It was early in the morning and Ronald Weasley was making his way through the as-yet deserted streets of Brighton. The sun was about to rise, and an orange sheen was creeping up from the horizon. Birds were starting to sing, though the songs Brighton's most prominent avians were the shrill caws of gulls. They were busying themselves with bags of trash, fighting amongst themselves over the contents.
Ron had gotten used to the early mornings. He had loathed them at Hogwarts, where he had to be dragged out of his four-poster after all the others in the dormitory had already gotten up. That had arguably been the hardest part of learning to live in the rough; getting up at the crack of dawn. After a couple of weeks though, he had gotten used to it, and now it was a pattern he could no longer break. He awoke half an hour before dawn, whether he wanted to or not.

Crossing the street, he spied the little book store Hermione lived above. The iron fencing was still down, and the lights were off. The only place with a bit of activity had been a bakery a few blocks down. Ron rang the doorbell. He rang it twice, and he could hear the electric buzzer going off on both accounts. He patiently waited for Hermione to get up. She flipped the light on about ten seconds after he had rang, and he could feel her adding a few protective wards over her already over-protected home. Ron suppressed the urge to ring the doorbell again after waiting at the door for about a minute. She'll open up when she's ready..

Ron's ability to sense magic, such as the wards Hermione had just placed and those Bill had placed on his own cottage on the night of his return, was quite ordinary for wizards that have come of age. Hogwarts, being the magical hub that it was, flooded a young wizard's senses, depriving it of sensing any details. It wasn't uncommon for wizards and witches to really start to feel the more subtle nuances of spellwork after leaving school. Ron had started feeling it quite fast after getting on the road, because he had mostly travelled to non-magical places. After a while, even the slightest spellwork and the weakest of charms seemed to draw his attention, eliciting a sensation that was difficult to put into words. It was like a background noise that you did not actively notice unless you were told it was there. Unheeded by most, only those new to the sound could really tell it was there. Ron had spent a night sleeping in an apartment near the freeway. When he had asked the owner a day later how he'd been able to sleep through such a loud racket, the owner merely shrugged and said: 'I don't even hear it anymore.'

After another minute, he could hear Hermione descend the stairs. She seemed to be on guard, her steps slow and cautious.
'Come on, Hermione,' Ron said to the still closed door, 'It's cold outside, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't murder you even if I tried. Smartest witch of our time, remember?'
Hermione quickly removed her wards and opened the door.
'Ron!' she said, her hands on her hips, 'What on earth makes you think I deserve a visit at this hour? It's not even five o'clock, for Pete's sake!'
Seeing her standing there with her hands on her hips, her hair in a tangle, and a scowl on her lips somehow made her irresistible to him. The fact that she was wearing one of his old shirts didn't help either. It reached all the way down to her knees, and it was at least ten sizes too large for her. Milky white legs peeped out from below them.
'It's your day off,' he assured her, 'I thought you would want to spend your time optimally.'
'What are you talking about?' she asked, as he squeezed past her and ascended the stairs. 'I've got three appointments at the ministry today, not to mention the reports I need to hand in.'

Ron didn't reply, but merely crossed her living room and flipped on the water heater. Hermione worked best after she'd had her morning tea.
'No, I arranged for you to have a day off,' he explained, 'The ministry can function even without you there every day.'
Hermione was about to protest when Ron turned around and faced her. 'Your boss told me you had not taken a single sick day or vacation leave since you started there three years ago. She practically tried to force me to get you to take up more days than just one.'
'Y-You called my boss to arrange for me to take a day off, without even telling me? Are you mad?'

Ron offered her a weak smile and a cup of tea in response. She seemed genuinely upset with him, and not the least bit confused. For half a minute, she scolded him, telling him to leave her in charge of her own working hours, and not to call her boss again.
'Fine, fine. Drink your tea,' Ron replied, remaining calm in the face of her storm.
'No, Ronald!' she said, still angered, 'You just can't do this shit to people! I was planning to meet up with a couple of warlocks from foreign ministries today, to discuss elf-welfare in the abroad, and see if I can extend our activities to other ministries. I've been trying to set up that meeting for months. You can't just do these things. This is my job! Just because you don't have a job doesn't mean you should interfere with mine!'
Ron let Hermione's comment slide and breathed in deeply to refrain from responding. It would lead to a massive row; that much he knew from experience. Hermione seemed to run out of steam a bit, taking a tiny sip of her tea.
'I wanted to be here before the newspaper arrived. I wanted to tell you before you read about anything in the paper.'
'Tell me what?'
'That I collected my part of the reward money the ministry had offered for the defeat of Voldemort.'
'You did what?' Hermione replied, 'I thought you didn't want that money?'
'I didn't,' Ron said, 'I don't.'
'So why would you collect it? And why would it be in the news?'
Right at that moment, there came a tap on the window. An owl was perched on the window sill, a newspaper attached to it.
'Perhaps you should read the news and find out..'

