Quidditch League | Holyhead Harpies | Captain | R4 | 1984.
Words: 2902
A.N.: Thank you, MissyAndTheDocs, for being such an amazing beta!
...
perfect fall
...
About twenty years ago, he fell in love. Nineteen years, eight months and four weeks ago to be precise. It's a long time to collect memories – some that are by now difficult to remember, others even harder to forget.
Ron sighs as he lets himself sink further into an old red-and-gold chair that has been standing in the Weasleys' kitchen for longer than he is able to remember. Silently, the young man looks out of the window; following the little snowflakes that slowly but steadily start to transform the grounds and garden into a white winter wonderland. Lost in his own thoughts, he takes yet another sip of his fire whisky; the burning liquid that slowly tickles down his throat is the only thing that seems to calm him down now. His heart is beating in an unhealthy rhythm and, from time to time, it contradicts painfully when he thinks about everything that has happened. Nostalgia, as he was told, is what the muggles call it. To dwell on memories of times long passed – happier ones, where simple smiles and laughter brought out the best in him. And ones that were a lot more difficult to deal with… of pain and sickness, and the terrifying picture of a loved one fighting a disease that sucks the life right out of a body. To this day, some of them are still haunting him.
Bristling, Ron shakes his head and reaches for his glass again; then he hears the door opening.
"It's all set," his brother George informs him; his voice quiet and without even the faintest hint of a joke. Ron doesn't look up; instead, he continues staring out of the window.
"Thanks," is all the youngest Weasley-brother says, and a bit of relief is to be heard.
For some time, the two brothers sit in a comfortable silence.
"We've spent a lot of good years here, haven't we?" Ron finally speaks and turns his head; the fire of the chimney partially lighting up his face.
George only nods. "Yeah, we all have," he mumbles, waves his wand and the bottle of fire whiskey also pours him a glass. "It's the perfect place for the ceremony."
"She's always loved the Burrow," Ron says nostalgically, although his lips form a small smile.
"You know, little brother, I never imagined time would pass so quickly," George adds, shaking his head in disbelief.
Ron's facial expression is like his brother's. Once more he brings the whiskey to his lips and watches the snowflakes dance. "Believe me, neither did I."
After all, he would never forget the first day he had laid eyes on her. Almost twenty years ago. Nineteen years, eight months and four days ago.
... 19 years ago ...
"Excuse me?" a girl interrupted the two boys when she stuck her bushy-haired head right through the cabin doors. "Have you by any chance seen a toad? A boy called Neville has lost his."
Ron exchanged a look with his new friend Harry, then he rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Erm, no."
The girl nodded and was about to turn around when her eyes fell upon Ron's wand that was still resting next to Scabbers on his lap. "Oh, you're doing magic. Let's see then."
A bit confused, Ron coughed before he pointed his wand on his rat. To his embarrassment, nothing happened. What annoyed him the most though was the judging look in the girl's brown eyes.
The additional "Are you sure that's a real spell?" didn't help to brighten his mood at all. What a know-it-all…
Finally, after what felt like a dozen embarrassing minutes, Hermione Granger – as she had so proudly introduced herself – left through the doors.
However, not without mentioning, "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? Just there."
Ron wiped his nose in annoyance, but little did he know just how much this girl would mean to him…
…
12-year-old Ron felt rather useless. Harry was still talking to Dumbledore, and the only task he had received was to send a letter to Azkaban in order to release Hagrid. Now he just stumbled through the corridors, not really knowing what to do with himself…
After yet another turned corner, he noticed the hospital wing to his right. For a moment, he considered his options, but eventually, he decided against his better judgement and carefully pushed the large doors open to enter.
"Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey immediately scolded him. "What are you doing here at this late an hour?"
"I – erm – well, you see…" the boy sighed. If he wasn't able to come up with a good enough excuse, he would have to stick with the truth. "I – I wanted to see how Hermione's doing."
To his surprise, Madam Promfrey's features softened. "Miss Granger has received the antidote. I expect her to wake up within the next 19 hours. Would you like to see her?"
Ron smiled brightly. "Yes, please."
"Alright, follow me then. But only for half an hour, do you hear me, young man?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Passing Colin Creevey as well as Penelope Clearwater, Ron sat down on an empty chair next to the last bed.
Then he took Hermione's petrified hands into his own, stroking them softly. "Thanks, Mione. Without you, we couldn't have done it."
…
"How are you holding up?"
The ginger moved his head from his pillow, turned and looked at the bushy-haired witch who had just entered his bedroom.
"Pigwidgeon was sitting downstairs, with a letter; I think it's from Harry," Hermione mentioned, crossed the room and sat down on her spare bed that had been set up in the room.
