Oops...a bit late - sorry! Back to Hermione's pov now and will be until the end of the story from now on.

Thanks for the amazing reviews again - glad you liked last chapter.

Disclaimer: I'm just a Potterhead!

Chapter Fifteen

The memories seemed to be coming back for Ron thick and fast now. Although they were still nothing of much substance and still only in little snatches, brief moments from his life. But he'd told me about his memories of asking Fleur to the Yule Ball whilst talking with Ginny and then the memories in his sleep of buying his wand, his parents and shopping with a 13 year old me.

And just this morning, over breakfast, he had amused Hugo with his memories of burping up slugs into a bucket in Hagrid's cabin because of his broken wand. Rosie had been disgusted at that particular story and told him it was horrible! Hugo thought it was hilarious and continued to give us a demonstration of the act all morning.

I was happy for Ron, I honestly was. Because I had finally realised that any kind of memory salvaged was a good sign – a move in the right direction. He was slowly regaining his past and becoming to know who he was. And yet, there was still that tiny part of me that was disappointed there was nothing significant about us, about me or our romantic relationship. I was still just a very good friend to him in his memories, he hadn't got to the couple stuff yet.

Although, I had to admit to myself that I perhaps wasn't so keen on him remembering our early days when we'd embarked on this new relationship. When we finally acknowledged our feelings for what they were and our friendship turned to love. Those had been some confusing, awkward and tender months. Trying to work out how things worked between us now, how our relationship had completely changed, but hadn't at all at the same time. Trying to establish and develop these romantic feelings we were finally able to act upon, whilst also grieving for lost loved ones; his brother, Tonks, Professor Lupin and the countless others who had died for the cause. We all struggled to come to terms with the aftermath of the battle and our months on the run, we were all still traumatised and damaged by things we'd seen and been through. Ron and I had been able to take solace in one another, but for some time it had just been awkward and clumsy and there was a lot of blushing. Which was even before the relationship became physical beyond hours spent snogging and cuddling.

Yeah, maybe I wasn't so bothered whether he remembered those first few months. But, our first kiss would have been sweet, the first time we made love would have been significant and our wedding day, monumental. Most of all I just wanted him to remember the way he'd loved me, the way he'd once felt about me. Maybe just so I didn't feel as though I had to make my husband fall in love with me all over again, because I was at a loss on how to go about that. How had it happened in the first place?! I wasn't going to fight trolls or offer myself up to be petrified or go to a dance with an international Quidditch player just to get his attention.

Right now, as I caught up on some work I'd had sent from my office at the Ministry, he was upstairs in our room, going through his things in his bedside table. He thought it might help with the memories if he looked through all his old things. The children were supposed to be helping him, but judging from the sound of running footsteps upstairs, the giggling and the falling out between Rose and Hugo I could hear, they had lost interested and become more of a hindrance than a help. I'd just get this file finished, I thought, glancing through the three pages I had left, and I'd take them off his hands for a bit. They could help me bake a cake for his parents coming to dinner tonight.

"Hey, Hermione, I was going…" Ron barged into the library when I was on the last page. "Oh…sorry, didn't know you were working," he apologised and was about to close the door again.

"It's okay, I'm almost done. Just trying to catch up a bit," I explained. I had been home from work for weeks now and I felt so behind in everything. I knew I would have to go back soon. "So, what did you need?" I asked, closing the file when he continued to just stand there. The work would keep.

"Oh, yeah." He shook his head and entered the room. "I just wondered," he began and came to the other side of my desk. "Can you tell me what these are all about?" He handed something to me. I inhaled sharply when I realised what they were – the chocolate frog cards, released a couple of years after the war, to commemorate myself, Ron and Harry. "Are…are they…well, real?" He looked confused.

I read the back of his card again for the first time in a while: "Ronald Bilius Weasley is currently a very accomplished and courageous Auror within the British Ministry of Magic. He is most famous for being a part of the trio (along with friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger) who were instrumental in the downfall of the darkest wizard of our times, Lord Voldemort. A talented Wizard's chess player and played Quidditch for his house team at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ron enjoys Quidditch, supporting the Chuddley Cannons."

"Yes, they're real." I whispered, turning over the back of mine. I hated the photo they had used. I cringed whenever the children handed me one, thrilled they had got mummy in their occasional treat.

