The Note
Author's Note: Originally published on November 5, 2017
The sound of crumpled parchment had become commonplace over the past few hours. In the tiny room at the top of The Burrow, a visibly frustrated Ron Weasley was struggling.
Perhaps to him, struggling would be an understatement. Failing miserably would be more like it.
Misshapen balls littered the floor, and the lamplight shone on the blank sheet in front of him. Sure, he could just reuse the same parchment, but he enjoyed the tactile feeling of rolling up his failures and disposing of them before starting anew.
It wasn't surprising to him that the words wouldn't come, he'd always had a hard time expressing himself—especially when it came to her.
Hermione.
He sighed, trying to put his jumbled thoughts into some kind of coherent order. Unfortunately, when it came to his relationship with Hermione, clarity was far from guaranteed. He started tapping the quill against the top of the small, cramped desk as a way to keep himself occupied as he lost himself in his mind and heart.
He had tried, over and over again, to sort out his feelings for his bushy-haired best friend. If there was one thing that being with Lavender had taught him, it was that his feelings for Hermione ran far deeper than he'd ever thought. Or rather, than he'd ever dared to acknowledge.
Was it just a crush? Something more than that? Was he in love with her?
The latter seemed the likeliest, but the most frightening by far. He just knew that when he woke up in the hospital wing on his birthday and saw Hermione there, worried about him, he was filled with such a feeling of contentment. Like he'd woke up from a nightmare and found that everything was alright.
He'd been miserable during their separation, their own egos and stupidity causing them to lose so much time. He'd have taken the poison willingly if he'd known it'd help repair their relationship a bit. He'd felt incomplete without her in his life.
Now, Dumbledore was dead. Now, they were on their own to solve this puzzle he'd left them. When he comforted her at the funeral, all he'd wanted to do was tell her something, anything to show how much she meant to him. But he knew it wasn't the time.
In the days that followed, he needed to distract himself from worrying about her as she returned home to get ready for their mission with Harry. He spent hours studying and reading the book that his brothers had given him, in the hope he could find some way to move his relationship with Hermione in a new direction. It was a balancing act, but something had to change.
As he continued staring down at the parchment, one thing had become certain. If he wanted to start up with Hermione, he needed to do something drastic.
He needed to say sorry.
It seemed like the only way he could try and clear things up between them. The book even said apologies should come from the heart. He truly wanted to.
He knew he'd behaved poorly last year. When Ginny had told him about Hermione's kiss with Krum, that had really stung. He knew he acted childishly out of his hurt and jealousy, but that was no excuse. Then when Hermione doubted him after the Quidditch match, it had shattered his already fragile confidence, and he'd lashed out to no one's benefit.
In the end, he'd hurt himself, and he'd hurt her. Hell, he'd hurt Lavender too, which wasn't fair. He just felt so low in that moment that he'd lost hope that Hermione felt anything but friendship for him.
If he could only go back.
If he'd only just taken a breath and considered her actions at the time, rather than something she did two years ago. She had, after all, invited him to Slughorn's party. She'd also attacked him with the birds and had acted incredibly spiteful towards him. She too had been hurt. In a way, that gave him the tiniest spark of hope.
He dropped his head into his hands, conflicted. If only he could somehow turn all of those thoughts into words. He started scratching out whatever came to mind, his apologies to her, and his insecurities about why he sometimes acted the way he did. How sometimes he never felt good enough. How she was one of the only people who ever believed in him, and he still managed to let her down. How he was trying to learn from his mistakes, but he knew he'd never be perfect.
He let out a deep breath when he was done, feeling relief from getting a load off his chest. He'd purposely not ventured into anything that might be construed as overtly romantic, but he tried to make it clear that this was the first step to both repairing their past conflicts, and opening the door to something else.
He decided not to re-read and analyze what he'd written. He'd done that enough over the past few hours.
"Sod it all."
Before he had any second thoughts, he quickly folded up the parchment and addressed an envelope to Hermione. Pig was let out, and the energetic owl shot out into the warm summer night, a bit off-balance from the weight of his cargo.
A minute later, as he stared out the window into the darkness, he felt his heart drop into his shoes.
"What did I just do?"
A crack rang out in the still garden of the Burrow, so Ron craned his neck and peered out at the silhouette that had appeared. The shape of the approaching person was unmistakable in the moonlight.
Bloody hell, did she get the letter already?
He raced down the stairs and threw open the garden door, jogging out into the night. He lit up his wand, and his stomach knotted at the sight of her. Her face was a mask of grief and tears. She suddenly ran towards him and crushed him in a huge hug, her wretched sobbing breaking his heart. He made out something about her parents, memories, and Australia, but he didn't understand.
All he knew was that, for once, he wasn't the cause of her misery and that she clearly hadn't received his letter yet. He half-carried her to the settee, hoping that no one else was awake, and held her as she cried and cried. Worry couldn't even describe how he was feeling. He just wanted to protect her from every last hurt.
When she finally calmed down and her breathing returned to normal, she told him the lengths she'd gone to in an effort to protect her parents. How afraid she was that they'd never remember her, even if they did manage to win the war.
"They're your parents. They'll understand, Hermione." He awkwardly rubbed her back, her body still shuddering with hiccups.
He tried his best to reassure her, hoping that his words and gestures would bring her some sense of comfort. As the night went on, they ended up talking about anything and everything, from the wedding planning antics at the Burrow, to their plans concerning Harry and the mission.
As dawn emerged and the pinkish-orange hues of morning began streaming though the windows, there was a sudden tapping against the glass. Hermione stood up and let in Pig, who dropped a letter into her hands.
