Chapter Text
The hospital was quiet. It always was this early in the afternoon. Visiting time hadn’t started yet, and everyone was waiting for their treatments to begin. There was just the steady hum of quiet chatter from the mediwitch’s station.
Hermione stared out of the window. She knew the view was an illusion, just like the ceiling in the great hall at Hogwarts, but it comforted her nonetheless. She could see the spring blossoms blowing in the wind, filling the air with a delicate pink confetti.
She longed to be outside and to feel the wind on her skin. It felt like it had been too long. Obscuriel-Venter-obstructis, that's what the healers had diagnosed. The equivalent of magical stomach cancer, she thought sourly. She’d thought that being a witch made her immune to cancer, but the universe had other plans. Apparently, sometimes magic could turn inwards. Instead of building up and becoming an explosive force, it could create a physical mass inside, which, if found too late, couldn’t be removed as it magically protected itself. So magical or not, it was stomach cancer, with no treatment. All she could do was lie back and die quietly.
For years, she had struggled with her stomach. Loss of appetite, struggling to keep food down when stressed. Once she had thought she was pregnant, but when she had finally gathered up the courage to see a healer, her trepidation of becoming a new mother was replaced with terror and shock when the healers told her she had six months left to live. Twelve if she was lucky.
It had been almost three months, and she missed all the small things in her life. She wasn’t sure she had ever been truly happy, so it was difficult to miss something she had never really experienced, but knowing that she never would created a yearning in her heart that was hard to ignore.
There had been moments when she thought she had been happy, but looking back, she realised she had been performing to make others happy.
Sighing, she continued to watch the blossoms in the wind. A figure appeared suddenly, blocking her view. Blinking in surprise, she looked up, and Lavender Brown smiled down at her warmly. Her bright blue eyes were creased with affection as she lowered herself into the chair next to Hermione’s bed.
Reaching out, Lavender took her face in her hands, careful to avoid her glasses. Her palms were warm against Hermione’s cheeks, and she smiled, feeling the goosebumps run down her shoulders.
“Hey, how are you today?” She asked softly
Hermione looked at the clock. Like clockwork, Lavender was always there as soon as visiting hours started without fail. She smiled, thankful for the reprieve from her loneliness.
“I’m ok," Hermione replied, “just tired, but that's nothing new!”
“Well, you look as pretty as always. I love the hat,” Lavender hummed, touching the hat she had knitted herself. “You remind me of a tea cosy,” They both laughed, but Hermione felt the hollowness in her heart at the loss of her curls. She had hated her unruly locks growing up, but now that she no longer had them, the absence was noticed constantly. “Are they looking after you here?” She sat down on the edge of the bed.
Hermione nodded. “Everyone is friendly. It’s lovely to see you. I’m so lucky I have such a great friend, unlike my husband.
“Why do you say that? Ron’s a great guy.”
“I'm lucky if he answers my texts these days,” she winced and closed her eyes. She was too tired to cry.
“Ron hasn’t been by at all? Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No, it's okay,” she assured her. “I just hope he won't regret it when I'm gone.”
“Stop talking like that! You're going to beat this because I'll never forgive you if you leave me!” Lavender pouted, and it struck Hermione again just how cute and sweet she was.
“He’s seeing someone else, so why would he waste his time coming to see me?” she confessed as she looked down at her hands, tracing the outline of the scar on her arm. Lavender sounded shocked at the thought.
“He’s cheating? What makes you think that?” She asked. “Ron’s a great guy. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“He texted me and told me he loved me.”
“So? He’s your husband!”
“Then he deleted it,” she looked up at her friend to see if she understood the significance. “The message wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for someone else. He’d sent it to the wrong person.”
“Aww, honey. I’m sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. I’ll talk to him for you.” She replied as she patted her leg under the hospital blanket.
“No, please don’t, he’ll get upset. It's not worth it. At least I have you with me.”
