A/N: Written for the Ultimate Battle Competition (Prompt: [object] photograph).
The Photograph Album
"All right, which story shall we read tonight?" said Hermione, settling herself between her children. The bed was far too small for all three of them, but it was something of a bedtime tradition for Hugo to squish in beside Rose and his mother while Hermione read them a story.
"I want the hopping pot story," said Hugo stoutly, "and Rosie got to pick last time, so it's my turn."
"What! Nuh-uh!" said Rosie, sitting up straight to glare at her brother. "You picked the one with the rabbit!"
"No, you picked –"
"Wait, Mum," Rose interrupted, for which Hermione was grateful, "which book is that?"
She pointed across the room at the dresser, upon which a leather-bound book sat, its pages yellowed with age, its binding cracked from overuse.
Hermione smiled. "That's the photo album. I was looking through it before I came up to put you both to sleep. Which," she reminded them, "I am supposed to be doing right now." She gave them both a pointed stare, which they both promptly ignored.
"Can we see it?" said Hugo earnestly, and his sister nodded excitedly.
"I suppose so, since you can't agree on a story," said Hermione, laughing lightly. She extricated herself from between them with difficulty and crossed the room to retrieve the album. Once she had squeezed back into the bed and Rosie and Hugo had snuggled up against her, she opened the album.
The first picture was faded around the edges, and featured three young teenagers, all beaming at the camera and waving wildly. They were dressed in their black school uniforms, and in the background was a mountain of luggage and owl cages.
"Who's that?" said Rose, pointing at the boy in the middle.
"That's Uncle Harry," said Hermione, smiling fondly.
Rose and Hugo's jaws dropped. "That's Uncle Harry?" they said together, incredulously.
Hermione chuckled. "He does look a bit different now, doesn't he?" Middle-age had hit Harry hard and fast, and his once jet-black hair was now streaked through with silver, and the lines around his eyes had grown a bit deeper.
"And there's me," said Hermione, pointing out the bushy-haired girl with the toothy grin. "And there's your father. I think this was taken just before our fourth year of Hogwarts." She turned the page with a gentle touch, the old paper crinkling beneath her fingers.
"This is your father and me at Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny's wedding," said Hermione, pointing out the picture on the left-hand side of the page. Ginny looked absolutely radiant in her white gown, and Harry, across from her, fidgeted nervously in his too-big shoes (courtesy of Ron). Meanwhile, the maid-of-honor and the best man couldn't stop looking at each other and grinning.
"When's this from?" asked Rose, pointing to the picture on the right-hand side.
Hermione's eyes drifted to the picture. There was a wild-haired woman wrapped up in the arms of a tall, redheaded man, who placed kiss after kiss on her head, face, neck, and anyplace where skin was exposed. The sunlight drifted lazily through the window, illuminating the sparkling rock on the woman's fourth finger.
"I think Grandmum Molly took this just after your father and I got engaged," said Hermione. She made to flip the page, but Hugo interrupted her.
"How did Daddy ask you to marry him?" he asked curiously.
"Ooooooh," said Rose excitedly, "I'll bet it was romantic! Was it, Mum?"
"Well," said Hermione, suppressing a smile, "I think it was meant to be romantic…it was certainly unique…"
She couldn't sleep.
It was the thick blanket's fault – she was sure of it. With the blanket on, she felt like she was being slowly boiled. With the blanket off, she was sure she would freeze to death. She huffed irritably and pulled the covers around her, only to shove them back off within a second. She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt sweaty and disgusting, wanting nothing more than to chop her thick, heavy hair off, if only to save her neck from the insulation her hair provided.
She slipped her feet into the slippers at the foot of her bed and opened her door, padding quietly down the hall. The Burrow was silent, which was rare; but at two in the morning on Christmas Day, she didn't really expect anything different. Everyone else was peacefully asleep, as they should be.
Everyone, that is, except for one person.
"Ron!" Hermione squeaked as she reached the foot of the stairs.
He jumped and hastily shoved something in his pocket, leaping off the couch as though something had burned his rear end. "Hermione!" he said, flustered. "It's two in the morning. What are you doing awake?"
"I could ask the same of you," said Hermione, smiling. "What's in your pocket?"
"What?" Ron stammered. "N-nothing. There isn't anything in my pocket."
"Hm," said Hermione, fixing him with a knowing stare, but she dropped the subject. "I couldn't sleep," she said, sighing. "I only came down for a drink of water."
"Hey," said Ron, catching her wrist as she made to move past him to the kitchen. "Why don't we go do something?"
She raised an eyebrow. "At two in the morning?"
"Yeah, well." He shrugged nonchalantly. "We'll figure something out."
She stared at him for a moment, uncertain, and then smiled wearily. "All right, then."