Hermione paid the owl and flipped open the Daily Prophet. On the front page, in a bold font was his name, above a picture of his in Gringotts.

GRINGOTTS AND WEASLEY FINALLY SHED LIGHT ON OLD MYSTERY
Ronald Weasley, known throughout the country as one of the wizards instrumental in the downfall of You-Know-Who, finally sheds light on one of the few remaining mysteries surrounding the end of the Dark Lord's reign of terror.

'You did an interview with the Daily Prophet about our heist?' Hermione asked incredulously?
'Yup,' Ron replied, 'a heavily censored, much edited version of what actually happened. It was one of the conditions of the deal I made with the goblins?'
'What for?'
'Two things. The first was that Gringotts would stop treating us as criminals. Their version heavily implies that they had known of our plans beforehand, and that they had allowed us to steal the horcrux.'
'The hold on Harry's vault is lifted,' he continued, 'and no goblin will ever utter a backhanded insult to our faces again.'
'We were doing fine without Gringotts, Ronald,' she replied, 'You didn't need to do that.'
'Consider it a bonus. George and Bill told me they had not been able to do regular dealings with the goblins for years. They imposed insane taxes on every transaction they made. This interview will return everything to normal for everyone, including my family. Harry will be able to get to his parents's money again, and you will no longer have to keep your money in a sock under the mattress.'
'So what was the second thing?' Hermione asked.
'For that,' Ron said, 'We need to go for a ride. Get dressed, we've got a lot of work to do!'

Hermione seemed mildly amused, and decided not to protest any further. She picked up a few stray items of clothing from the floor, and went into the bathroom. Ron remained seated on the edge of her sofa, gently humming a song. This was proving to be a good day.
Hermione emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Her hair was tamed, a fresh layer of mascara had been applied, and she had slipped into a comfortable set of clothing. She stashed his old shirt under her pillow.
'Still sleeping in that old rag, I see?' he asked.
'Every night,' she said, her face a little red. He had given her the shirt shortly after getting together for the first time. It was way too big for her, and Hermione positively drowned in it. It also looked absolutely stunning on her, and in the few happy moments they had spent together, it had been like an aphrodisiac for him to see her wearing it. It still was, now that he came to think about it.

Together, they walked down the stairs and out into the Brighton streets. The lights were on in several homes now, and the first of the morning commuters were on their way. A couple of cats could be seen here and there, emerging from their nightly endeavours hungry and tired.
'Where are you taking me?' Hermione asked.
Ron didn't reply, not wanting to spoil the surprise, but he did take her hand and set a course to the beach. They walked at a leisurely pace, savouring the moment. Neither of them spoke, relishing the fresh scent of the morning dew and the quietness that came with a city not yet filled with cars. When they got to the beach, Hermione breathed in deep, enjoying the salty air that was inextricably connected to it. She squeezed his hand for a moment, and they shared a quick glance at each other.

'I've noticed you don't use magic that often anymore,' Hermione said.
'I guess so,' Ron replied. It was true, he didn't take out his wand at every opportune moment. He had used the water boiler just now, instead of simply conjuring the hot water. In fact, Ron hardly ever used magic if there was a suitable, non-magical replacement for it. 'When I was out and about, I couldn't use magic very often. At the start, I was mostly accompanied by muggles. Later, I stopped caring about how fast or easy I was able to heat my tea or dry my clothes. It was really liberating not to have to worry about time or deadlines or money. Just a simple life, playing the guitar or whistling a tune was enough.'
'I never pegged you for the outdoorsy, gypsy lifestyle,' Hermione said, 'Especially not after our seventh year.'
'Ha,' Ron said, 'It wasn't all bad. I might have been negative about it at the time, but that's because the difference between my comfortable, pampered life at the Burrow and Hogwarts was so great. I was cold and wet and miserable, and I wasn't used to any of that.'
'Later, when I got my own apartment, I started to feel a yearning to be outside again. Smelling the dewy grass, walking through the forests, looking out over a big lake. My own apartment never really felt like home to me. The walls felt like they were closing in on me.'

