoned the barmaid was able to read Hermione's face, even in all that darkness, and tell that she really needed it. She sipped at it delicately, which made the knot of tension in my stomach unspool a little.

"How did you find this place? It's quite far from your flat."

I hadn't gotten my pint yet, and I wasn't sure that it'd be smart to truthfully answer that question without it. The woman had disappeared, and it occurred to me then that she was probably the barmaid, clean-up person and cook all in one. It could be a while before I got my drink.

"When I found out Daphne was taking up with Zabini behind my back, I ... sort of wandered over here. Stayed awhile, explored a bit. I found my flat that way. I come here every now and again, usually when I want to stretch my legs and get some air."

"I see." Hermione sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, releasing it with a puff of air. "You rarely talk about Daphne, Ron. I've always wondered ... did you love her?"

I knew that saying "Well, I married her, didn't I?" wouldn't come close to answering the question. And I couldn't say that if was a naff question, either - Harry had asked me the same. So had my dad. I'd answered them the best that I could back then, but neither of them was as analytical as Hermione. I was going to need a better answer and a little time to think of one.

"Was this what you wanted to ask me back at the Gainesvert?"

Her face went blank for a moment, and then she looked pained, remembering, I suppose, our non-talk in the garden.

"No ... no, it wasn't. I'm sorry. I'd forgotten that you only wanted a simple night out and a nice meal."

"Well, it's turned out to be anything but a simple night out, and it'd be stretching it to say that this'll be a nice meal." I nodded my thanks at the old woman, who'd finally brought a foaming mug to the table. I'd caught Hermione off-guard with the question, so I knew she wasn't lying to me. I wondered what she had wanted to ask me back then. I didn't know if I'd ever find out.

"I thought I loved her. I wouldn't have married her if I hadn't believed at least that. I didn't know her well, but I thought that we cared enough about each other that we'd get on well together."

"Yes, I thought the same," she said, surprising the piss out of me. "I believed that the perfect wife for you would be someone like Daphne - pretty, basically intelligent, brought up from birth in a magical family ... I could barely believe it when Ginny told me that the two of you were splitting up. I am sorry, Ron. I can't imagine what would have induced her to cheat on you."

I figured that the fact that Daph and I had stopped shagging about three months into our marriage might've had something to do with it, but I decided not to offer that up. I didn't want to ruin Hermione's appetite. Or mine, either.

"Er, thanks. I think."

I eyed her glass. It was half-done, but the alcohol seemed to be making its way through her at a pretty good clip.

"What about you? Is it true that you and Krum almost ... that you were going to ..."

"Yes." she swirled what was left in her glass. "He asked me to marry him. I considered it for a long time. He'd given up everything for me - his career, his family, his country. He'd come to Connecticut to be with me and live as a Muggle. He found a job at the school assisting the physical education department, and though it was so far from what he'd imagined he'd be doing in life, he'd done it without a word of complaint."

I reckoned that any second, I'd be ducking under the table and spewing my drink over the floor. But aside from an initial twinge at Krum's name, hearing her go on about him produced a slight irritation - like a pair of shorts being too small in places that it doesn't do to have shorts too small - rather than something stronger, like murderous rage. A sort of filter in my brain prevented me from seeing her in Krum's arms or anything like that, but beyond that, there was one irrefutable fact that kept me from wanting to wrap my hand around something solid and squeeze hard.

She hadn't done it. He'd asked, and obviously her answer had been no. She wasn't Hermione Granger Krum, or the former Hermione Granger Krum, or anything like that. She hadn't done it - she hadn't said yes to him.

But she had said yes to me. So there, Vicky. Put that on your broomstick and twirl it.

"But I often think I made a mistake." She looked up at me with wide, overbright eyes. "I think that I probably should have married him."

The victory trot I was doing in my mind came to an abrupt end at those words. "What?"

"A long time ago, I told Harry that friendship and bravery was much more important than books and cleverness. I thought it very true at the time and I still believe it, but I didn't take my own advice."

