Disclaimer: All the characters and their world belong to JK Rowling, while the song "When you say you love me" belongs to Josh Groban (super song, btw!)
Chapter 2: When you say you love me
Approximately three hours after Hermione had come home to find Ron sitting on her bed, the two of them were, yet again, lying tangled together in the sheets after some phenomenal sex. Hermione's head was resting comfortably on Ron's chest, rising and falling with his slowly regulating breathing. Ron closed his eyes and his thoughts flitted over and around that night. His surprise had worked out just as he had planned – or almost, anyway; he hadn't counted on her being late by three hours.
After the first time they made love that night, Ron led Hermione to the kitchen where he had prepared dinner for her. "Wow, Ron!" she breathed, gazing at the table laden with food. "You didn't need to do this!"
Ron grinned at her and pulled out her chair. "This is just part of my research on how to please girls. Note to self: Making a surprise dinner is well received."
Not noticing that Hermione's smile faltered at his mention of other girls, Ron motioned to her chair, indicating for her to sit down. He did, however, notice the big smile she flashed at him as she sat down, accompanied by a quiet, "Thank you, Ron." His heart skipped a few beats.
Like the sound of silence calling, I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling, lost in a dream.
They ate peacefully, talking about what had happened in their lives since the last time they had met and what they hoped to happen in the future. For a few minutes, everything was like it had always been between them, quiet talking and gentle banter. They were simply two friends enjoying a meal together – well, aside from the fact that Ron was only wearing boxers, and Hermione was wearing the button-down shirt Ron had been wearing when he surprised her; it was quite large on her and hid her otherwise nakedness.
Ron's eyes flew open, and he was jerked back into the present as he felt Hermione shift next to him on the bed. Realizing that he had been lost in his thoughts for awhile now and it was almost time, Ron rapidly shut his eyes and slowed his breathing.
Soon, he felt Hermione raise her head slowly to look up at him, and heard her beautiful voice whisper, "Ron?" Luckily, after all these encounters, he had become quite skilled at faking sleep, and she didn't realize he was still very much conscious of everything she was saying. "Ronald? Are you awake?"
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting, you say those words and my heart stops beating... I wonder what it means.
Despite every nerve in his body arguing, Ron still didn't respond.
And, like every other time he had stayed for the night, soon Ron felt warm, wet drops splash onto his chest and felt rather than heard Hermione sigh as she laid her head back into the crook of his neck. "I love you, Ronald Weasley."
As Ron's eyes slowly opened, he assured himself that Hermione was drifting off to sleep and sighed inwardly, still not making any movement that might indicate his state of acute awareness.
Not once, in all the times that he had spent the night with Hermione, had he replied. Not once had he given any indication that he heard everything she said. Not once.
And Ron never could figure out why.
What could it be that comes over me? At times I can't move.
He remembered, like it had been only moments before, that first day his and Hermione's relationship had changed, that day he had walked into her apartment seeking an outlet for his anger in his sister and found the very last person he wanted to have any knowledge that he had any relationships at all. Ron's fingers played with the ends of Hermione's hair as he reminisced about how annoyingly sexy she looked in that practically see-through dress, asking him what was wrong.
He was lucky his mind was so frazzled with anger at the particular moment she moved into his line of vision, because otherwise, when his eyes flicked up to see her standing there, a fairly large embarrassment to them both would have shown itself rather abruptly. Fortunately, his annoyance at that thought alone put a look on his face that he was sure would mask any trace of a blush that might have crept up on him.
Ron had felt bad about practically ignoring her at first, but his mind immediately went into overdrive trying to figure out what he was going to do; the gorgeous girl he had had very strong feelings about for nearly a decade was standing in the same room as he was, wearing what could only be described as a very skimpy, very sexy, and very see-through summer dress.
Damn it Ginny, the one time I need to talk to you, you aren't here.
Before he could control himself, Ron started pouring out all of the frustration he felt – promptly scaring Hermione so much she jumped about a foot into the air. Nice move, jackass. "Why do you girls have to be so bloody difficult? I mean, it isn't like the world revolves around you, does it? Bloody hell, I have a life too!" He had unintentionally included Hermione in the beginning of that statement, though it easily referred to his so-called love life as well. Realizing this and wondering if Hermione had caught on, Ron paused, trying to decide what to do next.
"Girl problems?" Hermione intruded with - what was that? - amusement, in her voice.
Calm down, don't get annoyed! She's not really amused at you... Ron thought rapidly, and sighing, nodded resignedly. What the hell, you're here, might as well get it off your chest. She is still one of your best friends, no matter how sexy she is... or how beautiful....
He took in a deep breath, and began. "One minute, we were sitting on her couch, and then I said I was going away in two days for a couple of months. She asked when exactly I was getting back, and when I said I didn't know, she blew up at me, started ranting about fucking one night shit, or some other bloody ridiculous crap!" Ron realized he had gotten a little more worked up than he had intended and sucked in a large amount of air before returning his now mildly embarrassed gaze to the floor.
Bloody hell….
Ron heard Hermione sigh and looked up, surprised to see quiet resignation in her tired eyes. "Ron, you should have told her ages ago that you would be leaving suddenly. I'd guess she thought you were having a bit of fun with her before you –"
Before Ron knew what he was doing, he broke out angrily - "Well what if I was! She doesn't need to know every bloody thing I..." - before realizing that he was yelling again. He grimaced sheepishly and then moved along the couch towards the chair, where Hermione was now sitting, as if he was confessing a deep secret to her (which he wasn't, though in his head it seemed as good an excuse to him as any to get closer to her). "Fine, maybe I should have, it's just that... with this job and all, I don't have the time for any sort of commitment that most girls are looking for, you know?" Ron sighed in exasperation, leaned back into the couch, and stared at nothing in particular, now absorbed in his thoughts.
