If Music Be the Food of Love….
A/N:Originally written for HP_Canon_Fest over on livejournal, for the recipient therethere55 – I mainly focused on her request for music inspired fic, though I think I managed to get in her prompts of "late night conversation" and "medical problem" as well. The style I adopted for this fic is a bit unusual for me – I'm usually more plot-driven, but I wanted to try to let the music take me where it would, and so this came out as sort of a "collage" style. It bounces around in time – the sections are not arranged chronologically – and hopefully, the feelings evoked in each section ripple and "riff" against the others as the songs on a mix tape do. If you'd like to listen to the "soundtrack" for this fic, from start to end the songs that match up with the sections are: The Beatles' "Penny Lane," Snow Patrol's "The Lightning Strike (part ii)," Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova's "Once" and "In These Arms" (both for the third section of the fic), Matt Pond, PA's "Halloween," and, finally, The Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun."
Disclaimer: They're JK's, not mine. Sigh.
"Music for Sleepy Sundays" – April, 2002
He wasn't entirely sure how it had escaped him for so long that she loved music.
I mean, I know I can be a bit thick…but I think I ought to have spotted something like that earlier on…
When he looked back on it though, he supposed his lack of familiarity with her musical tastes had a great deal to do with the nature of their school years with Harry. In between the seemingly endless piles of schoolwork, grueling exams, occasionally villainous (or at least, in the case of Umbridge, utterly wretched) professors, and the odd brush with death, there just hadn't been time for chitchat about whether she preferred the Weird Sisters to the Pixie Punks or, Merlin forbid, Celestina Warbeck.
And the way that they had circled around each other all throughout their friendship – always prodding and poking, testing (and sometimes crossing) limits, pushing and challenging each other, yet taking bloody ages to make the transition that they'd both so desperately wanted – well, that had made it difficult to figure out as well.
After all, it was hardly as though I could just sit myself down next to her and start talking about music and singers and all that without sounding like an idiot, now could I?
When they were younger, on the occasions he'd thought about it he'd felt a vague sort of fear that her tastes would run mainly to Muggle music. His lack of familiarity with it would have made it even more difficult for them to find common ground. Though if one had asked him about this when they were in school, he wouldn't have been able to express what precisely bothered him about the thought that they'd be musically incompatible. Looking back on it many years later, he finally recognized that it was really part of a larger fear of not being able to relate to her at all.
Plus, it hadn't helped one bit that her default location at Hogwarts had always, always, been the library; a place where you couldn't even have held a whispered conversation about music, let alone played any.
So actually, when one added all of these things up, Ron felt it was a bleeding miracle he'd figured it out now, at age twenty-two.
He loved watching her enjoy music. Sometimes he'd wander into the kitchen of their small, cozy flat and find her humming along with the wireless as she did the dishes. Other times, his own wavering baritone would join her in the shower in an exuberant, if out-of-tune, prelude to equally exuberant lovemaking.
But he really loved watching her listen to music when she didn't know he was looking. This afternoon was a perfect example. A sunny, lazy Sunday that had started with the two of them sleeping in and had continued with a late breakfast at their favorite café. The day had evolved into a time for them both to catch up on a few things for the coming work week so that they would be unencumbered by the time Sunday evening rolled around, free to enjoy the dwindling of the weekend together however they wished.
He was in the flat's second bedroom – the larger one, actually, and the one that they'd elected to turn into a combined office – when he heard it floating down the short hallway from the lounge. He smiled; Hermione was always doing this. The office was, in truth, primarily her domain. True, Ron did work in it when there was a particularly tricky bit of paperwork he'd brought home from the shop or case research from his soon to be completed Auror training. And sure, he had his Cannons posters hanging here and there on the walls, and a Quaffle paperweight sat on his side of the double-sided desk they shared. A few sheaves of parchment, covered liberally with untidily scrawled numbers, were spread haphazardly near where he was working, and a stack of magenta WWW ledgers were perched nearby. Another, smaller stack of brown folders, each containing notes on an active case, were tucked away in the bottom drawer of his side of the desk. Other than that, he had no influence here; the room was, undoubtedly and utterly, Hermione.
