Startled, shocked, angry . . . undescribable pain, pain that I couldn’t imagine, and hardly physical, as I was most accustomed to. This was worry and fear, reminiscient of the world that I’d lived my teenage years in. Death was so imminent, and when you breathed, it was the aftertaste that caused you to cringe . . . A scent and a feeling that lingered in you and left you AWARE.
I rolled over and tried, like I had been for weeks, to understand what had happened. I remembered . . . kissing my wife. And leaving . . . Harry was laughing, so loudly, but he had sombered quickly, and I recalled his voice, suddenly low and grave, and he was seventeen again, our lives weighing on him like a curse. Recollections became nightmares that rang true of the past. I would shut my eyes and fall into limbo, again, and again . . . a persistent toddler, whose first step could bring him within reach of a toy or a treat or forbidden thing.
People say I am all low chuckles and comedy, and Hermione insists continually that I am a blunt character. I just . . . didn’t like the aura of a serious man, who marched into a room and captivated it with philosophy. This experience brought to me only the prose and ideology I sought earnestly to suppress. I was like a drunk poet.
A voice penetrated my thoughts once, and it was achingly familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I felt myself slipping. “Why?” the voice demanded. It was accusatory, but spoke more to an idea than me . . . wherever I was or what situation I had found myself in.
After that, it was deafeningly silent.
****
AWAKING - A FEW WEEKS LATER
****
“Are you deaf, dead man?”
I opened my eyes as if on command, very hungry and very eager to find a bathroom. Ah, the blunt Ron Weasley, with terrible wit and an excellent vocabulary for cussing. I was back. “No.” Never mind. Then: “Where’s my wife?”
“Hermione Granger is currently indisposed, widowed, and grieving,” the man chuckled, and he fixed me with cold grey eyes. He was so familiar-
“Goyle, you’ve lost weight,” I told him, a grin playing in the back of my mind. Was this what insanity felt like?
“Hush,” he demanded, and of course I sat up straighter, ready for the easiest battle of wits I’d ever take part in. (I usually lost them with my wife.)
“And the gorilla gains brain cells after a few decades, too, then?” I rebuked. An impassive shadow crossed his features, one of former pain and current resilience. His past was haunting him, and he was struggling to lose it. It had something to do with Crabbe’s death, I was sure, but at his sudden silence, I continued speaking. “Did you say my wife is a widow?”
“Ronald Weasley is dead to the world, leaving behind grieving wife, children, extended family, and friends. The Minister of Magic officiated the funeral, I believe. Buried by Lake Won-Won, what an absurd name for a private waterhole, you insubordinate goofball,” he spat. I narrowed my eyes.
Grief was churning in me. Hermione sad. Hermione crying. Hurt. Lost. It was the tent all over again . . . Harry, running the Office like a shell of himself. Ginny more irrational and irritated than usual. Mum . . . I shook my head, but the images were obstinate. George would believe he’d lost another brother. Rose, Hugo, they’d be angry and upset . . . I imagined placating little Rose, snapping at teachers and cousins in exhausted anxiety.
“You’ve tortured my family, Goyle, and you’ve ruined me. Why am I here? Why, to the outside world, am I dead?” I snapped, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Ron Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, Deputy Head Auror, honorary member of the Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of School Governors, and Chudley Cannons VIP Quidditch Club. Wealth and influence trail after you like a cape, don’t they, Weasley?” Goyle sneered, and I was taken aback. I’d never heard those things listed so . . . pompously. I sighed. Who was I anymore?
“You could say that,” I answered, wishing I had a wand. Harry would have it - it would have fallen in the graveyard, and he would have picked it up when he found me . . . “How did you convince everyone I was dead?”
“A simple potion, brewed over the course of three months. Invented by Shakespeare, I believe, and used as a device in his legacy; the fantastic Romeo gave it to the lovely Juliet to help her escape her family and betrothal. Incidentally, it allowed me to spirit you away from all your loved ones for the past month and a half. I have plans, Ron Weasley, plans that involve you and your pretty wife, and the rungs of a ladder you two shall become in my rise to control. I served the Dark Lord - I knew of what shortcomings he possessed. I shall not mak such mistakes, Ron Weasley,” Goyle hissed.