"But...but how? Why?" He sat down on the edge of the desk, looking a complex mixture of awestruck and bewilderment. He picked his up again. "Instrumental in the downfall of the darkest wizard or our times, Lord Voldemort," he read to himself. "How did…what does that mean? What happened?" He looked up at me so confused.

I put the cards down and took a deep breath before I looked up at him again, not knowing what to say. I couldn't really explain this without telling him everything and right now I didn't have time.

"Does this have anything to do with what you keep putting off telling me about?" he caught on,

I nodded. "I suppose it's time I told you," I realised. He was coming closer to those memories, I was sure. Especially after all the vague comments he was hearing and now this. "But, I want to tell you everything, right from the start, so you understand it all. Only," I glanced at the little clock on my desk, "there's not enough time now, I need to make a start on dinner before your parents arrive and I want to do our story justice. But, tomorrow," I promised. "Tomorrow, we can sit down and I will tell you everything."

Ron looked more than a little anxious about that. As though he was desperate to know, but then didn't want to know anything at the same time. I knew he suspected the reason I kept it from him was because it was bad. though I wasn't sure he was prepared for how bad this was going to be or all the memories and pain it was going to conjure for him. I was sure it was all going to be something of a shock to him.

"Okay," he whispered, after he inhaled deeply, staring at the cards again. "I guess I can wait another day," he nodded, collecting the other cards up. "Still," he paused as he slid off the desk, "kind of cool that I'm on a chocolate frog card!" he chuckled.

Before he made it to the door, it was flung open by our daughter, who had raced inside and was now fighting to keep her brother out. "Mummy," she gasped, "Hugo says," she paused as she grunted and pushed him away from the door whilst trying to shut it on him. "He says you're making slugs for dinner." She told on him. "Go away Hugo!" She tried kicking him and he squealed as he shoved her back and they both nearly toppled through the doorway.

"Hey! Now that's enough! Stop fighting." Ron pulled the door from her hand and let them both in. They both froze and looked startled, daddy getting cross with them was new.

"And don't be mean to each other!" he warned them both, using the daddy voice he had discovered in the last couple of days.

"If you keep that up, I might just cook you some slugs!" I got up from the desk. They both looked at me in panic. "Especially young Hugo, seeing as he likes to wind his sister up." I added.

He stared at me and shook his head. "I no want slugs," he pouted.

"Then you apologise to your sister. And you apologise to your brother for kicking him." I warned Rose as well. Sulkily they did as they were told, with bottom lips sticking out and eyes on the ground. "Right then, how about we all go and make Grandma and Granddad a cake for tea?" I suggested, abandoning my work. I'd learnt a long time ago to put my family before my career. There were whoops of happiness then. "With flobberworms in it," I added, with a chuckle.

"Noooo!" The kids squealed with laughter as we all descended upon the kitchen.

Dinner with his parents was a rather uneventful affair. Conversation had flowed freely between us all, with no awkward silences or moments. The food was enjoyed, judging by the empty plates. And the children were on good behaviour. Even if Hugo did regale his Grandma with the tale of Ron burping up slugs at school. I should have known that story would stick with our son, anything even slightly gross and he loved it. I'm pretty sure his cousins would all hear about it soon enough. Molly said she remembered that, Ginny had written to her about it and that was when she and Arthur had discussed having to get Ron a new wand, knowing he couldn't continue with that one.

We adjourned to the lounge to eat dessert – the cake that Ron and the kids had decorated whilst I'd been busy with the shepherds pie.

"Mummy put flobberworms in it!" Hugo told his grandma just as she was about to take a bit of the cake.

"She what?" She lowered her fork and picked up the plate to study the cake carefully.

"Hugo, that was a joke," I laughed at him and smoothed down his hair. "Honestly, there's no flobberworms or anything out of the ordinary in the cake," I promised them.

"But you said…" he looked up at me accusingly.

"I was teasing you sweetheart," I laughed and kissed the top of his head.

"Oh. Then I have some?" He decided he wanted a slice after all.

"Of course kiddo." Ron cut him a slice and he soon had it all over his face.

Once the chocolate cake was devoured, the children dragged Ron and their Granddad out into the back garden to enjoy the last of the evening sun before bath time. Molly was making a fresh pot of tea whilst I cast the washing up charm on all the dishes.

