Celestine's fics (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} celescribbles) wrote,@ 2007-09-03 19:29:00 |
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| Entry tags: | vincit |
Vincit Qui Se Vincit, Chapter 2
Vincit Qui Se Vincit
Chapter 2
Chapter summary : He didn’t want to hear it out loud, nor did he want to speak it, the sudden break in their perfect plans – going into training like they’d gone to Hogwarts. Together. Without any change. But things had to change, and this time, Ron had found someone who needed him more than Harry did.
With the fading of summer, friends and family members started to leave, or drop by less often, as if they were all realising that life had to go on after all, that they had to wake up in the morning to go to work and deal with bills and go to the grocery store.
Of course, there were other things to deal with that were less mundane – debating, judging, rebuilding. Planning ceremonies. Ordering statues. Taking care of the hazy mess the wizarding world seemed to be in, making sense out of it all. No doubt Kingsley would be more than fit for such a task, but already detractors were speaking out.
It got very quiet when Ginny left for Hogwarts. More quiet still, and much harder to bear, when Hermione left too. It felt as if the sun had been veiled by a pale, milky cloud, as if autumn had finally come. When she left, it was as if a ball of clay had settled in his stomach and his heart had slowed down to a stop.
Ron was alone in his room, and looking out the window at the garden, placid and green under the rain. The world was spinning on without him.
It wasn’t like that at first. At first, there had been a whirlwind of things to do, reporters crowding at the door, trips to the Ministry, and demands for celebration, for commemoration, for happiness and for rejoicing.
And Ron had been content – relieved in the deepest part of his soul that Harry and Hermione were by his side, alive and unhurt, relieved whenever he looked at his little sister, at his parents, at his brothers. Content, even though it was impossible not to think of Fred in these moments, where life seemed so wonderful, where the comfort of home felt like a soothing balm after months of facing constant danger.
Sometimes it was almost unbearable to look at George, to hear him speak when no one was there to finish his sentences. And it was worse for George than for any of them.
But George had left for London now, and Fred had been buried, in great pomp, alongside Lupin and Tonks and other heroes of the battle, and Bill and Fleur had left too after that, and Harry…
They wouldn’t leave him alone at first, not for a heartbeat, and his parents had actually had to put the protective charms back on The Burrow to make sure he wouldn’t be bothered. After awhile, though, it became impossible to ignore that August was reaching its end and that there was something waiting for them beyond the hedges, the field where they played Quidditch, the pond where they went to swim in the evening. It was time for heroes on holiday to sign into life again, as Hermione liked to put it.
Ron turned away from the window – his room seemed so small now, so cramped. Even when he’d taken down the Chudley Canon posters with their gaudy orange hue, so cheerful and obsolete, the walls still seemed to trap him. He sat on his bed, where he’d left Harry’s letter, and took it out of its envelope to read it again.
Dear Ron,
I hope you’re doing all right and that your parents are fine. I started class today – mostly theory right now, and more boring stuff than I would’ve imagined. Can’t wait for you to come to London, I’ve already started looking around for a flat to rent.
Hermione told me she’d be back in England in time for her birthday. How about a birthday and housewarming party all at once?
Harry
Ron smiled and put the letter back, then plopped down on the bed. Harry had insisted that Ron join him in London before he’d left – perhaps as a way to prove to Ron that even though they wouldn’t be together at Auror training, things wouldn’t change. They’d still be together, Harry and Ron, best friends nothing could keep apart.
“I’ll let you pick you out the curtains,” Ron had told him, grinning good-naturedly, a glass of Firewhiskey in hand and the stars above glimmering over the porch. Harry was lying in the grass, and his bags were packed upstairs, all set to go. “Something I’d never thought I’d say to a bloke, to be honest.”
It was hard to imagine Harry so far away now, sitting on the benches of some Ministry conference room, chatting with new people, making new friends, perhaps…
“You’re not going to apply?” he’d asked one morning at breakfast, bewildered, after Ron had told him his intentions.