Lavender put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Only if you’re sure,”
Hermione nodded, looking down again. Lavender’s bright red shoes caught her eye.
Her friend was so pretty and confident. Everything she wasn’t. There wasn’t a universe where she would feel comfortable wearing such dramatic shoes. Where they commanded attention, she preferred dissolving into the background.
“Mrs Weasley?” A mediwitch called. Hermione turned. “It’s time for your treatment.”
Hermione nodded before turning to her friend, grabbing her hand, feeling the fear rise. Lavender took her hand and squeezed it. “Think positive thoughts and keep on fighting. It won’t hurt forever.” Hermione nodded as she slowly stood up and followed the nurse.
~~~
She sat in the bed and knocked back the potion as quickly as she could, ignoring the burning sensation that travelled down her gullet to settle in her stomach. These potions always made her feel faint, and disgusting as they attempted to burn the magic off. They hoped that if her magical core could be dampened, there was a chance they could remove it. But Hermione knew that chance was slowly disappearing as the days went by.
Closing her eyes, she lay down in the bed, just like the other people in her ward. All lying down, hoping that this time, this potion would be the one to make the difference, all the while feeling worse and worse. As she felt the burning heat gnawing away at her powers, she tried to cast her mind back to happier times.
She remembered her wedding, which felt like an eternity ago. It had only been nine years, but each year had gotten progressively worse. These weren’t happier times, but they were significant. Even on her wedding day, when she was supposed to be the centre of attention, she felt uncomfortable and unstable, like a petal set adrift on a river- remaining afloat but unsure when or if she would ever reach stable ground. On the day she should have been her happiest, she hadn’t been and only shrank to fit the expectations of the people around her.
Her mother-in-law, Molly, was insistent on organising the whole thing, from the dress and makeup to the venue and guest list. All Hermione had to do was turn up and act like a mannequin ready to be dressed and positioned. People from work came, people whom she knew by name and position, but no one she had ever really held a conversation with. They were here more for Ron than her.
The dress Molly had picked was like a frothy meringue with bows and flowers everywhere. It had a high neck and long sleeves, covering every bit of skin except for her face and hands. It was the perfectly modest dress, according to her mother-in-law, who hadn’t wanted people to assume that the impromptu wedding meant she had been an immodest girl. Hermione had hated it, but she wore it because it would make Molly & Ron happy.
The only person there to catch her bouquet had been Lavender. Who else would there be? It wasn’t like Hermione had any other friends. She was unlikable, and people kept their distance from her. Two seats sat empty at the front where her parents should have been. Her father was dead. His empty seat hit her in the gut even now.
The seats had been a bone of contention with Molly, who had taken her bookish smarts and dedication to work as a slight on all traditional women. How could Hermione be a good wife to her precious son when she didn’t know how to cook or clean? Molly had taken it upon herself to educate her, to show her how to be a woman when her parents were no longer there to show her.
What had first come across as slightly overbearing good intentions soon became apparent as cruel control bordering on abuse. Molly’s sweet smile and warm eyes had disappeared to reveal the cold and brutal woman as soon as the wedding was over.
“What do you mean? You’re not pregnant? Useless girl! You’ve been together for four years and still no children! You dare cut the family line? What is wrong with you?” They sat at the dining room table, Hermione huddling over her coffee as Molly continued to berate her. Ron appeared and sat in the chair next to his mother.
“When’s lunch?” He asked as he looked down at his phone.
“Well? Get up and make my son some lunch! Make yourself useful. I don’t know why I allowed you to marry into our family!”
Molly allowed Ron to do whatever he liked, and whenever there was a problem, he was never to blame. A tear slid silently down her cheek when she remembered when he had quit his job without telling her. He had planned to sell stocks and shares after achieving only one success with the Newtex shares, which had skyrocketed in value back in 2013.