Prat. I can't believe you just told Hermione what's wrong with your "love life." Lying to her too. You know that isn't the real reason why you always end up dumping girls – or they end up dumping you.
As he was thinking, Ron's eyes drifted over to where Hermione was sitting daintily on her armchair, lost in thought as she was gazing unconcernedly out the window.
His thoughts turned from anger to thinking how she looked, just sitting there as serenely and regally as a queen. Suddenly, part of a conversation he had heard between Seamus and Jack the other night at a pub floated into his head. His eyes flicked over to where Hermione sat. But, just as quickly, his eyes dropped back to the floor. She would never... how could you even think of... bloody ridiculous. However, just as he was about to dismiss the idea that conversation had planted in his head, he frowned in thought. Would she? Just maybe? Ron proceeded to study her intently, wondering if maybe, just maybe...
Right then, Hermione looked back at him, having come out of her reverie, and caught him staring at her curiously.
Lost entirely in thought, Ron continued to look at her. Just maybe....
"What are you looking at, Mr. Weasley?"
Hermione's mildly amused voice brought Ron out of his head, and he realized she was now wondering why he was staring at her. In the days and months to come, Ron would wonder what had made him so confident - maybe he was drawing it from the ample supply she always surrounded herself with, or perhaps it was that she looked so beautiful that his heart and body started to take control of him - but what ever it was, he would never have guessed, previous to this day, that he would end up suggesting this to Hermione.
"Have you even just wanted to... you know... be able to do things... with someone you felt comfortable with, but... then not have to worry about commitment or a relationship afterwards?" Ron asked this quietly; he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was afraid that if he said it louder it would scare her off.
"I can't say I've ever thought about it. Why?"
Ron moved closer as she was speaking, and was pleased to see that when he leaned his legs against hers, she jumped slightly and then tried to hide her reaction. Not that this hadn't had any effect on him, mind; actually touching Hermione, and feeling the heat coming off her in waves, brought some very pleasant and uncalled for images to run through his head.
In order to calm himself down and offer himself some support, Ron leaned his head on his hand, all the while still staring at Hermione carefully.
But before he could act on any of these many thoughts, he had to confirm a suspicion that he had long had, one that would cement his decision in his actions of the next few minutes. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"
Hermione sniffed, and Ron could tell she was insulted. He had predicted that this would be her initial reaction to the question, but he had to know. Otherwise he wouldn't have any real excuse for what he might be proposing. "Well, not that it's any of your business, but I have had a couple, none that have been serious at all, though."
Ron had not really heard all of that, as his thoughts kept returning to her delicate legs brushing against his, but he had heard enough to get the drift of what she was saying: No.
Perfect.
"Hmm..." Ron decided that he was going to try it. After all, this may be the only chance he ever got to be with her. "I've heard some of the guys at work talk about something called, er, 'friends with benefits,' which is where you... well, fool around with a friend, and it's simply that – fooling around. No relationship to worry about." He had hoped that Hermione would pick up on what he was suggesting, letting him avoid the unpleasant task of spelling it out.
His hopes were not realized, however, as Hermione, who seemed to be quite confused (much to Ron's confusion), replied, "So?"
Ron dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was trying to say without sounding completely chauvinistic and idiotic. "I was thinking... that... if you wanted to... we could try it. I mean, it would solve my run of bad girlfriends, and I could teach you about... well, stuff you might need to know." Ron paused. He really didn't want to say the rest of this – he had always hated the thought of Hermione going out with anyone but him, for obvious reasons. "You know, for when you... get a boy- er, relationship or such." Git, why couldn't you have just said it? Oh well, just wait for what she says. Please agree!
But Ron couldn't take the tension that had weaved itself thickly between them, and he did something he had only ever dreamed about.
Languidly, he bent down so that he was looking Hermione right in the eyes, staring at the intensity and beauty of those chocolate pools. Refusing to put it off any longer, Ron lowered his head, just enough so that he could brush his lips softly against hers.
Fire shot through his entire body. Never before, in his entire life, had he felt anything like this.
At times I can hardly breathe.
Afraid she would still say no, Ron regretfully pulled away from Hermione to look her in the eyes, noticing that they were both breathing quite deeply for such a short kiss.
Taking the final plunge, Ron smiled and whispered, "What do you say?"
Despite all outward appearances, Ron couldn't help but still think that she would slap him and hex him into oblivion. Therefore, Ron couldn't help but feel a huge wave of relief as Hermione smiled back and replied quietly, "I'm up for it if you are."
Ron released the breath that he had been holding. "Great, then!"
And just as he was about to attempt to figure out what they were going to do to arrange this from now on, Hermione surprised him by leaning in and pressing her lips firmly to his. Not wanting to give her the wrong impression, Ron returned the kiss fervently, pulling her onto his lap; Hermione never missed a beat, and continued to kiss Ron the way he had longed to be kissed by her for over a decade. So lost in her kiss was he, that Ron forgot all else around him, forgot all inhibitions, forgot that they technically shouldn't be doing this – all he knew was that he wanted to keep kissing her forever.
Hermione shifted in her sleep, disturbing Ron from his fantasy, reminding him where he truly was. He sighed, his pleasant fantasies disturbed with his troubled reality. Gazing at the top of her brown-haired head, Ron's memory of that first night fast forwarded to after the first time they had made love.