She slipped her hand in his and he led her outside, closing the door carefully behind him. Hermione was surprised when, instead of taking her through the garden, he led her past it. "Where are we going?" Hermione asked uncertainly.
"You'll see," was all Ron said, with a smile.
Hermione hesitated as they approached the broom shed and Ron dropped her hand to open it. "Ron," she said carefully, "you know I can't fly, right?"
"I know," came Ron's muffled voice as he rooted through the shed. "I'm going to teach you."
"What?" Hermione squeaked, and Ron chuckled as he emerged from the shed clutching two battered broomsticks.
"You'll be fine," he assured her, tossing her one of the brooms. She caught it reflexively. "You ought to learn, Hermione. Besides, when you get back to school, you can try out for the team!"
"Quidditch tryouts were in September," Hermione reminded him, "and I can't fly!"
"Sure you can," said Ron easily. "For starters, don't hold the broom like that. You've got to be gentle with it. You're holding it like it's going to bite you."
Hermione, who was indeed holding the broom at arm's length, scowled and loosened her grip on it, letting her arm drop to her side. "I don't think this is such a good idea," she said, warily eyeing the broomstick.
"Look, I'll catch you if you fall, all right?" said Ron.
"Promise?" Hermione whispered.
Ron kissed her on the cheek. "I'll always catch you. Come on." He intertwined the fingers of his free hand with hers and opened the back door to the garden. "The orchard's got much more room to practise," he explained, shutting the door behind them.
They walked for a short time through the moonlit trees. Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest. Forget the fact that she hated heights – she was more worried that the broomstick would break beneath her. Ron seemed to know what she was thinking, because he kept up a steady stream of chatter the entire way:
"You'll be perfectly safe, Hermione, we won't even go that high. And – and if you're scared we'll come right back down, and I'll catch you if you fall – not that you will fall, I think you'll be fine, really –"
"Is this the orchard?" Hermione interrupted.
"Oh," said Ron, looking relieved. "Yeah. We're here."
The orchard was spacious, a clear circle of green grass surrounded by tall trees. The wind gusted past and the leaves rustled in the silent nighttime. The moon shone brightly overhead, bathing the couple and the orchard in yellow, dusty light.
"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed.
"Yeah," said Ron, sighing in content. "Not a bad place to die, eh? Kidding!" he added hastily at the reproving look Hermione shot him.
She mounted the broom nervously and Ron did the same, albeit with more confidence. "Now what?" she asked, half regretting agreeing to come with him.
"Now we kick off," said Ron, and to demonstrate, he pushed off from the ground and hovered about six feet above her. "Your turn," he called down to her.
She took a deep breath and extended her bent knees, propelling her broom upward. She let out a small shriek and tightened her grip on the broom, clutching it for dear life.
"That's it!" said Ron, laughing. "Don't be so scared, you'll be fine!"
She let out a small whimper and cracked her eyes open. She was only a few feet off the ground, but the sight of all the space between her and the solid earth below her was enough to make her woozy.
"You all right?" asked Ron, floating in front of her.
"Fine," she said in a small voice.
"You're doing great," said Ron encouragingly. "Now lean forward a bit and the broom will go forward."
"I don't want to go forward," Hermione muttered, but she leaned forward all the same. The broom shot ahead and she clutched the handle so tightly that her knuckles turned white and she feared she would snap the wood.
"Great job, Hermione!" Ron whooped.
"Can I go down now?"
He chuckled. "All right, then. Tilt the handle down slowly and you should be able to touch down."
She swallowed – staying in the air was one thing; falling through it was quite another.
"You'll be fine," said Ron gently, and Hermione nodded uncertainly. She directed the handle downwards and felt the broom tilt below her. It shot towards the ground and Hermione tumbled off of it, unable to pull out of the dive quickly enough.
"That was great!" said Ron enthusiastically, landing beside her in a much smoother dive. "You want to go again?"
Hermione shook her head violently, savoring the feel of the hard, solid earth below her body.
Ron laughed lightly. "Do you mind if I go up again?" She shook her head again, and he brushed his lips against her cheek quickly before taking off. She rolled over, staring up at the sky as he flew higher and higher. He waved at her from far above, and she smiled and waved back. He was showing off for her, she knew. He never seemed to be able to resist when he was on a broomstick. As he made a particularly spectacular dive, she let out a whoop and could practically feel him grinning.
"Watch this!" he shouted, and in that instant, Hermione knew something awful was about to happen.
"N –" she began, but before she could call out to him, he swerved his broom around at an incredible speed, pulling it upwards and into a loop. From far below, Hermione saw his foot slip – and then he was holding on by one hand.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed, her heart dropping into her stomach. She plunged her hand into her pocket – except she didn't have a pocket, and didn't have her wand, and was completely powerless. "Ron, hold on!" she shouted desperately.