On her side, towering bookshelves were crammed with every volume they could possibly hold and a few more besides, and roll upon roll of parchment littered her side of the large double desk. Quills stood in a small, round jar and pot upon pot of ink marched in a neat line across the desk's surface, just waiting to be opened and used. A massive reference text took up one entire quarter of her desktop, and a series of parchments had been magically stuck to the walls with legislative proposals in various states of completion sketched across them. A cauldron on a stand was tucked in the corner near the door, flanked on its far side by a small cabinet containing basic Potions ingredients. Hermione used that more for brewing simple potions they needed around the flat than for anything else.
The curious thing was that for all this room was supposed to be her haven, more often than not when she was working on a major project, it couldn't seem to contain her. She inevitably gravitated down the hallway to their lounge where she would spread even more books across their low coffee table and hunker down in their soft, saggy couch with her most pressing piles of parchments, a real quill tucked behind her ear and a sugar quill within easy reach. A flick of her wand would start the old Muggle record player she'd once rescued from her parents' attic and charmed to work without electricity, and she'd quickly be lost in her own little world of research and music. Ron would often wander down the hallway a few hours later, his work done, and break her from her reverie with a kiss on the crown of her head. She would blink at him as if she couldn't quite focus on his features at first, before smiling at him and promising she'd put the work away in a few minutes so they could have dinner.
But once in a great while, he'd leave the office before his work was quite finished, and pad barefoot down the hall, coming to a stop just outside the lounge doorway. He would linger in the late afternoon shadows and gaze where the last of the day's sunlight splashed across her perch on the couch, illuminating her cloud-puff of hair in insane, tawny-brown swirls. She'd often have her eyes closed in thought and he would stand and watch her as she tapped the toes of her right foot contemplatively against her left arch, waiting for inspiration to strike.
The music she'd choose would vary frequently. Though from time to time she does get stuck and play the same bloody record all the bloody time. Today, as he moved down the hallway he recognized the scratchy melodies of one of her Dad's old records, rescued at the same time she'd salvaged the record player, though her father had been far less willing to part with the music than the machine.
Billowing horns and strumming guitars swelled, looping back upon themselves and bursting joyously across the room. He heard the now-familiar vocal about children, bankers, and the Queen just before the expected clang of the fire engine cut through the melody. Hermione was stretched full out on the couch, awash in a sea of parchment as expected, but her work appeared to have been forgotten for the time being. Though he didn't know how she could, what with the volume the player was blaring at, she'd fallen asleep right in the middle of her project. Her nose twitched slightly, and every few moments a whisper-soft, hiccup-like snore punctuated the music.
He smiled and leaned against the doorframe, watching and simply enjoying the moment. He turned and headed back to the office quietly, unable to bear the thought of waking her just yet.
He loved Sundays.
"Music for Strange Trips" – November, 1999
Ron settled down on the low stone wall with a heavy sigh. He squinted into the weak, early morning sun for a moment before lowering his gaze and staring down the sloping hillside towards the tiny town that included the little inn where he'd left Hermione sleeping about half an hour ago.
What am I doing here? What are we doing?
Snorting grimly, he thought it would be more appropriate to ask why they weren't doing much of anything, especially since Hermione'd dragged them up here – wherever here was – with such insistence.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and then raked one through his hair.
Turning to his right, he could see where the small river that skirted the town cut through the hills and was spanned by an ancient-looking stone bridge. A narrow road ran over the bridge, snaking its way along in front of the wall where Ron sat, and continuing on to the left and downwards, until it disappeared amongst the town's relentlessly cheerful buildings. Beyond the town he could see the sea crashing against the coast in the middle distance.
