Come Together
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note and Assorted Feeble Excuses:This was originally intended to be the final chapter, but it's taken so long to write that I'm posting the unfinished portion before the story is concluded. I do have plans to finish the fic eventually, but it will probably take some time! Thanks to all my readers and members of Granger's Library for your patience and understanding.
Chapter Seven: Absolute Beginners
can't make it all alone
i built my dreams around you
-- "Fairytale of New York," The Pogues
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The garden gnomes scattered at the sound of Hermione's shriek, deserting their twinkling rosebush as if their tiny legs were on fire. A moment later the back door flew open and Arthur Weasley poked his red-and-white-nightcapped head outside. "That you, Ron? Everything all right?"
"Fine, Dad, fine," said Ron hastily, shooting Hermione a don't-say-anything look like the one he'd used in Potions when Professor Snape inquired if he was getting help on his assignments.
"Sorry, Mr.Weasley," Hermione said, regaining control of her voice and successfully overcoming the urge to shriek again. "I saw a -- garden gnome, I thought it was a… er… "
" -- Nogtail," finished Ron. "But it was just a gnome, nothing to worry about."
"A Nogtail?" Arthur Weasley was peering at the deserted rosebush with concern.
"Right, silly me, just a gnome," Hermione said hastily. "I should really get my eyes checked, you know, I'll probably be needing glasses one of these days, both my parents have them…" She was faintly aware that she was babbling, but her mind was too busy reeling to care. Ron? Married?
"Well then," Mr.Weasley was saying, "don't stay out here for too long, all right? It's getting chilly."
"Right Dad."
"Good night, Mr.Weasley."
The back door clicked shut behind them, and Ron waited a few moments before exhaling a long breath. "Sorry," Hermione said hurriedly, biting her lip. "I didn't mean -- "
"No, that's all right. I should have given you a bit more warning." He gave her a wry smile. "You should have seen Harry's reaction. It was worse."
"Worse?"
"Seen my sitting room ceiling lately?" Ron leaned back against the porch railing. "There's a bottle of butterbeer stuck in halfway, right above the couch, like it was splinched or something. No idea what spell Harry used to do it. Don't know if he knows either."
"Oh dear." Hermione hid a smile, then abruptly remembered what they had been talking about. "But Ron -- what do you mean? What's happened? How on earth could you be getting married?" She couldn't keep her voice from rising. "Why didn't you tell us? Who is she? Do your parents know?"
"I'm telling them in a few days, once everyone's cleared out. I didn't want to distract them during the holiday. And -- well, I didn't tell you, because -- " Ron stared at the ground, studying his shoelaces. "She's a bit young," he said finally. "And it's a bit sudden."
"Sudden? Well I should say -- " Hermione began, but stopped herself. This was clearly a difficult situation, or Ron would have told them everything from the start. She didn't want to make this any harder for him. "I'm sorry. Keep going."
"Okay." Ron took another deep breath and began talking very fast, still looking at his shoes. "I met… this girl. Through Harry, actually, I think he ran into her at one of his Quidditch parties, and we'd met once long ago but I think both of us were sort of asleep at the time -- anyway, one thing led to another, and well, we started seeing each other, and I couldn't really say anything, because I didn't want to get her in trouble. Because she is quite young and all."
"How… young is young?"
"Well, er -- she's… she's… sixteen."
"Sixteen -- "
"Yeah. Still in school. She had quite a time of it, sneaking out to see me on weekends off. I really didn't want her to, but she -- I mean -- " Ron flushed a deep pink. "We sort of fell in love. I didn't mean for it to happen."
"Ron!" Unable to restrain herself, Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "That's wonderful! Even if she is… sixteen."
Ron looked up and squeezed back. "Thanks," he said shyly. "But there's more."
"Okay." Hermione was beginning to feel slightly dizzy.
"We, er… well, you know." Ron coughed; in the dim light Hermione could still see that he had flushed scarlet. "We started getting quite… close. And after a while, she didn't feel very well… so she thought… She thought she might be pregnant."
