This isn't really a story, more of a reflection. I really hope you all like it!

If you had told me, at eleven years old, that I would fall in love with Hermione Granger, that she was going to become my wife and bear my children, I'd have said you were off your rocker. Better yet, I'd have shot back that Hermione Granger was the most obnoxious know-it-all I'd ever met and disprove your prediction of the future a thousand times over before I was sure you regretted ever asking me such a stupid question.

Of course, I was eleven then. I wouldn't have known any better.

I never thought Hermione Granger would become Harry's and my friend, not least because we both felt that she was not the person we'd choose to be around. Then again, I never thought we'd ever save her from a mountain troll either. And when she lied to Professor McGonagall, a teacher, to save our skin, I knew right then that she would be around for a while.

She was. Once she had actual friends she calmed down a bit, became a bit less obnoxious but no less of a know-it-all. I had to get used to her beating me and Harry in every class, to her knowing the textbook like the back of her hand, and to me constantly and almost grudgingly at times asking for her help.

I never thought Hermione Granger would become such a big part of our lives. Of my life.

I never knew what it was to be scared for a friend until we were twelve, and Hermione was petrified by the basilisk roaming the plumbing of our school. Even though we should have been thankful that the basilisk didn't kill her, and we were, I remember her glassy eyes, her stone still face…it was unreal to imagine Hermione, our Hermione, the know-it-all, completely oblivious and stricken into that trance. It was as if she was in a coma; even if we talked to her it wasn't as if she knew we were there.

I wanted to tell her that we had never needed her more, but she was deaf to all.

Once she'd made it out of that, our friendship grew stronger.

Third year Hermione had all sorts of things on her plate, and I'm sure we didn't help with any of that. She and I fought a lot, as I was noticing. It had been that way since we'd become friends. In an odd way, bickering with her was something I almost enjoyed.

Of course at thirteen I was something of an idiot anyway.

That year I noticed that Hermione was a very caring person towards everyone. Despite my many arguments with her that year, I almost got angry with myself for wanting to smile at how caring she was.

Fourth year, Harry and I had a fight. Hermione didn't side with either one of us, but instead kept trying to get us to talk to each other. I admired her for remaining neutral.

Then Viktor Krum came along. My Quidditch hero, come to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. I couldn't wait to talk to him and get his autograph until he set eyes upon Hermione.

He was sweet on her; he watched her study in the library and finally plucked up the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball. Once I had learned of this the strangest thing happened; my admiration for Viktor Krum was engulfed in flames of anger and jealousy.

At the time, I didn't know I was jealous of Hermione. I had assumed that she would go alone. Who would go with know-it-all Hermione Granger? No one, that's who. I assumed that if Harry and I couldn't find dates to the ball, then Hermione wouldn't be able to either. But I was too foolish to realize that Hermione was turning from a young, bushy haired bookworm to a pretty young woman. Her beauty caught me off guard, and when the Yule Ball finally came I didn't know what to do. She looked so beautiful, swirling around on that floor. And so happy.

That's when I got angry. How dare she be happy, how dare Viktor Krum take her from me. I was blinded by jealousy, the fact that Viktor Krum could just swoop in and sweep Hermione off her feet made me angry. She came up to Harry and me later, asking us if we wanted to join her and Viktor for drinks. That happiness sparkling in her eyes…it made me angrier. I wanted to make her cry.

So I rejected her offer, and accused her of fraternizing with the enemy. Soon enough we were fighting, yelling in each other's faces. And a day later, we weren't speaking.

Once Viktor left, I relaxed a bit. And I realized something scary; that I might have feelings for her.

Fifth year we bickered all the time, as usual. But it was the beginning of me coming to terms with my feelings for her. Every time she even mentioned Viktor or how great Viktor was or how much they talked, I instantly snapped at her about it. He was gone, and I wasn't letting her mention him anymore.

