I know, I am an awful, awful, awful person for having left the story hanging like this for...wait...51 weeks, exactly. And I am SO very sorry about it, guys.

I have no excuses, but, to be honest, in the last year I've had very little time to write anything but postcards and (*sigh*) a disgustingly high amount of essays. First I had to study like crazy to get the grades I needed to get into a British school, then I had to study like crazy to get the marks I needed in my exams, and by the time summer came, my family was moving to the UK and I had to pack, and move, and again unpack and settle down in the new house and city, which meant I barely had time to write a few lines every week. And now I'm back to studying like crazy because I need to get impossible marks in my A-levels if I want to get into Cambridge Uni.

Luckily, I'm on half-term break now, which meant I have - finally! - been able to finish this chapter, which I have been working on for almost a year.

To try and make it up to you, I've made this chapter extra-long; I warn you, it's going to be sad (lots of weeping) but I promise that, even if it doesn't seem so, the story will very soon have a happy ending.

What else can I say? Again, sorry for the epic delay, and enjoy the reading! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics of the song (sadly), which is All I have to Gibe by Backstreet Boys.

Chapter 16: Of Exams and Summer Afternoons, of Dreaded Birthdays and Goodbyes

Hermione's POV:

The following day, Lavender and Tommy left right after breakfast, carrying along their suitcases and the bags with the lunch Aunt had made for them; we drove them to the town, and I had to admit I was a little sad as I watched them get on the coach to London.

"Call us when you get there!" I recommended as I waved at them from the sidewalk. "And be careful!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Lavender said with a mock salute, poking her head out of the window by her seat and waving back with a happy smile. After we had made up, she had finally gotten back to her usual self – pity we didn't actually get to spend much time together during the holidays. Hadn't she gotten in her dark-and-hateful mood for days, we could have had fun.

It's no big deal: just a few months, and I'll have a lot of time to spend with her.

"Bye, Mione – I'll write you tonight once I have settled down! I'll miss you! Bye!"

The coach roared to life and began to move, and Lavender and Tommy kept waving at us until the big bus turned to the right and disappeared from our sight; then we all climbed back in Aunt Elspeth's small car and went back home, none of us talking much.

And then, life went back to its usual routine, almost as though nothing had ever happened.

School started again the following day, and we entered in the final part of the year – the one that would have ended with finals; our teachers doubled our usual amount of homework to prepare us to the incoming exams, and everyone in school started to spend almost every minute inside studying, as the days got longer and the sun shone brighter, promising an early summer that year.

After the night of the storm, I feared that things would have gotten awkward with the others; the following day, though, I noticed with relief that it was as though nothing had ever happened. Something, though, was slightly different: they now rarely left my side, visiting during weekends and volunteering for study groups with me in the afternoons, even when I knew way too well that none of them needed tutoring in any subject. And Ron…Ron was just himself, even if there was something in his eyes I had never seen before and that I couldn't name; I would be reading a book, or studying, or folding Emma's clean laundry, and when I turned to him I would see him staring into space with that expression I couldn't recognize. I would have given anything to know what his thoughts were in those moments, but whenever I asked him what was wrong, he would not answer or change subject quickly, so I was never able to find out.

And between homework, school and afternoons spent outside or at Florean's, the following months passed in a blur, and I suddenly found myself in July, only days to the end of term.

That day Professor McGonagall handed us our exams timetables, and I scanned mine quickly, copying it down to memorize it:

Monday:

– h 9-11, Trigonometry

Tuesday:

– h 9-11, theoretical Chemistry

– h 14-15, Latin

Wednesday:

– h 9-11, Botany

– h 14-16, English

Thursday:

– h 10-12, History

Friday:

– h 14 on, practical Chemistry

Neither of those subjects worried me – except maybe theoretical Chemistry, but who wouldn't have been worried about it?

"We'll have to give exams with Snape for two days…it really sucks," Ron muttered next to me, making me smile. "I hate finals – I always come out of them with abysmal grades in every subject!"

"No, this year you won't," I assured him under my breath whilst I copied the timetable down on my homework planner. "We have revised together for the last three weeks, there's no way you could fail any of these subjects."

"Except History, but I might fail it on purpose – and Zoology, too; those two are completely useless to me. I'm not smart the half of you, I wouldn't be able to take so many subjects at my A-levels next year."

"You underestimate yourself, as always," I said instead, sneaking a glance at him. "I bet you would be perfectly able to get good grades at you're A-levels in each and every of the subjects you have followed this year if you wanted."

"Trust me, I wouldn't. You'll see it next summer – you'll probably pass with five or six A+, while I'll scrap a handful of Bs and Cs if I'm lucky enough to – "

His voice trailed off as he realized what he had just said, and I felt my heart squeeze painfully at the sight of the sudden sadness in his eyes. Next year, I wouldn't have been here to see any A-levels results with him– I wouldn't have taken A-levels at all.

Until a few weeks ago, I would have never imagined that thoughts could hurt so much.

Ron's POV:

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

I cursed myself again and again as the bell rang and everyone around us started to move, the sound of whispered conversations and chairs being moved filling the air; how could I be so stupid and say something like that without thinking? The moment I spoke her gaze fell down on her hands, causing her hair to fall on her face like a shiny chestnut curtain; it didn't keep me from seeing the sudden sadness and hurt in her eyes, though.

I couldn't bear seeing that look upon her face: it reminded me too much of how she was on the first day I met her, lost and hurt and broken almost beyond repair. She was wearing it more and more often those days, though. And other small things had changed as well, even if not everyone had noticed – she had lost weight again, enough for her uniform to hang loose on her already petite figure, and she had become silent, not acting all know-it-all-ish during our group study sessions or playfully telling Harry and I off when we played dirty at soccer anymore. I couldn't remember the last time I had really heard her laugh.

And it killed me to see her close up once again.

It was a Friday, and only the weekend separated us from our finals; I usually exhausted myself with last-minute study at this point (to make up for all the afternoons spent doing nothing when I should have been revising and avoid failing in every subject), but this time, thanks to Hermione's careful planning, I didn't need to, and I had way too much time to think about how close it was. Five weeks – only five weeks left before her birthday, which was only five days after Harry's. It felt like nothing – it was nothing.

Days seemed to slip through my fingers too fast, blurring past my eyes at such speed I could barely register them, and suddenly one more week had passed, and I was stepping out of Classroom 5 after my practical Chemistry exam. I messed up a little with my calculations, but somehow I managed to get the experiment right in the end, correcting it at the very last minute – Snape would have never given me full marks on it, but I had scraped a B, I was sure.

I was the last one, so I was alone in the corridor – the others were waiting for me outside in the park, enjoying the warm sun of July. I didn't feel much like joining them in that moment, though: I had dreaded that moment for weeks, and now that finals were over and we only had five more days of school left before the holidays I had suddenly realized that the time was almost up.

Four weeks. Four damned, awfully short weeks.

I sighed deeply, leaning my head back against the wall and loosening my tie a bit, thinking about how Hermione had fixed it right before I entered the classroom, so that Snape couldn't take points from me because it wasn't tied properly – a thing he had already done more than once in the past years.

Then, slowly, I made my way up the stairs that led out of the dungeons and along the now deserted corridor until I was outside, in the bright light.

They were sitting on the stone steps that led to the entrance – Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Hermione, all of them looking like lazy cats bathing in the summer warmth; apparently I wasn't the only one who had loosened up a bit after the exam, for they all had discarded their light sweaters and ties, throwing them unceremoniously in a messy pile along with their bags.

"Hey, you spent an awfully long time in there!" Neville greeted me as I sat down by Hermione's side; he was smiling lazily as he laid back against the low stone wall lining the staircase, Luna sitting next to him with her head on his shoulder.

"He's right, mate: we were starting to wonder whether it was the case to burst in to make sure Snape hadn't murdered you," Harry agreed, sitting up from the position he'd been lying in, with his bag behind his head like a makeshift pillow.

"So, how did it go?" Ginny asked, a smirk on her face as she addressed me whilst pulling her hair up in a ponytail; she knew way too well that I was likely to fail in practical Chemistry – the previous year she and the Twins had even put bets on my results. But this time I was sure I had done pretty well – for my standards, at least.

