To Be This Lost Inside Ourselves

Part One -

It's way too late to be this locked inside ourselves
The trouble is that you're in love with someone else
It should be me. Oh, it should be me
Sacred parts, your get aways
You come along on summer days
Tenderly, tastefully

And so may, we make time
Try to find somebody else
This place is mine

The radio crackled on. The chirpy voice of Delphina Thomas, WWN's leading DJ, filled the cluttered room. Ron groaned and rolled over. He kept forgetting to switch off his alarm at weekends.

He felt around blindly for his wand and pointed it in the vague direction of his clock. The room went silent. Ron dropped his wand, hearing it clatter on the expensive new laminate flooring, and slowly felt sleep descend on him again. He had been having such a nice dream. He'd been back at Hogwarts, with Harry and Hermione...

This thought woke him at once. He sat up slowly, something in the back of his head groggily nagging at him. Then he realised what was bothering him. It wasn't the weekend.

Muttering to himself, he clambered out of the bed and skidded into the shower room. The steaming hot water helped him open his eyes a little better, and as he pulled on his work robes, he finally felt fully awake. His stomach was grumbling. He staggered into the kitchen and surveyed the mess that blemished the once shiny surfaces. He checked his watch, and decided to give breakfast a miss, making a mental note to invest in a house elf. He could definitely afford one.

Running outside, he jumped into his car, checking that no one was looking. Wekry Spettle, where he lived, was a mostly wizard populated town, but you could never be too careful. Cautiously, he pressed the booster on his dashboard, and the car dissolved out of sight.

It reappeared on the Wizard Motorway. About five years ago, there had been a breakthrough in MMT (muggle-mimicking-technology.) Some wizard scientist had discovered a way to enter what he called Alternate Dimensions. This revolutionized all sorts of wizard laws; enchanted cars, trains and planes could all exist within this Alternate Dimension.

AD was looking a little grim today, Ron thought to himself, as he flew down the motorway. The usually violet horizon was cloudy and deep purple. Ron beeped his horn at a passing truck as it over took him. Thankfully, work wasn't too far away. He parked, and pressed the booster again. The car flickered into the car park behind Wizard Motors Incorporated.

The boom in enchanted cars had caused a boom in related jobs. Ron was the proud owner of this factory, and two more like it in America. Still, Ron strode through the front door and up to the reception desk.

"Casey, how's it going?" he asked his receptionist as he leaned against the desk. "Any messages."

Casey opened her mouth to answer, when Ron's stomach rumbled loudly.

"Yes," Casey said sternly, "eat breakfast!"

Ron grunted. "Good point. What's my workload like today?"

Casey glanced down at a file in front of her. "You have one pick-up today. Three tomorrow."

Ron swore. "Is Craig still ill?"

"He might make it later today. If his mum lets him!"

Ron sniggered. His newest employee, Craig, had just left Hogwarts the year before, and he was still getting used to fending for himself.

"Right. I'll be half an hour. Cover for me," he turned back towards the door.

"Mr Weasley!" Casey called after him.

"What?"

"You run this place, remember? You can come and go as you please."

A grin spread across Ron's face. "Yes," he said, "yes I can."

Ten minutes later, Ron was dashing along Diagon Alley, his hair plastered to his face from the rain that was pouring down on him. These burst of bad weather were beginning to become frequent, despite the fact that it was summer. As he ran, he passed a small boy leaving Olivanders, grinning proudly as he held his new wand.

Blimey, is it that time already, he pondered, the new Hogwarts year....In a flash, Ron was 13 again, entering Olivanders with Hermione in search for a new wand. She had been whining in his ear as he stared at the rows and rows of wands.

"...he's got to be here somewhere!" she had been saying.

"Mmm," Ron had answered, his eyes misted over slightly.

"Ron!" Her cry had shaken him out of his stupor. "I'm really worried about Harry!"

Harry would be okay, Ron had reassured her, as he wondered why she always seemed so much more bothered about Harry than him.

The no longer thirteen year old Ron reached a tiny bakery on the corner and ducked inside. "Morning, Mum," he called.

Mrs Weasley handed a tiny witch her change and looked up at her youngest son. "Forgot something?" she asked, smiling warmly.

