Part 2 - Forgiveness
The front room of the house at Godric's Hollow was full of people, but there was very little noise. When Ron found himself at the last place on earth he'd ever thought to visit, he was overcome with emotion at the sight before him.
He'd not lost all contact with his family, but he rarely saw them. He had had enough of their recriminations over the years; he visited only on holidays or when his mother put in a particularly tearful request. His parents did their best to keep talk of his broken friendship to a minimum in their house when he was visiting - they had no desire to alienate their youngest son. He knew that they hoped he would reconcile with Harry and Hermione, two people they had long thought of as extensions to their brood. But they didn't push him for fear they would never see him again.
Here they all were, though. The entire Weasley clan, save Charlie, who still lived in Romania, and Percy, whose exile from the family had been made permanent when he died during the war.
In addition to his own parents and siblings, he was faced with the gloomy faces of Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood; he also saw some unfamiliar faces in the crowd, most likely coworkers or neighbours. He saw Hermione's father, attempting to play the good host and ignore the nightmare falling down around him. He was serving coffee and tea to the various guests.
In the background, he heard a baby crying.
When he saw Mrs. Granger carry little Ariana Potter into the front room, he was certain he'd made a mistake in coming here. It was one thing to shred the photograph of the child that had been sent to him six or so months ago. It was quite another to come face to face with her. To look at her dark shiny hair, messed up in curls on her head. To see the tears shining in her big eyes.
A child. He'd influenced the life of an innocent child. And not in a good way.
What had he done to her?
He felt himself swaying as the emotion-charged atmosphere became too much for him. Had he dehydrated himself? What did he eat for lunch? Was the firewhiskey he'd gulped down before he Apparated to Godric's Hollow coming back to haunt him? He swiftly turned and ran out the front door. In the lovely flowers that lined the front walk - flowers that he was certain Hermione had tended with care - he vomited out every single thing that had been lurking in his stomach.
He was bending over, or was he on his knees? Ron wasn't sure anymore. He found himself hoping…no, praying that this was all a bad dream. Things were fading in and out; memories were flooding his mind.
Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort.
He was no longer in control and he didn't like that feeling. He'd sworn when he left Hogwarts for points unknown that he would never let anyone else influence his life so strongly again. He would be his own master, determine his own fate…always. This was the first time in five years that his shelter had been breached. He was angry and bitter and frustrated…and sad and scared and suffering.
"Are you all right, son?" his father asked as he put a hand on Ron's back.
"Yeah, fine," Ron said briskly. "I reckon my lunch was a bit dodgy, that's all." He closed his eyes in the hopes of blocking out the disappointment he was sure coloured his father's expression.
"Seems to be a lot of dodgy food about. I don't believe Harry's kept anything down for weeks."
Looking up at his father, Ron saw a small, sad smile on his face. He didn't look disappointed at all. He didn't even look angry. He looked…Ron didn't know what his father was feeling. He just looked like his father. Arthur Weasley. Steadfast and strong. Calm and loving.
Ron stood. "So, Mum sent you to deal with me, did she? It's a rotten job, but someone's gotta do it. Are you allowed back inside if you fail?"
Arthur handed his son a handkerchief. "No, son. No one sent me out here. I saw the lost look on your face. I thought maybe I could help."
"Lost? You're barking," Ron said, wiping his face and stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket. "I know exactly where I am and why I'm here. I'm supposed to give the deathbed performance. Throw myself at the mercy of the girl who broke my heart. Beg her forgiveness before she leaves this world." He felt the tears in his eyes before he could stop them. Perhaps he should have brought that bottle with him. "Don't worry, Dad. I know what my part here is."
"I love you, Ronald. I just want you to know that. We all do. There is nothing that could ever change that."
Now the damn tears were leaking out of his eyes. "Don't…," he choked out. "Don't say it, Dad. It's a load of bollocks, anyway. I mean, I know you and Mum - …but I see all the faces…the ones who want to throttle me…the ones who want to turn me out…and the awful bloody ones who pity me." He gathered his strength. "And I don't care! They're right to want to hurt me, and I don't give a toss!" He turned away from his father, and the pain, and wiped the tears from his face with viciousness.