She finished her drink and signaled for another. "Viktor loved me. He asked me to marry him knowing and accepting that he'd always be competing with the spectre of my love for you. In retrospect, I should have grabbed what he'd offered with both hands. I'm thirty-five, Ron, and alone. Books and cleverness are all I have left, when I could have had so much more if I'd only been brave enough to face the realisation that what you and I had was gone forever."

Our food came and we turned all our attention to it. For once, Hermione wasn't preparing herself for my response; just as she'd done on the tube, Hermione busied herself with things that didn't involve her needing to acknowledge me.

We left only a few minutes later, neither of us finding much to like about our meal, and decided to walk back to mine. Toward the end of it, I was half-carrying, half-pulling Hermione along the streets. I didn't think she was pissed, just tired - though three pulls of scotch and water probably put more than a little wobble in her step.

We got to my flat eventually, and once there, Hermione managed to get to my bedroom without incident.

I decided to get to work on scouring the Compendium right away, since I wasn't so sure I'd be able to get sleep after what Hermione had told me in the pub. I wondered if she'd been waiting for me to soothe her or row with her or do something other than try to choke down dry-arse mashed potatoes and greasy sausages.

I wasn't sure what I could've said anyway. After all, I was the last person who needed to be lecturing another about not marrying someone you didn't even fancy. I wondered if she'd told me all that to make me feel guilty, to make it seem that I was what stood in the way between her and whatever sort of life she might've been able to have with Krum.

I flipped absently through the Compendium, not knowing what I was looking for and not caring. I was thinking about the wrong things. I wasn't in the right frame of mind for the business at hand.

"It's back."

I nearly rolled off the couch in shock. Somehow, I'd missed hearing Hermione come out to the living room. She was back at her usual place in front of the mantle. "Our" picture was in its place again with a repaired frame.

"I'd wondered where it had gone to."

"You should be in bed."

"I can't sleep."

"Try. Put the Wireless on. That usually does it for me."

"I thought I might read. I came out to borrow another book, and then I noticed the picture was back again. It is so lovely, Ron. Sometimes I can barely believe that we were ever that young."

Her drooping head and sad eyes made something sharp twist in my heart and come out the other side. I think that's when I noticed that she hadn't undressed at all. She was still in her outdoors cloak - even her hood was up. I could barely see her profile because her hair was curling all over the place.

"She hated this picture." I waited until she looked up at me, and I carefully pulled her hood down. "Daphne. She hated that I kept it around. I had it out over our Floo, and she kept wanting me to chuck it. I wouldn't - couldn't." I corrected myself. "She was always jealous of you. I think she cheated on me because she wanted to see if I'd even notice."

I looked back at the picture, not able to say the rest of it - that Daphne had left me when she understood that I hadn't cared and probably never would.

I turned to Hermione suddenly, wanting to get the upper hand again. "Why did you kiss me earlier? In that ruddy garden, I mean."

It worked. She was shaken, but rallied quickly. "I told you; it was a diversion."

"But why a kiss? You could've just kneed me in the bollocks and grabbed it - uh, my wand, that is."

"That's fighting dirty! I would never do such a thing!"

"And snogging me when I didn't expect it was playing fair?"

"Ronald, really. You're an experienced duelist. Your opponent never broadcasts his or her opening move."

"Y'know ... I have to admit, you've got something there. That's true. And it wasn't a proper kiss, anyway. If it had been, you wouldn't have been able to think about anything else, let alone going for my wand."

And I decided to illustrate the point by grabbing her and kissing her.

She was less surprised than I expected, though she made a shocked little gasp against my lips. Then it was all right. I had my arms around her and she melted into them. My tongue slipped between her lips and teased around a mouth that was enhanced by scotch and tears, but seemed sweet and smooth despite all that. It was like biting into a familiar candy, wakening something that had buried layers deep a long time ago.

Hermione pulled her mouth from mine and put her hands on my chest.

"Ron -"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." I didn't exactly growl the words, but they were forced through clenched teeth. There was pain creeping in around her eyes - not exactly what you wanted to see after you'd finished snogging a girl.

