A/N. This Chapter is long enough. Suffice it to say that: (1) I never intended to write a Quidditch match this long and I did; (2) I never intended to write so much about Ron's death and I have ; (3) I apologize to Scott Lambert/Lambert Scott for using your name - I suspect you do exist but hopefully you're not an avid HP fanfic reader; (4)the gambling/odds/betting thing - I'm not quite sure I understand the real thing properly but I wrote what I thought it was anyway - this is fiction after all!
The mature theme of this fic continues.
Chapter 32 - The Death of a Keeper
23 February 2006 - A Muggle Diner somewhere in South London, daybreak
The bell on the door jingled as a red-haired man entered the twenty-four hour diner and shook a dusting of snow off his seldom used Muggle winter coat. He put away the piece of paper which bore an address, including instructions on how to get to and what to do after he got to where he was, touching his wand in his pocket as he did, getting some reassurance that he had it just in case it was needed.
He could hear his heart banging in his chest, its pace quickened and his senses were heightened to a level it was unfamiliar with this early in the day. Scouting the area before taking his first step towards the counter where he was told to sit, he found the place almost empty save from a burly, half asleep, truck driver at a far corner booth. He sat and kept the thick coat on as he waited, noticing that the sun rays streaming abundantly from the east facing windows betrayed how cold it was inside. He was already regretting his decision to follow the instructions he was given word for word particularly the part about coming alone.
Waving off the waitress even before she got to him, he stared at the torn and crumpled envelop in his hand. It came last night by Muggle carrier as they were having dinner with Delilah and the traitor. Thinking it unlikely to be of importance, he did not open it until in his anger and frustration less than five hours ago, after a not so cordial collection of something owed him, he took his ire out on the lifeless piece of junk that was the first thing he saw as he entered their apartment.
It was an image of her face falling off its open edge that made him stop his manual shredding of what he thought was trash mail. Repairing the damage to the envelope's contents with his wand, what he saw before him hit him harder than the punch he received just moments before that.
Nothing could have prepared him for it, not even the fact that he knew it happened. It was startling to him how one moving picture of her in an intimate passionate kiss with someone else could cause so much pain and how he could not get the image out of his mind. The details were not important but he could tell it was taken from within a hotel, the long corridor with several doors in the background suggestive that this was just outside her room.
With the instructions and the photograph was an unsigned cryptic message.
I know about Toronto.
It certainly made him wonder who it was who sent the picture to him, why they had it and what they thought they would gain by letting him know. He wondered what would have happened had he chucked the thing by accident or totally ignored it.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes must have passed, and the Muggle waitress was already eyeing him with suspicion. He really should have, at least, let someone know but at the moment, that person couldn't be his girlfriend about whom Toronto was about or his former best friend who he now completely mistrusted.
The bell at the door interrupted his thoughts and a tall man in a black trench coat and toque entered the diner. He had detached grey eyes as he walked towards the counter. In a deep hypnotic voice the stranger ordered coffee from the waitress and after she poured him one and left, he took out from his pocket an envelope similar to the one that came the night before.
"Mr. Weasley," the man greeted him.
"Who are you?"
"Who I am does not matter. What I know does."
"I don't care about what happened in Toronto."
"Well, you should."
The contents of the second envelope were emptied right before his eyes. There were more photographs of her and the same man from Toronto this time taken from within a St. Mungo exam room. Amongst the pictures was a Ministry document of the same man's arrest record.
"The real Roy Hunt was apprehended by your MLE not two days before that picture I sent you was taken. He has remained in Ministry custody all this time. I won't insult your intelligence by telling you who it was she was with that night in Toronto and who she continues to see here in London."
His eyes were fixed upon what was before him, staring but not looking, feeling incongruently numb. He blinked and a couple of teardrops fell on the Ministry document that bore the name of the traitorous bastard as he did. It never occurred to him that there could have been any explanation other than the one he immediately concluded.
A question briefly flitted into his mind and he dismissed it. She said Toronto was meaningless, that it was with a stranger. He knew in his heart then as he was sure now that she was telling the truth. The git just could not leave her alone.
As if the pictures were taken for posterity, he gathered them with care and put them away, turning his attention to the stranger who was saying something.
"If the truth about her improper behaviour with a patient on hospital property comes out, she could be suspended from Healing, or worse, stripped of her license. She would be humiliated, lose credibility and respect."
"I don't care what happens to her."
He stood up, took all the documents, and headed for the exit. However, the stranger had more things to say.