Ron had blushed. He didn’t want to hear it out loud, nor did he want to speak it, the sudden break in their perfect plans – going into training like they’d gone to Hogwarts. Together. Without any change.
But things had to change, and this time, Ron had found someone who needed him more than Harry did.
“No. I’ve given some thought and… and I don’t think it’s the thing for me, mate. Seriously, I’m not really cut out for studies that long.”
“You mean you’re not cut out for studies without Hermione around to check over your homework for you,” Harry replied with a lopsided grin.
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
There was another letter on his bed.
Ron,
I’m planning on reopening the shop on October 1st –the new stock needs to come in and I’m working on new prototypes. Drop by when you get to London.
George
In every line, every word, Ron tried to decipher a shred of hope, a sign that George was starting to get back to his normal self. The shop would reopen – that was something, wasn’t it? And George couldn’t do it alone.
It was his duty to help his brother. His duty to take up the family business, to keep things together with his sister in school, with Charlie so far away, with Bill starting a family of his own, with Percy so busy working for the Ministry again, under Kingsley’s orders.
He was the only one left.
A delicious aroma floated over to his nostrils and Ron sat up. He realised he was hungry – it was about time for lunch. He clambered downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother was bent over a simmering cauldron of soup. Her vivid red hair stood out sharply against her black robes.
When she heard him, Molly turned around, and the spark of her smile reached her eyes.
*****************************
Nothing to do but sleep, eat a bit, read, watch a film, sleep some more. Her legs were cramped and a headache was starting just beneath her brow, but at the same time, it almost felt good to do something so undemanding, so Muggle, and on her own.
Nearly twenty-four hours of flight. One stopover in Singapore. And then she’d be on the other side of the world. Hermione moved her feet from underneath her, made circles with her ankles, lifted her legs by stretching her toes. She’d read in the magazine provided by the airline that not moving your legs could cause your blood to clot.
Funny how she still paid attention to such minor warnings after narrowly missing death herself.
The flight attendant arrived with a trolley, smiled at Hermione, asked for her selection of drink, put a platter full of food in front of her. Hermione thanked her and took a sip of her Coke.
Yes, it was nice to do something that didn’t involve any magic, just plain work, technology, mathematics. The woman sitting next to her had nervously gripped her armrests when the plane had lifted off the ground, as if the plane would crash back down again. But its sturdy structure, its heaviness, its roaring engines reassured Hermione – there was no work of the mind here, no will coming from the tip of a wand, or murmured spells, or enchantments no one could see.
She smiled and took another sip.
Of course, there would be some magic to do when she got to Australia. It would be extremely complex to remove the heavy Confundus charm she had placed on her parents, even more complex to explain to them why she had done so in the first place, and why they were living in Brisbane when the last thing they remembered was having breakfast in Wingham.
“I could go with you,” Ron had told her, stroking her hair from the tip of his fingers, a few days before she’d left. “That way you wouldn’t have to deal with all that alone… and I could tell your parents what a heroic daughter they have.”
“I wish you could, but I think I owe it to them to let them have me all to themselves, at least for a little while.”
And Hermione wanted to have her parents all to herself as well. It had been so long since she’d seen them… and when she last had, she didn’t know if she ever would again…
It was thrilling and it made her want to grin, the simple thought of hugging them, letting them see she was okay, she was fine, they had won, all was right.
Even though… it would have been nice to have Ron here with her. Holding her hand. And kissing her – she loved it when they kissed. It was simply perfect, and exciting, and it made her chest swell pleasantly and fill with warm flutterings. Hermione wished they could have more time to themselves, though. So far, besides the kissing, it was hardly as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend at all. There had been no long, romantic walks, hand in hand, no embraces under the moonlight, no dates to the cinema, or the restaurant…
Of course, Ron had to take care of his family, and both of them had to support Harry, think of their futures, and prepare themselves for the long and difficult reconstruction of the wizarding world… but surely, that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a normal relationship. Like a real boy and a real girl.
