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Chapter Text

Light, fluffy clouds floated in the air, suspended by nothing, casting a dappled pattern of shadow and light on the Western European landscape below. Large offices, shopping centers, and factories appeared smaller than children's toys as Hermione stared out the window of the 747, taking in the scenery at the grandest scale imaginable. For reasons she couldn't quite wrap her head around, it made everything feel utterly dreary and insignificant.

The nihilistic emotion had been frequently tugging at her consciousness, offering a constant reminder of the finite, bounded state of existence. It was hard to think of things any other way in light of everything that had happened. Evil in its purest conceivable form had been eradicated, yes, but for how long? Next time trouble arose, those she cared about may not be so lucky, and peace and harmony seemed as temporary as human lives.

"Hermione?"

And yet, despite all that had happened, all the senseless loss and unnecessary grief, all the uncertainty about the future, Hermione was still alive. Her friends were still alive. Harry and Ginny and Mr and Mrs Weasley…and Ron. It almost didn't make sense to her. What right did they have to have made it through unscathed? After so many close calls, how was it possible that she made it through when so many in her magical community paid the ultimate price?

Perhaps any shred of optimism she retained had something to do with being reunited with her parents and successfully breaking the memory spell she'd placed on them a year prior. She was also finally on her way back to London to return to the life she knew best. For brief moments, her excitement about moving on with her life in a post-Voldemort world peeked through, centered on the people she loved most, her best friends in the world. While it was difficult to imagine returning to any semblance of a normal life after the year they'd endured, having each other made it seem possible. And even though it would provide a reminder of the pain, she was eager to return to her magical life.

"Hermione?"

The emotional whiplash between fear, hope, anger, and enthusiasm was a constant source of stress, leading to many sleepless nights. Not only was she managing her own fragile mental state, she was still finding herself justifying all of her decisions to her parents. They meant well, of course, and they tried to present things as kindly as possible, but they were understandably upset at having their entire lives uprooted without their consent. While careful to ensure they didn't outright blame their daughter, their disappointment shined through the fissures in their relationship, adding guilt to Hermione's ever-growing list of concerns.

All of these considerations were on Hermione's mind as the plane carried them back to the familiar unknown, the childhood home the Grangers had unwillingly abandoned at the forced behest of the youngest member of the family. She knew the house was still there and still standing; she and Harry had gone to check on it in the days after the battle to ensure Voldemort and his followers hadn't destroyed it. But she was fearful about her first step over the threshold of 8 Heathgate, fully expecting a fresh wave of regret as soon as the family re-entered their longtime residence.

If only Ron had come with her to Australia. She couldn't pinpoint the exact reason, but she knew that things would've been easier if he was around. It made perfect sense why he hadn't come; in fact, she'd told him not to. But he had a way of soothing her worries without even trying, and with her head in such a messy state, his calming presence would go a long way.

"Hermione? Earth to Hermione?" Mr Granger's voice finally registered in Hermione's head as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hmm?" she finally responded, her gaze drifting to her left to meet the concerned eyes of her father.

"Are you okay, honey?" he asked, brow furrowed as he tucked the most recent issue of The Economist into his seatback pocket. "You look like your mind's gone to another planet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Just thinking, I suppose."

The smile he gave her provided the same level of comfort she remembered from when she was a small child. "I understand. Looks like we'll be landing in about an hour, maybe we'll get some takeaway once we're home?"

"That sounds great, Dad."

He adjusted his trousers, trying to get comfortable in the narrow padded seat. "I wonder if Paradise is still in business. Best Indian food in town, I say. Does that sound acceptable?"

"Anything you like, Dad."

As she turned her attention back to her book, her father leaned closer to her, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. "Now, I know we've discussed this before, but I just want to be quite clear. You're sure there's no more threat to you or our family now that we're returning to London?"

An unintentional sigh escaped her mouth. She knew he was simply looking out for the safety of his family, but all Hermione could hear was another admonition of her decisions.

"Yes, Dad," she said, doing her best to keep her tone serene and level. "Harry and I checked the house. Everything is in order."

"And no more of…those foul lot…You Know Him or his followers around, are there?"

"No, they're gone."

It was mostly the truth. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, as it came to be known, the Ministry had been conducting regular sweeps of the country to track down any remaining Death Eaters. All of the highest profile offenders were either dead or in Azkaban already, but surely some fringe members were still out there. Perhaps the pureblood movement would fizzle out without its leader. Or perhaps it would continue to fester, cropping up in the future and renewing the fight. It was a harrowing thought to Hermione, and one that she tried as best she could to put from her mind.

"Excellent. That's very good news, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Indeed. Now, Mum and I have talked, and once we've taken a day or two to settle back in, we'll go check on the office. Some of our patients may have moved on, but I'm sure we'll be able to recapture a few."

Another jolt of remorse hit her square in the chest.

"I'm happy to help if I can."

"That's just fine, sweetheart," Mr Granger reassured her, patting her knee. "We understand you'll want to spend time with your friends as well. And even though you've spent plenty of time at the office over the years, we're both fairly particular when it comes to the setup of our tools and equipment."

"I can do both. I'll have plenty of time, school won't be starting for another few months."

"True, but summer is a time for taking a break. And if your year was anywhere near as disquieting as you say, it sounds like you could use a break."

More guilt, more misgivings, more anxiety.

Hermione nodded, turning to look out the window again. When she'd told her parents about her experiences during her seventh year, she'd left out several key details. As far as they knew, she was safely ensconced at Hogwarts while adults and other qualified wizards led the hunt for the most dangerous wizard alive. They knew that one of her best friends, Harry Potter, was involved in Voldemort's downfall and that Hermione was present when it happened. She'd told them nothing of their year on the run, sleeping in a magical tent for months on end, and their numerous brushes with death. And she'd certainly failed to mention her torture at the hands of one of the most sadistic people, magic or Muggle, in the entire world. Some things were better left unsaid.

The weight of the secret-keeping, half-truths, and outright lies rested heavily on her petite frame, to the point where she often felt on the verge of crumbling. Breakdowns had been inevitable, although she usually managed to find a secluded place to let out her emotions, often screaming them into a soft pillow while keeping those closest to her at a safe distance. Hermione was never one to make excuses, but it seemed too much for one person to take, especially in light of all of her recent trauma. She did her best to be kind to herself, to give herself grace when the occasion demanded, but the past few months had been immeasurably hard, and cracks were starting to show.

As she watched the world pass by, her memory drifted to those uneasy days after the battle. They were still blurry in her memory, a jumbled mess of fatigue, heartache, and, fortunately, a bit of healing. Almost everyone who had participated remained behind in the castle for a few days, pitching in to whip the castle back into respectable shape. It was a tall task, and some damage proved permanent. But with plenty of helpers, they had been able to return Hogwarts to a reasonable enough condition to resume school the following September.

Any time she hadn't been helping, Hermione had spent most of her time wandering the halls with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, each of them deep in thought as their footsteps echoed through the silent corridors. What should've been an uplifting time of victory had instead transformed into collective grieving, the four of them doing their best to support each other, often without words. At one point, they'd meandered over to the part of the castle where Fred had died, and Ron's legs gave out as he collapsed against the wall. Hermione sat down next to him, cradling him in her arms like a child for over an hour while he sobbed into her shoulder. To their credit, Harry and Ginny didn't shy away from the emotional moment either, remaining at the side of their best friend and brother until he felt ready to proceed.

Later that night, Hermione finally sat down with Ron in an empty classroom, doing her best to listen empathetically as he poured his heart out to her. The more he said, the deeper his anguish was revealed, layers of mourning, survivor's guilt, and despair for the future laying themselves bare at her feet. She could still remember the way his hands shook as she clasped them between her own. Never in her life had she seen him in such a state; it was as though seven years of cumulative worry and frustration had come pouring out of him at once.

In fact, his sorrow had seemed so overwhelming that, at the time, she'd felt it inappropriate to share any of her own, forcing it deep down and doing what she could to deal with it on her own. When they'd all returned to the Burrow together, she remained by his side, steadfastly supporting him through what were surely some of the most difficult days of his life. The magically enhanced house, usually boisterous and bustling with activity, was eerily quiet despite being filled with people, everyone going through their own form of bereavement at their own pace. As always, the family leaned on each other, although noiselessly and through simple acts of physical presence more than anything else.

A few days later, they'd held a funeral for Fred, burying him in the apple orchard near the makeshift Quidditch pitch. Throughout the proceedings, Ron had stared blankly ahead, his vacant expression leaving Hermione unclear whether he was even truly aware of his surroundings. She'd held his hand, but he'd barely held hers. After the service, he retreated to his room like he had most days, refusing to let anyone in.

It had taken several days, but eventually he'd started to turn the corner. Faint hints of smiles had played across his face when the four of them spent time together, he'd started eating again, and he'd stopped spending all of his waking hours shut up in his room. Elements of normal life at the Burrow began to seep back into their lives, and Hermione started to remember how much fun they'd had relaxing the summer away together. Once or twice, she'd even seen hints of Ron's affection peek through, a reminder that love can prosper even in the darkest of times.

Not that they'd gotten anywhere near where they'd left off before Voldemort's defeat. Their kiss, shared frantically in the heat of the battle, felt as though it had happened years ago, almost in another lifetime. The Ron who had returned her kiss that day was nowhere to be found in the days and weeks afterward, only showing pieces of himself on rare occasions. It wasn't a surprise to Hermione, per se, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't a little disappointed that the subject of their status hadn't been broached again.

With that indefinable yet no less tragic loss of possibility tucked away in the back of her mind, she found him in the garden one day. The sun shone down on them as she told him she'd be leaving for Australia to find her parents. Ron being Ron, he immediately protested, assuring her that he'd come with her and help her carry her burden. But she insisted, and when he barely put up a fight, there wasn't much else left to say. It was for the best. Hermione knew she couldn't take Mrs. Weasley's son away from her again so soon. The following morning, she packed her bag, headed to the airport, and purchased a ticket on the first flight to Australia.

It had been two weeks since she'd arrived. She hadn't even known where to start, finding a seedy hotel that she could afford in Sydney and scouring phone books, advertisements, and opinions from anyone who would talk to her in hopes of tracking down her parents. The Australian Ministry of Magic was very eager to help given her status as a war hero in Europe, but as her parents were Muggles, their assistance wasn't that useful. She'd finally found them in a small beach village of Shoalhaven, and she managed to follow them to their house and reverse their memories.

What followed were several days of inadequate explanations, forced smiles, and what she could only assume was extreme restraint on her parents' part. The fury that they had to be feeling in their private moments was logical, but part of Hermione wished they'd stop keeping it to themselves and just unleash it on her or scream to their heart's content. She knew she deserved it. Instead, as always, they opted for the calm and measured approach, seeking her rationalizations that had to have left them wanting more. No matter how sure Hermione had been at the time that the decision was the right one, never in her life had she second-guessed herself more than the past week and a half.

But finally, there was time. Her family was back together, she was on her way home, and there were still several weeks left in the summer to figure out…everything. There were sure to be more discussions, more commentary, perhaps even more confessions in the near future. But for the moment, Hermione could take some solace in the fact that they were all in one place and everyone was safe.

The plane lurched, and Hermione felt her stomach rise into her throat as they began their descent into the greater London area. The thin, non-threatening clouds had given way to a darker, more ominous layer of grey somewhere over Germany, so the ride down to the ground was bumpier than usual. It didn't bother her that much, though; what were a few bumps and rattles compared to the last few months?

Once the plane set down and taxied to the gate, the three of them stood and collected their bags, waiting their turn to exit. Most of their possessions had been boxed up and shipped home already, hopefully to arrive within the next day or two. The most essential items, though, were carried with them, and Mrs Granger smiled at her daughter as she picked up the small suitcase containing their treasured family photos and heirlooms. Hermione did her best to return the smile, but she knew she wasn't able to muster it with any sincerity.

"Hopefully the line for taxis won't be too long," Mr Granger said matter-of-factly as they exited the jet bridge and strolled through the airport.

Hermione gave a small shrug. "Hopefully."

"Jean," Mr Granger continued, "Hermione and I discussed getting Paradise for dinner tonight. Does Indian sound good to you?"

"Yes, that sounds fine," Mrs Granger agreed. "As long as they're still open. We've been gone a long time, who knows if things may have closed in the meantime."

Another twinge of guilt.

Mr Granger turned to his daughter. "Hermione, I remember you always liked the tikka masala. Would that still be your preference? For all I know, your tastes have changed since we last saw you."

And another.

"Sure, that would be great."

"Jean?"

"Lovely," Mrs Granger agreed.

"Alright, then, it's settled. I'll call as soon as we get back home."

The conversation should've been a refreshing return to commonplace topics. 'What's for dinner tonight?' was a frequent refrain in any household. But it was too compulsory, too strained to be real. It was an attempt by her father to assure normalcy when things were anything but normal. She felt a wave of appreciation toward him for trying, but she was quite sure he wasn't fooling anyone, even himself.

Just as Mr Granger had wished, they were able to get a taxi within minutes, zipping back through the familiar streets of northwest London. Seemingly mirroring Hermione's mood, it was a damp and bleak afternoon, a series of umbrellas dotting the landscape as they passed sidewalk after sidewalk filled with people excitedly moving about their day. Someday, she knew she'd be one of them again, but it felt like there was so much mental work to be done before it could be possible. And while daunting challenges had rarely deterred her before, she'd never had issues this wide-ranging and fundamental before, either.

Next to her, Mr and Mrs Granger were sharing a chat about whether the gas company would have turned off their heat and whether there might be any damage to the exterior of the house. It all seemed so mundane and pointless to Hermione that she once again ignored the discussion and stared out the window, the rain-streaked pane providing a fittingly hazy view of the surroundings.

Their neighborhood finally came into view, but Hermione felt none of the nostalgia she was used to upon returning home after an extended absence. Instead, all she could consider was the critical yet seemingly impossible task ahead of her; she needed to regain her parents' trust. She needed her house to become a fortress of comfort and love again because that was what was missing from her life. Her friends would provide some when they were able, and she still had hopes that Ron would be her rock in the long run. But despite being away from them for large chunks of the year, her parents were always going to be her top supporters. That was an indisputable fact of life; quintessential biology, really, which made it even more bizarre for her to think about the doubts they likely harbored.

As Mr Granger inserted the key into the door, it turned on the first try, creaking open as the hallway toward the kitchen appeared in front of them. Everything was as they'd left it one year prior, albeit with a thick layer of dust over every surface and each piece of furniture. The furnace roared to life as Hermione's father set the thermostat a bit higher, and a puff of soot escaped the vents along the floorboards as the air began to warm.

"Home sweet home," he said, taking a deep breath and surely breathing in the familiar scent of lavender her mother had filled the house with for ages. The aroma was tainted with mold and the stench of stagnation, though, and it left Hermione feeling agitated. Carrying her bag with her, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom as her parents finished unloading the car.

Her hand barely had the strength to close around the crystal doorknob, and when she turned it and stepped into the small, familiar space, she felt a stinging behind her eyes. Old school books and framed photos of her friends rested on top of her dresser, clothing hung neatly in the closet, and her stuffed rabbit was leaning comfortably against her pillow. Her Hogwarts trunk lay open at the foot of the bed as she and Harry had brought it with them when they'd stopped by before she left for Australia. It felt like a relic of ancient times, and even though she expected to return to school in the fall, she could barely look at it without feeling emotional all over again.

She sat down on her bed, her fingers deftly twisting the edges of her well-loved comforter, the same one she'd had since age nine. The fabric felt scratchy as she lifted it and rubbed it against her face. Before she could even understand what was happening, tears started leaking out of her eyes and her throat constricted. She buried her face in the floral-patterned duvet, hoping to drown out the sound of her own cries to avoid any further sympathy from her family. Sympathy was the last thing she wanted after what she'd done to them.

Fortunately, that particular round of crying only lasted a few minutes, and she recomposed herself, staring into the small vanity mirror as she wiped away any sign of her anguish. With one last glance around the room, she flipped off the light switch, plunging herself into darkness.

It's home, but not really.

"Hermione, is everything alright?" her mother called from downstairs.

She shuffled down the staircase, avoiding eye contact with her parents and hoping they weren't perceptive enough to know what had been happening upstairs. "Everything's fine."

Chapter Text

He never thought it would be the case, but Ron Weasley was actually getting a little bit sick of orange.

The realization hit him as he sat up in bed and gazed around his childhood room, splashes of tangerine all over the walls, bed, and other surfaces. Scattered rays of sun shone through the window, brightening the space to an almost nauseating level. All the things that he had loved about his design choices when he was younger seemed so ridiculous and naive in hindsight.

Guess I've finally grown up. Huh. I thought it'd feel different.

Despite the lovely late spring weather that had blanketed the English countryside since the Weasleys' return to the Burrow, Ron had yet to really take advantage of it. So much of his time had been spent staring at the familiar walls over the last few weeks, the faces of his Quidditch heroes staring back at him from the posters on his wall. Sometimes, it almost seemed as if they were mocking him, daring him to have a fly and recapture some of the fun in his life.

The days could've been some of the best of his life. After all, You Know Who had finally been defeated, the result of a concerted effort of all of his friends, family, professors, and classmates. The world was shot of its greatest threat to peace and stability, and things were finally looking up for the wizarding community. But despite all of the good news, Ron found it hard to look past the counterbalancing bad, the many casualties, both physical and mental, that came along with the ostensible victory.

At first, the loss of his brother had been the main cause of his grief. He had been standing right next to Fred when it happened, holding him in his arms as he watched the life extinguish from his brother's eyes. It was an image that Ron was sure would never leave him, and it frequently haunted his dreams. The family had buried him, of course, and the ceremony was beautiful. At least, the parts of it he could recall. He had felt dazed throughout the entire affair, only the touch of Hermione's hand grounding him in his still-altered sense of reality.

Hermione. The person he cared about most in the world. Last he'd seen her, she was walking away from him, tears in her eyes, forced to complete the last portion of her mission on her own. When she'd asked him to come with her, he'd wanted nothing more than to be there for her, to help her the way she'd always helped him. But his brain wouldn't cooperate with his heart, and when the time came to fight to stay with her, his resolve fizzled, and she left without him.

The conversation played on repeat in his mind, and over the following days, he'd come up with any number of better options he could've presented at the time to convince her that he wanted to remain at her side. Turned out, it wasn't her that needed convincing, it was his own forlorn mentality. He'd been spending so much time feeling sorry for himself and his family that he'd forgotten that Hermione was living completely without hers. And when she'd come to him looking for assistance, he'd been so weighed down with sorrow that he hadn't had the strength to stand with her.

How was it possible that she'd kissed him just a few short weeks prior? What had to be going through her mind to make her think that he was worthy of her in the first place? And even if he had been worthy at one point, how could she still think that after he'd rejected her cry for help, after he'd abdicated the responsibility of being the one she could count on?

As he sat on the mattress, staring out his fifth-floor window and pondering his future with the woman he so desperately wanted to be with, a glowing stag burst through the wall, startling him as it approached the bed.

The voice of his best friend boomed out through the room. "Hermione's flight landed an hour ago. She sent word that she'd come over to Grimmauld for a late dinner around eight. Hope you can make it. We'll save you a seat."

His stomach squirmed, tightening on itself as he glanced at the clock on his wall. Only ninety minutes until she was due to arrive. Ninety minutes until he'd get a chance to see her again. If only he knew what to expect.

Hermione had sent an owl to him a week and a half prior, confirming that she'd found her family and set their memories right again. When he'd received the message, he was genuinely happy for her. Her family was back to normal, and her biggest source of stress had been resolved. But since then, she had gone silent, not responding to his reply or sending any other messages to him for the remainder of her trip.

In fact, he only knew she was coming home because she'd told Harry and Ginny the timing of her flight, asking to meet up with them when she got back to discuss her mission. According to Harry, Hermione must have meant to include Ron in the invitation as well and probably just assumed Harry would tell him. But Ron wasn't so sure, and he worried that she might not want him to be there when she showed up for the first time in weeks.

If he didn't go, though, he'd probably end up driving himself crazy sitting in his room by himself. One way or another, they needed to start getting to the bottom of…everything.

He assigned himself the majority of the blame for the cooling of their relationship since the battle, even though he knew he should cut himself some slack given the circumstances and his tremendous grief. As the last couple of weeks passed, though, the pain became easier. He'd yet to go a full day without thinking of Fred and the possibilities that his death rendered moot, but he wasn't fixating on it like he had at first. His mind was starting to see the opportunity for a happy life. And he knew a happy life wasn't achievable without Hermione.

If that was even what she wanted.

Before he could wallow any further, a knock on his door pulled him out of his stupor, and he cleared his throat. "Who is it?"

"It's Ginny, can I come in?" his sister called.

Without answering, he stood up and padded over to the door, pulling it open. "What's up?"

"Hey," she said, pushing past him and strolling across his floor.

He scoffed, kicking the door shut behind her. "Of course, please come in, no need to ask or anything."

Ginny spun back toward him, hands on her hips. "What? You have pants on, don't you? Now, did Harry send you a Patronus as well?"

Ron took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself and not take the bait. "Yes," he finally answered, "I got the message."

"And are you going to come?"

"I guess," he responded, opening his chest of drawers and flipping through shirts. "I just hope…"

Ginny quirked an eyebrow as her brother suddenly clammed up. "Hope what?"

"Nothing. Yeah, I'll come."

"Hope that Hermione is excited to see you?"

"Ginny…" he said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"What? It's basically an open secret at this point."

"I don't feel like discussing this with you."

"Fine, I get it," she said, walking back across the room and opening the door. "But…you should come. She wants to see you, I'm sure of it."

"Then why didn't she ask?"

Lips pursed, Ginny looked away, searching for the right thing to say. She opened her mouth to reply but immediately closed it again.

"Exactly," Ron said. "She told Harry when she was coming home. I'm guessing the two of you were talking while she was in Australia, too, yeah?"

"I mean," she answered with a shrug, "only a few back and forths, really. It wasn't an everyday thing."

It was as though an invisible knife plunged into his chest, shredding muscle and destroying cartilage en route to piercing his heart.

So she wrote back to everybody but me…

As much as he tried to hide his hurt expression, Ginny saw through him almost immediately, stepping back in his direction with pity etched on her face. "Really?"

He turned his attention back to his clothing, mostly just to look anywhere else. "I said I don't feel like discussing this with you."

"Look." Ginny sighed. "Clearly you two need to talk. And I'm sure you'll get that chance. But regardless of…all of that, I'm sure she would want you to come tonight. It's been a couple weeks since we've all been together, and you should be there. Please come."

The Cannons t-shirt he pulled out of the drawer had a small hole in the neckline, but it was still his favorite. A little small, perhaps, and battered by years of wear, but comfortable. "I said I would."

"Good. Let's Floo over together in a little bit, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

As she stepped back out into the hallway, her voice floated back into his room. "And you look fine, by the way. You only have so many outfits, and she's already seen them all."

"Shove off, Ginny."

His sister's antics had been tiresome for nearly seventeen years, but lately, she'd been annoying him more than ever before. Unfortunately for him, it was all because she'd been spending so much time with his best mate.

When Hermione left, Harry and Ginny tried their best to include Ron in their conversations and activities, Harry in particular making sure his friend always had an open invitation. It was sweet in a way, but it only served to increase Ron's agitation. Harry had always been a bit oblivious, but Ron couldn't believe that his friend didn't understand why those types of interactions were so awkward and unwanted. Staring at some other newly-in-love couple was excruciating and only served to provide a constant reminder of everything Ron wished he had but couldn't figure out how to get. And it certainly didn't help that half of that couple was constantly having a go at him the same way she had for a decade and a half.

On top of it all, neither of them could stop talking about the future. Ginny would be heading back to school in the fall, of course, excited to finish out her last year without the massive, Voldemort-sized threat hanging over the castle. She was even more excited that Hermione would be coming back with her and that the two of them would share a dorm. Their friendship had blossomed over the last few years, and Ginny readily admitted that Hermione was the best girlfriend she'd ever had.

Harry and Ron, of course, had no intentions of returning to Hogwarts. In Harry's case, Ron suspected there were simply too many bad memories, too many tragedies for him to voluntarily return. Besides, finishing off the Dark Lord instantly opened up job prospects at several departments of the Ministry, none of whom seemed bothered by the fact that the Chosen One had never officially sat his NEWTs. Naturally, it was the Aurors that drew Harry's attention, and he'd already spent a decent chunk of his summer in early preparation for the training program due to start in early September.

Ron had been accepted to the program as well, and he'd agreed to go mostly because he wasn't sure what else to do. While Hermione was eager to go back to school and Harry was traumatized at the mere thought, Ron simply had no interest in another academic year. The fear of being without Hermione was the only thing that made him even consider returning, but he knew it wouldn't be the same without his best mate. Besides, with the way things were going between him and Hermione, he couldn't be sure he'd have any friends left at all, meaning he'd only be completing his seventh year for additional study time.

Since the Aurors had accepted him to the training program, Ron ultimately decided there was no point in continuing his education when he'd likely end up doing the same job whether he completed seventh year or not. At least by going to the program in September, he and Harry would be on the same track.

But although he tried, Ron had a hard time getting excited about the preparation. While Harry devoured text after text, brushing up his theory and working on his non-verbal spellcasting for hours, Ron could only be bothered to flip through a book on occasion. Advanced Defensive Theory and upper-level Shield charms were sure to be useful, but the thought of voluntarily preparing for a class before it even started was antithetical to Ron's worldview.

Although he knew he should. Any time the Daily Prophet published another story about the famed "Golden Trio", his anxiety only increased. The invisible weight of expectation was suffocating, and while Harry seemed to be handling things well, Ron felt like he was collapsing under the pressure. All of magical Britain had a fantastical and inaccurate idea of the three of them, almost considering them superheroes for the work they did to rid the world of He Who Must Not Be Named. Hermione was worthy of the praise and then some, and Harry would probably live up to his name due to some godlike desire to shoulder burdens and do good in the world.

But Ron was a different story. He was the imposter of the bunch, and everyone who didn't know it already would work it out soon enough. He had been an average student at best, saddled with a low work ethic and even lower motivation. If Hermione hadn't bailed him out time and time again, he genuinely wondered if he would've passed all of his classes. School was only fun because his friends were there and he got to play Quidditch. Any learning that went on felt purely secondary. And yet at age eighteen, with only six years of formal education under his belt and a mountain of trauma in his past, he was expected to continue to fight the good fight against evil as one of the best candidates in recent memory.

It was all too much.

Maybe that was why Hermione had stopped writing to him after she left for Australia. Perhaps since he was done with school, they'd destroyed all the Horcruxes, and You Know Who had been finished off, she'd finally decided to be shot of him. No use tying herself to his sinking ship when she was destined for bigger and better things.

No. I need to stop doing this. I need to stop spiraling. It'll be fine. Harry will be there. We'll get through it together. And Hermione…well, we'll see.

As the minutes ticked by and his reunion with Hermione inched closer, Ron found it difficult to occupy himself. He tried reading his Defense Against the Dark Arts text for a little while, but his eyes merely skimmed the same paragraph over and over again. Quidditch magazines were slightly more exciting, but Ron's enthusiasm was dampened by the fact that the Cannons were as dreadful as ever, sitting plum last at the bottom of the table. His eyes eventually landed on Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches, and he thought about brushing up a bit before seeing Hermione again. But the book only reminded him of Fred, inflaming the lump that had taken up permanent residence in his throat since the battle.

It was a mercy, then, when Ginny knocked on his door again.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah, let's go," Ron said, following her down the staircase.

As they plucked a handful of Floo powder from the bucket, Mrs Weasley rounded the corner. "Say hello to Harry for me, dears!"

"We will, Mum," Ginny assured her as she stepped into the fireplace.

"And make sure he knows he's welcome any time!"

"We'll tell him…"

"And if he can't cook for himself, please tell him I can always send over some food for him. In fact, wait a moment, I'll send you over with–"

"Mum!" Ginny yelled. "It's fine! We'll tell him, but we have to go! Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

With a flash, she disappeared, leaving Ron and his mother standing alone in the living room. "I'll bring the food, Mum."

His mother's face lit up as she hustled back to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bag full of leftover Yorkshire puddings, chicken and ham pie, potatoes, and sweet buns.

"There's more where that came from if he likes," she said with a smile.

Ron nodded and took it from her, stepping into the fireplace and shouting his destination as green flames crowded his vision.

When his feet hit the ground again, the living room of Grimmauld Place came into view, as did the image of his sister's tongue invading Harry's mouth as they were locked in a tight embrace.

"Ugh, here, take this," he said, thrusting the food toward his friend. "My appetite's gone anyway."

"Oh, sorry, mate," Harry said, untangling himself from Ginny and accepting the care package. "We'll keep it to a minimum."

"We'll try, anyway," Ginny added with an off-putting wink.

"The food's from Mum, of course. She thinks you're starving to death."

Harry licked his lips as he picked through the bag. "I certainly won't turn it down. I just ordered takeaway tonight, hope that's okay."

"Fine with me."

"So," Ginny offered, flopping down on the sofa, "any word from the guest of honor?"

"Not yet, but she should be here any minute."

The vice squeezing Ron's stomach clamped tighter at the mention of her, and he must have grimaced. It prompted Harry to wave him toward the back of the house. "Help me put these away?"

"Sure," Ron replied, following him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The space seemed brighter than it used to be. A fresh coat of paint was on the walls, and the stove and refrigerator were sparkling clean. Kreacher likely had something to do with it, and Ron guessed he was happy to help because of how nice Harry was to him.

"You okay?" Harry asked, making room between takeaway cartons for Mrs Weasley's food.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"You canceled our study plans the other day. That makes three times in the last week and a half."

Ron rolled his eyes, not particularly interested in getting into the details with his suddenly overachieving best friend. "Yeah, just…I don't know, not in the mood, I guess."

"I see."

"Is that okay? I didn't realize we needed to study so much ahead of time."

"Ron," Harry stated, his tone serious as he closed the door to the refrigerator, "is this still what you want? The Aurors, I mean? I promise I won't be…offended or hurt if you decide you'd rather go another way. Or if you'd rather go back to school. I know we talked about doing the training program together, but we don't have to if it's not what you want."

"No, I do," Ron reassured him, only partially believing in his own conviction. "But it's still summer, and the program doesn't start for a couple of months. You want to do extra homework ahead of time? I'm sure there'll be plenty once we get there!"

"I know. But we never completed seventh year. We never sat NEWTs. I can't help but think we might be behind if we don't try to catch up a bit. I mean, all we were doing was–"

"Fighting our way through hordes of Death Eaters and defeating the most evil wizard in centuries?"

Harry chuckled, and Ron finally cracked a smile. "You know what I mean. I'm just saying it couldn't hurt, right?"

"I know, you're right. Besides, what else am I going to do with my life?"

"I mean, whatever you like…" Harry replied.

"Nah, Aurors will be great. Studying tomorrow, okay? I promise."

Still clearly not convinced, Harry agreed. "Sounds good. Now. Hermione."

Turning away from his friend, Ron groaned. Why did Harry have to keep butting into their business? Hadn't he done enough of that at school?

"What about her?"

Harry's eyes roamed the room, clearly feeling just as awkward as Ron was. "Are you two alright?"

It was a loaded question. So much had happened over the last month or so, Ron truly had no idea where they stood. "I think so."

"You think?"

The weight on Ron's body pressed down harder, caving his frame inward as his shoulders sagged. "I don't know. She just…oi, did she write you while she was in Australia?"

"Yeah, course she did."

"A lot?"

"I mean," Harry stammered, "a few times, I guess."

Ron sighed, nodding his head with a glum expression. "Yeah, I figured."

"She didn't…"

"Once. Briefly. That was it."

"Hmm," Harry continued as he tapped his chin. "Well, I wouldn't read too much into it if I were you. She was all over the place, and it must have been a really stressful time for her."

"So she turned to you and Ginny instead of me," Ron asserted. "You know, maybe I should just leave, I don't know–"

A whooshing sound from upstairs interrupted his train of thought, followed by excited squeals from his sister and the thuds of someone jumping up and down.

"Stay," Harry said. "At least for a little while, okay?"

With a deep breath, Ron nodded, following Harry as he climbed back toward the living room. As soon as Harry turned the corner, he greeted their new guest, releasing her from a hug just as Ron reached the top of the staircase.

The caramel in her irises found him instantly, her face glowing with the fading green flames from the fireplace. She smiled at him, but her gaze told a different story. There were bags under her eyes, and her typical upbeat demeanor was absent. She was tired and subdued, and if anything, she seemed thinner than when they'd returned from their year on the run, a sure sign that she wasn't eating enough. As she took a step toward him, even her gait seemed more frail and tender than usual.

When Ron's brain put all the pieces together, it painted a picture of despair and loneliness that shattered his heart. Despite the recent confusion about where they stood with each other, the uncertainty and unspoken emotions, all he wanted to do was run to her, wrap her in the tightest hug he could imagine, and never let go. He didn't want to misread the situation, but it was so plain to him that it almost felt as though he had no other choice. She meant too much to him, and all of his caring feelings rushed back to him and pushed away any hint of skepticism when he saw her experiencing pain.

Before she could reach him, he took two large steps forward, catching her as she fell forward into his arms and melted into his chest. His hands wrapped all the way around her shoulders, brushing over the skin of her upper arm just below the sleeve of her t-shirt. He could easily feel bone under her deteriorated muscle, and his worry for her well-being only increased.

"It's good to see you," he whispered.

"You too," came her response, quiet and timid.

She exhaled, her breath warm through the thin fabric of his Cannons shirt. It worried him that she wasn't saying much, although with Hermione, he'd learned through the years that actions spoke louder than words. Right when he started to release her, she tightened her grip on his midsection, pulling him back toward her as if she were scared to let go. Another surge of affection and empathy shot through him, and he stepped closer to her, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"Gin, help me heat up the takeaway?" Harry asked, and the two of them quietly headed back downstairs, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in front of the fireplace.

As soon as they were gone, though, the rational side of Ron's mind kicked back in, reminding him that Hermione was just a friend, and the hug they were sharing had lasted far longer than one between friends typically did. They weren't just friends, of course; they'd really never been just friends as far as he could remember. Still, he pulled back, making sure to avoid any unnecessary contact with her just to be safe.

For a moment, it seemed as though a hint of disappointment flashed across her face, but Ron quickly convinced himself that he was just seeing what he wanted to see. In the blink of an eye, her fatigued expression returned, and she looked as weary as ever.

"Erm, right. Good, uhh, good trip?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation as mundane as possible.

"Yes, it was fine," she answered.

"Good, that's good. So…dinner, yeah?"

Hermione's eyes snapped shut, her lower lip quivering for a moment.

Is she about to cry? Have I gone and fucked myself already? Merlin, I manage to bollocks up everything!

After taking a deep breath, she looked back at him with a curt nod. "Yes, let's eat."

Chapter Text

What was that all about?

Hermione shook her head as she followed Ron down the staircase, unsure what had come over her back in the living room. Before arriving at Grimmauld Place, she was feeling pure anxiety at the thought of seeing him again. As soon as she laid eyes on him, though, her nerves calmed, and all she wanted was the comfort of his touch. All she wanted was the Ron she had fallen in love with.

In her darkest moments in Australia, she'd thought of him. Even though she had no idea what he wanted and whether a real relationship would be possible in the near future, the vision of his cool blue eyes in her mind never failed to soothe her. Her hope for a future with him was one of the only things that allowed her to push forward when things got hard or when she was doubting herself and her decisions. He would accept her as she was, she was sure of it.

And so, while he looked happy to see her at first, it didn't take long for his body language to stiffen, making her feel as though she'd tried to draw solace from him when he wasn't prepared to offer it. He'd hugged her close and held her like he used to before the battle, like he had in Shell Cottage when she'd woken up screaming from nightmare after nightmare. There was no way she'd imagined it. However, as soon as it started, the sensation had faded, and they'd quickly returned to the clumsy exchanges that mirrored the week before her departure. In a way, it hurt even worse than leaving him in the first place. Back then, at least she understood.

When the two of them arrived in the kitchen, Harry and Ginny were already seated next to each other at the kitchen table, levitating over cartons of takeaway along with plates and forks. Ron took a seat across from his best friend, leaving Hermione the chair next to him and opposite Ginny.

"Fish and chips, Chinese beef and broccoli and egg rolls, sausage and pepper pizza, pies from Mrs Weasley, and salad from that Italian place a few blocks from here," Harry said, proudly looking over the spread. "It's a bit of a smorgasbord, but hopefully it'll do."

"Looks good, mate," Ron offered with a grin, helping himself to an eggroll.

Ginny, meanwhile, reached for a chunk of fish and a pile of chips. "Mmm, I love this place."

"I think I've found the best in the neighborhood, but let me know what you all think," Harry replied.

While everyone started eating, Hermione remained still. She'd only had a little of the Indian food her parents had ordered a couple of hours ago to make sure she'd have room, but her interaction with Ron had deprived her of an appetite. Eventually, her friends took notice.

"Everything okay, Hermione?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry if I didn't get anything you like, I can always–"

"No," she interrupted him. "No, it looks good."

She grabbed a slice of pizza and took a bite, setting it down on her plate as she slowly chewed. Her taste buds told her it was good pizza, but her underlying uneasiness made it hard for her to appreciate. "I'm sorry, I must just be a little bit tired."

"Oh, I didn't even think of that. I'm sorry, Hermione, it probably feels like the middle of the night to you right now. We can do this another time if you like."

"No, it's fine," she insisted. "It actually feels like it's early in the morning, but I wanted to try to push through until a normal bedtime to get myself back on track."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Just…please don't be offended if I nod off a bit."

"Of course," Ginny said. "Oh, I meant to ask you, did you get your Hogwarts letter yet?"

"Erm, yes, I did," Hermione responded. "It was waiting for me when I got home this afternoon. I was glad to see Professor Slughorn would be returning."

"Yeah, although it probably means more Slug Club parties."

Next to her, Ron winced at the mention, likely reliving the same bad memories from their sixth year. To think, she'd actually agreed to go on a date with Cormac McLaggen…

"Perhaps."

Ginny shoved a bite of pizza in her mouth and wiped her lips with a napkin. "I wonder who will take over for McGonagall. Defense Against the Dark Arts, too. I know who's not taking over, at least, much to my disappointment."

Elbowing Harry in the ribs, she waggled her eyebrows in his direction.

Hermione caught on, staring back and forth between the two of them. "She offered it to you?"

A blush crept across Harry's cheeks as he nodded. "Professor McGonagall said she knew I'd turn her down in favor of the Aurors, but she had to try. Something about people remembering what I did with the D.A. a few years ago. I don't know, it was actually quite embarrassing."

"Nonsense, Harry," Hermione volunteered. "I think you'd be quite good at it."

"Thanks, Hermione. Who knows, maybe someday."

"For now, though, Auror training starts in a few months," Ginny explained, "so at least we have the summer together before we have to do long-distance."

Their hands clasped together on top of the crisp cream tablecloth, Harry's thumb running over the back of Ginny's knuckles. A pang of jealousy shot through Hermione. As she peeked to her right, Ron's hands were fully occupied with his food. Just the thought of his fingers running across her knuckles sent a small shiver down her spine. The pleasant sensation was quickly replaced with a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach, though, as she wondered whether she and Ron would ever have what Harry and Ginny had.

The conversation continued to drift through several topics, everything from Ginny's anxiety about seventh year to Harry's adjustment to life in Grimmauld Place to Mrs Weasley's frequent unannounced arrivals whenever Ginny had been gone from the Burrow for too long. Hermione was doing her best to stay engaged, but her eyelids were feeling heavier and heavier over time. For his part, Ron was conspicuously quiet, but Hermione caught him eyeing her once or twice, his head snapping down toward his plate of food any time she glanced his way. She groaned to herself, realizing that his communication skills hadn't improved in her absence.

"Anyway," Harry said, leaning back in his chair after finishing his small bowl of salad, "Hermione, we've been going on and on about our lives. Tell us about yours; how did it go in Australia?"

"Yes, Hermione," Ginny echoed. "It sounds like things went pretty smoothly?"

The three people at the table were her best friends in the world, and they deserved to know, but Hermione wasn't sure what to say. How was someone supposed to explain their biggest embarrassment, their hardest moment, their most paralyzing decision-making even to the people they care about the most? Of course they would all be supportive, but just as Hermione wasn't interested in her family's sympathy, she wasn't sure she could take much more of Harry's or Ginny's either.

And Ron didn't seem too likely to provide sympathy, even if he was the one person from whom she would appreciate it.

"Well," Hermione started, already cognizant of the stinging sensation behind her eyes, "finding them actually didn't prove that difficult, to be honest. I tried asking around as if I was looking for a dentist myself. I contacted the Australian Ministry too, although they were no help. Once I managed to nick a phone book from the hotel, however, I simply called every office in the area. Eventually, I found them about two and a half hours south of Sydney. They'd joined a little practice there by the ocean."

"Wow, talk about a needle in a haystack," Harry marveled.

"There was definitely some luck involved. I couldn't even be sure I was on the right side of the country at first. When I finally arrived in Shoalhaven and stepped into their office…it was as though the wind had been knocked out of me. I thought about making up a toothache to be seen, but I–I couldn't even stay in the waiting room. I waited for them to leave, followed them home, and set their memories straight before they'd even registered that I was there."

"That's great!" Ginny exclaimed, reaching across the table and clasping Hermione's hand. "They must have been thrilled!"

"Well…" Willing herself not to cry, she stiffened her upper lip before continuing. "I wish it was that easy."

Harry grinned, completely missing her apprehension. "I'm sure it was strange at first, but you were all back together again!"

"Yes, but…I'd displaced their lives without so much as notifying them."

"Right," Ginny replied slowly. "But you did that in order to save them."

"I understand. And I tried to help them understand, but even when they accepted the basic premise that I needed to protect them, there was still plenty of damage done. I mean…I'd erased myself from their consciousness. I'd torn them away from their home. I'd ruined their business, their careers–"

Her breathing was getting heavier as she spoke, and the constriction in her throat was only worsening. Why was it so difficult for them to comprehend all the ramifications of her actions? They were plain as day to her. Harry having trouble understanding made some sense to her, at least; he'd do anything to have his family back in any condition. But still, she'd have thought he would give her the benefit of the doubt knowing how hard the past year had been for her.

As she glanced around the table, all of the telltale signs of compassion and sensitivity registered on Harry and Ginny's faces. The sad smiles, the understanding nods, the furrowed brows…it was enough to make Hermione want to run back to the fireplace and Floo home without another word.

"Anyway, we tried to talk for days. Eventually, it felt like we were just going in circles, getting no closer to understanding each other. They were calm on the outside, but I could tell they were furious with me. They wouldn't say it, but they were…just…"

Tears started to leak from her eyes, and her cheeks burned with the shame she felt every time she retold the story. Despite being surrounded by friends, she'd never felt so lonely.

Just as she was preparing to excuse herself from the table, a warm hand closed around hers under the table. Her gaze snapped toward the source, and she locked eyes with Ron, a strong, caring expression on his face. He slowly laced their fingers together, gripping her tightly and giving her the strength she had lost. No words were necessary; she had all the support she needed.

"I'm sorry to hear that it was so hard, Hermione," Harry finally conveyed. "And I'm sorry none of us were there with you. We should've gone, maybe it would've helped."

Hermione shook her head, drying her eyes with the back of her free hand. "I appreciate you saying that, but no, I don't think it would've made much difference."

"Perhaps not, but…I don't know, sometimes a little moral support goes a long way."

"I know. But this is my mess. I got myself into it, and now it's time for me to get myself out of it. Over the last week and a half, we've started to repair our relationship. Lots of talks, conversations late into the night. I still don't get the impression they're being entirely forthcoming with me, but I suppose I can't blame them. It's going to take a lot of time and patience, but it's worth it."

"I'll help," came a voice to her right.

Ron was looking at her, his thumb rolling over the skin of the back of her hand. "If, you know, if I can."

All at once, her heart was flooded with affection, and she felt as though she was floating off of her seat. The Ron she needed had arrived, and as she stared back at him, her eyes filled with new, happier tears as she nodded. "I know you will."

Their gazes remained locked on each other, and across the table, Ginny pulled Harry out of his seat. "Remember how you told me about the new cake shop that opened up down the street? Why don't we go grab some for dessert?"

"I think we have enough food, don't you?"

"No, I think we're running out. Come on, let's go. On the way, we can have a chat about tact…"

The two of them headed up the stairs, and a moment later the front door slammed behind them. Silence enveloped the kitchen, but Ron kept his grip on Hermione's hand as he turned back toward his food.

"Sorry," he said. "They come on strong sometimes."

"They're just concerned," Hermione responded with a shrug. "I know they mean well."

"Harry's been doing the same thing with me every time I see him. He's so cautious, like he's afraid he might offend me or something. He's being weirdly nice."

"I'm sure he simply wants things to be back to normal. Whatever…whatever normal is going to be. Harry went through so much to free everyone from the threat of Voldemort. He wants us to be happy now that he's gone."

"Yeah, well." Ron smirked. "Not that it was his fault, but it wasn't exactly seamless."

His eyes clouded over and the emotion left his face. The thoughts swimming through his head were obvious, almost as though Hermione could see Fred's ghost in front of his eyes. She gave his hand a squeeze, reciprocating the support he'd shown her.

"How have you been doing?" she finally posed, dropping the slice of pizza she'd been slowly working on and facing him.

One corner of his lips curled up a bit, offering her a hint of the lopsided smile she loved so much. "Okay, I guess. Every day's different."

"I'm sure. And that's normal, of course."

"Maybe. I don't think about him as much, but then I feel guilty for not thinking about him and everything gets worse again. Kind of a vicious cycle."

Hermione removed her hand from his, placing it on his arm and giving a gentle rub. "I'm sorry, Ron. That must be so difficult."

"I don't get why it's so much harder for me. Probably because I was standing right there when…"

"You can't do that," she insisted with a shake of her head. "You're getting dangerously close to blaming yourself, Ron, and that's not fair to you."

"Right, I know." He sighed. "It's just strange how everyone else seems to be moving on and I feel…stuck."

Despite the poignancy of the topic, part of Hermione was thrilled that he was finally opening up. These were the conversations she'd hoped he could have shared a month ago. It was understandable that he wasn't prepared to talk to anyone, herself included, but the longer he went suffering in silence, the more she worried about him. At least he was communicating about his pain and letting her in. The thought gave her more hope for their future than anything in recent memory.

"Everyone processes grief differently, though. It's not reasonable to compare yourself to anybody else."

"Yeah, I guess."

Scooting her chair closer to his, she picked up his hand again. "And while I know you have people in your life you can lean on to help you, sometimes you just need to be alone, too. I understand that, and I'm sure your family does too."

Ron twisted his hand to allow Hermione's to fit, holding her tightly as she stroked his finger. It felt so natural, like they'd been doing it for years. "I hope you're right. Now that Dad's back at work, Mum's alone a lot of the time. I try to sit with her sometimes, but I don't know if it's helping. She never says anything, and she'd never let us see it, but I can tell she's really struggling."

His eyes welled up with tears, and Hermione dropped her head on his shoulder, grasping his bicep with her other hand. It amazed her how easy it was to fall back into rhythm with him, the casual touches and comforting words returning immediately.

"I'm sure she is," she said. "She always tries to be so strong for all of you, but it has to be hard."

"She always looks busy, but I'm not sure she's really dealing with anything. I've heard her at night. Her bedroom is right below mine, and sometimes she forgets to cast Muffliato. I doubt if a day's gone by that she hasn't cried herself to sleep."

"I can't even imagine…"

For several moments, they sat together, Hermione's finger tracing figure eight patterns up and down Ron's arm to help him relax. Eventually, his eyes dried, and he sniffed and resumed eating his second slice of pizza.

She loosened her grip on him but continued holding his hand, not intending to let go any time soon. "Thank you for talking about it with me."

"Thanks for listening. I wish I'd…I mean, before you left…" He turned away. "Well, anyway, thanks for listening now."

As he reached for another bite of pizza, he stopped himself, head swiveling back toward her. "I meant it, you know. If there's anything I can do for you, just ask, yeah?"

"Thanks. I wish it was that easy."

"How's it going so far?"

Thinking for a moment, she decided there was no point in holding back. It was Ron. There was nobody she trusted more in the world. If anyone could help her raise her spirits, it was him. "Honestly? Not very well. The trust seems completely broken, and I'm left wondering if it'll ever get back to what it used to be."

"It will," he said with an encouraging nod. "I'm sure it will."

"I wish I shared your confidence."

"I think they'll realize you did the only thing you could in the long run. You were down to your last option. There really wasn't a choice."

Her eyes became wet again, and her nose started to run, prompting a sniffle. "I know. And I don't regret it. I only wish it hadn't had to be so drastic."

"I get it. At the end of the day, though, they're still your parents. They love you no matter what."

Images of her mother and father flashed through her consciousness. Joyful times from her childhood, melancholy times when she had to leave them to go to Hogwarts, and more recently, uncertain times as they tried to put their lives back together. No matter how much she tried to focus on the happier memories, their disappointed faces continually broke through, reminding her of her suspect decisions over and over again. She knew they loved her, but sometimes she wondered if that would be enough. It was all too much, and tears burst out of her eyes like a dam had broken.

Ron slid closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulder and pulling her head down to his chest. His fingers flowed through her hair as she cried into his t-shirt, immediately wetting the front of it.

"I know they do," she whispered through her sobs. "I know they do."

She clung to him, wordlessly begging him to take away her pain. The juxtaposition of her mental anguish with the comfort she felt in his arms was dizzying. Her arms clutched his back as he pulled her closer, dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. A shushing sound in her ear started to calm her, but it took several moments for her cries to quiet and for her to lean away from him.

A sudden shot of uncertainty passed through her as she wondered in retrospect whether the contact had made him uncomfortable. Their relationship had been so tenuous recently, and it made her question whether she was allowed to enjoy his hug as much as she did.

Ultimately, though, she decided she didn't care. The world had been challenging and demoralizing enough lately. Why would anyone deny themselves happiness and pleasure where they could find it when so much had gone wrong?

"Do you think…?" Ron started, fidgeting with his fork as he spoke. "Do you think that maybe sometime we could get together and…you know, talk? Just the two of us?"

Hermione allowed her cautious optimism to peek through, smiling back at him as she nodded. Maybe they would finally be able to start clearing the air and getting back to the way they were. And then, after that…who knew what might be possible?

"I'd really like that, yes."

His facial muscles relaxed and the tension melted from his shoulders. "Okay good. I just think…yeah, I think it would be good. I know you're probably busy helping your family set everything back in order, so whenever you like is fine with me."

"Okay. But soon, I promise."

"Yeah, soon would be good."

The deep blue of his eyes was mesmerizing, and she couldn't look away. Not that she wanted to; she could stare into those beautiful eyes for hours. Combined with the crooked grin and the fringe of auburn hair hanging low over his forehead, he was practically irresistible.

"I'm really glad you came tonight. I've missed you," she said, picking up his hand once more.

He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. "Missed you too."

The front door slammed behind them, forcing them to slide apart, their expressions returning to neutral.

"Got the cake!" Harry yelled, bounding down the stairs. "There's a Victoria sponge, a lemon drizzle kind, and some kind of chocolate on chocolate on chocolate. I forget how many chocolates, but it looked good."

Ginny eyed the two of them carefully as she followed him into the kitchen. "Everything okay?"

"Course it is," Ron growled, returning to his dinner.

"Alright, no need to bite my head off."

It was shocking how quickly Ron rebuilt his stony facade as soon as his sister showed up again. A very small part of Hermione took satisfaction in knowing that she was the only one capable of bringing him out of his shell, but he needed to get along with his family, especially given the recent circumstances. The Weasleys had experienced enough hardship without infighting. Perhaps it would just have to get easier with time, but she made a mental note to talk about it with him when they had the chance.

"Who wants what?" Harry asked, cutting through the tension.

"Let's just put them all out and people can pick at whatever," Ginny suggested.

The two of them sat back down, bringing the dessert with them. Forks were distributed, and everyone speared a small portion.

"Mmm, this is delicious," Harry said. "Ron, maybe we'll have to get some after Auror training once it starts up."

Ron's face dropped as his chin fell to his chest. "Yeah, maybe."

"I'm sure we'll have some early mornings and late nights, especially when we have classroom and field work on the same day. I'm sure I won't be in the mood to cook."

"You're probably right."

"Maybe even on weekends too when we have to study for exams and–"

"Oi, mate. It's fine. We'll get cake. Can we not talk about the bloody Aurors all the time?"

Nobody spoke, each unsure what to say. Ron had seemed excited about joining the Aurors when he was still a student at Hogwarts, but it was clear that his enthusiasm was waning. Although, his enthusiasm for many things seemed diminished since the battle, so Hermione hoped that it was just a temporary side effect of his grief. Truthfully, she thought he'd make a great Auror, even if the thought of him running around dangerous settings and chasing evil wizards again made her nervous.

"Sorry," Harry finally offered quietly. "I just thought it might be nice after a long day."

Ron sighed, looking back up at his best friend. "Yeah, I know, you're right. Sorry, mate. Just…maybe not quite ready to think about more school just yet."

"Yeah, no problem."

"Well, I'm personally looking forward to being back at school," Ginny said. "Especially now that I'll have such a good friend in the dorms with me."

She grinned at Hermione and took a big bite of chocolate cake.

"That will be nice," Hermione agreed. "It wasn't always the case for me and my year either."

"I remember. You had to share that room with some big personalities."

As soon as the conversation switched to Hermione's dormmates, Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, surely reminded that he was partially to blame for her discomfort.

She immediately tried to change the subject. "And NEWTs will be quite difficult, I'm sure. I remember how tired the seventh years always looked by the end of the semester."

"I'm sure they'll be difficult for some of us," Ginny added with a wink.

For a few more minutes, they talked about life at Hogwarts, reminiscing about the old days and speculating about their experience for next year. Strangely, it was a relief for Hermione to talk about school. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising; it was always the place where she felt safest and happiest, even when terrifying things were happening all around her. None of the difficult and confusing aspects of her current life were going to be easy to fix, but she took some solace in the fact that school would soon be her haven of familiarity once again.

Harry cleared the plates once the cakes were gone, and they all trundled back up to the fireplace to head home. Ginny was begging Harry to let her stay the night, prompting Ron to take the stairs three at a time to try to get out of earshot. As the two of them continued to argue in the foyer, Ron and Hermione each grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

"So…talk soon?" he asked, his eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Yes. Soon. I'll send you a Patronus in the next day or so once we figure out…everything."

Ron nodded, stepping forward and gently enveloping her in another warm hug. "Alright. And remember, if there's any way I can help…"

"I know. Thank you."

Why did he have to leave? Seeing him finally open up had been the highlight of the last several weeks, and she couldn't wait to continue their conversation. Fleeting thoughts of throwing caution to the wind and following him to the Burrow crossed her mind, but she didn't want to risk their progress by coming on too strong. Instead, she let him go, stepping back as his hands slid down her arms.

There was time. They finally had time. No need to rush.

Ducking under the mantle, he straightened up, his head hidden by part of the chimney. "The Burrow!" he yelled, disappearing into the flames.

The sound of wet kisses echoed from the foyer, and after calling a goodbye to Harry and Ginny that they may or may not have heard, she entered the fireplace herself. "Eight Heathgate!"

Chapter Text

When Ron's eyelids peeled open the following morning, the sunlight shining through his bedroom window seemed a little brighter. Talking with Hermione the previous night had done wonders for his mood, and he was finally starting to feel more like himself. Who knew whether it meant anything for the future Ron hoped they could share together, but it had been a good start. And easy. The way they'd fallen immediately back into supporting each other was inspiring.

Instead of wallowing in bed for hours and only dragging himself down the stairs when his stomach wouldn't stop grumbling at him, he pulled himself up immediately, brushing his teeth before heading to breakfast. Mrs Weasley was already hard at work, pans of eggs and bacon splattering away on the stovetop. Most days since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had grabbed a quick plate of food and snuck right back up to his room. Buoyed by the encouraging developments at Grimmauld Place, though, he sat down at the table after giving his mum a peck on the cheek.

"What was that for?" she asked with a bewildered smile.

He shrugged, stuffing a slab of bacon into his mouth. "Can't a guy thank his mum for a great breakfast?"

"He can, but he typically doesn't…"

"Well, perhaps he realized that he should more often."

Shuffling alongside him, she pulled him into her side for a hug. "Thank you, Ronald. It's not necessary, but it's still nice to hear."

After sliding a few more eggs onto Ron's plate, his mother sat down next to him, picking at a slice of toast. "Did you have fun at Harry's last night, dear?"

"Yeah, we did."

"I'm sure it was nice to see Hermione again."

Her innuendo didn't slip by unnoticed, but he did his best to react casually. The needling from Harry and Ginny about his up-and-down relationship with Hermione was annoying enough, he didn't need his mother piling on as well. "Yeah, it was."

"I was so happy to hear she'd found her parents and set things right again. Poor dear, must have been frightening…and so lonely."

Ron tried to push away the memories of the tears dripping down Hermione's cheek as she confessed to the exact emotions his mother had guessed. "It wasn't easy for her."

"Well, now they're all back. The whole family together again. How nice for them."

It was the kind of innocent statement that would usually be completely sincere. As Ron peeked over at his mother, though, he could see the sadness in her eyes. He was sure that she was genuinely happy for Hermione, but her success only served as another reminder that their family would never be together again. Not entirely. Not ever.

The tines of Ron's fork scraped against the plate as he scooped up some eggs, breaking through the otherwise quiet room. Uncomfortable silences had been common over the last several weeks, and even as they started to heal, it was clear how much Fred was still on everyone's mind around the house. His mother's eyes looked misty, and she stood up and stepped over to the sink, abandoning her barely-eaten toast to start cleaning the dishes.

Her back was still facing him when she spoke again. "I wonder whether seeing her again last night has anything to do with your better mood this morning?"

"Mum…" he groaned. How did she always know?

"Oh, stop it, Ron. You two may be a mystery to each other, but you seem to forget I've known you for years. I've been watching you grow up for years. You had an obvious tell when you'd nicked a biscuit from the jar as a child, and you have the same obvious tell now."

Realizing that he may never be able to get anything past his mother, his head dropped toward his plate, and he shoveled in another forkful of eggs. "I probably just got a better night's sleep, that's all."

"I see," she replied, clearly seeing through his lies. "Well, do you think you'll be seeing Harry and Hermione again today?"

"Oh. Well, Hermione has a lot to do to help her family, but Harry and I might do some studying."

"That sounds lovely, dear. He can come over any time he likes, you know. More than welcome to stay for dinner as well."

"Maybe. I'll see what he wants to do."

"One quick favor, though. I was hoping you could degnome the garden if you have time," Mrs Weasley said, pointing out the window just above the kitchen sink.

Ron caught a glimpse of a gnome scampering away with a large carrot in his hands and sighed. "Yeah, sure, I can do that."

"Thank you, Ronald. Merlin knows the little beasts have no respect for all the hard work I put in!"

"No problem."

After eating a slice of toast in two bites, he stood up from the table and padded over to the door, stepping into his trainers and out the back door. As soon as he stepped into the garden, a few gnomes scattered, abandoning the vegetables they were trying to steal and heading for cover. Ron grabbed a pair of work gloves from the shed and started the search. It was much easier than when he was younger; the strength he'd built up over years of Quidditch meant he could toss them over the wall one-handed if he needed to.

He'd cleared a dozen or so when a shimmering light appeared on the horizon. It was dashing toward him, and as it approached, he recognized it as a Patronus. At first, he assumed it was Harry asking about study plans, but the animal running in his direction was smaller than a stag. His heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the smooth, gliding motion of Hermione's otter before it stopped in front of him.

"Hi, Ron." Hermione's voice came from the animal loud and clear. "I know I said it might be a few days before we could find time to talk, but…well, I've barely seen you in weeks; I miss talking to you, and I don't want to wait that long. Do you think you'd have time tomorrow evening? Let me know."

Excitement practically had Ron jumping into the air as he dug into his pocket to find his wand. She missed talking to him. She didn't want to wait too long to talk again. It was the best news he could've hoped for, and he didn't even have to think about his answer.

Casting Expecto Patronum, he spoke to the terrier that burst from the tip of his wand. "Tomorrow evening is perfect. You can come to the Burrow after dinner. Or before dinner. Or…well, whenever you like, really; I'll be here."

The dog romped off over the hills in the general direction of London, and Ron smiled as he watched it go.

Thirty-six hours never moved so slowly in his life, and by the time he'd finished his third helping of cottage pie, Ron couldn't stop glancing out the window. His ears were perked up, listening for the characteristic pop of an apparition or the whoosh of a Floo arrival. Studying with Harry the past two afternoons had worn him out, but his energy level had shot back up in anticipation of Hermione's visit. They hadn't really talked in weeks, but Ron wasn't worried. He could always talk to her. Either way, she'd said she was looking forward to visiting him, which had raised his spirits more than anything else ever could.

Despite his anticipation, though, their status wasn't much clearer than it had been before she'd left for Australia. Were they friends? More than friends? It didn't seem likely that they were dating; someone would've had to say something a bit more formal for that to be the case. But the way she had accepted his comfort at Grimmauld had to mean something, and while he had no idea how to broach the subject, he felt that they might finally be able to gain some clarity.

The dinner table was quiet as he excused himself, each member of his family gazing into their pie with thousand-yard stares. He knew exactly what they were thinking about; he'd been thinking about Fred earlier in the day too, especially when he and Harry had studied shield charms. While images of his departed brother still popped into his head frequently, he realized that he hadn't thought about him as much since the dinner at Harry's. It was probably for the best, even if he did feel a little guilty about it as well, as though he was letting Fred's memory slip away from him.

While he waited, he examined the chess board in the living room, rearranging the pieces. The king in particular didn't appreciate his fidgeting, poking him with the blunted end of his rapier when Ron tried to adjust his position. With a chuckle, Ron held up a hand in apology and stepped back, examining the set. It was a family heirloom and had been in the same place in the Burrow for as long as he could remember. Given his propensity for the game, his mother had promised it to him once he was married and living on his own.

Maybe someday Hermione and I will play on a dreary Sunday morning, still in our pajamas with messy hair and bad breath. We'd each have a cup of tea and a morning bun, and she'd have that look of concentration on her face, the one where her forehead creases and her nose wrinkles. She'd look so beautiful…

As the girl he loved invaded his brain, a faint pop sounded.

"Ronald," his mother called from the kitchen. "I believe you have company in the garden."

Dashing through the house, he slipped into his shoes and flew out the back, his eyes landing on a small figure approaching the property. As soon as she heard the door close, she looked up, a smile on her face when she caught sight of him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting dinner," she said as she stopped in the grass and allowed him to come to her.

He shook his head with a snicker. "No, just finished. Good timing."

"I wouldn't want to get between you and your mother's cooking," she teased, scooping up his hand in hers and starting toward the pond.

The feeling of her fingers intertwined with his never failed to thrill him, and he couldn't keep his lopsided grin to himself, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his happiness. Nothing in the world could make him feel like she did, and even though his entire life felt like it was shrouded in mystery and pessimism, she felt right. She always felt right.

"So," he offered, swinging their arms as they sauntered down the worn dirt path, "how are things going at home?"

"They're getting a little better," she said with a wistful expression. "I went with my parents to their old office this morning. It's actually still in good shape; they should be back up and running in a few weeks."

"That sounds good…"

"Whether the patients return is another matter, but I suppose we'll have to just wait and see."

A pack of doxies was swarming through Ron's stomach as he posed his questions. He meant it when he said he would do anything he could to help, but the situation was always going to be delicate. It was important to him that Hermione knew he was interested in her life, though, so he pushed on. "And…at home?"

Hermione shrugged, her long gaze aimed at the dying pink and orange sky in the distance. "I don't know. They're saying all the right things, I suppose. They're being supportive. But I just…I don't know if I believe them. It sounds horrible, I know, but I can't help but think they're still mad at me. And then I wonder if every word out of their mouths is only…only half the truth or something."

"I'm sure that's not the case."

"You're probably right, but…ugh, it's just so stressful."

Summoning his courage, he dropped her hand and slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side as they kept walking toward the scent of algae in the pond. "Is there anything I can do?"

"That's sweet," she answered, stray locks tickling his jaw as her head landed against his upper arm. "Being here helps. Maybe I'm just trying to avoid my problems, but it also reminds me of happier times."

A surge of giddiness shot through him, making him feel temporarily lighter than air. "The holidays were always fun here, weren't they?"

"Yeah, they were. I still remember all the splashing," she said as they arrived at the pond. Small concentric ripples emanated randomly over the surface as insects landed on the water, occasionally being snatched by a waiting fish. "What was that game called again?"

"Oh, Aqua-Quidditch?" He laughed as the images of bygone summer days flooded his consciousness. "Yeah, we had some good matches over the years."

"That's right. Things got pretty intense at times. That's why I stayed on the shore."

"Well, I guess it always depended on who was playing. Any time we let the twins on a team together…"

He trailed off, losing his train of thought as his mind fogged over with grief. His eyes lost focus staring at the water, and he barely registered Hermione repeating his name right next to him. The next thing he knew, she was pulling him down to sit next to her by the big oak tree, its leaves shading them from the fading summer sun. His head swiveled back to her as she placed a hand on his cheek, and the worry in her caramel eyes snapped him out of his trance.

"I'm sure it'll take some time before it gets better," she said.

"Yeah." He nodded. "You're probably right."

"And I'm sure it's the same for your family, too."

His blood pressure started to rise as he thought about Ginny hanging all over Harry at dinner. "Well, for some of us at least."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Ginny," Ron growled.

"Hmm. I could tell you two weren't getting on that well at Grimmauld, but I didn't know the whole story…"

Pushing himself off the trunk of the tree, he jumped to his feet, pacing under the branches as he rattled off his complaints. "She's basically acting like everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. She and Harry are happy as can be, and bollocks to the rest of us who are still suffering every day. It seems like she doesn't even care that he's gone, like life just moved right on to the happy ending.

"And if it just bothered me, then whatever, I could handle it, yeah? She's been bothering me my whole life. But then I think about Mum and Dad…and George…and it's just…it's not okay. It's insulting to the family and it's insulting to his memory."

It was only when Hermione took his arm in her hands that he started breathing again. He hadn't realized how much frustration he'd been keeping bottled up, and while it felt good to let it out, he was worried that he'd scare Hermione away. But she didn't go anywhere, instead running her finger up and down his arm, finding the supremely relaxing zone just shy of tickling.

"I'm sure she's suffering too," she said softly.

"I know," he eventually replied with a sigh. "And it's not like I want her to be sad. But…she should show it sometimes. Or at least not make it seem like she's always in a fantastic mood in front of Mum."

"Ginny's always been careful about showing any outward weakness. Probably because she grew up with nothing but you rough-and-tumble boys. Underneath it all, I'd bet she's experiencing all the same emotions you are, just keeping them to herself."

"I guess."

"It's true. If I were you, I'd just give her some space. She may never want to talk about it with you or with anyone, but that's her choice. And that's okay."

Seconds ticked by as he thought about her response. One of the things he loved about Hermione was the way she was always able to help him reason through his problems. Something about talking with her always seemed to put things in a better perspective.

While she seemed to have answers for his frustration with his family, though, his biggest questions remained unanswered. Unasked as well, of course. Even though they'd fallen back into an encouraging rhythm, he still couldn't be sure what she thought about the two of them as a pair. Things had been so awkward and stilted before she left for Australia that even her warm reception a couple nights ago couldn't completely make up for the uncertainty he still felt in his heart.

But she's talking to you. She's trusting you with her deepest feelings, and she's turning to you for help and comfort. That has to be a good sign. Go for it. No time like the present.

"So," he ventured, dipping a toe into the proverbial pond as he turned to meet her gaze. "Why didn't you write? You wrote to Harry and Ginny, but barely to me."

Her lips pulled into a thin line, re-examining the surface of the water as she exhaled a long breath. "In Australia, you mean?"

"Yeah. If–if it's okay that we talk about it, that is."

"No, it is; of course it is. We probably should've talked sooner."

"Never been our strong point, yeah?"

"I guess not," she answered with a snicker.

She closed her mouth, eyes darting over the landscape as she fell deep into thought. It was a look Ron recognized well, although he was more used to seeing it while sitting across from her in the Common Room with matching essays in front of them.

Finally, she spoke with a slow, deliberate cadence. "I think…I think I was just so worried about…interfering with your grief. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was trying to–to force you to move on. To force you to move past a terrible and grim ordeal before you were ready."

"You weren't forcing anything."

"Only because I was trying so hard to step back and give you the space you seemed to need. You were so closed off–which, don't get me wrong, was fine. I wanted to be there for you as much or as little as you liked."

She paused, letting the words sink in. He should've known she was only trying to do what was best for him. Why it hadn't been his first thought was beyond him, and he privately scolded himself for not giving her the benefit of the doubt at the time.

"But as much as I wanted to be there for you and hold off on anything else," she continued, "I couldn't forget about my family. I'd made a promise to myself that I'd retrieve them as soon as possible, and I was starting to drive myself crazy sitting around and wondering about them…where they were, how I would start my search, whether I'd ever be able to–"

The more she said, the worse Ron felt. He had been selfish and demanding all while simultaneously keeping her at arm's length because he…what? Didn't want her to see him cry? Didn't feel comfortable sharing his sorrow with her? Not exactly Gryffindor-like behavior.

No wonder she hadn't reached out to him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Guess I didn't realize that I'd put you in a tough position at the time."

"It's not your fault," she replied, dropping her head on his shoulder. "I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself, either. Besides, I'm honestly not sure having you or Harry or Ginny with me would've been helpful for the trip. I think–in retrospect, I think I needed to do it on my own."

Much to his surprise, Ron found he understood her position. She needed to rebuild her family independently of her Hogwarts family the same way he needed to come to grips with his new family dynamic on his own. He smiled at her, and she grinned back, tightening her grip on him.

"Still," she said, "I should've written more. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time by just keeping Harry and Ginny informed, but now I realize I probably just made things worse."

Ron shook his head. "No, you didn't."

"Just…please understand that I never meant to leave you out. Especially you…"

Their eyes locked, the evening breeze blowing her hair across her face. The hazel specks in her irises dazzled in the hazy evening glow, and her tongue swiped across her lower lip, attracting his gaze for a split second. She looked so beautiful, and his mind fast-forwarded to the life he often dreamed about, the one they shared together. The one where she'd look at him the same way across their shared pillow in the morning.

Just when he wondered if she might be leaning closer, though, he turned away, unable to shake his lingering insecurities. Perhaps it was just that she needed solace from her turbulent relationship with her family. Or maybe that she missed the life they used to have back at Hogwarts, back before everything got so complicated. Or–Merlin's beard, what if it was all pity?

The disappointment was noticeable on her face as she pulled away, making him second-guess himself immediately. She made for the pond, crossing her arms over her chest and picking at a loose thread of her t-shirt sleeve. Swirling doubt crashed into hope and paranoia and anticipation inside of him, the contrasting forces threatening to rip him apart if he couldn't wrap his head around the dilemma soon.

What's wrong with me? I was so excited to see her, and now I'm just cocking it all up!

"Ron?" she asked, stopping mere inches from the shallow water. "Are we okay?"

"What do you mean? Of course we are," he responded, stepping over tree roots on his way down to meet her.

Her eyes were pleading with him, begging for the truth. "Really?"

Part of him, the more trusting part, wanted to lay out his entire mindset, warts and all. Admit to her that he'd loved her for years and wanted nothing more than to prevent all of her suffering. Admit that she meant more to him than anyone else in the world. Admit that his life would never be complete without her in it.

So why couldn't he just say the bloody words?

"Really. Everything is just so…barmy right now, yeah?"

Determination flashed across her features as her hands lifted to his cheeks, framing his face and forcing him to meet her intense stare. "Ron. Please. What's happening? One second you're being the sweetest, strongest man I've ever met and filling me with optimism I can't seem to find anywhere else. But the next, you're…you're closing off and shutting down and making me wonder i–if I have everything all wrong."

"Hermione, you have no ide–"

"And if you need more time," she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes, "then just say so. I'll give you as much as you need, and I'll be there as often as you like. If you need space…well, I want to know that too. But please. Please be honest with me."

Time stopped, and the long shadows of the distant trees extinguished into the night as the sun finally dropped below the horizon. As Ron peered into her eyes, he recalled the same expression staring back at him during those nights at Shell Cottage, the nights after she'd been tortured to the brink of death. His teeth clenched tightly together, grinding against themselves at the thought.

They'd made it out. And once they'd been back together again, recovering together, rebuilding each other together, he knew. He knew just how far he would go to save her because he'd done it. He knew just how important she was to him because he'd almost lost her. And he knew that her affection and appreciation were genuine when she'd looked at him in the night as he sat vigil by the head of her bed, telling her stories of happier days so she wouldn't fall asleep with nightmares in her head.

