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Ron stared into the fire, willing all of his frustration and regret out of his head to burn in the crackling flames.
He wasn't surprised when Hermione ended things. The gulf between them had been steadily widening basically from the moment they got together, as it quickly became apparent that they had very different opinions about how Wizarding Britain should rebuild in the wake of the war.
It didn't matter for a while, of course. He basked in the victory, in finally getting to be one of the heroes, right up there alongside Harry. He relished the spotlight, and often had it to himself since Harry and Hermione didn't want the attention. He was on top of the world, finally the most celebrated among his brothers and at the pinnacle of a society that had once considered him and his family to be no better than garbage.
But Hermione immediately began plotting, proposing her radical ideas and instigating new conflicts. Even after he'd spent seven years trying to explain to her how things worked in Wizarding Britain, she still refused to understand, still sought to impose her Muggle-born beliefs on a society where such philosophies simply didn't belong. She continued to keep upsetting the house-elves by trying to free them, just as she had done at Hogwarts, and likewise tried to grant rights to other magical creatures who wanted nothing to do with her goals.
He ignored her efforts as best he could, determined to focus on the good, on the success and the promise that came from his fame and influence. When he could no longer ignore what she was doing, he began trying to slow her down, assuring his fellow purebloods that the radical changes she sought would never come to pass, that Wizarding society would continue to exist in all of its glory as it had before You-Know-Who rose to power, free of the taint of Muggle influence.
From the moment those efforts to stymy her became necessary, of course, the end was inevitable. It felt equally inevitable that Harry, after months of trying to ignore the conflict, wound up taking her side just like he always did. And as went Harry, so went the rest of Wizarding Britain.
So the end wasn't surprising, but it was swift. In a matter of days, he went from being a hero to being a pariah, from being prized among his brothers to once again being in their shadows, from being the boyfriend of the Brightest Witch to being her disgraced ex whom she'd loved but never respected.
But he refused to return to obscurity in the community where he'd briefly been a king. Instead, he left, crossing the sea and leaving Wizarding Britain to fall beneath the pall of Muggle radicalism and the new war that would inevitably spawn from the backlash.
He began a new life for himself in one of the magical enclaves in New York City, taking a job at a shop that manufactured brooms and quidditch equipment. He was very good at that and excited to contribute to his beloved pastime, and he handled each and every broomstick with extreme care and devotion.
Making new friends in his new home was considerably more difficult for him, however. At Hogwarts, all it had really taken to be friends with the other boys were some conversations about quidditch and, in the case of Dean, a few questions about football. Here, however, without the forced proximity of the dormitories and everyone already knowing each other's business, people wanted to know about more than just sports interests in order to become friendly, and Ron didn't particularly want to talk about his past or his former friends or his ex. For the first time in his life, he became known as the quiet and awkward guy who never had much to contribute to conversation, and he soon wasn't getting invited along anymore when his coworkers went out after a long day at the shop.
And that was what led to the current situation, to him taking himself out on an impromptu overnight camping trip in the middle of empty woods in upstate New York. He wasn't sure why he chose camping, and decided that it must be some subconscious longing for simpler times when he and his ex were on the same side of the conflict rather than on opposite sides. Inevitably, however, this resulted in him getting lost in his thoughts and reflections as he stared into the campfire, and unsuccessfully willing it to burn away his lingering anger at his ex and his regret over how he handled their relationship.
That was, however, until a twig snapped nearby, and he instantly shot to his feet. In another heartbeat, his wand was out and aimed in the direction of the intruder.
"Hello, Ron."
"Lavender?"
She stood several feet away from his campfire, looking somehow more beautiful than he remembered in the glimmering firelight. There were scars visible at the base of her neck, disappearing under the high neckline of a shirt that was the color of her name.
"Well, isn't this quaint." She looked around his little campsite.
"What are you doing here?"
"Hermione wrote to me, told me that I should track you down, and how to do it. I hate to say that I told you so when it comes to her, by the way."
He blinked at her. "How did you track me down?"
"MACUSA tracks all new magical immigrants."