They were lying tangled together, very similar to the way they were in the present, and Ron had been pleasantly tired. He remembered closing his eyes, assuming that Hermione would be asleep soon, but because he was so drowsy, the details of those first five or ten minutes of lying silently and comfortably in bed together were fairly fuzzy. Ron supposed he must have dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was Hermione's first tears sliding down his chest. His immediate reaction was, Wait, what did I do now? Why is she crying? but before he could move to comfort her and ask what was going on, Hermione sighed, and those words that would continue to haunt him all that night, and most of the nights afterwards, slipped from her lips.
"I love you, Ronald Weasley. I always have, and I always will."
When you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside,
He froze. His thoughts whirled around and around in his mind, and all notion of getting to sleep had been lost.
Am I still asleep? ...No, I can feel her tears on my chest, I can hear her breathing, I can feel the roughness of the sheets and the smoothness of her skin, this must be real… what… how.... He said nothing more out loud that night, though he lay awake until the sun rose, just thinking.
In the present, Ron shifted his position so he could look at Hermione's now-peaceful face. He traced one finger lightly across the shape of her cheekbone and sighed. He loathed himself for not being able to say anything when she told him how she felt (not knowing he heard, of course), and for making her cry about him. I'm not worth all this, Ron thought bitterly. I don't deserve her tears.
He had thought this a million times for every one time he had come to visit Hermione for the night and heard her say those wonderful words; yet he kept coming back for more.
Every night he stayed, he made himself stay awake until she said those words, those wonderful words, yet was never able to make himself respond, no matter how much he wanted to.
The problem was that whenever Hermione uttered those five little words, all the muscles in his body froze, and his mind blanked out every sense in his body except his hearing, and only to hear her. Whenever she said those words, he forgot all the logic and sense he had learned in his twenty-five years on Earth, and she was all he could see, all he wanted, all he could be, all he heard; all he knew was her.
And when you say you love me, for a moment, there's no one else alive.
As he lay here, he wondered when he had realized what he really felt for Hermione. Was there I time when I didn't feel this way? He grinned wryly. Bugger that... hmm... when did I finally admit I feel this way? His mind slowly ran over the fourteen years they had known each other, and his thoughts fell upon one winter day in their sixth year.
Ron smiled, still petting Hermione's sleeping, brown-haired head affectionately. I remember now... of course....
Bloody snow, bloody cold... were one sixteen year old Weasley's thoughts as he stomped in from Quidditch practice in the middle of January. We have a game tomorrow, and we can't even bloody practice well. Should cancel it, should reschedule, but nooo, bloody Captain had to make us practice until our bloody bollocks fall off. Bloody Harry...
Harry had become the official Captain of the Gryffindor team when they entered their sixth year at Hogwarts, though it ended up that Ron was his unofficial co-captain because he was the best at plotting strategies, and Harry often came to his Keeper, and best friend, for help.
Ron stormed through the castle's hallways, not once feeling the slightest guilt that he had just taken off from the practice even before Harry had officially ended it. He'll probably yell at me once he gets in here, but bugger that, I rather like having all my body parts.
Still fuming, Ron stopped briefly in front of the Fat Lady ("Veritas." "Whatever you say, dearie.") before traipsing into the warm and inviting common room. He was only a step or two inside the room when he did a double-take. Wait a tick... where the bloody hell is everyone? Glancing at the clock on the wall (which not only told the time, but the date, the weather, and the temperature – it was -20 degrees Celsius outside), he swore inwardly. Dinner... of course. I'm gonna bloody kill Harry!
Ron walked forward a few more furious steps when he noticed he wasn't actually alone in the common room – there were quiet sobs coming from the couch in front of the fireplace. I think I've heard those sobs before... But before Ron could say a word, or even turn his head to look towards the couch, he heard his sister's voice say soothingly, "I know, Hermione, I know... he's a git... you can't help it."
At this, Ron's temper became even more inflamed, and his head turned in the direction of the couch so quickly that he looked as if he had got whiplash. "Who is he and what did the bloody prat do to Hermione!"
One red-haired head whipped around so fast that her long hair probably would have caused serious pain to whoever got in its way, and another brown-haired head shot up from where it had obviously been resting on the couch. Upon realizing who it was standing there, Ginny rolled her eyes and proceeded to glare at her older brother. "None of your business."
Hearing this, Ron stalked over to stand in front of the couch and tower menacingly over the two girls. He was about to tear into a solid tirade, telling his sister that yes, in fact, it was very much his business, when he saw the look on Hermione's face. Ron stopped, mouth still open from the speech he had been about to make, at seeing such unhappiness in her eyes. Of course, he had seen her cry tons of times (usually because of him, though he was reluctant to admit that), but never had he seen her eyes reflect such suffering before. In that moment, all he wanted to do was lean over and hug her, kiss and comfort her, and worry about pummeling whatever git had made her feel like this at a later date. Before he could re-evaluate all that he had just thought, in a voice he had never heard himself use, he addressed Hermione. "What happened?"
Where in the bloody hell did all that come from? He swallowed, ignoring this strange feeling that was gnawing at his stomach and was slowly inching its way towards his heart.
Both girls looked utterly flabbergasted, and Ron was slightly insulted at their incredulous looks. What? I can't be thoughtful? I can't care how my girl... eh, my friend... wait, where the bloody hell did that come from!
