It was an unusually clear January afternoon. The sun was shining through what few clouds hovered in the sky, yellow beams illuminating the freshly-fallen snow. The white powder sparkled and shimmered in the high-noon light. Ron should have been spending the day outside, throwing snowballs and enjoying the crunch of fresh snow beneath his shoes, but instead he was listening to his fiancée panic.
"– and what if they don't like you? Nothing on you, darling, it's just that, well, you're not exactly easy to get used to and they're Muggles, you know, even with me as their daughter, they haven't really gotten used to the magical world and you're just a complete foreigner to them, having grown up with a wizarding family –"
"Hermione," Ron said calmly as she paused for breath, "I think you're overreacting."
"Overreacting?" Hermione shrieked, her bushy hair flying as she whirled on him. "I am not overreacting!"
"Of course you're not," Ron agreed hastily.
"This is only the most important thing to ever happen!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.
"More important than the defeat of Voldemort?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "The second most important thing, then," she said crossly. "And why aren't you more worried?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"Because I love you," he said simply. "And nothing they say can change that. I'm marrying you even if they hate me."
This, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to tell her.
"How could you say something like that?" Hermione wailed, and Ron jumped, shocked. "If my parents hate you, I'll never be able to marry you! I'd have to cut them off forever, and I'd never forgive myself, and – and –"
"Hermione, calm down," said Ron, seriously concerned for her well-being; she was red in the face and looked quite as though she were about to pass out. "Look, everything will be fine."
"Fine?" Hermione cried. "My parents are meeting my fiancé today, and they might never speak to me again if it doesn't go well, and it's sunny in January! When is it ever sunny in January?"
Ron cringed; her voice had risen to a shrill, hysterical scream.
"I think you need some fresh air," he decided, scooting his chair away from her just in case her head exploded. "Look, it's a lovely day. Let's go down to the village for drinks. We'll be back in plenty of time to meet your parents," he added as she opened her mouth to argue.
She sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this."
"That's the spirit," said Ron cheerily, yanking their coats off of hangers and pulling scarves and mittens down from the top of the closet. Hermione pulled on her gloves and drew her coat around her shoulders, clutching the folds to her chest as if they could somehow protect her from her own anxiety. "We'll be back before you know it," Ron promised her, wrapping a scarf around her neck.
The sun had begun to melt the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk, so Ron and Hermione found it quite easy to make their way down to the village from the small cottage they had been renting for the past year. Ron kept up a steady stream of chatter about everything from Quidditch to the Gilderoy Lockhart in an attempt to distract Hermione, but judging by her prolonged silence, he was not doing a very good job. When they finally reached the small Muggle village, he suggested they pop into the nearest café for coffees, and Hermione agreed, silently bobbing her head, though obviously not really listening at all.
They sat down at a small table in a corner by a window and ordered their drinks. While they waited for their coffees to arrive, Ron continued to make an effort to talk to Hermione, but it was evident that she was still wrapped up in her own thoughts, and finally, Ron, who had been retelling the tale of his dragon bite in first year, said irritably, "And then my hand swelled up and fell off, and I died from massive blood loss."
"What?" said Hermione vaguely, looking at him for the first time since they had left their little cottage. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," muttered Ron, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He glanced out the window; fat snowflakes were beginning to drift lazily past, though the sun still shined happily down at them. Ron fought the urge to swear at it for being so joyful.
"Your coffees," said the waiter in a bored voice, setting their steaming cups in front of them. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No," said Ron in such a harsh tone that the waiter shot him a nasty look, plainly wishing him a painful death, before stalking back toward the kitchen. Ron and Hermione sat in silence for a moment, sipping their coffees, before Hermione said what she was clearly bursting to say.
"Aren't you the least bit worried?" she asked desperately.
Ron sighed irritably. "Of course I am," he snapped. "You don't think I'm worrying about all the same things you are, Hermione? I'll marry you no matter what they say, but I don't want my in-laws hating me for the rest of my life. And I certainly don't want them hating you!"
"Do you really think they'll hate me?" said Hermione anxiously. "Oh, I really don't want them to hate me!" And to Ron's horror, her eyes filled with tears.
