Author's Note: It's time for the first round of the 5th (that's right, the 5th!) season of the QLFC!
Round 1: Not My OTP
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Captain
NOTP written for Keeper: Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 2,933 excluding Author's Note
The Distance to Love
Hermione slid her finger gently under the gummed edge of the envelope, her heart beating with excitement.
Today was the day she would find out whether she'd been accepted into the exclusive Tri-Mastery program located in little-known research institute in the Swiss Alps.
"I got in! I GOT IN!" Hermione practically levitated as she read the letter with shaking hands.
Though she was clad in wrinkled tracksuit bottoms and one of Ron's oversized t-shirts, Hermione couldn't help but bound to the kitchen with the letter in hand. When she ducked through the doorway, Harry jumped and dropped his bishop, which made Ron snicker behind his hand.
"Well, well," Ron said, arching an eyebrow at Hermione's obvious excitement, "You look as though you've won the goblin lottery."
"I got in!" Hermione said breathlessly. "The exclusive...three year...program!"
"Blimey! That's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, stepping away from the table to catch her in his arms and twirl her around in the tiny kitchen. A half-played game of Wizarding Chess lay neglected behind him; the pieces sitting on the edge and kicking their marble feet impatiently.
There had been gossip about the three of them living together at Grimmauld Place while they decided what to do next, but it just seemed right after all they'd endured. Besides, Hermione didn't need her own flat now. The program would pay for her room and board for the three years it would take to complete her Mastery in three chosen subjects.
"I think I've settled on Transfiguration and Arithmancy. I just have to pick a third." Hermione looked down at the list of Mastery fields and frowned at them as though this would help her make up her mind.
"There isn't, by chance, Quidditch Mastery, is there?" Harry asked, and Hermione playfully swatted him on the shoulder.
"Do I have to remind you which one of us can barely get on a broom without turning green?" Hermione retorted.
"True, true," Harry replied, backing off with his hands raised in surrender as Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione from behind and gently rested his chin on top of her head. Harry seemed to take this as a sign that the two of them needed to be alone and scurried up the stairs after muttering something about needing to see a woodsman about a log.
"Ugh." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "He thinks he's so clever, but really-"
"I'm going to miss you, Hermione," Ron said in a soft voice.
"We could still make it work, right?" Hermione could hear the hope in her voice and winced at how young she sounded.
"You know that's a recipe for disaster, love," Ron replied. "I'd probably survive. However, I know you, Hermione. You'll try to be the perfect girlfriend and it will affect your studies. I don't want you to resent me because of that."
Hermione felt as though her heart was constricting in her chest. She didn't want to break up with Ron when they'd just cemented their relationship after dancing around the subject for so long, but she also knew that he was right.
"See? I told you that I could be the adult one from time to time," Ron said as she buried her face into his chest and sobbed. "Don't tell George, though. I hear he has a bet going, and there's nothing I'd like better than to keep him from winning the pot."
This, more than anything before, upset Hermione even more. When the tears finally subsided, she drew back and chuckled sadly at the giant wet spot on Ron's sweater. "I mess everything up, don't I?"
"How about this?" Ron ventured, "Let's spend the rest of the summer together, have some adventures, and part ways as friends in the autumn. That way there are no promises or tearful break-ups. Then, we can still write to each other and see each other during the holidays."
"I...I'll have to think about it…." Hermione sniffed, but she already knew what her answer would be.
Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. "Now, then, let's start having some of that fun while we still have the time, yeah?"
Hermione let a tiny smile pull up the corners of her lips as she followed him to his room.
Breaking up was harder than it sounded when it actually came down to doing it. Hermione had stolen far too many kisses from Ron before activating her Portkey to feel as though they'd truly gone back to just being friends, but she had made her decision to study abroad and there was no turning back.
"Don't turn into a mini-Snape!" Ron had exclaimed cheekily as she pressed her finger against the switch on the broken toaster and spun away.
Ron's parting words did hold some weight. For her third Mastery, Hermione had decided upon Potions due to the fact that she'd saved her friends countless times on the run using potions she'd brewed during the breaks and weekends in her sixth year.
Hermione had stuck her tongue out at him, but Ron was gone. She was standing at the top of a grassy hill, looking down at a hidden valley nestled high in the mountains. Near a crystal clear lake there stood what appeared to be a stone monastery. Tiny multicolored fluffballs hovered in the air singing the welcoming song as witches and wizards holding various bits of junk popped into existence around her.
Hermione's first month in the Arithmancy program was uneventful save for a serious bout of homesickness. Hermione hadn't really realized just how much she valued the company of her two closest friends until they were separated. She'd made a few acquaintances, of course, but it was hard to truly make friends the way she had at Hogwarts. It also didn't help that she'd gone from being a high performing student in a school full of average students to a high performing student in a school full of other high performing students. Overachievement, which Hermione viewed as a personal strength, was no longer special.
