Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: Written for Gaby's French Challenge. This was not at all what I intended to write, but I'm very proud of the way it's turned out. Reviews make me happy!
Thank you's: Kristen, who beta'd this for me. You rock!
"The first quality of a hero is being dead and buried." (Marcel Pagnol)
Hermione Granger-Weasley sat in her rocking chair, one cushion behind her head and one beneath the book that lay open on her lap. She moved her wrinkled fingers fondly over the arm of the chair. It was dark wood; Rose and Scorpius had brought it for her for her last birthday. Ron hadn't wanted one when they'd offered; he was content sitting in his heavily cushioned armchair.
Last month, Hugo had helped her move it, so she could sit in it and gaze out of the window. The view out of the window was a lovely one. There were tall trees and lots of greenery. In the distance, a graveyard was clearly visible.
It had been important to Ron and Hermione that their home had been close to the graveyard. They had wanted to be close to Fred, Remus and Dora, and Ron's Uncles. They visited Harry's parents, too. They didn't dwell in the past, but it seemed soothing to them that they were still close by.
Now, as she looked out to the graveyard, she was thinking of only one man, one headstone.
Ronald Billius Weasley
March 1st, 1980 - October 31st, 2077
Beloved Son, Brother, Husband, Father, Grandfather and Friend.
"The first quality of a hero is being dead and buried."
Ginny and Harry had to sort out the headstone for her. She was to grieved to compose herself enough to do it. Hugo had offered, but Ginny had insisted. The quote was all she had requested. Her Ron was a hero, and now the entire world would know it too, forever.
He had left her some months ago. She missed him everyday. She missed waking up to his loud snores. She missed his cooking. She missed his booming laugh and very British sense of humour.
She had lived her life with him, when they were eleven, twelve, thirteen, best of friends beating Voldemort. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen struggling to get through each day together, but unable to survive alone. Seventeen, eighteen, daily rendezvous with death, understanding love. The rest of their lives, arguing, making up and being happy together.
Some events could barely recall; meeting him on the train, being saved from the troll by him, nervously shaking his hand after being petrified. Some events in their lives she remembered vividly.
'Hermione, am I a hero?' Ron had asked her, fiddling with the edge of the rug in the small living room of their new apartment.
They had decided to live together a few months after the war, and they hadn't been able to afford anything bigger, nor had they needed the extra space. It was safe, comforting, exciting to be around each other all the time.
'You're my hero?' She suggested honestly, not looking up from her book. She loved these times the most. Curled up with Ron on the sofa, head buried in a book, him flicking lazily through the pages of Quidditch Weekly.
'Really, am I? You are, everyone knows that, and Harry's so blasé about the whole thing that I don't think he realises how much everyone looks up to him!' Ron shifted slightly under her, but tightened his arm around her.
'Ronald, don't be ridiculous. I'm not au courant with the current cliché hero business, but I think that being tortured by a haunted locket, saving a multitude of people and being extremely modest about it constitutes a hero in anyone's book.'
He smiled at her. 'So when do I feel like a hero?'
'The first quality of a hero is being dead and buried.' She closed her book.
'Really?' Ron exclaimed, 'That far away? I was sort of hoping it'd be before that.'
She looked at him, his blue eyes seeming to sear through her in a way that even after all this time, she was still not used to. 'One day you'll feel like a hero. But you feel like a hero to me now.'
'Touché.' He kissed the top of her mess of curls.
A loud scream rang through the home. 'Ignore it, maybe he'll stop.'
A series of loud wails followed only seconds later.
Hermione mumbled something incoherent from underneath the covers.
'It's alright love, I'll go.' Ron kicked the covers off him and groggily left the room.
It was three thirty-seven in the morning. It was the fourth time Hugo had screamed for them that night. Merlin he was a noisy baby. They were certain Rose had never been that bad. The poor two year old was suffering for it. She was a sweet child, most of the time, but she had the Weasley red hair, and a temper to match. On one occasion, she had even demanded, in her darling, baby way, that Uncle Percy take her home with him. (He was one of the two Weasley siblings with no small children, and more easily accessible to her than Uncle Bill or Granddad and Grandma Weasley.)
