A week had passed and Ron still had not received an owl from any of the companies he had applied for a job with. It was an almost sure fact that he had not been selected for any of them. Money was a pressing issue now. He had spent all of the money from Gringotts and all of the money he had left from travelling. He had even exchanged some of his foreign money for a couple of knuts (and he was lucky to get even that). He needed money though, because some of the work on the farm could not continue now; work he couldn't do himself, and had hired a contractor for. The contractor was an amiable enough fellow, not pressing the issue of money a lot, but he had let Ron know he would not resume working unless his bills were paid.
Food was a problem too. He had dined at Harry and Ginny's, at his parents's twice, and at each of his brothers's. All he had in his kitchen was a pack of stale crackers and a rather wormy apple. He felt he wasn't desperate enough to take a bite out of that. Not yet, at least. Hermione had offered to make dinner for him today. She was unaware of his financial situation, and Ron was quite sure he didn't want to inform her. She'd had enough to worry about these past few days. The ministry had pushed up the deadlines for some of her proposals a week, and Hermione was in a mad rush to get everything done in time. He had offered to help her, sending out memo's or answering her phone, but Hermione had denied any sort of help.
Ron fingered his guitar for a moment. It had been a reliable fall-back for him these past few years, whenever he ran out of money on the road. Playing as a street musician wasn't very rewarding, but it certainly helped in a pinch. It had been the difference between sleeping under a bridge or sleeping in a budget hostel on more than a few occasions.
Ron prided his talent in selecting his location. He had played in subways and railway stations at first, but that was never really rewarding. Most of the commuters seemed only irritated by his presence, and passed him without any sort of acknowledgement. He then started playing at busy squares, thinking that lots of people meant lots of money. It had been an improvement, but it still wasn't going to leave him a fortune. Also, there would often be other musicians. Splitting the already slim pickings amongst two, three, or sometimes even four musicians was a bad idea.
Ron had noticed that a lot of the money came from people with kids. He often saw little children putting a little bit of money into guitar case, so he devised a different plan. He would check the town map for a toy store or fast food restaurant. His income had increased greatly! Parents just having paid for a present often gave him their change simply because they still had it in hand, and because he was there.
His finger strummed a string on his guitar. The unicorn hair gave off a slightly off-tune E, having gotten loose ever since he had last tuned it.
Hermione could arrive at any moment. They had agreed upon dinner at six, though it was actually closer to seven by now. The sun had already set. Ron wasn't worried about Hermione's tardiness. She'd probably be tangled up at work, and sure enough, five minutes later, he saw her owl approach. It landed on the window sill. Ron removed the small note from its paw, then fed it one of the stale biscuits. It spat it out indignantly.
Dear Ron,
I am still at work. Cresswell has misplaced some of my proposals to the under-secretary of the minister, so now I have to send them out again. I swear: he must have just hidden them in hopes to get his own proposal through...
Could you get the ingredients for dinner? I think I'll be there in half an hour.
Love, Hermione.
Hermione had made a neat list of ingredients for what he assumed would be a nice dinner of fish with potatoes and some sweet corn. He stomach was growling as he imagined it. Ron had forfeited lunch, hoping Hermione would remember him being a big eater.
Bollocks, Ron thought, I can't even afford a can of corn, how on earth am I going to buy all this…
Ron racked his brain, but a solution didn't present itself. He sent the owl off without a reply, trying to think of an excuse to explain why he hadn't bought anything.
Half an hour later, Hermione rang the doorbell.
"It's unlocked!" Ron yelled from his position on top of a stair. Hermione came in and quickly closed the door again. The weather had changed, going from light rain and no wind, to heavy rain and shearing winds. The streets were deserted, and anyone daring enough to venture outside quickly got soaked. Some of Hermione's hair was plastered on her face. She brushed them off as she turned and looked around the Ron's sitting room.
The sitting room had been coming along quite nicely, most of the floors and walls had been restored, and most of the furniture was in place. Ron was putting up a few pictures, hammering a nail into the wall.
"Here already?" he said, pretending to be somewhat surprised at her arrival. Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've been busy putting up these frames, I guess I lost track of time."
