Though We're Apart
Chapter One

Thunder crackled ominously over head, and lightening cut through the sky like a blade. The rain fell, slamming against the windows like bricks, running down them like the tears that were running down Hermione Granger’s cheeks.

Her chocolate brown hair was a mess, and plastered to her face as she stared out of the open door and into the dark of night, her equally brown eyes searching, almost desperately, for that one figure. The light behind her did nothing to help her: it cast its light over only a small patch by the door and not by the patches that Hermione was looking at.

‘Ron!’ Her voice was rusty, and the name she shouted came out in an almost strangled cry. ‘Ron!’

No reply came, and Hermione let several more tears escape before she grabbed the waterproof coat slung uncaringly on the peg. Slipping it on over the soft, pink dress she was wearing, she hurried out into the rain. Pulling the hood up, she slipped on the mud beneath her, her heels getting stuck.

Mentally cursing herself for not remembering to change her shoes, she slipped the heels off and left them in the field as she ran towards the trees. The tears did not ease up; if anything, they came even more relentlessly.

She slipped at the edge of the trees, but pushed herself up quickly. Knees and hands stinging, she continued, her mud-stained dress clinging to her legs as she entered the dry area of the wood. The leaves above shielded her from the rain that fell and she pulled the hood down.

‘Ron!’ she called away, looking around her frantically. ‘Ron, please! Please, come back!’

She pressed on through the wood, using the trees for support as she hoped not to slip on the slimy undergrowth beneath her bare feet. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and lit it quickly.

It illuminated a recently-trodden path, and she gasped in surprise as she began to follow the squashed leaves. Hope flooded her body, and she could not suppress it in anyway. She stumbled a few times, but each time used the trees to help her back up.

‘Please, Ron!’ she called half an hour later as she slipped again. She made no move to get up: she instead moved herself into a more comfortable position and hugged her knees to her chest. The tears had almost dried up now, but still some escaped.

Lying on her side, Hermione fought against sleep. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep if she wanted to, with Ron out here somewhere.

‘It’s my fault,’ she whispered to no one in particular as she began to rock herself gently against a tree. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said those awful things!’

The tears came again, and Hermione gave over to them, allowing them to trickle slowly down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her. She hit head against the bark of the tree behind her one, twice, three times before bending over again and allowing more tears to escape her liquid brown eyes.

‘Ron.’ She sobbed his name into the ground as the pitter-patter of rain on the topmost leaves stopped. She looked up, new hope flooding through her veins. Hope that, with the end of the physical storm, the end of her emotional storm would come.

She looked around eagerly, before pushing herself in a standing position to get a better view. Exhaustion filled her, but she stubbornly pushed it away as she looked around, hearing footsteps in the bushes nearby.

‘Ron?’ she called hopefully, fighting back a yawn. ‘Ron, is that you?’

The noise stopped and Hermione sighed, leaning back against the tree, new despair filling her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she didn’t notice.

‘Ron, I’m sorry,’ she whispered to the air. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice was quiet and her throat was sore from the crying. She yawned, and snuggled against the tree, wrapping her mud-stained jacket around her for warmth.

A pair of warm arms slid under her and easily supported her weight. Too tired to open her eyes, Hermione readjusted herself so her face was in their chest and her arms wrapped around their neck as she allowed herself to sleep.

‘It’s okay. I’ll get you back safely,’ whispered a voice. Hermione smiled against their chest and fell asleep.

When she finally woke up again, she was in bed with warm sheets placed over her slender body. She hadn’t realised just how cold she had been until now. She yawned and turned to the window.

The sun was high in the sky, and Hermione realised it was noon. Throwing her covers off her, she sat up fast and felt the resulting dizziness of the blood rush. Pausing for a moment to reclaim a clear head, she shuddered and pulled a dressing gown off the table, realising she was wearing Ginny’s pyjamas. Wrapping the fluffy pink dressing gown around her, she made her way to the door and opened it gingerly.

She could hear voices downstairs: one of them was Molly Weasley’s, and a second Harry Potter’s. She recognised them easily, but the third voice she could hear wasn’t so easily identified, and she frowned, straining her ears. Somewhere in the back of her memory she could remember the voice, but the memory couldn’t push itself forward and make its presence known.

She pulled the door open fully and stepped onto the squeaky stairs. The voices below stopped, and she took a deep breath before walking down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen. Not looking at the table where they were sat, she made her way to the kettle.

‘Hi,’ she said, her voice croaky as she tapped her wand against the metal. The water inside started screeching, and she frowned, tapping it again, before turning to the table.