"I should say, I have admired you for standing by her, but I guess there are limits to what one can take," the tall man said mockingly, and continued, somewhat amused, "Finally ridding yourself of the scarlet woman you were set to marry? Really? Are you a good poker player, Mr. Weasley?"
He did not answer.
"The pot is rather large and I really have nothing to lose. Walk out that door and I will call your bluff."
The fact the threat was said in such a nonchalant manner chilled him. There was no time to think, nor a need to. He loved her and in spite of what she did, he could not bear to think of what she would go through if this man did what he said he would do. To not be able to heal would kill her.
It was up to him to fix this. He had a pretty good idea what this was all about, what this stranger wanted from him but he had to be certain.
"Tell me what you want."
The stranger grinned, sensing victory.
"I love Quidditch and I prefer Toronto to win."
He was right.
XXXXXXXXX
24 February 2006 - A Quidditch Pitch somewhere just north of London.
The stadium was at capacity. A sea of spectators in orange and blue swarmed like ants as they settled in and made their way to their seats, thousands still lined up outside hoping to get in. The game was mere moments away from starting; fanfare music was blasting, food and drinks were flowing freely, excited fans were chatting boisterously.
She looked around Ron's private guest box and saw lots of red hair in orange clothing. The entire family had come to watch the big event and support Ron. All his brothers and their families were there, and even Molly had been coaxed out of the Burrow, happily making sure there would be adequate refreshments.
Hermione had just seen Ron in the locker room. He was definitely nervous; his face was pale and she could feel his hands shaking as he squeezed hers. He had not seen him since yesterday morning for management had sequestered the team at their training facility last night. He was unusually somber that even his teammates noticed. The Toronto replacement Seeker was a rookie and was not likely going to be a factor, so the pressure was on Ron to prevent Toronto from scoring big. Before she went back to the stands she wished him luck, reminded him that he was the best Keeper in the league, and just to play the game as he usually did.
Fleur was talking to her about wedding rehearsals and weddings, playing big sister, droning on about what to do and what not to do. Molly mentioned that Reverend Gershom had dropped by earlier thinking the wedding was today. Hermione could barely listen. She had butterflies in the pit of her stomach, about the game and about after. The Cannons had to win.
For now she was thankful of the distraction who was seated a few rows down from them. Luna Lovegood had dyed her blonde hair Weasley red for the occasion and was causing quite a stir amongst the Quidditch fans, much to the discomfort of Neville who came to the game with her. It was not the hair that drew attention but Luna's choice of a headdress, a Cannon spearing a Beaver in a thought provocative manner, its design probably not quite suitable for a non-mature audience. Only Luna could wear such a thing and keep a straight face.
She waited with the rest. The conversation about the wedding and the rehearsal died a natural death and her mind drifted to the last time they were together, that night after Harry and Delilah had dinner with them.
They were in the living room. Their guests had just left and Ron had helped her clear the table, eerily silent, which only happened when there was something quite important on his mind.
She had behaved shamefully during dinner. She suspected that the silence was about that, about how, in her moment of tipsiness and loss of inhibition she had flirted with Harry. Ron wasn't on her case about it, about what must have been obvious and what should have evoked displeasure from him. It worried her that it didn't and they had to talk about it.
"You've been so quiet," she said to him. "Do you want to talk?
He put away the unopened Muggle mail that had come by courier during dinner, a frown carved on his face.
"I was just thinking about what's gotten into you lately."
"Clearly, too much wine than should have," she answered with the first thought that came to mind, half joking and half serious.
He smiled and replied, "You've always been naughtier after a few drinks. I should get you drunk more often, in private."
The light banter quickly ended as a clouded expression washed over them both. They were thinking about the same thing.
"I'm sorry."
"About?"
He was at least making her work for it.
"Harry...tonight..."
And the other night and Toronto…
"It was inappropriate, not to mention inconsiderate."
And cruel.
"Yes, it was."
"You should be angry."
"I know you didn't mean it. You were drunk. He shouldn't have encouraged you..."
"Stop making excuses for me," she cut him off, startling him with her impatience and biting her lip before she said something in defense of Harry.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, confused, "Do you want me pissed off? Is that it?"
"Yes!" Her tone was pleading, coaxing, attempting to convince, "I want you to be livid at me. I want you to be angry at me for being unfaithful. I want you to scream in my face for flirting with Harry!"
"Why?"
"Because you should. Because what I did was not okay."
Because it would make me feel less guilty if you did.