"Is Ron okay dear? He seems a little quiet tonight," she commented.

"Yes," I sighed, turning to watch them out the window. Ron was laughing at something Hugo had said whilst chasing him across the lawn. From the way Hugo was flapping his arms, I guessed he was pretending to be a dragon. Rose was holding onto her Granddad's hand, leading him more sedately around the garden. "He was going through some of his old things this afternoon, and he found our chocolate frog cards, you know the ones with us on?" I asked. She nodded. "It confused him for awhile, he doesn't remember most of those accolades on the back. He asked about the war again and I promised I would tell him everything, tomorrow."

"Oh," she nodded knowingly. "I suppose he's a little anxious about all that then." She understood.

"Yes. I think so. He knows something bad happened, he's probably had dreams about it to be honest. But…I'm not sure he's prepared for all I have to tell him, all we went through. I'm a little worried about talking about it myself," I confessed.

She patted my shoulder and smiled sympathetically. I don't think she envied me the job at all. "Maybe….maybe you don't have to tell him, everything," she suggested. "I mean, it might be too much for him." She looked worried.

"I promised I would. I was going to start at the beginning, tell him the whole story. I think he needs to know everything to really understand it all. I wouldn't be surprised if he remembers some parts himself." I sighed and turned to watch them playing freely outside again.

"Well, anything I can do to help." She offered.

"Actually, could you have the kids for a few hours?" I looked up. "It would be easier if we didn't have to worry about them overhearing anything."

"Of course. Any time love, you know that." She took my hand that rested on the counter and squeezed it with her much older one.

"Thank you," I smiled. "I'll floo them over after breakfast."

It was the screaming that woke me from sleep that night. A loud, anguished scream of my name. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding as I listened again for the sound, wondering if it was one of the children calling for me, hoping neither were sick or that Rose's nightmares hadn't returned. Then, I heard it again.

"H'MIONE! NO! LEAVE HER….NOOOO!"

The sound was a strangled cry, panicked and terrified – instantly I realised it wasn't the kids, it was Ron. I lit the tip of my wand, creeping out of the bedroom and listening to his mournful moans and unintelligible cries. I was about to knock on his door, when another door opened behind me.

"Mummy?" Rose asked, her sleepy, dishevelled face peering up at me. She looked a little confused and scared as she rubbed her left eye with her knuckles.

"It's okay sweetheart. Daddy's just having a bad dream," I whispered, hurrying her back to her room. "Come on, back to bed, quickly." I pulled the sheets back and watched her climb in. "I'll go see if he's okay," I whispered, kissed her forehead and she'd already closed her eyes as I closed her door.

"NO! STOP! HERMIONE, H'MIONE!" He screamed.

I didn't bother pausing to knock this time as I flung his door open. Ron was tangled in his sheets, his body shaking and writhing in the bed. His hand reached out, clawing at the air as he again shouted my name and muttered something I didn't understand. He looked utterly distraught and terrified by his dreams.

"Ron," I sat down on the bed, dropping my wand onto the bedside table still lit. "Ron," I spoke his name a bit louder, rubbing his upper arm. "You're dreaming, it's okay," I made to grab his hands. He pushed me away. "Ron," I called and shook his shoulder gently. "You're dreaming, it's okay."

His eyes snapped open then and he stared at me in utter shock. I don't think he realised where he was or what I was doing there for awhile. He looked wary, afraid even and then quite suddenly he sat up and flung his arms around me, clinging to me like a koala as he began to sob.

"Hey, it's okay," I whispered and rubbed his back, noting he was drenched in sweat. "It's okay, we're safe. We're all safe," I mumbled as I held him and tried to comfort him.

He gave a deep, shuddery breath whilst he sobbed onto my shoulder and grasped even tighter, grabbing handfuls of my nightgown. "Y-you…" he stuttered. "Sh-she was h-hurting you. Y-you screamed…I-I…couldn't r-reach you," he hiccuped between his sobs.

"It's okay. I'm safe, you're safe. It was just a bad dream," I whispered and let him cling to me as I rubbed small circles on his back, stroking my hands through his hair. Was it totally wrong to be enjoying this contact with him? To be able to hold him in my arms as I had been longing to do for days? To actually revel in him needing me so much? I felt an intense burst of shame that I was liking this, that I needed him to hold me like this when he was so obviously distressed to a near hysterical level.

