It had been an eventful week for Ron. He had thoroughly underestimated the work that had been necessary to get the farm into something of a habitable environment. His parents had busied themselves all week in the garden surrounding his home, mowing the grass, trimming the hedges, and even de-gnoming it, as the little bastards had already been sighted. Harry had helped him to clear the moss off of the thatch roof, slightly disillusioned when Ron told him he wanted to do it without magic. It was a little silly, Ron supposed, but having been out and about with muggles had made him much more hesitant to use magic.

It had started in Brazil. He had taken a job in removals at the company of a barrel-chested man named José. José was naturally suspicious of all of his new personnel, and Ron had been no exception. His first day of work consisted of moving about fifty heavy boxes with books from point A to point B. José had been watching him like a kneazel all day long, so Ron couldn't perform any sort of charm to lighten the boxes or even move them magically. At the end of the day, his back had been aching, his arms were weak and trembling, and José had told him he had never met anyone more diligent than him. Ron had gone home feeling broken but also strangely proud of having done so much hard labour without magic.

His time in Brazil had been great, and part of that was due to his new-found love for hard manual labour. Ron had taken on ever more difficult work, relishing the feeling of having done something no self-respecting wizard would do. After all those years studying magic at Hogwarts, Ron could only imagine what his professors would say if they had seen him then.

Ron had also insisted on repairing the door of the farm manually. Harry had told him off.

'Have you completely lost your marbles?' The look Harry shot Ron was incredulous.

'What?' Ron said indignantly, 'I worked at a construction site for a month. Fixing a skewed door should not be all that hard.'

Harry had left after Ron had taken the door from its hinges, muttering under his breath that Ron was daft for not using a simple spell to repair the door. It had taken quite a lot longer than Ron had anticipated though. After retrofitting the flanges on the door, Ron found out the door wasn't completely straight, so he'd had to plane it for nearly an hour. After that, he had to go into town to get paint for it. He had finished the job half an hour ago, and had retired to the hammock he had installed in the front yard.

There, he sat strumming his guitar, enjoying the simple melody he was absent-mindedly playing. One leg dangling out of the hammock, Ron gently swayed back and forth as he revelled in the weak sunlight of England's winter.

He had asked Hermione to come over for dinner. After sharing a kiss in the attic, Hermione had seemingly kept her distance. Ron let her, wanting to give her some space even though he'd rather spend all of his free time with her. Her job at the ministry ate most of her time though, and she had cancelled their plans for dinner two days ago because she had to meet a deadline. Ron had suggested coming over to help her, but she had declined, telling him she'd rather do it alone. That had stung a little, though he did not press the matter.

Swaying in the gentle motions of his hammock, Ron felt his eyelids grow heavy. The guitar forgotten, his thoughts slowed down. The image of Hermione's face in the light of the attic swam up to him, and Ron felt a bit of irritation at her dismissal of dinner. Still, she had sent a letter asking him to reschedule, and had accepted his offer of dinner today directly.

Outside the farm, on the all-but-deserted road that led to the cemetery, an old farmer leisurely walked by Ron's home. The farmer had lived in Peasdown St. John all his life, and knew everyone that had been born and raised in the tiny community. As he passed Ron's cast iron fence, he looked in momentarily and saw a young man clutching a guitar and sleeping in a vibrantly coloured hammock.

An hour later, Ron woke from his stupor. The wind had picked up, and though it was a far cry away from regular winter days, it had grown quite chilly. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to get warm, then hopped out of his hammock. He checked the time.

Shit!, Ron thought, as he noticed the time, Hermione is going to be here in thirty minutes!

He quickly cleared out all of his tools and stored the paint in a small shed built against the side of the farm. It was perhaps five foot across, and Ron readily expected it to become a broom cupboard. As he walked to the kitchen, Ron realized he had forgotten to get several of the ingredients he needed.

Hermione had just arrived when he got back from the small grocery store. She was sitting on the hammock, clearly uncomfortable.

'You're supposed to lay down in them,' he said, 'If you sit in it like that, your back will kill you in a matter of minutes.'

