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Casus Belli
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Chapter III: Try
“I
wish I hadn't seen all of the realness
And
all the real people are really not real at all
The
more I learn the more I cry
As
I say goodbye to the way of life
I
thought I had designed for me”
Try
Written and sung by Nelly
Furtado
---
“Hermione?” a masculine voice whispered from outside of Ron
Weasley’s bedroom door. A tanned hand knocked on the orange wood of the
doorframe. “Hermione, are you awake yet”
“Um… no, go away,” Hermione grumbled, pulling a large, egg-shell
white pillow from her side and smashing her face into it. “I fell asleep three bloody
hours ago, and yesterday was most certainly not
a good day.”
“I know Hermione, but it’s almost
Hermione grunted moodily, and pushed her face harder into
the pillow to the point where her nose ached. “No. Tell Remus to mind his own fucking
business. I haven’t slept enough yet and I am not going to get up. Feel free to come back in another four or five
hours.”
The black-haired man sighed, and pulled a yellow hairpin out
of his pocket. Ron had locked him out too many times for him not to know how to
open the door when not wanted. He jammed the pin into the lock and pushed it
left and right. Moments later, the lock clicked open and Harry pushed the door ajar,
just in time to catch an improperly clothed Hermione kicking the sheets off.
“HARRY!” she screeched as she pulled the tattered covers
over her fully exposed body. “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
Harry averted his eyes, his cheeks turning desperately scarlet.
Though Harry had seen Hermione without clothes on before (thought completely by accident and completely
without her knowledge), he was not prepared to be greeted by her naked body
again. Time was nothing if not good to Hermione, and he found himself wanting
to gaze just a little bit longer.
Harry groped blinding for the rusty door handle, his other
hand plastered over his green eyes. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and, to
his intense dissatisfaction, arousal. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll wait outside.”
“OUT HARRY!”
---
Ten minutes later, Hermione emerged from the bedroom clothed
in a pair of boxers and an oversized white shirt. Her hair had been tamed by a
single wire comb, and her feet were covered by warm black slippers. Her eyes
were still bloodshot from poor sleep, and her back ached terribly from tossing
and turning during the night hours.
Hermione glanced around and saw Harry leaning against the
wall, reading what appeared to be a very threadbare version of Edith Hamilton’s
Mythology. He wore a faded burgundy rugby shirt and jeans that had seen
too much time in a washing machine. He stood taller than she remembered, his
height closing in on six feet by her guesstimate. She also noted that Harry was
noticeable skinnier, something that worried her as she thought Harry too thin
five years ago.
He turned as he saw her and flashed a tired grin. “Good
afternoon.”
Hermione smiled wearily back, too tired to attempt to tell
Harry off.
“So…” she started, looking around for any unwanted
spectators, “aren’t we supposed to hug awkwardly or something like that?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d let me,” Harry replied, closing the
book and placing it on the ground, his eyes shimmering with oncoming tears.
He walked over to the woman and slid his arms around her
midsection, holding her close. Hermione, overtaken by the emotion that Harry
could extract after all those years, put her head on his chest, and began to
cry softly. Harry held her, his own tears sliding down his cheeks into her
matted brown locks.
“We… I’ve missed
you, Hermione,” Harry whispered as he patted her back. Hermione kept crying. “I
never thought that I’d see you again.”
“That was kind of the point,” Hermione whispered back,
forcing out a pained giggle.
“Yeah. I guess it was.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither daring to
say anything for fear of the other leaving. Harry stroked the nape of
Hermione’s neck with his weathered hands, her chocolate curls dancing across
the tops of his hands. Hermione, in turn, ran her hands about his back, weeping
all the while.
“Did I miss something?”
Hermione and Harry jumped apart, blushing ever so slightly. Remus stood at the end of the hall, a smirk plastered
on his face. “Good to see that you’re finally awake, Hermione. We were
beginning to wonder if you were dead in there.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Hermione retorted, crossing her
arms in front of her chest. “And by the way, is it your sincere expectation
that I be at your beck and call while I stay here? Because, if this is the
case, please tell me in advance so I can berate you now instead of later.”
“Down girl!” Remus said, laughing heartily at Hermione’s
repulsed expression. “You better watch this one Harry; she bites!”
