Author's Note: The style of the story is different than what I usually write, and it's one of my first real romances ever, so I'm not sure whether it's good or not.
Hermione was still young. Her skin was smooth. Her hair, as bushy and as brown as it had ever been, had not even single fleck of grey. She was still young.
Sometimes she forgot this.
How old was she, anyway? In her mind Hermione counted up the years. Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven. Only twenty-seven? She could have sworn she was over thirty. She counted again and got the same answer. She was definitely twenty-seven.
It was understandable that Hermione felt old. After all, every important event in her life had happened when she was seventeen.
That was the year she had fallen in love.
Or rather, as she now realized, she had been falling for years before that, but it was at seventeen that she hit the bottom. The flaming, rocky bottom. She hadn't even seen it coming.
It was in the fall of her seventh year at school that she kissed him for the first time.
She had been doing homework, but was tired of it. She was tired of pretending that schoolwork mattered one fraction of a shred when the world was breaking apart. Her, Hermione the bookworm, tired of studying!
Students weren't allowed on the castle roofs, but she didn't care about rules as much as she used to either. She wanted to go somewhere where no one would follow her.
He followed her anyway.
First she had heard scrabbling and puffing, and then his fiery orange hair had emerged over the parapet. "Help me up, why don't you," he asked. Hermione considered letting him dangle there, but at last stretched out a hand to pull him up. It wasn't exactly an easy climb, and he had made it to talk to her. That had to mean something.
"So," said Ron, once he was standing beside her, "what could possibly make my Hermione leave her Charms essay half finished?"
"Charms don't matter anymore," she said, not looking at him. "The only speels that matter now are curses."
"They're teaching us those too."
He was right. After the day's lessons were over, every seventh year, including the only three Slytherins that hadn't left, reported to the Great Hall and learned how to do battle.
"I wanted to look at it all, I guess?"
"What's 'it all'?"
"Oh, you know. The castle. The mountains."
"The village," he said, eyes aimed at a cluster of lights glittering like stars below them.
Hermione nodded. "It looks so peaceful, as if none of it has changed since the day we first came here. If you were closer you'd see that nothing is the same, that everyone is scared and hiding in their houses..."
"Or their common rooms," said Ron.
The two children stood in silence for a long while, looking at the castle, and the mountains, and the village, and the sky. A cold wind blew up the wall, over the parapet, and across Hermione's shoulders.
"You came out here without your cloak?" He had seen her shiver.
She shrugged. The truth was that she had been so frustrated, she rushed out without thought of covering.
Ron sighed and unclasped his own black cloak. Tenderly he placed it over her shoulders. It felt wonderful, his body heat having warmed the black wool. He paused for a moment with a hand on each of her shoulders, then pulled away very quickly.
"Do you love him?" he asked suddenly, as soon as he'd let go of her.
Hermione didn't need to ask who he meant. She had noticed how silent irritable Ron had been, ever since Victor had come to stay at the castle.
"I don't know," she said at last. "He is a really good person. Sweet, and intelligent, even though he still can't pronounce my name."
Ron chuckled. Haltingly she continued. "I feel like I should love him. He cares so much for me."
"Krum's been in love with you for three years." He stopped and moved so that he was facing her. "But I've loved you for longer."
Her eyes widened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What?"
"Your heard me." He placed one firm hand onto each of her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. "Hermione Granger, I have loved you more than life itself ever since that Halloween night with the troll."
"The troll?" She laughed. "We were eleven years old!"
"It's never too early to start loving somebody."
"You certainly didn't act it."
"For the longest time I couldn't admit it to myself. It was much too deep for a stupid kid like me to understand. I needed you to help with that. You've always been so much smarter than me, always understood everything before I did."
The tears were flowing fast now. They burned her eyes and traced warm, wet paths down her cheeks. "Oh Ron!"
He pulled her to him, and they kissed. She had never been kissed before, and was sure that he hadn't either, but there was no clumsiness in that kiss. It was deep, and it was long, and it was full of all the love a kiss could possibly hold. She felt as if she were swimming, swimming through the stars, and all the time safely encircled by his warm, strong, loving arms.
She wished that kiss would never end, but at last they pulled away.
"I love you Ron."
"I love you Hermione."
And she knew, standing there on the castle roof next to this tall, gangly, red-haired boy, that though a kiss couldn't last for eternity, their love would.
