through dooms of love.pdf

8/14/2019 Through Dooms Of Love.pdf

1/38

Through Dooms of Love

There was a crack! as Ron Apparated into theircramped house, shaking off the chill of the

blustery evening he had left behind in the windystreets of Glasgow. The rooms were dark, butcozy in a decidedly intimate way that made hisblood rush, and for a wild minute he

contemplated shrugging off not only his robe,but all of his clothes. The youngest Weasley sonhad learned some restraint over the past few

years, however. After taking a moment to get hisbearings in the scented, he now noted

dimness, he padded toward the bedroom.Christmas music wafted down the hallway, thewords and tune unfamiliar to him. He treadquietly to the doorframe, and out of longself-unnoticed habit, tugged through his longhair, currently pulled back from his face in aponytail. There was a bit of unruly curl to itwhich manifested itself the more he let it grow,

but continued protestations that he was only"wearing it Black" meant that for the most part,his parents had finally stopped giving him grief


2/38

about it.

Hermione had never complained.

Ron stood, shadowlike, looking in on her. She layon their blanket-covered bed, the green cabledthrow being her first large hand-knitted project.It was also Crookshanks' favorite perch, and he

lay at her feet, curled in on himself. Hermione'seyes were shut, her normally errant mane

restrained by several clips. Instead of her wand,she had a Muggle apparatus pointed at their

stereo, her hand resting on the bed. As Ronlingered, he knew that he had heard that songbefore.

It'd been mere moments prior; Hermione had

the one song set on repeat. It was one of severalaspects about her that threatened both to drivehim raving mad and simultaneously wish todrown in her idiocentricities. The latter was aword she had accidentally fabricated, and it wellexplained some of her complicatedMuggle/Wizard attributes; a kind of muddied

sense of self that Ron had never had to worryabout.

His rather soggy mind began to pick up on the

words of the music in their decidedly non-magic


3/38

loop.

No sad thought his soul affright, sleep it is that

maketh night;Let no murmur nor rude wind to his slumbers

prove unkind

Ron walked into the room and gingerly sprawlednear Hermione, hoping not to disturb her. As theharmonies continued through the tonal paths

written by their composer, he took a quickglance to the side table and saw with stifledsatisfaction that the flowers he had orderedwere there. The glass vase which held themsubtly changed hues from scarlet to deepestviolet and back again. Inside were tiger lilies.Her favorite.

With confident fingers he traced the smooth skinabove her eyebrows, not wishing to wake her,but rather to ground himself. So much had been

taken away from him, and from her, as the warwith Voldemort continued to rage onuncountable fronts. As he was currently

sequestered away from it all, for a quiet momenthe reflected that he was the luckiest man alive.He savoured her sacred everydayness and even

occasional haughty barbs which accidentally fellfrom her tongue. They reminded him of their


4/38

days at Hogwarts when they were younger, soinnocent despite the trials they had undergone.

Recklessly Ron leaned into Hermione. He closedhis eyes, breathing in the jasmine scent of herhair ("Something to smell like summer, Ron; you

just aren't affected by day after day after day ofgrey skies like I am, you lucky git!"), and lay

fully on his side, his fingers loosening two ofHermione's clips so that he could entangle his

hands in her frizzy hair.

This is good, he reveled. He cracked one eyehalf-open to gaze at her, then at the flowers. Itwas their first wedding anniversary. The week

before Christmas, much to his chagrin. But hehad never been able to wait, to keep his foot out

of his mouth, always spouting off, speakingbefore thinking. In his seventh year, he had beenflabbergasted to discover that beyond theirintense bickering lay a profound longing. Evenafter it had been sealed by several, "Oh, shut up,Ron!"s said by a breathless Hermione, and hisbeing branded by her searing kisses, he had

been rather undone by it all.

He, Ron Weasley, one time 'ickle prefect' asnamed by the twins (one who had even dated

Hermione for a short time, though she now


5/38

swore it was due to some inexplicable Charmingconcoction that George had tried on her, but Ron

was never sure of that), was married to her. He

had proposed a year and five days ago. WithRon's heartfelt request, Hermione haddiscovered an unexpected and vibrant romanticstreak. They had eloped and were married onlydays later, shocking most of their friends and

crushing her parents' hopes for a churchwedding. That, despite their acknowledgement

that their daughter spent most of her time in theWizarding world, not Muggle.