"I think I passed. When I showed him my work Snape looked like he had just swallowed a bucket of slugs, so I probably did good."

"You can take that 'probably' away," Hermione murmured as she hugged me, the happiest smile I had seen on her face in a while lighting her eyes up. "I knew you would have done good."

I pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her softly on the lips, ignoring the whistles and cat-calls coming from the rest of the group – the hypocrites, as if we had never caught them snogging in the corridors in between classes.

"You overestimate me, do you know that?" I asked her when we parted, smiling as a warm blush spread on her cheeks. She shook her head sheepishly, resting her hand on my chest.

"No, I don't; it's you who underestimate yourself."

"Ok, guys, I'm going to throw up," Ginny said, getting on her feet and picking her stuff up. "Stop being so lovey-dovey and get a move on – exams are over, it's a wonderful summer day and I so need to drop off to Florean's and have an ice cream."

"We're coming," I sighed, standing and gently helping Hermione up in the process, before swiftly stealing her books from her so that she didn't have to carry the weight.

"Give them back!" she protested, but I shook my head, smiling: I hadn't even bothered taking my bag with me that day, so my hands were completely free; it was no big deal.

"You're kidding, I hope! What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you carry such weight by yourself? I might get offended, you know," I told her, taking a step back as she placed her hands on her hips and started to tap her foot on the ground – signals that I'd have better been careful with her.

"You'd be a gentleman who lets girls carry their own books! Come on, Ron!"

I shook my head again, smirking; the others had already started down the hill, leaving us behind probably out of exasperation – or, knowing Ginny, hunger.

Hermione seemed to understand that she wasn't going anywhere with her angry-and-bossy act, so she quickly changed tactic, looking up at me from under her dark eyelashes and causing my stomach to twist into knots.

It should have been illegal to look at someone like that – it was deliberate coercion.

"Please, will you let me have my bag back?" she asked me, her fingers playing with the necklace I had given her in February; it seemed like a lifetime ago.

I felt my heart give a small tug: how long had it been, since we had actually played like that, or joked at all?

I couldn't exactly remember; weeks for sure.

"I'm sorry, but my Gentleman Code forbids me from doing that. I'm afraid you will have to let me carry your books all the way down to Florean's. So, if Milady agrees to be escorted downtown…"

And I offered her my arm, smiling – I knew my tricks, too, after all.

She rolled her eyes, but then accepted it, and I pulled her close as we started to walk down the hill, the others now far ahead of us.

"Isn't there something in that Gentleman Code that forbids you to piss girls off to death?" she asked, her tone stern; she was smiling, though, and clearly enjoying the joke. "Because, you know, I might have a point there."

"I'll check," I promised, chuckling and sneaking my arm around her waist.

"You'd better," she replied, leaning in my side. "Before I really become annoyed at you. You remember how Malfoy's nose was after I punched him, right?"

Of course I remembered – it was just so fun, watching him as he walked around the school with that huge bruise on his nose; I could never forget that image.

"God forbids you are angry with me," I told her, grinning and raising my free arm to the others, who had stopped midway down the hill to wait for us. "I could be reduced in such small pieces they would never find my body once your vengeance is complete."

"Oh, stop that," she complained, wrinkling her nose and swatting me lightly on my arm. "You know I would never hit you…unless you really, really deserved it."

"That's exactly what I was referring to."

"Hey, get a MOVE ON!" Harry yelled at that point, pointing dramatically at Ginny, who had started to walk again, dragging him along in the process – she could be incredibly strong when she wanted, but, he knew better than me. "Or she'll rip my arm from my body!"

Hermione smiled as we exchanged an amused glance, and we started to walk faster to catch up with them, not wanting to drawn Ginny's exuberant annoyance on the two of us, too.

Hermione's POV:

Our last week of school blurred past in a moment – the teachers didn't even give us homework anymore, so all we had to do was to sit in class, not even bothering to listen to the lectures, and strolling lazily around in the afternoons. But as I walked through the massive entrance door of the castle, on that sunny, warm Friday morning, my heart was heavy with sadness.

That was the last day of school term, and my last day at Hogwarts. The last time I got to walk along the sunbathed corridors, to eat in the Great Hall with the rest of my house mates, the last time I got to see that triumph of red, blue, yellow and green uniforms surrounding me.

My last day as a Gryffindor.

I almost felt like crying as I walked to my locker and opened it, methodically emptying it and stuffing its contents into the bag I had on my shoulder; there were only a few books left, some pens and stuff and the two pictures I had taped on the inside of the metallic door – one of Emma and I playing in the snow on last Christmas Day, and one of my friends and I that had been taken in early March at the Burrow. We all were smiling widely as we squeezed together to fit in the picture: Ron was holding me tightly, his chin resting on top of my head as the others squashed us from the sides in a huge embrace.

I smiled, looking away as I felt tears starting to form in my eyes; I didn't want to cry, not there, in the middle of the crowded corridor. I gently placed the two pictures in a book and then closed the locker, letting my fingers trail over the golden numbers engraved in the metallic door.

Goodbye, I thought with a small sigh.

That day, I bid my goodbyes to many things: to my classrooms, to my professors, to the stone walls of the castle that felt almost like my home. To all the memories and happiness I had found in that place that was so out of the ordinary, yet filled of such magic I could feel it in the air. That magic that had allowed me to find a place where to stand, even if for such a short time.

When the lunch bell rang, I looked around the Botany greenhouse one last time before I walked out, heading to the Great Hall with Neville; I didn't feel much like eating in that moment, so I just sat down at my usual spot between Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table and let my gaze wander around.

Professor Dumbledore stood up from the teachers' table at some point, and the whole Hall grew quiet; for a moment I was confused, then I remembered: the House Cup! I had completely forgotten that it would have been assigned that day!

"So, another year has come to an end," he said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "It has been a full year for all of us – filled with joy for some, with sadness for others, but, more important than that, filled with life for all of us. I have seen many things happening in this castle since last autumn – I have seen my students grow up, I have seen them laugh, or, more often, complain about homework and tests."

Low chuckles lifted from the awaiting crowd of coloured uniforms gathered at the four tables, some of them born out of pure amusement, and others, instead, out of guilt.

"And now, the sun is shining brightly outside and I want nothing more than to enjoy this wonderful summer myself, just like each and every of you. So, I won't steal too much of your time. First of all, I thought that forcing you to stay inside the whole afternoon would have been a waste, so I decided to cancel all the lessons for the last three hours."

Cheers exploded around us, and I felt both relieved and sad – relieved, because I wouldn't have had to stand Snape for one more hour, and sad because I was hoping I could spend the free period Ron and I had in last hour walking in the grounds. I clapped my hands anyway, just like everyone around me.

"Second, once you walk out of the Hall you will find that your exams' results have been hung in the entrance."

Groans followed his words that time, and Dumbledore chuckled under his breath, smiling kindly.

"And third, and last, I am going to speak the results of this year's House Competition."

Once again, a silence filled with expectation filled the room, and I bit on my lip nervously, curiosity washing over me: I had completely lost count of the houses' situation during the last few weeks. I was pretty sure Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were far behind us, but Slytherin…

"In the fourth place…Hufflepuff, with three-hundred and sixty points!"

I applauded encouragingly along with the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws; poor Hufflepuffs had been in the last position for years, they deserved at least that.

"In the third place…Ravenclaw, with four-hundred and fifteen points!"

More polite applause followed Professor Dumbledore's words, and I fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of my light jumper; it was between us and Slytherin now.

"Come on, we can't lose to them…" Ron muttered under his breath; the air was so thick with anticipation it could have been cut with a knife.

"In the second place, with four-hundred and fifty points…"

Slytherins were sneering from the other side of the Hall, looking like they had already won. Oh, how I wanted to wipe that insolent smirk off of Malfoy's face…

Possibly hitting him.

Repeatedly.

Come on, come on, come on…

"Slytherin!"

I couldn't believe my ears as I heard that; silence fell on the Hall as everyone looked at the green and silver table where the Slytherins sat, their faces pale and stunned like each and every of them had just been hit in the head with a baseball bat.