Once again, her eyes were beset with the same emotion as they had been on those cool spring evenings near the Cornwall coastline. And once again, he knew.

"I don't need more time. I need you."

Tears leaked from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and as her smile widened, the rivulets were diverted to the corners of her mouth. Her lips parted as she beamed at him, launching herself forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Ron returned the action, clasping his hands over the small of her back and leaning down to rest his cheek on her shoulder. She was warm against his body, and he wished he never had to move again.

"I need you too," she whispered in his ear, fingers deftly twisting themselves through his hair. "So much."

His face was likely beet red, but he didn't care. Throughout the last several years, he'd been dying to say those words to her, and it felt so good to have them off his chest. Even better, though, was the knowledge that she felt the same way. After so many unsure moments, back and forths, never knowing whether his love would go unrequited, the joy coursing through his veins had no equal that he'd experienced before.

He breathed her in and out, savoring every hint of her rosemary and citrus scent as he allowed himself to experience her with as many senses as possible. The feel of her body under his fingertips, the sound of her deep, satisfied breaths, the steely resolve in her eyes when she finally released him. And although he couldn't taste her yet, something told him it would be worth the wait.

Maintaining a grip on her hands, Ron pulled her gently as they started moseying along the bank of the pond again. "So I guess…we're okay?"

An adorable chuckle complimented her demure blush. "I guess we are."

"Why did that seem so difficult before? Do you know how many times I've wanted to say that to you?"

"Not half as many times as I wanted to say it to you, I suspect."

"I'd take that bet."

"Really? In case you forgot," she explained, becoming more animated by the second, "we did kiss each other not that long ago. It's not as though I just forgot about it."

Ron wagged a playful finger in her direction. "Technically, I think you kissed me."

"And yet I don't recall you complaining about it."

"Oh, I definitely wasn't complaining. It was…brilliant."

"I agree. So brilliant that I wonder…" She paused, stepping in front of him and compelling him to stop in his tracks. "I wonder whether it deserves an encore."

"You think?" he asked playfully.

She only nodded for a second as she leaned in, her soft lips brushing against his. For the second time in his life, he allowed the best feeling in the world to wash over him. It was pure, unbridled joy and excitement, and unlike the last time it happened, it felt like it could go on forever.

Her hands reached up, cradling his face, fingers tangling in his hair. As soon as he pulled her closer, her lips parted, tongue snaking into his mouth and tussling with his own. He thought she was pulling away for a moment, but a moment later she adjusted her head and crushed back into him at a different angle, opening up a new layer of the experience.

And just as he suspected, she tasted delicious.

Minutes passed before they finally broke apart, a dopey grin permanently plastered across Ron's face.

"Still brilliant," he said, giggling along with her.

She grabbed his hand in hers and pulled him along the trail. "I'd say so."

"I hope that's not the last encore."

"Oh no. In fact, I think the show's only just begun."

His smile spread even wider, matching hers as they ducked under a low branch, its drooping leaves tickling the back of Ron's neck.

"I am sorry, though," she said. "Sorry it took me so long to–to say something or do something or…something."

"All's well that ends well, right?"

"Right."

"And…well, I guess I'm just curious," he started, somehow still nervous about his next question. "Do you–I mean, would you say you're…Hermione, would you like to be my girlfriend?"

In the pale, early moonlight, her cheeks reddened as blood rushed in, and one corner of her mouth curled upward. She shook her head, the same way she always used to when he'd asked her for help he already knew she'd be happy to provide. Ron released the breath he had been holding, already knowing what she'd say.

"I'd love that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! Of course! It's about time!"

A rush of ecstasy shot through his body, and in his excitement, he reached down and swept her off of her feet. She let out a cheerful shriek as he carried her in both arms back to the big oak tree, the place they'd spent so many summer days back when the world was simpler. Leaning her back against the trunk, he ducked his head down and kissed her again. For her part, she rose up as high as she could, pressing her lips against his with a firm yet tender fervor as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He couldn't get enough of her, and for the first time in his life, he was sure the feeling was mutual.

Slowly, he lowered her back down to her feet, their mouths remaining connected the whole time. He suspected she'd pull away once she was on solid ground again, but instead, she pressed her body against his, flipping him around and pinning his back against the rough and scratchy bark. They'd never shared so much contact and friction before, and his delirium only soared higher as the passionate snog showed no signs of slowing.

Eventually, though, oxygen became a requirement, and they broke apart. The timid, unsure expression of affection had morphed into a determined stare, Hermione's eyes indicating in no uncertain terms that the only thing she wanted was him. And while he would've liked nothing more than to kiss her until the sun came up, he forced himself to take a minute and appreciate the magnitude of the moment. Everything that had gone right and wrong along their twisting journey to each other had been worth it. It deserved a celebration.

"I like…this. I like you being here," he said, running a finger down her soft cheek.

She smiled, picking up his hand in hers. "I'm really glad you asked me to come."

"Come back again tomorrow?"

"If you keep snogging me like that, I'll come back every night."

Ron had to restrict his mind from picturing the more mature implications of her statement, instead breaking into a lopsided grin and chuckling to himself. "It's a deal."

"Although I hope you're not implying that I have to go home yet…"

"Oh no," he quickly answered. "Not at all. Stay, erm, you can stay as long as you like."

"Good," she replied, flattening herself against his body again and sweeping his hair out of his eyes. "Because you can't kiss me like that for a minute or two and expect me not to want more."

Just before her lips found his again, he managed to squeak out, "More's good."

Chapter Text

Things are finally working out. It's about time.

Hermione smiled to herself as she rolled onto her back, her periwinkle lightweight summer blanket still covering her up to her neck. Glancing to her right, she caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue sky out her window, not a cloud in sight. All of a sudden, the summer seemed limitless. The sun shined brighter, the birds sang louder, and the flowers smelled sweeter than ever before.

After she and Ron finished their talk the night before, they ended up traipsing around the Weasleys' property for another couple of hours, continually finding new spots to sneak away for a quick snog. Or a long snog. Honestly, she was happy with just about any snog given how long it had taken for them to finally admit their feelings to one another. With all of the recent turmoil and upheaval, it felt like at least one confusing aspect of her life had clicked perfectly into place.

Which wasn't to say her stress evaporated like that. Her relationship with her parents still felt rocky at best. While they had been talking more recently and seemed to enjoy being back home, she still couldn't shake the feeling that they were having secret discussions about her terrible decision-making after she went to bed for the evening. The way their conversations came to an abrupt end when she entered a room set her on a permanent edge, almost to the point where she felt more comfortable outside of her childhood home than inside. It would take time…time and more than a little grace.

But still, for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt as though she had hope.

Hope. An interesting concept. One of the greatest lessons she'd learned over the last several years was the importance of having something to hold onto. Having a goal in mind, a destination at the end of the long and tortuous path. The road they'd all walked to make it through to the other side had been harrowing, leaving them all with scars that may never completely heal. Through it all, though, the prospect of a light at the end of the tunnel fueled their victories and helped them work through their setbacks.

For Hermione, that light revolved around one person: Ron Weasley. As if it wasn't enough to have to worry about staying alive while being at the center of the most dangerous war in half a century, she had to deal with constant heartache and longing for the man she loved as well. She'd put aside the most important relationship she'd ever wanted, ignoring the cravings she felt for Ron to try her best to help save all wizardkind. Over the past year, her heart had slowly crumbled, pieces being slashed out every time he was injured, whenever he wasn't by her side, whenever she had to minimize her own desires for the good of the mission…when he left.

His return to the tent had marked a moment of triumph, a moment of withheld elation and private celebration. Slowly, he had worked his way back into her good graces, proving himself again and again. She would never forget how safe she felt during the nights at Shell Cottage with him sitting by her side. Somewhere along the way, he'd evolved into the man she knew he could be, a caring and kind and loyal man, one she couldn't help but kiss for the first time in the heat of battle.

And when their lips had finally connected again the previous night, she couldn't even believe it was real for a moment. Everything she'd been dreaming of, everything she'd been holding herself back from was finally hers. Her mind was physically incapable of catching up with her body, almost leading to some extremely rash and hormone-fueled choices. While they didn't quite make it that far, though, it wasn't for lack of consideration.

The carpet was warm underneath her toes when she swung her legs over the side of the bed, preheated by the sunlight pouring through the bedroom window. Below her, she could hear the scraping of utensils against china, a sure sign that her parents were eating their normal quick breakfast before heading back to the office.

Perhaps she was just riding high on the events of the previous night, or perhaps she was buoyed by her newfound optimism, but she decided to try to catch them before they left for the day. As she came down the stairs and rounded the corner, they were both depositing their dirty dishes in the sink, heads huddled together and speaking in low whispers that she couldn't make out.

"Morning," she said, feeling a little less brave with them right in front of her.

A wave of nausea hit her square in the gut as they practically jumped apart, eyes wide as they both spun back toward her, papering smiles over their previously concerned faces. Her cheerful mood evaporated in an instant.

Not again…

"Morning, dear," her mother answered.

Her father skirted the table and kissed her on top of the head. "Any big plans today?"

"Not really. At some point, I'll have to start getting ready for school, but there are still several weeks until I have to catch the train. Is there anything I can do to help around here or at work?"

The look her parents shared could only occur between people who were so familiar with each other that words became unnecessary. An entire non-verbal conversation played out in front of her, after which her mother turned to her and shook her head. "Oh, we're fine, sweetheart. You've been so generous with your time these last few days, but I'm sure you'd like to spend time with your friends."

Their words were almost becoming patronizing. Hermione knew she hadn't been that generous with her time, still heading back to Grimmauld or the Burrow whenever she felt she'd won enough brownie points for the day. Though she logically knew she was probably imagining things, the way her mother said 'your friends' felt particularly acidic, as though they were somehow the root of her newfound deceptive ways. Her mother couldn't possibly blame Ron and Harry for her missteps, could she? And if she did, what did that say about her opinion of Hermione?

"Besides," Mr Granger added, "with everything you've done to help re-organize the office, there's really not that much left to do besides testing all of the equipment. And unless Hogwarts is teaching you dentistry, you're probably not going to be able to help with all of that."

He chuckled at his own joke, and Hermione offered a perfunctory laugh as well. "As long as you're sure," she said. "I'll try to tidy up around here before I leave, okay?"

"Only if you like," her mother replied.

"We'll be back from the office around six or so," Mr Granger said as he picked up his keys from the bowl by the front door. "Can we expect you for dinner tonight? I'm making my famous spaghetti sauce…"

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Dad. Sounds delicious."

"Perfect, we'll see you then!"

As her parents had left the house, Hermione peered out the window from a safe distance, making sure she was far enough back that they wouldn't be able to see her if they turned around. Tears started rolling down her cheeks as they climbed into the car, their faces once again serious as they buckled their seatbelts. Once they'd pulled out and sped off down the road, she collapsed onto the couch, hiding her face in the pillow and starting to weep.

When would things get better? When would she finally just be able to move on and have her normal family back? Would it ever happen? She wasn't sure if she could handle walking on eggshells around her family for the rest of the summer, always careful about what she said, always over-analyzing and second-guessing their assertions.

The tears eventually dried, and her shaky hand reached out for the wand she'd left on the coffee table. In her depressed state, she wasn't sure she'd even be able to hang on to a memory that was happy enough for the spell to work, and her voice was feeble as she flicked her wrist.

"E–Expecto Patronum."

An otter started to emerge from the tip of her wand before the wisps spluttered and died. She tried again, and once again she had no luck. Clearing her mind, she thought of nothing but Ron. The way his lips felt against hers. The way he held her in his arms. The way he comforted her in her darkest moments.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A translucent otter burst onto the floor, eagerly awaiting her instructions.

"Sorry if you're not up yet, but I'd really like to see you again. I–I'm kind of a mess and…well, just let me know."

The creature galloped away, flying through the wall and off in a westerly direction toward Devon. While Hermione waited for a response, she dried her eyes and set to work cleaning the kitchen. Scrubbing the stovetop, wiping down the counters, and mopping the floor did little to assuage her guilt, but at least she was paying a penance of sorts.

It didn't take long for a silver terrier to arrive at the house, its wagging tongue glinting in the sunlight.

"Of course, any time. You can apparate straight to my room if you like. I'll be there."

The kitchen didn't look perfect, but it was much cleaner than it had been. Making a mental note to return home before her parents to try to finish up, she wrung out the mop and deposited the bucket in the side closet before ducking out the back door.

A shed sat in the far corner of the backyard, just big enough for some gardening tools, a rusty old lawnmower, and one person to comfortably fit inside. Hermione had used it as her apparition point ever since she was of age. The door creaked as she swung it open, and she held back an encroaching lilac bush as she tucked herself into the small space.

Wand grasped firmly in one hand, Hermione picked up the metal watering can in the other and tossed it in the air, turning on her heel just before it hit the ground to mask the pop of apparition.

After a moment or two of stomach-twisting transport, her feet hit the fuzzy orange rug in front of Ron's bed, and her pupils narrowed to accommodate the sudden influx of light. Once they'd fully adjusted, she was able to appreciate the furrowed brow of her boyfriend waiting for her, his arms wide open.

Wordlessly, she fell into him, sobs reigniting in the safety of his embrace. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly as he whispered shushing sounds into her ear. Aromas of tea tree oil and cinnamon were embedded in his clothing, the familiar scent helping to calm her as they sat down on his bed. Ron left his arm around her and offered a supportive squeeze as she sniffed and blotted her face with a tissue.

When he spoke, his voice was raspy, like he had recently woken up. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Hermione sighed, feeling a bit sheepish as she admitted her worries. "I wish things were getting better at home."

"Did something happen this morning?"

"Nothing big, I guess. Just more evidence that they're not being honest with me. As soon as I walked into the kitchen this morning, they tried to pretend like they weren't talking about me, but it was obvious that they were. I wish they would just say something."

Ron pursed his lips, his gaze flicking out the window. "Can…you know, can you say something?"

The groan slipped out of Hermione involuntarily, and Ron immediately began to backpedal. "Yeah, no, never mind. Right, bad idea."

"No, it's not a bad idea," she said, burying her head in her hands. "It's an intimidating and scary and aggressive idea, but it's actually quite smart."

He chuckled and patted her head. "You must be rubbing off on me already."

"Ron…" she complained, a smile still sneaking onto her face against her will.

"Sorry, not the time, yeah? Seriously, though, it might help, don't you think?"

"Maybe. Maybe we'll have a wonderfully productive conversation and air out all of our grievances, coming together stronger than ever before on the other side. Or they might just keep lying to me and telling me everything is alright when I can tell it's still bothering them."

"Never know until you try. Besides, have you ever wondered if maybe they're waiting for you to say something the same way you're waiting for them to say something?"

"Well, aren't they the grownups in this situation? Shouldn't it be their job?"

It sounded as ridiculous and petty as she knew it would, but she couldn't help but think there was a shred of truth in it. Even though she was the one who set everything in motion, parents are the ones who are supposed to help fix things. Right?

"Hermione, you've basically been a grownup from the moment I met you," he replied with a chuckle, quickly adding, "...in the best way possible, of course."

When she refused to crack a smile, he deposited a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. Before he could pull back, she reached up and grabbed the back of his head, yanking him toward her as their lips crashed together. While the kiss was firm at first, it evolved into slow, lingering, gentle kisses that filled Hermione's heart with hope again. The dichotomy between her delirious elation with Ron and her disheartening anxiety with her parents was dizzying, but the high highs she felt with him were like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

They finally pulled apart, and she settled with her back against his chest, both of them leaning back against his headboard. Their fingers weaved in and out of each other's, Hermione tracing the outline of his entire hand with her pinky.

"I don't know if I care for this new, logical version of you," she said.

"What can I say?" he responded, hugging her around her belly. "I'm essentially a Hogwarts graduate now. I'm just really…hmm, what's the word?"

"Erudite?"

"I was just going to say smart. Eryoo-what?"

The back of her head thumped against his chest as she laughed, craning her neck to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Nothing. And just a reminder, if you like, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would let you come back and finish seventh year in earnest. Don't forget, there will be at least one very helpful person around."

Even though she'd said it in a joking manner and knowing full well that Ron had no intention of returning to school, the resultant silence still gave her pause.

"Hermione…I really don't think–"

"Ron, I'm kidding! I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I was only joking."

"I…look, you know it's hard for me, yeah?" he said, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Especially now. Now that we're, you know…together."

"Right, I understand–"

"No, you don't," he interrupted, sliding out from behind her and climbing out of his bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced the floor. "I couldn't sleep last night. I was staring at the ceiling for hours trying to figure out what to do because I–I don't want to be apart from you for that long."

"The time will fly by; you'll see."

His eyes fixed on the window, staring intently at nothing in particular as they became red-tinged at their edges. "No, it won't. I've been apart from you before. Fifty-two days. And they were the longest, slowest, and worst days of my life."

Hermione stood up, suddenly realizing the root cause of his anxiety. She had tried to tell him time and again that she forgave him for leaving the tent, but it was easy to see how much it still weighed on him. There was no way she could allow him to have any doubts. Marching up to him, she stopped him in his tracks with a tight hug. "Ron, stop. You have to stop. This is completely different. And I promise, it won't be that bad."

"It will be. I don't think you…" He paused, shoulders sagging as he sighed. "I don't think you understand how long I've wanted this. You. Us. Years, Hermione. And now that we finally have that, the thought of you being a six-hour train ride away makes me sick to my stomach."

"You seem to be forgetting that you're a wizard," she murmured into his chest. "You can get places much faster than trains can."

"But you know what I mean, yeah? I know what you're like once school gets started. You work so hard that you don't have time for much else. And on top of classes and studying for NEWTs, you'll probably be Head Girl too. It makes me wonder where I'll fit in."

"Ron, you're making it sound as though you're just going to be sitting around doing nothing. You'll be busy too." She pointed to the nightstand next to his bed where a copy of The Dark Arts Outsmarted lay open, a few pages earmarked for reference.

"Oh. Right," he answered, his head tilting up toward the ceiling. "Yeah, maybe."

Pushing off his chest, she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "You will, and I bet you'll really enjoy the training. If nothing else, you'll get to spend a lot of time with Harry without having to worry about You Know Who."

"Harry's fine," Ron moaned as he flopped back onto the mattress. "But he's more interested in snogging my sister than being mates with me at the moment."

"Perhaps, but it's…new for them." Her lips curled up into a devious smile. "I imagine you could understand, especially given your new situation."

Leaning down, she dropped a slow, sensual kiss on his lips, pulling a genuine smile out of him.

"I imagine I could. With a little more explanation, at least…"

Wasting no time, she fell on top of him, her lips hungrily finding his as he wrapped his arms around her back. If the rest of their lives could just be what they had at that moment, she'd sign up in an instant. She giggled as his fingertips tucked under her t-shirt, skimming along the bare surface of her sides. In response, she deepened the kiss, correctly guessing that she'd throw him off his guard the further her tongue went into his mouth.

When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily, lying next to each other on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Ron flipped onto his side, facing her with a grin on his face.

"Good explanation."

"I rather thought so…"

"Anyway, I know I'm being a bit of a bugger about this Auror stuff, but…I don't know, I'm kind of excited about it. Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" she asked, matching his position, their noses only centimeters apart.

"I should be, yeah? I mean, this is what I want for my career. At least I think it is…"

The look of concern on Ron's face gave Hermione pause, and she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "It is if you want it to be."

"I think I do." He shook his head, resolve creeping back into his glare. "No, I do. I do. Of course I do. I was good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, so it makes sense. Plus, as you said, Harry will be there, so…yeah, it's the right call."

"You don't sound so sure."

His brow furrowed, and he glanced away, biting his lower lip.

"You know," she continued, "just because you're good at something and it's your best friend's choice doesn't mean it has to be your choice. You should do what you want."

"I'm only eighteen. What if I don't know what I want?"

"Well, let's think about it. If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?"

"Easy. Snog you."

"Ronald!" She tried to admonish him, but the grin snuck through no matter what. "I'm serious!"

"So am I! As a horde of Dementors!"

It was hard to be too angry as she had to admit that he had a point. In fact, if she had her way, she couldn't think of much else she'd prefer either.

"Fine," she said with a chuckle. "But that's not a job."

"It should be. If it was, I'd be the best at it, don't you think?"

"You certainly would."

Their lips met again, having difficulty remaining pressed together as they both laughed.

"But besides that. You know what I mean. If there's something that interests you more, you should do it! I believe in you, Ron. I know you can do whatever you set your mind to."

"Yeah, but the Aurors want me now. They don't care that I didn't finish school. No other job would offer the same. Plus, did you know they start paying us as soon as training starts? I could start earning money in just under two months. D'you know how helpful that would be? I could help Mum and Dad. I could move out! I could even start saving for our house–"

He stopped, his entire face turning beet red. Hermione's insides squirmed at his near admission. The thought that he was already considering starting a life with her, moving in with her…it was too much to take. She smiled, inching forward and capturing his lips one more time, trying to show him how excited she was for a future together.

"I know. It sounds lovely," she offered, trailing a finger down his cheek. "But it would all be for naught if you weren't happy."

"I'm happy with you…"

"I'm so happy with you. That's only one aspect of our lives, though. I want all of you to be happy."

"I know. And you have no idea how happy that makes me. But the Aurors will be good. It's a good job…respected, rewarding, important for sure. And I do think I'll be good at it."

"You'd be great at it. I know from first-hand experience."

"I just think the idea of doing anything that looks or sounds like school is just depressing at the moment. I'm sure I'll be more excited when the time comes."

"I hope," she said, kissing the tip of his nose. "But…just don't forget that those of us who really care about you will be happy no matter what you decide to pursue. Because while I think you'd be a great Auror, there are plenty of other things you'd be great at too. It's all up to you."

"Thanks. I guess we'll see."

Pushing himself off the mattress, Ron stood up and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Now. What do you want to do today? Your choice."

"My choice, huh? Part of me wants to just stay here and kiss you all day," she responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her chest to his. "But it's a beautiful morning. Let's not waste it. Besides, I think a nice long walk out here would really help take my mind off of my parents."

Ron nodded. "Your wish is my command."

With one last peck on her cheek, he grabbed her hand, pulling her out his bedroom door and bounding down the stairs together.

The rest of the day was spent meandering around the Burrow, ducking into its many nooks and crannies to share kisses when possible. Throughout most of the afternoon, Hermione found she barely thought about the difficult task she'd set herself for the evening, instead focusing on the extremely handsome man consuming the present. It was exactly the kind of day she'd dreamed of throughout their years at Hogwarts when she'd harbored a half-decade-long crush on him, nothing but beautiful weather, no responsibility, and Ron.

Even when they absentmindedly wandered into the apple orchard alongside Fred's grave, Ron's eyes glazing over as they stopped in the middle of the path, she stood by his side and provided the shoulder he needed to cry on. It wasn't as though she'd been nervous to offer this sort of support to him in the days before they officially became a couple, but once he'd let her in, it went from feeling acceptable to feeling natural. She expected to be the person he could lean on in times of stress for the rest of his life, and it didn't scare her in the least. On the contrary, she took a certain pride in being able to help him, feeling closer to him than ever before when he displayed his vulnerability.

Eventually, though, the hour came for Ron to eat with his family and for Hermione to Floo back home. Mrs Weasley invited her to stay, of course, but Hermione turned her down, knowing that if she didn't get her emotions off her chest soon, they were liable to burst out of her in a much less productive manner. After kissing Ron goodbye next to the fireplace, she stepped inside, threw down the powder, and felt the familiar crush and twist of magical transport.

The floral print of the sofa came into view first as Hermione spun to a stop in her home fireplace. It was quiet; her parents weren't home yet. The clock read half five, meaning she should still have another thirty minutes until they arrived. As she utilized the time to tidy up the living room and sweep the floors, her mind started rehearsing all the things she wanted to discuss with her family.

No matter what she thought about, though, she kept coming back to the idea of simply begging for their forgiveness. Sure, she could outline the specifics of leaving them out of her decisions, forcing their hand without their consent, and risking all of their futures. But ultimately, what was done was done, and all that was left to do was hope that they could absolve her of her sins.

She had just put away the broom when she heard the sound of a car door slamming. Dashing to the window, she caught sight of her Mum and Dad approaching the front door, a bag of groceries in her father's hands. As the key slid into the lock, Hermione's fists balled up as she steeled herself, intent on holding herself together through the conversation.

"Good evening, Hermione," her father said cheerfully as he walked in through the door. "How was your day?"

"Yes, dear," Mrs Granger added. "Did you have fun with your friends?"

Steady. Keep it on the level. It won't help to be emotional–oh, who am I kidding?

Before she could even respond, Hermione's cheeks were wet with tears. "I–I…" she started, unable to make it any further before dropping onto the sofa in a torrent of sobs. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, sweetheart," her mother cried, rushing to her side. "What's wrong?"

"Did something happen, Hermione?" Mr Granger demanded.

Hermione took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her breathing and calm herself. "N–No, nothing h–happened. I just…I can't do this anymore! I feel like I'm a stranger in my own house! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I'm so sorry I tore our family apart!"

Her mother's forehead wrinkled with confusion as she picked up Hermione's hand. "What do you mean, darling? Of course you're not a stranger, and of course you didn't tear the family apart. Your father and I–"

"No, it's all true! And it's all my fault! I've done it to myself!"

"Hermione, we've discussed this," Mr Granger said sternly, earning a reprimanding glare from his wife until he sat down on Hermione's other side. "This wasn't your fault. You simply did what you thought was best."

"I know. But my best wasn't good enough, and now I've ruined everything! I uprooted your lives, I destroyed your business–"

"The business is fine–"

"I almost got you all killed–"

"We would've been killed if it wasn't for you–"

"And I kept you in the dark the entire time! I gave you no choice! I ripped you from everything you've ever known and–and you'll probably never trust me again! And you shouldn't!"

Her body shook as she cried again, and her parents remained silent, each of them rubbing her back as she wept. Nothing had changed. They were still saying the right things, but she could tell they didn't mean them. Was this ever going to end?

"Hermione," Mrs Granger finally spoke up, "I'm so sorry if we made you feel as though we still blamed you for this. I promise–we promise that–"

"Mom, stop! Just stop!" Hermione cried. "You're both being…too nice! Everything I did…it had to have bothered you. Please, just be honest with me. Yell at me, scream at me, ground me for heaven's sake, just do something besides be nice!"

"I'm sorry, you're upset because we're…not being mean enough?" her father asked.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I've seen you talking amongst yourselves when I walk into a room. The conversation ends quickly every time. I'm not stupid, Dad. I know what conclusions to draw. Some things still bother you both about what happened, and you not saying them is a hundred times worse than you just…getting them out in the open!

"So please. Please tell me what you really think. We can't go on like this, skirting the topic every time it comes up and keeping things bottled up. I won't be mad. Honestly, it'll be a relief."

As she gazed down at the coffee table, eyes slipping in and out of focus, she could feel her parents having another of their wordless conversations behind her. It was obvious what was happening in the silence, and she could only hope her plea was enough to finally get them to explain themselves.

"Well," Mrs Granger said in a meek tone, "I suppose…oh, I don't know, I suppose it would've been nice if you'd told us ahead of time."

Mr Granger nodded. "Exactly. We're your parents, Hermione. Sad as it is for us to admit at times, you don't need us that much any longer. But in that situation, it seems like you did need help, and we would've absolutely been there to help you if you'd only asked."

"Part of me wanted to, believe me," Hermione replied. "But…it's not your world. You wouldn't have had any idea how to help."

"Perhaps not," her father continued, "but we could've at least tried. For you, Hermione, we would always try."

Hermione's mother placed a hand on top of hers. "It might be hard for you to understand until you're a parent yourself, but believe us when we say we would do anything for you, Hermione. Anything. And for you to not give us the opportunity…it hurt quite a bit."

"We try not to bring it up too much, Hermione," Mr Granger added, "but…well, for a long while, we've both felt as though we were raising you…incompletely. Your mother and I never want to worry you and never want to make you feel as though you can't be yourself around us, magic and all, but we'd be lying to say it hasn't been difficult to navigate."

"What d–do you mean?" Hermione squeaked.

"Well," her mother started, her tone soft and almost forgiving, "We're not magical people, and you are. And that's wonderful and exciting and we love that it's part of your life, but since it can never truly be part of our lives, it's left us feeling a bit left out. For heaven's sake, Hermione, you left home at age eleven, swept off to a world we knew nothing about to teachers that taught you skills we could never hope to understand. Long before we were worried about all of the dangerous situations you seemed to wind up in, we were…we were scared we'd lose you completely."

"You'd never lose me completely, Mum. I promise. Never."

"We know that now, but at the time…"

Mr Granger cleared his throat. "Imagine you were in our position, Hermione. You're a parent, and one day a strange looking fellow shows up and tells you your daughter has special powers and can cast actual magical spells. What would you have thought?"

The idea of Professor Dumbledore showing up in Hampstead Garden Suburb did seem quite odd, and she could only imagine her parents' surprise. "I suppose I would've thought he'd lost his mind."

"Exactly! And once we knew he hadn't, it was even scarier! We sent you off to school with no way to help, no way to support you…they didn't even have telephones to stay in touch! It was as though–" he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "It was as though you were someone else's responsibility after that. As though our child-rearing days were over, and all we could do was watch from the sidelines. That kind of helpless feeling is not easy to recover from."

Of course Hermione knew that she couldn't have told her parents what her plans were. They would've tried to stop her at every turn. Even knowing that she'd taken the only realistic option available to her, their words still cut to her heart like a knife. When she decided to go to Hogwarts, she did so knowing that she was drastically altering her relationship with her parents forever, but at the time she was so excited about the prospect of learning to be a witch that she didn't care.

Years later, however, it became easier to realize just how much she'd eliminated their role in her life. She'd been making decisions on her own for years while at school, but that didn't mean her mother and father didn't still care deeply about the outcome. Once a parent, always a parent. It was the first time she'd truly considered it from their perspective, and a fresh wave of shame washed over her when she realized what she'd done.

"I'm sorry," she implored them. "I didn't…I never really thought about that at the time."

"Hermione," Mr Granger said, his tone still soft and soothing. "Your mother and I believe in you. We do. But there's a big difference between allowing you to live your life as you see fit and allowing you to alter ours."

"I know. I'm so sorry that I didn't–that I couldn't ask you."

"But you could have! If you'd talked to us and explained the situation, we could've done what we needed to do in order to protect you and protect ourselves!"

"That was the problem, Dad, I couldn't accept your protection! I had a role to play, and I knew you wouldn't let me play it if I said anything!"

"Setting aside the fact that you were underage, how do you know that we wouldn't have been helpful?"

"Because you wouldn't have had a way to protect yourself or me from them! It just wouldn't have been possible!"

Mr Granger stood up, growing more animated by the second. "I'm sorry, but that's inadequate! There had to be something someone more senior than you would've been able to do. The head of the school, the leaders of the government, somebody! The thought that these decisions fell to a seventeen-year-old girl and her schoolmates…"

"I wish there was, Dad! But at the time…nobody knew who they could trust…"

"Dear, put yourself in our position! Our daughter–our only daughter–facing mortal danger by herself in a world we know nothing about. Telling us nothing about it. Erasing herself from our memories! What if something had happened to you? What if we never remembered you existed? What if…what if…"

His eyes welled up, and he turned away, unable to continue. As he paced around the room, Mrs Granger took her daughter's hand. "Hermione, it's hard for a parent to feel unneeded by their children. It happens to us all at one point in time or another. But you can never reasonably expect us to stop caring about your safety and your well-being. It's just not possible."

"I'm aware of that, Mum," Hermione said, wiping the accumulated moisture from her eyelids. "Believe me, I am. Now more than ever. I can only hope that someday you'll understand my choices and understand why I felt I had to make that choice on my own."

The room again fell silent. Mr Granger stopped pacing, settling in the armchair across from the sofa. He cradled his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, pinching his eyes together in exasperation. A tingling feeling shot up Hermione's arm as her mother massaged her hand. Even though it didn't feel like they were making much headway, at least they were talking. It was progress.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to trust me again?" Hermione asked, scared to know the answer.

"Hermione." Richard Granger's eyes were fixed on her, and even though they were exuding pain, there was warmth and caring as well, and she found it more reassuring than anything. Unlike before, she could tell that he was finally being completely honest. "We never stopped trusting you."

"Really?"

"Really. Even though we don't agree with your decision, and even though we wish we were included in it at the time for any number of reasons, we never doubted that you had our best interest and the best interest of this family in mind."

It was the first time he'd expressly stated it with such certainty since she'd found them, and his admission meant the world to her. Of course that had always been her primary aim. All of their safety was the only thought going through her mind when she decided to change their memories. In her darkest moments, she'd let herself doubt that they believed that, wondering if they simply found her to be selfish and arrogant. Knowing that they had faith in her was so comforting.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm really glad you understand that."

"Of course we do. You're our daughter." Pulling himself to his feet, he stepped over toward the rest of his family, hugging Hermione as he sat down next to her again. "Our wonderful, brilliant daughter. But it's because we find you so wonderful and brilliant that we would have been devastated if anything had happened to you and we hadn't done everything in our power to try to help you."

"I understand."

"Sweetheart," Mrs Granger chimed in, "believe it or not, we're not seeking control over your life. We know you're fully capable of handling yourself. But the thought of being permanently on the sidelines is a difficult pill to swallow."

Images of the last year flashed before Hermione's eyes. Duels with Death Eaters, narrow escapes, frigid nights in the tent with nothing to eat…if she were the parent of a child who made such reckless decisions, she'd be beside herself as well.

"I never meant…it was never my intention to shut you out completely. I was just think–thinking on my feet, trying to keep you safe."

"And by the looks of it, you've done so marvelously. Now, nothing can erase the past, and as far as I'm concerned, it wouldn't do to dwell on it. But now that we…understand each other's fears and motivations a bit better, next time, let's just have a little more transparency, shall we?" Mr Granger suggested.

Hermione nodded, a smile creeping onto her face. "That's fair."

"The last thing we want," her mother added, "is to deprive you of the magical life you so naturally embrace. As sad as we were when you left home for Hogwarts, we also both realized that you'd finally get the chance to live the life you always deserved to live, a full and rich and complete life that took into account all of your many skills and talents. We simply want to be aware of what's happening, even if it makes us scared or worried for you. No more rash decisions, hmm?"

"I promise, Mum. If I'm more open with you about my life and its implications for you, please promise me that you'll be honest with me as well. No more huddled, private conversations. Please tell me what you're thinking. I can handle it."

Her father extended his hand, and Hermione shook it. "You've got yourself a deal."

She sighed, the final knot of tension finally evaporating from her shoulders. "Good. Now, can I ask one more favor?"

"Anything."

"Can you please…punish me? Send me to my room, tell me I can't go out for a week…something. "

"As in…you'd like us to ground you?"

"Something like that. I deserve much more."

"I think I have a better idea," Mr Granger said, his lips curling into a devious smile. "Remember when you were young and I'd make you chop up all the vegetables for the bolognese sauce?"

"Yes…"

"If I recall, you rather hated it."

"I did…"

"Well," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen, "it's bolognese night. You've had a pass for the last, oh, I'd say seven years. But I'd say it's about time for you to start helping out again."

A chuckle escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around her father. "I think you're right."

"In that case, young lady, apron on. Sharpen your knife. You know the routine."

"Aye-aye, captain."

"And Hermione?" her mother added, rubbing her back. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For…everything. For your honesty. For keeping us safe. For being, as your father said, your wonderful, brilliant self."

Turning toward her mother, she hugged her tightly as well. "Anything for my parents."

Chapter Text

It was a picture-perfect morning in the English countryside, the type of day they photograph to put on the front page of the newspaper. A few wispy clouds floated through the air like bubbles, temporarily dimming the sun before moving aside and allowing its full power to shine down. As the warmth and light hit Ron's face, he smiled. In the grass next to him, Hermione smiled as well as they both looked up from their books, soaking in the last few weeks of the summer while they could.

Over a month had gone by since their second kiss, and in Ron's estimation, things between them had never been better. While they couldn't be together all the time, they found ways to see each other most days, even if they could only spend an hour or so in each other's company. Hermione was insistent on maintaining her summer study schedule, meaning they often passed the hours reading in the shade of the large oak tree by the pond. But Ron had his ways of convincing her to take breaks from time to time, sometimes resorting to throwing her in the water to splash around for a while. Almost always, their swims ended with a snog as their legs tangled together under the surface.

Harry and Ginny joined them sometimes as well, the four of them preparing together for the rigors of their respective academic journeys. With a little help from his best friend, Ron was actually starting to look forward to Auror training, even if he still harbored doubts as to whether it was his true calling. Once they'd had enough reading for the day and managed to talk Hermione into stopping, they would have a fly, play Exploding Snap, or simply stroll around the property and talk. They talked about everything from school to friends to the future, even broaching the more touchy subject of the past. Much to Ron's surprise, it was actually becoming easier to talk about what had happened at the battle, although he still found himself choking up any time they approached the orchard and he caught sight of Fred's grave.

July rolled into August as the days passed faster than he thought possible, the carefree summer dwindling toward its cruel and inevitable end. The closer it got to September first, the more Ron's thoughts drifted to his relationship with Hermione. Obviously, things wouldn't be the same once she returned to Hogwarts, but what would they…be? Would she still be his girlfriend? Would they do some kind of long-distance thing? Communication had never been their strong suit, of course, but he concealed his skepticism from her, not wanting to give her any reason to think they couldn't stay together. Because of course he wanted to stay together. Once he got his first taste of being Hermione Granger's boyfriend, he knew he would never be able to get enough. All he could do was hope that she would be willing to make the same sacrifices he was planning to make in order to maintain their connection.

"Oh, I meant to ask you," Hermione said, pulling him out of his trance as she pushed off of his shoulder. "My parents were wondering if you'd like to come to dinner sometime."

"Oh really?" he responded, a lump forming in his throat. "You mean, as…your…"

She smiled at him and swatted him on the shoulder. "As my boyfriend, of course."

"So they know we're dating?"

"Yes," she said with a suddenly furrowed brow. "That's alright, isn't it? I didn't exactly think we were hiding anything."

"Right, yeah, of course. I didn't mean–yes, that's fine."

"I assume your parents know, don't they?"

Ron shrugged and broke into a grin. "I haven't really brought it up, but I'm sure they've figured it out."

"Honestly, Ronald!" She huffed, still grinning through her supposed anger. "It's been over a month!"

"But it doesn't exactly come up naturally, does it? It's not like we're at the dinner table going, 'Oi, Mum, pass the potatoes, please. By the way, I'm dating Hermione'."

"Well no, of course not! But it doesn't have to be that awkward."

Dropping a light kiss on her lips, he hugged her closer. "Well, we can't all be as smooth as you."

"You'll come, though?" she asked again after they broke apart.

"Sure, I'll come. Although your Dad's a little scary, so just…try to help me along the way, yeah?"

"He's not scary at all! And he's always liked you!"

"Maybe so, but that was before I was snogging his daughter, innit? No guarantee he feels the same way now."

"That's not true! He's a mature, level-headed individual, and he understands that I'm growing up and that these things…happen sometimes. I'm sure he'll be nothing but pleasant."

"If you say so."

"I do," she insisted, closing her book and jumping off the ground before dusting off her shorts. "Now, speaking of snogging, do you want to take a walk with me? There was that little alcove over on the other side of the pond where we said we might…you remember?"

Ron, not needing to be asked twice, tossed his book into the dirt and popped up, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the path. "Course I remember…"

A few days later, Ron found himself in the garden of Grimmauld Place, studying with Harry. While it was never officially discussed, Ron had been spending more time there recently, and he even had his own room that he slept in more often than his childhood bedroom at the Burrow. It was odd for him to consider that his idea of home was changing, but living with Harry was a much better time than living with his Mum and Dad, even if Harry's attempts at cooking left a lot to be desired.

Hermione was home with her parents getting ready for the dinner, which they'd agreed would be later that night. While Ron and Harry were ostensibly practicing spells for apprehending criminals, most of the conversation centered on the upcoming evening.

"Yeah, but mate," Ron said, casting Protego to shield against Harry's incoming charm, "at least you grew up with Muggles. I don't think I've ever had a meal outside Hogwarts or a magical house."

Harry shook his head before shooting a non-verbal Expelliarmus Ron's way, which bounced harmlessly off the invisible barrier surrounding his friend. "You're making it seem like Muggles eat so much differently than everyone else. It's still just food. Forks and spoons and napkins and the like, yeah? What's so confusing about it?"

"Shut up, Harry, you know what I mean! I'm not worried about physically putting the food in my mouth! I just wonder…like, what do they do once they're done? At Hogwarts, the dishes just disappear. And at home, Mum and Dad levitate them to the sink and charm them to wash up."

"They pick them up with their hands and the washing up themselves. Trust me, I ought to know, the Dursleys made me do it every day for years. Are you really that clueless?"

"No," Ron responded with a sigh, stuffing his wand into his back pocket. "I guess I'm worried that…that I don't know what I don't know. You know? I just really don't want to embarrass myself in front of Hermione's parents, and I'm afraid I'm going to look like a complete knob because I don't know some basic thing that Muggles learn when they're toddlers or something."

"They're not going to think that. Even if something like that happens, they'll understand. And Hermione…you know she'll help too."

"I know she will," Ron groaned. "But I wish she didn't have to."

"Well, if you two are dating, you're going to have to get to know the Muggle side of her at some point. And that includes her family."

Thinking back, Ron realized that he never really knew that much about Hermione's Muggle upbringing. She'd mentioned things from time to time, most of them quite confusing like the fellytone. But throughout the years, their lives revolved around studying and using magic. It was only natural when they were at Hogwarts, but even over the summers and other holidays, Hermione never talked about what life was like with her parents when she didn't always have her wand handy.

Harry was right, of course. If he wanted to be a good boyfriend, he'd have to figure it out sooner or later. It would be nice if there was a way to ease into it a bit more; meeting her parents was going to be hard enough without having to worry about not doing something barmy in front of Muggles. But he supposed he couldn't be picky, and he knew it was worth it since Hermione seemed so excited over the last few days.

"Reckon you're right. A–And I want to, really I do. She's got this whole other part of her life that I know nothing about, and I should learn."

"That's great," Harry agreed. "I think you'll be surprised how similar magical and Muggle people are. There's not as big a difference as you think. Some things just take them longer and seem more inconvenient to us, but you have to remember that they don't know any other way."

"Right, I suppose so. You and Hermione have told me about some of the mad things they have to resort to without magic."

"Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled when magic became available to me. But Muggle life…it's not so bad. And it's not that confusing."

"Hope you're right. I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"You won't. Well, you might. But I'm sure it won't be a big deal."

He nodded, hoping his friend was right. Hermione intended to keep living as a witch, of course, but he knew how much it would mean to her for him to understand all of her past. If he couldn't…well, he wasn't sure what it would mean, but it wouldn't be good.

"Sure. Anyway, where were we?"

Harry lifted his wand again. "Let's work on Protego Maxima for a bit, okay?"

"Yeah, let's go."

A few hours later, Ron arrived at the apparition point near Hermione's house. After working with Harry for most of the day, he'd showered and cleaned up, shaving his face and picking out his best dress robes for the occasion. His shoes, new and shiny, squeaked against the pavement as he clambered up the cobblestone pathway toward their front door, the air pleasant with the smell of the rose bushes flanking the entryway.

Standing on the front stoop, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and raised his hand to knock. It seemed like only a second or two passed before Hermione threw the door open and smiled at him. Her smile quickly faded, however, when she saw his outfit.

"Ron! It's…erm, thanks for coming! Come here a second," she said, slipping outside and pulling the door shut behind her.

"Right, you invited me. What the matter?"

"I'm so sorry, I should've clarified. Dress robes are more of a…wizard thing. You don't need to wear them here."

"Oh," he said, his eyes dropping to the ground as his face heated with embarrassment. "Right, sorry. Should—Should've realized that. I suppose I can just lose the robes but keep the dress shirt?"

"Trousers?"

"Ugh, right. Dammit."

Hermione looked around in a vague state of panic, which struck Ron as particularly pointless as a solution was unlikely to present itself in her front yard. It would seem he was stuck with what he had, destined to stick out like a free house-elf.

"I could, I dunno, maybe apparate back and change?" he offered.

Once Hermione realized she had no good options, she turned back to Ron, plastering a smile across her face. "No, it's fine. They surely heard the doorbell. Besides, they know I'm a witch and you're a wizard. I'm sure once they understand the meaning of your robes, they'll be honored!"

It was painfully clear to Ron how much false peppiness she was injecting into her voice to try to make him feel better. In truth, however, he was just an idiot who had no idea how to act in Hermione's world. Of course he shouldn't have worn dress robes to meet his girlfriend's Muggle parents! They'll probably be left thinking he was some kind of nutter!

The door opened again a few seconds later, and Ron's heart sank even further. Hermione's mother was standing there, her eyes darting back and forth between the pair of them, the same inauthentic grin on her face as soon as she saw his robes. To make matters worse, she was dressed in a comfortable blouse and pants, nowhere near the formal attire he had expected the evening would require.

"Ron! It's so lovely to see you again! And in such a handsome…outfit!" she said, pulling the door as wide as it would go. "Please, do come in!"

"Oh, thank you. And thank you for having me."

"They're dress robes, Mum," Hermione said. "They're quite respectable in wizard culture."

"I see! Well, they're lovely, aren't they?"

Ron swallowed and nodded, not having the courage to say anything.

Not off to a great start.

As soon as he stepped into the house, he was greeted by a pleasing floral scent emanating from a candle on the entryway table. The label read Crabtree & Evelyn, which he immediately surmised was a fancy brand in the Muggle world. Everything about the home screamed 'fancy'...everything except the way everyone else was dressed, that was.

Big, plush armchairs, a cream-colored sofa, and a large fireplace filled the sitting room on one side of the foyer, while the formal dining room on the other side featured ornately carved wooden chairs and a long, shiny table. As Mrs Granger led them toward the back of the house, Ron was only vaguely aware of what she was saying, instead taking in one room after another that would never have a place at the Burrow. As they walked, Hermione's mother continually apologized for the mess, which seemed strange to Ron as he literally couldn't find a single thing that appeared to be misplaced. Every surface was spotless and organized, every room very intentionally put together.

While the trip to the back portion of the house couldn't have been more than several seconds, one thought continually popped into Ron's mind.

Why is Hermione happy at the Burrow when she lives in this mansion? If I lived here, I would never leave.

The hallway emptied into a large kitchen with stone countertops and bright white cabinets and appliances. Standing in the middle of the room, an apron around his chest, stood Hermione's father. He looked up from the pot he was stirring when the three of them entered and hurried over to greet them.

"Good to see you again, Ron," he said, sticking out his hand. When Ron accepted it, Richard Granger's grip immediately turned vice-like, squeezing him as hard as a snake. It took everything in his power not to wince as he grinned back at the formidable man, one of the few people he'd met who was taller than he was.

"Good to see you as well, Mr Granger. Thanks for inviting me."

"Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of ours! You're more than welcome! Have a seat, please. Dinner needs to simmer a bit, but it won't be long."

Friend? But…I thought he knew. Didn't Hermione say she told them?

"I appreciate it," he continued with an awkward nod. "It, erm, smells great in here."

"Oh, I thank you. Jean here has taught me everything I know," Mr Granger said, patting his wife on the back.

"Maybe at first," Mrs Granger added, "but these days, he cooks even more than I do!"

Mr Granger pulled off his apron and folded it neatly, setting it down on the counter. "Do you cook, Ron?"

"Oh, erm, not really, no. I've watched Mum cook sometimes, but haven't really picked up that much."

"I think it's a wonderful skill to have. Wish I'd learned earlier, to tell the truth!"

Was Hermione's Dad telling him he needed to take cooking lessons? Was he implying that Ron wouldn't be suitable for her if he didn't know how to fry an egg or assemble a casserole? Between spending time with Hermione and starting Auror training, he didn't think he'd have time to add too many other new skills.

"Mum, Dad, why don't we sit in the living room until dinner is ready," Hermione chimed in.

Ron was immediately grateful for the change of location, and even happier when nobody objected. Taking him by the hand, Hermione led him to another well-furnished room featuring leather sofas on either side of a large round coffee table. All Ron could do was hope that neither of her parents noticed or cared, as he didn't particularly feel like getting into the particulars of their relationship.

If they had noticed, they didn't seem to mind. Mrs Granger sat down across from Hermione and Ron, and Mr Granger followed along and headed straight for the bar in the corner, pulling out crystal glasses and starting to fill them with ice.

"Gimlets all around?" he asked, holding up a glass bottle of a light amber liquid.

"None for me, thanks," Hermione said.

"Nor me. Gin gives me a headache," Mrs Granger added.

Turning to Ron, Mr Granger shook the bottle. "Ron? You wouldn't make an old man drink alone, would you?"

"Oh, c–course not. Sure, I'll have one."

Hermione swiveled in her chair, placing a calming hand on his arm. "You don't have to if you don't want to. Do you even know what's in it?"

"That's okay. If your dad likes it, I'm happy to try it."

What Ron wanted to say was that he clearly had no choice and was feeling rather forced. Saying no didn't seem to be an option, especially after Mr Granger made it clear he didn't want to be the only one having a drink. All Ron could do was accept and hope it tasted similar to the firewhiskey he'd recently started to enjoy.

The glass came a few moments later, and Mr Granger held up his own, clinking it against Ron's before taking a big swig. Ron brought the tumbler to his lips and tipped it up slowly, taking a small sip. As soon as the liquid hit his tongue, it took everything in his power not to recoil or look disgusted. It tasted as though someone had taken a Christmas tree, liquified it, and poured it over ice. How anyone could enjoy such a vile concoction was beyond him.

"Delicious, aren't they?" Mr Granger suggested as he sat next to his wife. "Classic British drink. Originally popularized by the navy. They said they drank them to ward off scurvy, but I suspect they just well and truly enjoyed them."

"Oh, right. And, uhh, yes, very good, thank you."

"So Ron, Hermione tells us you've already got a job lined up. Is that right?" Mrs Granger asked, giving Ron an opportunity to put down his disgusting drink.

Finally, an opportunity to impress them.

"Yeah, I'll be starting with the Aurors in a few weeks."

"I don't think Hermione's ever explained to us what an…Auror does."

"Oh, it's quite simple, really. We're the dark wizard catchers. We help to keep everyone safe."

"Law enforcement, then?" Mr Granger asked. "Dangerous profession."

Something about his phrasing made it seem like an objection, a questioning of Ron's entire future.

So maybe less impressive than I thought.

Ron forced himself to swallow another mouthful of his drink as he tried to come up with something to say. "Sometimes, yeah, I guess."

"Although much safer than it used to be thanks to the actions of people like Ron and Harry," Hermione added, shooting him a grin. It was almost as though she knew he needed a little help. Wonderful person, she was. "They were critical to the downfall of You Know Who, and now his followers are being rounded up once and for all."

"And will that be part of your responsibilities going forward, Ron? Mrs Granger posed.

"Sure, that's part of the job. There are loads of other things too, though. A-And Hermione's being modest. She helped a lot as well."

With the mention of Hermione's involvement in the war, her parents exchanged a nervous glance. He hadn't meant to bring up a sensitive subject, and he realized at that moment that he had no idea how much Hermione had actually divulged to them. For all he knew, they didn't realize how close their own daughter had come to dying.

"I see," Mrs Granger said. "Well, it's nice that they're accepting your application without you technically finishing school."

"Right, yeah, I suppose they just figured…given the circumstances…"

"Did your professors offer you the opportunity to come back to Hogwarts?"

"O-Oh," he stammered, suddenly second-guessing all of his life choices. "Well, sure, Professor McGonagall was happy to have me back. But…well, I suppose I'd had enough. And when the Aurors felt I was ready…it just made sense."

"Ron's probably going to be the most knowledgeable candidate they've had in years when practical experience is taken into account," Hermione said.

He appreciated what she was trying to do, but it didn't look like it was making much difference.

"Of course! I'm sure he'll be brilliant!" Mrs Granger added, giving the knife one final twist.

The room fell silent, Ron's embarrassment mounting by the second. If making a good impression had been his goal, he was failing spectacularly. It was clear as day that they were unimpressed with his choice of career as well as his decision to forgo the rest of his education. So on top of his dressing like a fool, not being able to cook, and holding a conversation no better than a baboon, he was giving her parents the impression that he was lazy and unmotivated.

What a hell of a start.

A moment later, a sharp ringing noise cut through the quiet, and Ron jumped out of his seat, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes. It only took a second for Hermione to reach out for him, pulling him back down with a concerned look on her face. She didn't seem alarmed at all, which only confirmed that the sound was not at all uncommon in Muggle houses and nothing to be worried about.

"No no, it's quite alright!" Mrs Granger exclaimed, rising from her seat with her hands up as though Ron were trying to arrest her. "It's just the phone. I'll go get it. Back in a second."

Returning to his seat, Ron quickly stashed his wand and stared at the floor, trying to avoid what was surely a shocked expression on Richard Granger's face. 'What kind of idiot is dating my daughter?' he must be thinking, and Ron couldn't blame him. It was never clearer to him that he didn't know a thing about the world in which Hermione was raised. Perhaps it was even leading her to have second thoughts about him. The whole night just kept getting worse.

"I keep forgetting there are no telephones in the magical world," Mr Granger said, trying to break the tension. "It must seem like a strange way to communicate."

"Right," Ron agreed. "Maybe a little."

"Although I'm not sure how you all manage with the owls. Must be a bit messy."

"Sometimes."

"They're not so bad, Dad," Hermione said. "I wasn't so sure at first either, but they're really quite efficient…most of the time. And rather quaint, I think."

"Yes, well. To each their own."

"Exactly."

Hermione's tone was more severe, as though she was warning her father to be on his best behavior. As a result, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before coming up with a more benign line of questioning.

"So, Ron. Much of a football fan, are you?"

Eager to find something over which he could actually connect with Hermione's father, he quickly searched his memory for anything he could remember about the sport. He knew there was a ball and players could only use their feet. Or was it their hands? Maybe one of them could use their hands? It was all rather stupid, especially since they stayed on the ground the whole time. Just as the silence was stretching on too long, he recalled the name of the team his former roommate Dean Thomas supported.

"Yeah, I like it. Big West Ham fan."

"West Ham, you say? Fair enough, team on the rise. But they're nothing to my Arsenal boys. Won the league and the FA Cup this season. Back on top where we belong, right Hermione?" he said with a chuckle.

"Dad, you know I haven't the faintest idea."

"Nobody could stop Bergkamp this year. He simply scored at will. Remind me, Ron, who was the leading scorer for West Ham?"

"Oh. Right. W–What was his name?" Ron stuttered.

"Dad, you know about Quidditch," Hermione jumped in. "I've told you about it before. Wizards follow Quidditch like the Brits follow football. Ron supports the Chudley Cannons."

"Oh, is that right?" Mr Granger said, clearly feigning excitement. "Are they a particularly good team?"

"Not really, no," Ron stated. "But they're getting better! Didn't finish last in the league this year, so…"

"Aha. Well, there's always next year, right? Chudley, eh? Western part of the country?"

"That's right. That's where my parents live."

"Beautiful land. And the people…salt of the earth, warm folks. Not everyone around this neighborhood is a rich snot, I assure you, but there are plenty of fuddy-duddies. I'd love to visit your area; it really does wonders to slow life down sometimes, don't you think?"

"Erm…I suppose," Ron asked, recognizing the backhanded compliment immediately and feeling his blood pressure rise.

"And who knows, perhaps you could take me to one of these Quidditch matches."

"Right. Course, any time."

Ron glanced over toward Hermione, a scowl on his face. Her tight-lipped smile and shrug were little comfort compared to the avalanche of shame rushing over him in waves.

How could he have been so blind before? Hermione grew up in one of the poshest areas of the country while his family barely scraped by, relying on magical flourishes to have enough room for everyone to sleep. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't understand why she liked him in the first place, especially once she saw where he lived. She should wind up with some stuck-up guy with a nice suit and a fancy car, not with a school dropout like him.

"Richard," Mrs Granger called as she reentered the room, "that was the lawn service. They said they'd have to reschedule next week on account of the August Bank Holiday."

"I see," he responded. "Well, not much we can do about it, is there?"

"No, I suspect not. And it also looks like your lamb is just about ready. I'll bring it to the table if everyone can migrate to the dining room."

"Perfect, Jean. Ever had lamb and rosemary, Ron?"

"Don't think so, no," he said, knowing full well it was an expensive dish that never graced the Burrow's dinner table.

"Lovely texture. It practically melts in your mouth. I think you'll really enjoy it. It was always one of Hermione's favorites growing up."

He led the three of them down the hallway, Ron and Hermione trailing behind him. Recognizing his discomfort, she grabbed his hand, and when he spun toward her, she mouthed, 'Sorry'. In response, he simply smiled back and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he couldn't handle spending time with her family.

One of the pewter sconces at the end of the hall was flickering, and Mr Granger stopped to take a look. He fidgeted with the switch, eyes lighting up when he recognized the problem.

"Ahh, this little bugger keeps giving us problems. I'm sorry, Ron, you must excuse us, bit of an issue with these old houses. Be a chap, though, and hand me a Phillips head screwdriver from the top right drawer?"

His hand waved in the vicinity of a server along the wall of the corridor, and when Ron pulled the drawer open, he was faced with a stack of long, thin pieces of metal. Something about the word he'd used reminded Ron of a gift that Harry had given his father for Christmas a few years prior, but he couldn't remember which was which for the life of him.

Fortunately, Hermione immediately picked up on his consternation and reached into the drawer, pulling out a strange-looking wand with a fat handle and a skinny tip that was shaped like a cross. With a guilty look on her face, she handed him the tool, which Ron passed on to her father.

"Good lad, good lad."

The flickering stopped a moment later, and Mr Granger handed back the screwdriver. Ron replaced it in the drawer and continued into the dining room. At some point in the past half an hour, it had started raining, and fat, wet drops were coating the window panes. The dreary weather mirrored his mood, and he slumped down in his assigned seat.

Hermione sat down next to him, noticing that he was mentally exhausted. She picked up his hand again, giving it a quick squeeze before picking up her napkin and spreading it over her lap. Usually, her touch was all he needed to feel better. At the moment, though, he was seriously wondering if he'd be better off simply apparating away straight from the table.

But his opportunity never came. A moment later, Hermione's mother arrived with a large platter of steaming meat. She set it down on the table in front of her husband, who reached for the large carving knife and started slicing into the large joint. The first and largest slice was put on Ron's plate, after which he served everyone else, beaming at his creation the entire time. Regardless of how the evening had been going thus far, any thoughts of escape evaporated when the succulent aromas of cooked lamb hit Ron's nostrils. It smelled wonderful, and he knew that he'd likely have trouble controlling his outsized appetite.

Once everyone had their meat, potatoes, and green beans, they all recited a quick poem thanking some god Ron had never heard of and tucked into their dinners. Throughout the meal, Richard and Jean Granger couldn't stop bragging about Hermione. Top of her class, best in her year, and on and on the adulation went. For his part, Ron was quick to agree with them whenever he could, figuring that praising their daughter was always the right move.

"After she's done with Hogwarts," Mrs Granger said, a proud glint in her eye, "I expect she'll be Minister for Magic within a decade."

"Mum, stop it!" Hermione cried, although the smile spreading across her face told a different story. "I'd just be happy with a good job."

"You'll surely have a good job, and I suspect you'll have a great one! With your intellect, though, it won't be long until you move up the ranks," Mr Granger lauded.

"She's got my vote, that's for sure," Ron said.

"Oh? I didn't know those were elected positions," Mrs Granger replied. "How fascinating."

"No, Mum," Hermione added. "Just a figure of speech."

"Ahh, I see. How clever!"

The tone was as patronizing as it was insulting. Had it gotten to the point where they felt he couldn't even participate in normal conversation without needing feedback like a four-year-old?

Ron suspected that he was being overly sensitive. After all, how likely was it that his girlfriend's mother was intentionally insulting him after she'd invited him into her home? But the whole night had been absolute crap to that point, and nothing about their interactions had given him the impression that either of the Grangers particularly liked him, so it was hard to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"How about you, Ron?" Mrs Granger continued. "Is there a path forward with your position?"

"Sure," he replied, setting down his silverware. "Harry and I will start out as junior Aurors, but hopefully we'll move up to full Aurors within a year or two. Then, if we do well enough and have the support of the other Aurors, we can go up for Head Auror down the line."

"Head Auror! Sounds impressive!"

"It's not Minister for Magic, but it's a well-respected post."

"Well," Mr Granger piped up, "there can only be one Minister, and she's already sitting at this table."

"Dad, stop! Both of you are being ridiculous!" Hermione pleaded.

It was obvious by her parents' expressions that they had no intention of slowing down, however. The pride they took in their daughter's accomplishments was admirable, but every time they brought up how bright she was, Ron couldn't help but hear them chastising him as unworthy of her affection.

By the time Mrs Granger cleared the plates and brought out the trifle, Ron was barely able to keep up with the flow of conversation. He wondered if his reputation amongst the Grangers would ever recover. What about the evening could possibly leave them with the impression that he was an acceptable partner for Hermione?

And when he got to thinking, it made him wonder why he had ever been so sure himself. She was smart, he was average. She was destined for greater things, he was lucky to have a job. She was driven and motivated, he was…well, truthfully, it wouldn't bother him if he never moved up the ranks. Moving up meant more responsibility, and who needed that?

To make matters worse, even though Hermione had embraced the magical side of her existence, she had a completely separate life with her family…a life he knew nothing about. A life he couldn't comprehend even with her sitting next to him and explaining it. A life she would probably want to maintain a connection with in the future.

So where did that leave him? And even if she decided to still include him in her life, what if her parents were right? What if he was just…mediocre? Hermione had such a bright future ahead of her, and the last thing he wanted to do was slow her down.

That's silly though, right? I care about her more than anyone, and she seems to feel the same way. So why should it matter if she has a fancier job or I don't know what a screwdriver is?

But as much as he wanted to believe the words bouncing around in his head, what had started out as a small nagging in the back of his mind had evolved into a huge, blaring warning sign. Something about their burgeoning relationship seemed wrong. Incongruent. Permanently mismatched at a fundamental level.

"Ron?"

Hermione's voice came from his side, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked up at her, blinking his eyes to push away the stinging feeling that was starting to build. "Hmm?"

"Would you like another slice?"

"Oh," he said with a sigh, eyes darting to her decidedly confused-looking parents. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I–It was delicious, though. Very good."

"I'm so glad you liked it!" Mrs Granger replied. "My mother's recipe."

All Ron could muster was a half-hearted, "Ahh."

A few minutes of small talk later, Mrs Granger started clearing the dessert dishes, and Ron seized the opportunity. He stood up from the table, pushed in his chair, and sighed. "Well, I probably should be going. Thank you so much for dinner, though. It was delicious."

"You're sure I can't tempt you with a nightcap?" Mr Granger hinted with a snicker.

"Oh, none for me, thanks. Early morning tomorrow. You know, promised I'd help Mum, so…"

"Say no more," Mrs Granger said, bustling over to him and giving him a stiff hug. "I can always appreciate someone who prioritizes their mother."

Mr Granger joined them a few moments later, capturing Ron's hand in another crushing grip. "All the best, Ron. We hope to see you again soon."

"Thank you both, I appreciate it. Everything was wonderful."

"Safe…erm, travels," Mr Granger said, clearly still confused about the concept of apparition.

Hermione took his hand and led him toward the front door. "I'll walk you out."

As he nodded to her, he waved goodbye, taking one last glimpse around the house. The place oozed class and pretension. It was a miracle, Ron realized, that Hermione was as grounded as she was. The even bigger miracle was that she would go for someone as poor and apathetic as him. Excellence was a given for the Grangers, and Ron couldn't help but wonder if he would ever measure up.

He was silent as they passed a few houses and turned down the alley toward the apparition point. His mind was spinning trying to figure out what to say to his girlfriend of the past few weeks, trying to understand what she was thinking. Perhaps she was deciding whether he was even worth the hassle.

"I'm sorry," she finally offered, giving his shoulder a rub. "I know they can be a bit much sometimes."

"Nah, it's fine," he murmured. His eyes were still downcast toward the wet sidewalk, watching his feet move one in front of the other with the rhythmic cadence he just couldn't seem to find in his own life.

Even his feet were depressing him. That's how far he'd fallen.

"With me being their only daughter, they have a tendency to try to…well, show me off when possible. And I'm sure they were nervous, too. First time meeting you as my…you know."

"Right, I know," he said. "'S fine."

"Hey." Hermione grabbed his lanky frame and spun her toward him, ducking her head to force herself into his view. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Was he? Would he ever be? And was 'alright' for him ever going to be 'alright' for her? Too many questions, too many insecurities were caroming around in his head. He couldn't think straight; he had to get out of there.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Probably just need a good night's sleep."

She studied him intently, her narrowed eyes boring through him, trying to decipher his hidden meaning. Hermione was one of the most insightful people he'd ever met, and she often knew him better than he knew himself. He felt certain that she would call him out and force a long conversation about his feelings, which was the last thing he wanted.

If she caught on, though, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pulled him into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. "Alright. Well…thank you for coming. It really means a lot to me."

After quickly embracing her, his arms fell slack at his side, and he pulled out his wand, preparing to cast the spell that would return him to the comfort of his new sanctuary at Grimmauld.

"I'll send a Patronus tomorrow?" she asked.

He nodded. "Sure, talk to you tomorrow."

With that, he turned on his heel and felt his body compress down, the sickening feeling eventually subsiding a few moments later when he landed hard on his bedroom floor. Looking around, the bare space didn't quite seem like home yet, but anything was better than where he'd been.

He sat down on the bed and considered searching for Harry to talk about the evening. But the only thing he wanted to do was sleep, or at least try to. The next day would surely bring an avalanche of questions and soul-searching, but for the moment, it could wait. He was so worn out that he could barely stand, instead tipping over onto his side, swinging his legs up onto the bed, and closing his eyes, praying that he'd be delivered from his torment into sleep sooner than later.

Chapter Text

"Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven?"

"Check."

"Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Check."

"Advanced Rune Translation?"

"Check."

"Extra quill for when the first seventeen snap in half from writing sappy love letters to my git of a brother?"

Hermione's cadence was thrown off pace as her shoulder slumped and she glared up at Ginny across the auburn-haired girl's bedroom floor. The younger girl was trying and failing to stifle her own cackling, growing increasingly confident in her own unique brand of comedy. "I have plenty of quills, thank you."

"Just checking," Ginny replied. "Wouldn't want you to go one day without reminding Ron how pretty his eyes are or something."

Opening her mouth to respond, Hermione quickly thought better of it, slamming it shut again and keeping her opinions to herself. She could easily throw Harry back in Ginny's face, knowing for certain that the two of them would keep up an equally nauseating flow of letters. She could also remind Ginny just how much they'd be needing the support of their respective boyfriends going into such a challenging academic year.

But before it even arrived, the fight left her body, and she turned her attention back to the piles of books, clothes, and school supplies scattered over the threadbare woven rug. "Are you sure you don't want to bring last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts book? Just for reference."

Ginny shook her head, tucking a Quidditch broom repair kit in next to her robes. "I'll be fine. Besides, last year was barely educational. I can't imagine the book being that useful given that it was assigned by the Carrows."

"Good point."

The pair continued in silence for several moments, sorting through their possessions to decide what would make the packing list and what would be left at home. Easy conversation was usually a given with Ginny, but both of the girls were feeling the stress of school approaching. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in just under forty-eight hours, and Hermione was sure that neither of them felt good about leaving Ron and Harry behind. Going to school without them just felt wrong, and while she was glad to be sharing a dorm with Ginny instead of Lavender and Parvati for a change, it was destined to be a very strange year.

All of that would be manageable if it wasn't for the uneasiness she felt about her relationship with Ron. The dinner at her parents' house ten days prior proved to be an inflection point of sorts. They'd still been spending plenty of time together, but Ron simply wasn't himself. He was much quieter than before, he seemed far less confident, and most concerningly, his tendency toward self-loathing was returning more and more each day.

Hermione had tried to talk with him on numerous occasions, but he kept denying anything was wrong. No matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, however, it was as plain as day. Ron refusing to discuss his emotions wasn't a new concept, but the way he spoke about the upcoming year had definitely changed.

Auror training had always made him nervous, and on more than one occasion, Hermione wasn't sure whether his whole heart was in it. But lately, not only did he not seem excited, he seemed convinced that he would fail. At one point when they'd been studying together, he'd slammed his book shut and dropped his head to the table, stating that the Aurors would be better off without him.

Doing her best to reassure him that he deserved his place was becoming exhausting, but Hermione soldiered on, providing him all the reassurance she thought he needed. That, unfortunately, led to him spending more and more time alone or with Harry, as though he'd rather miss out on some of their last precious time together because he couldn't handle her encouragement. It was all quite dispiriting, especially given that she'd be leaving so soon. More often than not, Hermione had ended up crying herself to sleep, unsure what it all meant for their precarious new relationship.

As if reading her mind, Ginny leaned forward and placed a hand on Hermione's knee, which was shaking of its own accord. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The question shouldn't have surprised Hermione; Ginny had been asking it frequently over the last few weeks. She was perceptive, there was no doubt about it. It was growing tiring constantly dodging it, so occasionally she had let Ginny in on what was going through her mind. But sometimes she just needed to keep it to herself, conscious of the fact that her concerns would be difficult for Ron's sister in particular to understand.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione replied, papering a smile over her anxious expression.

"Okay, what did he do?"

"Who?"

"Who?! Grindelwald," her friend deadpanned. "Ron, of course! What's he done to muck it up now?"

"He hasn't done anything."

Oh no. I gave away too much.

Ginny's eyes lit up as she sensed the opening. "Okay then, what hasn't he done?"

"No, it's not like that," Hermione responded, shaking her head. "It's just…well, don't you worry about being back at school and away from Harry?"

"Not really, no. He's pretty famous, but everyone knows that if they make a pass at him, I'll kick their–"

"No, not like that! I'm not worried that Ron would cheat on me or anything. I'm worried about…I guess I'm worried about how it's going to work. Ron and I have only been together for a month or two. We haven't even figured out our relationship when we're in the same place and together all the time. Now we have to be long-distance for at least ten months? It feels daunting."

"First of all," Ginny said, setting down her books and focusing her full attention on Hermione, "you've been together for like three years, it's just that neither of you realized it."

"Didn't feel like we were together when he was with Lavender."

"You know what I mean. You know each other better than any two people I've ever met, besides maybe Mum and Dad."

"But we've always been in the same place. Quite literally, almost always. Maybe it's just the proximity. I'm worried that once we aren't…I don't know, things will change."

Ginny shrugged, seemingly unfazed. Her indifference should have been comforting, but instead, Hermione felt as though Ginny knew something that she didn't. It almost seemed to her like there was some secret that Ginny and Harry had figured out. Were they truly that confident that they had no worries going into a prolonged physical separation?

"I doubt it. It's been obvious for years that Ron was crazy about you. I can't see why he would just stop caring all of a sudden. You finding someone better I'd understand, but not Ron. You're way out of his league as it is."

A small chuckle escaped Hermione's lips, but it was tinged with sadness. Everyone thought so much of her because she'd always done well in school. But while she was excited to go back to Hogwarts and finish her education, that was no guarantee that she'd excel in the real world. And what might it cost her in the meantime?

"I don't think you give him enough credit. Nobody does, really. He's an amazing person, and I wouldn't be who I am without him."

"That was almost adorable until I remembered who you were talking about."

"Ginny!'

"Okay, okay," Ginny replied, holding her hands up in surrender. "He's got some good qualities, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"Anyway, I can't help but think you're talking to the wrong person about all of this. I'm happy to help, of course, and even though he's my brother, I hope you still feel like you can talk to me about this if it's bothering you while we're back at school. You'll be the best friend I have there."

"You too," Hermione agreed with a kind smile. "And thank you. It might be strange for me to hear about you and Harry, but you can always talk to me about that too. Even though I think of him much like a brother as well, we'll be there for each other."

"Agreed. But still, there are some things only the two of you can solve, yeah?"

"I know. I kept putting it off and putting it off and now…well, now it almost feels like it's too late."

"It's not. We don't leave for two days. Besides, honesty is always best in these situations. Do you remember when Harry broke up with me at the end of my fifth year?"

Memories of the difficult time rushed through Hermione's head. Some of them were more repressed than others, but she remembered the awkward train ride back to Kings Cross like it was yesterday. "I do."

"As hard as it was, it would've been way worse if he'd lied to me about everything. He didn't hide from it or pretend it wasn't happening, and I appreciated him for that. I think you and Ron owe yourselves the same thing."

"You're probably right," Hermione said, knowing her friend's words were true. "Easier said than done, though."

"Maybe so. But no time like the present. Isn't he cooking for you tonight or some madness like that?"

