Ron had decided to pay Hermione a visit during lunch. He had made sandwiches, washed and crowned strawberries, and even bought a bottle of wine (though he was sure Hermione would object to drinking during office hours). He had packed all of it in a basket, which he was now carrying with him through London. On a whim, he had also decided to take his guitar with him, knowing Hermione enjoyed listening to it. It would make a nice addition to what was sure to be a great picnic.

It was winter, and a cold wind was blowing from the east. Last night had brought snow, and the streets were slippery with the now blackened mush that always came with snow in large cities. His boots, sturdy walking shoes that had been with him for ages now, were caked with it, and he made a mental note not to forget to clean them before entering the ministry.

Ron took his time. He enjoyed walking through London, the big city filled with busy people so absorbed in their own lives and agenda's that they hardly took the time to look around. In fixed routines, they strode on through the streets and alleys hailing cabs, talking to people on telephones, or doing some shopping. Ron found himself gazing around, trying to see people who broke the pattern.

He found an elderly lady standing by the road. She was slightly bent over, her hair hidden beneath a plastic kerchief meant to keep it dry. She was holding two grocery bags. Her eyes were fixed on the incoming traffic, which was dense and moving at high speed. It looked as if she was afraid to cross the road. Ron walked up to her and took her by the arm.
'Don't worry, madam,' he said, trying to sound a bit like a gentleman, 'I'll help you cross the road.' He linked his arm around hers, steering her forward while forcing the cars to stop with his other. Apparently taken aback, the woman sputtered.
'My!' she exclaimed, 'I- I never!'
He steered her along, as she tried to wrestle from his grip. Bit of a shock for her, apparently, Ron thought, as he pulled her forward a bit further. They were halfway across the road when the old lady managed to pull herself from him. She swatted him upside the head.
'I don't know what your play is,' she said, 'but I was just waiting for a cab to show up! What were you thinking?'
Rubbing his head, Ron heard her muttering about 'misguided youths', then saw her board a black cab and speed off. Ron was still in the middle of the road when the traffic was honking at him. One of the drivers opened his window to fling some profanities at him.

Feeling a bit sheepish, his long strides took him from the commercial district to the abandoned telephone booth that was the public entrance. He impatiently dialled the number and talked to the operator. Not a minute later, Ron was standing in the Atrium.

There were quite a few people walking about. It was almost lunch time, and a few ministry officials were already heading out, probably to beat their colleagues in the line of the bakery, or to avoid the queue that always formed at the exit shortly after half past twelve. Ron checked to see if the picnic basket was still all right, and if his guitar was undamaged. The telephone booth had been cramped, and he had needed to wedge the basket between his feet in order for everything to fit. It all looked to be in a proper state, so he made his way towards the stairwell.

Several memo's were zooming overhead, as he picked his way down to Hermione's department. Ron arrived at the landing of the second floor only to be welcomed by an unseasonally heat. It looked like the environmental charm was malfunctioning again. He quickly descended two more stairs to arrive at the department for Regulation of Magical Creatures. The lobby, filled with a colourful array of wizards and creatures, was in its usual state of disarray. He picked his way through the mess of upturned chairs and broken furniture. Ron wasn't sure what had caused this mayhem, but judging by the foul looks everyone was giving an Irish warlock, his leprechauns must have played a not insubstantial part in it.

Ron smiled and waved curly to Marie. She was guiding a goblin to the liaisons office. She waved back, but her smile faltered oddly fast. Ron didn't quite know what to make of it. Perhaps just stress.