Coming out of his bemused stupor, shaking away whatever confusing thoughts were rapidly infiltrating his mind, he noticed Hermione was looking sadly back at him. "Nothing, Ron." He frowned, his eyes falling on the traces of fresh tears on her face that were very evident. "It's nothing, really."
Ron moved his gaze back to her brown eyes, where he could still see that irrepressible sadness threatening to well over again. "No, it's not bloody nothing, you've been crying! And I want to know why." At that, he sat down on the table across from the couch the two girls were sitting on and waited for the explanation that had better be coming.
Ginny rolled her eyes and stood up, pulling Hermione with her. "Ron, leave her alone. And don't swear. C'mon Hermione."
Ron stood up to protest, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Ginny pulled Hermione roughly towards the end of the couch that was in the direction of the girls' dormitories, successfully making Hermione trip over the carpet. Instinctively, Ron reached out and caught her before she completely fell onto the floor.
When he helped her to straighten up, their faces only around a foot apart, since Ron was still slightly bent over from keeping Hermione steady, Ron searched her eyes, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "You sure you don't want to talk about it, 'Mione?" So distracted by the tears that seemed to be welling up in her eyes again, Ron didn't even realize that he had shortened her name.
She hesitated and seemed to be deliberating something before she slowly shook her head. Just then, Ginny called, "Hermione!" and began to stomp back to where the two of them were by the couch, and Ron and Hermione briefly glanced towards her before returning their gaze to each other.
In those ten seconds, just standing there with Hermione, looking into her eyes, a million repressed feelings, emotions, and thoughts made themselves rapidly apparent to Ron. Among them, the one that stuck out the most, was the sudden urge to lean over that measly foot and press his lips lightly to hers – maybe it would make her feel better, that part of his mind claimed. He was so close even, all logic seemed to have been knocked out of him with that fall she had had, that he was bending down a few centimeters...
Which was precisely when Ginny, wonderful girl that she is, came swooping in and pulled Hermione harshly away from him. Ron's mouth opened in surprise as Hermione was practically dragged away from him. Before she could be pulled up the girl's staircase, though, she turned around for a fraction of a second and whispered so quietly he could barely hear her, "It's nothing," before being pulled away by Ginny.
Gathering his senses back, Ron stood there, mouth again hanging wide open. What the bloody hell was I about to do? His thoughts were whirling about in his head so fast he felt as if he was falling, and he gripped his broom extra hard, as if it were his anchor to reality.
Suddenly, a very annoyed Harry Potter came bursting through the portrait hole, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "WHY THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU JUST DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT? YOU MAY BE MY BEST FRIEND, BUT YOU CAN'T JUST BLOODY LEAVE THE PRACTICE WHENEV-" But Ron wasn't listening.
Ron didn't hear a word of what Harry said until ten minutes later, when Harry socked Ron in the arm, quite hard, in order to "get his head out of the bloody clouds." All Ron could think about were her lips, and how much he had suddenly wanted to feel what it would be like to press his own against them. About how all he wanted was to make her stop crying, to hold her, and to never let her go.
Ron sighed, marveling at how stupid he had been at Hogwarts. The significantly idiotic thing about that night was that it was just the first time he actually admitted to having feelings about her. That night, back in the dorms, he had spent hours finally coming to terms with the fact that he had frighteningly strong feelings for his best friend and, after a few more hours, realized that he had had these feelings for some time now, since possibly second or third year, even.
How could I ever feel this way about anyone else? Ron thought sadly, continuing to stroke Hermione's hair, gazing at the patterns the milky-white moonlight made across her sleeping face.
You're the one I've always thought of; I don't know how, but I feel sheltered in your love.
He had spent the next year at Hogwarts attempting to work up the courage to talk to her about whatever it was he felt, to no avail. After trying to begin the conversation at least a million times, and never succeeding in continuing it further than "Uh... I... er, I-" like you as much more than a friend! "I..." want to spend the rest of my life with you and spend our days making love by the fireplace and then have lots of babies! "I... have to go to the bathroom" (he was fairly sure that Hermione was convinced he had a stomach problem), Ron gave up.
Stupid arse... He couldn't help but let his memory return to that day when Ron lost hope for anything ever happening between the two of them.
It was a week before the Commencement Ball in their seventh year. Ron had spent the last three weeks, from the moment they put up the announcement about when the Ball was happening until this moment, trying to work up his courage to just ask Hermione to the Ball. He had spent hours propositioning his mirror... upon which Harry walked in once, though he luckily didn't hear the name of the girl Ron was pretending he was talking to. That didn't save Ron from hours of embarrassment and teasing, but it did save him from having to explain to Harry that he was head over heels for their mutual best friend.
Finally, A.H. Day – Ask Hermione Day – arrived, and Ron walked shakily down the staircase leading from the boys' dorms to the common room, narrowly avoiding falling down them and shattering the bare amount of confidence he had managed to work up. Ok, just do exactly what you've been practicing, and you'll be fine.… An evil little voice whispered back, But what if she says no? Shaking himself of that loathsome thought, Ron stopped at the entrance to the common room and blinked his eyes a few times. Why's she talking to Dean?
There, standing in the middle of the common room, were Dean and Hermione. And standing much too close for Ron's comfort, at that. After around thirty seconds of watching them, Ron saw Dean grin and walk away and Hermione stand there looking after him. Ignoring the rush of blood surging through his head, Ron attempted to walk casually up to Hermione, still hoping to put his plan into action – right after seeing what the hell Dean had been talking to his Hermione about.