Hermione was still young. Her skin was smooth. Her hair, as bushy and as brown as it had ever been, had not even single fleck of grey. She was still young.
Sometimes she forgot this.
How old was she, anyway? In her mind Hermione counted up the years. Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven. Only twenty-seven? She could have sworn she was over thirty. She counted again and got the same answer. She was definitely twenty-seven.
It was understandable that Hermione felt old. After all, every important event in her life had happened when she was seventeen.
That was the year she had fallen in love.
Or rather, as she now realized, she had been falling for years before that, but it was at seventeen that she hit the bottom. The flaming, rocky bottom. She hadn't even seen it coming.
It was in the fall of her seventh year at school that she kissed him for the first time.
She had been doing homework, but was tired of it. She was tired of pretending that schoolwork mattered one fraction of a shred when the world was breaking apart. Her, Hermione the bookworm, tired of studying!
Students weren't allowed on the castle roofs, but she didn't care about rules as much as she used to either. She wanted to go somewhere where no one would follow her.
He followed her anyway.
First she had heard scrabbling and puffing, and then his fiery orange hair had emerged over the parapet. "Help me up, why don't you," he asked. Hermione considered letting him dangle there, but at last stretched out a hand to pull him up. It wasn't exactly an easy climb, and he had made it to talk to her. That had to mean something.
"So," said Ron, once he was standing beside her, "what could possibly make my Hermione leave her Charms essay half finished?"
"Charms don't matter anymore," she said, not looking at him. "The only speels that matter now are curses."
"They're teaching us those too."
He was right. After the day's lessons were over, every seventh year, including the only three Slytherins that hadn't left, reported to the Great Hall and learned how to do battle.
"I wanted to look at it all, I guess?"
"What's 'it all'?"
"Oh, you know. The castle. The mountains."
"The village," he said, eyes aimed at a cluster of lights glittering like stars below them.
Hermione nodded. "It looks so peaceful, as if none of it has changed since the day we first came here. If you were closer you'd see that nothing is the same, that everyone is scared and hiding in their houses..."
"Or their common rooms," said Ron.
The two children stood in silence for a long while, looking at the castle, and the mountains, and the village, and the sky. A cold wind blew up the wall, over the parapet, and across Hermione's shoulders.
"You came out here without your cloak?" He had seen her shiver.
She shrugged. The truth was that she had been so frustrated, she rushed out without thought of covering.
Ron sighed and unclasped his own black cloak. Tenderly he placed it over her shoulders. It felt wonderful, his body heat having warmed the black wool. He paused for a moment with a hand on each of her shoulders, then pulled away very quickly.
"Do you love him?" he asked suddenly, as soon as he'd let go of her.
Hermione didn't need to ask who he meant. She had noticed how silent irritable Ron had been, ever since Victor had come to stay at the castle.
"I don't know," she said at last. "He is a really good person. Sweet, and intelligent, even though he still can't pronounce my name."
Ron chuckled. Haltingly she continued. "I feel like I should love him. He cares so much for me."
"Krum's been in love with you for three years." He stopped and moved so that he was facing her. "But I've loved you for longer."
Her eyes widened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What?"
"Your heard me." He placed one firm hand onto each of her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. "Hermione Granger, I have loved you more than life itself ever since that Halloween night with the troll."
"The troll?" She laughed. "We were eleven years old!"
"It's never too early to start loving somebody."
"You certainly didn't act it."
"For the longest time I couldn't admit it to myself. It was much too deep for a stupid kid like me to understand. I needed you to help with that. You've always been so much smarter than me, always understood everything before I did."
The tears were flowing fast now. They burned her eyes and traced warm, wet paths down her cheeks. "Oh Ron!"
He pulled her to him, and they kissed. She had never been kissed before, and was sure that he hadn't either, but there was no clumsiness in that kiss. It was deep, and it was long, and it was full of all the love a kiss could possibly hold. She felt as if she were swimming, swimming through the stars, and all the time safely encircled by his warm, strong, loving arms.
She wished that kiss would never end, but at last they pulled away.
"I love you Ron."
"I love you Hermione."
And she knew, standing there on the castle roof next to this tall, gangly, red-haired boy, that though a kiss couldn't last for eternity, their love would.