Biding Time

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Hogwarts realm. I am not making any money from this.


Chapter 4: Retreat

She should have suspected that her secret would be found out eventually. Like all guilty things, it would reveal itself at the most unfortunate or inconvenient time.

It was early spring – the air still chill, frost still settled low on the grounds like a layer of lace. There was only the vague promise of green grasses and summer sunshine. Harry had been gone for three weeks then. He was searching for the final horcrux. Because of who he was and what his mission was, neither the professors nor the Headmistress questioned his absence. For all they knew, he could be gone for years. Even with her retreat into herself, Hermione had noticed how Harry had changed that final year. He was less of a boy and more of a man. He had become more serious – learning new charms and spells, ones which could help him in battle, at an astonishing pace. Instead of his eyes sparkling with mischief and his mouth in a ready grin, his features had become grim and determined, his eyes clouded with fierce concentration. When she looked at his stark features, Hermione could well imagine how knights and warriors in the Muggle Crusades had looked all those years ago before they had embarked for battle. So when he left to begin his long-postponed search and warned them that he was going alone, no one dared to argue with him.

In a faint hope of restoring some sense of normalcy to her life, Hermione began to draw closer to Ron. They’d take their weekend trips to Hogsmeade together. He’d even pretend to study with her while she pretended to listen to his commentaries on the latest Quidditch matches. It was almost as it had always been – once upon a time. They whispered amongst themselves – wondering where Harry was, wondering if or when he would call them to his side for the final battle, and wondering if his search for the horcrux was in vain. Then, Ron whispered in her ear, his voice low, his breath shifting her hair
“Forget about Harry a moment. I wonder where Snape has hidden himself. The farther away the better, I say.” Hermione felt a chill race up her spine and she shivered.
“What’s the matter, ‘Mione?” He drew away a little, staring at her.
“Just a chill, I guess.” Then, she hastily added “Yes, the farther away Professor Snape is the better.” A ghost of a shiver threatened to shoot up her spine again. Ron took off his robe and draped it around her, tucking the edges around her securely.
“Better?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good.”
They got up and walked slowly towards the Gryffindor common room, Ron matching her pace with each step. The room was empty but the fire still burned brightly in the grate. Ron slumped onto a sofa and patted the place next to him. She dropped down beside him.
“’Mione, I’ve been such an utter arse, haven’t I?” She looked at him, confused.
“What?” Her eyes narrowed. For Ron to admit to being an arse, let alone think he was one, was quite out of the ordinary.
“You know.” She shook her head slowly.
“Why didn’t we stay together?” He mumbled. Hermione opened her mouth to answer “because we needed our attentions on Harry and his battle” but Ron silenced her with a finger to her lips.
“Because I was an utter arse. I was so foolish to let you go.” He was leaning into her, sliding her down onto her back. She could feel the velvet against the nape of her neck, her hair piled up along the arm of the sofa. Her mind was racing. Do I tell him? Do I dare tell him? What do I do? Help, her panicking mind whispered over and over again. And, in the end, the decision was made for her.

Ron was lifting the robes, his and hers, and sliding his hand along the front of her jeans. She felt him grasp the tab, start to pull it, and then he stopped. He muttered a curse, snatched his hand away and shook it as if it had gone to sleep. Hermione sat up quickly and looked at his hand. It was red, the fingers and knuckles almost bloody in places, stamped with the unmistakable imprint of bite marks. Bite marks? Hermione hurriedly pulled off Ron’s robe and her own and looked down at her t-shirt and jeans. Lifting the hem of her shirt, she stared down at the zipper. Sure enough, the teeth of the zipper were writhing, gnashing together to gain purchase on whatever hand may come near enough.