"Wait! I wanted to say -"

"Just stop it, Hermione, all right? You have plenty of time to think yourself in circles. Go to bed. Get some sleep."

"But I need to tell you -"

"No you don't. There's been enough telling for one night."

She gave up then, and stumbled toward the bedroom door. I caught her before she could go through. Taking her arm, I led her to the room and stood over the bed, glaring until she took her cloak off and lay down.

"I need you in good nick for tomorrow, anyway."

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Something you'll like. Research."

I knew Harry would throttle me for getting Hermione involved, but I really did need her help. I wasn't going to be able to go through the Compendium on my own. Hermione might at least have a good strategy or two that would save some time and maybe turn up something useful.

"Is it something that will help Gregory and his family?"

I had to think a moment about what was wrong with that sentence. Then I had it - Gregory. She was calling Whetwistle Gregory. I knew I could very easily lose my kit over that - but that would be stupid. Women weren't like blokes in calling people by their last names all the time. And after he'd slobbered all over her, I reckoned that being on a first-name basis with him shouldn't have been all that unexpected.

"I hope so. We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah?"

She didn't answer me. Her eyes were closed, but I wasn't sure if she was dozing or if she was just closing her eyes against the lamplight in the room. I turned out everything and let myself out.

I spent another hour with the Compendium before I gave it up for the night. I didn't have a clue what I was even looking for, and I was suddenly very tired. It was barely after midnight. Finally, the longest day I'd had in the longest while was over. Whatever tomorrow brought, I was sure that it'd be a sight better than what Hermione and I and the Whetwistles and Harry and Ginny had endured the day before.

I burrowed into the blankets on the couch. I could hear the clock ticking somewhere in the flat, and it put me in the mind of time passing. I hadn't thought much about it, but that smegging clock reminded me that in a little more than a week, I'd be having a birthday. I'd be thirty-five. That wasn't too bad for a wizard - "just getting started," Charlie had said, when he'd gotten there. But I felt old.

In the mirror of my mind, I could see myself, and I wasn't too pleased with the reflection. But that was a little strange - I didn't look so bad. Hair going a bit thin, but fairly all right other than that. Not getting soft in the middle or wrinkled anywhere, but even so, I was typical. And I was alone, just like Hermione.

I thought back to what she'd told me about what had gone on between her and Krum. She'd loved me, and the memory of that had come between them. Admitting to myself that remembering my love for her hadn't stopped me from marrying Daphne made me feel like a first-class prat. I could rationalise it by saying that I hadn't wanted to grow old alone either - and yet, there I was; no wife, no sprogs, a stupid job and tiny flat. I hadn't been any happier or luckier in life than Hermione had been in hers. In all sorts of ways, I might've been worse off.

It had to be true. If it weren't, why the bloody hell was I lying on my own couch, thinking about how my insides had flared up like a bonfire when I'd kissed Hermione. It was just a snog, and not a long one, at that. Only a pathetic tosser could get worked up over something as ... nothing as that had been. And only a pathetic tosser would be getting up off his warm couch to go and stand - wait, where the bloody hell was I going?

I stopped when I reached the door. My bedroom door. Behind which Hermione was sleeping. I hoped. Right. I hoped she was sleeping, so I didn't know what I was doing standing outside the door like a git.

Except that wasn't true either, so I tried again. I didn't have any business standing outside the door. Yeah, that was better and more to the point. I didn't have any reason to be outside that door, except that I knew that I hadn't lied to Hermione earlier about Daphne having been jealous of her. And I knew that I could've gone further and told her that Daphne'd had every cause to be. All the internal acrobatics I'd done over the years to try to explain and accept Hermione's absence from my life had been about as effective as using a tea cozy to cover a giant's bare bum.

I didn't want to knock. I gave my hand a direct order not to knock, but it went and did it anyway. Useless giving orders to your hands, then, it seemed. I wanted to turn away, get back to the couch and under the blankets before she answered. But my feet refused to move.

