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

A/N: Well, hello there! It's been awhile. I'm not going to apologize for the break because, honestly, writing is something I do in my spare time and I haven't had a lot of it lately. My discord fam already knows, but I recently got a puppy who has taken priority, and I've been spending my time giving him all the snuggles and attention! I do hope to continue to update regularly, but of course, I will never make any promises :) sometimes life happens.

With that said, thanks so much to my betas for their quick editing so I could get this chapter out to you guys. Hope you enjoy!

Sweet Home Ottery

Chapter Eight

All this time I thought of you

Chasing words without a clue

Now I think I get what it is

That I need to say

Now or never my heart's on the line

But it's okay

'Cause it feels right

We both have things we gotta tell

Things that we need to hear

It wasn't always this hard for me

To look in your eyes and just feel

Through the way I do and let you see

What we are

You've been waiting to hear from me

Say what's on my mind so you see

See the truth in how we both feel

Here we are

You've been waiting right here for me

Say what's on my mind so you see

So here's the answer

Waiting Part II - Caslow

Seven Years Ago

It's the ideal day for a wedding, held upon blue skies and sweetly rising heat. A pleasant breeze works its way through the air as sweet strains of classical music drift through the open field. From Hermione's spot peering out of the window of her cottage, she can see the wondrous use of magic allowing the harp to play on its own.

The nerves kick in ten fold as she sees guests through the open marquee filling the golden chairs placed neatly in rows.

Taking a deep breath, she turns her head away before she spots Ron, knowing that if she sees him sooner than she has planned for, it will send her into a mad frenzy and she's not sure if she'll be able to wait until the ceremony starts to have him in her arms.

Returning her attention to the process of getting ready, Hermione uses her wand to draw a makeshift mirror on the wall so that she can observe her appearance. She wears a simple but perfectly fitted sheath gown made of shining cream satin with a small amount of embellished beading on the straps that loop around her neck. The form-fitting style is easy to move around in, and she's grateful that she doesn't feel like her dress will constrict her movement when she's already struggling to breathe properly. Her hair is styled in a classic French twist, conveying maturity and poise.

Hermione has applied a small amount of makeup on her face — hardly any more than usual —to cover up any evidence of her sleepless night filled with pre-wedding anxiety.

Although she's riding on tremendous excitement for what's to come, she can't help but feel overwhelmed by the fact that all eyes will soon be on her. The anticipated attention seems like too much for her to handle — at least, until a knock on the door saves her from her trepid thoughts.

The knob turns and Hugh Granger makes his entrance, dressed in a double breasted navy suit, looking so smart and handsome that a vibrant, lively energy flows through Hermione, instantly calming a bit of her nerves.

Tears fill Hugh's eyes as he steps closer, taking a close look at his daughter. Through choked, raspy words, he says, "I'm so proud of you, Flower."

She races into his arms, curling her head into his chest like she always did when she was younger. "Love you, Dad."

In just a matter of minutes, Hermione stands at the back of the ceremony queue, drawing every eye the moment she appears. The light from the sun is so bright it's almost blinding, and she can only hope that she's emanating a peaceful, assured happiness despite the bundle of nerves twisting around her like the vine on her wand.

She's never been so thankful for her father standing beside her, ready to walk her down the aisle. He's become her pillar of strength — without him, Hermione is sure she would faint. The only other thing giving her some semblance of stability is her wand, which she insisted she needed to hold onto during the ceremony instead of flowers.

Is this really happening? After all of the years they've known each other, will she soon add Weasley to her name? Granger-Weasley, of course.

An inescapable joy warms her heart, and she clenches the wand in her free hand a little tighter, the tip of it glowing without any conscious effort.

"Hermione? Flower?"

The treasured nickname brings her out of her daze, and she clutches onto her father's elbow on instinct.

"It's time," he whispers in her ear before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Slow and steady, she lifts her head up, finding familiar faces surrounding her —friends from Hogwarts, a plethora of Weasleys, her mum seated in the front row with tears glistening in her eyes...

And there he is, standing at the opening of the marquee underneath an oak tree — taller than ever — amid the wildflowers displayed in a romantic hue.

