A/N: Turns out I'm not done throwing shade on the shipping drama that's gone down. The interview wasn't as bad as we thought, but I'm still annoyed. Also I'm writing in present tense for basically the first time because ADVENTURE. Also also, this fic is quite similar to a few others I've written. Meh. Happy motherfucking Valentine's Day. Which is when I started writing this fic - now it's Ron's birthday, so it's an even better time to finish and post it.
Disclaimer: Probably don't touch the angry Romione shipper. Who is not JKR (obviously).
The pain begins to dull after the war, but it never truly fades. Even years later, it remains in the back of her mind, ready to slip in at the slightest opportunity. It's more of a shadow now, but that does not increase its welcome, not when she still wakes up from time to time drenched in a cold sweat, eyes wide and heart hammering.
But one night, she has a nightmare of an entirely different kind. It's the first she's had that might be considered normal, if there is such a thing as a normal way to be completely and utterly terrified.
It's strange how both kinds of nightmares make her feel trapped. And yet, this new kind - the kind that isn't strictly a matter of life or death - is the one that feels inescapable. She's already lived through the war, she's already grieved and grown and lived, but this - well, this, she doesn't have a solution for, and she hopes she never has to develop one.
The man in her dreams is nameless, and his face is void of features. She knows, on some level, that this is because it does not matter who he is. All that matters is who he is not, and she cannot find the person she needs him to be.
The way she wakes up is familiar enough; she is gasping as cold sweat drips from her forehead. This time, she is blind, unable to focus, so she searches frantically with her hands until she hits something solid, and she only lets out the breath she's been holding when she feels the familiar contours of her husband's face. She blinks slowly, willing normal sight to return to her eyes.
"Mmf, what the bloody-" A large, calloused hand covers her clammy one and shifts it away from whatever she's been holding onto. "Appreciate the attempt to get creative, love, but I thought we'd agreed to no choking or smothering."
Her eyes finally snap into focus when she hears the hoarse morning voice and teasing tone she's come to know so well over the years. He tugs on her hand until she finally turns to face him, and his slight frown displays equal parts confusion and worry when she flings herself into his embrace, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.
"Hey," he says softly, resting a hand on her waist and tangling another in her hair. "What's wrong? Nightmare?"
She nods against his chest, and he presses a light kiss to the top of her head as they pull each other closer. They're used to this; all there is to do is wait for the storm to pass.
"Happy birthday," Hermione murmurs eventually. Her voice is little more than a strangled whisper, even as she focuses on the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"S'that today?" he asks, chuckling."Nearly forgot."
"I don't believe that for a second," she says, finally summoning the energy to prop herself on her forearms and meet his gaze. "You've not once forgotten in the twenty-three birthdays I've known you."
He shrugs, offering her a boyish grin. "I said nearly."
She smiles, but it must stop just short of her eyes, because his expression changes to one of concern almost instantly. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Not particularly," she says, sighing.
Ron frowns again, this time with a touch of anger. "I hate this. You're a hell of a lot stronger than she was, or any of them ever were."
"Thank you," Hermione says, capturing one of his hands with her own. She brings it to her lips and presses a kiss to his palm. "But it wasn't the Manor tonight."
"No?" Ron asks, and the creases of his forehead deepen.
Hermione shakes her head, which, she notes, is still throbbing from the residual ache she tends to get after particularly bad dreams. "It was worse because it was new," she admits.
He nods in understanding, because he knows even her just as she knows herself. "I think you ought to tell me," he suggests quietly, enveloping her hand in his again and bringing them to rest over his heart.
Hermione struggles for a moment, trying to find the words to describe what it was she saw, because she's not entirely sure herself. Eventually, she settles on the obvious answer, because she knows there is nothing else that could cause her to lose herself so violently. "You weren't there," she tells him simply.
"I'm sorry," he replies automatically, but she shakes her head as soon as the words form on his lips. She knows the devastation that will soon settle across his features, and she doesn't think she can bear to see it tonight.
"It wasn't that," she says, and something inside her relaxes as soon as the relief spreads across his face. "It's never that, never. I trust you."
"So you dreamt that I'd…" he trails off, almost afraid to say what they both know he's thinking. But she shakes her head again.
"I don't think it was that," she says slowly. "Or maybe it was, but that wasn't…you weren't with me. Or I wasn't with you, one of the two."
"We were with other people?" he guesses. "We'd split up?"
"Maybe," she agrees. "All I know is that you weren't where I needed you."
"It's just a nightmare," he reminds her, slipping a hand underneath her night shirt and rubbing the small of her back gently.
"I know," she assures him, leaning down to kiss him chastely. "Well, you wanted a lie-in, yes? We've got another four hours or so before Rosie and Hugo wake up."
She rolls off of him, and he follows so that his chest is pressed to her back. She holds the hand that's wrapped around her torso possessively against her heart, and she has nearly coaxed herself back to sleep when his breath tickles her ear.
"Is that really your worst nightmare?" he mumbles. "Losing me?"
She nods, bringing his hand to her lips again. "What else would it be?" she murmurs against his skin.
"That's mine, too," he says quietly. "I could never be with anybody else when I know what it's like with you."
"Nor could I," she agrees. "It's been you since I was seventeen. Probably earlier."
There is a short silence, and Hermione would think he was asleep if it weren't for the rapid beating of his heart. "I have that sort of dream all the time," he admits finally. "S'terrifying, y'know, to have so much of myself in somebody else."