Hermione's office, which wasn't much more than a cupboard with a desk and two chairs crammed into it, was a the back of the department. It was less noisy there, and when he neared her door, he heard her voice.
'Now, Robert,' she said, her voice unusually high, 'You can't expect me to approve your reports just because you've offered to buy me lunch.'
Who is this Robert? Ron thought, jealousy flaring up in him.
'Well, miss Granger,' a deep, rolling voice replied, 'I don't actually expect it. It is more of an... unspoken assumption.'
This guy is smooth..
'Well all right,' she said, 'But I'd better not hear any objections if I just happen to pick something expensive to eat.'
In a blaze of jealousy, Ron suddenly found himself standing in the doorway of Hermione's office. She was sitting behind her desk, a small pile of reports and papers in front of her. Seated casually in the chair in front of her was a warlock perhaps five years older than her. He tall, well-built, and dressed in dark navy robes. He exuded an air of nonchalance that Ron instantly recognised from his own experiences. He had used it quite often in bars and at parties to chat up girls. Robert coolly hung back in his chair, a perfect display of innocent interest broken only by his grey eyes which seemed to take in Hermione's form greedily. Hermione seemed oblivious to it. Ron felt in instant dislike for this guy.
'I'm afraid she already has plans, friend.'
The way Ron said the word friend left little in the way of what he thought of Robert. Both of them seemed startled by Ron's sudden appearance. Hermione rolled her chair back a little. Was her subconscious trying to increase the distance between her and Robert? Robert recovered quickly from the initial shock and parried Ron's attack deftly.
'Is that so, Hermione? I thought you just told me you didn't have any plans yet.'
Robert extended his hand. 'I'm Robert. Robert Jorkins. Pleased to meet you.' He didn't bother to get up, knowing Ron would have to take a step to reach it. It would give him a edge, so Ron merely gave him a half-hearted nod coupled with an insincere smile. 'Ronald Weasley. Pleasure.'

Hermione wasn't oblivious to this. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Ron still didn't back down, and after a very awkward moment, Robert withdrew his hand lazily, a mock look of surprise on his face as he glanced at Hermione. This guy is good, Ron thought, He's got me down two-nil already.
Hermione bristled, her eyes narrowing even further.
'I don't recall having agreed to lunch with you, Ron,' she said, her anger obviously flaring, but poorly disguised in her reply, 'When exactly have I agreed to this?'
'You haven't,' Ron replied coolly, knowing when to be careful around her, 'I thought I'd plan a bit of a surprise for you.'
Hermione glanced down to the picnic basket. She seemed genuinely surprised by it.
'I don't want to cause a problem,' Robert said as he got up from his chair. Ron was mildly surprised at such a quick defeat. He had expected more. What tactic is he working now?
'Go and have your mid-winter picnic, Hermione,' he said, 'I'll just go and eat a sandwich from the bakery by myself.'
Ahh, Ron thought, He's playing the angle of the hurt and lonesome loser. Smart guy, this Robert.
'You most definitely will not,' Hermione replied, unaware of the barely suppressed look of victory that flashed across his face, 'I'm sorry Ron, but I've already agreed to having lunch with Robert. I really appreciate the gesture, but you were too late.'
'Well,' Ron said, a surge of anger at her naiveté rising to the surface, 'I guess I'll let you know any surprises I've got planned three weeks in advance. In writing.'
Hermione placed her hands on her hips. Not a good sign. He decided not to face her storm of indignation, and turned away, his long strides taking him across the department quickly. When he reached the lobby, he bumped his knee on one of the upturned tables. 'Damnit!' His anger now at a boiling point, Ron aimed a kick at it. The effect was minimal; it hardly moved at all, and having endured years of abuse by magical beasts, the table hardly even seemed to notice Ron's spiteful kick at it. The people in the lobby did respond to it however. Several of them gave him disapproving looks, a which holding a grindylow in a tank turned her head away, and the two leprechauns gave him a thumbs up. Muttering under his breath, Ron left the department, passing by Marie, who looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He apparated back home a few minutes later. Chucking the basket into a corner, he glumly paced around what was going to be his living room. He had spent his last bit of money on the strawberries, which had cost him a fair price in this season. Ron had spent quite a bit of money on repairs for his farm, and though he had been able to manage for a while now, even the money from Gringotts was coming to an end. He still had a few pence of muggle money left, but hardly enough to make it through this week. He would be damned if he borrowed money from Harry or his family, and finding a job had proven a bit harder than he had anticipated. The auror academy wasn't accepting any new students until September, he didn't want to go back to George's shop unless he absolutely had to, and all the other job openings required him to have more experience. He had been out of the magical community for so long that most of the interviews had ended the moment he mentioned it.