"He is. And I think it's sweet."

"So long as you don't wind up food-poisoned and puking into the toilet."

Both girls chuckled, but Hermione did her best to pull out of it for the sake of saving Ron's honor. "I'm sure he'll do well. Your mother must've taught him something over the years."

"We'll see. But I think it would be a good time to talk…really talk."

Hermione didn't say anything, but she nodded in agreement. It would likely take her the rest of the day to psyche herself up for the conversation, but Ginny was right. There was no point in delaying.

"Now, back to the task at hand. Puking Pastilles…bring them or not?"

"Ginny! You know I'm going to be Head Girl!"

"Good point. I'm sure you'll need a break from time to time. I'll bring them."

By the time evening rolled around, Hermione's trunk was fully packed and ready to go. She stepped into the fireplace at the Burrow, throwing down her powder and shouting, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

A few moments later, she emerged in an ornate stone fireplace with brass detailing around the outside, climbing out and dusting herself off as she called out for her boyfriend.

"Ron? Ron, are you here?"

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed from below her as he hustled up the stairs, peeking his head around the corner with a wooden spoon in his hand. "Down here," he called before dashing back downstairs.

Hermione shook off his lack of a welcome and followed him into the basement kitchens, winding her way through the familiar narrow hallways. The two boys had changed some of the decor since they'd moved in, adding Quidditch posters as well as a large portrait of Dumbledore, lovingly placed in the main entryway as a tribute to their fallen headmaster. Most of the home, however, still looked the same as it did when they'd spent summers and holidays there and when the three of them had hidden out in the home while searching for Horcruxes.

Emerging into the dimly lit kitchen, she immediately sensed the tension in the room. Ron was hurtling from pot to pot, stirring crazily and adding spices indiscriminately to his creations. Figuring it best to stay out of the way, she sat down at the end of the long dinner table, running her fingers over the splits in wood that had formed over decades.

"How's it coming?" she asked.

"Uhh, well, I'm getting there. Didn't think it would be this hard without magic…"

"Are you doing all of this without magic?"

"Trying to, at least."

"Ron, you don't have to do that. You're a wizard who's old enough to use magic whenever you like. I'm surprised you wouldn't take advantage."

"Muggles do it this way," he spat, furrowing his brow over a particularly stubborn saucepan. "Besides, it's not like I can only do things right with magic, you know."

"I never said that you couldn't."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just saying."

"Just saying what? You don't have anything to prove, Ron…"

"Well, I feel like I kind of–ugh, bloody cream sauce is burning. Just–tell you what, let me focus on this now, okay?"

'You kind of' what? Just say something!

Folding her arms over her chest, Hermione turned away from the stoves, seething with frustration. Why was he being so argumentative? So aloof? She understood that both of them were hurting with their separation being so imminent, but it seemed as though his response was to be as irritating as possible in the lead-up. Perhaps it was all part of a grand plan to make it hurt less when she did leave. Perhaps he was struggling with his feelings and didn't know how to properly verbalize things.

Or perhaps he was just being an arse.

The real answer, which Hermione knew but perhaps didn't want to admit to herself, was that his demeanor had changed the most after their dinner with her parents. It didn't take a detective to notice that he had been uncomfortable while he was there, and a lot of elements of Muggle life seemed to confuse or even scare him. But he knew going in that she had grown up differently from him and that things were different for Muggles and different in Muggle households.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she hadn't prepared him well enough or told him enough about what the world was like for her before she found out she was a witch. After all, meeting your girlfriend's parents can be stressful enough without having to worry about a completely different culture and lifestyle. But truthfully, after he'd left, her parents had said they really liked him and were thrilled to have met him. They hadn't held his knowledge gaps against him at all. A few days later, Hermione had told him as much, but it didn't seem to make any difference. It seemed like he was determined to be upset no matter what.

Over the next several minutes, he was silent, biting his lip and cursing under his breath as he combined all the elements into one dish, which he eventually placed in the oven before crashing down into a seat next to her.

"Sorry," he apologized, wiping sweat from his brow with a dish towel. "It always looks easier when Mum does it."

"She probably uses magic…you know, because she's a witch."

"Yeah, I know, but I just thought…I dunno, I thought it would be better."

"Ron," she started after a pause. "Is this whole cooking without magic thing about that night at my parent's house? Because I told you, it's really not a–"

"No, it's not," he replied with a groan. "I just thought…it would be better."

"I hear you saying that, but I can't help but wonder if it's part of the reason you want to do things the Muggle way. And don't get me wrong, if it is, I actually think it's rather sweet of you. But you can't deny that ever since that night, things have been a little…off. I just can't imagine that it's a coincidence."

"Well, it must be."

Hermione was rattled. Ron wasn't one to lie right to her face. Stretch the truth occasionally, perhaps, but not about something so important. "Because I need you to know that I don't expect you to do things the Muggle way just because I grew up in a Muggle household. I don't. We know magic and we should use it when it's helpful. So if that's part of what's been bothering you–"

"It's not," he interrupted, his tone indicating a finality to his willingness to discuss the matter.

Trying to calm her mind, she took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sure the casserole will be delicious."

"We'll see. Best I could do, really."

Why did he keep doing that? Why did he keep putting himself down, as though he was setting himself up for failure? He was better than that.

"Well, anyway, hi, for real this time," Hermione said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. He barely returned the kiss, instead turning his attention back to picking some of the residual boiled potato from his fingernails.

His lack of responses was worrying, to the point where Hermione felt that if she didn't keep talking, they would just wind up sitting in silence. "Erm, remind me when Auror training starts again?"

"Week from yesterday."

"That's exciting! I'm sure all the hard work you've been putting in with Harry will pay off."

"I hope so. I don't know, they'll probably figure out pretty quickly that we don't belong."

Not again. She'd only been there for a few minutes and he was already starting in on himself! "How can you say that? You helped fight off the darkest wizard to ever live! You and Harry fought side by side with actual Aurors and held your own! Of course you belong!"

Ron ran a hand through his messy hair, scowling at nobody in particular. "But what if we don't know enough? What if it's crystal clear to everyone there that we never finished school and never sat our NEWTs?"

"Well, you had the chance to return to school and rectify that, but you declined…" Hermione reminded him.

"No, that's–you're off the point. It's not about school."

The old house creaked often, but never was it more noticeable than when there was complete silence. Bubbling sounds came from the oven, and the air started to smell more of chicken and ham pie by the moment, although the scent was a bit different than she remembered at the Burrow. Perhaps it would be a moot point as sitting with Ron and trying to understand or rationalize his mindset was sapping her of her appetite by the minute.

As she remained next to him, watching the seconds tick by on the large clock above the sink, Ginny's words started to echo through her head. Talking to Ron about their future needed to be a priority, and while Hermione would've much preferred doing so when he wasn't in such a foul mood, they were truly out of time.

"Ron," she started, reaching out and capturing his hand in hers. "C–Can we talk?"

His eyes widened for a second before his body slumped, already looking defeated. "Don't like the sound of that…"

Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes, tumbling down her cheeks before she even started speaking. "I'm trying…so hard right now. I'm trying to be supportive and make sure you know how much I believe in you because I do believe in you."

"Wish I shared your optimism," he mumbled, although he did give her hand a squeeze when he noticed she was crying.

"But I need you to know that I'm struggling right now too. I'm having a lot of trouble with this upcoming transition, and I need your support as well. I really need it. I–I…I don't know if I–"

Unable to continue, she put her head down on the table, sobbing to herself. Her shoulders shook, and when Ron inched closer and placed a hand over them, she didn't flinch, but she wasn't comforted the way she would've been before. The indifference she felt from him scared her. In her heart, there was no doubt how much he meant to her, but if he didn't feel the same way…

That can't be it. He's just nervous too. The future is scary for both of us, and even though he's not handling it well, it doesn't mean he suddenly doesn't care about me anymore.

Her tears didn't let up for several minutes, and to Ron's credit, he stayed next to her the entire time. It helped to know he was there, but somehow, knowing he was there and still unable to help her made her feel even worse. Ron had always been her rock, and aside from the unfortunate episode during the Horcrux hunt, he'd stayed by her side when she needed him. Things were starting to feel eerily similar to when she'd been in the tent, however, crying over him for days on end after he'd left her alone with Harry.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to be…like this," he said, still rubbing her back. "It's just…lots of changes."

"I know, Ron." Hermione lifted her head as she dried her eyes on her sleeve before turning toward him. "Trust me, I know."

He looked away, a sheepish expression on his face. "I know you do."

The quiet set in again, this time both of them staring vacantly in opposite directions, trying to make sense of things. How had things gotten so bad?

Once again, it was Hermione who had had enough of the silence. "I think we need to talk about what's going to happen when I leave. With us, I mean."

Ron scratched behind his ear, fumbling his words. "W–What do you mean?"

"Ron, you know how much I care about you. At least I hope you know."

Finally, a genuine smile appeared, although it quickly dissolved. "I know."

"And I'm not going to stop caring about you just because I go back to Hogwarts for the year. But at the same time, things are going to be different. We're going to be apart for a long time."

"Don't remind me…"

"And I guess that before I go, I'd like to know…how do you envision us remaining…us?"

For several moments, he sat still, clearly pensive as he rubbed his chin, his teeth grinding inside his mouth. "I dunno," he finally said. "I suppose I hadn't thought about it much."

"Hadn't thought about it? I've been doing nothing but think about it! I'm sitting here terrified and you're–"

"Oh, don't get me wrong," he interrupted, "I've been thinking about it too. Thinking about it a lot, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't," she replied, not even trying to hide the venom in her voice. "How could I have when you've stopped talking to me?"

He did his best to ignore her wholly accurate remark. "Y–Yeah, but I just assumed it is what it is and we'll figure it out as we go. Kind of like always, yeah?"

"Ron, there is no always! This has never happened before!" She was growing more animated and frustrated by the minute at his unwillingness to take her anxieties seriously. Figure it out as we go? Who did he think he was talking to?

"Right, well, not this very thing, no. But…other things."

Just then, the timer dinged, and Ron stood up from his chair, walked into the kitchen, and opened up the oven. No plume of smoke emerged, which was probably a good sign, so he slipped on the oven mitts and pulled out the glass bakeware, its top bubbling with cream sauce.

"Doesn't quite look like Mum's, I reckon, but not too bad."

He set the casserole on the counter to cool and returned to his seat, eyes still darting around the room. Eventually, Hermione grabbed him by the sides of his face, forcing his gaze onto her. "Ron. Please. Talk to me."

"I am talking to you, Hermione."

"You're talking, but you're not saying anything."

"The bloody hell does that mean?"

The groan came from deeper inside of her than she thought possible, and she tried to clear her mind of everything except the matter at hand. It proved difficult, though, as her resentment over being the only one to take things seriously was growing.

"Tell you what, I'll lay it out for you, alright? Completely straightforward."

"Please…"

"By the time I leave in less than two days, we have to decide how we're going to continue this relationship. Many couples do long-distance by keeping in touch with letters, but some people struggle with it since they're not physically with their significant other very often. Some stay together and try to visit each other as often as possible, like on weekends. And a few…a few decide that the best thing for them would be to break it off and see what happens in the future. If they wind up back together, then that's lovely and it's meant to be, but if they don't, they don't."

Ron was quiet for a long while. It was important that he had time to process her words and that she didn't interrupt him; the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was rushing him. There was too much riding on the decision for either of them to be impulsive about it. Still, it would've been much more comforting if he'd immediately reassured her that he wanted to stay together.

"Hermione," he said, eyes finally glancing up toward her. "Is that what you want?"

"What?"

"Us breaking up and just…seeing what happens later on."

"No, it's not. Of course it's not. But Ron, I need something. I can't go back to school just assuming we'll try to 'figure it out'. Long-distance relationships are a lot of work. They require sacrifice of time and energy if they're going to succeed. I'm willing to put in that time and energy if you are because you mean so much to me. You really do. But if I'm the only one invested…if the letters only go one way…"

"Right, I get it."

His eyes had glazed over, as though she'd left him even more confused than he had been before. In the back of her mind, an imaginary clock started ticking down, adding a sense of urgency to their conversation. She had never been more conscious of the time constraints and cursed herself for waiting until the last minute to address these heavy issues with him.

"I know we could have a future together, Ron," she added, her voice practically pleading with him. "I know it. I don't want to lose you. But I can't be the only one fighting tooth and nail to make that happen."

Lips pressed into a thin line, he nodded toward her. "I understand."

He stood up, making his way over to the stove where the casserole was cooling. Pulling down two bowls, he started to ladle spoonfuls of his creation for them, moving slowly and cursing to himself when the steam burned his skin.

Hermione, meanwhile, was growing more and more concerned about Ron's apathy. 'I understand'? 'I understand'?! Part of her wanted to shake him until he finally saw reason and agreed to an actual plan, but the rational side of her knew that only he could come to those types of conclusions on his own. So she sat, waiting for a revelation that might never come as he rejoined her at the table, setting her bowl in front of her.

Dinner proceeded in total silence. It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Hermione's life, which only deepened her sorrow. They had so little time left together, it seemed like such a waste to spend it not talking to one another. By the time her bowl was empty, she wasn't even sure what the food had tasted like; surely Ron had prepared a good meal, but when he'd asked her if she'd liked it, she said yes automatically, not because she could actually recall its flavor.

As soon as they finished, she stood up from the table and collected her jacket. She couldn't stand to stay any longer, watching the threads of her newly woven relationship unraveling in front of her eyes. For his part, Ron didn't put up much of a fight, following her upstairs when she said she had to go.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, tentatively peeking up at him.

His eyes flitted all around the room, eventually landing on her as he produced a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, tomorrow."

"And…we can talk? I know it's uncomfortable, but we're running out of time."

"I know," he agreed. "We can talk. I just…need to think. You've given me a lot to consider."

"I know I have."

Ron leaned forward, capturing her in a hug. For the first time that evening, she felt his warmth and a sliver of the reassurance she'd been looking for. "And Hermione…look, I care about you. You know I do. In fact, I care about you too much to answer just to…make up an answer, yeah?"

"I understand."

"And I have been thinking about it."

"Ron, you don't have to justify–"

"I know. But I need you to know that this matters to me. Getting it right matters to me, yeah?"

"Of course," she said, pulling back and kissing him on the cheek. "To both of us."

"Good. I'll send a Patronus tomorrow?"

"Sure. Tomorrow."

With one last hug, she turned and stepped outside, pulling her thin cardigan around her body to protect herself from the evening chill that swept down the street. It was unseasonably chilly for late August, and a light sprinkling of rain began to fall, pitter-pattering against the sidewalk all around her. Her hair and outfit were starting to get wet, but she barely noticed, worried instead about the state of her fragile relationship with her boyfriend.

The apparition point was only a block away, but the walk seemed to take hours. A gnawing feeling dug at the inside of her stomach and the back of her eyes. as she hurried down the sidewalk, trying to make it off the public street before she started crying. Something about Ron seemed…broken, dysfunctional. Not only did she worry about them as a couple, she also wondered if he would be in a reasonable state to start Auror training. The rest of his life was at stake, and he didn't even seem to care. How was she supposed to help him when he refused to help himself?

Mercifully, she turned down the side alley and behind the large boxwood shrub, pulled out her wand, and twisted on her heel just as the tears began to fall. A moment later, she reappeared in her backyard, immediately kneeling down and tucking herself behind a row of hedges. She didn't want her parents to see her crying, so she waited, minutes passing as she held her face in her hands. All the while, she tried to remember the good times she'd shared with Ron, but every time those positive memories popped into her head, her vision was clouded with images of his downtrodden face.

All she could do was hope he'd see reason, hope he'd remember why they'd fallen for each other in the first place. She knew the man she'd fallen in love with was still in there, but he needed to find that part of himself. If he couldn't, was it somehow possible that their relationship, one that had just begun and felt so full of promise, was destined to fail so soon?

Chapter Text

There was no other way to put it; the night had been a disaster.

Ron sat on the edge of his bed in Grimmauld Place contemplating the evening. A small lamp on his desk cast long, strange shadows on the walls like dark fingers closing around him. He could still smell a faint hint of the ham and chicken casserole he'd made for dinner, a meal he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to eat again. It was suddenly tied to terrible memories of a relationship that was destined to fail before it even properly launched.

Many of Hermione's words still echoed through his head as he allowed the silence to envelop him. They hadn't exactly sounded like an ultimatum, but Ron knew that he had a choice to make and that he'd better do it quickly. Truthfully, he should've put more forethought into what would happen when she went back to school, should've been considering the ramifications all along instead of living in what in retrospect seemed like a dream world for the past several weeks. Once again, Hermione was proving that she'd outsmarted him, anticipating issues well before he had and proving that she'd always be one step ahead of him.

She always was, really, but it was different once they'd become involved in a relationship. Shouldn't relationships be a partnership of equals? It didn't seem like that would ever be the case with him and Hermione. She'd always be doing more, reaching higher, and excelling on a bigger stage while he…he could only try to keep up and do his best not to embarrass her.

Once his mind had tormented him enough, he padded across the room and turned out the light, returning to his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. He still had no idea what he was going to say to her the next day, of course. His mind was still a jumbled mess of thoughts, anxieties, and contradictions. And even though he knew it was happening and knew that life wasn't always so miserable, it seemed like he was powerless to stop himself from assuming the worst in every situation.

It took him almost an hour of tossing and turning before he was finally able to fall asleep, his brain racing the entire time. Perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise, then, that his dreams were full of equally dichotomous memories.

Flash.

Ron was sitting with Harry in their regular armchairs in the corner of the Common Room after Dumbledore's funeral. A chess board was half full of pieces as though the two of them were mid-game. Harry had just broken up with Ginny, but he looked strangely calm about the whole thing.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Ron asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, part of me is thrilled you're not snogging my sister anymore, but are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"No, not really. But it's the best I can come up with," Harry said, instructing a knight to capture one of Ron's pawns.

"But if you're not sure, then why do it? You're happy, she's happy…what's the problem?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, dropping his forehead into his hands. He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger for a moment before sitting up straight again. "I guess it's like…if you really care about someone, you have to realize when it's best for them not to be with you. Even if you need to force the matter."

"If you really care about them, why wouldn't you want them to be with you?" Ron asked, brow furrowed as he immediately offed Harry's knight with his bishop.

"Oh, plenty of reasons, although most of them are pretty depressing. There are times when you'd just be…I don't know, getting in the way of their life. Not allowing them to reach their full potential, yeah? Not only is it too dangerous for me and Ginny with Voldemort on the loose, but how is Ginny supposed to move on and enjoy things if she's always worried about me?"

"Hate to say it, mate," Ron replied with a shrug, "but she's going to worry about you either way."

"Maybe. But at least this way she stays a bit more out of harm's way and can try to have a better school year."

"A better school year? You're sure?"

"I just mean that she can live her life the way that she wants to, not the way she feels like she should because of me. I want her to do whatever she thinks is best for her future and not factor me in."

"Right. I guess."

Flash.

A cool, salty breeze came in through the second-story window of Shell Cottage as Ron sat beside Hermione's bed. The girl in front of him was frail, covered in dried blood, and barely able to keep her eyes open.

"R–Ron?"

"I'm here," he said, leaning forward and scooping her hand into his. "I'm right here."

"Ron? Ron! RON?!" Her body started thrashing in her semi-conscious state. Despite looking right at him, she was blind to his presence, trapped inside another nightmare, forced to relive her trauma over and over again.

"Hermione, it's me. It's Ron." Wasting no time, he crawled into the bed with her and embraced her, hugging her body close to his. "You're safe here, she can't get you anymore."

"Ron! R…Ron…R–" Voice dying to a whisper, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, relief washing over her facial features as she became aware of her surroundings.

"You're okay. I'm here," he continued, brushing a stray lock from her face.

"Ron? It's you?"

"It's me, Hermione. It's Ron. You're safe; I won't let her get to you. I'll never let her get to you. I'll never let anyone get to you."

"Ron," she sighed, melting into him.

"I'll protect you…I'll always protect you."

Flash.

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter! Over here, Mr Potter!"

A throng of reporters started following the three of them as soon as they emerged from the castle onto the grounds. What was supposed to be a quick trip down to see Hagrid had turned into a chance for virtually all of the magical press to interrogate the so-called 'Golden Trio'. Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried to dodge them as they walked down the familiar well-worn path to Hagrid's house, but it was virtually impossible to do so without tripping over a photographer or journalist.

"Mr Potter, what can you tell us about the final battle?"

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter! Can you confirm that one Remus Lupin, a former Hogwarts professor, died in the struggle?"

"Mr Potter! Is there any truth to the rumor that You Know Who faked his death and is still alive somewhere, waiting for the right moment to strike?"

It wasn't a surprise to Ron that his friend pushed through the group and took off at a dead sprint toward Hagrid's, leaving him and Hermione alone with dozens of reporters.

"Ms Granger, are you planning to return to Hogwarts for school next year?"

"Mr Weasley, how about you? And what do you have to say about the speculation that you'll be starting with the Aurors soon?"

"Ms Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt was overheard saying you would likely be the one to take his job someday. Care to comment?"

"Mr Weasley, what is it like to stand next to a living legend in Harry Potter?"

"Ms Granger, are you still keeping in touch with Viktor Krum? We've heard that the two of you were seen together at a wedding last summer."

"Mr Weasley, what's next for you? School? Work? Ministry? Do you think you'll be offered a job without having sat your NEWTs?"

Grabbing Hermione's hand, Ron pulled her through the sea of people, taking off after Harry as fast as he could. No more questions. No more speculation. No more. Please, no more.

Flash.

The sun was setting over the ridge, tucking behind the apple orchard that would be Fred's final resting place. Ron sat in the seat that his mother had conjured earlier in the day, vaguely aware of the family, friends, and well-wishers surrounding him. A short man in ceremonial dress stood at the front of the assembly, his words lost to the wind as far as Ron was concerned. Life would never be the same either way; and besides, who was this person to tell him about Fred?

Sitting next to him, her arms permanently intertwined with his, was Hermione. She was wearing an understated black dress and rubbing his arm in what he knew would have normally been a comforting pattern. But it was as though his nerves had stopped responding, had stopped sending signals to his brain to interpret the pleasure. Pleasure was a sensation that seemed so remote as to be impossible.

Regardless of the physical and emotional numbness encapsulating his body, however, he still appreciated that she stayed with him. Throughout the last several days, the most difficult and trying of his life, she'd stayed with him, soothing his anguish when it was possible and patiently waiting for it to pass on its own when it wasn't. In the back of his mind, he knew how lucky he was to have someone like her to do that for him. Still, it seemed impossible to appreciate given the circumstances.

At some point, the man stopped talking, and everyone started to disperse. Ron remained in his seat as if he were rooted to the spot. He watched as the sun continued to disappear, shrinking to a sliver above the horizon. At some point, Harry stood up, clapping him on the shoulder before walking off to join the rest of the Weasleys in the garden. Ron knew he should probably join them, but even standing up and walking across the grounds seemed like a monumental task.

"Can I stay with you?" Hermione asked, still clinging to him.

His voice failed him, but he nodded, and she lay her cheek down on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she continued. "We can stay as long as you like. I'm not going anywhere."

Flash.

"Ron, hand me a Phillips-head screwdriver, please," Mr Granger said.

"Ron, don't worry, it's just the telephone!" Mrs Granger implored.

Mr Granger held up his hands in reassurance. "Yes, Ron, the television always has moving pictures like that. I hear it's like your wizard newspaper!"

"I love your outfit," Mrs Granger said, staring him up and down. "It's so unique!"

"Oh, don't mind him," Mr Granger said calmly. "That's just the postman. Much more hygienic than those owls of yours."

Mrs Granger laughed. "It may not be as good as a magic spell, but the microwave still does a lovely job of heating things up quickly. All you have to do is press this button!"

"Ron," Hermione said, finally pulling him aside. "It's alright. They know that these things aren't as familiar to you."

"But what about you, Hermione?" he asked. "You can't possibly tell me it's alright with you that I don't understand how to live a Muggle life, can you?"

"Well." Her facial expression and her tone gave her discomfort away instantly. "You can learn. And besides, we're wizards. I don't intend to go back to Muggle life completely."

"Completely?"

"I mean, there will always be some things."

"...Right."

"But don't worry, I'll help you!"

"Oh. Thanks."

Flash.

Her cheeks lit up rosy pink as the morning glow reflected off of her face. Caramel brown eyes glistened, their corners crinkling as her dazzling smile lit up the entire world. A breeze passed by and her nose crinkled, identifying the pleasing aroma of the honeysuckles his mother planted every spring. Ron sat in the garden and marveled at her, smiling back as she walked toward him. How had he gotten so lucky?

When she reached his position, she held out her hands, inviting him to join her. He wasted no time, grabbing hold, pulling himself upright, and immediately wrapping her in a big hug. She giggled, arms snaking around his side and up his back before locking into place behind his neck. Their eyes met and he leaned forward, his lips crashing into hers with all of the fervor of seven years of pent-up adoration and infatuation. Stolen summer moments were becoming more commonplace since the end of the war, but as far as Ron was concerned, he would never tire of them.

They pulled back from each other, her smoldering gaze still fixed on him. "What was that for?"

"I dunno…you just looked so beautiful."

"Ron, I just woke up ten minutes ago, I still feel gross–"

"You're beautiful. Inside and out."

Flash.

The dream faded as Ron's eyes peeled open, the dim grey light filtering in through the edges of the window an indication that he'd slept straight through until morning. It must have been over twelve hours since he'd fallen asleep the previous evening, but he still didn't feel very refreshed. Dragging himself out of bed, his mind was foggy with fatigue, unable to adequately make sense of the visions that had plagued him throughout the night.

Why was it even so hard to figure out what to tell Hermione? He cared about her more than anyone else in the world; he knew it and she knew it. And she felt the same way about him. He knew he'd never find anyone better than her, and she'd likely make him happy for the rest of his life.

And yet, the doubts persisted. Every other thought going through his head reminded him that he was never going to be good enough for her, that he would hold her back and keep her from flying as high as she could. She possessed a mastery of both the Muggle and wizard world while he could barely manage to keep up in one. If he truly cared about her and wanted what was best for her, wouldn't it be smartest to let her go? To let her reach her potential on her own without him anchoring her to his mediocrity?

He'd promised her that they could get together later that afternoon, but it seemed pointless to arrange a meeting when he had no idea what he was going to say. Then again, he may never feel like he was completely prepared for the impending conversation, so maybe it was smartest to simply wing it, say what he felt in the moment, and figure out the rest later.

Wandering downstairs, he found Harry sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and munching on a scone.

"Morning," he called to his friend, who looked up from the Daily Prophet and gave a half-hearted wave.

"Morning."

"Surprised you're not already over at the Burrow. Ginny's last day at home today."

"I could say the same about you and Hermione."

Ron waved off his friend. "I'll get there."

As Ron took a seat across the table, he poured himself a cup of tea and used his wand to open the refrigerator and summon the leftovers from the night before. Neither he nor Hermione had eaten too much of the ham and chicken casserole, and there was no point letting it go to waste. He dug in, eating straight out of the bakeware, his eyes glued to the table in front of him.

"Is everything alright? I didn't see you after Ginny and I got back from our date last night."

"Yeah, it's fine. Had already gone to bed."

"Okay. Oh. Oh. Wait, Hermione didn't…she's not here, is she?"

"What?" Ron looked up at Harry with an incredulous look on his face. "Course she's not here!"

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head. "I didn't think so. But she was here earlier, wasn't she? Weren't you cooking for her?"

"Yep."

"And?"

Ron dropped his fork with a clatter onto the table, prompting Harry to push back from the table a bit. "And what?"

"Wow, sorry. Sore subject, I guess."

The thought of reliving the events of the previous evening made Ron even more anxious than he already was. Hermione had left as soon as dinner was over, and he'd barely tried to stop her. What kind of boyfriend would do something like that?

Still, it wasn't Harry's fault that things had gone so poorly. Ron picked up his fork and sighed, running a hand through his messy bedhead. "Sorry, mate. Just kind of a rough night."

"Sorry to hear that."

The pair of them sat in silence again, each eating their breakfasts and allowing the other space. When Harry finished, he picked up his cup and plate and carried them to the sink before returning to the table and sitting back down. "Wanna talk about it?"

Ron shrugged. "Not much to talk about. Just wasn't a great night."

"Did you guys get in a fight?"

"No, not really. She just wanted to talk about what's going to happen once she and Ginny leave for Hogwarts."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Erm, and what did you decide?"

"Nothing, really. Told her I'd think about it."

"Hmm." His friend was staring at him as though he were appraising a piece of fine art. "Yeah, that's a rough night, alright. Let me ask you, though, and maybe I'm off track on this, but is there really much to think about?"

Thinking for a bit, Ron experienced a moment of clarity, realizing how silly he'd been to doubt their relationship. Hermione was the best thing that ever happened to him, so why would he ever want to give her the impression that he didn't want to be with her? She was smart, beautiful, and for some reason, she seemed to like him. Why would he ever think breaking up with her was the right thing to do?

Because she's too good for you. She's always been too good for you. She's probably just been patronizing you all this time. You're no hero, just a coward who ran away when things got hard. And you're not going anywhere in the future either. Just let her go, let her succeed without getting in her way.

He groaned, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head. "I wish there wasn't."

Harry quirked an eyebrow in his direction, setting the newspaper aside and leaning forward, propping his elbows on the table. "You've been in love with her for years. Don't bother denying it; I was there the whole time. I saw it with my own two eyes."

"Yeah, well, that was before."

"Before what? Did she do something to you?"

"No, she didn't do anything."

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

"Not really, but–"

"Did she say anything that made you question whether she cared about you as well?"

That was an interesting sticking point. Technically, Hermione had never said anything to him that made him doubt her intentions. But the second she'd brought up the idea of breaking up and simply seeing what happened in the future, his brain started to assume she'd only presented it as an option because it was what she preferred. The rational part of him knew that probably wasn't the case, but the thought of telling Hermione he wanted to stay together when she truly wanted to separate was paralyzing.

"She didn't exactly, but…" he said, purposefully trailing off.

Of course, Harry was having none of his obfuscation. "But what? Ron, what could she have possibly said?"

"She said that some couples break up instead of trying long-distance and just see if they wind up together in the future. Leave it up to fate to decide or some bloody rubbish."

"She said that?"

"Mmhmm."

Harry's grimace only lasted a second, but it was enough for Ron to latch onto. Did his friend know something he didn't? Had Hermione confided in him because Ron was too busy wallowing in his own problems?

"Look, mate, I'm sure that's not what she wants, though. I mean, sure, some do, but I'd be surprised if she felt that was about you and her."

"I dunno," Ron replied, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. He wasn't sure why, though; it barely tasted like anything all of a sudden. "Maybe it's time I stop pretending."

"Pretending what?" Harry implored him, expression shifting to one of concern. "Ron, what's gotten into you lately?"

"Nothing."

"Bollocks, nothing! You've been off for a while now, and I'm starting to wonder if you're clinically depressed or something!"

"I told you, I'm fine," Ron growled.

Harry sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it with me, that's fine. I'm not going to make you. But you need to talk with Hermione. She's crazy about you, Ron. It's as obvious as the fact that you're crazy about her. I don't know what happened to sour your mood recently, but if I were you, I'd try my best to snap out of it in the next twenty-four hours, because they're leaving, and it might be a while before you have the chance to sort things out."

It was absolutely the right advice. Ron knew that he had to do something. What to do, however, still eluded him, and his mind insisted on continuing to torture him with conflicting information and evidence. The right answer never seemed so far away.

"I know. I will," he murmured.

"Good," Harry said, standing up from the table. "I'm going to head over to the Burrow in an hour or so. Want to come with? Ginny said Hermione was coming for lunch."

"Yeah, fine. I'll be ready."

"Okay. And Ron?"

"What?"

"She really does care about you. I know she does."

With that, his bespectacled friend left the room, climbing the stairs back to his bedroom to get ready. Ron was left alone with the empty casserole dish in front of him, somehow having eaten all of it over the past several minutes. As he tried to make sense of his confusing situation, he pushed back from the table, dropped his elbows onto the surface, and buried his head in his hands, hoping he'd figure something out soon.

Returning to his family home was usually a joyous occasion for Ron. The smells of freshly baked pies and biscuits, the beautiful surrounding grounds rich with childhood memories, the happy chaos that surrounded the place when a houseful of people were there. And yet, knowing the conversation that he had ahead of him, he would have rather been anywhere else. When his feet finally hit the ground inside the Burrow's fireplace, he'd never been so nervous reentering his parent's house.

The rest of the morning had been pure torture, going over things time and time again in his mind. Just when he thought he'd figured it out, another factor popped up in his mind and made him question everything all over again. It was an infuriating cycle, and it left him no closer to knowing what to say to Hermione when they finally had a chance to talk.

Fortunately for him, lunch was already prepared by the time they arrived, so everyone sat down to eat as soon as he and Harry showed up. Hermione had arrived earlier and had spent half an hour making last-minute preparations with Ginny. When the girls came down the stairs, Hermione gave Ron a quick kiss on the cheek and sat down next to him, clearly avoiding his gaze on purpose.

That can't be a good sign.

George had come for lunch too, and both of Ron's parents were there for a change, everyone discussing the upcoming school year with excitement. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been instrumental in helping with the rebuilding of the castle, and they were eagerly telling Hermione and Ginny about some of the upgrades the team of helpers had been able to add while they were fixing things up. By the sounds of it, Hogwarts was good as new and ready to welcome back students with fresh enthusiasm. Even for Ron, it was nice knowing the place that had been his home for so long was returning to its former glory, the previous troubled year hopefully only a blip on the long timeline of the prestigious school.

As soon as lunch ended, however, the doxies started swarming around Ron's stomach again. People slowly filtered out of the kitchen until he was left alone with Hermione, Harry, and Ginny.

"Well," Ginny said, "Mom agreed to let me Side-Along with Harry to Diagon Alley for a little last-minute shopping. Anything else you need, Hermione?"

The older girl shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you, though. Besides, I promised my parents I'd be back in time to help them make one last family dinner, so I can only stay for a bit longer."

Everyone at the table instantly grasped her meaning as Harry and Ginny pushed back from the table, tactfully excusing themselves to give her and Ron some space.

"Well, I'll see you over the holidays, then?" Harry asked Hermione, stepping around the table and wrapping his friend in a hug.

"Of course. Hopefully sooner; I'm sure you'd always be welcome to stop by."

"We'll see. Don't forget to write, though, yeah?"

"I won't. Good luck with your training."

"Thanks. Ron, see you at home."

Ginny offered one last wave as well. "Meet you on the train tomorrow!"

The pair of them slipped on their trainers, stepped out the back door, and within seconds, they evaporated into thin air.

Standing in the middle of the suddenly silent kitchen, Hermione turned to Ron. "Hi," she offered, chewing on her bottom lip.

He leaned forward, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Hi."

"Care to take a walk with me?" Her eyebrows lifted expectantly as she glanced toward the door.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Together they snuck outside and through the garden, ambling down the familiar dusty trail that headed toward the pond before they knew it. Somewhere along the way, Hermione's fingers had brushed up against his own, and he captured her hand, lacing their fingers together in a tight embrace. She smiled at him, bumping her shoulder into his with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry," she finally said just as the scent of algae started to hit Ron's nostrils. "I feel like we left off in a bad place last night, and I feel like it was my fault."

Ron's face screwed up in confusion. "Not your fault."

"No, it was," she reasserted. "I shouldn't have given you an ultimatum like that. I shouldn't have put so much pressure on our relationship. It wasn't fair to either of us."

"I don't know," he responded with a shrug. "And either way, you were probably right about one thing. It seems like we should be able to decide something."

"But if that makes you uncomfortable, then it's not right for us. I got so worried about what most couples do that I didn't stop and think about how we don't have to be like other couples if we don't want to. We can just…wing it."

"Hermione," Ron stated flatly, "do you really think that's something you'd be okay with?"

Her eyes glazed over and her head tilted to the side, a sure sign that she was trying to rationalize something she didn't believe in. Ron had seen the look countless times in the past, usually when she was bucking up the courage to challenge another of his or Harry's harebrained plans. It was all the confirmation he needed to know for certain that she would never be satisfied with a half-measure when it came to their relationship status.

"Yes, I think I would."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I would, I swear."

"Hermione. I know you better than that."

She let out a long exhale, raising her arms and dropping them to the side. "Well of course it wouldn't be my preference–"

"Exactly."

"–But that doesn't mean I'm completely inflexible!"

"Alright, so what were you thinking, then? What's your plan?"

"My plan is to be your girlfriend!" she exclaimed. "Even when it's hard! Even when I've had a long day and the last thing I feel like doing is more writing, I'll still write to you. I'll write every day if you like."

Shuffling down toward the lake, he took a seat underneath the giant oak tree along the bank, leaning back against the rough bark. The shade was refreshing, shielding him from the midafternoon heat, and the tiny gusts of breeze helped as well. "I appreciate that, but I wonder if it might get a little boring after a while."

Hermione sat down cross-legged across from him on the grass, picking a blade or two as she settled. "You think writing to me is boring?"

"No, no, I didn't say that! I just mean that after a while, how much more is there to say? I mean, do you really want daily letters about practicing shield charms and eating mincemeat pies?"

"If they're from you, of course," she replied, still staring at the ground.

An invisible knife plunged into Ron's chest. It didn't make any sense to him that she would want something like that, something so objectively mundane. But the fact that hearing about his mundane life would be enough to cheer her up was strangely nerve-racking. It should've been flattering, but instead, he found himself even more worried that for yet another reason, he couldn't replicate her feelings. In yet another way, he couldn't measure up.

"Besides," she continued, "writing to each other doesn't mean we'd never see each other. I'm sure Professor McGonagall would allow you to visit from time to time. And we could meet up in Hogsmeade any weekend I'll be there. I'd bet you could come to Quidditch matches as well; I'll surely be there to support Ginny."

"You're sure you'll be willing to take all that time away from the library? NEWTs are bound to be difficult; I'm sure you'll be studying all the time."

Hermione reached forward and picked up his hands. "I'll figure it out if it means more time with you."

"But see, that makes me feel as though I'm pulling you away from what you'd really prefer to be doing," he said. The last thing he wanted was to spend time with her when her mind was on her work instead of him. That would be no way to maintain a relationship.

"Ron," she started, glancing off into the distance and stiffening her lip. "I'd love to be with you. I'd love to go back to Hogwarts with you!"

Not again. She couldn't possibly think that bringing up seventh year yet again would be helpful. It was painfully obvious that she didn't think he was academically talented, but she didn't have to try to drag him back to school when she knew he couldn't care less about finishing his education.

"Hermione, please don't start with that again."

"I won't. I know how you feel, but I need you to know that–that I'd like to be spending all of my time with you. And of course, since I'll be at school, I'd love it if you came too. But," she said, holding up a hand as she sensed his rebuttal. "But I know that's not what you want. I understand why you're not interested, and even though I so wish–"

"No, you don't, and you shouldn't. I'd just drag you down like always!" Didn't she remember how frustrating it was working with him in the library day after day, always having to help him catch up on his homework?

"That's not true!"

"Of course it's true! Most of the time we were at school, you were annoyed with me! You were excelling at everything and I was your…remedial pupil or something."

A brief pause stretched on, and Hermione kept looking at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. How could she not understand, though? She was there, wasn't she?

"Do…do you really think that poorly of yourself?" she squeaked.

"Just being realistic."

She inched closer to him, her eyes pleading with him to listen. "Sod school! Sod marks! You helped us win the war! That means more than any mark ever will!"

"I ran away from the war when it got hard."

"But you came back! Let's not get into that again, Ron; you know we've all forgiven you. And everything you've accomplished since then…people all over the country look at you and see a hero! Why is it that you look at yourself and see nothing but a problem? A misfit?"

"I just see…Ron. Plain, normal Ron."

"Well, that's not what I see. I see a hero like the rest of them because I know how much you sacrificed for the good of witches and wizards everywhere. I see someone who puts in the effort when it really matters. And besides all of that, I see the man that I've been falling in love with for years!"

Surely she was exaggerating. While it was nice to hear her say how long she'd cared about him, it couldn't possibly be true. He knew for a fact that she hated him for a good portion of sixth year when he was with Lavender. Maybe she'd come to think more fondly of him since, but throughout their entire year on the run, he was the only warm body around besides Harry, who was basically taken. It was the situation and the proximity that led to her feelings for him, nothing more.

Besides, he knew the truth. During the Horcrux hunt, he slowed Harry and Hermione down far more than he helped. The war was won because of her intellect and his bravery. Just because he was there doesn't mean he really contributed. As always, he was the imposter of the bunch, just along for the ride, grabbing at glory by association.

"Now I know you're lying to me."

For a moment, she sat staring at him before relinquishing her grip on him and standing up, stepping down to the edge of the lake. She stared out over the glassy surface, rippling gently with the light breeze. Something about it was deeply unsettling to Ron, prompting him to follow her down to the shore. When he finally caught a glimpse of her eyes, they were bloodshot and wet, tears threatening to break free and spill down her face.

"Ron," she started, her voice trembling. "I'm starting to think that you don't want this anymore. I hope I'm wrong, but I–I have to wonder."

Oh no. What have I done? I was just trying to…ugh, why do I have to ruin everything?

"No, Hermione, it's not that," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She shook it off with a huff, a sob breaking through as well. "Then what, Ron? What do I have to do to convince you that I want this? That I want you…"

"I want this too, Hermione. I just…we've never done anything like this before. I wish I could say it sounds simple and foolproof, but the more we talk about it, the more difficult it seems like it would be."

"But aren't some hard things worth doing? Aren't I worth doing hard things for, Ron?"

"Of course you are, but–"

"Even if they're mundane or frustrating and they never feel like enough?"

"Right, even then, which is why–"

"Isn't our relationship, one which I hoped would be fairly permanent, a good reason to put forth the effort?

"It is, if you'd just let me–"

"Then do it, Ron!" she yelled, rounding on him and closing the distance between them in a hurry before wrapping him in a tight hug. Her sobs echoed around the clearing, and her tears soaked into the fabric of his t-shirt, wetting the shoulder as she cried. "I th–thought…I thought we were past this! Things have been so much better since I g–got back from Australia; you've been yourself again! I don't understand what's happening, why you're suddenly saying these horrible things about yourself…about us!"

"I'm not saying anything that isn't true, Hermione. Why can't you see that?"

She released him, stepping backward and turning away from him, her cheeks wet with the tears that kept coming. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! It's like you can't trust me when I say that I'm happy with you, but I am! I've chosen you! Things make sense with you, they're easy with you."

Easy? Was that the only reason she was with him? Because it was easy?!

Something snapped, and it was as though all of the fog had lifted and his vision was suddenly crystal clear. She had never agreed to be his girlfriend because she respected him or loved him; it was just the simplest thing to do. Real boyfriends and relationships were too difficult, so why not just grab the dumb, lovestruck puppy who had a tendency to tag along after her? He was too stupid to figure out the ruse anyway, so might as well string him along for the rest of his life. That way, she'd always have someone to hold her bag and smile next to her while she conducted interviews with the Prophet or attended official Ministry functions.

And if that was all he meant to her…if that was the only reason he was there, then what was the point?

"So our relationship is only 'fairly permanent' because it's easy? Because it's the convenient thing to do?"

"Ron, what do you mean? I simply meant that everything feels…natural! Not that–"

"I know what you mean, Hermione. You've made it more than clear what you mean. And I'm sorry, but now I have to wonder if–if convenience is a good enough reason to carry on, especially when we're six hours apart."

"You don't mean that!" she cried, face screwed up in anguish.

"Don't I? I really wanted to make things work, Hermione…but not like this!"

"You did? Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Then make them work, Ron!" she begged, grabbing the front of his shirt tightly in her fists. "Stop complaining about how difficult it is to be with me and just…be with me!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't want me to!"

"You…You're missing the point entirely! You're twisting my words and…and it's like you're still wearing the Horcrux!"

"Maybe the Horcrux was the only thing that helped me see clearly."

Hermione's face gradually shifted from despair to anger, her eyes narrowing and her lips setting in a thin line. She released him and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest, giving a faint sniff, and wiping away the last of her tears. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this isn't you. Now, I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong idea about…something, but that's no excuse for the things you're saying to me, for treating me this way. For treating yourself this way, for that matter."

"Don't worry about me, Hermione. I'll be fine."

"You won't. But I hope Harry's willing to deal with it, because I'm certainly not. Not anymore."

"You're going to get back to school and forget all about me, just watch."

With a shake of her head, she scoffed, one more tear tumbling down her cheek. "I wish I could."

"Won't be as hard as you think. I reckon blokes'll be lining up. After all, you're a war hero now, too."

"Just…just leave me alone," she said, her voice almost a whisper. Her shoulders slumped as she collapsed to the ground, landing on her knees and burying her face in her hands. "Just go."

Finally, some honesty. She'd probably been waiting months to say that, and he didn't give her the chance to change her mind. Whipping out his wand, he spun on his heel, landing a few moments later in the front room of Grimmauld Place. The house hadn't changed at all since he'd left a couple hours prior, but it felt much darker than he remembered. Dust was floating in the air, and the cold, worn wood of the bannister passed under his fingertips as he climbed the stairs. All of the lights were off in the upstairs hallway, so even though it was a beautiful sunny day outside, the rest of the walk to his room was dim.

He twisted the knob and entered, closing the door silently behind him. A draft was creeping in through the old window frame, sending an odd chill through his body. Walking over to his desk, his eyes landed on the framed picture sitting next to his open textbook. It was Hermione, beaming at him before kissing his cheek and turning back to the camera. She looked radiant, and the longer he stared at the picture, the deeper the pain bored through his insides.

What did I just do?

His hand started to shake, and he grabbed onto the back of his desk chair to steady himself. Making his way to the bed proved difficult as his legs wouldn't move the way they normally did, locking up with every step he took. When he finally made it, he crashed down onto the mattress, his head hanging off of one side. He was still clutching the wooden frame; Hermione's eyes and the ghost of her smile followed him wherever he looked. The frame dropped out of his hands, landing face down, the glass shattering over his wooden floor.

Pulling himself all the way onto the bed, he reached down and grasped his legs, pulling them up to his chest. Images of the last few months began to play through his mind, taunting him over and over again with memories of the good times he'd shared with the woman he thought he cared about more than anyone in the world. The woman he'd just left behind. The woman he'd told he didn't want anymore.

The back of his throat constricted, and his eyes started to sting with tears. His head was pounding, almost as though his conscience was sitting in the back of his skull and flogging him with a hammer repeatedly for his foolish, impulsive, and ill-timed outburst. To make matters worse, he knew he deserved it. Something told him that he'd just made the worst decision of his life; that the world as he knew it had come to an end.

Chapter Text

"Hermione, pass me those earrings, would you?"

To herself, and making sure her friend couldn't see her, Hermione Granger groaned. In her mind, the sooner the next couple of hours were over, the better.

Ginny, on the other hand, was practically bouncing off the walls, thrilled at the prospect of the upcoming party. Typically, Slug Club events weren't the type of thing that anyone got too excited about. Lots of dull conversation and crusty old stories that were merely tolerated in the name of networking. At least the food was good.

The annual Christmas party, however, was a much bigger deal to Hermione's redheaded friend. Not only did it give Ginny an occasion to dress up and escape the mundane drudgery of daily life at Hogwarts, but celebrities and other VIPs were common visitors as well.

As a cherry on top, one particular celebrity had promised to come as Ginny's date for the event. Harry Potter himself, the Boy Who Lived. He was supposed to meet them at the party after having a quick meeting with Professor McGonagall, and Hermione couldn't recall seeing Ginny more eager. Hermione was happy he was coming as well; it had been months since they'd last caught up in Hogsmeade.

Still, while her friend was counting down the seconds, Hermione herself wished she could fast forward through the entire evening. It was hardly worth looking forward to.

"Which ones, the red?" she asked.

"Yeah, the dangly ruby ones. I think they'll look great with my hair up, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think that's a good match."

Truthfully, Hermione couldn't care less. Fancy outfits, makeup, and jewelry never held much importance for her, so when Ginny had asked her to go dress shopping the last time they'd visited the village, she'd declined, opting to wear the same dress she'd worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was the easy choice, and of all the places Hermione could choose to direct her energy, evening wear was low on the list.

"We only have a few minutes left, you know. Are you planning on doing anything with your hair?" Ginny asked, frantically straightening her own.

"No," Hermione replied with a straight face. "Do I need to?"

"Of course not! I've just…I've seen you wear it differently for big events before. I promise I didn't mean anything by it; you look great!"

"Thank you. To be honest, part of me just wants this night to be over with."

"Ahh. I understand," her friend replied, briefly turning away from her with embarrassment. Hermione was sure that Ginny recalled the events of the last time she'd attended the Slug Club Christmas party. "But…still, it's a different year, and it's a different party. Much different."

A memory shot to the front of Hermione's mind, one that she wished she could get rid of permanently. It was Cormac McLaggen and his disgusting lips approaching her as she stood under the mistletoe in Slughorn's office exactly two years prior. One of the worst nights of her life, without a doubt.

"I guess so."

"Well, Terry Boot may not be dashingly handsome, but he's a nice enough date, I'd say. Way nicer than that tosser Cormac."

"Everyone short of Voldemort himself was nicer than Cormac," Hermione reminded her friend, prompting an amused snort.

"When did he ask you?" Ginny asked as she dropped her hairbrush onto the dresser and turned her attention to her dress.

"Not long ago, actually. Couple of days, maybe."

"Cutting it close, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose. But honestly, I didn't think I was going to go at all, or maybe just for a moment or two. Not exactly my idea of a fabulous evening…"

"Did you say yes right away?"

Hermione shrugged with nonchalance. "I did. Nobody else asked, so why not? As you said, he's nice enough, and he seemed very excited. It'll be fine."

"Sure, he's nice enough," Ginny agreed, clearly hesitating. "But he's not–"

"No." A warning flashes across Hermione's face. "Ginny, no."

"Hermione, come on. I'm still not sure why you didn't just ask–"

"Let's…not do that, shall we?" A blush crept onto Hermione's face against her will, and she turned away from her friend, ostensibly adjusting the straps of her dress shoes.

"Fine, fine. I bet he would've said yes, though."

When Ginny's voice became cryptic like that, there was never any doubt to whom she was referring. Only one person could ever be the subject of such speculation, and not just because he happened to be her older brother.

In Hermione's mind, there was no way of knowing what Ron would've said if she'd asked him to come with her. The point was, there was no way that was ever going to happen, either. He'd seen to that when he broke things off with her the day before she left for Hogwarts, leaving her confused and devastated. The start of the school year had been immeasurably hard, and while she'd caught up quickly from an academic perspective, the social aspect of school never quite stacked up to the old days. How could it? Ginny was a wonderful friend, but her best friends weren't there to share it with her; one excelling in Auror training, and the other…well, who knew?

The more she thought about him, the more her bittersweet memories began flooding back…

Hermione wasn't sure she couldn't hold all of her feelings in any longer. As soon as she walked through the back door of her parent's house, they threatened to come pouring out of her.

Just make it to my room, just make it to my room.

"Back so soon, dear?" Mrs Granger called as Hermione hurried past the kitchen.

"Yes, just tired," she managed to squeak out. "Going to take a nap."

Fortunately, her father was still at work, meaning as long as her mother bought her excuse, she was likely home free. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her and collapsing onto her mattress before releasing a guttural sob into her pillow. The noise may have been muffled to the outside world, but she heard every painful note of it inside her head.

How could he say those things? How could he take everything they had and everything they'd built over seven years and simply throw it out the window without a care in the world? Hermione had accepted the fact that a long-distance relationship with someone like Ron Weasley would be difficult–the dangers and pitfalls were fairly clear to her. Considering they'd rarely spent time apart in the last few years, starting a new relationship with nothing but notes flying back and forth attached to owls was definitely suboptimal. And if history was any guide, Ron's letters weren't guaranteed to be particularly frequent or comforting. Add to that the stress they'd both be feeling about their respective classwork, the need to make new friends in their new environments, and worries about the future and she'd be crazy not to fret.

Still, she never thought he would give up without even trying. She thought she actually meant something to him. She thought they would be together forever!

How naive.

All of her books and classes and professors and exams had failed to prepare her for anything like the emotions she was dealing with. Anger, despair, disappointment, longing, rage, and yes, even love all swirled through her at once, and the tempest showed no signs of slowing down. How was she supposed to get over such a monumental loss in her life? Especially for it to happen right before going back to school!

Minutes passed, she thought. It might have been hours for all she knew. Time became irrelevant; what did it matter, after all, when life as she knew it had ended anyway?

When she finally pulled her head out of her pillow and looked around her room, it was dusk, the evening light shining in her west-facing window. Smells from the kitchen below began to waft up to her room. Her mother was making cottage pie from scratch, one of Hermione's favorite foods. The problem was, Hermione had next to no appetite and didn't think she could stomach one bite. It wasn't fair to her parents that she spend her last night with them in such a foul mood, but what could she be expected to do about it? Ron Weasley had ripped out her heart, thrown it into the pond outside his house, and let it sink to the bottom.

After all that, what use did she have for cottage pie?

Flash.

"So that's it?" Ginny asked the following day as they zipped through the British countryside aboard the Hogwarts Express. "It's…over?"

Hermione opened her mouth, pausing for a second and searching for the words to adequately wrap up the most confusing twenty-four hours of her life. "I suppose?"

"No more explanation than that?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I didn't really take the time to ask."

"Right. Sorry. I just…I can't believe it."

"That makes two of us."

While most of the previous night had been spent crying into her pillow, Hermione managed to get up and moving in time to be on Platform 9 by eleven o'clock in the morning. The train had been rolling for about an hour, and Ginny and Luna were doing their best to help her make sense of her bewildering situation.

"And you're sure it wasn't a kind of 'we'll see how it goes' type thing?"

"I specifically told him I'd be fine with that, and he still said no."

"You're sure it was Ron? Maybe it was someone impersonating him with Polyjuice. Or maybe he was under the Imperius curse."

Sadly, Hermione shook her head. "No, it was him. I'm sure of it."

"He could just be nervous," Luna chimed in, finally shifting her gaze away from the passing landscape. Hermione hadn't even been sure she was listening. "Intimidating figures can dampen all emotions good and bad, and in a certain light, you're as intimidating as they come."

Oddly insightful lines were almost expected from Luna on occasion, and Ginny and Hermione both stared back at their friend in amazement.

"Alternatively," the Ravenclaw continued, "he might just be infested with Wrackspurts. Once they get into your amygdala, all bets are off the table."

The three of them chuckled, although Hermione was barely holding back tears at the same time. Laughing seemed so foreign as heartache weighed heavy on her, but it wouldn't do to pout the whole way to Scotland. Nobody wanted to share a compartment with the weepy, depressed girl, and Hermione didn't have enough friends left that she could jeopardize the relationships she had with the remaining few.

"Just do me a favor?" Ginny asked, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's arm.

"What's that?"

"Never say never, okay? Keep…you know, an open mind or whatever."

Hermione sighed, tracing her finger along the chrome lining of the train window as she stared out at the scenery. "I will. Well, I don't know, I'll try to. I–I can't imagine my life without him, but I also…never want to see him again. Does that make sense?"

"Of course! I felt the same way when Harry got on his high, chivalrous horse last year and broke up with me before going out on the Horcrux hunt with you and Ron. It's completely natural."

"That's good, at least. I suppose…"

"And that's why I feel confident in telling you not to give up. Look at me and Harry now. Things will work out in the end, I reckon."

"Wish I shared your confidence," Hermione murmured.

"We're there for you," Ginny said in a reassuring tone, throwing an arm around her friend's shoulder. "You know we've got your back one way or another."

"I know you do. Thank you both."

Luna nodded with a smile, and Ginny patted her on the back before adding, "Of course! Now, if you'd like to move on to the bashing him part, I'm more than happy to help."

Flash.

School had been underway for six weeks. Classes were even easier than Hermione had anticipated, and despite a lingering sense of dread about NEWTs at the end of the year, academics were the least of her problems. Head Girl duties were stressful; it suddenly seemed as though rule-breaking was occurring everywhere she looked, and she had already grown tired of calling it out. Finding study space was more difficult as the library was one of the few areas of the castle that was still significantly damaged after the battle, so Hermione found herself holed up in random classrooms most nights instead just to have a quiet location to read and concentrate. And if all that wasn't enough, many of the younger students had taken to following her around, eager to bask in the glow of her celebrity, occasionally even bucking up the courage to ask for autographs. How ridiculous. Who on earth would want her autograph? Why would her scrawling her name on a piece of parchment make their lives any better?

But of all of the challenges the year presented, the hardest one by far was completing it without the people she had grown to depend on the most. Harry kept in touch, sending owls at least once a week with updates from the Ministry and his Auror training, and Hermione always appreciated seeing his new owl approach during lunchtime.

Ron, on the other hand, had gone completely silent. Once in a while, Harry would mention him in his letters, likely just to make sure Hermione knew he was alright. But in terms of direct communication? Apparently, that was a bridge too far.

Which was not to say Hermione hadn't considered writing to him first. Dozens of thoughts streamed through her mind every time she sat down and put quill to parchment, but nothing ever came out quite right. Most were too hostile, a few were too forgiving, and one or two made her seem downright pathetic. They all ended up crumpled in the bottom of the nearest bin long before she had a chance to sign her name at the bottom.

Regardless of her conscious opinions, he was almost always the first person she thought about every morning and the last one that ran through her mind as she fell asleep. Some nights she hated herself for allowing him to occupy so much valuable real estate in her brain, but usually she gave herself the grace to understand how important he actually was to her. She missed him, there was no doubt. She missed the way he held he when they spent time together at the Burrow, the way one side of his mouth curled up for than the other when he was proud of himself, the way his eyebrows raised right before he became indignant about something completely insignificant, the way his cheeks puffed out when they were full of his favorite food, the way he tasted like chocolate whenever he kissed her, and the way her head fit right under his chin when he hugged her.

Not that it mattered.

So it was a shock to her when a tiny scops owl flew into the Great Hall during dinner one evening, flapping its wings furiously trying to remain aloft while carrying a letter. It was Pig, Ron's owl, and it landed with a crash right next to Hermione, knocking over her pumpkin juice and upending a bowl of mashed potatoes. Shaking the food off of his feathers, he held out his leg, and Hermione untied a long roll of parchment before giving him a quick pet. The bird flew off, making a mess of the pudding and prompting groans from Hermione's fellow Gryffindors.

Unfurling the parchment, she immediately recognized Ron's handwriting and jumped up from the table. Her heart started racing, and a tightness gripped her chest. A letter was the last thing she expected, and regardless of what it said, she was sure she didn't want to read it in public. It took a moment for the initial shock to wear off, but once it did, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time en route to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady quickly admitted her after she recited the password, and after she climbed through the portrait hole to whispers from a group of second year students, she dashed up the stairs to the seventh year dormitory. Her hands were shaking as she sat down on her bed, staring at the slightly battered roll.

For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to open it. As long as things continued in their ambiguous state, she could still hold out hope. Once she read the letter, however, everything might become so…finite. Even though she was still furious with him for the way he'd acted at the end of the summer, she still knew how important he was and how much she cared about him. She wasn't sure she liked what it said about her, but despite everything that had happened, she still wanted him back in her life. What if the message revealed that he wanted to end things permanently? How was she supposed to just…go back to class the next day?

Taking a deep breath, she forced her hands to move before she could talk herself out of it.

Dear Hermione,

It's funny, I've tried writing this letter a bunch of times and I can never figure out how to start it. Especially when I'm probably the last person you're expecting to hear from. I'm still not sure it'll come out exactly right, but the more I try, the more I fail, so I think I might as well just jump right in, yeah?

I messed up. By the end of the summer, I was really nervous and not thinking straight, and I hurt you in ways that I never thought I was capable of. Hurt both of us, really. I think I was still really sad about Fred and worried about the future and stuff, but I'm not trying to make excuses. What matters is that I acted like a raving lunatic, and I hope you can forgive me someday.

If you can't, though, that's okay. Honestly, I never deserved you in the first place, so what right do I have to be depressed about it now?

Still, even with Harry around, it's weird without you. You go from spending every day with a person to never seeing them and you're bound to feel different. Like we're incomplete. Like I'M incomplete. Not that that's your problem, of course. Sorry.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take back the things I said and the way I behaved, but I can't. I'll understand if you don't want to, but if you respond, I'll write you back, I promise. Even if it's just about practicing shield charms and eating mincemeat pies.

Hope you're having a good year at Hogwarts. I know your marks are excellent, but I hope it's fun too. You deserve to have a great seventh year.

Ron

After rereading the letter four times, she dropped it onto her bedspread, allowing it to curl back up into a roll. There were so many warring emotions flowing through her body, she couldn't even keep them straight. He'd apologized for the way he acted, which was what she'd hoped to hear for the last several weeks. He'd wished her a good year, which was all she'd wanted when she left in the first place. And he'd said he'd keep writing if she wanted to.

But was that what she wanted? So many of his ugliest character flaws were laid bare in the letter as well. His insecurity, his tendency to blame himself for everything, his insistence that he didn't deserve love. It was exasperating, and there were only so many times Hermione was willing to talk him off of various ledges before she tapped out herself.

It didn't take long for the stinging to start up behind her eyes. More than anything, she was so relieved to hear from him at all. Harry's updates had been one thing, but seeing his handwriting, reading the letter with his voice in her head…it made a big difference. Maybe the situation wasn't hopeless after all.

Still, one letter didn't exactly outweigh all of the pain he'd caused over the last couple of months. One letter didn't suddenly excuse all the sleepless nights, the silent sobs, and the general misery he'd put her through.

His proposal piqued her interest, naturally. If she wrote back to him, he'd reciprocate. It was a tempting offer, and one the rational part of her brain thought she should take him up on. Either way, a small weight had lifted from her body just knowing the lines of communication were back open. But in the end, her heart overruled her head, and instead of reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment, she tucked the letter into the bottom of her trunk and crawled up into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

All of her feelings came pouring out of her as his face flashed before her eyes, his ginger fringe flopping over his forehead and his lopsided smile staring back at her. It was just too much, too much to think about, too much to deal with. She could only hope that something would come along and provide answers or offer a solution to the problem that was Ron Weasley. Before she could stop herself, she started crying into her pillow. The poor feather-stuffed sack had seen plenty of tears since the start of classes, after all; why should that night be any different?

"Anyway, are you almost ready?" Ginny asked, slipping into her sparkling high-heeled pumps and adjusting her lipstick one last time in the mirror.

Hermione nodded, tossing her frizzy hair over her shoulder. "Yes, all set."

"Okay, just give me one…more…second."

One second turned into two, which turned into a few minutes before Ginny declared herself ready. Touching up her makeup one last time, she stepped away from the mirror and did a quick twirl. "How do I look?"

"You look perfect, Gin. Harry might literally pass out when he sees you."

"Oh, stop it. Now you're just being dramatic," Ginny responded, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

The girls laughed, and Hermione grabbed the clutch she was planning to bring with her. She didn't need an Undetectable Extension Charm for the bag; there wasn't much to carry, after all. With any luck, she'd use the lipstick to freshen up once or twice and be home in an hour or two anyway.

Her face must have given away her lack of enthusiasm, and Ginny reached out and took her arm, pulling Hermione around to face her.

"Hey. Just do me a favor, okay? Try to have some fun?"

Hermione sighed and glanced around the room, eyes lingering on her suddenly inviting bed. "I know. I will."

"Hermione, you're doing better in school than you've probably ever done before, you're handling Head Girl responsibilities with ease, and you still have time to continue your efforts with S.P.E.W. You're absolutely on fire this year. You deserve a night out more than anyone."

"I don't know if that's true, but–"

"It's true. I know I can't force you to enjoy yourself, but just…try, okay?"

With one last deep breath, she nodded. "I'll try."

"Good. Now come on, let's see if Terry's here yet!"

The pair of them walked down the spiral staircase together, coming out in a common room full of sharply dressed students. Professor Slughorn's party was the event of the season, and there was a palpable buzz among the lucky few who were invited to come. A few stragglers watched on from the sides of the room in normal attire, looking irritated and put out. While many of them probably wished they were in her shoes, Hermione would gladly trade with any of them if it meant a night of reading instead of forced socialization.

Ginny tucked herself through the portrait hole and popped out the other side, and as soon as Hermione followed her, Terry Boot was standing with his arms tucked formally behind his back, smiling at her.

"You look beautiful," he said, holding his hand over his heart and pretending to fall backward.

She shot him a small smile and tucked her head, trying to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. "Thank you. You look quite nice yourself."

Holding out his arm, Hermione had no choice but to take it, laying her palm on his forearm and starting down the stairs. It was wrong, all wrong. He smelled wrong, he looked wrong, he walked wrong, he smiled wrong, and he was being almost too gentlemanly. For a second time, none of her Slug Club Christmas party experience was turning out the way it should have. Because it should have been with–

No. Not him. Not now.

"I have to say," Terry offered, snapping her out of her thoughts, "I was positively elated when you said you'd come with me."

"Oh. Well, it was very kind of you to ask."

"Slughorn's parties aren't always the most rousing affairs, but at least with you at my side, I'm assured of some stimulating and intellectual conversation."

"I'll, erm, do my best," she replied, trying to muster enough energy to be convincing.

"You know, I've always been so impressed with you. Your academic performance speaks for itself, but your poise, the way you carry yourself…it's truly incredible. You'd have done well in Ravenclaw, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you. Maybe so…"

"Oh, definitely. Top of the class no matter what house you landed in, I suspect."

An awkward pause carried forward, Hermione having no idea what to say. Who came right out and started praising people like that? She could easily get excited about praise from professors, but it was incredibly odd for another peer to be telling her how smart she was. Especially someone she barely knew.

"Hermione's great to talk to," Ginny piped in after clearing her throat, sensing her friend struggling already. "She especially likes talking about elfish welfare, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, but Terry shook his head. "Hmm. Can't say I'm that familiar with the subject. I did just read a fascinating excerpt from Hogwarts: A History about secret passageways within the castle, however. I wonder if anyone's ever found them? Someone must've, don't you think?"

Sharing a quick look with Ginny, Hermione shrugged. "Hard to say. It is interesting, though."

The rest of the walk to Professor Slughorn's office was more of the same. Terry came up with a few other intelligent topics of conversation that under different circumstances, Hermione would've gladly entertained. Instead, she found herself murmuring agreement with his viewpoint, barely even listening most of the time as they made their way up and down through the castle maze toward the party.

Just as Terry was discussing the role of the Ministry in the Goblin Rebellions, they turned the final corner and Ginny caught sight of Harry, waiting patiently at the end of the corridor. He was looking dapper in his dress robes, hair slicked back except for the one part in the back that never behaved. For the first time that evening, Hermione broke into a genuine smile. Ginny wasted no time, sprinting down the hallway as fast as her heels would allow.

By the time Hermione and Terry caught up, Ginny and Harry were already several snogs deep and showing no sign of stopping. Eventually, though, they broke apart, both breathing hard as Harry's attention turned to Hermione.

"Great to see you, Hermione," he said, wrapping her in a hug.

"You too, Harry! How've you been?"

"Doing well, yeah. Hey, one quick thing I feel like I should mention. Didn't know until the last minute, but–"

"Oi, Harry, you try these sausage rolls?"

Hermione froze.

Her heart skipped a beat, and an icy chill crawled down her spine. The voice was unmistakable. She would have recognized it anywhere; it was the only voice capable of making her feel every emotion in the spectrum.

She glimpsed his hair first, bright ginger as always and still drooping into his face despite his attempt at styling it. One freckled cheek peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of his narrow face, his mouth clearly full. It took a moment for his eyes to work their way around the corridor until they finally landed on her.

A faint, primal urge called out to Hermione from the back of her mind, urging her to throw caution to the wind and just kiss him. Another part of her wanted to rear back and smack him in the face. Rising above both of those sentiments, however, was an even louder warning, preparing her fight or flight response and attempting to guard her against incoming pain.

All the while, neither of them moved, gazes locked on each other like they'd each seen a ghost. Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry that nothing happened. Ron barely moved, and surprisingly, he even stopped chewing.

Harry gulped before finishing his thought. "–But just so you know…Ron's here."

Chapter Text

Inside the party, people were rubbing elbows with celebrities, snacking on hand-passed appetizers, and drinking from automatically refilling flutes of champagne and butterbeer. Celestina Warbeck's gentle crooning set a mellow mood, and regular peals of laughter and overexaggerated stories pierced the air. Despite the normally drab academic setting, the room had received innumerable flourishes, looking positively elegant with shimmering candles, luxurious draperies, and decorative art everywhere. It was the epitome of class, and students, professors, and guests alike were taking advantage of the opportunity to mingle.

Just outside the party, however, the air was thick with tension, and an uncomfortable silence enveloped the doorway. Nobody knew what might happen as Ron continued to stare at the girl he hadn't stopped thinking about for a day since they'd parted. His palms started sweating, and his face felt like it was on fire. There was both nothing to say and everything to say, and his brain turned instantly to mush, rendering him temporarily mute. It wasn't lost on him that she'd never written back after he'd sent her a letter a couple months prior, which if anything made things easier. At least that way he didn't have to confront the truth.

However, the truth was suddenly standing right in front of him, entirely unavoidable, and wearing the same dress she'd worn the last time they'd danced together. And just like a year prior, she looked gorgeous. Why did she always have to look so gorgeous?

"Hello, Ron," Terry said, mercifully breaking through the quiet. "All's well, I trust? I hear you're in Auror training; must be fascinating."

It took longer than it should have for Ron to break the connection with Hermione before turning to Terry and reaching for his outstretched hand. "Oh, yeah, hey mate. Yeah, it's fine. H–How are you? How's school?"

"School's been lovely, a far better sight than last year. Can't keep up with this one, but who can, really?" Terry said, tilting his head toward Hermione and shooting Ron the kind of smile that made him want to punch the boy in the face.

Instead, though, he chuckled. "Yeah, course."

Again, the five of them stood around quietly, stepping aside to let another couple into the party. It was clear that something needed to happen but equally clear that none of them knew what that thing was that would diffuse the tension.

"Erm," Ginny started, fidgeting with her sequined bag, "what are you doing here?"

Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Gin."

"No, I–sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just…didn't know you were coming."

"Oh," he responded with a shrug. "Yeah, Slughorn invited me a couple weeks ago. Guess I'm famous enough now or something like that."

"I see." Ginny turned to Harry and continued, her tone laced with quiet fury. "And you didn't…mention anything?"

Harry's eyes widened as though he'd been struck with an epiphany. "I, uhh, didn't think it was…"

"...What, exactly?"

"Erm, important."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I see."

Ron was starting to wonder if it might be best for him to leave. For her part, Hermione was staring at the floor, shuffling her feet, and clearly wishing she had her wand with her so she could simply apparate away. Four out of the five people in the area were mortified, each realizing the clumsiness of the situation.

The fifth, however, did his best to keep the conversation flowing, completely oblivious to the hushed drama playing out around him. "Good to see you too, Harry!" Terry offered. "You know, I still keep my old D.A. coin in my trunk just in case."

"Oh," Harry said with a snicker. "That's great, Terry."

"Although I suspect we're rather in the clear now, aren't we?"

"Well, that's the hope."

"Good times, those were," Terry said. "You were quite the teacher."

"Thanks. Glad–Glad it was helpful."

"Still have your coin, Ginny?"

The redheaded girl furrowed her brow. "Erm, I think so. Maybe back at home?"

"Very cool."

Merlin's Beard, will this ever end?

A loud roar went up from inside the party, and the five of them looked inside briefly before turning back to each other, everyone nodding their heads with no purpose. The half-eaten sausage roll was dripping grease onto the floor next to Ron's foot, splashing up onto his shoes. Still, he didn't move, unsure what he could possibly do to make things easier for Hermione.

The end of the summer had probably been the lowest time in his entire life. Training started out abysmally; he quickly found he could barely focus on the lessons. Everyone expected him and Harry to come in and immediately be top of the class based on their experiences, and while Harry mostly proved them right, it quickly became evident that Ron wasn't keeping up. Whenever he tried to study, he ended up rereading the same passage in the book or letting his mind wander. And it usually wandered to thoughts of Hermione.

All of the feelings he'd been experiencing around the time she left were toxic; he knew that now. Insecurities that had plagued him his entire life had reared their ugly head at the exact wrong time, sapping him of his courage and resolve when he needed it most. And the temporary fixation on his inability to understand the Muggle aspects of her life seemed so insignificant in retrospect. If he needed to know something in the future, she'd tell him. If he didn't, then did it really matter if he had that knowledge gap? Everything had gotten so much clearer once she'd returned to school, but it was too late to act on it as always.

Besides, recognizing the absurdity of his positions and being able to adequately explain them to Hermione were two completely separate things. She probably had no desire to hear from him ever again. For weeks, he wallowed in his room, pretending to read and trying to keep up with the training material all while actually laying in bed and thinking most of the time.

