Hi all,
This came to me last night and I had to write it down. I hope you enjoy!
CW: mentions of death (including animal death)
~Dot
Ron woke with a start. It took a minute for him to acclimate himself and realise he was safe. At least, he reminded himself, he was safe for now. They had escaped Malfoy Manor days ago and were now at Shell Cottage. Harry was okay, and Hermione, well, she was alive. As sleep left him, he remembered he was in her room, crouched in the antique rocking chair near her bed. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he had been exhausted. He had barely slept over the past couple of nights and the sleeplessness had caught up with him. He stretched his arms out, sore from his kip in the unyielding chair.
Fear struck him as he looked around and couldn't find Hermione. Where could she have gotten to? She was still too weak to do much of anything, much to her dismay. Aside from attending Dobby's funeral, she had been bedridden. Ron had gathered as many of Bill and Fleur's books he could find in an attempt to entertain her, but she was still sleeping most of the day. When she wasn't sleeping or reading, they simply sat together, sometimes talking, sometimes not. He was just so grateful she was alive that he didn't care if they spent hours doing nothing.
He had spent every waking hour with her. It was beginning to become a routine—from the moment he woke to the moment he fell asleep, he was with Hermione. It had been three days since the horrible day at Malfoy Manor, and he promised himself that he wouldn't leave her side again.
But now she was gone. His breath hitched and he ran to the guest bathroom—the only other place she frequented. He was terrified to find that it was also empty.
He ran down the stairs, two by two, until he reached the sitting room. His mates were in the kitchen, enjoying Fleur's homemade supper.
"Hermione?", he asked anxiously as he tried to catch his breath.
"She went outside," Fleur said calmly.
"What?", Ron exclaimed. She could barely walk on her own. What in the bloody hell was she doing outside by herself?
"She needed ze fresh air," Fleur said.
With that, Ron was off, searching the beach high and low before seeing a figure on a cliff overlooking the water. It was Hermione, perched on the cliff, wrapped in one of Fleur's handmade quilts.
"Hermione," he panted as he reached her, now fully out of breath, "I couldn't find you."
She turned to look up at him, a small smile appearing on her face when she saw it was him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," she said regretfully. "You looked so at peace while you were sleeping, I didn't want to disturb you. I just thought it would be nice to get outside."
Ron nodded his head. "It's alright," he reassured. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright," Hermione said with a smile. "It's such a beautiful view."
"Yeah," Ron responded. He stood there awkwardly, wanting to sit next to her, but not sure if she wanted him to.
"Erm—," he stuttered, trying to come up with something to say.
"Do you want to join me?", she asked, beaming up at him.
"Yes!", he said much too eagerly, "erm—sure," he added, trying to hide his enthusiasm as he plopped down next to her.
The sun was still up, but it was beginning to set. Hermione was right—it was a beautiful view. The water was still as the sun reflected on it, turning it from a bright blue to a subtle orange.
"I feel so bad for Bill and Fleur," Hermione said.
Ron looked at her curiously, how could she possibly feel bad for them—they had this view and home, and weren't on a bloody hunt for an evil gits soul.
"I'm sure when they decided to move here, they were thinking of settling down; of spending their evenings watching the sunset and turning the cottage into a home. And now, well, it's hard to be settled when your life is in danger."
Ron looked at her, filling with compassion towards the woman sat next to him. Even when everything was falling apart—when they were lucky to even be alive—she was still able to care for others.
"If all of this," he waved his hand, "shit wasn't happening, would you want to settle down?", he asked. He could picture it, homemaker-Hermione, living her best life in a small cottage overlooking the sea. She would sit on a rocking chair on her porch each evening surrounded by her children, without a worry in the world.
"I think so," Hermione said. "Though I'm not sure that I would do well with the quiet life."
Ron snorted. That was true enough. He laughed at the thought; she never was one for sitting around. "You'd probably end up curing some ancient disease."
"What?", Hermione asked. She was giggling, (Ron's favourite thing that she did) playing off of his silliness.
"Here's how I see it," Ron said. "You would go mad without anything to do. So I bet you'd find a bunch of decaying texts and end up finding a cure for a hideous disease or solving a problem that hadn't been solved."
Hermione nudged him playfully. "So you're saying, for humanity's sake, I need to hide myself away."
"Ehh," Ron smiled, "I don't know about that. It would be bloody hard without you." His smile faded quickly, realising that he had almost lost her just days before.
Hermione looked on, watching the clouds part over the setting sun.
"Crookshanks wasn't my first cat," she said, drastically changing the subject. "I had one when I was little; Lottie. She was already ancient when I was born," she said with a smile.
Ron smiled back at her. He had never heard about Lottie. In fact, there were a lot of things he was still learning about Hermione. When they had chatted over the past few days, she had begun to share stories about her childhood. He felt terrible that he rarely asked her about her upbringing but was glad to learn more about it now.
"When I was around seven," Hermione continued, "she started to get really sick. We were told that she didn't have much time left. As I said, she was old, so it wasn't a surprise, but still… Every time I pet her, or fed her, or read to her, I made sure to cherish it. I didn't know when would be the last time I got to do that. Then, when she did pass—I was sad, of course—but I felt lucky; lucky that I got to appreciate those moments with her."
Ron could feel tears threatening his eyes, he choked them down and levelled his shoulders.
"Is that why you're out here?", he asked. "To cherish this, if it's one of your last?"
Hermione looked at him softly.
"That won't—," he started.
"You can't guarantee that," she interrupted. "We don't know what's going to happen."
Ron nodded his head, tears running down his face. All he wanted to do was hold her and never let go.
She reached up and wiped his tears with her thumb. "That's why I've got to cherish this—watching the sunset over the ocean with my favourite person," she smiled gently at him and rested her head on his shoulder.
He tried to do what she said, to take in the moment. Her head was light on his shoulder and the sky was a brilliant mix of red, orange, and blue. But still, he couldn't relax. He desperately tried to contain his feelings, his body beginning to shake trying to keep it all in. Suddenly, he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"I love you, Hermione," he blurted. She lifted her head from his shoulder. He could feel her gaze on him, but he didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to see her disgust. Slowly, hesitantly, he met her eyes with his.
She was smiling.
"I love you too," she said.
He shook his head vigorously. She must not have understood. "No Hermione," he said adamantly. "I love you. Not like I love Ginny or Harry. I love you," he tried to explain.
She simply smiled back at him. "I love you too," she said.
He looked at her with astonishment. She loved him too. All these years of waiting and not knowing, and she bloody loved him too. He was frozen in awe but was quickly brought back to reality when he felt her soft lips on his. They kissed tenderly, trying to convey all of their years of longing as they did. She pulled back to take a breath and he engulfed her in a hug. He squeezed her so hard he was worried she'd break, but instead she wrapped her arms around him.
He didn't want to let go, he wanted to hold her; to keep her safe, for the rest of his life. But he knew that wasn't possible. He had already failed to keep her safe so many times. He couldn't protect her any more than she could protect him. They had no idea what the future held. So instead of worrying about it, he took a page from her book. He became emersed in the moment, in the now. He tried to catalogue how she felt; her smooth arms around him, her bushy hair tickling his chin, how her lips felt on his. He had to appreciate this moment. It was all he was sure of.
He moved back and kissed her again, this time harder and with more passion. They continued to kiss until the sun had set, becoming a beacon of light for each other as darkness engulfed them.