Seeking solace in his guitar, he strummed it a little while, until it too was discarded. How could Hermione not see through that slimy git's poker face? he thought, his fist pounding against the table. Something else was gnawing at him though. Ron had not had an outburst like this in quite some time. He had thought he'd left it behind him. It always felt so childish, and he had been relieved that his temper no longer got in his way. Now, it back again, in full force. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and everything he touched seemed to warrant being thrown, getting beaten, or otherwise being abused.

Ron decided to make use of the fireplace. It was cold in the farm, and he could use the distraction. He noticed that he only had a single log of wood left. Great. Just great.
Getting out of the house, he walked to the back where a large pile of un-chopped wood lay. Getting the axe from broom shed, he placed a block of wood on a tree stump and swung the axe down. The blade lodged itself right down the middle of the log. Ron tried to pull it out, but it wouldn't budge. Lifting the axe with the log on it overhead, the rammed it down hard, splitting it in two pieces. It felt good to work like this.

An hour later, Ron had reduced more than thirty pieces of wood down to logs small enough for the fireplace. His anger had subsided, and though his arms ached with the effort, he was quite happy with himself. Chopping the logs had cleared his head, and he had managed to think about what he needed to do. Taking a few logs inside, he started a fire. When it was burning merrily, he took out a paper and pen and jotted down a small note.

Dear Hermione,

I understand your anger with me. Please allow me to apologize for my reaction earlier today. Could I come over this evening or tomorrow to show you I mean it?

Love, Ron.

He quickly folded up the letter and sent it out with Pig. On a whim, he had added a strawberry to it, placing it in a small plastic container.

Hermione's reaction came in two hours later. She had returned Pig with a small note written in her neat, loopy handwriting.

Dear Ron,

I feel a bit silly. You obviously made quite an effort to surprise me. I'll be home around six. We could eat the sandwiches then (assuming you haven't plundered them yet).

Love, Hermione.

Ron looked over at the picnic basket. He had taken out a single sandwich, because his attack at the firewood had left him hungry. He had saved the rest, knowing he didn't have enough money for dinner tonight. He had also eaten a third of the strawberries.

Ron rang the doorbell at Hermione's place quarter past six. She came down to open quickly. Ron noticed she had foregone all manner of protection, and made a mental note not to forget telling her to be more careful.
'Ron!' she said, genuinely pleased to see him, 'What a surprise!'
Her mock look of surprise was endearing, but didn't really lift his spirit; it merely reminded him of his outburst during lunch. She ushered him up, taking his coat and asking him what he'd like to drink. Ron turned to tell her he had brought a bottle of wine when he butted his head against the book plank again. Hermione seemed more than a little amused.
'Damn,' he said, rubbing his head and checking to see if had had damaged the wood, 'this place is a death-trap, Hermione.'
'For you, you mean.' she said, her face cracking into a smile, 'I've never heard anyone else complain.'

Hermione's tiny apartment was still overflowing with books, but she had removed the coffee table, piling the books that had been on it onto the sofa. There were cushions on the floor. Ron felt her doing a bit of magic behind him, and when he turned to look, she handed him a towel with some ice in it.
'I thought we might have dinner on the floor,' she said, as she examined what was sure to be a bruise on his forehead, 'It felt wrong to use the sofa or the dinner table.'
Ron pressed the ice on his forehead. He smiled, even though the lump on his head hurt like hell.
'I wanted to take you up to the coast. I remember a bit of the coast that we visited during our hunt for the horcruxes. You seemed happy then.'
'You mean that bit near Cardiff?'
'Yeah,' he said, as he placed the basket in the middle of the room and sat down amongst the cushions, 'I remember you sitting in the sand, breathing in the sea air and looking out at the horizon. It wasn't even all that sunny then, but you had this blissful smile on your face.'
Hermione seemed lost in memories for a little while, and he took out the bottle of wine and the remains of the sandwiches. He unwrapped all of them, and told her what was what. The strawberries had been meant to be a surprise desert for lunch, but since she knew they were in there, he thought it best to unwrap those as well. Hermione quickly snatched on of them.
'Strawberries in winter?' she asked.
'Flown in from South America,' he replied, taking one himself. It was very sweet. 'It's summer there now, you know.'

