A/N: I got the idea for this fic whilst listening to Photograph by Ed Sheeran and I strongly advise you to listen to it if you have not already done so. It made me think of R/Hr from the first time I heard it and I just thought it was quite fitting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Ob-vi-ously.

She's sitting on the windowledge, curled up with a book. Eyes wide in anticipation and bushy hair framing her face, He reckons she's never looked more beautiful. It's these moments. These wonderfully simple moments, that makes him realise just how much he loves her.

She's perfect in every definition of the word and he wants nothing more than to stay with her for all of eternity. Never leave her side, never leave her sight. He loves her so much that it hurts when he has to leave for Auror missions, because the separation is hard on both of them.

Sometimes, he hates his job.

"Hermione." he says her name solemnly, a fact that immediately drives her attention away from the book she's reading and onto his form, standing rigid in the doorway.

He looks at her like he's trying to commit all of her features to memory and that's when she knows.

With great trepidation she asks, "How long?"

He pauses before answering, "A month."

A sharp intake of breath as she slides off of the window seat, "When?"

"Tonight."

She takes another deep breath, trying to maintain her composure and asks the question, "Why?" She already knows what his answer will be.

"Classified."

She hates his job sometimes.

She's just stood there, looking heartbroken, but he knows she's trying to hold it in. Trying to make it easier on the both of them. She manages a weak smile before her facade crumbles and the first tears leak from her eyes.

He crosses the room in two long strides and pulls her into a bone crushing hug. He's rocking her back and forwards and muttering comforts into her ear when he remembers.

"I got you something."

She pulls her face from his chest and stares up at him with those beautiful brown doe eyes.

"Here," he says gently, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket and pressing it into her palm.

She looks down at the photograph in her hand and at first her expression is one of confusion. Then realisation hits her and she's crying again.

Ron feels his heart break just that little bit more as he holds her shaking frame tighter against his chest.

It's a photograph of Ron. Not just any photograph. The Photograph. The one she had taken with a muggle polaroid camera in the day's following the battle.

She smiles sadly as she looks down at it, nostalgia returning as she remembers the circumstances in which it took place.

It was the date of their second kiss. She had found Ron hiding from the rest of his family in his dad's shed, silent tears running tracks down his face. She had sat beside him for comfort when she felt the overwhelming feeling of his lips against hers. At first she had been too surprised to react, but when she regained control of her senses she kissed him back.

They had found the camera shortly after that and Ron had surprised her by snapping a picture of her when she wasn't aware. She paid him back in kind by doing the same thing. They had laughed about it for ages afterwards, but somehow the photographs had come to hold some sentimental value.

In hers, Ron was laughing. His head thrown back at a slight angle, mouth open in a toothy grin, and, if she looked hard enough, she could tell that the tips of his ears were burning a light pink.

She loves it, for it captures him at his most genuine, and is just so essentially Ron. It makes her heart ache when she remembers it's only been a few days since he left.

Blinking back tears, she carefully fits the photo back into it's place in her pocket and sets off for work.

It's been a week and he misses her more than anything. He has the photograph, tucked safely inside his auror robes, but he can't wait to return home and see her in person.

It's the thought of her that gets him through the day. When they're facing a potentially dangerous situation, it's the thought of her that stiffens his resolve to get it done and get back to her.

He can't afford to make any mistakes. It would destroy her if something happens to him, and he's not willing to put her through more pain than their separation already has.

But he's weaker without her. Not physically, his job requires him to be in the best condition physically. But mentally. He has more nightmares when she's away, and when he wakes up, she's not there to comfort him.

Often, he wants to give up. There are times when he wonders why he's an auror at all. The hours are terrible, the unexpected missions are terrible, the constant threat of danger is terrible. His job is terrible.

But then he remembers that he does it for her. For his family and friends. For everyone that died during the war. For Fred and Remus and Tonks and Colin and countless others. For the children that him and Hermione hope to raise someday.

And he keeps going.

Two weeks.

Two weeks have passed since he left. She feels so alone, but at the same time she becomes more optimistic. They're halfway there. Ron will be home again in two weeks.

The thought fills her with renewed enthusiasm and vigour. She counts down the days on her calendar, and each day she gains a little more spring in her step.

She still misses him. Of course she does. But she can see the end, and that makes it all the more bearable.

There are still times when she gets home and buries herself in her work to distract herself from his absence. There are still times where she wakes up in the middle of the night with no one there to comfort her. There are still times where she falls asleep with his photograph clutched in her hands, tears drying on her face.

