Chapter Text
“So, how was your summer?”
It was a beige room. It was filled with decorations, paintings, and quotes that made the room feel emptier. Blanker. There was a grey couch for him to sit on and a grey chair where the pale woman sat to face him.
In between them was a dark brown wooden table, lacking any stains from mugs. On the table was a medium-sized plant, the fake plastic ones that never die.
“Fine.” Ron muttered.
“Ron.”
“It really was fine. Nothing happened. I’ve been doing all the exercises you told me.” He groaned, meeting her eyes.
He was speaking to his therapist, an older woman with sallow skin but kind eyes.
“Alright. I believe you. Do you want to end the meeting early?” She asked.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually, Mrs. Moore had more patience than that. Letting him go that quickly was something that unsettled him.
“Well– you don’t have anything to chat to me about?” The redhead questioned, tilting his head.
“It’s been a few years, Ron– people tend to run out of things to say when you’ve known a person for so long.” She chuckled.
“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t expect you to give up so easily this time. You looked much more fiercer when I was twelve years old.”
“So did you.”
She caught him there. He laughed, letting a smile slip out.
“Last question of the session. How do you think you’ve changed in these years?” Mrs. Moore asked, giving him an encouraging nod.
Well, he had to think about that.
–
Once Molly had gotten the sixth call from a teacher that her son was throwing things across classrooms, she and Arthur suspected that their usual lecturing and taking away privileges weren’t working.
Ron’s increasing violence had separated him from his classmates. People who used to enjoy his presence and find him charismatic now looked at him like a pesky bug. Something that they couldn’t get rid of. He hated it.
Parents talked. He wasn’t invited to birthday parties anymore. Kids avoided him like the plague.
The only other two who would stick near him that year were the bossy brunette from his English class and a quieter boy with glasses who happened to be behind him at lunch. Unfortunately, his first impression of Ron was dodging a pencil case he threw. But for some reason, the three stuck like glue.
No one wanted to be around the short, brown-haired girl who talked like her life depended on it, correcting everyone and lecturing at everything. And the black-haired boy with glasses didn’t want to be near anyone anyway.
So, the next place for him was either boarding school or a therapist's office. Or worse, a white, padded room. His parents went for the safest option and took a card the school’s counselor provided for ‘problem students.’
Ronald did not hate Mrs. Moore. She was just– Extremely determined. Again, another person who focused way too much on him.
But somehow, the years passed, and he realized that it worked. The talks, the breathing techniques, the journals. His anger was not a giant trapped in a cave any longer but more or so a simmering pot. Progress?
–
Ron pulled up the strap of his black bag after saying bye to Mrs. Moore. There was a car waiting for him outside, where he saw Hermione waving through the tinted windows.
He pulled on the white car handle and sat in the passenger’s seat, letting out a sigh he felt he’d been holding too long.
“How was it?” Hermione asked. She drummed on the steering wheel, appreciating the touch of a new car.
“Was fine. A bit short, though.”
“Right? Usually, you don’t call me to pick you up for a few hours.” She pushes her key into the ignition and starts the car. “And that was the last one for a while, wasn’t it?”
Ron nods, grimacing. “Feels a tad bittersweet. I used to think she was a bitch when I was younger.”
Hermione snickered. Her hand sprinted to cover her mouth as if the noise betrayed her. “Ron, you know that’s rude.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that anymore. I think Moore’s alright now. I mean, she helped, didn’t she?”
“Well, I think you did the most of it. I’m proud of you.” Hermione offered him a soft smile and slipped her free hand into his square, calloused one.
Honestly, Ron would take anything Hermione would give him at this point. He was thankful to God that he hadn’t somehow driven her (and Harry) away over the years.
“Really?” He asked, meeting her eyes. He didn’t like staring into her chocolate eyes too often. It felt too risky, like falling into a well just because the pile of coins at the bottom tempted him. It sent his heart racing.
Hermione nodded. “Yeah.”
They stared at each other for a bit, silence passing through like wind. Hermione’s eyes explored him. She leaned closer and closer without knowing, focusing on every freckle she saw on Ron’s face. Ron reciprocated, moving in towards her: an invisible string, a magnetic force, a subconscious need to be near the other.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
A phone was vibrating. The two of them both whipped their heads to face the source of the interruption.