Ron sighed, "And if I don't feel that way would you prefer I make it up and pretend that I do?"
"It's just that I don't deserve any of this," she said as she closed her eyes, just as frustrated as Ron was about the whole thing.
He took her in his arms and hugged her, seeking to comfort.
"Don't be too hard on yourself. You forget too easily. You've done other things, good things too numerous to list down."
There he was again, being too nice. She had been looking for ways to lessen the blow and the fact that he was wasn't helping. He did not know the enormity of her transgression.
"It won't hurt you as bad if you're angry. It won't hurt you as bad if you let me go," she said, unable to look at him, "Just let me go."
"I can't," Ron answered, his embrace tightening even more. "You're going to have to do it. I can't imagine life without you."
Even then she had already decided but there was a considerable bridge to cross between deciding it and doing it.
She joined him in bed that night as she had countless times before. He always slept like he did not have a care in the world. Eight years with him and it was definitely over. She still loved him, but not enough to want to spend the rest of her life with him. She thought as she closed her eyes and heard his rhythmic snoring, how odd that she would probably miss that too. She snuggled up close to him, laid her head on his chest, felt his arm drape around her shoulder and listened to his heartbeat as it lulled her to sleep.
Little did she know that that was going to be their last night together. The following day, Ron had called her that the Cannons were going to spend the eve of their match at their training facility. She asked how he was and he said other than the being nervous, he was fine, though Hermione felt a lot more tension and anxiety in him that usual. It was a day before the Finals, the match he had worked so hard to get to for a long time. She thought his nervousness was expected.
"Hey," Ginny had just arrived and sat down beside her, immediately noticing her not-so-rested appearance, "God, you look awful. Those last minute wedding details must be keeping you awake at night."
Ginny was trying to be funny but knew the discussion would have to wait for a later time. Hermione was dying to talk to her about Ron and Ginny had been away on assignment in Berlin the last few days.
"Maybe if my maid of honor was around more, she'd help me out. When did you get back?"
"Last night."
"How was Germany?"
"A dead end. I keep telling the old fart the legend of the Last Hufflepuff Squib is a legend for a reason."
"I thought that story was dead two years ago."
"Well, it's got nine lives. Squibs buy the Prophet too and what better way to keep them interested than giving them hope that Helga's alleged prediction of a Squibless world is coming true. That and my boss's wife is a Squib," Ginny vented her dissatisfaction on being assigned pointless stories, then, suddenly asked, "Where's Harry? I thought he was coming for sure."
"I thought so, too."
"Hey Sis. Care for a little brotherly wager on the game?" George tapped Ginny from behind and asked.
Hermione was looking at them but not quite listening. The dull ache in her chest that was residual from last night had just come to life with Ginny's mention of his name.
"No thanks. The bookie's already got my money. You can't believe the odds they're giving Toronto to win."
She felt odd as the reality of change hung in the air. The three of them had been close friends for fifteen years. It was hard to imagine that after all of this, things would remain the way they were before, even if she was going to aim for that with Ron. She consoled herself with the fact that it usually got better over time.
"Last I heard the tease was one in twenty; the spread for a Cannon win an even hundred with the chance of that happening at nine in ten," Fred joined in.
"Wat duz dat min?" Fleur asked.
He answered, "If I bet nine Galleons on the Cannons, they have to win by more than a hundred points for me to get ten galleons back, while if I bet on the Beavers and they win, I'll earn a hundred and eighty. Of course, betting on the Seekerless Beavers to win is ridiculous."
Hermione was starting to feel as if she was his object of ridicule. What happened last night was embarrassing, not to mention painful, so much so she didn't want to see him. With Ron hived off at the training facility, Harry paid her a visit at their apartment.
He knocked. Neither spoke as she let him in, the fact that he had come as Roy was disappointing and already said a lot. They remained standing at the foyer, his eyes looking deep into hers, conflicted and begging for relief. She realized how confusing her actions must have been to him and imagined him thinking the worse, what he mentioned over dinner, asking her if she was done playing.
She could not leave him thinking that way and it was only right, she thought, that since he already took the first step last night, the second one tonight, it was her turn to show him she wanted more honesty. Hermione boldly took steps closer towards him responding to the magnetic pull of his proximity until she couldn't anymore. She had to touch and she watched her hands come up, make contact with his firm chest and slide upwards to meet behind his neck, her body pressed against his, aching for his embrace. She pulled herself up slowly, breathing shallower as her mouth inched closer to his, his warm breath falling on her lips, as she said to him.