These last words had come out in a rush; Hermione drew in her breath sharply. "She what?"
Ron's voice broke slightly. "She thought she was pregnant," he said. "Went to a mediwitch and everything, but they couldn't tell us right away. I was -- I mean, we were so worried. So I -- " He stared up at the stars, pinpricks in the cold air. "I thought I should do the right thing. I didn't want to mess up her life any worse than I had already. I went to Diagon Alley and I bought a ring… and I asked her to marry me."
"Oh, Ron." Hermione stepped forward to lean against the railing next to him; he drew her close, and she buried her face in his winter robes.
"It's all right," Ron said, and his voice sounded weary. Hermione had the sudden realization that while she'd been preoccupied with her own miseries for the past few months, Ron had been through something that might have been even worse. "She wasn't pregnant. We found out a few days after I proposed."
"So why are you… I mean, you're still… "
"Yeah, I know. We're still going to do it, I think." Ron heaved a sigh and shoved both hands into his pockets. "She was great about it, really amazing, you know? Told me she would understand if I didn't want to go through with it… tried to give back the ring and everything. But that made me realize… " He looked down at Hermione, his eyes shining dimly in the starlight. "I do love her," he said quietly. "And I do want to marry her someday. And she wants to marry me. So it might as well be now."
"Oh, Ron."
"You said that already." Ron managed a half-smile.
"I suppose I did. I -- well, I don't know what to say."
"Say I'm not crazy," Ron said quietly. "Say I'm not making the hugest mistake of my life."
"Well, I -- " Hermione's voice caught in her throat. "I wish I could say that. But I don't know, Ron, I really don't." She looked up at him. "I don't even know her," she said quietly.
"You do, actually," Ron said, going red again.
Hermione felt her jaw go slack with surprise. "You're joking?"
Ron traced a pattern on the porch with the toe of his shoe. "Do you remember, in our fourth year… Fleur Delacour's little sister? Gabrielle?"
Hermione felt an odd ringing in her ears. It felt as if all the blood had rushed out of her head and into her heart, which stalled violently in mid-thump. "Gabrielle Delacour?" she whispered, and the stars began to swim slightly as she put a hand on the porch railing for support.
"That's right, Gabrielle. Are you all right, Hermione?" Ron was peering down at her. "You look awfully pale."
"No, I -- I mean, yes, I just -- well, I think maybe -- " Her heart had started beating again, and it was now pounding out a rhythm that matched the rushing noise in her ears. "It's all a bit much," she said faintly. "I think I need to sit down."
"Yeah, good idea, let's sit," Ron was saying, and he took her arm and walked her over to a bench on the porch, where he sat down heavily beside her. "I take it you know Gabrielle?" he asked timidly, once they were both seated.
"Well, I -- I suppose I do." Hermione found that her brain had reconnected with her voice, and she grabbed Ron's arm, a bit harder than she'd intended. His eyes widened in surprise. "But I thought -- " she began, looking down at his arm and loosening her grip. "Sorry -- I mean -- "
"What is it?" Ron was now looking distinctly worried.
"I thought, you know, she and Harry…" At this Ron's eyes went even wider. "I thought they were together," she finished sheepishly.
"Gabrielle and Harry?" It was a good thing they were both sitting down now, because Hermione thought Ron might have taken a turn falling over backwards.
"Yes -- well -- " Hermione was now stricken with guilt. What if she'd just ruined Ron's engagement, blurting out this sort of news to him? His fiance and his best friend? "I could be wrong," she amended hastily, starting to panic at the look on Ron's face. "I mean, I just -- I never saw anything -- but the morning after the Quidditch semifinal -- I let Gabrielle in to visit Harry."
Ron was staring at her intently. "So?"
"Er, well... He let her into his flat, and closed the door and put out a school tie. You know, for privacy."
Ron let out a relieved exhale with such force that Hermione thought he might pass out. "'Mione," he said, beginning to smile again, "that's all you saw?"