"There's an innuendo somewhere in there," Hermione murmurs, and she smiles when she feels an appreciative laugh rumble through his chest.
"I'm serious, though," he says, with a vulnerability in his tone she only ever hears when they are alone.
"I know," she replies. "It's a contradiction. It's the strongest thing we've ever known, yet we know that the world is fragile, and that it refuses to offer exceptions for anybody."
"Exactly," he breathes against her neck. "You ought to write a book, you know, translating the weird things I say into something poetic so normal people can understand them."
"But I rather like being the only one who understands you," Hermione protests.
"Fair enough," Ron concedes. "What's for breakfast?"
"Dunno. Something with bacon," Hermione yawns, clinging as tightly as ever to his hand in hers. "What is it ever on your birthdays?"
"Fair point," he admits. "Least it's on a Saturday this year, so I can actually enjoy it for longer than a few minutes in the morning and a couple stolen hours in the evening."
"Mm. Yes, but I haven't talked to Harry or Ginny about the kids," Hermione murmurs, allowing her eyes to slide shut again as she listens to the soothing tones of her husband's voice.
"It's sorted," Ron says. "Harry and I have an understanding; we can leave Rosie and Hugh with them after lunch. Oh, but by the way, we're taking theirs for the week between their birthdays."
Hermione's eyes fly open again. "We're doing what?"
"Harry's surprising Gin with a holiday to Spain," Ron explains. "They're leaving on his birthday, coming back on hers. Told him we'd take the kids."
"And you didn't think to consult me, did you?" Hermione asks wearily, though she isn't angry enough to turn around and disrupt their embrace. She'd offer Harry the same favor in an instant, and it would hardly be the biggest thing they'd ever done for him.
"Mum and Dad take them all during the day in the summer anyway. Besides, we'll be able to cash it in later for a holiday of our own," Ron reasons. "Maybe for your thirty-fifth, eh? That's a bit of a milestone, and it's best to head off the mid-life crisis before it starts-"
"I am not old enough to have a mid-life crisis," Hermione insists firmly.
"But?" Ron asks knowingly.
"But a holiday sounds nice."
"Thought so." She can hear the smirk in his voice. "Where d'you wanna go?"
"Something tells me you've already got an idea."
"Yeah, well, one of the blokes at work was talking about Hawaii…"
"So I guess my suggestion of 'inexpensive' will be going by the wayside?" Hermione guesses.
"Not like we haven't got the money, 'specially if we save up a bit the next few months," Ron points out excitedly. "We could even try surfing, Hermione, do you know how wicked that would be?"
"Well, we'd fall," Hermione replies automatically, "but it might be entertaining, yes, and I've heard Hawaii's nice. We should look into it."
"Okay," Ron says, displacing Hermione as he springs upright and stretches. "You've still got that compute-thingy in the basement, haven't you?"
"It's hardly six in the morning!" Hermione groans.
Ron shrugs. "I'm not that tired, are you?"
"Well, no…"
"So we might as well look into it now," Ron says, gesturing toward the door.
Hermione contemplates him for a moment - his animated, shining eyes, his lean muscles, and his messy, slept-on hair - before making her decision. "Well," she says diplomatically, sitting up just enough that she can slide her hand purposefully up his chest and around his neck until it comes to rest in his hair, "if we really wanted to do something worthwhile…"
He doesn't object when she kisses him, nor when she pulls him down so he's hovering above her. It is only when they break apart for air that he asks, bluntly, "But I thought we were gonna do it tonight?"
"Well, yes, but the two don't have to be mutually exclusive events," Hermione says pointedly, capturing his lips briefly. "Now, would you like to go look at pictures of Hawaii on the computer, or would you rather have a preview of what we could fill our time with once we've given up on surfing?"
"The latter, please," Ron moans, trailing kisses along her neck as her hands travel decidedly south. "I love you," he breathes against her skin before they break apart to tear off their respective night shirts.
A clatter tells her one of them might have hit a lamp, but they don't acknowledge it beyond a shared, breathless laugh. It's nothing Reparo can't fix, and she's far too preoccupied by the location of his hands to be bothered just now. So instead, she gasps his words back to him, because there's nothing else to be said, and nothing else more important. "I love you."
After all, they've got a few hours before Rose and Hugo will tear into the room, jumping on the bed and attacking Ron with birthday hugs. They'll share a meaningful gaze and a smile above their children's heads, because this is where the nightmares are banished - in the strength of a love that could overcome the fleeting nature of the world around them, that is something so much more that Hermione has never, in all her years as an avid reader, found the right words to describe it. It is a promise that they made to each other when they were eleven, a promise that had grown and changed as they had, that has manifested itself in the beauty of their love for one another and in the limitless smiles of their children. It is the light she finds here, Hermione knows, that ultimately keeps the darkness at bay.
A/N: LOL I don't even know what happened here. S/O to DG for the lamp ;) I wrote the first 150 words several weeks ago and it just sort of went in a very different direction when I got down to it. Buut life is sort of all over the place, isn't it?
Also I've got to thinking why I can never seem to finish a fic between the two of them without an "I love you" - I think it's because after so many years of miscommunication, they simply can't say it enough. In my mind, anyway. :)
So Happy Birthday Ron, I love you almost as much as Hermione does. :) Thank you for reading!