Hiya everyone! This drabble is a (much-belated) birthday gift for my dear friend TooMuchtoRead. I'm so sorry for taking so long, awesome person, but I hope you enjoy this quick one-shot.
The sun was setting on another hectic day at the newly rebuilt Burrow. It had yet to be completely furnished, though the ginger clan and their guests had been Conjuring household items for hours, in addition to working to remove the newly returned gnomes from the garden.
Ron Weasley had escaped to his room for a blessed moment alone. Even the attic ghoul's moans seemed softer as he laid back on his bed for a quick nap. Ron loved his best mate, but even though the war had ended, Harry's sleep talking had persisted. The combination of that and chore-filled days had left the redhead feeling lethargic.
George had suffered the greatest loss; he had quite literally lost his other half in the war. He seemed unable to completely recover and had such frequent nightmares that he was supervised each night. Harry would be with him tonight, allowing Ron to have his room to himself.
In quiet instances like these, memories of the battle could slip from Ron's mind and float away as if they had never happened. He could almost forget his burning house, his dead brother, friends, classmates, even ex-girlfriend. Ron squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the flood of grief.
"Taking a moment to yourself? There are still jobs to be done, you know."
At the familiar voice and slightly condescending tone, Ron grinned and rolled off his bed to face the one shining light that had come from the murky depths of the war standing in the doorway. Hermione. His girlfriend.
After years of bickering and romantic tension, not to mention one unpleasant magical bird attack, the pair had declared their affection in the midst of the war. At the time, Ron hadn't been sure they would live to enjoy each other's company. Now though, looking at her mane of fluffy hair, his stomach clenched and he couldn't have been more grateful.
Noticing his dorky grin and red-tinged ears, Hermione anxiously shifted her weight and ran her hands over her hair, scowling, before she stepped toward him.
"I hope you aren't blushing about something dirty, Ronald Weasley." Her voice was shrill as she drilled him with her chocolate brown eyes.
His grin twisted into a smirk as he closed the distance between them and clumsily bowed.
"I'm almost hurt that you felt the need to check."
Her eyes softened as they stared up into his. At this moment, she seemed tiny and delicate; the antithesis of the powerful witch she was in reality. She wrapped him in a hug and buried her head in his chest; he returned the gesture and did his best to avoid inhaling any of her hair.
"People died, Ron. Our friends, our peers, your brother." Hermione's voice was a tattered whisper. "Is it right that we survived, even though we're practically instigators?"
Ron swallowed his now repronounced sense of loss and struggled to keep his voice steady. "Hermione, we can't feel guilty for surviving." He wracked his brain, searching for a comforting word. "The war was a divine game of chess, and those we lost –" here his voice broke, "were the sacrificed pieces."
Hermione was looking up at him now, her eyes swimming with tears. He took a ragged breath.
"None of them were pawns. Every person who gave their life to stand against Voldemort is a King, Queen, or Bishop. All of them were shining Knights up to the end, and we shouldn't be guilty because we are alive, but rather honor their courage in our memories. "
Hermione had begun to openly cry during his testimony, but she tapered off after a few minutes, though she continued to sniffle.
"Ron, that was…." she sniffed and wiped her eyes, "beautifully said."
His lips quirked into a half smile as he gazed down at his girlfriend. "Always that tone of surprise."
Instead of smacking him like she normally might, Hermione grinned feebly and stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to caress his flushed freckled cheeks with her thumbs. Ron leaned down to lightly press his mouth against hers. The kiss still contained the passion from the Chamber of Secrets, but now its frantic urgency had been replaced by a greater sense of tenderness.
As they snogged in his bedroom, Ron arrived at two conclusions. First, he was quite glad there was little risk of Harry barging in on this scene, because it would ruin the sweetness and warrant some awkward explanations. Second, after kissing his crying girlfriend, salty was his new favorite flavor.