Chapter 2

"Don't worry, this is a wizarding neighborhood," Ron said quietly as he tucked Hermione's hand into the crook of his arm and guided her away from the empty bus stop where they'd landed after Side-Alonging from The Burrow. He shifted his rucksack on his shoulders, stuffed as it was with the fresh change of clothes Ginny had lent to Hermione as well as assorted treats from Molly, and he led Hermione down a gaily lit street lined on both sides with brightly painted shopfronts. Though he was still too keyed up from the day's events to drop his Auror-ingrained habit of scanning the surroundings for threats, he still had the presence of mind to note the warm smile that came to Hermione's face as she took in the sights.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking up to note the twinkling fairy lights strung from lightpost to lightpost above their heads.

"Well, technically we're in Camden right here, though my flat's actually between Camden and Little Venice," he said, pointing his head to the left as they turned down a quieter residential street. "Regent Canal's just beyond that row of houses over there — I've got a great view of it from my flat, actually — and Browning's Pool is just up the way a few blocks."

Hermione hummed approvingly. "I guess I didn't expect you to be living in the city."

"Well, I sort of fell in love with the area when Harry and I did officer training," he said, slowing down so she could better keep up with his long strides. "The facility is in Camden Town. There's lots of little bits of nature around like the canal and Hampstead Heath and whatnot. And there's loads of wizards who live around here, so…"

"I've been to this neighborhood so many times growing up, but I never knew it was a wizarding area," she said.

"Oh yeah, always has been," Ron replied with a shrug, a smile warming his face. "Well, it's mixed. Camden's always been kind of a funky place, hasn't it. You look at somebody on the street and you have to think, 'Is that guy a wizard or a hippie?' Hard to tell the difference sometimes."

Hermione laughed as a man turned the corner and strode past them in the lamplight, his bright purple velvet pants clashing riotously with his lime-green boots and flaming red jacket. "I see your point," she said in a low tone as Ron paused at a lantern-lit red gate in the middle of a vine-covered wall of worn brown bricks that stood taller than Ron's head.

"Well, here we are," Ron said. Then he extracted his wand from his back pocket. "Give me your hand."

Hermione pulled her fingers away from Ron's elbow and, with a quizzical glance, laid her hand palm up in his.

"Palmae Clauditus," Ron said as he waved his wand, and Hermione felt a warm, tingling sensation across the skin of her hand. "OK, love, now wrap your fingers around the gate handle."

Hermione did as she was told and the handle glowed, warm and orange, in her hand before cooling back down to its original iron color.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't have learnt this one at Hogwarts," he said as he lifted her fingers from the handle and gave her palm a gentle kiss. "It's a specialized locking charm developed by the Auror lab. Now you and I are the only two people who can open this gate."

"Brilliant," Hermione murmured.

"Have a bash, then."

And, to Hermione's delight, the gate opened for her with a reassuring click. She stepped through to find a small garden surrounding what looked to be a modest two-story brick house. "One of my mates from work owns it," Ron explained. "He and his wife live on the first floor. I rent the second-floor flat from them."

With a tug at his rucksack handle, Ron took Hermione by the hand and led her to the back of the house, where there was a staircase to the second story. She found, as she followed Ron up step by step, that she could indeed see the canal from this vantage point, the narrow waterway still bustling with traffic even at this late hour.

"It's charming," she said as they reached the landing outside Ron's door.

Ron laughed. "Well, I'm glad you like the view out here. What's inside isn't much. And it's not exactly neat as a pin." Another Palmae Clauditis later and Hermione was opening the door. She thought, with a wry smile, that Ron may have been right to lower her expectations, because it was indeed a tiny little flat, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he has made it out to be. In fact, as he waved his wand to light a nearby lantern, she saw that she stood in a rather homey little room. There was a long blue sofa in one corner, which she thought she recognized as a hand-me-down from Shell Cottage, as well as a pair of comfy-looking armchairs, all arranged on a dark blue rug. In the opposite corner stood a small round dining table with two chairs, and she could make out the inside of a tiny kitchen through the doorway just beyond. To her surprise, there was nary a Chudley Cannons poster in sight on the lounge's whitewashed walls. There were no dirty clothes strewn about the place. The bookshelves contained framed photographs displayed alongside various official-looking medals and honors as well as books on chess, quidditch and Defensive Arts. A lovingly polished chess board rested on the coffee table. There was even a plant. A cactus, to be sure, but still. The flat looked lived-in but tidy. It wasn't boyish. It was a man's home. She quite liked it.