The song began again. Ron was starting to get aslight headache from the powerful cranberry

scent of the enchanted tapers which glowed,hovering above their chest of drawers, when

Hermione opened her eyes.

"Hermione," Ron breathed, caressing acheekbone. "Happy Anniversary." He paused amoment. "I love you."

A slow smile warmed her face. "And I you." She

gazed at him for a few moments, then leanedover to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you

for the flowers, they're simply glorious. Iwatered them." They both glanced at the gift

arrangement, the glass container still shifting its


6/38

hues in a gentle pattern. She took his hands inhers. "Still nothing," she murmured.

Ron bit down on his lower lip in frustration andanger. It had been over three months sinceanyone had heard from Harry, who haddisappeared. It was bad enough that Hermione,his heart's desire, was an Auror, but Harry, still

his best friend in the world, was one as well, andfor him simply to vanish

Just at that moment, two loud noisessimultaneously shattered the reverent mood.The telephone near their bed rang, and an owltapped its beak on the window.

"Gah!" Hermione squealed while Ron shot up

from the bed.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed.

As Hermione gave him a reproachful look whileleaning over to answer the phone, Ron tumbledover the blanket, stretching to the window to let

in the owl. He half-listened to Hermione, whowas speaking to her parents, apparently; he hadyet to get used to that particular device, despite

his own father's obsession with Muggle artifacts.


7/38

Crookshanks growled at Ron. "Hush, you!"

Ron didn't recognise the owl, which gave him his

second affronted glance in mere seconds, thenhooted worryingly at seeing the cat. After givingthe bird what he hoped was a reassuring smileand stroking its head, he removed theparchment from its leg.

"Ron," Hermione said, relief poorly disguised in

her voice, "Dad's ill and can't come over withMum tonight. Do you mind if they reschedule for

dinner?"

"No, bright eyes."

She smiled in response, having been called by

her favorite nickname.

As she brought the conversation with hermother to a close, Ron mouthed the words, "I'dforgotten, anyway."

She nodded, placing the handset on to the

receiver while Ron unrolled the recently arrivedpaper, quickly scanning its news. He scrunched

up his eyes and held the parchment close to hisface, trying to read the scrawled message. After

a few minutes, he lowered the page. "Well, what


8/38

is it?" Hermione demanded, now flustered andsomewhat anxious.

Ron shook his head, incredulous, but alsofurious, as though he had just seen his belovedChudley Cannons almost win the Quidditch Cup,only to falter in the last seconds of the game.

"Malfoy," he spat, handing her the page. "Draco,that is. He's changed sides and since he

provided so much information, they've let himgo."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Let him go?" sherepeated, disbelievingly. "Just go, free, just like

that?"

Ron nodded savagely. "They reckon he'll leavethe U.K. maybe even Europe."

"Who's it from?" she asked, an officious tone

creeping into her voice.

"Neville."

With slightly trembling fingers, Hermionereached over to the bedside table to pick up her

glasses. She put them on and read theparchment as Ron gnawed on an already


9/38

well-bitten fingernail. She hadn't needed glassesat Hogwarts, despite all of the hours spent in the

relatively dim light of the Gryffindor common

room. It was only after she had been ambushedearlier that year, her first as an Auror. Ron hadspent seventy-two anguish-ridden hours at herside at St. Mungo's, unsure how much of thedamage sustained by the multiple Crucio curses

inflicted on her would be permanent. After threedays of intense work by the Healers, it appeared

that Hermione would recover, but her eyesighthad never been the same.

Hermione had, rather to Ron's displeasure, goneto Bulgaria to attend the wedding of Viktor Krum.

While sightseeing for one day in Sofia, she hadbeen savagely attacked. It was only thanks to

Neville, who had been sent to the Balkans aspart of the war on Voldemort, that Hermione hadsurvived at all. Neville had kept his interest inherbology, but in his last two years at Hogwartshe had also decided to become an Auror andrevenge his parents. This decision had happenedto coincide with a rather sudden growth spurt

and a supportive girlfriend, Muriel Finnigan, acousin of Seamus'. Hermione had been within

Neville's sights on the cobbled street, meetinghim for coffee, when a Death Eater suddenly

appeared.


10/38

Now Ron curled up behind her, re-reading the

page over her shoulder and stroking her back.