It was Hermione’s. She picked it up to read, but Ron had already read who it was. His face soured, and he leaned back into his chair.
Callum.
Callum was a picture-perfect guy. He was on the same soccer team as Ron and Harry. He got average grades. He made jokes that kept everyone laughing. Teachers thought of him as mature, and students thought of him as handsome. He thought of himself as good friends with Ron.
Callum also happened to be Hermione’s boyfriend.
Ron felt a little relief at the fact that he was named just as “Callum” in Hermione’s phone. He didn’t know how he would take it if she were calling him her ‘sweet honey bear’ or some other disgusting shit.
Hermione pulled away, like she always did, gave Ron a grimacing smile, and took a moment to answer the call.
—
It was Monday. It was the first week of Year 12. The soccer season would be starting right off the bat, and it was a perfect chance for Ron to begin on a blank slate. Or a somewhat blank slate. It was a small town, and many people still knew him as the insane one. But it quieted down as students transferred, teachers quit, and Ron stabilized.
Ron had always been a little complicated with Hermione. To be honest, he’d been complicated with everyone.
He never really allowed himself to let a person come too close. Too close, and a person would feel the damage of his issues. Too far, and they wouldn’t even care for him. So Hermione stood at an awkward distance from him for years, when they both knew she belonged closer.
Since he let his anger, his emotions, and his issues come between so many times in their arguments, their wordless conversations, and their touch, Hermione found what she wanted elsewhere. She wasn’t exactly the type to hold herself back for others. She would always be there for him, but other people wanted her to be there for them, too.
Mike. Victor. Nathan. Cormac. There had always been other boys. Ron only remembered them because he wanted to be in their place for so long.
“Ronald! Come down for breakfast!” He heard his mother yell from downstairs. He opened his eyes, wincing from the sun’s invading light. Summer hadn’t left as quickly as last year. Despite being September, it was still bright as day at seven o’clock in the morning.
Ron made a mental note to quit thinking about Hermione in the morning as he stood up, scratching his chest. Thinking about Hermione made him think of her boyfriend, which automatically put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. He’d come to the conclusion a few years ago with Mrs. Moore that bad moods in the morning were not good for him.
He threw on a white shirt and headed down with his pajama pants.
“Morning,” He greeted his family once he got down to the dining table. It was a room of red, people dashing from place to place.
“Good morning, dear. Hermione and Harry are waiting for you outside,” His mother greeted him back, tip-toeing to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Another redhead passed him as he sat down. “Have any of you seen my volleyball gear?” His younger sister, Ginny, was apparently already ready and packed up. Most likely to go and snuggle up with Harry. Ron thought, rolling his eyes so hard his head hurt.
“Well, where’d you last keep it, Gin?” Their father walked past, carrying his toolkit and coat.
“Me and the twins used it last week for a round in the yard, and now I can’t find my kneepads or Jersey!” Ginny exclaimed, crossing her arms and flipping her hair out of her face.
“Why would you wear your Jersey for a practice round?” Ron perked up, amused at the thought of Ginny having that much ego. However, his tease did not stick the landing — he looked like stupid guinea pig with pancakes stuffed in his mouth.
Ginny turned to face him and immediately scrunched her face back in disgust. “Don’t eat with your mouth full, it’s disgusting.”
She turned her head back, not giving him a chance to speak.
“Oh, shove off,” Ron grumbled. “That’s why you lost your volleyball gear.”
Ginny whipped her head back around, ready to start on him.
“Both of you go and get ready. Stop arguing!” Their mother ordered before any words could leave their lips. “Ginny, I’ll see if I can get the twins to come over from their flat to help you search, but they can’t possible be up at this time. Ronald, for goodness’ sake, finish your pancakes and change!”
Ginny sighed and walked back upstairs. “Whatever,” She mumbled.
Shoving the remainder of the pancakes into his mouth, Ron stood up and bolted up the stairs past Ginny. “I’ll be down in twenty!”
–