Her eye fell on the painting hanging above the sofa, and she smiled, stepping toward it. "Saw that at an art fair at Camden Market one day and just had to have it," Ron said. "Reminded me of the view from Gryffindor Tower." And it did so for Hermione as well — within the large, rectangular frame was a handpainted landscape of mountainous, heather-covered hills and cliffs, with a large lake in the foreground. On a hill in the middle distance, wandering through a meadow, was the shape of a young woman, back turned to the artist, her skirt and her curly brown hair blowing in the imaginary breeze.

Ron moved next to Hermione and lightly touched the point where the figure's dark locks waved in the wind. "Can't tell you how many times I stood here staring at that girl," he said just above a whisper as he dropped his hand back to his side. "I guess now I know why, don't I."

Unsure of his meaning, she looked up at him wordlessly, searching his face.

"You may have removed yourself from my memory, but you could never completely erase every trace, Hermione," he said through a sad smile. "I reckon there was always something there. A ghost image of you maybe … a space where you should have been. I was sad a lot when you were gone, felt lonely sometimes even in a big crowd."

Hermione's heart panged at the forlorn tone in his voice. She took his hand in hers. "I'm so sorry, Ron. Honestly."

He turned and gazed at her with a look of mild surprise, as if she'd snapped him out of a deep sleep. "Wait, Hermione," he said, his brow slowly furrowing, "you're not … are you actually *apologizing* to me?"

"Well, yes," she replied earnestly, "of course. I know what I did hurt you very much, and I—"

"Mione, stop right there," Ron said sternly with a quick shake of the head, cutting her off. "You did what you had to do," he added, cupping her cheek in his hand and wiping away the tear coursing down it. "You did what you did to protect me — and to protect Rose, which was even more important," he continued, his voice softening. "I'll never get over what you did. I'll never be able repay what I owe you — what the whole wizarding world owes you, for the love of Merlin. It's *me* who should be apologizing, not you."

Hermione blinked a few times rapidly, her face flushed with the heat of an emotion she couldn't even name. She flung herself at him a moment later, pressing her cheek firmly against his chest and looping her arms tightly around his torso. And as they sank onto the sofa and resumed a tearful embrace very similar to the one they'd wrapped one another in within the lounge of The Burrow, he smiled to himself, figuring they were bound to have many more such moments in the days ahead — times when the realization of what they'd lost and what they'd gained would just be too much, and one or both of them would simply have to dissolve into tears.

"You don't owe me any apologies," Hermione whispered against his chest a few minutes later, when she was finally able to regain her voice.

He stroked her hair and let out a little grumble. "Of course I do," he said. "When I think of some of the shit I pulled when Harry and I first found you, the things I said … I want to kick myself *hard,* Hermione, I really do."

She leaned back and looked up at him, pleased to see the warmth in his eyes. "You didn't know. You *couldn't* know. And you were hurting," she said. "I don't blame you. I don't blame you at all for reacting the way you did. Please know that."

"I should have had more faith — should have known you'd have a damn good reason," he said as he tilted his forehead against hers.

"You had so little to go on, Ron," she countered. "You couldn't have known."

"I *should* have known," he said roughly, though his volume was lower now. "I should have known better."

"Shhh," she said, stroking his upper arm. "I needed you to believe the worst. I needed you to doubt me," she continued. "Anything less and, well … let's face it: Shraxen and Willigsby might have succeeded."

Ron's jaw tensed at the thought. She had a point, but … "I still don't like it," he said.

She smiled weakly. "Well, neither did I." She lifted her hand to his cheek. "That's over now, though. We have to keep reminding ourselves — the worst bit is behind us."

They touched lips then, softly, but Ron quite consciously held back, aware that if he started snogging Hermione now, he could easily get swept away on the tide of emotions that had threatened to engulf him all day, and he didn't want to risk frightening or overwhelming her. They were both physically and emotionally exhausted.

"Maybe we ought to get cleaned up and get some rest, eh?" he said softly as he planted a kiss on her cheek and then her nose.

Hermione let out a long sigh. "Oh yes," she murmured. "A hot shower sounds heavenly."

He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom, lighting a lantern along the way. The room was dominated by an extremely large bed — "the biggest I could find," Ron admitted. A dark blue duvet was piled on top — clearly Ron wasn't the type to make his bed every morning — and mounds of pillows were propped against a giant mahogany headboard.

The only nod to his Chudley Cannons obsession was the framed pair of tickets hanging above the bedtable. "Harry and I were there when the Cannons finally beat Puddlemere," Ron explained, dropping the overstuffed rucksack to the armchair opposite the bed as Hermione eyed the frame. "Wanted to have the tickets as a keepsake, I guess."