I heard her steps. I heard the bolt slide from the lock. I heard the knob turn. Over all of that, I heard a roaring in my ears and a strange clicking in my head. I figured the clicking signaled my brain shutting off for the night. I worked up what I hoped was an expression of calm as the door swung open and she stared at me.

"Ron?"

"I ... uh. I'd wondered - if you aren't going to use the Wireless, can I have a go at it?" She was in her nightdress now and I made sure to keep my gaze above her neck. "I can't sleep."

There was a worried look in her eyes. She took a step toward me, murmuring something about my looking feverish. When she put her hand on my forehead, something in me fell off some high ledge and smashed to pieces, and I stepped forward, grasping her face between my hands. I kissed her deeply, trying to say all the things I didn't have in me to say out loud. But I needed her to know some things. I needed her to know what she was giving me. I had to make her understand how much I needed it.

A warm, surrendering little sound came out of her, and she leaned down into me. She murmured something against my mouth, and then against my ear. I didn't recognize the words at first - I thought that maybe she was hexing me, or saying something in another language. But when she spoke into my neck, I understood.

"If you're coming in, you should ... close the door, Ron."

She didn't have to tell me another time.

~*~

"Ron? Are you awake?"

I groaned and tried to stretch. It didn't work. "I haven't decided yet."

It was morning, good and proper. Probably on the later end of morning, judging by all the light in the room.

It was strange. After waking up earlier and all the ... all the ... after everything, I hadn't remembered falling asleep again. The last I remembered, I'd been awake, stroking Hermione's hair the way I used to do in the old days after we'd finished making love. I vaguely recalled shutting my eyes and putting my nose in her hair to get a whiff of the perfume she'd been wearing last night; I supposed that I'd just kept my eyes closed then and drifted off to sleep.

"Oh my goodness! It's after eleven! Harry's probably worried sick!"

Hermione hopped out of bed, taking the blankets with her, and reached for her mobile.

"Oh, dear - he's rung three times since nine o'clock! I'd better ring him back and tell him that we're all right."

I stared at the velvety skin of her back while she sat away from me, dialing on that stupid little fellytone of hers. It was annoying to be jolted out of a nice sleep that way, but I couldn't fault her - and she was right, besides. Harry probably had been concerned.

Something in the back of my mind jostled loose and I thought of something Harry had said earlier about all that -

"Harry? Hello! It's Hermione." She sounded breathless and nervous. "I'm so sorry I wasn't up when you first rang. I was sleeping rather soundly, and - what ...? You ... were? You did?"

She looked at me over her shoulder, eyes round with fear. I sat up immediately, and the memory I'd been searching for broke free. Earlier, Harry had told us that if we didn't answer that fellytone in a certain amount of time, he and Urdsmore would come to check on us, and ...

Hermione's lower lip trembled and her face went sunset red. Oh fucking hell. So those voices I'd heard in my head gasping and coughing hadn't been just a dream.

I groaned and put a pillow over my face, hoping that it would either smother me or block out the image of my best mate bursting in and seeing Hermione and me bare-arsed in bed. I could only imagine what he must have thought about it.

"Harry, it ... I ... we can explain -"

She slid into silence, and even through the pillow, I could hear her gulp. "I ... all right. Yes, we will discuss it later. Yes, I'll mention it to him. Would you like to speak to - oh ... what? ... What? Oh my god! Is she -"

The raw panic in her voice made me come out from under the pillow. She was standing up, holding the blankets around herself with a trembling hand. Minutes of agonising silence dragged on, so that by the time she put the fellytone away and turned to me, I was shaking, too.

No. No she was not going to tell me that it had happened again. It couldn't be. Harry would've gotten the two of us out of bed if it had been that serious. There had to be some other reason for those tears in Hermione's eyes.

"Sarah had a very bad night," she said in a small voice. "Toward morning, she went into horrible convulsions. They ... they've stablised her for now, but Healer Kilcairn says that she is deteriorating at an alarming rate."

I swallowed hard. "How alarming?"