Sauntering up to her, Ron tried to sound casual as he asked, "So... what the bloody hell was Dean talking to you for?" Smooth mate, reeaal smooth. As Ron saw the look she was wearing, it took all his self control not to go over to Dean and punch his nose in. Never before had Ron seen a look of such pleasantly surprised happiness on Hermione's face.
It took her a minute to get her head out of the clouds, but when she did, Hermione did a double take at seeing Ron standing there, probably looking like he had just swallowed some rancid Polyjuice Potion. "Sorry, what did you say, Ron?"
Ron tried not to sound as if he had just swallowed his heart as he ignored the sinking feeling that was slowly seeping through his body, and managed to say with relative calm (well, relative meaning he didn't scream at her), "Why the bloody fucking hell was Dean talking to you?"
Conspicuously ignoring his choice of language, Hermione gazed back in the direction Dean had walked off, and said with an air of happy wonderment, "Well, he just asked me to the Ball, actually."
The wind was knocked out of Ron as he felt his heart clench somewhere in his midriff, being beaten painfully by the hoard of butterflies that seemed to have taken ahold of his stomach. "So... er, what did you tell him?"
A flicker of something like triumph flitted through Hermione's eyes so fast Ron thought he must have imagined it, and she calmly replied, "Oh, I said I'd love to, naturally."
Ron felt as though he had been dipped in a vat of burning cold water. "Naturally..." he muttered.
He must have stood there looking at her for some time, because when Hermione turned back to him her brows were furrowed in worry. "Ron? Are you alright? You look ill..."
Ron snapped to attention at the sound of her voice and, after frowning and studying her face for another moment, was only able to force two words out of his mouth. "I'm fine." Not like you would honestly care anyway, why don't you go snog your new boyfriend, Dean, eh? But before he could say the words on the tip of his tongue that would really get him into trouble, he turned sharply and walked calmly back to the dorms, not allowing the smallest trickle of emotion to infiltrate his face until he was enclosed within the canopy covers of his bed.
Once a silencing charm was in place and he was seated comfortably on the soft sheets, Ron yelled as loud as he could, pouring all of his frustration, anger, and other emotions into the air, trying to get them as far away from him as possible. Of course it didn't work. All he achieved was a sore throat.
After pounding his pillows and screaming obscenities for around half an hour, Ron fell back onto his bed, limp and empty. All he felt now was utter and complete heartache. I'll never be good enough... there'll always be someone else, someone who's smarter, handsomer, stronger, quicker, funnier, better than me. She'll never see me as more than her comic relief, someone to pour her anger out to when she needs an outlet, someone to tutor when she wants to feel superior... 'cause she'll always be superior. But I don't mind that she's superior, that's what I think ultimately attracts me to her... it's that she'll never see me the way I see her. I'll never have her.
And that's when he knew. He'd never be good enough, no matter how hard he tried, no matter much he felt for her, he'd always be hers, and she'd never be his... and that's when Ron surrendered to the truth.
You're where I belong.
He had to let her go.
The next day, when Ron finally emerged from the dormitory, he saw Dean sitting quite close to Hermione on the couch, and he snapped and pulled Parvati aside to ask her to the Ball. She, to add to his humiliation, politely told him she was already going with some bloke from Hufflepuff. Figures. Ron sighed and went out to fly around the Quidditch pitch. No one saw him again for three hours, when he reemerged in the common room looking extremely windblown and pink in the face. He didn't say a word to anyone, he simply walked up to the dorm and enclosed himself in the warm seclusion of his bed again. This time, however, he couldn't feel a thing as he lay down and fell into a deep sleep, despite the fact that it was barely dusk and he was missing dinner again.
That next Saturday was probably the third worst night of Ron's life (the first being that particular night a week previous to this, the second being the one in second year when he and Harry faced Aragog and his little friends). He hadn't intended on going at all, but Harry managed to drag Ron along anyway, dateless (If I can't go with the one girl I want, what's the point in going at all? was what he kept telling himself, though he never uttered those words out loud).
As Ron walked into the Great Hall, he noted that it was arranged just as it was in their fourth year for the Yule Ball. He was wearing deep blue robes that Fred and George gave him that year for Christmas - for some reason, all they ever seemed to give him since they opened their joke shop were dress robes, and of course some of their not-yet-patented merchandise - and though he had attempted to get his hair tamed, his red locks still managed to be messy upon entering the Ball. It seemed that he was the only one who didn't have a date; Harry had obviously managed to get one - some very pretty girl in their year from Ravenclaw who Ron had seen around school. Seamus and Lavender were, without question, going together – they had been dating since mid-sixth year. Oddly enough, even Neville had asked Ginny to go with him again, though Ron's thoughts were too distracted to think about anything... except her.
He and Harry, with Harry's date, had managed to get to the Hall before Hermione, and it seemed to Ron that time stopped, along with his heart, as she stepped in the large doors, one hand on Dean's arm. She was wearing champagne colored robes, and her hair was not pulled back, but fell loosely around her shoulders in large curls (he remembered her later lamenting how long it took for Lavender to help her get the curls to stay like that, and the number of spells she had tried before getting it to look right). Ron staggered back a few steps into one of the tables as she caught sight of him and Harry and waved, smiling. It wasn't just that she was had arranged her outfit and style to look perfect on her, it was her smile, her perfect, beautiful smile, that did Ron in. She dragged Dean towards them, but before he could do or say anything stupid, Ron turned around and fled to the refreshment table, mumbling something in Harry's direction about being thirsty. Ron spent the rest of the night in the corner of the room, not dancing or talking to anyone, avoiding Hermione especially. After a couple of failed attempts at conversation, Harry quit trying to cheer Ron up and left him alone, figuring they'd talk after the Ball.