When she was feeling utterly despondent after a long week, Hermione always looked forward to her weekly letter from Ron. One of the decidedly positive aspects of going to school as an adult was having her own personal quarters, so she could roll around on her bed and breathe the scent of parchment and freshly mown grass that permeated the letters he sent to her without embarrassment.
Ron connected her to the world she'd left behind, filling her in on all the drama, humor, and chaos that being a Weasley entailed. Perhaps it was the distance, or the fact that they were sending letters instead of speaking face to face, but they rarely seemed to row anymore. There were a few debates that they'd had from time to time, but they were more like friendly sparring matches and less like the thoughtless rants that had cut her so deeply when they were in school. Ron would never be a scholar, but he was witty and hilarious. Hermione felt her heart ache with the thought that he might be seeing someone else, but she was too afraid to ask him and he never mentioned it.
A few of the students had asked her out on dates, but she'd declined, citing her heavy workload. She didn't have the time to be seeing someone, she reasoned.
It most certainly was not because she was pining away for Ronald Bilius Weasley.
When Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place for Christmas Eve, Ron was the first to meet her.
"Sorry, 'Mione, but you have to pay the tax," he said gleefully, pointing up at the mistletoe above them.
Hermione was more than happy to oblige.
Ron led her through the house, which had been filled with cheery decorations and a few funny gag items playing the perfect host despite the fact that Harry was the one who actually owned the house. Hermione couldn't remember laughing so much in a long, long time, and when Ron gently pulled her by the hand up to his room as they had all those months ago, she followed him without reservation.
Once the summer break arrived, Hermione moved back to Grimmauld Place and it was as though she'd never left. They spent each night together, and Hermione had almost forgotten the raw ache of separation from the year before when the weather finally began to grow cooler and she received her Portkey by owl.
Hermione's second year of Mastery studies were in Transfiguration. Due to the number of steps required to expertly transfigure one thing into another, she found herself with her nose buried in a book so often that she was surprised she hadn't squashed it flat when snapping the pages closed at the end of her endless study sessions.
Her letters must have given away her state of mind, because one day, she unexpectedly received a rather lumpy package by owl.
"Hmm," Hermione said, turning the mirror over and looking at the accompanying note, which was unsigned. "A magic mirror? But they're absurdly expensive!"
Shrugging, she spoke the incantation. "Audire et loqui."
Immediately, Ron's face swam into view. He was snoring, his cheek smashed up against the glass.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, causing him to start and let out a yelp of surprise.
Suddenly, he began to laugh, and Hermione soon followed. For some reason, though the image was as clear as though they were separated by a thin layer of glass, their voices were hilariously high-pitched.
"Leave it to George to give me some 'discounted' magic mirrors he found down Knockturn Alley," Ron squeaked, sending Hermione into another bout of laughter. "Oh well, it's good to see you again, Hermione. I miss this."
Even though his squeaky voice was distracting, Hermione's breath hitched when he pressed his fingers against the glass. She returned the gesture, wishing he was there. Later, she searched relentlessly through the library until she figured out a way to reset the charms in the mirror that controlled voice modulation. She instructed Ron on how to do it on his end. He had to stop a few times though, because he was laughing so hard at the sound of her squeaky voice he was practically in tears. They still wrote letters after that, but their magic mirror "calls" became a special part of Hermione's bedtime routine.
That Christmas Eve, Ron did not have to kiss Hermione under the pretense of mistletoe. They remained nearly glued together for the entire break.
That summer, Hermione decided to get a jump start on her potions coursework, which prompted a few arguments with Ron. He rightly pointed out that there would be plenty of time in her third year to become as much of a greasy git as Snape ever was.
"Professor Snape, Ron," Hermione said, out of long practiced habit.
"You can call him what you like," Ron replied with a sniff. "My point stands. You don't need to do all of this work when you're already going to be doing it once September comes round."
Hermione had stomped off after that, but he was right. In truth, she'd been using her schoolwork as a distraction from the real problem at hand. The problem was that she didn't know what she and Ron were. They weren't exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, but they basically shared a bed. They joked and chatted like old friends, but they also bickered and finished each other's sentences like an old married couple.
Hermione didn't know what to do.
By the end of her third year, Hermione was ready to pull out her hair in frustration. Her classes required brews to be meticulously made, regardless of any potential improvements. Hermione, who normally enjoyed rigid coursework, found herself stifled after her relative freedom in Arithmancy and Transfiguration. Her chats with Ron grew few and far between. At Christmas, Hermione spent most of the evening crying in her bedroom after Ron had showed Gabrielle Delacour around Grimmauld Place instead. When Ron had tried to explain himself, she'd angrily pushed him away and returned to campus a week early.