Ten years later, Hermione was trying to keep the house, cook all the meals, and work full-time, while Ron lived at the pub with his friends or stayed home sleeping on the sofa with the wireless blaring. The house was always messy despite how long she spent cleaning.
Work wasn’t much better. Her manager, Zacharias Smith, was a rude, incompetent and sexist man who had only ascended to his position because he had a relative higher up in the company. MG Inc. was a global wizarding company with fingers in all sorts of pies, from the finest Quidditch supplies, magazines, and media outlets to research and the finest potions available, having acquired a couple of the smaller potioneers in Diagon Alley. It was the latter where she and Ron had met seven years prior, when she had started at the company.
Smith had been obnoxious and a bully from the very beginning. Undermining the work she put in and making her look bad in front of more senior executives. He moved the goalposts, meaning that she always missed deadlines as he had brought them forward. When she was able to make headway, her work, as well as others on the team, was stolen and his name put on them as he berated them, telling them that a woman’s place was in the home and that men were far superior to women. At some point, she began to doubt the value of her work.
It was in the middle of such a dressing down that the pain in her stomach, which had been present in the form of a mild ache all day, suddenly became sharp and acute. She wobbled on her feet, almost passing out as his diatribe continued. She looked out the office window and into their work area, spotting Lavender with the other ladies she worked with. They watched on with concern before she passed out.
That was how she ended up in the hospital. Her mother-in-law had been devastated. Devastated that there would be no one around to cook and clean after her son, and that she would have to start doing it again. Hermione sat there and cried silently into her hoodie sleeve as she and Ron talked about her as if she wasn’t there listening.
“Mrs Weasley? That’s you done, you can head back to your bed now.” Hermione nodded, feeling the burning had passed slightly as she walked on unsteady legs back to her bed with the Mediwitche’s help.
“You’ve got such a good friend, she’s here every day,” She commented as they left the treatment room. Hermione smiled and nodded.
“She is, she’s the best. She looks after me better than my cheating husband ever has.” She sniffed.
“Forget about your husband, you reach my age and realise it's better not to have one.” The mediwitch smiled, and Hermione could see the deepening lines around her eyes and mouth. It was too rude to ask, but she guessed that she was somewhere in her fifties. “You have to make sure you keep your friends as they’re the ones that stick with you through thick and thin.”
Hermione nodded again. “My friend looks after me, but she works hard. She’s a manager now, so she has to work overtime a lot, but she buys herself the loveliest things. She bought herself a beautiful Msaw Ætare handbag. It’s blue with a golden sheen and a chain for a strap.”
“Ooh, nice,” the witch cooed as she helped Hermione to sit on her bed. “Wonder how much that set her back,” Hermione shrugged weakly before lying down on the bed. “Now you get some rest,” the witch offered before drifting away again.
~~~
Sometime later, she was staring out of the false window again, daydreaming as she drifted in and out of sleep, when someone cleared their throat to get her attention. She jumped slightly and turned to the figure at the bottom of the bed. A man in a Healer’s coat stood there looking down at her. She had seen that look of detached sympathy before, and it never meant good news.
“Mrs Weasley?”
“Hmm?” she hummed softly.
“I’m Healer Peel. We’ve looked over your most recent test results, and I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news.”
Hermione lay frozen. She already knew what he was about to say, but it didn’t stop her blood from freezing in its sluggish journey around her weak body. When she didn’t say anything, the healer continued.
“The treatments aren’t having any impact on the mass in your stomach. At this point, we suggest that you go home, make yourself comfortable, and attend to your affairs. There’s nothing more we can do for you here.”
Hermione closed her eyes and nodded, and the healer muttered his apologies before drifting out of her notice as she wailed and sobbed internally. To the untrained observer, she was sure she looked calm and accepting, but inside, she was turmoil itself. She slowly started to gather her belongings as she waited for Ron to reply to her text messages. When everything was together and packed in her bag, she rechecked her phone. There was still no reply.
