"Here," he said, handing her a blue mug of tea.
"You've gone all muggle on us," she joked glancing around the room. She was perched on the edge of his couch, bent over the steaming mug. She tasted it wearily, checking the temperature before taking a more lasting mouthful.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked bravely. He had settled on refusing meaningless conversation. She needed to talk to someone about this but he could see she had trouble starting.
"It's nothing big. Ron…is just so preoccupied with work. The only time I see him is at night, after work, after our lives are over for the day. It used to be different, we used to work together. When the business was first established, it was the whole family…together. But now…it's like it has taken over Ron. He can't seem to leave work, at work. He brings it home and it just devours all his time. I wanted children, I wanted a family…but it wouldn't be right to bring a child into a family that barely has a father."
Harry sat on the pine coffee table opposite her, watching her every move and listening to her every word. Her hands trembled every now and again causing her to put down her mug. She continued to divulge her secret marriage problems to him until almost an hour had past. She seemed to be more settled into her new surroundings as she leaned back into the couch. She had not cried but now Harry saw her eyes redden and fresh tears trickle down her cheek.
"I think he's been unfaithful," she whispered quietly as if there were press officials waiting outside on the balcony. "He'd come home later than he usually does and he'll be totally evasive and would not talk to me at all. And I can't talk to anybody because there will always be someone who blabs fucking everything to the papers!" she finished furiously.
A long silence followed her speech until Harry finally found enough courage to ask the question plaguing him. "Why don't you leave?"
She gave him disappointed look. "Is that your answer to everything Harry? Leave, call it quits, and just go."
Fighting past an angry retort he kept his thoughts on her. "Ron obviously doesn't want to remain with you. Start a new life, Hermione. You're only twenty eight years old…it's not like your life is over."
"You don't understand…I still love him," she replied meekly.
"Do you?" he prompted, not believing her. He had seen this situation many times with other cases he had been involved in. Wives clinging to marriages long gone. Fires that had burned and extinguished long ago. He waited for her answer knowing what she would do.
"Yes," she lied, not looking at him. "I better go. It's getting late." It was half past six.
***************************************************************
Three gruelling days had passed and still the case had not turned up anything. For some reason Harry knew that in some way Ron was guilty, even if it was just tax fraud. He spent most of his time in his small cramped office, spectacled and searching.
Revolving in his chair, he opened a metal drawer in his filing cabinet and pulled out an expenditure report and an income report. He flipped open the file and examined it until he finally saw something that caused his headache to lighten slightly. He leaped out of his seat, grabbed his suit jacket and entered the long corridor outside his office. His shoes clipped the floor as he strode down to the research department and knocked soundly on their door.
"I need a full report on all credit card expenses between January last year and last March, as soon as possible," he requested quickly before returning to his office. He regained his seat and let his mind wander while he waited. He had not heard from Hermione since the day at his apartment. He deliberated whether she thought about him at all since their last encounter.
He contemplated the possibility that she would leave Ron and he could finally tell her how much he loved her. Was it too far-fetched an idea? Was he just messing around with old plans…lost plans? Was this the reason he was so driven to have Ron shamed and poor? If so, he knew he was playing with the devil. Taunting him into view. If Ron Weasley had one thing, it was a pack of flesh-eating lawyers.
He had seen Ron twice, each time he held his silence and ignorant languid exterior as Ron threw insults at him. A knock on the door interrupted his ruminations. "Come in," he called.
A small wrinkled goblin entered and placed a heap of papers onto Harry's desk. "The papers you demanded, sir," he croaked before leaving with Harry's thanks. Harry rounded his desk and quickly flipped through the papers. There was a lot of activity on Ron's credit card in mid-October of last year. He removed the file marked `October' and retook his seat. Tossing it open he immediately sat up straight. It seemed that Ron had been buying stock for his brothers joke shop. Suspicious was an understatement. His finger traced a line to the name of the seller and a smirk found its way to his face.