"If they keep her sedated, she may live out the week. Perhaps ten days - at most. Healer Kilcairn and her staff said they are trying everything ..." Her chin shook. "Gregory received another letter today from that ... that monster about the money, and Daria, Gregory's second oldest girl, has started complaining of shooting pains in her head. Oh dear god, Ron -"

With a muffled sob, Hermione dropped the blanket and ran out of the room. A second later I heard the door to the loo slam shut. I dragged my hands over my eyes and tried to make some sense of the last twenty-four hours. Horror, followed by fantastic shagging, and now the horror was back again.

I pulled myself out of bed, found my shorts and went into the living room. I pushed the Compendium off the couch in disgust. Bloody thing wasn't worth a pauper's piss now. The best that we could do was go help Harry go through those old texts and pray that we found a way to stop this. Ten days - it wasn't a huge amount of time, but with Harry, Hermione and me and Urdsmore, we might have a shot at it.

After what seemed like years, the door behind me opened, and Hermione came out wearing a towel, her face red and wet. We could both have done with some breakfast and coffee, I reckoned, but on the way to the kitchen, she put her hand on my arm.

"Ron, we - I need to go. There's no time to waste. I need to speak with him right away."

"Is that what he said?"

"He didn't have to. There's no time - if we're to stop this, we need to make the preparations now. There's so much to be done ... and it still may be too late."

"Well with the four of us at it, it might be all right. I wish we knew what the hell we were looking for. All Kilcairn's been able to tell us is what isn't wrong with the girl ..."

I stopped talking, because the look on her face wasn't matching what I was saying. If she'd looked frightened or exhausted or bogged down, that would have made sense. But she didn't - she looked confused, and that confused me a little and worried me a lot.

"What are you talking about?"

"Harry - what else? He's banging on with researching ancient hexes and spells. He'd wanted to start it himself and leave me to study the Compendium to see who might have had links to Whetwistle Senior, but there's no time for that. We'll get coffee at St. Mungo's ..."

The confused look shifted before I could finish the sentence. Hermione lowered her eyes and adjusted the towel.

"Ron, I wasn't referring to Harry. He wants to see you, yes - but I'm ... I was talking about Gregory."

My brain skidded to a halt. Gregory?

"Gregory?" I paused. "What about him?"

She kept mucking with the towel. "He - he's so alone, and he's likely terrified. His wife is still ill and he has no one ... and ..."

I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but a raspy, frantic voice in my head was telling me to do whatever it took, agree to whatever she wanted, if only it would make her stop talking. Right then. Immediately. If she went on that way, this voice was telling me, I was going to hear something I didn't want to hear.

I started easing her toward the bedroom door and talking fast. "Fine. We'll see him. He's at St. Mungo's, yeah? We'll stop by and tell him what we're going to be doing. Maybe it'll cheer him up if he knows some of the details."

"Ron -"

"- Though he probably won't understand half of them, being a Squib and all -"

" - Listen to me -"

" - But at least he'll know that we're not just sitting around on our arses -"

Her fingers curled around my arm and squeezed. We stopped a few steps in front of the door.

"Harry said that the Healers think nothing can be done, except to make Sarah more comfortable than Marie had been at the end."

"Well they're wrong." I swallowed tightly. "Harry's not going to give up. Neither am I - and neither are you - right?"

"No. Of course I'm not." There was a sudden gentleness in her eyes. "But I don't think that they are wrong. Harry said that the ten-day estimate is very generous. He caught a glimpse of Sarah after her episode, and he said that he could barely tell that she was breathing."

"We're wasting time going over the details when we should be -"

"- They lied," she said softly, shaking her head. "They've told Gregory that they've tried everything, but that he'd do well to prepare for ... Sarah's final arrangements. It's not true. They haven't tried everything. There's one card yet to play."

I don't think I would've understood what she meant if she'd been able to look me in the eye while saying it. But her bent head gave me the answer, and I nearly choked.

"No."

"Yes. This needs to stop here and now. It might be the only way."