"I can't control what everybody thinks or how they deal with their grief. All I can do is assure you that it's never too late, son. Never. You may be right about everyone in that house, Ron. Except one. She asked for you, Ron. She wants to see you. She doesn't hate you." Arthur was pleading; his eyes had filled up as well. He stood behind Ron and put his hands on his shoulders. "Give her this, Ron. You must give her this. Do it for her. Do it for him. And do it for yourself. Go to her now, before it's too late."
Ron sighed heavily. After a moment, he nodded. "Give me a minute…to…you know. All right?"
Arthur didn't respond. He merely patted Ron on the back and walked back into the house.
Ron stood tall, raising himself up to his full height, and took a deep breath. The air seemed fresher here, in the country. He was reminded of the Burrow and it comforted him. But as he turned back toward the house, he felt the fresh air escape his lungs. Harry stood at a window on the second level, holding the curtains back and staring at Ron with a stern expression. The expression of a man who'd soon face his executioner, Ron thought.
And the memories hit him again, like a bludger to the head.
I'm not laughing. It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team!
As the curtains settled themselves back into place, Ron tore his gaze from the second floor window and took another deep breath. Please let me wake up from this living hell.
He walked into the house again and looked at no one. He strode with purpose to the stairs at the back of the house and he took them two at a time. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was all the strength he had and he would use it until he collapsed.
He pushed open the one closed door and stood face to face with death…and redemption. A strange juxtaposition, he thought. And yet perfectly natural.
Hermione's mother sat by the bed reading a story while Hermione held her baby daughter close to her and played with her fingers, kissing them and pretending to nibble on them. Ariana laughed and laid her head on her mother's shoulder, the sounds of her grandmother's voice lulling her to rest.
The beauty of the moment nearly tore him to pieces. Mother would lose daughter; daughter would lose mother. Three generations of Granger women fractured for good.
He stood frozen in time and space, feeling the adrenaline that brought him here drain out of him completely. He hadn't realised how strong his grip on the doorknob was until he felt someone pry his fingers free.
"Have a seat. They're almost done." Harry's voice was unrecognizable. It was raw and deep and filled with emotion.
He'll never be the same again, Ron thought. Never.
He sat in the armchair that rested in front of the window, glad for the distraction. He pushed aside the curtains and tried to follow the path of a wayward robin. Vaguely, he heard Mrs. Granger pick up the peaceful child and walk out of the room. He didn't turn to see it. He didn't turn to see Harry lift his wife from their bed. He didn't acknowledge them when he could see Harry put her gently in the armchair opposite Ron's. He followed the robin until it disappeared.
"I'm glad you've come," she said, her sweet voice interrupting his thoughts. She looked so frail, so damaged to him. And yet she sat with dignity and a smile on her face, the warmth so evident inside of her contrasting the aching chill that pervaded him. She reached across the distance that separated them and squeezed his hand. He looked at her small hand on his and slowly raised his eyes to her. He hadn't known what he expected to see reflected in her eyes but not this…not…love?
He became aware of his difficulty breathing. He became aware of the wetness in his eyes again. He became aware of Harry's hunched figure leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He became aware of the bile in his stomach and how it was longing to get out again. He shook her hand off of him as if brushing away a spider, in horror. He stood and got as close as he could to the window without jumping out. Where is that blasted bird?
"Right, then. I guess I'll do the talking. Nothing new there, eh? I'd ask Harry to leave, Ron, but I think it's important that we're all here for this."
Not turning to face her, he said, "You…er, shouldn't you be in bed? Getting some rest? It looks, er, like you need some rest, Hermione. You look tired." He saw his breath hitting the windowpane and disappearing.
"I'll get all the rest I need soon enough."
He turned to her quickly with eyes wide.
"I don't have time for dragonshit, Ron. Don't worry about me. I'm being kept alive by a dozen different potions and charms meant to hold off the inevitable. All I asked was a bit of time, to…to set things right." She inhaled deeply and slowly let go of her breath. Harry snatched a blanket from the bed and tucked it around her, kissing the top of her head when he was done. She grabbed his hand and held it against her cheek; then she looked up at him with so much love Ron nearly choked.
Ron turned away from the sight. In his peripheral vision, however, he could see Harry squat down and push a stray hair out of her face. He could see Harry lean in and kiss his wife tenderly on the lips. He could see their foreheads touch. He turned a bit more and missed what else passed between them with relief. He then saw Harry sit on the floor and lean back against the wall, closing his eyes once again, as if he couldn't bear to watch what he was being forced to hear.