Morealon's Industries was an immense corporation founded almost twenty years ago by a young egotistical wizard by the name of Ion Morealon. The business had gone from strength to strength, expanding and going places McDonalds could only dream of. Then one day about eighteen months ago, Harry had been asked to investigate him. It had been one of Harry's toughest cases and still rose above all others. What Harry found forever changed his views of the wealthy and the prosperity of the world.
Drugs. Lots of drugs. Mr. Morealon smuggled them into the country from the one and only Colombia, not difficult when you're a wizard, then sold the drugs on. But that wasn't the excellent, brilliant part. The excellence entered when Harry discovered who they were sold on to. Muggles.
Over one million muggles got their daily dose from Mr. Morealon. And Harry had him on his knees. Except one minor detail. You see, when opposing drug barons, you may be able to bring them to their knees but they can break yours. And so Harry was paid off and nothing was ever told. Gringotts, being conservative, released Mr. Morealon and it was told he had opened up one of his largest accounts in Switzerland.
With the money Harry had purchased his modern MX-5 and then anonymously given the remainder of it to St. Mungo's. A reprehensible and discreditable act one which he rarely liked to think about.
Now seeing his name mentioned on the same document as Ron's, well it made and ruined Harry's days. This case had officially become dangerous. He had to approach it warily and as clandestinely as he could. First he had to ask the inevitable question. What was Ron buying that cost over two thousand Galleons? Flicking through the rest of the reports he learned that Ron spent about that amount every two months, without fail for the past year and a half.
Sighing, he fell back into his chair, scratching his rapidly forming beard. It was time he had to face Ron or have at least a lengthy conversation with him. It was time for answers.
He packed some paperwork into his leather case, filed the rest of it away and picked up an apple he was keeping on his desk. After locking the door securely with his wand, he made a swift visit to his secretary, an elderly woman with hair as white as snow. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."
"Evening, Imelda. Listen…I need you to set up an interview with Ronald Weasley for tomorrow afternoon. Here in the office," he specified. It was unusual for a client to have to appear in Gringotts, it was usually Harry who did the travelling.
"Yes, Mr. Potter," she responded with her feeble voice. She scribbled it down then nodded a goodbye to Harry, who acknowledged it with a wave. As he walked down Diagon Alley amidst the remaining stragglers of the day, he munched on his apple which he soon realised was horrendously rotten. Throwing it into an overflowing dustbin he decided to make a brief stop at a small café off the main street. He sat outside under a canopy and ordered a coffee.
The blonde waitress who carried out his coffee placed a Daily Prophet on his table. "Keep up with the news," she said vivaciously with a slight wink. Unfolding the paper he immediately froze when he read the headline. `Weasley's Weekly Wanders.' Under the bold alliterative headline was a photograph of Ron enthusiastically kissing a blonde haired, leather covered, what appeared to be dominatrix, woman. The photograph then turned into an image of Ron chasing after the photographer, fury written all over his face.
Harry ran a hand across his own face miserably, throwing down the paper aggressively. He did not have to read it; he already knew what it would say. Ron had been caught in the act and now not only would he suffer the embarrassment so would Hermione. There was nothing he could do to help. This was her battle.
**************************************************************
The interview area was a bare walled square room. An empty table was surrounded by four chairs and that was the only furniture of the room unless you counted the sour faced men sitting across from Harry. Ron sat on the left of slick haired, condescending spokesperson. Harry eyed him briefly before beginning his interrogation. He started slowly, asking about company details and getting his answers from the spokesperson or whoever he was.
He let a deafening silence encompass the room before continuing. "Mr. Weasley, what dealings do you have with Ion Morealon?"
Harry saw the doubting fear flash across Ron's eyes. Ron blinked stupidly before chuckling harshly. "Mr. Weasley? Come on, Harry. You know my name."
"What dealings do you have with Ion Morealon?" Harry repeated sharply.
"What happened to your friendliness, Harry?" Ron asked, cocking his head to the side as if calculating him. "We're having a supervised conversation," he laughed indicating the spokesperson.
Harry desperately wanted answers and so reacted hastily. "Fine," he yelled. Jumping to his feet, he reached across the table and yanked the spokesperson by the collar. He dragged him across the room, wrenched the door open and forcibly flung him outside, locking the door to prevent him from re-entering.