Ron. Her soon-to-be husband. Hermione becomes captivated by the gentle compassion in his vibrant blue eyes — so meaningful, so intense, so intimate — that she yearns to feel the warmth of his touch, to cover the wide grin on his face with a kiss.

She's transformed into a frozen, dreamlike state, only registering her feet starting to move as her dad leads her down the much too long aisle.

The butterflies in her stomach increase with every heartbeat.

Only ten more steps to go.

It's a magical, spellbinding feeling, she decides, to have an orbit of people surrounding them on their special day. The thought fills her with an inescapable joy, a joy that can light up any room with a sparkling energy that is infectious.

Hermione almost trips over the ivy-covered ground as she approaches Ron, just mere steps away, and he reaches out his arms on instinct to hold her steady. Tears overwhelm her sight as she catches her father locking eyes with her almost husband, both exchanging a look so endearing that it brings on a fresh wave of tears as an understanding passes between them— the two men she loves the most. With one final kiss on her hand, her dad steps back to join her mother in the first row.

She simply can't wipe the smile off of her face as she joins hands with Ron, both vowing to love each other for the rest of their lives in a traditional wizarding ceremony that is an honest reflection of their feelings for one another —how they would always remain best friends first, bound together by the foundation they built from childhood until this very moment.

Ron's fingers shake as he attempts to slide the ring on Hermione's finger. He grunts in frustration when the gold band doesn't budge past her knuckle.

Hermione lets out a soft giggle. "Ron, that's the wrong finger."

He turns crimson from the realization, and he quickly fixes his error, letting the ring find its perfect home. She is certain she will never take it off. The bright sun shines down on Ron's matching band as they are officially announced as husband and wife, two souls filled to bursting with light and love.

Ron wastes no time before pulling Hermione close and kissing her with more enthusiasm than he has before. A new kind of electricity flows through them, so palpable and real, consuming them both with a happiness that she hopes will never fade.

Cheers erupt around them, but all Hermione knows is Ron.

Just when the night is winding down, an unforgettable evening filled with merriment, drinking, and dancing —lots of dancing —Ron appears to have one last trick left in his wand.

"Come on." He grabs her hand, already pulling her away from the party.

"Ron!" Hermione admonishes, whirling her head around to check and see who is around them. "We can't just leave our own wedding."

"Why not? No one's looking, I hardly think they'll miss us."

"But I-"

"Hermione, I just want a moment alone with my wife." The intensity of his eyes burning into hers stops her protests in an instant. "Is that too much to ask on my own wedding day?"

Hermione pins him with a stern, tight-lipped expression. "Our wedding day."

Ron kisses her temple as he pulls her in closer. "That's the spirit, love. Now c'mon!"

Curiosity gets the best of her, and she follows him down the grassy hill, the thumping of the music and the chatter of other guests fading as they travel farther and farther away. He's leading her back towards the location of the ceremony, the very familiar oak tree standing tall, a picturesque view of the breathtaking sunset in the background.

Before Hermione can open her mouth to ask what they're doing back here, Ron gently pushes her up against the tree bark and snogs her with a passion that makes her toes curl. Moaning into his mouth, she melts into his embrace, more eager than ever to get him fully alone in the privacy of their own home.

Her lips are plump and swollen as they break apart, panting, foreheads and noses touching. Ron rests one hand on the bark beside her head and the other on her hip.

"This is how I really wanted to kiss you during the ceremony," he chuckles, the corner of his mouth curving up into a lopsided grin.

"Well, thank goodness you waited. The only person I'd want to share a moment like this with is you."

Hermione beams, unable to resist standing on her tiptoes to capture his lips one more time, which quickly grows more heated as every curve of Ron's body presses into hers. Gods, the sensation is incredible. She hopes with everything she has that it will never end, that she'll never tire of feeling so consumed in the love she has for her husband — that they'll stay young and lively forever.

"Do you know why I picked this tree, Ron?" She whispers on his lips, a tingling spark flowing down her spine.

"It's the most polished and uniform of them all?" He pulls back slightly to view her face with a raised eyebrow.

"No." She shakes her head, placing both of her palms on his chest as she stays leaning against the rugged wood. "This was the tree we were standing near when we first found out that I was a witch. Well, it wasn't quite a tree yet, just just a pile of burning embers from the lightning storm. But the roots were there and just needed time to grow — much like our relationship."

