Rain

7. SHE LOVES ME NOT

AUTHOR's NOTE: Thanks to my reviewers. And no, it's not Malfoy.

It's like my sun won't shine (now my sun won't shine)

It's like my ride don't rode (my stop-and-go keeps stopping)

It's like the only one thing I love don't love me no more

(Trey Songz, All the Ifs)

"Ron?" Harry's voice slithered through the flat so carelessly that I wondered if I had imagined it. I quickly dismissed the idea until the word came again. "Ron?"

I suddenly found that I was lying very uncomfortably on the floor in the kitchen. I grunted loudly, blinking incoherently, as I pull myself into sitting position. "Whatdoyouwant!" I growled in pain.

Harry didn't answer, and I told myself that I really had imagined it. To prove me wrong, he came into view a moment later, squinting down at me in disbelief. "You're completely arseholed," he observed.

"Damn," I murmured as I noticed the bottles of firewhiskey littered across the floor. I didn't even recall buying firewhiskey. "What am I going to do with all this firewhiskey?"

Harry's eyes darted across the floor. "Ron, they're empty bottles."

I blinked wildly again, finding it hard to focus. I felt dirty, stupid, and not to mention the sudden onslaught of pain in every single part of my body, but I couldn't let Harry know that. "They can't all be empty," I managed after a few seconds of silence.

The look Harry gave me was complete disappointment, then shame. Even in my drunken state, I recognized it, and I would have thrown a hex his direction if I knew where my fucking wand was. "How'd you get in here?" I asked.

"The door was open," he told me, and cringed his nose in disgust. "What's that smell?"

What smell? There was no smell. Oh, that smell. It wasn't so bad. But then I had been bathing in it for heaven-knew-how-long. "Dinner," I said, then in remembrance, I added, "and gardenias."

Harry shook in his head in doubt. "Gardenias don't smell like that."

"They did when I burned them!" I chuckled, and then winced at the headache that came with it.

Now he looked confused. I think I preferred this look to the one he had earlier--the one that made me want to hex him. "Why'd you burn them?" he wanted to know.

As soon as the question left his lips, the memories came flooding back: Hermione touching that vampire. Hermione smiling at the vampire. Hermione looking at the vampire. Somehow, I didn't feel like sharing them with Harry. They hurt too much and if I said them out loud, I might as well be accepting them for what they were. "I don't 'member," I lied. "I was really, really angry."

Harry nodded as he glanced down at me. "What did Hermione do now?" he whispered, as if afraid of the words.

"I don't want to talk about it." The words were hastily out of my mouth before I could think.

Again, Harry nodded in understanding. "Let's tidy up a bit," he suggested. When I looked at him in completely bafflement, he quickly explained, "Ron, you're drunk, your flat is littered with ashes and bottles, and the whole place smells like burned gardenias. Hermione won't be happy when she gets home."

Where was Hermione anyway? She should have been home by now. Probably somewhere with her vampire. I suddenly wanted to burn more gardenias.

I didn't know that the words had left my mouth until they received a strained silence in return. "She doesn't deserve to be happy."

* * * * *

Harry cleaned the flat with several swishes of his wand. When he was done, he murmured a Healing Charm towards me. "Is the headache gone?"

"Yes," I said, without asking him how he knew I was harboring one of the worst headaches ever. "But I still feel terrible."

"I can only imagine." He shook his head slowly. Just as a smile reached his face, Hermione came into view.

"What are you two doing?" she asked. How could she just walk in and pretend like I hadn't seen her with her bloody vampire today? In the open? Where everyone could see her?

Harry shot a glance at me, but understand that I was clearly miffed. "Just dossin'," he mumbled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's that smell?" she asked.

Damn it, why was she being so casual about everything? I had seen her disloyalty with my own eyes. How can she just act like she normally would?

Harry stiffened and shot me another glance. "Dinner," he replied when I didn't answer. "I should be going." He nodded at me before turning back to Hermione. "Be careful, Hermione. Ron's in a right state." He gave me a tight smile. "Stroppy cow."

I didn't return his smile before he dashed away. I almost yelled for him to come back. I didn't want to be left alone with this . . . this wrench.

"So do you want to talk about it?" she asked as soon as the Crack! of Harry's DisApparition rang through the flat.

