July 15, 1998
"Of course, we'll need to go to Diagon Alley as soon as we get our book lists. I think maybe we should go to Flourish and Blotts even earlier, or perhaps get some books via owl order. We did spend last year out of school…"
"Hermione," Ron began patiently.
"And I'm sure all three of us will need to do a lot of revising. We only get once chance to sit our N.E. and it's not like we spent a lot of time reading last year. I'll add homework planners to my list. Also new quills and parchment. What was it you wanted to say, Ronald?"
"Come sit next to me," Ron said, patting the sofa in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. "Hermione, I'm not going back to Hogwarts."
"Well of course you don't need to go back tomorrow, you're probably really tired from all the repairs you did today. I'm sure they can spare us for one day," Hermione said.
"No, Hermione, I'm not going back for my seventh year," Ron said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"But…why? What will you do?" Hermione asked, her eyes filling with tears.
"Shacklebolt – Kingsley – he's made Harry and me an offer. All of us, really. He says we can enter the Auror Department without our N.E. . We're still going to follow the three year training course as best they can manage, but they lost so many aurors during the war and he still isn't sure of the loyalties of the remaining ones. I'm going to be an auror, Hermione."
"But…but what about our seventh year? What about N.E. ?"
Ron shrugged. "I've got my O. I'm fully qualified. This past year, Hermione…" he sighed, "I'm ready to be done with school. I can't go back, not after spending a year on the run. I can't go back to homework and essays and Transfiguration class and detentions and Hogsmeade weekends. I want to do this now. I want to catch Dark wizards and put away the last of the Death Eaters."
"But what about Harry? What about me?" The tears in Hermione's eyes still hadn't begun to fall.
"Hermione, I doubt Harry will go back either. Are you sure you want to go back? We've fought two battles in that school–"
"We've fought a battle in the Ministry!"
"I'm not going to be an Unspeakable," Ron said shortly, "And my brother didn't die in the Department of Mysteries. He died at Hogwarts. I'm not going back once we finish the last of the rebuilding. Not next year. Not for a long time. I know its Hogwarts, but I'm not sure I want to see it again for the rest of my life."
With that, Hermione started to cry in earnest. "But I'll be all alone. I don't want to go back, not alone."
Ron rubbed her shoulders hesitantly, "I think Ginny is going back. And Luna. Maybe Dean as well. It won't be too bad. And Harry and I will come see you as often as we can. Hermione, finishing your N.E. …that's part of your dream. Being an auror is my dream."
"But without your N.E. , how will you advance?" Hermione asked, still trying to reason him into returning to Hogwarts.
"Hermione, what are my chances of advancing past Harry, who also won't have his N.E. ?" Ron said, with a self-deprecating smile, "He'll probably be head of the department one day, and it's not like he can hold it against me when he hasn't got them either. Besides, Shacklebolt – Kingsley – said we could take the tests before Christmas if we liked. They're arranging another special non-traditional testing session since so many people only missed part of a year."
"I'll miss you," Hermione said quietly.
"I'll miss you too," Ron said, "But I can't go back to Hogwarts."
July 1, 1999
Sun poured through his window at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Ron had taken one of the back bedrooms on the second floor. The solitary window looked out over a back alley where, if he woke up early enough, he could see the muggle neighbors driving off to work. Number 12 was still hidden from view, which made for a few awkward encounters with the residents of Number 11 and Number 13 Grimmauld Place on the times Ron hadn't taken the floo home from the Ministry. Next to him in the bed was one Hermione Jean Granger, recent graduate of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, prefect, Order of Merlin, First Class. She was, of course, asleep. Ron smirked slightly. Knowing his mother's slight double standards, there was absolutely no way that Harry was waking up to a similar sight with Ginny. She undoubtedly had spent her first night home from Hogwarts safely ensconced in the Burrow under Molly and Arthur Weasley's watchful eyes.
Ron thought back to the conversation his father had had with him the night before Hermione and Ginny had come home on the Hogwarts Express. Though many often thought of Arthur Weasley as a bit awkward and bumbling (rightfully so), he had quite clearly laid out his expectations for his youngest son – namely, that while his mum and dad hoped that all of their children would reserve "certain things" for marriage, they were aware that expectations were changing, even in the wizarding world, and that most of all his father expected him to treat Hermione with respect and not to have any grandchildren outside marriage.
It was slightly less awkward than the talk Ron had gotten between his third and fourth years. But only slightly.
Hermione began to shift, then pulled a pillow over her fact. "Good morning!" Ron said cheerily, "Fancy that, I'm up before you are. Look at the time though, we've got to get dressed and moving! Lots to do today!"