In her head, the words seemed so special, but as she says them out loud, it dawns on her just how sentimental and cheesy it all sounds. Ron, however, doesn't tease her like his normal, younger self would have. Instead, he presses a warm hand to her cheek, eyes blazing with nothing but love. She leans into his palm, the simple gesture enough to propel her to continue.

"Everything changed that day in the most magnificent ways." Hermione smiles as an image of her eight-year-old self pops into her head, gazing in wonder at the floating wildflower in front of her. "And yet, some things remained the same. You've never left my side."

Their eyes dance together as Ron's fingers trace Hermione's jawline. Goose pimples erupt over her entire body, and a small whimper escapes her mouth as she awaits his lips upon hers. She feels his breath against her mouth, tasting faintly of Firewhiskey and chocolate cake.

"I think we can add one more thing to remember this day by."

Ron presses the tip of his wand into the solid wood above her head, slowly carving glowing letters across the bark. A small gasp of air leaves Hermione's lips as she processes the words now etched into the tree —for as long as it still stands.

Lightning only strikes once.

RW + HGW

Just before the gap between their lips closes, she hears Ron utter the words,

"I'm going to love you always, HGW."

Present Day

The etched words, although somewhat faded and scratched over time, still have a stamp over her heart like its stamp in the tree.

Hermione can see a little puff of air as she breathes out. "It's still here."

She lifts a shaky hand up to the bark as her fingers slowly trace the outline of the letters. The marking was created on the most perfect, beautiful day, and although she had thought about coming to this very tree as soon as she returned, she had convinced herself that it no longer existed.

Ron doesn't make a sound as he stands beside her, and Hermione's thankful that he allows her the time she needs to process the memory that just flooded her senses.

"I really thought that you would've used Diffindo on this tree by now," she admits, swallowing a lump of emotion down her throat.

"I debated on it," Ron chimes in. His jaw is set as he fixes his concentrated eyes on Hermione. "Several times."

A dull ache ripples through her body. "Why are you showing me this?"

Ron shrugs, taking a step forward as he turns his gaze to the tree. "Do you remember what you said to me? On our wedding day?"

She said a lot of things on their wedding day, but she waits in anticipation for Ron to fill in his thoughts.

"The roots were there."

A series of flashes run through Hermione's mind, starting with lightning streaking through the sky when they were eight years old, and ending with their passionate snog against the oak tree on the day they became magically bound as husband and wife. The ache deep in her chest works its way out, instead replaced with a piercing ray of hope — hope that this might be the moment, a window of opportunity for a fresh start.

"A lot of time has passed," Ron continues, his whispered voice cracking around the edges, "but the roots are still here."

Their eyes meet in an intense staring match, comprehension dawning on Hermione as she sees the softness displayed in Ron's.

"Lightning never strikes the same place twice," she smiles, remembering his words.

The corner of Ron's mouth twitches as his palm rests on the jagged bark. "All this tree needed were its roots to regrow...and stand tall once again."

The sentiment provides a tiny crack of light in years of darkness, and out of all of the things she thought Ron might have wanted to show her, Hermione is pleasantly surprised that he chose the tree. It's the small bit of reassurance she needs to garner the courage to hang on and somehow find a way to make sense of their complicated and confusing situation.

She unceremoniously sits cross-legged on the grass covered bank, pressing her back up against the tree as she hugs her knees to her chest. Ron remains standing, leaning against the tree as he peers down at her. His eyes probe her face as if he's searching for answers to questions that he doesn't even know how to ask.

"I had a dream the other night," Hermione begins, pausing to check in on Ron. Despite everything they've been through together, he's still here. It eases some of her worries just by having him standing next to her. "About the moment we found out that I was a witch. There was a huge thunderstorm, and you were so excited to tell your parents that you didn't even care about all of the lightning and thunder."

She can see the pain in Ron's eyes as he, too, recalls the memory. "I was mostly excited that I wasn't going to have to keep the most important secret of my life from you anymore," he offers, his lips curving up just the slightest. "Before that, I thought you were going to be the muggle girl I'd come home to every summer from boarding school." He puts air quotes around the last two words.