But there won't be soon. And the very thought of his return is enough to keep her in high spirits most of the time.

Two weeks.

He gazes at her photograph in the moments before he goes to sleep, and the moments immediately following his wake.

She has a look of deep contemplation on her face, studying spare parts of what looks like a remote control car. Her wild hair is tucked behind her ears, a loose strand escaping and hanging across her face. There's amusement hiding within the small upturned corners of her mouth and her eyes shine with the look she gets when she's learning in class. Enthusiasm and determination, he supposes. She's beautiful, especially in this photo.

Some of the other aurors on the case mock him for always staring at her picture, but he couldn't give a rat's arse. He loves her and he doesn't care who knows it.

He'd stare at her forever if he could.

But he can't because his team need him more than Hermione does at this moment. They're on a big raid, with an unknown risk assessment.

Putting her picture away, he whips out his wand and counts to three in his head before leading his team through the door of the dilapidated house.

This case wasn't going as well as Hermione would've liked. She was nervous and kept messing up her dates. It was her first major case, the case that could make her career and get her the promotion to magical law that she was after.

"Minister, may I call an interval?" she asks, after having called her defendant Robert instead of Peter for the 3rd time.

"Miss Granger has called interval, I expect everyone back within 5 minutes," Kingsley announces to the court as a whole.

Hermione makes her way past the opposition's stand and down the corridor to the toilets. She's stressed, she's messing up the case, and now she's having a panic attack.

She misses Ron. Terribly so. He's been away for three weeks and it's really taken it's toll on her. He's usually her support during times like these. The one to stop her stressing and tell her she'll do fine. But he's not here and she is not doing fine, not by a long shot.

She pulls out Ron's photograph and holds it against her heart as she takes slow, deep breaths. She can almost hear Ron's voice in her head 'Calm down, you're okay', and 'Deep breaths, Hermione, you're gonna be fine'.

When her breathing returns to normal she returns to the court with her head held high, not feeling so alone anymore.

She wins the case.

There's a stabbing pain in his leg. Ron looks down to see blood pouring out of the wound and curses. He ducks behind a large bit of debris and lifts up his trouser leg to survey the damage.

He's relieved to see that it's not as bad as he first feared. There's a deep gash running from his knee to his calf, it looks as if it's been cut with a knife.

There's an explosion behind him and Ron whips around to see his second in command, Bawtry, dive towards him for cover. Bawtry makes it just clear of the blast zone and scrambles to crouch beside him whilst Ron casts a protego charm around the both of them.

"Weasley, what happened to your leg?" Bawtry asks, concerned.

"Dunno," Ron breathes, "Rawley hit me with something," he says through gritted teeth.

"You know how to treat that?"

"No."

"Can you walk?"

Ron tries to stand and falls back down again. With a jolt, he realises he can't feel the lower half of his leg.

"Shit."

There's another explosion behind them, and they feel the force of it even through the protective shield.

It's too dangerous. They can't stay here, they'll be blown apart. Ron looks down at his leg, the numbness having spread halfway up his thigh, and then up at Bawtry. He makes the decision.

"Leave!" he barks, "Get out, quickly, before the whole bloody building collapses!"

He's not going to get back to her after all.

She should be enjoying herself. She knows she should. They're out celebrating her recent promotion to The Department of Magical Law, and she should be having a good time enjoying herself with everyone else. But she can't. Not when the only person she wants to spend her success with hasn't been home in almost a month.

"He gets back tomorrow, Hermione," says Harry softly from beside her.

"I know," she admits, "I just miss him. This is the longest he's ever been gone." she confesses.

Harry passes her a glass of Firewhiskey and she raises her eyebrows at him. Harry shrugs and replaces it with a tankard of Butterbeer.

"Thank you," she says, and then, "How do you stand it when Ginny's touring, Harry?" almost desperately, craving an answer.

Harry looks at his friend's desperate expression and sighs, "I just remember that it's what she wants to do. She likes playing for the Harpies, and she's successful with it. It's my job to support her with that, no matter how hard it gets sometimes."

Hermione nods, "I know that, I guess. It's just... Don't you ever worry that she'll get hurt?"

"Of course I do. But I trust her enough to know she'll come back to me."

Hermione gives a small frown, "I trust Ron," she says defensively.

"Well, I reckon being an Auror's a different business right? More danger than being on a Quidditch pitch." he backtracks quickly. Hermione's eyes widen and Harry realises he's just made her anxiety worsen.

