Chapter 12 - Sweets

Everyone blinked in unison. The silence stretched indefinitely, like the walk down a ship's plank, watching the sharks swarm beneath your feet. Ron could nearly feel Hermione breathing next to him, the tiniest movements of her body causing the couch cushions beneath them to shift in a way that should have otherwise been imperceptible.

And then, at last, the air seemed to rush out of the room, and Hermione's mother and father were suddenly staring into Ron's eyes, three sets of perfectly rounded pupils locked together.

"W-What?" Mrs. Granger questioned, jaw hanging open at the end of her word.

Ron swallowed, and then he swallowed again. And then Hermione was opening her mouth, and he knew she was going to defend him, but he got there first, suddenly overwhelmed by every single detail...

"This is insane, and we know that, but it's what we had to do, and I wasn't going to let that sodding bastard marry her, okay? S-So it's not that big of a deal!"

In the back of Ron's mind, he knew he was yelling and should calm down, but he was carrying on before the thought could fully register...

"It's not like either of us is doing anything against our will! But that's what would have happened if we hadn't... if..." But Ron's brain finally caught up to his mouth as he felt Hermione's eyes on him as well, wide and frozen.

"Hermione, we need to talk to you," Mr. Granger said slowly. "Alone."

Ron swallowed again and licked his dry lips, hands shaking.

"Ron, will you wait outside with your father?" Hermione half-whispered, and Ron nodded slowly, resigned to do as she asked and trust her.

So he stood, with one last glance down at her, and left them to it. Once he was through the door, out of the sitting room and back into the kitchen, he slumped against the wall, muttering incomprehensibly until his father approached him.

"What happened?" Mr. Weasley whispered.

"Oh, blimey, it was... I don't even know!" Ron hissed, moving away from the door so as not to be heard by Hermione and her parents, who he could now hear conversing in tense but low tones back in the sitting room...

"Well, what did they say?" Mr. Weasley prodded as he opened the back door and steered Ron out into the garden where they could talk openly.

"I don't... nothing! They didn't really get the chance... I sort of, um..." Ron shrugged helplessly. "Well, what was I supposed to do?" he defended. "It was too quiet!"

Mr. Granger chuckled briefly as Ron shuddered, running a hand through his hair, causing it to take several detours from its normal course, pieces standing up at completely conflicting angles as he sighed.

"So, you shouted and then they asked you to leave?" Mr. Weasley summed up.

"Sadly, that's pretty accurate, yeah..."

"Do you think I should talk to them?" Mr. Weasley asked slowly.

"No!" Ron said sharply. "No, that's not a good idea. Let's just... I think we should wait. I think Hermione's parents wanted to talk to her alone after..."

"Right, okay," Mr. Weasley said finally, sounding quite sympathetic.

So they sat on the garden bench, Ron's legs bouncing nervously, in complete silence.

He really wasn't sure what had possessed him to shout at his... oh, God, his parents... in law. He shuddered and shifted his feet against the mulch. This wasn't how any of this should be. It should be beautiful and soft and nice and warm... just like Hermione. And, frankly, it should be years from now. But no. Of course not. Of course everything had to get fucked. Again. Because of that stupid git Malfoy...

Ron boiled with rage as he considered once again just how much they'd all had to sacrifice. So, yes. They were okay. They'd won. But things were still shit. Hermione was probably getting lectured and questioned right now by her parents when she should be enjoying her summer like a normal sixteen year old person! It was outrageous. And bloody annoying. And by the time Hermione had finally emerged from her parents' house nearly half an hour later, Ron was so worked up that steam was nearly coming out of his ears.

"We can go now. I don't think I'll be staying for dinner," Hermione sniffed as she approached Ron and his father, who Ron noticed was now standing, inspecting a bird feeder hanging from a tree limb. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long."

"Don't apologize," Ron snapped, immediately regretting his tone as Hermione shrank back slightly and sniffed again.

"Well, grab ahold, kids," Mr. Weasley said, holding out both arms.

And moments later, they were landing in the Burrow's front yard, just inside the wards.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley began, studying her closely. "Do you want to talk about anything before we go inside? You know, you're a special part of our family, and we want you to feel comfortable and know you can talk to us. To me and Molly, if you ever need..." he trailed off, looking only a tad awkward. Ron felt a wave of pride at the way his father was now looking so kindly at his... wife.