“What the hell?” Ron hissed. Hermione turned to show him the nipping zipper but it was not her jeans which held his attention. She followed his gaze to her chest. The delicate chain hung from her throat, the ring swinging like a pendulum.
“What is that?” His hand reached out and caught the chain in his fingertips. He threaded the length through his fingers until he came to the ring.
“It’s nothing.” But he was examining the ring, turning it in his hands in the spare light.
“It’s a Slytherin ring, ‘Mione. Why do you have it?” She began to pull on the chain, trying to reel the ring out of his palms.
“No reason. I saw it somewhere, thought it unusual and bought it. That’s all.” She felt her cheeks burn crimson and thought to herself how she was such a terribly unconvincing liar. Ron was turning the ring in his fingers still, the serpents’ eyes flashing at her from his grip.
“There’s an inscription.” He whispered. She pulled her hands away for a moment. There hadn’t been an inscription on it when the Headmistress had dropped it around her throat. She was sure of it. Delicate letters were carved along the inside rim of the ring.
“To H.G.” Ron began slowly “Eternity and magic binds us. Always and forever. S.S.” Ron’s eyes widened and he drew back, releasing the ring as if it had burned him.
“No.” He whispered.
“I’m so sorry, Ron.” That was all she could think to say.
“There were rumours in the Order, you know. Whispering that would stop when I came into the room. I had heard enough though. They were saying that Snape had been betrothed to a Muggle-born to try to rout him out of hiding. I didn’t think it would be you. Why did it have to be you?” He cried out. Somewhere deep within herself, a tiny voice echoed Ron’s cry “Why did it have to be me?”
“It was Dumbledore’s idea.” And, strangely enough, that seemed to be answer enough for him.
“I see.” He sat silent for a long time – much too long to be normal for Ron. Then, suddenly, his face brightened.
“Wait a minute!” He exclaimed “They can’t marry you off to the git if you’re already married, can they? And, if you get married to someone else, it may be enough to get him out of hiding. Boy, he’d be pissed!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. Hermione’s heart sank and the tiny inner voice just said “Oh dear.”
“What do you mean, Ron?”
“I mean you marry me. Marry me, ‘Mione. Marry me and you won’t have to marry him. You know I care for you; I’d treat you well. You know my family and they all adore you. In fact, sometimes I think they like you more than they like me. What do you say, ‘Mione?” He dropped to one knee dramatically “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?” She bit her lip and held her silence.

In the end, she did say yes. Arrangements were made, and dresses were bought. But all was for naught. The day of the ceremony, Hermione felt the pressure roll over her. It was admirable of Ron. Almost unlike him really. But the strain was getting to her.

She was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. She was consumed by a nervous apprehension, waiting for the metaphorical other shoe to drop. She also felt like she had been made into a sacrifice – a fox to be trotted out before the hounds before they gave chase and ripped her throat out. She was sick of being the great hope, Snape’s redeemer, the brilliant mind to be picked apart. She had finished her year, got her armful of accolades and awards. She had got the highest marks in 60 years. Despite all the praise and medals, she felt empty. The wedding date approached, and, instead of retreating, the nervous feelings that gnawed at her only grew.

She arrived at the chapel with flowers in her hair and her white dress billowing around her, but, when the doors opened and the music began to play, she ran. She kept thinking about how much simpler things had been when she was just a Muggle, a normal only child of a pair of dentists. Instead, she was now being used as a lure for a dark and dangerous wizard and marrying a dear friend who she just didn’t love. Aware of how dangerous Molly Weasley could be when crossed, Hermione promptly apparated to a lonely train station. Only a tumble of petals and her lacy veil drifting about where she had once stood were left in her wake.

The next day’s “Daily Wizard” had Hermione’s photograph splashed across its front page with the words “Runaway Witch” stamped across her chest. Her image simpered and winked out from the pages enticingly – most unlike her. But Hermione didn’t know or care about the newspapers – she had already apparated an ocean away.

A/N - Well, that's how Hermione gets to the breaking point. I made Ron a sympathetic figure - I feel the poor guy gets dumped on enough in some fan fics - I think he's just a terribly insecure fellow.