"So…Ron…what connection do you have with Morealon Industries? Cause let me tell you, it is not the sort of association you would like on a business record! You know what I'm talking about," he said tensely.
Ron seemed outraged and yet fearfully stunned. He stammered something incomprehensible and his ears flushed red, always a warning sign.
"I cannot hear you!" Harry yelled.
"We had dealings. Last year, I bought some stock off him," Ron answered speedily.
"Your business creates its own product. The ingredients you import from Eastern Europe," Harry read from a manila file he held in his hands. "So I'll ask the question once more. What business do you have with Morealon Industries?"
Ron shut his mouth and averted his eyes. Harry seeing the dead end ran a hand through his tousled hair. He let the silence dwindle before progressing. "Do you know how dangerous he is? Or are you already aware of that? Am I talking to myself?"
"I know he's dodgy but I'm not. I can't tell you anything Harry," he replied soberly.
"Could I even believe you?" Harry asked derisively.
"What's that supposed to mean? Oh…," he sighed, cottoning on. "This is about that woman in the papers. Is this about Hermione?" he asked and Harry was infuriated to hear him laugh her name.
"I never would have chosen unfaithful as word to describe you," Harry responded harshly.
"Do you still fancy her?" asked Ron, a sly smirk on his face. He was obviously trying to postpone the interview but he also seemed to be enjoying the twist.
"She didn't deserve what you did to her."
"Who the hell are you to decide?! We haven't seen you in almost a decade. You don't know us anymore…we barely know you. Look at you," he exclaimed waving at Harry. "You look completely different. You remind me of Sirius, ragged…broken. Completely alone. Haven't found a wife yet, Harry. Played around with Ginny for awhile before she dumped you like yesterday's trash. You have nothing but this job and that's why you're so intent on unearthing something on me."
Harry glared at him menacingly. "Ron…I just want this case to be over. So you can either tell me what's going on, or I'll continue to investigate you. Either way I'm going to get the truth."
"Did you ever get over her?" Ron enquired, totally ignoring Harry's threat. "God I remember the way you were around her," he continued, his gaze wandering as he remembered. "You were either avoiding her or couldn't keep your eyes off her. But you never said anything. Not once in over three years. I could see you contemplating telling her but you were never brave enough," he snorted callously. "Harry Potter…Not. Brave. Enough," he said, relishing the words. "Hermione Weasley…sounds good, doesn't it?"
Without much hesitation he seized Ron, heaved him from his seat and pinned him against the wall. "If you don't start explaining, Gringotts and the Ministry will find out everything about you," he said through gritted teeth. "And if I find out anything risky, dodgy, crooked or bent going on within your business…it will be over. I will finish you."
Snatching the door open he pushed Ron's spokesperson aside, made a brief stop at his office and then strode out of the bank angrily. When he had reached muggle London he made his way to the car-park, climbed into is Mx-5 and finally paused to breathe. He placed his head in his hands, gripping his hair irately. Nearly an hour had passed before he started the engine and left for his apartment.
**************************************************************
He was not quite sure at what time the torrential rain had started. The unexpected downpour had caused the wizarding world to retreat to their homes and now Harry was left snoozing on his couch in his lonely apartment. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, every few minutes the beating of the rain making him glance at the streams of water running down the glass screen door that lead onto the flooded balcony.
He refused to think of his interview with Ron. The endless questions still harassed his mind. "Did you ever get over her?" He didn't even trust himself to answer that question. He had opened the door to the past and now he had lost the key.
Suddenly a hammering on his door startled him from his thoughts. He rushed to the door as the knocking did not cease and then snatched it open, irritated by the sound. Hermione stood rigidly on the other side of the door and wore an expression that told Harry he had done something terribly wrong. She was wholly drenched from the heavy shower raging outside, her hair matted around her face. She wore an army green anorak, the hood hung around her shoulders.
"Was it you?!" she demanded fiercely. "Did you tell them about Ron?!"
Harry knew immediately she was talking about the Daily Prophet article and photos. "Of course it wasn't me. They had photos of him with her; it wasn't just a tip off. They did their homework."