Hermione rolled on to her side, waking up slightly. Ron had done more of the runs that night that she had. She'd have to get up next time.
'Now that I've finished the fourth tête-à-tête tonight with your son, I could do with going back to sleep.' Ron smiled at her. He was moaning, but she knew he loved his children more than anything.
'Yes, thank you for getting up, I'll go next time.' She leaned up and kissed his cheek softly. 'My hero.' She muttered, before falling asleep on his chest.
Ron and Hermione sat on a bench in their garden, listening to Hugo and Emma talking animatedly about their upcoming wedding. The two of them sat on a picnic blanket in the garden, looking wonderfully happy.
'Mrs Weasley, where do you think we should have the wedding?' Emma asked her. Emma was a sweet girl. She and Hugo had been friends since Seventh Year at Hogwarts, and it had been nearly five years since then. They had recently become engaged. They were looking to get married as soon as possible, unlike Rose, who had been engaged to Scorpius for nearly a year, with their wedding only half planned for the following year.
'Emma, dear, how many times must I tell you to call me Hermione?' The girl blushed, so she decided not to berate her further. 'I'd recommend the Burrow for a true Weasley wedding, but it's really up to you.'
'That's what I wanted, but Hugo said weddings at the Burrow were usually a bit hectic.' Emma replied.
Ron snorted into his tea. 'A bit hectic? That's being very kind!' He laughed.
'Well, I want a Weasley wedding, Hugo, considering I'm going to become a Weasley!' Emma said stubbornly, glaring at her fiancé.
'Okay, belle, fine! We'll have a Weasley wedding!' Hugo threw his hands up in mock surrender.
'Well, she's got a glare fit for another stubborn Weasley woman, I'll say that for her!' Ron laughed again and Hermione couldn't help but smile.
Before she could scold him for his comment, Rose came bounding into the garden, Scorpius in tow.
'Morning Rose' Ron got up to kiss his daughter's cheek. He nodded at her partner, smiling slightly, 'Scorpius.'
'Mr Weasley.' He nodded back and smiled.
Hermione and Rose simultaneously rolled their eyes. 'Merlin, Scorp, call him Ron, he's almost your father-in-law.' Rose exclaimed, 'Oh, Dad! You have some more grey hairs!'
Now it was Hermione's turn to snort into her tea. Hugo laughed too.
Rose flopped onto the rug next to Emma and kissed her on the cheek. 'Alright Hugh?' She said, rubbing her brother's hair from behind.
Scorpius didn't take the chair next to Ron. Instead, he seemed to try to get as far away from him as politely possible.
'Oh, I can't contain it any more! Can I tell them, Scorpius?' Rose seemed like she was about to burst in her excitement. Scorpius barely nodded, but Rose shouted their news anyway. 'I'm pregnant!'
Silence.
'What in the name of-' Ron spluttered.
'Please don't be cross, Daddy! I know it's a bit of a social faux pas, pregnant before being married, but we are engaged, and we're moving the wedding forward.'
Hermione and Emma released a delayed squeal and went to hug Rose. Hugo was grinning too. Scorpius looked sheepish, but delighted. And Ron still seemed too shocked to move.
Hours later, the excitement had somewhat blown over and Ron had managed to close his mouth.
'We thought of a name already,' Rose announced proudly, clutching Scorpius's hand, 'Leo Ronald Weasley-Malfoy.'
Hermione beamed at Ron, who was hugging his daughter happily. Even Scorpius got an unexpected hug from him then.
Ron returned to his seat by Hermione, leaving Emma and Rose to fuss over their upcoming weddings and the pregnancy, and Hugo and Scorpius to discuss the latest Quidditch results. (The Cannons had lost again.)
'Feel like a hero yet?' Hermione whispered, taking Ron's hand in hers. 'You're their hero too, you know, as well as mine.'
'I feel closer than ever.' He smiled.