After a couple of minutes she put the paperdown as well as her glasses.

"Kiss me?" she asked plaintively. With longinghands, he turned her face to his. Their lips met,

warmth on cold, and Ron closed his eyes. Hedeepened the exchange, his tongue running

around her lips, then seeking the heat of hermouth as his left hand found a familiar lodging

on her right temple, her wiry hair sheltering hisfingers. He breathed in a warm breath ofcinnamon/orange as they kissed, each small

wave of heated air lighting fires whichsmoldered in his groin. His long fingers slowly,

but with purpose, traced achingly taut curves ofher chest until she began to moan.

Ron cradled her as he rolled onto his back, andHermione raised up from him, chilled currentstaking the place of her familiar andsuddenly-missed flesh. He began to breathe

more shallowly, the heat from under her skirtradiating into his now noticeable hardness. Her

dexterous hands started at his neck,unbuttoning his green shirt.


11/38

As she did so, she shook her head, and Ronraised himself up onto his elbows. "What?" he

asked, his voice a convoluted mixture of lust and

lingering insecurity.

Hermione continued to undo his oxford withpainstakingly regular movements. Her shortfingernails occasionally raked across his torso

under his fiery chest hair, usually followed by adelicate tongue-flick, making Ron's breathing

even more irregular. For a brief moment, she satupright, answering his question with her own.

"How is it that someone with your colouring endsup looking rather ill in green?"

She trailed her index finger across the image

above his heart: a knight who went through acontinuous, but repetitive, range of motions;parrying right, then hopping astride a broomand catching a Snitch, then dismounting andparrying left, again and again. It was theemblem of the newest fledgling Quidditch teamin the British Isles, the Green Knights of Glasgow,

who'd hired Ron to be their assistant coach.

Ron rolled his eyes before grabbing Hermione'shands and clutching at them, pulling them

behind his head so that he could kiss her again.


12/38

They spent several minutes in that fashion,Hermione straddling him, Ron rubbing the

straining warmth of his affections against her

midsection, even as she freed her hands to undothe rest of his shirt, tugging it off of him. Theyrolled sideways on the bed, their hands greedilysearching for warm skin, when Ron mumbled,"What? What is it?"

Extricating herself from his passionate mouth,

she replied, "Nothing! I wasn't saying anything."

Then they both heard it. Ron's name was beingcalled from the tiny living room, which housedan even tinier fireplace.

"Oh, bloody hell!" he swore, as Hermione

affectionately thwacked his head. "I'll be rightback," he promised, not bothering to dress as hegot up from the bed.

"Ronald Weasley, the Glaswegians have madeyou quite the foul-mouth!"

A smirking grin twitched at the corner of his lipsas Ron jogged the few steps into the next room

where he collapsed on his knees before the firegrating. It was Fred.


13/38

Ron's older brother gave him a quick going-overfrom the fireplace, then shut his eyes in mock

horror. "Please, Ron don't you ever wear a

shirt? A man could go blind looking at yourpasty "

"Piss off!" was the hasty reply. "It is my

anniversary, after all." As soon as Ron haduttered the words, he regretted it, and beganspluttering, "Not that I'm going to talk to you

about it, I'm not telling you a fucking detail-"

"Ron!" Fred exclaimed. "The last thing I want to

hear about ever is your love life." The head

in the fireplace shuddered, then looked back intothe room. "I thought you should know that

Malfoy-"

"Free," Ron said venemously. "I know. Got anowl from Neville."

Fred made an appraising sound.

Ron wrapped his lightly-muscled arms around

his now very cold chest. "He thought Hermioneshould know." A self-indulgent thought crossedhis mind. "Would you like to tell her as well? Shedoes happen to be winning 'most popularGranger-Weasley' this evening."


14/38

Ron was still reconciling himself to her choice not

to take his family name exclusively, but had

decided that it wasn't worth arguing over. Fredlooked cross. Behind him, Ron could just seesome of he shelves from the newly-expanded

joke shop being restocked by his fiance, an

indescribably tolerant Muggle named RoseMcLaughlin.

"Sure," Fred replied. "Anything to keep fromseeing your scrawny"

"Hermione!" Ron yelled. "Fred wants to talk toyou." Ron's pale face beamed as she shuffled in,wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe and looking rather

morose.