Hermione seemed lost in thought for a while, an so they stood in silence for a minute, looking out over sea and watching the slow progress of the sun climbing the sky.
'Merlin's beard, Hermione. I did miss you all that time.'
Hermione looked up at him, her chocolate-coloured eyes gazing at him critically. 'I can't recall the number of times that I sat on some hillside overlooking a beautiful vista or stood at a party, holding a beer thinking how wonderful it would have been if you'd been there. How happy I would have felt if I had been able to share those simple, glorious moments.'
Hermione broke eye contact and Ron could see her mood turn sour.
'Well,' she said, her mouth getting rigid and her hand pulling away from his, 'I guess I might have joined you if you had just suggested that before leaving. Before leaving not just me, but your whole family and all your friends without a clue of where you'd gone and how you were doing.'
Ron wanted to tell her he was sorry, but Hermione didn't give him a chance to interrupt.
'In fact,' she said, crossing her arms under her chest and turning to face him, 'I doubt you understand how terrified we were when we found out you had just vanished! No note, no explanation, no nothing!' she said, her nostrils flaring in anger.
'Hermione, I-'
'No, Ron!' she said, 'It hurt! I didn't know where you were. I didn't know what you were doing, or if you were all right. All we knew is that you were "travelling", and that only because your mother's clock told us so. Can you imagine the hurt and frustration I felt when you just up and left us?'
'I do!' Ron said, trying to find words for the hopelessness he had felt, and hoping that he would be able to convey them to Hermione, 'I understand I let you down. Aside from the fact that we were no longer together as a couple, I still betrayed your friendship leaving the way I did. You mean the world to me. You, Harry, my family, all of you! Leaving was the hardest decision I have ever made, but I knew you would all try to talk me out of it. I knew that my mother would do everything in her power to keep me in England. I knew Harry and you would wear me down over time. You would never be able to understand just how run to the ground I really was.'
'We knew you had issues,' Hermione countered, a little less venomously than before, 'We knew how much Fred's death had affected you.'
'Did you?' Ron asked, now talking in a half-whisper, 'Would it not surprise you just how dark my thoughts had become? How often I played with the thought of- ending it all?'
Hermione's eyes widened. A sharp intake of breath told him she had in fact never known just how deep his hopelessness had run, and how far he had travelled to climb out of that place. The blood drained from her pretty face, and her eyes became glossy and downcast.
'You-'
'Yes.'
'But, you never-'
'No,' Ron said, cupping one of her cheeks in his hands and tilting her face back up to his, 'I never told anyone. If you know me half as well as I think you do, you'd know I'm not one to flaunt my emotions. Having no-one to vent my feelings to, no-one to go to with my grief, it overwhelmed me. I stand by my decision to leave without notice, even if it hurt you as much as it did. I am convinced that if I had not left, or if I had told you and you would have talked me out of it, that darkness would have consumed me.'
'Oh Ron,' Hermione said, burying herself against his chest, her arms wrapping around him, 'Why on earth did you never tell us anything. You know you could have told us anything. You know you could tell me anything!'
Ron pulled her into a tight embrace. He kissed the top of her head, and then breathed in the smell of her hair. It was perhaps what he had missed most in all those years.
'Hermione, we weren't really in our best of times,' Ron said, 'Remember? I tried to bring it up once or twice, but I never quite got the words to come out of my mouth. We would probably have rowed about it anyways.'

They stood there for a while, both unwilling to let go of each other. After a while though, Ron untangled himself from Hermione's embrace and turned to walk to the beach again. Hermione discretely wiped the tears that she had felt rolling over her cheeks away and followed him.

The beach was deserted. The sand was sticky from morning dew, clinging to their shoes. They were among the first to visit the beach; only two other sets of footsteps were visible. After walking for about five minutes, Ron was sure they were safely away from prying eyes. Ron held out his two thumbs, which was a wizarding invitation to side-along apparation. Hermione took hold of them, and together, they left the beach.

The road to Peasedown St. John was still deserted when two wizards apparated onto it. A farmer that had gone up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows thought he heard a popping sound, like the opening of a bottle of beer. A sparrow that looked out from a branch of a tree saw two humans appear out of nowhere. Neither of them paid it any heed.

Hermione and Ron stamped the sand out of their shoes, brushed some imaginary dust off of their shoulders, and then looked at each other.
'Is this-'
'Yes,' Ron said, noting that he had answered another of Hermione's questions before she'd had time to complete her sentence. 'We're off to visit Wilbur again.'
'You are quite taken with him, aren't you?'
Ron smiled. 'Well, I guess I am. The man has some interesting stories to tell. Did you know he landed on Omaha beach in Normandy?'
'Ron, I wasn't even aware that you knew about Omaha beach to begin with.'
Strolling along the path, Ron told her about his time in Europe, and how it was impossible not to know anything about WW2.
'Really, Hermione,' he said, after telling her he had visited the old wall of Berlin, 'People thought I was mad at first, not knowing about the war. There is truly not a single place in Europe that does not contain some memorial or reminder of the old muggle war. People got angry with me when I asked them why the concentration camps were so bad. How could I know they actually gassed millions of people there? I thought it was just some sort of prison..'

