Because of Me

Because of Me

x x x

Ron

It's odd, really, to go through life as part of a collective identity. Even more difficult to determine where you begin and where the influences of so many brothers end. I was, with the exception of an unfortunate younger sister who had both the misfortune of being born seventh and the privilege of being born different, the youngest of five brothers, all seemingly identical, despite the differences in age or personality. Despite her status as youngest, however, Ginny had it easiest. She was youngest, yes, but she was the girl. I think, at some point in our lives, we all envied her for that simple, mundane difference; she was not "Weasely Brother Number Six," as I had been. She was always "Ginny," set aside as special both by name and gender. I envied her for that small bit of self-identity, we all did - except maybe Fred and George, who were so caught up in stealing the other's identity that they forgot to look for their own. But none of us could ever be her, even if we truly had wanted to, so we set about our own ways of standing out.

Bill was the smart one, smarter even than Percy - though you would never have known it because he wasn't as vain as Percy was - the one who was Head Boy and got top marks and set the standard far too high for being eldest. Of course, Charlie rose to the occasion quite happily, becoming the family Quidditch star, the family's athlete and flier - and he truly was amazing at it, even though flying with a broom could never quite satisfy him... him and his dragons... Percy was the one who we knew would change the world. For better or for worse (probably the latter), Percy would be the one to change the very structure of our society - he was the opinionated, outspoken one. Fred and George became the family pranksters, the family clowns, the ones who would go to any lengths for fun and laughs. And Ginny was the girl. So, after five brothers seeking a name for themselves other than the one we all shared, what then was left for me? Other than being the sidekick of The Boy Who Lived and the brother of the Brain, the Star, the Politician, and the Pranksters, that is.

There was her. She was all of them, rolled into one, and she was the only thing I had that had never been handed down from one of the many brothers before me. She was as smart as Bill, as daring as Charlie, as outspoken as Percy, as fun as the twins, except that she was my friend, not theirs. She was the first thing I had that was truly mine. And she was mine, even if we weren't officially together. She was my hero, my best friend, my voice of reason, my everything. And, despite being an insufferable know it all at times with a odd determination to free all house elves, she was perfect. I had loved her since I had first realised that girls could be more than just a friend or a sister.

I only assumed she felt the same way - we all only assumed. But we should have known that Hermione Granger could never be predicted, could never be typecast into any sort of traditional role. She defied everything - except perhaps rules, that was our job, Harry and I - by being both so incredibly smart and so naïve at the same time; what she lacked in practical magical knowledge, she made up for in the technical. But she was perfect, in my eyes, and once upon a time my very world revolved around her. It was decidedly just that my world ended around her as well...

Ginny returned to the table, seemingly well, if not a bit white in the cheeks, and sat across from Harry again as if nothing were wrong; as if everything she had previously believed in had not shattered. The boys, who had continued their discussion of Quidditch in her short absence - Boys, she thought with frustrated fondness - looked up with interest when she settled. "Where's Hermione?"

Ginny shrugged and reached for a goblet of pumpkin juice, her mind made up that, not matter how much she disagreed with it, she would not betray her friend's secret; not before first confronting Hermione. "I couldn't find her," was the evasive answer, which Ron immediately accepted because he never much paid attention to what his younger sister said, and which Harry believed because he never expected Ginny to lie. They settled back into the familiarity of Quidditch, promptly forgetting that she existed outside of her occasional commentary or asking her friend to pass the treacle.

Hermione joined them halfway through dessert.

Harry and Ron greeted her with their usual smiles and hugs, and Ron scooted over on the bench to make room for her - next to him, of course. And Hermione, equally as usual, said her 'hellos how have you been' without a flicker of deceit crossing her features. Ginny could not even look at her friend, not without seeing her tangled in an embrace with her enemy. The others couldn't see it; they were always so wrapped up in their own lives, so self-involved that they could never even pretend to see the subtle differences. Hermione was quieter, more relaxed and fluid both in speech and movement, but hesitant and weary, as though the toll of her lies were wearing down on her. After everything she had witnessed previously, only to return to this mundane, maddening normality, Ginny wanted to scream.