"I'll be outside for a few minutes," he said,winking.

"Oh Ron," she sighed, then sat down before thefireplace. Magical Christmas lights blinked red,gold, green and violet in a sophisticated pattern

that Hermione had created, a nod to heraffections for arithmancy and ordered chaos in

general.

"Filthy habit, you know!" her voice arched


15/38

toward him as he dug through a kitchen drawerand pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He delved

around some more and found an ancient lighter,

but as he shook it, he saw that the contents hadevaporated. Shrugging, he decided to take hischances and use his wand to light it on theirsmall porch.

"I'm pretty sure I tasted Grand Marnier on yourlips, my dear," he said, making a brief

reappearance in the living room to kiss her onthe forehead. "A habit is a habit." He went back

to their room, stretched a well-worn tracksuittop over his head, donned his coat, completewith Green Knights of Glasgow green and white

striped scarf, and left the house to go smoke inthe cold air.

Once outside, after a hasty glance to right andleft, he murmured an Incendio, and the end ofhis cigarette burned cheerfully. Ron put it to hislips and deeply inhaled before letting out asatisfying stream of smoke. The moon seemedalmost full, or just past, as it gleamed brightly in

the night sky. It shone down on Ron as he put hiswand in his coat pocket and tossed one end of

the scarf over his right shoulder. Absentmindedly,his freckled fingers raked through his long hair

as he stood leaning against one of the skewed


16/38

banister railings. After another drag, still staringat the heavy moon, Ron decided that he had

time to take a short walk down the road.

The last time that Fred had made such a visit inthe fireplace, his fiance had spent at least thirty

minutes talking to Hermione about their

upcoming wedding, and bridesmaid's dresses,and the like. Once Ron had been able to get aword in edgewise, he'd stared at his older

brother.

"Fred," he had said, quite sincerely, "what areyou thinking? Elope, like we did! Mum's alreadybroken in. She won't cry as much when you tellher."

Fred had gazed back sympathetically, but shookhis head. "Rose won't hear of it." His eyesregained their more usual mischievous quality."Besides, without her nieces and nephews,

where else would George be able to try out a fewof our newest products?" Ron had beenmid-swig on a butterbeer as that sentence was

spoken. He'd choked immediately, but his noiseswere luckily unheard in his home due to the factthat Hermione had decided to take a shower.

That had led to far more lucky circumstances forhim after saying goodbye to his brother.


17/38

Ron briefly shuddered, brought back to the

present as he apprised the stars overhead. Their

light was so distant as to seem brittle; the windwhich had assaulted him earlier in the dayduring his team's training drills was nowcompletely absent. As Ron rummaged throughhis right coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes,

his mind wandered through the exercises theGreen Knights had performed, mulling through

the strengths and weaknesses of his Beaters andKeepers as he lit a second cigarette from the one

he had just finished. He turned to return to theirhouse, and continued walking after tossing thestill-glowing papers to the ground, lost in

thought about his rather youthful team.

But by damn,he thought,they have talent, evenif they don't have much experience.

He was rather startled as he realised that he wasalready almost at his house on Gaffer's Row.Must walk faster when I'm thinking aboutQuidditch, he decided as he took one last drag,

then dropped the cigarette and ground it outwith the heel of a rather shoddy shoe. Out of

habit, Ron unbuttoned his overcoat and flappedit in an effort to rid it of some of the smell before

heading in through the front door. He took the


18/38

narrow stairs two at a time and gave his coat tothe first hand which protruded from a rack of five

near the door, a wedding gift from Ginny.

Hermione was, he noted sadly, fully dressedagain, her hair mostly tidy, and she was usingtheir martini shaker to make a drink. "Brighteyes," he began, "why don't we just have some

wine? Isn't it a bit late" His voice trailed off as

she turned to look at him and he heard their

toilet flush. There was someone else in thehouse.

Ron was so stunned that he simply stood therefor a moment, his fingers hanging loosely fromhis beltloops. A man only slightly shorter thanhimself walked into the kitchen, hair impeccably

groomed, but his clothes appearing to be rathertravel-worn.

"Weasley," the man said benignly.

Instinctively Ron reached for his wand, but itwas in his coat pocket on the wall.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, her hand clutching athis elbow to restrain him as he leaned toward

the coatrack. "Draco is visiting."


19/38

His blue eyes stared incomprehensively.

