This story was originally published as part of the first Ron/Hermione Last Drabble Standing competition in the Spring of 2009. I was so pleased when my entry placed first this week - the required prompts were Hermione's POV, and story must contain "Cheese, Coke, and Chocolate"
You know they think it makes you uptight. But, honestly? They're wrong.
It's all quite soothing, actually, the neat, colour coded lists of tasks offering a welcome sense of control. And, in these days following the war, control is what you need the most.
If you focus on the details of funeral arrangements (red for Fred, pink for Tonks and Lupin), you can stop thinking about the cries of mothers robbed of babies and babies robbed of mothers, and the newly horrible smell of fresh dirt and lilies.
If you get your childhood home in order (Mum and Dad, you write in green), you can concentrate on stocking the fridge with Mum's special cheese and Dad's favorite Cherry Cokes ("I'll brush right after!" he'd always promise), you can stop worrying if they will ever forgive you for how you sent them away.
The steady thrum of organization and activity makes it especially hard to pause for memories of the final battle. No time to think of screams and curses and pain and grieving, and certainly no time to ponder the unknowable meaning of certain impulsive kisses.
"I'm not avoiding this," you say to no one. "It's here on the list." And, sure enough, in tiny, unsure chocolate brown letters, it's there.
Ron?
It's the one item that doesn't get crossed off as the days pass.
But, then, on the tenth day after the battle, he is there, shifting nervously in the kitchen doorway as you sit at the table, methodically attending to your list.
"So." He lifts his chin as he speaks, his stance firm, his shoulders square. His eyes, though, flutter nervously about the room, until they fall to rest on the map of Australia, spread out on the table before you.
"When are we going?"
"Well, I...wait. We?"
"We. I'm going with you, aren't I?"
"You...but...why?"
He is walking towards you, now, and you rise awkwardly from your seat, fighting the urge to back away.
"This is going to be hard for you, Hermione. I won't let you go through it alone." His voice is steady, but his hands are shaking. "I won't let you go through anything alone, ever again, if I can help it."
You are stunned. This is not according to plan. You'd been certain of his rejection, steeling yourself for the inevitable botched attempt to "let you down easy," preparing in response an expression of serene acceptance and indifference. Instead, he...this.
You burst into tears.
Time stops, for a moment, with you crying and him standing there, confused and uncomfortable...and then you close your eyes and his arms are around you and he is kissing your wet face over and over and over. It's a mess...you are a mess, and it's crazy and disorganized and a total explosion of every colour you have ever seen.
You do not cross his name from the list. Instead, you follow the spidery Ron? with a resolution, this time in bold black and white.
Yes.