Disclaimer: Ron and Hermione aren't mine, and I know they're probably a little out of character...but hopefully J. K. Rowling won't mind. Also, the setting is the common room sometime in either sixth or seventh year, depending on when Mrs. Rowling decides to have the great battle (which could possibly be mentioned in the end)
Its Perfect Place
She was leaning against his shins, sitting on his shoeless feet, gazing at the blazing fire in front of her.
He was nestled between the chair behind him and the girl in front of him, his hands behind his head, staring at the fire that could be seen above her head.
Neither was speaking. Neither seemed to really notice the other was there.
They were both gone. Away in thought, perhaps, but maybe in fear. Fear of what was to come.
"How did it get like this?" she whispers to herself. "How did we get like this?"
He hears her, but he doesn't. Not like he used to. "It just went like that," he mutters.
"Why didn't – why couldn't we stop it?"
"I don't know."
"We should have," she says louder.
"Yes, we should have," he agrees.
She shifts her position slightly, and he moves his hands from behind his head to her small shoulders and begins to rub them.
She leans her head back to look at him. His eyes are blank, but he is smiling slightly, remembering the old days. She smiles a little, too, remembering.
Suddenly, there is a spark in his eye. He has remembered how she kissed him before a Quidditch match, for good luck.
She blinks at this, for her memory is a different one. She is remembering how he used to tease her so much, and how now he hardly talks to her.
So, she doesn't except him to kiss her.
He leans over her face and kisses her upside down.
She is alarmed, and pulls away.
"Ron!" she cries.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, his face a bright red. "I didn't –" he wants to say he didn't mean it. But he did mean it. And he can't lie to her anymore. "I wanted to."
She blinks again. "Why?"
"I think I used to love you, Hermione."
He hardly ever talks to her – what is going on?
"I – I don't know what…"
"Don't say anything," he says, standing up. "I think it was a thing of the past." He starts to head up to the dormitory.
"Wait…" she says slowly. "I remember the past, too." Her voice is so quiet, he is forced to turn back and listen to her.
"I remember how we used to – to argue, but we talked about everything, too. Well, almost everything, because there was one thing that I always wanted to say to you, but I never did. And I could say it to so many people, but it never would mean the same thing –"
"I love you."
She blinks for a third time. "What?"
"That's what you could never say to me."
"But, I didn't mean it like that…" she mumbles.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I – I didn't say it to you because…" she pauses for a moment. "Because I loved you differently."
He knows what she means. Even though he used to pretend he didn't understand her, he always did. He always knew what she wanted to happen.
He swept her off her feet that night.
That night where they put an end to it. An end to the sadness – if that was possible.
It wasn't quite possible.
A few months later, there is a war. Thousands are killed, but good triumphs in the end. The two both think the other is dead, having mistaken two strangers.
They meet each other once again. Their eyes are tired, sad, mournful, yet somehow rejoicing all the same.
And then they recognize each other.
"Ron…" she breathes. "It's you?"
He just nods, and sweeps her off her feet like he did that night in the common room.
And everything seems to slip into its place. Its perfect place.