He glanced directly behind himself for brief moment, quickly taking in the crooked stone steps and the tidy white church with its banners flapping gently in the light morning breeze.
When he swung round to face the town again, he spied a small figure with unmistakable hair trudging up the road. He sighed again, looking down at his feet and kicking the heel of his trainer against the wall.
By the time he looked up again she was standing in front of him looking uncertain and holding two polystyrene cups. She offered him one, almost shyly.
"Tea?"
He nodded and took the cup, but still didn't say anything. He searched her face and was about to speak – despite not being sure what would come out of his mouth – but she beat him to it.
"Are you…you're not going to ditch me, are you?" she blurted.
He gaped at her in utter shock. "No! I thought…are you going to ditch me?"
"No!" She looked at him, a picture of misery with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and her eyes slightly puffy, though from sleep or tears he couldn't tell. She'd obviously dressed quickly before leaving the inn, as she'd thrown his shirt on with the skirt she'd been wearing the day before, and the then tossed her jacket over it all. But what cinched the very un-Hermione nature of the outfit was the trainers with no socks.
Ron looked at her feet for a moment, then her trembling legs, and by the time his eyes reached her face once again, he realized that she wasn't just cold, she was shaking with the effort of holding back her emotions.
"Hermione…oh love, come here," he put the cup she'd given him down on the wall next to him and patted the space on his other side. She moved to sit slowly, placing her own cup on the wall on her far side, followed by a jar of honey she'd had tucked in the crook of her arm that Ron hadn't noticed until that moment. She sat, spine straight and not leaning into him as she usually would.
Barmy girl.
He reached out and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her snug against his side, and, pressing a kiss to the curls that fluttered near her temple, he whispered, "Now, will you tell me why you brought us up here, and what's got you in such a state? This didn't just start the other day, love, you've been acting off for weeks."
And, as he'd thought she might, she burst into noisy, uncontrollable sobs. He simply pulled her closer, stroking one hand through her hair and down her back and resting the other on her knee. He murmured soothingly in her ear, and when her sobs finally receded into snuffly-sounding gasps, he reached into his back pocket and fished out his wand and a ticket stub that he quickly Transfigured into a handkerchief.
She accepted it quietly when he held it out to her. "Thank you…oh Ron…I wouldn't be surprised if you did want to ditch me after this."
"Hey, now. We've established that no one is ditching anyone. But you need to talk to me. I mean, where are we even?"
"Lamberton," she answered almost automatically, her voice slightly muffled as she dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. "East coast of Scotland, near the North Sea." She picked up her tea and poured a little of the honey into it before offering the jar to him. She took a small sip and continued to blot at her eyes. "I thought we could use some time together."
As he sweetened his own tea, his mind flew back over the last several months. It seemed as though they'd both been working round the clock for as far back as Ron could remember. They certainly hadn't seen as much of each other as he'd have liked since she'd finished school in June…and it was already November. Where the bloody hell did five months go?
When he had seen her lately, she'd often seemed as though she weren't quite herself somehow. She'd brushed it off as the stress of settling into her new job at the Ministry and moving into her new flat. Though he'd understood how she felt, being flat out himself, what with splitting his time between helping George and training part time with the Aurors, Ron wasn't so sure that that was all of it. He was reluctant to press her though, as he hadn't wanted to spoil what time they did have together.
So when her owl had arrived earlier in the week with a message asking if he could get George to give him a couple of days off and suggesting they take a long weekend away, he'd replied immediately saying that he was interested no matter what George said.
They'd not "gone away" anywhere, just the two of them, since they'd retrieved her parents from Australia the previous summer, and that trip had been entirely different in nature than what Ron had anticipated this weekend would be like. He'd imagined that this would be a proper, adult holiday. In other words, he'd thought that there would be snogging and shagging in some secluded vacation spot, punctuated by a bit of nourishment now and again, and perhaps a walk here or there.