Hermione eyed him dangerously for a moment, clearly not buying his lie, but she seemed to let it pass. Walking over to him, she handed him one of the picture frames, in which was a beautiful picture of Hogwarts, mostly obscured by three teenagers that were awkwardly posing in front of a camera. It must have been taken around the end of their third year. Hermione was in the middle, her arms slung around Ron and Harry, both of whom seemed more than a little self-conscious. Colin had snapped it for them on one of the first summer days that year. He hung the picture up on the nail.
"Could you hand me that one," he asked, pointing at a large frame that stood against the wall. Hermione reached out and picked it up, glancing at the picture for a moment. Her hands stopped in mid-air for just a fraction of a second.
"Nice huh," Ron said, as he took the picture from her. It was another picture taken by Colin. This picture was non-magical. It was taken during one of the D.A. sessions, and prominently featured Fred, whose face was a mask of concentration. Ron was visible in the background, blurry from being out of focus, his wand held out to counter a jynx from Hermione, who was just out of sight. Fred's face was very detailed, the individual freckles and ginger strands of hair clearly visible. A deep purple light illuminated parts of the background, and his eyes shone with a strange blue sheen.
"Colin's mum came up to my parents's house a couple of weeks after his death. Told them Colin's room was filled with negatives, print-outs, and the like. Apparently, he was very taken of this picture. His mum told my father that he thought the picture should be a still. I think he was right."
"It really captures the intensity of that moment, doesn't it?" Hermione said, as Ron carefully slipped the picture over a small nail.
"Yes," said Ron, stepping back from the small ladder to assess his handy-work. "Looks great!"
Hermione and Ron went to a 24h supermarket to get some supplies. They apparated all the way to the parking lot, figuring nobody would be there in this weather. Hermione arrived first, the gentle pop that accompanied her sudden presence lost in the howling of the wind. Ron arrived not a moment later, his almost croaking snap resounding once off the building. Hermione looked at him smugly.
"Still not a fan, are you?" she shouted, as they made their way to the entrance.
"No!" he shook non-verbally. Apparation had never been his preferred method of transportation.
Together, they got everything on the list, Hermione binging when they passed the strawberries, Ron snatching a large pack of (discounted) crisps . Hermione gave him a quick peck on the cheek as he reached down to grab it; just a random kiss while her face happened to be close to his. It was their first kiss since he had bought the house, and Ron could not suppress a very content smile. He turned to face Hermione hoping to kiss her back, but she was already turning away from him.
In a rare moment of boldness, Ron reached out and grabbed her hand. Hermione stopped turning and faced Ron, a look of surprise on her face. Ron stepped forward, eliminating the distance between them, and kissed her lips. When he pulled back a few seconds later, he saw Hermione looking up at him, her eyes wide, but a smile playing on her lips.
"I don't quite understand," Ron said honestly, "what our relationship is right now. Are we just friends? Are we former lovers? Have we gotten back together?"
Hermione didn't respond. She continued to look up at him in silence.
"I want to be with you, Hermione,' Ron said, 'Like we once were."
Hermione stared at him. She was on the point of saying something, but couldn't seem to find the words. She opened her mouth twice, but no sound came out.
"Hermione, I reall-"
"When did you become all eloquent with emotions and feelings?" she interrupted, "And when did I become so tongue-tied?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps sometime between finding out how much of great a kisser I am, and the discovery of my hidden talents as a cook?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she said, pulling away from him and pointing at him with a pack of bread-sticks, "I'll have you know that you're not that great a cook!" She smirked at him, then turned to push the cart towards the cash registers.
The store was mostly deserted. The weather probably kept most people at home, and the few brave souls that had made it to the supermarket were helped by three ladies at the cash-registers. Hermione piled on their groceries on the belt, and, thankfully, took out her wallet.
"I'll get this," she said, "If you carry the bags."
"Deal!" Ron said, thanking Merlin under his breath for this bit of luck.
Ron and Hermione were sitting at Ron's improvised dinner table. It was really nothing more than an old door turned sideways, and supported by a couple of roughly nailed on legs. It was wobbly, and you had to be careful not to get any splinters in your hands. The doorknob was positioned exactly at the location of his elbow, which meant that he had to keep his right arm in an odd angle. It made eating his dinner rather uncomfortable.
