A/N: Hi, peoples! This story is dedicated to Rufesthecat, because he/she/it—don't want to disclose my friend's identity on the Internet—requested it. I'm a die-hard Ron/Hermione shipper, but Ducky dear has fallen in love with this paring, and I think it'll be good to write a little out of my comfort zone. So, with no further interruption, here's the story!
Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and its characters go to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but this measly one-shot. ):
"Pass the cinnamon rolls, won't you, dear sister?" requested George Weasley, rather bitterly. Hermione Granger, across the table, shot him a quite fiery glare.
"I would prefer you not call me that," she responded mildly, not looking up from her meal. She really did not need this, especially not today. The Weasley family, along with the Grangers and their dear friend Harry Potter, was gathered around the long table in the Burrow's dining room, celebrating the engagement of their own Ron and Hermione with a nice brunch, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.
"Why? Does it bother you, sister dear?" George pushed, ignoring the "shut it" looks he was receiving from his mother and brothers.
"No," Hermione snapped, possibly a bit too harshly. "Why would it? A month from now, I'll officially be part of your family. You might as well get used to it." The truth was, though, that it did bother her. The thought of being only his sister felt utterly wrong, and her own words tasted untruthful on her tongue. I must be going mental, she thought.
"Fine then, sister. I'm still waiting on that cinnamon roll," he demanded.
"Of course, brother. Coming right up," she said, treating him to a mock smile, before promptly picking up a cinnamon roll from the basket in front of her and hurling it straight into George Weasley's face.
"Hermione!" gasped her mother, but George caught it before it hit him, chuckling dryly.
"Now, was that so hard?" he taunted.
"Now, George, that's quite enough," scolded, standing from her chair. The young man in question stood and opened his mouth as if to tell his mother off, but the fierce look in her narrowed eyes told him it was not the best idea. Setting his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest, he dropped back down onto his seat.
Silence blanketed the Burrow.
"So," Harry began, awkwardly, "What was that you were telling me and Ginny about earlier, Hermione? About incorporating both wizard and muggle traditions into your ceremony?"
"Oh, yes, Hermione, I would like to hear more about these muggle customs," Ginny agreed, putting a hand on her husband's. Harry and Ginny Potter had married as soon as Ginny came of age, not wanting to waste any more time without each other. Ever since, they seemed to always be able to read each other's minds.
"Right. For starters, an all-white dress would be nice…"
"Hermione, dear, can I talk to you for just a moment?" requested Ronald Weasely, pulling his fiancé away from the small group of family members she'd been making conversation with.
"Is there something wrong, dear?" Hermione asked, her voice shrill with worry.
He shook his head slightly, and his ginger hair bounced on his forehead. Hermione absently lifted a hand to brush it away. He caught it in his. "I should be asking you the same question," he said grimly, not meeting her gaze.
"What on Earth are you talking about, Ronald?" she questioned sharply, attempting to swallow the block forming in her throat. She knew exactly what he was talking about.
"I think you know. And I know we need to talk," he said shortly.
"Wha—I don't…" she stuttered, unable to come up with anything intelligent with which to try to console him.
"Tell me there's nothing between you and George," he whispered, finally meeting her eyes. He searched her face for the answer and found it blank and staring.
Her gaze fell to the floor, and a lonely tear appeared on her smooth cheek, confessing her guilt in a way that words could not manage. He wiped it away gently.
"How long?"
"We didn't…. We wouldn't do that to you. I love you," she assured him, her voice thick with the threat of more tears.
"I know you did," he replied, gently touching the back of his pale, freckled hand to her cheek, "but now, I'm not so sure. And it's not healthy for you to hold yourself so closely to old promises that you smother yourself with them. If this is not something you want, Hermione, please, just stop trying to convince yourself that it is."
Studying his face-a face that Hermione had watched shine with happiness, darken in anger and hopelessness, and soften with love-two realizations slapped her in the face. The first being that the baby-faced, awkward young boy she and Harry had met on the Hogwarts Express had finally grown up without her noticing. Could such a thing happen overnight? Or had she been so distracted and unhappy all this time that she had missed the progress of this phenomenon? The second, possibly more unsettling, was the fact that the eyes of this man, this mature adult, still conveyed the same affection and adoration as those of the young boy.
"But… What about you? What about what you want?" she pleaded, searching for something, a way to end this so they would both be happy. Even if Hermione's love for Ron had faded, there would always be a place in her heart for the ginger-haired boy for whom she'd fallen so deeply as a girl.
"I want for you to live a long, happy life with someone you love. If I can't give you that, then I'll let you go, so you can be with the person who can," Ron insisted. "I'll handle our families, if you'd like."
With those words and a tender kiss pressed to her forehead, Ronald Weasley left his former fiancé and the love of is life standing alone in his mother's garden. But somehow, he hadn't left her alone. He'd set her free.
She wasn't sure how long she stood frozen in that garden until the peaceful silence was interrupted.
"So I hear you're a free woman now, Miss Granger," a voice behind her quipped playfully. For the first time in years, there was no trace of the detached, cynical man he had become after his brother's tragic death. In this moment, George's words were filled with the laughter he and Fred used to share. When Hermione turned around to see him, the same miraculous display of emotion was evident in his clear hazel eyes.
Recovering from her emotional, speechless state, she cleared her throat. "News travels fast around here, doesn't it?" she responded teasingly.
"Yes, it does. Especially to those with magic third ears." He smiles, swinging what looks to be a detached human ear on a string. His feet take him an instinctive step closer to her, and her body responds by taking two steps toward him to close the space between them.
"You're impossible," she chuckles, chest heaving with quickened breathe.
And just like that, their lips are connected, and they are kissing each other like it is the most natural thing in the world. However, after a moment of bliss, Hermione has to break off with a hearty, good-natured chuckle that turns into an explosion of giggles.
His lips taste like cinnamon.
A/N: Yup. Sorry it took forever for this to be written, Ducky! You probably even forgot that you asked for this, but I remembered! So I thought I would finally finish it to show that I still love ya!