A/N: This is the new chapter, for as you may have noticed, a chapter of this story was lost in the recent PK dilemma. I decided to wait to reupload it until I had a new chapter written. This chapter is very… vignette-based, but I hope it doesn't feel too entirely detached. Enjoy and happy New Year!
Chapter Thirty-Seven
"…not anything too practical, but nothing useless either-"
Ron massaged his temples, looking rather regretfully at the empty butterbeer bottle and wondering if Ginny would notice if he went to fetch another. His ears were filled with an infernal buzzing, which had very little to do with how crowded the Three Broomsticks was and everything to do with the prattling girl sitting across from him.
"…it's just entirely impossible shopping for those two-they're just… they're just too rich!" Ron jumped as Ginny slammed a fist on the tabletop. "They have everything they could possibly want-always excepting additions to the family, of course-"
"They're not rich." Ron interjected belatedly. The thought had never quite occurred to him, but the moment Ginny had said it, it began to bother him slightly. Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Of course they are, Ron. Harry's got an enormous fortune and a high-paying job, and Hermione will have one, too, when she finishes her training."
"They've got seven kids to look after." Ron pointed out.
"But it's… it's not like our family, Ron," Ginny said, obviously catching Ron's train of thought, "They're both very influential, aren't they? Harry… well, you know about him… and Hermione already has loads of accomplishments stacked up behind her at school and at St. Mungo's."
She took a sip of her water and frowned softly.
"And they're blissfully happy," she added after a pause, still more softly. Ron blinked and looked up, speaking without thinking.
"You're jealous!"
She flushed.
"Aren't you?" she demanded, looking up with a defiant flash of her eyes.
"I've had some hard lessons in jealousy," said Ron, a particular memory passing briefly and painfully through his mind. Ginny narrowed her eyes and locked her fingers together tightly in front of her.
"You don't… you don't still fancy Harry, do you?"
"Don't be stupid," Ginny said brusquely, and Ron, after peering into her face, believed her. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" Ron said, surprising himself. He typically would have let the subject drop, but he had the sneaking suspicion-prompted, in part, by the way Ginny's voice sounded-that Ginny was trying not to cry.
"Why do you care?" she snapped.
"You're my sister," Ron said, "Look, I know you usually talk to Hermione about… this kind of thing… but I reckon she's been busy, hasn't she-"
"That doesn't cover half of it," Ginny snorted, obviously still attempting to hide her tears. "She's hardly written a word to me in the past week, and I'm her Maid of Honor! It's always the wedding or the kids or Harry-"
"And Luna being in France looking for the Kalleinderge…" Ron said, beginning to understand at least a little, which was in itself unusual. "Look, Ginny, I know I'm not-er-exactly… sensitive or anything-" he persisted despite her skeptical snort-"but I'll… I'll at least listen, you know-"
Ginny eyed him with red-rimmed eyes.
"I will." Ron insisted earnestly.
Then she smiled feebly.
"I always knew you were my favorite older brother," she said, in an almost normal way. "But no, thanks, Ron, I don't think you'd get it."
"You're probably right," Ron admitted after a pause.
Ginny switched the subject, talking about exams and Quidditch and harmless bits of gossip, her usual self once again, but Ron couldn't help but wonder what exactly `it' was.
He had noticed her looking a little more than stressed recently, but he'd assumed that was the wedding. It concerned him-it wasn't like her to succumb to stress.
He may not have understood it, Ron thought, but there might be something he could do about it anyway.
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"Hermione, can I have a-" Ron began.
"Bedtime, Jack," Hermione said, distractedly gathering abandoned wooden blocks off the floor and nearly tripping over the dog, "Yasmine, I know you heard me! Please put away that book and go to bed-- no, you can finish the chapter tomorrow-Jack! I thought I'd told you to put these cards away?"
She sighed and dropped the armful of blocks into the toy chest, flicking her wand and catching the deck of cards in her hand and dropping that into the toy chest as well.
