Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Unfortunately. But if JK Rowling want to sell them I wouldn't be averse to buying Ron. But until then I don't own them.

Author's Note: This is a story about Hermione running away and having to face her past. It will be from both Ron and Hermione's point of views. They'll switch but not necessarily every chapter. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out who's POV it is. Well, review if you like it. Hell, review if you don't. I can take a little constructive criticism. Just don't be blatantly mean. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Alayna, I'm so glad you like my portrayal of Lavender. I've read a lot of stories that show her different ways, and I actually have some stories in the works that show her differently. Thanks to Lady of the Dark too, my faithful reviewer. You review everything. I love you, but in a totally platonic way. ( lol ) J I'm really happy to get so much positive feedback. It makes me feel so happy. If I didn't mention you it doesn't mean I don't still love to hear from you, it's just this author's note is getting ridiculously long and I still have other stuff to say. This chapter doesn't have much action but I thought you should get to know Hermione a little better and see how much she misses Ron. The flashback just gives you a little insight into her past. Don't worry I'll get to why she left, but not for a while.

Chapter 3: Flashbacks and French Poetry

Hermione enjoyed her day off, despite the disturbing beginning. She went out, did some shopping at the market and walked around some parks. She visited her favourite spots, Notre Dame Cathedral and the Louvre. She came back from her day at 5:00 in the afternoon, feeling refreshed and happy. She sunk into a chair in front of her fire. Just as she was getting comfortable, a tapping on her window forced her up. Of course, as soon as I get comfy, the mail comes, she thought. She let the owl in and read the letter.

Chère Mademoiselle Scott,

Mme. Chantal fell ill today and we need you to teach her pre-Beauxbatons class. They are 6 years old and will be very well behaved. They are learning about French poetry at the moment. Come to St. Antoine's at 8 tomorrow morning and I will brief you further.

Merci, M. André Charlebois

Hermione sighed and walked to her bookshelf. She was going to teach a pre-magic school class, and she was going to be prepared. In France children go to school before they are eleven and St. Antoine was one of those schools. The students learn things like languages, math and history. Hermione's job was as a substitute teacher and textbook writer for St. Antoine, Beauxbatons and several other pre-magic schools in Paris.