"We're just having a couple of gimlets. He's on

his way to the States, via Iceland." She silentlypleaded with him, as Draco's visage took on itsmore usual haughty look.

"I hope I'm not intruding, Weasley." The voice,

while silky smooth, grated on Ron as though hewere being flayed.

"It's our anniversary, Malfoy. Shite!" Ron

exploded, his voice tremulous. "What the bloodyhell are you doing here?" He took a briefmoment to breathe. "And who let you in?"

Draco smiled, gazing calmly at Hermione.

"Ron!" Hermione purred, cautiously. "He's ourguest. Draco has helped out the Order in waysthat no one else could. Here." She opened up acabinet, took out a wine glass, and handed himan open bottle of shiraz. "Have a drink. We allshould."

Ron's vision was temporarily clouded with rage,

but he took out the cork and poured himself afull glass as Hermione poured the gimlets for

Draco and herself. As they all went into the den


20/38

and Hermione waved her wand at the fireplace,the room was filled with cheery light, and Ron

found that he wasn't quite as on edge as he had

been a few minutes prior.He has turned his backon his family,he thought quickly.But I still don'tlike him in my house. Our house.

The three settled into seats, Ron and Hermione

on a futon and Draco in a cushioned chair. Ronplaced himself right next to his wife, placing a

long arm strategically around Hermione'snarrow shoulder, letting his fingers play with the

ties on her shirt sleeve above her elbow. Despitehimself, he began to relax as they spoke of thepast few years, even when Draco told them

some of what the Death Eaters had been doingin recent months.

"And you, Weasley. What are you doing?"

"Well," Ron replied, putting his wine glass downand feeling for his shirt logo only to realise thathe was still in his ragged tracksuit top, and hisoxford was probably lying crumpled on the bed,

"I'm the assistant coach for a new Quidditchteam."

Draco's grey eyes lit up. "New Quidditch team?

Really?"


21/38

Despite himself, Ron leaned in. "Yes. The Green

Knights of Glasgow. The team's a bit green, yet,"

he said. At this, Hermione groaned and took alarge swig of her gimlet. "But loads of innateskill." Ron toyed with the glass in his hand. "Ididn't think you were much into Quidditch,beyond the Slytherin team."

A wry smile flit across Draco's face. "There's not

a lot you would ever have thought of me. As aSeeker I did what I could to beat Potter, but it

never worked."

At Harry's name, Hermione stiffened.

Ron turned his head to look at her, then whipped

back around to Draco. "Do you know where heis?"

As Draco shook his head, Crookshanks, in a shotof orange fur, rushed hissing at the door.Seconds later, a rather unrecognizable sound ofsolid wood crashing to the ground filled the room.

Ron leapt to his feet, hearing glass shatter asDraco, with catlike grace, snatched into his robe

pocket for his wand, his martini glass thrownagainst the wall in the process.


22/38

Three Death Eaters entered the room.

"Stupify!"Draco snarled, the spell hitting one on

the right in the middle of the chest as it slumpedto the floor.

Hermione screamed, then slid from the futon tothe floor, crawling toward their bedroom to

retrieve her wand. Green light from hastilyuttered spells glanced past Ron's head as he

desperately took in the situation.

He brought them here! his mind raged, untilseconds later he realised that Malfoy wasfighting against the Death Eaters.

"Weasley!" Draco yelled, running at the

black-cloaked figures. "Get Granger! It's herthey want!"

For a split second, Ron took in the chartreusecolour of Hermione's gimlet dripping from thetable to the floor, tossed aside as she made hermad dash on hands and knees from the room.

Then he rushed forward past the first figure inblack, seeing that Draco had aimed a

particularly nasty spell at its face, launchinghimself at his coat and his wand.


23/38

"Duck!"

Even as he heard the hoarse cry, Ron dropped to

the floor. Whizzing red light shot right above hishead, burning a large hole into the wall. His coatfell on his head, and for a confused few secondsRon couldn't see, but then he threw it off, wandin hand and aimed for the third Death Eater.

Hermione had emerged from their room,

shouting spells as fast as her mouth could formthe words. Many of them found their mark, and

another of the figures collapsed to the ground.The third, however, seemed to be of a differentcaliber than the others. In a surprise wandflick

and a bitterly uttered, "Avada Kedavra!,"Hermione was thrown onto the hardwood, blood

trickling from her nose.

