Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

A/N: Happy Monday, all! Thanks so much for the lovely comments so far.

Chapters may slow down from here on out, as life is pretty hectic for me in the fall and I have a few other writing ideas in the queue that I'm wanting to finish up, but as always I'll update as soon as I can :)

Thanks to my magnificent betas for always being so speedy and thorough in their editing 3

Hope you enjoy! xx

Sweet Home Ottery

Chapter Seven

I miss you pushing me close to the edge

I miss you

I wish I knew what I had when I left

I miss you

You set fire to my world, couldn't handle the heat

Now I'm sleeping alone and I'm starting to freeze

Baby, come bring me hell

Let it rain over me

Baby, come back to me

I want you to ruin my life

I want you to fuck up my nights

I want you to bring it all on

If you make it all wrong, then I'll make it all right, yeah

I want you to ruin my life

Ruin My Life - Zara Larsson

Nine Years Ago

Although Hermione and Ron's intention was to move in together straight after graduation, their parents ended up convincing them to save up a bit more money first before buying a place of their own.

And it was Ron who insisted that there was only one place for them to go.

"So...this is the perfect place?"

Hermione's skepticism is at the forefront of her mind as she stares up at the bleak cottage that stands alone in a secluded area on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. The dilapidated exterior appears to showcase a once-grand cottage that has fallen into a state of disrepair. As Ron explains it, the house was abandoned years ago, and it was one that he often came across on his walks around the village.

The shabby structure has likely seen better days since its long decline. The siding is rotting away and the windows are smashed in. The interior boasts a non-functioning fireplace, peeling paint, and holes in the roof inviting rain.

Ron claims that they can find a way to transform it into a home bursting with character. All they will have to figure out is how to mesh together both of their interests, which could be challenging. Hermione's biggest concern is how to renovate it relying solely on the use of magic or without draining their limited funds.

Deciding on a renovation project can be as daunting as it can be rewarding. It will take a lot of work to restore the primitive dwelling, leaving it refreshed, yet still preserving its history. Ron groans when Hermione insists that they create a schedule of tasks to accomplish. She needs the project to stay on track if she's going to commit to buying what looks like remnants of a house buried underneath the Shrieking Shack.

They spend the better part of several months reinstating the old cottage back to its original grandeur, making it a place that they can truly call home.

Hermione glances around at the newly painted sunny walls and the crisp white trim on the cupboards in the kitchen. A glowing sense of warmth radiates through her as she takes pride in what they were able to accomplish.

She walks through the entryway to find Ron sitting on the sofa, balancing two goblets on his fingers and holding a bottle of elf-made wine. A grin lights up her face as he hands her a filled glass before pouring some of his own.

Turning fully towards her, Ron lifts his glass. "Cheers!"

After taking a large gulp, he sighs, leaning his head back against the cushion while Hermione nestles into his side.

"It's not much...but it's home."

Hermione arches her neck up so she can grin at him. "It's everything."

Ron can't resist bending over to give her a peck on the top of her head before tucking a tendril of hair away from her face.

He's looking at her as if there are words on the tip of his tongue, refusing to exit his mouth. He keeps tugging at his shirt collar, and Hermione takes note of the obvious perspiration on his forehead. At first, she thinks he might be getting sick, so she puts the back of her hand to his forehead.

"What is going on with you?"

Ron sits up straighter on the sofa, grasping both of Hermione's hands in his. He clears his throat, appearing to swallow an audible chuckle. His palms are sweaty as he rubs his thumbs in circles on the back of her hand.

"Do you remember when we were just kids? We would spend all day in the fields behind the Burrow, and you would refuse to go back to the house until you found a bundle of your favorite wildflowers."

Lines form between her brows as she slowly nods her head. She's not certain where Ron is going with this. "Yeah…"

"And then once you learned that you were magical, you would spend hours and hours reading up on spells and the history of the world by your favorite tree." He chuckles to himself. "It always used to annoy me a bit that sometimes it felt as if you wanted to read more than you wanted to spend time with me."

Hermione frowns, squeezing his hand. "That's not true."