“Funny, Remus. You're a fucking comic genius. I’m laughing,
really I am. Anyway, I’m waiting to hear why your chose to wake me after
kidnapping me. Have you no respect for people around you at all?”
“I do, though it appears as if somebody in this room does
not.”
“Drop it,” Hermione growled.
Remus dropped it.
“Anyway, from what I understand, you were apprehended at
your flat in a rather… unconventional manner. If I was informed correctly, and I’m not saying that I am, you took
absolutely nothing with you?”
“That’s correct. In fact, those two idiots took me while I
was only in my bathrobe.”
“Smart wizards,” Remus commented.
“Make one more comment like that Remus Lupin, and you’ll
never be able to have children again. I will single handedly make sure of
that.” Hermione gestured suggestively,
and Harry howled with laughter.
Remus shook his head. “Anyway, in light of this, I thought
that it might be prudent for Harry to take you back to your flat to retrieve
some clothing and any other things you might need during your stay here. Unless,
of course, you are more comfortable wearing Ron’s night clothes…?” He motioned towards her borrowed boxers and
shirt.
“That’s the first good suggestion you’ve made since I’ve been
here,” Hermione answered. “Make more suggestions like that and living with me
might not be that unpleasant.”
“Just make sure that you don’t get any funny ideas and try
to run away. Harry here is considered the most powerful wizard in the world
right now and I’d hate to see what kind of hex he could throw your way.”
“Harry would never hex me.”
“You’re not the only one who has changed, Hermione,” Harry
interjected. “Now let’s get going before it starts to snow again.”
---
“Are you sure that you don’t want to drive?” Hermione asked
anxiously, eyeing the dilapidated Firebolt that stood in front of her.
Harry bobbed his head, still utterly amused at Hermione’s
fear of flight. “Positive.”
“Take the underground?”
“Not today.”
“Walk? It’s probably only a day’s walk if we hurry.”
“Flying isn’t all that
bad, Hermione,” Harry pressed, casting a Disillusionment spell over himself and
Hermione.
She shook her head in a mixture of disgust, fear, and resentment.
“How very wrong you are.”
---
One hour and countless prayers to God, Buddha, Allah, and
every other deity she was familiar with, Hermione touched her feet to the
ground and kissed the door that led into her flat. Harry lifted the
Disillusionment spell from himself, Hermione, and his broom and put his wand in
his back pocket.
“We better make this quick,” Harry commented as he watched
Hermione look helplessly at the front door.
“Those absolutely idiots!” Hermione screamed, hammering her
fists into the blue wood.
“What’s wrong?”
Hermione turned around and looked at Harry, anger evident in
her eyes. “When Fred and George kidnapped me yesterday, those idiots didn’t let
me bring anything.”
“Obviously.”
“Anything implies
my keys as well.”
“No problem. I’ll just Apparate in.”
Hermione knocked her forehead against the door. “I was
afraid that you were going to say that…”
“What’s wrong with Apparating inside?”
“Fred and George Apparated on top of my china collection
yesterday. I’m not too keen on seeing what you’ll Apparate onto.”
“Have a little faith, Hermione.”
“I haven’t had faith in a long time.”
Hermione’s answer bothered Harry. He glanced at the brunette
woman as she folded her arms across her breasts. Her eyes, once warm and full
of curiosity, were now murky with painful knowledge. Even the way that she
carried herself had changed. She had once been slightly self-conscious; Hermione
was now filled with an arrogance that came from complete self-assurance. This
new Hermione also exuded bitterness, a far cry from her former self.
Harry sighed. Hermione was something he had tried
unsuccessfully to put out of his mind for the past five years, and now, having
her here so close to him, was nothing short of torture. He never understood why
Hermione left in the first place; she had given no indication that she was
discontent. All that Harry knew was Hermione left in the middle of the night
and left nothing but a note saying that she would never return.
Harry suspected that Ron knew something that he wasn’t keen
on sharing. He had been hit harder with the news of Hermione’s departure than
anybody else. He knew that Ron and Hermione had been dating prior to Hermione
leaving, and Harry had a feeling that this, if not the single reason why she
had left, had been a serious factor in her decision to end her affiliation with
magical beings.