Slowly, she left her bed and made her way to reception to sign out. Her hand shook as she tried to sign her name with the quill.
“We would advise that you don’t apparate or use the floo network alone, in your condition. You can catch the knight bus from the rear entrance.” The lady behind the counter suggested, her eyes creased with concern and curiosity. Hermione thanked the woman and made slow progress towards the rear of the building and away from the Muggle entrance.
It was getting dark now, and she shivered in the cooling air. Since starting her treatment, the slightest temperature change had her shivering, despite wearing a cardigan. Finally, outside, she stood alone, holding her wand up with shaking hands as she waited for the triple-decker bus to arrive.
She heard the squeal before the bus appeared in the small courtyard, and she grimaced at the thought of being jostled and jolted around. The racing bus came to a stop right in front of her, letting out a hiss as it lowered for her to board. An older man in a conductor’s uniform smiled down at her before offering her his hand to help her on board. She had been expecting to see Stanley Shunpike, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Good evening,” the man greeted kindly with a smile as he helped her to one of the beds. “Where are we going tonight? Out on the town?”
“Ottery St. Catchpole, please,” She breathed as she braced herself.
“You hear that, Ernie? Ottery St. Catchpole and take it easy on this one.”
There was a hiss as the bus rose again, and to Hermione’s surprise, it pulled gently out of the courtyard. It reminded her of coach trips she had taken with her Muggle parents as a child.
Hermione reached into her bag and handed the man the eleven-sickle fair before sighing and lying down.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss. You’re looking really unwell. Are you sure you should be travelling?” The man asked softly as he lowered himself into a seat next to the bed. Keeping her eyes closed, she shook her head.
“I shouldn’t be, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Well, don’t worry, we’ll take care of you tonight. You’re our only fare. When we get you home, you’ll be right as rain in no time; it is spring after all.”
Hermione shook her head again. “I’m not getting better, I’m going home to die,” She felt her face crumple slightly at the realisation as tears welled up beneath her eyelids.
“That's not a very positive mindset to have,” The man soothed, touching her arm in a comforting gesture. It reminded her of her dad, and she swallowed thickly before opening her eyes. The man smiled down at her.
“The healers have told me there’s nothing else they can do for me. All I can do is go home, get comfortable, get my affairs in order and die quietly.”
“Well, at least you’re going home to family. They’ll look after you”
She snorted, “My dad’s dead, I have no siblings, and my husband is worthless. I’d be better off going home to an empty house. Without him, I wouldn’t be drowning in debt.”
“I know everything looks bad right now. But don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched. There’s always another way of doing things. One day you’ll feel better. You’ll earn a bunch of money and find a man who deserves you and who makes you happy.”
More tears escaped her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hoodie sleeve.
“Now, you just lie back and enjoy the ride. I’ll ask Ernie to take the scenic route,” The man got up and moved towards the front of the bus, and Hermione stared out the window, thankful that it was the real world and not a magical illusion for a change. With a squeal of tyres, the bus lurched to the right and Hermione sat up nervously. Had they hit something?
The road before them was a dusty pink as they moved through the countryside. The bus was cresting over a hill, and a second later, the world just seemed to open up. She could see for miles in every direction, and a good proportion of the landscape was filled with trees filled with pale cherry blossoms. She had never realised so many of the trees grew in the countryside. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon, and it was beautiful.
Hermione stared for a long time, until the road meandered and the sun fell from view. More tears slid down her cheeks as she realised that she may never see another sunset as beautiful as that. And it took a long moment to realise that the bus had stopped.
She opened her eyes, realising that she must have dozed off, as the conductor stood over her. Smiling, he offered her his hand. Hesitating, she took it, and he helped her off the bus. Once on the pavement, he held her hand, turning her palm over and filling it with coins and sweets.
“This journey is on me. It’s my last shift as the knight bus conductor.”
“Please, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you can. Please. Think of it as a gift from your dad. Or for good luck.”