"I know," he agrees. "But as a kid, that's how I felt. I was never happier than when I was with you."

A flutter takes over her belly. "Ron…"

Flashes of lightning illuminate the room through the open window panes, followed by a loud clap of thunder that makes both of them jump in their seats. It's only then that Hermione realizes that it's pouring rain outside.

"Do you remember all of that?" Ron asks, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Of c-"

"Because I do," he insists, face burning scarlet as he goes into a speaking frenzy like he's burning with the need to recite a speech that he's prepared. "I remember all of it. Every single memory we've ever had together, I remember it all. And if I need to extract all of my memories into a Pensieve in order to guarantee that I can preserve them, I will. That's how much I never want to forget. I never want to forget how much I've loved you for what feels like my whole life."

Holding his hand out, Hermione watches in awe as a small, flattened wildflower floats into his palm. "I think I loved you even before I knew you were magical, and I would have continued loving you regardless."

She has so much she wants to say — to reassure him that she's never forgotten a single memory with him in it, but all she can manage to focus on is her tingling hands. "Ron-"

He changes his position from sitting on the couch to kneeling on the floor with a small, velvety box in his hands. Heart hammering in her chest, Hermione cups her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her shock.

This is it. It's happening.

"I wasn't expecting to do this today, but it just feels right," he murmurs, meeting her glossy eyes. "Sorry if I bugger any of this up."

Shaky laughter escapes her lips as she blinks away her watery tears. "Impossible."

"Hermione Jean Granger," Ron begins, eyes glistening with the wetness pooling within them, "I love you more than I've loved anything else in this world —even chocolate."

His words dissolve her into a blubbering mess, but she isn't willing to remove her hands from under Ron's in order to swipe away the tears staining her cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, he presses his lips together, expression growing more serious. "I know that I will love you for the rest of my life, if you'll let me."

Ron opens the tiny box to reveal an antique style gold band, with a single gemstone situated in the center of the ring. Hermione recognizes it immediately as his grandmother's engagement ring, and her breath catches in her throat.

"Marry me, love. Please."

It's everything she could have ever hoped for —this moment is everything, he is everything, and she can hardly believe she managed to get so lucky.

Slowly, her head bobs up and down in a nod as she stretches her hand out, waiting for him to slide the ring onto her finger.

A warm glow expands throughout her body as their eager lips fuse together, quickly finding the familiarity of each other's embrace. Hermione doesn't waste time before pulling him on top of her on the sofa with a squeal.

The rest of the world seems to vanish away.

Present Day

"Hermione...Hermione…Hermione!"

The sound of her mum's voice breaks her out of her reverie.

"Wha - oh. Sorry."

Being in a state of dreaming while awake seems to be a frequent occurrence for her as of late.

Jean frowns. "What's going on? You came home from the festival last night earlier than expected."

"Nothing-it's nothing." Hermione waves her off, seeking a change of subject to stop herself from musing on her past for any longer. "Do you have any plans for the day?"

Jean takes a casual sip of her tea before responding, "We've been invited to dinner tonight at the Burrow."

For one, hopeful moment, Hermione believes that she can get through a morning without an onslaught of words from her mother.

Apparently, she's wrong.

"At the Burrow?"

"Yes."

"But it's a Sunday."

"Well-spotted, dear."

"I just mean-" Hermione blows out a frustrated breath. "Sunday nights are Weasley family dinners. And I mean the entire family."

Jean exhales a loud, impatient sigh. "What is your point, exactly?"

"My point is that it would be entirely inappropriate for us to attend!"

Shrugging, Jean brings the teacup back to her lips in a nonchalant way that irritates her daughter even more. "Molly certainly didn't seem to think so when I spoke to her this morning."

"Well," Hermione says back through gritted teeth, "Molly is meddling — like you — and I'm begging you to stop."

A long, tense bout of silence follows, and she keeps a close eye on her mum, who displays a rather haughty expression on her face, complete with pursed lips and lack of eye contact.

"Mum…" Hermione starts.

"What, darling?"

"What are you trying to do?"

"I don't know what you're referring to."

