Disclaimer: So says the prophecy of the majestic One: In times to come there will be a brilliant author. And her written word will be revered by children and adults alike in countries all over the world, people who speak all different languages. And in this time there will be many fanfiction stories written using her characters, but these stories cannot possibly live up to the wonder that is her written word. Though the characters may be borrowed, no one could ever claim to own these characters, for they belong to the fabulous Jo Rowling. So it is written, so it shall come to pass.
Author's note: JULY 16 IS ON THE WAY! AND I AM FLYING TO LONDON TO BE PART OF THE ACTION! WOOOHOOOO!
Ahem. So. Here's a little tidbit to get you through the next couple of weeks of anxious waiting for the book. It's a little more angsty than I usually write, but so be it. Ron / Hermione as usual, with a hint of Ginny / Harry. One shot.
I so can't wait to see what will happen next.
Enjoy – Lawwwren.
A Little bit of Love.
It was raining again.
It always rained around about that time of year, when his memories threatened to overcome him and his heart turned cold when he realised what day it was. It always rained when he went to the church, where her parents were having prayers said for her and he felt that stab go through his heart at the sight of them.
It always rained when he went home, to an empty apartment, where she was not cooking the dinner, not laughing at some crazy muggle show or engaging him with her smile and witty retorts, as he always thought she would be at this stage of his life.
It always rained when he pulled on a coat and went for his annual walk to King's Cross, to sneak into platform nine and three quarters and remember when she had first burst into his life, throwing open the compartment door to where he and Harry had been sitting.
It always rained when he walked back home and found three messages on his answering machines, always the same three people offering him their sorrow, their support, an invitation for a drink or a meal… Ginny's voice was always the first one, Harry's the second, his mother's the third. His brothers had never called, somehow unable to express their sorrow, their support for him. Other friends had offered in the beginning, but his reluctance for company soon drove them all away, or they forgot, or they couldn't be bothered.
It always rained when he looked at the photograph he had of her on his mantelpiece, which had once lived by his bed, but which he could no longer bear to have there, certain to hound his dreams. It was his favourite photo of her, with that smile lighting up her face and her arms locked firmly around a thick, dusty old book. So typical of Hermione, really. But though it was his favourite, he only looked at it on that one day a year, for it brought back too many sad memories, too much pain of days gone past.
It always rained as he lay down for the night, the hunger pains gnawing at his stomach because he couldn't be bothered, for that one day a year, to cook himself anything to eat, the clothes he was wearing slightly damp because he couldn't be bothered to change…
It had rained, that night, so many years ago. He had been running, running for his life, with her at his side, and then they had been split up by the attacking forces. He had fought, long and hard, desperate to get to her, to see if she needed help, desperate to see what he could do. And he had won, eventually. And of course, he knew that if he had won then so would she, because she was better at it than he was, she always had been.
It had been raining when he turned and found she was gone, when he had begun to run again, searching, seeking, desperately trying to find her.
It was still raining when he had found the others, cold, but otherwise alright; still raining when they had asked her where she was and he realised with a shock of horror that she was not with them as he had hoped she might be.
It had rained as they set off together, calling desperately, looking and looking until they had searched everywhere and still not found her, and had known that there could only be one other place that she could be.
It had rained when Ginny finally grabbed him and made him stop, made him see that there was nothing more they could do at that moment, that they would have to get out of the rain for a while. It was Ginny who had wrapped him in a hug, and later, in a blanket, and tried to get him to calm down. But it was Hermione who held his thoughts captive, and he could not, would not, calm.
It was still raining when Dumbledore found them, told them it was over. That Harry was still alive and that they were safe to go home. Ginny had almost cried in relief, but there was something unspoken, something unsaid that he had been unable to put his finger on, but which he could sense all the same.
It was raining when he had looked up at his past headmaster and asked him that question, raining when he thought he saw the flicker of something that looked terrifyingly like pity pass through the old man's eyes.
It was raining when he heard the words spoken, softly, gently, as though to soften the blow, raining when he fell to his knees in a hopeless daze, tears obscuring his vision.
It was raining again.
It always rained at this time of year. He looked outside, and felt his heart drop and his eyes mist over. He felt the bottom of his stomach swoop and clench, felt as though someone had cruelly made a mistake.
It was still raining. But there she was.
It was raining as he opened the door, raining as he stepped out into the cool water. It was raining as he met her eyes for the first time in five years, raining as they paused, almost uncertain for a second, raining as he felt her presence ram hard against his chest as she threw herself into his arms. It was raining as he felt the tears he had been holding for so long suddenly burst forth and stream down his cheeks unchecked, raining as he pulled back and, for the first time ever, lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her as though she were going to leave him, as though nothing had ever meant anything to him more in his entire life.
It was raining as he pulled back at last and hugged her fiercely again, asked her where she had been all this time, asked her why she had never let them know she was safe. It was raining as he heard her answer and was almost sick at the horror of it, raining as she told him that it was alright, that it really was over now.
It was raining as he pushed back the hair plastered to her face and wiped away the tears, mingled amongst the raindrops.
It was raining as he said the words he had wished so many millions of times that he had said to her, before she died.
"I love you, Hermione."
It was raining as she looked up at her, her eyes tired and hiding the emotions of five years of terror behind the thinnest of walls. But for one brief moment, the clouds lifted as she smiled her smile, the one he loved so much, and it was as though she had never left him.
"I love you too, Ron."
It was still raining as she kissed him again, still raining as they turned and hurried inside.
It was still raining. It always rained at this time of year. But for the first time ever, he didn't mind.
Please leave a review. Thank for reading. Lawwwren.