"I-I thought sh-she was going t-to…k-kill you," he whispered against my chest. "You w-were screaming. I-I couldn't g-get out." He finished.

"I'm fine." I repeated. "Look, I'm right here." I tried to lift him away so he could see that I was alright, that he'd just been having a bad dream.

He moaned, shaking his head and held me close, not wanting to let me go.

"It's okay Ron." I whispered, smoothing his damp hair down. "We're all fine."

I lost track of how long we sat like that for. How long his hot and damp body slumped against mine as he held on tight. If not for his tight grasp on me, I might have thought he'd fallen asleep. Eventually his sobs faded, until there was just the brief shudder of his body as he took calming breaths. Slowly his hold loosened and he sat up a bit, wiping his eyes as he took another deep breath.

"See, I'm okay," I whispered, peering at him, to see his eyes. "Everything is okay now. Did…do you want to…talk about it?" I wondered.

He nodded and looked down at the bed, possibly embarrassed about how he'd reacted. "It was just so…real," he whispered hauntingly. "We were locked in somewhere, away from you. Harry and me. And she was…making you scream, it was so loud. I thought she was killing you." He tried to explain his dream to me. "She thought we'd stolen something, she kept asking you where you got it. I couldn't get out. I never felt so afraid. I tried clawing at the walls," he looked down at his fingers, expecting to find them bloody and damaged. "Harry was doing something. I was angry with him because he wasn't helping me. I tried to get them to take me instead, to save you from her. They…they put us in the basement. Malfoys." he looked up at me as he whispered the last word. A word that seemed to have just come to him.

I gasped then, my hand flew to my mouth as I stared at him. Knowing what he had remembered. That it hadn't in fact merely been a dream. It was a memory, one of our very worst memories. The time when we'd been caught by snatchers during our months on the run and taken as prisoners to Malfoy Manor. When Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured me, almost to the point of killing me. But, I couldn't tell him this now, he didn't need to know the truth now. I needed to calm him down.

"I was just so scared. It felt so real." He looked up at me again and a lone tear ran down his face. "I couldn't lose you. She was going to kill you. I just couldn't lose you." He closed his eyes and began crying again, looking so utterly morose and lost and defeated.

"It's okay." I pulled him back to me and his arms went around me naturally. "You didn't lose me. I'm right here. We're all safe now." I whispered and kissed the top of his head. "We're safe," I repeated as I held him. He lifted his head then and our eyes met. His hold on me changed slightly. He was still clinging to me like a frightened child, but it became less

desperate and his hold was gentler. And then, suddenly, his lips were on mine and he was kissing me.

My whole body tingled at the touch of his lips, feeling completely alive for the first time in years and I shamelessly returned his ardent kisses. My hand curled around the back of his neck and when his tongue requested entry, I invited him in, brushing my own against his, feeling as though I was going to burst, that my heart would explode. I clung to him as his hand tangled in my hair. Our mouths moved together in a lustful dance and we both moaned together, trying to get closer still, pressing our body against one another.

Just as he was pulling me down onto the bed, my knee brushed against his crotch and quite suddenly he jerked away from me. Both of our breaths coming in short gasps and his face instantly flushed red. I willed my beating heart to calm down as I smoothed my hair and brushed imagined wrinkles from my clothes, feeling such a fool, as though I had taken advantage of him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, not able to bring himself to look at me. He toyed with a loose thread on the sheet. "I…we…shouldn't…"

"It's okay. Really," I tried to reassure him. He was my husband – he was allowed to kiss me!

He gave me a brief, sheepish smile and then blushed further as he looked at me. "I…I…don't…" he stammered.

"It's fine." I repeated.

He just nodded, still playing with that thread. "I…I'm going to get some water." He suddenly muttered in one long word as he kicked the sheets off him and darted from the room. I sighed heavily, letting my head fall back. Well that hadn't gone so well, I realised as I stood from his bed and made my way back to my room whilst he was still in the bathroom.

Sleep didn't come easy when I crawled back into my bed. Not even after the pounding of my heart calmed down. I found myself tracing my lips with my fingers as I relived the kiss in my head. The feel of his soft lips against mine. Him clinging to me in passion, rather than fear. The smell and feel of his body pressed tightly against mine. We'd kissed, I grinned to myself. We had hopelessly and positively snogged one another. For the first time in almost two years. I felt a silly, girly little giggle bubble up from inside of me.