Sighing, Hermione rests her head against the bark as she allows her eyelids to flutter closed. There is a slight breeze in the air as the faint scent of mildew and fresh flowers filters through her nostrils. The sound of the air whistling and the trees rustling around them is all she hears, and for a moment she's transported back in time to her childhood days spent in the meadows with Ron, when life seemed so simple and uncomplicated. As Ron remains silent, she wonders if he is thinking the same.

"You know what I realized in Australia?" She's not quite sure what compels her to ask this question. Although she hears his feet shifting position, he doesn't say anything to acknowledge that he heard her inquiry.

So in true Hermione form, she continues rambling. "I realized that before I had left, we never really spent any time apart. Ever. It was always the two of us, since we were tots even. And I thought, what would my life be like otherwise? We never really had a chance to explore how we would be without each other."

Popping an eye open, she gauges Ron's reaction. He has a pensive look on his face as he stares out into the open clearing, keeping a tense stance as evident by the veins in his neck.

"I didn't realize you ever needed space," Ron mumbles after some time, his voice dry.

Shaking her head, Hermione says, "I only ever intended to be in Australia for a few weeks to clear my head. And then time passed without a word from you...and I thought, how could I come home? When I came to the conclusion that I needed to anyway, to see what was left of our-" She swallows. "Just to see you, that was when, you know, I got the message that you didn't want me to come home. So I didn't."

"S'not the message I intended to send."

He speaks so quietly that she almost can't hear him. But she does. If that wasn't the case, then what did he intend to tell her?

Further attempting to explain herself, she adds, "I think I lost a bit of myself in you. When you were hurting, I was hurting. And I didn't know how to properly help you."

"You being here was helping me," he fires back.

"It wasn't."

"It was."

"It wasn't enough," Hermione stresses. A flash of anger flickers through Ron's eyes, quickly replaced by hurt.

"I get it," he mutters, looking down at his trainers. "I wasn't enough for you."

The pit in her stomach grows larger. "Quite the opposite actually. I thought I wasn't enough for you."

Ron's head snaps in her direction, eyes darting all around her face, as if searching for something, anything to further confirm how she might have been feeling — what could have possibly led her to leave in the first place.

The sound of a twig snapping breaks their focus, and their mutual heads crane up to find a bright orange cat perched in the crook of the tree, balancing precariously on a thin branch bobbing up and down, threatening to break.

Hermione gasps, fumbling to stand up. "It's a cat!"

"Hi, little bugger," Ron murmurs, taking a step closer before Hermione reaches for his hand.

"Wait! We don't want to startle it."

Ron nods, remaining frozen in his spot. He doesn't make a move to release their joined hands, a gesture that is comforting as Hermione realizes that this is the first time they've touched, like this — and, no, him having to carry her intoxicated self home doesn't count — since she's been home.

"We need to help it," Hermione adds as she returns her attention to the situation at hand, her mind already racing with ideas of how to retrieve the cat. She feels an intense need to protect it, to nurture it, like it's a lifeline holding her and Ron together.

An idea pops into her head and she's on the move in a matter of seconds. Pointing her wand at the highest point of the tree, she speaks clearly under her breath, "Incarcerous."

Two thick ropes shoot out from the tip of her wand, binding around the highest tree branch as she holds onto the opposite end. Making sure her wand is stowed securely in her back pocket, she grips onto the coarse rope with both hands before propping one shoe on the bark of the tree as leverage.

"Hermione, wait-"

"I've got this, Ron." Hermione experiences a fierce need to solve this problem on her own, to show herself and Ron that she's willing to put in the work.

Normally heights would not be her cup of tea, but alas, time is galleons.

Grunting from the pressure, she begins to hoist herself up, working hard to use all the upper body strength she has without losing her grip on the rope. Her breath becomes more labored as she uses one hand to search for something to latch onto before she slips and falls straight to the ground.

Once her hands make a firm plant on the tree branch, and she swings over one leg to straddle it, she feels daring enough to look down.

Big mistake.

"Oh, this is high. This is very high." Her breathing is shaky and erratic as she maintains a near-death grip on the tree, allowing her arms to hug around the middle of the thickest part of the bark.

"Hermione, you're going to get yourself bloody killed!" Ron's outrage from below only fuels her to keep going, to finish out the mission.