But nothing thus far had turned out even remotely as he'd envisioned it. In fact, it was far more like the days in Australia after they'd found her parents' location but before they'd actually gotten the courage up to go to their house so Hermione could lift the Memory Charm.
Then, Hermione had been tense and agitated, and the more he'd tried to cheer her up with his usual nonsense, the more she'd withdrawn into herself. Last night had been much the same. She'd been in cheerful enough spirits when she'd met him at the shop and Side-Along Apparated him up to this place - Lamberton, he now knew – but her mood had deteriorated quickly into a jittery quietness. They'd eaten a nearly silent dinner; by then Ron was getting just as agitated as she was, and she'd gone upstairs immediately after and taken an extremely long bath alone while Ron sat in the inn's small pub and stewed over what could be wrong while nursing a pint of dark ale.
This morning he'd uncharacteristically woken far earlier than she had; the dawn sunlight had fallen in his eyes through curtains neither of them had thought to close the night before. After watching her sleep for a few moments, he'd decided he needed to take a walk and clear his head of the confusion that had been racing round his brain. He'd not thought to leave a note, his own mind had been so full of questions, but he saw now how that could have made her think he'd been in a strop. He wasn't, but he was still more than a bit perplexed.
"So. Lamberton. And we're here because you wanted to take a really odd vacation?"
She snuffled and laughed at the same time. It was a somewhat mournful sound that Ron found pulled at his heart nonetheless.
"No," she spoke quietly, gazing at the cup of tea cradled in her right hand; her left still clutched the transfigured handkerchief. "No. We were here to elope."
Ron was fairly sure his brain had now completely seized up, and his heart seemed to skip a few beats before trying to pound out of his chest. When his thoughts began to stutter into action once again, they came in a jumble more confused than anything that had gone through his mind last night or this morning. He'd never expected that that would be what she'd say when they finally talked about why they were here.
"Ron?"
He realized he'd been silent for quite awhile, and looked down into her upturned, worried face. It was seeing her expression that made something else she'd said finally register.
Were.
They were here to elope.
"Ron?" she said again, sounding even more worried.
"Erm…not are?"
"What?" Clearly, that was not the bit of her announcement she'd been expecting him to focus on first.
"We were here to elope, which, uh yeah…bit of a surprise, that…but now we're not here to elope, we're just here?"
She nodded, looking more miserable than ever.
"Hermione, can you clue me in a bit here? What brought all of this on?"
She sagged against his shoulder. "This past year…spending so much time apart was awful, Ron. I mean, I still think it was the right decision, but that didn't make me feel any less lonely during it."
He nodded against her temple. "I know, love, me too."
"But it helped me understand some things too…see certain things more clearly…I came back in June feeling like I finally understood what you've always been telling me."
He leaned back and quirked a quizzical eyebrow at her. "Oh? And what is that, exactly?"
She sighed. "That work isn't everything. Spending time with the ones you love is so much more important…and I didn't want to wait anymore…you know?"
And though she hadn't spelled everything out explicitly, Ron did know. And he could see a yearning in her eyes that he knew mirrored what was in his heart. "But why not tell me what you wanted to do? And all of that still doesn't explain what last night was all about."
"Well, we've hardly seen each other since the school year ended, and that was only frustrating me more. I'd thought that…well, finally we're together and we'd actually get to be together, but we've both been so busy…and I guess I kind of, well…snapped…I thought that these last few months we've been doing exactly the opposite of what we should be doing, and I just wanted to be with you…and I've been so overwhelmed trying to get settled into this new job…it was all of it taken together. I just…"
"Snapped."
"Yes." She smiled slightly. "Eloping seemed for a moment like the thing to do. I wanted to be able to see you whenever I wanted. I wanted our lives to just…start. So, I didn't let myself think too much about it…I just decided to make it happen. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to surprise you. I thought it'd be romantic."
"But?" he prompted. "You've not said anything about this until right now. Last night you were an agitated mess-"
"Hey!" She slapped his arm, though with only a faint approximation of her usual level of indignation, and he smiled.
