"It started with heartbreak. Then followed torture."
"BILL! BILL! COME QUICK!" The door to shell cottage bursts open, and out runs Bill Weasley, his red ponytail flying behind him. I watch the ginger color streak through the air, illuminated by starlight. When the eldest Weasley reaches us, he swears loudly and yells out the name of his wife. Ten seconds later, there is a slam of the screen door as Fleur runs out after her husband, her eyes more serious then I would have thought possible. As the two gaze down at my body, I decide to close my own eyes, as the effort of keeping them open is absolutely too much.
"What happened?" Fleur whispers.
"Bellatrix Lestrange." Ron says. His voice is rough around the edges, as if he's trying too hard not to cry. Luckily, his hold around me is soft, gentle. The way he touches me works like a pain killer, slowly making me warmer and less shaken up. Unfortunately, it's not nearly enough. I'm shivering in his arms, half from fear, half from chill, and I keep picturing Bellatrix appearing above me, demanding I tell her where the sword is. Her dangerous eyes glint down at me, her mouth twists into a sinister smile, and her wand slowly raises.
Unable to help it, I utter a little scream and begin to shake more violently in Ron's arms. He drops to his knees with me still in his arms and frantically says my name over and over again. I've never heard his voice like this. I don't like it. I do like it. I don't like how frightened, desperate and hysterical he sounds. I do like that the fright, desperation, and hysteria is all for me. At this thought, I almost stop shaking. But suddenly, the thought of Bellatrixs' whispers in my ear, the ones where she told me all the things she'd do to hurt Ron next... they come back to me. I let out another terrified, high pitched scream that finally breaks Ron's resolve not to cry in front of Bill and Fleur. He lays me on the grass and bends over me, stroking my hair away from my face as I thrash on the ground. For a long time, Bill and Fleur just stand there. As my eyes are closed, I don't know what they're doing, but I have a feeling they're staring at the two of us, wondering when we grew up so much. I wonder that, too. I'm in the middle of pondering it when Ron breaks our long silence.
"We have to do something!" His voice is so firm, so controlling, it causes Bill and Fleur to jump right into action.
"Maybe I should carry her, Ron?" Bill says as Ron starts to lift me up again. Ron's reply is in a harsh tone, full of so much anger it's almost as though Bellatrix is asking for another go at me.
"No. Absolutely not. I'm not letting her go."
Pausing only to wipe a tear away from the corner of my eye, Ron lifts me back into his arms. He carries me up the staircase, careful not to crash my head against the wall of the narrow stairway. I know for a fact that this causes him several painful bumps, but he doesn't say anything, and it only proves to me further that he has grown from a skinny, self conscious boy to a strong, brave man that will spend his life taking care of whoever he wants to be taking care of. Whoever that lucky girl may be. Whether it is me, or Lavender Brown, or... me.
"Put 'er on zee bed, please." Fleur says in her calmest voice. Ron obliges. I'm shivering so much, the bed starts to shake along with me. In another context, this whole scene would be awkward and nerve wracking. But now, I'm in too much pain to think about the implications of the first time Ron ever lies me down on a bed. Instead, I waste my energy listening to the talk as Fleur tells Ron to pile blankets on me. I hear noise after noise as blanket after blanket is gently thrown over me, placed with such love and care there is no doubt as to who was assigned the job. And suddenly, there it is. The smell. Ron's smell. The smell of Ron's blanket. I let out a whimper, and one of my hands flies up to find it. Fortunately, it's on top. Unfortunately, I can't quite get it. Silently, a pair of big hands cover my small ones, and I let them fall limp as Ron takes the blanket from the top and hands it to me. My sigh of relief is audible as I ball it up, hug it, and press it against my nose. Stupid girl, I think to myself. Helplessly sniffing a blanket. Stupid, worthless girl. But I'm only helpless because this is a time of weakness, I defend. I don't do this on an every day basis.