"I'm not playing. This isn't a game to me."
With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck she kissed him, slow, arduous, as she had wanted to do for days. He pulled back and asked.
"Tell me. Who am I to you?"
It was the time for absolute truth. She joined him, way out there on a limb. She answered, they were so close and the night was so still he would have been deaf not to hear her.
"You're my best friend, the man I've loved for a long time but gave up on thinking you couldn't possibly feel the same way about me. You were my intended last fling. The stranger I went out with and ended up in bed with reminded me of you. Twice I saw you almost die and both times I almost died with you. I love you, Harry, and how I wish you never came to me as Roy and just came as you."
She stopped and was relieved of the yoke she had been carrying for days. She had tears on her face. The confusion had left his and in its place was pain; pain, not relief. Her answer was not the one he had hoped for.
On hindsight, perhaps the delusion she had led herself to believe since the night of their St. Mungo tryst and encouraged by their Quidditch talk had not prepared her for this possibility. She shouldn't have hastily concluded that when he said he was done playing he meant he was done. He was indeed done, with her. She should have thought it when he came as Roy to, fittingly, let the stranger end it as he started it, and when he did not kiss her back.
She needed a finality to all this, a closure. And as hurtful as it would be, to hear it from him was the only way she would believe it. She braced herself as she asked.
"What about me? Who am I to you?"
He paused for a moment before answering, as if trying to organize his thoughts, hopefully to find a kinder way to say it as she had been trying to for Ron.
"You are my best friend and I wish I never came to you as Roy Hunt. You shouldn't trust a liar and a traitor, and you should be with someone who clearly loves you. This is over."
Over…she closed her eyes as his words carved into her chest as a dull knife would. It was a slow, painful death. What he said was unambiguous. He was not pleased to hear that the affair wasn't meaningless to her and that she loved him, making him remorseful about the Roy Hunt affair. He said she shouldn't trust a liar and a traitor, which he obviously was. And he said she should be with someone who clearly loved her; he clearly did not.
Not infrequently she had thought about how it would be like to be one of those countless women she had witnessed him date over the years. So this was what it was like. It was great while it lasted but it was over and it hurt like hell being let go.
Before he turned away she asked him one thing. Fighting back the tears that needed shedding in payment for his glaring rejection of her love, she wanted to make sure that Ron's emotions would not be a senseless casualty in this.
"Please. Don't tell Ron. He can't know."
He nodded.
He left last night with the weight of his parting words sitting heavily on her chest like a dead elephant, for a moment not allowing her to breathe, until she did as she sobbed uncontrollably. Perhaps she should have felt angrier then but at that moment there was no room for any other emotion except excruciating anguish. And besides, she had only herself to blame. She chose to get involved with Roy and with Harry. Her mistake was thinking it possible that he would treat her differently.
Hermione had grieved so much lately about not spending the rest of her life with him that after the tears were spent she did not feel too much pain; her heart was likely tired from the emotional yoyo she had gone through the past couple of weeks. Maybe it had finally sunk in that it was not meant to be.
Understandably so she did not want to see him. She was hurt and embarrassed and she wasn't sure if or when she would get over that. It was just as well that he sent Roy to do the deed for at least she could conceivably look in his face and think that he was not the bastard she slept with. Conceivably, for appropriate or not, now, she was starting to feel resentment that he chose to be Roy Hunt in the first place, never intending it to be more than a meaningless affair.
Survival instinct? Maybe. She remembered what she told Ron. It won't hurt you as bad if you're angry.
"Wizards and witches, magical and non-magical beings, welcome to the 55th Queens Cup Finals!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd drowning the team introductions as seven streaks of blue and seven of orange zoomed onto the pitch. The magical mascots were on the sidelines pulling pranks on each other already. On the large screen showing the highlights of the event orange tinged cannons were blasting blue-face painted beavers into smithereens as the latter were stuffing tons of maple leaf confetti into their muzzles.
Two identical looking bespectacled, butterbeer bellied, middle aged wizards with long silvery hair, goatees and sideburns came up on the screen, familiar to Quidditch going fans as the experienced game commentator and analyst duo that usually covered games of such import.
"I'm Lambert Scott and with me to call this game is my partner in crime, Scott Lambert. Scott."
"Lambert. What an afternoon this is going to be. Such an excitement coming into this winner take all match."
In actuality, Lambert Scott and Scott Lambert were one and the same wizard. He was a regular at St Mungo's and without the personality unifying potion, had more interesting, but less socially acceptable, alter egos.