"Are you happy, Ron?"
Am I happy? Am I happy? Did she just ask if I'm happy? Ron turned to look at Hermione, his bewilderment evident on his face.
"Are you happy?" she repeated.
"I, erm…dunno." He shrugged his shoulders. Thinking for a moment he replied, "Not right now, I'm not."
Hermione laughed. "No, I don't expect you are happy right now. But I meant…before this. Before tonight. Are you happy with your life, Ron? Are you happy…without us? Is it all you thought it would be? Are you free, relieved?"
"I…I don't think everyone's meant to be happy," he said in a rush. At this, Harry snorted. "Well, I mean…it's not as though life is a party, is it? We all learned that the hard way. I mean, some times are good, some bad. Things are…complicated that way. Nothing's ever meant to be perfect. But…well, yeah. Yeah, I'm happy. This is how it was supposed to be."
Hermione studied his face for a minute or two. He looked away and plopped down in the chair. He was knackered, and he was becoming even more uncomfortable under her scrutiny. When at last she spoke, he was stung by her words.
"You're in pain. You're miserable. You're suffering."
Now he was angry. "Oh, yeah? Whatever, Hermione. You go on thinking whatever you'd like; it's not like anyone could ever prevent that." He leaned forward and looked her dead in the eye. "I'm sorry you're dying. I really am. But don't do this. Don't you fucking well do this! Don't think that your bleeding…d-, death is an excuse for you to dissect my life. I have no problem with my life. I like my life. It's comfortable. It's f-, fun. It's what I always wanted. And it'll continue to get better. I have plans, you know. Big plans. I don't need your fucking advice or your forgive-…." He stopped. For some reason, he couldn't finish that sentence…that word.
Hermione was looking at him in a strange way. It was almost like she was smiling at him, proud of him for some reason. He sat back, again turning to look out the window.
After a while, Hermione broke the silence.
"It's not your fault."
"I know it's not," he snapped.
More silence.
"You're not to blame. Voldemort did this to me."
"I know!"
"No, you don't. You don't know. You think this is all your fault and it's eating you up inside."
"You're so sure of yourself, aren't you?! Reckon you've sussed it all out? The blasted witch with all the answers. Well, NOT this time!"
"If you don't acknowledge it now, Ron, when will you? When you lose everything you have - your flat, your job, your mates - to that addiction of yours? When you're alone on your next birthday because you won't allow your family to celebrate it with you? When you sabotage your next relationship like the last dozen or so?"
She paused for a moment, then added, "When I'm dead?"
Ron's head turned so quickly he thought his neck might snap. He took in the sight of Harry's head dropping into his hands, his body wracked with silent sobs. Hermione's eyes had filled up and she slumped back against the chair, clearly sapped of her strength.
Her breathing was becoming laboured and her voice was soft when she spoke. "I asked you here, Ron, because I want to you stop this nonsense. And if I can't be demanding now…." She trailed off to catch her breath.
"You are killing yourself, Ronald Weasley. You are destroying a person that I care very much about. A person that I love - yes, love. And I won't fade from this world without trying to do something about it."
She leaned forward and spoke louder. "I'm dying, for fuck's sake! I won't live to see next week. I'm here to ask you, Ron. Do you want to face this…face death…never having lived?" Her wheezing became more pronounced and she sat back once again, confident that she had made a point.
And she went on. "You're not living. You're existing. You're feeding off of your bitterness and your guilt. You like to think of it as righteous indignation and…and anger, and…whatever else your addled brain has come up with to describe what eats you up inside. You're surviving with alcohol and meaningless sex and probably some potions no one knows about, right? You numb yourself because you can't deal with it. With life." She took a few breaths.
"Meanwhile, I'm losing a life I would give anything to hold onto. I have a husband who I love more than I ever thought possible. A baby girl who lights up my world, even now when things are darkest. I have a family and friends who surround me with warmth and companionship and I love them all. I have…had a fulfilling career and plans that would knock your socks off. I have a beautiful home, a lovely English garden, the library I've always dreamt of…and precious memories. So many precious memories, Ron. I have happiness and beauty and love."
She turned her head and looked at her husband. Ron saw the tears roll over her cheeks.
"Harry has them, too. At least, he did have before this particular nightmare was thrust upon him."
