Chapter Twenty Eight
To Whom It May Concern:
A student of Hogwarts (namely Ron Weasley) was recently taken into the custody of the Ministry of Magic for questionable behavior. It was released that he was guilty of the charges against him, and he is supposed to have died. However, he is still living, and there seems to be no trace of illness in him.
We at the Ministry are forced to admit our mistake, and are therefore returning said student to school at 3:00 PM on Christmas Day.
Please accept our most humble apologies at the inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Wolfgang Boozier
Minister, Magical Law Enforcement
She stared at the letter. Hermione stared blankly at the letter that she held in her hand. She couldn't believe it. Ron was alive?
Harry's voice cut into her stupor. "What does it say?"
"Ron's alive," Hermione whispered. "They're sending him back."
Harry was beside her in a moment, nabbing the letter and reading it frantically. "Oh my God," he whispered. Then he grinned. "It's two-thirty, Hermi," he said happily. "They'll be bringing him here in an hour!"
He jumped to his feet, and tried to pull her up. She didn't budge. "Hermione, come on!" She was still. "Come on, Hermi, what's wrong?"
Hermione said nothing. The feeling that she had- it reminded her of when she had first learned that Harry and Ginny were missing, or when Ron had told her that he was going to die. She was frozen. It seemed as though there was a shell around her that nothing could penetrate. Only- before, it had always been something bad. This was very different. She thought she ought to be jumping up and down, and dancing and singing, at the very least. But she only felt one thing: disbelief. Something in her refused to believe that Ron was alive. Something kept telling her to resist, and save herself the disappointment.
She finally got up, still silent, and walked slowly up the stairs to her room, flopping face first on her bed. The Fates are playing with me, she thought distractedly. Like a cat plays with a mouse. I think I'll go and drown myself. She got up, and promptly immersed herself in a hot shower.
How long she stayed in the shower, thinking her scattered thoughts, Hermione didn't know. But it seemed like a long time when she finally got out and got dressed. She looked at the clock when she got back to her room again. It was 3:15.
Silently, Hermione plodded down the stairs. Harry was waiting for her by the portrait hole, along with Dumbledore and McGonagall. No one said anything as they made their way through the hallways and out to the front of the school. They settled themselves on several benches to wait.
Hermione looked at her watch again. It was 3:30. He should be here, she thought absently. Even now, her thoughts were detached and floaty. Without a word to either Harry or the Professors, she got up and began walking down the dirt path that led to Hogsmeade. That would be where they would take him, if he was really coming back.
The sun was beginning to set- it was winter, after all, the sun sets early, then. It cast eerie shadows through the trees and across the road and her face. The snow crunched under her feet at she made her way down the path, not thinking about anything in particular, just walking.
Hermione had just turned the last corner when she saw him. He was still wearing the same white clothes she had seen him in last, with an open bomber jacket overtop. The evening sunlight glinted off his hair, and reflected in his eyes. He didn't see her at first, but when he did, he smiled.
The smile froze her. She stopped in her tracks and just stood there, hugging herself in the cold, and staring at him. He kept walking towards her, and she strained to make herself believe that this was real. That this was actually happening. He stopped when he was right in front of her, but said nothing.
Hermione stared at the ground. She could feel tears beginning to well up behind her eyelids, even though her eyes were open. She finally felt his need for her to look at him, and she met his gaze.
His eyes were the same as she had always remembered them. She searched them thoroughly, looking for any sign that might give him away, something to say it wasn't really him. Nothing. They grew greener as she looked at him, and he silently held up one hand, palm facing her, patient and quiet.
Excruciatingly slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers lightly brushing his…
What happened next, Hermione could never afterwards be sure. It was all a blur of her fingers interlocking with his, and then being pulled to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him as close as she could, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling his arms around her waist, as tight as they had ever been. She didn't fully register on all this, though- her brain was concentrated on one thought: this was defiantly Ron.
Tears were streaming down her face. How she could go from being completely dry-eyed to having her face completely soaked in a matter of seconds was beyond her, but that was how it was. Ron was holding her so tightly that she was sure the grain of the fabric of her shirt would be forever imprinted in her skin. The hand that gripped her shoulders was almost painful. But she didn't care.
What she cared about was that Ron was there. He was there, safe in her arms, and she could feel his arms around her, and smell him, and see him… She wanted to scream and cry and dance and sing all at the same time, but instead she just held him tighter and cried silently into his shoulder.
"Hermione." Ron's rough voice reached her ears, and Hermione looked up and met his eyes. He had been crying, too, but his face was lit up by his signature grin that she loved. She smiled shakily back at him, still a little grimace-y from crying. Ron; hand came up and softly touched her cheek, then he pulled her close and kissed her, swiftly but intensely.
"I'm never letting you go again," she whispered huskily when they drew apart, still holding each other tightly. "If I have to handcuff you to me, so be it, I'm not letting you go."
He grinned, and kissed her again, pulling away only so that their noses were touching. "Fine by me," he responded cheerfully. "Fine by me."
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