Ron did a quick mental checklist. "Oh, shi...shine-a-light!" He corrected himself quickly. "Dinner. Wednesday night. Bill and Fleur's anniversary! Mum, I'm so sorry!"

"What happened?"

"I was working...."

"You're always working," she told him. She smiled again, proudly surveying the son she'd never expected so much from. "I'm sure you could afford to take on a few more like Craig. Then you wouldn't have to work so hard."

"Mum-"Ron started.

"Wouldn't you rather sit in an office and let everyone else do the dirty work?" she pressed. Ron glanced down at his dirty overalls, and tried to picture himself in a shirt and tie. He snorted.

"Just give me one of those Pumpkin Pasties, Ma," he said. "I'm starving."

As he dodged out of Molly's Magic Meals, he decided to pay Fred and George a visit while he was nearby. Holding the empty paper bag over his head, he set off again, stuffing the last few morsels into his mouth as he ran. He crashed through the door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes as a piece of pastry lodged itself in his throat.

"Little brother!" Fred called jovially from the counter. Ron choked in reply. A wizened old man beside him shot him a disapproving look and left. Fred frowned at Ron.

"Chew," he advised him. Ron coughed a little more, spraying food in front of him. Fred pulled a face.

"Say it, don't spray it. And stop chasing our custom away."

Ron finally swallowed in relief and gasped a little. He was still a little out of breath from running. He nodded out the window toward the rain.

"Wet!" he gasped.

"Oh, your powers of observation are stunning," George said, appearing at the doorway to the back room. "Go on through," he added, "We'll be with you in a minute."

Ron nodded, and headed through the back room. As he walked, he remembered the very first time he'd entered the shop, in the summer holidays after 5^th year. Harry and Hermione had been with him...

Ron sank into a chair. That was the second time he'd thought about Harry and Hermione in one day, and it was only 10.am. It was strange, he hardly ever thought of them anymore...

But it had been a wonderful day. Seeing Harry happy for the first time after Sirius's death. It had been one of those giddy days where nothing made much sense and everything seemed hilariously funny. Ron remembered seeing Hermione stumble off the Knight bus, giggling, and a grin broke out on his face involuntarily.

"...ok, me next, me next!" she was shouting. "Snot ma head!"

"How old are you Hermiome?" Harry asked, clutching his stomach.

"Seventeen next week!" She screamed, and the three of them had laughed again.

"Come on," she continued, when she regained the power of speech, "Snot Ma Head!"

Ron remembered chuckling as Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"I know," Harry cried suddenly, "Dean Thomas!!" And with that they'd collapsed with laughter again. Fred had stood at the door, looking amused. "Are you three drunk?" he'd asked calmly. Mrs Weasley had smiled as she passed them. She hadn't wanted to step in, not with Harry looking so happy.

"Ok, me next," Ron had said as they sat down in the back room. Harry and Hermione leaned in so no one else would see. "Are you ready?" Ron asked. Hermione handed him her sharpest quill, and Ron started to carve the words FREE ENGORGED WEASEL DAY into the table. Harry had almost suffocated trying not to laugh aloud.

"Fred and George Weasley," Hermione gasped, when she'd caught her breath. "Now quick, cover it up!"

And like three conspirators, they had covered it over with the table cloth and never spoken of it again.

Smiling, Ron lifted the cloth. The writing was there still, untouched. He covered it up again.

It had stopped raining when Ron left ten minutes later. He jumped up to a vendor and bought some instant coffee to warm him up.

"Three sickles," the guy said, and Ron dropped some coins into his hand. He turned away, and bumped right into a passing witch. She screamed, the coffee flew up into the air, and spilled all over her, leaving her perfect hair dripping wet, and a stain on her chest that was rapidly going transparent.

"I'm so sorry," Ron said sincerely, bending to pick up the bags he'd knocked out of her hands. The witch was making a huffy noise, making a huge show of pushing her sodden locks out of her eyes. Ron glanced up.

"Are you o-" He froze. This witch looked very familiar. He glanced down at the bags in his arms. They were all from Florish and Blots. He skim read the titles of the books as he straightened up. There were at least seven books here, and none of them looked like light reading.

"Here," he stammered, handing them over.