"Who tipped them off, Harry?!" she yelled. "Do you know how many people read that newspaper? It was bad enough having to live with a doubt like that everyday but now…now the entire population knows. My parents…Harry. They get it everyday. At least my father can take pleasure in saying `I told you so'. He told me not to marry Ron, said I was too young. I just want to find out who did this," she finished despairingly.
For Harry's part he did not know how to reply. In the past few days he had found himself in more uncomfortable situations than he had in the past few years. "Hermione…" he started warily. "This was one day going to come out. It was never a matter of `if'; the question was `when'. You could not have prevented this. The media pounces on chances like this; it exists because of other people problems."
"Was it you? Please tell me Harry, I need to know!" she pleaded.
"Why do you keep thinking it was me?!" he retorted heatedly. He was annoyed at her complete belief that he had betrayed her confidence.
"Ron…," she swallowed nervously and looked down at her shoes. "He came home drunk and he was shouting, mouthing off." She paused as if bracing herself. Then just as Harry was about to speak she raised her head and her eyes met Harry's in a sustaining gaze that made Harry's stomach churn. "Ron told me that you were jealous," she whispered disbelievingly. "That before you left…you…you were in love with me. He said that the only reason you're doing this case is to get close to me."
"This is my job," he interrupted her. "I didn't ask to have to this case. It was given to me." He suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable under her intense gaze. The only secret that he held, that ever meant anything to him, was suddenly revealed. And he was doubtful that he could deny it any longer. "You should go. You'll freeze to death…in summer," he joked lamely. He moved to shut the door but she thrust her hand out to hinder its progress.
"Is it true?" she asked unbelievingly. There was something that resembled wonder in her eyes. He bit his lip, stalling for time. Did he have an answer? One that would not cause the ground to crumble beneath his feet. And then he felt completely overwhelmed with emotions he had struggled to stamp out of his heart since he was eighteen years old. He sighed in surrender, letting go of the doorknob so that the door swung back on its brass hinges. He slumped backwards against the wall, Hermione eye's following him.
"He doesn't deserve you," he muttered. "He never did. You should have had someone who…who woke up every morning and thanked the gods that you were lying beside them. You should have had someone who rushed home from work to see you or missed their lunches so they could just have one glimpse of you before returning to work. But as life quickly taught us…what you should have and what you do have are quite different things."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly.
"I thought that what I was doing was right. I took the easier choice and found out that it had the hardest consequences. You were the reason I didn't leave immediately after Dumbledore died. It was only because of you that this world exists without Lord Voldemort. All I could think about when I was struggling with Him was that if I died you died, and that's all that kept me going. You ultimately made the decision of who would live and who would die. You, Hermione, are the saviour of the wizarding world."
"Harry…please don't," Hermione moaned, holding her head in her hands and shutting her eyes. "I CAN'T HEAR THIS!" she screamed distraughtly at him. "If you really had loved me, you would have stayed. You would have told me and I wouldn't have married Ron. And none of this would be happening."
"You wouldn't have married Ron?" Harry asked incredulously. "Hermione, what do you mean?" She was still clutching her head in her hands and so he grabbed her forearms, trying to see her face.
She shoved his hands away from her and sprinted away from the door leaving Harry standing motionless behind. He seriously considered chasing her but decided against the idea. Even after so many years the fear was evident in what remained of his heart. He leaned languidly against the doorframe and with a sorrowful sigh rested his head against it as well. He could not keep his thoughts off what she had revealed to him. Was this the chance or was this just the closure of his dreams?
Locking the door behind him he returned to his couch. He had adapted a new way of forgetting things and it consisted of pretending to be alright, even when he was on his own. He switched on the television with a flick of his hand and spent the remainder of the night informing himself that he was not thinking about her. The frustration was continuing to unfurl in his chest and at about midnight he opened a bottle of Firewhiskey, deciding to drown his sorrows, forget about everything. At least for one night.
As the fiery liquid burned a line down his throat he shut his eyes and relished the bitterness of the taste. Soon after, the empty bottle was held flaccidly in his limp hand as he passed out of consciousness into a deep alcoholic stupor.
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