Hmm thought Hermione, running her fingers along the titles. French poetry, French poetry. Here it is. She took a book with a green cover from the shelf. She brought it over to the chair and cuddled in again. She looked at the book and ran her hand across the cover. Les Poems d'Amour. Poems of Love. All the pages were filled with words of love written for Rosaline and Anna-Louise. She remembered the last and only time a poem was written for Hermione Amanda Granger.

~~~~

"Honestly!" A seventeen year old Hermione stormed into the common room.

"Back early, Hermione? Did Madam Pince close the library?" her best friend Harry Potter asked.

"No, but I can't concentrate down there. Parvati and Lavender are down there giggling over charms to make them look good tomorrow," Hermione fumed, flopping into an armchair.

"Why? What's tomorrow?" Harry asked looking up from his chess game with Ron. Ron's queen had just destroyed Harry's remaining bishop.

"Don't you look at a calendar, Harry?" Ron asked him astonished. "Even I know tomorrow is Valentine's Day."

"WHAT?!"

"Harry you really should pay more attention to things," Hermione scolded.

"Umm, I've got to go upstairs." Harry quickly got up and knocked over his chair.

"What? We're not finished our game. I was about to wipe the board with you," Ron complained.

"I have to make a present for Gin-, somebody," Harry quickly explained and rushed to the stairs.

Ron watched his retreating friend and asked, "Did it sound like he said Ginny?"

"No. Here Ron. I'll play you," Hermione tried to change the subject.

"Alright." It worked. Hermione righted Harry's toppled chair and Ron set the pieces up on the board. They chatted about all sorts of inconsequential things from Quidditch to homework. By the time Ron had captured Hermione's king it was late, and they were the only ones left in the room. Giggles filtered down to them from the girls dorms.

"Are you tired, 'Mione?" Ron asked as he stretched.

"Yeah," she yawned. "But I don't want to go up yet."

"Parvati and Lavender annoy you a lot lately," he said as he sunk in next to her on the couch.

"Oh, it's just that Valentine's Day is tomorrow. They're getting all worked up. I don't think I could stand listening to them brag about their boyfriends."

"I'll sit up with you then."

"That's okay Ron. Really. You can go to sleep if you want."

"No, I'll stay here. You just tell Ronny what bugs you about your roommates."

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. He was being very sympathetic. Uncharacteristically sympathetic, actually. She considered telling him she fancied him. But that's ridiculous, because I don't. He's my best friend, for Pete's sake. Instead, she relayed some gossip Parvati had given her, quite unwanted.

"Did you know Dean is getting Parvati 16 long stemmed roses and a kitten?"

"Yes," stated Ron. "They're up in the dorm right now. The kitten got at one of my maroon sweaters. Now it's its bedding."

"Oh, I'm sorry Ron. Your mother worked so hard on those."

"It's okay. I never liked maroon. Tell me more about your roommates," he said, leaning back and putting his arm on the back of the couch behind her.

"They're not really that bad," she sighed. "It's just that sometimes Inever mind. Seamus wrote Lavender a poem for Valentine's, you know."

"Yeah. He asked me for some rhymes. Sometimes you what, 'Mione?" he asked, looking into her eyes. When he looked at her like that there was nothing she wouldn't tell him.

"Sometimes Ifeel left out. Like I have nothing to do with that world of romance and stuff." A small sob escaped her lips. "No one's ever written me a poem, Ron. And probably no one ever will."

"Oh, 'Mione. Sure they will."

"No they won't. I'm not good enough for a poem. What'll they write? She reads books and she's smart? That's not poem material."

Ron wrapped his arms around her as she cried into his chest and he gently stroked her hair.

" 'Mione, don't cry. You know that's not true. Anyone would want to write a poem about you. You're amazing. I promise someone will write you a poem."

"How do you know?" She raised her tear filled eyes to his clear, confidant, comforting ones.

"I just know," he whispered.

He rocked her in his arms for a minute. She had never felt as complete as she had at that moment. After a bit, he pulled away and wiped away her tears with his thumb. She looked up at him and he smiled.

"It's late. You should go to sleep. Parvati and Lavender are probably sleeping already."

Hermione smiled weakly and nodded. He gave her a squeeze and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

"You too, Ron." Then, she went up to bed.

The next morning Hermione woke up well rested and feeling better after her talk with Ron. He had been so sympathetic and understanding. She felt fresh and ready for the day, even if she got nothing for Valentine's Day. When she went down to the common room Harry and Ron were waiting. Though Hermione felt rested, Ron looked dead on his feet.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, concern showing in her features. "You look like you didn't get a wink of sleep."

"He didn't," answered Harry. "I woke up at 7 and this guy was just nodding off at the desk."

"I had some writing to do," Ron said between yawns.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked at him suspiciously.

"But you finished all your assignments," she stated.

"Not for school."

"Maybe he's got some new girl," Harry chimed in.

Ron shook his head but Hermione's heart dropped. What if he does have a girl? That's probably what it was, and Ron's just too much of a gentleman to talk about it. Oh, why didn't I just kiss him last night? Even she was astonished by her wish to kiss her best friend. Must be some Valentine's Day reflex or something, she thought.

"Let's just go eat," Ron said, offering Hermione his arm.

"Good idea," agreed Harry and he offered her his arm as well.

Hermione laughed and accepted both arms as the trio mode their way down to breakfast.

The Great Hall was a dazzle of paper hearts floating from the ceiling and roses piled all over the House tables. Every once and a while a house-elf would appear out of nowhere an recite Valentine's out loud in high squeaky voices. A house-elf appeared and read "A love sonnet for Draco Malfoy from Blaise Zabini" whilst Ron was drinking his orange juice, which made him laugh so hard juice came out his nose and got all over Harry. But the best part of the morning was about to come. Ron, Harry and Hermione had just gotten up to leave when Dobby appeared in front of them.

"Dobby is very happy to see Harry Potter, sir, and his friends Ron Wheezy and Hermione Granger. Dobby is looking through Valentine's and is finding this one Dobby wants to deliver especially."

"Dobby," Harry started, "If this is for me, I don't-"

"Valentine not for Harry Potter, sir," Dobby interrupted. "Those coming later. This Valentine is for 'Mione Granger. I is reading it now. Ahem..

To my best friend 'Mione Granger.

From Ron Wheezy

You said no one would write you a poem,

I promised someone would.

So I wrote you one myself.

I hope you think it's good.

You are my best friend,

And Harry's actually.

But this poem is not from him.

It's from yours truly.

You've been my friend right from the start,

Or at least our first Halloween.

Without you I'd probably be dead,

Smashed by that giant Queen.

I'll be there for you for all of time

Like you've been there for me.

If you ever need a helping hand,

I'll give you mine for free.

When we've finally grown up,

Maybe by twenty-four,

I know that dozens of men

Will line up at your door.

Whether they stay or you make them leave

You will always have me.

A shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear,

Or just some company.

'Cause men may come and men may go,

but friendships last forever.

And I'll be here to guide you through

The rough and stormy weather."

With that Dobby gave a bow, handed the parchment to Hermione and disappeared.

Hermione just stared at the paper in her hands. The whole Great Hall awaited her response with baited breath. After what seemed like hours she looked up at Ron.

Tears glimmered in her eyes as she softly said, "You stayed up all night to write me this for me because I said no one would ever write me a poem?"

Ron nodded and Hermione let out a sob. She threw herself at Ron and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"That's-the nicest-thing-anyone-has ever-done-for me," she exclaimed between sobs. "You are the best friend a girl could ask for." She gave him another squeeze then let go. With an enormous smile on her face she picked up her book bag and skipped gaily out of the Great Hall.