"Thanks," Ron answered, and smiled slightly. "I guess I'm still not used to having my own owl."
Hermione sighed. "I guess it's weird… not having Scabbers around, isn't it?"
Ron swallowed. "How can I possibly miss that bloody little rat when he's really been Pettigrew all this time?"
For a moment, it seemed like the brightest witch her age didn't know what to say. Eventually, she moved once more and sat down next to her friend, offering him one of her sympathetic smiles. "You didn't know who he was, Ronald."
"But – "
"Listen to me," she said, and placed her soft fingers around chin; lifting it carefully so he had to look into her eyes. "It's not your fault."
A tear slipped down his face, and Ron simply led down his head on Hermione's shoulder.
…
"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please remain seated there, I will be returning momentarily," this said, Professor McGonagall exited the door and left the two of them alone in Professor Dumbledore's office.
The tension between them could have been cut with a knife; Ron was staring out of the window angrily; Hermione on the other hand glared at Ron.
"Would you stop it already?" the witch demanded, rather out of character.
Ron turned around. "Stop what, exactly?"
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is that is going on between you and Harry!"
"There's nothing – "
"Yes, sure. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the two of you…" Hermione resisted the urge to groan. "So I take it your utmost jealousy is just a coincidence?"
This time, Ron rolled her eyes. "Hermione, I'm not – "
"Yes, you are. You're jealous that Harry is once again in the spotlight and you are not," Hermione stated, angry. "Has it ever occurred to you that he never wanted to become a bloody Triwizard Champion?"
Ron was silent for a moment.
"He doesn't want to be famous, Ron," Hermione urged, "All Harry wants is to get his best friend back."
The ginger turned around, but before he was able to say something, the Deputy Headmistress returned once again – this time followed by Cho Chang and Gabrielle Delacour.
…
"We've got to do something about that horribly awful woman…"
Hermione had started pacing in the Gryffindor Common room after yet another one of Umbridge's teachers' evaluations.
Ron, his feet put up on one of the comfortable sofas, only sighed.
"I doubt there's much to do about that toad…" he sat up a bit straighter.
"Of course, but… even Professor McGonagall can't stand that woman – "
Ron laughed. "But even I have to admit that the old lady was handling the evaluation in a bloody awesome way."
Hermione shook her head and sat down on the edge of the sofa. "Sure, but I'm telling you it won't take long until Umbridge finds a way to get rid of her, too…"
Silence fell between the two friends.
"Poison."
"What?"
"Poison," Ron suggested with a shrug, and the hint of a smirk on his face. "That would be sufficient enough to get the toad out of the school…"
To his delight, Hermione chuckled. "Indeed, a tempting idea, Ronald… indeed it is… but perhaps we should come up with something that won't be accompanied by a one-way ticket to Azkaban…"
…
"You look stunning."
Hermione turned around and the red dress she wore twirled around her ever-so-slightly.
Ron stood in front of her – two drinks in his hands of which he offered her one.
Smiling, she accepted the glass of wine.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she remarked, and gestured towards his muggle tuxedo.
"Yeah, well," the ginger replied with a shrug, "apparently Fleur wouldn't have it if we wore anything less… adequate."
The bushy-haired witch chuckled. "Sounds like Fleur," she said and let her brown eyes wander over the bride and groom.
"Isn't it strange? To celebrate a wedding in times like these? Everyone just waiting for a Death Eater to burst in?"
Ron thought for a moment before he answered.
"I guess there's never the right time. But at least they try to be happy. I mean, as happy as one can be these days."
Hermione nodded and sipped on her wine. "They do seem happy."
Ron followed her glance and watched his brother dancing with his newly-wed wife. Hermione was right. The way the couple looked into each other's eyes, the way they held each other and ignored all the people around them… it was a sight to remember.
"Care do dance, Hermione?" he asked, out of the blue and held out his hand to his long-time friend.
At first, the witch was a little taken aback by the question, but eventually, she beamed at him, took his hand and followed him to the dance floor.
…
It was now or never. All the pain, loneliness and fear that had threatened to suffocate them. Instinctively, they moved closer towards one another – right there and then, deep down in the chamber of secrets, their clothes torn to shreds, bruised, covered in blood and injured from their previous fights – but neither of them cared.
Ron had no idea who moved first. All he knew was that he felt a sudden urge to bring Hermione as close to him as possible. He stepped forward, encircled her waist, pulled her slim body towards his and kissed her passionately.
She let her long fingers wander through his hair, all the feelings they had tried to suppress during their Horcrux hunt now resurfaced with such a force, that they didn't even care about the water that started splashing around them; soaking them during their kiss.
When the need for air soon became unbearable, their lips separated, but they still held each other close. Water dripped from Hermione's har, but she didn't pull away. On the contrary, she pressed her body against his, led her head down on his shoulder and looked at him with loving, passionate brown eyes that had his heart melt.