"HERMIONE!" Ron yelled, taking preciousseconds to look at his wife. With a howl of rage,he ran straight at the black-hooded figure, hiswand aimed at its heart. As he did, the tall manripped off his mask. Ron's jaw dropped and he

skidded in his tracks as he saw who it was:Lucius Malfoy, incomprehensibly escaped from

Azkaban. Wands levelled, father and son staredat each other, the mutual hatred in their gazes

forming an almost-visible bond across the room.


24/38

"So it comes to this, does it, Draco?" Lucius

growled the words, never losing eye contact with

Draco. "To say that I despise you would be anunderstatement. You aren't worthy to be aMalfoy."

Draco stood, breathing heavily, his wand pointed

unwaveringly at his father's heart. "The feelingis mutual. And you're a terrible father. Protecting

a mudblood was the least I could do beforesending you beyond the veil, where you belong."

Lucius sneered. "Your first heroic attempt as aturncoat, and you've failed."

"Not yet!" Draco yelled, and not quite in tandem,

the two golden-haired figures raged differingcurses, venom in both voices. "AVADAKEDAVRA!"Draco bellowed as Lucius hissedsomething that sounded like "MEDUSAVRAMORI!"Ron stared, horrified, as green light shotfrom Draco's wand into Lucius' chest even as ahideous snakelike creature barreled straight

from Lucius' wand toward Draco's heart,seemingly passing through him, then slithering

into a black vapour which hovered in the airbefore dissipating.


25/38

It was as though time had slowed as the twoMalfoys reeled, Lucius falling first. Draco

crashed into the coffee table, heavy shards of

glass unwittingly forming a deadly pillow underhis head. Ron ran to him, falling in on himself ashe sank to the floor, trying frantically to movethe glass, to ask the questions which burned athis lips while his heart thrashed in his ribs.

"Why?" Ron wailed. "Why Hermione?"

Draco's eyes began to close. "Vengeance." He

coughed a few times. "He was going after Potter.Thought that being fresh out of Azkaban andkilling Granger, he'd bring Potter out into the

open." Blood burbled up into the corner of hismouth. Veiled grey eyes looked up at Ron, who

sat, stunned. "I'm sorry I failed, Weasley. Timingwas rather off."

Ron felt his hand lightly squeezed. He tried toforce his lungs to work, tried to absorb the deadDeath Eaters in the kitchen, Draco dying at hisknees, Hermione in the corridor. "I'll be right

back," he promised, lowering Draco's headreverently to the floor. He crawled on hands and

knees to Hermione, still leaning askance againstthe wall of their hallway, her wand lying useless

on the dusty wood.


26/38

She wasn't breathing. Ron took her precious

face in his hands, ran his thumbs over her

recently-waxed eyebrows, then kissed hereyelids. Silently he held her in his arms as helowered her to the floor, murmuring apologiesfor his uncouth behavior, for not having his wandwhen he should have. As he continued to hold on

to her, he told her how much he loved her, howshe could burn those candles anytime she

wanted, he'd never complain, he'd never smokeagain

Over time, he surrendered, and sobbedunconsolably into her neck. He was ratherunable to notice that Crookshanks was weavingthrough his arms before settling at Hermione's

ankles, mewing pitifully.

***

A week later, Ron sat with Lupin in a Muggle pub.

He had held up pretty well at the funeral, at least

until Mrs. Granger had come up to him andpresented him with a small packet of papers. Astears dropped silently from her bloodshot eyes,

she whispered that she thought he should havethem. It was the notes and letters he had sent


27/38

Hermione, some dating back to their fifth year atHogwarts. Mrs. Granger had found them as she

had been scouring the house for any and all of

her daughter's things, tangible evidence of heronly child, now gone forever. Ron had lost hiscomposure at that point, clutching Mrs. Grangerto him, his crying more like dry heaves thanactual weeping.

Even Draco had been given a proper funeral,

with classmates in attendance Ron hadn't seenin years, many whose names he couldn't

remember, some coming from places as faraway as South America. Narcissa wasconspicuously absent.