Regardless, he was rather happy. Hermione was seated opposite him, and though Ron and Hermione had not spoken anything beyond "pass the salt", and "tastes delicious!", it was quickly turning into one of his most memorable dinners. Hermione's foot was rubbing the back of his leg softly. Ron caught himself staring at Hermione more than once, but it was okay, because she was doing the exact same thing. The entire meal was finished in a lovely, comfortable silence that he greatly enjoyed. He had turned on the radio, which was playing a slow ballad.
After finishing his third helping of everything, Ron put down his cutlery and looked at Hermione again. She sat perched on her chair in front of him, her head tilted to the side a little, and a smile playing on her lips.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said, but her smile only widened.
"Seriously, what?"
"You look happy," she said, "It's been a long time since I've seen you this happy."
"I haven't felt happy for a long time," he confessed, "Not after the war, and not on the road. I was content, at some point, at peace with myself. But never happy."
"Why not?" she asked, "And why now?"
"Because of you, obviously."
"Nonsense," she said, waving away the notion as though it was impossible, "I hardly think your happiness is in any way related to me."
"Really?" he asked. She seemed unsure for a moment, taken aback by his seriousness.
"I left because of my inability to cope with Fred's death, not because I wanted to be away from you. I loved you, I still did the day we ended our relationship. While I travelled, I tried to drown my sorrow any way I could. Booze, weed, girls, I tried it all. While it helped numb the pain of Fred's death and the despair I felt leaving my home and my country for the first time, I never quite got over my feelings for you."
"Even when I was with other girls, I saw your face every night when I fell asleep. I woke up thinking of you every morning. I knew deep down that I was being stupid, but I never managed to allow myself to fall out of love with you. Every girl was measured by your standards. Every kiss compared to those with you."
Hermione was silent. He knew it was a bad idea to speak about other girls to Hermione. She probably felt hurt now, at his whoring all those years ago. The smile that had been on her face since their kiss in the supermarket was gone. Still, he pressed on, wanting her to understand.
"No girl was ever good enough, Hermione. They all stood in the shadow of my one great love."
"I'm not that special," she said, almost as if in a whisper.
"Yes," he replied, "You are. You are that special. To me, you are. Hermione, I've spent the last four years walking the earth, and I've found exactly zero people as special and wonderful as you."
"You make it sound as if I am something extraordinary."
"Well, you are," he replied, "I've walked to the end of the world and back, only to find the most special and beautiful and cute woman I've ever met to be right there where my journey started."
"You are exaggerating. You've made an image of me in your mind in which I am flawless and divine. I'm sure that there are other people on this planet that are better than the real me."
"Perhaps I did," he conceded, "Perhaps I should have given the other girls more time for me to learn to love them, or at least for them to get to know me better. Perhaps I had a romanticised image of you. Unfortunately, none of that matters any more. The past is in the past, and being here with you, right now, confirms what I've known for years."
"Which is?"
"That I love you, Hermione. That no matter how far away I am from you, and no matter how often we fight and bicker and row, I will never stop loving you."
She looked at him blankly for a moment, then got up and turned away from him. She hid her face in her hands, breathing heavily. Ron meant to get up, but he had not gotten as far as moving his hands to the arms of his chair when Hermione turned around.
"What do you want?" she said, her brown eyes glassy and moist. Some of her mascara was running. "Do you want me to say that all is forgiven? Do you want me to be with you again?"
"Right now, I just want you to stop crying, Hermione," Ron said, as he moved towards her. He stopped a few feet away from her. "I want you to smile and be happy. Preferably with me."
"So do I."
Ron took a large step forward and wrapped his arms around Hermione, who melted into the embrace immediately. Her face pressed against his chest, Ron felt her arms envelope him tightly. She breathed in deep, while he rubbed her back softly.
"I can't promise you I will be better than before, Hermione," he said, "Nor can I promise you that you will be happy with me. I can only say that I will try my best to make it work. I can't predict the future."
"I told you Divination was a worthless subject, Ron," Hermione said, her face still buried in his chest, "You should really have listened more to me in school."