Ron couldn't tear his eyes away from her, dancing in Dean's arms, laughing, smiling, and talking to him. I should be up there with her, she should be in my arms, laughing with me, smiling with me, talking to me, kissing me... WHAT!
There, right in the middle of the dance floor, Dean had leaned down to press his lips to Hermione's. Ron felt as if he was going to collapse right there in the Great Hall; his heart was being ripped to shreds, and he didn't see how he'd ever pick up the pieces.
He couldn't move, couldn't help but continue to look at her as her eyes widened in surprise, but then after darting around, quickly closed, Hermione actually seeming to enjoy kissing him.
Ron had seen enough. He couldn't take it anymore and, tearing his eyes away from the most devastating sight he could ever remember seeing at that particular moment, was very close to running out of the Great Hall. But two feet from freedom, right before he could get out the doors, a small hand tapped him on the shoulder. Dreading who might be behind him, Ron turned slowly around to reveal the one person he could barely stand to look at and at the same time couldn't get enough of. Hermione smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. "You're leaving already? Don't I get at least one dance? We do graduate in a week, after all."
Breathing somewhat heavily - he had walked rather quickly to get to the doors, plus she was standing unusually close to him - Ron didn't know what to do, so he settled for being his old, jealous self. "Won't your boyfriend be upset you're dancing with me?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and said, as if she were explaining building blocks to a two-year-old, "For one, he isn't exactly my boyfriend, and two, of course he wouldn't. Dean knows we're just best friends."
Ron had never thought those words would ever hurt him as much as they did. 'Just best friends... best friends... we're just best friends...' They echoed through his head over and over again, like some sort of evil mantra. He felt incredibly dizzy and hardly noticed when Hermione seized his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor.
Abruptly, she turned around and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and smiled up at him. Afraid he might do something stupid, Ron nervously licked his lips and put his hands on her waist, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Pushing his thoughts away from the fact that he was dancing with Hermione, the girl who should have been his date, Ron focused on the music. Just as he noted that it was thankfully a decently fast paced song, the band changed to a much slower tempo, and he noticed all the dancers moving closer to their partners.
Ron, unable to keep his blush in check, flushed red to the tips of his ears. As he was about to mutter something about going to find Dean for her, Hermione took a step closer to him, wrapping her arms as far around his neck as they could go.
Ron realized there wasn't anything he could do – his mind was screaming to get away from her as fast as possible, before it was too late, before he did something inappropriate that ruined their friendship, but his body and his heart wouldn't listen. So he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, bringing her even closer to him, and the other on her upper back, leaving her head to rest on his chest.
At that moment, there was nowhere Ron would have rather been. The scent of her vanilla perfume was muddling his senses, the feel of her small body pressed against his was intoxicating, and the very fact that she was so close to him that he could count the hairs on her head made him giddy. Ron closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head, willing this moment to never, ever end, hoping that he would never have to let her go again.
And when you're with me, if I close my eyes, there are times I swear I feel like I can fly, for a moment in time,
But he did. The song ended, and she pulled away from him to look into his face, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes, mirroring those of his own that he was refusing to let escape. All he could whisper was, "Congratulations, 'Mione." She smiled at him before her expression became serious, and she opened her mouth to speak.
In that moment, Dean came up and, grinning at her like a lovesick puppy, pulled her away to get some punch. Hermione turned around, and called back to Ron over the music, "Congratulations, Ron."
He turned and fled from the Hall, not caring who saw him running away from that room as if it was on fire, not caring about anything at that moment except getting to his bed before the tears escaped their prison and fell onto his pillow like a summer rainstorm.
Lying on the bed with Hermione, out of his memories, the twenty-five-year-old Ron brushed away the one tear that had forced its way out of his eyes. Stupid, stupid.
As he lay there, still stroking her hair, going over that particular memory, he realized that was the second time someone had pulled her away from him. He wondered aimlessly if there was always going to be someone there to pull her away from him. Not when no one knows you're together...
It was three days after the Ball that Harry had had his final encounter with Voldemort, and the three of them had been lucky to get out of it alive. That night, despite the mortal danger that they all faced, Ron and Harry had sustained only minor injuries, while Hermione had ended up unconscious in St. Mungo's for a week.
Ron had refused to leave her bedside the whole time, except to go to the bathroom - he would transfigure food from the pieces of gum he kept with him or eat what people brought him when they visited - and once when his mum had hexed him and carried him to his bedroom to make him sleep. It was actually the night that he had been forcibly removed from her side when Hermione had woken up, and Ron had been both furious and ecstatic at the same time. He couldn't ever remember being happier that someone who wasn't a blood relative of his was alive. Luckily, she had recovered enough to graduate with the rest of them a week later, the head of their class, of course. As Head Girl, she had made a speech that moved half of the audience to tears.
A smile tugged at Ron's mouth at the image of McGonagall wiping her eyes on her robes.
As the Golden Trio had stood together that day for pictures in their Commencement robes, Ron couldn't ever remember being prouder of the three of them – they had made it through everything, together.
Ron frowned and slowly leaned over to his wallet that he saw had somehow landed on the floor next to the bed - Must have flown out of my pants pocket the first time around, he mused pleasantly - trying to avoid disturbing the beautiful woman lying next to him. Once he had the wallet in his grasp, he opened it and smiled. Yes, just as he had thought, there was the photograph he was looking for, tucked away in the back.