“Really, I couldn’t possibly–”
“Too late, it’s already done.” He smiled. “Go and live a good life and remember, sometimes you can’t see the moon until the clouds move, but it’s always there in the dark”
It was a phrase her dad used to say, and hearing it after so long made her speechless as she nodded and shoved the coins and sweets into her pocket. She decided not to remind him about the healer’s death sentence. He smiled, and the bus slowly pulled away. With a squeal of wheels, it was driving erratically again before it disappeared from view.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to look up towards the house. The burrow sat in the middle of a field, and the only way to it was to walk up the long, winding path. Hermione’s heart fell at the thought of the walk. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep—something which Ron probably wouldn’t let her do once she reached the house.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she started the long journey up the hill, dreading her reception with every step. She lost track of how long it took her and how many stumbles she took before her hand finally landed on the door handle. Hermione waited a moment, breathing heavily as she looked back down the path to the road. She remembered walking that distance years ago and not even being out of breath by the time she reached the door. How things had changed.
Slowly, her breath returned, along with a soft tremor in her limbs. She would need to rest soon before she passed out. Pressing the handle down, Hermione opened the door and stepped in before shutting it behind her. There was no point calling out. Ron would either be fast asleep somewhere or listening to the Quidditch results on the wireless. Either way, he would be annoyed if she were to disturb him.
She went to take a step into the house when a pair of shoes caught her eye—high, shiny, and fire-engine red heels and Lavender’s beautiful Msaw Ætare handbag—the same heels and handbag she had been wearing at the hospital earlier in the day. Anxiety started to gnaw away in her gut as she moved through the house. Voices, right at the edge of her hearing, drew her upstairs. It was a Wednesday, so she knew that Molly would be out of the house, and all of Ron’s siblings had moved out years ago. Ron had been the only one to fail and move back home.
The voices got louder as she neared his bedroom. Maybe Lavender had come over to talk to him about visiting her in the hospital. It would be just like her to speak with him on her behalf. Lavender really was a great friend.
As she got to the door, she noticed it was open slightly, enough that she could peer in. Creeping forward, she looked through the gap. A deep feminine moan filled the air, followed by a series of grunts, before a masculine groan followed. Hermione felt her heart stop as she peered into the room to find Lavender riding Ron in their bed. Lavender’s skirt was gathered up around her waist as Ron massaged her thighs.
“Mmm, tell me again how you knew she was ill,” Lavender hummed as she rolled off him, falling onto her back on the bed with a sigh.
“She started losing weight and being sick, so I thought there might be something wrong. That's why I didn’t tell her to go to the hospital straight away.”
“And that’s why you took out the insurance?” She asked.
“Yeah, if it were worse when she got diagnosed, the payout would be bigger. The diagnosis on its own bought you those shoes and that new handbag. When she finally dies, we’ll be rich. I’ll put the rest into stocks, and I can get you a nicer bag”
“Ooh, lovely. How much is she worth?”
“Over one hundred thousand galleons,”
“Really? We could buy a house with that!” Lavender gushed with excitement.
“That's a great idea, finally get out of here and away from my mom,” Ron rolled over and grabbed a sweet from a tin on the bedside table. Hermione could hear the hard candy rattle against his teeth as he rolled over to face Lavender. “I’m surprised she’s not dead yet, though!”
“Yeah, she’s tough,” Lavender giggled her cute giggle that made her sound younger than she was. “I don’t think it would take much, though, based on how she was today. One little push…”
“Ooh, that's sneaky, I like it,” Ron grinned as he pulled her close for a kiss, “But don’t, you might fall too. Also, it might affect the payout.”
Hermione stood, feeling like her blood had turned to anger. Her husband and her best friend were talking about how much her death was worth. Tears blurred her vision as she stood on the landing. Her husband and her best friend were planning her death so that they could get the money and live happily ever after.