Hermione turned to her, a warm smiling crossing her face. "Have they been discussing Quidditch all night? Sorry I left you alone for that." It was sincere and friendly, and nothing she wanted to hear right now.

"Not a problem." Hollow words, a reflexive response, and then the image of the lovers flared in her mind. It was suffocating, being so near what she had once considered the only person she would ever trust inexplicably. "I... I have to go." In a swirl of red hair and black robes she hurried out of the hall, rushing through the doors and immediately slamming into Draco Malfoy, who was only just sauntering in.

"Watch it, Weasel," his sneer was as cold and cruel as she remembered, and she felt a renewed hatred towards him and his family, and now for Hermione, for betraying them for someone like him.

Perhaps it was the anger, or perhaps only a moment of seized madness, but she did not lower her gaze and scuttle off to Neville or Harry like she normally did. Instead, she met his gaze and, placing both hands on his chest, shoved him backwards against the stairs - he fell into a sitting position, momentarily stunned. "SHUT UP! Just shut up! Leave me alone!" She was oblivious to the crowd that had gathered, focused on Hermione, who had shouldered to the front with Ron and Harry. "Tell him to leave us alone, Hermione." Her voice was low, rough, and a nervous crowd tiptoed away rather than be privy to her wrath.

Brown eyes widened fractionally; Hermione Granger was, for once in her life, confused. "Why me, Ginny? Why do you think he would listen to me over you?" She smiled, desperate to change the direction of the conversation. "Honestly-"

"Because you're bloody sleeping with him!" The brown eyes widened fully, shock that she knew and hurt that she would tell, and Ginny's hands flew to her mouth; she had not meant for her secret to come out that way. Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head from side to side, near hysterical. "Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I didn't mean to tell everyone... I am so sorry." She was surprised to learn that she was, in fact, sorry for her outburst, when only minutes before she was fully prepared to shout it to the entire nation; they had been through so much for petty anger... or justified hatred, as this had been, to rip them apart.

"Hermione?" Ginny had almost forgotten Harry's presence, but his soft voice suddenly reminded her. They both turned to look at him, really look at him, and saw for once not a hero, but a young man, scared and confused. His eyes were soft, the shade of green they turned when he was emotionally exhausted, and Ginny immediately felt guilt that she had put that look there, and that after everything to happen to him in his life, she had taken away his only remaining family. "Hermione... what is she talking about?" His voice softened and he was a boy once more, looking with wide, pleading eyes at Hermione. She couldn't even meet his gaze, instead looking towards Draco, who slumped on the stairs, defeated. No one spoke, caught up in this eerie pantomime.

The sound of a loud slap broke the silence, and then Ginny was staggering backwards, clutching her cheek.

"Liar." Ron's voice was dangerous, more than they had ever heard, and his eyes had sharpened to a fierce hatred not even Draco had seen before. There was a new silence, as Ron advanced towards her again, and then the spell shattered in a flurry of motion and noise, like they were suddenly released from what had bound them there. Ginny, sobbing, spun away from her brother and ran for the stairs, pushing past Draco as he hastened to rise. Harry followed her, sparing only a moment to glare at Ron and lightly brush Hermione's arm as he rushed past, a silent 'I don't understand or approve of this; we'll talk later.' Draco disappeared in the commotion, slinking off to his rooms rather than interfere - after all, this was between the Golden Trio (and sister), not him. Which left Hermione and Ron, staring daggers at each other in the entryway.

"She shouldn't have said that about you."

"Yes, she should have. She was right."

Ron nearly broke, and everything that had made him Ron in the past just left his eyes, leaving a cold husk. "Oh."