Leaning forward, Hermione lowers her voice, hoping that the sense of urgency she feels for her mother to get where she's coming from is well-translated. "Ron and I are not together right now, and you need to understand that."

Jean stands, startling Hermione with the sharp, penetrating gaze she fixes on her.

"I don't understand it, and I don't accept it. We are going. End of discussion."

Whether Hermione approves or not, she somehow ends up standing outside of her parents' doorstep just a few minutes shy of five, wondering how on Earth her mother has managed to convince her to attend a dinner that she knows has great potential to end in a disaster.

Jean swings the door shut behind her, fluffing the collar on her coat. "Your father is feeling a bit tired, so he's chosen to stay home."

A wave of concern rolls through Hermione from the thought of her father being more lethargic than usual this past week, although she shakes the thought away, figuring that he's likely found an excuse to avoid the entire evening. "You know, I'm a bit tired too-"

"You're going."

The force of her mother's words cut deep, and Hermione swallows back the bile rising in her throat, realizing there is no other option for her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione holds out her hand. "Give me your arm."

A moment later, she finds her mother's cold hand pressing into her own before submitting them both to the familiar spinning sensation of apparating onto the Burrow grounds. Although Hermione recovers quickly from the travel once they land on solid ground, she looks to her mum to find the older woman clutching at her chest, face undeniably pale.

"Are you okay?"

Jean slowly nods. "Yes — I just don't think I'll ever get used to...well, that."

Hermione pats her mum on the shoulder, making an awkward show of comfort. "Come on. The Burrow is just up the hill."

"I have been here before, you know."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione takes the lead, soon finding the familiar crooked structure standing tall amongst the open fields. The front garden is full of people sporting their signature red hair, and Hermione's stomach churns with uneasiness as they approach.

"Hermione! Jean!" Arthur's voice booms through the crowd, waving them over as they draw closer.

Hermione's eyes cast towards Harry and Ginny, who are smiling at her and giving her nods of encouragement. Scanning the other Weasley siblings, her breath catches in her throat when her gaze lands on Ron. He's looking down, scuffing his feet into the grass — she can see small clumps of dirt flinging up into the air from his assault.

Turning her head away, Hermione finds her mum embracing Molly as they whisper back and forth. When their intrusive pairs of eyes flicker between Ron and Hermione, she knows that they must be scheming already.

"Say Jean, I've just recently acquired a new Muggle artifact. Something that you call a recliner?" Arthur expresses with bright eyes — the same level of enthusiasm he often shows when tinkering with the copious amount of Muggle curiosities he's procured over the years.

"Oh, yes!" Jean gives off an airy laugh. "It's a staple in households all over the world. Quite comfortable, as well."

"Brilliant!" Arthur claps his hands together. "I'd like to show you. Mind coming to the shed with me for a mo'?"

Ron winces, speaking for the first time since their arrival. "Dad, I don't think now is the best time-"

"We'd love to!" Jean interrupts, giving Hermione a pointed look. "Wouldn't we, dear?"

A tight smile forms on her face, and Hermione can't help the sarcastic retort that rolls off her tongue. "I can't imagine anything I'd rather do right now."

She may just be imagining it, but she's quite certain that the corner of Ron's mouth lifts up just the slightest at her comment.

With great reluctance, Hermione accompanies the three parents through a rickety old door and into the simple, single-story roofed structure. While the majority of the Weasleys remain outside, she notices that Ron follows them in, choosing to lean against his father's messy workbench with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in peak curiosity.

The recliner sits in the center of the shed, surrounded by hordes of trinkets and gadgets that Mr. Weasley has stowed away. The deep mahogany red leather armchair has a backrest that can be tilted back and a footrest that can be extended by means of a lever on the side of the chair.

Arthur beams as he holds his hands outstretched, proudly displaying his latest fascination.

"The chair is probably best suited for a larger space, but…" Hermione murmurs, tilting her head as she tries to figure out if the armchair could fully recline with the limited area.

"Come, come, try it out," Arthur encourages, patting the seat as clouds of dust puff into the air.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," Hermione advises through a soft whisper into her mother's ear.