I made the Quidditch team that year, but I wasn't good at it. Lousy practice after lousy practice I went into the common room and snapped at everyone, including her. And she still remained at my side, helping me with all my homework. Hermione wasn't ever really into Quidditch but she supported me all the way. Before a Quidditch match, she wished me good luck and kissed my cheek.

Hermione Granger kissed my cheek.

The rest of the morning that spot was tingling. I was confused, and utterly dazed. Everything else seemed less important all of a sudden, even Quidditch.

Sixth year was interesting. At sixteen our hormones were raging, and all of us were feeling it. Lavender Brown began to look my way, and I forgot all about Hermione as Lavender succeeded in snogging me.

It was a chemical, hormone-induced relationship. It didn't last long, and I was glad it didn't.

I hurt Hermione. I know I did. I saw her cry.

But still she waited. When I was poisoned, Harry told me that she never left my side. I don't remember much about that time but I remember hearing her in my sleep. I heard her voice, distant and foggy. I called out to her; why was she so far away? Why couldn't I see her? I wanted her near me, where I could feel her presence and I knew she would be there next to me. And she was.

In that, I was finally able to sleep peacefully.

Later that year, she saved me yet again from another sleepless night worth of homework. After all that we'd been through that year I sank down in my chair and I said that I loved her.

I didn't know what had possessed me to say it; it had just sort of slipped out.

But now that it had been voiced I fully realized it.

I loved Hermione Granger.

Strange, what happens in friendship over a long period of time…

Once the seriousness of what we had to help Harry with finally settled in, I knew I had to protect her. I had to keep her safe from harm and care for all of her hurts.

At Dumbledore's funeral she cried. I held her in my arms and stroked her hair. I wanted so desperately to tell her everything would be all right, that the sun would still come up tomorrow.

But I didn't know. None of us did.

One thing was for certain, I wasn't letting anyone or anything harm her. Not my Hermione.

Of course, Hermione wasn't a helpless little girl. My Hermione is in fact one of the strongest, smartest women I have ever known. As this showed, I only became more attracted to her.

But she and Harry had always seemed close. Always. And I always ended up the stupid sidekick.

The locket Horcrux only increased these feelings, of course. Once we found that thing and I put it on I knew it had to have some kind of Dark enchantment. It made me think horrible things about my two best friends, and how they would be happier together, how Hermione must prefer Harry to me, and how I was a blundering fool compared to Harry Potter…it all threatened to overwhelm me.

So I only further confirmed I was a fool by leaving. I walked out on the most important mission of our lives and certainly the most important out of all future missions I'd be given as an Auror.

I remember Hermione's reaction. She had cried when I left. Begged me to come back. I had ignored her and even shoved her away when she tried to take the locket off of me.

She had known that it wasn't fully me talking. Part of it was the locket.

The moment I Apparated to Bill and Fleur's house I knew I'd made the most idiotic mistake in my life. Why had I left? Why had I left my best friend? Hadn't I just sworn to myself that I would help Harry find and destroy the Horcruxes, thus destroying Voldemort? And what of my beloved? Hadn't I sworn to myself that I would protect Hermione and stay with her and love her the best I could? Why was I such an idiot? All these questions swarmed in my head. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I was too astonished and ashamed at what I'd done. Bill and Fleur allowed me to stay there, and treated me normally, but I could tell they weren't really pleased at my decision.

At the same time, I needed that time. It matured me. It let me know what I needed to do.

I needed to go back. But I had no idea how I was going to do it.

I Apparated the next day, always ending up at different places, never finding Harry or Hermione. I didn't know what else to do; my worry was blinding me. I narrowly escaped Snatchers a few times, determined to reach my two best friends alive and unscathed.

Christmas morning I woke up in a miserable little pub, completely out of hope that I would ever see Harry's or Hermione's faces again.

As if in response to my hopelessness, I heard something come out of my pocket.

It was a voice, one that I knew all too well…

"Ron."

I took the Deluminator out of my pocket. It was the only thing I'd been holding that could possibly have sound coming out of it. I studied it for a moment, and it happened again.

