Inspired by the movie "The Way We Were" and a scene from Gilmore Girls. Rights belong to whoever they do. Very fluffy. I'm sorry, I'm an emotional wreck so I wrote this to make myself feel better. Hope it brightens someone's day.
"Okay, so I organized everything you'd need by order of importance," Ginny declared, standing in front of my bed. She smiled slightly as she pointed to my white bedspread, decorated in a black paisley print.
Just sitting in this bed made my heart ache.
"First are your books. I alphabetized about twenty and put them within arm-distance, since I figured, knowing you, that's what you'll use most," she motioned towards a stack of books on my nightstand.
"Then, I fanned out in order of usefulness. Like the water and food like popcorn, butterbeer, chocolate frogs and some of my mum's macaroni and cheese. I figured you could heat it with magic." Ginny smiled down at me cautiously, like she was eyeing my reactions. I nodded, trying to keep together a polite facade.
"I layed out everything else by stuff that might be useful, but you will have to get up for. Today's Prophet and the London Daily Herald, in case you want to catch up on the Muggle world. On the other side of the spectrum, trashy magazines like Witch Weekly, nail polish in case you felt like giving yourself a manicure, your briefcase by the off chance you want to work on some trials. I set out your journal, some new quills and fresh ink so you can rant in your diary, or whatever ..." She drifted off.
"Thank you," I mumbled, smiling up at my best friend graciously.
"No problem," she whispered, sitting down on my bed carefully as to not spill the variety of bowls and papers she so carefully laid out on my bed.
"Okay. I brought up some of those DVD things Harry showed me and put them over there," she pointed to my small t.v on my dresser. "And there's cookie dough in your freezer. Now that is one amazing Muggle invention."
"Cookie dough?" I questioned with a weary smile, hugging a pillow to my chest.
"Oh yeah, best break-up cure." My heart stopped, dropping to melt along my intestines and curl my toes. Dear God ...
"Oh my god, Hermione. I'm so sorry. That was stupid," Ginny quickly apologized, but I shook my head at her, trying to send the tears back into their ducts.
"No, it's okay Ginny. I get it. Don't worry, please. Thank you for everything, honestly. I don't know where I'd be without you. You're a great friend."
"Don't thank me." She covered my hand with hers. "Now, I have to get down to the pitch for practice or Gwenog will bite my head off. But maybe I can swing by later? I can bring Harry?"
"No, no. Ginny, really. I don't want Harry to see me like this. Really, it's okay. You've done enough," I insisted.
"Are you sure? He's your best friend." One of the two ... Dear Merlin.
"I'm sure. Go to practice," I told her with a fake confidence.
"I could owl in ..."
"Don't even think about it," I told her fiercely. "I'm fine. Look, I'm sitting up and everything."
"I'm glad you got some sleep. That makes me feel better. I'll be back tomorrow, okay? How about I bring Luna and we have a festive girls-day-in brunch?"
"That sounds good." I'm an effective liar.
"Okay," Ginny said, standing up to leave. "Patronus if you need anything. I can be back in a flash. Brilliant thing, being a witch that is. When I say that, I can mean it. I did some dusting and spot-cleaning and put new candles and bath potions in the bathroom, so you can take a bubblebath. Owl me tonight so I know you're alright."
I agreed and she leaned down to kiss my forehead before hitching her purse over her shoulder. She stopped to look at me from my doorway of my dark room. Only the lamp on my dresser gave light to the situation.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" She said, clearly hesitant to leave me by my lonesome.
"Yes. I'm okay. I love you, I'm fine. Go. Thank you." I told her choppily, motioning with my hand towards the door. With one last smile and a wink, she left.
A few moments later, after I heard Crookshank's bowl being filled with an appreciative "meow", I heard the faint "pop" of disapparation.
And then there was one.
My nice queen bed was comfortable, don't get me wrong. I wanted a big, squishy bed, bigger then the one at Hogwarts for when I got my own flat. Especially after all those months in sleeping bags and camp beds or the mattress on the floor of Ginny's room.
My bed is more comfortable then the floor in my kitchen, also. Where I had layed all morning, paralyzed with grief.
It was quiet now, crickets cricket-ing in the setting sun. My apartment on the outskirts of London was amazing and I loved it. But now, it haunted me. It was once warm and inviting, filled with books, music, laughter and love. But now it was dark and cold.
My light magenta walls cast an eery glow upon the room. I'm glad Ginny removed the pictures. Those would kill me. I don't know where she put them, if she burned them or hid them under my floorboards.
I wasn't hungry, or thirsty ot sleepy. Once Ginny came and rescued me, all I had done was cry and sleep. Now, I'm too exhusted to do either. Sorrow ached every cell in my body.
It's done. We're over.
It was explosive, our fight. The biggest, loudest, hardest one we've ever had, and that's saying something. Ever since the war, we easily transitioned from best friends to more, to lovers. It made more sense to us. We got along better when we weren't restricting ourselves from what was really and truely on our minds.