"Well... yes." Hermione was beginning to feel slightly ridiculous. Was that really all she'd seen? And that had been enough to send her into an emotional tailspin? An emotional tailspin the equivalent of a rather large and devastating hurricane?
"'Mione." Ron shook his head. "I told Gabrielle to go visit Harry that day."
Ron was casually turning her world upside down and sideways with this explanation."You did?"
"Yeah." Ron blinked at her in the dim light. "It's why she came to talk to me in the first place. I ran into her at a party the night of the semifinal, and she remembered me right away. She said she'd been having nightmares for years about what happened underwater -- during the Second Task, I mean -- even though she hadn't been awake during the Task. Really odd, right? Anyway, she was really happy to talk to someone who'd also been there. We talked for most of the night, and I told her to go see Harry, since Harry actually brought her out of the lake and all. Thought it might make her feel better, help with the dreams, you know? So Harry was expecting her that morning, I told him she wanted to come talk to him privately. I didn't get around to telling you though, you went home early that night. I didn't think it was a big deal, anyway."
Hermione could only sit and absorb this information with an odd numbness. She had the urge to burst out laughing and crying at once. Laughter was currently winning. It was all so absurd. She'd been so absurd.
"That's all it was? She wanted to talk about the lake?"
"That's all it was, yeah. Made her feel much better." Ron was looking at Hermione quizically again. "Why did it matter that you thought she was with Harry? He's had a dozen girlfriends since he moved to London."
This struck frighteningly close to the core. Hermione felt herself turn pale; she floundered for a few long seconds. "Well, she's -- awfully young," she blurted at last.
Hermione could tell that Ron flushed pink even in the near-darkness. "Right," he said, scuffling the ground with his toe. "I suppose she is."
"Oh Ron." Hermione took his hand. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it. You're in love with each other, your ages won't matter in a few years." She attempted to settle into a new white lie, an almost-truth. "I kept meaning to ask Harry about it, but I never got around to it, with school and all. He'd have set me straight, I'm sure."
Ron nodded, staring out into the yard. They were both silent for a moment, Hermione's brain attempting to sort through a murky soup of emotions. When Ron finally squeezed her hand and let go, Hermione started -- she'd forgotten that he was holding it. "Just tell me one thing," he said, his voice gravelly and solemn.
"Of course."
"I'm not completely barmy, am I? I've never felt this way before. The tiniest thing can set me off. I haven't been myself at all -- I didn't even tell you two about it. I mean, that's really not like me, right? Really, really not like me. But I was so worried about what you'd say, and I didn't want anything to change with Gabrielle." He gave a hollow laugh. "I'm going to St. Mungo's, aren't I? You can break the news to me gently."
Hermione knew precisely how he felt. Absolutely precisely. Her heart twanged and she tried to laugh breezily. "Oh honestly, Ron. You're not going anywhere."
"I'm not? What on earth's wrong with me, then?"
"Nothing." Hermione looked up at the stars, winking back at her like tiny gold flecks of light, and thought of someone else, someone who caught tiny gold fluttering things and smiled quite a lot like the winking stars. "You're in love, is all."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Harry Potter was in an extraordinarily good mood. He was also, in typical Harry fashion, running late.
Hermione couldn't help grinning at him as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, scrubbing his hands hastily through his wet hair. As distracting as it was to see him in a towel, it was also somewhat startling to see him without his glasses -- his face looked oddly naked, younger, lacking some of the sharpness and edge that bespectacled Harry usually possessed. "You're late," Hermione said chidingly, from her seat on the sofa in Harry's sitting room.
"Oh, sod off, I know," Harry laughed, pausing to squint at her. "What are you wearing?"
"You'll see. Go on, hurry up. I've been waiting to use the washroom."
"I'm hurrying." Harry disappeared into his bedroom. "What's wrong with your toilet upstairs? Not good enough for you?"
"Not really," Hermione opened Harry's washroom door to a cloud of steam. "I can't tell you to hurry up when I'm in that one."