She felt sick as she choked on the betrayal. She almost expected it of Ron, not that she’d seen it coming. But Lavender was supposed to be her person, her other half. They had known each other for almost 3 decades, and she had fallen into bed with her husband.
Hermione reacted on instinct as she kicked the door open. Ron and Lavender jumped, and Ron fell backwards off the bed as Hermione reached for the nearest objects to launch at them. She screamed her lungs out as the tears burned tracks down her cheeks.
“How could you?” she cried, her strength slowly giving out. She wobbled on her feet as Ron and Lavender regrouped. A photo frame from the dresser had smashed into millions of shards as it hit the wall right next to Ron’s face.
“Are you alright?” Ron asked Lavender as he held her to him. She nodded before turning her blue eyes to Hermione.
“Is she alright? Is she alright?” Hermione screamed again. “She’s not dying of cancer! You utter bastard!”
She couldn’t breathe as they stood there, arm in arm, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and boredom.
“Chill out already!” Ron cried.
“How could you? This is illegal!”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to kill you both!” She swore.
“Just shut up!” Ron shouted with a roll of his eyes as he guided Lavender out of the room. “Just die already!” He raised his hand to hit her, and she flinched away from him, tears blurring her vision further. The blow never came as he just barged past her through the door.
Hermione collapsed onto the floor as the sobs sapped her strength. After taking a few deep breaths, she grabbed something else and crawled after them, almost falling down the stairs as they stood in the kitchen.
She threw the thing in her hand. The tin of sweets hit Ron in the back of the head, his curly red hair cushioning some of the blow.
“Why, you bitch!” he growled as the small colourful sweets erupted from the tin before skittering along the floor in all directions. “You’ll pay for that,”
“Stop,” Lavender whispered, placing her hands on Ron’s chest before turning her eyes to Hermione. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I never wanted you to find out about this.”
“You’re-you’re sorry?” she asked, not sure if her ears betrayed her as the roaring from her heart beat filled her ears.
“Stop acting like the victim; you brought this on yourself. You’re dying, get over it! You only ever think about yourself! You’re so selfish. Ron is a great man, and he never should have wasted the last ten years with you!”
Hermione got to her feet and stumbled closer to them. She reached out and grabbed Lavender’s bright blond hair, pulling her away from Ron and down onto the floor.
“Acting like the victim? I am the victim!”
“Let the living live already.”
“You betrayed me! I trusted you! I’m going to kill you!”
She pulled at her hair with all of her might, satisfied when she felt a tearing sensation at her knuckles. Lavender screamed out, calling Ron for help. Suddenly, she was pulled off and yanked to stand facing Ron. His bright blue eyes were cold with anger and hatred as he looked down at her.
“If you’re going to die, hurry up and do it already!” Words failed her as she looked up, trying to see any hint of pity or hesitation, but there was none as he pulled back and pushed her hard.
Gravity let go as she found herself airborne. The world seemed to slow down as she watched realisation dawn on their faces as she started to fall back to the ground.
There was a crash that knocked the air from her lungs, splinters of glass and wood flying up around her as the pain radiated through her body. She hit the coffee table, forcing the air from her chest. Lying there in stunned silence, she could feel that something was very wrong. Her vision started to darken, and her body wouldn’t stop twitching. She had no energy left to fight it.
Her vision was the first thing to fade, surrounding her in darkness. The vision of their frightened and guilty faces was blotted from her view. Her hearing was next, the panicked whispers about next steps and how to still get their payout faded away to white noise. The anger still burned, but she was relieved that she couldn’t hear them anymore.
They always say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That didn’t happen. All she felt was an overwhelming sense of sadness that seemed to span her whole 43 years. She had never truly known happiness, but misfortune was here again, like an old friend. The healers had given her a six-month estimate, twelve months if she was lucky. Little did they all know that it wouldn’t be the cancer that killed her, nor would she make the lower estimate. She would just die.