Hey y'all been awhile. Had some time, finished a story. Hope ya like, if not oh well. To each his own. Which reminds me I don't own anything that you may recognize.
Hermione worried. Unlike her calm, collected exterior she was a nervous wreck on the inside. Day twelve of Ron and Harry's assignment was drawing to a close, when they would be home nobody knew. But if it wasn't soon, Hermione feared she would go insane from the stress. Stress from work she could deal with. In fact, so immersed she was in work that the only time she consciously worried about Ron was times like now when she was alone in their home. But the stress of not knowing if Ron was OK or not would be the end of her. She had already gone over the newest proposed werewolf legislation seven times. Whatever idiots wrote that up obviously didn't read my reports. But it still wasn't enough to keep her worries at bay.
She paced her small office. It wasn't much, but it was hers. The two bookcases, one with work related tomes, the other filled with books with more personal and sentimental value, flanked her desk. Her desk. Ron had surprised her with it the day after she had gotten her first promotion. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface, tracing the grain.
It had been made from the tree she, Ron and Harry had wasted many a sunny afternoon under. The day after the battle she had stood and cried as she saw the magnificent timber lying on its side no doubt snapped in half by one of the giants. Ron had found her, she had felt so stupid standing there crying over a tree while so many people had just died, and she told Ron so. She would remember his response until the day she died. It had taken her by surprise.
"Maybe it's not the tree you're crying over? Maybe it's what it meant to you, what it represented, you know, all the good memories it held. I don't know just a thought."
She knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything would be okay.
She shook her head. Ron was a really insightful person when he wanted to be. She looked at the clock on the wall. Both hands were pointing at the twelve. She picked up a picture of Ron that sat on her desk. It was a candid shot of him studying a chessboard, he was rubbing his chin, and then his hand slowly moved a piece out of frame. She read his lips as they said checkmate; he raised his hands in victory, noticed the camera and gave it one of his lopsided grins.
"Officially thirteen days now Ronald," she said. "You bloody well better get home in one piece. Make sure Harry gets his scrawny arse home to Ginny in one piece as well." She grinned at the thought of the look on Ron's face if he had heard her swear. She set the picture back down and paced the room once more.
"Thirteen bloody days!" she screamed. It felt good to scream. Screaming was how she relieved the stress. That was one of the ways that Ron and she were similar. It was why they argued the way they did. A casual observer might think it was because they didn't get along, but they got along fine. Ron was never known for his openness, he always kept his feelings close to his chest. It was the greatest thing that Hermione had ever learned about him. But when she could get him to argue and yell the floodgates opened up. It was how she found out he hadn't let himself grieve over Fred, and subsequently gave him a shoulder to cry on. It was also how she had found out he was becoming unhappy with being cooped up as a shopkeeper. And she had supported his decision to join the ranks of the Aurors. A decision she would never regret, but at the same time sometimes wished he still were a shopkeeper. She never stressed if he would get a paper cut or not. But being an Auror had made Ron happy, and seeing Ron happy was one of the best sights Hermione had ever seen. She sat down in a plushy chair and picked up the book she had been reading before she had started pacing.
She was nearing the end of the book when she heard a noise downstairs. She picked up her wand and crept down the stairs. She paused at the bottom, listening.
"Why is there never any bloody food in this house?" she heard Ron grumble.
Hermione put her wand away and stepped into the kitchen. Ron was waist deep in the refrigerator. "Maybe because you eat it all."
Ron jumped, hit his head on the freezer and fell on his bum.
"Bloody hell Hermione! Don't do that."
"What? Walk around my own house and speak to my husband." She took in his appearance. He looked tired. His hair was standing up in odd places; he hadn't shaved in what looked like two weeks. His clothes, though clean, were wrinkled.
"No, creep around your house and scare your husband." Ron stood up rubbing his head.
"I'm sorry love, it's good to see you." Hermione walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him taking in his scent. She rested her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, slowly returning to normal. He was safe, alive, in one piece, complaining about food, he was fine.
"I'm glad you're home," she said releasing him.
"It's good to be home, I was just telling Harry back at the ministry…" Ron began before Hermione interrupted.
"Back at the ministry? When did you get back to the ministry?"
"Um…bout midnight, so…a half hour ago." Ron said biting into an apple he had pulled out of the fridge.
"A half hour ago?" HALF AN HOUR AGO!
Ron continued. "Yeah I told Harry that it was nice to be back on familiar ground after using the sun and stars to navigate the past two weeks."
Ron grinned as he chewed another bite of his apple.
"Ronald…" Hermione said slowly. Ron gulped down the bite of apple; she had slowly said his entire first name. She only said it like that when she was about to…
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! YOU'VE BEEN BACK IN THE COUNTRY SAFE AND SOUND FOR HALF AN HOUR! AND YOU DIDN'T THINK TO SEND ME AN OWL TO LET ME KNOW YOU WERE OK? OR A PATRONUS? OR ANYTHING, ANYTHING TO LET ME KNOW YOU WEREN'T LYING BEATEN AND BLOODY IN A BLOODY DITCH SOMEWHERE!
"Hermione…" Ron started.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I'VE BEEN WORRYING ABOUT YOU? It's been…it's been…" Hermione ran out of steam, if it had been the middle of the afternoon instead the middle of the night she would have been going for hours. But the fatigue from being up all night and the fatigue of the stress had finally got to her. She collapsed into Ron's arms silently sobbing.
"I'm sorry Hermione," He brought her face to his. "But if I had sent an owl you would have been asleep and it would have woke you up, and you would have yelled at me for getting you up when I would have been home soon anyway."
Hermione laughed softly. "You're probably right, I have a big meeting tomorrow mor…this morning," she corrected. "So how was the assignment?"
"Complete rubbish, we wasted two weeks chasing nothing." Ron finished his apple and tossed it in the rubbish bin.
"So I wasted to weeks worrying for nothing?"
"Oh no, I did get a nasty bruise from a falling branch. It got my shoulder pretty good."
"You poor baby, maybe I can rub some dittany on it." She crossed the room to lightly rub Ron's shoulders.
"Sounds like a good idea to me."
She squealed as he piggybacked her to their bedroom.
"Maybe then I can help you scream out some of your stress."
"Ronald!"
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