"Well, you were, love. And now you're talking about all of this in the past tense…did you, well, obviously you changed your mind but….erm…"
Thankfully, she saved him from any further waffling. "I just…when we got here, I realized that as much as I want to just be with you…to just have this for us…this day isn't only about us. Our parents wouldn't be here, or your family and Harry, and it just didn't seem right not to have them be part of it, you know? But, of course, by that point we were here, and I didn't know how to tell you everything and so-"
"You went all mental on me."
"I, er, well." She looked thrown for a moment before laughing and nodding. "Yes, I guess I did." She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and he could feel her smile against his skin. Her voice was muffled again when she spoke next. "Can we pretend this weekend never happened?"
He rocked her gently with the arm that was still wrapped around her, and they sat silently for a brief moment. "No."
"What?" she said, jerking her head back to look him in the eyes.
"No. Hermione, mad though your methods might have been, I understand…I've been feeling the same way. This past year was…well, it was crap in so many ways. Yes, language, I know. And I also know that we were both doing what we needed to do, I get it…but I wanted…When you were done at school, I'd hoped we'd settle into a rhythm together, and it hasn't happened how I'd imagined."
He looked down at her seriously, though the barest hint of mischief was shining in his eyes. "And even though this weekend might have been a trifle…odd…it has gotten me here, alone with my girlfriend - finally - and in a place where no one will come looking for us…and we're here for two more days."
She blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
He waggled his eyebrows at her.
She laughed.
He tugged her shoulder and they fell backwards and lay together on the soft green hill that led upwards towards the tall white church. They tilted their heads together and looked up at the steeple and flags that continued to float on the breeze. Ron pulled Hermione tight into the circle of his arms and he sighed. "This can be our anniversary."
"But, we didn't-"
"I know…it can be something just for us…something private we always celebrate. It can be the anniversary of when we stopped letting the stupid stuff get in the way." He looked at her with a smile. "But I'll let you think of a better name for it than that. And we won't tell anyone…we'll just go away somewhere each year…come here, maybe? And it'll be time just for us…and, well, we'll get around to the regular wedding when we're both ready for it, yeah?"
"Yeah." She smiled back at him, eyes liquid, though thankfully this time with happiness.
And they curled up there together on the grass, staying still and silent, listening to the wind until the sun rose high in the sky and their tea went cold.
Music for Lonely Nights" – August, 2002
The silence in the narrow hallway of St. Mungo's was near absolute and it was driving Ron out of his mind. It felt like he'd been in the same hunched position for the last several hours, and his back protested when he finally sat up straight once again. The chair creaked ominously underneath him, breaking the quiet for a moment at least.
He ran the fingers of both hands through his hair and rested his elbows on his knees; leaning forward and cradling his head between his hands he willed the sensation of nausea to go away. His chest also felt like it burned and tightened every time he took a breath, which he could only assume was the physical result of trying not to lash out in a rage or break down into dry sobs.
The hand that landed on his shoulder wasn't entirely unexpected, but he hadn't thought they'd get here so soon. He'd hoped to be more in control by the time he had to tell them what had happened.
"Hello, Ron," came the kind but constricted voice of Paul Granger. "Can you…can you tell us what happened?" He sounded hesitant and strained, as though his need to know and his desire never to hear were locked in a struggle that was causing him physical pain. Ron looked up at where the older man stood, seeing Mrs. Granger a little ways behind her husband, peering through the glass pane in the nearby hospital door with a fretful air.
He'd not been sure that Harry would find a way to sneak them into the hospital, but he realized now that he never should have doubted his friend. He saw Harry at the far end of the corridor, standing with an air that most would think casual, but that Ron knew meant he was on alert. Harry was standing watch, making sure that Ron had a private moment to speak with Hermione's parents. Ron appreciated that, while at the same time wished that Harry could be with him here, as he really didn't want to have to say what he was about to say to her mum and dad. Nevertheless, he persevered.