Once back at their home, Ron had dumbly noted

that it had been cleaned up, the multi-colouredvase holding the tiger lilies still shifting itsrainbow hues. He was assaulted by the memoryof Lucius' contemptuous face as he'd spoken theunforgivable curse at Hermione. In a fit of ragehe yelled, "You fucking killed my wife!" Hegrabbed the vase and hurled it at the window,

which shattered. For a few moments he staredangrily at the broken glass, frigid air rushing into

the room, then sank to the floor, burying hishead in his knees. Eventually he came to his

senses enough to use his wand to repair the


28/38

window, then found a bottle of scotch in thecabinet, and got mind-numbingly drunk.

After several days of relentless overindulgence,he'd opted to take the edge off of his hangoverby meeting Remus for drinks. He couldn't standthe looks of sympathy, even from Neville, wholived with his own parents' madness. The shock

of loss, its unrelenting persistence, hour afteraching hour, and day by day, Lupin knew. Ron

was drawn to his company, a newly-blind maninstinctively turning toward remembered light.

They sat across two bottles of OrkneySkullSplitters, Ron half-heartedly smoking a

cigarette. Remus laid a warm hand on his, andRon raised his head to look into his companion's

kind golden eyes.

"I could tell you that it gets easier," he saidgently, "but I never was much of a liar."

Ron made a feeble attempt at a smile, thennodded and withdrew his hand to take a deep

swig of ale.

"It does become bearable, if only that," Lupincontinued after swallowing some of his own ale,

then placing the bottle on the table. "But you


29/38

never forget. It's been six years, and I still thinkI see him places."

It had taken Ron a while, a good couple of years,in fact, to understand that Remus and Sirius hadnot been just good mates, they wereRemusandSirius. Hermione had beendumbfounded that he hadn't noticed anything

during the Christmas at Grimmauld Place theirfifth year. "I've always been daft; you told me so

often enough!" he had joked back. "Emotionalcapacity of a teaspoon, didn't you say?" and

then he would smother her with kisses.

Now Ron felt suddenly achey, as though he had a

fever. His own body betrayed him; he hatedsleeping alone, always cold.

"What did you do?" Ron asked wretchedly. "Imean, right after?"

Lupin looked knowingly at him. "You're going toburn your fingers," he said, nodding at thecigarette in Ron's freckled fingers, almost

burned to the filter.

"Thanks," Ron mumbled, grinding it out into anashtray.


30/38

"Molly consoled me," Remus said.

Ron looked at him strangely. "Mum? You?"

"Amazing warmth of heart, she has," Remuscontinued, then took a pull on his pint. "Butultimately you realise that the person is nevergone."

Ron mulled over the comment. "So I'll be

haunted. Fucking brilliant," he said, more to hisbeer than to Lupin.

"It isn't fair, Ron," Remus said, after draining hisbottle. "You don't have to go through this alone,

though."

They sat in silence for awhile until the older mansaid, "I have to meet up with someone from theOrder. You know where my flat is?"

Ron nodded, his hair hanging limply at hisshoulders, his own personal hygiene havingtaken a back seat to his mourning process.

"Cheers, mate," the redhead said as Remus

stood up from the table and shrugged on athreadbare coat.


31/38

Lupin gave him a surprisingly jaunty, yetsomehow melancholy salute. Ron, staring

bleary-eyed, said, "You need someone to dress

you! That trench's hideous!"

Remus smiled. "Yes, it is. Tell Dumbledore I needan increase in pay."

Then Ron was alone at the table, a crushed packof cigarettes and two empty beer bottles for

company.

***

Once back at the house, Ron took a shower, after

shutting the Muggle deadbolts on the doors, asthough that would keep anyone he knew out. It

did keep him inside, however, and therefore lesslikely to incur a cracked head should he fall downthe stairs in a fit of drunken stupidity.

He couldn't help it, but he wanted to feelsomething besides gnawingly empty. As thewater pounded on his back, he tried running his

fingers over his chest, over the slight paunch hehad developed in his belly, over fiery hair to his

Well, he tried. He tried to imagine it was her, orrelive moments when he had imagined it was her,


32/38

or that really attractive coach of the NorwegianNorthwinds, a visiting Quidditch team from

Scandinavia. Bollocks, but she had seemed to

have thighs that went on forever under asurprisingly short skirt, given the climate. And ithadn't been summer, either.