"Thanks," the witch said stiffly, "Now if you could just learn to walk properly, everyone would be happy!"

There was something scarily familiar about that snotty voice.

"H-Hermione?" Ron asked weakly. The witch, who had started untangling her hair, paused. She looked up at him for the first time.

"Ron?" she gasped, disbelievingly, "Is that you?"

Ron coughed. He could feel that pasty on it's way back up. "In the flesh," he said. He looked down at the stain on her top. "Er, you might want to zip up your jacket," he muttered.

Hermione looked down and yelped. "Oh, crap!" she cursed, pulling her jacket tighter around her, "I can't walk around like this."

To add insult to the injury, the sky rumbled, and the rain started up again. Wordlessly, Ron grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her along the street and into the newly built Diagon Alley Car Park.

"Jump in," he said, "before we melt."

Her eyes narrowed, but she complied.

Ron climbed into the drivers seat, and closed his eyes for a moment.

He was back in his seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry was sitting beside him on the sofa. Harry's face was drawn and pale, the tension palpable in the air. Ron's whole body was aching with remorse; he started to reach out to Harry but pulled back. He would just make things worse.

"So this is it?" Harry's voice was cracked and broken.

Ron nodded. "I think so." The words hurt.

"And have you thought about me?" Harry asked.

"All the time," Ron muttered. "mate, there's no other way."

"You're talking as if I'm asking you to climb Mt.Everest together! All I want is for you to get on!"

Ron had screwed up. He knew he had, once Harry started shouting there would be no stopping him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. It wasn't my idea! But Hermione's right! We can't go on pretending to be friends when we hate each other!"

"You don't hate each other! You're best friends!"

"No!" Ron yelled, "You are my best friend, Harry. You are Hermione's best friend! We put up with each other because of you!"

"Ron?" Hermione's voice cut through the air and Ron's eyes flew open.

"Right, sorry," he started the engine with a flick of his wand.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm supposed to be at work. I'll take you there and you can get cleaned up. Okay?"

"Fine," she murmured, sitting back.

She watched him as he drove, trying not to make it too obvious. All she'd wanted was a cup of coffee. Now she had wet hair, a see-through (transparent?) t-shirt, and a whole lot of unhappy memories. And just when she was going to say goodbye to Darren.

Ron looked almost exactly as she remembered. Of course, he would be 24 now. But apart from being even taller and broader shouldered than before, he was pretty much the same. She noticed the lanky teenager look was gone though. He'd filled out a bit. There was light stubble on his chin as if he'd left home in a hurry. The blue eyes, just as vivid and piercing as she remembered, were intent on the road.

She caught herself thinking about his eyes. She remembered how alive they'd always look even when the rest of the face was gormless. And his blonde eyelashes, oh, it had been so long since she'd teased him about them.

"Are you finished?" he interrupted her thoughts.

She blushed and turned away.

"That's better," he grunted. His voice was deeper, she contemplated.

"What were you doing in Diagon Alley, then?" he asked her.

"Why wouldn't I be there?" she asked, guardedly. She knew she was being sharper than was necessary, but she was in shock, and besides, Ron had only been back in her life for two seconds when he'd managed to ruin her new clothes and embarrass her horribly.

"Well, last I heard, you were in America. Working for the Voldemort Relief, right?"

"That's right."

Had she always spoken so primly, Ron pondered? Had he just not noticed?

"House elves kick you out, did they?"

She sniffed elegantly. "I thought this was more important."

"Good for you. And why are you back in the wonderful wet lands of England?"

She looked at him sideways. "I'm getting married."

Ron swerved. "Ruddy boy racers!" he yelled, offering a passing car his finger.

Hermione looked slightly amused. "That was almost as entertaining as my mum's reaction," she said.

"Does mummy not approve?" Ron asked, a little nastier than he'd intended.

Hermione frowned. "On the contrary. She's delighted. She just didn't see it coming. She didn't even know I was seeing anyone."

"Oh. Why, what's he like. No wait, let me guess. He's stunning?"

"Oh, yes."

"Polite?"

"Of course."

"Self-sufficient?"

"Mmmm,"

"Filthy rich?"

She looked at him. "Money isn't everything."