They had reached the cast-iron gate of Wilbur's old farm. Ron leaned against it as he saw Wilbur seated at his usual place by the window.
'Aren't we going in?' Hermione asked.
'Just a minute,' he replied, taking in the simple beauty of the old farm. The early morning dew clung to the thatch roof, giving it a dark colour. There was some moss on it. He'd have to remind himself that he'd have to get rid of that soon.
Wilbur was getting up from his seat by the window, moving to open the door. Ron could see two heavy looking, leather suitcases next to the front door.

After a few seconds of serenity, Hermione pushed him aside. 'It is rude to make people wait, Ronald,' she said. She walked up to the door, which Wilbur was already opening. 'Hello, mister Yorke!'
'Well hello, lassie,' Wilbur said merrily as Hermione shook his hand, 'Come to see an old man off?'
'You are leaving?' she asked.
Wilbur exchanged a quick glance with Ron, then made a vague non-committal reply.
'Are you all set?' Ron asked, 'Or have you decided to chicken out at the last minute?'
Wilbur prodded him with his cane. 'You better watch who ye be callin' a chicken there, boy. I can still change me mind..'
'That is odd,' Ron replied coolly, 'I distinctly recall you telling me you were as excited a schoolboy for your first day there.'

Meanwhile, an old black cab pulled up to the house. Hermione instantly recognised the red-and-gold crest of the British Magical Cab Company, which had operated in all of Britain for over a hundred years now.
'What's going on?' Hermione asked.
'Wilbur has sold his house a little while ago. He was planning on going to a retirement home called "The Old House of Essex", but I managed to convince him, and a few of the right people at the ministry to opt for a more suitable home instead. It was a bit more expensive, but I'm quite sure Wilbur will be more than pleased with their service.'
'Where are you going then, mister Yorke?' Hermione asked, lending a supporting arm to Wilbur, whom had begun to sway a little as he headed out to the cab.
'A place called "The Redwood Estates".'
'Isn't that-'
'-A retirement home for witches and wizards,' Ron said as he hoisted up Wilbur's two heavy suitcases, 'And squibs, to be exact.'
'Watch who you're callin' squid, sonny.'
'Squib,' Ron corrected, 'It means non-magical folk that know of our world. Consider it a compliment.'

The cabdriver quickly levitated Wilbur's suitcases into the trunk and settled Wilbur on the back seat.
'My,' he said, 'This cab is huge!'
'An Enlargement spell,' Ron said, 'You should see my father's camping equipment.'

After a few minutes, they had said goodbye to Wilbur, promising him they would stop by once or twice a month to say hello. The cab sped off, vanishing from sight before rounding the corner.
'Well, that was fun!' Ron said.
'That man is going to have a blast,' Hermione said as she checked her watch. 'With a bit of luck, I might still make it to work on time.'
Ron looked at her incredulously. 'You can't be serious!'
'I am! I'm a busy person.'
'Could you do me a favour before you leave? I have thing I need your help with at home.'
'Sure, what is it?'
'I'll tell you when we get there.'

Ron held out his thumbs again. Hermione took hold of them. Nothing happened. 'Remember your D's Ron,' she said after a little while, in an effort to be supportive.
'No,' Ron replied, 'I guess we're already there.'
Ron opened the cast-iron fence and strode up to his new home. Hermione looked at him thunderstruck.
'You mean you-'
'I bought it, yes.'
'How?!'
'The goblins drove a hard bargain with the Ministry's reward, but in the end, I was more than able to afford this little dive. I also paid for Wilbur's retirement home and any of the paperwork that was necessary to clear things with the ministry.'
Hermione was still standing at the fence, her eyes filled with a look of disbelief. Ron opened the front door, and invited her in.
'Aren't you coming?' he asked, after noticing she was still motionless. All of a sudden, Hermione kicked into action. A smile from ear to ear spread on her face as she ran up to him.
'Ron!' she said in a high pitched squeal as her arms enveloped him in a bear hug, 'I'm so happy for you! This house is exactly what you've always wanted!'
'No Hermione, you're wrong,' Ron said, 'It's what we've always wanted.'
Hermione turned her face away, a red blush creeping up on her face. She couldn't keep it turned away long though, because within a few seconds, she had turned her face back to him.