Harry’s face was full of relief, and Molly’s face was tear-stained: Hermione frowned again. Her eyes flittered to the third person sat at the table.

‘Oh, no,’ she whispered, her hands rising to her mouth as she recognised the male. ‘Not you. I’d happily see anybody but you.’

The male at the table smirked at Hermione, his long, chestnut hair gleaming in the gentle light from the candles. He stood up, holding his hands out in a surrendering way.

‘It’s nice to see you, Mitch,’ he said in a sarcastic voice, and Hermione glared at him.

‘Mitchell de Silva.’ She spat the name out. The pair had spent many summers together before Hermione received her invitation to Hogwarts. Mitch was a wizard, but his family had left England to go to America, where they had stayed until Mitch had graduated his school.

He’d come back to London and taken up temporary residence in the Leaky Cauldron, where he’d run into Hermione again. Despite their close friendship years before, they hadn’t clicked and Mitch had rubbed Hermione up the wrong way, resulting in the pair losing any friendliness they’d had before.

Hermione turned to Molly. ‘Molly, have you seen Ron?’

Molly’s face paled slightly and she turned to Harry, who nodded. ‘Hermione, Ron came to my place last night, asking for somewhere to stay. He said you two had had an argument, so I let him stay at mine. He’s gone off somewhere this morning, but I bet he’ll be back here soon.’

Hermione sighed, and moved her hands to her forehead, rubbing it gently. ‘What did he say about the argument?’ she inquired. She heard Harry cough and shuffle in his chair slightly. She dropped her hands to her sides.

Harry shook his head, his dark hair ruffled. ‘Sorry, ‘Mione,’ he apologised, before turning back to Molly and Mitch. Hermione sighed, made her drink and headed back to the stairs.

‘If you want me, I’ll be in Ginny’s old room,' she said as she dashed up the stairs, careful not to spill her drink on her. She slammed the door shut behind her and carefully sipped on the tea, moving to stand beside the window.

‘So I said some things I didn’t mean to last night. It was a mistake,’ she whispered to herself as she looked at the clear blue sky. No lingering traces of the storm the night before were visible, and Hermione found herself envious of the fact. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. But still. Mitchell, of all people, coming to my rescue. He always had a side of him that loved rescuing damsels in distress, playing the big hero.’

She sighed, and drained the last of her drink quickly, ignoring the burn at the back of her throat. She placed the cup down and knelt on the bed, elbows on the windowsill. ‘It does not mean that Ron and I are over. We’re merely . . . taking a holiday from each other. Yeah, that’s it.’

Ignoring the fact she was talking to herself, Hermione fell back onto the bed. ‘We’re just taking a little break from each other, and we’ll be back together in no time. Mitchell will be gone and I’ll be back with Ron. Harry and Ginny’s wedding is coming up soon, and I know that we’ll be back together for that.’

She turned on her side and looked at the familiar wallpaper. ‘I just know it. Though we're apart, nothing should come between us.’




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Hey, guys! I'm Amy, and this is my second FF here on SS. I won't give away any parts of the plot just yet, but maybe you'll be able to figure some of it out by yourself. I'm following a bit of canon, but I'm also making up my own stuff as well.

Hope you enjoy!

xXxAmyxXx

I am intrigued to know what happens next. Your first post was very well written, drew the reader in straight away. Can't wait to read the next post!

I'm glad you liked. Sorry about the size; I'd sprained my wrist and had to get my cousin to write my posts. Man, he writes in small fonts when it comes to stories or fanfictions.

I'm glad you enjoyed it, guys. SenoritaMaxie: I know. I started out with Mitch as my dream guy, then just twisted it so he wasn't quite that good.

My friend's currently got my new post (she reads it through like a Beta for me), so it'll be up within the next week.

xXxAmyxXx

Thanks. It's (almost) better now, and I can write my own posts. And you're welcome.

Okay. Chapter Two is ready.

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The following day, Hermione grudgingly got out of bed and slipped into some old clothes she hadn’t worn for years. She paused for a moment before the day before came back to her.

‘Stupid Mitch,’ she muttered as she padded over to the door. Pulling open the old wood softly, she listened for a moment. Unable to hear Mitch’s voice downstairs, meaning he hadn't come for any reason this morning, she made her way to the kitchen. Molly, Harry and Arthur were sat at the table, and Hermione took a seat next to Harry.

‘Morning,’ she greeted them as she ran a hand through her messy bush of chocolate brown hair. Arthur smiled at her warmly, and Molly stood up.

‘D’you want some toast, dear? Or some eggs? I’ll make you breakfast. What do you want?’