They ate in relative calm, neither willing to spoil the good atmosphere. When Ron finished his last sandwich, he refilled Hermione's cup with wine.
'Enough!' she said, half laughing, 'I've already had two glasses, and you pour it like it's water!'
Ron poured himself another glass too, feeling a light buzz that came from alcohol. He took a big gulp, hoping it would steady his nerves.
''Mione,' he said, 'I'm sorry I was such a git today.'
For a moment, she didn't reply. She took a small sip from her wine and set the glass down thoughtfully.
'It's been a long time since we've had an argument like that,' she said, 'I must confess that I felt strangely melancholic afterwards.'
'I shouldn't have overreacted,' Ron admitted, 'Even though that prat was clearly trying to get into your knickers-'
'Ron!' Hermione said indignantly. She gave him a stern look.
'He was, Hermione,' Ron proceeded, 'And for some reason, that still sets my teeth on edge. I know I can get a bit.. overprotective of you, and if I offended you by it, I apologize. I didn't mean to.'
'Couldn't Robert have just asked me to lunch, without an ulterior motive?' she asked him, 'Couldn't he have just been a co-worker asking me to walk with him to the bakery? You know nothing about him, Ron. What if I told you he was married?'
Ron shifted uncomfortably. 'That's not what it looked like from my viewpoint,' he replied calmly, 'All I saw was a guy looking at you like a dog to a bone. What if I told you he might have been married, but wasn't faithful?'
Hermione sighed. She rubbed her forehead wearily as she always did when they had an argument she couldn't see either of them winning. 'Sure, that's possible,' she replied at last, 'But that still doesn't give you the right to behave the way you did this afternoon.'
Ron was playing with a napkin, folding it a couple of times before replying.
'I'm sorry,' he said, looking up into her eyes, 'I really am. I thought I had grown over that jealousy.'

The evening continued, and Ron found himself thoroughly enjoying it. Hermione and he had settled the dispute in an unspoken agreement to leave it in the past. She was telling him of her own time. He learned he had missed much. She had finished at the top of her class, regardless of his departure and what he expected would have been quite a bit of heartache. Her grades were spectacular; the best Hogwarts had awarded since decades. She told him she had spent some time in France with her parents. They had saved up for a vacation of four months, renting a small cabin near the beach.
Her parents had taken her out to museums and galleries. She told him she had developed a great love for art, especially sculptures. It certainly explained all of the small knick-knacks and statues littered around the room. She was telling him about her trip to Rome.
'I loved the iForum Romanum/i, with all its ruins and pillars,' she said, taking another sip from her wine, 'But none of it held a candle to the Vatican.'
'Yeah,' Ron agreed, 'Did you do the tour?'
'Yes,' she said, 'It was overwhelming!'
'When were you there again?'
'Last year,' she said, 'Around the start of May I believe. I can look it up.'
'I guess you just missed me then,' he said, 'I was there at the end of April.'

Their eyes met for a moment, and Ron imagined what it would have been like to have met Hermione on the streets of Rome, completely unexpected. He imagined her walking around wearing a large blue hat, for some reason, and a skirt that reached up to her knees and tended to get caught in the wind. He saw her standing near the fountain in front of the Pantheon, drinking a milkshake and enjoying a bit of sun. Hermione seemed equally lost in fantasy.
'I'm pretty sure we averted a disaster, not meeting in Rome,' she said, without further elaboration. Ron had the distinct feeling it had slipped out, and she regretted saying anything.
'Why is that?' he asked, his curiosity awoken, 'Rome has survived revolutions, wars, and famine. Surely it could survive a reunion of two wizards.'
Hermione bit her lip, and he was sure she was going to reply with some vagary, but she was unexpectedly obvious. 'I didn't visit Rome alone, Ron. I was there with someone else.'
'Who,' Ron asked, 'Ginny?'
Hermione let out a laugh. It was the most carefree and heart-felt laugh he had heard from her since returning.
'No, you fool,' she said, clearly amused, 'For someone calling me naive, you have some pretty childish ideas about one of the most romantic cities in Europe..'
Oh. Ron wasn't sure how to reply. He did feel naive now, if only because he had not imagined Hermione in a relationship with someone else. For some reason, the thought just didn't hold in his head.
'Were you together long?' he asked.
'About fifteen months. He's a muggle. I met him a few years ago when I was visiting my parents. He lives in their street. He works in the City as a private banker.'