Ron pulled to a halt, and she was out of the car before he could answer. As she stepped out of the car, he got a good look at her arse, and then mentally kicked himself.

He had purposely parked round the back, where there were several grubby little garages. Technically, of course, Ron was supposed to run things, and let Craig and the others do the dirty work. But Ron liked to think he was the hands on type.

Hermione looked around her distastefully as he opened the door to his garage. One of his men, Duncan, passed, nodding at Ron and leering a little at Hermione.

"This is where you work?" Hermione asked, following him inside.

"No, I'm breaking in, get ready to run," he told her.

She rolled her eyes despairingly, turning away to look around. "You haven't changed," she muttered.

He looked at her. Hadn't changed? He thought about it. So he'd retained his sense of humour. He was still a far cry from the senseless immature teenager he'd been.

"Coffee?" he asked, and she nodded, hugging herself awkwardly.

Ron sprinkled some floo powder in the grate. "Two coffee's, Case!" he called through. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You work in a garage and you have a receptionist?"

"I get special privileges," he informed her.

"Oh really?" she said, "Why's that?"

He just grinned. He liked to keep her guessing. It wasn't his fault she was too stuck-up to think he might have made something of himself.

"Ron!" she persisted. "Are you sleeping with the management?"

He snorted. "Not likely!"

She tilted her head to one side. "Are you sleeping with the management's daughter?"

Ron decided it was time to put her out of her misery. "I aint got any kids, Hermione," he told her.

She looked bewildered. "What's that got to do with anything...oh." She glanced at him sheepishly. "You own this spot."

Ron threw open the door and led her up the stairs to his office. It had a distinctly unused feel to it. He pushed her gently up to the French windows, so she could see out over the extensive factory.

"Not bad, considering my NEWT results, right?" he said, grinning proudly.

She nodded reluctantly. Casey entered, and placed a tray on Ron's desk.

"Thanks," he said.

Casey backed out of the door, winking at Ron over Hermione's shoulder.

"Lots of milk and not much sugar," Ron said confidently, turning to the tray. Hermione looked a little surprised.

"Well remembered," she commented. "Too much milk and lots of sugar."

He laughed. "Not anymore. I'm on a diet."

Hermione stared at him incredulously for a moment, and then allowed him a small, suppressed smile. "Very funny. Still cracking them at ten minute intervals, I see."

He smirked, "Well, my wit is outstripped only by my charm and good looks."

"And your modesty," she added sarcastically, taking her coffee. She perched on the edge of his desk.

Ron thought of the last time he'd had a girl on there, decided Hermione was much better looking, and tried very hard to cover up the smirk these rude thoughts were causing.

Hermione was still looking around. She was feeling utterly wrong-footed. There she was, on her way to say goodbye to her fiancé on the day he left for America for a whole month, and she bumped into Ron, an old...

An old what, exactly? It wasn't as if they'd dated. Why should she consider it ironic, when she and Ron had never been involved in any romantic sense at all? The height of their relationship had been that time in sixth year when Draco Malfoy had pushed her into him and her hand had pushed his shirt up an inch, accidentally of course.

She tried to shake these thoughts out of her head. This day was too surreal.

"So, engaged, huh?" Ron said.

So he was back onto the subject of Darren. It was probably because he couldn't think of anything else to say. It didn't mean anything. But Hermione found herself strangely reluctant to talk about Darren with Ron. She had no problem talking to her friends about him, in fact, she found it hard to shut up. But this was different.

"How long have you known him?" Ron inquired, in a casual voice.

"Three years," she told him, wincing slightly. She knew that some people would think that wasn't very long. But so what? Other people would think it was plenty of time.

Ron looked indifferent, leaning comfortably against the window. Sunlight filtered in from somewhere, and squinting, he fiddled with the blinds. Hermione noticed part of it was broken, and wondered if he'd brought other girls back here for less innocent reasons. Probably. She didn't, she decided, care at all.

Ron looked so at home here, she observed with some surprise. She'd been shocked enough to find out that he owned this factory, this kingdom. It was far more than she'd ever expected. Was she really that arrogant?

"If you don't mind me asking," Hermione started, ignoring Ron as he smirked at her formality, "If you own this place, why are you..." she trailed off, nodding towards his grubby overalls.