Hermione looked up and offered him a weak smile.

'I'm afraid to fall out of it if I move,' she said with a sheepish grin, 'How can anyone relax in this?'

'It's easy,' Ron said, putting down the groceries and walking over to her, 'You've got to stabilize yourself by making yourself larger. Here, let me help.'

He took her hands and placed them further apart. Then, he told her to tuck in her legs. When she did, he hooked one foot behind a fold of the hammock, allowing her to rotate her body ninety degrees and gently sink into it.

'It's a bit like flying a broom,' he explained, 'Once you get the hang of it, you'll never forget it.'

'Ron?'

'Yes?'

'Do you remember the last time I was on a broom?'

'No.'

'Neither do I.'

'Right,' he said, 'Good point.'

'This is quite comfortable though,' she said, as she stretched out her legs completely.

'I know, I've slept in it for more than a year. A simple impervius charm to keep dry, and warm water bottle to keep me warm is all you really need.'

Ron went back to the groceries, and headed back inside.

'Ron!' Hermione said, 'You put me into this contraption, you've got to help me get out of it too!'

'Are you a wizard or not?'

Hermione sputtered and her eyes narrowed as Ron opened the door and chuckled. Sometimes it was just too easy to get to her.

Hermione and Ron prepared the food together. It was quite a challenge; the kitchen was currently under construction. Ron had removed most of the kitchen from the wall, apart from the stove, which he intended to keep. Hermione was seated at the table, chopping up some paprika and some peppers. Ron busied himself making tomato sauce, which he did using only natural products. The recipe had been handed down to him from a fellow traveller, and almost everyone admitted to liking it.

'Did you chop up the mushrooms?' he asked, while stirring the skillet.

'Yes,' Hermione replied, 'Just like old times.'

Ron glanced over in her direction. A smirk was on her face.

'Quite,' he replied, 'But with much more cooking and less complaining from my part. I never really gave you any credit for your skill in cooking back then.'

Hermione got up and passed him the mushrooms.

'You didn't really need to,' she said, 'You were glum, and moody, and mostly under the influence of that horrid locket. You certainly made an effort in praising me when you returned.'

Ron took the mushrooms and added them to what was rapidly becoming a tasty sauce. He suppressed a smile. He had been copiously complimenting Hermione on anything he could, hoping her mood with him would improve. He took a small taste of the sauce. It was bland.

'I never thought you would be such a skilled cook,' Hermione said, after handing him the salt, 'You never showed any interest in it.'

'I had to learn how to cook, 'Mione. Nobody else was going to do it for me.'

Hermione pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, glancing down to her trainers. Ron knew her well enough to know that his casual insertion of his favourite nickname for her didn't go unnoticed. Ron took another sip of the sauce. It was better now, but needed some pepper.

Ten minutes later, Ron was seated at the table by the window with Hermione in front of him. Going for a bit of romance, he had put on a radio station playing love songs, and lit a few candles. Hermione took a measured nip from her pasta. He had shielded her from it all through the process of making it, claiming she wouldn't be able to fully appreciate it if she had tasted it before it was done.

'It's really tasty,' she said with a genuine smile, 'It's a bit hot though.'

'That'll be the peppers. It takes some getting used to.'

'Where did you get the recipe again?'

'I got it from this girl from Italy. She insisted on cooking for me when we were at the same dormitory in Prague. Of course, all the other blokes in the dorm demanded she'd make it for them too. Poor girl had to cook for twenty people that night. She-'

Ron noticed Hermione smile had fallen.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.'

Something obviously was wrong.

'Spit it out.'

'No, it's silly.'

'Out with it,' he demanded.

'I was just- I wondered if you- You know...'

Ron remained silent. He had a feeling what this might be about, but he'd be damned if he was going to bring it up himself and spoil a carefree evening with Hermione. Hermione was obviously having a bit of trouble getting the words out.

'-I wondered if you'd been with anyone when you were away.'

'Yes,' he said, a little blunt. He wasn't going to make it sound like an apology. 'Yes, I have.'

'Oh.'