"Very clever."
"I am." Hermione cleared away the steam with a wave of her wand, then studied her reflection in the mirror.
It was New Year's Eve, and though Harry had been invited to dozens of parties, the one he'd been most excited about -- and the one he'd insisted Ron and Hermione both attend -- was the one being thrown by Morris Whiggam, the coach of England's national Quidditch team. Every year Whiggam provided Portkeys to all his guests that whisked them away to a vast ballroom somewhere in Wizarding London, decorated far too extravagantly in some sort of theme. Last year, according to Harry, the room had been done up like a wizard circus, with the ceiling stretched into the pinnacles of a circus tent, and clowns, enchanters, and every imaginable animal and beast prowling around the party. This year's event was rumored to be even more spectacular, so naturally, Harry had insisted they both come with him.
Ron was bringing Gabrielle, which was an event unto itself. He'd broken the news to his family the day after Christmas, and all of the Weasleys had been remarkably understanding, though Molly had murmured "Oh, Merlin" for the better part of an hour afterwards. After that, however, the news that another of her sons was getting married finally seemed to sink in, and she was a whirlwind of happy activity, sending Owls to distant relatives and immediately recruiting the very ancient Errol to send an invitation to the Delacours for supper.
Hermione had enjoyed watching the buzz of excitement over Ron's news, but more importantly, she'd enjoyed watching Ron's great relief at his family's reaction. The engagement had been a welcome distraction; she could stand quietly in a corner with Harry and revel in the simple thrill of his presence while the rest of the Weasleys fussed over Ron.
Ron had asked Harry to be best man at the wedding, and what's more, he'd asked Hermione to be in the wedding as well -- as one of his "groomsmen," the rest of whom were a long parade of Weasley sons. "I need both of you on my side," Ron had said in simple explanation. The look on Harry's face at that moment was something Hermione wouldn't forget anytime soon. It was as if a tiny bit of the darkness he had carried with him for so long had lifted at Ron's words and gone forever.
So tonight, for the first time, the Trio would become the Trio-Plus-One, and everyone was slightly nervous, but it was a happy sort of nervous. Hermione fidgeted with a strap on her dress and wondered for the twelfth time that evening whether it had been wise to let Ginny talk her into such a purchase. "It's New Year's Eve," Ginny had said, as if that was reason enough to justify buying a large piece of furniture, two new broomsticks, and a summer home in Crete. So Hermione had splurged. The Dress was simple black silk, with two whisper-thin straps and tiny black beads sewn across the straight neckline. It was rather more form-fitting than anything Hermione usually wore -- it was cut on the bias, and came to just above her knees, flaring out very slightly at the bottom. And like any truly elegant piece of witch couture, a tiny pocket sewn into the back of the dress had room for her wand.
"You look stunning, dear," said Harry's mirror, jolting Hermione into the present. She flushed and tried to hide a smile as she began working on another hair-taming charm -- she would wear it mostly down tonight if she could get it to behave. "Thank you," she said modestly, gesturing with her wand as a long brown curl wound itself into a sparkling clip above her right ear.
A loud commotion in the sitting room nearly caused Hermione to singe off a carefully placed curl with her wand. She threw open the washroom door to reveal Ron pounding frantically on Harry's bedroom door with a tie in one hand, his red hair slicked back and nearly as shiny as the bathroom mirror. He whirled around at the sound of the door, a panic-stricken look on his face. "Hermione, thank Merlin you're here! I tried to find you upstairs but you weren't there, and I'm running late to pick up Gabrielle and I can't get this sodding tie done right and I think I sort of overdid the Sleakeasy's hair stuff, and I'm sweating spellbooks here because I've just gone up and down the stairs six ruddy times -- " He stopped short, finally seeming to see Hermione for the first time. "Bloody hell!"
"What? What is it?"
"You look wicked!"