He swallowed yet another lump in his throat.

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione half whispered. "That's so kind of you. Thank you. But I really think I'll be alright. I'll just have a cup of tea and maybe go up to bed early."

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said.

She gave him a small smile before he nodded and turned, leading the way back into the Burrow.

In the kitchen, Ron remained silent as Hermione made herself a cup of tea. He simply watched her, wondering how it was that they'd ended up here. And finally, she glanced fully at him, for the first time since leaving her parents' garden, and he felt his heart melt, at last, breaking him down. All of his former rage dissipated as he looked into her eyes. And before he could speak, he was taking her hand.

"Come up to my room," he said quietly, "and we can talk. Or not. Or we can just... you know. Just stay together."

She nodded, clutching her tea mug tightly. But he managed to slip the mug from her hands, pour himself his own cup, and lead the way softly up to his room.

The sun was beginning to set, the sky just beginning to turn from the bright blue of a summer day to the pink-orange of evening. And they sat silently, side by side, on Ron's bed, sipping tea as they watched the clouds drift in odd patterns out Ron's paned window, distorted images as the trees across the yard lit up with the rays of sun that were just beginning to drop below them.

Finally, Ron let out a long breath, words floating out with it...

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Hermione said, nudging Ron with her shoulder as he smiled sadly.

"Sorry for that too." He looked sideways at her, her face brilliantly lit in places and hidden in shadow in others, like a beautiful abstract painting. He lost his train of thought...

"Ron?" she questioned after a moment. "You're staring."

"Can't help it," he said, making no move to look away from her. "Hermione, do you want to talk about what happened, what they said? I can take it, you know..." He trailed off, swallowing as he realized the horrible things her parents must be thinking about him now, and how bad of an impression he must have made.

"There's not much to tell," she shrugged, looking away from him, and he knew she was backing away from the question, unwilling to discuss all she was feeling right now.

And maybe that was alright. Maybe it was okay just to be here, just to exist together for now. Because he could do that for her. He could make her feel happy again, couldn't he? He could show her all of the things in life worth doing this for, worth fighting for. Because even though it was shit, and no where close to what she truly deserved, she had him, didn't she? And if he's who she was stuck with, he'd just have to be exactly what she needed, whenever she needed it. No matter what. And that was all he ever really wanted to do anyway, wasn't it...

So he jumped down off the bed, making Hermione bounce slightly with the sudden weight change. He dropped to his knees, reaching a long arm under his bed, feeling around for something familiar...

"Ron, what on earth..." Hermione began, watching him with raised eyebrows.

"A ha!" he announced triumphantly, pulling out a very large bag...

...of Honeydukes sweets.

Hermione laughed out loud, covering her mouth. And Ron was frozen for a moment at how effing adorable she looked... how perfect. Once he'd recovered enough to function, he took her empty tea cup from her now-steady hand and set it on his rug, crawling back up onto the bed to flop beside her, enthusiastically kicking off his shoes and letting them fly across his room as he thrust his feet up to free them.

She shook her head at him, amused, as he scooted all the way back to the wall, his legs still dangling over the side of the bed. He began untwisting the tie that held the Honeydukes bag together.

"Now," he began, clearing his throat, "I don't let just any old person taste these." He held up the bag, dropping the tie. "But tonight's a special night. You know why?"

Hermione shook her head, neatly removing her own shoes now, eyes shining.

"Because," Ron began, but he paused, looking around his room as if he expected someone to be eavesdropping from a shadowy corner.

Hermione giggled and crawled up to lean against the wall next to him, her shoulder resting fully against his arm. He leaned to his right, lower, lower, until his lips were level with her ear.

"Mum forgot to call us for dinner..." he whispered. "And you must know what thatmeans..."

"Honeydukes for dinner?" she asked shakily, and he paused with his lips a breath from her skin, shocked at how delightfully nervous she sounded.

"Exactly," he said, drawing out every syllable of the word, lips accidentally touching her jaw as he moved back again. He felt almost drunk as he breathed in her scent, situating himself back in a relatively neutral position as he reached his hand into the bag, watching through the clear plastic to ensure he captured the best piece to give to her...

