Pick Up the Pieces

MeiQueen

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 16/06/2006
Last Updated: 16/06/2006
Status: paused

When Hermione (Granger) Weasley is left widowed after an attack on Ron, Harry takes her to live with him and his wife Ginny, taking it upon himself to pick up the pieces. But will Harry get a little TOO involved with his new roommate? Rated for possible later chapters.

Chapters

1. Three's Company

1. Three's Company

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Pick Up the Pieces

Mei Queen

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Authoress’ Note: Random. There’s very little H/Hr action in this chapter because I want my story to be realistic. I’m taking what the canon actually gave us, not feelings created randomly on a whim that the characters in canon really didn’t possess. This story is going to be a pretty monumental undertaking, I can already tell. Please be patient with it, though…I think it has possibilities.

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Disclaimer: I don’t own them. Please don’t sue me, Jo.

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Chapter 1: Three’s Company

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I sighed, taking the cup of tea closer to my body that was wracking with sobs. I could hear my mother-in-law rustling around my kitchen, trying to put some new food in the fridge before switching on the oven. I was very grateful for that woman, even if I was in no state to tell her so. If it weren’t for Molly Weasley, I’m damned sure that I would have died by now. The woman was at my side whenever my own parents weren’t, forcing food down my throat, coaxing me day by day into just one more bite, just one more shirt to put on, one more day to live.

My husband Ronald, the love of my life and one of the two best friends I have ever known… passed away a week and a half ago.

A week and a half? Was it possible? It felt like yesterday, an hour ago even, that I had gotten the call from the Ministry. I had only caught snatches of the conversation, I felt so dizzy when I realised what they were calling to relay. I heard “crazed Death Eaters” and began to feel faint. By the time I heard “ambushed him outside of work. He didn’t have a chance against the five of them”, I had flat passed out on the kitchen floor.

It was Harry Potter, my other best friend and the only person in the entire universe that could have a remote idea of the pain that I was experiencing, that had brought me round. He was always in and out of the house nowadays, too.

I hadn’t gone to work since it happened.

I used to petition the rights of magical creatures for the Ministry of Magic, a rather prestigious position, actually. But right now, I couldn’t care. Oddly coinciding with my lack of cash intake, I hadn’t seen any bills appearing either. I had the sneaking suspicion that Harry, my parents and Molly were fighting it out over the bills. Harry’s probably paid the lot, I thought with a small smile. He always preferred spending his money on his friends.

Mind coming back to the present and eyes slipping to the beautiful framed wedding photograph on the wall, I felt like every bit of me was slipping away, about to descend in to the grave with him. The funeral was tomorrow.

I was terrified. Even though it was really the least of my worries, I had no idea what I could possibly wear.

Nothing fit anymore. I could feel my clothes swimming on my bony frame. Even though Molly forced me to eat, I found that I had no appetite. I would eat a few bites to appease her before pushing any food away. Food had lost its taste. Italian reminded me of the sweet little café that Ron had proposed to me in. Indian reminded me of the takeout curries Ron and I would grab when we took special day trips to London while Christmas shopping for friends.

Everything reminds me of Ron Weasley, I noted, a particularly bitter tear slipping down my right cheek.

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“And now his wife, Hermione, would like to say a few words,” the preacher announced sombrely at the wake. The words resounded in my ears as I tried to unsteadily rise from my chair, vision blurred from tears. What was I going to say? My sister-in-law, Ginny, looked up from where she had been sitting with her husband, Harry. Giving me an encouraging smile and handing me a small wad of tissues, she helped guide me up to the platform. I was perfectly capable of walking, but it seems like the simple tasks like walking, eating, breathing…the things that we never think about normally…well, they’re the first abilities to go when you’re mourning loved ones.

Clearing my throat and tucking a stray bit of fringe back behind my ear, I slowly surveyed the audience. It was a big turnout, many of Ron’s Ministry co-workers, a few of my own, our friends, family…the place was packed. Even though I’ve always had something of an aversion to extreme public speaking, a part of me felt compelled to do this, so I gulped nervously and began.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley and I have known one another since First Year, when I became friends with him and his best mate Harry after defeating a troll. The three of us were so close, it seemed like there was nothing that we couldn’t do if we all put our heads together, even defeating a full-grown mountain troll as First Years,” I trailed off slightly, chuckling. “The three of us complimented each other like nothing else.”

I met Harry’s emerald eyes with nervousness apparent on my features, but at his encouraging nod, I continued. “But for as well as we worked as a team, Ron and I always had difficulties with each other. For the first six years of our friendship, it was remarkable if Ron and I agreed on anything. And if we did, it was rare, and usually a moment of sanity that Harry was grateful for.”