Scott continued, "Even in points coming in, Toronto was heavily favoured to walk away with the Cup until they lost their Seeker two days ago. What a shock!"
"Yes, what a shock indeed! Now the Cannons are the favourites. What will it take for the Beavers to steal this championship?"
"A lot of everything, for sure. Their big dilemma is not only how to prevent Mike Ryan from catching the Golden Snitch early in the game but also how to get the Quaffle past Ron Weasley. The Cannon Keeper is having such an extraordinary year."
A round of applause and cheers broke out from the stadium as Ron was mentioned. Hermione looked up and found him immediately. Every game she attended Ron would swoop low and do a slow flyby where she was seated. Today, seeing that it was the most important game of his life, he landed in the box and was instantly in the midst of a Weasley group hug. Mouths were moving but no words could be heard as the deafening noise from the crowd and the music continued to drown everything else.
Ron was still nervous, she could tell as he extracted himself from his family and gave her a more lingering personal embrace. Then he mounted his broom and just before he took off, pulled an orange rose from within his robes, kissed it and gave it to her, unmindful of the teasing his brothers were subjecting him to.
She didn't know why but that gesture made her heart ache even more. It was so unfair to both him and her that she loved someone else. What a waste. She had thought long and hard all night asking herself that since she definitely would not be with that person, why not let Ron have what he wanted?
It was difficult to decide. Ron would not agree but he deserved someone better.
As the teams continued their warm-ups, prominent figures and personalities in attendance were being flashed on the screen; Ministry officials, sports executives, entertainment heavy-weights, each causing as much applause as their popularity indicated. Wild cheering broke the monotony of the proceedings as the image of a former Cannon Seeker was shown on the screen, Ginny indicating to her that he was in the owner's box about a dozen rows up to their right. The Weasleys were waving at him frantically to come and join them but he waved them off. Good, because, in her opinion, where he was right now was just fine.
She looked up on the screen just in time to see Harry duck away from view as a surprised crowd gasped.
Crash!
A practice Bludger zoomed over his head and bore a hole in the opposite wall, the offending sporting equipment boomeranged back to the Beaver beater who was now being restrained by officials as he appeared to want to go after Ron.
"Whoa! What was that about?"
"Those two go back a long way. A welcome back prank, I'm sure. After all Potter has not been sighted this close to a Quidditch pitch since his accident a few years back. Glad to see he still has great reflexes!"
There was cheering as Harry appeared to be okay, the smile she used to like so much now struck her as irritatingly haughty.
The whistle sounded and the game began.
Not one minute into the game the Cannons drew first blood.
"Elton, Bono and Posh worked so seamlessly on that goal," Lambert commented.
"That's a great start. High scoring matches are so much fun to watch. The Chasers on both teams are evenly matched although the Beavers, with veterans Justin, Bellamy and Hullbrenner, have more championship experience," countered Scott.
"The Cannon Seeker seems content to shadow his rookie counterpart."
"That's a great Cannon strategy to not leave the game to chance. Ryan would likely out-fly and outsmart the greenhorn Lavigne should the Snitch appear in their vicinity."
Then things went south quickly for the Cannons as their Chasers scored on Ron eight straight times.
"That wasn't even close. My grandmother could have caught that!" Scott said unkindly as Ron appeared to be distracted he could not make what seemingly were simple saves.
Ron's teammates were egging him on, hoping he would snap out of his stupor and make some stops. He nodded feebly but she knew something was definitely wrong as he kept on looking at a spot a few rows down on their left.
She looked through her omnioculars and scanned the area. There was a tall man with slick black hair looking through omnioculars past her to the right.
"Another score by the Beaver Chaser!"
In the split second it took for her to see what just happened she could not find the same man in the vicinity anymore. She thought no more of it as Ron's horrible game took over.
"Looks like Weasley is suffering from a terrible case of Cannon loser's lurgy reminiscent of his first year."
There was loud laughter from his partner and the crowd in blue that made Hermione feel so bad for Ron. He was definitely not himself. If only Socrates, his manager, could call time out to regroup. But there was no such thing in Quidditch.
Each time the Beavers were in scoring position, not only were their fans cheering, the Cannon fans were jeering their Keeper. It was horrible hearing the heckling and she was not even playing. She could only imagine how he was feeling.
"It seems like Socrates Mann has seen enough. Well, it's about time! They are a hundred and ninety points down. The more this gap widens their Seeker will never become a factor in the game. If they get decent performance from Killdeer they might just still win."