Until I remembered what had led to the kiss and I quickly swallowed the giggle. His very obvious fear and distress from what he thought was just a dream. A dream of the one of the worst times in my life, certainly in my younger years. I couldn't believe he'd remembered that and wondered if all the talk of a war, finding the cards yesterday and my promise to explain things to him had set it off. And now, of course, I was remembering that time myself, my hand unconsciously stroking the scars from where she'd cut me. The line on my neck from the knife threatening to take my life and the crude word carved into the skin on my arm. I shuddered as the memory took over me.

No, sleep was not going to come easy now at all, I huddled myself into a ball and tried to think of anything but that night, anything to return to the simple joy of being in his arms and having him kiss me the way I'd prayed for ever since he'd been gone.

I was expecting things to be totally awkward after the night before, so I took my time getting ready the following morning. As it was, it had taken me some time to drag myself out of bed. Sleep hadn't graced me with it's presence for a couple of hours after what had happened. And then when it did, I'd had dreams. Dreams I hadn't had for quite some time.

"Morning," Ron grinned when I finally emerged in the kitchen. He was at the sink, washing up and tidying things away. The children were sat at the table, happily colouring in. "We already had breakfast, but I can make you something, if you like?" he offered, already heading to look in the cold chest. Magical homes had no need for a Muggle style refrigerator, since we didn't use electricity. Instead, it was usually a normal cupboard that was charmed to keep food chilled or frozen as needed.

"No, it's fine thanks. I-I'll just have some tea."

Ron was already refilling the kettle and setting it on the stove all with the power of his wand. I half smiled at the fact using magic was so normal for him again already. I watched him for awhile, sending clean dishes into cupboards and taking my favourite cup out for my tea. It seemed last night hadn't affected him at all, he didn't seem bothered in the slightest. Perhaps, I thought with a defeated sigh, he didn't even remember it happening at all.

Hugo was pulling on my leg then, to show me his drawing and Rosie was shouting me over to look at hers. Ron brought me my tea as I joined them at the table and enthused for awhile over their work. He sat down silently with us, just watching and helping Hugo draw a Quidditch pitch – apparently dragons played Quidditch now. Every so often, he'd look at me, offer me a brief smile and then ask Hugo what they should draw next.

He was placing their drawings on the kitchen wall, with a temporary sticking charm when I finished my tea and set the empty cup in the sink. "Did, erm, did you still want to have that talk today?" I asked, hoping he realised what I meant.

"Yeah," he nodded, watching the kids run off to find something else to do. It was raining outside, looked as though it was going to be an indoors kind of day. "I mean, it's that's okay? I think I need to know."

I nodded in understanding. "Well, let me floo the kids over to your Mum's and we'll start."

"Why?" he wondered.

"I'd rather they didn't overhear anything. And it will be easier to talk without having to entertain them as well." I tried to explain. They were far too young to hear what their parents had been through. Although they knew about bad men and that there had been a very bad man that we'd once fought, they didn't need to know facts. They'd learn about it all soon enough and I was dreading that day.

"Oh. Okay," he shrugged one shoulder. "So, it's that bad, huh?" he looked up at me, anxiety evident on his face.

"It's…well it's not a very happy story. We went through a lot and I don't want them knowing everything yet. They're too young."

He nodded, as though in agreement. "I can take them over if you want? Give you half an hours peace?"

"Would you? That would be great." I smiled. I was going to need that time to plan how to start this and what to tell him. And I wasn't looking forward to any of it.

An hour passed before he returned, I suspected Molly had delayed him, kept him talking. I was sat on the sofa waiting for him, where I had been dozing after my broken nights sleep.

"Were they okay?" I asked, sitting up a little and trying not to look as though I had nodded off. I was getting a bit worried that I was ferrying the children off too much just lately. But they were used to spending the day with their Aunt or Grandma, I remembered.

"Yeah, fine," he kicked off his shoes. "Mum was going to take them to Diagon Alley with her, but as soon as Hugo saw Charlie was there, he wanted to stay. So, Rose is going with Mum and Hugo is staying with Charlie." He told me, whilst putting his shoes in the hallway, under the stairs. Already he'd learnt, or perhaps remembered, I liked things to be in their place.