Hermione opened the rucksack and soon realized Ginny had neglected to include a nightgown among the jeans, blouse, jumper, underwear and clean socks she had so graciously provided for her. Ron stepped toward the dresser in his bedroom and shuffled through a pile of old T-shirts. Standing next to him, Hermione gasped when her eyes landed on one of her old favorites. "Oh, that one — may I?" she whispered, biting her lower lip as she pointed at the shirt that had caught her eye.

"This old thing?" Ron said as he withdrew his ancient old quidditch team practice jersey, the burgundy color faded and the stitched on cotton lettering — "G-R-Y-F-F-I-N-D-O-R" — now a pale, laundered gold.

"Oh, I always loved that one," she said with a smile. "You looked so fit in it."

Ron raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Well, it's been at the bottom of this drawer for ages because it's about two sizes too small for me nowadays. You can keep it if you like."

"Oh I like. Very much," Hermione said with a grin.

They took turns showering and changing in the loo adjoining Ron's bedroom. When Hermione stepped out wearing nothing but his jersey, which reached a point several inches beneath her bum, Ron swallowed hard, hoping he'd be able to keep his resolution to go slow with her that night. She was as beautiful as ever in the lantern light, her damp locks framing her face.

"Umm," she said shyly. "Do you … may I borrow your wand? I'd like to dry my hair before bed," she said, turning a bit pink in the cheeks when she heard herself say the word "bed."

"Huh?" Ron said distractedly. "Uh … oh! Yeah. Oh yeah." Blimey, Weasley, get a hold of yourself. "I keep forgetting you don't have a wand anymore. Erm, here you go."

"Thank you," she said softly, averting her eyes and wondering at her own sudden bout of timidity. "Goodness," she chirped, feeling the need to keep the conversation going despite — or because of — the awkwardness, "I think I've forgotten the charm for drying hair."

"Torrefacio."

"Oh yes! How silly of me. It's just … well, it's been a long time since I've used magic."

Soon her hair was fluffy and dry and there was nothing left to do to delay the thing that was making her heart flutter with nervousness. As she sheepishly handed Ron's wand back to him, he caught the feeble smile on her face and took her hand in his.

"Hey," he said simply, moving closer and willing her to meet his gaze. "It's only me, you know."

She laughed slightly then, flicking her eyes downward to their joined hands before returning them to his face. "I know," she said in a small voice.

"C'mere."

She stepped into his arms then and allowed him to pull her into a tight hug as she looped her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheek pressed against his. "It's just, I've pictured … this … for so long, and at the same time I used to force myself *not* to picture it, because it just hurt too much."

He hummed his understanding, and she continued. "Now that I'm here and you're here and it's real," she said, "I just don't quite know what to do with myself."

He loosened his hold on her slightly and leaned back to look at her. "All you have to do for now is climb into this bed with me and go to sleep," he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I just want to sleep with you in my arms. We've done that before, yeah?"

They had, in fact, but just once, and more than three years prior — on the night following the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd collapsed, side-by-side, in Ron's Gryffindor Tower four-poster, snogging like their lives depended on it until sleep deprivation and physical fatigue caught up with them and they slumbered deeply in one another's arms.

She nodded, smiling at the memory.

Smiling back reassuringly, he waved his wand toward the bed, and the duvet magically rose and straightened itself before landing back on the mattress, one corner folded down invitingly.

Hermione laughed despite her nerves, placed her hand in his and followed him to the bed, where Ron threw back the covers a bit wider and helped her climb in. He followed just behind her, slipping a few pillows beneath her head and tucking the blankets snugly around her.

"Comfy?" he asked as he curled up on his side next to her, drawing her into his arms.

"Very," she said. "You?"

He sighed and waved his wand to extinguish the lantern before answering. "Never better, love."

He'd wanted to say more, but the events of the day were catching up with him. He'd organized a few thoughts to share — mainly, that he could scarcely believe his good fortune in having her back, and how he'd never wanted to let her out of his sight ever again, but before he'd had a chance to give voice to any of these notions, the sound of a light snore reached his ears, and he realized that Hermione had already slipped off into a deep sleep.

Grinning to himself, he pulled her a bit closer and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Sweet dreams, love."

oooOOOooo

A/N — I should have mentioned that this story precedes ermynee322's Epilogue. But perhaps you figured that out for yourself.

I should also mention that this title is a riff on the title of one of my all-time favorite tear-jerker movies, "The Way We Were."

There's more to come. How am I doing so far? Review and let me know!

Cheers,

Holly.