Jean tuts in response. "Oh, Hermione. It's only polite."

Although realizing that this experience might not bode well for her mother, Hermione doesn't have the desire or energy to debate with her any further.

Jean places a delicate hand on the armrest as she settles herself onto the seat, shifting her handbag into her lap. "Well, it's very comfortable for an older model."

Arthur gestures towards the handle. "You can pull down on that lever right there to extend your legs."

"Okay." She tries the handle but it doesn't budge. "It's a bit stuck-"

"Ah, yes. It just needs a firm hand. Go ahead, give it a strong push," Arthur coaches.

Hermione tries to hide the smile behind her hand, and from the opposite corner of the room she can hear Ron snorting.

"Alright, then." Using two hands, Jean exerts much more force than deemed necessary as the leg rest springs out, sending her flying backwards with her feet sticking straight up in the air. She screeches as Molly and Arthur rush to grab ahold of both of her arms to hoist her body back upright.

Groaning into her hands, Hermione wonders if she's ever reached a higher level of mortification than what she feels in this exact moment. She slowly spreads her fingers apart, peeking at the catastrophe happening right in front of her eyes.

Ron's body shakes with uncontrollable laughter, a twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes that shine with more light than she has seen over the past week since her return.

"Well…" Jean clears her throat, flattening down the static in her hair as she works to maintain her balance in a standing position. "There's certainly a lot of...buoyancy in those cushions."

"How about some dinner, hm?" Molly changes the subject, ushering them all out of the hazardous shed.

"I sure hope you don't have plans to start supper without me."

Hermione freezes in her spot just outside the shed, a chill running down her spine as she recognizes the shrill tone. The elderly woman walks towards them with an air of importance, dressed in posh clothing and a feathery pink hat. Her red-rimmed eyes are less than inviting, and her frail, bony fingers clutch the small beaded handbag resting against her stomach as she approaches.

"Ron, your Aunt Muriel has decided to join us for supper," Molly informs, a forced smile appearing on her lips. "Isn't that lovely?"

The ill-mannered woman steps right up to the youngest Weasley son, wiggling her beaky nose with an unpleasant scowl on her face.

"Merlin's beard, Ron, your hair is much too long again. And you must shave that scruff on your chin. You look like one of those hairy Acromantulas."

Ron remains stoic, not showing any indication that her insulting remark bothers him in the slightest, although Hermione knows he must be seething inside. "Nice to see you too, Aunt Muriel."

Her narrowed eyes flicker over to Hermione. "Oh, dear. The Muggle-born is back." The disdain is evident in Muriel's gaudy tone, and Hermione can visibly see Ron clenching his fists at his sides.

Although still considered family, Muriel has had a distant enough relationship with the Weasley siblings for them to come to Hermione's defense. The first of whom is Ginny, who leaps in front of her aunt's gaze, showcasing the black dress she wears cut high above the knees. Hermione attempts to bite back a smile, knowing that Ginny must have intentionally worn that dress out of spite for her aunt who has loudly spoken up in the past about her distaste for the 'inappropriate' way Ginny dresses. By the looks of Harry's drooling, he is quite enjoying the view and has no qualms about the length of Ginny's skirt.

"Perhaps we should go inside for supper to be served," Molly announces.

With one last look of disgust at Ginny's attire, Muriel turns up her nose and saunters inside. Ginny and Hermione lock eyes, both sharing mutual grimaces that seem to convey the same thought.

This shall be an interesting dinner.

Molly Weasley has prepared a small feast of roast chicken, savory pies, boiled potatoes, and salad, leaving Hermione salivating from the mouth-watering dishes on display. Conversation seems to flow naturally through most of dinner, and for a little while, Hermione believes that she will be able to escape the evening without conflict.

Only for a little while.

It's not until the plates are cleared, and Muriel's mouth is no longer occupied by the presence of food, that she decides to show off her abrasive nature.

"Well, Molly and Arthur, it's been quite some time since I've been in the same room with you all. You've done quite well for yourselves with the family you've grown."

Arthur's eyes open wide in surprise. "Thank you, Muriel."