"Was Charlie okay with that?" I wondered. After all, there was a difference between having fun with your nieces and nephews for a short time, to being left alone and in charge of them.

"Yeah, said he'd take him to see that dragon in Wales." He gave an airy wave of his hand.

"He what?" I almost leapt off the sofa.

"Relax, I'm teasing. Charlie said you'd flip out," he laughed.

"Thanks," I huffed.

"Sorry," he muttered, though he was still laughing.

"Oh shush." I poked my tongue out at him. "Right, well shall we get on with..." I began after a few moments silence.

"Mind if I grab a cup of tea first?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, course not."

"You want one?" he called, already heading to the kitchen.

"Sure, thanks." I replied.

He was back a couple of minutes later with two mugs and a plate of biscuits balanced on top. "Right," he sat down and waited. "Ready now." He smiled, trying to act as though he really was ready for this.

"I've been trying to think how to start with all this." I admitted, almost talking to myself. "And I suppose it makes sense to go right back to the beginning. So how much do you know about Voldemort?" I asked him.

"Oh, erm," he thought about it and scratched his head. "That he was an evil git. Hated Muggles and Muggle-borns. Thought the only decent wizard was a pure blood. And he tried to take over the world. But, he disappeared when I was just a baby. Didn't they say that a baby defeated…him. Oh Merlin's bollocks! Harry Potter!" He gasped. "Harry? Our Harry?"

I nodded.

"Why? How? How the bloody hell did I not make that connection before now?" He shook his head, appalled with himself.

"It's okay. Things are coming back to you slowly, you can't remember it all. Right, well shortly before Harry was born, a prophecy was made. A prophecy claiming that an a wizard born at the end of July who would be able to defeat Voldemort. He took it to mean Harry, though it could have been any wizard child born around the same time really. But, he chose Harry, therefore targeting him for the rest of his life. And, when you and I became best friends with Harry…we kind of got tangled up in the whole thing as well."

"But, he disappeared, didn't he? Voldemort I mean." He frowned.

"For a little while, yes. But he came back. I'll explain how in a bit. You remember Harry and I telling you a bit about our first year in school? The troll and saving the stone and everything?"

"Yeah," he answered warily.

"Well, it was Voldemort after the stone. That was the first time anyone really knew for sure he wasn't gone, that he was still alive in some shape or form and trying all manner of methods to return to power."

"But, he didn't get it, did he? We stopped him?"

"No, he didn't get it. We delayed his return. He kept on trying though – putting Harry's life in danger in the process. Until the second Wizarding war began."

I started with the long and arduous tale by going over details we'd glossed over before from our first year at Hogwarts. How Voldemort had attached a piece of his soul to that of Professor Quirrell. How he had been surviving on Unicorn blood. From there I went on to our second year, about his sister being possessed by Tom Riddle via the diary and continued on through every tale through our years at Hogwarts. He'd interject sometimes with things he remembered, things he was able to recall as our talking about it all triggered a memory somewhere. He remembered the spiders in the Forbidden Forest with a great shudder. Laughed at the memory of my turning myself into half a cat with polyjuice potion. Recalled seeing me lying frozen in the hospital wing after I had been petrified. And remembered his relief when Harry returned, with Ginny alive.

He vehemently insisted that that bloody dog, Sirius in his Animagus form. had almost ripped his leg off when we got discussing our third year. And he looked revolted as he slowly recalled how his pet rat Scabbers, the rat that had slept in his bed and he had fussed over, had turned into that nasty piece of scum – Peter Pettigrew. We talked about the Dementors and he remembered poor old Hagrid sobbing over Buckbeak. He was relived when I reminded him we'd been able to save the beast.

He'd already remembered our row during the fourth year, regarding the Yule Ball. And his embarrassment at asking out Fleur and, with a blush, his jealousy over Viktor Krum. But, he looked guilty as he realised he'd fallen out with Harry that year too. "Why was I such an arse?" he asked me.

"You were just a bit jealous, you were 14," I shrugged, as though that could excuse his behaviour. "I love Harry, but it wasn't always easy being his friend back then, especially for you. You'd been in the shadows of your brothers' achievements for years. Then you go and make friends with probably the most famous wizard in our time. You just thought he was after more glory with the Tri-Wizard tournament. But, you came around when it mattered."