Oh, they deserved that.

"I'm glad to announce that, for the seventh year in a row, Gryffindor is awarded with the House Cup!"

Yells suddenly exploded from our table as grey cardigans and red-and-gold ties flew around; we all jumped to our feet, cheering and laughing and clapping like mad.

"We did it! We won!" I yelled as Ron swept me up in his arms, twirling me around; I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, still smiling. I felt high, almost intoxicated with victory as other students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff came to congratulate us; Luna came to hug Neville, and several others joined in in our loud happiness. Our voices soared up towards the sky, echoing against the high ceiling of the Hall, and I was pretty sure they could hear us till downtown.

Professor Dumbledore spoke again, but we were creating such a mayhem that his deep voice was swallowed from the noise, to the point that I could barely make out his words.

"And with this I leave you! I bid you a good summer, and – "

Suddenly a loud rumble shook the whole castle, and we all shut up at once to look up, startled. What the hell was that? It couldn't be a thunder, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky…

"Oh, no, here it goes again," Ron groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe it, they have really done it! I thought they were only joking!"

I looked around, wondering who he was talking about; was someone missing?

And then I noticed that someone was so obviously not there – the Twins, of course, who else? – just as Filch burst in the Hall, his eyes wide and his hateful cat hot on his heels; his long maroon coat – how could he wear it when it was so warm? – flapped behind him as he dashed between the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff tables, looking wild and flushed and even crazier than usual.

"Professor!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "Professor! They blew up the toilet on the second floor!"

Oh.

My.

God.

That was just really, completely crazy!

"They actually blew up a toilet?" I asked Ron under my breath, widening my eyes.

He nodded with a heavy sigh, casting a dark glare towards the massive doors of the Hall.

"Oh, yes, they did," he said softly. "And I don't know why, but I suspect this isn't the only thing they have planned. I mean, it's Fred and George we are talking about – they have surely organized some incredible goodbye everyone will talk about for years."

"I bet you are right," I murmured as more small explosions followed – these, though, sounded like they were outside the castle.

"Hey, look!" a small first-year called, pointing at one of the tall windows that gave onto the grounds; we all looked up at once, and I felt a grin form on my lips.

Golden, red and silver sparks flew in the sky – the Twins had apparently started a firework show outside. Knowing them, the blown-up toilet pantomime had only been set up to the purpose of distracting Filch while they carried the fireworks to the grounds.

No one said anything, but a moment later we were all running out of the Hall at the same moment, pushing each other forward and streaming towards the exit.

I looked up as soon as I set foot out of the door, and I laughed at the sight of the colourful sprouts of sparks dancing in the air; Fred and George were lighting one firework after the other, cackling like mad, looking more than a little singed with their shirts and hair covered in soot.

I didn't want to know what they had done to reduce their clothes in that state.

It was incredibly warm outside, so I took my jumper off, as most of the school population had already done; that way, with no ties and jumpers showing which house we belonged to, the differences had for once been cancelled, at least on the outside.

It went on like that for several minutes, and when it eventually came to an end applause raised from the crowd – teachers included, to my surprise; the Twins bowed deeply, identical grins on their faces as they waved at everyone.

Show offs.

"So, thanks to Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley for the…unexpected surprise. We all enjoyed it very much," Dumbledore said, smiling knowingly at the two of them.

"Thank you, Professor!" they yelled, not looking embarrassed the littlest bit.

"But how – Professor – they need to be given detention – write to their families – expel them!" Filch stuttered beside the Headmaster, his eyes wide and his nostrils flared.

"Oh, my dear Argus, I'm afraid that's not possible," Professor Dumbledore said, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. "In fact, you see, these young men are already out of school now; the term has ended, they have graduated, and there's no way I can do anything. But, they didn't hurt anyone, did they? And, as for the little mess on the second floor, I think a bit of cleaning up will do. By now, after eight years, you are used to fixing up the young Weasleys'…pranks, aren't you?"

Filch didn't answer; he looked pale and flabbergasted, his mouth slightly agape. But he couldn't argue with the Headmaster, so he left quickly, fuming, dragging his horrible cat along.

It took a few more minutes for things to turn back to normal, and then students slowly started to make their way back inside to look at the results of their exams.

Our whole group stood on the stone steps that led to the entrance, looking doubtful and more than a little worried as people streamed in and out of the door, some satisfied, others miserable.

"Who's going in to check?" Neville asked nervously; he was the one with the lowest grades in the group, and he was afraid of having failed Trigonometry and Chemistry, his worst subjects.

"I'm not going," Ginny said immediately, blushing – she had told me she was sure she had failed History, and she probably didn't want to find out herself.

"Oh, yes, you are," I told her instead, taking a step forward. "We all are. It's just grades, right? Who cares!"

Ron gaped at me as I spoke, looking like he had just seen a ghost.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Hermione?" he asked, laughing; I shoved him away playfully, wrinkling my nose.

"Shut up, you. Come on, guys; if we stay on these steps a minute longer, we'll grow roots."

Finding our names on the boards wasn't easy, but we eventually managed to do so, and I let out a small cry of victory: I had scored 100% in all of my tests, even Chemistry! Actually, it was 120% in English and Latin because I had added some more things I had researched independently to my work, but that was just a detail.

"Safe," Ron said with a relieved sigh, pointing at his name, a few inches below mine. He had managed to do incredibly well – 80% in every subject, except for English, where he had gotten a 90. He had passed even History, which he wasn't sure about.

"Safe," Harry echoed with a grin. Neville had managed to pass in everything, and Luna too. Ginny, as predicted, had failed History, but that was no big deal – she would have dropped off that subject the following year anyway. And the Twins had passed their exams with full marks.

"We are all safe – we have to celebrate, folks! How about a nice trip to Florean's? And then we could make up a football match, we have nothing to do today!"

Ginny's idea was accepted unanimously, and we all followed her outside and down the hill.

While we walked, though, I kept turning my head to look back at the castle again and again, and when it eventually disappeared from view I felt a small, painful tug to my heart.

I knew that it was the beginning of the end.

Ron's POV:

That afternoon we celebrated with huge ice creams and a big football match which involved everyone, even Hermione and Luna, who usually just refereed our games. But this wasn't an usual game.

We played for two good hours, and we eventually were so tired that we just dropped on the grass of the field, enjoying the sunlight and the light breeze like lazy housecats. We talked, we laughed, and by the time we decided to get back up it was half past six, and we were all late.

We didn't have bikes that day, so we walked home in a hurry, hastily parting ways as we dragged our bags away with us, waving at each other and according to meet up in that same spot the following afternoon.

Our summer holidays began that way.

We usually met in the early afternoon, for everyone slept late in the morning; then we'd go to Florean's to eat ice creams and do our homework under the colourful umbrellas outside the parlour, or walk around the town, or play football in the fields, or just sit somewhere and talk and laugh together. Then we'd systematically be late for dinner, so we'd hurry up to get home in time and then go out again right after, to play silly games like hide and seek, streetlight, or tag, like we were still eleven years old, or simply to lay back in a field and watch the stars after the sun had set, trying to make out images in the billions of diamonds scattered around the sky.

It would have felt heavenly hadn't I had a countdown hanging over my head. Now that school had ended time passed even faster: days quickly became weeks, and July swiftly came towards its end.

I started to spend more time alone with Hermione; we took the habit of going out for long walks in the afternoons rather than staying with the others, and we talked for hours about everything we hadn't talked about in the previous months, for we both knew that those were the last occasions to do so.

She told me of her parents, of her childhood in Seattle, of her old school there, and I told her of how I grew up in that small town, of the pranks Harry and I used to make when we were little, of our first years at Hogwarts. The things we had to say were so many, and the time we had was so, so little…

"Do you think you could teach me how to ride a bike?" she asked me one afternoon when we were sitting on top of a hill near her house. Her question surprised me – she hated bikes, I knew that – but I agreed; I was starting to doubt there was anything I would have denied her.