The back up keeper was warming up. Considerable concern and disagreement exploded from the Weasleys around her. Ron was gesticulating to his manager leave him in but the decision seemed to have been made.
The next Beaver salvo had three Chasers bearing down on him hard and fast. Moaning from the orange faithful was abruptly replaced by pleased cheering.
"A spectacular Starfish and Stick save by the veteran!"
"But one wonders if Mann will keep him in. His fate is not entirely in his hands. It appears that Killdeer is continuing to warm up."
As his teammates went on the offensive, Ron summoned Pfaff, their rookie Beater, and said something to him. Several things happened at once. The crowd erupted in a frenzy following a spectacular goal by Ron's team just as the scorer at the sidelines was hit by an errant Bludger. The referee's whistle sounded, tossing the offending Cannon beater out of the game for bumphing and, as he signaled an official's time out to get medical attention to the scorekeeper, the players took the opportunity to huddle for a team meeting.
Scott and Lambert were having difficulty keeping up, then directed the spectators to the big screen.
"Weasley seems to be having a vigorous discussion with Mann. Now, where is he going?"
Hermione was appalled and confused as Ron landed right beside her, dismounted his broom and motioned to his family that he needed a private moment. She was self conscious that they were on display on the big screen.
"It looks like Weasley has gone to get some much needed inspiration from his fiancée, the lovely Healer, Hermione Granger," Scott commented.
There was whistling and teasing from the crowd that warmed Hermione's face. Ron seemed to be enjoying the attention, smiling and waving for everyone to see.
Lambert sighed, "Lovely indeed. She makes the best personality unifying potion, ever. Um, that's a tip for those who need some."
"Have you gone mad?" she asked Ron, quite uncomfortable.
He answered her with a happy, excited grin, took both her hand and pulled her to a sheltered corner where the magical cameras would not reach them. Even then they would be barely able to hear each other unless they shouted because of the continuing commotion from the crowd.
"About that second chance, I need your final answer!"
"What? Now?!"
He nodded.
Confused and disbelieving, she searched his expression and could only conclude that he was serious. Ron couldn't have picked a worst moment to force the answer out of her. Why it couldn't wait she didn't know and would try to find out at some point.
As if by some magical force the noise around them died down, the figures around them blurred away and what she had before her was only him and the decision he was waiting for her to make. It was appropriate she thought that it would be like this because this was really just about them. This was not about what her mother did, not dependent on this game's outcome and not about Harry. And in that instant it became clear that it was the right thing to do.
"The answer is the same, Ron. It hasn't changed."
The smile on his face quickly went away. He waited, perhaps hoping there was a 'but' to her answer or that she would change her mind. What he said to her next came as a big surprise.
"I talked to Harry. I know about Roy, about Toronto and about St. Mungo's. You're just another girl to him. He doesn't love you like I do."
Ron knew everything and he talked with Harry, which somehow explained the Bludger he sent Harry's way. That was too much information too quickly and she could not think of what else to say to him except the obvious and the truth.
"I know. But this does not have anything to do with him."
How could he still want to be with her after knowing all that? How could he even talk to her or still consider that second chance?
"You love him."
"Yes but…"
Ron cut her off just as she was about to say Harry did not feel the same way about her.
"He's a lying, cheating bastard and you're choosing him over me," he said to her, a conclusion she knew he would reach if he found out about Harry. "I guess my life has just not been tragic enough for you to care as much about me as you do him."
"It's not about that, Ron. Harry and I will never be," she tried to explain, "I would have ended us even if Harry and I didn't…didn't do what we did."
He sighed and gave her a weak, sad, smile, "Let's just agree to disagree on that one."
Hermione was going to protest but this was not the time or place to continue to explain. The moment passed and they were back in the midst of Quidditch Final chaos. Ron pulled her into an embrace and spoke into her ear.
"I figured it would happen even if we lost the game. I can't fix it. I was stupid to think I could do it on my own. I'm sorry I can't do much more."
"I'm sorry, too," she replied, thankful he had finally realized what he just did, and asked, "Are you going to be okay?"
"Don't worry about me. It's fine. I'll be fine," Hermione wasn't sure if he was reassuring her or himself, "Watch the rest of the game closely. This is all for you. I'll make you so proud of me. I'll be more Harry-like to the point you'll regret you let me go."