It was the most treasured picture he had of the two of them. He had put an Infini Charm on it so that it would never be ripped or decimated in any way. The picture had been taken on their Graduation Day, just Ron and Hermione, hugging after they had officially graduated. What he loved about it was that for one moment, he had managed to put all of his feelings for her aside, and they were just two friends, happy to be finally out of school, to be finally recognized as adults.
Look at us now, Ron mused ruefully. I would have been ecstatic back then to get a kiss on the cheek from her, and here we are... like this.... He had to work hard to suppress bitter laughter – he had imagined his seventeen year old reaction if someone had told him that in eight years he would be lying naked in a bed with Hermione Granger, his best friend and secret crush, after having just done what, back then, had been restricted to his nighttime fantasies.
Ron pulled himself from his insomniac-like dreams to gaze again at the angel sleeping next to him, who was completely unaware of his feelings. Sometimes Ron wished that time could just stop for an hour and he could tell her everything he thought of her, everything he'd felt for her in the past nine years, everything he wished to happen between them in the future. How when they made love it wasn't just because of lust, how it meant so much more to him than that, how she meant so much more to him than any person alive ever could.
Somewhere between the Heavens and Earth... frozen in time,
And after that hour was up, all that had always been would go back to being, and she wouldn't remember it. He just didn't have the courage to actually say it. Some Gryffindor, eh? that nasty little voice in the back of his head sniggered. Ron ignored it and continued to fantasize about that moment when he would finally be able to tell her all that he felt for her.
Unfortunately, he wasn't sure exactly what kept him from telling her what he felt. He never doubted how she might feel about him; he had heard her say it enough times. It was actually those five little words that, though they should make him deliriously happy, made him the unhappiest. He was just never sure why.
"I love you Ronald Weasley," her melodious voice echoed through his head, haunting him, taunting him. Why couldn't he just tell her?
Oh when you say those words... when you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside,
There had even been that one time when she had told him without words how she felt... and Ron had practically died from aching to tell her. I had never wanted to leave less in my life...
It was one morning during their eleven month... affair? Ron wasn't sure what to call it anymore... an arrangement? Agreement? It didn't really matter, anyway.
In any case, he had received a call while they were sleeping in her room after yet another wonderful night of being together. Ron had managed to get dressed without making too much noise, but as he was trying to find his shoes and socks - Funny how those things fly off in all directions when you're trying to get out of them as fast as possible, he mused pleasantly - he knocked over a lamp and, in trying to pick it up, stubbed his toe.
"Bugger..." he whispered in pain, looking quickly over to see if he had disturbed Hermione. He was trying not to wake her, because the night before they had stayed up later than usual talking before making love one last time and then dropping into bed. And as had become some sort of tradition, Hermione had whispered those five small, insignificant, amazing words to him before she went to sleep, thinking he was already out like a light.
And when you say you love me, for a moment, there's no one else alive.
After she had whispered them, though, she had stayed up for longer than usual, letting tears drop onto his bare chest, just tracing her fingers along and around his face and looking at him - or at least, that was Ron guessed she was doing; he had naturally stayed motionless throughout all of this, with his eyes firmly closed. Ron wasn't sure what had made her want to study him for so long last night in particular, but he wasn't going to argue. Even if she didn't know he was awake, he adored just being near her.
Ron reckoned she must have stayed like that for around twenty minutes. The whole time he had been thinking, I'm not worth crying over for twenty minutes... or any amount of time for that matter. He wasn't ever really sure what came over him, but he had suddenly decided that he couldn't stand her crying over him any more – he was going to tell her exactly how he felt about her.
As Ron had shifted and made to open his eyes, he'd heard Hermione emit a startled gasp, and then came the words that had killed any confidence he might have worked up: "Oh no! Please don't wake up, please, please don't wake up!"
Luckily, Ron had thought quickly and rolled over, pulling Hermione close to his chest, and mumbled sleepily, "The Potions essay isn't due for another week yet. Leamme 'lone..." Well, that's that. I'm officially never going to be able to tell her how I feel now.
Ron had heard Hermione sigh with relief, felt her snuggling closer to him, and eventually could tell that she had drifted off to sleep. He had tried not to dwell on why she hadn't wanted him to wake up, and let himself fall asleep too. Nonetheless, it had been very late by then, and the next morning Ron didn't want to give Hermione another reason to sleep less, so he was being as quiet as possible.
However, it was obviously not quiet enough, because once he had found and put on his socks and shoes, he walked past her side of the bed to grab his wand and felt a small hand grab tightly onto his arm. He turned to see Hermione smiling sleepily at him.
As usual, her smile made him weak at the knees, but Ron frowned nonetheless, upset that he had woken her up. "I'm sorry, I was trying to let you sleep.…" But he never finished what he was saying, because Hermione pulled him down to sit next to her on the bed, effectively stopping his speech.
She yawned, eliciting a small smile from Ron, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Don't go yet..."
Ron's face flushed with reluctance, and he sighed deeply. "I have to... they called me back early." Believe me, if I could, I would stay… forever, if you'd let me. Ron left that part of his sentence unsaid, of course.
A grin softly spread across Ron's face as he watched her move clumsily into a sitting position so that she was able to look at him directly. He was surprised to see so clearly into her eyes, which were normally guarded like the Philosopher's Stone itself; not only could he see the fog of sleep reflected in them, but plain, clearly distinguishable, love... adoration, even. Ron started when she traced his cheekbone delicately with her fingertips and then ran her hand through his fire-red hair, which really hadn't changed at all over the years. "Stay anyway, for me..." Her voice came across as husky, clearly weighted down with sleep, yet soft, and like music to his ears.
