A/N: This is my entry to TayaCurragh's Your Favourite Pairing With A Twist Challenge. I picked Ron/Hermione for my pairing and TayaCurragh ripped them apa- ahem- gave me a new pairing: Ron/Romilda. So here we are.
I've also entered this in to Love From A Muggle's Before The Summer Ends Challenge.
Warning: it pretty much ignores the summer of HPB.
Ah, where is it that you meet her first?
A cold night – in July, no less. She coughs quietly behind you and you turn swiftly on your heel and there she is, her bright eyes the first thing you see. The glow of the streetlamp paints her face a sickly orange and makes her eyes burn amber. She's beautiful, you think that first time.
But, ah, where does she take you, Ron?
Away.
-x-
You are sixteen and she is fourteen and you are both so lonely. You let her talk and just kind of listen. It's not something you're used to, being quiet and just listening, but she teaches you, slowly, that you don't have to shout for her attention.
And you think you might be teaching her something too.
-x-
She sings.
She's got the voice of an angel and it turns your insides to mush and your heart to gold and you would do anything for her in those moments. As the notes shift between you, dancing from her mouth into the (very red) shell of your ear, you think you might be in love.
The music stops and you look at her.
She's just a girl. She's so young and sweet.
But she smiles that impish, devilish smile and you fall a little bit out of love but a little bit more in and it's all so confusing. But it's not that bad because she kisses your worries away.
-x-
"You're a Weasley," she says that first day.
You're flattered that she knows you and embarrassed that you don't know her and so you just say, "I'm Ron."
"Romilda," she smiles.
She falls into step beside you and you walk through the streets of Ottery St. Catchpole and talk about school and Quidditch and holidays. You don't mention Harry or Hermione and she doesn't ask.
You decide then that you like her.
-x-
"So, what's your favourite thing to do in the whole world?," she asks, and her dark eyes glow with the answer you know she's barely biting back.
You're not sure.
"I don't know," you say. "I love playing chess with my brothers. I usually beat them."
"Think you could beat me?," she teases, and, yes, you think you could, but you just laugh and shove her and stick out your tongue.
"I love to sing."
You raise an eyebrow and stare at her. She's small and wiry and, sure, she's loud, but you can't imagine her actually singing.
"Well, go on then," you grin.
She never was one to back down.
-x-
"Let's go to the beach," she says one day in early August, as you sit in a small café and sip your water.
"Romilda, it's raining."
"So? You'd get wet in the sea anyway! Come on, it'll be fun!," she says, rising from her chair with a huge smile and an air of excitement buzzing around her.
"We've no way to get there!," you protest. You're not used to being the sensible one. "There's no way I'm flying in that!"
"Shhh, keep your voice down," she hisses, eyeing the nearby Muggles. "We can get the Knight Bus!"
She looks at you and everything about her is pleading with you to say yes.
She's beautiful, you think again, but out loud you say, "Fine," with a sorry sigh and stand.
-x-
Eventually, she slips away from you, like water through your cupped hands, and you just stay still and let her. You don't try to stop her and you don't try to keep her there because she's Romilda and she's always been a little too hard to understand and a little too unpredictable to really try.
(When the last droplets of what you had together slip from the grooves of your palms and fall, fall, fall away, you notice the sun has stopped shining and autumn clouds are rolling in.)
-x-
The rain is heavier than before, beating down on your legs as they poke out from under the umbrella. You're sitting there on a low brick wall, watching the waves crash against the shore and wishing you'd paid for hot chocolate back on the Knight Bus.
Romilda is humming to herself and you're just thinking about the future and how uncertain it is and so you say, "Sing to me," in hopes that she can drown your unwanted fears.
She turns to face you. You feel the heat that radiates from her, the warmth of contact on your leg, on your arm, where she sits close to you. You can smell her hair. She smells like freesias, you think. Like summer.
"No," she says, and then presses her lips to yours.
-x-
When you walk her home that first night, the night she finds you, she gives you a quick, chaste peck on the cheek and beams.
"Do you think we'll still talk at school?," she asks.
You've never been a liar, so you trip over your words and mumble and say, "We'll, er, have the summer."
She nods as if this is the answer she expected from you, and you feel an echo of relief.
"At least we'll always have that."
And as she turns to leave, you can't help but grab her by the wrist and spin her back towards you.
"We will have that, won't we?," you ask.
"Definitely."
And she's gone.
-x-
The last time you see her is August 31st.
The sun finally came out for that last week, and you spent it with her curled up by your side under cherry blossom trees, watching her long legs wrap around yours, and kissing her softly, and listening to her sing.
That last day could have been perfect.
It really could have been.
-x-
It ends abruptly when she whispers "Harry" into your kiss.
You push her from you more roughly than you mean to but not as roughly as you want to, and you turn on your heel and run.
There is no romantic farewell or final kiss.
As your feet slap the ground, you think that maybe your heart is pounding in time to her song.
-x-
The sound of the crashing waves fills your ears and your fingers are freezing on the umbrella handle. The wind is biting at your cheeks and the smell of salt water drowns you.
"Promise you'll say goodbye?," she says. The sweet taste of your first kiss is lingering on your lips and your head is full of fluff.
"Before the summer ends," you promise, and kiss her again.
-x-
When you ask her to sing the first time, she sings a song that says I think I love you and you hum along.
-x-
Ah, and where is it you last meet her, Ron?
Hogwarts. The day after that final, brutal battle.
She comes up to you and she says, "I'm sorry, you know." Maybe you do know and maybe you don't, but you find that you don't really care anymore.
"Goodbye, Romilda," you say because you promised you would, long ago.
As you walk away, you think you hear her humming again and you catch the smell of freesias in the air.
(But this summer is just beginning.)