Lovely
A/N: These snippets not in chronological order. Many are not all that original. Most are nothing more than pieces of unfinished stories that have been wasting away on my computer for months. All take place during the summer after the final battle.
It's when you cry just a little but you laugh in the middle that you've made it.
And don't it feel alright. And don't it feel so nice.
Lovely.
-Jason Mraz, "Tonight, Not Again"
They were lying on the grass behind the Burrow on a warm summer morning when she confessed that being with him was different than she imagined it would be.
"Oh," was all he said in response, but she could tell by the tone of his voice and the way his hand stiffened within her own that he had misunderstood.
"It's better," she continued, turning to face him just in time to see his eyes light up and his mouth curve into a familiar grin.
"Oh," he repeated, and she could tell by tone of his voice and the way his lips pressed against her own that he had understood her perfectly.
The evening before Fred's funeral, Hermione agreed to let Apolline Delacour cut her hair. She had protested at first, claiming there were many more important things to be done, but Fleur and her mother had insisted. Hermione consented, finally, unable to deny that over the past year her hair had grown from inconvenient to downright unmanageable, with far too much length and width, permanent tangles, and singed ends.
She felt rather silly as the French women flitted around her in the Burrow's kitchen, using a combination of spells, potions, and what looked like ordinary Muggle scissors to tame the mess she called a head of hair. She felt even more ridiculous when, shockingly pleased with the end result, she let out an embarrassing squeak so loud that Ron came barreling in from the sitting room to make sure she was all right.
"Hermione!" he called as he threw open the door, and she flinched almost violently, unable to stop herself from picturing another miserable night during which he screamed her name in fear for her well-being.
That unpleasant thought was gone as soon as it occurred, however, for the moment he saw her, he froze. Any other words he may have intended to say were lost. He stared at her from his spot by the door, and she flushed under his gaze.
"Sorry, I thought-" he said, finally, and she cut him off with an "I know."
The other women must have left the room when she wasn't paying attention, for suddenly she and Ron were alone, and he was smiling wider than he had in a long time and saying "you look great," without any hesitation.
And she thought, fleetingly, as he crossed the room to meet her, that if a haircut could put a smile so wide on the face of a young man who had lost so much, maybe it wasn't so frivolous after all.
It wasn't until Harry asked her what happened to the two of them in Australia that she realized it wasn't just her imagination; they really were different on the other side of that trip. She didn't tell Harry this, of course. She told Harry that he had obviously just forgotten everything about them in the week or so they were away, and quite frankly she was offended by how easily Ginny had distracted him from his oldest and closest friends. He laughed, and she smiled in response.
She hesitantly told Ron about the conversation later.
"Do you feel different?" he asked, after a moment of contemplation.
"Yes and no," she admitted.
He nodded. "Me too."
If asked, she would have had to say that she had no idea how it happened. She never thought she was the kind of girl that was easily swept away by romance or desire, yet still she found herself pressed against the outside wall of The Burrow's back porch, sure that if Ron removed his lips from her lips or his hand from her waist she would cease to exist.
Then the back door opened with a loud crack, and in his haste to avoid being caught Ron jumped backward so fast that his foot caught on a wayward board and he fell to the ground. Hermione winced at the sound of his backside meeting the unforgiving wooden floor, until that sound was overpowered by another strange and wonderful noise- something she had not heard in weeks.
George Weasley was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the back garden, and he was laughing.
Hermione watched as George reached a hand out and helped Ron to his feet, still chortling loudly at his brother's misfortune.
"Bloody hell, George, I thought you were Mum," Ron said, his face as red as Hermione's felt.
"You're lucky I'm not. If she had caught you, your arse would be bruised from more than just a fall." As Ron chuckled sheepishly, George turned toward Hermione. "I'm disappointed, Miss Granger. I thought you were smarter than this. Honestly, snogging Ron in broad daylight, where anyone could see you! Have you no shame?"
Hermione didn't respond, struck speechless by a combination of embarrassment at being caught and relief at hearing George joke again.
"We were heading out. Going to meet people over at the Leaky," Ron said, absently rubbing his rear end.
"And on the way, you got lost and wound up with your tongue down Hermione's throat?"
"Something like that," Ron mumbled, fixing her with an infuriating grin.
"Do you want to join us?" Hermione asked George. "It's just going to be a few D.A. members. I'm sure everyone would be glad to see you."
George stared at her for a moment without speaking, and Hermione feared he was going to say no.
"Only if Ronnie's buying," he said finally.
"No chance," declared Ron, as the trio started off down the path to the apparition point.
"Hmmm then I think I'll pass. I should go talk to Mum anyway... she is not going to believe what I found on her back porch."
"All right, you win! First round's on me!" Hermione hung back a few paces, watching the brothers walk side by side. Ron slung a long arm around George's shoulder and glanced back at her, his smile conveying gratitude, contrition, a bit of desire and a great deal more hope than she'd seen in a long time.
Each step they took together felt more weighty than the last, as if they were heading toward something much more important and intangible than a pint at a pub.