That last bit he sounded like he was joking; he usually came up with something like that when things got too serious or awkward. He smiled wildly at her, and, seemingly acting weirder than she was accustomed to, he took off. She got back to her seat beside Ginny, ignored her puzzled look and watched as a more energetic Ron rejoined the team huddle.
"Weasley has convinced Mann to let him stay."
"Not sure that's a good idea folks but I'm glad it's not my decision to make."
"It looks like after several attempts the scorekeeper has finally passed the Mediwizard's simple mathematical skill question."
"I actually didn't think he was smart enough about numbers to begin with!"
The official's whistle blasted and fourteen players took off from the ground for the second time.
"The Beavers have the Quaffle…the old-timer Justin is way too experienced for the young Posh…"
"And the ref's called a foul on the young Cannon!"
There was considerable spectator booing.
Lambert was showing his colors, "Cobbing? Oh, common ref! What's Quidditch without a little elbow action? Let them play!"
"Hullbrenner takes the penalty shot…no worries! What an effortless save! It's nice to have the real Ron Weasley back!"
The crowd was now chanting the Gryffindor cheer 'Weasley is our King'.
"The Cannons have the Quaffle, they're on the attack."
"Oooh! Bono just barely avoided that Bludger…he backpasses to Elton and the Cannon shoots it though the Beaver hoop and scores!"
"Now here come the Beavers. Bellamy has the Quaffle with Elton right beside her. Look at them go!"
"Bellamy drops it below for Justin. No! Posh steals and is off! This Cannon is speedy they won't catch her even if they blagged her broom. It's just her and the Beaver Keeper."
Thunderous applause broke out from the orange colored crowd.
"Wow! We may have a game in our hands. Beavers two hundred and ten, Cannons fifty."
Gasps from the crowd brought everyone's attention to the two Seekers who were now zooming side by side in the same direction.
"The Seekers have the Golden Snitch in sight. The Beaver rookie Lavigne is trying her best to get to it but the savvier Ryan is blocking her off. The Cannon can't take it, not yet. If he's not careful the ref could call him for blatching."
Another wild applause broke out from behind her as Ron just made another almost impossible save.
"I can't believe Weasley got to that! He was hanging on to his broom with one ankle! Amazing!"
"Wait! Is that legal?"
Hermione looked and saw Ron had the Quaffle in hand, swerved to avoid a Bludger and had joined the Cannon Chasers in an attack formation.
"I don't recall any rule that says it's a foul for a Keeper to handle the Quaffle outside the scoring box."
"The Toronto bench is already protesting but the play continues. Weasley passes off to Elton to his right who draws Bellamy's defense…drops the Quaffle to Bono below…he zigzags to try and get away from the Beaver Chaser Hullbrenner…hands it up to Posh who was in a sloth grip! She's close to the scoring box…it'll be Posh to shoot and the Chaser Justin is right in her face, ready to block. She throws..."
A large collective intake of air from the crowd and the commentators occurred as the speedy Cannon threw the Quaffle forward into the air just before she was inside the scoring area deliberately short of the goal and flew slightly into Justin to take him out of play. Her shot drew out the Beaver keeper who attempted to get to it to bat it away but an unguarded Ron was closer and he calmly picked up the suspended Quaffle.
"Weasley has it! Weasley has the Quaffle! The Toronto Keeper is in deep poo in the middle of no wizard's land! And Weasley scores! Bloody hell! What a play!"
The stadium was rocking and the crowd wild, as Scott yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard.
"The sideline ref has taken out the Quidditch rule book. Never in the history of this Quidditch tournament has a Keeper done that. And the Seekers seem to have lost the Snitch. We have another official's time out."
Already the Cannons were celebrating and encouraging their fans to do the same. Ron went over to where they were seated and slowed down enough to smile at her and wink. He had gone a bit mad, she thought to herself as she felt how much fun Ron was having out there at the moment.
Screaming Cannon fans screamed more as the ref ruled it a legal goal and the game score flashed on screen. Beavers 210, Cannons 60.
"Third restart and the Beavers are back with a vengeance. A Bludger just took Elton out of play. And there goes Posh diverted by another. Three Beaver Chasers against one Cannon, and Weasley at the Keep."
"And the Seekers have quickly found the Golden Snitch again! They're really closing in on it!"
True enough, Hermione quickly glanced on the screen and the Snitch was just feet away from the grasp of both Seekers. Back to Ron, the situation seemed dire. The Toronto Keeper boldly joined his Chasers as Ron had the play before.
"Another Bludger has taken the last Cannon Chaser out of play! It's all up to Weasley now. Four against one!"