There was this old bike in her aunt's garden shed; it was rusty and it obviously hadn't seen the sun for at least a decade, but its wheels were ok, and the brakes still worked well.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mione?" I asked, noticing how doubtful she looked as she carefully got on the bike, keeping her feet firmly attached to the ground.

She nodded, and something shifted in her eyes; it was the same spark that appeared whenever she was in front of a difficult challenge, of determination, bravery and more than a little bit of stubbornness. It was impossible to convince her to change her mind when she got that look, I knew that.

I took hold of the parcel carrier behind her and repeated my instructions for the umpteenth time in a span of fifteen minutes.

"Ok, now you just have to pedal straight forward; I'll make sure you don't lose your balance."

She turned her head to smile at me, and I melted under her gaze like snow in full sunlight as my heart missed a beat before doubling its rhythm.

I would have never gotten used to how beautiful her eyes were.

"One…" she murmured, gripping the handlebars tightly.

"…two…" I echoed, adjusting my grip on the back of the bike.

"…Three."

I didn't know what I was expecting – if I thought she would have wobbled, or fallen, or lost her balance somehow – but she didn't do any of those things. She just pushed hard on the pedals and went straight for her goal, the other side of the field we were in; her jaw was set, her eyes were fixed on one spot, and her movement were sure as never before.

There was no need for me to hold her steady; she could do that on her own.

And I understood that while she was strong enough to keep her balance and go on, I wasn't; all that time I thought that I was helping her to stand, but it was actually her who helped me so that I wouldn't fall.

I wasn't sure I would have been able to get back on my feet on my own once she was gone.

It was another moment before I released the back of the bike and slowed my pace until I stopped, watching as she went on for a few yards before she carefully hit the brakes to stop and look back at me; her smile was radiant, pride and excitement in her dark eyes.

My sun, my sky, my everything.

I didn't know thoughts could make your heart hurt so much.

Hermione's POV:

"Come on, Emma, we are going to be late for Harry's party!" I called from the stairs to my sister, who was still getting dressed.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon of the end of July, and almost the whole town would have celebrated Harry's eighteenth birthday in the Potter's garden; we should have been there in five minutes, which was impossible considering that he lived across the town and that it usually took fifteen minutes to get there. "She's right, honey, we really should get going!" Aunt Elspeth echoed from the kitchen, where she was sipping a mug of tea while she waited.

Just then the phone rang, and I walked quickly to the hall to pick it up, fuming about how much I hated to be late.

"Hello?" I said as I put the receiver to my ear, adjusting my white top in the meantime.

"Hello, is it the Granger household?" a female voice asked; it was slightly familiar, but I couldn't quite identify it.

"Yes, it is; who is speaking?"

"I'm Anne White, from the Social Department of Washington State. May I speak with Miss Hermione Granger?"

My heart fell as I heard the name, and I bit my lip with such force I almost drew blood; I knew I should have expected something like that. After all, it was only five days left to my eighteenth birthday.

"Hello, Anne; I'm sorry, I didn't recognize your voice," I said softly, feeling suddenly emptied of all emotions.

"Oh, Hermione! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you either; you have developed quite an accent, you really sound British!" she exclaimed; from her tone, it sounded like she was smiling.

"I just wanted you to know that I've already set everything for your return here: I've booked your tickets, the plane leaves next Monday at twelve o'clock from Heathrow Airport. I'll be there to pick you up in Seattle once you arrive; we'll have to discuss of your parents' will and..."

But I wasn't listening to her anymore.

Monday. I had a seat booked on a plane that left the following Monday.

It was just seven days.

I closed my eyes for a moment, my control slipping as I gripped the receiver with such force my knuckles turned white.

I waited for her to finish, barely breathing; how was it even possible, that she didn't know a storm was tearing me apart from the inside?

I felt like my heart was slowly shredding in a million pieces; I hoped the ground would have opened and swallowed me forever, for oblivion would have been easier to cope with than pain.

"Thank you, Anne; I'll see you on Monday. Now excuse me, I'm late for a friend's birthday party," I excused myself, trying not to sound completely hysterical or close to tears.

"Well, have fun then! Bye!" she wished kindly before she hung up.

"Yeah," I murmured in the now silent receiver. "Bye."

When Aunt Elspeth walked in the hall, a few minutes later, she found me still in the same position, phone in hand and eyes staring emptily at the wall in front of me.

"Dear, what's wrong?" she asked me, gently placing her hand over mine; it was warm, while mine was ice-cold. Emma came in after her, and she turned her big eyes to me, looking worried and, somehow, resigned, like she knew what had just happened.

"It was the social assistant," I said, my voice sounding weak and shaky to my own ears. "We are going back to America in one week."

I started to pack the day after Anne called; placing all of my books and stuff in the cardboard boxes seemed more difficult than ever before, because while leaving in November meant abandoning only the shreds of my former life, coming back now meant leaving behind everything I had.

And it hurt a thousand times more.

There was no sense in hiding the truth from the others, so I told them all that very same day, at the end of Harry's party; they didn't seem surprised, though, for they all knew that was coming. But I thought I would have had more time to plan everything, to plan how to say goodbye; it seemed like life always refused to give me that possibility, to give me time to say my goodbyes the way I wanted.

Emma spent all the time she could outside with her friends, while I stayed inside packing; everyone was there to help me, though – Ginny, Luna, Harry, Neville and the Twins, and sometimes even a few more friends from school.

And Ron, of course.

He was always there with me, but it now seemed like that time wasn't enough; I had been foolish, thinking that we would have had more time to spend together – in my mind, we would have had months, probably years.

But this was reality, and reality was always harsher than dreams and fairy tales.

Ron's POV:

That morning, when I woke up, the sun was shining brightly and the sky was of the most perfect blue I had ever seen, deep and cloudless.

It was the Day – the wonderful anniversary of the day she was born, and also the date that officially took her away from me; how ironic that was.

But I had sworn to myself that that day would have been something to remember for her; a happy memory, not a sad one.

Hermione's Aunt had organized a party for her in the evening, a lot like the one she had thrown for her little sister, only much bigger – almost the whole town would have been there to bid her goodbye that night. So I had organized something for the afternoon – and part of the morning as well. All of this was unknown to her, of course.

I showed up at her house at eleven o'clock that morning, and her surprise alone when she came to open the door repaid me for all the planning I had done during those last few days.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me as she hugged me tightly. "I wasn't waiting for you until four o'clock this afternoon!"

"Change of plans," I just said, smiling at the evident curiosity in her eyes. "We are going out today."

"I'll take my bag – where are we going?" she asked, motioning to step out of my arms; I held her tighter, though, effectively trapping her there.

"Birthday surprise," I told her with a smirk. "I'd suggest you hurry up, Miss Granger, as we have quite a long journey in front of us today."

"It will take only a moment," she promised me, standing on her tiptoes to lightly kiss me on the lips before she hurried back inside.

"Aunt, I'm going out! I'll see you this evening!" I heard her call before she dashed out again, her bag over her shoulder, and closed the door behind her.

I bent to kiss her again and I took her hand, lacing my fingers with hers as I led her to my bike.

"Ready?" I asked her as she climbed behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"As I will ever be," was her soft reply, which came slightly muffled by my shoulder.

So I pushed on the pedals and turned into the dusty road that headed South.

Every year, in a nearby town a summer fair with dances, music and games was organized; I knew because my parents used to bring my siblings and me there when we were younger, and it was exactly there that I was headed, even though it wasn't exactly close – it was more than half an hour by bike, going fast.

"Are you going to tell me where we are going?" she asked me when I finally came to a stop at the base of a hill. I had gotten there the long way, taking a small path that slithered through the countryside so that she couldn't see where we were heading from afar.

"You'll see in a minute," I told her, taking her hand again and pointing at the top of the hill. "We just have to get up there."

She seemed both doubtful and thrilled at the secrecy I was keeping on our destination, and she just followed me without saying anything, holding onto me so that she wouldn't trip as we climbed up the steep side of the hill.

When we finally reached the top, a large show of brightly coloured tents, booths and fun rides splayed below us, just a little away from the village ahead; the notes of a lively tune could be heard in the distance, along with the buzzing of mixing laughter and chat of the hundreds of people gathered there.