"You said you understood what Bill said - this hex business is tricky. You might do that and have nothing happen at all."

"I think that a little girl's life is worth that chance." she drew herself up tall and still. "If marrying Gregory will release the hex on the money so that he can have it and appease this horrid person, then I must consider it. If I didn't, I'd be no better than the person who is doing this all in the first place."

"No choice? Are you daft? Do you have any idea what you're proposing to do?" I ignored her flinching away from me. "He might be the person who's doing all this, and you want to play into his hands? Once he marries you, he gets control of your money. Then he can do whatever he bloody pleases!"

"Ron, this is not a game! What happened to Marie Whetwistle - what is happening to her sister, and what will happen to Gregory's daughters until there aren't any left - is not being done with mirrors. It isn't a trick or a hoax - it's real and it's horrifying! Don't you understand?""

"You don't even know if marrying him will work -"

"No, I don't - but I won't stand around and pretend that every possible remedy has been tried. I know it isn't true and Gregory knows it isn't true. At - at Harry and Ginny's, he told me that he understood why I wouldn't submit to that. He told me that, knowing that if I'd done as he asked in the first place, Marie might still be alive!"

"Godric's cock, Hermione, you don't know that!"

"In many ways, not knowing is even worse!" her cheeks burned. "I have enough dead and ruined men on my conscience, as you were so fond of reminding me, Ronald, so I suppose you believe that one more won't hurt! WELL, YOU ARE WRONG!"

That stopped me cold. So it wasn't about Whetwistle at all. It was about me and her and what she'd done years and years ago. I resented it - having her put this on that. She'd made her choice, and she was the one who had to live with the burden and guilt of it. She might've thought of all that before she'd gone to Scrimgeour.

But even I knew that was beside the point. Pissing her life away like this wasn't going to change anything that had happened back then.

A wild thought bounced to the surface of my brain and I grabbed for it.

"What if I said that I said that I forgive you for all that, that it doesn't matter any more. It's over, Hermione. It was a long time ago. If you're thinking about giving yourself to Whetwistle as some sort of punishment for how things went back then, don't do it. Not on my account."

Her sigh was heavy enough to knock me to the floor. "Oh, Ron, I'd give anything to believe that."

"Then you should. It's true."

She glared dismally at me. "You'll never truly forgive me and it will always matter! If it didn't, you would never have walked away from me in the first place. You would've come to me and told me that you still loved me even if you didn't agree with me and that you supported me, and nothing could ever change that. Instead, you stood by while total strangers dragged my name through filth. While people who didn't care about me at all watched for my safety only because they had to. The only recourse I had to get my side of the story out was to write a book about it!"

I was stunned that she was bringing that bloody book into it. But beyond that, I couldn't understand how she'd think that what they'd said about her in all the wizarding papers had been my fault. She'd gone up against a troupe of blokes who'd been considered heroes during the war. I couldn't have gone up against them and the Ministry and kept my head on my shoulders.

"I longed to be able to come to you and explain, but you'd already shut me out - and you've kept me out! Why should my marrying someone - especially considering the circumstances - upset you so much? It's my decision - just as it was your decision to marry Daphne. You certainly never asked my input on that!"

"What the bloody hell was I supposed to do? Interrupt you shagging Krum to ask your opinion on my marriage?"

"It's not the same thing at all! You cared for Daphne - I didn't love Viktor!" her voice started to lose some of its steam and now sounded trembly and thin. "I don't love Gregory. And - and even if this were a normal marriage with love involved, you still wouldn't care. You haven't for years. You've only very recently stopped looking at me as if I were a bit of poo stuck to your trainers!"

"I don't care? That's a right laugh!" I advanced on her, pressing her up against the doorjamb. "What would you call last night, then? And this morning? A rousing game of Gobstones? I don't go to bed with people I hate."

"Last night?" Her eyes flared beneath her lashes, and I felt the first threads of fear start to wrap around my neck and squeeze.

