Four Times Hermione Granger Says No and Once She Says Yes
i. fresh blood stains her fingernails
It is too quiet. The bitter taste of blood sits on her tongue as she tries to forget the past few hours. She isn't sure where the boys are but she doesn't worry. It's all over.
The thought scares her. Hermione can't help but panic. They've never had this certainty, this peace. She feels the cold stone under her thighs and wonders why she's more afraid now than before.
"Hermione?"
His voice is sweet and his hands are warm as they help her up.
"Marry me." His voice breaks and she has to stand on tiptoes to kiss him.
"No."
ii. far too young (far too broken)
George's eyes are dark and hollow. He accepts handshakes without a word. Ron stands behind him, a protective hand on his shoulder.
Hermione sits alone. She doesn't know what to do, how to act.
Funerals hurt so much. Her heart aches. For George; for all the Weasleys; for the Order; for Fred.
Her shaking hands smooth her dress and wipe tears from her lashes. Twenty years. Such a short time. He was too young. He should've had this long, uncertain life before him that Hermione so fears. But he doesn't and she's ungrateful.
Ron sits beside her.
"Hermione. Please?"
"No."
iii. paper cut-outs and crayoned smiles
It occurs to Hermione on her 19th birthday that Ron is still ashamed of being poor. She laughs to herself, because, really, didn't he help kill Voldemort? Boys.
He hands her a lilac card that smells of spring, and she reads the clumsy, heartfelt words inked inside.
"I wanted to get you something special, but..."
"Ron, it's perfect!", she smiles, ignoring his reddened cheeks and crimson ears.
He coughs and shifts around, all gangly limbs and awkwardness. So she kisses him.
"What'd you say if I asked you now?", he breathes, lips shining in the light.
"No, Ron. Not now."
iv. red is anger; red is all that he is
They often curl up together on an old, worn mattress in their bare, grey flat. Hermione smiles at how very cliché it seems.
Their limbs are entangled. Ron's warm. But he growls sour words in her ear, soon full-on screaming, then a pop and she disapparates home.
He always does this. A lovely evening - until his mood becomes as deep as his blush and then they are fighting.
An owl pecks at the window. She tears parchment from its leg.
Sorry.
...please?
She scrawls a simple No and wonders how she is supposed to put up with this forever.
v. in the end, who stands behind you?
She stands with him at the Ministry Celebration (in their honour, but they barely know anybody here). They're hidden behind curtains.
From nowhere: "Sorry I left you. Back then."
His arms are around her waist; his breath tickles the back of her neck.
"I know."
"This shouldn't be for me. Just you two. I'm no hero."
You're my hero. She turns to say this, but somehow her lips end up fighting his, so she runs her fingers through his hair and mumbles "My hero" into his mouth, trying to remember a time when she didn't love him.
"Ron?"
"Mmmhmm?"
"Yes."