“Hello? Earth to Mister Potter?” Hermione’s hand waved
feverishly in front of Harry’s nose, annoyance apparent in her tone. Harry
stepped back, his thoughts cut short. “Are you going in or not?”
He pushed her hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going already.” And
with that he Apparated inside, landing on her dresser and knocking down (what
he hoped was not) a terribly expensive mirror.
“Seven years bad luck,” Harry grumbled as he fumbled through
Hermione’s flat, noting the dark linens and almost gothic feel to the rooms.
Even her furniture’s upholstery was leather, a material reserved for the more
eccentric and wealthy people of
“Took you long enough,” Hermione remarked sourly. “I’ve been
waiting forever.”
“Me too,” Harry
thought aloud as he watched Hermione slink into her bedroom, his eyes trailing
her body with interest. “Me too.”
---
“You sure take a lot of medication for a
twenty-one-year-old,” Harry commented much later as he watched Hermione shovel
what seemed like an inordinate amount of prescription drugs from her bathroom’s
shelf into her toiletries bag.
“I inherited nothing from my parents but an affinity for
blood diseases and a history of heart failure.” Hermione spat the words out as
if they tasted rancid, her eyes focusing on the tiny printed words on the
prescription label. “This is the result of that inheritance.”
“Do you need these?” Harry inquired, holding up a black disk
of pills.
“Oops! I almost forgot!” Hermione reached over and grabbed
the disk out of Harry’s hand. She looked at it for a moment and pushed a single
pill out of place.
“What are those for?”
“Birth control,” Hermione replied, chuckling at the
horrified expression plastered on Harry’s face as she popped one of the blue
pills into her mouth and swallowed. “I’m an adult now, and I should be able to
have as much animal sex as I want without consequence.”
Harry almost fainted.
---
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Harry called from the foyer. He had
given up on trying to help Hermione pack her things (the less he saw and he
knew, the better, in Harry opinion), and thus resigned himself to pawning
through Hermione’s trinkets.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming already!” Hermione reappeared in the
doorway rolling along a large suitcase and carrying an open animal carrier.
Harry quickly stuffed Hermione’s address book into his
jacket pocket. She looked at him suspiciously, and he gave her a blank smile.
“For Crookshanks?” he guessed, trying to rid himself of his
guilt at taking Hermione’s personal belonging.
“No, for James.”
“James?”
At the sound of his name, a small beagle bounded into the
room, attacking Harry’s left shoe. Harry jumped from his spot on the couch,
taken completely by surprise. The beagle nipped playfully at his shoelaces,
undeterred.
“Crookshanks passed on a year ago,” Hermione explained,
picking up the puppy, and petting its underside lightly. “I wasn’t really eager
to buy another cat, so I adopted cute little James instead.”
“He is adorable,”
Harry agreed. “But why the name James?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione responded slowly, putting the dog
in the carrier. The puppy curled up in a small ball, yawned, and drifted off
into a deep slumber. “It just seemed like a charming name. I’m not terribly
creative when it comes to naming things, and I absolutely refuse to call my pets after some sort of food.”
The green-eyed man laughed at her cynicism. “I’ve missed
you, Hermione.”
Hermione shook her head and frowned. “I’m not back Harry.
Not really.”
---
Hours later, after returning to the Burrow from her
Hermione walked slowly, dread creeping into her as she
reached the small cemetery that sat outside the Burrow. She walked amongst the
gravestones, looking for the one that bore her best female friend’s name. She
came upon in moments later, and felt her insides run cold.
Made out of simple grey and white marble and standing less
than a half-meter high, Ginny’s headstone stood near the edge of the Weasley
property that bordered on a deep forest. Small white flowers lined the gravestone,
enchanted to outlast the cold winter months. The stone itself was slightly
marred by the winter weather, dirt crawling up the edges, and pieces of the
stone chipping off.
Hermione bent down to the stone, and extracted a single blue
handkerchief from her pocket. She tenderly cleaned the gravestone with the handkerchief,
tears rolling down her cheeks as she ran over the weather-beaten name and
engravings.