When they first arrived at The Burrow after the end, she made every effort to give him his space. She could not begin imagine how he must have felt, and she promised herself she would not make things worse for him by pressuring him about where their relationship may or may not be going.
After breakfast on the second day of what would become the longest summer of her life, she retreated back to Ginny's room alone. Ginny had convinced Harry to go flying with her, and she assumed Ron would be close behind, to fly as well as to chaperone. She certainly did not expect him to show up outside Ginny's bedroom door with a box full of books.
"They're yours," he said, shifting his weight awkwardly and staring at his shoes. "You left them while we were packing last summer, and I put them under my bed for safekeeping. Figured they'd be safe there, with the ghoul and all. I'm sorry if they smell."
"Thank you," she replied, wrinkling her nose, as he placed the box next to her camp bed. She waited for him to leave now that his errand was completed, but instead he continued to hover in the space between her and Ginny's bed.
"You weren't reading," he said suddenly, finally removing his eyes from the floor. She held back tears as she caught sight of his face, paler and thinner than she had ever seen it, with tell-tale bags under his bright blue eyes. "Last night, and the night before. You sat in the sitting room with us and you weren't reading. I thought maybe you didn't want to read the books in that bag of yours, and maybe you didn't know that your others were still here too."
She trembled as he finished speaking, shrugged, and headed toward the door. She tried to think of something to say- anything to keep him in the room with her. She needn't have bothered. He stopped just before he exited the room and spoke toward the open doorway.
"I know it's mad," he whispered so softly she had to hold her breath to hear him, "because everything is so wrong now... but seeing you without a book is the weirdest thing of all."
That night, she curled up on the sofa in The Burrow's sitting room, Hogwarts, A History on her lap, and she swore she almost saw Ron smile.
"It's not true," he said suddenly from her right. "What Ginny said. It's not true."
She turned her head to look at him, his face glowing red even in the fading light.
"What Ginny said?" she repeated, trying in vain to remember what could have been said earlier that evening that was important enough for Ron to bring up now.
"Yeah," Ron replied, staring out toward the setting sun. "She said that it took me years to figure out that I... that I fancied you. I just wanted you to know that it's not true."
"Oh," she answered, because she didn't know what else to say.
"I knew," he continued, turning to face her finally. "I just didn't think it mattered. Figured it would be just like everything else, you know?" He stared down at his lap again, and she frantically tried to decipher his words.
"I don't understand," she admitted, her heart racing in anticipation of his explanation.
"I used to think you were like... a Firebolt, or a decent set of dress robes. I'd watch someone else get you, and wish I could be that lucky, and then settle for a bird who was nice enough to put up with me. I never thought I'd have a chance, with... well, with other people around." He looked up at her then, and in his eyes she saw the words other people turn into names like Viktor and Harry. She blinked, not wanting to see anymore.
"What changed your mind?" she whispered, taking advantage of his honesty.
"I realized it was completely different. When I wanted a new broom, I wanted to make myself happy. When I wanted to be with you, I wanted to make you happy. I figured if I could do that, maybe I did have a chance after all." He shrugged self-consciously before looking up at her, searching for some indication that he hadn't said the wrong thing.
She kissed him in response.
She supposed it must have looked strange, but even now that she and Ron were an item they still instinctively sat on either side of Harry when the three of them were together. She used to think it was because they felt the need to protect him from the outside world, but she was beginning to believe it was more due to a desire to keep him in theirs.
"Would you do anything differently?" Harry asked suddenly. She shifted slightly in her seat and from the way the old porch swing rocked, she guessed Ron had done the same on Harry's other side.
"No," she said, at the exact same moment Ron said "yes."
Harry laughed out loud.
"I'd only change one thing," Ron promised. "I'd have asked you to The Yule Ball." As he spoke he snaked his left arm behind Harry's back, until his fingers came to rest on the back of Hermione's bare neck.
"I'm flattered, but I would have said no. You're not really my type," Harry said from between them.
"Oi, I wasn't talking to you. And how am I not your type? Everyone knows you have a thing for redheads." Hermione shivered at his touch and chuckled at his words.
"A thing? I date one redheaded girl, and I have a thing?"
"I don't want to know anything about your thing. And my sister better not know anything about it either," Ron added.
"Of everything we've been through, that's the one thing you'd change?" Hermione asked, ignoring the ridiculous turn in conversation.
"Well, yeah. All the really bad things happened for a reason. What came of me refusing to acknowledge my feelings for you when I had the chance?" Hermione could not help but smile; she still wasn't used to him talking so freely about things he had once guarded so fiercely.
"Years of awkward and uncomfortable situations," Harry answered, effectively ruining the moment. Ron must have given him an exasperated look, for he soon continued. "Oh, you meant for you." He pretended to think for a moment, before repeating "years of awkward and uncomfortable situations?"
As the three friends laughed out loud together, Hermione knew her earlier answer had indeed been correct; if all the terrible situations they had been through led them to this very moment, she really wouldn't change a thing.