"Hermione," he said in an undertone, "don't worry –"
"Don't worry?" Hermione repeated, beginning to sob. The other customers in the café were starting to look round at them; Ron saw one woman whispering behind her hand to her friend as she eyed them intently, and he struggled to keep himself from shouting at them, "Sod off!"
"People probably think I'm breaking up with you right now," he said, trying to lighten the mood, but failing considerably; Hermione's sobs only increased.
"Is that all you care about?" she cried, wiping her eyes angrily on her napkin. People were definitely staring now. "What people think? I should have known that you wouldn't c-care about me! You know, maybe you sh-should break up with me, and make my life th-that much easier!"
"Hermione," Ron began, hurt, but she stood up, shoving her chair away from the table with such force that it fell over.
"Forget it!" she sobbed, throwing her napkin at him. "I'm l-leaving!"
She flung the door open and it tinkled merrily as it slammed behind her.
Aware of all the eyes on him, Ron cursed angrily under his breath, threw a ten-pound note on the table and shoved his chair back, following her into the street.
The snow was coming down more heavily now, coating the road and roofs with a light powder. Ron glanced around and saw a bushy brown mane whipping around the corner of the street.
"Hermione!" he shouted, taking off after her. His legs were longer, so even though he kept slipping on the icy street, he caught up to her within seconds. "Hermione, I'm sorry," he said desperately, reaching out to take her hand, but she shoved him away.
"L-leave me alone!" she screamed, but he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. She struggled for a moment, then went limp in his arms, wrapping her own arms around his neck and nestling her head in his shoulder. He felt a wetness on his sleeve and looked down to find her wiping her eyes on his coat.
"Do you feel better now?" he asked softly, and she sniffled.
"I just want to go home and get this over with," she said wearily, her voice muffled in his coat.
"All right," said Ron gently, stroking her hair. "Let's start walking."
They began to wind their way back down the narrow street to their cottage as the snow began to fall even more heavily. It was now so thick hardly either of them could see, but the path led straight back to their house, and Ron knew that as long as they didn't stray from it, they would make it back safely.
"Ron?" said Hermione after a while, her voice muffled in her scarf. "Can you see the road?"
Damn it, Ron thought.
He peered through the snow, but it was now coming down so fast that all he could see was a flurry of white. "No," he said, squinting. He glanced around, but all he could see was the thick snow around him. "Maybe it's just buried under all this snow," he suggested. "If we keep walking, we should be able to find it again."
"All right," said Hermione, beginning to shiver. "But we'd better hurry. My parents will be there in an hour."
They walked in silence for a half hour more, neither of them wanting to lower their scarves to speak. In fact, neither of them made a sound for a long time, until –
"OUCH!" Ron shouted as he smacked headfirst into a tall oak. A moment later, a fresh layer of snow, dislodged from the leaves of the tree, descended upon him, covering him from head to toe.
"G-great," he said, his teeth chattering as he shook off the snow. "B-b-bloody brilliant."
"R-Ron," said Hermione, shivering violently, "there aren't any tr-trees by the p-p-path. We must be q-quite far away."
They stared at each other. "Th-th-that's it," Ron declared, his entire body shaking from the cold. "We're Ap-p-parrating out of h-here."
"Ron I d-don't think that's a g-good idea –"
But he wasn't listening. He had already turned on the spot, concentrating hard on their cottage –
"OUCH!" he shouted again as he slipped on the icy ground and fell over, hitting the frozen ground hard. Groaning, he sat up, feeling the snow begin to seep into his trousers.
"I t-t-told you so," said Hermione pointedly, and Ron glared up at her.
"Whatever," he muttered, now shivering even more violently. He pushed himself up, slipping on the ice and seizing the nearest tree to avoid falling over again. "N-n-now what?" he demanded angrily.
"We'll just have to k-keep walking," said Hermione, though she didn't sound very keen on the idea.
They clung to each other for warmth as they fought their way through what was now becoming a blizzard. Even the warming charms they put on themselves did nothing to help the cold. Another thirty minutes later, their tempers were becoming short.