"Ron."

Hermione's voice came out of the Deluminator. I let out a shaky breath and held it close to my heart.

"Hermione…" I whispered back.

Oh, how I'd missed her. Oh, how I'd longed to see her and tell her how sorry I was.

I held the Deluminator up, longing to hear her voice one more time, but the Deluminator suddenly opened to reveal a ball of light. It flew towards me and went straight through my chest, into my heart.

I felt the light there. It was warm and it gave me a sense of purpose and hope. I knew where I needed to go. And there was no stopping me now. I had to go be with her.

I Apparated once more, and there I rescued Harry from drowning. He'd found the sword of Gryffindor but had gone swimming in the ice cold water to find it. That's just like Harry. I'd never been so relieved to see him either.

He seemed happy to have me back, but he told me I needed to destroy the Horcrux.

Instantly I became filled with dread. I didn't want those voices in my ears, telling me Hermione didn't love me, telling me she'd be better off with Harry, telling me I was a fool and nothing more.

But I did it anyway. I destroyed that Horcrux, which had the nerve to show my two best friends kissing each other in an illusion. No. Never. Hermione was my beloved.

After it was destroyed, Harry comforted my worst fear. He told me that Hermione had cried after I'd left and that he saw her as nothing more than a sister.

They thought I'd known all along.

Now to find Hermione. I wanted her to know how sorry I was that I'd left her.

I really hadn't been sure what to expect out of Hermione once I saw her, but what I hadn't expected was Hermione Granger's fists meeting my arms several times. I hadn't expected her to scream at me. But then I hadn't really thought she'd be very happy with me, either.

I was determined to make up for my departure; even though Harry had forgiven me readily, Hermione was still steamed and refused to talk to me for ages.

But I deserved it. I knew I did.

Little did we both know I'd earn my comeuppance. They kidnapped us and took us to Malfoy Manor, where that evil witch Bellatrix took Hermione away from me and sent Harry and I down to the cellar.

I wish I could forget that terrifying hour we spent in there. I wish I could forget Hermione's screams, her crying, and her begging for mercy against Bellatrix's wrath.

I had run around, banging on the walls, screaming and crying myself. I remember my fear, chilled deep down in my very skin, shaking me around and causing my heartbeat to hammer out of control.

Those screams went through me like I was physically in pain. I couldn't stand it, and I was trapped.

I couldn't stop Bellatrix from torturing my brave, beautiful Hermione, who was still managing to lie despite the obvious threat on her life.

Harry and I were both hoping for some kind of release. Thankfully Dobby the house-elf came to our rescue and we were out of the cellar. The only thing I even cared about was getting Hermione out of there safely and alive. Nothing else even mattered.

Out of the corner of my mind I heard Bellatrix tell Fenrir Greyback that he could have Hermione.

I lost it. They weren't taking her away from me. She wouldn't die, not while I was there.

Bellatrix threatened that if we used wands against her and the Malfoys, Hermione would die right there. She held that knife to Hermione's throat, and I remember that I had never seen Hermione look so small, or so scared, in the entire time I'd known her.

I dropped my wand immediately. They could have it, they just couldn't hurt her.

Then Dobby appeared out of nowhere, and unscrewed the chandelier, so that it fell toward Bellatrix and Hermione. Bellatrix leaped out of the way but Hermione was engulfed in the debris.

Terrified, I ran to the chandelier debris and pulled an unconscious Hermione out of it. She was in bad shape. I cradled her in my arms, silently swearing to myself I'd never let her be hurt like this again.

We Apparated to Shell Cottage, and the second I landed on that beach I carried Hermione up to the house. I went as fast as I could, yelling for help.

I got Hermione inside and I kept holding her to me, stroking her hair and telling her it'd be all right even though she couldn't hear me. I wouldn't let anyone touch her even though Bill and Fleur were trying to help. But finally I allowed Bill to cast Rennervate on her to revive her. When she awoke my heart moved violently inside my chest. She was alive. Badly hurt, but alive. And she woke up in my arms.