Soon, Ron turns my face towards his, and starts carefully wiping off the blood with a cool cloth. It seems that we've come full circle from the start of our journey when I was wiping blood from his arm. We sit there for a long time, and I pretend to sleep, try to make my breathing slow and even. Apparently, I don't do a good job, because Ron whispers,
"Why were you so desperate to get to that blanket in particular?" I don't want to tell him, so I remain silent, trying to keep up my charade. "I don't understand. God, what an understatement. There are so many things about you I don't understand, Hermione. I wish you made sense." I have the sudden urge to let him know that the feeling is mutual, but it is squelched by the desire to hear the other things Ron has to say to me.
"I think you really are sleeping," he whispers, laughing softly. "You've never been good at faking sleep, you know. I can always tell. I thought you were faking... but obviously you would have made some snappy comment by now if you could hear me." A snappy comment like... I love you? Would that work, Ron?
"Jesus, Hermione. I don't know when I have ever been so scared," Ron says in time, sounding once again like the frightened little boy that I've known much longer than the brave man. "I wish... I wish I never had to hear you scream. I think it's literally going to haunt me forever. I think I'm going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night some nights because I've been having a nightmare about you being tortured. God, I don't care if I have to avada kedavra someone next time. If anyone else is ever given the opportunity to hurt you, I swear I'll do anything to stop it. I'd rather it be me... and I'm sure it wouldn't have the same effect on you as it does me, anyways." He laughs bitterly while I become confused by this statement. Ron, however, clarifies.
"It wouldn't have the same effect because you obviously don't feel about me the way I do about you. I mean... why would you? What do I have that you would...? No, merlin, I have to stop this. You'll never love me like I lo-" "Ron?" Fleur says, slowly opening the door. "Harry's about to bury Dobby." "Could... could he wait?" Ron asks. "Hermione will want to be there. On second thought, maybe it'll be better if she isn't. I won't be able to bear the look on her-" "Ron." I murmur sleepily, because it's the only thing I can think of to say, and because I really do want to be at the burial.
"I'll get her dressed," Fleur says. And she does just that, letting me borrow her nightgown, brushing my hair out, and finishing the washing of my blood-covered body. Finally, she asks me if I want to take a blanket out with me. I nod my yes, and painfully pounce on the brown-red one that I'd had in a ball. Fleur does not question my enthusiasm, but helps me wrap it securely around my body. I think that it is perfect until Ron puts his arm around me as I join the group around Dobby's grave. That's when I realize the blanket's one and only flaw: While it's warm, soft, and smells like Ron, it isn't the real Ron. And real Ron is always better.
The little boy starts to cry again, and I shift him back and forth in my arms in a calming motion that I usually find effective. This one is no different. His cries quiet nearly immediately, and I smirk, knowing now how simple this is. My memory flashes back to the first time we had Rose, when Ron was so nervous he could barely hold her without shaking. What with all the reading I'd done on motherhood, I was the calm one, and Ron was the one going crazy. It had been opposite during the actual pregnancy. I'd wake up many times a night flipping out over the tiniest little details, and Ron would point out calmly that the baby wasn't born yet. He didn't even freak out when I went into labor. Just sort of took charge, got me to St. Mungo's, and got Rose the hell out of me. Once he saw her... that was when the fear began. Ron's hands have always been big, and to put something so tiny and innocent in them border lined, in his opinion, on homicidal.
"I can't find the blanket," Ron says suddenly, his head peaking through the door frame. "Do you-?"
"Yes, Ron. It is neatly folded on the coffee table, where I told you it would be before we left for the hospital." I tell him tiredly.
"Right. Sorry! I just... erm... heat of the moment and everything." Ron says, before quickly backing out of the room. I think he can tell I'm too tired to play nice. In the mean time, I look down at the boy in front of me, bouncing him subtly up and down in my arms.
"He's always been clueless," I sigh to the baby, and I think I see a bit of a smile light up on his face. "Every day of his life. I used to think when we finally got together, it would have gone away, but it really didn't. Maybe that's why I love him, though."
The baby stares unblinkingly up at me, and I love how full yet innocent his eyes are. I feel like the eyes are the part of a person that go through the most changes in a lifetime. Eyes are really the only part of your body that naturally betrays how you are feeling. You can rearrange facial expressions, but eyes rarely lie.
"Okay, so after the heartbreak, and the torture, there was our reconciliation," I tell the boy quietly. "That's where I used the blanket next."
