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After we've said goodbye by almost_witch
Chapter 1 : Chapter 1
 
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 27


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Reminder: This is a challenge to change a one-shot that people have asked to see more of and turn it into a chaptered fic. This one-shot has had quite a few people asking me to continue it, so here it is.




Thank you to Silv3r_Ic3!






A growing woman sat. Her light brown hair was tied back of her head. Her fingers ran through the ginger cat who purred softly on her lap. The breeze went through her as the leaves seemed to make noises like they were happily dancing.

She stared aimlessly into the distant paddocks. Voices began to steal her peaceful surroundings.

“Arthur! Arthur, no!” She heard the familiar voice scream like she had a awful fright.

The women jumped up from the comfort of her seat, the cat hissed disapprovingly and leapt away.

By the time she threw open the back door she saw Mrs. Weasley standing over the sink, holding it for support as tears trickled down her round cheeks.

“No! You can’t go, you can’t leave.” Mrs. Weasley said, refusing to look at the man that tried to calm her.

“Molly, please, I have to, you know I have to." He went to take her by the hand but she pulled away forcefully.

“You don’t have to!” She screamed.

The brown-haired women walked gently across the kitchen, completely un-aware of what the problem was.

“What is happening?” She tried to sound as calm as she could but she couldn’t help but let out the prang of fear in her voice.

“Harry and You-Know-Who… it is all starting,” Mr. Weasley responded, sweeping his hand through his greying hair.

The women plunged her hand into her pocket and withdrew her wand. “I’m coming with you.” She pronounced boldly.

“No your not!” A deep voice yelled from the door way.

A tall lanky red hair man stood at the door holding his wand firmly in his hand at the ready.

“Of course I am!” She cried. “Don’t be stupid!” How could he be so thick?

He shock his head, he was not going to back down.

“I’m going with you and Harry like I always have, I always will be.” Her checks began to go a violent shade of pink.

The man continued to look at her with strong, definate eyes; his jeans were ripped at the knee and were beginning to fade while his old t-shirt was no better.

“He is right, Hermione. You can’t go.” Mr. Weasley said with carefully chosen words.

“Why! Why should that all change now? Is it because I’m a girl? Is that it?” She screamed out hysterically, her eyes darting angrily from the man at the door to Mr. Weasley.

“It’s because you’re bloody pregnant!” Yelled the tall man from the door.

Everything went deathly silent. “I’m not letting you anywhere near danger while you’re holding our baby.” He said with a strict tone.

He was right. Her hands slipped over her green singlet, which couldn’t even hold in all of her large stomach.

“Ron, please,” she whimpered pathetically.

The short and stocky twins walked into the room, both holding their wands.

“Ready to go?” Fred said. His face was no longer cheerful and full of surprises, instead it showed just about no emotion.

Mrs. Weasley’s sobs broke the silence. George swept her into a big bear hug.

“It’s alright, Mum!” He assured his mother, “we’ll bring Harry home afterwards for a supper.” He placed a fake smile across his lips as he pulled away from her.

Molly sniffed and rubbed her hand under her nose. “Be careful,” she said weakly.

Fred put his round hand into Hermione’s shoulder, attempting to comfort her, “Bill wanted to apparate from the end of the road.” He said, making the rooms atmosphere even more awkward.

Mr Weasley nodded; he didn’t know what he could have said to help the women in his problem.

He turned to his wife and kissed her firmly of her forehead before turning again to walk out the door.

Hermione stared into Ron’s eyes. He didn’t say a word or even bid his mother or wife goodbye. He just turned his back and led everyone else from the house.

Mrs Weasley wiped her tears on her sleeve. “Those boys,” she sobbed as they closed the door, “oh those boys!”

Hermione stared painfully at the door she saw her husband walk from. She picked up her feet and walked after them.

She stood at the door way, the small group of men were all walking with straight backs down the road, the sun in the distant.

“Ron!” She called out, trying to run after them.

He stopped and slowly started walking back towards her.

“You’re not coming,” he said coldly when she was close enough to hear it.

“Promise me that…” she began to choke, “that, you will bring Harry back.” Her eyes were stinging as she tried to hold back the flow of tears.

He nodded and turned his back to turn away.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” She said, her voice sounding small and weak.

He turned around, his expression looking vacant and confused.

He was at least a head taller than her when she started stepping towards his tall figure.

One of his hands found a place on her hip and he lowered his head to reach the same height as hers. They both drifted in the space between each others lips until, finally they kissed.

Kisses can show more than one thing. This wasn’t one of passion, games or anything they had before experienced. But instead one of fear, promises and most of all, goodbye.

Ron raised his head and let go of her, hearing the wolf whistles from his twin brothers. He turned his back once more, not even saying another word and caught up to his family.

Her legs were beginning to ache as she watched the men start to reach the end of the street. She sat down slowly in the middle of the pebble road.

Ron wasn’t one to show much love, wasn’t one for romance either, and definitely never one for goodbyes.

It took years for him to admit he had feelings for Hermione. Even after they got engaged, married and came to the news of there first child was on its way, they still fought over the tiniest of things.

But now, this is where it left her, sitting under the setting sun, watching her husband and family walk away into the distance.

She watched them as they reached the end and together, they apparated at once.

Hermione sat. Waiting. Watching. Wondering, on who would or wouldn’t return.

The dying sun was prickling on the back on her neck. Her eyes were straining from the force of the tears that wanted to come bursting out. But she continued sitting with her over starched pregnant belly, waiting for her husband to return, with or without his best friend.


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