Ron was floored. Oh, how he wanted in that moment, more than anything in the world, to tell her that he loved her and wanted to stay with her until the day he died. But the logical part of his mind took precedence this one time, and he looked regretfully back into her eyes. He hoped that maybe she would see the raw emotion he was pouring into his gaze, but he knew that she was most likely still half asleep and wouldn't remember this later, anyway. Ron sighed, unconsciously biting his lip, and pulled her tight against his chest, cradling her to him as if she was the most fragile and precious thing in the world – which, to Ron, she was. His hands pressing her against him, Ron whispered regretfully into her hair, "I'm sorry... you have no idea how sorry..."
Before he could get lost in her scent, the feel of her small body relaxed against his, her hands wrapped delicately around his waist, Ron abruptly pulled away to stand up. He turned to pick up his bag and, his heart feeling like it was being stampeded upon by a troop of wild Thestrals, looked sadly at her one last time before he Disapparated.
Ron sighed, and his gaze turned back to the picture he had let fall next to him. He didn't always keep it in his wallet, which was why he had to check it. At seeing their seventeen-year-old selves smiling and laughing, Ron couldn't help but think of all they had gone through together since then: The end of the War, finding and losing jobs, figuring out how to manage in the world outside of Hogwarts... and they did it all together (with Harry too, of course).
And this journey that we're on, how far we've come, and I celebrate every moment.
Merlin, look at all we've done... all that we've been through together... all we've ended up doing together... A bolt of electricity shot through Ron's body at that thought. The sarcastic little voice in the back of his mind chuckled, Well, I didn't mean that originally, but it works.
He looked over at Hermione's sleeping form again, trying to subdue the memories and less-than-appropriate thoughts that invaded the nighttime serenity of the room, and chuckled to himself quietly. The image of seventeen-year-old Hermione's reaction had she been told where they would be in eight years popped into his head. Ron's amusement died away rapidly, however, at the thought of twenty five year old Hermione's reaction. Not what I used to think it would be like when we made love... well, actually, that part is pretty much perfect... it's the rest of it that isn't what I would have expected.
And when you say you love me, that's all you have to say, I'll always feel this way.
What, the little voice taunted, you mean the part where she confesses her undying love for you and you can't even muster the courage to tell her how you feel? Ron was on the point of retorting rudely, aloud, when he remembered that he was the one thinking those things, and sighed. Great, I'm bloody talking to myself.
Ron turned his head absentmindedly to look at her face again and frowned slightly. I wonder if this would be different if I had never heard her say how she felt about me? Ron pondered that question for some time. After deliberating, he figured that the only thing it would have changed was that maybe he would have worked up the courage to tell her how he felt at some point, based solely on the fact that he hadn't had a date since all this started, and she never protested their… encounters. So it's all her fault, really.
When you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside,
He snorted derisively. Yes, well, that's what you like to think. The truth, however, is another matter entirely.
"I almost wish I hadn't started this in the first place," Ron muttered quietly to himself before he realized he had said it out loud. He sighed, considering what his life would have been like over the past eleven months had he not made the first move that summer night so long ago. Prat, are you actually considering the possibility that you would prefer to be fucking some blonde idiot you met at a bar, like all those ones you used to go out with? You need to be with her, and you know bloody well that you could never go back to the way things were before, not after knowing what it's like to be with Hermione. You need her. You've always needed her.
And when you say you love me, in that moment, I know why I'm alive.
The truth of that thought slowly sunk into Ron's brain. He had known since he was sixteen that there would never be anyone else for him but Hermione. It was just that ever since the night of the Commencement Ball, he'd been trying to deny it. After graduating, they had begun to live on their own, and Ron had gone into some awful kind of depression. He had hated not being able to see Hermione everyday – he and Harry rented an apartment together for the first few years, so they saw each other everyday, but it seemed that Hermione was always busy or something else was getting in the way, so they rarely saw each other. Ron started going to bars, and after realizing that most of the girls there were more than willing to go back to his apartment with him, based solely on his looks, Ron threw himself into London's bar scene and didn't look back.
Not until that summer evening eleven months ago, anyway.
After that, what kept him going through his assignments was the thought that when he had free time, he'd be going back to see Hermione, to hold her, to kiss her, to hear her...
When you say you love me...
Ron turned his gaze back to Hermione, still sleeping peacefully, unaware that she had been the sole object of his thoughts for – oh, around two hours by now. Not like he didn't think about her all the time anyway. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and Ron knew his time with her was limited again and he would have to be going in only a few short hours. One of the million sighs he had sighed that night escaped his lips, his breath making a few wayward strands of Hermione's hair flit across her angelic features, dancing over her skin like leaves scattering in the wind. I don't want to go... I don't want to have to leave you again... I want to stay with you, here, forever. Ron's brow creased, and he pushed Hermione's hair aside, slowly running his fingers across the premature lines on her face. Did I cause those? he wondered sadly. Involuntarily biting his lip, Ron decided it was about time to tell her something, even if she was asleep, that he should have told her nine years ago.
When you say you love me...
"I love you more than life itself, Hermione Granger. I need you, I love you, I always have, and I always will."
Ron knew she couldn't hear him, but for the moment, it was enough. Someday, he'd look into her beautiful brown eyes, and he'd tell her everything he felt for her. Someday, he'd really tell her he loved her. Someday, she would know he loved her.
Do you know how I love you?