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Harry had died. They had won, but Harry was gone. Life got on slowly for Ron and Hermione. They were together, but barely so. Two people squashed in a studio apartment just meters from the Ministry, a building where they both worked, wasn’t exactly living. They were grieving, but separately. Ron, a brother and a best mate, Hermione, a best mate and the potential life that she may have lived with him. It was bearable, if unpleasant, until Hermione cast a charm she had heard about on every wall and created a mirror of their living space, one for me and one for you . She said it calmly, Ron heard it lovingly.
So they lived their lives together, but apart for years.
On Hermione’s walls were calendars filled to the brim with court dates, appellate meetings, networking luncheons. The cat’s litter box was never fully clean, if Ron had ever seen it he’d have said, use your magic, Mione ! But she was otherwise tidy and thus unbothered by her one lapsed corner. She ironed her dresses, trousers, blazers, and blouses, switched out her shoes and clicked clacked her way to the door with a piece of toast hanging from her mouth – usually the only thing she’d eat on any given day, busy as she was, important as she was, with no one to remind her to sit down for dinner.
On Ron’s side, there was never silence. Molly had made sure to teach him every household charm and their cacophony was a never ending comfort that he only ceased when Dean and Seamus came over. And they came over quite often as they were falling in love and in need of a safe space, away from their families and roommates, to do so. Ron was about as nonjudgmental as it got, and, though he tried not to be a particularly sentimental man after the war, if they caught him on a weepy night he’d say, I already lost two brothers, why would I risk any more ? And then he’d insert himself between them on his sleeper futon and fall asleep, which was more or less a fine way for Dean and Seamus to pass the time flirting above his overly large head.
And there was no overlap between them. They only saw each other at work. Ron, an Auror, who worked exclusively on child endangerment cases, so that there is never another kid going through that all alone like Harry . And Hermione, working her way up the political ladder, only saw Ron briefly when one of his cases went to court. She’d prioritize them, so that there is never another kid going through that all alone like Harry . They’d smile at each other and hug and place chaste kisses to foreheads and lips each time they won. From the outside, they looked fine.
And two years or so passed like that. Together, but alone. Dean and Seamus taking Ron out on the weekends, you can’t waste your youth, mate ! Usually heading to queer bars or clubs that Ron would sit in the corner of, drunkenly aloof, while they danced their nights away. But sometimes they took him to clubs that were brimming with women and they’d nudge him towards this one or that one until he’d get fed up, I’m with Hermione ! He always yelled that like he was trying to convince himself, they would nod and sigh and apologize and go home and not see each other for a few weeks. Then the cycle would start all over again.
Hermione never went out and never brought anyone home either, I’m with Ronald . Hers was always said in a whisper like she was trying to convince herself of it. And as she was alone in bed night after night, it was never Ron she thought of at all, but always Harry. She’d cry from the guilt. Ron, just one undone charm away, and Harry, a lifetime of living longer. The guilt was never enough to get her to press her wand to each wall and fall onto the open spot on the futon that she knew was waiting for her. Her murphy bed and her thoughts were company enough.
Draco had been out of prison for three months when the three musketeers saw him at the club. He was in the opposite corner than Ron usually occupied, but more conspicuous because of his shiny hair. Dean saw him first and rushed over, high on cocaine with a fistful of poppers, to invite Draco back to Ron’s with them. Draco, high on shrooms with little to lose, agreed. He noticed the charm immediately, but not knowing why it was in place, decided to politely ride out the rest of his trip without saying anything. Plus he would’ve had to stop giggling to talk.
Dean and Seamus had never noticed the charm, they’d never been there in the couple months before it was put into place and weren’t adept enough to notice the minute compressions in the air that didn’t make sense otherwise. Draco was an expert legilimens, but no one would take him seriously nor trust him with their minds after the war. He couldn’t blame them, so he had spent his time in the low priority wings of Azkaban studying high level charms in their library and hoping that he might be qualified for something afterwards.
The second part hadn’t quite panned out. No one would hire him for even the smallest of tasks. So he was living on the dregs of his gutted inheritance until he decided to call the living thing off. Draco thought he had a good six months left in him, if he was lucky. Ron would’ve cut that down to the day if he could stomach murder, the gall of this cunt to sit in his house with Hermione and laugh . Ron did punch him in the face for it. Draco laughed harder, does anyone want some shrooms ? Dean and Seamus held out their hands and Ron didn’t want to get left behind so he did a cap or two or three.
Later, Draco was walking the length of the empty wall across from the futon. Dean and Seamus had long since gone to sleep. Who lives on the other side? Ron was baffled enough to answer him. Draco told him to end the charm, that a half life was never going to be enough, that it felt like an anvil was sitting on his chest after twelve hours here. Ron was surely depressed from the years of accumulation. He left Ron with that thought and the title of a book he had read on the subject by Eulalie Hicks.
Ron read the book, too. It took him about a year to get through as it was dense and he was busy. Then he talked to Hermione about it. About how much he missed her, how much he wanted to be with her, wanted to be enough for her. And Hermione ended the charm. They went over their joint finances and bought a townhome. This one was at least a thirty minute walk from work and Ron thought that was a good compromise. There was room enough to be alone and come together.
They were married. Things were mostly good and sometimes okay. Dean and Seamus were still their closest friends. Well, Ron’s anyway. Hermione didn’t have friends, she had colleagues and the Weasley family. And life went on like that. They had two children, Rosalie Jean and Hugo John. Ron quit his job to raise them. Hermione came home late during the week, but made sure her weekends were free for the kids. They went on vacation in the last week of July every year. It was always a subdued affair, celebrating and mourning Harry in equal parts. Daily life became easier through repetition, less suffocating in its monotony.
Rose went to Hogwarts and Ron saw Draco on the platform. They smiled at each other.
Three years and some change later, Ron was getting Rose and Hugo dressed for Astoria Malfoy’s funeral. Rose wouldn’t stop crying, I can’t imagine losing Mum . An owl came through the window from Hermione. She wouldn’t be able to make it. Ron got the kids into the floo one by one and followed after. They each stepped out into a small reception area filled mostly with Rose’s classmates and their parents, their names on the tip of his tongue but not quite known to him.
Draco was all alone by the closed casket. A pariah at his own wife’s funeral. Ron made a bee line for him, purposeful with a fistful of white lilies. White lilies had become ubiquitous at wixen remembrances after the war. Ron noticed that no one else had brought any here. Bygones were not quite bygones when it came to the Malfoy family it seemed. But Draco had given him the courage to get Hermione back, the ability to share his life with the woman he loved and raise their children. That warranted white lilies. That warranted millions of white lilies.
He shoved them into Draco’s hand, I’m sorry for your loss . The room seemed to still and then the milling parents that had been consoling Scorpius but ignoring Draco formed a line behind him. Ron forgot sometimes that he was important, too. That he could sway public opinion with his actions. He hugged Draco and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. Draco laughed, that was likely a touch too far. Ron laughed, too.
Life was long and hard and unforgiving. He had accepted that truth. But he had Hermione, he had his children, and he had the respect and love of his community. He would never hold Harry again, but he had Dean and Seamus and, strangely, Draco. He had his parents and his siblings and his nieces and nephews. He had a life worth living and celebrating. He had Draco to thank for that and hugged him tighter to let him know, thank you and I’m sorry . Draco hugged him back.