Hermione frowned, thinking, before shrugging. ‘I’ll take whatever’s left over from when you made these two breakfast,’ she replied, gesturing to Harry and Arthur. Her dark eyes sparkled as Harry scowled at her, and she smiled at him.

Her smile faltered as she saw Harry’s serious expression and her mind immediately skipped to Ron. Had something bad happened to him? If so, what? Her mind skipped over many possibilities and her almost-good mood dispersed, replaced by worry and fear.

‘What is it, Harry?’ she asked him, a slight edge of hysteria in her voice. Harry looked up, smoothing out his expression to hide the emotion he’d previously had on it. He shook his head and smiled, though Hermione saw it took some effort to keep it in place.

‘Nothing to worry about, Hermione.’ He looked away as the door to the Burrow opened and Ginny Weasley, Harry’s fiancée, stepped into the room.

‘Hi, Gin,’ Hermione greeted her wearily as Ginny took a seat next to Harry, kissing his cheek quickly. Turning her head, Ginny smiled at Hermione and stroked her flaming red hair.

‘Hey, Hermione. How are you?’

Hermione shrugged. ‘I’d be a whole lot better if people told me what was going on. Do you know where Ron is? I’ve not seen him since the other night.’ She had to fight back the tears again, and looked away as Molly placed a few bits of bacon and an egg in front of her. Picking up a knife and fork, she sawed through the bacon and popped the piece into her mouth.

‘Sorry, Hermione, I don’t know anything. But, knowing my brother, he’s probably just gone somewhere to get past whatever he’s got wrong.’ She shrugged and placed her hand in Harry’s nervously. Hermione’s keen, scrutinising brown eyes didn’t miss this gesture, but she let it go as she swallowed the bacon. It hurt her sore throat, sore from all the crying she’d been doing, but she put the pain to one side. It was nothing compared to the pain of a life without Ron. She couldn’t live a life without Ron; she could live a life with a sore throat.

She sighed and pushed away the plate, suddenly not hungry. Turning her face stubbornly away from the others she thought for a moment. This room was full of lies . . . lies and negativity. She needed to know where Ron was. Pushing her chair back, the noise filling the room and cutting through the silence that had fallen, Hermione stood up.

‘I’ll be back later,’ she muttered as she dashed upstairs, throwing on the first clean clothes she could find. Once dressed, she apparated to Diagon Alley. Pulling her bag closer to her, she made her way to the bookstore, hoping to get herself a new book and lose herself in someone else’s lives.

As soon as she got down the street, she knew that would be impossible; there was a large crowd outside Flourish and Blotts that she wouldn’t be able to push through, no matter what. Wondering what could cause such a stir, she turned around and began to make her way to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.

Buying herself a plain, strawberry ice cream, she took a seat on one of the booths and looked around her. The parlour was nearly empty, and Hermione felt grateful for that as she leant back in her booth, closing her eyes.

An image of Ron flashed across her eyelids and, once again, she had to fight back the urge to cry. It wouldn’t always be like this, would it? She sighed and opened her eyes, straightening up and allowing her chocolate curls to fall in front of her face, hiding her from view.

How could she find Ron? Was there any way? A million questions ran through Hermione’s head and she moaned, not knowing what the answer to any of them was. She leant forward, cupping her neck with her right hand as a figure slid in front of her.

‘Why, what a surprise,’ chimed a voice, and Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy sat in front of her. Rolling her eyes at him, she straightened up, hoping her eyes weren’t as red and blotchy as she thought they were.

‘What do you want, Malfoy?’ she asked him, unable to keep the loathing from her voice. Malfoy shrugged, his grey eyes shining with laughter as he took in Hermione.

‘Now, is that any way to treat an old school friend? I was merely asking whether you were okay.’ Malfoy’s voice was full with the same laughter that was in his eyes, and Hermione scowled before looking away in distaste.

‘School friend ? I highly doubt that,’ Hermione commented as she looked at the door, almost willing someone to walk in so she wouldn’t be stuck talking to Malfoy.

Malfoy chuckled. ‘Granger, you’re credited as the brightest witch of your age . . . haven’t you figured out yet that you’re not? If you were, you’d know that you shouldn’t doubt that.’

‘Oh, clear off Malfoy,’ Hermione said, biting her lip to keep from saying the horrible curses she could feel building up inside her.

‘That’s not nice. But I may have to go. I think . . . ah, yes. Astoria is waiting for me outside.’ Malfoy smirked at Hermione before sliding back out of the booth and leaving. Hermione saw him go without seeing anything. She was concentrating on what Malfoy had said: You’re credited as the brightest with of your age . . . haven’t you figured out that you’re not?