Ron did the figure of eight loop and gained speed as the Beavers attacked his goal. Hermione held her breath.
"Justin shoots at the left most post! I think he's timed Weasley's defensive effort well! It's going in..."
Smack!!
A resounding sound of a Quaffle being kicked reverberated throughout the stadium as Ron's foot made solid contact, sending it soaring fast towards the opposite unattended goals.
More gasping from the crowd, the commentators were speechless, even the Seekers were momentarily distracted as everyone waited with baited breath.
"GOAL!! GOAL!!"
Mayhem broke out not a second later as the game whistle sounded. On the large screen was the Cannon Seeker holding on to the fluttering Golden Snitch.
"Cannons win! Cannons win! Cannons are the Queen's Cup Champions!"
Everybody was shouting, hugging, embracing. She was crying with joy as Ron's image was up on the screen, surrounded by his teammates and being congratulated, beaming, ecstatic that his moment to shine had come. He had been announced as the game and season most valuable player and other accolades would surely follow. She was so happy for him.
She turned towards the Weasleys as the Cannons dispersed into the darkening sky in a sort of victory ritual, swallowed by the explosions of orange and green fireworks, as their fans continued to celebrate on the pitch and up in the air. The twins were animatedly re-enacting the game as if they were the only witnesses to it, Molly was in tears too, smiles and laughter all around. This would likely go on throughout the night, for days on end.
Then, something sounded horribly wrong. A piercing chilling shriek from somewhere in the crowd that was joined in by more of the same, echoing each other, infecting the remaining occupants of the stadium in waves.
Brooms swooshed as they landed near the center of the playing field where an orange motionless dot was attracting emergent attention.
She stared at the large screen and for a moment she could not comprehend what she was seeing. There was someone wailing near her, calling out Ron's name. He was on the pitch surrounded by Mediwizards and Healers, his body in an unnatural position. They said he had fallen broomless from the sky. There was talk of it being an accident, an eerily familiar accident. A dark haired figure on a broom had touched down beside him and briefly obstructed her view before joining those trying to help.
Inappropriate as it may have been Ron's face was shown; his eyes were open, fixed and empty. She tried to speak, to ask what was happening, why was he not on his broom celebrating, why was he not moving, why were the Mediwizards and Healers not doing anything? But no sound escaped from her. Not one single muscle on her seemed capable to take her down to where he was even though she wanted to. It was as if while her mind refused to accept what she was witnessing, she had seen death too many times the rest of her knew that it was too late. Her knees gave way and she would have fallen had Ginny not been beside her to hold on to.
He was quickly taken away, presumably to St Mungo's because somehow that was where she ended up next. The staff at St. Mungo's did not even try to revive him anymore. The family was brought into the exam room, thirteen it was, and she walked towards his lifeless broken body that was painfully on the same gurney she and Harry had been on a few days ago, tears just flowing out of her as if through a busted dam.
Somebody was holding her in his arms as she cried clasping Ron's still warm hand in hers, one of the twins it seemed. She saw Molly on the other side of the stretcher, howling, slumped over Ron's body as Bill tried to offer her comfort. And beside Molly someone, who she was certain was Harry, was sobbing openly. She couldn't force herself to look at him to confirm, afraid of what she would say and do to him if she did. She asked him not to let Ron know and he could not even do that.
There was nothing anyone could do. One moment he was smiling and laughing and in the blink of an eye he was gone. As she wept she looked at the orange rose that she still had in her free hand, guilt draining her, responsibility for his death eating her up. Ron's voice echoed within…
…my life has just not been tragic enough…
…I wonder if she'll give me the same kind of attention…
…I should do a Potter during a game and find out…
…I'll be more Harry-like…
As hard as it was for her to believe, Ron did it. She should have known that there was something more to his unnatural response to her infidelity that met the eye. Finding out it was with Harry was devastating but her breaking up with him was the last straw. Just as he angrily mused in his journal years ago, Ron did what Harry did during his last Quidditch game, only he succeeded where Harry did not.
...I can't imagine life without you...
…you'll regret you let me go…
When Hermione said she could live with the consequences of her Roy Hunt affair, she never imagined it would be this. She never imagined Ron would take his own life.
A/N. Hah! Finally the past is done! I'm not quite sure if I've properly conveyed the reason/s why Hermione is the way she is in the present with Harry. Let me know if I haven't.
More seriously, concerning the mature theme of suicide - I'm not trying to give anyone ideas. It's wrong to take life regardless of who it belongs to.