"What do you think?" I asked as I turned my head to look at Hermione, who had stopped just a step behind me. "They always organize this fair during the last week of July, and I thought that you might have liked it."

She smiled at me, lightly squeezing my hand.

"I absolutely love it," she said softly, as the warm wind gently blew her hair around her face; in the bright sunlight it looked almost golden, and my hands literally itched to touch it, to push the curls away from her eyes. I did it, and she blushed, leaning slightly in my touch as I stroked her cheek; I could have melted under her tender gaze.

"You know, I've never been at a fair before," she said thoughtfully as we started to make our way down the hill.

"I thought America was famous for organizing this kind of stuff," I replied, surprised; having been to so many carnivals during my childhood that thinking that other kids might have not done the same stuff was odd.

"They are very popular, indeed, but only in small towns; Seattle is too much of a big, busy city to organize something like this," she explained with a small shrug, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"Well, we have lots of things to do then – come on, I'll show you what a real small-town carnival is like."

It had probably been years since I'd had so much fun at a fair, really; I couldn't help myself, Hermione's curiosity made me feel like I was a kid again, which wasn't bad at all.

Right after we arrived a fortune teller stopped us and insisted on 'reading our future'; she was a gipsy woman in her late thirties, dressed in a bright yellow floor-length skirt, a wide-sleeved dark purple silken shirt and dozens of tingling bangles hanging around her thin wrists – she reminded me strongly of Professor Trelawney, minus the huge round glasses.

I kept my hands safely tucked in my pockets, watching as the woman followed the lines on Hermione's palm with the tip of her finger, her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied them intently.

"I see you have a very long life line – but…do you see this spot here?" she asked, pointing at something near Hermione's wrist. "There's a slight deviation; it means hurt, something bad happening to you. But it's happened already, judging from its position, ain't I right? And…why, your heart line is quite unusual – so deep, going up without any deviation…It's a good sign, for it means one great love – only one, but strong enough to last for a lifetime. You are one lucky girl, really – I have seen very few hands as auspicious as yours."

Hermione smiled nervously at her as she pulled her hand back.

"I really do hope you are right," she told the woman softly, sadness veiling her eyes for a moment as she spoke. It was gone too soon for me to ask her anything, though, and I didn't mention it as we walked among the stands, holding hands and soon forgetting about the gipsy's words.

We played several games, but we hardly had any luck – we were laughing and enjoying ourselves too much to actually put some effort in them. I had quite the aim at a shooting game, though, and I managed to win a cute ragdoll with woollen hair and black buttons for eyes – little Emma would have liked it, I was sure, as she already had showed her appreciation for the handmade sock-and-buttons puppets I had made for her when she was sick and Hermione and I still weren't going out. So much had happened since that day…yet it had only been six months, barely.

"Have you ever been on a ferry's wheel?" I asked Hermione after a while, pointing at the colourful wheel standing out above the stands around it, looking gigantic compared to them.

She shook her head, her fingers absentmindedly twirling the locket hung at her neck – the one I had given her.

"Actually, no," she said, biting her lip. "I'm not afraid of heights, but I'm no fan of them, either. You know how I am – I like to have my feet solidly planted on the ground." She paused for a moment. "I have always wanted to try, though," she admitted.

"Let's go, then," I told her, lacing our fingers together and gently pulling her with me towards the short queue in front of the wheel. "It's not that bad, I promise."

We sat together in the small cart, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her as the wheel began to move slowly, taking its time like everyone was doing on that lazy summer afternoon.

When our cart stopped at the top, gently rocking back and forth, I felt like nothing could have been more perfect – the fields bathed in light splaying below us for miles, punctuated here and there by small towns, the cloudless sky, the warmth of the sun on our skin; everything seemed flawless, like we had suddenly entered a painting.

"Ron…"

She kissed me then, her lips soft and tentative against mine; it was just us up there, too far from the ground for anyone to see or hear us.

I wanted to tell her how I felt – I had wanted to for months now, and I felt like I would have exploded if I didn't tell her those words.

"Hermione, I – "

I almost told her. Almost. But the wheel began to move again just as I started to speak, and the moment was gone.

"You know, I think I might even like ferry's wheels," Hermione uttered once we were on the ground again. "I usually am very touchy when I look down from high places – I make the Cowardly Lion look like Schwarzenegger sometimes. But this time, I really enjoyed it."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said softly, pulling her closer to me; it just felt so right, having her tucked in my side…

We walked around for a while, not really caring about what time it was; when the light changed, turning from bright gold to soft yellow , I checked my watch and saw that it was almost seven; the party would have started around eight, so we weren't really late, but we would have had to leave soon.

Just as I was about to reluctantly tell Hermione it was almost time to go, we passed by a large makeshift pavilion where a band was playing a popular song; they were actually good, and several couples were dancing in the cool shadow of the large tent.

I vaguely remembered something similar that I had seen when I was little, around five or six probably, during another carnival; I was walking around with my parents and a few of my siblings, and suddenly one of the dancing couples had caught my eye – they were young, probably around the age Hermione and I were now, and they looked like they were totally lost in themselves as they moved together across the dance floor.

At the time I had thought that there must have been something magical in the way they looked at each other, with such love and adoration.

It took only a moment to set my mind.

I took Hermione's hand and bowed deeply, sneaking a look at her to see what her reaction would have been; her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shining, her smile as dazzling as the late afternoon sun above us.

"May I have this dance?"

She nodded, her small fingers sliding through mine as she let me guide her to the makeshift dance floor; as we approached the song ended and the band started another one – a slow song this time.

I slid my arms around her waist and her hands found their way to my shoulders as we slowly swayed in time with the music; I knew that song, for it was one of Ginny's all-times favourites – one of those songs she usually listened to in loop a hundred times on her stereo until the whole family begged for her to choose something else. This one wasn't actually that bad, though.

I pulled Hermione closer, and she leaned her head on my shoulder; it felt so natural to hold her like that…

I rested my chin on her hair as we kept dancing, closing my eyes for a moment as the lyrics of the song floated around me; curious, I had heard that melody a thousand times, but I had never actually paid attention to the words.

But my love is all I have to give

Without you I don't think I can live

I wish I could give the world to you

But love is all I have to give

And suddenly I knew that it was the right time, that no other moment had ever felt that perfect, or would have ever been; that if I let that moment pass by without telling her I would have regretted it forever.

"I love you," I breathed, and no words had ever felt more right, more true. I loved her, with everything I had, with everything I was.

She looked up at me, her dark, beautiful eyes full of an emotion I couldn't quite recognize, and a single tear slowly rolled down her cheek; I wiped it away with my thumbs, my heart squeezing at the sight of her so vulnerable.

When she spoke, though, her voice didn't sound vulnerable at all; it was soft and low, quivering with the same intense emotion I could see in her gaze.

"I love you, too," she murmured, her fingertips brushing my cheek. "So much."

I felt like my heart was about to burst, or to fly right out of my chest, or both things, I didn't know.

I lowered my head and kissed her, my hands sliding in her messy hair to pull her closer; it was slow and gentle, but it was enough to take my breath away nonetheless.

We had stopped moving, and a few of the couples around us were probably staring, but I didn't care – in that moment it was just her and me, no one else.

When we finally parted, I felt like someone had hit me on the head with a baseball bat; I was dizzy and euphoric, like I was drunk on happiness.

It was the most wonderful sensation ever.

Neither of us said anything as we slowly walked away from the pavilion and back up the hill, our fingers intertwined; there was no need for words, not after what had just been said.

She climbed on the bike behind me, wrapping her arms tightly around my middle as always; it felt different this time, though.

"Say it again," I asked her softly before we left. I needed to hear it, to know that it hadn't just been something my mind had made up in the colourful, unreal atmosphere of the carnival.

She laid her head on my shoulder, and I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.

"I love you."

I smiled as my brain processed those three small words once again, and I pushed on the pedals, hurrying along the dusty road – we were really late now.

"Just wanted to make sure."

As foreseen, we were late; when Hermione's house came into view the front yard was already full of people, all of our friends included.