"'It's such a l-lovely d-d-day,'" Hermione spat sarcastically as a shiver made her entire body quake against Ron's. "'Let's g-go down t-t-to the v-village.' F-fantastic idea, that w-was!"
"Y-y-you're the one who said it's n-n-never sunny in J-J-January!" Ron shot back. "You were just t-t-tempting fate!"
"Rub-b-bish," Hermione scoffed, as scornfully as she could with her teeth chattering more loudly than a horde of Bowtruckles.
"Wish it was s-s-sunny n-now," said Ron miserably.
There was another moment in which the only thing either of them could hear was the wind blustering with such force it was breaking branches off of trees. Then Hermione said, "I'm s-sorry I yelled at y-y-you."
He glanced at her, although he could hardly see her through the thick snow. "Why are you s-saying this n-n-now?"
"Because we m-might die out h-h-here," said Hermione, so softly Ron could barely hear her over the roar of the wind.
"We're not g-going to d-d-die," said Ron firmly. "V-Voldem-m-mort didn't f-finish us off-f-f, and neither will a s-s-silly little snowst-st-storm."
"I l-l-love you, Ron," Hermione told him, shivering so much that even her ears were trembling against Ron's shoulder. "I just w-w-want you to know that n-no matter wh-what my parents say, I'll always l-love you."
"That's i-i-if we even get to see your p-p-parents," said Ron, and Hermione let out a shaky laugh. Ron began to laugh, too, although the situation was far from funny, and he was just starting to think that even if they died out here, at least he would be happy, when –
"OUCH!" said Ron for a third time as he collided with something tall and thin. "B-b-bloody eff-f-fing trees –"
"R-R-Ron!" Hermione breathed, her teeth chattering so violently Ron worried they might fall out. "That's not a tr-tr-tree – it's a lamppost!"
Ron glanced up, shielding his eyes from the falling snow, and could barely make out the gleam of the light in the lamppost. And in front of him, barely visible under the thick sheet of snow, were cobblestones.
"We've m-m-made it!" he said, his insides filling with relief. "Now all we need to d-d-do is follow the path back h-h-home!"
And fifteen minutes later, a familiar cottage rose into the sky in front of them.
"W-w-we're home!" Hermione cried. They hurried up the front walk and pushed open the door to their cottage. A blast of heat hit Ron in the face and he sighed contentedly as they stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind them.
"Hermione!" shrieked a voice, and a moment later someone had rushed around the stairwell and enveloped Hermione in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're all right! We got here and the door was open, but no one was home – we thought you'd been caught in the blizzard, we were so worried!"
"We're f-fine, Mum," said Hermione, still shivering slightly. Her mother let go of her, only for her father to pull her into a hug next.
Ron, dripping on the carpet, stood aside as Hermione assured her parents that she was fine, and that all she needed was a blanket and a warm drink. As she went with her mother into the kitchen to make them all steaming mugs of hot chocolate, her father turned to Ron, and, to Ron's surprise, pulled him into a hug as well.
"Thank you for keeping her safe," he said gruffly in Ron's ear, and Ron smiled.
Mr Granger let go of him and surveyed him, folding his arms over his chest. "She's my little girl, Weasley," he reminded Ron. "Hurt her, and you'll have me to answer to. But –" He hesitated, as if it were difficult to say. "But if she has to marry anyone, I'm glad it's you. Not many can keep her calm when she's stressed or remind her to take a break once in a while." He glared at Ron. "You take good care of her."
"I wouldn't think of doing anything else," Ron promised, and Mr Granger nodded curtly before following his wife and daughter into the kitchen. A minute later, Hermione slipped through the kitchen door, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate.
"What did he say to you?" she asked as she handed him his mug and drank deeply from her own.
"Just reminded me to take care of you," said Ron lightly. "But I don't think that'll be a problem."
"Oh?" said Hermione, smiling slightly. "Why not?"
"Because you don't need me to take care of you," said Ron, kissing her forehead.
"Oh, Ron," sighed Hermione, taking their mugs and setting them down. She reached up, wrapping her arms around him as she pressed her lips to his.
"I always need you," she said softly, and he smiled, pulling her against him to kiss her again.