Chapter Text
***
The door opened and shut with a thud. Angry footsteps echoed through the hall of Grimmauld Place as a couple stepped inside and shook the rain from their hooded robes.
“Mione, I don’t want to fight.” Ron didn't raise his voice, as though he were already worn out by the argument.
“I can’t believe you went behind my back like that,” Hermione said, trying to sound furious, though the hurt in her voice rather gave her away. “I’m not your mother, Ronald. You don’t have to sneak out like some rebellious teenager. I’m your girlfriend.”
His fiancée, properly speaking. But she never said the word aloud. She couldn’t quite say why. Perhaps because she’d felt, all along, that the engagement had more to do with family expectations than any true desire to tie the knot.
“I knew you’d be cross, and I wanted to avoid—this.” He gestured vaguely between them.
“That is not how grown-ups deal with problems, Ronald. I cannot be the only adult in this relationship.”
She was thoroughly fed up with being the sensible one while Ron dodged responsibility and ran from ordinary life. The life where one went to work, paid the bills, and thought about the future.
And it wasn’t as though Ron didn’t have a job. He did — a steady one — and he was rather good at it, too. He had followed Harry into the Auror Department and had been making a name for himself at the Ministry. While not as quick on his feet or as excellent at duelling as the Golden Boy, his strategic thinking and careful planning had earned praise from his boss, and even from Shacklebolt himself.
It was his attitude that was the problem.
“It was just one evening, Mione,” Ron whinged. “George does game nights every weekend, and I only went the once.”
Once that she knew of. Given the state of their savings account, she was fairly certain there had been more than that.
“And yet you managed to lose your entire salary, along with part of our renovation fund.”
“I thought I’d win it back before you noticed, Mione.”
Hermione groaned.
That was worse.
Ron sounded exactly like a gambling addict: convinced the real problem was getting caught, not putting the money down in the first place.
“Ron, do you even want to be with me?” she asked, because from where she stood, it felt as though she was in this relationship alone.
“Of course,” he said automatically. “I love you.”
There was real conviction in his voice, and Hermione knew he meant it. And yet—
“But you’re not in love with me.”
She hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that.
Deep down, she knew it was true for both of them. They cared for one another, of course they did, but not in any properly romantic way. Even sex had become rather ordinary — less shared pleasure than something else to tick off before bed.
“Mione—” Ron started, clearly gearing up for an argument, but Hermione put up a hand.
“Not now. We’ve got to pay the builders who fixed the roof.” She winced inwardly at the thought of using her rainy-day money — Ron had no access to those — but there was no way around it. The roof had been wrecked in a storm a couple of weeks ago, and the house had to come first. They couldn’t impose on Harry and Ginny forever. “I’ll sort the bill somehow. We’ll finish this conversation at the weekend.”
As much as she wanted to see this argument through and finally come to some sort of decision, they were both far too knackered during the workweek. After eight hours at work, overtime on top of that, and now having to oversee the work of the house, neither of them had the energy for life-changing conversations.
Even if they were unavoidable.
“I’m going to sleep in our room tonight. Can you take the spare room, please?” She tried to sound calm.
“Mione,” Ron said, looking stricken. “Don’t. What about your nightmares?”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She hadn’t slept alone in years, and the thought of being unable to wake from yet another nightmare about the war made her shiver. But she couldn’t bear the idea of lying beside Ron after he had broken her trust like that.
“Mione…”
There was so much pleading in Ron’s voice that Hermione hesitated.
They could probably pretend nothing had happened. She wouldn’t have the nightmares — they only came when she slept on her own — and he would be forgiven for his mistake.
Until the next time, that was.
No. No more.
***
Hermione sat on a narrow bed in what had once been her room, back when the Order of the Phoenix occupied Grimmauld Place. She listened to the old house for a while, until she was certain everyone had gone to sleep.
Ginny had asked earlier whether she wanted to talk, but Hermione had declined. It would hardly be fair to make Ginny pick sides between her best friend and her brother. The same went for Harry, though he had stood by her from the start — his disappointment in Ron almost as great as her own.
Hermione promised herself she would sort it out at the weekend. It was enough time for the cogs in her brain to figure out a solution, even if things looked dire at the moment. She loved Ron. And she wanted him happy.
Whether that happiness would be with her was another question entirely.
The thought of sleeping alone made her shiver.
She pulled a crumpled note from her beaded bag and breathed out.
She could do it.
Arithmancy was her bread and butter. She used it daily in the Department of Mysteries. Surely she could bend a few rules and use it for her own benefit for once.
It wasn’t as though she wanted to do anything drastic to the space-time continuum. She only wanted a decent night's sleep without nightmares dragging her awake every hour. If a few runes drawn around her bed could grant it, so be it.
She could do it.
Hermione drew her wand, cast a few easy charms to warm up, and began.
While Arithmancy required a ridiculous number of calculations, once the maths was done, it was simply a matter of drawing the runes neatly. Her handwriting was hardly calligraphy-standard, but it would do.
The first circle of runes stilled in the air and Hermione could already feel magic humming in the air. She quickly followed up with the second ring, trying to keep the angle consistent with the first one.
Sweat had beaded on her forehead and she could feel a headache from overusing magic. That was fine. She was almost done now.
The two circles began turning like the gears of a clock the instant she completed the final rune. She stepped into their centre, careful not to disturb the current of magic.
For a few seconds, nothing changed.
Then the runes faded, and the room fell dark and silent.
Hermione breathed out.
There was no way of knowing whether it had worked, and whether her nightmares would finally leave her in peace.
Either way, she would find out soon enough.
Exhaustion hit her like a Bludger. She only just managed to put her wand on the bedside table before dropping onto the bed and falling asleep.
The clock in the hall struck the hour.