Standing up and throwing her barely touched ice cream in the bin, Hermione fled the parlour and hurried down the cobbled street, liquid running down her cheeks once more.

There was only one person she knew who might be able to find Ron, as much as she hated to admit it. He was probably her best chance right now. More tears flooding down her cheeks at the mere thought, the bushy brunette flung herself down a side alley and continued running until she reached the apartment in the muggle world.

Knocking heavily on the door, she did her best to hide the tell-tale tear tracks as she stopped the flow. She heard heavy footsteps wearily making their way to the door and a muffled yawn, before she knocked heavily on the door again.

‘Alright, alright! I’m coming!’ Hermione held her breath as she heard the voice and the latch on the door unlock before looking into the eyes of the man before her, whose eyes were full of shock.

‘Hermione? What are you doing here? I thought you hated me!’ Mitchell de Silva said, astounded.

Voldie, again, said it all.

love it
but im confussed
is mitch and mitchell something the same person?

Hi guys. This is Amy's older sister, Sophia.

I'm afraid this fic will have to go inactive for a while - Amy's taken ill with appendicitis, and was rushed to hospital and three am this morning, UK time. We don't know how long it'll be before she gets back to her newly fixed internet, but she won't be able to update for a while. As soon as she's well enough to use the computer again, she's planning on posting.

Sorry!

Sophia x

OMG!!!!
are you gonna die

:O I hope shes Ok!
get well soon and only post when you feel up to it.
once again i hope your ok
love you xx
Serena

Feel better

Can I just say thanks for all your well wishes? I actually recovered a few weeks ago but have been having computer problems recently, so I've lost the file with the story in and my internet's been . . . iffy, to say the least.

I have a sort of filler chapter whilst my dad tries to recover the rest of the story, so I hope you enjoy! And thank you Ozzy!

Chapter Three

‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ Hermione’s voice was a snarl, and she glared at him. ‘I just need your help for one measly thing, then I’m gone.’

‘Well, in that case, come in.’ Mitch held the door open, and she ducked past him into his apartment, pulling a face at the sight of his front room. Empty food containers were on every available inch, and dirty clothes were slung over the back of the settee. The curtains were closed, casting the room in a dim glow.

‘Mitch, you live in this filth?’ Hermione asked, incredulous. Mitch nodded, scratching the back of his head as he walked up behind her.

‘Man, that’s embarrassing. I meant to clean that up yesterday,’ he muttered, grabbing his wand from nearby, pointing it at the room. In a few moments, it was relatively clean, and Hermione gingerly took a seat on his settee. ‘You said you needed my help, Granger?’

Hermione nodded, raising her eyes to meet his. ‘Yes. But, judging by the state of your front room, you need my help tidying this place up. Let’s get that done first.’ She cast a look around his room. ‘You take the bedroom, and I’ll take the kitchen, okay?’

Mitch nodded, and they both stood up, moving to their respective places. Once inside the kitchen, Hermione coughed, covering her mouth with her hand. It smelt like something had died in here. ‘Ugh, I don’t know quite what he does with his spare time!’ she muttered, pulling out her wand and cleaning away the worst of the mess so she could breathe, which she promptly did before moving to the work surfaces.

Using her wand again, she peeled the stains off, before turning to the bin. She screwed her nose up at the sight, averting her chocolate gaze and waving her wand in the vague direction. As soon as she thought it was safe, she turned back to look at it.

‘Wow. I’ve not seen the kitchen this tidy for years.’ Mitch came up behind her, dressed in a more suitable choice of clothing for what Hermione was after. She turned to him, one eyebrow raised.

‘And how on earth do you live in here, Mitch?’ she asked, pushing past him and back into the now clean front room. She didn’t dare venture into any other room. Besides, she was here to get his help, not to help him!

‘I’m not here half the time.’ He shrugged, throwing himself onto the settee, rumpling his dark blue T-shirt. ‘So it’s not really that hard. I got back to this flat two days ago ‘cos my other flatmate kicked me out of the other flat I live in.’

‘I’m not surprised. What’s his name?’

‘Her, and it’s Pansy.’

‘P – Pansy? Pansy what?’

‘Marks.’ He stared at her. ‘What got you so tensed up about the name Pansy?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised as he took in her furious glare. ‘Oh, what was it you wanted, by the way?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied, about the Pansy comment. ‘And I wanted your help.’

Looking slightly shocked, Mitch sat up properly. ‘Might I inquire as to why?’

‘I want to find Ron, and I – regrettably – need your help to do so.’