"They said that enchantment would only last for the first month."
"Apparently, they maintain it for longer on individuals they consider 'high risk,' whatever that means. Well, I know what it means with regards to me, but I have no idea how they could possibly consider you 'high-risk.'"
"Well, I did help to defeat a dark lord, didn't I?" Ron lowered his wand. "So Hermione discovered some way that you could use the enchantment on yourself to track the enchantment on me?"
"I'll say this about your other ex, Ron, her cunning is boundless. She would have made an excellent Slytherin if she weren't a Muggle-born. I don't know why you ever thought you could handle her."
Ron scoffed. "Yeah." Sitting back down, he gestured for her to join him around the fire, and she did. The firelight seemed to brighten the color of her outfit, and he couldn't resist commenting on it. "Do you wear lavender often these days?"
"Oh shut up. I like the color. It has nothing to do with my name."
"Sure it doesn't."
She scowled at him.
"So what brought you to the States, anyway?"
"The werewolf communities here have much greater independence. Hermione is working to change that back home, but it's been slow-going."
For the first time, Ron felt a stab of guilt over his efforts to stymy his ex. "You're a werewolf?"
"Yes. Not all of us escaped from the battle scot-free."
"Parvati told me that they took you to St. Mungo's, but then..."
"But then you forgot about me."
He looked down. "I thought about visiting, but there was a lot going on at the time. And Hermione wouldn't have taken it well."
"Bully for her."
He scowled into the flames.
"Are you going to offer any of those sausages?"
He quickly remembered the plate beside him, and offered it to her. It was so rare that he forgot about the presence of food. "They're a little burnt."
"It's fine, I'm decidedly less picky about meat these days." She took the plate from him.
"I'm sorry about what happened to you."
She shrugged. "I've learned to live with it. It's better here among the packs. There's still some stigma, but not as much."
"That's good."
"At any rate, I don't think I've been suffering as much as you have been."
He scoffed again. "I'm doing okay."
"Uh-huh. That explains why you're out here alone at night."
"I can handle myself."
"I know. But when people go on camping trips, they typically go with friends or loved ones, not alone."
"You're a little more vicious as a werewolf."
"I'm a little more vicious with the ex who broke my heart. But this is me being sympathetic, Ron."
He sighed.
"She'll only haunt you for as long as you let her. Just stop."
"You make it sound so simple."
"I have some experience with it."
He winced. "Yeah, I guess you do."
She glanced at the tent behind him. It was an unaltered Muggle one this time, as small on the inside as it was on the outside. He didn't see any reason to expand it when he was out here alone. "Quaint."
"You said that already."
"I repeat myself sometimes."
He sighed again.
"Doesn't it get cold at night?"
"You do know that warming charms are a thing."
"Yes, but they don't tend to last through the night when you're sleeping."
"I'll live."
"My body runs a lot hotter than it used to before I got bit."
"Good to know." He paused. "Wait a minute..."
"There you are."
"Are you suggesting..."
"I've missed you, very much against my better judgment."
"I thought all you needed to do was stop thinking about me."
"I'm hoping it will be that simple for you."
"You know that it won't be."
"Yeah, I know." She moved closer, filling in the space that had been vacated by the plate he'd handed her. "But they say that a good way to get over someone is to get under someone else."
Her sudden proximity was as much of a drug now as it was when he was sixteen, and he immediately started losing his clarity. He looked her over. "Are your knickers also lavender?"
"Why don't you find out?"
* * *
He awoke feeling naked and hopeful, as one does when they have a beautiful and equally naked body draped across them. And he certainly didn't feel cold at all. She wasn't kidding about her body running much hotter than it used to.
Carefully rolling her off of him, he lightly kissed the corner of her mouth and then sat up, peering out of the tent and blinking at the daylight that illuminated the woods.
Putting on his pants, he emerged and sat back down on the log he'd occupied last night, staring at the pit where his fire had burned. Taking a deep breath of the fresh, natural air, he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and started writing.
Dear Hermione,
I'm sorry...