Ron wiped his hands instinctively on his sides, not noticing the dirt he picked up in the process. "I'm just the owner," he told her. "It just so happens that I work here too. Not in production, we have machines that enchant cars by bulk, of course. But I work in the garages most days. It's what I enjoy." He glanced over at her pensive face. "I hired a manager. You'd like him." He paused. "He's the kind of guy you'd screw.'

Hermione looked appalled. "How do you know the kind of guy I'd screw?" she demanded, wondering vaguely why she wasn't more angry.

"Well," he corrected himself, "you're the kind of girl he'd screw."

Hermione caught herself smiling and had no idea why.

"And what kind of girl is that?" she asked softy.

He shrugged. "A good girl," he said dismissively, and turned away.

She watched him indignantly. "Care to elaborate?"

He looked at her, and she shifted nervously under his gaze. His eyes were intense and unashamed, and seemed to suddenly know all her secrets.

"You're exactly the person people expected you to be," he said eventually, and waited patiently for her reaction. She noticed dimly that'd he had changed after all.

"And that is?" she asked nonplussed.

He twisted his lip thoughtfully. "You look like you made it," he said. Seeing she wanted more, he continued to ponder. How could he phrase it; clearly she was wealthy. She looked like a typical rich girl. Her clothes, though currently less than pristine, were up to date and expensive; her hair, while damp, hung in perfect curls. She spoke and stood like a queen, and he saw a hint of snobbery in her gaze, squashing down the kind naïve nature he'd once known, though this was softened by politeness. And she was marrying some rich, respectable wizard. They would probably live in a big house, with a pool, and have 2.4 children and membership to an expensive country club.

She was still waiting. He shrugged helplessly, and disappeared through a side door.

Hermione jumped up and turned to peer at his desk. It was mostly filled with paperwork, though there wasn't as much as she had expected. Most of it was filled out in a neat script, though she could see Ron's familiar scribble occasionally. There were a few framed pictures as well, one of the Weasleys, waving enthusiastically up at her. Hermione felt a little pang as she looked at Molly and Arthur smiling, Fred and George laughing, and Ron, maybe a year younger than he was now, leaning against a striking looking Ginny.

Another photo was of a witch Hermione vaguely recognised as Ron's grandmother, who had died at the start of their seventh year. The last, Hermione saw, was of a girl. She was tall and very beautiful, with startling blue eyes and neat blonde hair that fell to her waist. She was smiling shyly up at Hermione, who scowled. Behind her, someone coughed. Hermione spun around Ron was standing there with a cloth and a T shirt.

"Make yourself at home," he told her. He passed her the cloth and top. "Bathrooms in there," he added, nodding to the door behind him. Smiling bashfully, Hermione passed him and entered the bathroom.

Ron heard the door click behind him, and strode over to his desk. He looked down at the photo of Holly, his closest friend and smiled to himself. Then he slumped down at the desk and sighed. This was an interesting turn of events. And he still had work to do. Sighing, he pulled a pile of MMOT forms toward him and started painstakingly filling it in.

When Hermione returned five minutes later, Ron was sitting at his desk, his tongue between his teeth, looking focused. She smiled to herself. She was back at Hogwarts, watching him play chess. Across from him, Harry looked defeated, and glanced up at her. They smiled fondly over Ron's oblivious head.

Then Hermione was back in Ron's office, and she was 25 years old, and about to get married. She coughed.

He looked up. "Sorted?"

She nodded. "I can get this back to you..." she started, motioning at the t shirt.

Ron shook his head. "No need," he said dismissively. "It's an old one of Ginny's."

Hermione felt a little pang at the mention of Ginny's name. Another skeleton in the closet, another guilty secret, and more regret. She nodded, and then stepped towards the door.

"I'll just go then," she said.

He looked pained. He kept glancing at his desk. He obviously had a lot of work to do.

"Ok," he said, reluctantly.

Was this it? All these years, and she was just going to leave. Hermione hesitated. Then she remembered the last time she spoken to him. And she stepped out of the door with a curt "Goodbye."

After she'd left he sat motionless at his desk. There was a soft knock on the door, and Casey entered. She was holding a blank envelope in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr Weasley. But it's another one."

And she dropped the envelope into his lap and left.