With Wilbur's belongings all cleared out, Ron noticed for the first time how large the farm's living room really was. The door opened to a small hallway, which opened out into the living room. The living room had several floors of different heights. The lowest part contained the large fireplace, and was about three feet lower than the doorway. It was snugly tucked away in the far corner of the room. There were no windows there, and Ron thought it would make for a cosy and romantic sitting area. The difference in height would make it feel a bit smaller, even though the room was actually quite large. He would have to go out and buy some furniture though; he didn't own a single piece.
There were two other floors of different heights, one containing the table and chairs Wilbur enjoyed sitting at, near the window, and one containing the stairs to the first floor. The floor near the window also contained a small kitchen, with a simple stove, and some small cupboards. Ron guessed that he would have to redesign the kitchen. His appetites were still quite large.
'So what do we do now?' Hermione said, rolling up her sleeves. 'May I suggest we start by cleaning everything up a little?'

Three hours had passed, and Ron and Hermione had made some remarkable progress on cleaning the house. Muggles would have spent days cleaning out the cobwebs from the rafters, and sweeping the dust-bunnies from the floors. Hermione's spellwork had been efficient. The rafters looked like they had just been installed, and Ron guessed you could eat off the floor. Ron had moved some of Wilbur's old and worn down furniture out to a shed. Wilbur was a great guy, but his tastes for decoration and furniture were as antique as his age.

The first and second floor had proven to be more of a challenge. Wilbur had not been able to clean or even visit those floors for what seemed like a couple of years now. There was a nest of bats hanging from the thatch roof, and Ron even spied a bowtruckle before it quickly vacated from a broken window. There had been quite a few of those in the farm, and some spellwork from Hermione had repaired all but the worst of the damages. The second floor was a completely emptied out attic. All of the walls that had once been there had been removed. What remained was a room of about 150 square feet, with a high, thatch ceiling. After noticing the many cobwebs and spiders hanging from it, Ron had asked Hermione to clean it out, quickly busying himself with something more urgent downstairs.

When he returned from scrubbing out the bathtub for ten minutes, he saw Hermione finishing up on cleaning the attic. Not a trace of gossamer remained, much to Ron's relief.
'I also cleaned up the windows a bit,' Hermione said, 'they were so grimy, they were almost opaque.'
A strong ray of sunlight flooded in from the four small windows, lighting up the entire attic. Hermione was standing directly in it, and the bright mid-day sunlight illuminated her almost magically. She was studying her handywork as Ron stood transfixed, unable to keep his eyes off her. The light seemed to dance off of her face and hair, revealing every strand of her mighty crown. The small scar on her neck stood out in greater detail. She had tried to hide it at first, until he told her that she should wear it with pride. It was a battle scar, and wearing it openly would be the ultimate insult to Bellatrix LeStrange.

Hermione didn't seem to notice his enchantment until after she had asked him something and Ron didn't respond. A small smile played on her lips. She folded her hands under her breast, and lifted one eyebrow confidently. When they made eye contact, that confidence seemed to fade a little. Ron, however, took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he stood within an inch of her. Hermione tilted her head up. Ron bent down and kissed her. He kissed her tenderly. He kissed her as carefully as he could. She was a treasure to him; not a one-in-a-million girl, not even a one-in-a-billion girl. She was the only person he could ever kiss like that. Never before her had there been anyone as perfectly suited for him. Nor would there ever be anyone after her like that. He had been without her for four years, and it had taught him one important lesson. Hermione Granger was the only thing he would ever need, the only thing he would ever want in his entire life. And wanting her was exactly what he was feeling right now. His hands travelled down her body in old paths that felt excitingly new. He could feel her thin waistline, and the gentle curves down to her hips. His fingers brushed her spine, each vertebrae defining a small hill in a straight path down to her sacrum.

Hermione eagerly replied to his kiss. He could feel the urgency in her lips and tongue as they pressed onto his. Her breathing was heavy and warm. Her eyes were open, and they looked straight at him. She held him close. One of her arms was draped around his shoulders, while the other pulled his waist close to hers.

When they pulled apart, Ron could feel a sheepish grin spread on his face. Hermione grinned back at him, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
'Oh Ron,' she said, snuggling close to him, 'Can't we just-'
'-Start over?'
'No,' she said, 'I don't want to start over, I want to continue. I don't want to forget what happened before. I don't want rip a page out of our history just because it doesn't suit us. We've both learned from it. It serves it purpose, as a reminder.'
'A reminder?'
'Of what will happen when we stop talking to each other,' she said, 'When we stop working on "us".'
'Let's just focus on the future,' Ron agreed.