"Um…yes, sir," he murmured slowly, before standing up.
I feel as though I'm swimming through smoke…can't focus…but I have to…
He took a deep breath, beginning before he could think about it all too much more. "I wasn't with her when it happened; Harry and I were on field duty today. I only got back a short while after…it…and all anyone could talk about was an accidental explosion on Hermione's level."
He heard himself describe what the Ministry's internal first-response Medi-team had told him: how the experimental potions lab, located next door to the Magical Creatures Welfare Division, had been testing several new substances that morning, and how two of them had apparently become extremely unstable when their vapors combined in the lab's brewing room.
He listened to himself tell Hermione's parents about the large explosion that had occurred; it had completely destroyed the wall between the potions lab and the bank of offices where his fiancée worked. He spoke of how there was next to nothing left of the wall despite it having been built to triple the usual standard of thickness and magically reinforced, precisely to prevent incidents like this. He heard himself explain that the blast must have been of extraordinary proportions, and that it really was due to the magical protections woven into the stone that despite the structural damage, things hadn't been even more catastrophic.
But it was as though he was removed from it all…he could hear himself talking, but somehow, it didn't feel like him saying the words. After all, what he was saying was impossible, wasn't it? No matter that he knew it to be true, some part of his brain simply refused to process the fact that Hermione was lying in the room beyond that door, unconscious, as a result of the events he was now relating to her increasingly concerned parents.
Unconscious…a coma, the Mediwizard had said…not sure if she'll come out of it…
He shook himself out of that train of thought, when he felt the soft touch of a hand on his forearm. He realized that he'd been babbling nervously on, and looked down into Jean Granger's soft brown eyes. Ron slowed to a stop and heaved a heavy sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go on like that…I just…"
"It's alright, Ron. We know exactly how you feel." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, her voice taking on a slight quaver, "We'd like to go in and see her now."
"Of course." He nodded. "Um, the Healers don't…um, they don't know if her condition will change any time soon." He hated how blunt that sounded, but he didn't know how else to say it. It was horrible news no matter what, and there was no way to make it sound better. Her parents looked shaken, but her father nodded slightly and held the door open for her mother. They disappeared inside Hermione's room and Ron slumped back down into the chair he'd been in when they'd arrived.
Ron didn't look up from where his hands were clenched against his knees, but he heard and felt someone drop down in the chair beside him. He knew instinctively that it was Harry. His friend didn't say anything, didn't try to make Ron feel better by offering up platitudes that would only ring hollow, for which Ron was grateful. Frankly, he thought that if he heard another person tell him not to worry or that they were sure things would take a turn for the better he was going to take a swing at them. But Harry was extremely worried about Hermione himself, and he knew Ron far too well to offer meaningless comfort, and so the pair simply sat there silently for what seemed like ages.
Hermione's parents finally reemerged, looking sadder than when they'd entered, but they too seemed to need silence. Her father simply shook Ron's hand and her mother hugged him quickly before Harry ushered them back out the way they had come with a promise to bring them back tomorrow.
Ron rubbed his hands over his face, feeling like it had been forever since he'd kissed Hermione goodbye that morning. He'd had to leave their flat especially early, as his and Harry's field assignment had required them to be on duty just after dawn. She'd clung to him in the semi-darkness of their bedroom, throwing her arm lazily around his shoulder and capturing him as he leaned over to claim her lips. He could still see the look on her face when he'd pulled back, the slow sleepiness in her eyes unable to mute the special shine they always seemed to have when they looked at him. It was a look that she reserved for him alone, and it was the look that Ron always carried at the back of his heart when he was going to be apart from her for a long time.
He held on to the memory of that look as he pushed open the door to her room and took in the sight of her still form and bandaged head, all of her looking so small against the stark white sheets. He held onto that memory as he sat by her bedside throughout the night listening to her magically aided breathing and she never moved. And he held onto it when the next day dawned and she stirred several times but did not wake.