I'd seen that look many times before. It was her killing glance - the flash of colour right before she knocked you on your arse, either with a word, a wave of her wand, or both. She'd mastered it with Malfoy all those years ago. It was too late to go for cover. All I could hope was for a chasm to spring up under my feet and swallow me whole.

"Last night was ... it was what happens when two people have a bit too much too drink and don't think through their actions. You made love to me because you were just drunk enough to forget how much you despised me. And I was just drunk enough to let it happen and pretend it didn't matter."

I reeled. She'd aimed low and hit hard. I half expected to see my heart at my feet, leaving a bloody mess on the floor.

I thought about how we'd fallen asleep curled up against each other after the first go and how I'd dozed off with my face buried in her hair after the second. I thought about that cheeky smile of hers and the way she'd wailed my name when I touched her. If I knew anything, I knew that I hadn't been pissed, and neither had she.

I could deal with being called all sorts of names or even getting a smack in the head or two. Last night, I'd let her see what I still felt for her. It was one of the biggest chances I'd ever taken in my life, and she was covering it all with ale and flinging it back in my face.

"I've been an idiot. This isn't some great sacrifice for you, is it? You want this, don't you? You've noticed how Whetwistle moons after you - and you like it, is that it? You know you could keep him wrapped round your finger. The perfect husband."

"I've noticed nothing of the sort!" she snapped. "He's a happily married man. He would only to do this to save his fam -"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione! He was all over you at Harry and Ginny's! Livesey even told Harry that if you went ahead with this marriage grot, Whetwistle might not want to divorce you and go back to his wife."

"I'm sure Mr. Livesey is mistaken. Gregory and Katherine are devoted to each other."

"Right. He's so devoted that instead of being with her when she was grieving just as much as he was, he was in your lap, sniveling all over you. His wife was alone, sick and surrounded by strangers while he was in your lap, being rocked like a bloody infant. Maybe that's what you like - a bloke to be so intimidated by you that all you have to do is smile and he's got to run and change into different trousers!"

"How dare you insinuate that I'm somehow leading him on -"

"You're no innocent. You know the signs that a bloke is in deep with you! You had it with Krum, and now Whetwistle's your last chance to be worshipped. Isn't that what you told me last night? That you were getting on in years and hated being alone?"

The last bit of rope anchoring me to calm waters snapped. "Well here you have it: You marry him and you get it all - husband, children and a nice sum of gold! And you're young enough to give him back the daughter that he lost - and maybe another if he lets this next one slip through his fingers."

"That's - that's despicable! You're mad!"

"And you're a bitch. A selfish one at that. If I'm mad, it's because I've gone this long without telling you straight out."

Her face turned a scary shade of purple, and I could almost see steam rising from the top of her head. But I was too busy trying to stuff what was left of my heart back into my chest to care.

"You can do what you like with my clothing." She gave me the back of her head. "Send them by owl or burn them. I don't care. I'm not going to stay under this roof a second longer."

"Not even to get dressed?" I yanked at the edge of her towel. "Going to get straight from the wedding to the wedding night, I reckon. Good thing you got in a practice shag with me, innit? Whetwistle won't have to waste any time warming you up."

Hermione turned around slowly. Her eyes were on mine; I couldn't see them through the reflected glare of the sunlight pouring into the room, but I could feel them.

"That is a disgusting thing to say, Ronald, even for you." Her voice was flat, calm. Final.

I was fading fast, but there was enough energy left in me to bring out a grin. I even managed a chuckle or two.

"I call them as I see them. I'd think on a wedding gift for you lot, but I reckon you've gotten enough out of me."

I didn't know the precise moment that she left. When I finally pulled myself together enough to go into the bedroom, the first thing I saw was the dress she'd been wearing last night crumpled at the foot of the bed. There were enough assorted odds and ends tossed about on the floor to let me know that the silly woman really had gone out wearing nothing but a blinking towel. And she called me mad?

I went back to bed, pulled the blankets over my head and decided to wait there until Hermione's voice stopped ringing in my ears. By the time I struggled back out from under the covers, the sun was on its way down again.