Craning her head to the side, she finds the big, ginger-colored cat meowing from the opposite end of the branch, his bright yellow eyes displaying clear fright within them.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here to help." She only hopes her voice is soothing as she releases her hold on the tree to scoot her bum a bit closer, almost within arms reach.

The tree branch begins to tremble, and she isn't quite sure how much longer it can withstand her weight.

"Hermione, I'm serious-"

"Ron, are you a wizard or not?" Hermione huffs back, not willing herself to look down again, knowing it likely wouldn't end well. "Just spot me, okay?"

A string of expletives leave his mouth and she can hear him digging through his pockets, likely looking for his wand.

"C'mere, you can do it," Hermione whispers, trying to coax the cat closer. She doesn't want to startle it, but she wants the cat to feel comfortable enough for her to pick it up, as she doesn't particularly desire to be bitten or scratched.

The bandy-legged animal purrs, wiggling its bottlebrush tail in a move that's deemed as positive.

"Okay, I think you're ready."

Just as her arms close around the cat's soft body, the branch groans and cracks from beneath her, and her body free falls towards the ground. A high-pitched squeal escapes from her mouth as she clenches her eyes shut, bracing herself for the inevitable hard impact with the solid ground.

Instead, Hermione finds herself wrapped inside two sturdy arms, hearing Ron grunt in her ear as he catches her. The air is knocked out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath when she finds herself staring into his deep ocean blues, the only solid thing she can focus on as a wave of dizziness clouds her vision and mind.

"Why are you so damn mental?" He growls, brushing the now frizzy curls out of her face so she can get a full glimpse of the irritation in his eyes.

The nature of his touch sends wild tremors along her nerves. He's giving no inclination of letting her go anytime soon, which propels her heart to beat faster and faster. Tightening her grip around his neck, Hermione dares herself to recognize that this might be the moment to let all of her inhibitions go, to not be so dreadfully afraid of going too far.

All of the other sounds of the world go silent, and she hopes she's not imagining it when Ron inclines his face towards her, his opening lips emitting hot breath on her face. Her heart reacts to him on instinct, inhaling a sharp breath as their lips just barely graze together-

"Ow!" Ron exclaims as he drops Hermione's legs to the ground without warning, taking a step back while nursing a deep, red scratch on his arm.

Only then does Hermione realize that the warm bundle of fur still nestled in the protective cocoon of her arms is now squirming for its release. "Oh, sorry." The cat leaps out of her arms and finds a spot to lay down in the grass nearby.

Regret churns through her stomach, disappointed that their moment was interrupted, particularly because she's not sure if or when the opportunity will present itself again.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. What are you doing, Hermione?

Confusion settles between Ron's brows, the tips of his ears reddening. The energy in the air is awkward and unsettling, and she's desperate to quell it.

"I've regretted that day ever since." She doesn't have to go into detail for Ron to understand what she means. "I shouldn't have left like that."

A grimace appears on his face as he repeatedly wipes his hands on his trousers, a motion that Hermione discerns as a nervous reaction. "For what it's worth," he manages to get out, eyes shifting towards the ground as he's unable to meet her gaze, "M'sorry too."

"Wow." A relieved breath leaves her mouth, exhaling the tension she inflicted on her muscles. "This might be the first mature adult conversation we've had together since I've returned home."

Home.

"About 5 years overdue, I s'pose."

"How did we get from chasing wildflowers through the meadows together as kids to here?" Hermione asks, a mounting curiosity seeping into her bones.

"I dunno." Ron shrugs. He lifts his gaze, finally meeting her eyes with a peculiar emotion resembling sorrow. "I hate it though."

"I hate it too." Taking a step forward, Hermione picks at her nails as a desire to build upon this moment continues. "Ron, do you think — do you think you can see us ever finding a way to be us again? To be at least...friends?"

As soon as the word leaves her mouth, and she spots the dark shift in Ron's eyes, she knows she's buggered it all up again.

"Friends…" He murmurs, rubbing his thumb across his chin. A loud exhale leaves his mouth, and he's quick to respond, "Hermione, I'll sign your papers if that's what you want."

It's not.

"But if I do...I don't think I can ever be your friend."

"Ron-"

A forced smile erupts on his lips as he nods towards the tree. "I'm glad you're okay."