I'm tired. Every bone in my body aches, and all I can think about is sleeping for three hundred years. It's hard to believe that this war is finally over. I keep on worrying that, at any second, a death eater is going to run into the castle again seeking revenge, or we're going to figure out that we forgot to destroy one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Just the word makes me shiver with anger and fear, and whenever I think it I find myself trying to move closer to someone or something that is human and warm and not Voldemort. Unfortunately, right now, I am nowhere near another living soul, and while the portraits are very nice, it isn't the same. That said, I start walking faster on my way to the Gryffindor tower in hopes that one of my old dorm mates will be there and want to give me a hug, then totally and completely leave me alone. That's what I need. A hug, then sleep. And as long as it's not Lavender Brown, anyone can give me that hug. Really. Anyone.
Oh, but of course. I have to be mature about these things. Ron dated Lavender, yes. That doesn't mean I have to hate her, does it? It's been a year- goodness, a year?- since it all happened, and shouldn't one forgive and forget? Still, I think it would be easier to forgive if I could forget, and, unfortunately, the image of those entwined together like eels is still branded into my mind. I wonder how I could possibly forget it when it made me so angry, so frustrated. So unhappy. I wonder if I'll still be jealous of those two in five years, ten years, twenty years- if I'll even be with Ron at that time in my life. Who knows. Maybe Ron will decide he doesn't want to date me. Or maybe we'll try it and find that we don't work. It could happen. It could happen to anyone. And there are plenty of reasons why we really shouldn't work out, why we shouldn't pull through.
It's funny. This morning, when I woke up, I wasn't thinking to myself 'maybe this will be the day I have my first kiss with Ron Weasley'. No, I was thinking, 'oh my god, I'm about to walk into Diagon Alley as Bellatrix Lestrange. This is so weird!'
What's weirder? The fact that I kissed Ron only a few hours ago, or the fact that, before that, I was Bellatrix Lestrange? Definitely the kissing thing. I'd sort of started to think that I was going to die before knowing what Ron's lips tasted like. Fortunately, now I know. Unfortunately, that might be the one and only time I ever snog him. I know that a conversation is inevitable. And I know that I'm about to be either rejected or... well, lets not think about the good part. I don't want to get my hopes up. The thing is, before now, Ron and I had nothing pushing us to talk about any feelings we might have for each other. Now, however, we have the memory of that kiss urging us on. And, my god, if Ron and I don't have that conversation soon, I'm going to explode. It might hurt me to know how he really feels, but won't it feel amazing if he actually wants me the way I want him?
Yeah. That's likely. He'll probably say, 'Thanks, but no thanks. Didn't you see me with Lavender?Come now, Hermione. Wouldn't I have gone out with you instead of her if I'd been interested?' I sigh to myself as I reach the portrait and say,
"Can I come in?"
The Fat Lady, looking very drunk, mind you, beams at me. "Of course you can! Vi and I are quite proud of you, m'dear. We remember all the times you hung around to talk to us during your prefect duty, and we both agree that there's no one more deserving of eternal glory." I blush.
"I didn't do anything. It was all Harry." I tell her seriously.
"Hog wash. Oh, and we heard about that kiss!"
Redder yet, I nod and say,
"Okay, open now, please!"
The Fat Lady urges to comply. I head quickly into the common room that is so familiar, soaking in the image of the tower that has barely been damaged. There's a broken window, and some of the couches are ripped, but other then that it's just as good as new. I know for a fact that the Ravenclaw common room got completely trashed, but the Hufflepuff and Slytherin ones are totally fine. I'm grateful Gryffindor is in the middle of both those figures. It means we definitely made our contribution, but the damages aren't unrepairable. Feeling happy about this, I walk to the girls' dorm at a leisurely pace, trying to savor what this room looks like completely empty. Ron is downstairs with his family. Harry went to bed long ago. It's just me, standing here, looking at the scarlet and gold that I am infinitely proud of. Finally, I head up the stairs and turn the knob of the door that leads to the room I've always slept in. There it is. My bed. It seems as though Lavender and Parvati have been using it to store their extra clothes and make up, so I place their things on their beds before climbing into my own. Other than the latter thing, it hasn't been touched since the last time I left it. Clean, perfectly made, and comfortable. It smells of the perfume Ginny helped Ron pick out for me in fifth year. Because of her, I actually like the scent. When I told Ron it was interesting, it was because I was so surprised he would be able to pick out something so good. It figures Ginny was the one to do it, really.