There was a slight murmur of laughter that rippled through the crowd.

“But in our seventh year, we found one important thing that we both really agreed on: we fancied the hell out of one another.” I choked back a sob, noting the sympathetic glances of many of the members of the audience. “I love and still love Ron with all my heart, and when he proposed right out of Hogwarts, I had no regrets for saying yes. It was the middle of a war. We didn’t know how long we would be able to love one another and be with one another. We were married for a blissful five years…and now…this.”

I trailed off slightly, closing my eyes and trying to find the will to continue. Dabbing one of Ginny’s tissues to my eyes, I cleared my throat and continued.

“I think that it’s cruel that even now that You-Know-Who has been put to rest, his supporters that refuse to give up his horrible cause had to c-come…”

I was sobbing hysterically by now, but I waved off the approach of the preacher. I had something else to say, and I’ll be damned if I was giving up this podium before I said it.

“If there is anything You-Know-Who in all of his cruelty has shown us, it’s that we should value the ones we love. We should hold on to and tell them how we feel before it’s too late. I’m lucky; Ron knew how I feel about him…it was apparent in everything that we did.” I chuckled briefly. “We would argue about stupid things like who finished the marmalade, just to have a chance to make up, sometimes...”

Molly was meeting my eyes with her own tear-stained ones, smiling faintly.

“Ron was a caring, loving, and attentive husband. He was the best friend anyone could have asked for. I’m positive he would have made a wonderful father,” I whispered with a wince, tears flowing hard and fast. “I’ll miss him so much.”

This time it was Harry that got up to help guide me back to my seat, right hand covering my mouth and Kleenex clutched firmly in my left.

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Sitting weakly in my chair after the wake, mind obviously elsewhere, I could hear a conversation from the other room. Actually, conversation was a rather generous term, it seemed more along the “argument” or “full-fledged row” lines, from what I could make out.

A female voice was shrieking in annoyance. “You want to do what? Harry, I love you, and I care about you greatly. But you’re asking a lot. That’s one loo for three people, one more mouth to feed, less room in our place…”

“So what, Gin?” the male voice asked in exasperation. “You don’t pay the bills. I do, and I want her there. And as far as the loo bit goes, I’ll build a new damn one if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not it; I just wish you would include me in decisions like this!”

I could hear Harry letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m including you right now, Ginny. What more do you want, an owl every bloody thirty seconds? ‘Oh, well right now I think ‘Mione should move in. What about you, honey?’…thirty seconds later… ‘You’re right, Gin. Three people really are too many to share a loo’. I mean, really, Ginny. Stop being childish.”

Oh, brilliant move there, I thought with ambivalence, blowing my nose in another tissue while I continued to eavesdrop.

Sure enough, Ginny wasn’t very thrilled. “Childish? Excuse me, maybe I heard you incorrectly, you prat! Childish, eh? Well, take your ‘childish’ and shove it up your arse!”

“Oh, come on, Gin. All right, I’m sorry. But, please…I can’t let her stay at her house; she’ll starve herself to death. And Mrs Weasley, for all her attentiveness, does actually have a life to attend to. You, meanwhile, are home all day, and I’m paying for her to stay.”

“So, basically,” the snarky redhead summarised, “you are going to leave for work everyday and leave me to take care of her when you were the one that wanted her to stay in the first place.”

“Fine. I’ll take some time off of work and I’ll take care of her myself, then.”

For some reason, Harry’s statement had only served to incense Ginny further. “So you couldn’t take time off for a holiday to Majorca for our anniversary, but yet you have nothing better to do now than take care of her?”

“I am not going to have this conversation with you right now. Poor Hermione is in there, probably still in hysterics. We need to take her home.”

“And where is her home, exactly?” Ginny countered icily.

“Give me the bloody keys, Ginny, and you’ll find out.”

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I allowed myself to be led slowly to Ginny and Harry Potter’s station wagon that was parked rather haphazardly outside the funeral home (if I remembered correctly, Ginny didn’t even have her licence, so I have no idea why Harry consented to his wife driving their vehicle). Sighing and grudgingly sliding in to the backseat, I put on my seat belt and listened to the slow purr of the engine roaring to life. As Harry manoeuvred the car on to the empty street, my gaze fell to the crushed program I was grasping as if my life depended on it in my left hand. Unfolding it, I was met with the front of the program, which had a brief description of Ron’s life and a photo of my late husband smiling back at me from a picture taken right before our wedding. Choking back a sob, I allowed my index finger to gently caress his smiling face. We were so happy…

Momentarily forgetting my thoughts, I looked out the window. This street looks really familiar, but I can’t quite place it. It’s definitely not my own, that’s for sure…

An overwhelming feeling of exhaustion coming over me like a wave, I decided I couldn’t be bothered to find out where we were. Harry was going to take me where he was going to, and so I decided to finally get some rest. My nights had generally been sleepless since the news, so I could really do with a nice kip.