We lay her on the couch and she kept insisting she'd be fine. My heart fills with pride every time Hermione openly acts like the beautiful, strong woman she is. After Hermione tried to sit up a few times, Fleur shooed me away, insisting that she be allowed to examine Hermione. Hermione told me quietly to go but I could tell she just wanted me to be reassured that she'd be all right.

After that I never left her side. I couldn't; I had to protect my Hermione.

The battle at Hogwarts came upon us finally, and it was one of the scariest, bloodiest, and thankfully only massacres we've ever had to live through. Of course, you wouldn't see my Hermione cowering behind bigger wizards and witches, wanting to be protected.

No, my strong, beautiful wife was up at the front, fighting her hardest, her eyes alight.

She and I, to aid Harry, had to go down to the Chamber of Secrets to go find the Basilisk fangs. We did so together, our hands clasped, our hearts scared but determined. Hermione told everyone it was my idea and beamed at me every time she said it.

Once out of the chamber, Harry found us and we told him what we'd done. Then I suddenly remembered that Hermione would be worried about the house-elves fighting and I mentioned it to Harry and Hermione.

I'm not sure if it was my mention of elves or the fact that Hermione and I had just had an adventure together down in the Chamber of Secrets, but quite suddenly Hermione leaped upon me and threw her arms around me. Our lips met.

It felt like our lips were rejoicing at finally meeting. Finally. After years of hoping and waiting, finally this was what sealed the deal. I kissed her, feeling more in love with her than I had ever felt before. My hand traveled to her hair, her face, her back, wanting to obtain and feel every part of her with me. I lifted her up off of her feet, holding her tightly. I never wanted to let her go; I never wanted this moment to end.

But unfortunately it had to. We were still in a war.

I lost my brother Fred in that war. I was so blinded by grief I wanted to kill every Death Eater around us. I wanted to make them suffer as they had made me suffer.

Hermione was there with me, holding me; comforting me as I sobbed at the sight of the bodies of so many we loved. I hadn't wanted to cry in front of her. But she didn't mind.

Then, hours later, we saw Harry's body in Hagrid's arms. I remember Hermione screaming his name with me, then I remember Hermione collapsing onto the floor, sobbing hysterically, and I went with her, holding her and stroking her hair and trying to calm her down a bit. I could scarcely believe Harry had died, yet there was his body, lying in Hagrid's arms like a limp rag doll.

But he had beaten Voldemort. He had. We'd witnessed it. It made no sense.

The second small war broke out and Hermione and I fought our hardest for our best friend the hero. Before we knew it, there was Harry again. Alive, well, and prepared to defeat his lifelong nemesis.

We had both known Harry was alive. In our hearts we'd known it. And when Voldemort went down for the last time, celebration rent the roof. Sunshine poured through the windows. At last, it was over.

Hermione and I reached Harry first. All of us were crying, hugging, and expressing relief that the others were safe. It was one of the happiest, most exhausting days of our lives.

We all slept afterward. Hermione and I shared a bed (I'm not afraid to admit it, it's not as if we did anything). I felt her with me, her hair, her skin, her heartbeat. We both slept quite a long time.

Now we've settled down.

I knew I would marry her, and I did. She became Hermione Weasley. I knew I would always be with her. I wouldn't have it any other way.

She gave birth to our daughter Rose sometime later, and with that our bond grew stronger. Our beautiful little Rose had my eyes and my hair. Hugo was born two years later, and he was born with red hair as well, but with his mother's eyes. Our son and our daughter. Our family.

My wife is the best mother in the world. She and I love our children more than anyone ever could love two people. And at the end of the day, when she and I are in bed, ready to sleep, I look her in the eyes, I touch her smooth skin, and I hold her in my arms. I tell my beautiful wife that I love her, since in marriage comes that freedom. I whisper that I love her over and over, that she is my everything. My breath, my life, and most importantly, my wife.