Rain

6. SHE LOVES ME

Dark clouds roll in from the horizon

And the rain starts falling down

Holding the last rose in the garden

Dropping the petals on the ground

She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me

Until there's just one petal left

(Ricky Van Shelton, Roses After the Rain)

After the "roses" fiasco, I knew that my marriage was quietly slipping out of my grip and I had to do something about it. If I didn't do something soon, I might just lose Hermione and that would kill me.

Gardenias--that was the idea. Since she liked them so bloody much, I would order dozens--no, hundreds--of them, and fill the flat, so when she came home, she would find a garden of gardenias. Yes, that was perfect. Garden of gardenias. I could also make dinner. With the charms Mum had taught me, I could easily handle myself in the kitchen. (Unlike Hermione, of course.) Just thinking of the idea put a smile on my face, which Diane was quick to notice.

"Someone got shagged," she commented jokily.

Not yet, but that would certainly be taken care of by tomorrow, I voiced silently. "I do have a wife, you know," I told her.

She smirked. "And she's very lucky."

Lucky, indeed. I couldn't agree more.

After ordering dozens of gardenias from a nearby flower shop to be delivered, I littered the flat with the flowers. I could almost picture Hermione's face when she saw them, and the image made me smile over and over again. (I think I whistled as I worked.)

"Oh, Ron!" kept running through my head. "I love you, I love you so much!" And then, she would hug me and kiss me. Not to be male or anything (which I am by the way), but I was really looking forward to the reconciliation shag afterwards.

As soon as I had the chance, I darted off to a nearby flower shop in muggle London, which was just a short walk away from Wiz.Net, and ordered a delivery of gardenias.

The florist smiled at me flirtingly. "I wish someone would do that for me," she told me.

I grinned boyishly, but couldn't think of anything to say. Mostly because my thoughts were hours away, still reflecting on the moment Hermione opened the door to her flat.

The image disappeared when I caught sight of the real Hermione. She was seated in the window directly across from the flower shop in a restaurant. Alone. At first, I wasn't sure. After all, what were the odds of seeing my wife in muggle London of all places? But when she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kept her glance on the book she was reading, I smiled in recognition. She looked so beautiful and carefree, as if she didn't have a dolt like me as a husband.

I had started in her direction when someone sank into the seat next to her. I paused to take a look at him. He was pale; with blond hair and eyes so blue I could see the color as clearly as I could see the skies. If I didn't know better, I would have branded him a vampire. He smiled at her--and she smiled back. And it wasn't one of her fake smiles. It was a genuine smile. Then, he reached over to peck her on the cheek.

It was just a peck. Honestly, it was. Just a peck. But the longing in his eyes were more than a simple peck. As she had returned the smile, she returned his glance.

I stood, gawking in shock. It could be . . . It wasn't! It wasn't. Hermione wouldn't do that to me. She loved me. She . . .

If you've never had the misfortune of experiencing heartbreak, you should consider yourself blessed. Your heart happens to be the appendage that pumps blood into the rest of your body, so when someone stabs you directly in the middle, the bleeding is difficult to stop. In fact, some people bleed forever. For me, it felt as if Hermione had literally reached into my chest and pull out my heart, leaving an empty space.

I should have hexed her to pieces--that's what I should have done. I should have ran into the restaurant and murdered both her and her vampire. Azkaban couldn't make me feel any worse than I did at that moment. But instead I kept telling myself that I was jumping to conclusions. Just because my wife, who hadn't exchanged a word with me for days, was smiling up at some vampire, and glancing up at him with unadulterated affection didn't mean that she was cheating on me. Besides, Hermione was smart--she wouldn't do something this vile in such an open place, where anyone could see her.

I sighed heavily as I turned away from the sight, careful not to look back. Maybe it wasn't even Hermione. Just some person who looked and smiled like her. Hermione would explain everything when she got home.

She would explain everything when she got home. Yeah, that was it. I was being stupid. Hermione loved me.

When I finally broke out of my reverie, I found myself standing in the middle of my office at Wiz.Net. "Diane, you're a woman," I said when she appeared at the door.

Frowning heavily at me, she folded her arms. "Was there ever any doubt?" she wanted to know.

I didn't acknowledge her look of anger. In fact, Diane could have been starkers and I wouldn't have noticed. I was still focused on Hermione. "There's this friend of mine who doesn't know if his, erm, significant other is, erm, faithful," I said slowly.

She nodded in understanding. "Why not?" she asked.

I shrugged, hoping I looked as nonchalant as I wanted to appear. "They haven't talked in a while, and when they do, the conversations always end up as rows."

"And she's never home," she concluded.

I nodded slowly.

"Do they shag?" Diane asked.

I lowered my eyes, not sure if I wanted to be talking to my assistant about this. But then I remembered that we weren't talking about me and Hermione; we were talking about my friend who thought his wife was unfaithful. "No," I said.

"She's cheating."

I was floored. How could she come to that assumption so soon? "They really, really, really--" I made sure to enunciate my reallys-- "--love each other."

"Ron, trust me," said Diane. "She's cheating."

I swallowed hard. "I'll be sure to . . . let him know, then."

She shook her head. "Don't do that," she told me.

"Do what?"

"Well, if this friend loves his wife as much as you say he does, you wouldn't want to be the one telling him about this. It'll kill him."

"He's already dead." Maybe not dead. Just very, very heartbroken.

No, Diane couldn't be right. Hermione loved me. She loved me.