One thing was certain–he wasn't over her. It was juvenile for him to think that just because she did better than him in school or had better job prospects or came from a wealthier family meant that she could never love him. If he hadn't been so blinded by his own self-doubt, he probably would've realized just how much she cared for him in spite of all of those things. He'd ruined a potentially life-changing relationship by acting like a child, and what was worse, despite his attempts, he didn't seem any closer to repairing that relationship.

It wasn't until early October that he decided to try to write her a letter, offering an olive branch of sorts. Draft after draft wound up in the bin, insufficient to capture the sentiment he was trying to express. Nothing would be wholly adequate to explain himself, but he knew it was up to him to at least start the conversation. The letter he finally settled on wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do.

Not that it seemed to help. He knew Pig had delivered the letter as soon as he returned; he was squawking eagerly and looking for attention as thanks for a job well done. But that was the end of it. Nothing else came of the letter. If it had caused any change in emotion or intent on Hermione's part, she'd kept it to herself.

For the first time in months, however, she was in the same room as him, and all he wanted to do was try to clear the air. A tall task, no doubt, but when was the next time he'd have the opportunity?

Of course, at that moment, he glimpsed her giving her head a quick shake, the way she did when she was forcing herself to get out of her own mind and come back to reality.

"Terry, shall we get a drink?" she asked, wrapping her hands tightly around his arm.

Ron's eye twitched involuntarily, and his stomach felt like it was being run through by an Erumpent horn. Seeing her hanging off of another bloke made him feel like throwing up.

"Oh, of course! Where are my manners? Can we get anything for anyone else?"

"No, thanks," Ginny said, the only one to offer any response.

The pair of them headed into the party and left Harry and Ginny alone with Ron, both of them watching him closely, likely watching to make sure he wasn't about to explode.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ginny turned to Harry and smacked him on the shoulder "Harry! You didn't think to mention that Ron was coming?!"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, shielding himself the best he could. "You didn't tell me that Hermione was coming, either!"

"Of course she was coming!"

"Why of course?"

"What do you mean, why? She's been in the Slug Club since Professor Slughorn arrived!"

"Yeah, but I didn't know if she'd still–" He clammed up as his gaze flitted over toward Ron, not wanting to cause his best friend any further discomfort.

"It's fine," Ron said, trying to shut down any further arguing. "Probably should've assumed anyway. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Ron," Ginny reassured him. "It just…is."

"Yeah, but I should've…ugh, I don't know. I shouldn't have come. This is her space, and I don't–"

"No! Stop it! It's not her space. Just like Grimmauld Place or the Burrow isn't your space. We all need to coexist, do you understand me?"

"Ginny," Ron started, deflating with a deep exhale and trying to keep the pain out of his expression. "What do you want me to say? I'll try, but…I mean, you saw what just happened, didn't you?"

Ginny sighed and dropped her hand onto her popped hip. "Yes, I saw."

"So you have to know what I'm talking about. It's not going to be easy for us to be in the same room at the moment."

"I know, Ron. But you two have been friends for years. Do you honestly think you're done with each other?"

"I don't know," he answered with a shake of his head. "I really don't. But I do know it won't help to rush it."

"I see." Ginny suddenly looked worried, sharing a tense look with Harry. "Then…perhaps now's not the best time to tell you that she's coming to the house for part of Christmas."

Ron's body locked in place, and he was unable to move. She was coming to his family's house? For Christmas? In less than a day? How could Ginny just be informing him of something so significant? Didn't she realize how awkward that was going to be?

"Gin, come on. You have to realize–"

"I'm sorry, okay!" Ginny responded in an exasperated tone. "Her parents were going to be out of town for a bit and she really wanted to be among friends, so I just thought…it didn't seem like that big a deal."

"Not for you, maybe. Might have ruined my Christmas, but who cares as long as Ginny has a friend over, right?"

"Ron, come on," Harry chimed in. "You didn't expect Hermione to just stay out of your life forever, did you? She's been our best friend for years. I, for one, am thrilled to be able to spend the holidays with her. I see so little of her as it is. I know it's not ideal, but it's Christmas. It's a time to be with the people you care about. I know you still care about her, and I'm sure she still cares about you too, even if things are a little…frosty."

Folding his arms across his chest, Ron's eyes darted around the corridor. He was stuck. There was nothing he could say or do that would change anything. He supposed he could simply stay at Grimmauld when she was over, but his mother was liable to kill him if he missed Christmas with the family, so that probably wouldn't work.

"Okay?" Ginny asked. "Does that sound alright?"

Ron threw his hands up in the air, dropping them with a loud clap against his thighs. "I suppose it'll have to be, won't it?"

"It'll be fine. We'll be there too." Harry said, trying to help Ron process things. "We'll be a buffer if you need one."

"Kinda like you just did with Terry fucking Boot back there?"

"Erm, yeah, sorry. I never know what to say to him. But I promise, we'll do better, okay?"

Ron sighed, throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah. Okay, fine."

"Good. Now come on, let's go see who's here."

The party was exactly what Ron had expected–stuffy, self-important, and insufferable. Professor Slughorn had learned his name, at least, but as soon as he roped Ron and Harry into conversation with some undersecretary or another from the Ministry, he wished the professor had remained ignorant of his existence. It seemed especially slimy to Ron that Slughorn would go out of his way to be nice to him now that he was famous. Was he not worth any attention before, back when he was just Ron Weasley the student?

Fortunately, some of his old mates from school were there as well. Neville had returned for a seventh year and had come to the party with Luna, and reliving memories from the old days was a highlight of his evening. There were several younger kids at the party who kept looking at him and giggling, which only forced him to retreat further into conversation with the people he knew well. A few of his old professors had nice things to say, although again, Ron wondered why they hadn't said them before he'd left school.

Overall, it wasn't a magical evening in any way, and no matter what he was doing or who he was talking with, his eyes kept finding their way back to Hermione. She seemed to be at ease talking with teachers, students, Ministry higher-ups, and everyone in between. Terry stayed by her side for part of the time, and Ron nearly choked on his butterbeer when he caught a glimpse of the boy's hand on her waist. It didn't last long as Hermione moved away to talk with someone else, but it was enough to make his blood boil. Terry Boot. What a stupid bloody name.

The party was nearing its end when he saw Hermione duck out of the main room and out onto the balcony. His heart started hammering in his chest as he considered his options. On the one hand, it might be his only opportunity to talk with her alone, and if they were going to be spending part of the holiday together, he figured it would be a good idea to at least try to clear the air and see what she thought about them as…whatever they were. On the other hand, though, seeing his face already caused her to leave the room as fast as possible once; what's to say it wouldn't happen again? Or worse, what if she was so mad she decided to hex him? He was doing well enough in Auror training that he was pretty sure he could repel her attacks, but Hermione was a strong witch, and anything was possible.

Downing a flute of champagne, he took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

No time like the present, right? I have to start somewhere.

A chilly breeze gusted through his hair as soon as he stepped outside. The balcony was small, only able to comfortably fit a few people, but the view was worth it. Just beyond the stone balustrade, the ground stretched out all the way to the Forbidden Forest and beyond. The lake was shimmering, the moonlight reflecting off of its gentle waves. And up above, hundreds of stars dotted the sky, more visible than anywhere Ron had ever been in his life.

But the most beautiful sight he saw was the woman in front of him, her arms resting against the weathered limestone as she leaned over the edge. Her dress, the same one that had driven him wild at Bill and Fleur's wedding, looked perfect on her, and he could still remember how the impossibly soft material felt under his fingertips.

With one last burst of courage, he stepped forward, leaning over the railing next to her, his arm only centimeters away from hers. She had to notice him, but she didn't say anything at first, eyes still fixed on the horizon as far as Ron could tell.

"Weird being back here," he finally said, unable to tolerate any more silence.

If Hermione heard him, though, she didn't say anything. She also didn't storm off, though, so it wasn't all bad news.

"Seeing the professors and friends. Seeing the castle again for the first time since it ended. …Seeing you…"

As soon as he mentioned her, however, she pushed back from the edge and started making her way back into the party. Before he could stop himself, and barely realizing the danger of what he was about to do, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hermione?"

"What?" she spat, spinning around toward him and pulling out of his grip.

"Can we just…talk?"

"Ron…"

"Please. Just for a minute."

"I'm being rude to my date."

His wince must've been noticeable, because she took the smallest of steps back toward him, a quick look of regret immediately plastered back over by her stony facade.

"Right, yeah. Look, I promise I won't keep you long. Then you can get back to…"

She groaned, retreating back to the edge of the balcony and taking up her previous position again, still not making eye contact with him.

With a bit more space between them than when he'd first come outside, he tried again. "Ginny said you're coming by for Christmas."

"I am."

"That's great. Erm, I guess I'll see you there, then."

"I'd assumed so."

Her tone was so angry, so clipped. Was she really that cross with him still? Was she going to be cold and distant for the rest of his life? Maybe he deserved it, but at least he was trying.

"So, I just thought…well, I wondered if maybe we should talk beforehand."

"We are talking."

"About us."

Another gust of wind blew across the balcony, and Hermione shivered. Ron thought about offering her the outer layer of his dress robes, but he couldn't be sure how she would take the gesture. They were finally talking, and he didn't want to disrupt that.

Hermione let her head drop back as she stared up at the sky, bringing it back down and still glaring straight ahead. "What about us?"

"Did you…did you get my letter?"

"I got it."

"Oh. Good." So she had received it. She just hadn't found him worthy of a response. It looked like getting through to her might be more difficult than he thought. "And…and what did you think?"

Ron tried to keep his eyes focused ahead of him, but when he peeked over toward Hermione, his heart broke. Even in the dark, he could tell that her eyes were bloodshot and tears were pooling in the corners. Her lower lip was trembling, and when she finally replied, her voice cracked with emotion. "What do you want me to say, Ron?"

"I dunno, really. I suppose I'm wondering how it made you feel."

"It made me feel…confused, honestly."

"Confused?"

"Yes. Confused."

"O–Okay. Well, maybe I can help clear things up."

She shook her head. "I don't know if it works that way."

Something had to give. Hermione didn't seem likely to divulge any information, which left it up to him. He'd been the one to seek her out, hadn't he? He'd sent her the letter in the first place. If he could ever hope to have a chance with her again, he had to take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. It was now or never.

"Well," he started slowly, making sure she heard every word. "I sent that letter because I really needed you to know how sorry I was for acting the way I did. Toward the end of the summer, something was off, Hermione. Way off. I don't know what was happening, but that wasn't me. I wasn't thinking clearly. I've had a lot of time to think about things since then, and I realize how stupid I was to let things bother me so much that I lost…something really important.

"I know I don't really deserve another chance, and I'm not asking for us to go back to…anything like it was before, but I–I don't know, I just…I really miss talking to you."

A tear trickled down her cheek as she lowered her head toward the ground, staring at her shoes. She still didn't respond, but maybe that was okay. He was the one that needed to get things off his chest, and he had. The ball was in her court, and there wasn't anything else he could do to get her to open up. It was probably best to just leave it at that.

"Anyway," he continued. "I'm sorry if my being here ruined your evening. I'll probably leave soon if I can manage to tear Harry away from whoever's congratulating him. I'll, erm, I'll see you soon, Hermione."

After waiting a moment in vain to see if she would respond, he pushed away from the bannister and started walking back toward the party. Hopefully, he could find Harry and the pair of them could get out of there as soon as possible. He'd had more than enough for one night, and the only thing that had any chance of making him feel better was his bed.

"Ron, wait."

Her voice was soft and shaky, and when he turned around, she was facing him for the first time since they'd first laid eyes on each other at the entrance to the party. She looked so small standing alone, and he wanted to rush over and wrap his arms around her. But that wasn't his right, so he pushed down the urge.

"Thank you," she said, taking a step closer to him. "...For saying that. Again."

He nodded. "Of course. 'S true, innit?"

"Do you…" She paused and tried to compose herself before moving on, sniffling and wiping away her tears. "Do you know how many times I thought about writing you back?"

"I'd have been happy with just one."

"Dozens. Hundreds, probably. I wanted to, honestly. But then I thought to myself…what would it have accomplished? I'm still here, and you're still not. And that seemed to be a problem for you."

"I know," he said, mirroring her and closing the distance between them. "But like I said, I was confused. Worried that it would be too hard to be in different places. Turned out it was much harder without you."

"It hasn't been a cakewalk here either, Ron," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hogwarts was our home for six years, but that doesn't mean that all the memories are good. Terrible things happened here as well, and reliving them on a daily basis has been…really difficult."

"I can imagine."

"I mean, every time I walk out the front door, I get a vision of Hagrid carrying Harry's limp body back from the forest. Every time I walk down the stairs, I can picture the Death Eaters' curses flying left and right. I eat my meals less than five meters away from where Lupin and Tonks were laid after they…"

She couldn't continue, breaking down and crying, her knees buckling just before she fell forward into his chest. His arms shot up and caught her, and he held her tightly against him as she regained her footing. It was wonderful to hug her again, to be reminded of all the contours of her body, the smell of her hair, and the way her head tucked under his chin perfectly. The sensation was blunted, of course, due to the delicacy of their situation, but it was encouraging that she didn't immediately shrink away from him. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be helping her feel better either as the sobs continued to pour out of her.

"I know, Hermione. I'm so sorry. I wish–"

"No, you don't know, Ron!" she yelled, pushing him away and wiping her eyes. "You don't know! Because you're not here! Do you have any idea how helpful it would've been to talk about all of this with you? You're the only one who really gets it! You're the only one who knows what I'm going through, and you left me!"

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I wanted to reach out, I promise. I wanted–"

"But you didn't! You didn't, Ron! For weeks, nothing! And then, just when I was starting to feel like I could get through the day without breaking down, then you wanted to talk?"

Taking a step closer to her, he watched her closely to make sure he wasn't overstepping. Her tears had slowed, but her expression had morphed from sadness to anger, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

"I–I'm sorry. I fucked up, Hermione, plain and simple. I wasn't there for you when I should've been, and I know I let you down. I don't know what else to say, but I am sorry. More than you know."

Her eyes continued to bore into him, and she remained rooted to the spot, her arms crossed over her chest. Ron wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to leave, but part of him wondered if it would be best if he just allowed her to move on with her life. Another part, though–a bigger part–still wanted to be there for her in the difficult times, and that part prevented his legs from starting to move. Maybe his indecision contributed as well, but whatever it was, he stayed, staring back at her and refusing to blink.

It felt like an eternity before she finally spoke, dropping her arms to her side and shifting her gaze back to the night sky. "So what now?"

"Erm…I dunno. I suppose…that's up to you."

"Don't put it all on me, Ron. That's why we're in this position in the first place."

The words were sharp but not undeserved. Her body was still facing away from him, so she didn't see him grimace again. The pain of her resentment shot through his entire body, twisting his stomach round until it throbbed. "Right, fair enough. Well, if you're asking me…I'd really like to be your friend again."

She sighed, shaking her head as her eyes started glistening in the moonlight again.

"Only if you'd like, though," he added, just to be safe.

"Of course that's what I'd like, Ron!" Her hair fanned out behind her as she spun toward him. "Of course it is! But how do I know…I mean, I've been fooled once."

A groan deflated her body, and he took the opportunity to come closer to her. He contemplated putting his arm around her shoulder, but they clearly weren't at that point yet. "Yeah, I know. I know."

What more was there to say? Perhaps that was enough to start. He'd managed to apologize and express his wishes to her, and even if she didn't say another word, at least it was some progress. At least she spoke to him. Even that was on the optimistic side of his initial expectations.

Just when he wondered if he should take her words as a cue to leave, though, she reached out and picked up his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. Her hand was cold, but the gesture was so warm that it didn't even register. The feeling of her skin against his was exhilarating, and if she was capable of making him so happy with a single touch, he knew he'd do anything to get back in her good graces.

"I just…I really miss you, Ron," she said. "I really do. I'm still so angry with you about what happened over the summer, even if I don't want to be. And even with all of that anger inside of me, I still miss you. I still wanted to see you again…talk to you again…"

"I wanted that too. And I miss you…so much."

"And even though I couldn't write back to you, I hope you know that it didn't mean I ever stopped caring about what happened to you."

"I care about you too."

"But if we're going to be…speaking again," she said, dropping his hand and weaving her fingers in and out of each other as her brow furrowed, "I have to know that–that things are different now. That what happened before…"

"I understand," he assured her. "It's not like it was before, Hermione. I promise. Things have changed. I've changed."

"I hope so. For your sake, more than anything else. As hard as it was for me, it was difficult seeing you like that too."

"I'm sorry for putting you through that. It wasn't fair of me. And…thanks, you know? For giving things another chance."

She nodded back at him, and he could see some of the tension release from her shoulders. "Thank you for saying something. It helps."

It was a start. And it was far more than he expected. Relationships were built on foundations of trust, and at least she was allowing him to try to rebuild that trust again. Perhaps the holiday wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Well," he said, backing away, "I suppose I should let you get back to the party."

"Oh. Right. Yes, I should get back. Terry will wonder where…"

He remained still as she passed him, her scent invading his nostrils and flooding his mind with memories of easier times.

"I wasn't even planning on coming tonight, you know," she called back to him when she reached the doorway.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. But then Terry asked me and…well, I didn't want to be rude."

Why is she telling me this?

"Yeah, I understand."

"But it's not–" She clammed up, a tinge of pink in her cheeks as the warm glow of candlelight shone on her face.

There didn't really seem to be anything he could say about her date for the evening, so he just gave her a small nod and a smile. "Enjoy your night, Hermione. I'll see you for Christmas."

"You too, Ron. See you soon."

"Hey…" he called just before she turned the corner.

She spun back toward him. "Yes?"

"Your dress."

Her fingers skirted over the material, the fabric flowing in waves down to her ankles. It was impossible not to remember that night a year and a half prior, the night that could've represented a major turning point in their relationship. If only they hadn't been interrupted…

"You look just as beautiful as you did the last time you wore it."

As she turned back toward the main room, he could swear he saw a hint of a smile spread across her face. "Goodnight, Ron."

"Night, Hermione."

Chapter Text

"Hermione? Hey, Hermione!"

Ginny's voice rang through Hermione's head as she forced her attention back to the present. "I'm sorry?"

"Terry asked you a question…"

Turning back to her date, he was standing at attention in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, his smile fading a bit. It was no wonder she had missed his question; her mind had been simultaneously flying a mile a minute and yet also turned to mush by the events of the party. Ron Weasley wasn't an easy person to get out of one's head. And Terry Boot prattling on about another possible exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration didn't exactly hold her attention the way the memory of Ron's touch did.

"Oh, I apologize, Terry. I think I missed that."

"Quite alright," he said. "I merely asked if you had a nice time tonight."

"I did! It was a lovely party."

"And you were lovely company."

Delicacy was definitely called for in such a situation. Terry was a perfectly nice young man, and in many other circumstances, she truly would've been happy to be his date. But if Ron's behavior at the end of the summer had brought up doubts that he was the man for her, his return and apology had at least started to erase them. Part of Hermione was furious herself when she came to the realization, but all of her anger and frustration over the ease with which he recaptured her heart didn't make it any less true. The two of them would still have a lot to talk about, and rebuilding the trust between them would take time, but at least they were talking.

As she contemplated her and Ron's future together, she set her eyes back on Terry. "Thank you. You as well."

"Perhaps we could try it again sometime. Maybe after the holiday?"

"Oh. Well…"

Any further one-on-one interactions were not of interest to Hermione. But that wasn't Terry's fault. Ginny shot Hermione a look as if to say, 'at least don't crush the poor boy.'

"I had a lovely time tonight, Terry, but I'm worried I'll be too busy after the holiday to have time for…anything else."

The Ravenclaw's lips pulled into a thin line as he nodded, trying his hardest to keep an upbeat look on his face. "I understand. School always comes first, of course. You really would have made an excellent Ravenclaw."

There was nothing to say, so Hermione merely snickered.

"Well," Terry continued, "if you change your mind, I'll be around."

"Thank you again. I had a nice time."

"Me too. Good night, ladies."

He turned and walked back down the stairs, and Ginny gave the password to let the two girls into Gryffindor Tower.

"Are you alright? That was hard enough to watch, much less be the one to turn him down." Ginny said as soon as they spilled out into the common room.

It was mercifully empty, but Hermione didn't feel the need to spend any extra time waiting for others to show up, instead making her way straight to the staircase up to the girl's dormitory. "I'm fine. Terry's a reasonable person, I'm sure he'll understand."

"Right, I'm sure he will. Still, though, brutal."

"Well, it had to be done. No point leading him on."

The pair of them entered their room, still alone as all of their friends were either still at the party or had gone home early for the holidays. Hermione kicked off her shoes, eager to get out of the uncomfortable heels, and went about changing into her pajamas as quickly as possible. Ginny sat down in front of the mirror and began removing her makeup.

"I am sorry, you know," Ginny offered.

It was clear what she was referring to, but Hermione played dumb anyway. "About what?"

"About tonight's unexpected guest."

Hermione shrugged and sat down on her bed. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Sure, I wish I'd had a heads up, but it's not as though you invited him."

"I know, but I feel like…he's my brother. And he's my boyfriend's best mate. I should've known whether he was coming. I should have been watching out for you."

"I'm not a child, Ginny," Hermione reminded her as she pulled on a pair of thick woolen socks. "I don't require minding, and I can look out for myself."

"Of course, I know that, but…well, was it horrible? I saw the two of you talking outside."

Truthfully, her conversation with Ron had been several things, though certainly not horrible. At least not the whole time. How much to divulge to Ginny was the real question. "No, it wasn't."

"What did he say?"

Hermione's gaze drifted to the floor, and she let her mind wander, counting the cracks in the wood.

"I'm sorry, we don't have to talk about this," Ginny quickly added.

"No, it's alright," Hermione assured her. "We talked about…the last few months, I suppose."

"Okay…"

"He asked about the letter."

"The one he sent you a few months ago?"

"Yes."

Ginny whistled, likely recalling the contents. Shortly after Hermione had received it, she had filled her friend in on the details, the two of them trying to puzzle out the meaning together. It had been a little awkward discussing her and Ron's romantic life with his sister, but Ginny was the best girlfriend she had. Luna was great, but her advice tended to be a little bizarre and unhelpful.

"I told him I received it, but that it was confusing. I think he understood what I was saying? I don't know, I felt like I could barely put a sentence together."

"Sure, I understand that feeling. Anyone would."

"He spent a lot of time apologizing too."

Ginny's eyebrows lifted and she chuckled to herself. "Well, that's good, right?"

"I think so? It's not as though we got into everything, but it was at least nice to see that he was remorseful about how things ended. At the time, he seemed so…apathetic, which has never been like him. Tonight, he was more like himself again."

"Well, I know he only tried to contact you once," Ginny said, strolling over and sitting next to Hermione on her bed, "but he's sent me a few more letters over the last couple of months. He still seems a little down, maybe, but his letters have been getting less dreary over time."

"I'm glad. I don't want him to be miserable or anything. I want him to be happy, do well in training…live his life."

The room went silent, and Hermione embraced the opportunity to think for a moment. In retrospect, while a small part of her wished she could go back in time and respond to his letter, perhaps it was for the best that things worked out as they did. Maybe they both needed that time apart. After all, they'd been together almost constantly for the previous seven years with only a few short breaks for holidays and prolonged arguments. If nothing else, the separation had shown her how her life could be without Ron Weasley in it.

It wasn't a great feeling. While she had buried herself in schoolwork, Head Girl responsibilities, and developing relationships with the people who were still at school, there was no point denying that she had thought about Ron constantly. Even when she tried to convince herself that she didn't need him any longer, that their relationship was doomed to fail, she recognized it as a fool's errand.

She hadn't been lying when they'd talked; she really had missed him terribly. Seeing him again only confirmed how empty her life had been without him in it. The resentment she'd been feeling in the early part of the school year had started to fade away, and her mind was far more open to the idea of a true reconciliation than ever before. And the way she'd felt when he held her in his arms again…it was a level of warmth she couldn't even explain. Comfort and peace and happiness all rolled into one, and for a moment, she wondered if she was actually floating. She could only hope he hadn't noticed the goosebumps that had popped up all over her skin as she tingled all over. All at once, it seemed like it was part of another lifetime yet also completely indispensable, as though her body craved his like a drug.

"I feel like I should mention that I told him about Christmas. He knows you're coming. You are still coming, aren't you? Because I wouldn't blame you if–"

"Ginny, relax," Hermione said, smiling reassuringly at the younger girl. "We talked about that too, and I'm still coming. I actually think it may be a good opportunity."

"Why? Did Ron say something?"

"No, nothing in particular, I suppose. But again, if things are better…if he's better, then I'm genuinely excited to see him. Regardless of anything else, and with all apologies and no offense intended to you, he's been my best friend for years. I want to have a relationship with him again if he can keep acting more like…well, Ron."

"A relationship? Or a relationship?"

Hermione laughed, and Ginny followed suit. "Just a friendship for now. And for what it's worth, he said the same thing to me. He wants to be friends again. Whatever that might mean to him…"

"I see," Ginny replied, dropping an arm over Hermione's shoulder. "And what did you say?"

"At first, I didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted, of course, but it's a bit trickier than that, isn't it? My mind went through about a hundred different answers, but eventually, I realized…I shouldn't lie to him."

"So?!"

"So I told him that of course I would like that. Because I really would. You know how hard this year has been for me, Ginny. Even when things seem fine, they're never completely fine."

"I know. And I'm glad. I'm happy for you. I'm nervous…but I'm happy."

Hermione sighed. "I'd be lying to say I wasn't a bit nervous too. Ron and I have fought plenty of times before, but never like this. It's not just going to get better right away."

"No, it won't," Ginny said, standing back up and stretching as she went to hang up her dress. "But it's worth putting in the effort to salvage things. For both of you. Because as much as Ron annoys me and as much as I prefer you to him and as much as I'll totally take your side if he's ever being an arse to you again, he is still my brother, and I do still wish the best for him."

Hermione couldn't contain the chuckle from escaping, and she fell back on her mattress, staring up at the velvet upholstered canopy as she laughed. "Thanks. I'm happy to have your support."

As Ginny continued to fuss with her belongings, Hermione closed her eyes, a grin refusing to leave her face. Strange as it was to think, a few hours ago, she'd been dreading the evening, hoping it would pass as quickly as possible. As soon as she arrived and saw Ron standing in the doorway, her expectations plummeted even further. To think that she would actually be in any way happy as she prepared to go to bed would've been a massive stretch at the time.

But it was true. It wasn't all happiness, of course. Plenty of anxiety and paranoia crept into the picture as well, tainting the evening in a way she knew she'd never be able to control. But it was something. It was an improvement, a step forward, positive motion. And it was exciting. Exciting in ways that made her blush and turn away from Ginny for fear that her friend would be able to read some of the more explicit thoughts going through her mind.

"Not to be a downer," Ginny continued, "but just so I don't put my foot in my mouth later, did you tell him about Australia?"

"Oh." Hermione's heart sank, and a lead weight took up residence in her stomach. "No, I didn't."

The evening had felt like a whirlwind, and as a result, Hermione's looming decision had completely slipped out of her mind. It probably wouldn't have made sense to bring it up anyway, though, especially since she and Ron had just started talking again. Still, though, it would have to be addressed eventually.

When Hermione had visited Australia to collect her parents over the summer, part of her search had taken her to the Australian Ministry of Magic. While Voldemort had never truly posed a threat to them so far away from Britain, they were still monitoring the events quite carefully, fearful that the evil sentiment might spread across oceans. And when he had fallen several months prior, the names of those involved rang out across the magical world.

From the moment she'd arrived at the Ministry in Sydney, employees and civilians alike were eager to shake her hand and thank her for standing up to the fascist threat that the Dark Lord had posed across the globe. She even had the opportunity to meet the Minister herself, Amelia Campbell. The two shared a long conversation about what had happened in England, how to prevent similar occurrences across the world, and the concept of magical inclusivity in general.

At the end of the meeting, Minister Campbell offered Hermione a position in the Australian Ministry. She admittedly knew it was a longshot as Hermione had every intention of returning to the UK, but she promised her that there would always be a position with great authority available to her should she or her family like to return to the continent at some point. A post high up in the Department of Magical Creatures was discussed in specific once Hermione mentioned the work she had done with S.P.E.W back home.

Initially, Hermione had simply thanked the minister and moved on. She'd found her parents, moved back home, and never really given the offer another thought. Once things had soured with Ron, however, the prospect of moving somewhere else suddenly held her interest, and she'd maintained regular communication with Minister Campbell and the Magical Creatures team over the past few months, giving serious consideration to taking the position once she graduated.

She hadn't completely ignored opportunities at the British Ministry, of course. Kingsley Shacklebolt was doing a wonderful job rebuilding departments, but even after multiple conversations with him, it was clear that she wouldn't be able to have as much of an impact working there. Their focus was rebuilding the infrastructure after so many career employees had been fired over the past several years; the idea of infusing new talent and getting to work on new initiatives seemed to be more than they could handle for the time being. At least in Australia she could get right to work and start making a difference immediately. The British Ministry would always be there; nothing had to be permanent.

The upshot of everything was that within the next several months, it was looking increasingly likely that Hermione might not be living in Britain any longer. And while she hadn't considered the Ron of it all at first, after seeing him again, she was left questioning everything she'd been planning. Could she really leave again just as they were starting to recover their relationship?

"Well, nothing's set in stone, is it?" Ginny asked.

"No, of course not. I still have options…" Hermione trailed off, her brain spinning like crazy with possibilities. All of a sudden, there were no perfect options any longer. Everything required sacrifice. The only question was what was worth giving up and what wasn't.

"Exactly. So probably best not to rush into things. Just…see how it goes."

"Right. See how it goes."

"And I promise, I won't say anything in the meantime. It's up to you how to handle that, so my lips are sealed."

"I appreciate that."

Regardless of whether Ginny said anything or not, though, the issue was front and center in Hermione's mind again. The two went to brush their teeth before returning to the dormitory, and by the time they returned, Hermione was somehow even more confused about how to handle the predicament. Australia presented a wonderful opportunity for her to further her career much more quickly, to start improving the lives of magical creatures everywhere right away. But it was halfway around the world. If Ron was worried about a long-distance relationship within the UK, she could only imagine his reaction to her moving thousands of miles away. It might not matter if they reconciled or not.

Still, at some point, she'd have to talk to him about her options. Ideally when he was in a good mood.

"Now," Ginny said with a heave, storing her toothbrush and throwing open the lid of her trunk, "we have to finish packing."

"Oh, I'm already done."

The redhead stared at her friend incredulously. "You're kidding."

"No, I finished most of my packing yesterday. It didn't take that long."

"Well good for you, Ms Perfect."

Hermione laughed as she climbed into her bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning, though?"

"Train leaves at nine o'clock!"

"Good night, Ginny."

"Night, Hermione."

The sound of Ginny's rustling in the background didn't keep Hermione awake. Her own thoughts and anxieties were doing a perfectly good job of that. Things were finally starting to look up after months of misery. How could she have forgotten the possibility of such a major change in her life?

I forgot because he showed up. When he shows up, my mind goes blank. God, I'm so predictable.

Maybe she didn't have to tell him. If she decided not to go to Australia, then Ron didn't even have to know it was an option. She could simply carry on as if she'd never spoken with Minister Campbell and had no intention of leaving the country. If things with Ron improved and she was able to get a job with the British Ministry, then why invite the extra stress?

But she had talked with her and she might leave the country. Didn't Ron deserve to know that? If she was demanding honesty and accountability from him as a condition of rekindling their relationship, wouldn't it be childish and hypocritical of her to withhold such crucial information from him? Wouldn't she just be setting them up for failure all over again?

However, if she told him, he might freak out. And part of her wouldn't be able to blame him; she was talking about moving to a foreign country! Even if it was what was best for her, she couldn't blame him for being a little blindsided by such drastic news. What would she say if he told her he was up and moving to…America? Or India? Or Japan? She'd have a right to be a little upset in that situation as well.

If it really mattered to him, though, then it would probably be worth it. It would be worth the pain of a prolonged separation because she would know how important it was for him. And if her opportunity in Australia was important to her, he'd understand too, right? Right?

The dilemma puzzled her for hours, long after Ginny had turned in for the night and her other roommates had returned and fallen asleep as well. When she stared at the clock, it read ten to one.

So much for a good night's sleep.

One thing was for certain. No matter what she decided, no matter how it affected things between her and Ron, she was excited to see him again and spend time with him again. So excited that she slipped out from under her covers and knelt down next to the bed, groping blindly under the frame. Her fingers detected the top of a wooden box, and she quietly slid it out from under the mattress.

It was a Christmas present, one that she wasn't sure she was going to have to pack. One that she purchased over the summer when her life was in a completely different place. One that, until just a few hours prior, she didn't think she would be giving this year. It was for Ron, and she knew he'd love it. When things between them had broken down, she'd stashed it under her bed, wondering if it would ever be necessary or whether she'd eventually just throw it out. But after talking with him again, she really wanted him to have it.

She ran her fingers over the wrapping; she'd made sure to take her time and make it perfect. Sneaking to the foot of her bed, she opened her trunk as slowly as possible, taking care not to disrupt her neighbors. She tucked the present under a pile of jumpers, making sure it was protected from bumps along the way. Once it was safely stowed, she returned to bed, still confused, but more optimistic than she'd been in a long time.

Chapter Text

"You know, this wouldn't be so difficult if you just kept your room clean on a regular basis," Harry chastised, leaning against the doorframe and watching Ron struggle to work through the messy floor.

"Not helpful," Ron spat as he stuffed a wad of papers under his bed.

Harry cracked a smile. "Wasn't trying to be."

"If you wanted to stop taking the mickey for half a second, you could help, you know."

"No, I think you'll learn your lesson better this way."

"Git."

"Bum."

The two of them were back at the Burrow, enjoying the much-needed break from Auror training afforded by the upcoming holiday. Christmas was only a few days away, and all of Ron's siblings were slowly trickling back to their childhood home. George apparated back daily after closing up the shop, Bill and Fleur had come the day before, and Percy and Audrey were due to arrive in a few hours.

As nice as it would be to see his family again, though, there was only one person that Ron was looking forward to seeing. The Hogwarts Express was due to arrive at King's Cross later that afternoon, and both Ron and Harry had already made plans to go with Ron's parents to pick up Ginny and Hermione at the station. Ginny was sure to disappear with Harry immediately, probably to do things that Ron would prefer not to think about, especially at such a festive time of year. That, of course, would theoretically leave Ron alone with Hermione, something that was simultaneously terrifying and exciting.

The conversation they'd had at Hogwarts the night before had been a first step, and it went better than Ron had hoped. It would hopefully be the first of many talks they'd have over the holiday to help put their relationship back together after he'd so stupidly torn it apart at the end of the summer. He didn't want to come across as pathetic, and he still had a lot of explaining to do, but he'd never have a better chance to get some one-on-one time with her for at least another half a year. And the fact that she'd admitted that she missed him…he wondered whether he really deserved it, but he had never been more thankful for any words in his life.

And so, in the interest of putting his best foot forward, he figured he might as well make his room look as presentable as possible. Most of his time was spent at Grimmauld Place over the last few months, leaving his old bedroom at the Burrow quite neglected. He didn't dare to dream that she'd spend any appreciable time there, but just in case, he wanted it to be in tip-top shape.

"When are they getting in again?" Ron asked his friend as he folded too-small pairs of jeans and lined them back up in his dresser.

"Come on, Ron. Like you don't remember."

Four forty-five, but I don't want to look desperate.

Ron sighed, shutting the dresser drawer and standing up to admire his handiwork. "Fine. Leaving at half four, yeah?"

"That sounds right. You're still coming to the station, right?"

"Why?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing as a pang of anxiety shot through him. "Shouldn't I? Did she say something?"

Even though Harry was trying to keep the pity out of his gaze, Ron instantly picked up on it anyway. "No, she didn't say anything. I'm just checking to make sure you'll be alright. I know the two of you are trying to figure things out, and I'm happy for both of you, but let's not pretend it hasn't been a difficult autumn."

"Don't need to remind me of that, mate."

"I know. I just…well, I hope you're keeping your expectations in check, that's all. "

Ron sighed, sinking down onto his twin mattress, flaming orange sheets enveloping him as he laid down. Harry had a point, of course. It was easy to let himself get carried away about how great it would be to be back with Hermione, but the reality was that the time they were going to spend together could be painful and awkward at times. Even getting back to the point of being good friends would probably be a victory.

But no matter how hard he tried to be realistic, he couldn't stop his brain from drifting to the possibility of more hopeful outcomes. After all, it was Hermione. How could he ever not think about things like that?

"I am," Ron assured his friend. "At least I think I am."

"Okay. I've just never seen you voluntarily clean your room before…makes me wonder whether you were hoping–"

"It's not like that, Harry."

"No?"

"No."

"Fine, but then what are you, you know, expecting?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders, genuinely unsure himself. "Dunno really. I mean, just talking with her would be a good start."

"Right. Like at the party."

"Well, kind of. But…also not." His memory returned to the night before. Nothing about the conversation had been easy, per se. And what he really wanted more than anything else was to get back to the point where they could talk to each other casually again. "It's probably too much to hope for, but I just wish things could go back to the way they were before. At school, you know?"

Harry nodded, but the apprehension was plain on his face. "I understand. But…I mean, you have to understand that it's never going to be like that again, yeah? It can't. Too much has happened, and we're all completely different people. And that's not even taking into account the fact that you two dated for a bit."

"Yeah, I know. I'm probably being a fool for even considering it."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, mate. You're not crazy to want it. Honestly, I'd love to get back to that place, too. Things just seemed easier."

"Which is mad, when you think about it. Things were easier when You Know Who was chasing us?" Ron said with a laugh, still unable to use the vanquished lord's name.

"Well, maybe not easier, then. More…comfortable."

"Yeah. Comfortable."

Nothing about Ron's life was comfortable any longer. His friendship with Harry was still strong, of course, but it was different now that he was dating Ginny. It was a strange feeling knowing that he'd always come in second to his little sister, even if he did know exactly what was going through Harry's head because he'd felt those same things himself for someone else. Someone with whom he just couldn't get things right.

"It'll get there, mate. I know it will," Harry offered. "The two of you…I don't know, I just feel like things will work out."

"Hope so. Still can't believe how royally I fucked that all up over the summer."

"Yeah…" Harry took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. "What did happen there?"

Deciding how much to tell his friend was tricky. They'd talked about a little bit over the last couple of months, but for the most part, it had been clear that Harry was giving him space to process, to wallow, to do whatever he needed to work through things. Ron appreciated that about his mate, because he never would've said anything if he'd felt that Harry was badgering him.

But he did deserve to know, especially if the three of them were going to be spending time together again. Not that he needed to know everything. Ron was still mortified by the way he'd acted, knowing full well that most of his positions had been completely indefensible in the light of day. It was as though a strange anxiety or paranoia had grabbed hold of him, robbing him of his confidence and wiping out his trust in the person he cared for the most. For a moment, he truly had considered whether there was still another Horcrux hiding about somewhere.

Unfortunately, in the end, he had nobody to blame but himself; him and his neurotic fears and feelings of worthlessness. He'd convinced himself that Hermione deserved better, that she'd never be happy with him, and that he'd only get in the way of what was sure to be a brilliant and celebrated career. That she could never be happy with a penniless, average wizard like him. That eventually, she'd figure it all out and wonder why she'd tied herself to someone like him. After that, it would only be a matter of time until he was alone again.

Once she'd gone and he'd been able to stop crying for a few minutes at a time, he realized how stupid he'd been. She'd chosen him, she wanted to be with him. She'd told him so herself on so many occasions, and she'd demonstrated it with her time and attention. It wasn't until he'd been in training for a few weeks that the revelation came to him, but by that point, it was too late. The damage had been done, and all he could do was hope that it wasn't irreversible.

"It's…complicated," Ron said. "I've always worried that Hermione's too good for me, you know? I think that idea just got a little too deep into my own mind."

"I see," Harry replied, sitting down on the floor. "I don't agree, and you're being ridiculous, of course."

"Maybe I am."

"Hermione…she's crazy about you. It's obvious."

"Was, at some point, perhaps."

"I don't think those kinds of feelings just go away, Ron. Even if she was angry at the time."

Ron stood back up, messily making his bed. "Guess we'll find out, yeah?"

"They don't."

The two men surveyed the space, Ron giving the top of his desk one final dust with the sleeve of his jumper. His mother was roasting a chicken for lunch, and he started to smell the aromas coming from the kitchen, prompting him to head for the door.

"Well, like I said, I'd be happy just getting back to being friends. Maybe then I could concentrate better at training."

"Yeah, about that. Did you get what you needed from my homework?"

It was a good thing Ron was in the lead as the two headed down the stairs. He didn't want Harry to see him blushing with embarrassment. "Yeah, all set. Thanks, mate. I'll try to stay more on top of things after the holiday."

"Oh, yeah. I know you will. No problem. Just leave it on my desk when we get back to Grimmauld?"

"Yeah, I will."

As soon as the two of them entered the kitchen, Mrs Weasley was pulling the chicken out of the oven. It was crisp and golden brown, and Ron's mouth started to salivate.

"Looks great, Mum."

"Just give it a minute to sit and then we'll eat. Would you be a dear and get the silverware?"

He flicked his wand in the direction of the cupboard, and forks and knives zoomed toward the table. A loud crack echoed through the room as George apparated into the kitchen, appearing right where the cutlery had been just a moment before. As the cutlery clattered onto the table, George raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction, who just grinned back at him and shrugged.

Mrs Weasley jumped, knocking over a hanging fruit basket and sending apples tumbling toward the living room. "George, I asked you not to do that!" she chided as the young man kissed his mother on the cheek.

"Yeah, I could've impaled you," Ron added.

"What's life without a little flair for the dramatic?" George answered as he levitated the apples back into their basket.

"Oh, Ron, I forgot to mention, I'll be making the chicken and ham casserole tonight. That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

Harry's gaze whipped toward Ron, who instantly felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. The Boy Who Lived knew, of course, that Ron didn't particularly care for chicken and ham casserole. Any time it was served in the Great Hall during their Hogwarts days, Ron would load up on potatoes or pasta or pudding instead. There was one member of their trio who adored the dish, however, and she just so happened to be showing up in a few hours.

"Erm, yeah, that's great, Mum. Thanks."

"Ron?" Harry asked as Ron watched the calculus playing out in his mind.

Don't say anything in front of George, PLEASE don't say anything in front of George.

He was never that lucky, however.

"Since when do you like chicken and ham casserole?" his bespectacled friend said.

"Yeah, I dunno, it's not so bad."

Even if Harry was content to leave it at that, George sensed an opening. Big brothers couldn't be trusted with that kind of information, which is why Ron always went to such lengths to hide any romantic notions from them. Anytime an opportunity was presented to take the mickey, they were sure to seize it.

So, like a shark to blood in the water, George lunged. "So, who does like chicken and ham casserole, little brother?"

"I don't know, people?"

"Nonsense, Ronald," his mother added. Ron could just tell she was about to twist the knife. "You asked me to make it because Hermione was coming over. You said it would make her feel right at home because it was her favorite. Is that not correct? I want to be hospitable to the girl if she'll be staying with us!"

George's smile was wider than the English Channel, and Ron could feel the heat sweeping through his body, probably lighting up his face like a Christmas tree. "Good memory, ickle Ronniekins!"

"Shut up, George. Mum, it's fine, she'll love it."

His mother turned back to the stove, giving the mashed potatoes another stir. "Don't know why we have to be so secretive when everyone knows…" she mumbled.

"Knows what, Mum?" George asked.

"That Ron still cares for her! Personally, I think it's sweet that he'd think of her like that and make sure that she's comfortable when she arrives. It shows a level of maturity."

That was all George needed, making silent kissy faces at Ron behind their mother's back. Even Harry was starting to chuckle a bit, and Ron was on the verge of apparating back to Grimmauld Place just to escape the harassment.

A few moments later, however, Mr Weasley arrived and the family sat down to lunch. Ron was appreciative of the meal, but he could do without the stares from his brother, who wasn't about to let his newfound knowledge go unutilized. He ate quickly, hoping to spend a bit more time cleaning before they had to leave to pick up Ginny and Hermione at the station. He knew that he'd need some time to compose himself as well. Even though he'd just seen her the day before, something felt different; an opportunity was presenting itself that he really didn't want to let slip away. If he was going to take advantage and finally bury the hatchet with Hermione, it wouldn't do to act like a bumbling, nervous mess.

As soon as lunch was over, Harry headed back home to straighten up his own place, and Ron was left in his room by himself. It was as spotless as he'd ever seen it. Which was stupid and pointless, of course; why would Hermione be spending time there with him? He'd definitely done all that work for nothing.

For the next few hours, he tried to calm his racing mind, reminding himself over and over again that he shouldn't put so much pressure on them to get this back to normal in such a short period of time. Those types of ultimatums were rarely useful, and more often than not, they ended in disappointment.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder about the possibility. She was due to stay for three and a half days, and with no other plans or studying to occupy their time, he had no excuse for avoiding the conversation.

The clock crawled toward half four, and when it was nearly there, Ron peeled himself off of his bed and knelt down next to the mattress. Under the bed, a carefully wrapped package sat under the headboard. It was Hermione's Christmas present, and for the first time since he'd purchased it a few months ago, he'd actually have the chance to give it to her. He smiled, picked up his jacket, and headed down the stairs. Harry had just returned, and one at a time, they hopped in the Floo and transported to the Ministry. A ten-minute walk later, they arrived at King's Cross.

"Sure you're okay?" Harry asked as they threaded their way through the crowded station.

"Yeah, all good," Ron answered, though his stomach was swarming with doxies.

Making their way through the barrier onto Platform 9 was nostalgic, and as soon as they passed through, they heard the Hogwarts Express whistle as it made its final approach. The gleaming, scarlet engine pulled into the terminal and kids started pouring out, the platform quickly becoming full of smiles and greetings. As Head Girl, Hermione would likely be one of the last ones off the train, so they had to wait for the area for a bit before Ron saw her and Ginny descend the steps off of the train.

She'd looked beautiful the night before in her dress, but there was something about her normal, everyday outfit that still sent Ron's heart rate soaring. He hung back, not trying to look too eager as the pair approached the rest of the family.

"My girls, home at last!" Mrs Weasley said, pulling both of them into a bone-crushing hug. "Safe journey, I trust?"

"It was fine, Mum," Ginny answered.

"Uneventful, Mrs Weasley," Hermione agreed.

The matriarch released them, brushing off their clothes as she did. "Lovely. Off we go then?"

Mr Weasley loaded their trunks onto the trolley as Hermione embraced Harry. It only lasted a moment because Ginny had thrown herself at her boyfriend as soon as the two of them broke apart, jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Hermione, meanwhile, turned to Ron, taking a deep breath and offering him a small smile. "Hi, Ron."

His mouth was drier than cotton. "Hey, Hermione. Good to—erm, well, glad you're back."

"Thanks. Good to be back."

"Come along, everyone," Mrs Weasley called.

They made their way through the barrier two by two, Mr and Mrs Weasley going first, then Harry and Ginny, and finally Ron and Hermione. While everyone up ahead was engaged in excited conversation about the upcoming holiday, Ron found that he couldn't come up with anything to say. The walk back to the Ministry was a solid ten minutes, though, so he'd better come up with something. He even considered trying to find some way to get Harry's attention, figuring that his friend might be able to help break the ice. A pebble he could kick into his shoe would be super helpful.

But as they trudged through the station and back out into the cold winter air, the opportunity never presented itself. Instead, it was Hermione who finally spoke up.

"Oh, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote asked me to say hi, by the way."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron answered, finally sneaking a glimpse in her direction. "How are they?"

"They're fine. In their OWL years, so quite busy, of course."

"Still on the Quidditch team?"

"Jimmy is, yes. Ritchie didn't feel like he could manage the workload and the practice schedule, so he stepped down."

Ron nodded. Ritchie was the weaker of the two Beaters anyway, so no huge loss there. "How is the team doing this year? Still top of the table, I hope."

"Hmm, not sure, actually. Second place, I think? Head Girl responsibilities never stop, so I never really had the time to keep up. I went to one match to support Ginny, but I'll admit it doesn't have the pull it used to, especially since you're not playing anymore. Y–You and Harry, of course."

"I see," he answered, smiling to himself even though he knew she probably didn't mean it like that. "Can't imagine how annoying Head Girl stuff must get, though."

She shrugged and pulled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. "You get used to it."

Encouraged by her friendly responses, he continued. "Do you get an even more special bathroom than the prefects? Or like a fancy room to yourself?"

"No," she responded with a chuckle. "I stay in the dormitory like everyone else. With Ginny, actually."

"Oh. Yeah, right, that makes sense."

"Did you really not know that? Your brother was Head Boy…"

It was Ron's turn to laugh, and without thinking, he absentmindedly leaned into her shoulder the way he used to when they were dating. It took a second for him to remember his place, and she didn't seem to mind, but he nonetheless tucked his hands back into his pockets and widened the space between them. "Err, right. Guess I just forgot how things were when Percy was still in school. Besides, it's not like he ever talked to me much or wanted anything to do with me."

"That's not true. I'm sure he was looking after you, even if he didn't come right out and say it."

"Maybe."

"The same way you used to look after Ginny."

"Ha," Ron scoffed. "Ginny didn't need any looking after."

"Didn't stop you from trying, though. It was obvious, especially during her first few years."

She was right, of course. Being the second youngest meant that Ron only had one sibling who might've needed his help or protection, and even though Ginny was tough as nails and irritated him to no end, he still took that responsibility seriously. He didn't think that anyone had noticed. But Hermione was always insightful like that.

"I suppose. Well, she certainly doesn't need my help now. That's Harry's job, and Godspeed to him. Poor bloke probably still doesn't know what he's really signing up for."

"Hey!" Hermione needled, turning toward him with her bright smile. "She's really happy with him; I hope you know that."

"Yeah yeah, I know. He is too. Won't shut up about it at home. If it wasn't so annoying, I'd actually be a little jealous."

Hermione swallowed and faced forward again as the color drained from her face. The sunlight filtering through the bare tree branches mingled with the natural highlights in her brown, unruly hair, making it shimmer with gold. All of the little details he'd missed about her were flooding back to him whether he liked it or not. It might end up being a rough few days.

"You'll have what they have…someday."

"Yeah…someday."

The silence stretched on for the next block or so, at which point they were only a minute or two away from the Ministry. Given the chaos that was the Weasley family Christmas, Ron wasn't sure how many more chances they'd have to talk privately. If he didn't get the ball rolling, it may never start.

"So, Hermione–"

"Ron, I was thinking–"

They both laughed after cutting each other off, and for just a moment, things felt better between them. Still, Ron finally spoke up. "You first, go on."

"Well," Hermione said slowly, "look, I hope you don't mind my bluntness, but I know this has all been a little awkward lately," she started, gesturing between the two of them. "I'm really hoping we can use this time to–to work through some things. Because despite the pain and the anger, I meant what I said last night; I really do miss you very much."

Her words were like a salve on his heart. It's what he'd been hoping to hear for months. "I miss you too. And I'd like that."

"Good," she answered with a reassuring sigh. "One step at a time, then?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Who knows, maybe by the time I leave, we could even call ourselves friends again."

In truth, Ron had been hoping for more than that. How could he not, especially standing right next to her and surrounded by her intoxicating scent? And now he was going to spend a few days straight with her? When had he ever spent that much time with her and not fallen head over heels? Perhaps it was time to drop the charade and admit, at least to himself, the reality of the situation. He was still in love with her, and he wanted nothing more than to be her boyfriend again.

But that was undoubtedly a bridge too far. If friendship for now was what it took to get back to the place he really wanted to be, then it would be worth it. The timing of the holiday seemed to be doing him a favor, and he resolved not to waste it.

"Right," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Friends again."

Chapter Text

The dim lamp in the corner of Ginny's room cast faint shadows onto the walls, with various shapes appearing and disappearing in the flickering light. Hermione watched them as she lay on the camp bed, trying to make sense of her complicated situation.

As soon as she'd arrived at King's Cross and laid eyes on Ron again, the conflicting sentiments started swirling all over again. After the previous night's encounter at the Slug Club Christmas party, she'd been expecting it, of course, but there was something about proximity to him that heightened all of her emotions. No matter how much he'd hurt her earlier in the year, all she wanted to do was figure out a way to make things work. It was almost as though her life wouldn't feel complete until she did.

Not that she was doing much to help herself. The brief conversation they'd shared on the way back to the Ministry had been the extent of their interactions that day besides passing the potatoes at dinner. While part of her wanted to drag Ron up to his room and not come out until they'd fixed things, she opted to stay with Harry and Ginny for most of the evening. Naturally, Ron was there too, and the girls spent hours catching the boys up on what they'd been missing at Hogwarts.

For their part, Harry and Ron told them about Auror training, which sounded much more difficult than Hermione had anticipated. Ron was noticeably quieter when Harry talked about how they stacked up against the other new recruits, but Hermione knew better than to pry.

George, Bill, and Fleur showed up after dinner as well, and the Weasley family reunion rounded out as expected. With so many people in the house, free space was in short supply, and once Hermione was having a hard time hearing herself think, she excused herself to go upstairs, eager to get some rest and steel herself for the cacophony that was the Burrow at the holidays.

She'd only been upstairs for half an hour or so before Ginny showed up, announcing her intention to get some sleep as well. Shortly after she left to take a shower, someone else knocked on the door.

It has to be Ron, right?

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she reflexively ran a hand through her hair to calm it down before answering. "Come in."

But when the door swung open, it was Harry who greeted her. "Hey."

"Hi. Oh, if you're looking for Ginny, I think she's in the bathroom."

Harry shook his head and took a step into the room. "No, actually, I was looking for you."

"Oh?" she answered, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, well, come in, then."

"Thanks." He pulled the door shut behind him and took a seat on the edge of Ginny's mattress. "You're sure you weren't sleeping or anything?"

"No, not yet. Just…needed a little air. When you're not used to being surrounded by Weasleys…"

"Yeah, I know the feeling. It's always felt like home, but sometimes everyone is right on top of you."

"Exactly."

Shifting uncomfortably on the mattress, Hermione could tell there was something on Harry's mind. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to discuss and figured she'd make it easier on him by being direct. "So. You're here to talk about Ron, aren't you?"

With a slight wince, Harry snickered. "That obvious, yeah?"

She offered a shrug, and he continued. "I just wanted to make sure you're going to be okay these next few days. I know this can't be easy for you."

"I don't know. Ron and I have been friends for years. It's not that bad."

"Sure, but you know what I'm talking about, right? I know it's really none of my business, and I'm not trying to pry. But I just wanted you to know that–that I can help…if you like."

"Not that I doubt your intentions, Harry, but how exactly can you help?"

"Maybe act as a buffer of sorts?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You didn't do a great job of that back at the station, did you?"

An embarrassed flush set into Harry's cheeks and his eyes darted around the room, a sheepish grin on his face. "Erm, yeah, sorry about that. Hadn't seen Ginny for a while."

"A whole eighteen hours. Positively daunting."

"Hermione, I'm really sorry–"

"Relax, Harry," she replied with a chuckle. "I'm just kidding. I don't blame you in the slightest, and I understand. Truth be told, I was almost a little…jealous?"

A second later, Harry's expression had sobered, and he sat up straight on the bed, eyes locked with Hermione. "Look, as I said, it's between you and Ron, but just so you know…you could have that again."

"I know," she answered with a sad nod. "And believe me, there's part of me that wants nothing more. I'm trying not to judge Ron too harshly for his actions during what must have been a very difficult time for him, but it was also very painful to live through and made me doubt whether I could do that again…"

"I understand. He was a different person back at the end of the summer there. Honestly, I think he was depressed or something. Makes sense, I reckon; Ron's never been great at dealing with things, and there were plenty of things to deal with."

"That's an understatement."

As they sat in silence for a moment, a pang of worry and guilt shot through Hermione. Was Harry right? Had she been so worried about herself and her own situation that she'd missed all the signs that he was struggling? It was a grim thought, especially given how much she knew she cared about him. What if all of his odd behavior and apparent fear of commitment to their relationships were simply manifestations of his grief or markers of PTSD? The thought made her stomach turn, a queasy feeling setting in.

"Maybe I wasn't entirely fair to him back then," Hermione said, admitting it to herself as much as she was admitting it to Harry. "I knew he was having a hard time with Fred's death, but I didn't think…"

"Yeah, I know. He's good at hiding it. I've been his best friend for seven years, and I don't think I even realized the extent of it until we started training. I knew he was excited to start, but he seemed…unfocused. His mind drifted. And when they sent work home, it was almost as though he physically couldn't do it. Not mentally, of course. He knew the material, I'm sure of it; I'd seen him do all of it before. But it wasn't a great semester for him nonetheless. I just hope they don't end up holding him back. If they did that, I'd worry that he'd just scarper all together."

"I hope not. He'll make a great Auror someday."

"Definitely. As long as he can stay out of his own way."

Harry stood up, smoothing out the bed as he rose and headed toward the door. "Anyway, I won't take any more of your time. I'm sure you want to get some rest. But I just wanted to say…I'm glad you're here, and I'm glad you and Ron are at least talking again. I'll be around to help as much or as little as you like, and I hope it works out for both of you, genuinely."

"Thanks, Harry." She clambered off the bed and wrapped him in a hug. "I hope so too."

As soon as he left, it didn't take long for Hermione to drift off to sleep, dreaming of simpler times and happier memories.

Over the next couple of days, Harry was true to his word. Most of the time everyone was awake and gathering in the communal spaces of the Burrow, he and Ginny were there to help guide the conversation and make sure the topics remained light. Ron was a little downtrodden when discussing Auror training, and it was clear that he wasn't doing as well as Harry, but aside from that, he had a smile on his face most of the time.

While they never really had a chance to talk just the two of them, Hermione still felt much more comfortable around Ron than she had in months. They were talking and joking like they had in the old days, and the holiday began to feel more and more like the ones they had back when they were all in school together. Games of Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess punctuated the otherwise lazy days, most of which didn't even start until close to lunchtime. It was proving to be exactly the break Hermione needed in more ways than one.

Still, the elephant in the room persisted, and while they were becoming adept at tiptoeing around the issues, that didn't mean they'd disappeared. At some point, it would still behoove them both to really get into their problems, if for no other reason than to have some closure on the turbulent time. Finding the opportunity in a houseful of people, however, was proving more difficult than Hermione had anticipated.

Christmas Eve rolled around, bringing with it a fresh blanket of snow in southern England. The entire family gathered by mid-afternoon save for Charlie and Percy, both of whom were due on Christmas day. The home was filled with conversation and, thanks to Tonks' mother bringing Teddy to the festivities, the sound of a child's laughter. Hermione found herself seeking out Ron and spending time with him more often, and she could tell he was enjoying her presence as well. When Mrs Weasley called them all to the magically extended dining room table for dinner, Hermione followed him into the room and sat down next to him, offering a smile as the food was placed on the table.

Once everyone had taken their seats, a silence fell over the space, and everyone's eyes were drawn to the lone empty chair at the table, a rickety one right next to George. Hermione almost felt guilty for a moment about how much fun she'd been having, feeling as though she hadn't been properly honoring Fred's memory. It was the first Christmas when the Weasley family was incomplete, and she could tell that she wasn't alone in her grief. Teddy's babbling punctuated the quiet to their delight, but his presence also served to deepen the sadness about loved ones that they'd lost in their fight for freedom. To everyone's surprise, it was George who rose to his feet, grasping his drink and offering a toast.

"There's no use pretending we all don't feel it, so might as well lean in, don't you think? Fred, Tonks, and Professor Lupin were all part of this family, and it's not the same without them. We miss them all every day…Merlin knows I do."

He paused, his voice cracking as his eyes passed over everyone at the table. Mrs Weasley was freely crying already, comforted by her husband. When Hermione glanced over at Ron, his eyes were bloodshot with tears accumulating in the corners. Without even thinking, she reached down and picked up his hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. His eyes remained forward, but he ran his thumb over her knuckles, which she understood as a sign of his appreciation.

"Anyway, it's been a hard year, but I'm still grateful for everyone at this table, and I'm grateful for the world we now live in because of the sacrifices that they made. And if Fred saw all of us sitting around like this, he'd be rightly furious that we weren't enjoying every moment of our time together. So buck up, you sad sacks, and let's have a happy Christmas. It's what they would've wanted."

Glasses clinked around the table, and the mood turned cheerier as the dishes were passed around the table. Roasted potatoes, ham, chicken, lamb chops, stewed carrots, and a variety of puddings dotted the landscape of the table, and the conversation resumed as everyone loaded up their plates. Mrs Weasley's cooking was even better than Hermione remembered; she'd truly gone all out in her preparations. Dinner lasted almost an hour, and Hermione was thrilled to see Ron interact with her and his family in a way she hadn't seen in a while.

By the time they were done, everyone was so full they could barely move, walking slowly as they transitioned over to the living room. Ginny and Harry sat in front of the fire, Mrs Weasley took up her usual spot in the armchair in front of the fire, Bill and Fleur shared the large sofa with Andromeda and Teddy, and George sat down in a small chair in the corner of the room, flitting in and out of the space at times. That left the small loveseat for Hermione and Ron, and to her delight, he didn't even hesitate before sitting down next to her, their sides pressed together by the tight dimensions of the furniture.

Per tradition, Mrs Weasley turned on the wireless and found Celestina Warbeck singing her hit songs, and she bopped along merrily as the group reminisced about the old days, school, and shared happy memories of the ones they'd lost. At one point, Ron's arm must've gotten uncomfortable being jammed up against Hermione, so he lifted it over her head and dropped it onto the top of the couch, his fingertips tickling her hair whenever he shifted position.

A few games of Muggle charades and Reusable Hangman from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes later, a few people started filtering out of the room. First, Andromeda left through the Floo with Teddy, trying to make sure the child got home for his bedtime. Bill and Fleur eventually called it a night around ten o'clock, and George followed suit along with their parents shortly thereafter, Mrs Weasley chiding them not to stay up too late on Christmas Eve. Harry and Ginny moved onto the sofa, and Ron grabbed them each a bottle of butterbeer from the fridge before rejoining Hermione on the loveseat.

"Cheers," he offered, twisting the top off of Hermione's bottle before doing his own.

The four of them smashed their drinks together, a few suds spilling out onto the coffee table as they laughed. For just a split second, it almost seemed to Hermione like they were back at Hogwarts, sharing a meal together in the Great Hall or celebrating at the end of exams.

"Reminds me of the party after winning the Quidditch Cup in fifth year," Harry said. "The carpet was absolutely soaked with butterbeer by the time everyone went up to bed."

"More like Firewhiskey," Ron added as he tipped his bottle in Harry's direction. "Seamus always found a way to smuggle in the good stuff."

"Either way, my trainers were sticky for a week. That was the game where you beat Cho Chang to the snitch, wasn't it?" Harry asked.

Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him. "It wasn't the only thing I beat her to."

With her friend's face turning red with embarrassment, Hermione and Ron chuckled. Behind his shy facade, Hermione could see that Harry was truly happy, and it warmed her heart like nothing else could. Nobody deserved it more than him.

"Moving on," Ron said after feigning an episode of vomiting, "Hermione said she doesn't even know what's happening with Quidditch this year. It's not that bad, is it?"

"Hermione!" Ginny cried, chastising her friend. "What do you mean you don't know what's going on? You were at the game, weren't you?"

"I know we won that game against Ravenclaw, but–"

"Not won. Dominated. I made sure of that."

Hermione laughed and held up her hand in defense. "Fine, besides the one match that we dominated, I couldn't tell you anything else that's been going on with the other matches."

"Well, Ron, since your source of information is clearly deficient, we're undefeated so far, but Slytherin beat Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff pretty convincingly, so we'll have to beat Hufflepuff and then take down those green and silver bastards if we want to win the cup. No room for error."

"Just how we Gryffindors like it," Ron stated proudly, Ginny offering him a rare high-five.

They discussed the Quidditch schedule for a while longer, Ron and Harry both wanting to make sure they knew the entire roster and training tactics and plans for the ever-important Slytherin match. Once they'd exhausted that topic, they started reminiscing about their own days on the team and the thoughts, emotions, and preparation that went into every match. Hermione was a bit out of the loop and didn't fully understand, but she found it comforting to discuss happier times at Hogwarts.

"And how are the classes?" Harry asked. "I know Ginny's told me a little, but what's it like, you know, day to day?"

"It's…different," Ginny said. "Partially because I think everyone's still in shock a little bit…those of us who were there, at least."

"Right, I understand that," Harry said. "A few nights ago at the Slug Club party was my first time back in the castle since it all happened. Still not sure how I feel about it."

Hermione nodded, having experienced the same thing for months. The first part of the school year had all the hallmarks of a normal Hogwarts experience. Classes proceeded as usual, the dorms still had that old, worn feel to them, the soap in the bathrooms smelled the same, and the house elves prepared the meals they'd all grown accustomed to. Studying in the library was a daily occurrence, and even her new Head Girl responsibilities weren't that different from Prefect duty. But despite all of that, it was as though part of the character of the school had been permanently altered. Nothing was quite like it had been, and Hermione doubted it ever could be again.

"Also," Ginny continued, "and no offense meant to Hermione, but it's not the same without you lot there."

"None taken."

As memories of the times they'd all spent together started flooding back to her, tears started pricking at her eyes. She had been so excited to come back to school and finish her studies. How naive she'd been to think it wouldn't be different, to think that the absence of her best friends wouldn't change the experience. And Ron…Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts without Ron. Now that they were back on speaking terms, she realized just how stupid she'd been to assume that she could do it without him. Academically, maybe, but what kind of life did she really have at school without him there?

Before she could stop herself, a small sob escaped from her lips, and she dropped her head down into her palms, causing the conversation to ground to a halt.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, hopping off the sofa and kneeling in front of her. "Hermione, what's wrong? I'm sorry if I offended you, I really love having a good friend like you at Hogwarts with me!"

"I know, it's not that. I–I'm sorry," Hermione blubbered, waving a hand in Ginny's direction to try to convince her friend that she didn't need assistance. "I don't mean to be a downer, especially on Christmas Eve."

"It's alright, Hermione," Harry added in a clearly nervous tone. Hermione could envision the looks of horror he and Ron were probably sharing. "It's been hard for all of us, I reckon."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Strange all around."

Their sympathy was nice, she supposed. While the two people that were comforting her were doing an admirable job, the one person she really wanted had yet to chime in. Maybe it was too much to ask for, though. Maybe it was just too soon.

Her doubt was erased a moment later, however, when his strong hand closed around her upper arm and Ron pulled her closer to him. She wasted no time, leaning back and dropping her head on his shoulder. His other arm wrapped around her, rubbing her back gently while she cried into his chest. As she wept more openly, her sobs were muffled by the fabric of his jumper, and he whispered shushing sounds into her ear.

It was exactly what she'd been missing. Ron. Being with him, drawing strength from him, coming to him in her moments of pain and anguish and knowing that he would make things better. How ironic that the reason she needed his comfort in the first place was because of how much she missed him and the normalizing presence he had in her life.

"Harry, come on," Ginny said quietly, rising to her feet behind Hermione. "Let's go up to my room for a bit."

"But…Hermione. Shouldn't we stay and make sure–"

"No, we should go."

Silently grateful for her best girlfriend, Hermione heard two sets of footsteps grow softer as they padded up the staircase, leaving her and Ron mercifully alone. They'd just been alone together a few nights prior at the party, but it felt different to be held by him in his home as she was being welcomed like a member of the family. It was simple, maybe, but it was what she'd wanted for years.

Seconds passed, turning into moments, and Ron continued to stroke her back as her whimpers died down and her breathing returned to normal. Once she felt like herself again, she leaned back, running her fingers over the wet fibers covering his chest.

"Your jumper…I'm sorry," she said.

"'S fine," he reassured her, hands still clasping her shoulders. "I'm not worried about the jumper, I'm worried about you."

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, she remembered what it was like to have his total support again. The words invoked memories of the summer when he had constantly reassured her how much he cared about her. Everything was different, but perhaps not as different as she'd assumed.

"I'm just…I guess I'm kind of a mess right now," she whispered as they leaned back against the sofa cushions, his arm still around her petite frame.

"What do you mean? Did something happen? Was it George? Because I'll let him know that he's gotta–"

"No, no," she interrupted, placing her hands over his to calm his animated movements. "Everyone here has been wonderful."

"So…what, then? Is something wrong at school? Is it just bad memories from everything that happened there? Are you…I can't imagine you're having trouble with the material, are you?"

Through her tears, Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "No, the academic portion of school is going very well. I love the work, honestly."

"So…then what is it?"

It's you. More specifically, the fact that you're not with me.

"I guess…it's not any one thing in particular, just a combination of factors," she said. "Most of all, it just feels different."

"Well, yeah," Ron said, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. "You can finally just be at school without worrying about a crazed dark wizard coming after you and your friends."

Her head felt a little lighter when he smiled at her, so she grinned back. "That does help. But no, it's the day-to-day that isn't the same."

"Sure, but it's still Hogwarts. You're still getting to do what you love, yeah?"

How obvious did she need to be? Beating around the bush didn't seem to be getting her point across. What Hermione was trying to tell him was that it would never feel the same without him there, but coming right out and saying it was difficult. Even though he was being so supportive and amazing, how could she know for sure that he would handle that type of revelation well? And what if he took the opportunity to shut things down for good? Getting her heart re-broken on Christmas Eve would just make everything worse.

"I am, yes."

"Well…that's great. I'm really happy for you."

"But even though it's Hogwarts, it doesn't always seem like the Hogwarts I know and love."

"Can't say I follow, Hermione."

"It's just…I want to enjoy my time there and I want it to be like it was, but…everyone's different and I'm in a new class with new people and I'm sharing a dorm with a group of girls who, besides Ginny, I barely know. And I just can't get used to being there without…without…"

She could feel another breakdown coming on, but instead of trying to keep it buried inside of her, she let it out, knowing for sure that Ron would be there for her. Tears started falling down her face again, tracking along her cheeks as her eyelids clamped shut, forcing out even more. Ron enveloped her in a hug again, and she breathed in his scent, gradually calming herself in his presence.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said in a soothing tone. "You can tell me."

"Okay," she replied, sniffing and wiping her eyes as she pulled back from him. Her eyes found his, and the pair of them were locked together. She took a deep breath and continued. "Hogwarts isn't the same without the people I'd come to rely on. And as much as I miss having Harry there, and Parvati and Padma and Dean and everyone else I'd grown used to, I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you, Ron. It's so strange without you there; it feels like a part of me is missing or something, like I'm incomplete. It doesn't feel right, and I don't like it, and I…I–I miss you so much. I don't know why, but I can't do these things without you, and I need you back in my life before I…"

For several moments, Ron was silent, although his gaze remained fixed on hers. It was caring, perhaps even loving, but she couldn't tell for sure whether there was a dose of pity mixed in or not. And he wasn't saying anything, so understanding his mindset was complete guesswork. Without confirmation one way or the other, Hermione figured she'd better hedge her bets.

"And I know that's probably not what you want," she continued, "and I'm sorry for bringing it up and ruining Christmas, but I think I just had to say something. It's been eating away at me, and I can't help but think–"

"Hermione." His voice was strong and commanding, and he winced as though he couldn't listen to another word. "You're wrong."

"I'm…excuse me?"

"You're wrong. I never should've been out of your life in the first place. Having you back, here…now…it's exactly what I want."

She paused, making sure she understood what he was saying. The words were gradually soaking into her consciousness, and little by little, she allowed herself to start believing in what he was saying. Shifting closer to him on the sofa, a spark of energy shot through her side when they came into contact. His tongue shot out, licking his lips, and she couldn't help but glance down and watch, wondering what it would be like to feel them on her again.

"Really?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Really."

"But as friends, right?"

It was Ron's turn to slide toward her, dropping an arm around her shoulder again and tilting his head in her direction. "Yeah, sure. Friends."

A newfound desire was stirring deep down, a desire to show him just how much she'd missed him. Everything about being near him again made her head, her heart, and her body cry out for more. And after all, when would they have uninterrupted time again in the near future? Hermione made up her mind; it was now or never.

"Good friends, though."

"Great friends."

Her whole body was on fire, and she allowed her hand to climb his chest, landing on the rough patch of stubble over his cheek. "Best friends."

"Mmhmm."

But his reply was lost as she lunged forward, capturing his lips as their tongues met in the middle, wrestling with each other for temporary dominance. Within moments, he leaned back on the sofa, pulling her on top of him and running his hands up and down her body, pausing to squeeze her bum. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and turned her head to the side to deepen the kiss, eager to be as close to him as possible. Like placing the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, everything just fit perfectly as her body writhed on top of his. All of his favorite flourishes and embellishments came back to her as she broke the kiss and pecked her way down his chin to his neck, then back up his jawline to nibble on his earlobe.

