Rain

3. THE LONGEST YEAR

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why

I got out of bed at all

The morning rain drops on my window

And I can't see at all

Even if I could, it would all be grey

But your picture on the wall

It reminds me that it's not so bad

(Dido, Thank You)

The longest year of my life was, in truth, the shortest. It began that day in Flynn's.

As you can probably imagine, Fisk didn't have bad news; he had terrible news: Bryce was gone. Instead of treating it as it was--a tragedy--the Healer thought it was a bloody miracle or something. Apparently, Hermione wasn't supposed to be pregnant at all. He started with a long explanation of the reproductive system, ("Even Muggles deal with this," he said,) and by the time I had hexed him out of the room, I had gotten only one thing out of his babble: Since we weren't supposed to have Bryce, we couldn't possibly have any other children. Apparently, miracles don't happen often.

We shouldn't have named him. It would have been better to chuck out The-Baby-Who-Would-Have-Been-Jamie-or-Bryce-or-Perhaps-Something-Different-Altogether than it was to deal with the loss of William Bryce Weasley.

Hermione cried. She must have spent the first few weeks just bleeding tears. Then she stopped. At first, I thought that the idea of getting back to work would actually help her. (She worked for the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division.) But after a while, I had to change my initial opinion. She had had the hobby of retreating into the library when things got too tough, but now she didn't have to; she had her work. She spent so many hours at the Ministry that I supposed that she had been named Minister. Most days, I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her as she slipped out of the door. It was quite maddening. How do you talk to someone who's never there?

As sort of an unspoken rule, neither one of us responded to the countless owls that were filled with concern about us. Somehow, our family had learned of Bryce's death, so in addition to the owls, we received random Floo calls. Most of the time, Hermione wasn't home and I would quietly ignore them. Eventually, I had to disconnect from the Floo Network.

I, on the other hand, spent most of my times at the Leaky Cauldron. Not to drink myself silly or anything. I just wanted to be around people. Hermione was never at home and if I went to the Burrow, I would have to explain myself to everyone. So instead, I spent my nights and weekends at the Leaky Cauldron, talking to miscellaneous people, flirting with random girls, and watching my life slip by.

Two months or so after the whole fiasco was our anniversary: two years of blissful marriage or whatever rubbish. I was awake until long past midnight, hoping that Hermione would show up, so that we could so something--ANYTHING--together for once. It was our anniversary, after all. We ought to have done something together, even if it was just looking at one another.

Our photo albums kept me company. There were two many of us smiling and laughing--enough to make me nauseated, actually. We had been happy then. The War was over and we were about to begin our lives together. However, I was afraid that if the two cheerful people in those photos had met Hermione and me, they wouldn't have recognized us but for our faces.

I fell asleep awkwardly on the sofa, moving pictures splattered across my chest. I wasn't too surprised when my neck pained me as soon as I opened my eyes. I mumbled a soft Healing charm as I stood and yawned. The early signs of dawn snuck through the window and I assumed that it was a little after six. My assumptions were confirmed when I checked the clock on the wall.

A loud Crack! rang throughout the flat as someone Apparated just outside. (Hermione and I had decided a long time ago to erect anti-Apparition spells inside the flat.) I barely had time to register the fact that there was a key in the lock before the door swung open. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I laid eyes on the other occupant of my home. "Ron!" she sounded amazed to see me. "Today's Saturday," she explained. I usually spent my Saturday mornings in bed.

At first, I wasn't sure how to react. Should I hug her, or kiss her? Were we friendly enough to even have a nice conversation anymore? As I stood wordlessly staring at her, Hermione bit her lip in discomfort. "Today's Saturday," she repeated, as if making sure that I knew that.

"I'm surprised you would know that," I told her harshly.

She bit her bottom lip as she sighed, closing the door behind her. "I suppose I deserved that," she admitted.

"I suppose you did."

She pouted as she slowly crossed the room until she was standing right in front of me. "I'm really sorry," she whispered. "Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

What kind of question was that? Especially coming from the woman I would die for--when she was pouting. A moment ago, I had been worried about a simple retort and there she was, pouting at me almost as if . . . as if there was nothing wrong. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe I was thinking too much.

As quickly as my anger had arrived, it dissipated. I smiled. "It's alright."

Hermione gave me the brightest smile I had ever seen, making me forget the reason I had ever been mad at her. I must admit, it was nice to see her smile again.

"We should do something today," I suggested as I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "Just you and me."

Her face fell, making my smile disappear. "Sorry, Ron. I have to go back to the Ministry. I just stopped by for a bit." Then she smiled again and, as if she was divulging a secret, said, "I was going to watch you sleep."

"Watch me SLEEP?" I repeated as if it was the most absurd thing I had ever heard.

She nodded quickly. "It's one of my favorite things to do nowadays," she told me.

When did she sleep? Did she sleep at all? "It shouldn't be."

"I know, but . . ." She shrugged. ". . . it is." Standing on her toes, she planted a kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to take a long, hot bath." After pausing briefly, she added, "You could join me, if you wanted to."

Did I want to? Of course I did. But somehow that didn't feel right. I suddenly felt the need to ask one question. "Hermione, how long have we been married?"

"One year--" She mistook the look of disappointment in my eyes and changed tactics. "I mean, seven hundred, thirty days, sixteen hours, twenty minutes, and thirty-three, no, thirty-four, -five--" She smiled. "--seconds. Why?"

I should have been angry, right? I mean, she could count the number of days--heck, seconds--we had been married, but she couldn't recall that the day before had been our anniversary. I really should have been angry. Instead, I answered nonchalantly, "I was just wondering."

No, we shouldn't have named him.