“Oh Ginny,” she whispered as she stroked the full length of
the name. “Ginny, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. You… you were one of
my best friends and there was nothing I could do about this. I’m so sorry that
I never said goodbye. I… I hope you know how much I loved you. You didn’t
deserve this. I deserved this. I should be the one in there, not you, Ginny. Not
you.”
Stepping back, Hermione took in the few words upon Ginny’s
headstone.
Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley
Beloved daughter, sister, friend, and fiancée
You are in our minds and hearts always
“Fiancée?”
“Yes, fiancée,” a voice behind her said. Hermione felt blood
rush about her head. She knew that voice all too well. The hairs on the back of
her neck stuck up, and she rose from her kneeling position at the grave.
“Ron…” she pleaded.
The redhead ignored her and stepped forward, eyes slightly
clouded by the predecessor to tears. “Ginny was engaged to Neville Longbottom.
She died before they even set a wedding date. She was going to call you up to
be her maid of honor. She was sure that you’d say yes. She was so excited about
hearing you again.”
“Oh Ron…”
Ron shifted his weight. “It’s been a long time, Hermione.
Too long.”
“Forever is a long time, Ron. And forever wouldn’t have been
long enough.”
Sighing, Ron took valiant step forward and put his hand
confidently on her back. Blood rushed to her head and she felt vaguely faint.
Ron Weasley, she was reminded as his hand traveled the breadth of her neck, still
made her feel like a lovesick sixteen-year-old.
“Where’s our child?” he whispered, his lips hovering over
her ear.
Hermione turned from Ginny’s grave, eyes full of blue tears.
“There is no child. Not anymore.”
Ron’s face turned pale. “You… you didn’t. You…Hermione,
you…”
Hermione shook her head. “You have made me into a
murderess.”
Ron stepped back, dropped his hand, and staggered. Tears
formed in the pockets of his eyes. “Hermione, what happened to you? How could
you do something like that? That’s not the Hermione I knew.”
“Things change.”
“You loved me!” Ron hissed irately, grabbing her hand and
pulling her close. “I loved you and you loved me! How could you do this to
somebody that you love?”
Tears began to creep into the corners of Hermione’s
chocolate eyes. “You’re absolutely right, Ron. I did love you.” She pushed him
away, wringing her hands. “I loved you more than anything. I married you for God’s sake! I’m your
fucking wife! Did you ever tell anybody about that? Did you ever tell Ginny? Harry?”
Ron shook his head slowly.
She sank onto the snow-covered grass. “I can’t even have a
decent relationship because I’m always thinking about you. I feel so guilty
when I make love to somebody. Like I’m betraying you. I loved you, Ron Weasley.
I would have died for you.” A pathetic smile seeped onto her lips. “In a way, I
think I did die for you. I left my life for you, Ron. I left a place I loved
and many of the people I loved, too.”
“I never asked you to leave, Hermione.”
“But you did! If I had stayed with you, had kept the child,
you know what would have happened? I would have become your mother.”
Ron looked confused.
Hermione groaned. “Not literally, you prat! You think they
want to take a seventeen-year-old witch with a child into medical or law
school? Of course not! I would have become a little housewife with nothing
better to do than cook dinner for my husband and have children!”
“You don’t know that! Things would have been different with
us, Hermione. I would have given you everything! I would have made sure that you
still had your career and your independence!”
“That’s what you think! But I know you! You’ve been raised
in a family where the words ‘woman’ and ‘housewife’ are synonymous. You say
that you would have given me my independence, but you couldn’t!
“You think that there weren’t moments when I thought of
keeping the child, thought of raising it myself? Well there were, but I knew
that it meant that I would have to take some dime-and nickel job and leave my
schooling forever!”
“But you did leave
school!” Ron protested.
Hermione laughed apathetically. “I may have left Hogwarts,
Ron, but I did go to regular school afterward. True, I was a little behind when
I came in, but I got into the best law university in the
“This can’t be happening,” Ron cried out into the air. “This
is a nightmare. This can’t be you, Hermione, it just can’t be. You’re… you’re
not you anymore. You’re somebody else, somebody with a whole lot of issues.
This… this can’t be the Hermione I was… I
am in love with.” Ron took a seat on the ground next to Hermione and took
her hand. “Please, say this is some sort of cruel joke.”
She pushed him aside and stood up. “I guess the joke’s on
you.”
---