Something had snapped within her, and she knew she wouldn't be satisfied with a few kisses. If they were going to go for it, might as well really go for it, right?

"Wanna go upstairs?" she whispered into his ear before returning to her previous ministrations.

"Erm, you mean to sleep?"

She leaned back, allowing her hair to fall around his face, tickling the sides of his cheeks as she shook her head. The alluring look in her eye left no mystery as to what she was proposing.

His voice, which had previously had an edge of panic, grew more confident as a seductive smile spread across his face. "Let's go."

Jumping up off the sofa, they paused in the middle of the living room to embrace once more, sharing a deep kiss before tiptoeing over to the staircase. As Ron led her up toward the fifth floor, she grabbed his hand, refusing to let go until they reached the landing outside his room. He turned the knob slowly, trying to avoid too much squeaking that would awaken other members of the family.

As soon as they were safely ensconced in his room, their lips found each other again. The kisses grew more urgent and frantic, more enthusiastic than before as they stood in the middle of his surprisingly clean room.

"Remember the charms we used to do to protect the tent?" she asked before diving in for another kiss.

He nodded, pulling his wand out of his back pocket and finally breaking the contact. "How about you? Do you remember the charms for…well, you know the ones, right? Neither of us is interested in being a parent at the moment, are we?"

"Oh, right," she said, reaching for her own wand as he started reciting the list of protections to soundproof the room and keep others away. The words flew out of her mouth as fast as she could, still taking care to be cautious, of course. One small slip could lead to a completely different life going forward, so it paid to be precise.

They both finished their incantations at the same time, eyeing each other hungrily across the small space between them. Without thinking, Hermione threw her wand across the room, grabbed Ron by his shoulders, and shoved him back against his door, her tongue back inside his mouth as quickly as possible. She reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it over the top of his head before running her hands down the firm musculature of his abdomen toward his pants.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, lacing their fingers together to slow things down. The way the skin of his rough hands slid against hers only made her want him more. "You're sure this is what you want?"

In response, she nodded and grabbed him by the belt buckle, backing them both toward the bed. She fell down onto the mattress and pulled him on top of her, her hands getting lost in the thick mop of orange hair as she kissed him again. When she pulled away, she grinned at him. "I don't think I've ever wanted anything more."

Chapter Text

Breathing had never been so hard before.

Ron thought himself to be in reasonably good shape. Perhaps his stamina wasn't what it was when he was training for Quidditch several times per week, but he could still beat Harry in a footrace, at least. So as he lay on his back, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and taking heavy, deep breaths as if searching for every molecule of oxygen, he couldn't help but wonder if he needed to start working out again.

The problem quickly flew from his mind, however, when he turned his head on the pillow to find Hermione staring back at him, a satisfied grin on her face. Her chest was heaving the same as his, and he had to admit he enjoyed the view.

"Wow," he spluttered as he exhaled.

"Wow indeed," Hermione agreed, rolling toward him and tucking herself under his arm.

"I mean…that was brilliant."

He could feel her smile against his skin as she traced shapes on his chest with her fingernail. "I couldn't agree more."

"That thing you did at the end with your hips…where'd you come up with that?"

"Honestly, no idea. If it felt good, I just kind of went with it."

"Well…tuck that one away for future reference, would you?"

"Of course," she responded with a giggle.

They'd been at it for so long, it had to be past midnight. Christmas morning, then, technically. And what a present he'd already received. Not even a Firebolt would top it; he'd already hit the jackpot. The light of the moon filtered into the room through the blinds, illuminating the upper half of Hermione's nude body. Ron snuck another glimpse, thanking all of his lucky stars and pinching himself to confirm that everything was really happening and wasn't just the best dream of his life.

And not just because of the sex, mind-blowing as it was. Being with her, in whatever way possible, was all he had wanted for so long, and now it was finally happening again. Whatever had come over him a few months back was fully cleared out of his system, and he was more committed than ever to the idea of them as a couple. Hermione would graduate in less than six months, and after that, anything was possible. So why couldn't anything include a future for them?

"You still awake?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, her hair slightly damp as it crawled across his body. "Just catching my breath."

"And everything feels…okay? I heard that sometimes the first time can hurt. For the girl, at least."

"Maybe a bit at first, but by the end, it was well worth it."

"Okay, good. Just making sure."

Tightening his grip on her, he placed a soft kiss on top of her head. His shoulder cracked as he tipped onto his side, dropping his scarred arm over her hip and pressing his forehead against hers. She smiled at him and leaned forward, kissing him slowly, allowing her lips to languish against his mouth for what felt like a delightful eternity.

"I'm so glad you're here, Hermione," he whispered when they broke apart.

"Mmm, me too. I really missed you."

"I missed you so much."

"Nothing was the same."

"Here either. I felt like…like a shell of myself."

"I know exactly what you mean."

Another round of passionate kisses ensued, and for a moment, Ron wondered if they might be going for an early encore. But eventually, Hermione rolled onto her back, once again gasping for air.

"It's probably too late for me to go back down to Ginny's room, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah, probably. Besides, Harry might be there. You don't think they…oh, Merlin."

She laughed next to him, her body shaking against the mattress and causing Ron to jiggle up and down. "Maybe. I don't know, but if so, good for them. I know she's your sister, but they both deserve to be happy. And they make each other happy."

"I guess. Still don't want to think about it."

"Then don't," she offered, straddling him once again and pressing another deep kiss against his lips. "Think about me instead."

He grinned, flexing his pelvis a little just to see her reaction. "Couldn't stop thinking about you even if I tried."

A high-pitched squeal shot out of her mouth, and he was glad that he'd cast Muffliato before things had gotten started. The last thing he wanted would be to wake up his parents.

As she sat on top of him, her eyes reflected the moonlight back at him, gorgeous and glistening beacons in the otherwise dark room. Even if she had been fully clothed, she'd never looked more beautiful to him in his life. He lifted his hand to her face, running a finger across her cheek and landing on her lips, where she pressed a soft kiss against the tip.

"I'm serious, Hermione," he said. "Even in my darkest days, even during those completely daft and upside-down moments I had back in the summer, I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped caring about you. I'll apologize a thousand times if that's what it takes, but I need you to know how sorry I am that I ruined things and how happy I am that we're finally trying to repair them."

"I know you would, Ron, but you don't need to. It's over, and all I want is to move on with you, the man I care about more than anyone."

The corner of his lip curled up and he grabbed her, quickly flipping her onto her back and peppering her neck and chin with kisses as she giggled and carded her fingers through his hair. Who needed sleep, really? Why would he ever want to miss out on time with her for any reason? He'd be tired for the rest of his life if he needed to; she was worth it.

"But," she said, finally recovering from her latest bout of laughter, "and not to be too deep or anything, but what do you have in mind…going forward? Because as much as I adore this time with you, I'm still going back to school in a couple weeks, and that means not having as much time for…us."

He cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around her again, keeping her close to him. The answer to that question was much less clear to him, but he knew there had to be one. There just had to be. "I know."

"And I'm so proud of you for all of the hard work you're putting in at training, but you're going to be quite busy as well."

A wave of guilt crested over him, and he had to swallow the bile back down his throat. Turning the page and starting fresh should entail total honesty, but he was hesitant to tell her about his struggles during Auror training. Not only would she have a hard time understanding since everything academic came easy to her, but he also didn't want to worry her. So he pushed down his own feelings of inadequacy and regret and kept them to himself. "Yeah, I probably will."

"So then, what do you think we should do?"

Confidence, Ron. Total confidence. Of course it'll be hard, but she's worth it.

"Honestly? I don't completely know. The only thing I know is that I can't let you go again. I'll do whatever it takes, whatever you want me to do. I'll write letters or meet you at Hogsmeade or even sneak into the dorms if you can work it out. Actually, sneaking into the dorms sounds like a fantastic idea if it would be anything like the last hour or two…"

Her hand smacked his shoulder as they both dissolved into another fit of laughter. Predictably, the situation devolved into tickling and pinching and, eventually, a little more snogging during which time Ron felt surer than ever that he was ready for round two. But just as he was thinking about proposing his idea, Hermione rolled off of him again, holding his hand as she lay next to him in the small bed.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, though. I'll write every day too."

"And…the visits? The dorm?"

She chuckled and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure we can figure something out from time to time."

"Brilliant."

They rested together in the silence, Ron listening only to the gentle sound of her breathing. His sheets were already starting to smell like her, and when he turned his head and inhaled deeply, he could detect the rosemary and citrus of her shampoo. He might never wash the pillowcase again.

She rolled toward him, snaking her arms around his midsection and giving him a peck on his cheek. "Thank you. I mean it. This is what I've wanted all along."

"Yeah, it'll be great. Not as great as being here with you, but…"

"Right," she responded with a nod. "But since you're being so supportive and so dedicated, I want to tell you a little bit about my plans for the rest of the year. I've been hesitant because I didn't quite know where we stood, but now that it's all cleared up, I'm not worried anymore."

That didn't sound good. Ron swallowed, trying to maintain his sense of calm, at least on the outside. Having just pledged to take their rekindled relationship seriously, he knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Besides, she was partially on top of him, so if he started to profusely sweat, she'd be the first to know. "Okay…"

"So, when I was in Australia picking up my family, I stopped by the Ministry there to see if they could help. Turns out that since my parents weren't magical, they weren't very useful at all, but I was still able to meet with some of their employees including the Minister herself. Very bright woman named Amelia Campbell. She wanted to congratulate and thank us for our efforts to rid the world of Voldemort, so we got to talking. She asked about my aspirations, and I thought we'd left it at that.

"So imagine my surprise when she kept in touch throughout the first several months of the school year. Turns out, their head of the Department of Magical Creatures was set to retire soon, and they were looking for an undersecretary to learn the ropes and then take over in a few years."

Australia?! She had to be kidding. That didn't mean what he thought it did, right?

"I see," Ron said, his throat rapidly drying.

"Anyway, a few weeks ago, we spoke in Professor McGonagall's office, and she offered me the job. And I know what you're thinking, but don't worry. It wouldn't be forever, just for now."

Allowing the news to hang over them in silence, Ron didn't move a muscle. He didn't know whether to cry or scream or just keep his mouth shut. She couldn't seriously be considering moving to Australia, could she? Not after everything she just said about how important he was and how committed she was to their relationship.

Still, if he seemed dismissive, what would that tell her? Why would she ever trust him again if he broke his word before they even got out of bed? No, he definitely needed to tread lightly. Make his opinion known, sure, but try to remain rational.

"Ron, say something." There was a hint of worry in her voice, an indication that she at least recognized the position in which she was putting him.

"E–Erm," he stuttered, his brain refusing to catch up with his mouth. "That's…right, I mean, that's a great offer, yeah?"

"It is. Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of conversations with Minister Shacklebolt as well, but the honest truth is that they've got so much work to do rebuilding what the Death Eaters destroyed that they'll be lucky to have their normal departments and services back up and running within the next few years. As much as he wants me to join them, he had to admit that my initial prospects would be limited, and you know how eager I am to make a difference right away."

"Course you are, you're still Hermione Granger, aren't you?" he joked, mostly a sign of his total discomfort with the conversation.

Hermione, of course, wasn't fooled. "I'm sorry to spring such big news on you like this, but, well, given…you know, what just happened…I felt that it would be wrong of me to keep it from you any longer. You're going to be a part of my life, so you deserve to know what's going on."

"And I–I appreciate that. It's just a lot to consider," he responded with a sigh.

"I know. Believe me, I know. And the last thing I want to do is cause more turmoil now that we're finally getting things sorted. But at the same time, I'd be crazy not to consider the offer. It's an opportunity to get to the highest levels of wizard policy-making within the next couple of years. Can you imagine all the good I'd be able to do? Real authority with real resources backing it up! S.P.E.W. could be up and running on an international scale!"

"Right…S.P.E.W. That'd be brilliant."

But he knew he hadn't mustered enough admittedly fake enthusiasm when her expression soured even further. "You're upset."

"No! No, no, not upset. Just…I dunno, really, but not upset. It sounds great…for you."

"But not for us."

"Well…not really, I suppose."

"I know," she said, reaching out and running her hand over his upper arm in a soothing back-and-forth motion. "But please tell me you at least understand where I'm coming from. Tell me you can see why this would be so exciting for me."

"Course I can. Sounds like your dream job."

"Honestly? It is my dream job."

"Only halfway around the world."

"Right," she responded with a groan. "But temporary."

"Still…"

Her soothing touch against his bare skin should've calmed him at least a little bit, but his mind was racing so quickly that he barely even registered the contact. His eyes darted around the room as his brain churned with possibilities, imagining everything from the best-case scenario to the worst. There was really no appealing option, of course. He knew he should be happy for Hermione, but how could he be when it would so drastically impact their newfound…whatever they were.

"Ron? You have to stop clamming up like that. Talk to me. Please," she begged as her body slid closer to him. The cruel irony of her talking about leaving him behind while cuddling naked against him wasn't lost on him.

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About you. About this…job. About how unfair life can be sometimes."

"We know that better than most, don't we?"

"Reckon we do."

How was it possible that less than ten minutes ago he was happier than he'd ever been in his life? Ten minutes ago, everything seemed like it would work out. Happily ever after was within his grasp, then suddenly Hermione was talking about moving thousands of miles away. It was unfair; there was no other way to describe it. So unfair he might scream.

When he peeked over at Hermione, she seemed anxious. Her lips were set in a thin, severe line, and her brow was furrowed just a little bit. It was how she used to look back at Hogwarts when there was a particularly difficult essay that she couldn't quite figure out how to word.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She startled at the suddenness of the sound. "Oh. Well, I suppose…oh, never mind. It's nothing."

He propped himself up on his elbow and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The reminder of their intimate rendezvous only worsened the pain. "It's not nothing. It's never nothing when you say it's nothing. Just tell me."

"It's fine, Ron. It's my problem."

Her problem? So there is a problem, then…

"Come on, Hermione."

"Well…alright, in the name of honesty. I was kind of hoping you'd be a bit more supportive."

Did she expect him to be happy about her news? Was she that daft? "Supportive?"

It was clear that she noticed his incredulous expression, and her whole body took up a defensive posture. "Yes, supportive. After all, I just told you that I may have landed my dream job–"

"Dream job on another continent–"

"And all you can think about is what it means for our…relationship."

"Oi, that's not fair!" he exclaimed. "You know I'm always going to be proud of you for all of the things you're sure to do once you graduate from school. But you're moving to Australia! When was that ever part of the plan?"

"I haven't made any decisions yet…"

"The way you talk about it, it seems like you have!"

"Ugh!" She buried her face in her hands, groaning into her palms as he dropped onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling. "Why do you twist my words like that? Why do you insist upon taking the wrong meaning?"

So the gloves were coming off, then. Evolving to a full-blown argument was the last thing Ron had wanted, but if that's what was happening, at least he might as well get his point across.

"What other meaning would you like me to take, Hermione? How else am I supposed to interpret you up and leaving the country?"

"You're supposed to be happy for me! You're supposed to see how great of an opportunity I've been presented with and encourage me to follow my dreams! You're supposed to be supportive!"

"Be supportive of you? Of you?! What about being supportive of us?"

"The two are not mutually exclusive! I can't believe you, Ron! Didn't you just say you'd do whatever it takes to make this relationship work?! What, was that just a line or something?"

"Of course it wasn't!"

"Then prove it!"

His blood was boiling, and if he couldn't temper his emotions, he was liable to say something he'd surely regret. He took a deep breath, thinking through his words to make sure he phrased his next point correctly. After all, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was truly the crux of his whole argument.

His voice was calm and measured as he spoke. "Hermione, I meant what I said. I do want to make things work. But still, it feels like this is your way of saying that your work and the things you hope to accomplish in government are always going to be more important than me. Than us."

"That's ridiculous, Ron," she replied, quieter than before but still just as intense. "How could you accuse me of not caring about you? I just slept with you!"

"I know, Hermione. But then immediately afterward, you told me how excited you were to leave."

"You're mischaracterizing my response again."

"All I know," he said, sighing and allowing his body to sink deeper into his mattress, "is that you could stay here and be with me or you could go to Australia because you could…become Minister faster over there or something."

She reached between them and scooped up his hand, running her thumb slowly over his knuckles. "It's not that simple and you know it. I've been agonizing over this decision for weeks, and that was before we were even talking again. Now that we are, it's only going to be harder. Because of course I'm going to take you into consideration, Ron."

"But what does that mean, Hermione?" he begged, squeezing her hand tightly as his eyes began to sting. "I'm not trying to twist words or anything, but you taking me into consideration and still going feels like you're not really taking me into consideration."

Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke. "I don't know, Ron. I'm trying to explain, but I just don't think–you know what, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry I even brought this up. I shouldn't–it wasn't the right time. I'm sorry I ruined this."

"You didn't–"

"Yes, I did. Our first time and the memory will forever be tainted. I'm sorry. I really am."

"It won't be."

But he couldn't even convince himself. The night, which had started out so promising, so full of a renewed sense of love and trust, had crashed and burned within minutes of doing the deed. Just when it seemed like the pair of them would be able to work through the hurt and pain of the summer, a new challenge emerged to rob them of the hope that Ron had so desperately clung to during those months apart. The pure ecstasy he'd felt just moments before had vanished.

Instead, an icy, foreboding sense of doom settled into the pit of his stomach. Why was it always something? Why could nothing ever just be…fine? He'd long accepted that the road he and Hermione needed to walk would be bumpy, and he was willing to accept his share of the blame for the times he made it more difficult. But it was starting to feel as though it was a literal minefield, and the deeper they got, the more impossible it became to escape unscathed.

All of his pessimism and misery wasn't going to help a damn thing, though. At the moment, he needed to figure out what to say. And the longer he considered it, the more his body tensed with the realization that he only had one true option.

Hermione was Hermione, and nothing was going to stop her from making a difference in the world. Ron had known that from the moment he met her on the Hogwarts Express. It was clear to everyone that she was something special, and there was no way he could nudge her off her path. If he tried to slow her down, he'd only be jeopardizing Hermione's faith in him in the long run. And he'd be lying to himself to say the long run wasn't the ultimate goal.

"Are you still awake?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

"Do you–erm, would you prefer if I leave?"

"No."

"Do you want to just go to sleep?"

He sighed, turning back toward her and happy to see that she rolled in his direction as well. Her eyes were wet with tears, and it sent a shock of pain through his chest. Why did she always end up crying over him? It was almost as though he couldn't stop himself from hurting her no matter how hard he tried.

"No, I don't want to sleep. I just want to be with you."

"I want to be with you too, Ron. I really hope you believe me."

"I do. And I want what's best for you, Hermione. I want you to be the amazing person everyone knows you will be. I want you to go."

Deep lines of worry set into her forehead, and the way she looked at him made him feel as though he was being tested.

"Y–You do?" she stammered.

"Yes. I mean, well, no, not entirely, of course. But it sounds like too good of an opportunity to pass up, yeah?"

"It may be."

"And you really want to do it, right?"

"I–well, it's a great opportunity, of course, but–"

"So then…go ahead. You have to do it. We'll be fine, it's okay with me; you can prioritize yourself."

It took less than a second for Ron to know that he'd said the wrong thing. Why did he always manage to say the wrong thing?

"Prioritize…I'm sorry, excuse me?" she retorted, her tone growing more combative.

He quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "Y–Yeah, you know. Prioritize…your goals. You have to, right?"

"Why–" She stopped, flipping back onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. "Why would you phrase it that way? You're making it sound as though I'm being completely selfish."

"No, I didn't mean–"

"You've made it quite clear what you mean whether you intended to or not."

"Hermione, you're misunderstanding. I didn't–"

"You think," she interrupted, "that I think that it's far more important to me to have the best job than worry what happens with us."

"That's not what I said! Now you're twisting my words!"

"And what if I do make that choice? Would that be so bad? Would it be so bad for me to want what's best for my career?"

"No, of course not. That's literally what I'm saying!"

"But a moment ago, you were more concerned about our relationship and very clearly didn't want me to go. So how am I supposed to believe what you say when it keeps changing?"

"Hermione, you're being impossible! Of course I don't want you to go, but I also don't want you to not go because of me!"

"Which, by the way, is really something coming from you," she continued, steamrolling through her points as if she wasn't even hearing what he was saying. "Last summer, you unilaterally decided what was best for us without even asking my point of view. At least I'm trying to include you in the conversation!"

How was this going so far off the rails? Was she still that upset about the summer? Even after everything that had changed since then? Why did they have to continually relitigate the past? "Hermione…"

His blood pressure was going through the roof as she shot him an acrimonious glare. "What? It's true!"

"Fine! Maybe you're right, but at least I stayed in the bloody country!"

"I would love to stay in the country, Ron. Of course I would! Everyone I know and love is here! But I have to think about my future as well!"

It didn't escape his notice that she used the word 'love', but he was too riled up to stop and think about it. "And now we're back to where we started! What's going on, Hermione?!"

Running her hands over her face and releasing a frustrated growl, she took a deep breath. It seemed for a moment as though she was trying to calm herself, but the sobs started racking her body before she even spoke.

"This is an impossible decision, Ron!" she cried. "You realize that, right? No matter what I decide, I'm giving up something that I can't bear to lose!"

He wanted to believe her words, and he knew the best thing to do was to continue to encourage her to take the job, but it went against every shred of common sense he possessed. There were no two ways about it; it felt to him like he was intentionally throwing away his opportunity to be with the most important person in the world.

"I understand that, Hermione! That's why I'm trying to make that decision easier for you! I'm trying to…eliminate myself from consideration!"

"Nothing can make it easier for me!" she begged, tears cascading down her cheeks, new rivulets sprouting up by the second. "There's no way for me to be sure I'm doing the right thing because you're always going to be part of the calculus."

"But I don't want to be. I don't want to be the thing that stops you from being the best version of yourself. I want you to–"

"Prioritize myself?"

"Exactly."

"Over us?"

"If it comes to that, yes."

She shook her head, futilely wiping away her tears as though another round wouldn't immediately replace them. "It doesn't work that way."

"What do you mean? Hermione, I feel like I'm losing my mind here. I tell you I'm worried about you going and you're upset. I tell you to go, and you're upset. What do you want me to say? What makes this better for you?"

"Nothing! That's the point!"

"Then what was the point of this whole conversation?"

"You're serious?"

"Of course! I'm confused, Hermione!"

"Ron, you're one of the most important people in the world to me! I need to talk about this with you!"

"Okay, but apparently it doesn't matter what I say. In fact, everything I say seems to make it worse."

"Maybe this was a mistake," she said, finally throwing off the covers and pulling herself off the bed. He watched her form as she quickly got dressed again, still intrigued by the curves he'd only imagined before, but with a dreadful sense that they weren't for him to explore any longer.

"Hermione, come on," he offered, sliding over to the opposite side of the bed and reaching for her hand. "Don't go."

She pulled her hand away as she threw her jumper over her vest. "There's not much else to say, Ronald."

"Fine, we don't have to talk. But…stay. It's Christmas."

"I know. But I don't feel much like celebrating."

"Are you going to Ginny's room?"

She shook her head and grabbed her small beaded bag, throwing it over one shoulder as her eyes glinted in the moonlight. "No. I think I'm just going to go home. My parents should be back by now. I'll spend Christmas there."

A lump set into the back of Ron's throat. He was blowing it, ruining everything. "And then come back here, though, right?"

The answer was obvious, of course, and the question didn't need answering once he saw the defeated look on her face. "I don't know."

"Hermione, please. Don't leave like this."

Biting her lip and holding back tears, her gaze met his through the darkness. "I wish I didn't have to."

Without another word, she slipped out, quietly closing the door behind her. He listened for her faint footfalls as she descended the staircase, but they were quickly out of earshot as she was surely being careful not to wake anyone else. A muffled 'whoosh' came from the direction of the fireplace a few moments later, and she was gone.

Ron stared out the window, watching the withered grain stalks ripple in the wind, bathed in moonlight and still covered in a thin layer of snow. His mind drifted with the undulations of the fields as he tried to figure out how the night had gone so wrong.

Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe everything that had happened over the past several months was the universe's way of telling them they weren't meant for each other. Maybe he'd been kidding himself from the start thinking that Hermione was the one for him.

But then why did it hurt so badly when she walked out? How could something that wasn't meant to be cause him so much pain?

I'm lying to myself. Just like I was lying to myself in the summer. If I want any hope of being with her in the future, I have to stop lying and just be honest. Always honest. Honest with myself, and honest with her. Because she is the one, there's no doubt in my mind.

The resolution was set, and he felt determined to see it through. Whether or not he would be given the opportunity…that was another question.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning broke dull and grey outside Hermione's window in northwest London. Her eyes were tired and full of sleep but unable to truly rest, her cheeks crusted with the remnants of all of the tears she'd cried throughout the night. Her gaze remained locked on the ceiling as the room slowly transitioned from pitch black to its current pale blue, a reflection of the overcast skies that ushered in the suddenly depressing holiday. She never even glanced outside, figuring the day would start regardless of her opinions or desires. It was as inevitable as the tides, death, or her life finding new and unique ways of disappointing her.

After arriving at one o'clock in the morning, she'd snuck up to her room, careful not to wake her parents, and tried to get a few hours of sleep before her mother woke up and realized she was home. When they'd discussed plans before leaving school, she hadn't planned to come home until later in the day on Christmas, so she wasn't looking forward to the inevitable interrogation about her change of plans. It was shaping up to be one of the worst Christmases ever.

As she lay in bed not sleeping, her thoughts logically centered on the reason for her insomnia, Ron Weasley. His infuriating back-and-forth non-responses to everything she told him about her job prospects weighed heavily on her mind. Why was it so hard for him to just have an opinion and stick with it? Even if he'd only been sad and frustrated about the potential long-distance situation, at least it would've been a consistent position from which they could work things out!

In a best-case scenario, she'd simply been looking for his reassurance. 'I'll be there for you no matter what, Hermione. I'll support whatever you decide, Hermione. I just want you to be happy, Hermione.' How hard would that have been?

However, as much as she wanted to heap endless blame on him, she knew deep down that she shared some of the responsibility for their failure to communicate. Maybe she just shouldn't have said anything. Or at least waited a while. After all, who chooses the moments immediately after having sex for the first time to inform their partner of a prospective major life change? What had she been thinking?

I'd been thinking that I finally knew I could trust him. That he told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted to make things work no matter the cost or the difficulty. So much for that confidence.

But perhaps that wasn't a fair expectation. If Ron had sprung something like that on her, especially during such a vulnerable and uncertain moment, she likely wouldn't have responded perfectly either. Still, she would've done better than Ron had. 'It's okay to prioritize yourself'? Did he think that little of her?

Stirring sounds echoed through the house, and Hermione recognized them as her parents waking up for the day and going through their morning rituals. She climbed out of bed and threw on her dressing gown, taking a quick glance in the trunk at the foot of her bed. There was empty space exactly the size and shape of Ron's Christmas gift, which he was probably opening at that very moment. It was a new chess set, and she wanted him to have it, but she wondered if he would find it bittersweet to receive.

Well, nothing she could do about that. She tied the sash of her gown tightly before padding out of her room and down the stairs. When she appeared in the entryway to the living room, her mother jumped.

"Oh, Hermione, you startled me! We weren't expecting you so early!" she asked. "And…in your pajamas? I thought you were staying with the Weasleys last night?"

"I was…I did, for a while," Hermione offered, trying to keep the sadness out of her tone. "But then I decided to come back here for the night so I could be with you on Christmas morning."

"Well, in any case, it's so lovely to see you," Mrs Granger said as she wrapped Hermione in a hug.

The strength wasn't in Hermione to return it with enthusiasm, and her mother pulled back to examine her daughter more carefully. "What's wrong? You look down."

"No, I'm fine. Just tired, probably. Where's Dad?"

"He's still asleep, and don't think you can change the subject that easily, young lady." The corners of Mrs Granger's eyes crinkled as a smile peeked through.

While Hermione was upset that her mother had figured her out so easily, she wasn't surprised, either. She should've known it wouldn't be that easy. The two of them may not see as much of each other as they did before she matriculated at Hogwarts, but a mother can always tell when her daughter is holding something back. "Honestly, Mum, it's nothing."

"Hermione, sit," her mother asked, though it wasn't truly a request. The pair sat down on the sofa, Hermione's eyes avoiding her mother's like the plague. She realized a bit too late that it only made her look more guilty.

"Now," Mrs Granger continued, "it doesn't take a genius like yourself to see what's going on here. Back early from the Weasleys in a dour mood? This is about Ron, isn't it?"

Heart rate speeding up, she thought about continuing the lie for a moment. But she knew her mother would just see through her. And truthfully, she did wonder if talking with someone might help. "Kind of."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. What happened?"

She groaned, falling back into the sofa, her body going boneless as she melted into the cushions. "I'm not totally sure, honestly. Things were getting better at first."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I saw him at Hogwarts the day before coming home. He and Harry came to the Slug Club Christmas party. It was unexpected, but it ended up being a good thing. We talked a bit and started clearing the air."

"Well that's good," Mrs Granger responded. "I know you were worried about showing up at his family's house for a few days with all of that lingering tension."

"It helped, for sure. And as I spent more time at the Burrow, it slowly became easier for me to talk. Things were almost starting to feel back to normal again."

"But?"

"But," Hermione said, knowing she'd intentionally have to leave out some key details of the next part of the story, "then I told him about my plans for Australia. After that…well, it kind of all went downhill."

Her mother grimaced and adjusted herself on the sofa, angling her body more toward her daughter. "Was he not supportive?"

"He was…and then he wasn't. I don't know, we talked about it for a long time and I don't think I ever got a real answer out of him. I still feel like he hasn't shared his true opinions about the whole situation."

"Well, I suppose that's somewhat understandable, isn't it? I'm sure it wasn't a conversation he had planned on."

"I know, but–look, have you ever been hit with that almost indescribable sense of dread? One right in the pit of your stomach? Like you can't pinpoint exactly why, and it's nothing obvious, but you're instantly sure that the thing that just happened wasn't supposed to happen in that way? That it all went wrong even if it didn't catastrophically blow up in your face?"

"...I suppose."

"It felt like that," Hermione continued. She could feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and she tried to muffle a quiet sniff. "It felt like something deep down inside of me recognized that he'd said the absolute wrong thing, reacted in the most dispiriting manner, and that if he truly cared about me as much as I thought he did, he never would've said that."

"Hmm," her mother said, brow furrowed as she wiped away a tear that had broken loose and tracked down her daughter's cheek. "Well, one's gut is a powerful force. And you deserve to be with someone who appreciates and celebrates your passion and your drive to make things better in the world. Still, though, don't you wonder if you're being a bit too trusting of this sensation? You have a mountain of evidence to suggest that he does care for you, do you not?"

"I do, but if he can't support me…if I don't feel supported, then what's the point?"

"Are you sure it's a lack of support you're feeling? Could it just be that he fears losing someone who means so much to him?"

"I'm sure that's part of it, but if it seems more like the former…"

"I see."

As the conversation progressed, Hermione's crying increased from a slow trickle to a continuous flood, prompting her mother to hand her a box of tissues from the end table. Mrs Granger sat next to her and placed a tender arm around her daughter's shoulder, which she leaned into immediately. Hermione knew that her mother couldn't really help with her decision; she and she alone had to make up her mind about her future. But the momentary comfort was a kindness, and it did help her to calm her frayed nerves.

"Sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to drag you into all of this. And on Christmas morning, no less."

"Don't you think on it for a moment, dear. That's what mothers are for."

The pair of them sat in silence, Hermione's pulse and breathing rates both slowing as her mother rocked her back and forth with a peaceful cadence. Sunlight was finally peeking through the clouds and filtering into the tidy living room, illuminating tiny specks of dust as they landed on the Christmas decorations and the presents under the tree. Something about the peace of being in her childhood home did wonders to help her clear her mind, even if she was no closer to making a decision.

"Mum, what do I do? What would you do?"

"Oh, let's not play that game, shall we?"

"I know. I just…I'm so confused. Everything about my life and my plans had been so simple before. Now it feels like I can't win no matter what I do."

Her mother was carding her fingers through her long, frizzy hair, shooting relaxing tingles from Hermione's scalp all the way down her legs. "Life is a series of choices. Some are easier than others. I agree that in your case, this is probably the most difficult one you've faced yet. Fortunately, you've been blessed with time. You're home for another few weeks, and you have all of that time to figure out what's most important. It won't be easy, but nothing worth having is, is it?"

"I suppose you're right."

"In the end, I know how much you care about Ron, and for what it's worth, your father and I like him very much. He seems to like you a great deal as well. And yet I also know how much you care about your future and all the wonderful things you're sure to do in the world."

"It's impossible, isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be. Going to Australia doesn't mean you'll never see Ron again. Staying in England doesn't mean you'll never get a good job. The question is what's most important to you at this point in your life. It's just a matter of priorities."

Ugh, not that word again.

"Right, priorities."

"And remember that you don't have to make a decision right away. Let's try to enjoy the holiday. We haven't seen you in months; I want to know all about what you've been up to."

She was right. No matter how bad her mood was, she didn't want to ruin everyone else's holiday. Her father was bound to be awake soon, and the family would start their Christmas morning traditions. Bacon rolls, tea, and scones needed to be prepared before everyone could sit down around the tree to open presents. Hermione followed her mother into the kitchen to help with the baking, telling her all about Head Girl duties and the academic rigors of seventh year at Hogwarts.

The rest of the morning was more pleasant. Her massive dilemma never totally left her mind, but she was able to put it aside long enough to enjoy the holiday with her family. She received a pile of new books, clothing, quills, and some spending cash from her grandparents. The family listened to carols and swapped stories, and Hermione was so relieved to realize that being home with her parents felt so much more natural than it had over the summer.

Some of their extended family came over midday, and another feast ensued with a giant turkey, a spiral ham, and more side dishes than one could count. As far as her aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins were aware, Hermione was away at boarding school for the year, and knowing that she was doing well was good enough for them. By the time they all left in the evening, she was more than ready for a better night's sleep.

Not that it was easy. Sleep came eventually, and she felt more rested the following morning than she had the previous, but her dreams were still vivid and occasionally disconcerting. Ron floated in and out of her mind all night, and more than once, she thought about Floo'ing over to the Burrow and just having it out once and for all.

But she knew what she needed to know, didn't she? Hadn't Ron already given his answer in a way? What more was there to say?

The revelation only prompted a fresh round of sobs, conveniently muted by her pillow as she stuffed her face into it and cried out her frustration. Rubber banding between sadness and anger was taking its toll, her eyes dark with heavy bags under them by the time morning rolled around. Despite normally not being the type of girl who spent tons of time in front of the mirror, she took extra care to alter her appearance to avoid the extra questions from her family.

"Good morning, Hermione," her father said as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, quite well," she lied, not wanting to trouble him.

"Coffee?"

"Definitely."

The two of them sat down at the breakfast table, a steaming mug in front of each. Hermione pulled the warm beverage to her lips and took a small sip, enjoying the burn against her lips and the bitterness of the brew as it slid down her throat.

"So, your mother tells me you're on the fence about the position in Australia."

"Oh," she replied. Did she really want to get into the specifics with her father first thing in the morning? "Yes, I'm thinking about it."

"From what I gather, it sounds like a fabulous opportunity."

"It's really great, yeah."

"You'd have a great deal of responsibility right off the bat, no?"

"I would."

"Well, no doubt you're prepared for it. You've always been well ahead of your peers academically, so I'm not surprised to see that you're being thrust into leadership roles as soon as possible. It's just like at Hogwarts, isn't it? Some people are just too bright and they must be allowed to shine."

Hermione hated when her father started talking like that, especially when it was accompanied by that starry-eyed look he was currently sporting. Throughout her whole life, everyone had told her how smart she was. And it was true, of course; she'd always excelled at school. But the implication that she was destined for greatness took a toll on her, and the closer she got to graduation, the more uncomfortable it became for her. Everyone's expectations were sky-high; what would happen if she didn't set the world on fire?

"Thanks, Dad," was all she could muster.

Fortunately, their conversation was interrupted by her mother padding into the kitchen. "Good morning, my complete family."

"Morning, Mum."

"Richard, is there more coffee?"

"Indeed there is, my dear."

Once Mrs Granger had poured herself a cup, he joined her husband and daughter at the table. "Well, don't let me interrupt."

"Hermione and I were just discussing her job offer," Mr Granger said, in the same way he used to talk about 'discussing' her stellar grades and other accomplishments. He might as well just say he was bragging about her for his own edification.

"Sounds like the perfect position for you," her mother agreed. "And it's fitting for someone of your intellect."

"I was just saying the same thing!"

"And even though we'll miss you, we'd be happy to come visit you from time to time. We know you'll be busy once you start, and we don't want you to have to take too much time off as a new employee."

"Oh, of course, it would be our pleasure," her dad assured her. "As much as we love being back in the UK, I do miss Australia from time to time, especially during these cold and dreary British winters. Besides, it'll be nice to return to some of our old favorite spots."

"Do you know where in Sydney the Ministry is located?"

"Erm, I'm not sure–" Hermione offered weakly.

"No matter," Mrs Granger interrupted. "The public transit system is wonderful. I'm sure it won't be difficult for us to get to you no matter where you are."

"And to visit that tea house again. You remember, Jean? The one right on the shoreline near Bondi?"

"Right! The one with all of the hip, local art on the wall?"

"Exactly! I wonder if that painting you loved so much is still there. You remember, the abstract piece that you insisted resembled a cat?"

"Of course I remember. Hard to imagine that it hasn't sold yet. Oh, what a time we'll have, though!"

"You both know I haven't decided anything yet, don't you?" Hermione finally spat out, her voice louder than she thought it would be.

Both of her parents clammed up and turned from each other back to their daughter, their faces dropping. The silence stretched on much longer than any of them probably would've liked, eventually punctuated by Mrs Granger breaking into a fake smile.

"Of course, dear, we know! Don't mind us, just enjoying memories, that's all. Please don't let us color your decision; you have to do what's right for you."

"Your mother's right," her father added. "We're behind you no matter what, Hermione."

"I know you are," Hermione replied with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. "It's just…a really big decision."

"It is, isn't it. Well, you just tell us how we can help. We're happy to talk it through with you if you think that would be valuable, but otherwise, we'll let you make your decision. We have full confidence that you'll do what's best, isn't that right, Richard?"

"Exactly," Mr Granger answered. "Full confidence."

"It's such a great opportunity that I almost feel like I'd be crazy to decline it," Hermione said. "Possibly literally crazy. But at the same time, my life is here. My…friends are here. Everything I know is here!"

It didn't escape Hermione's notice that her parents shared a knowing glance between themselves. They knew exactly who she was talking about, and so did she. If everyone knew what they were all thinking, she might as well just admit it.

"And…yes, in particular, Ron is here," she said.

"He is," her mother replied.

"As much as I wish I could at times, I can't just ignore that."

"Nor should you. It scares us as parents for reasons that you won't fully understand until you're a parent yourself, but we agree that you'd be doing yourself a disservice by failing to consider his influence on your life."

"Your mother and I were only a little older than you are when we started…factoring each other into our decisions, weren't we, dear?" Mr Granger said.

"Yes, that's right. Right around the end of our second year of university, if I recall correctly."

"That sounds right to me."

"Okay, but you're not me," Hermione argued, starting to feel more and more exasperated with the discussion. "And neither of you was going to leave the country."

"The point is the same, though, sweetheart," her father answered, leaning forward and taking her hands in his. "If you feel like this is a person whose presence and support you can't live without, then that has to count for something."

Hermione knew her father was only trying to help. On some level, she even appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to actively recommend that his daughter defer to her on-again-off-again boyfriend. But if anything, his words only made her more anxious.

'His presence and support'? He hadn't been present in her life for months; not really, anyway. And his support, or lack thereof, when she finally told him about her plans? That was one of the main points in favor of leaving the country.

"I know. I do. I guess…I guess I just need to think."

"Of course. We'll be here if you need anything, darling."

"And don't forget, we're still on for dinner at the Flask," Mrs Granger added. "Traditional roast beef, just the way you've always liked it."

"I remember. I'm just going to rest for a bit, maybe have a think. I'll come down for lunch, I promise."

"Take all the time you need."

As she trudged up the stairs, Hermione felt more confused than ever. Go or stay? Stay or go? Decide that Ron is a good enough reason not to chase her dreams? Or leave it up to fate to help them wind up together in the end?

When she crashed down onto her bed, a stack of pamphlets on the nightstand caught her eye. It was all of the materials that Minister Campbell had sent from Australia. Hermione knew she would be home for the holiday and directed the materials to her parent's house, hoping that the Ministry didn't have too much trouble using standard mail. Picking up a leaflet about life in Sydney, she started flipping through it, immediately being drawn in by all of the depictions of cultural events and interesting shops and restaurants. Her life at Hogwarts was never dull, and she never felt the need to proverbially stretch her wings while she was at school. But now that she had the opportunity to experience life in another part of the world, the thought seemed more and more enthralling by the minute.

By the time lunch rolled around, she'd looked through all of the materials, and when she joined her parents for a light meal, her entire viewpoint had shifted. For the first time, she felt excited instead of terrified at the possibility of living in another country and experiencing another culture. She found herself peppering her parents with questions about their time in Australia, trying to gather as much information as she could from the only people she knew who had lived there. The conversation carried on well past lunch, and the longer they talked, the easier it was for Hermione to see herself in Sydney for the start of her career.

The job itself was sounding better and better as well. Hermione had pored over the details of the position and read through the bios of all of the other members of the team. They all seemed like friendly, dedicated civil servants, and she knew that she would click with them when it came to ideas to do more with the resources of the department. With a team like that at her back, it almost felt like there was no limit to the projects she could accomplish.

Most of all, she was honestly starting to wonder whether the change would do her good. The thought scared her because it would mean leaving everything she was familiar with behind, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe that kind of temporary change was good for a person; maybe it helped them grow and realize what was truly important in life.

Still, with every point in the 'pro' column for taking the job, there was a 'Ron' on the opposite side. Part of her would always feel that being near him outweighed any possible opportunity she'd ever have, but she couldn't deny that the numerous benefits of the job were starting to add up quickly. Eventually, she decided to try to put it out of her mind and enjoy her time at home as much as possible, not wanting to squander what might prove to be her last week or two in her childhood home for some time.

After spending the afternoon catching up with her parents, they went out to enjoy their dinner at the upscale pub, laughing and trading stories. Hermione had to keep her voice down when discussing Hogwarts, of course, but in general, it made her happy to be able to share that portion of her life with her parents.

By the time they'd eaten their fill of dinner and dessert, they headed home, all three satisfied to have a quick cup of tea and call it a night. It was a much calmer sleep than the previous evening, and when Hermione awoke the next morning, she felt a lightness and sense of calm that had been missing for months.

When her thoughts inevitably drifted toward Ron, there was still a sense of melancholy that likely wouldn't fade anytime soon. That said, she was finding more and more that the benefits of her prospective post were outweighing any feelings of guilt or loss at the thought of leaving him and leaving England. It wasn't like she was leaving forever. She was only nineteen years old; there would be plenty of time for…whatever was happening between her and Ron. She winced and briefly teared up at the thought, but the truth was she'd be more angry with herself for giving up such an amazing prospect to be with him than she would be upset to be without him for a time. They'd already done that, hadn't they?

And besides, what if she stayed only for him to have another change of heart? What if the same demons that had plagued him back in the summer returned to sow seeds of doubt in his mind yet again? Or what if the unsupportive attitude he'd demonstrated the other night took hold again when she had projects that kept her in the office until all hours of the night regardless of where she was stationed? How stupid would she feel to turn down such an important position only to be unceremoniously dumped again? The scenario played out in her mind time and time again, a disappointing outcome in which she found herself devastated and stuck in a low-level position, a true lose-lose situation.

She'd initially told her parents that she'd take the time she had with them to carefully weigh her options and make her decision. But she didn't need additional time. She needed to be decisive and go with her gut. And her gut was telling her that not only would she be insane to pass up such a good opportunity, but that Ron's response when she told him was the opposite of what she'd expected from someone who claimed to care about her as much as he did. She needed to do what was right for her, not what might be right for them. Like he'd so tactlessly suggested, she needed to prioritize herself.

Sitting down at her desk, she retrieved three fresh sheets of parchment and an inkwell and began writing.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I'm writing to let you know that I've decided to accept the position with the Australian Ministry. As you know from our lengthy discussions, this has not been an easy choice for me to make, and if I'm being honest with myself, I'm still not completely sure it is the right one. But it is the one I need to make at the moment, and I think it will be for the best. The prospect of immediate influence and decision-making power is too great an opportunity to pass up, and it will provide me excellent experience for when I eventually return to England and assume a post at the British Ministry. I assure you that is still my long-term goal.

Therefore, to expedite the remainder of my classwork so that I can get started with Minister Campbell and her team as quickly as possible, I would like to activate my early graduation option. I'm quite eager to get started with my new career and will happily sit my NEWTs in a few month's timeant to finish the necessary prerequisites for my employment. We can discuss the details further when I arrive back at the castle on January 11, but I wanted to let you know ahead of time in case there were any advance preparations required.

I hope you have a Happy Christmas, and I'll see you soon,

Hermione Granger

With one letter done, she rolled it up and placed it in her bag, resolving to drop it off at the nearby undercover wizard post office later in the day. With another dip of her quill, she started the second letter.

Dear Minister Campbell,

I am writing to inform you that I have decided to accept the position of undersecretary of the Department of Magical Creatures. I cannot thank you enough for the confidence you have shown in me as a prospect for this post. I assure you that I will work hard for the benefit of you, your government, and magical creatures everywhere that are deserving of ethical treatment and the opportunity for a prosperous future.

I have contacted Hogwarts and am planning to sit my NEWTs as early as the end of March, meaning that I am hopeful that I could join your team by mid-April at the latest. I will be in touch with more firm estimates as those details sort themselves out.

Thank you again for the opportunity, and I look forward to working with all of you.

All my best wishes for a Happy Christmas and a lovely New Year,

Hermione Granger

Once that one was dried and rolled up, her mind turned to the last person she needed to notify. What could she possibly say to him? No matter how distraught she was at his reaction to her news, he was still Ron, and she'd always care for him no matter what. Ron. Her Ron. The one she now had to crush all over again.

She tried to start a letter to him a few times, her eyes misting up as she picked up her quill and started to scrawl. No matter how hard she tried, though, she realized quickly that there was no way to say everything she needed to in a letter. What's more, Ron didn't deserve that. No, it would have to be a conversation in person, as anxious as the thought made her.

A quick message was all that was needed.

Dear Ron,

I think we need to talk. Can we meet?

~Hermione

Chapter Text

"Ron, come on, you have to eat sometime."

Usually, eating and spending time with Harry were two of Ron's favorite things to do. What's more, based on the smells when he went to the loo an hour prior, it seemed like his mother was preparing her famous bubble and squeak with the Christmas dinner leftovers. It was a tradition Ron looked forward to year after year. But that was before his holiday joy ran headlong into a brick wall.

It had only been about sixteen hours since Hermione stormed out of his room. During that time, Ron hadn't slept or eaten and had been unwilling to participate in any festivities given the circumstances. Harry had stopped by after breakfast wondering where he was, and after he quickly surmised the situation, he let his friend be, stopping back a couple of times to offer Ron food or a game of Wizard's Chess. But all Ron could find the energy to do was lay in his bed and wonder how things had taken such a turn.

"I told you, Harry, I'm not hungry," he answered.

"I know, you said that. But…well, it's Christmas. And everyone's worried."

"I'm fine. I just don't feel like eating."

"You don't have to eat. Just join your family, yeah?"

"Not interested."

A sigh came from the other side of the door, followed by a prolonged pause. "Alright. I'll come back later. Do you think we could maybe talk then?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Okay. Yeah, okay, I'll be back."

The retreating footsteps told Ron he was once again alone, which was exactly how he preferred it. Nobody else knew what had happened, and he didn't particularly feel like explaining why Hermione had joined him in his room for a bit before Flooing home at one o'clock in the morning.

How had he ruined things so thoroughly? And so quickly? They'd only been back in each other's good graces for a day or two at best and romantically entwined for an hour before everything went to hell. It had to be some kind of record. Most frustratingly to Ron, it all seemed likely down to a misunderstanding.

The prospect of Hermione moving halfway around the world was scary, and of course he would miss her if she did. But he never wanted her to assume that he didn't support her in her career. He'd stumbled over his words so thoroughly that that part clearly never got through to her.

At the same time, what did she expect? He was in a state of delirious bliss at the moment, drunk on the love they'd finally expressed physically. It had been the most mind-blowing hour or two of his life, and one that he'd hoped at the time would be the first of many. Knowing now that he might never reach that level of ecstasy again only added to his depression.

Half an hour passed by, then an hour, then an hour and a half. Ron was barely keeping track of time, of course, because it wasn't as though he was planning on doing anything else with his Christmas. Still, it was a surprise to him when he looked at the clock as another knock came on his door.

"Ron?" Harry called. "Can I come in?"

Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair and doing his best to make his sheets look less mussed. "Yeah, sure."

The door swung open and his friend stepped across the threshold, setting down a bowl of potatoes on the desk before closing them back in. As he approached the bed, Ron caught Harry's nose wrinkling and a pensive look briefly crossing his face. He could probably smell the sex that Ron would never have again.

"Brought you some dinner," Harry said, offering him the bowl.

With the full knowledge that it probably smelled great, Ron still refused. "Told you I wasn't hungry."

"That's fine. I'll leave it there in case you change your mind."

Harry pulled the desk chair across the floor and placed it a meter or so from the bed before sitting down. "So what happened?"

"Harry…"

"Sorry, Ron. I know you don't really want to talk about it, but this isn't like you. I'm worried. I'm worried it's going to be like last summer again."

Memories of countless hours spent staring at the ceiling and drying tears came back to Ron in a flood, reminding him of some of the darkest hours of his life. It wasn't that he wanted his situation to devolve into a mess like that again, but to an extent, it seemed outside of his control. "Don't worry about it, mate. Not your problem."

"Of course it's my problem, Ron. We're best friends. We live and work together. I care about how you're doing."

"Well, unless you fancy breaking into the Ministry yet again to steal a time turner, there's not much either of us can do."

Harry paused, glancing around the room, probably looking for clues to Ron's disastrous night. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, that bad."

"Well…and remember, I'm your friend, and I want what's best for both you and Hermione…could it be that it's not as bad as you think?"

Narrowing his eyes, Ron glared up at his friend. "Not as bad…? Sod off, Harry!"

"I just–" Harry continued, "I remember what happened last summer. I talked to Hermione after it all happened. She didn't seem to think that everything was hopeless back then. So it makes me wonder–"

"She didn't storm out back then."

"You guys argue all the time, though!"

"Not like this."

An audible gulp came from Harry's throat. "I see."

"Mate, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but drop it. I don't think Hermione's going to trust me again any time soon."

"Oh," Harry responded, his eyebrows raising. "Did she…might she have talked to you about her…hmm."

"Might she have talked to me about her plans to leave the country right after we got back together? Yeah, she might have."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to say anything if she hadn't."

"So I was the last to know?" Ron asked. Of course that would be the case. It figured. Maybe she wasn't as serious as he thought about being with him in the first place.

"No, Ron, it's not like that," Harry begged. "She was just looking for advice. So she sent me an owl a week or two ago, well before the Slughorn party, when you two weren't even speaking."

"Her choice, not mine."

"I realize that, but still. She just wanted someone to bounce her options off of. She wasn't making any decisions, and I very much doubted she would've without talking to you first. Although…sounds like perhaps she did."

Ron's body dropped back onto the mattress, his eyes losing focus as his head hit the pillow. "Yeah, she did."

"Well, what did you say?"

"The details are a little fuzzy."

"General theme, though?"

"I dunno. I tried to be supportive. I also tried to tell her how shit it would be without her. Seems like I failed on both accounts."

"I doubt that's true. Maybe she just needs time. I can talk to her if you like."

Shooting back up to a seated position, Ron stared daggers at Harry. "No. Harry, no. This has nothing to do with you."

"Woah, fine. Sorry I offered."

Ron groaned, rubbing his eyes furiously with the heel of his hands. Even with his best friend, he couldn't get a point across without offending someone. "No, sorry, it's not…I just don't think it would help."

"I understand," Harry replied. "Offer's on the table, though."

"Thanks."

The sun had set, and crickets were starting to chirp outside Ron's partially opened window. A cool evening breeze filtered in, fluttering the posters of Chudley Cannons players on the wall. Delicious aromas from the bubble and squeak were starting to get to Ron, so he padded across the room and picked up the bowl, shoveling a forkful into his mouth. While he was sure his mother still made it perfectly, it didn't taste quite as good as usual, the flavors seeming dull.

"Maybe it's just not meant to be," he finally said, setting the bowl on the floor.

Harry vehemently shook his head. "Ron, stop. I can't think of any two people more meant for each other."

"Stop, mate. Just stop. After everything that's happened, all of the missed opportunities throughout the years, it's just starting to seem like the logical conclusion."

"This is you and Hermione, though! All of the back and forth over the last seven and a half years have to count for something!"

"I mean…I'd like to think so too. But I'm just not so sure anymore. I can't seem to be in a relationship with her without breaking things."

"You don't break things."

"I do!" he cried. "I break us! Every time!"

Harry sat still for a while, contemplating what his best mate had told him. It was clear he had more to say, but despite his mouth opening and closing a few times, he eventually clammed up and rose to his feet, placing the desk chair back where he found it. "I'm really sorry, Ron," he said, backing toward the door. "I'm sorry things didn't go well last night. I'm sorry you're both having a hard time with this separation. And I'm sorry it doesn't seem to be getting easier. But you have to stop blaming yourself for everything. It's just not helpful or fair."

"Don't you think I'd like to? It's just obvious, though."

"At the end of the day," Harry continued after a sigh, "I just want both of you to be happy. If there's anything I can do to help with that, please let me know, okay?"

The doorknob twisted as his friend took another step backward, and Ron simply nodded in his direction. Harry just didn't get it. He wasn't there and he didn't really know what happened, so he'd probably never understand.

After another bite or two of food, Ron set the bowl back on his desk before returning to his bed. His mind was exhausted from thinking through too many possibilities, only to come up empty every time. Like a chess match in which he was marching toward defeat, he felt cornered and helpless, knowing that he had nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable. He drifted in and out of sleep throughout the evening, waking with a start each time from vague recollections of nightmares and worst-case scenarios playing out in his brain. It wasn't until nearly midnight that he finally, mercifully, fell asleep for good.

The sun greeted him the next morning, taunting him as its rays dropped over his body and onto the rug, daring him to think that he would have a better day than the last. Ron knew better than that, though. He'd been fooled before.

Nevertheless, he decided to at least leave his room and make an appearance downstairs. That, naturally, prompted immediate fussing from his mother, who loaded up his plate with eggs, sausages, bacon sandwiches, and roasted potatoes until they were overflowing onto the table. He thanked his mother, and while the food still didn't taste quite right, he did find that he was hungry. No man alive could've finished the entire plate, but he did his best, making a sizable dent in each of the offerings.

After breakfast, Harry and Ginny showed up at the back door. They'd been awake for hours and had already eaten and gone for a walk through the thin layer of snow that had fallen overnight. Harry seemed a bit surprised to see Ron in the kitchen, but a smile quickly spread across his face as he offered his friend a game of Wizard's Chess. Even though his heart wasn't fully in it, Ron accepted.

The match was closer than usual, although Ron still managed to prevail in the end. Afterward, he played a game against Ginny, dismantling her within ten minutes. Glimmers of normalcy and happiness were peeking through, and he even laughed once or twice as the three of them talked about life, Hogwarts, and jobs. But Ron found he could never go more than a minute or two without his mind returning to his biggest predicament, something Ginny picked up on when his expression dropped for the umpteenth time.

"Just give her some time, Ron," she said as she and Harry leaned back together in the loveseat. It hadn't even been two days since Ron and Hermione had been sitting there when they started patching things back up. Now the sight of the furniture almost made him sick.

Ron groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Gin, come on…"

"No, Ron, this is obviously bothering you. Truth be told, it's not ideal for Harry and I, either."

Great, now I'm being blamed by everyone.

"Oh, well, I'm terribly sorry to ruin your holiday," he shot back with a scoff.

"Ron, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Not what you meant? Piss off, Ginny. You have no idea what you're talking about."

He stood to leave, but his sister's hand clasped around his wrist. Overpowering her wouldn't be difficult, but something about the pleading look on her face caused him to reverse course, returning to his seat and slumping down.

"Can we please talk about this? Please?"

Shaking his head, he huffed. "Fine."

"Thank you. Now, you're missing my point. I was never trying to level an accusation, merely stating that our goals are the same here."

"It's true," Harry added. "We all want her to come back and enjoy the holiday together."

"And I want a brand new Firebolt, but sometimes things just aren't in the cards, you know?" Ron replied.

"But don't you think it's at least worth a shot?" Ginny asked. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I'm not going to ask because it's none of my business. But I'm just saying, both of you have had some time to cool off for a couple days. Maybe I could write to her?"

"It's not going to do any good."

"How can you be so sure? And more importantly, why wouldn't you want me to even try? Are you–I can't imagine you're not interested anymore, are you?"

"It's just…it's not going to happen."

"Because you don't want it to?"

"Of course I want it to!" Ron exploded, jumping up out of his seat and knocking over the chess set in the process. "But–you weren't there, Ginny. You don't get it."

"Maybe–" Harry started, clearly grasping for straws, "maybe Ginny's right. Maybe a little more time."

Ron stood in the middle of the room, massaging his temples and trying to understand why it was so difficult for them to understand. "It won't make a difference."

"It might."

"It won't."

The group fell silent, Harry looking down at his shoes and Ginny staring off at nothing in particular. A sudden and overwhelming sense of anxiety hit Ron squarely in the chest like a hex from a Death Eater, and he knew he had to get out of the room. These were the last people with whom he should be discussing his and Hermione's relationship. It wasn't fair to Hermione to explain to Harry and Ginny why their efforts would be fruitless, and above all, he would never betray her confidence. If he ever had any hope of salvaging something with her, he certainly couldn't tell his best friend and his sister about how a night of sex led to an awkward conversation which led to the end of their brief reunion. It would be completely pointless to continue the conversation.

"Just drop it, would you?" he asked, striding toward the staircase.

"Ron," Ginny asked just as he started up to his room.

"What."

"Maybe in a few days? I'll just ask if she'd like to come for New Year's Eve."

Ron took a deep breath. "Whatever."

Taking the stairs three at a time, he reached the top and slammed the door to his room behind him. It seemed that everywhere he went, everyone was going to feel sorry for him. Well, if that was the case, he might as well just stay in his room.

That didn't go as well as he'd hoped either, however. None of his old Quidditch magazines or joke shop mailers held his interest any longer, so he quickly found himself bored and unhappy as opposed to just unhappy. Trying to read didn't work. At one point, he even tried to throw himself into his studying, figuring that maybe he could use the time to become a better student at Auror training.

It was all hopeless, however. He found that it didn't matter what activity he attempted, he quickly lost focus as his thoughts drifted to Hermione. He never felt bored when Hermione was around. Without her around, he'd probably be bored for the rest of his life.

As the morning rolled into the afternoon and the sun reached its zenith, he found himself lying in bed and once again staring at the ceiling. Out of nowhere, the most peculiar idea popped into his head, one that he wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of before.

Why couldn't he try to reach out to her? Ginny and Harry wouldn't know where to start, but he would. Maybe he could send her an owl, try to explain himself. Or maybe he could even just show up at her parent's house. If she could Floo there, so could he, right? And at this point, what did he have to lose?

Suddenly invigorated, he jumped up off his bed and ran his hands through his hair, trying to make it look respectable. He threw a button-up over his slept-in t-shirt and made for the exit. As soon as he turned the knob and swung the door open, however, he found Harry standing on the landing, looking as though he was just about to knock.

"Oh. Erm, hey Ron."

"Hi, Harry. Can't talk, gotta go."

"Uhh, Ron…"

"I'll talk to you later, mate, okay?"

"Ron."

The gravity of Harry's tone forced him to stop in his tracks, spinning back toward his friend. "What?"

"This came for you."

In Harry's hand was a rolled-up parchment, tied with a small red and gold ribbon. Ron recognized it immediately as the ribbon Hermione always used to send letters to him over the summer. His insides froze, and for a moment, he couldn't move his legs, remaining rooted to the staircase as if lashed down by invisible cords underneath the floorboards.

"Pig just dropped it off. Thought you'd want it as soon as possible as it's probably from…you know."

"Oh. Erm, yeah," he replied, regaining the use of his lower limbs. "Cheers, thanks mate."

He dashed back up the stairs and plucked the roll from Harry's hands, retreating to his room to read what might be the most consequential letter of his life to date.

"D'you–" Harry started, clamping his mouth shut and trying again. "I mean, I can stay with you if you'd like. Kind of like…moral support one way or the other, you know?"

"Thanks. Think I'd probably like some privacy, though."

"Yeah, right, I understand. Well, just do me a favor, okay? Whatever's in that letter, don't make any rash decisions."

"Harry, I'm fine–"

"I mean it, Ron. I don't know what she's said, and for your sake, I hope it's something optimistic, but I've seen you when you get bad news. It's not pretty."

Ron nodded, slowly closing the door behind him. "I know. I'll be okay."

Once he was alone again, he slowly removed the ribbon and sat on the edge of his bed. As he unfurled the scroll, it even smelled like her, filling his room with another short, intoxicating burst of her scent. One that he might never smell again in that setting.

He was surprised, however, at its brevity.

Dear Ron,

I think we need to talk. Can we meet?

~Hermione

It sounded bad. 'We need to talk?' When has that ever worked out well for someone in a shaky relationship? Also, Ron couldn't help but notice how she signed her letter. He'd received dozens of letters from her over the years, and he knew her sign-off phrases by heart. This time, he didn't get a 'Best, Hermione' or a 'Sincerely, Hermione' and certainly not a 'Love, Hermione'. Just 'Hermione'.

A bloodbath. That was the only thing he could reasonably expect.

With a growing pit in his stomach, Ron took out a piece of parchment and a quill and scrawled a reply.

Dear Hermione,

I think that's a good idea. Come by the Burrow tomorrow after dinner?

He thought long and hard about his own signature, but in the end, he had to try, right?

Love, Ron

Tying the small slip of paper to Pig's leg and offering him a snack, he sent the poor bird back out into the cold.

Now what?

He somehow had to pass nearly a day and a half before their conversation, a day and a half that would surely be filled with anxiety and stress. The optimistic side of his brain thought that perhaps he could use the time to formulate a plan, to try to figure out something to say that would solve all of their problems.

That, however, was clearly a fool's errand. To make matters worse, Ron ended up spending most of that time cooped up in his room imagining worst-case scenarios, almost as though he was trying to get a head start on his eventual grief. He told Harry what Hermione had said, of course, but his best mate was no help. There were only so many times he could listen to Harry recommend he 'tell her how he feels' or 'just be honest' before he had to dismiss any further advice and retreat to his own private sanctuary again.

Somehow, dinnertime the following evening eventually rolled around. Hermione had sent a one-word response–'Sure'–the previous evening, so Ron knew she'd be coming. The whole time he sat at the table, his eyes kept flashing to the spot in the garden where she used to apparate back when their time together was something to celebrate. His mother asked him why he wasn't eating, but he could only grunt in reply, prompting her to paradoxically add another couple of potatoes to his plate. Much to her likely chagrin, however, his appetite didn't appear out of nowhere; on the contrary, if anything, he was only feeling more queasy as the minutes ticked by.

Just as dinner was wrapping up and he was starting to wonder if she might simply stand him up, a head of bushy brown hair bobbed along toward the back door just above the window sill. There was a knock, and before Ron could get to the door, his mother wrenched it open.

"Hermione, dear! So lovely to see you again! We've just finished dinner, but you're more than welcome if you're hungry."

"Oh, thank you, Mrs Weasley," she said, stepping in over the threshold and glancing nervously in Ron's direction. "I'm all set, though. Just here to chat with Ron if that's alright."

Without a word to his mother, Ron slipped on his jacket and shoes and stepped outside as the two women exchanged pleasantries. A moment later, Hermione was at his side, and they found themselves meandering away from the house toward the pond, loosely following the pathway marked by a thin layer of trampled snow. Ron had no idea what to say, hoping that Hermione would be the one to initiate a conversation. She's the one that wanted to talk, after all. By the time they made it to the pond, its frozen surface glistening in the moonlight, it was clear that neither of them knew what to say.

"Erm, so, your parents. They're alright, yeah?" Ron asked.

Hermione only nodded, tucking her mitten-covered hands into her pockets.

"A–And did you all have a nice–"

"Ron, I'm leaving."

He froze.

If nothing else, Wizard's Chess had prepared Ron to consider every possibility in a given scenario. Thinking ahead, contemplating what the other person would do, setting up mental contingency plans…it was all part of being a good player. And yet, despite having assumed he was ready to receive the information that had just come out of Hermione's mouth, he realized just how thoroughly shocked he really was. His chest seized up as though the engine inside had ground to a halt, and his mouth became so dry he wondered if speech was even possible.

In the back of his mind, he'd always assumed things would work out; they always had before, after all. As a result, he'd never let himself truly consider the possibility that they'd be half a world apart, and he'd been subsequently blindsided. There was no way to ready himself for an earthquake of that magnitude, and he was a sucker for ever thinking he could.

"Right," he finally stammered.

"At the end of March after I sit my NEWTs. I'll be heading to Australia straight away once I finish. I'm sorry to just blurt it out, but…"

"Right, yeah, no, I–I get it."

For the first time, she turned to face him, her cheeks rosy red from the cold. "Do you, though?"

"Yeah, course. Course I do."

His expression must've been as stunned and vapid as he felt because one look at her face told him that she didn't believe a word he said.

"I am sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to just leave the other night."

"You're sorry? I'm sorry. It's my fault." He shrugged. "I pushed you."

"You didn't. In your way, you were supportive. I just…"

"Just what?"

She groaned and shook her head. "I just wish you'd had the conviction to be honest with me about what you wanted."

How could she think he hadn't told her how he felt? Of course part of him didn't want her to leave, but he was honest with her. Mostly, at least. "I wanted whatever you wanted. I want what's best for you, Hermione."

A sad chuckle died in her throat. "I know you do. But I wanted to take into account what you wanted. You're so important to me, Ron, and I can't ignore your presence in my life when I make these kinds of decisions. And honestly, you weren't even able to tell me what you thought in your own words."

"I tried, Hermione. I really did. It wasn't an easy thing for me to hear."

"I know. And in retrospect, that was probably my biggest mistake. I shouldn't have told you when I did. I never meant to ruin an otherwise…perfect memory."

Her eyes flitted up to meet his, and he couldn't help it when one of the corners of his lips lifted just a smidge. Underneath all the pain that had just been heaped on him, she was still Hermione, and he still cared about her more than anything else in the world. "Still a perfect memory."

She smiled as well, the first sign in days that maybe all hope wasn't lost. Ron latched onto it for as long as possible, and even though her worried expression returned within seconds, there was a new glimmer of peace that he felt about the situation. It would take a while to achieve a sense of acceptance about the situation, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Anyways," she continued, "when I had the chance to sit and really think about it all, it became clear to me. The position in Australia is an opportunity I just can't give up. There's too much upside for my career, and it allows me to start helping magical creatures right away. I can't ignore how excited I am about the offer."

Ron nodded his head. "I could tell, you know. I think I was trying to tell you that the other night, but…well, sometimes it comes out all wrong."

"It's okay."

"And I am happy for you. I really am, Hermione. I know how important it is to you, and I know you're going to do great things no matter where you're working."

"Really? Do you think so?"

"I know so. All that prattling on about SPEW back at school?" he offered with a grin. "Well, now's your chance to do it for real instead of with feeble slackers like me and Harry."

This time, her giggle was more authentic. "You weren't that bad."

"Still. You'll have a whole mess of people you can boss around, all of whom are as invested as you are. And it's for a great cause."

"I suppose. But…Ron?"

Tears started forming in the corners of her eye as she stared down at the ground. It killed him to see her like that, and he hated himself for his role in her pain. "Yeah?"

"I–I need you to know," she started, her voice cracking with emotion, "that my decision wasn't easy. I didn't arrive at it without a lot of careful consideration. It's been tormenting me, really, bouncing around in my head for the last several weeks. The answer became clearer recently, but it was still never easy. And it's not my family or my friends or fears about moving that's given me pause. It's you."

If anything, her admission only made the agony worse. But the best thing he could think to do was put on a brave face. Chin up and all that. "Don't worry about me, Hermione. This is your dream."

Tears started dripping down her nose, and she looked smaller than before. "I wish it were that simple."

"It can be. It doesn't have to–"

Before he could continue, she fell into him, grasping the front of his jacket tightly in her fists as her cries intensified. Ron wrapped his arms around her, smoothing her hair, whispering shushing sounds into the night. He couldn't help shedding a tear or two himself, suddenly realizing that this might be one of the last times he saw her for months.

"It's not fair, you know?" she blubbered after taking a deep sniff, her face still pressed against his chest. "It's never fair."

"I know."

"Years of facing down unimaginably stressful situations and pain, doing everything we could to save the wizarding community, sacrificing our own security and well-being and happiness…and now? We're safe, lauded the world over as heroes, but our lives have never been more difficult!"

"Yeah, you're right. It's barmy when you think about it."

She was silent for several moments, resting against him as her breathing slowed. Stepping back, she wiped her eyes and pulled on a pair of mittens. "I'm sorry. Every now and then I can't help but have a small breakdown, it seems."

"Hermione…" he whispered, locking eyes with her before she broke away, gazing out over the pond again with a cold, steely expression.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft, defeated. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you in person. I figured if nothing else, I owed you that."

"I appreciate that. It's really good to see you."

"And…well, I suppose I wanted to talk about…our relationship. What you wanted. Given the circumstances, of course."

What did he want? He wanted her to be his girlfriend, of course. He'd wanted her for years. But would she even agree given their recent argument? And how feasible would that be given the distance? Hermione being a few hours away at Hogwarts was bad enough, but the thought of trying to maintain an intimate relationship with her being thousands of miles away seemed almost unimaginable.

And besides, why should it only matter what he wanted? What about her wishes? She'd stormed out of his room furious with him not seventy-two hours ago, making him legitimately wonder if he'd ever see her again. And now he was considering whether he wanted to tell her he'd like to be her ultra-long-distance boyfriend? How was that supposed to work?

Discontented with his own indecision, he spat out the only clarifying question he could think of.

"Did it mean something to you?"

Hermione's forehead wrinkled as she stared back at him. "I'm sorry?"

"The other night. You and me. Did it mean something to you?"

He felt her hand grip his fingers before he saw it, her thumb rolling over his knuckles in a comforting figure-eight pattern. "Yes," she assured him. "Of course."

"Because it meant something to me. It meant…a lot to me."

"Ron, please listen to me," she continued, forcing his gaze toward her. There was an earnestness in her expression that he had been missing since they'd broken up. He'd always known how to read her, even if he often made a mess of his response. "I don't ever want you to think that what happened a few nights ago was–was a mistake, or was some kind of casual thing. That was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I don't regret it at all."

"You mean it?" The question was pointless; he knew she did.

"Yes. I would never be with someone in that way if I didn't care about them more than anything. I do care about you. I always have, and I always will."

Red rims were circling her eyes again, and Ron could feel his own vision start to blur as the moisture accumulated as well. A few small flakes of snow were falling around them, dropping harmlessly onto the existing blanket of white. It was quiet, but a peaceful quiet, not the nerve-racking kind they were all too used to. Ron slid an arm around Hermione's shoulder and pulled her closer to him, tucking her underneath his shoulder and kissing the side of her head.

Just be honest with her. Saying what you thought she wanted to hear was how you ended up in this mess to begin with. She'll be fine.

And without thinking any further, he simply echoed what his heart was telling him. "I want you to be happy, Hermione, and I know you won't be truly happy unless you're doing everything you can to fight for what you know is right. I want you to reach for your goals because I know how much they mean to you. If that means being in Australia, then it means being in Australia."

She cuddled closer to him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and raising up on her tiptoes to press a long kiss to his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I never wanted it to be like this."

"I know," he replied with a nod. "It's alright."

They remained still, holding each other and peering into the darkness. Even though there was some comfort in knowing that things were decided, it was final. His stomach was still knotted around itself considering the distance that would soon be between them. And his shoulders slumped with dejection. Hermione must have noticed as she gripped him tighter.

"Still," she offered, "you never answered me. What do you think about…you know, us?"

It was a loaded question, of course. And, truthfully, an impossible one. What he wanted was a physical impossibility, and every other option felt completely and equally inadequate. "I honestly don't know, Hermione. I wish I had an answer for you."