Ron could see Hermione's mood change. She seemed quite happy and content up to now, but the smile had completely faltered, and she was pushing the food on her plate around without eating it.

'I understand,' she said, not making eye-contact, 'I can't really blame you for that, right?'

Now it was Ron's turn to fidget.

'It was a way out for me in the beginning. The first few months. It was a relief valve for me. I kissed a handsome number of girls in those months. After then, I sorta lost interest.'

'But did you have anything more permanent?'

'Twice,' Ron said, a tone sadness having crept into his voice, 'One girl from Denmark called Mirte. I was with her for a few months, but we grew apart.'

'You grew apart?'

'That was a friendly way of saying I grew tired of her gullibility and simplicity. She believed everything I told her, no matter how farfetched. I just couldn't picture myself with her.'

Which is to say, she couldn't compare to you.

'Who was the other one?'

'A girl called Sari,' Ron said, 'She was a blast. I really enjoyed our time together, and under different circumstances, we might have stayed together.'

'So what drove you apart?'

'I was still in love with you.'

An uncomfortable silence descended over the table. Hermione seemed frozen like a statue. The only movement Ron could make out was her biting her lip. Ron didn't know if saying it like that was wrong of him. He had all but told her of his feelings for her the day he took over the farm, and having kissed her certainly wasn't unambiguous. There was something definitive about stating it like that though. It implied more than just the attraction and a deep caring that he knew Hermione was aware of in him. Stating it so plainly felt like a challenge. Hermione suddenly lifted her fork up and took another bite of pasta. She had not said a word, not nodded, nor even acknowledged that she had heard Ron. She just continued eating. Her smile appeared to have returned. Ron felt the need to explain himself further.

'By then, I had been travelling for two years. I had visited all these beautiful places and experienced some once-in-a-lifetime shit. But I started getting detached. Whenever I was with a group, I'd find myself making excuses not to join in excursions. When I'd find myself alone, I'd plan trips to remote locations. I never stayed anywhere at the same place for long. Things also began feeling ordinary.'

'Don't get me wrong, Hermione, the world is full of special places, and every town, every forest, every glen has something beautiful. But there are also a lot of similarities. You stop admiring every tree when you visit a forest. You're no longer impressed with a local parish once you've visited a cathedral. I realized that all of my fellow travellers had something in common.'

'I realized I was really looking for answers on my own. I started camping in less hospitable areas. National parks, jungles, swamps even. I'd just walk around by day looking for food, and play the guitar at night until I fell asleep. I think I was already on my way back home when I visited New York.'

This seemed to interest Hermione.

'After getting those firemen out, I left the city. I wandered around, half-dazed and a little bit in shock. I kept wondering what would have happened if I had died without patching things up with you. It felt like a tragedy.'

'I remember coming home from work that day,' Hermione said. It was the first thing she had said in quite a while. 'I had flipped on the telly and all of the channels had footage of the towers crumbling. It was such a frightful day. I thought of you too then.'

'Listen, Hermione,' Ron said, putting his spoon down and taking her hand in his, 'Neither of us are as naive as we were before. I know I love you, and that I will do anything to be with you. I'm quite sure there were suitors for you in my absence. I'm quite sure you didn't spend every night alone.'

Ron deliberately left a moment's pause, inwardly hoping Hermione would object. She didn't.

'I never wanted you to be unhappy, and if you've found love in the arms of another man, I won't get in your way. But if you feel only slightly like me, if you feel but a shred of what I'm feeling, know that I will fight to get you back.'

Hermione had been looking down for quite a while now. Then, without warning, her gaze found his.

'This meal is a good start.'

Two hours later, Ron sat playing the guitar. Hermione seemed to love listening to his music. Propped up against the wall (Ron still didn't own a couch) she watched him in wide-eyed wonder. Finishing his last song, Ron held out his hand. He turned the radio up, and slowly danced with Hermione, savouring the smell of her so close to him, the gentle way she squeezed his hands, and the playful curse she muttered as he stepped on her toes. Ron had hoped to kiss her again that night, but the opportunity didn't present itself. Hermione left with a hug.