You'd think it would be opposite. Two opposite personalities that clash constantly while their "just friends" But it wasn't like that with us. We stopped trying and realized who much we made sense as a couple.
I'm lost.
He walked out. Twice. Twice. Not once, but twice. Does he enjoy slowly killing me?
My eyes wandered around my room, to distract myself to the pain that crippled me to my kitchen floor for three hours before Ginny came over, worried when Ron showed up at Harry's apartment, determined to talk. She picked me up, got me in bed, held me as I cried and coaxed me to sleep.
And here I lay.
One of the movies in the pile of DVD's was "The Way We Were" with Robert Redford and Barbara Streisand. One of my favorites. One of the first Muggle things I showed him, that movie.
A specific scene came to mind. And I grabbed a sheet of parchment, a quill and a the ink (nearly spilling it in my rushed need to write out the words before I lost my nerve)
Ron,
I know I shouldn't be writing this. It probably goes against all rules about ending a relationship, but I had to get these words out of me or I'll explode.
I shouldn't be doing this, but I'm not doing too great right now and I was just wondering, do you remember that movie I showed you? One of your first ones? "The Way We Were?" And do remember how Katie and Hubel broke up, because his friends were joking and laughing and the President of the United States had just died . And she yelled at them, because they were being disrespectful? And he was mad. And he was going out to Hollywood, and naturally, she hated. He broke up with her.
She was really upset and she called him on a Muggle telephone. She asked him if he would come over and sit with her, because he was her best friend. And she never needed her best friend more than at that moment, she needed him.
And he did. And they talked all night about everything under the sun. And they ended up going to Hollywood, which was horrific. Well, not at first. There was that scene where they sort books. Do you remember? You probably don't, that's okay. I've seen that movie a thousand times.
I was just sitting here thinking about it because I'm sitting alone in my room and I realized that I really need my best friend. Not Harry. Not Ginny. But you, Ron. I need my best friend and that is you. So can you please come over? I really need to see you and talk to you. Please.
Hermione.
I sent Hermes to him, the letter tied around his golden leg. I named him Hermes after the God messenger with wings, in Greek mythology. Hopefully that bird carries that letter as fast as his little heart may let him.
I was horrifed with myself the second I saw his wings disappear beyond a horizon of trees. How could I be so stupid? I'm a desperate little witch. I'm not Lavender Brown, I have dignity. This is absolutely pathetic. I do not need a man to make me happy.
I just need Ron. Who is a man. So that ruins one theory.
It was too late to change my mind. The bird was probably already there. There's was nothing I could do, so I'll hope Harry's with him and he will talk him out of my horrific question.
Because Ron will come. I know he will. That's the man he is.
I fumbled around in my bathroom for a sleeping draught, the strongest one I could find. I had nightmares since the war, so healers had perscriped me hundreds of different potions to help deal with the after-effects of the Crucitus curse.
I have found the best medicane was to have Ron sleepover in my bed.
Looks like I'm going to resort to my old habits. I took a nice, healthy swig of the potion and immediately felt it's response.
I barely made it to the bed before I collapsed into a dream-less AKA Ron-less sleep.
My head was pounding, dear Merlin, was it pounding. My eyelids felt heavy and my body stiff, like I hadn't shifted alot in sleep. I groaned, trying to stretch before I realized Ginny still had food and "supplies" on my bed and I didn't want to knock them over. The room had a orange glow of late morning.
"Hey, you're awake," a gentle voie said from behind me, startling me slightly. I sat up weakly, brushing a curl that had cascaded down from my bun behind my ear.
"Ron," my voice was still caked with sleep as I gasped awake. I was suddenly aware of my sloppy hair, tear-stained face, baggy black sweatpants and long sleeved Gryffindor shirt. "Wh- ... what are you doing here?"
He was sitting in all of his beautiful glory in my chair, in the corner of my room. His elbows were holding up his chin, propped on each knee. His stance for when he's nervous.
"I got your letter and I was worried," he said simply, gazing at me intently. I rubbed at my tired eyes with my wrists, after I pulled my sleeves down and balled them in my fists.
"I'm sorry," I said immediately, having prepared myself last night. "I was ... upset and hurt and I shouldn't have written it. It was a mistake. I truely appreciate you coming but it doesn't matter anymore."
"It does matter, Hermione." His voice has change so much sine it's high-pitched whininess of first year. It was rough and deep and so sexy.
"Why did you stay?" I asked quietly, changing the subject.
"You weren't answering when I knocked and when I came in, you were so still in your sleep. You usually toss around like a cornish pixie in your sleep, so it worried me. I stayed to make sure you were alright," Ron answered, cocking his head to guard my reaction. I melted on the inside.
"Thank you, but I'm quite alright. I just ... took a sleeping draught." I explained to him, embarassed and flattered that he cared so much.
"What is all of this stuff?" He asked, gesturing to the copious amounts of "mood-brightening" items Ginny had brought.