We cut across the field to avoid the crowd, going all the way around the house to the backyard, which was deserted; everyone would have asked too many questions if we just showed up there, together, almost an hour late, and neither of us wanted to explain where we had spent the day.

I left the bike against the tool shed as always, and we started to make our way to the back door, hand in hand; I stopped a few yards away from the house, though, for a reason I refused to admit – because joining the rest of our friends to the party would have broken the magic of that perfect day, bringing both of us back to reality. And I wasn't ready for that.

Hermione looked up at me, a question in her eyes, and I just kissed her, knowing way too well that I wouldn't have been able to tell her why I had stopped just outside the square of light of the kitchen window.

Then her arms were around my shoulders, and she was kissing me fiercely, her small body quivering in my arms despite the warmth of the summer evening; in that moment I knew that I wasn't the only one who thought that coming back home in that moment meant answering to a wake-up call we had tried to ignore for months.

We stayed there for several minutes, holding onto each other like the world depended on that, like staying there would have made the cardboard boxes disappear from her room, or stopped time for us only. It was only wishful thinking, though, and we both knew that; we could hear the laughs and talking coming from the other side of the house, and sooner or later someone would have walked around the yard and found us.

It wasn't until I tasted the salt on her lips that I realized she was crying, and I held her tighter, kissing her tears away and pushing her messy curls away from her face to look her in the eyes.

"It's ok," I murmured, nudging her nose with mine. "Everything is going to be ok, love."

She shook her head weakly, pain showing clearly in her doe-like eyes.

"It's not going to, Ron, and you know that," she whispered, her voice as fragile as her gaze. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, and God knows how I will ever be able to get on that plane!"

I held her tight, rocking her back and forth like a baby and burying my face in her hair.

"You are going to, because you are Super Hermione Granger, and you are strong and stubborn and just so wonderful that you could do anything, even getting on that plane, if it's what you have to do."

As much as it hurt saying those words, I knew that they were true – she would have been able to do it, because she was strong enough to handle it. She would have gotten back to America, where she belonged, and she would have become a great Professor in some prestigious University, or a world-wide famous writer, or a President, even – she would have grown up and moved on, and forgot about me.

As long as it meant that she would have been fine, though, it didn't matter how much I would have suffered.

"You overestimate me, Ronald," she said, a shaking bubble of laughter escaping her lips as she wiped her tears with her fingers.

That was the first time I had ever heard her say my full name in nine months.

"Mione, there you are! Everyone is looking for you!" cried little Emma as she came running into the back yard, a large swarm of little girls in party dresses tailing her; she didn't seem happy, though, her eyes controlled and serious, lacking the usual joy and liveliness.

"I'm coming, honey!" Hermione called to her with a small wave, probably trying to look cheerful. "You go back to play with your friends, I will be there in a minute!"

She kept a forced smile on her lips until her sister was gone, and then the sadness was back, burning in her eyes like cold fire. I hated to see her like that – it reminded me too much of how things were at the very beginning, when I first met her and she seemed to be broken beyond repair.

She wiped her eyes again, carefully, and then she took my hand, lacing her fingers with mine.

"Come on," she murmured, gently leading me around the house, where everyone was waiting. "It's time to show up."

Hermione's POV:

As I stepped into the yard, I couldn't help but admire how everything had been set up – Aunt Elspeth must have spent hours outside to decorate the place like that: dozens of lanterns were scattered around the lawn, the simple white candles burning in each of them casting a warm glow on the grass; a colourful HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY banner was hanging above a table where a huge three-layer cake, much more elaborate than the one I remembered from Emma's party, lay surrounded by piles of food and wrapped gifts, and someone must have brought a stereo along, because music was playing and some people, a few of my classmates included, were dancing.

I would have loved it hadn't my heart felt so heavy.

I barely had time to look at it all that the crowd of people surrounded me, congratulations and hugs raining on me from every direction, and somewhere in the middle of it my hand was pulled out of Ron's, making me feel suddenly too small and vulnerable, like I was struggling to stand again.

I turned to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found in the immediate surroundings, so I put my best effort at a smile on my face and slowly made my way through the dozens – or hundreds – of friends, classmates and simple acquaintances who had come to wish me a happy birthday and, in many cases, to bid me goodbye.

I knew would have actually missed some of them – from my teachers to Madam Rosmerta and Martha Malkin, who I had so often seen around the house as they visited for a chat and a cup of tea with my aunt, to Dean and Seamus, the Patil Twins and the Creevey brothers…they were too many to name them all, and it only made everything worse.

Once I was done I was crying again, and I felt utterly miserable, all the parting words echoing again and again in my head. If that was so difficult, I couldn't imagine how saying the other goodbyes, the most important ones, would have been. I didn't want to imagine it.

So I wrapped my arms around myself and looked around, trying to spot my friends; it wasn't hard to find them, for they were probably the only people sitting in that moment, a little away from the crowd and the music. I couldn't blame them – the happy mood of the party was hard for me to bear, too.

I took my time in walking to them, and I plopped down beside Ron; no one said anything, but there was no need for words: the sad smiles we exchanged were enough.

More tears threatened to overflow as I took them in, knowing perfectly well that that was probably the last time I would have been able to be with all of them at once, just sitting and enjoying their company like I had done a million times. And even if it was no different from all the other times, I cherished that moment, for it was something to treasure, just like the friendship that connected all of us.

I laid my head on Ron's shoulder and let my eyes wander around, lingering on each of my friends, memorizing every detail so that I could replay those images in my head later, when there would have been an Ocean in between me and them.

There was Luna, who was laying on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air as she gazed thoughtfully at the dusky sky above, and Neville, who was sitting beside her as he absentmindedly played with a strand of her long hair, and there were the Twins, sprawled on the grass in a mess of long limbs and tousled hair, Fred with his arms linked behind his head and George with his head resting on his brother's stomach – funny, how I had finally learned to tell them apart now that I was leaving. There was Ginny, curled up with her legs pulled to her chest, and Harry, who was sitting behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

We just stayed there for hours as the sky turned darker and darker, until the sun finally set and the first stars appeared, shining like tears of pure diamond on a drape of dark blue velvet. We got back to our feet only when Mrs Weasley and my aunt called us for the traditional cake cutting, and even then we stayed silent, nodding at each other like we were agreeing on leaving our small bubble of peace before we moved.

People crammed around me as I blew on the eighteen candles flickering on the cake, knowing perfectly well what to wish for as the small flames died.

I wish I could stay here. I wish this evening could last forever.

And even if sadness was tearing my heart into pieces, I didn't regret deciding to come here to England. Even if I had the power of changing the past, I would have done it all over again, because those nine short months had been, without a doubt, the best, the happiest of my life.

Then came the presents, but my thoughts were far away from there as I opened them, to the point that I couldn't even remember what was in the boxes. It took an awfully long time to go through the whole procedure, and by the time I was finished people were starting to leave, stopping by for one last word, one last goodbye before they went.

Soon enough everyone was gone – everyone but the Weasleys, the Potters, the Lovegoods and the Longbottoms. While the grown-ups sat together chatting, the rest of my friends helped me to tidy everything up with the method given by practice: Luna blew all of the candles off and gathered the lanterns, Neville put all the plastic cups and plates in big black rubbish bags, the Twins put the folding tables and chairs back in the shed and Harry and Ron helped me to bring the remains of food back into the kitchen, and in half an hour we were done and sitting on the stairs that led to the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Luna said at some point, breaking the silence we had once again fallen in and taking something wrapped in maroon paper and tied with white string from her huge messenger bag. "Happy birthday."

I scowled at the rest of the group as I took the package; it was rather heavy, but its shape was funny, and I couldn't tell what it was without unwrapping it.

"Guys, I told you – no birthday presents!"

"Oh, don't worry, we didn't even spend any money for this, I swear," Harry assured me, fiddling with his hair and giving me a crooked smile as Ginny nudged the gift I was holding.

"Come on, open it!"