Hermione glared at him. "Lots to do?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Oh yes, I've got the whole day planned out. We're going to run some errands, nip down to that muggle grocery store – did you know I've learned how to use muggle money? – and then go for a nice lunch in Diagon Alley. Mum wants all of us back at the Burrow before dinner, but I thought before that we'd have a little stroll around Ottery St. Catchpole. I've never really showed you around – we've always had to stay close to the house for Harry's safety. But now the wizarding world is the safest it's been in almost a decade, and I want to show you the village."
Hermione, despite her initial unenthusiastic start to the day, was ready fairly quickly and met Ron and a somewhat surly Harry in the dining room for one of Kreacher's delicious breakfasts (Kreacher was conspicuously absent, though whether it was out of discomfort of Hermione as a muggleborn or out of fear she would try to free him was anyone's guess).
"So, Harry, what are you planning on doing today?" Hermione asked.
"I have to go into the office for a bit to finish up some paperwork," Harry said, stabbing a piece of sausage with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, "But then I'm meeting Ginny for lunch near St. Mungo's. She has to get a physical before she travels to Wales for the Harpies' training camp." Hermione looked slightly sympathetic at this. Ron, on the other hand, looked a little relieved.
"And she'll be staying in Wales, yeah?" he asked.
"Yes," Harry said, continuing to do violence to the sausage, "Though she has some mornings off and can leave the training facility."
"But she has to spend the nights in Wales?" Ron asked.
Harry put down his fork and knife. "Yes, Ronald, we discussed this. She has to live with the team in Wales until the end of the summer training camp. Then she's encouraged, though not required, to live in an apartment in the Harpies' tower on Anglesey."
"I still can't believe Quidditch players get free apartments," Hermione said.
"From what Ginny says, the apartments for reserve players are rather small, but it is a nice perk. She'd have a short commute and would be able to save money," Harry said.
The trio finished up breakfast, and after a few attempts by Hermione to clear the dishes and take them downstairs, waylaid by Harry who knew exactly how Kreacher would feel about that, Ron and Hermione walked to the front door and started putting on their shoes.
"What are your plans for the day?" Harry asked casually, watching them get ready to leave Number 12.
"Not much," Hermione said, pulling her hair out from under her light cardigan, "Ron mentioned picking up groceries and lunch in Diagon Alley."
"And a walk around Ottery St. Catchpole," Ron added.
"Well, I think that's it then," Hermione said, slipping her bag over her shoulder, "Ready?"
"Ready!" replied Ron, "Right behind you." He slipped a hand into his trouser pocket to make sure the ring box was still there, and nodded at Harry, who had a knowing grin. "See you for dinner, mate."
"Have fun you two!" Harry said, waving them off the front stoop and shutting the door behind them.
May 27, 2000
"Will you, Ron Bilius, take Hermione Jean to be your wife? Will you love, comfort, honor, and protect her…?"
On either side of the aisle at St. Jude on the Hill in Hampstead, Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger were sitting, crying into their respective handkerchiefs, as Ron and Hermione said their vows. The little old wizard, who presided over Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding some three years prior, was, as Harry had learned, a Church of England minister and with the assistance of the reformed Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, his services were in high-demand for muggleborn and halfblood marriages. The church sparkled with candlelight as the Ron and Hermione said their vows and exchanged golden wedding bands.
"They have declared their marriage by the joining of hands and by the giving and receiving of rings. I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife and declare you bonded for life," the wizard announced. On cue, Ginny, Harry, and the rest of the wedding party threw silver confetti into the air. Ron smiled at Hermione, offered her his arm, and they processed out of the church, followed by their friends and family.
A few hours later, Ron stood up from his chair at the high table as Harry stomped his feet. "Good evening, good evening. For those of you who have never seen me before in your life, my name is Ronald Weasley. Nine years ago this September, I was sitting in a compartment on the train to school with the scrawny black-haired midget on the other side of Hermione. Hermione, of course, I met later, as she burst into our compartment trying to help Neville find his lost pet. To be honest, she rather intimidated me at first. She was brilliant and beautiful, even at eleven. It took us years – and many ups and downs – to acknowledge our feelings, but I just want to thank Neville for losing Trevor in the first place." Ron raised his glass to Neville.
"Hermione, you have been an amazing friend ever since that first year at school. I am honored to be your husband. To Mr. and Mrs. Granger, thank you for raising such a wonderful daughter. And to Mum and Dad, thank you for your patience during all those years of raising me. And to all of you, thank you for being our friends." Ron raised his glass, everyone drank, and then he sat down and kissed Hermione soundly.
"Did you think we'd make it to this?" Hermione asked as they danced.
Ron thought for a moment. "Honestly, no. There were so many times I thought for sure we were going to die. Merlin, between Death Eaters at the Ministry, Malfoy Manor, and Hogwarts, not to mention the horcruxes. I tried not to think about which one of us it would be, but it seemed impossible that all three of us would make it out alive."
Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. "And now we're married," she said.
"And now we're married – bonded for life."
"Well, Hermione, is it everything you thought it would be?" Ron asked, smiling down at his bride as the song ended.
"Well, Ronald, I suppose it is," Hermione said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.
December 25, 2000
"I'm exhausted," Ron complained, practically falling onto the plaid sofa in the Granger-Weasley apartment.
"No one made you apparate up and down the country," Hermione snapped, pulling one boot off and rubbing the arch of her foot. The newlyweds had woken up early in the morning to open presents and eat breakfast with the rest of the Weasleys in Ottery St. Catchpole, then apparated to the Grangers' for Christmas lunch, then returned to the Burrow for Christmas dinner. Hermione felt like an exhausted stuffed pig.
"But I always open presents with my family," Ron said, his voice slightly muffled by the sofa cushion, shoved as it was in the corner of their one bedroom flat in Craven Street.
Hermione bit her lip. She had heard a lot of "always" in the past seven months of marriage and wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. Ron "always" had Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Ron "always" told his parents news from work. Ron "always" brought home leftovers from his mother. It wasn't that these things were particularly trying – Hermione loved Sunday dinners (mostly) and Mrs. Weasley's cooking (almost always) and didn't begrudge her husband's conversations with his parents (except when she did).
"I hope you don't expect to keep this schedule up when we have children," Hermione said lightly.
"Children? Who said anything about children?" Ron said, sitting straight up and looking nervous. He had tentatively patted tiny Victoire on the head and done a few magic tricks for two-and-a-half-year-old Teddy. He had even briefly admired the Christmas photograph of one-year-old Max Wood that Oliver and Katie had sent them. But any mention of their own children brought a look of fear to his face.
"I'm just saying, it's hardly fair to drag babies and toddlers around all of England just because you've 'always' done it," Hermione said.
"Well, we've got years to figure that out. And it's not like Victoire or Teddy seem to mind."
"Victoire is six months. She doesn't mind anything except dirty nappies and George's fireworks."
"Why are you on about this anyways? I thought we were waiting!"
"We are waiting, Ronald," Hermione replied with a sigh.
"Well then, no need to fret about it now. We'll sort it out when we get there. Tea?"
"Is this how you want to keep going on?"
"What? What do you mean?" Ron had half-risen off the sofa, his body turned towards the kitchen.
"Like this. Never deciding, never changing, just floating along."
"Hermione, we can relax now. It's not like school, like the war. We don't have to run around solving the next crisis."
"But that's just it! We didn't have to decide with the war either! We just got pulled along by Voldemort and his plans – the stone, the snake, Sirius – it's hardly like we could just leave any of them alone! 'Yeah, alright, good luck with the dementors, glad to hear you're innocent, ta ta for now.' We had to act. And when the war ended, I went back to school and you went to the Aurors and we've both spent the past two years trying to piece back together some measure of a functioning society, preferably free of the likes of Lucius Malfoy. We do our duty and we float."
"What do you want then?"
"I don't know! I just want to choose something! I want us to talk about it and then decide rather than just…fumbling."
It was Christmas, their first married Christmas, and they were finally having the argument. No, marriage was not everything she thought it would be. She was tired of being pulled along in the Weasley morass, in the persona of Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin, one third of the "Golden Trio," married to another third. Pulled by expectations, pushed by "always."
Ron shrugged. "I really don't understand what you're talking about Hermione. I'm going to put on the kettle."
January 1, 2006
Neither Hermione nor Ron were as young as they once were. True, Hermione was only twenty-six and Ron was twenty-five, but three years of a war with all the battles and skirmishes will do that to a body.
"Breathe now, Hermione, breathe," the midwife said. They weren't at home, as Fleur and Angelina had been. They were in a room at St. Mungo's, with all the equipment proper to a mother with known and unknown curse injuries, with a twenty-six-year-old body that often acted as if it were forty. Ron was holding her hand, his sleeves pushed above his elbows, the rope-like scars from the brains in the Department of Mysteries still showing almost ten years later. A pediatric healer murmured to a mediwitch in the background.
Hermione fell back against the pillow. "I'm so tired," she whispered, "It doesn't feel right, pushing like this."
"I know," the midwife said, "It's not the easiest position. But it's the best for you right now, so we can ease baby over your pelvis." Hermione's bones had tiny bumps and divots in some places from Bellatrix Lestrange's Cruciatus Curse. Most of the time they were irrelevant except, as it turned out, when having babies.
Another contraction, then another. The midwife glanced at her watch. "Okay Hermione, one big push – we need this baby out now."
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said encouragingly as she squeezed his hand, "Rose is coming, it's almost time."
And finally, after 27 hours of labor and 2 hours of pushing, Rose Theresa Weasley was born into the world.
"You did so well," Ron said, kissing his wife, "So well."