It was no use. He turned off the cold, trying to

scald himself, but their water heater had neverbeen that good. Eventually he stopped the

shower, dried off, and put on a rather ancientbathrobe which barely reached his knees. Ron

now prided himself in his ability to beself-indulgent, hearing all-too-faintlyHermione's chastisements in his head. His long

white feet tripped over Crookshank's litter box,which needed cleaning.

"Fucking hell!" he swore, hopping loopily on onefoot, grasping for the doorframe, then rubbinghis big toe.

Muttering various other unmentionables, hemade his way to their room and crawled under

the knitted blanket. After closing his eyes andimaging all kinds of foul language that he hoped

would make Hermione's hair curl from evenbeyond the grave and somehow bring her back,

his hand grasped the remote for the CD player.


33/38

The track of the song that she had been listeningto only a few days ago came on, and with a start

Ron realised that it was Christmas Eve.

He burrowed under the blanket.

***

In the morning he awoke, shivering, the samesong on repeat just as when Hermione had

programmed it. Crookshanks was at the side ofthe bed, meowing angrily at him.

"Aw, 'Shanks, give me a minute," he mumbledbefore hearing his brother's voice.

"Ron."

He rubbed his eyes, and sat up halfway,clutching the cover to his chest.

"No comments about- oh, it's you, George. Fredwas giving me grief."

George raised an eyebrow. "About?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Nevermind." He ran bothhands through his hair. "What're you doing here?

I'm a bachelor now. Can't cook to save my life.


34/38


35/38

glanced on a bit of white against the green of theblanket. Momentarily distracted by the smell of

coffee in the kitchen, he paused and leaned

forward to grasp at it, drawing up his knees ashe looked at the unexpected parchment.

He stared at it for a while, the handwritingdistressingly familiar. Once opened, he read:

Dear Ron, I wish that I could have said

something to you, but I couldn't. Know thatyou're not alone in mourning Hermione.

Someday soon you can tell me what happened,but until then, you better train that Seeker ofyours. The Swiss will clobber her.

Ron attempted a feeble grin despite himself, but

found that he wiped away a tear instead.

She loved you, Ron. More than she everadmitted to anyone.

But I think you knew that.

I hope to see you soon, and not in the dead ofnight while you're snoring.

Be careful,


36/38

HP

With a meorw-umph! sound, Crookshanks leapt

up on the bed, insistently burrowing under Ron'shands.

"We're doomed," he said sadly, scratching underthe cat's bony jaw.

"We're what?" George echoed, bringing in two

cups of potent coffee, handing a crackedChudley Cannons mug to Ron.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said, shoving the piece ofparchment into an undersized pocket. "'Love is

the whole and more than all.'"

George stared at him for a moment, then satdown heavily on the bed. "Poetry," he murmured."Mum will be so pleased. She'll think you'rechanneling Bill from beyond the grave."

Ron shook his head, blowing on the coffee. "I'mhaunted," he replied, breathing deeply. "Bill,

now Hermione" he shook his head. "Neverquite gone." He stared into the black beverage,then turned reddened eyes toward his brother.

"Muggle poetry," he struggled. "I can never fully


37/38

go back, y'know?"

He took a couple of sips of the coffee before

placing it on the bedside table. George left thebedroom to putter around the kitchen, thenplayed around a bit with the telephone,disturbing several Muggle residents in townduring their Christmas celebrations before going

back to check on his younger brother.

Ron was curled up into a large pink pillow,Crookshanks under his arm. George took the

mug and washed it, then Apparated home.

Ron dreamed of sweet toffee-flavored kisses, of

clear eyes framed by rogue curly hair, of chantsand spells and the faint orange smell of Grand

Marnier.

******

The song Hermione has on repeat is from RalphVaughan Williams' Christmas Hodie, Choral XV.Verse one, which is partially quoted in this story,

is by one of my favorite composers,"Anonymous."

The title of this story and the brief phrase Ron

quotes toward the end is from a poem by e.e.


38/38

cummings, "my father moved through dooms oflove." It seemed both to fit his situation as well

as that of Remus/Sirius.

Back toHarry Potter FanfictionHome
http://www.thrihyrne.net/hpstories.htmlhttp://www.thrihyrne.net/index.htmlhttp://www.sitemeter.com/stats.asp?site=sm6thrihyrnehttp://www.thrihyrne.net/index.htmlhttp://www.thrihyrne.net/hpstories.html

through dooms of love.pdf

Documents