"Your sister thought ... she tried to cheer me up," I said simply, raising my eyebrows. He looked down and I was able to look at him without him knowing that I was studying him. His hair was untidy around his eyes, which looked red from lack of sleep, stress or alcohal. Or all three. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday when he walked out on me.
"You can go, it's okay. Thank you for coming. You're an amazing guy. But it's alright, I'm alright. I'm mortified and I'm sorry. Goodbye." I mumbled, laying back down under my covers, curling into a ball around my pillow and closing my eyes, praying he'll just leave.
I heard my wooden floors creak, the sounds of bowls and papers being shifted, the sound of him kicking off his shoes and the feeling of my bed sinking on his side. "His side" is the side closest to the window, so "if a Death Eater gets past the security wards, they still have to get past me to get to you".
Or so he says.
"Why are you moritifed?" His voice is closing and I can smell his glorious and manly "Ronly" scent.
"Because it was weak. And pathetic. And degrading. And pathetic. Take your pick." I told my pillow, my words muffled from the cotton. But I knew he could hear.
"It wasn't any of those things, Hermione," Ron tells me, but I shake my head against my pillow.
"Yes, yes it was. I'm sorry." I tell him.
"Stop apologizing," he orders and he sounds like ... such an ... Auror. "Hermione, about yesterday ..."
"It's fine Ronald. I'm not your girlfriend, you don't need to explain anything to me anymore." I realize how harsh it sounds after it comes out, so it's too late to stop it. I hear his sudden intact of breath. When he talks again, his soothing voice is very very close to my ear.
"Hermione, but like you said yesterday, I'm your best friend. And your mine. Whether you like it or not, your stuck with me."
"You've done it twice," I remind him suddenly, banishing his playful mood. "You've walked out on me twice Ron. That's huge."
"There's a difference this time, Hermione. This time, it was me walking away because I could see it in your eyes how much my words were hurting you. I can't stand to see you hurt honey," he says with a heart-breaking smooth voice.
"It all hurts just the same," I whisper, turning around so I can see his face. He's propped up against my headboard, legs stretched out all the way to the end of my bed with his ankles crossed. I stayed in a ball, looking up at an awkward angle to see his eyes.
"I know and it kills me. But I need to know one thing. Why are you so mad about my training?" I begin to roll back over, determined to avoid this conversation, but he wraps an arm around my waist, rolling my back so I can't hide.
"I can't lose you Ron. I know what it feels like to think I have and I can't live with that. I am terrified of getting that purple letter from the Ministry that you've been killed in combat. I can't do it, Ron. I can't."
"Hermione, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to die. ... " I interrupted his thought.
"13 out of the 20 Aurors are severely injured every year. Look at Mad-Eye," I pointed out.
"I reckon Mad-Eye was a wee bit injured in the brain too. However, injured isthe key word here," he said, and I joined in protest.
"What if you're ..."
"Hermione. I've fought through trolls, devil's snare, chess boards, basilisks, spiders, werewolves, mermaids, poisioned mead, dozens of Death Eaters and hundreds of more wacky things then I could think of . And it finally got me to you. I'm not going anywhere."
Tears formed in my eyes and I sighed, rolling over comfortably into his awaiting arms. He tucked my head underneath his chin, cradling me to his body. The way his hands rest upon, you'd think I'd was a magnificent and rare. Sacred.
"I'm sorry for everything I said yesterday, Ron. I am so proud of you for making it into the Auror's. Please don't doubt that. I just panicked. I mean, it has only been a year and a hald since the war, and George is finally on his feet after all your help, and I am loving my job in the Magical Law department and I'm happy and in love with you and I don't want anything to risk that."
Ron had a amused expression on his face. "I'm ranting, aren't I?" He chuckled with a nod and I smiled, content in his arms again. My house didn't seem so cold.
"At least you can recognize when you rant now," he laughed again before sombering. "I'm sorry for walking out on you, Hermione. I'm sorry for suggesting that we end things because I was hurt. I never wanted that and will never want that. I'm sorry for saying that you take your work more seriously than our relationship because I know that's not true. I was just looking for something to hurt you with. Our relationship and our love is perfect, you bloody nut-job. We wouldn't be Ron and Hermione without a fight."
"Ron and Hermione," I whispered aloud. " I love that."
"Me too," I could feel him smile into my hair. "One day it will be Mr. and Mrs. Ron and Hermione Weasley, you know that, right?"
"I do now," I grinned, kissing his chest through his t-shirt.
"Let's just cuddle today. I couldn't sleep at all without you last night," He told me, hugging me even tighter than before.
"Sounds perfect to me. These past twenty hours have been killing me," I whispered against his shirt.
"I am madly in love with you, Hermione Jean Granger-future-Weasley. Let's just forget those twenty hours and just go back to the way we were. Are. The way we are."
THE END.
Look for my other Ron/Hermione story, "In The Heat of Battle", which has a prelude to it called "Mental Conga Line"
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