He would hold on to that memory until he could see that look again. He would hold on as long as it took.
He wouldn't give up on her. Ever. It was that simple.
"Music for Big Steps" – Halloween, 2000
Bright lamplight speared its way into the black night air beyond the Burrow's back door as Ron left the house carrying two mugs of hot mulled cider. A warm, golden glow spilled out of the kitchen windows, illuminating swaths of the back garden almost to the spot where a large and roaring bonfire crackled in the darkness. He passed by the fire just as several large logs shifted position, sending up flurries of orange sparks. The laughing voices of his brothers came from the other side of the fire, and he thought he heard Bill call his name, but when he looked round, his brother was talking intently with their father while bouncing a sleepy-looking Victoire in his arms.
It was just as well that Bill didn't call again, as Ron was on a mission. He'd lost track of Hermione earlier in the evening when Ginny had pulled her away to show off the new bracelet Harry'd bought her as a present for her recent promotion to the Harpies' first string. The pair of them had then disappeared into the kitchen with Fleur to help his mum finish off the evening's cooking. He'd been with his brothers and Harry around the bonfire then, and he'd caught glimpses of Hermione occasionally through the kitchen window, her cheeks glowing pink and her eyes bright, but by the time he'd gone in search of her, she'd been gone.
So he'd ladled some cider into the mugs he was now carrying and set off to find her. Something he couldn't quite explain was pulling him towards the fathomless shadows at the far side of the back lawn. As he neared the back edge of the garden, and the light from the house and the bonfire fell away, he thought he could see the faint glow of a wand tip at the spot where he knew a spreading oak tree marked the divergence of the pond path from the backyard proper.
He ambled over to the tree, seeing Hermione's face more clearly in the pale light of her wand as he moved closer. She was looking away from him, gazing off towards the horizon where the moon hung low and fat and yellow. She seemed to be lost in thought, and he smiled to himself. That's nothing new. Sitting down carefully next to her so that he didn't spill the cider, he leaned his shoulder against hers and offered her one of the mugs.
"Sickle for your thoughts?"
She smiled at him, extinguishing her wand and taking the mug. "Oh, they're not worth that much-"
He snorted disbelievingly and smirked at her. She took his meaning without him saying a word and laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "No really they're not. I was just enjoying the night…waiting for you to find me."
"It is a good night, isn't it?"
"Mm…it's so lovely to have a Halloween that's just about celebrating."
He knew what she meant. During their school years, Halloween had almost always been a time for some frightening or exhausting adventure, and then they'd spent the first Halloween after the war apart with her back at school and him working with George. He'd snuck up to Hogwarts that year, just to see her for a bit, but it wasn't the same. Last year was better, but the shadow of what they'd lost was still hanging heavily over Ron's entire family. It was only this year, this third Halloween since they'd lost Fred, that George had suggested resurrecting the old family tradition of a Halloween bonfire party.
Their mother had agreed immediately, Ron remembered, and then hugged George so tightly he'd practically turned purple. Finally, things seem to be settling down…for all of us…
Ron's thoughts turned towards the path his life was on now. It was one he could only have dreamed of a few short years ago. He and Hermione were almost soppily happy together, though of course they still rowed from time to time, and had been doing a much better job of balancing their work commitments with spending time just for them ever since their non-elopement almost a year ago. In fact, they had plans to go back to Lamberton in a few weeks for their private anniversary.
He knew that Hermione was truly enjoying her work in the newly re-named Magical Creatures Welfare Division; the new focus and name of the department were largely down to her own hard work. And Ron himself was partway through his second year of Auror training, which was exhausting, but he'd rarely felt so rewarded by work in his life. He was still helping George at the shop part time, but they'd recently started to talk about Ron tapering off his work there. At first Ron had been reluctant, but George reassured him that he was ready to handle things on his own most of the time now.
