Secrets and Masks

02. You're not going out there again

18th November

Ron gripped Hermione's shoulders, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Mione, they almost had you! They almost bloody killed you!"

She wished he would just fuck off; she hated displays of emotion like this. She resisted the urge to slap him, barely. "You're completely overreacting. I am fine. I've done missions like this a thousand times before and nothing has ever happened. This was an isolated incident."

"I don't care!" Ron shouted. "They killed Creevey, and Finnigan said you were two seconds away from getting Avada'd yourself! Those slimy gits almost had you! You're not going on another mission ever again-"

Irritation swept up Hermione's spine, anger heating her skin. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot do! I am more than capable of looking after myself!" She crossed the boardroom to the closed liquor cabinet and swung the doors open, reaching with familiar fluidity to retrieve the half-empty gin bottle and single glass on the highest shelf.

Ron could go fuck himself if he thought she would offer him a drink. She was far too angry. Far too infuriated by his relentless attempts to keep her in the base; to control her. She'd learned some years ago that Ron would be quite happy to throw her in a cage of his own craftsmanship. Lock her up like a wild animal and throw away the key if it meant she was safe. The very concept made her blood boil.

She kept her back to him as she unscrewed the lid and filled the glass. She tipped her head back and downed half the tumbler's contents, her throat burning with the bitter, unsweetened gin. She could feel Ron's eyes on her back, judging her as she drained the rest of the glass with another tilt of her head.

"You don't know what it's like for me when you leave here," he said. She didn't turn to face him. "You don't know what it's like when you leave and I don't know if you'll ever come back. It's-"

He cut himself off with a strangled sob, but she still refused to turn around. She planted herself firmly to the spot. Couldn't bear to have him look at her with those sad blue eyes and beg her; make her promise she wouldn't go on another mission, like he always did when she'd had a close brush with death. She'd broken too many promises since the war began, she didn't want to break another one. She was tired of it.

"Please Mione. Please don't go back out there. It's not safe. One of these days something is going to happen, and you won't come back to me." She heard his feet scrape awkwardly across the floor as he came to stand behind her. "And I need you to come back to me."

Hermione spun to look at him, her nostrils flaring with anger. "I'm not yours to lose Ron. I haven't been yours for a long time."

Ron's expression fell; eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared back at her.

Hermione grabbed the gin bottle by its neck and shoved past him to the exit, making sure to connect with his shoulder on the way past. Hoped it hurt him, too. "Say hello to Romilda for me. You're going to make an excellent father."

Hermione sat in the frozen garden, alone, drinking her gin; any thought of a coat or blanket forgotten through her fit of rage. She cast a warming charm on her clothes instead. It wasn't as effective as a real coat or open fire, but it would do.

She was still wrapped head to toe in her mission uniform; black knee-high combat boots, tight black jeans, a matching fitted leather jacket, and numerous knives and spare wands strapped to her through thigh and arm holsters. Her bag was sprawled on the floor beside her with an undetectable extension charm on it; filled almost to capacity with potions, maps, more weapons, and pre-made bombs. Ready for anything.

She looked nothing like she had in Hogwarts. All traces of that innocent girl who constantly had her nose in a book were gone. She was battle-hardened; they all were. The war affected everyone differently, but Hermione felt considerably different. She was a soldier now. Nothing more, nothing less.