But his eyes glued themselves for a long moment to the ring he now wore on his finger. It suddenly felt oddly heavy, like looking at it was making it so much more real. He laughed happily, aware of Hermione's eyes on him and her parted lips...

"What's funny?" she asked in that same shaky voice.

He managed to locate a piece of coconut ice for Hermione, and held out his hand to her.

"Nothing," he said as she took it, inspecting it. "I just... I dunno. Everything feels a bit... funny... doesn't it?"

He watched her eat the sweet he'd given to her, feeling instantly ridiculous, having said something so mental to her when they'd been in the midst of some kind of moment... he wasn't sure how to explain it. It felt like freedom, and maybe that's why he'd been so carefree with his words all of a sudden, stumbling over them as he tried to process his answer, getting tongue tied from the heat of his room and Hermione's body next to him. Breathing.

"Yes," she said, and he was almost shocked to hear her voice, like he'd drifted into a place where he was merely an outsider, just watching her face there inches from his, her eyes on his lips...

"What if I kissed you?" he heard himself say.

"Then I'd kiss you back."

So he did, and she did. And everything tasted like coconut. And his lips were on fire, surely, between hers. His tongue slipped between her teeth and she bit lightly, accidentally, he thought. But it was like a tiny reminder of the certainty of life, that he could feel pain and desire and love and lust... and all of the things he truly felt that he actually wanted to feel, that he was allowed to feel. Because he was real. And so was she.

"Ron," she sighed into his mouth, and he forgot about hunger and thirst, replacing both with the feel of her hands sliding against his back and his shirt too tight across his broadening chest as he allowed his left leg to drift over his right, reaching out towards her with every limb.

She leaned back half an inch and he pressed against her, dropping them the rest of the way, flat against his mattress. His hands moved easily from her cheeks to her hair and back again as hers worked underneath his shirt, up his bare spine like feather tips.

And everything seemed oneway, a very particular way, until he felt her shaking beneath him, and he withdrew his head far enough to look into her eyes. Only he couldn't.

She was clenching her eyes shut, tears spilling from the corners.

"Hermione! I'm sorry!" he shouted roughly, rolling off of her, no idea what he was really apologizing for. He distantly noticed how dark it had gotten inside his room, a mere sliver of daylight left to illuminate Hermione's features.

"No!" and then she was clutching him again, dragging him back to his original position. "You didn't do anything wrong. "

Afraid of his weight against her, he rolled them to their sides, facing one another, locked together as he tried to make sense of her behaviour, confused and muddled and slightly intoxicated by the taste of coconut flavoured Hermione...

"You won't ever leave me, will you Ron?" she asked, eyes still clamped shut.

"Of course not!" It was absurd for her to even have to ask, and he found himself clutching her even tighter in reassurance.

"We're going to be okay?"

"More than okay, Hermione," he breathed. "We have each other, don't we?"

She nodded.

"And I'll never let anything happen to you, you know that?" he added.

She nodded again, but finally opened her eyes.

"Ron, just promise me one thing."

His heart beat wildly as she blinked up at him, and if he concentrated closely, he could sense her eyes narrowing, just a fraction...

"What?" he asked, blindly.

"Never, ever die. Because you know what that would make you?"

He wanted to laugh, to tease her for the irrationality of asking someone to promise to live forever. But he couldn't quite do it, his throat seizing at the idea of releasing a sound just yet.

So he shook his head, awaiting her reply.

"A bloody liar," she said easily. "Because... if you died, you'd have to leave me. Or take me with you."

He had no words to express the vastness of his emotions, feelings he once thought only existed as ideas, detached from the logic of a brain and choices. Even souls, whatever and wherever they really were, buried inside a shell of muscle, bone and blood. But today, he felt everything. And all at once. And he was sure he wouldn't burst. He was sure, even, that he had room to spare. For the future. For every kiss, every touch, every word she spoke. Because every day, he found new pieces of himself he'd never known were there, like a gradually increasing light, revealing ancient dust in every corner.

He touched his forehead to hers, and he felt somehow that he could promise her the world and his words would come true. He'd never have to break his promise. Because with her arms around him and her foot between his legs, with her breath against his cheek and her eyes full of new moonlight, everything was possible.