Hermione smiled, crossing the room to take the tie from Ron's hand. Even in heels she needed to stand on tiptoe to help him with it; she looped it over his head and began to fiddle with the knot. "Calm down, I don't know why you're so hopeless at this when you're nervous." She looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. "Wicked good or wicked bad?"
"Wicked bloody excellent," Ron said, rolling down his sleeves and beginning to button the cuffs of his dress shirt.
"Honestly, Ron, don't do that while I'm trying to do this -- "
They both turned as Harry's bedroom door clicked open and Harry stepped out, straightening his own tie, striped in muted Gryffindor colors. He was wearing dark suit pants and a simple white dress shirt, which was setting off the crimson flush that was now blooming across his cheekbones as he looked at Hermione with eyes wide behind his round glasses. He looked so utterly startled that Hermione glanced down to see if one of her thin spaghetti straps had quit on the job and left her exposed in some mortifying fashion. But all was well, and she found that she was not nearly brave enough to meet Harry's gaze again. He must be shocked to see me in an actual dress, Hermione told herself, and busied herself with Ron's tie in an effort to stop blushing.
Ron had apparently caught Harry's look, because he grinned and stepped away from Hermione with a theatrical gesture as she finished knotting his tie. "Doesn't she look brilliant?" he said, holding her at arm's length and waggling his eyebrows at Harry.
"Spectacular," said Harry truthfully, stepping forward to take Hermione's hand from Ron. He bent to kiss it in jest, his still-wet hair tumbling into his eyes as they all laughed and Hermione blushed harder. Harry raised his eyes to meet hers and there was an odd gravity veiled in their twinkling mirth. "I've never seen anyone so beautiful."
Hermione had come perilously close to fainting four times in her life, and she was surprised to discover that the tally was now up to five. "Will you two stop," she said, her pulse uncomfortably quick. "We're going to miss the Portkey, Ron, if you've got to pick up Gabrielle."
Ron swore. "Merlin's beard, what the sod am I hanging around with you lot for? I'd better meet you there, Harry, I'm not sure we've got enough time -- "
"Go, go!" Harry said, shooing him towards the door. "You can make it just fine if you Apparate from the front steps."
"Right." Ron took an enormously deep breath and turned around, straightening his tie. "Do I look okay?"
"Smashing," Hermione said, smiling.
"Breathtaking," Harry grinned. "Lovely. I can't look at you, I'll faint."
"Sod off, Potter." Ron was chuckling as he jogged down the stairs.
Abruptly they were alone, and the silence in the apartment was deafening. Ron had left them to pick up his date -- his fiance -- and the Trio was now officially not quite the same. Hermione found herself wondering if Harry would resent being paired with her by default. His consolation prize. She felt a lump rise in her throat as she thought of Ron, and missed his reassuring presence with an ache that was nearly physical.
"Um, well then." Harry broke into the awkward quiet, picking up his heavy winter robes from the back of the couch and beginning to put them on. "Do you have everything? We'd best be off too."
"Wait, just a moment." Hermione felt scattered, and groped around for her wand (safely in the hidden pocket of her dress), the small evening bag she'd brought downstairs, and her wool robes. Harry had beaten her to her robes, however, and was holding them open for her before she could pick them up. "Thanks," she said quietly, her nerves buzzing.
"No problem." Harry offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
Everything was changing. The warmth of Harry's arm brought a swift change to Hermione's mood as she slipped her hand around his wrist, and she caught his eye and he gave her a small nervous sideways Harry-smile. Just Harry.
It would be all right. It would be different from now on, but they would be all right, all three of them. All four of them.
Just the two of them.
"We shall."
They descended the stairs, a pair of dark-robed figures picking their way across snowy cobblestones to the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The windows of Orthagon Alley were glowing gold like champagne, and the noise of distant parties floated from faraway rooftops. In a moment the two figures were joined by two more; one of them groped on the ground for something that looked distinctly like a discarded Christmas cracker. For a moment the four of them huddled together, and then they winked out of existence, obscured by scattered snowflakes that hung on the wind like confetti.
to be continued...
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