Hermione liked to think of herself as Ron’s girlfriend. It was nice, and a bit unnerving in a good way - it was something to look forward to.
Suddenly, the endless flight seemed longer than ever. She couldn’t wait to get to Australia. Once she’d arrived, she’d be one step closer to coming back.
Of course, there were other things to deal with that were less mundane – debating, judging, rebuilding. Planning ceremonies. Ordering statues. Taking care of the hazy mess the wizarding world seemed to be in, making sense out of it all. No doubt Kingsley would be more than fit for such a task, but already detractors were speaking out.
It got very quiet when Ginny left for Hogwarts. More quiet still, and much harder to bear, when Hermione left too. It felt as if the sun had been veiled by a pale, milky cloud, as if autumn had finally come. When she left, it was as if a ball of clay had settled in his stomach and his heart had slowed down to a stop.
Ron was alone in his room, and looking out the window at the garden, placid and green under the rain. The world was spinning on without him.
It wasn’t like that at first. At first, there had been a whirlwind of things to do, reporters crowding at the door, trips to the Ministry, and demands for celebration, for commemoration, for happiness and for rejoicing.
And Ron had been content – relieved in the deepest part of his soul that Harry and Hermione were by his side, alive and unhurt, relieved whenever he looked at his little sister, at his parents, at his brothers. Content, even though it was impossible not to think of Fred in these moments, where life seemed so wonderful, where the comfort of home felt like a soothing balm after months of facing constant danger.
Sometimes it was almost unbearable to look at George, to hear him speak when no one was there to finish his sentences. And it was worse for George than for any of them.
But George had left for London now, and Fred had been buried, in great pomp, alongside Lupin and Tonks and other heroes of the battle, and Bill and Fleur had left too after that, and Harry…
They wouldn’t leave him alone at first, not for a heartbeat, and his parents had actually had to put the protective charms back on The Burrow to make sure he wouldn’t be bothered. After awhile, though, it became impossible to ignore that August was reaching its end and that there was something waiting for them beyond the hedges, the field where they played Quidditch, the pond where they went to swim in the evening. It was time for heroes on holiday to sign into life again, as Hermione liked to put it.
Ron turned away from the window – his room seemed so small now, so cramped. Even when he’d taken down the Chudley Canon posters with their gaudy orange hue, so cheerful and obsolete, the walls still seemed to trap him. He sat on his bed, where he’d left Harry’s letter, and took it out of its envelope to read it again.
Dear Ron,
I hope you’re doing all right and that your parents are fine. I started class today – mostly theory right now, and more boring stuff than I would’ve imagined. Can’t wait for you to come to London, I’ve already started looking around for a flat to rent.
Hermione told me she’d be back in England in time for her birthday. How about a birthday and housewarming party all at once?
Harry
Ron smiled and put the letter back, then plopped down on the bed. Harry had insisted that Ron join him in London before he’d left – perhaps as a way to prove to Ron that even though they wouldn’t be together at Auror training, things wouldn’t change. They’d still be together, Harry and Ron, best friends nothing could keep apart.
“I’ll let you pick you out the curtains,” Ron had told him, grinning good-naturedly, a glass of Firewhiskey in hand and the stars above glimmering over the porch. Harry was lying in the grass, and his bags were packed upstairs, all set to go. “Something I’d never thought I’d say to a bloke, to be honest.”
It was hard to imagine Harry so far away now, sitting on the benches of some Ministry conference room, chatting with new people, making new friends, perhaps…
“You’re not going to apply?” he’d asked one morning at breakfast, bewildered, after Ron had told him his intentions.
Ron had blushed. He didn’t want to hear it out loud, nor did he want to speak it, the sudden break in their perfect plans – going into training like they’d gone to Hogwarts. Together. Without any change.
But things had to change, and this time, Ron had found someone who needed him more than Harry did.