A number of replies shot through his head. Some, he was forced to admit, were quite petty, like 'did you like him for his money?', others were born from jealousy, like 'he must have been overcompensating', or from insecurity: 'what did he have that I didn't?'
In the end, he replied with something quite unexpected.
'Was he good for you?'
Hermione seemed rather taken with his question, while Ron felt his face burning up. What part of his brain did that come from? It must have been a feminine part...
'He was,' she replied, reaching out and squeezing his hand, 'He was just not completely compatible with me. If we had a fight, he'd let me win, not wanting to take the trouble of rowing even when I knew I was wrong. Also, I never told him I was a witch of course, and after a while, we drifted apart.'
'Why didn't you tell him?' Ron asked, 'You know you are allowed to tell partners.'
'I do, but something held me back. I guess in my heart, I already knew not to open up completely.'
'Was he-', Ron tried, but the sentence blocked up in his mouth, 'Was he the- err - the err...'
'...The only one?' Hermione completed.
'Was he?'
'No,' she said, and a bit of a blush appeared on her face, 'he wasn't. I dated a co-worker for a while. That never got any further than kissing.'

In his mind, Ron saw Hermione kissing somebody else. It sparked another bout of jealousy, which he suppressed. He pictured himself with Annabelle, and Mirthe, and suddenly felt quite dirty. Ron didn't tell her, pushing the thoughts down to where they came, trying to focus on something happier. He got up and stretched his legs. They had been sitting for over two hours now. His legs were sore, and stretching them felt nice. Hermione remained seated as he strolled around her apartment. He walked up to a bookshelf containing some framed pictures and a small statue. It resembled a face, but it was rather crude.
'I hope you didn't pay too much for this piece,' he said, trying to relieve a bit of the awkwardness of the situation, 'The artist wasn't really talented.'
'I made that myself, Ron.'
Merlin, Ron thought, Me and my bloody mouth!
'I- I meant- err..' Ron stammered a little before composing himself. 'I didn't mean-'
Hermione got up stood next to him. She put her hand on his shoulder. 'I know it wasn't an insult. None was taken.'

Ron put down the badly sculpted head and inspected the pictures. Some of them were from Hogwarts, pictures he knew he also had in his old room in the Burrow. Other pictures contained her parents, which were proudly looking at their daughter. One of them held a picture of a very young Hermione. He had never seen it before, but she looked just like the Hermione he had met on the Hogwarts express in their first year.
Sadly, Ron also noticed a couple of pictures of Hermione with just Harry and Ginny. Harry and Ginny were always locked in an embrace, or stealing kisses, while Hermione's smile seemed a little forced. Most of the recent pictures had her smiling a real smile though.
'I was a bit of prat, wasn't I,' he said, 'Going off like that?'
'Yeah,' she replied coolly.
'Oh, don't trouble yourself disagreeing,' he said, a mock grin on his face. Hermione's arm was still on his shoulder. He picked up one of the larger frames. It was a very recent picture of Hermione, dressed in a summer dress and standing near the beach. The setting sun behind her saturated the picture in red-tones. Hermione herself was barely visible except for an outline. Ron held the picture closer and saw a radiant smile on her. Her hair was shining gold and brown, whipped into life by the wind. The picture wasn't magical, probably taken by her parents. It was beautiful.
'This is a perfect picture of you, Hermione,' Ron said, as he replaced it on the shelf, 'It proves that sometimes, muggles can make things even magic can't reproduce.'
'It's my favourite,' Hermione said, 'My boyfriend at the time made it with a camera when we were on vacation in spain. We were together for a few weeks, and I had decided to go with him on a whim.'
'He does have talent.'
She hit him upside the head.