Things were finally settling in for them, and a small part of Ron – the part that still couldn't believe this was his life sometimes – was nervous about stirring things up. But the larger part of him knew that this was the right moment.
"Hermione?"
"Hmm?" she murmured, sounding quite sleepy.
"Um, I've been doing a bit of thinking, and I was wondering…well, I think it's time for me to get my own flat. George says I can stay on over the shop, but I'm always leaving early or coming in late from my training and…they never say so, but I think it's a bit of a bother now that Angelina's there so much…I'm just thinking it might be time for me to have a place of my own."
He turned to look down at her, and found her gazing up at him with a slightly bemused expression. He wrapped his arm around her and continued, "So, I was wondering if you'd maybe like to look for a flat with me?"
She put one hand on his chest and wound her other arm around his waist, rubbing her fingers in small circles near his hip. "I'd be happy to help you, Ron."
"I'm glad." He took a deep breath and plunged onwards, "I'd like it to be a place you like…because I'm hoping you'll live there with me." Her fingers stilled, and he glanced down at her again. "I hate that one of us always has to go home at some point when we spend time together…will you move in with me, Hermione? Be home with me?"
Even though the only light was from the dim glow of the moon, he could see the sheen of moisture that had pooled in the corners of Hermione's eyes. But he only glimpsed it for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on the soft blanket Hermione must've spread beneath the tree when she'd sat down earlier. And as her lips found his with fervor and he cradled her in his arms, he knew he had his answer.
"Music for Bright Futures" – March, 2006
Ron rolled over with a grunt when a cool breeze tickled the small of his bare back. He stuck his hand out ahead of him and felt around for the duvet, hitching it up higher and searching next to him for Hermione's warm shape. When his hand only came into contact with an empty mattress, he blinked blearily, having difficulty adjusting his eyes to the bright late morning sunlight.
Where could she have gone? We usually lie in on Sunday mornings…
Curious as to his wife's whereabouts, Ron was suddenly less sleepy. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a faded t-shirt and tugged up his pajama bottoms before setting off in search of her. He wandered through the likely places in their small cottage, thinking she might be in their bathroom having one of the long, aromatic baths she favored, or perhaps in her study working on some project she just couldn't leave at the Ministry over the weekend, or possibly in the room across from theirs painting…though he'd told her he wanted to help with that, he wouldn't put it past her to start without him.
But she wasn't in any of those places, and it wasn't until he'd padded down the stairs and headed in the direction of the kitchen that he realized that was where she must be. He could hear the familiar crackle of one of her father's co-opted records as it spun around on the record player. This was an old favorite of Hermione's, and over time, had become one of Ron's as well. It was by those blokes named after bugs...he knew their real name, Hermione'd told him often enough, but he liked to pretend he didn't just to tease her. He was pretty sure she was onto him though.
As the guitars jangled and lilted in a rhythm that always made Ron think of leaves floating in the wind, he could hear Hermione clinking dishes about in the kitchen, and he crossed the threshold into the sunlit room. He stood silently for a moment, watching her as she washed dishes the Muggle way, still clad in her nightgown and the robe he'd given her on their first real anniversary. A delicious looking breakfast sat on the table under the glow of a warming charm, and the back door was open letting in the still cool spring breeze, which explained the draftiness in the house that had woken him.
He crossed the room and stepped up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She startled for a moment before relaxing against him, and he rested his hands gently on the swollen bump of her stomach.
Tilting his head down as she leaned hers to the side, he pressed another kiss to her cheek as the song crescendoed into its last verse. He rubbed her stomach gently and, moved by the song and the moment, joined the singer as he came to the end of the song. Hermione laughed lightly and sang along too, her voice slightly softer than Ron's. They swayed slowly together, Hermione's hands still sunk in the soapy water.
"…And I say, it's all right…it's all right…"
Ron thought, not for the first time, how very lucky he was.
~*Fin*~