"Ron will be fine Hermione. He comes home tomorrow, okay? He'll come back."

Hermione just hopes he's right.

Bawtry stares at him. The gash on Ron's leg has turned black, confirming his earlier suspicions of dark magic.

"I'm not leaving you," he says firmly.

"Yes you bloody well are!" Ron practically growls.

Bawtry says nothing, just reaches his hand inside of Ron's robes. Ron frowns, confused, before he pulls out a piece of paper and holds it in front of Ron's face.

Hermione.

Ron's breath catches in his throat as he stares at the picture of the woman he loves. He feels the tears in his eyes as he takes in her modest beauty, her effortless elegance. He can't leave her.

He clamps his eyes shut tight and reaches out for the photo. Bawtry lets him take it. He brings her closer to his face and his mind is made up.

He has to get back to her.

Sighing, he grabs Bawtry's offered hand and uses the support to pull himself up. The pain is like daggers in his leg, making his mind go blank for a few seconds. Bawtry allows him a few moments to compose himself before lifting Ron's arm around his shoulders.

"Ready?" the younger wizard asks.

Ron grips Hermione's photo in his other hand, along with his wand. He grits his teeth.

"As I'll ever be."

Her alarm wakes her up at 7:00 and she can barely breathe throughout the whole morning due to excitement and anxiety.

Because Ron's coming home.

In four hours he'll get off of the train and travel to their house by floo powder. Four hours.

Hermione sings whilst she showers that morning, feeling more elated than she has done in a long while. All her work forgotten, she spends her morning watching TV and re-reading passages of her favourite books. She's too overwhelmed to concentrate properly, so she gives up and gets dressed ready to meet Ron on the platform.

He doesn't know she'll be there, of course. But she hasn't seen him in a month, why waste any time, even a few minutes, in waiting at home?

She dresses casually, in her light blue Weasley jumper and comfy jeans. Her sweater, though some may call it tacky, was one of the items she held most dear. It was the christmas after the war, and the first time she had received one after enviously eyeing Harry and Ron's at previous years. It was the first time she felt like a proper member of the family and the jumper still holds that sentimental value. Especially since she has the feeling that Ron's going to propose any day now.

It's 10:00 and she can't control her excitement any longer. She takes the floo to Diagon Alley and catches the subway to King's Cross to kill time. She arrives at the platform at 10:40 and starts anxiously searching through the crowd, just in case.

Twenty minutes pass and she's practically bursting. Any second now the train will roll in and she'll see him. Ron.

She's missed his hair and his smile and the way his eyes sparkle and his lips and... him. She still has the photo in her pocket and now she clings on to it desperately, as if pulling Ron towards her.

Hermione takes the photo out of her pocket and studies it, as if she's saying goodbye. In a way, she supposes she kind of is. The photo of Ron had been her comfort these last few weeks, it gave her strength when she was weak, made it felt like Ron was there with her, like she wasn't alone. She had needed something to hang on to, something to relate to, something to comfort her. The photo did just that.

But soon, she won't need it.

Soon, Ron will be home.

Ron can't stop the grin that appears on his face when the train finally arrives back at the station. He hasn't seen Hermione in a full month and there's nothing he wants to do more than get home and snog her senseless.

The carriage doors open and Bawtry helps Ron to his feet, passing him the crutches he's required to use for the next week due to his leg. The damage done had been quite bad, but not permanent or irreversible. The curse used had indeed been dark magic, a homemade spell that only succeeded in replicating an effect like that of being splinched as well as paralysing the victim. Once the initial pain had worn off and the feeling returned to his leg, he was deemed healthy enough to be let out of the makeshift infirmary, on the condition that he used the crutches.

"Thanks, mate." Ron says and both of them know that the apology goes deeper than simply helping him stand.

Bawtry shrugs, "Just get back to that girl of yours, alright?" he says, gesturing to the window.

Ron looked in the direction he was pointing and sure enough, there was Hermione. Beautiful as ever in her casual work clothes, bushy hair prominent against the crowds of people, she was waiting anxiously on the platform.

Ron's grin widens as he limps out of the train compartment and down to Hermione. He sees her head snap up as she recognises him and he sees the immediate worry that consumes her face at the sight of him on crutches. He sees her eyes widen as she walks over to him as if in a trance. For the first time in a month, he sees her.

And then she's running at him and before he can put one foot in front of another, she's in his arms and he's kissing her, not caring about his leg or his crutches, or anything really.

Because he's home.