I obeyed, and as I carefully undid the string and pushed the paper aside two objects fell in my lap. One was a book, its thick cover of a dark powder blue with the word friends written dozens of times along the edges in silver ink, and the other was a large, slightly uneven stuffed red felt heart that bore the words We love you written in Luna's childish, rounded handwriting and surrounded by seven signatures – the signatures of them all, I understood, as I recognized them.

The heart itself would have been enough to leave me at a loss of words, but as I opened the book, curiosity taking over me, I felt my throat tighten with emotion.

It was an album – a picture album filled with dozens of photos that went from the previous November to only the day before, some funny, some serious, and some that had obviously been taken when we weren't looking. They were moments of happiness caught on pieces of shiny paper that wouldn't have faded with time, and I smiled, hugging each of my friends for that gift.

"I made the heart myself," Luna explained me with a smile as I held the two objects tightly. "And we all put the pictures we had in the book. You know, so that you won't…forget."

"I could never forget, guys, never," I promised, sniffling quietly and blinking to clear my vision from the tears that had once again formed in my eyes. I had never cried as much and as often as that day before. "But I will never thank you enough for this gift."

They all grinned, even though a bit sadly, and for some reason we seemed to be at a loss of words, because no one spoke for several minutes after that.

"Mione?"

It was Emma's small, sleepy voice that broke the silence as she approached the door; she was rubbing her eyes and yawning, which suddenly made me realize how late it was for her. I stood and picked her up easily, rubbing her back as she laid her head on my shoulder; she really was tired.

"See you tomorrow?" I asked the others as I noticed that the rest of the adults were starting to move, too; they would have probably been gone by the time I put Emma to bed and went back downstairs.

"At the break of dawn," Ginny promised with a smirk, and I stuck my tongue out at her, carefully holding my sister with only one arm to wave goodbye.

They waved back as they joined their families – all of them, but one, who was casually leaning against the doorframe by my side, as though his parents weren't just leaving with the rest of his siblings.

"I have my bike," he explained with a smile, even though I hadn't spoken my question out loud. "I'll go back later. I thought you might have needed a hand."

Considering that everything was packed, that the remains of the party had been cleared up and that there was nothing to do, that was probably the lamest excuse in the world, but I didn't care. I didn't want him to leave yet, either.

He helped me take my stuff upstairs as I carried Emma – who had all but fallen asleep in my arms – to her room; I practically had to force her pyjamas on her, for she was trying to snuggle under the sheets still fully dressed, and by the time I was done she had already sank into the pillows, hugging her puppets as she dozed off in the blink of an eye.

"She really was tired, wasn't she?" Ron asked me softly as I tiptoed out of my sister's room and carefully closed the door. I nodded, absentmindedly brushing my fingers against the white polished wood as I looked down. She almost hadn't slept the night before, for she had spent hours crying – but I didn't want to tell him, for it would have made everything too real, too…

Too final.

That night, in the silent house, I could almost fake that everything was alright, that it was just another night, and that nothing was going to change in just a little more than twenty-four hours.

So I walked to the old chest by the stairs and took out a faded quilt that smelled like the lavender and vanilla Aunt Elspeth put in the drawers to scent the laundry and the blankets, and showed it to Ron with a small smile.

"How about watching the sky? We might still catch a glimpse of a few shooting stars, if we are lucky."

He smiled back at me, gently taking my hand in his and lacing our fingers together.

"I'd love to."

Outside everything was so quiet, so still that for a moment I had the impression that my wish had come true, that time had stopped only for the two of us. I would have happily agreed to live under an eternal night sky if it meant that I got to stay with him.

I spread out the old blanket onto the soft grass at the back of the house, so that we faced away from the village, only fields and gentle hills in front of us for miles and miles, and we sat down in silence, both of us gazing at the dazzling starry sky above us.

It really was an amazing view. In Seattle it was impossible to see more than a few stars because of the light pollution, but in that moment, with no lights on in miles, they were millions, each shining brightly like a drop of pure diamond. I could clearly see the Milky Way, a sinuous path of white shimmering powders crossing the sky, and I was pretty sure I could make out some constellations - those few I could recognize, anyway.

"That's the Great Bear," Ron told me, pointing at a group of brightly shining stars. "And the one over there is the Little Bear."

I tilted my head slightly to the side, trying to understand where the bear part was, and I thought I could faintly make out a large plantigrade-like shape, even though I wasn't sure.

"And that is...Cassiopeia, right?" I asked doubtfully, trying to remember the few confused notions of astronomy I knew from one of my father's old books.

Ron chuckled softly, shaking his head as he directed my hand a little more to the left until it pointed to another agglomerate of stars.

"That is Cassiopeia, love," he corrected me gently. "While that one," and he pointed at what I previously - and erroneously - thought was the Queen, "Is the Dragon. See? It looks a bit like a snake."

"Does it?" I asked him, squinting and feigning innocence as I tried to cover my mistake. Astronomy really wasn't my best subject.

He laughed again, shaking his head.

"First you tell me that you have never been to a carnival, and now this, City Girl?" He tsked at me in mock disapproval as he pointed at Cassiopeia again - I recognized it now that he had shown me where it was. "But the brightest student of Hogwarts surely knows the fascinating ancient myths behind these constellations, right?"

I grinned sheepishly at him, again playing dumb.

"Do I?"

"Why are you answering my questions with more questions?" he asked me, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Why are you doing the same when answering mine?" I replied, and he shook his head in defeat, his smile mirroring mine.

"You know everything, and yet you have never heard of the Greek myths that lay at the origin of the names of the stars..." he muttered, looking rather incredulous, like I had just told him that I believed the moon was made of ice cream.

"How come you know them so well?" I asked him, actually curious, turning to face him. He simply shrugged, gently covering my hand with his larger one and rubbing small circles into the skin of my wrist, making my heart flutter slightly.

"I had always wondered about the stars," he just said, his smile as soft as the look in his eyes. "Plus, these myths were actually more fun than most of the stuff I had to study in secondary school, so I read a couple of books and asked Dad to teach me what he knew about constellations."

We stayed silent for a few moments, simply enjoying the peace of the warm summer night.

"Will you tell me the story behind Cassiopeia?" I asked after a while, and the smile he gave me was simply dazzling as he laid back and opened his arms for me to join him.

I snuggled close to him, resting my head on his chest as he put an arm around me and pointed at the sky with the other.

"A long time ago," he began, almost giving me the impression that he was telling a fairytale, "In Ethiopia, there was this queen named Cassiopeia, who thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And there wasn't a soul in her kingdom who wasn't sick of her relentless vanity."

"One day, though, she screwed up, and offended the gods. I don't remember what she did, or who she offended, but it was bad - really bad. By provoking the Olympus blokes, she crossed the line."

I sniggered at his particular choice of words, but didn't interrupt him - partly because it was fun, and partly because I was actually curious.

"Anyway, Poseidon, the sea god, punished Cassiopeia by putting her in the heavens upside-down on her throne, stuck for eternity with her skirts hiding the beautiful face she was so proud of."

"That's kind of sad," I muttered, trying to picture the upside-down Cassiopeia in the clump of stars shining above us. It didn't work much, though.

"It was meant to teach men that they shouldn't defy the gods," Ron replied softly, cradling me closer to him. Not that I complained.

"Well, I have always thought that the Greek gods described in the Iliad and the Odyssey were selfish and cruel, and actually more flawed that humans themselves, but in this story Poseidon sounds like a spoiled Slytherin brat who hurts other people just out of fun or boredom. I could easily picture Malfoy in his place," I commented, and Ron chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Well...Hey, look!"

I looked up to where he was pointing, and sure enough, I saw a ribbon of pure white light shooting across the sky; it was gone in the blink of an eye, but it was immediately replaced by another, and another, and another. I watched in awe as dozens of shooting stars rained across the heavens, chasing each other in their wake; I had never seen something so breathtakingly beautiful in my whole life. As I silently stared at the sky, I absentmindedly wondered what was causing such an incredible phenomenon - I was sure no meteor shower was forecasted for that night.

And then, childishly, I made my wish, so that the stars could cherish it and keep it safe.

I remembered that, when I was younger, I used to wish for happiness, love, or a pet - for my parents were both allergic to fur - but now, all I wanted was only that everything could stay exactly the way it was.

