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A/N: An accidental companion piece to "Home Again".
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For over three years, whenever I greeted the two of them—or, more frequently, said goodbye—I always hugged Harry first. It wasn't because I preferred Harry in any capacity, but because he was most important. He saved the world. Without him, it would be virtually impossible for anyone to live. He was the person who gave me a chance at what—who—I wanted: the person I hugged next.
Ron, the person without whom only I couldn't live, always came second. It was horrible of me to hug Harry first, knowing that Ron felt like he never came first in his entire life. I reinforced the fears that everyone else already proved so well-placed.
I got to savor embracing Ron. By hugging Ron last, I could hug him for as long as he'd allow me. I would hold on, even when he gave me the awkward half-hugs that made tears well up in the deep darkness. Later, I thrived on the memories of his arms tight around my back. Those embraces spawned irrational hope that carried me through days that seemed fruitless.
Especially tempting embraces involved hands forming whirlwinds against my spine, comfort in his caresses. Compliments and declarations hovered right behind my lips, scratching desperately my restraint. His ear was inches from my mouth, perfectly placed for whispered words. Imps of my desire wished to share the buried fears from my sleepless nights.
This time, though, I hugged Ron first. This time, I refused to wait for his arms around me. This time, I allowed the declarations and the deepest fears to emerge from internment. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested in the arms encasing my smaller frame.
I didn't let go.
I was home from Hogwarts and I didn't plan to ever leave again.