Hermione lay on her stomach, half buried in the covers on top of the bed. As usual for that time of the night, she seemed completely absorbed by her book. Her legs were bare and sticking out of the covers.
'Stop looking at me like that. I'm old and boring now. And trying to read.' She called out. She didn't have to look up from her book to know he was staring at her. She grinned inwardly. Even after all this time, she still had that effect on him.
'You're still beautiful to me, love.' Ron replied as he joined her on the bed.
All of a sudden, a silvery glow bounded through the window. The laid-back tomcat of Hugo's Patronus took form in front of them.
'Mum, Dad,' Hugo's voice rang from it, it's usually relaxed tone sounded excited 'Emma and I have something to tell you! We're coming over the with kids tomorrow!'
'There's no bloody way they're having another baby!' Ron exclaimed, throwing his sock on the floor.
By 'kids', Hermione assumed he meant seven-year-old Sebastian and five year old Theo. Their other children, Oscar, Artie and Tristan were at Hogwarts, Oscar was in his second year, along with Leo, Rose's oldest son, and the twins were in their first year, with Marigold, Rose's oldest daughter.
'Our children are true Weasleys, darling.' Hermione yawned.
That was a fact. Rose and Scorpius had three other children who were not yet at Hogwarts - Jane, who was ten, Jack was eight and their youngest child was Lexie, who was seven.
'Never a truer word spoken.' Ron replied gruffly.
'You act like such a cantankerous old man, but you love them all too much to be cross really.' Hermione settled into bed. 'And you can't tell me you don't feel like a hero when you look at them all happy. It's thanks to us, that is.'
Ron smiled nostalgically. 'You know love, I think this is the closest I've ever felt to being a hero.'
'I feel like a hero, Hermione.' Ron croaked at her from his armchair.
'What?' She looked at him. He looked older than she had ever cared to realise. His hair was a shocking white, and wrinkles were etched deep into his wizened face. His blue eyes still shone from beneath his sunken brows.
'I feel like a hero.' He repeated slower, as if it pained him to speak those words.
'You're still my hero. I'm glad you agree after all these years.' She smiled sadly.
'The first quality of a hero is being dead and buried.' He murmured in a low breath.
'What did you say?' Hermione's hearing wasn't what it was, but she was sure of what she'd heard then. She didn't want to think about the implications he was making.
Ron repeated himself. 'Remember when you said that to me? I do.'
Tears sprung to her eyes. A single one escaped and rolled down her cheek. 'It isn't true.'
'Yes it is. I feel so close to being a hero, Hermione.' Ron closed his eyes. A light seemed to go out in Hermione's heart.
'Oh no, Ronald Weasley, don't you dare bloody leave me!' Hermione cried at him as loud as she could muster, tears running in sorry rivulets down her gaunt cheeks. 'You don't have to leave to be a hero!'
He shook his head very slightly, and she read the faintest whisper of the word 'Sorry' on his lips.
'You were always a hero to me.' She sobbed. A weak smile faded onto his face as his breathing ceased.
'Adieu, my hero.' She whispered, rocking her chair softly as waves of tears struck her.
Hermione rose from her chair as long quickly as her now brittle bones would allow. Sometimes she forgot how old she was, that was why she resented her view of the graveyard now she was alone. It made her realise how much she had lost.
Sometimes she couldn't think about Ron without sobbing. Sometimes she couldn't think about him at all. Sometimes, she just smiled. When she thought of all the times Ron hadn't felt like the hero he was, she couldn't help but shake her head at his absurd naivety.
She was glad he had felt like a hero before he died. The words she had spoken to him a lifetime ago echoed through her mind. The first quality of a hero is being dead and buried. She had been wrong, she knew that all too well.
Hermione hobbled down the road to the graveyard. Finding the grave she wanted, she groaned slightly as she lowered herself onto the bench beside it.
'You're still my hero, Ronald.' She sighed, pain somewhere inside her that she couldn't identify. 'I'll be with you again soon, I think.'
A slow smiled spread across her face as she thought of Ron. After all, he had always been her hero.