"I don't think I've been in the same room with you all since Bill's wedding." A pensive look crosses Muriel's face, tapping her chin. "Ah, no, I misspoke. It must have been Ron and…" She turns her sharp, disapproving eyes towards Hermione. "Well, her."

"And what a beautiful wedding it was," Jean pipes in, the fake smile on her face giving away her displeasure towards Ron's aunt.

"Key word being was," Ron mumbles at a volume barely audible, but one that Hermione could decipher from her position directly across the table from him. Her heart sinks low in her chest.

"Right you are, Ronald," Muriel agrees, and somehow that small exchange between the two family members pushes Hermione off the edge of the cliff she's been standing on for the last week.

"Muriel," Hermione trills in her clipped tone, "did you know that it was Ron who set off that Dungbomb-"

"Aunt Muriel," Ron interrupts at full volume, "do you remember when one of your hats mysteriously vanished from your head? Well, it was Hermione who-"

Hermione extends her leg with the intention of giving Ron a swift kick in the shin from underneath the table. Harry, who sits next to Ron, hisses when her foot mistakenly collides with his instead. "Blimey, Hermione." He bends over to rub his leg while shooting her a glare.

Muriel's bloodshot, menacing eyes dart back and forth between Ron and Hermione, not enthused by the childish antics happening at the dinner table.

"How about some pudding?" Molly stands, following up her question with a nervous laugh. "I have treacle tart."

"My favorite!" Harry chimes in, his retort clouded by an awkward bout of silence.

"Well, is no one going to speak of the Erumpent in the room?" Muriel snaps after several slow seconds, scanning everyone at the dinner table who has remained mum since the tension arose.

Arthur sits up straighter in his chair. "Muriel-"

Muriel lifts her chin, apparently not wanting to back down from her ill-mannered line of thinking. "I certainly will. Not a single one of you has addressed this...this nonsense?" She flings a wild gesture towards Hermione that the younger woman interprets as nothing short of rude.

"Now, that is my daughter you are referring to!" Jean defends, throwing her napkin onto her plate in anger.

Hermione slouches lower in her chair, desperately wishing she could be anywhere else. She doesn't dare to look at Ron, not able to stomach one more look of disappointment.

"Well your daughter abandoned her family and has apparently shown up again without an explanation? At least, if there was one, I wasn't informed of it."

The single fact of Muriel thinking that her gossip-loving and unfiltered self deserves to have a say in her relationship with Ron is enough to do Hermione in. She's not willing to let this impudent woman believe for a moment longer that her impolite actions are justified.

Although her intention is to give Muriel a piece of her wand without reservation, she can't manage to break through the tension faster than Ron.

"What happened was my fault."

His low, booming voice quiets the room faster than Silencio. Molly is just returning to the table with the tart, hands gripping the pie stand so tight that her knuckles are turning white.

"So if you want to blame anyone, blame me," Ron continues, keeping his gaze on his empty plate in front of him. "I'm the one who mucked it all up, okay?"

Hermione's heart pounds within her chest, feeling the heat of several pairs of eyes on her.

"What happened was our fault." Ron meets her gaze from across the table, staring brazenly into her eyes as she addresses him a bit softer. "It was our fault, Ron."

Ron's dark ceruleans radiate a fierce emotion that looks almost like — well, almost like resignation.

"And it's no one's business but our own," he gruffly mutters, only tearing his eyes from Hermione to cast them across the dining table. "Understood?"

For once, Muriel has decided to keep her babbling trap shut.

Ron clears his throat, forcefully stumbling backwards out of his chair. "I'm sorry, Mum. Thanks for dinner." He disappears out of the room before anyone else can blink.

Harry stands to follow Ron out, but Hermione holds up a hand to stop him as she's already walking towards the door.

This is her battle, and it's time to fight.

She finds Ron quickly, not surprised to see him perched on top of the highest hill in Ottery, legs curled up into his chest as he blankly stares off into the cloudy sky.