“No. I’ve given some thought and… and I don’t think it’s the thing for me, mate. Seriously, I’m not really cut out for studies that long.”
“You mean you’re not cut out for studies without Hermione around to check over your homework for you,” Harry replied with a lopsided grin.
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
There was another letter on his bed.
Ron,
I’m planning on reopening the shop on October 1st –the new stock needs to come in and I’m working on new prototypes. Drop by when you get to London.
George
In every line, every word, Ron tried to decipher a shred of hope, a sign that George was starting to get back to his normal self. The shop would reopen – that was something, wasn’t it? And George couldn’t do it alone.
It was his duty to help his brother. His duty to take up the family business, to keep things together with his sister in school, with Charlie so far away, with Bill starting a family of his own, with Percy so busy working for the Ministry again, under Kingsley’s orders.
He was the only one left.
A delicious aroma floated over to his nostrils and Ron sat up. He realised he was hungry – it was about time for lunch. He clambered downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother was bent over a simmering cauldron of soup. Her vivid red hair stood out sharply against her black robes.
When she heard him, Molly turned around, and the spark of her smile reached her eyes.
Nothing to do but sleep, eat a bit, read, watch a film, sleep some more. Her legs were cramped and a headache was starting just beneath her brow, but at the same time, it almost felt good to do something so undemanding, so Muggle, and on her own.
Nearly twenty-four hours of flight. One stopover in Singapore. And then she’d be on the other side of the world. Hermione moved her feet from underneath her, made circles with her ankles, lifted her legs by stretching her toes. She’d read in the magazine provided by the airline that not moving your legs could cause your blood to clot.
Funny how she still paid attention to such minor warnings after narrowly missing death herself.
The flight attendant arrived with a trolley, smiled at Hermione, asked for her selection of drink, put a platter full of food in front of her. Hermione thanked her and took a sip of her Coke.
Yes, it was nice to do something that didn’t involve any magic, just plain work, technology, mathematics. The woman sitting next to her had nervously gripped her armrests when the plane had lifted off the ground, as if the plane would crash back down again. But its sturdy structure, its heaviness, its roaring engines reassured Hermione – there was no work of the mind here, no will coming from the tip of a wand, or murmured spells, or enchantments no one could see.
She smiled and took another sip.
Of course, there would be some magic to do when she got to Australia. It would be extremely complex to remove the heavy Confundus charm she had placed on her parents, even more complex to explain to them why she had done so in the first place, and why they were living in Brisbane when the last thing they remembered was having breakfast in Wingham.
“I could go with you,” Ron had told her, stroking her hair from the tip of his fingers, a few days before she’d left. “That way you wouldn’t have to deal with all that alone… and I could tell your parents what a heroic daughter they have.”
“I wish you could, but I think I owe it to them to let them have me all to themselves, at least for a little while.”
And Hermione wanted to have her parents all to herself as well. It had been so long since she’d seen them… and when she last had, she didn’t know if she ever would again…
It was thrilling and it made her want to grin, the simple thought of hugging them, letting them see she was okay, she was fine, they had won, all was right.
Even though… it would have been nice to have Ron here with her. Holding her hand. And kissing her – she loved it when they kissed. It was simply perfect, and exciting, and it made her chest swell pleasantly and fill with warm flutterings. Hermione wished they could have more time to themselves, though. So far, besides the kissing, it was hardly as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend at all. There had been no long, romantic walks, hand in hand, no embraces under the moonlight, no dates to the cinema, or the restaurant…
Of course, Ron had to take care of his family, and both of them had to support Harry, think of their futures, and prepare themselves for the long and difficult reconstruction of the wizarding world… but surely, that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a normal relationship. Like a real boy and a real girl.
Hermione liked to think of herself as Ron’s girlfriend. It was nice, and a bit unnerving in a good way - it was something to look forward to.
Suddenly, the endless flight seemed longer than ever. She couldn’t wait to get to Australia. Once she’d arrived, she’d be one step closer to coming back.
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