“Did you get a book called Life for Dummies? ‘Cos the Goyle I knew couldn’t pronounce half the words you just used,” I surmised, hiding my fear behind a feeble wall of insults.
“I was underground for quite some time, and self-reflection increased my ability to learn and excel,” he told me, and I shivered. I wanted to go home.
“What do I have to do to get you to release me?” I said then, wincing at the begging sound it produced. I, Deputy Head Auror and all that other bollocks Goyle had listed, didn’t grovel to the Hogwarts Class o’ ’98 Resident Gorilla #1.
“Nothing; it’s all part of the plan. You will return home to your wife. You two shall embrace and be happy. You will tell her what happened to you, leave nothing out. Fear will spread, and then you both shall be found dead where you least expect it. I will be spectral and bloodthirsty - no one shall no where I wait to strike. Now rise.”
I sat up, shaking. He had the NERVE to threaten my braniac, my bride, my best friend. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to end him so badly it stung, a resonant ache in my chest.
Then, as I grabbed his shirt, I was transported. Portkey?
I looked up and saw my front door, cloaked in shadow and sadness. I went to it, Goyle forgotten, thinking only of reuniting with my wife. My daughter. My SON. I climbed the steps, and opened the door.
Cliffie?
No, I’m not that cruel. :D
****HERMIONE’s POV****
I was up late. The day had been warmer than any in months, April dawning on the horizon. Neville and Hannah had been the last to leave the get-together, and we’d talked for hours about the divorce. Neville and Padma’s relationship had been fleeting, and he and Hannah were head-over-heels. The split had been difficult for their son, but I knew that Padma had found her final happiness in Dean Thomas, best friend of her brother-in-law, ex-boyfriend of the illustrious Cho Chang.
Ginny had gone to the school with Harry to watch a Quidditch game today and stayed late to talk to Professor McGonagall. Lavender, Seamus, Neville, Hannah, Oliver, Katie, and several other old friends came over and we ate takeout and talked. I laughed and sipped a glass of wine. Now, with another in hand, I read a book. A Muggle book my mother had given me.
Peace seemed to be . . . present now. I was grieving, but the pain was less heavy on my heart-
Ding-dong.
Ding-dong.
Ding-dong.
I stood, wand out. The porch light was still on, and I heard nothing more than the occasional growl from our dog, Lullabye. I set my book down and made sure the wine was secure. I went to the door. I opened it.
****RON’s POV****
She was so beautiful. Grief left dark circles under eyes. She wore a Muggle sweatshirt for a school called Oxford over nicely fitting blue jeans. Her long hair was swept to one side.
****HERMIONE’s POV****
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I could only stare and stare, at his red hair, at his freckles, at his ratty clothes, at his hungry expression, at his eyes and nose and mouth.
****RON’s POV****
I pulled her into a wild kiss, one of reunion and decades of love and happiness that we’d both assumed lost. Goyle had alterior motives - but in that moment I had pure joy. I’d see Rose and Hugo and I’d raise them. We’d grow old together. I was an Auror. Harry and I could stop them.
“Ronald Bilius Weasley, don’t you dare ever die again! I had to do a funeral! I had to die in my heart again - I had to cry in front of Rose - Harry is a walking corpse - your mum, oh Merlin Ron your mum -” She gasped and then was silent, and we pulled apart. “Ron, how in the name of everything good and holy are you standing in front of me?”
“Goyle got brains, Hermione. I don’t know how, but he managed to convince everyone that, rather than being in a coma, I was dead. I am not lying. Put me under Veritaserum. I can see the upset in your eyes - you think I’m manipulated. A crony of Goyle’s. Harry probably told you Goyle was coming after you - Hermione, he is. After both of us. And the kids. He sent me back - I don’t know why. But I’m here. I’m alive. And Hermione, I love you,” I breathed, and she kissed me again, tears and choking impairing her ability to go long periods.
“Don’t die anymore,” she sighed. “Please.”
My Brave Face by grangergirl35
Chapter Notes: Ready to be shocked?
nevilleherosnape and Kaiserin were brave enough to guess, but they were a bit off the mark . . . I don't think anyone could guess!
Chapter Endnotes: SHOCKED???!!!??? This is only the beginning!
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!