~~~~

Hermione smiled sadly at the memory. It really had been the nicest thing to happen to her. It still was. Nothing half as nice as that had happened to her since then. She opened the poetry book and a piece of parchment fluttered onto her lap. She looked at the words on the paper Dobby had given her six years ago. Where are all the men, Ron? Where are they? And where are you? She shook her head at that thought. It was her fault he wasn't here and she knew it, but that didn't explain the men.

She sighed and looked at the page Ron's poem had marked. The poem was called "Plaisir d'Amour" by Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian.

Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment,

Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie

J'ai tout quitté pour l'ingrate Sylvie,

Elle me quitte et prend un autre amant

Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment,

Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie

Tant que cette eau coulera doucement

Vers ce ruisseau qui borde la prairie,

Je t'aimerai, me répétait Sylvie;

L'eau coule encore, elle changé pourtant!

Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment,

Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie

Hermione repeated the message to herself, Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment, chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie. Love's pleasure lasts but a moment, heartache lasts a lifetime.

"And don't I know it," she told the night air

Author's Note 2: If you're wondering why Harry walked down to breakfast with Hermione and Ron and not with Ginny, it's because Ron would probably beat him to a pulp if he tried to. Harry and Ginny were keeping their relationship a secret at that time. They'll have met later and Harry will have given her whatever it is that he had made. Not that that's relevant to this story. There will be minimal Harry/Ginny. So no need for the anti-H/G shippers to get offended.

Author's Note 3: The poem that Ron writes for Hermione is mine but "Plaisir d'Amour" is not. It actually is a real poem by Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian. I swiped it from my French textbook. Please don't sue me for it. It's not like I'm making money anyway. Okay, so review. That's all I have to say. Seriously, that's it.