"I know how you feel. All bad choices, aren't they?"

"Exactly."

"Can I tell you what I want?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Of course."

"The last few months…no contact, no writing to each other, not having any idea what was going on in your life…it was horrible. I never want things to be like that again. Still, I understand that restarting a relationship of any kind under these circumstances will be quite difficult. Therefore, if a…clean break would be easiest, I'd completely understand."

"A clean break?" he clarified, turning to her with furrowed brows. "What do you mean?"

She could barely make it through her sentence without choking up. "I mean…what it sounds like. A f–full break from each other. Completely."

"I don't want that, Hermione. I don't ever want that again. You were right; these last few months have been so depressing. It's hard to imagine you continuing to not be in my life somehow."

"Good." She smiled, the whites of her teeth glowing in the moonlight. "At least we agree on that."

"Yeah, we do."

"But what about…more than that. I don't mind telling you that there are times when I'd like nothing more than to be your girlfriend again."

It felt to Ron as if a shield had appeared around him, protecting him from the freezing air. His insides warmed at her admission, rendering him immune to the winter landscape. He'd been dying to hear her say those words, to prove to himself that he didn't permanently squander the best thing that had ever happened to him. Once again, he let himself get carried away with thoughts of domestic bliss and eternal happiness, a lifetime with Hermione in his arms.

When the images faded, however, the cold reality of the situation hit him like a freight train all over again. Thousands of miles. Busy schedules. No physical contact. It just couldn't be part of their story. Not now, anyway.

"I want that too, Hermione. So badly. But…I don't know, I worry about trying to restart something like that with everything that'll be going against us, yeah?"

A small grin crept onto her face, and he knew he'd said the right thing. When she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes shone with wonder as though she was recognizing a newfound sense of maturity in him. "I know. I don't want to agree…I really don't, but something tells me it's for the best at this point in time."

"Yeah, I think it is. Besides, if I'm spending my time thinking about what we did just upstairs a few nights ago, I don't imagine I'd get anything done."

She laughed, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I know what you mean."

"Seriously, I'd flunk out of Auror training."

"No, you wouldn't. You're going to be a great Auror. And besides, don't think it's just you! Concentrating wouldn't be easy for me, either."

Pride swelled within him, even if it was a melancholy variety. "Thanks?"

"Of course."

As their chuckling died down, he wrapped her in another hug, settling his chin on top of her head. "So. Friends, then?"

"Of course. Best friends."

"I'll write to you. Maybe not every day, but you'll know what's going on in my life."

"I'll write to you too. Even if I'm busy getting used to my new surroundings."

"Bet you'll take to it like a duck to water."

Pulling back from him, her eyes were wet again as she shook her head. "Maybe."

The sight of her made him well up himself. "And I'll miss you. So much."

"Oh, Ron," she responded, placing her hand on his cheek, wiping away the tear cascading down the side of his nose. "I'll miss you too. From the moment I go back to school, I'll miss you."

"It's not forever, right?"

"No, it's not. And they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knows what the future holds."

"Right. If it's meant to be…well, you know."

"I know."

For a long while, he held her again. Memories of the last seven years of his life flashed through his mind, reminding him of everything they'd gone through to wind up where they were. They'd endured so many trials and overcome so many obstacles to be together, both nearly dying multiple times. If they did it once, they could do it again.

"I suppose I should go," she said. "Some family friends were over at the house, and I promised my parents I'd be home for dessert."

"Oh, right, yeah, you should get going, then."

They broke apart, Ron's hand running down her arm and across her fingertips before finally letting her go.

"Maybe we can see each other again before I go back to school?"

"Maybe we can," he answered with a lopsided grin.

She tried to return his smile, faltering as her face dropped again. "Either way, I'll write. I promise I'll write."

"I know you will," he answered. "See you, Hermione."

"Goodbye, Ron."

Before either of them could change their minds, she turned on her heel and disappeared, leaving Ron alone in the crisp winter night. While part of him was devastated to see her go, for the first time in months, he was confident that he'd gained more than he lost. On some level, going back to being friends naturally felt like a step backward. But when it came to the pair of them, they were at their best when they were friends. If anything was ever going to happen between them again, they needed to reestablish their base.

As he started walking back toward the warm glowing light coming from the Burrow's kitchen window, he thanked his lucky stars for another opportunity, and he resolved to do his best to keep his head on straight. She was more important to him than anything, and their relationship was worth the work. A pang of pain shot through him every time he thought about her being half a world away, but it quickly dissipated under the strength of his conviction that things would be different this time around. They would make it, they had to.

When he glanced back up toward the house, his mother's silhouette was in the window, finishing drying the dishes. She caught sight of him and smiled, which he returned with a wave. He had good friends, a family who cared about him, and a girl that he would do anything for. Despite the setbacks of the last few months, optimism coursed through him.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad New Year after all.

Chapter Text

"So…just friends," Ginny asked yet again, her face screwed up with confusion.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Just friends."

"As in, not dating?"

"As in not dating."

"And that's okay with you?"

Well, it wasn't ideal, but what could she do? Hermione shrugged. "It's okay with me…for now."

The girls were sitting on Hermione's bed at her parents' house, having finally exchanged the Christmas gifts they weren't able to give each other on the actual morning of the holiday. It had been a day and a half since Ron and Hermione's conversation by the pond, and while she hadn't exactly felt great about the way they left things, at least they were back on speaking terms. After the events of Christmas Eve, Hermione had legitimately wondered if they would ever speak again.

Ron's mood must have noticeably changed at home, however, because the following morning, she had a letter waiting for her from Ginny asking for details. Poor Pig looked plainly exhausted, so instead of attempting a back and forth via the owl post, she sent back an invitation to Floo over and have a chat. Ginny had only been in her house for a few seconds before she started in on the rapid-fire questions, and while she seemed thrilled at the progress, she was clearly confused as to where things had been left off.

The red-haired girl took a sip of her tea before continuing her line of questioning. "But no hugs? No snogging? No lovey-dovey letters? No…" Her crude gesture left no mystery as to what she meant. "You know?"

"Excuse me!" Hermione begged, sure that she was blushing.

"Oh, come on. You're an adult, you can have an adult conversation."

"I'm quite certain I'm not interested in sharing any details about any of that with you! That's your brother!"

"Aha," Ginny said slyly, pumping her eyebrows. "So there is something to tell?"

"You're incorrigible!"

They both laughed, Ginny reaching for a petit four and shoving it in her mouth along with some more tea. While Hermione had no intention of discussing her love life with Ginny in any great detail, it was still refreshing to have a girlfriend with whom she could talk things over.

"No, but when we talked, I just told him that I missed knowing what was going on in his life. The months we went without exchanging letters last semester were the longest we'd ever gone without speaking, and I hated it. You know how strange it was without them at school to begin with, but not even hearing from Ron made it…well, really depressing."

"A few months without my brother sounds like paradise to me, but no, I understand."

"You missed him too; I know you did."

"Maybe just a little."

One of the things Hermione appreciated about Ginny was just how easy she was to have a conversation with. She felt like she could be her authentic self around the lone Weasley daughter, not having to worry about being made fun of for being smart or studious, mostly because Ginny had tired of that years ago.

Most importantly, though, was that Ginny didn't shy away from the hard conversations, even when they involved members of her family. Clearly, there were many things Hermione didn't tell her friend; for example, there was no way she would tell her about what had happened on Christmas Eve. But where some people would've clammed up, Ginny was always there to help her talk her way through her problems, and she was immensely grateful.

"Anyway, I'm just glad he took it well and that things seem to be moving in the right direction again. I can only imagine how hard it would've been to go to Australia with things still so tense between us."

Ginny's eyes narrowed as she set down her cup on its saucer. "While I'm happy for you in that regard, don't think I've forgotten about you deciding to ditch me halfway through second semester."

"Would it help if I told you I was really conflicted about it?" Hermione asked, knowing that the element of guilt would come eventually. Her leaving for Australia would affect Ginny just as much as Ron, possibly more at times.

"Hmm. Nope, not as much as you might think."

"Well I was. And part of the reason for that was because I'm having such a great time at school with you."

"I am a good time, aren't I?"

"Exactly," Hermione replied with a grin.

A few moments passed, and Ginny's face became uncharacteristically serious. "I will really miss you, though. I'm not surprised, of course; I had a feeling that you wouldn't be able to resist the offer from Australia. Still, it won't be the same."

Bushy hair fell into Hermione's face as she nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just…I think I have to do this. Otherwise, I would be constantly thinking about what I was missing out on, you know?"

"I understand."

"And no matter how many…people were tying me to England, I'm not sure I could've lived with myself if I let such a good opportunity slip through my fingers."

"Aaand we're back to Ron, no?" Ginny hinted, tilting her head suspiciously.

"Well, I don't mean just him…but…yes."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Voldemort himself couldn't keep the two of you apart, so I very much doubt a couple of oceans could do the job any better."

Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, Hermione sighed. "Wish I shared your confidence."

"Hermione, he cares about you more than anything, okay? Anything."

"And I care about him, too, but if we're not in the same place–"

"Then knowing Ron, he'll wait!"

"He didn't wait when he threw himself at Lavender…"

"Are you–" Ginny stopped herself, shaking her head with disbelief. "Hermione, you cannot possibly think he's still the same person as he was when…she happened."

Of course he wasn't. Sixth year felt like a different lifetime. Where was all of this insecurity coming from? "No, I know. I just…I can't help but worry that I'm inviting something like that to happen again. Not that it would be any of my business, I mean, this was my decision to leave, so I suppose that when it comes to other girls, he can do what he–."

"You're being ridiculous."

Hermione groaned, mentally chastising her overactive mind. "Probably."

"Definitely. I know the two of you seem to have agreed on this 'if it's meant to be, it'll be' mantra, but honestly, it seems pretty meant to be."

"Maybe. It'll be much harder to maintain the longer I'm out of the country, though."

"Maybe so. Life's full of risks and choices. I think you'll be fine, but ultimately, you'll just have to let it play out."

"I hope so…"

"Speaking of choices," Ginny continued, shifting in her seat and grabbing another snack, "I hope you're still choosing to spend New Year's Eve with us. Might be the last time the whole family is together for a while."

Truthfully, the event had completely slipped out of Hermione's mind. Any further time at the Burrow seemed unlikely after she'd left in the early hours of Christmas morning. However, that was then. Maybe it would be nice to see everyone one more time before heading back to school. To see Ron one more time for who knows how long. They had agreed to meet up again, after all.

"Sure. I'd love to," Hermione agreed.

"Excellent. Although even if you'd said no, I would've just come over to your house and dragged you to the fireplace if needed."

Hermione chuckled. "Oh really?"

"Definitely. Now, moving on. Australia. Tell me all about it!"

By the time Hermione arrived at the Burrow on New Year's Eve, festivities were well underway. As soon as she apparated to the edge of the garden, she could hear the thumping beat of music coming from the house, shadows and silhouettes dancing inside, the song punctuated by occasional whoops and shouts. She was welcomed into the home by Mrs Weasley, who was finishing up another round of snacks along with her husband. After a quick hug, Hermione was ushered into the living room where everyone else was celebrating.

Before she could even get her bearings, Ginny nearly tackled her in a big hug, barely releasing her long enough to snap a triangular party hat onto Hermione's head. It was only when Ginny danced back toward Harry that Hermione was able to take in the rest of the room. It was decorated from top to bottom with streamers, magical floating candles, and intermittent pops of fireworks that seemed to be shooting off in a time-release pattern. Someone had charmed the wall over the fireplace to countdown to midnight, spraying sparks every time the number changed.

Bill and Fleur were cuddled close together on the loveseat, George was in the corner fiddling with the wireless to find the best music, and Charlie and Percy were trying to play a game of Exploding Snap amidst the hubbub. The furniture had been cleared out of the middle of the room where Ginny was doing her best to convince Harry to dance, the poor boy swaying out of rhythm and looking supremely uncomfortable. No sooner had Hermione taken another step into the room than Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared behind her, heaping plates of appetizers in both of their hands. Hermione took a small hand pie and moved aside to allow everyone else to get a snack.

It wasn't until she tucked herself against the wall that she caught sight of Ron sitting alone in front of the fireplace. He looked contemplative as he stared into the flames, far from his normal carefree self. It was a sad sight to see, and one that Hermione couldn't help but feel responsible for.

At least he's not holed up in his room. That's better than it used to be, at least.

Summoning her courage, she slipped around the loveseat and took a seat on the floor next to him, sitting cross-legged and warming her hands.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, leaving Hermione to wonder if she'd made a mistake by coming over. Not that she was helping make things better, of course. Her mind drew a complete blank when she thought about what she could possibly say to him given the circumstances, even if they had agreed to be friends again.

Fortunately, just as she was considering giving him space, he finally piped up.

"Nice hat."

Staring at a similar gold topper on Ron's head, she laughed. "Right back at you."

"Gin charmed them to randomly explode confetti out the top, so don't be surprised."

"Hmm, thanks for the tip."

The flames danced in front of them, growing and fading and shifting chaotically, interrupted occasionally by pops of firewood. It was easy to become mesmerized, Hermione's eyes losing focus as the scene blurred in front of her. Silence persisted between her and Ron, but even the small ice-breaker he'd offered made it less uncomfortable than it could've been.

"Did I miss much?" she asked.

Ron shrugged, the fringe of his hair falling down over one eye in the sexiest way possible. "Nah, not really. Ginny's been dragging poor Harry around for half an hour or so, but the party never really starts until Mum brings out the food."

"Well," Hermione said, holding out the hand pie, "looks like I got here just in time, then."

He snickered, hugging his long legs to his chest as his gaze remained focused straight ahead. "Are they good?" he asked, tilting his head toward the pie.

"Of course they are, your mum made them. Haven't you had one?"

"No," Ron responded. "Haven't really been hungry."

On the outside, Hermione nodded her head, keeping her mouth shut. Inside, however, her stomach was turning over on itself, roiling with guilt. It was only on occasions when Ron didn't want to eat that Hermione knew something was seriously wrong. She'd only seen it on a few occasions over the last several years. Once after Cedric died, once after Sirius died, once after Fred died, and once when he had a particularly nasty flu. Lack of appetite marked the lowest points in his life, and it was crushing to realize that their new arrangement might represent that for him.

Shuffling closer to him, she placed her free hand on his knee. He barely responded to her touch, only making her feel worse. Maybe their decision had been rash; maybe there was a better way to move forward.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she offered.

Within a moment or two, he blinked his eyes a few times, his face brightening instantly as he turned to face her. "No, I'm sorry. I've been–nah, never mind. I'm just being ridiculous. Just…still trying to wrap my head around things, I reckon."

"Sure, I understand that. I am too, you know."

"Now you mention it, I should get one, shouldn't I?"

As his mother walked back toward the kitchen, he leaned back and grabbed the last hand pie off of the platter, shoving half of it in his mouth. It was a little glimpse of the Ron that Hermione knew, but it hurt knowing it was forced. He never had to fake anything in front of her before, and it was painful to watch him try.

"Yeah, course it's good," he continued, spraying pastry crumbs toward the flames.

"Oh, right. Good."

"So," he continued, swallowing the second half of the hand pie in one massive gulp, "what do you want to do? Exploding Snap? Wizard Chess? Gobstones?"

"Ron, I don't know, maybe we–"

"Sneak into the kitchen and get a sneak preview of the next appetizer?"

"Ron–"

"Or, I mean, as you already know, I'm not much of a dancer, but I'll give it a try if you really like."

"Ron. Please. Could we maybe just…talk for a moment? Somewhere else, ideally?"

His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes widening for a split second in obvious panic. "Oh. Yeah, sure. M–Maybe just upstairs or something."

"Okay, sure."

The pair of them tried to duck out as inconspicuously as possible, although Hermione was sure that Ginny was paying attention. When they reached the landing of the second floor, she stopped and spun around toward him. "Is everything alright?"

"Alright?" he responded, doing his best to look nonchalant. "Sure, it's New Year's Eve!"

"Hey." She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, their eyes meeting for the first time all evening. "It's okay if it's not."

"Nah, it's great. New Year's, you know, always a good time."

"Ron. I'm serious."

His shoulders dropped as he sighed, pulling away from her and shoving his hands in his pocket. "What–I mean, what do you want me to say, Hermione?"

"I want you to be honest with me."

"Honest?"

"Please. You can be sad or frustrated or even angry about the whole situation. I understand. Even though I think that the, you know, the way we left things was the right thing to do, I'm still sad about it too."

"You are?" His eyebrow curled upward, allowing a little sympathy to shine through.

"Of course. This," she said, gesturing between the two of them. "You and me. It's all rather complicated, isn't it?"

"Guess it is," he replied sheepishly, staring down at his shoes. "Alright, fine. Honesty, yeah?"

"Please."

"Okay. The last couple of days have been pretty hard. When you left after we talked, I was feeling much better, more optimistic about everything. Over the last few days, though…I don't know, it just started feeling like we were having another go round this endless loop of paused or delayed life or something. At every turn, something gets in the way. It's been like that for years, and I guess I just thought…well, hoped, at least, that things would get better eventually. And now they're not."

"I know what you're going through," she reassured him. "And believe me, they will get better."

"I want to believe you; really, I do. It's just not easy at the moment. And for the record, I'm not saying that I think we're making the wrong choice or anything, so don't worry about that. I'm happy for you, honestly. Just…it's hard."

"I understand. And I agree with you, for what it's worth. I want to have fun tonight, but part of me realizes that no matter what I do, it's going to be…bittersweet."

"Yeah, bittersweet. Exactly."

Ron never looked small. Being two meters tall makes it pretty impossible for a person to ever be thought of as small. But as Hermione watched him in his grief, he almost seemed to shrink. It broke her heart all over again.

"I'm sorry, Ron. You know, if it's easier, I can just go home and–"

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly, just practical."

"That's not practical, it's barmy. You were invited. You have to stay."

"I understand, but if my being here is causing you pain–" She started to walk away, but he caught her before she could get too far.

"Hermione!" he interjected, reaching out and grabbing her hand. His palm was sweaty, but she still missed the way his hand felt in hers. "Sorry. But…y–you don't have to do that. It's my problem. Which, you know, means that if anything, I should be the one–"

"No!" she shot back. "It's your house, that would be ridiculous."

"Well, chivalry and all that, though. Trying to be a gentleman, I am. So I can just head upstairs for the next few hours–"

"That would be insane."

"No, not insane. Thoughtful, I reckoned…"

"It's not thoughtful! It doesn't make sense!"

"But it does, be–because you could have fun with Harry and Ginny, while I could…y'know…read Quidditch magazines."

"Ron, stop. This is madness," she replied, venom seeping into her tone. "Do not leave this party on account of me."

"I should, though."

"You won't! I want you to come back downstairs…even though you're starting to annoy the devil out of me!"

His irritation began to shine through as well. "Hermione, I don't care if it annoys you, it's the right thing to do."

"It's absolutely not."

"It absolutely is."

Hermione's nostrils flared as she took a step closer to him, puffing out her chest in the process. "Ron Weasley, I came here to enjoy one last party with my friends, and that's what I intend to do! So no, you'll not be leaving! You'll do no such thing! "

"Like hell I won't!" he yelled, advancing on her as well until their foreheads were nearly touching.
"I'll be damned if I ruin the last party you ever get to go to in England!"

"And I'll be damned if you ruin your New Year's over some mislaid sense of loyalty or gallantry! You're staying! And I'm staying too!"

If it were possible, steam would be pouring out of both of their ears and noses. Neither showed any sign of blinking in the intense staring contest going on between them. Hermione had to focus harder than she ever had before to keep her gaze from drifting down to his kissable lips. There was no chance she was going to let him get away with the stunt he was trying to pull. Still, the pull was always there, especially in close proximity.

Once her anger faded, the strong desire to snog him subsided, and a sense of sorrow returned, her expression softened. "This is a party for everyone. They want you there. I want you there."

"Hermione…" he groaned.

"I mean it. Just because we're at a–a strange point in our relationship doesn't mean we can't have a good time together, does it? This is the last time I get to see you for…honestly, I'm not quite sure how long. I don't want to spend the whole evening being depressed. I want to enjoy myself, and I want you to enjoy yourself as well."

His body language was still demonstrating a degree of frustration, but a smile crept onto his face to spite him. "You're very persistent; do you know that?"

"Luckily for you, I care about your happiness," she answered. "Look, I know this isn't perfect. But let's not let perfect be the enemy of good, shall we? We can still have fun. Come on, we said we'd still be friends, right? Let's be friends at this party."

"Just at this party?" he hinted, holding out his hand.

She scooped it up in hers, giving him a squeeze as they started back down toward the living room. "No, I always want you to be my friend."

"I will. Sorry…lost it a bit back there. Wish I could say it was the first time, but…well, ask Harry. It's become a bit of a trend."

Pulling her lips into a thin line, she nodded. "It's alright. Already forgotten."

As soon as they reappeared, all eyes swiveled in their direction. Ginny shot Hermione a questioning look as if to ask, "Everything okay?" Hermione reassured her with a curt nod, at which point the redhead went back to pulling Harry's arms around like a marionette. Another round of snacks appeared, and Hermione grabbed one each for her and Ron, sitting with him in front of the fire again and offering him the pig-in-a-blanket.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much," he answered with a grin.

"Good. Now, you have to tell me…how's living with Harry?"

"Merlin, he's a nightmare!"

"I heard that," Harry chimed in, flashing a smile at his friends.

"Sorry, mate, gotta tell it like it is," Ron said, turning back to Hermione. "After all, honesty is always best."

Beaming back at him, she took another bite of her snack. The warming glow from the fire filled her with a sense of happiness that had been missing recently. For the first time in a while, the Burrow felt like a place of comfort. Instead of dreading the rest of the party, she cherished the time she had left to spend with her friends.

"Really, though. Are you having fun at Grimmauld?"

As Ron launched into a soliloquy about his best friend's cleaning habits–or lack thereof–Hermione watched as his face lit up. It was so refreshing to see him back to something resembling his normal self again, even if it took a few months for him to get back to that place. The ambiguity of their relationship was always going to weigh on her mind to some extent, but heading back to school knowing they were at least friendly again made the prospect far less daunting.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of stories, games, dancing, and food. So much food. By the time Big Ben was getting ready to announce the start of 1999, Hermione's cheeks hurt from smiling. All of her favorite people were there, and it felt like old times. If they'd swapped location for the Gryffindor Common Room, the conversation wouldn't have changed a bit.

At one minute to midnight, everyone was handed a glass of champagne and gathered around the wireless. Radio announcers counted down, Weasleys and Potters and Grangers alike joining in starting at ten.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, HAPPY NEW YEAR!" they all called. The air was filled with the clinking of glasses, a verse of Auld Lang Syne, and even a few kisses. Ginny, of course, dove straight at Harry, capturing his lips in a kiss that didn't appear likely to end any time soon. Fleur and Bill, Percy and Audrey, and Mr and Mrs Weasley all followed suit. Hermione's eyes naturally drifted toward Ron, wondering what it would be like to join everyone else and share a midnight kiss with the person she cared about more than anyone in the world.

Instead, though, she was faced merely with his lopsided grin. She returned it and, overcoming the little bit of fear in the back of her brain, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He quickly returned the favor, large hands running up and down her back as she tucked herself against his chest. It was so wonderfully familiar; the feel of his body, the smell of his clothes, the touch of his fingers against her. She needed to put a lot of effort into keeping things purely friendly and not sliding back into old habits.

The hug lasted far longer than she expected, breaking apart and locking eyes immediately. His gaze was so intense that for a moment, she thought he was about to kiss her. After several more seconds, however, he grinned and turned to Harry, slapping his best friend on the back. Hermione quickly refocused her mind and hugged Ginny. It took a while to get around to all of the other family members, but once everyone had offered each other greetings and all the champagne was drained, the crowd started dispersing.

George, looking rather melancholy the closer it got to midnight, excused himself and disappeared to his room. Mr and Mrs Weasley began cleaning up in the kitchen, Bill and Fleur went to bed, and Percy and Audrey hopped in the Floo to head back to their flat. Harry and Ginny stayed behind for a moment, finishing a conversation they'd been having before the clock tolled midnight, but soon after excused themselves shortly thereafter, leaving Hermione alone with Ron.

What do you say to a person who's meant so much over the years? 'Goodbye' seemed impossibly lame. 'Good luck at Auror Training' felt like they were going home for the summer after the school term ended. And 'I'll miss you', while technically accurate, was also dangerously fraught.

"So," Hermione started, pulling on her jacket, "do you think there's a chance we could meet up again? I have a few days before heading back to school."

"I wish," Ron answered. "Auror Training starts back up tomorrow afternoon. They can't even give us all of New Year's Day! Cruel, it is."

"Wow, that is rather harsh. In that case, erm…study hard!"

Study hard?! What was she, his teacher?

Ron being Ron, however, he merely laughed it off. "I'll try. You too, by the way. Make sure you, you know, study hard."

His flirty undertones were exciting. The whole evening had made Hermione wonder whether they'd made the wrong decision by agreeing to stay friends; she'd felt so close to him over the past few hours. Still, it wouldn't do to relitigate the situation at this point. What was done was done, for now at least, painful though it might be.

"And…well, have fun, okay? You and Harry. And your co-trainees. I hope you find time to enjoy yourselves."

"We will. Again, you too. Seriously. I always find time for fun; I'm not sure what you do without me around to force you to take a break."

"Easy, I just don't take breaks."

"That's pathetic."

She giggled. "Perhaps."

Another pause in the conversation sent Hermione's brain scrambling for another topic, anything she could come up with to prolong the conversation and avoid the inevitable. All she wanted to do was stay, to spend as much time with him as possible until he had to leave the following day. But that wasn't her decision to make any longer.

"You'll write, yeah?" he finally asked.

"Of course. You too?"

"Yeah. Much as you like."

"Good. So will I."

"Excellent. It'll be good to, uhh, keep in touch."

"Right. That's what…friends do!"

"Yeah." He trailed off, his eyes searching hers as if probing for answers.

They finally broke free from each other's stare again with a chuckle and a shake of the head.

"Anyway," Hermione said, "I should be off. Don't want to wake my parents if I can avoid it."

"Oh, right. Yeah, say hi to them for me, will you?"

"I will."

As she padded over toward the fireplace, Ron followed her. His face was screwed up in concentration, as though he was trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle. It wasn't until she reached into the small metal bucket by the hearth that he reached out and took her hand before she could pick up a palmful of powder.

"Hey, Hermione?"

She turned back toward him, trying to keep the eagerness out of her eyes. "Yes?"

"Do me a favor? Just, uhh, try not to…find a new boyfriend or anything, okay?"

Heart skipping a beat, she quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "Oh. Erm–"

"Because, Australian blokes, you know. Just…surfer types or whatnot."

"I see. Right, I wasn't planning–"

"I mean, ugh." He grabbed the sides of his head, giving it a quick shake. "Sorry, you can if you want. I didn't mea–sorry, that's…not my place."

"Oh. No, it's fine, I know–"

"Just," he sighed, his big blue eyes catching hers again. "Just don't forget about me, okay?"

Pulling him in for one last hug, she rose up onto her tiptoes. "I could never."

Nodding, he stepped back. "Right, then. Well…knock 'em dead, yeah?"

"I will. You too."

Hermione could feel him watch her as she stepped into the fireplace, Floo powder clutched in between her fingers.

It's not forever. Just for now.

Before she did anything else rash, she threw the powder at her feet. "8 Heathgate, London!"

Chapter Text

Even though it was only a half day of work, the return to Auror Training had been a true kick in the teeth. By the time Ron and Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place around seven o'clock, neither of them had the energy for anything besides eating a few leftovers from the fridge and retiring to their rooms. It was amazing how even a short break in their studies left Ron so utterly aware of his brief period of deconditioning. The calisthenics and exercises left him breathless, spell practice made him dizzy, and by the time they finished their lectures for the day, he could barely think straight.

Which was perhaps a saving grace. All day, he'd found himself distracted by thoughts of Hermione. He was in a much better place mentally than he had been for the past few months after reconciling with her, but there was still a melancholy overtone to his musings. Being friends again was great, but the fact remained that she was committed to an indefinite period of time working halfway around the world in a country full of men who…weren't him.

It sent a thrill through his chest, then, when Pig tapped on the window of his bedroom, a piece of parchment tied with a particularly familiar bow affixed to his leg. He let the poor half-frozen bird in, detached the letter, and shooed the animal toward the fire in the living room. His eyes started reading before the letter was fully unfurled.

January 1, 1999

Dear Ron,

It feels a bit strange to be writing to you so soon after seeing you, but I just wanted to. Now that we've agreed to start fresh, I want to do it right. Not writing to you or talking to you during the fall term was so bizarre; I never want to go back to that again. So I promise you that you'll be hearing from me often.

However, writing to you only twelve hours after leaving your house means that I don't really have much to say just yet. Mum and Dad took me out to a special New Year's Day brunch at one of our favorite restaurants, and I think you'd be happy to know that if anything, I overstuffed myself. Maybe not on the same things you would (I only had one sausage, for example), but it was still a good feast.

Now I have to focus on repacking to go back to school in a week or so. I know it sounds early, even for me, but I'll only be there for half of the semester before taking NEWTs and getting ready to leave again around Easter, so it's a bit of a different thought process than usual. Kind of a shame that I'll be heading right back into the Australian winter just as it's getting nice in Britain, but that's okay. I'll already have my jumpers packed, at least.

I hope you had a good start back with Auror Training. You seemed a bit down about it over the holidays, but I just know that you have all the skills you need to be a fantastic Auror. You're smarter than you think, hard-working when you're committed, and cleverer than any of us. But most of all, you have such a big heart, Ron. It makes me happy knowing that you share some of it with me, but it also makes me feel safe knowing there are people like you protecting everyone.

I hope you don't mind my saying (if it wasn't obvious) that I miss you already; like I said before, Hogwarts will never be the same without you. It'll be a little better knowing we can keep in touch more than before, but nothing compares to being with you.

Anyway, I should be getting back to my packing, and my parents have another fun dinner planned for this evening. I think they're trying to sneak in all the time they can get before I leave, which is understandable. I'm sure it's hard for them too.

I know that by the time you get this, you'll probably already be busy again. I'll be home for another week before heading back to Hogwarts, so please don't feel pressured to write immediately. It's just good to know that we're writing again at all.

Love, Hermione

'Love Hermione'. It filled him with a wonderful warm, cozy feeling to see that particular valediction again. All of the fatigue from the day seemed to wash away as Ron was hit with a fresh burst of energy. He pulled a sheet of parchment from his desk drawer along with a quill and ink bottle and started writing straight away.

Dear Hermione,

One sausage? Child's play, that is…

February 4, 1999

Dear Hermione,

I can't believe Binns is still teaching History of Magic. Sure, he was dead to start with, but he's got to give it a rest eventually! I'm glad it's you and not me. If I had to sit and listen to any more in-depth information about the Goblin Rebellions, I think I'd pitch myself down the stairs.

Sounds like the rest of life at Hogwarts is about as expected, though. I'm not surprised that you're almost done with your coursework for the year. You probably could've done it all by early February any year, honestly. I'll wish you good luck in starting to study for NEWTs, but I'm sure you won't need it. The detailed study plans you've laid out in your last few letters made me a little nauseous, but it's nice knowing that some things never change.

Anyway, I forget if I mentioned in my last letter that evaluations were coming up in Auror Training. Well, we had our meetings today with Robards, the head of the Auror office, and guess what? I came through with stellar marks! He acknowledged that it was a rocky start (no surprise there, of course), but he said that I'd improved so much over the last month or so that I'm now one of the top in the class! Your suggestions for more effective studying were helpful, as much as it pains me to admit it. So a good portion of that credit goes to you. Even when you're hours away, you still help keep me on track.

Harry and I are going to go get our favorite takeaway to celebrate, so I should probably finish up my letter and get ready to go. No matter how much time I spend with Harry and how good of a friend he is, though, it's never the same without you. I miss you a lot, and I'm glad to hear you're doing well. Just make sure you have some fun too. You only get to be a Hogwarts student for a little bit longer.

Love, Ron

February 28, 1999

Dear Ron,

First of all, Happy Birthday! I'm hoping this will reach you the day you turn nineteen, but if it's late, then Happy Belated Birthday! I hope you got the gift I ordered for you. Just don't eat it all in one sitting, please. Otherwise, it'll be like the night after our Hogsmeade trip that one time in fourth year, you remember? Of course you remember, you had a chocolate frog coming back up and out your nose.

I'm sorry to hear that your exam was difficult, but exams are supposed to be difficult! Otherwise, how can you be sure you've learned all there is to be learned? I'm sure you're already scoffing as you read this, but you know I'm on to something. Nevertheless, I'm sure you did much better than you think. Your scores have been way up lately and you're clearly putting in the effort. I'm proud of you!

As of yesterday, I've officially finished all of my Hogwarts classwork and am now moving on to NEWT studying. It's strange not having breakfast and going directly to Professor McGonagall's classroom or the Potions dungeons, but I do enjoy my time in the library as you'd expect. I've actually managed to get an hour ahead of my schedule for the day already, which is an encouraging start!

Still, as much as studying is interesting and I'm looking forward to my NEWTs, I have to admit that I miss the little breaks you always used to make me take. Remember when I insisted that we finish our essays for Charms in fifth year and you made me and Harry have a dance party when Madam Pince stepped out for a few moments. I never told you at the time, but that's still one of my favorite memories of that year. I tried it again today by myself, and it just seemed pathetic. Probably because I'm a horrible dancer. At least I tried!

I also keep forgetting to eat, which only reminds me of all the snacks you used to squirrel away for me. I could tell my blood sugar was getting low after four hours of afternoon Ancient Runes studying, and I really could've gone for one of those puddings you always snuck out of the Great Hall. I made it to dinner in the end, but my last hour of studying wasn't nearly as productive. If only you'd been here; you always took such good care of me.

Speaking of which, I suppose I should get back to work. I hope you can write back soon, although maybe give it a day or two at least. Poor Pig looked plainly worn out the last time he showed up. As much as I love hearing from you, I'd feel dreadful if we exhausted him.

Love, Hermione

March 26, 1999

Dear Hermione,

By the time you read this, you should be done with NEWTs - congratulations! Note that I'm congratulating you now as I'm certain that your marks will be stellar. I hope that you take the opportunity to celebrate a little bit tonight; Merlin knows nobody deserves a night off and a flask of Firewhiskey more than you! Grab Ginny, I'm sure she'd be able to help.

I'm sure it'll be sad to leave Hogwarts in a couple days. It's strange to think that you'll be leaving with a proper goodbye. After all, Harry and I kind of knew we wouldn't be back when we boarded the train after sixth year, but it wasn't quite the same. Anyway, I hope it's not too depressing. Bittersweet, perhaps. Write me if you'd like to talk about it, okay?

On a similar topic, I wanted to let you know that I finally had my first meeting with that Healer at St Mungo's after training yesterday. I still think it seemed a little barmy to just talk about all the things that had gone wrong in my life, but I have to admit that I felt better afterward. I hope you don't find it strange that we talked about you…well, you and me a little bit. I don't know, it's a little embarrassing to talk about, but like I said, I think it helped me get some things straight in my head.

We talked about Fred too. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but still really hard. I guess I hadn't really talked about it with anyone. Got some things off my chest, so that was good.

Maybe don't mention any of this to Harry, yeah? Or my family? Certainly not Ginny. As far as any of them know, I'm just doing some extra catch-up work once per week. Probably just easier that way for now. I'll tell them eventually.

Anyway, on a happier note, Harry and I both got extra commendations during training today for our marks on the last exam as well as our mastery of advanced defensive spells. It almost felt like cheating because of all the extra practice we put in back in the D.A. days and, well, everything that's happened to us, but it's not our problem that everyone else has led such a boring life so far. We're going to start working on Patronuses soon. I can't wait for the look on their faces when the terrier and stag go bounding through the room while none of the rest of them can produce anything more than a couple wisps.

I suppose the next time I hear from you, you might already be in Australia, yeah? If so, good luck with all of the travel. I still think the aeroplane idea sounds positively mad, but I know how much you love your Muggle ways sometimes. Just be safe when you get there, okay? It's a new place with new people and I know you'll do great, but just be careful. Make sure you always have your wand ready and be aware of your surroundings.

Ugh, sorry. You helped defeat You Know Who and I'm giving you basic safety tips you'd instill in a first year. I guess I can't help worrying about you a little bit.

Most of all, though, have a great time. I know you'll do great things, but I make time for fun too. I'll keep writing, I promise, but I'll understand if you need a break to get your new life set up.

I miss you, and I'm thinking of you. Be safe.

Love, Ron

April 22, 1999

Dear Ron,

First of all, I'm sorry about my last couple letters. I never meant to startle or worry you. I know I sounded a bit panicked at times, which was not my intent. The difference between Britain and Australia is stark, of course, but I am enjoying things here now that I'm a bit more settled. I think that between the transition to work and getting used to my new flat in a noisier area of town and the jetlag (when your body isn't used to the time zone difference and you get sleepy in the middle of the day), I wasn't quite acting like myself. But I'm still me, and much better rested now, which helps tremendously!

Work has been challenging in a good way. It's a steep learning curve as everyone on my team is already up to speed on all of the various projects and initiatives into which the office is pouring their efforts. I'm getting to know all of my new colleagues, and they're really fantastic people, all very smart and clearly dedicated. I can tell we'll work well together as a group and that we'll do great things as a group! Mr Baker is the current head of the department, so I work with him a lot. He reminds me a bit of your dad, a complete delight to learn from if a bit eccentric at times. The rest of the team is all young like me, most of them graduating from the school of magic within the last few years (Jarrah School of Magic - its name derives from the aboriginal population in the country. Very interesting!).

I've already introduced a couple of new initiatives to the group, and they all seemed quite encouraging of my ideas, so we're off to a great start! I was worried that they would find it strange reporting to someone younger than them and knowing that I would eventually be taking the post of head of the department, but nobody has been strange about it at all. Chris and Laura are probably the people I work most closely with, both of whom did their school thesis (which is something they get to do in their seventh year - I wish I had been able to!) on the rights of magical creatures, so our interests align perfectly. Chris happens to live near me and introduced me to this stall near my flat that sells chiko rolls, a street food dish kind of like an eggroll. I wish I could send one to you, you'd love them! Although you'd probably want three or four at each sitting!

Anyway, enough about me. It was so great to hear about your first mission as well! You shouldn't call it a 'simple training exercise'; it sounds like you and Harry were actually quite helpful! Just because a criminal isn't as powerful as Voldemort (he's dead, you can really use his name now) doesn't mean apprehending them isn't dangerous. You never take enough credit for the impressive things you do. I wish you would; you've earned it more than most your age. Either way, I'm proud of your contribution, and I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating - knowing you're out there keeping me (and everyone else) safe is the biggest reassurance I could ever have.

Also, I'm so glad to hear things are going well with the Healer at St Mungo's. I know it's all a little strange, but now that you've gone every week for a month, I hope you're still finding it helpful. I've been reading about the techniques they use, and they seem quite clever. With all of the trauma in our past, anything that can help is worth it, don't you think? I've even looked into seeing one over here in Australia as well, although I'm not sure they have them. We'll see.

Yes, I did hear about the one year anniversary event at Hogwarts in a couple weeks. Fortunately, even if I wanted to attend, I wouldn't be able to get away from work that soon. But I'm not surprised that you and Harry aren't interested in going. Even if I was in Britain, I wouldn't go either. Press from all over Europe will be there, and that just doesn't interest me. I've already been hounded enough for pictures at times, and I'm sure it's been the same or worse for you and Harry. I understand people wanting to mark the occasion, but being right in the middle of it would feel oddly exploitative. Maybe sometime in the future, though, when we're not considered celebrities. Ugh, I hate even writing it.

I suppose I should be going. I have to be back at work in less than seven hours, so I have to get some sleep. I know it's a huge cliche, but I'm so far away that sometimes I look out my window at night and wonder how it's even possible that we're looking at the same sky. We're not, of course; your night is my day and vice versa. But still, I suppose that's my way of saying that I miss you. I miss you even more now that we're so far apart. I didn't think it would be like that, but for some reason, the extra distance between us makes it harder. Silly, probably, but it's true.

I hope you have a wonderful day, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Love, Hermione

June 23, 1999

Dear Hermione,

Wow, that Acromantula project sounds…honestly, no, I can't even write it. It sounds horrible. Hermione, I know that all magical creatures deserve protection at some level, but honestly, you've gone too far with that one. Maybe it's because you never met Aragog in person. Trust me, they can look after themselves. And you say the ones in Australia are the biggest in the world?! Just leave them be and stay the hell out of the way!

I'm kidding, but only to an extent, of course. Killing them for venom is a terrible practice, even if knowing there are fewer of them out there helps me sleep a bit better at night. At least there's a couple of oceans between me and them. They can't fly down there, can they?

Mostly, I'm just glad to hear that things are going well, though. I know that it took a while to get used to things in Australia, but it makes me feel better knowing that you're doing better and enjoying your time there. My Healer at St Mungo's was saying that there's no better time for trying new things and taking risks than when you're young. I guess she's right, and I'm happy for you that you get to take advantage of that. I still miss you, of course, but I don't know, being able to keep in touch like this has definitely made things easier this time around. I hope you agree.

I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming home for the summer, is there? I know you said you don't get much time off at first, which is understandable, but eventually, right? It would be great to see you again sometime. I can't believe it's been almost 6 months.

Still, life is busy here, too. You're right, I can't believe it's almost time to graduate from Auror Training. Even with you pushing me back at Hogwarts, I don't think I've ever worked so hard in such a short time. Well, for the second part of the year, at least. Robards is handing out assignments in the next week or so. I don't really care what my assignment is, but I do hope I can be with Harry at least some of the time. Although he and Ginny have gotten so cuddly and cozy that sometimes I get sick of all the gushing and would rather work by myself. There are a few other classmates graduating in our class that were both fun people and good at the job. I'd be fine working with them too, especially if it keeps the romantic mentions of my sister to a minimum.

I suppose I should wrap this up. Harry and I are meeting some of the other trainees out at the pub tonight to celebrate our writing our last exam. I'm not going to drink as much as the last time, I promise. Woke up feeling like Buckbeak had been stomping on my head all night. I'll say hi to Harry for you.

Miss you very much, and I hope to see you sometime soon.

Love, Ron

September 2, 1999

Dear Ron,

Wow, that mission sounds…well, dangerous, mostly. Please make sure you're taking care of yourself and being safe, alright? I know you're with Harry, but let's not pretend that he can't get a little carried away in the name of bravery from time to time. Don't get me wrong, I trust him completely, and I think the pair of you make a great team. Just. Well, just be safe. Please.

Even though it scares the wits out of me, please know that I'm still so proud of the work you're doing. Despite my anxiety, that will never change. You're a devoted and dependable person, and you have a heart of gold, which is a credit to the people you serve and protect.

My projects are proceeding well. Our main goal right now is helping to safeguard the parts of the outback that are filled with giants. I'm beginning to see how progressive Dumbledore's views on giants really were when he not only allowed Hagrid to come to Hogwarts but then hired him back after his expulsion. The interactions between giants and the rest of the wizard community in most parts of the world (including Australia) are far less friendly. They're treated as hostile combatants more often than not, which is supremely unfair. Ultimately, I think they're just quite misunderstood, and my interactions with Hagrid and learning about giants from him have been very helpful.

I'm also finally making progress with my house-elf legislation, although I suspect that's going to be a much steeper hill to climb. There are members of the government here who have been exploiting them for their own gain for centuries, and even though I've found some allies who find the practice reprehensible, those who still benefit from house-elves' free services are unlikely to take any reform lying down. It'll be quite the battle, but it's one that I'm ready for.

I've been avoiding this next part of the conversation, but I suppose there's no point in delaying any further. I'm sorry to say that I'm once again not going to be able to make it back home in the next couple of months. I was really hoping I'd be able to find the time, but between ongoing initiatives and the time it takes to make it home and back, there's just no good window until Thanksgiving at the earliest. I'm definitely coming home for Christmas as our whole office goes to minimal staffing, but before then, I just can't be sure. My parents came out a few weeks ago. It was nice to see them, but again, it almost didn't feel real, you know? Like I was playing house and they were just humoring me. I don't know, growing up certainly is strange at times.

I really wish it didn't have to be this way. I'm just as disappointed as you that I'm stuck here. Not stuck here, that's not a fair assessment. I do enjoy my life in Australia, but as much as I'm growing to love the country and its people, it's not Britain, and it never will be (even though it used to be a British colony). I wasn't expecting to be as homesick as I occasionally find myself, but it makes sense, doesn't it? Nothing will ever be quite the same.

Anyway, it's quite late, and I should be getting to bed. I'm so sorry, Ron. I was really looking forward to seeing you soon. I know I keep telling you it might be soon and then plans change and life intercedes, but there's just nothing I can do about it. Believe me when I say it's quite literally breaking my heart at times. I actually had to see a Healer about some chest pains I was having the other week. She said it was just my heart reacting to the stress of the situation and that it wasn't anything to worry about. Fat chance that'll actually get me to stop worrying, of course. It's who I am. I'll always worry. Especially about you. And especially when I can't see you for so long.

Sorry, now I'm rambling. Wow, do I need sleep or what? Please stay safe, and I really do hope I can see you soon. Miss you like crazy.

Love, Hermione

Ron allowed the top half of the parchment to roll back up, pinning the bottom half to his desk. The ink suddenly smudged as a tear fell from his eye. He pushed back from his desk in his chair and leaned it back onto two legs, nearly topping onto the nearby mattress. The headache that had been building all day through his exams crescendoed to a maximum as feelings of hopelessness set in.

Not again. When will life ever cut us a break?

Eight full months had passed since he'd last seen Hermione. Hearing from her regularly was great, of course, but nothing could take the place of feeling her body press against his in a welcoming hug, smelling her shampoo as they sat next to each other outside, or the way her frizzy hair blew in the breeze. What if she cut her hair? What if he didn't even recognize her anymore?

Fortunately, his work kept him from perseverating on her prolonged absence for too long. He and Harry were being assigned increasingly complex missions for the Ministry, and though they were always Junior Aurors tagging along with more experienced members of the organization, they'd still had plenty of scraps with mid-level criminals. It was satisfying and fulfilling in a way, of course, and it was nice to feel like he was contributing to society again.

Still, when he arrived home every evening and retreated to the solace of his bedroom, his thoughts immediately drifted to the woman he missed more than anything in the world, the only one who could make his life truly complete. Because if nothing else, their time apart had solidified for him in no uncertain terms that Hermione was the one for him. Nobody else would do, and he'd wait his whole life for her if he needed to.

Maybe it was because his desperation had finally reached a breaking point, but a switch flipped in his mind, forcing his brain to abandon its depression and go into problem-solving mode. He started doing the calculations in his head and visualizing the calendar. Would it work? Did he actually have the time? It just might!

Dashing out of his room, he pelted down the stairs to the kitchen where Harry was seated at the table and eating from a takeaway container.

"I'm going to Australia!" Ron yelled as soon as he rounded the corner.

Harry wiped his mouth, lifting an eyebrow toward his friend. "You're what?"

"Going to Australia. I'm going. Soon, too."

"But. Wait, hang on. You're serious?"

"Course I'm serious!" Ron replied, sitting down across from Harry. He could barely speak, his brain was moving so quickly. "Look, we get a week and a half off for the rest of this year, right?"

"Erm, I think so? Right, because we technically became employees halfway through the year."

"And I haven't used any of that, have I?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"And aside from a few days around the holiday, I don't really need to use that much more, do I? I mean, where do I have to be, yeah?"

"I mean, I suppose that's up to you," Harry answered.

Ron's hands were vibrating as he continued. "Right, so, what that means is that I can use four or five vacation days and still have a few left over for Christmas. Mum'll be furious if I miss Christmas."

"They give us Christmas off automatically, you don't need to use a vacation day for that. New Year's too."

"Even better!" Ron said. "Anyway, we're allowed to use the international Floo network at work for vacation, right?"

"We are."

"And we have to give two weeks' notice for vacation time unless we're on a prolonged mission, yeah? Which we're not at the moment."

"Right…" It was clear that Harry was starting to put the pieces together himself, but he still forced his friend to lay it all out.

"And what's happening in just over two weeks?"

"Autumn solstice?" his friend shot back with a sly grin.

"Don't be a prick, Harry. You know what I mean."

Harry laughed as he swallowed a mouthful of chicken. "Sorry, couldn't help it. Just over two weeks from now happens to be Hermione's birthday, doesn't it?"

"That's right! And I'm going to be there!"

"That's great, Ron, but…what if she's busy? Just because you might technically be able to make this work doesn't mean that she can just drop everything."

Of course Ron had considered that. But even if he could only see her a couple hours per day, it would still be worth it. "So what? Anything's better than this."

"Not coming back any time soon?"

Ron shook his head. "She confirmed it in today's letter. She won't be home until the holidays at best."

"Wow, that's really unfortunate. I know she says she's enjoying her work, but no breaks?"

"She's had some time, but never for long enough periods to be able to fly all the way back home."

"Can't understand why she's messing about with aeroplanes when she's a witch," Harry replied.

"Yeah, it's barmy. But the Australian Ministry doesn't let them use the international Floo network, so I guess it's her only option."

"I see. Well, if that's what you're set on doing, then I hope you have a good trip. I'll miss you at work, but believe it or not, I think I'll get over it."

"Thanks, mate. It's the right thing to do. I can feel it."

"Can you bring along a present from me?"

"Yeah, course. I'm going to try to leave in time to get there the day before her birthday. It'll be a surprise."

"A surprise, huh?"

"Yeah, I just…I want it to be a surprise."

"Alright. Yeah, great," Harry said, picking up his dish and placing it in the sink. "I'm happy for you. I hope it works out, truly."

"It will. I mean, it has to eventually, right?"

Harry kept his mouth shut but nodded and patted Ron on the shoulder as he headed back upstairs to his room. Ron knew he should follow him; they had another mission starting early the following morning, and he'd need all the sleep he could get. Still, he couldn't quiet his mind enough to rest, instead going through packing lists and logistics until he felt that he'd thought the plan all the way through.

The one thing he couldn't know ahead of time was how Hermione would react. It troubled him a bit, of course. What if he arrived and she was uninterested in spending time with him? Or what if she wanted to but couldn't? Or worse, what if he'd misread the whole situation, and even though her letters were still frequent, she wasn't actually that interested in him any longer? What if…what if she was with someone else?

Can't think like that. If that was the case, she wouldn't send you letters several times per week. Have to be positive. Be positive. It'll work. It has to work.

Chapter Text

Compared to the British Ministry, which due to concerns over available real estate and crowding established its headquarters underground, the offices of the Australian Ministry were positively awash with natural light. Glass windows covered every wall, filling the space with a bright and cheerful energy that was sorely lacking in its English counterpart. Simple shielding charms and Muggle repellent charms caused the locals to ignore the seaside main office as it rose nearly forty stories above the shore of the Pacific Ocean, its tall translucent spires gleaming in the early morning sunlight.

As Hermione walked into the building, she took a moment to marvel at the design. Only witches and wizards could've come up with it, that was for sure. It filled her with a sense of pride that set her mood in a positive place to start the day.

Most days started with a good mood, and to be fair, most ended that way too. The work was new and difficult and challenging, but it was also immensely rewarding, and Hermione couldn't remember ever taking such pride in her accomplishments. She was working with people who respected her and admired her talent and enthusiasm. Their reforms were moving through the government faster than she'd imagined possible, making life better for all magical creatures in her jurisdiction through their steadfast commitment to justice and equality. It was everything she could've dreamed of in her first job out of school, and there was part of her that felt she could be happy in that setting for a long time to come.

And yet.

And yet, her friends and family were thousands of miles away. And yet, while she was getting to know her team and spending time with them outside of the office on occasion, she wasn't quite sure she'd call them true friends yet. And yet, even though Sydney was marvelous to explore, there were enough differences in day-to-day life that made her yearn for old Blighty.

Lastly, the biggest 'and yet' of all, Ron was nowhere to be seen, only present through his scribblings on parchment.

As she checked in through the main entrance and rode the lift up to her department, her mind drifted to him as it always did. Arriving at eight o'clock sharp every morning meant that it was ten o'clock at night in Britain, and Ron was probably just getting ready to go to sleep. At least he should be going to sleep, though Merlin knows how he and Harry were making do on their own. The few letters she'd exchanged with their bespectacled friend indicated that they were getting on well, and she was especially pleased to be hearing more and more about Ron's improvement over the past several months, but whether they were eating well and getting adequate rest was anyone's guess.

Still, while his general welfare was on her mind from time to time, that wasn't the main thrust of her thoughts. First and foremost, she missed him, more so than any other time she could remember. Of course, they'd never been apart for anywhere near this long since they first met, which Hermione suspected was why it was so difficult. She had never gone more than a few weeks without seeing him, much less several months. And yet, despite hoping that she would be able to get away for a true vacation back to Britain sometime in the fall, it was now looking like Christmas was the soonest she could hope for.

Why did everything have to be so far away? Why did she have to choose that life? Why had she made the conscious decision to make things so much harder on her and on them as a, dare she hope, couple?

Because it was the right thing to do. I'm getting so much more experience here than I would have in Britain. This is the best place for me professionally at the moment, and it's not forever. It's not forever. Just remember, it's not forever.

Talking herself down from her own life choices had become somewhat of a ritual for her. Every couple of days, she would need to calm her breathing and remind herself why she was doing what she was doing and why, in the long run, things would work out. They would work out, right?

Setting down her bag on her desk, she opened the blinds and gazed out over the bay. The view was truly unbeatable, the early morning sun glistening off the waves crashing onto the shore. Surfers were already out and making the most of the tumultuous sea, carving through barrels and occasionally wiping out spectacularly. Seagulls hovered over the sand, dive-bombing unsuspecting tourists and their morning pastries. Paradise, some would say. In some ways, yes, in Hermione's mind, but not in the ways that count the most.

A pile of messages was already stacked neatly in one corner of her desk, but as she sat down in her chair, she ignored them momentarily, her attention shifted to a picture frame on her desk. Her best friends were all staring back at her, all adorned in their Hogwarts robes, huge smiles on their faces. Harry's scar was prominent as Ginny held back his hair, and even though Ron occasionally wandered out of the frame, he always returned, dropping an arm around her shoulder. The feeling of him draped over her was one that she would never forget, and one that she longed for again.

"Granger, staff meeting in five, alright?" came a voice just outside her door.

She glanced up and saw Chris Bennet, her number two, grinning at her from the hallway. His blonde hair was sleek and practically glistening in the light, and his shirt was at least one size too small for him. "Right, I'll be there soon!"

"Have a good night?" he continued, stepping just inside her office.

"Yes, it was fine. Finally tried that sushi place everyone's been talking about, the one down by the marina."

"Oh, you should've told us! I'm sure the gang would've met you there!"

"No, it was quite alright. I simply did takeaway and brought it back to my flat. That way I could spend the night continuing the revisions for the flobberworm sales policies."

"Wow," he chuckled, sweeping his blond hair out of his face. "Try to leave some fun for the rest of us."

She didn't respond, only shaking her head.

"And?" he continued.

"And what?" she answered.

"The sushi; what did you think?"

She shrugged. "Certainly fresh, but not my cup of tea. I suppose I'm just too British for raw fish."

"Well, you'll come around. We'll make an Aussie of you yet."

The man had a habit of smiling with every single one of his teeth on display. If Hermione were in a position where she was actively looking for a significant other, she could see how it would be appealing. Objectively speaking, he was a handsome man. And while she could hardly call herself an expert in flirting, she recognized his when she saw it. It was harmless, of course, but she kept wondering if she should tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree. The longer she spent in Australia, the more convinced she was that there was only one man for her, even if he was half a world away.

"We'll see," Hermione replied. "I still think I'd go for a good old-fashioned fish and chips above anything else."

"We've got that too."

"I'm aware."

A few moments passed in awkward silence as she flipped through her messages before Chris took the hint. "Alright, well, I'll see you over there."

"Be right there."

None of the notes rated with any level of importance, so she abandoned them, instead focusing on collecting the materials she'd need for the Wednesday morning meeting. The whole department would be there, and their discussion would set the tone for the next several days. Mr Bell, the current head of the department, had been allowing her to lead the meetings for the last couple of months, and he'd assured her many times that she was doing a marvelous job. Making sure she had her finalized agenda at the top of the stack, she set out from her office, marching down the hall toward the conference room.

Mr Bell was exiting his own office as she passed, his face lighting up as he caught sight of her. The corners of his eyes crinkled with age, and his warm, good-natured smile put any residual doxies swarming around Hermione's stomach at ease. Something about him reminded her of her father, as if she would always be safe and well looked after with him around. He had authority within the office, of course, but he inspired the best out of his team members such that he never really needed to use it. Of all the people she worked with, Mr Bell was probably her favorite. "Good morning, Ms Granger. I trust you're prepared to take the reins again, yes?"

"Of course, sir. Happy to do it."

"Lovely. And for the last time, you must stop calling me sir. Seeing as how you're the brains of the operation, it's an insult to us both. Now, any additions?"

She had to hold back a smile before answering. "Yes, actually. I hope you don't mind, but I've added the Kappa protection regulations back to the agenda; it seems they're quickly becoming obsolete based on the species' natural spread."

"Good thinking. Those things really do breed like crazy, don't they?"

"Seems like it."

"And the thestral surveys from the Northern Territory?"

"It's all included."

"Excellent. Let's get to it, then."

The conference room was bustling with conversation when the two of them entered, quickly subsiding as they took their seats at the head of a long table. Chris sat down next to her, pushing a cup of coffee toward her without saying a word. It had become a bit of a ritual between the two of them, and she nodded her appreciation in his direction before taking a sip. Still, every time it happened, she wondered if there might be an ulterior motive, and she sometimes contemplated saying something just to make sure he knew their relationship would never be anything more than platonic. Although if he hadn't gotten the hint by now…

Besides, there was a meeting to be run, so any personal issues would have to be set aside.

"Everyone ready?" Mr Bell asked as he raised his hands for quiet. "Lovely. Hermione, take it away."

The meeting finished a bit early, allowing Hermione a brief break before settling into her office to start the rest of the work day. With projects assigned and priorities established, she felt confident that the team would continue to work at the high level she'd come to expect, but she still made sure to filter through the office a few times per day to make sure nobody had any questions for her or needed any clarification on their objectives. Chris joined her from time to time, as did the other division deputy lead, Laura Taylor. Between the three of them, they held responsibility over every project in the office and reported directly to Mr Bell. For the time being, at least. Mr Bell had recently announced that he would only be serving in his position for another six months, at which point Hermione would take over.

It was a morning like any other, and Hermione focused on the highest priority tasks, making sure all of their proposed legislation would be ready when the department heads convened with the Minister every Thursday. She hadn't been allowed to come to the meeting yet, but Mr Bell kept hinting that it would happen sooner than later, an honor she was looking forward to. Despite Minister Campbell recruiting her in the first place, she hadn't seen much of the woman since starting. Not that she'd been expecting it, of course; the woman was among the busiest in the whole wizarding world!

As it always did, the first part of the day passed too quickly, and by the time her colleagues started haranguing her to come to lunch, she'd barely been able to finish all of her work. Her mind was still going through lists of remaining tasks as Chris and Laura ushered her down the hall to the lift, where they were met by three other team members, Sarah, Becky, and Andrew. The six of them ate together most days as they were the main permanent employees in the office. A few temporary employees came and went from time to time, mostly working on specific projects with direction from the top levels of the Ministry, but the six of them had formed the core of the department ever since Hermione arrived.

Well, the six of them and Mr Bell, but he always apparated home to eat lunch with his wife, a lovely woman in her early sixties who still acted like she was twenty.

"Are you telling me you actually believe that woman in Perth? Centaur sightings along the west coast?" Becky asked as the lift whooshed them down toward the canteen.

Andrew held his hands up, pleading his case. "I'm just saying, her description was remarkably accurate, and not just in the look. She outlined several behaviors that could be consistent with centaur activity."

"Which she could've just as easily read in a book and parroted back to you."

"Possibly. But it can't hurt to check it out, could it? Besides, how cool would that be?"

"Why is it that you want more potentially aggressive creatures in this country, Andrew?" Sarah begged with a chuckle. "Is Australia not inherently dangerous enough for you yet?"

"It's a good idea to go check it out," Laura said. "We want the community to know that we're responsive to their concerns. I'll go with you next week Andrew."

"Thank you," he said, shooting a gleeful look toward his two skeptical colleagues. "That is what it's all about, isn't it? Public trust."

"Oh, okay, Andrew. Like this is anything more than you being personally curious about seeing a Centaur," Sarah replied.

"Well," he answered with a shrug, "it would be amazing."

"Such a nerd."

The lift ground to a halt and the group stepped out into what looked like a bustling open-air market. Food stalls lined the perimeter with clashing but delicious aromas coming from every direction. The area opened up to an airy room with long tables and a high glass ceiling, drenching the seating space with sunlight. While her colleagues split up in search of their favorite meals, Hermione made a beeline for the chicken tikka masala booth. After collecting a plate of one of her favorite tastes of home and paying for her meal, she joined up with her friends at their usual table, right near the windows looking out over the water.

"Waves look amazing today, don't they?" Laura offered. She was always going on and on about some wave or other that she managed to surf, finding the proximity to the beach to be one of the best parts of the job.

"Looks dangerous to me," Becky said.

"Fun danger, though," Laura replied. "Gotta live a little, right?"

"I'll live on land, thank you very much," Hermione interjected. The group had tried to drag her out surfing on several occasions, but she always managed to make herself too busy to join.

"Speaking of having fun on land," Chris said, setting down his burrito, "if I remember correctly, we have a birthday coming up, don't we?"

Several pairs of furrowed eyebrows looked back at him, none of them catching his meaning. None except Hermione, of course, who never really appreciated the attention that a birthday tended to bring.

"Our very own Ms Granger is turning twenty years old tomorrow, is she not?" Chris hinted, shooting her a sly smile.

Hermione grinned as she swallowed a bite of chicken. "She is. I'm surprised anyone knew about that."

"You didn't think we'd let such an important birthday go unnoticed, did you?"

"I don't know." Hermione shrugged. "I've never made that big of a deal about my birthday, I suppose."

"Well, not anymore. Around here, we celebrate, right?"

The rest of the group added their affirmations, and Hermione chuckled. "You really don't have to do that."

"Course we do!" Andrew added. "It's a tradition!"

"An excellent tradition," Becky added. "I know you've only been here for one birthday so far, but trust us, it's one of the perks of working here."

"There's already a cake in the works," Sarah said. "I hope you like chocolate."

Hermione nodded. "Of course I do, but still, you don't–"

"Excellent, then it's decided!" Chris said. "Now no more arguing, we really do insist."

It was a losing battle, and one that she was happy to lose. Just because work was about work in her mind didn't mean that she couldn't have fun with her colleagues when the occasion called for it. "If you must."

"We must. Tomorrow, end of the day. Mr Bell is already aware, and he'll make sure he's back from the weekly department head meeting by then. So no saying you're still busy, no continuing to work, none of that. We'll abduct you if we must," he finished with a wink.

"Well, thank you. And I promise I'll come willingly. I suppose a celebration with friends would be lovely. It's nice to know I have such supportive colleagues."

"Hear, hear," Sarah said, lifting her cup toward the middle of the table.

"Hear, hear!"

The team finished their meal together and headed back to work, everyone except Hermione finishing by five o'clock. As the rest of her colleagues packed up, she plowed on, wanting to perfect the language on a few of the proposals before calling it a night.

"See you tomorrow?" Chris asked as he stopped by her office, coat and briefcase in hand.

"Yep," Hermione said, barely looking up. "See you tomorrow."

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

"Almost, yes. Just have to finish up a few things."

"Well, don't work too hard. And no work allowed during the party tomorrow. I'm serious."

"I know," she said, offering him a small smile.

"We take these things very seriously around here."

"And I appreciate it, I promise. Thank you for setting it up."

"Of course. Anything for our head honcho."

With a quick wave, he made his way out of the office, leaving her alone again. Most nights, she wound up alone in the office for at least a little while, always the last one to leave for the night. It would bother some people, and perhaps it ought to bother her more than it did. However, none of the work ever felt optional; it was all important and it all needed to get done.

Once she'd finally completed her last task, she leaned back in her chair, running a hand over her face. Reopening her eyes, her gaze landed on the framed photo again. Her friends. Without intending offense to the people she worked with now, her best friends. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent a birthday without at least one of them present. Even during their year on the run, Harry and Ron managed to make her birthday as special as possible with games and a little of the food they'd pilfered away specifically for the occasion.

As always, it was Ron that caught her eye the most. Every birthday, dozens of people would send her well wishes or letters or packages, but nothing ever mattered as much as Ron's gift or Ron's notes or Ron's celebration with her. She watched as his image flitted in and out of the photograph, wishing that she could jump right into the frame. He'd respond by wrapping her in the biggest hug, the one that always made her feel so cared for.

But alas, even magic was only so magical, and she'd have to settle for her daydreams.

Packing up her things, she finally turned off the lights in her office and made her way to the lift, taking it to the ground floor before exiting the building and ducking around the corner to one of the main apparition points. After turning on her heel, a brief moment of nausea ensued as she slipped through time and space before landing outside the front door of her flat. A package was waiting on the welcome mat, a birthday gift from her parents. She scooped it up and let herself into the space, dropping the gift on a table in the small foyer and her work materials on the ground.

Her stomach was grumbling, but before doing anything else, she hurried over to the living room window, throwing up the sash and looking into the small bucket she'd affixed to the hanging flower bed. Pig and other British Ministry owls knew the drop box well, having frequently dropped off letters for her over the last six months. When she found it empty, however, her heart dropped. That was three days in a row without hearing from Ron. It certainly wasn't the longest they'd gone without talking, but it wasn't exactly encouraging either, especially in the lead-up to her birthday.

With nothing else to occupy her time, she returned to the entryway and opened her parents' gift. It was a set of books on Australia, ones in which she had mentioned a passing interest the last time her mum and dad were in town. After heating up some leftover pasta, she sat at her breakfast bar and flipped through the series as she ate. At any other time, she would've been much more interested in the content. However, her mood had soured enough that she couldn't even bring herself to feign an interest.

After dinner, she showered and got ready for bed, figuring that if nothing else, she might as well get a good night's sleep for her birthday. Tucking herself under the covers, she picked up a book from her nightstand, hoping it would prove interesting enough to entertain her for a while longer. But she'd only made it a few pages when she could tell her eyes were glazing over, rereading the same passages without comprehension. Putting the book down, she closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep and dreading the following day.

After all, what was a birthday without your real friends?

The day broke like any other, brilliant and sunny weather along the coast of Australia. Despite the occasion, however, Hermione didn't feel very excited. As far as she was concerned, she'd prefer if the day passed like any other. None of it felt right without her friends or family around.

She arrived at work early like usual, and she spent the majority of the morning holed up in her office, only venturing out for a quick briefing with Mr Bell, Laura, and Chris before the Ministry-wide department head meeting. The latter needed no prodding to start piling on the birthday well-wishes, and everyone else followed in short order.

Lunch was more boisterous than usual as well. Her colleagues took the opportunity to grill her on her past birthdays, favorite gifts, best parties, and most embarrassing memories. Hermione tried to play along, but it was hard coming up with too many examples. Every birthday she'd had at Hogwarts was lovely, the presents she got from her friends were thoughtful, and nothing embarrassing happened at all. They simply represented good times with the people she cared about the most. Which, unfortunately, was not what was going to happen today.

Still, throughout the rest of the afternoon, her colleagues reminded her over and over again about the upcoming party. It was almost to the point of becoming annoying, Hermione wishing that she would be allowed to simply finish her work in peace. Nevertheless, the clock continued to tick unmercifully toward half four, and the second it was time, Chris burst into her office and instructed her to drop her quill.

"Happy Birthday!" they all called as she wandered into the conference room, which had been decorated to the nines. Balloons in the shape of her names, streamers whizzing around the room, and gold and red drapes adorned the typically boring workspace. There were even miniature fireworks going off in the corner, prompting Hermione to wonder if her team had been in touch with George Weasley.

"Thank you, it's wonderful!" Hermione gushed. Even though her heart wasn't fully in it, she really did appreciate all the trouble her colleagues had gone through to make the day as special as possible. A large chocolate cake sat in the middle of the long wooden table, her name spelled out in gold frosting and a fondant lion charmed to hop around the perimeter. Hermione had never seen anything like it.

"It's all well deserved," Mr Bell offered, coming forward to shake Hermione's hand. "You've been an absolute pleasure to work with these past six months, and we all look forward to many more to come."

"Oh, nonsense, the pleasure has been mine! I couldn't have asked for a better team, honestly. Thank you all for making me feel so welcome."

"And that's not all," Chris said, reaching under the table and pulling out a beautifully wrapped package. "Happy Birthday, Hermione, from the whole team."

An involuntary blush turned her cheeks pink as she accepted the gift, slowly unfurling the ribbons and sliding her fingers between the gaps in the wrapping paper. A white box emerged once the paper was cleared away, and inside she found a stuffed kangaroo with a joey in her pouch.

"Just our way of continuing the welcome to Australia," Chris offered.

"It's lovely," Hermione said, running a finger over the plush's soft ear. "Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. You're all too kind."

"And now," Sarah said, picking up a large knife, "we eat! First piece to the birthday girl, of course."

"Hermione, you're going to love Sarah's cake. She could've been a professional baker, no doubt about it," Laura said.

"I can't wait!" Hermione answered, accepting a paper plate with a way-too-large slice of cake on it.

As soon as she took a bite, she agreed with Laura's assessment. The cake was delicious, and as everyone else collected their pieces, the conversation started to flow. While business talk tended to bleed into their lunchtime chats, there was nothing of the sort at the party. It was just a group of friends discussing their lives, making plans, and enjoying spending time together. For a moment, the sense of ennui that had permeated the earlier part of Hermione's day started to fade, and she started to appreciate the friends she'd made.

She was in the middle of a conversation with Mr Bell about his adult children when the department secretary popped her head inside the conference room.

"Ms Granger? Pardon me for interrupting, but you have a visitor out front."

"A visitor? Who is it?"

"Sorry, didn't catch a name, dear."

"Alright, I'll be right there."

Hermione set down her plate and asked Mr Bell to excuse her, wondering who could be calling at almost five o'clock on a Thursday afternoon. After wiping her mouth with a napkin she had in her pocket, she stepped out toward the entrance to the department near the lifts. As soon as she turned the corner, she caught sight of a messy fringe of auburn hair attached to a tall, gangly man standing by the front desk. When his head lifted, a set of piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, and a warm, lopsided smile spread across his face.

Her hand slapped over her mouth and she felt faint, knees almost buckling underneath her. It took a moment or two for her to find her voice, barely managing to get out a squeak.

"Ron?"

Chapter Text

Ron's head was still spinning. It turned out that traveling via the international Floo network was proportionally more nauseating than a local trip through England, and while he'd finally stopped seeing multiple copies of people whenever he looked around the room, he still needed to steady himself against the wall to avoid tipping over.

Still, laying eyes on her for the first time in months made the whole trip worth it. Somehow, she'd gotten even prettier in the intervening time, her sunkissed skin darker than he'd ever seen it before. Her hair was still frizzy and brown, but there were a few lighter streaks running through it as well. It was oddly strange to see her again, almost as though his brain had started to forget what she looked like and was finally able to fill in all the tiny details that had become only vague recollections. His hands were shaking, though he wasn't sure why. It was Hermione, his favorite person in the world. So why was he suddenly feeling so awkward?

"Erm, happy birthday," he said.

Her mouth was hanging open until she gave her head a shake, almost as though she was snapping herself out of a trance. "Ron! Y–You're here!"

Just as he began to worry that he'd made a mistake by showing up unannounced, she launched herself forward, closing the distance between them in an instant and throwing her arms around his neck. As soon as their bodies were pressed together, it was as though something clicked into place, as though a lock had found its key. Warmth spread through him, and he knew he'd made the right decision. Anytime a choice led him to her, it was the right decision.

"Wha–what happened? I mean, how are you–ugh, sorry, I'm just…it's so good to see you!" she stammered as they split apart.

"It's great to see you too. Sorry I didn't let you know I was coming, but…well, sometimes surprises are fun, yeah?"

"They are!" she answered enthusiastically, pulling him toward her for another hug. "It's a wonderful surprise!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting or anything. I tried to show up around the end of the workday, but if you still have things to do…"

"Oh. No, no, don't worry about it. I was already done with my work. Tell you what, let me just go finish up one or two things and I'll be done in just a moment."

"I remember what that means," he replied with a sly grin. "One or two things? That's Hermione for about three more hours."

She giggled in response, an encouraging development as far as Ron was concerned. "No, I promise! Just a few minutes and I'll be back."