Their Friday letter writing habit continued, though they were mostly brisk and to-the-point.
Hermione despaired. She knew that she'd acted badly, but it felt like she'd already dug herself in so deeply that there was no way out. Things started out well when she tried calling him on the magic mirror, but then he mentioned something offhandedly about a female customer at work, and they both ended the call in a huff.
With the eve of her graduation fast approaching, Hermione wrote out invitations to everyone she knew. Her parents were still in Australia without any memory of their daughter, so Hermione asked if Molly and Arthur would do the honour of coming instead. All of her friends responded positively, and planned to take a Portkey as a group.
Hermione hadn't heard from Ron, though, and when she asked George, she received a vague reply. Hermione's heart sank. Perhaps Ron had finally moved on after all they'd been through. Finally, after wallowing thoroughly, Hermione decided to buck up and make the best of it.
As she stepped onto the stage to receive her diplomas, Hermione hardly heard a word that was said as she looked out for a pair of familiar blue eyes in a sea of faces. Then, after the graduates had been released to their families, she found herself surrounded by celebratory Weasleys. A picnic lunch was set out on the shore of the crystal-clear lake, and everyone milled around building sandwiches and making merry.
Hermione slipped away, her heart heavy with Ron's absence.
"Hermione!" George caught up with her as she trudged back to her dorm. "I forgot to give this to you."
He handed something to her- it looked like an old glass doorknob. As Hermione touched it, the air went fuzzy around her and she only had time to see George waving impishly before she found herself in a simply furnished room.
"A fine time to be sent off to the arse end of nowhere!" she fumed, sitting down on the comforter of the nearby bed. He'd obviously handed her a Portkey as a prank and now she was-
"Hermione?"
She turned to see Ron boggling at her.
"What are you doing here?" They asked in unison.
"You first," Hermione said sheepishly.
"Funny thing. George gave me this medal, you see, and-"
"Cheeky bastard," Hermione muttered.
"What?" Ron looked confused.
"George. Playing at devilish matchmaker." Hermione said, leaning back on the bed.
Ron shook his head and chuckled softly. "I should have known."
"Ron, I wasn't being fair to you. I should have been more understanding that you'd want to move on. After all, you did say you didn't want us to have a relationship while I was at school...and…" Hermione trailed off, hating the jealousy in her voice.
"Hermione…" Ron was looking at her sadly, and Hermione just knew that what she'd said was true.
"So, who is she?" Hermione asked, trying to sound businesslike.
"Who is who?" Ron stared back, uncomprehending.
"Your girlfriend. The lucky lady." Hermione tried to keep her voice even, but it fell flat instead.
"Well, she-" Ron started.
"I just want you to know that whatever happens, I'll do my best to be happy for you," Hermione said, wiping her face on her sleeve as tears began to fill her eyes in earnest, "Oh. Silly me. I...I'm being terribly silly…"
"Hermione." Ron was beside her in an instant.
"I'm sure...she...is everything you ever dreamed of," Hermione blubbered, her carefully constructed control falling to pieces.
"Yes," Ron said, his expression softening, "she is."
Hermione knew it was wrong, but she buried her face in his chest and sobbed just like she had all those years before, when he'd told her that they couldn't be together while she was working on her schooling.
"I graduated," Hermione hiccuped.
"So you did," Ron replied, patting her on the back.
"I wanted you to be there, I really did," Hermione sniffed. "Even if you were only there as a friend."
"Hermione," Ron said softly, "I was there. You were brilliant walking across that stage."
"What? Bu...but….G...George said you weren't able to make it!" Hermione stammered.
Ron scoffed. "It's George, remember? The only reason I wasn't able to be there with Mum and Dad is because I had to go and make a few preparations, first."
He handed her a tissue, which she used to wipe her face and compose herself a bit.
"Hermione, let's get a few things straight," Ron started, holding both of her hands tightly. "First of all, I didn't want to break up with you. Not three years ago. Not now. Not ever. But being apart from you for so long had made me realise something."
"Yes?" Hermione could barely utter the word.
"I realised that I love you more now than I could have ever imagined three years ago," Ron continued. "I know it sounds sappy, especially coming from me, but I had to say it. Hermione, even though we have our rough spots, you've always been willing to work through them with me, even when we're both being more than a little pig-headed."
"What I'm trying to say is that I don't want to be your boyfriend," Ron continued, and Hermione's stomach lurched with uncertainty as he pulled a simple gold band from his pocket. "Hermione Granger, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"