"Hermione, I wanted to ask you if-"
"I see you behind there, Adrian. Bed," she said sternly, marching Adrian out from behind the couch. "I don't know what's gotten into all of you lately-"
Adrian looked sheepish as Hermione released his arm.
"Sorry, Mama," he said, putting his arms around her neck and kissing her cheek good night. She brushed a kiss across his forehead.
"Apology accepted," she sighed, "if Yasmine is still up, please tell her to turn out the lights. Mind you brush your teeth properly."
"Yes, Mama," he said, grinning at Ron in greeting. Then he turned and hurried away.
The second Adrian was out of the room, Hermione let out another enormous sigh and sank back on the couch.
"I'm sorry, Ron," she said wearily, closing her eyes briefly as she spoke. "What was it you wanted to ask me?"
Ron sat down next to her, clearing his throat.
"Er…"
She looked just as tired as Ginny, if not more so, he thought guiltily. Blast.
"Ron?"
"I talked to Ginny today, and…"
"I've already told her-" Hermione began, but Ron stopped her.
"It's nothing like that," he said, "Can't you… you know… talk to her?"
Hermione stared.
"I Flooed her yesterday," she said, with a hint of impatience.
"That's not what I meant," Ron said testily, "I mean-well, you know, talk to her about something other than the wedding? Or Harry? Or the kids? I think she's lonely; it doesn't seem like she has many close friends at Hogwarts, except for Luna, and Luna's doing the exchange program-"
He trailed off, and was relieved to see understanding dawn on Hermione's face.
"I have been a bit selfish, haven't I?" she said, after a moment, "I haven't even asked about-you're right, Ron, I ought to…"
She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a yawn.
"I'll write her tonight-"
"Not tonight," Ron said before she could finish, "You look like you'll die if you don't catch some sleep."
She smiled.
"Good night, Ron," she said, sliding her arm around his neck and giving him a half-hug. "You're a good brother-and a good friend, too. You should go home. I know you and Luna Floo each other at nine."
She laughed at the deep blush that covered his face.
"It'll be your wedding next," she teased, "just watch."
He grinned at her.
"Merlin, Hermione, one wedding at a time!"
She laughed again.
"Good night, Ron."
"G'night, Hermione."
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Usually Katy needed Yasmine to wake her up, but not this morning. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, skipped down the stairs, and ran through the foyer and kitchen, finally bounding out into the morning barefooted and open-armed.
Just as she saw the brilliance of the watercolor sunrise, she saw Hermione sitting in the grass with Gulliver sprawled at her side.
The sunlight-all flushed and pink with the excitement of a new day-splashed across the yard and caught Hermione's face in a particularly gentle light. Katy couldn't help but catch her breath, suddenly realizing how very young she was.
"Mama?" she said, almost breathlessly. Then, to Katy's immense regret, the moment disappeared with a friendly twinkle, and Hermione turned, smiling in warm welcome.
"Good morning, Katy-girl," she said, extending an arm invitingly. Katy came and sat beside her, smiling as Hermione wrapped her arm around her warmly.
"Good morning, Mama," she said, and reached out and patted Gulliver's head. "Good morning, Gully."
"You're up early," Hermione said, leaning her cheek against Katy's hair. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, but this morning just felt particularly special," Katy explained, "I didn't want to miss this one."
"Neither did I," Hermione said, smiling, "It does seem very special, doesn't it?"
Katy plucked a few blades of grass from the yard and fanned out her fingers, allowing the dew to dampen her fingertips and the breeze to carry it away.
"Sometimes I can feel the world waking up without me," she said at present, watching the grass dance away in the breeze. "It's a sad feeling, knowing that you missed it, don't you think?"
"Yes," Hermione said after a moment. Suddenly there was something sad in her voice. "There are some things you can't replace once you've missed them."
Katy looked into Hermione's face.
"Are there… are there things like that-that you miss?" she said uncertainly. Hermione smiled faintly and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.
"There are always things like that," she said softly, "sometimes all we can do is look to the next waking up, the next morning. Somehow that makes the missed mornings hurt less."