"Okay, sounds good. That'll give me a moment to sit down…make sure I can see straight again after that Floo trip."

"That bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. Might even consider that Muggle aeroplane of yours."

"Well hold tight. I'll be back soon, alright? There are chairs right outside the door if you'd like to sit."

As she disappeared around the corner, Ron meandered out of the office and took a seat in the hallways just outside the main offices. There was a picture of her on the wall with someone named Robert Bell, the current head of the Department of Magical Creatures. Ron looked at it with pride, truly happy for her and all the good work she'd surely already done for the creatures of Australia, terrifying though they might be.

"Ready!" Hermione said as she stepped outside a few minutes later, her bag slung over her shoulder.

Ron rose to his feet, picking up his backpack and following her toward the lift. "Yeah, ready."

"Sorry, my team had thrown me a little party for my birthday, so I didn't want to just disappear."

"Oh." His heart dropped into his stomach. "Oh, I'm sorry. I can…I mean, you don't have to leave early on my account then. I'll just wait–I can always meet up with you later or something."

"Don't be ridiculous! Besides, the party was just ending anyway. All of my colleagues will be going home soon too."

He wasn't convinced, of course. In fact, as they were waiting, he was struck by another thought, one that was far more concerning. "Hermione, I don't know why I just thought of this, but–and be honest with me–am I interrupting any plans tonight?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked, turning toward him with a furrowed brow.

"Well, it's just…I suddenly realized that you probably already have plans this evening with your…friends or whoever," he said, not able to utter the word that he actually dreaded–boyfriend. "I should've let you know. Maybe this whole surprise thing wasn't such a good idea."

"Ron, I promise, I'm thrilled you're here. It's so good to see you. And no, you're not interrupting anything, I swear. My plans tonight involved leftovers, paperwork, and perhaps a few chapters of a book in a warm bath. That's it. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing critical."

"On your birthday? Really?"

She shrugged. "It's just a birthday."

Fear that he'd ruined her evening and the temporary paranoia that she had met someone new was replaced by sadness that she didn't have any plans to break. Was she really okay in Australia? Were things as rosy as she was painting them in her letters? Above all else, he wanted her to be happy. Perhaps not so happy that she decided to never come back to Britain, but the thought of her being in pain day in and day out was always going to worry him. And if she didn't even have something fun to do on her birthday…

"Well, that changes now," he said, projecting more confidence than he felt. "We're going to make sure you have a great birthday…as long as you can direct us toward the fun, that is."

"I'm going to have a great birthday no matter what now that you're here."

Their eyes met as the lift doors opened and a few more employees joined the already cramped space. Hermione kept her gaze locked on him as she pressed against his side, ostensibly to make room for the newcomers. It wasn't until the lift roared back into motion that she faced forward, supporting herself by holding on to his arm.

All of the affection he felt for her came back in an instant as she gripped his bicep. It wouldn't be that difficult to wrap his arm around her shoulders or kiss her on the cheek, to show her how happy he was to be together and make sure she knew how he still felt after all those months apart. But Ron couldn't even be sure that Hermione still harbored any of those feelings for him, much less hope that she'd act on them. Too much had changed, and just because he knew he still felt the same way for her that he always had, he didn't want to mess up their time together by making assumptions about her mindset.

She led them out into the bright atrium once the lift stopped, and they joined the throngs of people making for the Floo grates home or apparition points outside the building. The salty air coming off the ocean was refreshing, and the wind felt amazing on his face after the hours he'd spent taking the international Floo network. He could immediately see why people liked living in Australia.

"So where to?" he asked as they stood in the middle of an expansive brick plaza.

"I don't know! I usually just apparate home, but we don't have to just go home if you don't want to. Are you hungry? We could go eat if you like. Or go down to the beach."

"It's your birthday, Hermione. That means you get to make the choices."

"I don't know, I…I think I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you're here! I mean, you came halfway around the world!"

"Ugh, don't remind me," he answered, stifling a burp.

"I'm sorry!" she replied with a laugh. "It's over now!"

"Thank Merlin."

"Are you staying long? You don't have to go back too soon, do you?"

He snickered, pleased to see her excitement. "No, I can stay a few days. At least through the weekend."

"Excellent!" she cried, giving a little jump off the ground. "That's fantastic!"

"Yeah, it is. I don't know, Hermione, I just felt like I had to come."

She paused for a moment, beaming at him before answering. "I'm really glad you did. I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other."

"Too long."

"Way too long."

They stepped toward the water, crossing the square and making their way along a boardwalk just off the beach. The breeze blew Hermione's hair toward Ron's face, and he kept catching a whiff of her familiar shampoo, the one that always left him intoxicated back in the days when their romantic feelings were laid bare for all to see. He was happy that they'd managed to recapture at least a little of that familiarity through their letters over the last several months, but as they walked together, he could tell that despite his preferences, they had a long way to go before things could get back to the way they were the previous summer.

"So you still haven't answered my question. What are we doing tonight?"

"I don't know. I know it's not much fun, but I don't really want to do anything too big, you know? Birthday or not, I still have to work tomorrow, so I have to get to bed at a reasonable hour."

"That's fine. I didn't expect you'd want to go out to the clubs or anything."

"No, that's not really my scene."

"Oh really?" he teased. "You mean you're not a party animal anymore?"

She leaned into him with her shoulder, giving him a playful nudge. "Right, all those mad ragers back at Hogwarts…"

"No, simple is fine. We can just get some food and talk if you like."

"That sounds perfect. Maybe we can head in the direction of…wherever you're staying. Where are you staying, come to think of it?"

"Ahh. That. Right," he answered. Truthfully, he hadn't really considered it. He didn't want to presume that he would be able to stay with Hermione, although that's what his mind kept coming back to whether he liked it or not. He had enough money for a hotel if needed, of course, but it wasn't about that. His time with her was so limited as it was.

Still, he wanted to at least pretend that was his plan. "I was hoping you could recommend something…a hotel nearby, maybe. I couldn't figure it out ahead of time; even the British Ministry was no help."

"Oh," she replied. Her eyes cast downward and she stared at her shoes as they continued walking. "Right, I suppose I could come up with an idea or two. Hopefully they still have rooms left."

"Sorry…I know it's a bit last minute."

"Or…" she started.

Her inflection gave him hope. "Or what?"

"Well, not to assume…I mean, if you'd like, you could always stay with me."

With a hard swallow, he steadied himself. "Uhh, really? I don't want to impose."

"We shared a tent for a year, didn't we? At least this time we'll have food and a slightly bigger bathroom."

"And no You Know Who to worry about," he said, cracking a smile.

"Another plus, definitely," she answered with a chuckle.

Stopping along the boardwalk and sitting on a bench, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down next to him. "You're sure you're okay with that?" he asked, his expression serious. The last thing he wanted to do was put her in an uncomfortable position just to save him some money.

"Yes," she responded, not a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I'd like you to stay."

"Because I don't want you to feel–"

"Ron, you're here. I'm glad you're here. I want to spend time with you while you're here. Please. Stay with me."

He didn't need to be asked twice. "I'd love to. Thanks, Hermione."

"Of course."

"And don't worry or go to any trouble or anything. I'm fine on the couch," he added, wanting to make sure he didn't have any presuppositions about where he would be sleeping.

"No, you don't need to do that."

His heart lifted a bit.

"I've got a guest room, so it'll be nice to actually have someone use it instead of just storing my extra books."

Oh. Well, not exactly what I was hoping for, but beggars can't be choosers. Besides, I wasn't really expecting that she'd just welcome me back to her bed. That would be crazy.

"Perfect, thanks," he managed to squeak out.

"In that case, why don't we walk in the direction of my flat?" she said, standing up and motioning him away from the water. "It's about a twenty-five-minute walk, but we can stop and get some takeaway before we get there."

Ron nodded. "Lead the way."

For a few moments, they walked along next to each other, Ron enjoying simply being in her presence again. His hands were shoved in his pockets, minimizing the temptation to do something rash like grab her hand or drop his arm over her shoulder. As they crossed a main street and entered the downtown area, their route was suddenly shaded by tall skyscrapers. Ron could tell they were no longer in the wizarding part of town as everyone around him looked like a surefire Muggle. The area was beautiful, though. It reminded Ron of London, but everything seemed newer and more vibrant.

"So does Harry know you're here?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, he knows. I made him promise not to ruin the surprise, though."

"Ahh, well, he didn't. You know he messaged me a while back. He kept saying how impressed he was at how well you've been doing. He said you're the most reliable partner he could ever hope for."

"Patronizing git."

"No, really!" she assured him. "He admitted you'd had a rough start but that you seemed like a completely different person after the New Year."

The last word of her sentence was clipped and her face froze in place as though she'd just pieced everything together in her mind.

"I kind of was a new person after the New Year, I guess. Much less stressed, at least."

"Right," she responded with a fleeting grin. "Well, I—right."

They'd been tiptoeing around the topic of their last meeting since he'd arrived. Even though it didn't seem like either of them had difficulty sharing how they felt about each other through their letters, something about being right next to her again was making it much harder to address the tricky subjects. But that was ridiculous. If they were ever going to truly get past the hard times, they'd have to talk about it, wouldn't they?

Enough of this walking on eggshells. We can talk about it, can't we?

"It's alright, Hermione. We both know what you mean. You don't have to be nervous about stating the obvious. I was a different person because I was finally back on better terms with you."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, the muscles in her neck noticeably relaxing. "Yes, I suppose it did wonders for my mental state as well."

"It was a huge weight off my mind."

"Things just felt more…right, you know?"

"Yeah, I do. And I'm so glad you agree, really. Because I hope you know I never meant for things to get so–"

"Ron, it's alright." She stopped him with a palm in the middle of his chest. "We've been through this. As far as I'm concerned, we don't need to relitigate it all over again."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. I just…I want you to know how glad I am that we're friends again."

Without warning, she scooped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze. "Me too. And I know I've said it already, but I'm so glad you're here. Honestly, this is what makes my birthday special. You make it special."

"You are special, Hermione. And you deserve to have a wonderful birthday."

He caught a hint of her blush as she turned and pulled him further down the street. Continuing to weave between the buildings, Ron breathed a sigh of relief himself. Ever since he'd concocted his plan to come visit her, he'd been worried about how she would react if he told her how he was really feeling. What he'd just said was only a small part of his whole range of affection for her, but it was a comforting start. It was something they could build on. Because the idea that Hermione was the only one for him had only become clearer since he'd been back in her presence.

"So. Australia," he said, turning the topic to something a bit safer. "Is it everything you'd hoped it would be?"

"It is. And it isn't. Weather's nicer, that's for sure."

"Yeah, not bad. This is technically still winter, yeah?"

"For the next day and a half, yes!"

"Better than Britain, that's for sure."

"Mmm."

"But what do you mean, 'it is and it isn't'?" he pressed.

Hermione snickered to herself, but her eyes betrayed a sense of sadness. "I love the work I'm doing. I can tell I'm making a difference, and that means a lot to me. But at the same time…I don't know, I guess it just hasn't been as easy as I thought being here by myself."

"Kind of lonely?"

"At times, yes. The people I work with are great, but their lives are here. Their families are here, everyone they've known is here. So when they come back to the office in the morning, they talk about the rich lives they're leading. Meanwhile, I talk about the extra work I did and the letters I wrote to people back home."

His heart broke for her. It was an understandable feeling. Ron himself was noticing that his social life had taken a major hit since leaving Hogwarts as well, even though he too enjoyed the company of his fellow Aurors-in-training. Something just wasn't the same about adult life. They never knew how good they had it at Hogwarts, even with the Dark Lord on the loose. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That must be really hard."

"It's alright. I don't mean to sound so pathetic; I have made some friends outside of work. The woman who lives down the hall from me is quite nice. There's a book club that I meet up with once or twice a month. And I'm on a first-name basis with the owner of the Thai food place down the street, so he sometimes gives me free spring rolls."

"Free food is the best food."

She chuckled and patted his arm with her free hand. "I knew you'd think so."

"But seriously. Overall, are you, you know, happy?"

She was quiet as they turned down an empty side street, a narrow path that led away from the hustle and bustle of downtown toward an area with more of a neighborhood feel. When Ron finally glanced over at her, there were red rims around her eyes and tears building up along her lower eyelashes.

"Oh, Hermione…" he said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and pulling her toward him. It didn't take much to convince her to collapse into his waiting arms. "I'm sorry, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, I'm sorry," she blubbered, sniffing and trying to resume a normal pattern of breathing. "I'm ruining what should be a fun night."

"You're not ruining anything, I promise." He held her tighter, and a fresh round of tears spilled onto the front of his shirt. "And you never have to pretend that things are okay. Not with me."

"I know. I know, I know. I just wish I wasn't so emotional about this. I guess it's been harder than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. These are the parts of adulthood they never teach you about at Hogwarts."

"Perhaps not. And I am happy; I really am. Most of the time, at least. I just didn't realize how much I relied on the people around me back at school. And I didn't anticipate how difficult it would be without my truest friends nearby."

"We're only a letter and an owl away, though. You know that, right?"

"Of course. But it's not the same. Maybe it never will be again, who knows."

A lump emerged in the back of his throat. What did she mean by that? Was that her way of telling him that she planned on staying in Australia for the long run? Or that her interest in him had changed? Ron wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle that.

Trying to be strong for her sake, though, he put it from his mind the best he could.

One thing at a time.

"We're always going to be there for you, Hermione. Me, Harry, Ginny…we're in your life forever. Unless we start doing your head in over the years, I reckon."

A smile finally crept onto her face and her body shook with a chuckle instead of a sob. Ron ran his hands up and down her back, pulling away from her just enough to see a spark of happiness return to her eyes. She glanced up at him, still huddled against his frame, and elevated onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The feel of her lips against his rough stubble would've made the entire trip worth it.

Still, best not to make too much of it. The last thing he wanted was to convince himself that she meant more than she did and wind up hurt all over again. They were friends again…good friends, and that was a start.

"I'm sorry that things haven't always been smooth sailing around here."

She shrugged, tucking herself under his arm as she started leading him down the street again. "It's to be expected; I should've realized that going in."

"Well, maybe I can help for the weekend, at least?" He grinned back at her, and she responded by crawling her hand around his side, grasping his opposite hip firmly.

"That sounds perfect."

"Excellent."

"Tell you what, in the spirit of having some fun, I want to show you around a little bit more. I can feel your stomach grumbling," she said, giggling as she pressed her hand into his flank, "so we'll stop and get a snack, but then we'll check out some cool spots before getting dinner and heading home. Is that okay?"

"More than okay!" he replied. "As long as you're serious about that snack."

A few minutes later, they arrived at a food stall advertising meat pies and sausages. Hermione ordered a small pie for herself while Ron got the biggest sausage sandwich they had, scarfing it down within minutes. Turns out he'd been hungrier than he thought after the long journey.

Once they were done, Hermione took him around to a few of the smaller, more eclectic neighborhoods in the city. Usually they just walked to where they wanted to, but one time, she pulled him behind a small shop, grabbed his hand, and apparated them to a new location. They visited expansive parks, shops with products Ron had never heard of, and his personal favorite, a video arcade where he won enough tickets to buy Hermione a small stuffed bear.

At each stop, Ron offered to pay, but he quickly realized that since most of the places they were visiting were Muggle shops, he'd better not start shoving strange-looking coins at the vendor. Instead, Hermione paid using a small piece of plastic with numbers on it. She explained the credit card system quietly to Ron, the latter stunned at how completely unnecessary it seemed. Money was money, wasn't it? Why couldn't you just give some to a bloke and be done with it?

All the while, as they walked, their conversation shifted more to reminiscence. They avoided talking about the particularly dark portions of their time at school, instead focusing on the lighthearted occasions. The D.A. meetings that sometimes devolved into pure silliness, the late nights in the library where everyone would be so tired they were bordering on delirious by the time they returned to the dorms, the weekend afternoons on the grounds when the weather was nice, and countless games of Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap. Both agreed that despite the difficult classes and constant threat of dark wizards, they were still the best years of their lives.

Darkness had long since fallen, and Ron was starting to feel hungry again. Proving once again that she'd always had a good internal clock for when he needed to eat, Hermione suggested that they make their way toward her flat and stop for food along the way. She steered them through the winding streets until they arrived at a hole-in-the-wall shop selling fish and chips. They each ordered a dinner, Hermione paid, and once their order was ready, Ron picked up the bag only after he'd stuffed a handful of ketchup packets inside.

They arrived at Hermione's flat five minutes later. Ron toed off his shoes at the entrance and was immediately greeted by Crookshanks, who purred and wove in and out of his legs for nearly a minute before he was allowed to pass through the small foyer and into the living space. It was small but cozy, exactly like he'd imagined Hermione's flat to be. There were tall bookshelves up against the walls that were stuffed to the gills with magical volumes on either side of the living room, a small loveseat, a rocking chair, and tables in between. A table for two was directly under a window that looked out on the street, right next to the galley-style kitchen. A hallway led out of the living room toward three doors, one of which was open enough for Ron to get a glimpse of Hermione's bedspread.

"Nice place," he said, setting the bag of food down on the dining table.

Hermione dropped her work materials and keys on the entryway table and deposited her jacket on the coat rack. "It's not much, but it works for me."

"Oh, before we eat," Ron started, digging through his backpack of hastily packed clothes, "I have something for you."

Her eyes lit up as she returned from the kitchen with a pair of butterbeers. "You do?"

"Course I do. It's your birthday, isn't it?"

The gift was wrapped in a copy of the Daily Prophet, a Quidditch player flicking in and out of the picture right in the middle. Hermione smiled when she saw it, surely recognizing it as a taste of home. Ron slid the present across the table to her as they sat down, and in her characteristic style, Hermione opened the package carefully, taking care not to tear any of the paper.

"Merlin's beard, just rip it!"

"Shh. My present, my choice."

When she finally revealed the contents, she beamed up at him, eyes welling with tears again. "Ron…"

There were two components, however Ron had a feeling he knew what was prompting her emotional reaction. He'd included a framed photo of himself, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny over the previous summer, back before anything had broken between the pair of them. Ron's arm was around Hermione's shoulder, and everyone was smiling as widely as they ever had in their lives, taking advantage of finally feeling free to live their lives as they saw fit, not worrying about the Dark Lord in the back of their minds. To Ron, it almost seemed like another lifetime ago, but it was a time that he knew he enjoyed remembering.

The second component was a new book that had just come out about the history of wizarding in Britain. Because of its recent publication date, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were actually featured in one of the later chapters. The author had talked with each of them briefly to get their account of the events, and while none of them felt much like talking about what they'd been through, a whole section had been pieced together from the interviews and associated news clippings and other reports.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione," he offered.

She leaned forward in her chair, sliding her body around the corner of the table and capturing him in a tight hug. Ron could hear her faint sniffs as he gripped her shoulders, letting his fingernails run over the exposed skin of her upper arm. Not only did she not pull away, she burrowed closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. For once in his life, the food sitting in front of him evaporated from his mind as he focused solely on the glorious present.

"I hope you didn't get the book already. I wasn't sure if you'd even be able to find it over here."

"I haven't, no," she said. "It's perfect. They're both perfect."

"Okay, good. Part of me was worried that…well, never mind."

"No, what?" she asked, releasing him and returning to her chair with a quirked eyebrow.

"Well, I–I just…I got you these as a reminder of home, but I hope you don't think I meant to make you feel guilty about leaving or being here or something. Because that's the last thing–"

"Ron, stop." She held up a hand, shutting down his arguments. "I would never think that of you."

"I couldn't help thinking as I was going through that bloody Floo that maybe they sent the wrong message–"

"Honestly, stop. I don't think that at all."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "You promise?"

"Of course I promise! We talked about all of this after…you know, what happened at Christmas. It's behind us, I promise. You've been nothing but supportive these last nine months."

"Because what I really wanted was to make sure you know how much we all care for you, Hermione. Even from afar, we miss you and we're always going to be there for you."

A blush came over her cheeks, and she glanced away. "We?"

"Yeah, all of us. Harry, Ginny, my parents, your parents I'm sure–"

"And you?"

Their gazes reconnected across the table, Ron focusing on her caramel irises. They were glowing in the light of the small table lamp, and as he let himself get lost in her eyes, the room suddenly felt much more intimate than it had before.

"Of course me. Always me."

Several moments passed, the silence of the apartment only heightening the tension in the air. It was almost as though he could see the wheels spinning in her mind, trying to decide how to respond. For a moment, her eyes narrowed and her expression intensified, and he could have sworn she was about to leap into his lap and snog him like there was no tomorrow. Instead, though, she finally leaned back in her chair, her beautiful smile aimed at him as she picked up his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Well, I love the gifts; thank you again. Really excellent choices."

He released a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding as she released her grip on him.

Back to reality, yeah? I'm not that lucky, and she's not that impetuous.

"Y–Yeah, course. Glad you like them."

"Anyway," she continued, reaching for the takeaway containers. "Better not let the food get cold."

As they ate, Ron gave her updates on Harry and Ginny's lives. Even though it pained Ron to admit it, they made each other quite happy, and he admitted he was starting to assume that Harry would one day be his brother-in-law. Hermione agreed and said she'd heard from Ginny that the pair had actually started discussing it a bit. Ron wasn't surprised, but as soon as the topic shifted to marriage, his own stomach started to feel a bit upset. Wasn't that supposed to have been him and Hermione? Weren't they the ones that should be having those types of conversations?

By the time they finished their meals, Hermione was yawning. Ron cleaned up the takeaway containers and checked the clock in the kitchen, which read half ten. Even though it was only midday where he lived, having to start the day so early to complete his travel in time left him feeling quite tired himself. When he returned to the living space, she was practically slumped over the table, her cheek pressed against the woven placemat.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

A mumble was all he received in response.

"Looks like you still haven't learned your lesson from school, I reckon. Still falling asleep at the table instead of your bed. At least you don't have a book under your face this time."

She smiled and picked up her head, stretching her arms over her head. "I know, I'm sorry. Believe it or not, I'm usually asleep by now."

"Course you are. Even when OWLs were coming up, you could never stay up past ten. Tried to pretend you could, mind you, but it never worked."

"Well, maybe someday I'll learn," she joked, standing up and casually leaning into him. He wasted no time responding, hugging her close to him as her arms hung limply at her sides. The more time he spent with her, and especially the more time he spent physically close to her, the more he never wanted to stop. With her room only steps away, he couldn't help but think how comfortable it would be to share a bed with her again. The two of them, warm and tucked away from the world, not a care in the world besides each other. It was his favorite place in the world, and he was closer to having it back than he had been in the last year.

But he snapped out of it as she patted his sides, drinking down the last of her butterbeer and turning off the table lamp.

Their eyes connected for a brief moment, lingering on each other before her shoulders dropped and she motioned him toward the hallway. "Let me show you your room, okay?"

Why did she suddenly seem so sad? Was she…there's no way she was thinking what I was thinking, was she?

Flicking the light on in the room with her wand, she held out a hand to welcome him to the space. "It's not much, but the bed's comfortable. And I'm sorry my books are everywhere."

"I'd expect no less, really," he answered.

"Alright, well…I suppose I should be getting to bed. Work day tomorrow, so…"

"Yeah, right," he said, taking a step back toward her after depositing his backpack at the foot of the bed. "Well, thanks for showing me around."

"Thank you for being here. I still can't believe how lucky I am. This evening has felt like a dream."

He bent his lanky frame down toward her face, catching her gaze again. "Good dream, I hope."

Her smile could've lit up the room by itself. "The best dream."

Once again, she lifted her arms, dropping them around his neck and rising up on her tiptoes as she hugged him. "I've missed you," she whispered.

"I've missed you too," he answered, enveloping her as tenderly as he could, hoping that all of his affection was being transmitted to her through the hug. "So much."

The hug went on much longer than acceptable for friends, Ron was sure of it. But she was so warm and so soft and so perfect that he would've held on until they both tipped over from exhaustion. He would've held on for the rest of his life.

When they finally broke free, she kissed him on the cheek before turning to go, the tips of her ears pink as she exited through the door frame. Ron's face was hot too, surely the color of the deepest red rose.

"Good night," she called.

"Good night, Hermione."

Only a few moments passed before he heard her footsteps coming back down the hall.

"Ron…" she said, padding back toward him, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt like she always did when she was nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Erm…" She paused, biting her lip and staring at her shoes. Finally, she sighed, glancing up at him before pointing toward the bathroom. "There's extra toothpaste in the cabinet if you need some."

He couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. "Oh. Yeah, I've got some, but thanks."

"Right. Okay, good night."

"Good night. And hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?" she said, spinning back toward him.

He grinned, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," she replied, tapping the wall as she finally turned and left.

No further reprise occurred as Ron heard the door to the bathroom close a moment later. Looking around the room, a sense of peace came over him. Even though he knew how he felt about her, there were no guarantees when he came that she'd feel the same way. Technically, there were no guarantees that she'd even want him to stay. Surprises had never been her favorite. But she'd welcomed him, and the time they'd spent together was among the best hours of his life over the past year.

Better still, there were definitely a few moments where it seemed like she wanted to be something more than friends again. Only time would tell what the future held for him, but he knew he wasn't just seeing things. There were still feelings on both sides, he was sure of it. And even if nothing came of it during the few days he planned to spend with her, at least he could take comfort in knowing that he still occupied a special place in her heart.

One day at a time, Weasley. One day at a time.

Chapter Text

Three hundred and ninety-one, three hundred and ninety-two, three hundred and ninety-three…

Nothing else seemed to be doing the trick, so Hermione had actually resorted to counting sheep. But not unexpectedly, that hadn't really helped either. Her mind was completely focused on the person one room away, the last person she'd expected would ever occupy her guest bedroom.

She'd left him to fall asleep on his own over two hours ago, but as she tried to get some rest herself, her brain refused to turn off. Scenarios stormed through her head like well-provisioned armies, forcing her to play out every possibility as to why he'd decided to come and whether the visit meant more than just a pair of friends meeting up for a birthday.

Of course it means more than that. You don't come halfway around the world on a whim for your friend's birthday!

Still, it didn't necessarily mean there were romantic undertones to the visit either. Maybe he really was just coming to visit to support her and make sure she had someone to celebrate with. It was very sweet either way, but Ron had always had those moments in the past. 'Sweet' was a given. Was his visit supposed to be something more?

From her perspective, she knew she would welcome the chance to give their relationship another try. It had been on her mind at length over the last several months if she was honest with herself. It was challenging to commit fully, of course. She remembered all too well the difficult times, the instances in the not-too-distant past when he'd given her reason after reason to cut and run. They'd hurt each other before, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't do it again. No matter how much her heart told her to go for it, her head continually reminded her of the cold hard logic of steeling herself against disappointment. She wasn't sure she could survive a second breakup with the love of her life.

But most of the truly troubling times were over a year ago. His letters had become more and more familiar since the New Year, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she was talking with the real Ron Weasley. Not a version of him he thought she'd like or the insecure, petulant boy she'd grown up with. He'd finally evolved into the man she knew he'd grow up to be, kind and funny and responsible while still maintaining his fierce sense of loyalty. It was incredibly sexy, and she couldn't ever remember being more attracted to him in her life.

Regardless of whether anything else happened between the pair of them, though, she tried to focus most of her energy on her main emotion, pure joy. As soon as she'd laid eyes on him in the atrium of her office, her heart threatened to leap out of her chest with excitement. The two of them had never gone that long without seeing each other before, not even in their darkest days or longest fights. He was the breath of fresh air she needed to break out of the drudgery that life in Sydney had become.

Four hundred twenty-nine, four hundred thirty, four hundred thirty-one…

It was no use. Nothing could dampen the pull she was feeling for her spare bedroom. Her body was screaming for her to abandon her senses, slip in next door, and hop into bed with him, consequences be damned. As she laid there, staring at the ceiling and weighing her options, though, her eyelids finally felt a bit heavy. Sleep didn't come quickly, but eventually, not even her overactive brain could keep her awake any longer, and she mercifully slipped into the arms of Morpheus.

The beeping sound from the small nightstand next to her bed was relentless. Hermione slapped her hand around the table until it found its target, silencing the alarm and plunging the room back into silence. Even though she could immediately tell she hadn't gotten the best night's sleep, she was still instantly awake, quickly remembering who was next door. She slipped out of her bed and tiptoed out to the hallway, pausing to listen at the door to the guest room. There was no noise at all, so she continued down to the bathroom, brushing her teeth and taking a quick shower before casting a drying spell on her hair and changing into her work outfit.

When she emerged, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the picture he'd given her as a gift the previous night. His hair was as messy as it always was when he first woke up, and her mind drifted to occasions when they'd been able to lie in bed together, her running her hands through the unkempt locks.

"Morning," he offered with a sleepy smile, still rubbing the fatigue from his eyes.

"Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, I've been up for a while. My internal clock's got no clue what's happening."

She chuckled as she sat down next to him and waved her wand toward the kitchen, turning on the tea kettle. "Did you sleep okay at least?"

"For a while, sure. It's quite comfortable."

"Good, I'd hoped so. I know it's not ideal, but I'm glad it wasn't too bad."

"It was perfect. Thanks again for letting me stay, by the way. Guess I should've thought about that a bit more before throwing myself into a fireplace."

"Don't mention it, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Unless you mean sleeping in my bed…with me.

"So," he continued, "I suppose you'll have to go to work today, yeah?"

She nodded as she zoomed two teacups and saucers from the kitchen, setting one in front of each of him and offering him the sugar bowl on the table. "Yes, I have to leave in about five minutes or so. You're welcome to come if you'd like! The Ministry has some interesting sections for visitors to learn more about the history of magic in Australia."

Ron grinned at her, his blue eyes catching the early morning sunlight filtering through the east-facing window. "Always something to learn, isn't there?"

"Of course there is! But you don't have to come if you'd prefer not to. I just don't want you to be bored."

"I think I can manage on my own, plus I might need another nap. I've got plenty of wizard money, so as long as you can show me where I can spend that, I'll make do while you're at work and meet you afterward. A–Again, unless you have plans."

"You give my non-existent social life far too much credit."

"I see. In that case, I'll plan to meet you in the lobby of the Ministry around five?"

"That's perfect. And this time, we'll go out for dinner. Somewhere magical, somewhere you'll like, I promise."

"That sounds great," he replied.

The kettle whistled, and Hermione summoned it carefully from the kitchen, pouring each of them a cup and giggling to herself as Ron loaded his with sugar until the cup nearly overflowed.

"I see some things never change," she hinted, tilting her head toward his cup.

He laughed, taking a sip of the hot liquid before setting the cup down again. "And why should they?"

"That's barely tea, you know. It's sugar water."

"It's better tea."

"It's sickly sweet."

"Just the way I like it."

She smiled back at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "It's nice to see you're still you."

His gaze caught hers again and they were once again entranced, neither daring to move or even blink. It was almost as though he was radiating passion without even trying. The longer he stared at her, the more sure Hermione felt that she would do something rash. Was the table really even that big of an obstacle? Surely she could vault it and be in his lap in a second or two. Or better yet, the bedroom was only a few paces away…

He finally snickered, taking a long pull of tea before clinking the cup back down onto the saucer. "I try."

Before her mind could convince her body to betray all of her sensibility, she rose from the table, swallowing the last of her tea and carrying the cup back to the kitchen. She paused for a moment before returning to the main room, keeping her mind focused on the business of the day. "Anyway, I should be going. I'll leave you this map," she said, setting down a large glossy sheet of paper on the table. "Here's my flat, here's my office, and there's the apparition point next to the Ministry. You think you can get back there?"

"Yeah, I remember. Five o'clock; I'll be there."

"Sounds good. Here's where all of the shops and restaurants are located. Yesterday, we went this way," she continued, tracing her finger away from all of the magically-named moving advertisements toward the traditional downtown. "Make sense?"

"I'll find it, don't worry."

"Alright. Well, I hope you have a nice day. I'm already looking forward to dinner."

His lip curled up as he gave her a quick hug, filling her body with warmth. "Me too. I'll see you then. Have a great day at work, yeah?"

"I will."

As she slipped on her shoes and exited the apartment, she couldn't help but enjoy the brief moment of domesticity. Having tea with him after they'd both woken up, sharing a quick conversation and cup of tea before work, getting a goodbye hug; all of those were things she'd so desperately wanted with him for so many years. To think that they were just able to casually slip into that mode was more than a little exciting. The day was sure to pass as slowly as ever.

Or so she thought, at least. Once she arrived at the office, she found plenty to keep her mind occupied. Everything always felt a bit more frantic going into the weekend, like their team was working double time to avoid having any extra work to do during their free time. Between finalizing all of their current proposals, meeting with Laura and Chris about an upcoming meeting with the Division of Magical Law Enforcement, and responding to letters from concerned citizens, it was nearly five o'clock before she knew it.

Which was not to say she never thought about Ron at all. His image flitted in and out of her mind throughout the day, a constant reminder of what she had to look forward to once they met back up later in the evening. Every time she thought of him, she smiled, taking care to hide it from her colleagues. For the time being, she wanted to keep her happiness to herself, especially until she was able to make better sense of why he came. That question never stopped rolling around her head, even costing her productivity at times.

The last part of her day was filled with her end-of-the-week chat with Mr Bell. Hermione looked forward to the meeting every week; it was where she really picked up a lot of valuable pearls of wisdom about the job she would be taking within the next several months. Mr Bell was more than happy to pass on what he knew, and he never missed an opportunity to remind her how comfortable he felt knowing the department would be in good hands once he left.

Returning to her office to organize her things, she glanced at the clock. It read two minutes past five, prompting her to hustle to straighten everything up, collect the materials she planned to work on over the weekend, and make sure she wasn't leaving herself a mess for the following Monday. As she hurried out of her office and jogged to the lift, the rest of her team was already there, holding the door for her.

"Granger done at only five minutes past the hour. That's a new record, isn't it?" Chris asked with a smile.

"Don't mind him," Laura said, swatting her colleague across the shoulder. "I think it's good that you're getting out on time. It's important to have a balance in life, don't you think?"

"Of course," Hermione answered, plastering a smile onto her face.

"So," Chris continued, "any big plans for the weekend?"

Hermione tensed, unsure how much she wanted to reveal about her visitor. Although, since he was probably going to be standing in the lobby as soon as the lift doors opened, they were going to find out anyway. Might as well soften the blow. "Actually, a friend from Britain is in town."

"Is it Harry Potter?" Becky asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Oh, no," Hermione replied. Sometimes she forgot that she and her friends were well known far beyond the walls of her office. "No, Ron's here."

"Ron Weasley? He's Harry's best friend, right? The one who destroyed a Horcrux?" Becky asked.

Before Hermione could answer, Andrew piped up. "I heard he brought down the werewolf…Greyback, wasn't it?"

"He helped save you from Bellatrix LeStrange too, didn't he?" Sarah said.

"Erm, yes, all of that is true," Hermione responded, suddenly feeling hot under the collar from all of the attention. "I didn't realize everyone knew so many…details."

I thought I did a good job avoiding the press when I came to retrieve my parents! I wonder how much they actually know…

"It was the biggest story in our papers too, you know," Laura offered. "To us, you're our friend Hermione, and we all wanted to make you feel comfortable when you got here, so we made an effort not to make a big deal of it. But the three of you are pretty well known in this country too. Even though everything happened in England, the ramifications could've quickly spiraled on a global scale."

"Of course, I'm well aware. Still, for now, I think I much prefer just being regular old Hermione."

"Oh, don't worry," Chris said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "We're going to keep you busy just like one of the team whether you're famous or not."

She snickered, though half-heartedly. "Right. That's perfect."

The doors swung open and the group of them stepped out into the bright atrium. Hermione's head was immediately on a swivel, looking for Ron amongst a sea of people making their way home for the weekend. It wasn't until they were halfway through the airy space that her eyes landed on a thatch of red hair leaning up against a giant pillar near the exit. Ron locked eyes with her and pushed off of the wide column of marble, strolling against the current to meet her.

When the crowd thinned and he caught sight of her entourage, though, he slowed, coming to a stop in the middle of the space.

"Ron, hi!" she called as she approached him, trying to set him back at ease. It was clear that he wasn't expecting the welcome wagon.

"H–Hey. All set?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, I'm done. Ron, these are my colleagues from the Department of Magical Creatures. This is Sarah, Andrew, Becky, Laura, and Chris."

Each of them waved hello, but Chris stepped forward and held out a hand to Ron. "Chris Bennet, pleased to meet you."

As soon as the two shook hands, Hermione noticed Ron wince, and he stepped back once they let go. "Yeah, good to meet everyone."

"It's nice to meet you too, Ron," Laura added, always the diplomat. "Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of ours."

"Oh, thanks. I appreciate that."

"So," Sarah said as the group began moving toward the exit again, "any big plans while you're here in Australia?"

"I don't know," Ron said, trying to look around Chris, who had inserted himself next to Hermione. "Looks like there's a lot going on here, though."

Andrew nodded. "There is, both Muggle and magical alike. Even ignoring the great beaches and museums, we have a version of Diagon Alley that rivals London's, plus dragon watching along the northeast coast, Quidditch in the outback–"

"Do you surf, Ron?" Chris asked.

"Oh. Erm, no, I don't," Ron replied.

"Shame. Great surfing weather this weekend. We keep trying to get Granger to come, but she insists she's not athletic or some such excuse." He winked at her, and Hermione watched in real-time as Ron's face grew redder by the second.

She was wishing more and more that she'd simply waited for the next lift and come down by herself. "I've got some ideas in mind for the weekend. Even just within Sydney, there are plenty of interesting things to see."

Chris elbowed her in the side. "As long as you don't take him to that one sausage cart you seem to love."

"It's convenient."

"It's subpar and overpriced."

"That's your opinion."

"Hermione, come on. You can do better."

The comment stuck like a thorn in Hermione's side as her mind considered the double entendre. It had been clear for some time that Chris had a bit of a thing for her, but while she'd always found his not-so-subtle flirting annoying, it had been manageable. Unwanted attention from men wasn't something she was entirely used to, but he was easy enough to ignore and redirect. Seeing how Ron was reacting, however, filled her with a vitriol toward him that she'd never experienced before. If his comments ended up ruining Ron's weekend with her, especially at such a fragile time for their relationship, she wasn't sure she could be so forgiving.

"Anyway," she said as they stepped outside into the warm sunlight, taking Ron's hand as the two groups started to separate, "we should be going. Thanks for a great week, everyone. I'll see you all on Monday."

"Have fun!" Becky said as the rest of her colleagues peeled off toward the apparition spots. Chris lingered for a moment, and Hermione could feel his eyes on her and Ron's backs as they walked toward the water, but within seconds, her mind shifted back to the man beside her.

"So," Hermione started once she and Ron were alone. "That's the department. Well, most of them, anyway. Mr Bell, our current department head, had some things to finish up. He takes the Floo home anyway."

Ron simply nodded, his eyes focused on the horizon as he looked out over the ocean.

"They're all really dedicated employees," she continued, sensing his discomfort. "They care, you know. It's refreshing."

"Yeah, that's great."

Something needed to be done, and quickly. Ron had always had a streak of self-doubt, and Hermione knew from loads of experience that if she didn't bolster his flagging confidence, the weekend would be a bust before it even started.

Still, she didn't just want to assume that he was worried about Chris. If his true concern lay elsewhere, that would only create a second wave of paranoia.

"Did everything go okay after I left? Were you able to find all the shops and restaurants?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I found them."

"Did you get some extra rest as well?"

"Yeah, had a quick kip before leaving your flat."

"Great! Do you…do you still feel like staying out, then? Going to get dinner?"

"Whatever you like."

He was only becoming more distant. Perhaps the subtle approach wouldn't work after all.

"Ron, what's wrong?" she asked, squeezing his hand with her own.

"Nothing. Just…look, I'm glad you're having a good time at work, and I'm glad you like the people you work with. But if I didn't know better, I could've sworn you just introduced me to a Malfoy, Hermione."

Malfoy? Where would he come up with–

Oh.

Now that she thought about it, Chris' slicked-back blonde hair was a bit reminiscent of a certain evil wizarding family in England. And while she knew Chris to be harmless, she could understand why Ron felt threatened. The comparison, in his mindset at least, was probably more apt than she would have thought.

Not again. I'm not letting a simple misunderstanding derail things again.

"Chris, right?" she said.

"Yeah, that smarmy git."

"He's really not that bad, I promise. And he's definitely no Malfoy."

"Maybe not, but he seems like a right tosser if you ask me."

"He can be at times, trust me. But he's also a good employee."

"Maybe I'm imagining things, but he seems to like you."

Hermione opened her mouth before quickly slamming it shut again, not sure how to proceed. Of course that would be his concern; she'd anticipated that. But understanding Ron's fears and successfully allaying them were two completely different matters. It wasn't always as easy as it looked.

"I really don't think–"

"Yeah, he does," Ron said definitively, adding a scoff as he turned his attention away from her and out toward the water again.

"Well, that's his issue, then. Because the feelings are not mutual."

A silence fell between them as Ron contemplated her words, only the low din of conversation around them and the squawking of seagulls breaking through. The finality with which she'd asserted her feelings had to count for something, didn't it? At some point, he'd have to trust her again.

After several moments, he spoke again. "Am I the fool here, Hermione? Did I come all this way just to find out…ugh, I don't know."

"To find out what?"

His eyes widened as he became more animated. "To find out you've moved on to someone else!"

Of course. I should've gone with my gut from the beginning.

"That's ridiculous! Of course I haven't! Ron, he's a colleague, nothing more!"

"Really, Hermione? I mean, what am I supposed to think? You work together every day, he clearly feels he can be quite friendly with you, and that wink…Merlin's Beard, it's obvious."

"Then like I said, that's his issue. I don't know how many more ways I can tell you that I'm just not interested in him like that!"

As he studied her face, she could tell he still wasn't convinced. His defiance slowly faded, turning to despair. His shoulders slumped, but he didn't let go of her hand. "I just…I don't want to be kidding myself, you know? I don't want to be the one hanging on–"

Softening her tone, she tightened her grip. "Ron, that's not what's happening here."

"Because I still think about you, Hermione. A lot. I'm not over you, and I'm not sure I ever will be."

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and a thrill rushed through her arms and legs, making it hard to remain still. She hated to see him sad, but his admission was music to her ears, and it echoed the feelings she'd been feeling for him. If anything, her affection had only grown since they'd last seen each other, and knowing that he felt the same way went a long way to erase the guilt she felt from leaving.

"I think about you too, Ron. All the time." Her voice was soothing, and based on the way his facial muscles relaxed, she could tell her tone was having the intended effect.

He sighed. "I'm glad to hear you say that, but if something's changed…if you don't think there's any possible future for us or a door has closed that can't be reopened, I'd rather you tell me. It would be easier that way. The last thing I want is to be sitting around hoping for an impossibility like an idiot, yeah?"

"Nothing's changed, Ron, I swear," she said, picking up his other hand and stepping right in front of him. "Nothing."

His gaze found hers, his blue eyes practically piercing through her. Gradually, his furrowed brow relaxed. "Nothing?"

"Well, not exactly nothing. If anything, I think about you more than I used to."

Relief swept over her as he let out a small chuckle. "Really?"

"I've missed you, Ron," she said, finally allowing herself to say the things she'd been thinking ever since he'd arrived. "So much. Way more than I thought I would. It's hard to put into words in a letter, but it's true."

"Me too, Hermione," he replied, dropping her hands and wrapping her in a hug.

She buried her face into his chest, replacing the smell of salty sea air with his familiar scent. For the first time in over a year, things felt right. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't contain her smile, allowing it to spread against his firm muscles. Tears of happiness began to leak from her eyes, but she didn't care. If he wasn't already aware of how she really felt, she had no desire to hide it any longer.

"But…what we talked about back in December. Just being friends and all. Is that–do you still feel that way?" he asked, still holding her tight against his body.

Tilting her head to the side, her ear pressed against his ribcage, and she could hear his heart hammering away. He was nervous, afraid of what she might say, but he didn't need to be. "No. At least, I–I'm not so sure anymore."

He let out a long breath as they broke apart, still holding hands. "Okay. Well, that sounds…I dunno, really. Is that good?"

Honesty. Time for honesty. Just lay it all out.

"Ron, I'm happy with our arrangement. I'm glad to be friends again, and I love writing back and forth with you. It almost felt like we were getting to know each other all over again, but this time as adults. It's wonderful. Your letters are the highlight of my day when I get home. The first thing I look for."

"Yours too," he admitted bashfully, his cheeks tinged with pink.

"So I carried on, enjoying the part of my life I could share with you from afar while doing my work, gaining experience, doing the things I thought I was supposed to do to make a difference in the world. And I was making a difference in the world, which filled me with a sense of pride and happiness, like I finally had a purpose, you know?"

"I do. I know exactly how you feel. Same for me in Auror Training, once I got the hang of it at least."

"I could tell," she said, biting her lip and trying to hold back a grin. "But all the while, I still feel…incomplete. Like I'm achieving my goals, but only part way. There's still something missing."

He nodded in agreement. "Like there was a hole in your life that no amount of work-related satisfaction would fill."

"Exactly. But then, you showed up. You weren't just words on a page or happy memories, you were standing in the lobby of my department. And, once I got my senses back at least, everything clicked into place. I don't know why I hadn't seen it before, because it's so bloody obvious. You were the missing piece. You've always been the missing piece."

Without another word, he beamed down at her and hugged her again, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "You're my missing piece too."

The breeze picked up as he held her, his hand moving slowly up and down her back, sending chills down her spine every time. Maybe it was finally time to start something new. Maybe they could finally force the hand of fate or destiny or any other supposedly immovable object and simply find a way to be happy together. Maybe they could finally get it right.

Hermione understood the reality of the situation, though. Ron would still be leaving in a few days, and she would still be working halfway around the globe. Nothing could be perfect, of course, but if they could leave things off better than they were before, it would be a start.

"So," Ron asked, releasing her and scooping up her hand as they started strolling along the edge of the beach, "where does that leave us?"

"Well, I'm glad to know how you feel," she offered, knowing it wasn't exactly what he was looking for.

"Me too. Honestly, it's helpful. But still…"

"Right, but still…you're only here a few more days."

"And you're here in Australia for the foreseeable future."

They walked along together for a moment, neither of them speaking. Hermione was deep in thought, trying to come up with the best solution available. No matter what, there would be compromise. They were back to square one in a few days either way. But that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy themselves at all, did it?

"How about this?" she started, stopping him along the walkway and staring into his eyes. "For now, let's just agree that we'll have a great weekend together. I finally have you back in my life after months, and I don't want to waste that time worrying about what comes next. I want to have fun with you, regardless of–of what we want to label ourselves. What do you think?"

After taking a moment to consider, one side of his mouth curled into a lopsided grin. "I think it sounds brilliant. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Perfect. We'll just take it one minute at a time. Whatever happens, happens."

"That works for me."

"In that case, I'm starving," she said, "and I know just the place. Hungry?"

He scoffed, though it quickly morphed into a smile as he took her hand again. "You sure you know me as well as you think you do?"

"Of course, my apologies." She giggled, tugging him in the direction of all the shops and restaurants. "How silly of me. Let's eat."

Chapter Text

The pub was lively on a Friday afternoon, full of witches and wizards enjoying the freedom that only the start of a weekend can afford. Floating candelabras were magically suspended above each long table while the cozy booths along the walls were lit by individual torches. All of the tables and chairs were made of polished oak, giving the place a rustic feel. Ron liked it as soon as he walked in, and he found himself only more impressed when he saw the size of the cottage pie a server was bringing to a grizzled-looking man at the bar.

"This place is brilliant," he said, marveling at images of the Australian Quidditch teams of years gone by that adorned the walls.

"I knew you'd like it," Hermione answered as she led them to a small booth toward the back of the place. "I've only been here once or twice before with my colleagues when Australia was playing a particularly important match. They'd raise the volume of the wireless so everyone could hear. I've never seen a bar so quiet in my life. Until they scored, at least."

"Sure, makes sense." Ron ran his fingers over the slick wood surfaces as he took a seat across from Hermione.

It had only been a ten minute walk from her office to the pub, but the whole time, Ron felt as though he'd been floating. Admitting to her how much he still cared about her and hearing that her feelings were similar was the best possible outcome he could've hoped for from his trip, and he'd only been in Australia for just over twenty-four hours. He was practically giddy thinking about what the next few days could entail.

Still, as much as he wanted to focus solely on enjoying his time with her, it was hard not to consider the possibility of moving even farther forward in their relationship. Perhaps it was foolish to think like that given that they'd be going back to their decidedly separate lives once the weekend was over, but it was hard to put it out of his mind entirely. She'd told him that her life wasn't complete without him, for Merlin's sake! If that wasn't the most encouraging thing he'd heard all year, he didn't know what was.

"So, what's good here?" he asked, scanning the menu.

Hermione shrugged, dropping her coat on the seat next to her. "I'm not sure, I usually just split whatever appetizers everyone else orders."

"Looks like a place that could make a good steak and ale pie."

"I'm sure they could."

"What are you going to get?"

"Why?" she hinted, shooting a devious smile at him over her menu. "Hoping to steal some?"

"Well, yeah. Absolutely. It's just basic logic, innit? If you order a steak and ale pie, it'll be too big for you to finish, which means I'll get to have some. And in that case, I wouldn't order a steak and ale pie for myself; that'd be redundant. Variety, Hermione. That's the goal here."

She laughed, and fond memories of their time at Hogwarts streamed back from the recesses of Ron's mind. At the time, she used to be quite obviously annoyed when he'd pick leftover food off of her plate. Now, though, it didn't seem to bother her at all. In fact, she seemed completely fine with it. "You get the pie," she offered. "I'm actually feeling like bangers and mash, believe it or not."

"Excellent." His eyes lit up. "That'll make a perfect dessert."

They flagged down their server and placed their orders. Ron also added a pint of bitters while Hermione opted for a glass of Shiraz.

"You know," Hermione said as she handed her menu to the waiter, "the work day seemed to go by so slowly today."

Ron's eyebrows lifted, and his lip curled up on one side. "Yeah? And why do you think that was?"

"Probably because for the first time in a long while, I actually had something to look forward to after work."

The grin faded from his face. She'd meant the comment in a happy way, and while of course he was thrilled that seeing him was exciting to her, the melancholy undertone stuck with him. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"No, not bad," she admitted. "But not always fun, either, you know? I wasn't kidding when I said that your letters were the highlight of my day."

"Right." The admission was just as depressing as it was satisfying to him. "In that case, I'm sorry I can't stay longer. I have to be back for a new mission–"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry!" Hermione interrupted, reaching across the table and placing a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to imply that–that it's your responsibility to keep me entertained. I just meant…I don't know, I guess I'm just glad you're here. And like I said, I want to make the best of it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"I don't, but…I can't help but worry about you."

A somber grin passed over her face. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you, Hermione. Whether you're ten thousand miles away or ten paces away."

There was no doubt in his mind that he meant it, of course. Every day that went by he wondered if she was okay, wondered whether she was happy, and wondered whether she was thinking about him as well. But as she eyed him from the other side of the booth, he hoped that he hadn't overstepped. He wanted to be as honest as possible, but he didn't want to come across as creepy. While he didn't think she would interpret it that way, his uncertainty was growing by the second.

"Ron…" she finally started, pausing mid-sentence as though she was trying to choose her words carefully. "What really happened between us? Before. After the war."

If that wasn't a minefield of a question, he wasn't sure what was. "You mean…two summers ago, yeah?"

"Right. Things were going great; at least that's what I thought. Then all of a sudden–and look, I'm not trying to pass the blame. I'm sure some of it was my fault. But you seemed…different. Less like yourself all of a sudden. And that day when I came over and you told me you didn't think it made sense to carry on…it felt like I was talking to a stranger."

Twinges of guilt shocked his body all over, and his stomach turned over on itself. "Yeah, I know."

"We talked about it a little bit at Christmas, but then…well…we sort of ignored the issue."

"By jumping into bed together," he joked, trying to add a beat of levity.

She blushed, trying to withhold a smile. "Exactly."

"Yeah, right. And after that, I suppose we never really got back to it, did we?"

"It didn't come up again, no."

He sighed, releasing a breath as he splayed his fingers over the smooth wooden surface of the table, fingertips collecting drops of condensation along the way.

"I don't mean to bring up bad memories," Hermione continued, "but…Ron, this is important to me. It's important to us, I think. We're here together, talking about how much we miss each other, and I just want to understand."

"Yeah, you're right. We should talk about it. 'S a smart idea." It was a good idea–and definitely necessary–but he still couldn't help but squirm in his seat.

"Because I meant what I said earlier." Her eyes were locked on, practically pleading with him. "I care about you so much, Ron, and I don't want to live my life without you. I've seen what that looks like, and it's always worse than when you're there."

"I feel the same way, Hermione," he responded. "And I want the same thing. Well, kind of. I know we said we'd just have fun this weekend and we wouldn't worry about labels or whatnot, but–and I just want to be honest with you–I don't know if I'm ever going to be completely satisfied just being your friend. The more time we spend apart, the more I'm convinced of that."

Perhaps it shouldn't have been by that point, but it felt like a big admission. For all the talk about missing each other and being glad to see each other, neither of them had gotten to that truly vulnerable moment yet.

Fortunately, Hermione grinned in response, and the weight that felt like it was pressing down on his shoulders began to lighten.

"I had a feeling," she said, an even deeper scarlet than she was before. "I love being your friend, Ron, but if I'm honest with myself, I think I feel the same way."

So there was hope.

Keep it together, Weasley. It won't help to be overly excited.

"Okay," he said. His throat was suddenly as dry as cotton. "Th–that's great, then. Only…"

"Only we've messed this up before, haven't we?"

He snickered. "Right. We sure have."

The thought of finally getting into all the details of their breakup was daunting, but Ron knew it was necessary if they could ever be expected to get back on track. And wasn't that what he really wanted in the long run?

Swallowing down his anxiety, he took a long pull of the beer their server had just delivered. "So, you asked what happened between us."

"I did," she replied with a small nod.

There was only so truthful he could be, of course. The last thing he wanted was for her to start thinking less of him because of how warped his own mind was at the time. How much of himself did he want to lay bare?

He spoke slowly to make sure everything came out correctly. "I think I just figured I would mess it all up."

"I'm sorry?" she said, eyebrows knit together.

"When it was getting close to you going back to Hogwarts at the end of last summer, I just started thinking too much about how I'd never be good at a long-distance relationship and wondering how I would inevitably bollocks it up."

"That's ridiculous! I'm sure we could've made it work!"

"See, now that I'm thinking straight and now that we've been writing back and forth for months, I agree with you. But at the time…ugh, I don't know, Hermione. It's hard to explain."

"Please try, though. This is the important part, Ron. I won't judge, I promise. I just want to understand."

He nodded, knowing full well that she had a point. Things had to work out eventually, and there was no way they could until they knew why they'd failed before.

"So, we'd been together for a long time," he continued. "When you think about it, by the time you were heading back to school, we'd basically been together–physically in the same place–for the last two or three years. Aside from the couple weeks when you went home after sixth year and a few holidays, we were never more than a dormitory staircase away from each other."

"That's true…"

"And so when we were all of a sudden in a situation where we'd be a whole country apart for months on end, it just seemed…impossible, yeah? Like there was no way we could ever advance a relationship that way."

With a pensive nod of her head, she pulled her lips into a tight line. "Sometimes I worried about that too, you know. I was still willing to give it a try, though."

"I know you were. You had more faith in us than I did at the time, as much as it pains me to admit it."

"Oh, I don't know about that–"

"No, you did," he interrupted, trying to hold back the wave of guilt and emotion that was threatening to publicly crash over him. "Remember how I mentioned I'd talked with that healer at St Mungo's for a bit?"

Pity shone through in her eyes. "Yes, I remember."

"That was one of the things we talked about a lot. How I wanted the relationship so badly but was so conditioned by–by all of the disappointment we'd faced in our lives to assume that it would go badly as well. At the time, my reaction to that expectation was to just give up. Pretty stupid when you think about it."

"It's not," Hermione assured him, capturing one of his hands between hers. "It actually makes a lot of sense. Thank you for telling me that."

All he could do was drop his head down to his chest, trying to steady his own breathing. The revelation had been shocking to him at the time, no matter how much it should've been obvious. Reliving it with Hermione was just as difficult as realizing what he'd so callously thrown away in the first place.

Their server returned with the food, and Ron turned his head to the side, giving a quick sniff and dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve as he avoided eye contact. The pie smelled fantastic, but he wasn't interested in eating at that moment. He wanted to finish what they'd started, to focus on the most important person in his world.

"It wasn't an easy thing to admit to myself, but it made sense."

Hermione also slid her plate of food to the side, instead centering all of her energy on Ron. Even though their conversation was a difficult one, it encouraged him nonetheless that she was as invested as he was.

"C–Can I ask…what else you talked about?"

"Oh, well…let's see–"

"I'm sorry, that was too personal! You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, of course I want to tell you. That's why we're doing this, isn't it?"

"I'd hoped."

The gorgeous caramel eyes staring back at him were nothing if not supportive. It didn't matter how anxious he was; if she was there, she was always able to soothe him enough to go on. There was something about the comfort of her gaze that he didn't think he'd ever tire of.

That's because she's the one for you. So be honest with her!

"Okay, so there were a couple other things. The biggest one was Auror Training."

Deep lines of confusion set into Hermione's forehead. "Auror Training? I thought you were looking forward to that last summer."

"I was…and I wasn't." His heart was beating fast in his chest, but there was no stopping now. "I was excited to be moving on with my life and doing something that I thought would be, you know, important and worthwhile."

"And it is!" she interjected.

"I know. But at the time, especially with the press going on and on about how great we were, I was mostly concerned that–that I'd never measure up. I mean, when I really thought about it, I wasn't even a Hogwarts graduate, yeah? Everyone knew Harry would do well, top of the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts every year, he was. But me? I knew my fair share, but you know better than anyone that I was never the best student.

"But because of what happened with You Know Who, the entire country thought I'd be one of the stars of the class. Meanwhile, I hadn't cracked a textbook in over a year, and I hadn't even sat my NEWTs! How was I supposed to show up and blow everyone away?"

"It was a lot of pressure," Hermione agreed, a trite expression on her face. "I learned that the hard way here as well."

"Exactly. So the expectations were sky high, but my level of preparedness was practically non-existent."

"We did some studying that summer, though, didn't we?" she added.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, a small grin breaking through. "You studied. I studied you."

A giggle escaped her lips, and he immediately lost his train of thought. How was she always able to have that effect on him? "Well, hopefully some of what was in the books stuck as well," Hermione said.

"A little, I reckon. Anyway, the material was going to be hard, I knew I was unprepared, which made me worried that I would be behind the entire time, which made me worried that I'd need to use my limited free time to try to catch up, which made me worried that I'd never have time to write to you, which made me worried that you'd go on and find someone else who was willing to make time for you."

It wouldn't have been surprising to him if she'd had a look of horror on her face after everything he'd unloaded. But she simply smiled at him and slowly laced their fingers together. "I understand. I worried about that too."

"You did?"

"Sure," she answered with a nod. "I was going into seventh year after a whole year away from school, I was Head Girl, and I had NEWTs to worry about. If you'd told me at the time I had to graduate early to start a job as well, I might've just broken down on the spot."

"You always seemed so confident, so excited," he said, remembering back all of her enthusiastic mentions of school and everything she would get to learn.

"I was excited. And also nervous about the work. And anxious about my new dormmates. And terrified that I'd forgotten how to study effectively. And unsure how I'd do as an even bigger authority figure than when we were Prefects. And, most of all, worried that all of those things would make it hard to find time to maintain a relationship with you too."

"Wow. If only we'd talked about this then."

With a faint chuckle, she agreed. "We had much more in common than we thought we did."

All of their conversation was only proving how poor of a communicator he'd been at the time. Fortunately, they finally had at least a little time to make up for it. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. All of this was probably so avoidable, wasn't it?"

"Who knows?" she answered with a shrug. "Trying to change the past is a fool's errand. For now, though, I want to worry about the future."

Her fingers slowly rolled up and down the side of his, sending waves of pleasure shooting all the way up his arm. Daydreams of falling asleep like that every night danced through his consciousness, giving him even more motivation to make things right.

"Yeah, I agree. The future could be great. Which…which means I have to mention one more thing that I was talking about with the healer. Something you probably have to know if things are ever really going to work for us."

"Okay," she said slowly, raising an eyebrow in his direction with curiosity.

"Well, one of the things we discussed was my relationship with your family. I think she just wanted to know, since you were Muggleborn, if they would have a problem with our being together. You know, that would then affect me."

"I see. I hope you know that they absolutely do not."

"I know. It's not them. It was never them. It was me."

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "You?"

"Remember that day we all had dinner together? You invited me over to, well…formally meet them, I guess."

Her concern was replaced by a knowing look, as if she knew what he was going to say. "Right, I remember."

"Well, I just…I felt like I couldn't stop making mistakes or saying the wrong thing. I knew that Muggles lived differently from witches or wizards, but by the time I left, I felt like a complete fool, and I was worried that your parents would think I was a complete fool."

"They didn't, Ron, I promise–"

"But more than that," he pressed on, wanting to make sure she fully understood his concern, "was that I realized just how much there was that I didn't know about you. We spent so much time together, Hermione, that I thought I knew you inside and out. Sometimes I thought I knew you better than you knew yourself. And I liked knowing all about you.

"Once I saw how you lived with your parents, though, I realized that I only know about a fraction of your life. And I worried that if we were to stay together, I would either be asking you to give that up, which I never would, or trying to adapt to it myself, which I wasn't sure I'd be able to do after a lifetime of being raised as a wizard, you know?"

"But that's not me, Ron," Hermione begged. "It's not. Sure, there are differences between how I live at my parent's house compared to school or the Burrow or work, but that's not who I am. You do know me. You know me better than anyone. Just because I sometimes use a phone or watch television when I'm at their house doesn't mean that I stop being Hermione Granger."

The healer at St Mungo's had told him the same thing. She'd emphasized that a person was more than their hobbies or interests or even their family life. And it did make sense to him. But only to a degree.

"But are those things you want?" Ron asked. "I suppose I could get used to them, but it would take a while."

"Honestly, I don't much care. I'm a witch, Ron. I love being a witch, and I intend to live my life as a witch. If that means I give up some things from my Muggle childhood, then I'm alright with that. It's more than a fair trade, in my opinion."

"And you can honestly tell me you wouldn't hold that against me? Because this is something I still think about, Hermione. Often."

"Hold it against you? Ron, of course not, I promise!" she reassured him. "I would never blame you for how I choose to live my life. That would be supremely unfair of me. If there's something from the Muggle side of my life that I feel is important to me, I'll share it with you, I'll teach you about it. But I would never resent you or feel that I was giving something up to be with you. You have my word."

The conversation was so straightforward that Ron kicked himself for not having it sooner. All of the heartache he could've saved himself over the last year or so if only he'd expressed his concerns earlier. Of course it was always going to be fine. Hermione was one of the most understanding and level-headed people he knew. And on top of that, she cared about him deeply. He'd been a fool not to see it before.

One concern still persisted, though. Probably the biggest one of all, if he was really thinking about it. The one he'd been struggling with ever since he met her and still provided internal tension to this day. Deep down, he knew that he'd never quite measure up to her and that she was simply too good for him. She'd always be the more impressive wizard between the two of them, and the best he could do was try not to hold her back. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hold her back. She was too bright for that.

But bringing that up with her seemed a little too daunting. He already knew exactly how it would play out, with Hermione trying to convince him that he had so many other strengths that she didn't have or that his work was just as important as hers. But nobody had ever referred to him as the brightest wizard of his age. And while he was fine with that, he didn't want Hermione to live in constant fear about how he'd react to her upstaging him. Some things were best left unsaid.

Besides, she probably already knew.

"You're amazing, you are," he said, still wondering with bewilderment why she chose to be with him when she could've had anyone.

She beamed back at him, squeezing his hand one more time before releasing it and pulling her food in front of her.

"I feel like I owe you an apology," he continued. "If only I hadn't been such a chickenshit, maybe we never would've veered so far off track."

"We both played a role," she replied nonchalantly, shrugging off his assertion. "I feel like I owe you an apology too. I should've been more attuned to your concerns. I should've tried harder to have these conversations back then as well. I should've…I should've fought for us."

"I dunno. I'm not sure if you know this, but I can be pretty stubborn."

"Oh really, can you?" she teased sarcastically, her eyes widening as she laughed.

"It's true." He hungrily dug into his pie, enjoying the flaky crust and rich flavor. "A real arsehole at times."

"No, I don't think that's true. I think you're wonderful."

As her eyes met his again, he dropped his fork and reached for her. He leaned forward, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "You're wonderful. Thanks for…well, listening, I suppose."

"Thank you for telling me all of this. It really means a lot to me. Really, Ron. I feel so…optimistic."

Gaining confidence by the minute, he ventured an even more tantalizing proposition. "Makes you wonder if we could make things work the second time around, doesn't it?"

The tips of her ears turned pink, surely echoing his own given the heat in his face. "Definitely."

Her response was encouraging, but he didn't want to push things too far. They'd made amazing progress in understanding each other, and the prospect of being with her again had never been so realistic. It was an excellent start. However, he didn't want to spend the entirety of their time together focused on what might be in the future at the expense of the present.

In that vein, he reached across the table and used his fork to rip off a piece of her banger, shoveling it back into his mouth before she had a chance to react.

"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, though already grinning ear-to-ear.

"What?" he asked, careful not to spit out any mashed potato. "I was going to get some eventually, wasn't I?"

"There's such a thing as manners, Ronald. You could at least ask."

"Alright. Hermione, is it okay if I try some of your food?"

"If I said no, then what?"

He raised his eyebrows mischievously. "I haven't swallowed yet."

"Ugh, you're disgusting! Just take it!"

Without asking, she stabbed her fork into his pie as well, spearing a piece of steak along with a mushroom. "How's that, then?"

"I was going to offer you some anyway," he answered with a shrug. "Good?"

"Mmm. Delicious."

The rest of dinner flew by, both of them clearly more at ease with each other than they had been a day prior. They laughed and joked the entire time, and once dinner was over, Ron shifted to Hermione's side of the table to share a piece of cake for dessert. The cake was good, but the company was better. It felt like old times, like the moments in their relationship when they were at their closest. Comfortable in the best way possible.

Once they'd finished, they grabbed their jackets and ventured back out into the cool evening air. The city was lit up, and the wizarding section of town had several interesting shops and pubs to explore. Ron had already seen some of them before, but Hermione took him around to a couple of her favorites, making sure to include a stop at the big Quidditch supply store as well.

By the time they got back to her apartment, it was nearly ten o'clock. Ron hoped Hermione didn't go to bed at the same time on weekends, and he was pleasantly surprised when instead of getting ready for bed, she sat down on the sofa and invited him to join her. If it had been twenty-four hours prior, he probably would've sat at the opposite side, not wanting to appear too eager to be close to her. Instead, though, he plopped down right next to her, their shoulders rubbing together as each pulled out their wands.

"Do you remember this one?" Hermione asked, waving her wand in the direction of one of her many bookshelves. A teacup sitting on the ledge started to shift, transforming into the head of a lion in front of Ron's eyes. Once it was complete, she levitated it toward them.

"Ahh, right. You made it in McGonagall's class during sixth year, didn't you?"

"I did," she replied. "The day's assignment had been too easy, so I wanted to challenge myself."

"You got extra credit for that, didn't you?"

As Ron peeked to the side, he could see the stifled smile on Hermione's face. "Maybe."

He nudged her in the ribs. "Course you did."

Letting out a happy shriek, she leaned away from him for just a moment before settling back down against his body, this time laying her head down on his shoulder. "Your turn."

"My turn to what?" he asked.

"I don't know…entertain me."

The implications were more than he could handle, and he forced himself to focus on the more innocent meanings of the phrase. "Fine, how about this?"

Wordlessly, he waved his wand toward the middle of the room, a silver terrier exploding from the tip. Instead of bounding around the room, however, the dog stood in the middle of the floor and looked at Ron expectantly.

"Sit," he ordered, and the dog did.

"Lay down." Again, success.

"Roll over."

After the dog had completed two full rotations over the carpet, accidentally rolling through the wall and into the kitchen, Hermione turned to him with a look of amazement. "That was brilliant, Ron! I've never seen anyone be able to control their Patronus like that!"

"Mostly just parlor tricks," he answered with a shrug. "The Aurors want us to have perfect control over them, though. It's important if we ever need to call for help."

"Sure, that makes sense. Still, quite impressive."

"Thanks."

His eyes shifted around the room, trying to diffuse the tension that was becoming harder to ignore. If he kept looking at her, he was bound to try to kiss her. Instead, his eyes landed on a small beaded bag sitting on a different bookshelf near the dining table.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, casting an Accio charm to bring the bag over to them.

Hermione nodded. "The very same one, yes."

"Wow." He examined the bag, not wanting to invade her privacy by looking inside. "This is a throwback."

"I think I still have some of the things from our, erm, time in the woods. Let's see."

She rooted through the bag, her entire arm stuffed inside, until she pulled out a battered book for him to see. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Ron smiled at the familiar entry.

"I never really got around to cleaning it out after we got back," she said. "At the time, it was…too painful, I suppose."

"Right. I'm sorry, we don't have to–"

"No, it's okay. It was a long time ago. Things are different now," she said, opening the cover of the book. "I can't even count the hours we spent poring over this book, always thinking we were missing something."

"Bloody Hallows. Wish we'd never even heard about them."

"In retrospect, that might've been easier."

They chuckled together as they flipped through the pages, reminiscing at all of the conversations they'd had about what it all might mean. At the time, everything was so serious, and it felt like they were racing against the clock. It was almost refreshing to be looking back over a year later with clearer minds, safe in the knowledge that things had worked out…for the most part, at least. Any discussion of that period of time would always be a little bittersweet.

"It was a strange time," Hermione said as she looked through the story of the three brothers. "Almost doesn't feel real."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It was too much for a bunch of barely seventh years."

"Way too much. But we made it. Sometimes I can't believe we did, but it happened."

"Do you ever talk to anyone about those months?" Ron asked. It was something he tended to keep to himself, and he knew that Harry did too, but he was curious about Hermione's response.

"Not really. Nobody understands besides the three of us."

"Yeah, that's how I feel too. We were the only ones we could count on." He stopped and remembered his own betrayal with a sour taste in his mouth. "Well, most of the time, at least."

"Hey," she said, sensing his meaning. She leaned back, placing a hand on his cheek. "Stop it. We've been over this. It's water under the bridge."

"I know, but–"

"Water under the bridge. Ron…you saved me. You saved my life. I don't care what happened before then. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. You saved me."

It still felt as though he was being let off too easy. Perhaps he'd feel that way his whole life. "Hermione, I–there was no choice," he said, staring into her eyes. She was perfect, and the thought of her being in pain still hurt him to his core. "I would die before I'd let anything happen to you."

Her gaze intensified as they sat together, holding each other on the sofa. It would be so simple to just lean forward, to give in to the feelings he now knew they both were experiencing. Forget the possible complications. To hell with any of the logistical difficulties. She would always be worth it.

Before anything happened, though, she stood up, taking a deep breath before walking toward her bedroom. Just when Ron was worried that it all might've been too much for her and he'd scared her away, she turned around, holding out her hand to him.

"Come with me?" she asked.

The invitation didn't need to be repeated.

He rose to his feet, offering her a sincere smile as he padded across the room, capturing her warm hand in his and following her lead.

Chapter Text

As Hermione's eyes flickered open, the early morning sunlight was blinding. Realizing immediately that she'd forgotten to close the blinds before going to bed the night before, she groaned. She could get up and close them, but she felt warmer than usual tucked into her bed, so it didn't seem like a very appealing option. Especially when she could just flip away from them.

When she tried to turn, though, something stopped her. Something large and equally warm. Something…

At that moment, her brain caught up with her body.

It was Ron.

Memories of the previous evening flooded back to her sleep-addled mind. Dinner. Their long conversation about their past. Cuddling on the couch. And then…

Oh. Right. I asked him to join me.

It had happened right after they'd been discussing their shared experiences during what was supposed to be their seventh year at Hogwarts. As they'd talked, she'd felt a closeness with him that she hadn't experienced since immediately after the war, a bond that can only be forged in the fire of life-and-death situations. And even though the war had been over for more than a year, she still sought his comfort, his calming touch when she remembered the more difficult moments of that year on the run.

So he came to bed with her. The decision was much simpler than Hermione anticipated; it sounded cliche, but it just felt right. Nothing happened from there…nothing like the previous Christmas, at least. But the feeling she got lying in his arms was second to none–tender, loving, and soothing. His presence was a salve for her many trauma-induced wounds. Nobody else could make her feel that way. For the first time in months, she'd fallen asleep with a truly clear and unperturbed mind.

