Ron rarely owned anything all his own. He was too used to hand-me-downs from his older brothers. He hated them; resented them. He'd treat them roughly until they broke or tore hoping for an excuse to get something brand new. When he did get something entirely of his own, he'd adore it for weeks on end always fiddling with it constantly. It was the apple of his eye, his pride and joy.
The shine and luster would fade, and it would not entrance him as it once was...
She couldn't blame Ron. She had an equal part to play in their short-lived romance. Lust was not love. Attraction was not affection. She hoped they could someday recover and regain the platonic closeness they once share
Hermione snuggled deeper into Ginny's embrace. The redhead murmured sleepily before spooning behind her…
Ginny never owned anything all her own. She was used to accepting all the second-hand goods from her older brothers. She loved them; adored them. She'd trace her hands over every scuff mark and sign of wear only mending what truly needed to be fixed. New was sterile and hollow. She wanted something with a past and life of its own something that was just a bit greater than herself.
Ginny kissed Hermione atop her head; Hermione never minded being a hand-me-down.