Hermione doesn't say a word as she settles down onto the grassy knoll beside him, mimicking his body posture. Although she could fill the empty space with so many trivial statements — starting with what in Merlin's name happened back there? and ending with why did you defend me? — she ultimately decides to marinate in the silence, somehow content with just being with him.

"Why haven't you said anything?" He asks after several quiet minutes, just as the sun starts to set.

"I didn't think you wanted me to."

He laughs, keeping his gaze trained on the clouds that now rumble off in the distance. "That's a first. Hermione Granger, at a loss for words."

She wants to correct him. Granger-Weasley.

"I didn't say I was at a loss for words!" Hermione defends. "I just said-" Shaking her head, she decides against her choice of words. "Nevermind."

Swallowing hard, she continues, "So. Muriel."

Ron gives a suppressed laugh, shaking his head. "Fuck, that was a mess. I tried so hard to ignore you, just to guarantee that I could even make it through dinner, but I couldn't. It was too bloody difficult."

"So, why don't we stop?" Hermione whispers.

"Stop what?"

"Ignoring each other."

Ron scoffs. "Easier said than done."

Resting her chin on her knees, she murmurs, "I know it is. I'm not particularly fond of how I've chosen to live the past several years. I'm embarrassed more than anything. I embarrassed my family, I embarrassed you."

"You don't embarrass me, Hermione," Ron interrupts. "You're bloody mental at times, but it's my own fault for-" Face flushed, he steers the conversation elsewhere. "I was just so hacked off at you, and then you turn up out of nowhere and…"

His voice drops off, and it takes everything in her not to reach out and touch him. Instead, she turns to face him, not caring about potential grass stains on her jeans as she sits cross-legged. "That wasn't fair of me to put you in that position. I should've given you warning."

"You don't have to give me warning to come home, Hermione."

A heavy feeling weighs on her chest, knowing full well that their conversation should have never been about her needing to come home at all. She should've just been there.

"What happened to us, Ron?" Her lip trembles as she asks the question that's been brewing for a long time, replaying the hurtful event from five years ago over and over in her mind that led to a cascade of bad decisions.

"You changed. You're not the same Hermione who used to play in the dirt with me, or climb trees and run around in the field behind the Burrow."

"I grew up, Ron," she reasons. "You changed too, you know."

"The problem is we didn't change together."

Rain starts to sprinkle on top of their heads, but neither seem to care.

"They say that might happen when you marry young," Hermione murmurs.

"Huh?" Ron screws up his face in confusion.

"The younger you get married, the increased risk you have of growing apart. People usually change in their mid-to-late twenties. The divorce rate is higher for-"

"Says who?" Ron demands, expression hardening.

Her heart pounds against her ribs, intimidated by his steely gaze. "I-I don't know. Relationship experts, I suppose?"

"I don't need anybody else telling me how my relationship is supposed to work out," Ron argues. "All I need is-"

The amount of times that Ron fails to finish his sentences irritates Hermione to her core, knowing there is so much that he is still keeping inside.

"You always were so independent," he says instead. "Still are. I reckon you never needed me to take care of you. When you left I thought, well, that's it. She's sacked me 'cause she finally realized she's better off without any baggage."

"Ron, how could you ever think that?" Hermione breathes out in disbelief.

"How could I not?" he snaps. "You've been gone five years, Hermione. What did you expect? I think it's safe to say I'm one of the only people who still gives a shit around here."

Judging by the scene they just witnessed at the Burrow, she wants to tell him that there seems to be plenty of people that still care about their relationship status, but she's too curious to not ask a question that can't escape her brain.

"Then why do you?"

"Because you're my WIFE," he roars, eyes boring into hers with a fierce intensity. "We took an oath, we made promises to each other, and that fucking means something."

You're my husband. The single thought makes her want to burst out into tears right then and there.

"It's like you said, Hermione," Ron adds, his expression softening. "My loyalty is always to my family."

Family. Husband. Wife. Her mind is spinning, echoing those three words in rapid succession. She barely registers the rain droplets dripping down her skin, drenching her clothing.

Ron places his palm into the grass behind his body to lift himself up into a crouched position, peering down at Hermione.

"I want to show you something."