She went towards him, holding an arm out to embrace him - perhaps. "Ron, I-"

"Whore!" He was out of the castle before the hurt could even register in her eyes.

x x x

He would never have found her without Myrtle's help, which he never expected but was grateful for, as she directed him to the broom closet on the second floor. She was curled into a tight ball beneath the shelves, seemingly dwarfed by her robes and the grief that choked the air. She didn't even notice when he came in, nor did she notice when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. It was the better part of ten minutes before she even noticed whose shirt she had been clutching and sobbing into. "Sorry," she attempted, but it came out more of a pathetic sniffle.

He smiled fondly before cupping her cheek. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore." She leaned into his hand, unconsciously seeking the warmth and rubbing against it like a cat. "I was more shocked than hurt, I suppose." She drew away from him sharply, the guilt once against rising over her head like a mantle. "I'm sorry... about Hermione."

The eyes flickered for a moment, then he was all concern once more for her well-being. "Not your fault." When she started to sob again he drew her into an embrace, surprising both with a soft kiss to the forehead.

x x x

"Hey." Hermione tiptoed into Draco's prefect room, separate from the rest of the Slytherin Tower, glancing at the young man sprawled spread-eagled on the bed. His eyes were closed, but he was awake, she knew; the lines around his eyes were never present when he was asleep, nor the stern set to his jaw. When he slept, which was rarely nowadays, with all that was happening, he was able to find peace. When he was sleeping, or when she was with him. She crawled across the bed to lay beside him, nestling against his side. "Sorry about ruining your reputa-"

"Don't." He didn't open his eyes, but he did move his arm to wrap it around her waist. They sat in silence, both tense and comfortable, and Hermione had a brief thought; she had just given up her oldest friend for a man who, although close, in ways, she barely knew. He was a mystery, even to her. A single tear slid down her cheek, only to be wiped away by a thumb.

He still hadn't opened his eyes.

One of his usual half-smirks crossed his face and, in that drawling tone, managed, "Call me Yoko." Half laughing, half sobbing, she threw her arms around him and wept herself to sleep.

x x x

He wandered for awhile, lost, before he found himself in London. He wasn't exactly sure how he had made it there, wasn't sure of anything anymore, but he remembered a violently purple bus... a ride that left him dizzy... and running out on Hermione's pain filled eyes. Life, madness, fluttered within his brain like butterflies, and with a single, amused thought, he realized that he could no longer tell what was real. That man there, across the street? He looked a bit like Hermione, and like himself... their son? What could have been, had it not been for Draco? A figment of his mind, or some eerie coincidence?

Hate.

He had never known hate like this, this feeling that coiled like a serpent in his chest, tugged like invisible demons at the ends of his hair. He had hated Draco in the past, yes, but the sheer magnitude of emotion felt now dwarfed even that. He hated. He hated... himself.

"What have I done?"

A frazzled mind replayed the events in his mind. Striking his sister, reaching out and making contact with his only sister, his favourite sibling, his friend. She would never forgive him for that, nor did he want her to. Sudden clarity struck him like an explosion in the night: I am not a worthy man. I am not a good man. Betraying Hermione, shattering their bond and tearing her apart with a few words, his friend, his hero, his love. I am not a worthy man, he thought, and I never deserved her. With a start, he found that he had climbed the tower of London Bridge. "I can see eternity," even his voice sounded older, weary. He felt lighter now with his epiphany, that mankind would be better off without him.

He felt so light, he was sure he would fly.

And fly he did, consumed by hatred and gold fire, before the lifeless body plunged into the Thames.

x x x

It's funny, that only now do I look back on my actions and see how utterly selfish they were. Rather than think about those events, think about anything and trying to coolly sort out the feelings plaguing my mind, I thought only of myself. And, in choosing to think only of myself, I endangered wizards everywhere; brought to end millennia of hiding from Muggles. Perhaps it is best I was not alive to see my handiwork.

Because of me, the war was begun.