"Ron, don't turn away from me. Please." Hermione caught hold of his sleeve, and he stood still. He looked at the ground.
Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. With dismay, she felt him shrink from her touch. That was painful; for seven years, Ron had been the one to grab her into an impromptu hug, the one to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; to initiate a rowdy tickle session. He was used to physical contact with his large, uninhibited family, and it was Ron's shoulder she leaned on for comfort, Ron she sat back to back with by the lake; Ron's hand that clasped and swung hers as they walked.
"Ron, please look at me." Slowly, he raised his head and turned around. His blue eyes held a world of pain, of rejection. "I have to talk to you, to tell you how –"
Ron's face was twisted into a mask of disgust and misery. "I don't want to know," he said. Then, he seemed to change his mind: "I could take it, when I realised that we weren't going to be close in that way. It hurt, but you were still my best friend, my closest –" he choked, and tears began to roll down his freckled cheeks.
Hermione seized his hand and dragged him into the small parlour next to the Great Hall; it was sometimes called the Tea Parlour. She pulled him over to a small settee by the fireplace, and none too soon; her eyes exploded with tears. For some time, they sat there miserably, weeping next to each other.
Ron wiped his sleeve across his eyes. "How could you?"
Hermione fished in her sleeve for her handkerchief; it was not even hers. It was one of Severus' with his initials in black, and she thrust it back where it had been. She wiped her face with the heels of her hands. "Ron, I have to tell you, so you understand, please…"
He sat still. Then, he reached out his arms, and in the next second she was hugging him, a storm of tears wetting his robes. A gentle hand put her hair back from her face. "Cor, girl, you're a fright," he said softly.
Hermione sat up, holding on to his hands. "You say things like that to me all the time," she said.
"Sure I do! I see you, you're my best friend, and it ain't always pretty and perfect, is it? I can tell you anything. It's for your own good," he said stoutly.
"Well, then," said she, "you must know that you're not the only one who can look at me and tell me I'm a fright, or that I'm doing something stupid, or that I'm wrong, and mean it with love."
"Well, he had better not insult you in public!" Ron cried, then caught himself up short. "We insult each other in public all the time, you and me and Harry, don't we?"
Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Yes, we do. Only people who really love each other can fight and squabble and say daft things to each other – and mean it with love."
Ron looked earnestly into her face. "Are you serious? Snape says daft things to you with love? Cor," he muttered. "This I have to hear."
"Well, " she answered with asperity, "borrow Harry's Invisibility Cloak some time, and come sneaking round! No, I don't really mean that, Ron. Yes, he does speak to me with love – and with courtesy, and he listens to me. Really listens."
"I can see the lot of you twenty years from now, still stirring cauldrons, still skulking round the dungeons. You'll probably take to wearing black and letting your hair get all greasy – " Ron shuddered.
"No. I can see us twenty years from now, working on private research projects and getting paid heaps of galleons and pounds when we develop cures for diseases that kill wizards and Muggles as well, and spending weekends and holidays at Snape Manor in Scotland – and probably entertaining you and Harry and your wives along with your broods of teenaged prats!"
Ron snorted. "You're kidding me," he said. "Snape Manor? What is it, a haunted house on the moors? And you and him, and- and- " he looked at her as if he were ready to burst into tears again.
Hermione put her hand on his arm. "We haven't talked about children," she said. "We haven't even talked about getting married. But if ever I marry anyone, it will be him." She took a big breath. "Our spirits fit, Ron. I hope that you find a woman whose spirit fits yours, then you'll understand."
Ron stood up and pulled her up with him. "You're sure?" he said. He drew himself up and shook his robes all round, like a rooster fluffing his feathers. He took her face in his hands. "Hermione," he said quietly, "I still think he's a greasy git, and my stomach turns when I think –" he shook his head, hard. "But if he makes you happy, I'll – I'll even shake hands with him." Unconsciously, he wiped his hand against his robes. "And if you marry him, I'll stand up with you, me and Harry together."
They stood looking at each other, and then they hugged long and hard.
*~*
It was only with great difficulty that Albus Dumbledore, that most well meaning of busybodies, restrained himself from bellowing, "And how is our loving couple this evening?" when Hermione and Severus sat down at the Masters' Table. Hermione, although a graduate student, was not yet a Mistress, and so she sat in a guest's chair, with a low back. The usual chatter went back and forth as usual as dinner appeared on the tables. Headmaster Dumbledore noticed that the lovers sat side by side, with great dignity, talking to others around them as well as between themselves.
"Good manners will out," remarked Minerva. "They look so sweet together, don't you think?"
"I hardly think 'sweet' is the right description for Severus, but I've never seen him look this relaxed," answered Dumbledore. "It's about time."
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was bursting to talk to Harry privately. He looked over to the couple at the Masters' table; cool as cucumbers they were. Harry saw where his friend's gaze locked.
"Hermione was looking for you earlier, " Harry said. "Did she find you? Did you two have a chat?"
Ron could hardly restrain himself. "Oh, so she had her little "chat" with you first, did she? I knew it," he said sourly, "She rehearsed it with you, because she knew I was so put out with her."
Harry shrugged. "It's going to take some getting accustomed to," he said ruefully. "To tell the truth, he's being rather polite. Still, I got detention for sneezing over my cauldron in class last week, so he hasn't changed that much," he stated. "But he does look better than usual, doesn't he? He's not as green and greasy-looking. Maybe she's put a glamour on him to improve his appearance."
They were interrupted by Ginny, who bounced out of her chair and squeezed herself in between them. "Have you seen Hermione?" she chortled. "She can hardly walk! One doesn't get that way from casting charms or working in the laboratory. Do you know, when a woman—"
"Stop it!" yelled Harry and Ron together. "You," said her brother, "are turning into a right prat of a gossip and busybody. Don't you have anything more interesting to watch?"
Ginny stuck out her lower lip. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said smugly. Ron and Harry looked at each other and nodded. Ron brought up his wand and said firmly, "Silentio boca." Ginny's mouth continued to move, but no sound came out. Her round blue eyes goggled, and then filled up with tears. "Sorry, love," smirked Ron. "Can't hear a word you say. Can we, Harry?"