Before going to bed, I lay the blanket down on it, Ron's blanket, and curl up with it. Miraculously enough, it still smells like him. And then- long at last- I'm sleeping. The sleep washes over me, and I'm so tired I don't even have any dreams. I'm lying in bed, comfortable and warm, when I hear my name being hissed. I bolt up in bed, my expression wild. The whisper is low in both octave and volume, and since I know no boy students can get up here, my mind immediately jumps to a death eater coming to kill me for being a third of the golden trio. Fortunately, the sight of red hair immediately stops me from pulling out my wand to curse someone's fingers off.
"Ron?" I say stupidly. He nods, looking guilty. Only now am I aware of the piercing whistle that is spilling through the air, and how out of breath Ron seems. "What did you do?" "I needed to talk to you." he tells me simply, and I swallow.
"Elaborate, please. How did you manage to get up here?" "Well, after I set the alarm off, very stupidly, I realized I'd need another way to get up here. So I stole someone's broom and flew up. The wailing will stop in a bit, I guess." I nod numbly.
"Anyway... I really need to talk to you."
"Oh. Okay. What's up?" Now he begins to look nervous. He glances around the girls' dorm first, and I want to point out the fact that it looks exactly the same as the boys', bar a few more feminine changes my dorm mates have added over the years. And also the girly smell that changes every week depending on what perfume Lavender wants to charm the room to smell like. She says each scent marks her mood and where she is in her life, but I don't see it. What I do see is a major waste on money on several nice perfumes when she could have just gotten one she really liked and bought more... make up, or whatever.
"Is there anything- er- you need to talk to me about?" Ron asks, sitting on my bed and staring into my eyes. They narrow immediately. He's trying to get me to bring up the kiss. Well, I'm not going to do that. I was the one stupid enough to kiss him, now he has to be the one stupid enough to start a conversation about it. End of story.
"No, not really, Ron," I say nonchalantly. "Anything you need to discuss with me?" "No!" Ron says hurriedly. "I mean... well... I just thought... are you sure?" "Oh, yes, quite sure," I tell him, smiling calmly. "Are
"No," Ron says, looking more confused then ever. "I need to talk to you about the..." His eyes go from mine down to my lips, and I automatically wet them, knowing that they must be dry and cracked from all the heat of random fires that erupted during the battle.
"The... the.." I clear my throat, and Ron seems to come to his senses. "Kiss." "Right," I say. "The kiss." We sit there awkwardly for a few solid minutes, neither of us knowing what to say. I'm inwardly urging Ron to fight through the weirdness and get the conversation over with, because I know deep inside that he lacks the confidence to do so. Luckily, Ron always tends to surprise me. And he does that now.
"Hermione, I've... I've wanted to do that for a really, really long time." I believe my reaction could be titled as 'stunned euphoria'. I stare at Ron with a blank expression, and he begins to panic at my lack of response. "Say something?" he pleads.
"Of course," I say, shaking my head. "Right. Er- how long?" Ron doesn't look like this question relieves him much. Instead, he looks more uncomfortable then ever.
"Since fourth year." he says to my duvet.
"Figures," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Viktor Krum makes you want to snog me." Ron glares guiltily at the same spot, refusing to meet my eyes. "Well, I'm disappointed by that number." "Er- why?" Ron asks.
Figuring that I should finish torturing him, I say,
"Because I've wanted to kiss you since second year, and that's two years longer."
He looks at me, a beam stretching across his face.
"Sorry. I got held up big some pigheaded teenager." "You or me?" I laugh. Ron's face is suddenly very close to mine.
"Both." he whispers, before his lips land on mine and I close my eyes and succumb to what can only be called pure, blissful, Ron-induced happiness. The kind of happiness I would repeatedly experience for the rest of my life.