Harry lifted his head and looked at her. "I have precious memories, as well," he croaked out. "I wish…I wish I could trade places…." But Ron saw that he couldn't finish that sentence. From Hermione's expression of pity, he guessed that Harry had said that many times over the past few months.
She turned her tear-stained face back to Ron. She was lying against the back of the chair and was clearly straining herself at this point. "We've missed you, Ron." He looked into her eyes and knew she was telling the truth. "I want you to come back to life, and I want you to be - …I want you and Harry to - …," she broke off with a sigh. "I want you to be a part of his life. I want to leave this world," she said as she started to weep, "knowing that you'll be here for him. Please, Ron."
She was weeping and weak. Harry was sobbing into his hands, hiding his face. Ron was crying, too, despite his attempts to hold it all in. He leaned on his legs and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration.
This just isn't happening.
He could almost feel the barriers around his heart crumbling. She was getting to him. The situation was getting to him. Harry's pitiful sobbing was getting to him. The room was getting to him. The disappearance of that ruddy bird was getting to him.
"What is it you want from me, Hermione?" he managed to whisper to her. "Are you asking me to forgive you? Are you asking me to forgive Harry? To get past everything that you - …that he - …all the shite you - …."
Oh, sweet Merlin.
There was nothing. Faced with the enormity of this situation, Ron was able to think clearly for the first time in five years. Nothing. How could this be?
How could he have changed the direction of his entire life for nothing. They had betrayed him. Hadn't they? Harry had been selfish and taken her from him. Harry, who had everything Ron ever wanted, had taken the only girl Ron had ever been comfortable with. Harry…whose life was so….
No!
They blamed him. Right? They blamed Ron for Hermione's pain. They blamed him for what she went through to recover from that curse. They blamed him for their problems. Didn't they? Harry was the favourite son. Even in his own household. Harry was the Quidditch star. Harry was worried over and fussed about. Harry was not blamed for anything. But Harry was the one who put Hermione in danger. Harry was the one that had brought Voldemort to their doorstep. He was to blame and they made him a hero…and Ron was the goat once again.
All those years ago, Ron's fondest wish had been to switch places with Harry.
He looked at Harry now. He saw how thin he was, how pale he was, how pained he was. And Ron's house of cards fell down around him.
Hermione had followed his gaze.
"He needs you, Ron. Please?"
"You don't want me to forgive you," Ron hissed out, barely able to speak through the tears. "You…you…oh God…you want me to ask you for forgiveness." His face crumpled and he began to sob just as Harry was doing.
"Hermione!" he heard Harry call out to her.
She was grabbing the sides of her chair, then his chair and pulling herself over to him. She kneeled before him and took his face in her hands. He looked her in the eye.
"No, Ron. I forgave you a long time ago." She was struggling but she didn't let go of him; she didn't give up her hold over his attention as she searched his eyes.
"I want you to forgive yourself."
He broke down completely. He grabbed her up in his arms and sobbed like a baby into her chest. He felt her weak grip on him strengthen as she tried to soothe him. He released it all at last. All the pain. All the envy. All the bitterness. All the guilt.
It felt so good. So good to let it all go.
He looked up at the woman he used to argue with for sport. He looked at the girl who drove him batty but got him through school. He looked at the person who saved his life more than once.
Even in her dying hours, she knew what he needed.
This thought drew him back to reality. Holding her, he was suddenly aware of how fragile she'd become. She was skin and bones. He knew that she had been delaying the inevitable. He knew that she was not long for this world.
And he looked at Harry. It was easy to see the scared little boy he'd met on the train all those years ago. Sitting in a corner, crying his eyes out. Harry was watching them, a small smile shone through his tears.
Ron smiled back. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"So am I," Harry replied.
* * *
Hermione Potter was buried in the cemetery at the edge of the village where James and Lily Potter rested. Harry would take Ariana in her pushchair to visit her mum and her grandparents almost daily.
They would pick flowers from the garden for them and as Ariana got older, she would tell her mummy stories. She would tell her about her favourite books and her least favourite foods. She would tell her about the movies that Nanny and Granddad Granger would take her to see. She would tell her about her new friends at school and her Quidditch prowess. She told her about the silly things she did to make Daddy happy.
And she told her all about her adventures with Uncle Ron.