Hermione opened her eyes, and slowly, gently, she kissed Katy's forehead.
"You were one of my `next mornings', Katy," she whispered into her hair. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd missed you."
Katy drew closer to Hermione's side and leaned her head against her shoulder.
"I don't either," she whispered back.
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The melancholy had been completely unexpected, but Harry noticed it in her face.
"What's wrong?"
Hermione put down her book, too tired to put up a pretense.
"I don't know," she said honestly, "I suppose I was just thinking about... all those people who-won't be coming to the wedding."
She could see how the words stung him-she could feel it herself, sharp and bitter.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down. His hands clasped hers tightly, warmly.
"Don't apologize. I know."
"I know you do."
"Hermione?" He was pulling her out of her chair and wrapping her in his arms, and hiding his face in her hair. She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar smell, nestling herself even closer into his arms.
"It's all right, Harry," she murmured, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, "I don't mind the tears anymore."
The afternoon rains had come back, pattering against the windows gently.
Harry took in a deep breath, stroking Hermione's hair and feeling her tears dampening his shirt. She was making small, soft sobs against his neck. The shaky breaths tickled his neck, and her hands were pressed against his back, trembling slightly.
He reached up and slipped off his glasses, tucking them in his pocket. He buried his face in her hair.
She was warm and familiar against him; he didn't smile, but contentment filled him like laughter would. He didn't need a smile; he didn't need to see-he lacked nothing at this moment; this moment was filled to the brim.
"I love you." Her whisper came against his neck again, muffled and damp. He smiled and breathed the reply against her hair.
"I love you, too."
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After dinner and bedtime, Hermione had settled into a chair out on the porch, gazing at the stars and moon hanging silver and clear in a dark sky. Of course she had immediately dropped off to sleep surrounded by the balmy summer evening and the soft song of crickets in the yard, and she dreamed warm, vague dreams of dear faces and familiar places.
At some point she became aware that she was not alone.
She slowly opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness. As the moonlight crept up onto the porch, she realized that Dusty was asleep against her legs.
"Dusty!" she whispered, her voice husky with sleep. Unhurried and unalarmed, he opened his eyes and twisted his head around, looking at her with soft, trusting eyes.
She cleared her throat, nesting her fingers in his dark hair gently.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded.
"Did you need me?"
He cocked his head and smiled. Then he nodded.
"Are you sick?" she said, getting off the chair and sitting beside him. He shook his head and curled up into her side. His look of content was all the answer Hermione needed; at least he wasn't ill.
She wrapped an arm around him and kissed his forehead.
"Well, then," she said, "what did you need?"
He looked at her, and Hermione was quite aware that Dusty believed the answer to her question to be obvious.
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
"I needed nearness," he said simply.
Hermione looked across the yard, bathed in moonlight and swaying sleepily in the soft breeze. She took a deep breath and let it out, and suddenly, sitting on the porch of the house, she could feel the content that Dusty had so easily found in her company.
"Did you feel alone, Dusty?" she whispered. He played with her ring, watching the diamond glimmer with a quiet eye.
"I did before," he said after a pause, in his quiet, unhurried way, "at the hospital. Because everyone told me that I ought to talk."
"You don't like to talk?"
"Not if I don't have anything to say." Dusty smiled at her. "You say what you think is important. I see it, then I draw it."
He began tracing patterns on his knee.
"But what I like about you is," he continued, without looking up, "you don't have to tell me that you love me."
He looked out across the yard once more, and then at her.
"I see it," he said, softly, "I see you love me, and I know I love you, and if someone saw a picture of us right now on this porch, they'd know too."
He leaned his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes.
"When you look at me, you know I love you, don't you, Mama?"
She looked at his face, at thin, paint-splattered fingers threaded through her own, and wondered at the idea that this wise little being had come to her for comfort. Then she brushed a kiss on his forehead, watching a slow smile creep across his face at the caress.
And neither of them spoke.
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