"Don't let me go," she whispered, and it was the first time that she showed a side that Ron had never seen. A strong witch, that found the courage to tell someone that she didn't want to be alone.
"I'll never let you go. Never again," he whispered back, and placed a feathery light kiss on her forehead.
... 8 months ago ...
"Hermione, dear, are you alright?"
If his mother hadn't asked the question first, Ron would have done it.
His girlfriend of twelve years sat at the Weasley kitchen table, a piece of Mrs. Weasley's birthday cake on her plate, and had been talking to Ginny and Harry when she, for the third time this afternoon, had started to cough heavily.
George quickly handed the young woman a tissue, which she thankfully accepted.
"I'm fine, Molly, thanks," Hermione re-assured, but Ron had known her long enough so that the smile she put on did not convince him. Especially after he had gotten a small glimpse of the tissue she had so quickly vanished in one of her coat pockets – so that no one would see the small spot of blood that she had coughed up.
Unnoticed by everyone else, the couple exchanged a look. And Ron knew that once he looked into her brown eyes that something was wrong. Very wrong.
But he decided to remain silent – only his worried eyes followed her every gesture until later that evening, in the comforting surroundings of their own home, Ron had begged her to tell him the truth. Still, whatever he had expected her to say, it certainly wasn't anything like that, and all Ron could do was stare at his girlfriend – his heart in his throat and the breath knocked out of his lungs.
"Cancer?"
They sat on their sofa in the living room, and Hermione played with the cup of tea he had made for her.
"But – but that's a muggle disease!"
The witch shrugged, and her brown eyes filled with unshed tears.
Ron didn't know what to do, but it all made sense now. The nausea, the dizziness, the blood she had started to cough up…
Instinctively, he got up, sat down next to Hermione, put an arm around her and held her close. She snuggled against his body and he felt the tears that dropped on his shoulder.
... 4 weeks ago ...
Ron could hardly speak. He reached out to hold Hermione's cold, pale hand and stroked it softly.
Her beautiful brown eyes were closed and her breathing was barely visible through the thousands of blankets the nurses had put on top of her.
She looked so terribly fragile in this huge hospital bed, and at her side, tubes came out of her body, that were attached to several machines – muggle and magical.
The cancer-treatment had drained the last bit of energy out of her, and all he could do was watch as she grew weaker and weaker with each passing day. All the healers told them that the therapy would eventually make her feel better… so far, Ron wasn't convinced at all, but there was nothing he could do but hope they were right.
He swallowed hard, and the tears that had formed in his eyes rolled over his cheeks.
"I can't let you go, Hermione," he whispered desperately, brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on it. "I can't let you go… not just yet."
... Present time ...
19 minutes and 84 seconds later
Ron takes in a deep breath. His heart is beating terribly fast, and he nervously plays with the tie of his tuxedo. George stands next to him and puts a calming hand on his shoulder.
The ginger-haired man can only remember a couple of times when he had seen the Burrow's garden this crowded with people. Small snowflakes are falling from the skies above – colouring the grounds in a gentle and calming white. Winter-themed – just like Ron had planned it. He knows it's not quite ordinary, but it's exactly how she would have liked it.
Right there, in the first row, he spots his mother, as well as Mrs. Granger – both holding on tight to a tissue and both with tears in their eyes.
Ron swallows hard, all the emotions that linger in the air causing his heart to contradict.
Then, the Burrow door opens behind him and a soft melody begins to play.
When he turns around, Ron catches his breath. There she is – more elegant and beautiful than he's ever imagined.
Holding on to her father's arm tightly, she walks down the isle; a delicate bouquet of white roses in her hands and with her white satin dress swishing on the snow-covered ground.
"Don't you ever let her go," Mr. Granger says as he hands his daughter over to his soon-to-be son-in-law.
"I won't. I promise," Ron replies, albeit he has not once taken his eyes off his lovely bride.
Eventually, Hermione takes a step closer to him. She smiles softly at him and he holds on tight to her small, slightly shivering hand. Although she has lost a lot of weight due to the heavy cancer-treatment, Ron is mesmerized by her beauty and can't help but admire the way the snowflakes rest in her brown curls that cascade down her back.
"Nineteen years, eight months and four weeks ago I fell in love with you. The little boy back then didn't realize it, but my heart always knew," Ron whispers and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek; thankful that he hadn't lost her. "It was the perfect fall. And I'll always love you."
"And I love you," Hermione replies, her deep brown eyes sparking lovingly, as she squeezes his hand and kisses him softly.
.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry | Assignment 8 | Celtic Studies | #11. Write about childhood sweethearts
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