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It was Ginny’s voice that startled me out of my lovely nap.

“We’re here,” she stated unenthusiastically, opening the door to the backseat for me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled simply, looking up to the house. We were at Harry and Ginny’s. But…why, again? I couldn’t remember as my whole mind felt foggy. Most of the past week and a half had been a complete blur; I had accepted sympathies and received hugs and handshakes from people I didn’t even know that we knew. I had no idea what was going on with my job, my life, my family, my friends…and I couldn’t be bothered to care.

I was Hermione Jayne Granger, and I always took everything seriously, making sure to perform everything completely and to the fullest of my ability. My perfectionism even applies to my mourning, apparently, I mentally quipped before allowing Harry to lead me in to the house and baby me. (“Can I get you something to drink, ‘Mione?” “No? Well, are you hungry? You look starved.” “Er, how about a little television, then?”)

Sighing, I waved off Harry’s offers, asking where a bed was since I felt completely exhausted.

“Of course,” Harry replied with a nod, smiling and leading me to the bedroom that was normally reserved for guests. I looked at the full bed, with its lovely throw pillows carefully hand-picked by Ginny, down comforter, and multiple pillows with a relieved sigh. “Thank Merlin,” I whispered, allowing my body to collapse on the smooth duvet. By the time Harry had clicked the door shut, I was already lost to the world.

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When I woke, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something sitting on the floor that hadn’t been there before. Clothes… Lots and lots of clothes… Stuff.

Looking closer, I noticed that it was all of my belongings, packed up neatly into boxes and placed in Harry’s guest bedroom, which, I realised with a start, was to be mine.

“Oh, up, are you?” Ginny asked brightly, her long scarlet mane swinging obediently behind her as she walked in to the room with a tray of food.

I managed a meagre smile at the redhead, nodding. Pointing to the stuff, I croaked, “Who brought it over?”

“We took your house key and got it all packed while you were asleep. If we forgot anything, just let us know and we’ll go get it for you,” she replied considerately, sitting on the corner of my bed across from me. “It’s probably hard to go there for you; I’d imagine…memories, and all.”

I managed a weak nod before looking at the tray she’d brought in. “So, what do we have here?”

“Oh,” she replied with a grin. “I decided to cook something for you, Harry says you haven’t eaten much today.”

My eyes must have betrayed my utter terror, because Ginny threw her head back in a laugh. “No, silly,” the redhead managed between chuckles. “Not the Muggle way, we all know what a horrid cook I am. You think I want to blow up our new kitchen? Yeah, right.”

I couldn’t help it. I felt a slow grin spread across my face at the easy manner of Harry’s wife. I could see why he had married her. They complimented each other, well…when he wasn’t off feeding his hero complex and she wasn’t being a whiny bint, anyway.

I managed a genuine smile of thanks for the redhead. “Thank you, Ginny.”

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Later, when Ginny and Harry were watching television in the living room, I sat up alone in my bed. Savouring the darkness, I looked out the window, eyes on the moon. I love the moon. For some reason, the idea of a whole universe bigger than me always helps to set my problems in to perspective. Unfortunately, though, it didn’t seem to be having that effect tonight. I still miss Ron just as much. I suppose that there’s nothing as painful and as irredeemable as losing a loved one…you can’t apologise your way out of death. Either way, he’ll still be gone…

“I miss you, Ron,” I whispered, looking up to the sky and feeling another tear slip down my cheek. Did I honestly think he could hear me? Not really. But I liked to pretend that he could…it made me feel less… alone. And now, moved in to my best friend and his wife’s house without my permission, I knew I would feel more alone than ever. Harry’s motivations were noble, as they always were. But I don’t think he realised when he was packing my antique china set that by forcing me to live with him, I’d just be reminded daily of what I was missing because of those cruel Death Eaters and their trigger-happy wands. Did he think, perhaps when he packed my wedding photos, that I might possibly not want a happy marriage shoved in my face day after day?

Probably not. Harry went with the option that would assure him of my safety, and for that, I was grateful. But, as I listened to the sounds of the television (one of my favourite sitcoms, from what I could make out…undoubtedly a ruse to try to lure me out of my room), I realised that my gratitude did not extend to sitting down with them and enjoying an evening of television, pretending everything was perfectly fine. My thanks to Harry for being a wonderful friend did not extend to being a third wheel, I’m afraid. I hadn’t gotten that desperate…yet.

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Authoress’ Note: Reviewing, as I always say, is good for the soul.