Ron blanched, having forgotten what he'd done in haste and doubt hours earlier. He realized that since Hermione removed all traces of magic from her home and had come to the Burrow, Pig had no other option but to return with the note.
Hermione looked at the letter, immediately puzzled. She recognized the writing as Ron's.
"Ron, why is Pig delivering a letter from you to me at your house?"
Ron looked down, not wanting her to see his reddened cheeks. "Uh, I sent it just before you came. I guess he turned back when he couldn't find you."
"Oh. Well, should I read it?"
He scratched the back of his neck. He hadn't expected her to read it in front of him. What had he even written?
"If you want to."
She gave him an odd look and opened the note. Her eyes widened, not expecting such a long letter from him. She sat down on the settee facing him and began reading it.
Ron was watching her carefully as her eyes quickly scanned through his messy script. He was surprised to see the expressions on her face, ranging from surprise to agreement to even, in his eyes, tenderness. As she neared the end, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was she… crying? Merlin, what had he done now? She'd cried enough for one evening.
He hesitantly stood up, but she waved him off, apparently needing to collect her thoughts before addressing him. He gingerly sat back down, perched on the edge of the cushions, and watched as she wiped away her tears and sniffled a few times, before looking up.
"I can't believe you did this, Ron."
He still had no clue which direction this was going in. One thing the book had taught him was to be more direct. "Uh, is that a good or bad thing?"
"It's good. Really good."
He let out a deep breath, patiently waiting for her to go on—not wanting to rush or interrupt her. Another handy tip from the book.
"Thank you for this. I really needed it today." Her voice was soft but sure, her eyes still glistening from her tears.
"No problem." He tried to be nonchalant.
"I'm sorry, too."
"What? Why?"
"I was horrid towards you last year. I had no right to attack you with birds and to ignore you for so many months. I was so petty and insulting, and I'm not proud of it. I wasn't a very good friend. But when I almost lost you…"
"We both… made some mistakes last year. I made one colossal one. It's one of the reasons I wrote that letter. I felt like there were too many things that we didn't sort out."
"I appreciate the gesture, Ron. I like knowing that things are good... really good between us. That we can move forward."
Ron could see the blush on her cheeks as she said that, and his heart leapt. He knew, somehow, that they'd just taken the next tiny step to something more. To his surprise and delight, judging by the smile on her face, she seemed to be as excited about that as he was.
He watched as she painstakingly re-folded the note, handling it like it was a precious object, and placed it gently back in the envelope with her name on it.
Hermione's mood was as foul as the weather outside the depressing tent. The freezing winter rain had dampened her spirits, and the howling, bitter winds were laughing and mocking her. She'd yet to get used to the dull throb of heartbreak she'd endured for weeks, maybe months, and was quickly losing confidence. Harry was outside keeping watch, alert from some nearby rustling—not that she wanted to deal with him at the moment.
Seeking comfort, her hand dug deep into the beaded bag and pulled out the familiar tattered envelope, worn from the amount of times she'd needed to stare at it. She turned it over and extracted the note before unfolding it.
She couldn't help herself, it was one of the only things she had that could warm her up, and even restore her hope. Just recently, she'd said his name aloud for the first time since he'd left. She felt like his hastily written words were the last thing holding their connection together.
If he wasn't dead.
She promised herself she wouldn't cry again, but the tears came unbidden. She'd memorized the note, but still, she had the urge to read the apologies again, like that would make his leaving alright.
There was a passage in his letter she went back to repeatedly. She just wished she could believe the words now.
Sometimes I can't help it. I always feel like whatever I do won't be good enough. I believe the worst about myself, because I can't really see otherwise. When I get angry or frustrated, I seem to do the worst possible thing, especially when it comes to you. I hope you can believe me when I say I don't mean it.
How she wanted to believe him. She wished he was there to hold her and make her feel safe. His words kept that spark alive in her heart.
With the letter placed safely back in her beaded bag, she settled down to sleep, wrapped in her blanket and his. Silently, she made her nightly wish before falling into a fitful slumber.
Please come back to me, Ron.
She didn't know that in a few short hours, it would come true.
He cornered her at the last possible minute, right as they were about to depart The Burrow for King's Cross. They'd been quiet all morning, each dreading the moment of their separation. As she went to retrieve her trunk, he'd slipped into his sister's room where she was staying.
"Ron?"
He strode forward, eyes blazing, and pulled her into a deep, breathless snog. He poured every ounce of feeling he could into it, and Hermione replied in kind. As they broke apart, both panting, he slipped an envelope into her robe pocket.
"Here… I wrote you another note. Don't open it until you're on the train. Promise?"
She nodded as they shared this final moment alone.
"I'm going to miss you, Ron."
His melancholy grin said it all. "We'll see each other in Hogsmeade next month, yeah?"
"It's a date."
He turned to leave, but stopped for a second, before turning back to her.
"Bloody hell, I'm going to miss you."
She was suddenly in his arms again, both of them in tears as they clung to each other. Another storm for them to weather, but this time, together.
Their parting on the platform was bittersweet, but they both knew the separation was temporary. Perhaps the last time anything would be temporary between them. As the gleaming red engine puffed away and his tall frame faded from view, she sat down and pulled out the new letter.
Lovingly, she traced a finger over his familiar scrawl, before opening the envelope and pulling out the small piece of parchment.
This letter was considerably shorter than the last one, only containing five words. She read it and beamed, holding it to her chest, as if she could project her feelings to him. As if she was hugging him. This was just the last bump on a road full of them, but the pavement beyond looked smooth, as far as she could see.
She read the note and smiled again.
I love you, Hermione Granger.