He was trying to catch onto the broom with his other hand, but it was useless – his fingers slipped, and then he was falling through the air, tumbling head over feet until he hit the earth with a sickening crunch.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, tearing across the orchard. He was lying prone in a patch of moonlight, his arm twisted at a funny angle. "Ron," she whispered, a sob escaping her as she knelt beside him. "Ron, wake up, please, Ron!"
"Nn…"
"Oh, God, Ron…" Hermione murmured, brushing his hair away from his face. "Ron, please…"
"Mm…mm okay, 'Mione…"
"No, you're not," Hermione cried. "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault –"
"Nah," said Ron groggily, cracking open his eyes. "I was…being stupid…"
"Where does it hurt, Ron?" Hermione asked, stroking his hair.
"Well…everywhere?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "Okay, I'm going to get you some help and then I'll come back, all right, Ron?"
"Mm…k…"
She made to stand up and grimaced. She had been kneeling on something hard, and, squinting at the grass below her, she scooped up a small black box. "Ron, what's –"
"No, Hermione, don't –" he began at the same time, but she had already opened it, and she let out a small squeak.
Inside the box was a beautiful ring, a simple gold band set with a small but gorgeous diamond. There were several smaller diamonds arranged in a circle around the central one, reflecting the moonlight and casting silver shadows on the surrounding box.
She looked at Ron, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Ron," she breathed, "it's beautiful…"
"Was…gonna propose," said Ron, smiling weakly. "Before I…did the stupid thing."
"Yes," said Hermione softly.
"Hmm?"
"Yes," she repeated, her voice strong despite the fact that tears were streaming down her face. "Yes, I'll marry you, Ron. Yes!"
"I don't…wanna chain you to…a dying man," Ron managed, and Hermione gave a hiccupping laugh.
"You're not dying," she told him firmly, and he grinned lopsidedly.
"I might if you…don't get me some help," he replied, grimacing.
"Point taken," said Hermione, standing up. "I'll just run back to the house and get someone, and then I'll come back, and you will certainly not be dead by then or I'll marry someone else."
Ron chuckled weakly, wincing, and she turned to go. "Wait, Hermione," he called after her, and she turned back. "Put it on?" he suggested.
She smiled and lifted the ring out of its cushioned box, slipping it onto her left ring finger. "It's really gorgeous," she said, and Ron smiled.
"Only the best for you, love."
"Then what happened, Mum?"
"Well, then I went and got your grandmother – she was right furious that your father had gotten himself hurt, and even more so that he'd been planning to propose to me for months and she hadn't known." Hermione chuckled at the memory; she didn't think she'd ever seen Molly that angry. "Anyway, I'm not sure how much your father remembers of that story. He had an awful concussion and when I asked him about it, he said he couldn't quite recall the details. He probably only remembers the part before he fell –"
"Actually, that's not true," came a voice from the doorway, and Rose and Hugo jumped. "I remember it all," said Ron, coming into the room. "I was fairly sure I was dying, mind you, but it was still one of the best days of my life."
"What were the others, Daddy?" asked Rose.
"Let's see," said Ron, thinking for a moment. "Well, there was our wedding, and then the days you two were born…"
"Tell us those stories!" said Hugo excitedly, but Ron shook his head, smiling.
"Not tonight, mate," he said, and Hugo looked disappointed. "It's far past your bedtime, but maybe tomorrow."
"O – o – okay," said Hugo, trying and failing to hide a huge yawn. Ron scooped up his son and carried him over to his own bed, tucking him in while Hermione did the same for Rose.
"Night, Rosie-Posie," said Ron, ruffling Rose's hair as Hermione kissed Hugo on the forehead.
"Dad, don't call me –" was all Rose got out before Ron and Hermione closed the door behind them.
"So," said Hermione, leaning against the wall of the hallway and wrapping her arms around the photograph album, "when did you remember?"
"A few days after I fell, actually," he replied, smiling. "I just didn't want to bring it up."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Well, it was a bit embarrassing," said Ron, grinning sheepishly. "I mean, I fell off my broom. Me!"
Hermione suppressed a smile. "Are you implying that your flying skills are far superior to those of world-cup winners?"
"I wouldn't go that far," said Ron seriously. "Just the International Quidditch Tournament winners."
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "You know, I think that fall permanently addled your brains," she told Ron.
He grinned. "Mm, maybe. But you married me anyway."
"Yes, I did," Hermione agreed. She leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her arms around him. "And I don't regret it one bit," she whispered against his lips, and he smiled and kissed her again, the photograph album pressed between their hearts.
A/N: I have no idea when I started writing long one-shots. Seriously! I'd never gotten past 1000 words on a single chapter of any story for a very long time. I think this story is almost over the limit for the competition I wrote it for. What happened to me?! I think I need some reviews to tell me if this is getting out of hand. (Hint, hint? Please?)