He nodded and talked more of what he could remember. Being part of the second task and Harry rescuing him from the lake. "What bloody kind of school was it?" he asked. "Isn't that rather dangerous, shackling students to the bottom of a lake like that?" He shook his head and laughed slightly.

"We were never in any real danger. And we'd been put under a spell. Besides, no one would have left us down there if the task had gone wrong. I promise."

"Still, seems a bit bloody mental!" He huffed and folded his arms.

He remembered the dragons brought in by his brother and other wizards for the first task. Admitted to me how scared and yet awed he'd been by Mad Eye Moody at first. Although we had good reason too – since he hadn't really been who we'd thought all that year. And he looked positively sick as we both remembered Cedric Diggory's lifeless body returning from the maze with Harry.

"Everything changed after that," I whispered. "Our world became much darker. Voldemort was really back and horrid things started happening more often," I shuddered at the memory.

Before I even started on our fifth year, he suddenly recalled spending his summer cleaning up "That bloody evil looking house!" We both spent some time name-calling that old cow, Umbridge and wishing horrid things to happen to her – as far as I knew, she was still safely locked away in Azkaban, where she was likely to live out her final days. I spoke of our time in the DA with a sense of fondness – all those lessons and practice sessions that helped us achieve what we had, and Ron was able to remember some of it as I spoke. He even recalled taking his O.W.L.s, much to his horror. "Why'd I have to remember something as boring as that?" he pulled a face. But, it was with much less humour he recalled some events that happened at the Ministry. The time we thought we were on a rescue mission for Harry's Godfather, Sirius. Of course, there were moments neither of us would ever remember…we'd both been hit with spells or attacked by evil, magical brains in Ron's case. But, we remembered Sirius with sadness and how depressed Harry had been afterwards.

"Poor bloke never got a break, did he?" Ron asked me. "I mean, he lost his parents and had to grow up with some bloody rotten Muggles. And when he finally gets a father figure, he's killed too." He sighed deeply.

"Harry had it rough," I agreed. "But, our sixth year was a little calmer. At least for awhile. I mean, that was when he started snogging your sister." I laughed at the look on Ron's face over that admission.

"Dirty little bugger" he hissed.

"They are married now," I reminded him, with a laugh. "And that year, you were…erm, never mind," I muttered, not wanting to get into that now. It was ridiculous and stupid that I could still be even slightly jealous over his four month relationship with Lavender. And, I wasn't, not in that sense anyway. I just think it would hurt so much if he remembered kissing her, and not me.

"That was the year I what?" he implored.

"You er, you were on the Quidditch team again." I replied. "Oh…and of course that was the year you got poisoned."

"I what?" He looked horrified, his eyes widening to the size of quaffles as he stared at me.

"Yeah, on your birthday you accidentally ate these chocolates Harry had been given at Christmas. They had been laced with…"

"Love potion," he cut in, remembering with a gentle nod.

"Yes." I nodded. "Then you were accidentally poisoned with some tampered Mead when Harry took you to Professor Slughorn to help with the love potion. You were out of it for a couple of days." I didn't add that that was the first time I thought he might feel about me the way I'd always felt about him. How he'd mumbled my name in his sleep and I'd stayed by his bedside for hours.

Ron looked rather teary eyed as we spoke of Dumbledore's death. He remembered the aftermath, the funeral, but not the battle that had taken place below the Astronomy Tower so much. Though, he finally realised why his brother Bill's face was such a mess, having been attacked by a werewolf.

"So," he sniffed. "That brings us to our seventh year."

"Yes," I sighed, knowing that no matter what I had already told him, this was going to be the worst. "Do you...shall we stop here for now and get some lunch?" I suggested, catching sight of the clock on the mantelpiece and realising it was already almost one in the afternoon.

Ron's eyes followed mine to the clock and it was obvious he hadn't been aware of the time either. "Yeah, sounds good. I can eat." He agreed with a smile.

"You can always eat," I chuckled, gathering up our dirty teacups as he grabbed the half empty packet of biscuits he'd been munching on earlier.

Reviews make me smile :) Until next week...

And, just an FYI, we have 8 chapters left until the end now.