Tucking her shoulder underneath her as she tried to minimize her movements, she pulled the covers over her shoulder and settled her head on the pillow facing him. Eyes still closed, his ginger lashes illuminated by the few rays of light filtering into the room. His breathing was slow and rhythmic; she hadn't woken him when she'd stirred.

She examined his face in detail, trying to memorize the placement of each of the freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose. His lips were slightly parted, warm puffs of breath being expelled every so often, falling against her face with a transfixing cadence. As she watched him sleep, she became painfully aware of how unfair it was that they only had a couple more days to spend together before he had to leave again. His presence was the thing that made life fun and exciting. How was she supposed to cope with the day-to-day drudgery of her work life when she knew how much better life could be?

The sun gradually rose higher in the sky, lifting over Hermione's shoulder so that Ron's face became bathed in light as well. He flinched, blinking slowly as he woke. Smiling, she reached her arm under the blanket and up to his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Good morning."

"Morning," he said, grinning back at her as he lifted his arm over her hip, pulling her closer to him.

"Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah, great. You?"

"Really well."

When he flipped onto his back, he pulled her along with him. Her head landed on his chest, and he snaked an arm underneath her to hold her even tighter.

"Mmm," he uttered. "Way better than the guest room."

"I'd say," she answered with a chuckle. "Thanks for staying with me."

"Thanks for inviting me. I hoped you would but didn't want to assume."

"I wanted you to. Ever since you got here, I wanted you to…"

He drew her closer, kissing her forehead as half of her body wound up on top of his. Their legs overlapped under the sheets, her toes barely reaching the midway point of his calf. The thin t-shirt separating her ear from his chest barely muffled his heart beating against her ear. Slow and steady, without a hint of anxiety.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked. "Go to the beach? Shopping? There's a place out in the country where people play pickup Quidditch; I think I know how to find it if you like."

"Honestly?" His lip curled up on one side as he cleared his throat. "I don't even want to move at the moment."

"Mmm, good idea," she responded with a snicker. "Maybe in a while, then."

"Yeah, in a while."

The quiet that fell over the room was almost deafening. As she lay against his ribcage, she could feel every slow rise and fall of his chest. It was the kind of serene and peaceful setting that she could only imagine might be their future, if only they could find a way to make it possible. What if every Saturday morning started out that way? For the moment, she could only dream, but a newfound fire burned within her to make that dream a reality someday.

Ron's thumb ran in small ovals around her shoulder, crawling under the hem of her short-sleeved t-shirt every time he circled back. She broke out in small rounds of goosebumps each time his fingertips grazed her skin, finding the repetitive motion supremely relaxing. Tingles were shooting through her body, only adding to the morning's pleasure.

Almost as though attracted by a magnet, her hand rose up to his cheek, her fingertips running over his morning stubble. He glanced down, beaming at her as they both basked in the room's wonderful morning glow. It was a perfect moment. Perfect…except…

Before she could stop herself, Hermione craned her neck upward, reaching toward him until her lips landed on his. Her tongue took a quick swipe across his lower lip as she temporarily trapped it, refusing to let go until he deepened the kiss, leaning down and pressing into her. She planted a hand on his chest, rising up over top of him and letting her hair fall onto his face. After a few more seconds, he broke away, pushing her frizzy locks away from his nose.

"Tickles," he said, still chuckling to himself.

She laughed with him as she crashed back down onto the mattress, only slightly embarrassed and otherwise feeling quite pleased with herself. "Sorry. Not sure what came over me there…"

"You don't have to be sorry for something so amazing."

"Glad you thought so too."

He rolled toward her, eyes locked on hers as their foreheads came together on her pillow. Their hands met under the covers and laced themselves together, holding on tight.

"Was that a…" Ron started, looking as though he was trying to hold back another grin, "you know, a friend's kiss, or was it…?"

"Erm, I'm not really sure, to be honest."

"Because it didn't seem like a friend's kiss to me."

She slid closer to him, pressing the front of her body against his. "It didn't, did it?"

His head shook side to side as a sly grin spread across his face. "But then again, maybe that's because we're not just friends."

"We're more than friends," she whispered, wrapping an arm around his midsection and slipping her hand under his shirt.

"Much more." He mirrored her, running his flat palm up her back.

How was she supposed to think straight and act logically when he was exuding such irresistible, sexy confidence? The last thing she wanted to do was complicate their relationship even further, but as the seconds ticked by, she realized more and more that her desire was too strong. She didn't stand a chance, and she was completely fine with it, consequences be damned.

"Ron…I know we said we wouldn't label it, but…" Instead of finishing her thought, she lunged toward him again, kissing him full on the mouth, this time with much more fervor and urgency. Her tongue probed deeper into his mouth as her hands got lost in his thick, messy bedhead. Ron returned the kiss with just as much voracity, cradling her face in his hands before reaching down and grabbing a handful of her bum to pull her closer.

They broke apart, eyes fixed hungrily on each other, a momentary calm before what they both knew would be a legendary storm.

"Fuck labels," Ron said. "I just want you."

No verbal response was necessary, Hermione instead focusing all of her energy on pulling his shirt up over his head. The muscles in his chest were firmer than before, surely the result of a year's worth of constant elite-level physical training. She placed her hands against his bare skin as he kissed her forehead, separating again a moment later as he lifted her shirt as well. They collided back together, lips meeting frantically as they kicked off the duvet, the heat from their bodies providing all the warmth they needed. As Hermione pulled Ron on top of her, she smiled, realizing that this might be the start of her favorite birthday weekend ever.

Rays of light fell on the hardwood floor next to the bed, warming the surface as Hermione's hand flopped down over the side of the mattress and landed with a thud. The sun was much higher in the sky, no longer shining in her face, but after what she and Ron had just done, she figured she was glowing either way. His warm body was still tucked in behind hers, his head resting against her shoulder blades. If it were up to her, they'd never move again.

"You tried some new things, didn't you?" Ron mumbled, his heavy forearm still resting over the small of her back.

"Honestly?" she asked with a laugh. "I don't even remember half of it. It was just…frenzied."

"Well, call it whatever you want, it was brilliant."

She snickered as she flipped toward him. "It was brilliant. Because it was with you."

Pressing a kiss to her collarbone, Ron wrapped her in his arms, both of them glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Spring in Australia was still chilly at times, but not when she was enveloped by him.

"Now I really don't want to move," he offered, tracing circles over the bare skin of her shoulder.

"Me either. Who needs sightseeing, really? We've got everything we need right here."

Almost as if on cue, Ron's stomach gurgled, his eyes darting over to hers with embarrassment. "Well, almost everything."

She chuckled, completely unsurprised after knowing him for as long as she had. "Tell you what? I have some leftovers in the fridge. I'll be right back."

After a quick stop in the bathroom to pee, she headed to the fridge, rustling up some fruit and a couple of hand pies. By the time she zapped the pies in the microwave and returned to the bedroom, Ron had barely moved, only making the effort to sit up straight once he smelled the food she was carrying.

"If younger me knew that someday you'd bring me breakfast in bed naked? My heart would've stopped," he said.

"If younger me knew that someday I'd bring you breakfast in bed naked, you would have thought I'd eaten a Fainting Fancy."

Ron chuckled as he held back the covers, allowing her to climb back into the bed. Setting down the plate of snacks on his extended thighs, she tucked herself back against his chest and pulled the covers up over her. He picked up a pie and offered her the first bite, which she accepted. Her small, dainty bite paled in comparison to his, though, a quarter of the pie suddenly stuffed into his mouth.

"So. I don't want to be the one to suggest this since it's gotten us in trouble before, but should we talk about…you know, what just happened?"

"Sure," he replied after swallowing. "I'll start. You're gorgeous, and it was the most fun I've had all year. We should definitely do it again soon."

Swatting his shoulder, she giggled. "That's not what I mean!"

"Still true, though, innit?"

"It was wonderful, yes. But I mean really talk."

"As long as you don't tell me you're going to–to South Africa this time," he responded with a grin.

It was encouraging that he was able to joke about it so easily. A comment like that wouldn't have gone over as well nine months prior.

Still, they weren't focusing, and they weren't getting anywhere.

"Ron!" she cried, half laughing herself. "No, I'm not going anywhere else, but…well, you're only here until Monday, yes?"

His frame slumped a bit against the headboard. "Yeah, unfortunately."

"And I'm guessing you won't be able to come back any time soon. I know I can't until the holidays."

"Yeah, you mentioned. They're working you too hard, don't you think?"

It was easy to tell when he was trying to deflect. Someone had to keep the conversation on track, though. Failure to communicate played a big role in their relationship crumbling a year prior. Hermione would be damned if she would let it happen again, especially when it was becoming so clear to her that she'd never really enjoy her life without him. They had to find a way to make things work.

"The work is what it is. But I'm serious, Ron. I'm only doing this because–because I care so much about you and I want this to work, even if it's hard. I don't want this to be another one-off situation that we tiptoe around for the next several months."

"Right. Look, I know what you're going to say. And I'm happy to talk, honestly," he started, dropping the pie and focusing all of his attention on her. "But d'you think we could just…wait? It's like you said–I'm only here for a couple more days. Let's talk before I go. Until then, is it so bad that I just want to have fun? Enjoy our time together? Just…not worry about it?"

With a kiss on his cheek, she sighed. He had a point. Why invite stress in so soon? The conversation would always be there. "No, of course that's not a bad thing. We can wait."

They stayed in bed, trading bites of the pies back and forth until both were gone, then moving on to grapes. Their blatant nudity would've felt scandalous a year prior, but something had shifted in the fabric of their relationship that Hermione was just becoming attuned to. In retrospect, she started to realize that their first attempt at being boyfriend and girlfriend at times seemed almost formal, as though they were trying so hard to be in a relationship the 'right way' that things were destined to fall apart.

Lying with him now, however, felt as comfortable and logical as anything possibly could. It didn't scare her or make her blush or send her mind into overdrive. Suddenly, the conversation they'd just been discussing, the one they needed to have before he left, didn't seem so daunting. In fact, it might end up being nothing more than a formality.

"Now that we've had breakfast," she said, sliding the empty tray down to the floor, "do you really want to stay here all day?"

"It's tempting, isn't it?" he suggested.

"And it's your vacation, so it's up to you. If you want to stay in, I'm happy to stay in."

He thought for a moment, taking a quick peek under the covers to her giggling protestation. "Just wanted to double check what I'd be missing."

Putting on her best seductive face, she smiled. "And?"

"And as much as I want to say yes, I think I'd be upset with myself if we didn't get out at least a little bit. It's a beautiful country you have here. That said, if you wanted to sneak back midday for another round, I wouldn't say no."

"Ron…"

"Fine, fine. We don't have to come back," he started, pausing suspiciously for effect. "We'll just run off, find a secluded corner or something, and I'll rip off–"

"Absolutely not!"

She couldn't even be sure if he'd heard her, though, as he'd thrown his head backward with laughter. His arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder as he pulled her in for one last kiss against her forehead before setting the plate aside and getting up out of bed.

"I think I should take a quick shower, but then would you like to go?"

Still scowling at him as she tried to keep the grin from her face, she nodded. "Sounds good."

His shower only took ten minutes or so, and by the time he was out, Hermione had cleaned up and was ready to go herself. The whole time he'd been in the bathroom, she'd been thinking about what they could do with their time. Museums, shops, nature walks, and restaurants all cascaded through her brain as she tried to come up with the perfect itinerary. In the end, though, it didn't really matter. As long as she was with him, she'd have a great time.

The day ended up taking them all over the city. They started with a trip to the Sydney Zoo, where Ron marvelled at the size of the elephants, having never seen them in real life before. When they toured the aviary, he wondered aloud which of the birds could be ridden like Thestrals or Hippogriffs, prompting Hermione to shush him to avoid attention. He made her laugh in the primate house when having a staring contest with an orangutan, a competition he decidedly lost. Afterward, she tried to convince him to go into the bug house, but as soon as he saw a picture of the spiders that were on display inside, he pulled her instead toward the wild horses, wondering aloud if they were the ancestors of the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest.

Afterward, they took the twenty-minute walk to the wizard part of town, stopping in a fish and chip shop for lunch before window shopping the afternoon away. Normally, walking around and staring at things she had no intention of buying would be depressing and wouldn't hold her attention for very long, but with Ron around, every minute felt like a gift. Truthfully, she didn't remember half of the stores they entered, focusing all of her energy on Ron instead. Colors seemed brighter, food tasted better, and her cheeks started hurting from all of the smiling. And it was all thanks to him. It was tantalizing to think that someday, every day could be like that.

Before they knew it, dinner time had arrived. Hermione led him to another of her favorite pubs in the area where they split a shepherd's pie and Yorkshire pudding. Their conversation flowed like it used to during the best of times back at Hogwarts, sharing laugh after laugh. It reminded her of the times when it almost felt like everyone else at their long, convivial Gryffindor table just disappeared and their worlds revolved exclusively around each other. It probably irritated their friends from time to time, but those moments had always given her hope for her future. The future into which they'd arrived. The future that would, quite unfortunately, be murky again in just over a day.

Trying to put the depressing thoughts from her mind, they wandered down to the beach. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting their long shadows into the water as they stripped off their socks and shoes and waded through the waves breaking on the shoreline. Long walks on the beach were a cliche for a reason, Hermione decided, feeling almost as though she was floating as Ron gripped her hand tightly.

Once they'd walked away from the crowds, she spotted a log that had washed up on shore with the last high tide and sat down on it, pulling Ron down next to her. Together, they stared out at the water, rippling gently in the dying evening light. Paradise, some might say. At the moment, Hermione would probably agree.

"It's beautiful here," he offered as he scooched closer to her, dropping an arm over her shoulder. "I can see why you like it."

She shrugged against his hand, placing a quick kiss on his knuckles as they rose up. "It's alright. Gorgeous, yes, but so are a lot of places."

"You know," he started, looking a little anxious, "if it's important to you and you decide you'd want to stay here for a while, maybe I could think about moving out here. I'm sure they need Aurors too, yeah?"

Her heart swelled with emotion, and before she could stop herself, tears started forming in her eyes. "Oh, Ron…"

For a moment, his eyes widened as though he'd said something wrong. "Oh, erm, never mind. Sorry, I just thought–"

"No, Ron, stop. That's just…the kindest offer I've ever heard."

He exhaled, relaxing his body against hers. "Oh. Okay, good. You had me worried there for a minute. I don't want you to think I'm coming on too fast or–or overstepping or something."

"You're not."

"Because I know that just because we're spending this weekend together doesn't mean anything in particular. It doesn't mean that we're…well, anything, really."

"I know it doesn't have to, but it could."

Their eyes met, Hermione's hopeful expression a reflection of her feelings of dedication toward him. He smiled, leaning in and softly kissing her lips as a breeze blew in over the ocean, blowing their hair behind them as they broke apart.

"Ahh, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? We said we'd have that talk later. I don't want to ruin anything now by getting into it. But it is nice to hear you say that," he said.

"We can talk now if you'd like."

"No, it's okay. I just want to enjoy this moment."

Enjoying the moment was easy at first. Hermione was trying to convince time to stand still long enough that she could capture a mental snapshot. Fleeting though it may be, at least it could live on in her memories. It would have to do when they split apart again in a few days.

The chill against her back indicated to Hermione that the sun had finally dropped below the horizon, the surrounding skies a beautiful tapestry of oranges, pinks, and blues. It was a wonderful view, one she didn't think she could ever tire of.

But the sun sets everywhere, doesn't it? Even Britain.

In fact, even though they didn't have the beach or the water in London, she was certain she liked the sunsets better there than in Australia.

Not that it made a difference at the moment. Australia was where she found herself, and that didn't seem likely to change for the time being. She'd be lying to say she'd never thought of what it would be like if Ron moved to Sydney with her. Tempting as it was, though, she knew how much it meant to him to be near his family. And with the loss they'd all experienced recently…she couldn't do that to his mother.

"It does mean a lot to me, Ron," she said, wrapping her arms around his midsection. "That you would even think of moving here to be with me, that is."

He bent down, placing another kiss on top of her head. "I'd go anywhere to be with you, Hermione. Anywhere. Australia, Siberia…the bloody moon if it came to it."

"I know you would." A smile spread across her face without her even trying, and she leaned back a bit, capturing his gaze and placing a gentle hand against his cheek. "And I love you for it."

His eyes widened momentarily before he grinned back at her, mirroring her motion and cradling her face in his palms. "You love me?"

Biting her lip, she nodded. "Of course I love you. I love you more than anyone in the world, Ron."

He held her gaze for a moment, eventually breaking away with a smirk. "I knew it."

"Ron!" she teased, tickling his sides as she crashed back into him.

For a moment, he kept up the ruse, staring ahead blankly as she peppered his cheeks with kisses. Eventually, he laughed along with her and turned back to her, kissing her square on the lips, the kiss deepening over the course of a full minute.

"I love you too, Hermione Granger," he said as they split apart, both breathing a bit heavier than before. "Reckon I have for some time now."

"Me too. I wonder why we couldn't just…say it before?"

He shrugged, but a hint of a smile persisted. "Dunno, really. Then again, communication never was our strong suit, yeah?"

"Maybe not," she admitted with a snicker.

"Anyway, I really do love you," Ron said, slipping his hand into hers and lacing their fingers together. "And I would do anything for you."

"Anything, eh?" she teased, a coy expression on her face.

"Anything." His sincerity knocked down her playful attitude for a moment, but it returned as soon as he continued. "Except spiders. I'm not dealing with spiders."

Another giggle escaped her lips, and she kissed his cheek. "I'll handle the spiders."

"But anything else."

"I'd settle for a repeat of this morning," she hinted, throwing him a mischievous sidelong glance.

"Oh really?" he asked. "And, well, theoretically…just how quickly can you get us home from here?"

She grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet and pressing her lips against his mouth, their tongues immediately beginning the familiar dance. Without looking and refusing to stop kissing him, she pulled him twenty feet down the beach to a dumpster, which they ducked down behind to avoid being seen. They broke apart for a moment as Hermione linked their arms and waved her wand, transporting them into her apartment right outside her bedroom door.

Throwing her wand down the hall, she lifted her arms and allowed Ron to peel off her thin jumper before ripping off his shirt and pressing his back against the door as their lips crashed back together. She fumbled for the knob, the pair of them lurching into the bedroom as the door suddenly gave way. After he caught and steadied them, half laughing along the way, he reached for the buttons of her jeans, working quickly to free her of any remaining barriers to complete intimacy.

Hermione paused to help him, taking one more look at his face and reminding herself of how lucky she really was.

I could get used to this.

The pleasant thought sitting nicely in her mind, she kicked the door closed as they collapsed onto the mattress together.

Chapter Text

After staying up far too late making up for lost time in the bedroom, Ron's eyes didn't open until nearly ten o'clock the next morning. Between the jet lag and the lack of sleep, he barely knew where he was, taking several seconds to yawn and glance around the room, trying to get his bearings. One peek to his side, however, brought a wide grin to his face, confirming his wildest dream. Hermione was lying next to him, and she wasn't wearing anything.

For that matter, neither was he.

Could this get any better?

As he shifted in the bed, her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the morning sun already pouring in through the open window. Once she caught sight of him, she smiled and tucked herself under his arm. "Good morning."

"It really is, isn't it?" he responded with a chuckle.

"Yesterday, it took us a few minutes to get to this point."

"Way too long."

"I couldn't agree more."

She arched her back and leaned upward, capturing his lips in a slow, passionate kiss, and within moments, she'd climbed on top of him, dropping the sheets onto the floor next to the bed. It didn't take long for his body to react as he embraced her. He held her close, trailing kisses down her neck and onto her chest as she moaned a soothing sigh of pleasure.

I stand corrected. It can get better.

It was nearly noon before Ron finally swung his feet over the edge of the bed and planted them on the warm wood. Pleasurable aftershocks were still coursing through his body as he walked to the bathroom, legs feeling like jelly after the vigorous workout he'd just gladly put himself through. Hermione followed him with a shaky cadence to her steps. She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder to brace herself as they navigated their way out the door and into the small, cramped bathroom.

"Excuse me," Hermione said as she tried to sneak past him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ron said, lurching backward to pin her against the wall with his butt. "How ungentlemanly of me."

"Get your arse off of me!" Hermione cried through her giggles.

"That's not what you were saying a few minutes ago…"

Her jaw dropped in mock disbelief as she slid free and stepped into the bathtub. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Care to join me?"

The adorable dance she did, masterfully utilizing the shower curtain as a prop, really left Ron no choice. "If I must," he said, jumping in next to her as an initial blast of cold water hit him in the back.

"Ahh, switch, switch!" Ron cried, his teeth already chattering.

"Oh no, we don't have to. It's okay, you go first," she teased as her eyebrows raised suspiciously.

It's like that, is it?

He wrapped his arms all the way around her body, making sure she got plenty of cold water on her as payback. She squealed, half laughing as the pair of them wrestled for position while the temperature heated up.

They stayed in the shower together for almost twenty minutes, helping each other soap their bodies, paying special attention to certain parts with which they were quickly becoming more acquainted. It nearly led to yet another round, only the gradual chilling of the water tempering the mood. Ron dried off and ducked back into the bedroom to put his clothes back on when his stomach gave a loud rumble.

"I heard that from in the bathroom," Hermione said, stepping back into the room and pulling a new outfit from her dresser. "Want to go get…breakfast? Lunch? Brunch? Something?"

"Sounds brilliant. Wherever you want to go."

"Maybe nowhere with a long wait, though?" she joked.

"Yeah, definitely no waiting."

Once they were both dressed and slipped into their trainers, Hermione led the way out of her apartment and down the street to a corner restaurant slinging hamburgers as quick as the orders came in. Ordering each of them a burger with chips, they sat down on the grass in the park across the street from the restaurant. The grass had just been trimmed, and the aroma was refreshing and fragrant as they ate their lunch. Ron's was gone in under three minutes, after which he started picking at Hermione's chips when she wasn't looking.

The rest of the afternoon proceeded similarly to the previous day, with Hermione showing Ron more of the sights of downtown Sydney. They ended up near the harbor eventually, walking along the water until they came to the Opera House. Ron was impressed as they toured the massive structure, wondering aloud if perhaps it had been built by wizards because of its unique design. When Hermione assured him that it had been entirely constructed by Muggles, he scoffed, figuring someone magical was involved one way or another.

Once they left the waterfront, Hermione led them inland to the Tower Eye, where a lift took them to the top of a tall tower that provided views of the entire city. Everything looked so small from way up there, people looking no bigger than tiny insects. Finding a secluded spot away from other tourists, Hermione pressed Ron's back to the floor-to-ceiling glass panes overlooking the city and kissed him. They only broke apart when a confused elderly couple rounded the corner looking for the restroom and instead found the two of them with their hands in rather inappropriate places.

Somehow, most of the day had passed by the time they descended the tower and apparated back to the magical part of town. They got a table at one of the restaurants along the main stretch, again choosing a corner booth tucked into the back of the space for privacy. After ordering their meals, Ron started to notice a pit growing in his stomach, suddenly fully aware of the discussion they'd been putting off for the last day or two.

No time like the present, right? Besides, this isn't like last time. We're different people now.

"So," he started, his voice only wavering a bit. "The conversation. I think we'd better have it, don't you?"

Hermione smiled and grasped his hand as it lay on the table. "Yes, I think we should."

"You don't seem anxious or worried at all," Ron said, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

"Should I be?" Her tone was still warm and playful.

It instantly put Ron at ease as he grinned back at her. "No, probably not."

"Good."

For a moment, silence fell between them as they eyed each other expectantly. Eventually, Hermione ducked her head closer to him, narrowing her eyes. "Did you want to…or should I start?"

"Sorry, yeah, I'll go," Ron said, squeezing her hand tighter. "I don't want anyone else, Hermione. Ever. I want you to be my girlfriend. If you're going to be here for a while, then that's okay, be here for a while. I believe in you and know how important your goals are to you. If you end up deciding this is where you want to stay for a long time, that's okay too. I'll come. I'll figure it out. I want to be with you and nobody else."

Happy tears had started to well up in Hermione's eyes while he spoke, and the way she beamed at him let him know that he'd said the right thing. "It's so nice to hear you say that, Ron. I couldn't agree more. I want you to be my boyfriend. You and nobody else."

Her words were a salve to his mind and a validation of the entire trip. Still, he knew that she had been on board for that plan all along. It was his fault they hadn't stayed together in the first place. And if it took all night, he would do his best to make sure she understood how sorry he was for that.

"I feel horrible," he continued, "that it took me so long to figure all of this out. I never should've doubted you or us or our ability to make it work, even if we weren't seeing each other every day. I cost us those months by being stupid and stubborn, and I don't think I'll ever stop regretting it."

"It's alright," Hermione assured him. "In the big picture, it's just a drop in the bucket."

"Maybe so, but I still feel like a prized idiot for the way I acted. And all because–"

He stopped himself, realizing just how close he'd come to revealing his biggest secret.

When they'd finally gotten around to talking about things during the holidays, Ron had told Hermione most of the truth as to why he'd broken it off between them. He'd explained how he wasn't himself and that he wasn't thinking clearly at the time, but he'd never really explained his rationale, flawed as it was at the time.

The other night, he'd finally admitted to her all of his concerns about failing at Auror training and his relationship with her family. It was a big load off his mind to finally tell her those things, but even then, he knew he was holding something back. And she deserved the truth. If they were ever going to make it in the long run, full honesty was the only option. He'd chickened out before, but not this time around. It was time.

"Because what?" Hermione pressed.

He sighed, momentarily dropping his head in shame and scratching the back of his neck. After recomposing himself, he glanced up and found her worried and inquisitive expression. "Because I didn't think I was good enough for you."

Tilting her head to the side, she leaned closer. "You…what?"

"I didn't think I was good enough for you. That was a big part of the reason I was nervous about us staying together. I was worried that you'd…I dunno, figure it out or something."

To her credit, she didn't start to laugh. It sounded a little silly when he said it out loud, but he would never deny how strongly he felt it at the time. And even if the feelings had faded as a reason to break up, he still knew it was kind of true. "But that's ridiculous."

"Is it, though? I mean, look at the facts. You've always been smarter than I am, you've got a better job right out of school than I do, you're respected, you're gorgeous…I could go on and on."

"First of all, just because I did better on some exams doesn't make me smarter or better than anyone. Secondly, your job is just as impressive as mine. Third, you think I'm gorgeous? Have a look at yourself!"

He laughed, prompting a chuckle from her as well. "Hermione, now that I'm back in my right mind and I've gone through therapy with the healer at St Mungo's, I'll grudgingly concede on the first two, but come on. You're always going to be prettier than me."

"But you don't think that anymore, do you? Please tell me you don't."

"Honestly? In my darkest hours, sometimes. There's part of me that will never quite understand what you see in me. Maybe it's just human nature."

"Or maybe it's because you're too self-critical. Nobody's perfect. I'm a neurotic stickler. You think I don't wonder how you overlook that all the time?"

"I find it adorable."

"You're the only one, then. But that's what a relationship is, isn't it? Accepting the person you love no matter their flaws? I love you, Ron, even though you're not perfect."

No matter how many times she said it, he didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing those words come out of her mouth. A warm, tingly feeling spread through his body, firing off pleasurable nerves all the way to the top of his scalp. "I suppose you're right. And I love you too."

"Good. So can we please dispense with the idea that anyone is better than anyone else? We're both just imperfect people who love and support each other. That's all I need."

"Well, I was ready to accept that until this morning," he said, lip curling up deviously.

"This…what do you mean?"

"That thing you did when we were on our sides? Felt like a velvet vise squeezing my–"

"Ronald!" she cried, face turning beet red. "Keep your voice down!"

"I'll tell the whole damn street, Hermione. It was that good."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," she whispered, giggling as she tried to hold her hand over his mouth, "but let's keep it to ourselves, shall we?"

"Fine," he replied as he broke free from her grasp. "But just so I don't start feeling inadequate again, we'd better make sure we practice some more. You know, so I can up my game."

"Your 'game', as you call it, is in excellent shape."

His eyebrow lifted as he grinned at her. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Trust me, there are no complaints."

"Hmm. Good to know. A little more practice tonight, though? Just for good measure…"

She smiled, ears turning pink as her eyes darted toward the corner of the room. "Maybe a lot more practice.'

Wow.

"Erm, yeah. Excellent. I mean, if you say so."

"So we're okay, though?" The sincerity returned to her voice as she sat back in her seat, each of them accepting a frosty butterbeer from the server. "I feel horrible that I never knew this was bothering you so much. I never meant…if I ever made you feel that way, I–"

"No, Hermione, it's okay. We're okay. Like I said, last summer, my head was just all over the place. Between being nervous about Auror Training and feeling like I was bound to ruin our relationship, I wasn't thinking straight. Now I am. Because I know there's nothing more important to me than you."

"Which brings us back to our original question. What happens now? We've been dodging it all weekend, but we should probably have some kind of plan, don't you think?"

"Yeah, a plan would be good," he agreed. "But I've already told you how I feel. What about you? What do you want after I'm back in Britain?"

"I want to be with you. But since that's not possible for now, I want to make sure we keep writing to each other. I agree with you that the time when we weren't talking was one of the worst of my life, and I have no desire to relive it, especially knowing what we mean to each other."

"Yeah, I agree. Even if it's hard, even when we've had long days, it's still important. But I have to say, it doesn't feel like a chore. I enjoy writing to you."

She beamed at him, warming his heart. "I love writing to you. There's nobody I'd rather tell about my day."

"It'll be hard, though, not seeing each other much."

"Yes, but we've done it for the last nine months, and we're stronger than ever, wouldn't you say?"

Ron reached across the table and picked up both of her hands again, bringing them to his lips to give each one a kiss. "Stronger than ever."

"And I'll be home for the holidays. I'm sure of that."

"I'll still have some vacation time by next winter…well, next winter in England. I'll come visit you. It'll be summer here, yeah? Must be nice here in the summer."

"It is. Then I can come when it starts getting colder here. Maybe I can even convince our Ministry to team up on a project with the British Ministry. Then I could travel for work."

"Fine, but please don't stay at a hotel," Ron requested. "With me, if you don't mind."

She grinned. "Always with you."

"We'll make it work."

"Yeah, we will."

Their food arrived and they dug in, Ron noticing a sense of peace that he'd never felt before. Throughout his entire adolescence, his love life had always been a bit of a mystery. Even at its best, it felt like he was romantically stuck in neutral. Due to a series of missteps and self-inflicted injuries, he'd never felt like he'd solved the mystery of love.

However, as he sat with the person he cared about more than anyone in the world, the person he could call his girlfriend, the person he'd already thought about marrying someday, he knew he'd found it. Maybe it had happened through pure dumb luck, but he'd finally figured out enough about love to realize it when it was staring him in the face. And, by some other miracle, he'd managed not to bungle it this time around.

The trip had been more than worth it. It allowed him to feel like his life was finally on track, and that realization was priceless.

Dinner passed quickly as they continued to talk, and while Ron loved the freeing feeling of not having to keep anything from her any longer, the closer they were to finishing, the closer he was to having to go back home. How had a weekend passed so quickly? And when would he be this happy again?

Stuffed to the gills, they apparated back to Hermione's apartment, slipping their shoes off as the door fell shut behind them. It was obvious that she was starting to think about their impending separation as well, her attitude taking a noticeable downward turn.

We can't both be depressed. What kind of last night would that be?

Ron made a conscious decision not to let their dwindling time affect him as much, following Hermione through the apartment. As soon as she'd put the leftovers in the fridge, he cornered her in the kitchen, lifting her by her bum and setting her down on the countertop. He pressed his body forward against hers, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. Her arms snaked up his back and landed around his neck, hands raking through the back of his hair as she pulled him closer.

"Bedroom. Now," she stated between kisses.

Collecting her back up in his arms, he carried her down the hallway, kicking the door open and tossing her onto the mattress. As soon as he'd yanked his shirt up over his head, he landed on top of her, strong forearms bracing himself on either side of her head as he ran his hands up her sides to her face before their mouths crashed together again.

Without losing contact with him, Hermione reached back and turned out the lamp, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate her smooth skin as she peeled her vest off. Ron took a moment to appreciate the view, knowing for certain that he was the luckiest man on the planet.

Time stopped, and his worries about leaving the next day evaporated. It was as though they were the only two people left in the world. As she peppered him with kisses down his chest, his mind went blank, surrendering to pleasure and reveling in the moment.

Instead of being woken up by the sun peeking through the blinds, Ron was startled when Hermione's alarm began to blare on her nightstand. Her hand shot out to silence it, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up straight before looking in his direction. He blinked at her, propping himself up on his elbow and giving her a kiss before collapsing back down into the mess of blankets and pillows.

"I'm going to hop in the shower," she said. "Can we have a quick breakfast when I'm done?"

With a subtle nod, she kissed him again and hopped out of bed. Ron stuck his head up above the covers for long enough to watch her nude form exit the room, cursing the clock that wouldn't leave them enough time for any further intimate moments.

Once he hauled himself out of bed, he got dressed and packed the rest of his clothes, meeting Hermione at the breakfast table when he was done. She was dressed smartly, her magically dried hair worn up in an elegant twist. Ron couldn't help it when his eyes followed the curve of her neck as she offered him a cup of tea.

"Thanks," he said, sitting down next to her at the small table, two scones with jam already set out on plates.

"Mmhmm."

As they sipped their tea and chewed their breakfast in silence, Ron was sure that Hermione was thinking about the same thing he was. Their time together was too short, and life was supremely unfair. How was he supposed to go months before seeing her again?

"When do you have to be at the office?" Ron asked, already sure of the answer.

"About ten minutes, unfortunately. Would you like to come with me?"

"Maybe. What do you have going on this morning?"

She groaned, head dropping down toward the table. "Meetings. A lot of meetings."

"And I don't suppose you're able to skive off work this morning?" he asked, reaching over and rubbing her shoulder.

"I wish," she responded with a sad grin. "Monday mornings are all hands on deck to make sure we're all clear on our tasks for the week. I'm sorry, I would love to if I could."

He shook his head in response. "It's alright, I understand. My Floo isn't scheduled until ten o'clock, though, so I may stay here for a while or stop by the shops one more time. I promised Harry I'd bring him back something, and for some reason, it entirely slipped my mind."

Leaning forward in her chair, Hermione planted a kiss on his lips, drawing back with a smile. "Is that why you forgot?"

He chuckled. "Yep, sure is."

When she grinned back at him, Ron took a moment to try to memorize her facial features. He already knew them like the back of his hand, of course. However, the more times he saw her completely happy, the more it solidified her smiling face as the first thing he thought of when hearing her name.

"I can apparate over with you if you like, though."

"No," she answered, checking her wristwatch. "I think I'd prefer to say goodbye here. Where it's just us."

"Not really goodbye, though, is it?" he offered. Might as well try to make the best of the situation. "More like see you later."

"Yeah. See you later."

Hermione finished the last of her tea and stood up from the table, smoothing out her outfit and levitating her dirty dishes back into the kitchen. Eyes darting to the clock one more time, she looked down at him one more time. Moisture was beginning to accumulate along her lower eyelid, prompting him to stand up and hold out his open arms.

With a stifled sob, she fell into them, arms circling his neck as she cried into his t-shirt. Ron rubbed his hand in circles around her upper back, trying to calm her. As much as he tried to stop them, tears started forming in his eyes as well, one or two breaking free and landing in her hair.

"It's only a couple of months," he said, his voice wavering against his wishes. "We just went nine months apart; we can do a few more."

She nodded against him, but both of them knew it would be much harder this time. Now that they'd finally worked out their issues and admitted their feelings. Now that they knew what they were missing.

"I'll write to you as soon as I get back, okay?" Ron promised.

"Well, after you're feeling better. I know the trip makes you nauseous."

"I'll be fine."

"I'll write too," she added. "Every day."

"We'll be okay."

"I know we will. Even if it's hard."

With one last squeeze, she let him go, hiding her face as she collected her bags and slipped on her shoes. When their eyes met again, she was happy despite the tears still staining her cheeks. She was beautiful, and Ron knew he'd never get tired of watching her smile.

"I love you, Ron," she said, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for one more deep kiss.

When they pulled apart, Ron responded with a lopsided grin. "I love you too, Hermione. Have a great day, okay?"

She pulled the door open, sneaking one last kiss before stepping outside and disappearing from view.

Ron returned to the main room, gazing around at the suddenly empty space. Even though he'd only been there for a few days, the place was special to him. It was where they'd finally gotten back together after over a year of tribulations, where they'd finally realized what was truly important in life. Each other.

Wandering the apartment, he wound up back in her room. The cloudy sky dimmed the room considerably, its open windows only collecting so much light from the dreary day. He lay back down in the bed, taking up his previous space, feeling incomplete. His hand drifted up to her pillow, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of her shampoo that was practically baked into the bedsheets.

It was bittersweet, of course. While he was sad to be leaving her, he would be returning home with an optimism that hadn't existed in some time. It was reinvigorating in a sense, and though he knew he'd miss her terribly, having finally broken through their issues made it a little less devastating to have to go.

He looked down at the clock on the table, reading five minutes after eight.

An hour and fifty-five minutes until my Floo.

Knowing he should get going and head back to the shopping center to fulfill his promise to Harry, he thought about getting out of bed. But the scent of her hair, the comfort of the mattress, and some of the best memories he had ever made kept him there for a few more minutes. Everything else could wait. He just wanted to bask in the reminders of his life-changing weekend a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Seriously? Nearly forty degrees again? This place is practically a tinderbox!

It was early December, and while the world was getting ready for Christmas, Hermione was boiling in her small apartment. Life already felt upside down when the temperature got warmer as the holidays approached, but when it started to get so hot that she could barely function, she was close to hitting her limit with the Southern Hemisphere in its entirety. She'd even placed a cooling charm on her bed the previous night just so she could get some sleep.

Fortunately, she had to leave the apartment early, meaning she'd be able to escape to the Ministry and its magical climate control earlier than usual. She had an appointment set up with the Minister herself, Amelia Campbell, and she didn't want to be late. The meeting had been set up by Mr Bell, her boss at the Department of Magical Creatures, yet he'd been uncharacteristically quiet about its purpose. As far as Hermione knew, the man was still on track to retire by the following April, so hopefully he hadn't changed his mind.

As the possibilities ran through her mind, she took one last look in the mirror before stepping into her shoes and exiting the apartment. Somehow, it was cooler in the hallway than it was inside her place. How was that even possible? Damn Australia and its lack of air conditioning.

Once she arrived at the Ministry, she headed straight for the lift, taking it all the way up to the twelfth floor. The entryway to the Minister's private offices was immaculate, with floor-to-ceiling windows and an enchanted ceiling that displayed a rotating collage of the flora and fauna of the continent. Hermione had only been up in the 'penthouse', as it was called, once before when she was first hired. She could see why people liked working there.

"Hello," she said, approaching the front desk. "I'm Hermione Granger, I have a meeting with Minister Campbell at eight o'clock."

The clerk glanced down at the list on her desk, her rectangular glasses slipping down her nose. "Right. Ms. Granger. Please have a seat. I'll let the Minister know you've arrived."

Taking a long look around the room, Hermione searched for a familiar face, trying to steady her nerves and keep her foot from tapping incessantly on the polished wooden floor. She didn't see Mr Bell anywhere, even though he'd said he would stop by. Everyone else working in the luxurious space was foreign to her, so she stared down at her shoes instead, trying to stop her mind from guessing the reason for the appointment.

After what felt like an hour but was realistically only ten minutes, Hermione was beckoned into a large conference room at the end of a hallway. A long table, each side fitting nearly twenty chairs, ran down the center of the room, and at the far end, Mr Bell sat in front of a small stack of papers. The magnitude of the room was intimidating, and Hermione wondered why they needed such a gigantic space if it was just a three-person meeting.

It was just a three person meeting, wasn't it?

"Ms Granger, down here!" he called out in a joking fashion, prompting a laugh from Hermione as she strided across the room to join him.

"Rather ostentatious, wouldn't you say?" he asked. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, putting her at ease.

"It's a beautiful space, but…"

"But it could fit the entire Wizengamot, couldn't it?"

She chuckled, taking a seat next to him. "I suspect it could."

"Well, the Minister should be joining us shortly. This shouldn't take long."

"Mr Bell?" Hermione asked tentatively, not wanting to pry too much despite her desperate curiosity about the meeting. "What are we discussing today? Is this about the garden gnome initiatives? I brought all of my materials so I'd be prepared in case that was it, but it would be helpful–"

At the sight of her boss's outstretched hand, she stopped, swallowing down the disappointment. "Patience, Ms Granger. All will be clear soon."

Why does he have to be so cryptic about it?

Still, there was nothing she could do but wait. Was she being fired? Commended? Promoted? Demoted? She couldn't think of anything she'd botched beyond repair. And Mr Bell seemed in too good a mood for the meeting to be disciplinary in nature. At the same time, though, his retirement was already set, and her advancement to his position was well established. There wouldn't be a need to meet about that.

As several possibilities swirled through Hermione's mind, the side door to the grand space flew open, and Minister Campbell swept into the space with a hurried gait. "So sorry to keep you waiting," she offered, setting a stack of papers down at the head of the table as she took her seat. "The leaders of the Magical Sports division can be so longwinded."

"Quite alright, Minister," Mr Bell replied. "I believe you've met Ms Granger?"

The Minister stood and offered her hand to Hermione, who shot out of her seat and shook it firmly. "Of course. It's lovely to see you again, Hermione. I'm sorry we haven't seen that much of each other since you've started with us, but I'm hearing nothing but excellent things."

"Thank you, Minister Campbell, I appreciate that. It's nice to see you as well," Hermione answered.

Everyone sat as the Minister leafed through her papers, eyes lighting up when she found the document in question. "Ahh, right. So, Hermione, Charles and I have been talking, and we have a proposition for you."

"Alright," Hermione responded, trying to sound as confident as possible.

"As you know, we've discussed the prospect of you taking over the Department of Magical Creatures in several months. Charles has been planning his retirement, and we know that your colleagues are eager for you to lead them into the future. This option is all set and ready to go."

"Thank you. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"However, that's not your only option."

Hermione furrowed her brow, looking back and forth between Mr Bell and the Minister. For his part, her immediate superior looked eager, which settled her suddenly tumultuous stomach a little bit. "I'm sorry?" she clarified.

"We know you have a passion for the rights of magical creatures everywhere, Ms Granger," Mr Bell said. "But we both suspect that your talents extend beyond our office."

"Jasper Bentley, the current head of the Council of Magical Law in the Department of Magical Law, had an unexpected injury that's going to keep him out of work for the next six months," the Minister added. "We need someone to step into his role and ensure that the Council remains on track. Your name has come up as a possibility."

"Magical Law Enforcement?" Hermione said, thoroughly dumbfounded. It wasn't that she didn't have an interest in the field, but how did they even know about her? "I don't have much experience in that department."

"Nonsense," Mr Bell said. "Most of the work you've done for us so far has centered around the legal rights of magical creatures. How much difference do you think there really is between that and the legal rights of witches and wizards? The laws are different, of course, but the framework for writing and enforcing laws is very similar, and you've already shown great aptitude for those processes."

"You've caught the eye of Mr Bentley, and he's specifically asked me if you would be interested in covering for him while he's out of action for a while," the Minister added.

"W–Wow," Hermione spluttered. "That's very kind of him."

"Most of the legislation you help write goes through the Department of Magical Law in one way or another, and the feedback from their higher-ups has been exemplary," Minister Campbell continued. "They're keen for a chance to work with you as well."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, processing the message. It was an excellent offer, and she was certainly interested in gaining experience in other portions of the Ministry. One simple fact remained, however, one she wanted to be sympathetic toward.

"But Mr Bell," she began, turning toward her mentor. "Your retirement. What would happen to the department?"

"Well, I've thought about it quite a bit and talked it over with Susan, and we both agreed that I could push back my retirement a bit while you gain this valuable experience."

"Really? You'd do that? Didn't you have plans you were looking forward to?"

"Plans are flexible, Ms Granger. Besides, Susan keeps saying I'll just end up puttering around the house and bothering her anyway. Might as well offer her another few months of solace before I invade her space." He smiled, and Hermione could tell it was sincere.

"I see. That's a generous offer; thank you for even considering it."

"This assignment isn't completely random, Hermione," Minister Campbell said. "Not to make light of Mr Bentley's injury, but there's a reason we sometimes put our most promising young recruits in a position of authority within the Department of Magical Law."

"Oh?" Hermione leaned forward in her seat.

"It's part of the initial vetting process to help decide who might be considered for the next Minister of Magic."

The information hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. Minister of Magic? Her? Where was that coming from? How was it possible that she was already being considered for something so prestigious when she'd been working there for less than a year?

And what would it mean for her personal life?

Questions outweighed answers by a mile, but none of them were forming on her lips when she finally managed to speak.

"I–I'm not sure I know what to say," she managed to squeak.

Minister Campbell smiled, closing her portfolio and folding her hands on the table. "When I was your age, I was just starting out in the Department of Magical Cooperation. My superiors recognized that I was doing well there and appreciated my work, but they also knew that I could excel in other environments. Their foresight to help me gain experience in various branches of the Ministry was invaluable, and I haven't forgotten it since I was elevated to the top post.

"There is a very reasonable chance that sometime down the road, you're offered the position of Minister of Magic. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, but it was never intended to be a job for life. The Ministry needs new ideas and constant reinvention if it's going to continue to remain attuned to the needs of its citizens. We think you could play a big part in that, and to be the best, most well-rounded candidate you can be, seeing the different sides of this place is crucial."

Never in her life had Hermione felt so overwhelmed. Good marks, praise from professors, and good early feedback from her employer were constants in her life, and she'd learned to handle them with grace over time. But being told she was already being considered for the best job in the entire continent when she'd been there less than a year? What could she even say to that?

"I see your point, and I really appreciate you thinking of me," she finally uttered. "I can't say I'm not surprised, of course…I've only been here several months."

"It doesn't take a Minister of Magic to see how talented and dedicated you are, Ms Granger," Mr Bell said. "You're more than ready for this, and as sad as we would be to lose you for a time, I have to agree with Minister Campbell that this would be an excellent choice for your future."

"Thank you…thank you both so much. I truly don't know what to say."

"For now," the Minister said, standing up from her seat and offering Hermione her hand to shake, "don't say anything. Think it over. Talk about it with your friends, your family, and your colleagues. The last thing we want is to rush you into a decision. The Council is being covered for the time being, but if you decide you'd like to make the move, the position is yours whenever you'd like to start."

"Thank you again. I'll think about it, I promise. It's a wonderful opportunity."

"Excellent. Charles, always lovely to see you, and my best to Susan."

"Thank you, Minister," Mr Bell replied, shaking her hand as well. "I'll see you at the meeting later this week."

Hermione and her boss waited until the Minister had left the room before making their way toward the opposite exit, heading back to their office. For the first portion of the walk, Mr Bell was quiet, allowing her to absorb what she'd just heard. Nevertheless, when he finally spoke, she still couldn't wrap her head around the amazing offer, her mind racing a thousand miles per hour.

"Penny for your thoughts, Ms Granger?" he asked as they started down the long hallway toward the lift.

"I…I don't know what to think. I'm honored, of course, but…"

"Not what you expected?"

She snickered, catching the kindly look in the old man's eye. "Not at all."

"I understand why you feel that way, but truthfully, you shouldn't. You're bright, you're qualified, and you've earned the respect of your superiors as well as your subordinates. That's not an easy thing to do, but you've managed it beautifully. It's why the Minister has such faith in you. And I must say, I echo her sentiment completely."

"Thank you. It means a lot, especially coming from people I respect so much. I'm just…in a bit of a state of shock, I think."

"I suspect I would be as well if I were in your shoes," he said as they stepped into the lift together, Mr Bell directing it toward their department. "Would I then be correct in assuming you'd prefer to keep this news between the two of us for the time being?"

"For now, yes, if you wouldn't mind," she agreed with a nod. "I still have a lot of thinking to do."

"Perfectly fine. As the Minister said, there is no rush. If you happen to have questions, though, please don't hesitate to ask. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't consider my position or my retirement in your decision. I'm absolutely serious when I say that I'm happy to proceed with either plan. What's a few months in the big picture? Truthfully, you might be saving me from boredom more than anything else."

"Thank you," she answered with a chuckle. "I know too well that this opportunity wouldn't be available to me without your cooperation, and I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"All for the benefit of our Ministry in the long run, I think. Because you would make an excellent Minister, Ms Granger."

Fortunately, Hermione didn't have to respond to that particularly disarming piece of praise yet again as the doors swung open into the Department of Magical Creatures. It was bustling with activity as Hermione threaded her way through to her office, barely focusing on the stack of messages on her desk when she sat down in her chair. They would have to wait. There was far too much else on her mind.

Above all, she had to consider what the proposal meant for her prospects of returning to England. When she'd come to Australia nine months prior, she'd planned on gaining useful experience that she could eventually take back to the UK with her. While she was enjoying her time at the Ministry and working well with her colleagues, she couldn't deny that her life wasn't what she'd hoped for in totality. Outside of work, she hadn't managed to make many acquaintances, and she missed her family and friends back in England like crazy.

And that wasn't even getting into the Ron Weasley of it all.

She'd meant it when she said he was the missing piece of her puzzle, the thing that held everything together in her life. The person she couldn't live without in the long run. Of course, when he'd come to visit, he said he'd consider moving to Australia for her. The two of them could probably have a very happy life in Sydney. But would it be enough for her?

For that matter, would it be enough for him? Even if he said he'd be happy living with her halfway across the world, he came from a large, tight-knit family. Eventually, it would probably be difficult for him to be that far from them. And what about Harry, Ginny, and all of their other friends from school? They might only get to see them once or twice a year. What would happen to those friendships?

As Hermione tried to snap her attention back to her work, she realized she was thinking way too far ahead. But she had to, didn't she? The decision she made in the next few days about her potential promotion would set her on a course that would land her in Australia for at least the near future, and it would make staying for good a strong possibility. After all, if she were ever legitimately offered the position of Minister of Magic, could she realistically turn that down?

Fortunately, a knock on the door pulled her out of her funk.

"Granger, you coming?" Chris asked, flashing a huge smile in her direction.

"Oh, right," she said, gathering her materials for the staff meeting. "Sorry, let me just collect my files."

"Everything alright?" he continued, stepping into her space. She kept the growl to herself, not appreciating her office being invaded without invitation. "We heard you had a meeting with the bigwigs this morning."

Dammit, I didn't think they knew about that!

"Just a quick one. Okay, I'm ready now."

She flew out of her chair, sweeping past Chris as he followed her out into the hallway. "Aha, so it's true. Any news?"

"What?" she asked, clearly irritated. "No, nothing like that."

It was none of his business. Why would she share anything until there was something to be shared?

"Everyone was speculating that you'd be promoted or something."

"Well, everyone should focus more on their work and less on me, in that case," she spat dismissively, turning her attention back to her notes.

"Alright, alright, you don't want to talk about it. That's fine."

Not with you, that's for sure.

Ever since Ron left, Chris had been even more bothersome than before. Something about seeing her with another man must've lit his competitive fire or something, because he'd been trying to flirt with her incessantly. It didn't matter how much she ignored or rebuffed his attempts at conversation, he never seemed to get the hint. Maybe a job in the Department of Magical Law would be a blessing in disguise and get her away from him.

"There's nothing to talk about. Now, is everyone ready for the meeting?"

"Yeah, they're ready. Just do me a favor, okay? Promise that if there is some kind of promotion on the line, you won't forget about us regular folks over here when you get famous, alright?"

She groaned, starting to grow furious that he wasn't taking the hint. "Sure."

Before he could get in another word, she ducked into the conference room and took a seat next to Mr Bell, spreading out her materials and getting the meeting started. It was honestly helpful to focus on the existing issues in her department and put the discussion with Minister Campbell out of her mind.

The rest of the day was more awkward than most, the few stolen glances and whispers around the office easily noticeable once she really paid attention. Her colleagues were quick to stop their conversations when she entered a room, and their lunch discussions felt a little more wooden than usual. By the time she left the office around half five, she was more than ready to be done for the day and relax at home, even going so far as to leave the majority of her work on her desk instead of packing it up to look at later on.

The first thing she noticed upon returning to her apartment was a note sitting in the small box attached to the outside of the building. Her mood brightened as she dropped her things and stepped over to the window, throwing it open and peeling off the ribbon, sure she knew who it was from.

December 4, 1999

Dear Hermione,

Sorry to hear it's been so hot over there. Cast more cooling charms, they work a treat! After all, are you a witch or aren't you? I don't think you'd like it that much better in England. It's been cold and raining every day for a week straight. Doesn't even have the common courtesy to turn into snow, which would at least be nicer to look at. Not very Christmasey if you ask me.

Anyway, I hope this reaches you in time to wish you good luck for your upcoming meeting! I'm sure it'll just be another opportunity for them to tell you how amazing you are and how lucky they are to have you. They and I have that in common.

Work's fine over here too. Harry and I are getting ready to go with Robards and Savage on that mission to the northern part of the country that I mentioned, so I may not be able to write for a few days. I promise I'll be thinking about you the whole time, though. Well, you and the mission. Mostly you.

I can't wait to see you again. Christmas can't come soon enough. We're down to only three weeks until you're home, which is so much better than three months when I first got back after visiting you, but it still feels like ages. Why haven't wizards invented time travel yet? Seems like something we should be able to do.

I should be going, though. Harry keeps pestering me to pack. Not really much to pack, of course, but I suppose he's not wrong. I love you so much, and I hope you have a good last couple weeks before coming home. Let me know how your meeting went, and I'll write as soon as I'm back home.

All my love, Ron

Just as she rolled up the letter, she jumped as another owl appeared at the window, immediately tapping its sharp beak against the pane until she lifted the sash. It was huge, one of the Ministry owls that were only dispatched for official business. When it stuck out its leg, Hermione untied the small scroll before letting it fly back into the warm, sticky night air.

Is this about today's meeting? I haven't even agreed yet. Why would they be writing to me so soon?

As soon as she unfurled the scroll, though, she knew immediately it wasn't from her boss. It wasn't from the Minister or any of her staff, either. The first thing she noticed was Harry's name hastily scrawled out in messy letters. It was never a good sign when Harry Potter wrote in a rush.

Her stomach plunged through the floor and her mouth dried instantly as she read his shaky handwriting.

Hermione,

Ron's been hurt on a mission. It's pretty bad. He's at St Mungo's. The Ministry can patch a Floo call through to the hospital, so if you can get to an Australian International Floo, I can explain. Call soon.

Harry

Temporarily paralyzed, her eyes ran over the words again and again until her mind was so numb she'd nearly lost the message. Once she regained control of her faculties, she dropped the paper and dashed back toward the door, hurriedly stepping back into her shoes as she pulled out her wand at the same time.

Get to the Ministry. That's all that matters.

As soon as her foot was secure inside the trainer, she twisted, not even worrying about the noise her neighbors might hear as she disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Text

December 2, 1999

Dear Ron,

Another hot one today! I never knew spring could be so hot. Hogwarts wasn't this bad, not even on its worst day. Neither was London nor Devon, for that matter. And it's not even summer yet! Which means it could get worse!

I should stop complaining. At least I'm a witch and can cast a cooling charm or two. I feel terribly for the Muggles in the area without any air conditioning. How are they surviving?

Anyway, enough of my whinging. You'll never guess what happened yesterday at work. I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when Mr Bell came in and told me he'd like me to accompany him to a meeting with the Minister! I have no idea what it could be about, but it's exciting to think about! As I'm sure I told you, I met Minister Campbell during the interview process, but since then, my work has kept me so busy that I barely get out of my office, meaning I barely see her. Which is fine, she's a busy person, so I understand completely.

Still, my mind is racing wondering what she wants to discuss.

More than anything, though, I'm really starting to look forward to Christmas. It's been over two and a half months since we saw each other last, and it's felt like a decade. I may need to bring a little bit of work home with me, but I promise, outside of an hour or two a day, I'll be yours entirely. At the moment, it feels like a distant dream, but knowing that I'll be able to hold you again soon is getting me through these long days. I love you so much; I hope you always remember that.

I suppose I should be getting to bed soon. I have to get to work early tomorrow for a meeting about Giant territory, which should lead to a spirited discussion. Never a dull moment!

I love you, and good luck with your upcoming mission. I always feel safer knowing you're out there protecting the world. Be safe, and I'll see you soon.

Love forever, Hermione

"Alright, listen up, everyone! We're staging back here in ten minutes. Make sure you've got what you need and are ready to go by then!"

The authoritative voice of Auror Robards boomed out over his charges as the group dispersed for their last-minute preparations. Ron quickly folded the note from Hermione, the last one he'd received before leaving for their mission four days ago, and tucked it away in a pocket of his robes.

Once he and Harry received the orders to get ready, they started their mental checklists. They double checked their wand and backup wand placements, ensured that they had their necessary potions safely tucked away in their robes, and most importantly, grabbed a quick snack before getting started.

"Crisps, chocolate, or banana?" Harry asked Ron as he sorted through the provisions they'd brought with them.

"Mate, what do you think?" Ron answered with a grin.

With a smirk, Harry tossed a chocolate bar over his shoulder which Ron caught one-handed, ripping the wrapper off and shoving a quarter of it in his mouth at once. Harry selected a banana, and the pair of them took a seat on the sidewalk, careful to avoid the particularly grimy sections.

The pair of them, along with two other junior Aurors, Head Auror Robards, and Senior Auror Savage, were stationed near Newcastle, close to the country's northeastern shore. It was cold, though admittedly not as bad as it used to get at Hogwarts back when they were in school. Small, wispy snowflakes had been falling incessantly since they'd arrived a few days prior, barely accumulating on the ground, instead serving only to remind them of the cold and dreary nature of British winters.

More than once, Ron found himself wishing he could be walking along the water with Hermione in Australia. Well, he often found himself wishing he could be with Hermione. The heat would be an added bonus, but even if it were freezing cold there too, he'd still prefer to be with her. In fact, if it was freezing cold, that would only make staying in bed all day extra appealing.

Instead, though, he was sitting next to Harry with his back against a brick wall, hiding out of sight of a known Death Eater safehouse as the team prepared to try to catch a few of You Know Who's stragglers who had proven elusive to capture since the Dark Lord's downfall. This particular mission had them going after Rookwood and Dolohov, one of whom they thought had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts only to resurface a few months later as part of a minor terrorist attack in Liverpool. They needed to be captured and stopped, and they'd finally gotten quality intel as to their location. In ten minutes, Ron hoped, the world would be spared from the threat of two of the more sinister associates of He Who Must Not Be Named, and Azkaban would gain two new residents.

"Ready?" Harry asked as he swallowed the last of his snack.

"Yeah, reckon so. All this waiting; I'd rather just get in there and start mixing things up, you know?"

"That's what Robards wants to hear," Harry spewed sarcastically. "Just run in firing curses off in every direction, yeah?"

"Works for me."

"There's such a thing as tact, you know. You realize we came here days ahead of time so they could perform a careful evaluation of the place, don't you? Look for entrances and exits, evaluate traffic flow patterns, formulate backup plans for escape, formulate plans to cut off their escape…does that ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I know, mate. I'm just saying, we've been freezing our arses off in the cold and sleeping in tents when we could just capture them and go home. Besides, it's six of us against two of them."

"That we know of," Harry reminded him. "Always be prepared for the unexpected. What if they've been recruiting?"

Ron smiled at his friend. "Then it'll be an even sweeter victory."

Harry shook his head, tucking his legs close to his chest. "You're being cocky. Never underestimate this lot, Ron."

"I know, I know. No, I'm glad they do all the prep work. I'm just really eager to get back home. We've been here forever, and I'd really like to sleep in my own bed."

"Something tells me that's not the only reason you'd like to get home."

Ron hesitated, dropping his head toward the ground. "Maybe."

His friend was right, of course. Being out of Grimmauld Place for days meant he hadn't heard from Hermione in days, and it was killing him not to be able to contact her. Ever since he'd left Australia, the two of them had maintained almost daily communication. Sometimes Ron's letters were as boring as telling her about the paperwork he did and the leftovers he ate, but it was still something, and it still mattered to them. He'd only been called on a prolonged mission once since then, and the few days away from home and away from her letters were the worst of the autumn season.

At least Harry came along with him this time. The last trip was to the southeastern tip of the country, and it ended up being pointless; the criminals they were looking for had fled the area long before. It had been four days of waiting around for nothing. This time, though, their intelligence was much more solid. This time, they wouldn't be wasting their energy.

Still, Harry was Harry, and he was no substitute for Hermione. Sometimes he wondered to himself when that had happened; when had his best mate become only the second most important person in his life? He knew Harry would always be there for him and that they would remain best friends and colleagues, but he didn't think about Harry when he wasn't with him. All of his thoughts centered on Hermione, essentially at all times. Christmas couldn't come soon enough.

"Have you heard from her recently?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, last I heard, she was suffering through a heat wave like the country had never seen before," Ron responded. "Sounded miserable if you ask me, but at the moment, I'd take it." He pulled his robes closer around him as a blast of wind rushed down the alleyway.

"You know, you never really told me much about how you liked Australia when you were there."

"Didn't I? Nah, I'm sure we discussed it."

"Not really. As soon as you got back, you were off on that mission, then I was gone for a week and a half. We never really got to talk about it. I assume things went well, though?"

"Yeah, it was great. Really nice to see her."

Harry glared at Ron over the top of his glasses. One unfortunate side effect of being friends with someone for so long was that they knew instantly when the other was lying. In Ron's case, it wasn't so much that he was lying, just being a bit selective with the truth.

"You don't start writing back and forth every day just because it was nice to see her, Ron. I know something happened while you were out there. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and your mood has been much better since that trip."

Truthfully, Ron didn't really want to discuss his love life with Harry, especially since Hermione was friends with both of them. And he certainly didn't want to mention what they'd gotten up to in her bedroom. But his friend was right when he said that they'd never really talked about it, so he probably did owe him something. He'd find out at Christmas anyway.

"Well, now you mention it, it was actually a really nice trip. We managed to talk some things out, get to the root of some of the issues we had last year, you know?" Ron said.

"That's great. I'm glad you got the opportunity to catch up; I'm sure it made a big difference."

"Yeah, I agree. And Australia–what a country. It was still technically winter when I was there, but you barely needed a jumper, much less your heavy robes."

"I'd take that right about now."

"You're telling me," Ron agreed. "The beaches were nice and warm, the city was full of good food, and they had a version of Diagon Alley that was nearly as good as London's."

"Sounds fun."

"Yeah, it was."

"And…the two of you," Harry hinted, clearly not wanting to come right out and say it. "Where did you…you know, leave off?"

It was a loaded question in a way, because while both of them had admitted their feelings, they'd never really gotten around to labeling the relationship before he'd left for home. Ron knew how he felt about Hermione, and he knew she reciprocated his feelings. But was she technically his girlfriend? Hard to say.

"Well, like I said, we figured out some of the things that had been slowing us down before. There's one bloke there that seems interested in her, but she doesn't seem to have any feelings for him. Which is good, because he's kind of a smarmy bastard."

"I'm sure you handled that with nothing but grace."

"Excuse you," Ron spat back, knocking into Harry with his shoulder. "She was honest with me, and I didn't press the matter. I doubt I'll be friends with Chris the Australian git anytime soon, but I'm not worried."

"Good for you. I think you've really matured."

"Thank you."

"And what about you? You have to know that some of the other junior Aurors are into you. I've definitely seen Claire checking you out, and Kelly basically asked you on a date that one time."

Ron wouldn't deny that it bolstered his self-confidence when the blonde witch invited him for a beer after work a couple months back, but the thought never crossed his mind. He was taken, and nobody else would do. "Nah, mate. Not interested."

"At all?"

"At all."

"I mean, I'm officially taken, and even I would say that Kelly is awfully attractive," Harry said.

"Well, then you can let Ginny fight her for you, because I'm out of the running," Ron answered with a shrug.

Harry laughed out loud, shaking his head. "We all know who would win that fight."

"True," Ron chuckled along with his friend. "Auror or not, Kelly wouldn't stand a chance."

"So you're basically off the market, then. Hermione's your girlfriend again."

"I mean…" Ron hedged, truthfully not knowing what to say. "Functionally, maybe? I don't know, we never officially said that. But I'm not interested in anyone but her, and she doesn't seem to be entertaining the idea of dating someone else either."

"That's great. Really, I'm happy for you two. It was so strange when you weren't talking. Felt like one of those times back in school when you'd get into a huge argument and put me right in the middle of it."

"Oh, like Scabbers during third year?"

"Or the Yule Ball."

"The Firebolt incident…"

"Or, dare I even mention the name…Lavender."

At the sound of his ex-girlfriend's name, Ron let out a loud groan, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, that was probably the worst of it."

"I'll say."

"Well, I am sorry for putting you in that position…constantly, I guess."

"Honestly? It'll be worth it if you two figure it out in the long run," Harry said, his tone genuine.

"Thanks, mate. I hope I don't cock it up this time."

"I don't know. You seem…different. Relaxed. Like it's easier this time around."

"It feels easy," Ron agreed. "Even though we're half a world away. I was so worried last summer that it would be too much work to maintain that kind of relationship, but now that I'm writing to her almost every day? Doesn't feel like work at all. I actually look forward to it, even if I don't have anything remotely interesting to tell her."

"That's a good sign, I think."

"Yeah, I think so too."

"So–and I really didn't mean to pry or anything–the other week when we were down at Diagon Alley, I think I caught you coming out of the jewelry store."

Shit.

He couldn't really deny it…not that Harry needed to know that. Ever since he'd been back in England, he'd been thinking about Hermione as his long-term partner…his wife, someday, he hoped. So a week or so ago, while Harry and Ginny were occupied at Quality Quidditch Supplies, he'd ducked into a jewelry store. He was just looking, of course; his earnings so far wouldn't support anything that extravagant.

But starting the process felt right to him, and he was glad he did. Well, in some ways. Rings were expensive, and the sticker shock he felt when leaving the store almost had him wondering whether he'd be better off learning to transfigure a nice piece of crystal instead. But Hermione was worth it. Every week since then, he'd been putting aside a portion of his earnings, preparing for the day when he'd drop a big bag of gold on the counter and leave with a token of his love and affection for Hermione.

"Don't know what you mean, mate," he tried, knowing it was a longshot.

His face was pink from the cold, but he must've blushed even harder, because he clearly wasn't fooling Harry. "Shopping for your mother, were you?"

"Maybe."

"Ron…"

Ron sighed, realizing how pointless it was to try to hide things from his best friend and roommate. "Alright, yeah. I was checking things out. Just looking, of course."

"That's great. If you want to know the truth, I've looked myself."

"Yeah?" Ron said, quirking an eyebrow in Harry's direction.

"If that's okay with you."

It was obvious how much Harry cared for his sister. Even though it kind of weirded him out initially, he had pretty much gotten used to the idea over the past few years. It seemed like a forgone conclusion that they would tie the knot eventually.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Good for you two."

"I'm lucky, though," Harry offered. "Even with her training schedule for Quidditch, we get to see each other most days."

"Yeah, it's hard, mate, no doubt about it. I miss her like crazy."

"Sure," Harry said, nodding along with his friend. "How could you not, especially after only getting to see her for a few days?"

"Exactly. And wow, those few days, can I tell you–"

"Erm, no. No, you can't. She's one of my best friends, and I have no desire to know…just…any of that."

Fortunately for Harry, just as Ron started to laugh at his friend's insinuation, Robards called the group back together again. The Aurors all huddled around him, listening to his last-minute instructions.

"Alright, everyone knows their orders. If we proceed as discussed, we have an excellent chance of success. Now, remember, you all have partners for a reason."

Harry and Ron glanced at each other, nodding in unison.

"You watch your partner's back at all times," Robards continued. "That's how we make sure nobody winds up in the hospital."

A smattering of 'yes, sir' went around the group.

"Excellent. Alright, Evans, you're with me. Potter and Weasley next, then Savage and Wilson after them. Remember, we're aiming to capture for interrogation only. Nobody leaves here in a body bag, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the unit answered in unison.

"Good luck, and remember, head on a swivel!"

With that, the first group of Aurors swung out around the side of the building and snuck toward the house. When they reached the front door and charmed it open, Harry and Ron took off from their spots. They moved as quickly and silently as they could across the deserted cobblestone street before filing in through the worn wooden door frame. Harry led the way and Ron followed him, wand drawn, ready to react at a moment's notice.

Once they crossed the threshold, he heard the rear guard crossing the street behind them, covering their backs as they started to move through the dusty, dilapidated house. It was silent, and the peeling wallpaper and musty smell reminded Ron of Grimmauld Place when his family had first arrived that summer before fifth year. It had to be a Death Eater's hovel; what other self-respecting wizard would live here?

Ron followed Harry as he crept across the squeaky, rotting floorboards. Up ahead, they could hear the faint footfalls of the leaders of the group making their way up the stairs. Per the plan they'd discussed ahead of time, Robards would take the upstairs, Ron and Harry would clear the rest of the main floor, and Savage's team would head to the basement. Therefore, the pair of them made their way around the staircase and entered the dining room, whipping around the corner and pointing their wands at an old, empty china cabinet.

After cautiously stepping past the dining table, Harry stood to the side of the doorway to the kitchen, ready to cover Ron's back when he bolted through. Ron moved silently past his friend and through to the narrow room. A sink and refrigerator were to his right, a stove to his left. As he inched further toward the back of the room, the space opened up into a small dining area, the table and chairs covered by a dropcloth.

It's the only obvious hiding spot. If they're down here, they're under that table.

Gesturing to Harry, he performed a quick Accio charm on the cloth, causing it to fly off the table as quickly as possible. Fortunately, it landed to the side of the table, giving Ron just enough time to spot the flash of dark cloth skittering out into the open.

"Harry, look out!" Ron called as he threw himself down to the ground, firing a Stunning spell toward the moving target.

A flash of green whizzed past his face, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. It was his first legitimate duel since the Battle of Hogwarts, and flashbacks from that fateful day started running through his mind as he pulled himself behind the cupboard for protection. He hadn't been thinking about Fred as much lately, but the sounds of carnage forced the image of his brother back in front of his face.

No, I won't end up like Fred. Harry's with me. We'll be okay.

The cloaked Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood based on the sliver of scraggly beard that Ron saw as he turned and ran, ducked through the pantry and toward the back door.

"I'm on him!" Harry called, racing through the kitchen as curses caromed off the upended furniture.

"Got your back!" Ron cried as he hoisted himself back up and took off after his friend.

Harry whipped around the corner, quickly clearing the pantry of any other threats, taking cover on one side of the door jamb. Ron was close on his heels, pressing his body against the other side and poking his head around from time to time to launch a counteroffensive. He heard the rest of the Aurors scrambling into the kitchen to join the fight. A small thrill ran through him as he remembered the house floor plan they'd reviewed ahead of time.

We've got him now. It's a dead-end courtyard out there. He's got nowhere to run.

Augustus Rookwood chuckled deviously, hurling spells toward the pair of junior Aurors as he started to cackle. Their shield charms were holding as they pressed through the doorway, and Ron heard Harry quickly cast an anti-disapparition charm, making sure the Death Eater had nowhere to run. The imaginary cage did nothing to slow the flow of Unforgivable Curses, however, as the man continued to hit Ron and Harry with everything he had.

It wasn't until the pair of them stepped out into the cold air and advanced on the cornered figure that Rookwood stopped sending charms their way, instead holding a shield in front of himself and smiling with a disquieting sense of calm.

"Peek-a-boo," he uttered.

The next few seconds felt as though they passed in slow motion. A loud crash from behind them echoed through the small garden, the result of a discarded wooden pallet being thrown across the space and crashing into the brick wall. Ron's head spun toward the disturbance, catching a glimpse of Robards as he arrived outside, wand lifted to react at a moment's notice.

He was too slow, though. Just as his chest squared up to the back corner of the courtyard, his brain registered the twisted face of Antonin Dolohov, screwed up in anger as his wand slashed in Ron's direction. Next to him, Harry tried to cast a shield to protect them both from the incoming curse, but he was a split second too late. With the sound of Rookwood's cruel, shrieking laughter in the background, Ron's insides went icy cold as a purple flash blasted into his chest.

Colors faded, light dimmed, and the combination of frantic shouting and maniacal hysterics quieted as he sank to his knees, his fingers running over the front of his robes as if he expected to find blood.

"Ron! Ron, can you hear me?!" Harry called.

Course I can hear you, mate.

But his lips wouldn't form the words, and his eyelids were feeling even heavier than before. The stone walkway through the garden was freezing as he lay his cheek down, fluffy snow cushioning the hard surface. Harry was still yelling in the background, but Ron couldn't make sense of the words. Nor did he particularly feel an inclination to worry about it; all he really wanted to do was rest.

A shadowy figure crouched down in front of him, but there was no way he could maintain his focus. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of a hand on his back before his eyes closed, his vision went dark, and his consciousness slipped away.