Did I want to talk about it? I saw my wife touching and kissing some bloke. Did I really want to talk about it? "I'll rather die," I said truthfully, pulling myself to my feet slowly.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said softly.

She was still treating me like one of her bloody goblins! I wasn't a patient; I was her husband. "Hermione, do you love me?" I asked as I closed the distance between us.

She didn't answer for a moment and all I could hear throughout the flat was soft breathing. "What kind of question is that?" she asked. Apparently, it was the kind of question that she couldn't answer.

Lowering my head, I thought to make the answer clear to her. I brushed my lips against hers and almost leapt with glee as I felt her shudder. Does he kiss you like this? Does he make you feel like I do? Do you love him at all?

My tongue darted across her upper lip slowly--and agonizingly--at first. The second time, the pace was a bit faster. The third time, she gracefully allowed her tongue to meet mine. Our gentle tonguefest turned a little bit more violent until we were basically eating each others' face.

And all the while, the only thing that ran through my head was the constant repetition of the words: She loves me. She loves me. She really loves me. She really, really loves me. Diane was wrong. I was wrong.

I trailed kisses down her neck as she let out a soft moan. The sound was enough to make me lost all inhibitions. For a moment, there was no vampire. There was no doubt. And Bryce? Bryce, who?

No, seriously, who is this Bryce person?

Hermione's hands reached for my chest. It took me a moment to realize that she was gradually pushing me away. "Ron, stop it," she said in an undertone. "You taste like firewhiskey. Did you drink a tavern or something?"

I growled loudly. "Or something."

"I have to be at work early tomorrow," she explained. She almost looked apologetic. "We can't. Not tonight, alright? Especially since you smell like a brothel."

"Well, you have to admit that prostitutes are more accommodating," I said.

She was heading towards the bedroom before she turned on her heels and returned the kitchen. I half-expected her to beg me to take her right there, but instead I was met with a worried expression. "Ron, why don't you--"

I didn't even want to know what I did. "Maybe I will!" I interrupted. "We've barely slept in the same bed for months, and before that, you were pregnant."

She gulped before shutting her eyes. "Ron, I don't think . . . Maybe . . ." She sighed. "Can't meet anger with anger," she mumbled quietly. Oh, for heaven's sake, was she actually going to treat me like one of the stupid goblins?

Hermione sighed again as she opened her eyes. "I, uh . . . I have something to tell you."

I was startled. This was one of the first direct statements that Hermione had spoken to me in months. "Okay," I said slowly. No wonder she was so good at her job.

She looked relieved. "I know how you've always said that my job was stupid--"

Speak of the devil . . . Were we actually going to talk about her job? "I never said that," I told her.

"But you're always taking the mickey. And I know you hate it when you think I'm--" One glance at me and she understood that I would rather she got to the point; therefore she proceeded with, "I've got a job offer."

"That's great, Herm," I said without much feeling. I was still harboring a bruise pride.

"In Transylvania. The Ministry is . . ." She continued her ranting, but a single word resonated in my mind. Transylvania. That's right. Transylvania. Hell, no! Do you know what's in Transylvania? Charlie. No, stupid. He's in Romania. I'll tell you what's in Transylvania: vampires.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" I shrieked, interrupting her in the middle of a sentence. "Are you mad?"

"Ron, listen."

"I've heard enough, thank you very much."

"This is what I want to do!" She didn't even look angry. Frustrated, maybe. "Why can't you just support me?"

I do support her. It was her idea to move into this flat and she was the one who named our baby and she was the one who wanted the bloody gardenias. "What's in Transylvania, Hermione?" I wanted to know. "What do you have there?" And be honest, I silently added.

"I don't understand," she said simply.

"Do you have family there? Or . . . or . . ." Or your stupid lover? " . . . did you leave something behind on your last trip?"

Hermione chuckled as if I had said the most absurd thing she had ever heard. "I've never been there, you know that."

"I don't understand why you would want to leave London and go to a place you've never been."

"I just . . ." She took a deep breath. "Don't you want to forget all this?"

"There's nothing to forget." Even half-sober, I could understand her dilemma. Even if she left England, and even if she left the planet, there was no way she was going to forget with me around.