Hermione opens her mouth to say more, to clarify the intention behind her words —to make it known that the word friends was only used as a means to work back to something more, that something they've always been destined to be — when she hears her mum calling out for her from just outside the confines of The Burrow.

"Hermione, dear? It's getting late and I'm quite tired."

"Coming, Mum," she yells back. Hermione averts her eyes to the ground for a moment, feeling embarrassed for herself. Holding her tongue, she looks back up. Should she let Ron speak, or just walk away?

"Hey, I'm, uh, going to be gone for a few days on a mission," he finally utters, clearing his throat. Disappointment creeps in at the thought that he won't be around. "I should be back by Friday. Think you could pop by the cottage to check in on Chuds? I usually ask Harry, but — well, I thought you might like to spend some time with him."

Blinking her eyes, Hermione finds herself agreeing. "Sure. Yeah — yeah, of course."

"Brilliant." Ron rubs the back of his neck. "I'll, uh, I'll see you later then."

"See you."

The ginger cat purrs at Hermione's leg as she watches her husband trudge back up the hill and away from her.

Two very long and uneventful days later, Hermione apparates to Diagon Alley in search for necessary cat supplies from Magical Menagerie. The furry friend she rescued from the tree hasn't left her side since, so she guesses he's chosen her as his owner. Not that she minds. He's certainly made her feel less lonely at night when he's curled by her side as she lies awake in bed.

Just as she's handing money over to the shop owner for the lot she's spoiling the cat with, her mind drifts to Ron. She hasn't heard from him since he departed for his mission, and she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she was a nervous wreck over it. She knows that it's protocol for him not to be in touch — unless, of course, things go dire — which she forces herself not to think too much about.

Hermione is so consumed in her thoughts that she runs straight into a solid body as she's exiting the shop.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" The apology dies in her throat as she locks eyes with Lavender Brown, who appears just as shocked as she that, out of all the people in Wizarding Britain, they happen to run into each other.

"Hello, Hermione."

The greeting is curt, but polite. "Lavender. Hi, how are you?"

Lavender holds up a full bag in her hands. "Just doing a bit of shopping. You?"

"Same."

Lavender nods to imply that she heard the response, but doesn't say anything back, making Hermione chew on her bottom lip as she mulls on what to do next.

"Well, it was lovely running into you, but I best be going. Bye, Lavender." Just as Hermione turns to make a quick escape, she hears Lavender speaking from behind her.

"You really should let him go."

Hermione freezes in her spot, slowly swiveling her head back around. "Pardon?"

"If you don't want him anymore, let him go." Lavender's voice is firm and demanding, so much so that Hermione fights back the urge to pull out her wand.

Instead, she coolly replies, "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Lavender's eyes soften just a touch, placing a hand on her own chest. "I apologize. I understand that it's not really my place. But…" She looks around before lowering her voice. "To be quite frank with you, I've seen Ron plenty over the past five years. He was finally, finally, starting to open up — to be the Ron that everyone loves and cares about. Right up until the point you showed up again."

Hermione bites back the retort hanging on the edge of her tongue — she wants to say that anybody that truly loves and cares for Ron would understand that he's human, like everyone else, and should accept him at his best and worst.

Instead, she mumbles, "I'm trying my best." She really doesn't know what else this woman expects from her beyond what she already expects from herself.

"Apparently not hard enough," Lavender snaps, not the least bit sympathetic. "Not enough that he doesn't think there's still something to salvage between you two."

But there is something to salvage...at least, I hope so.

"Just something to think about. Take care, Hermione."

Just as the woman starts to walk in the opposite direction, Hermione calls out to her, an idea — potentially, a very bad idea — formulating in her head.

"Lavender, wait."

The curious woman glances her way again, tilting her head. Sighing, Hermione offers, "My parents are having an anniversary party on Friday in Ottery St. Catchpole. Many of our friends from Hogwarts will be there. I'd like for you to come."

Lavender's eyes narrow, seeming skeptical of the invitation. "Really?"

Hermione tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear, adding, "Ron will be there."

"Oh." Lavender's eyes brighten. "Okay then."

Turning away, Hermione lets out a steadying breath, hoping with everything she's got that her plan doesn't backfire on her.