How many times had I already wished for that same thing in the last twenty-four hours?

I had lost count.

Neither of us spoke for a while, and it was as though I could actually feel the change in the mood - the air had suddenly become so much thicker, our silence heavy with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I rolled over so that I was laying half on top of Ron's chest, and I carefully searched his eyes with mine.

He looked...sad. So sad I felt like my heart was slowly ripping itself into tiny pieces.

"What's wrong?" I asked, even though I knew perfectly well what was bothering him. It wasn't that difficult to guess, after all.

"It's just..." He seemed to be struggling to find the words, he, who was always so quick to get himself out of trouble with his wit and easy demeanor. He sighed, bringing his hands up to caress my face, always so gentle, so tender.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like, if...if you stayed here?" he finally asked me, his voice barely above a whisper, sounding incredibly vulnerable.

"What it could be like," I weakly corrected him, my voice equally low.

To my surprise, he shook his head.

"No, love - what it would be like. We both know that there would be no ifs in that case."

I swallowed thickly, lowering my gaze; I knew he was right, but pretending that he wasn't would have made things, if not easier, at least less painful.

"Yes," I finally admitted. "Yes, I have thought about it. But I can't. I can't, because I have to go back. I - I have to start college, Emma has school, and now that I'm of age I have to take care of our parents' belongings, and - and find a part-time job to support the both of us while I study..."

I didn't want to cry again, I really didn't. But when tears stung my eyes, I found it hard not to. I just couldn't control it. Especially since the images I had dreamed about – images of a small house there on the hills, of a swarm of grinning kids with bushy red hair and brown eyes, of a quiet, happy life far away from the chaotic city I had grown up into, with the man I loved – kept dancing around in my head, mocking me, daring me to reach out and touch them. They were everything I wanted, yet everything that I couldn't have.

"I'm sorry," Ron muttered, rolling us over so that we were laying on our sides facing each other and wiping the thin trails of tears from my face with his thumbs. "I shouldn't have brought that up; I really am a git. Making you cry was the last thing I wanted."

I smiled sadly and leaned in his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment on their own accord, causing more tears to fall.

"It doesn't matter," I murmured as he comfortingly stroked my hair. "It's not your fault."

Then I looked up at him, and my heart missed a beat when I saw the shine in his eyes – something I had never seen before, for I had never seen him cry. Tears were dancing in his eyes, threatening to overflow; but he would have kept them in check, for he, unlike me, was strong enough to do so.

I felt a painful tug at my chest as I realized that, while he had the strength to go on, I didn't. He had never needed anything to keep him on his feet before I came into his life, and he would have managed it once I had stepped away from it forever, for he knew how to stand alone.

But I didn't.

I didn't, for my legs were wobbly, and his arms had been the only thing keeping me upright when my whole world, my whole life, had crumbled right under my feet. And the same was happening now – everything was turning into dust, and the only thing I could do was to hang onto him like a lifeline, hoping that I would have somehow been able to keep my head above the water once he was gone.

"Hold me tight, Ron," I whispered, snuggling close to him and burying my face in his chest to hide the fresh wave of tears that was making its way down my cheeks. "Please, just hold me tight."

His arms wrapped around me protectively, and he pulled me even closer, tucking my head under his chin and burying one hand in my hair.

It was only when I felt a warm drop on my head that I knew he was crying, too.

There was no need for more words, not in that moment.

I stirred, shutting my eyes tightly and trying to hide away from the light; I didn't want to wake up, just not yet – I was having a wonderful dream, and I wanted it to last as long as possible. I must have been still half-asleep, though, for the feeling of arms around my waist hadn't disappeared yet, and I could smell freshly mowed grass, clean laundry and faint summer rain on my pillow –

My eyes shot open, and I bolted upright, realization suddenly dawning on me.

It was morning. And we were still outside, sleeping on the blanket.

Heck, I was in trouble.

"Ron!" I whispered loudly, lightly shaking him by the shoulder to wake him up. "Ron, wake up! We've got to get back!"

For a moment he looked like he was just going to ignore me and carry on sleeping, but then he cracked his eyes open, sleepily shielding his face from the light with his hand as he sat up.

"Hey, what – " he began, but I didn't give him time to finish the sentence.

"We slept here all night!"

His hand flew up to his hair, and for a moment he looked utterly horrorstruck.

"Bloody hell, my mother's going to kill me!"

And then we both started laughing, for there was something so silly in that situation that we just couldn't help it – even though there was no apparent reason. We scrambled to our feet, trying to suppress the hysteric giggles, and I gathered the blanket up into my arms as I pointed at the back door, motioning for Ron to be silent. It was still early enough for my aunt to be still asleep – at least, I hoped so, and if we managed to sneak into the house unnoticed we might have pretended that Ron had simply crashed on the couch the previous night.

Unfortunately, my brilliant evil plan dissolved into ashes the moment we set foot over the threshold of the kitchen, for Aunt Elspeth was standing by the sink, with a cup of coffee in her hand and a look that was halfway between disapproval and amusement on her face.

How come I hadn't seen her from the window before I went in? I was sure the kitchen was empty when I pushed the door open…Yet it looked like she had been there the whole time, from well before we woke up. Knowing her, she probably had.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," she greeted us, her stern voice betrayed by the sparkle of hilarity in her eyes – she wasn't good at pretending anger, yet I had the decency of looking at least a little bit embarrassed.

"Morning, Aunt," I replied with a shy smile, laying the folded quilt onto the counter and sitting down in one of the mismatching chairs as I reached for one of the large chocolate chip cookies piled onto a large plate in the center of the table. They were still warm, and smelled heavenly of butter and chocolate – two things to which I couldn't resist.

"Morning, madam," Ron echoed with a shameless, adorable grin, ruffling his already messy hair as he sat down beside me, only his reddened ears betraying his embarrassment.

"I wouldn't be so carefree if I were you, my boy," Aunt Elspeth said, addressing Ron with a smirk as she sat down with us. "I don't think Molly will be very happy when she finds out that one of her children hasn't slept in his bed last night. But," she added, her amused, almost mischievous expression making her look much younger. "Though for all that I know, since you were really tired you slept on our couch, and the two of you have just come back from an early morning walk in the fields. Which is nothing I should worry about, ain't I right, Hermione dear?"

I nodded, even though I couldn't believe my ears – was she really going to lie to Mrs Weasley so that she wouldn't get angry at Ron for staying out all night?

She seemed to notice my surprise, and she gave me a look that spoke volumes. Do you really think I haven't been young too? her eyes seemed to ask. Then her expression softened, and she pushed the plate of biscuits slightly towards me, encouraging me to take one more.

"Eat your breakfast, child, and then go upstairs to check that everything is ready – I suppose that the courier boy is going to be here quite soon to get the boxes, and we probably need to get all your things downstairs before he comes."

I looked down, all thoughts of laughter gone from my mind in the blink of an eye. The boxes, the courier. Right.

My last day in England.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, pushing the plate back as I got up quite brusquely, the chair scratching noisily against the worn terracotta tiles of the floor. "I'd better go and wake Emma up – ask her if there's anything she still hasn't packed, so that I can help her."

I took the old quilt from the counter and held it tight, so tight that my knuckles turned white. It was slightly damp from the humidity of the night – I hadn't noticed before.

Without a second glance, I made my escape from the kitchen, forcing the air in and out of my lungs as I tried to keep my damn tear ducts in check: I didn't want to cry again, not there, in front of my aunt, in front of Ron – it would have only made things more difficult, for all of us.

I heard the footsteps behind me, and I guiltily quickened my pace, trying to run upstairs before he could reach me. All I wanted was just to run away, like the coward I was, and hide – in the closet, under the bed, anywhere – from everything, all the playful jokes and laughter of just minutes before completely gone.

His hand closed around my arm, always so gentle, and I stopped halfway up the stairs, my whole body shaking as I tried to find the courage to turn around and look him in the face.

The problem was, I couldn't find it. I couldn't bear to see the look I knew I would have found in his eyes, the sadness, the concern, the love…

"Hermione, please," he whispered, sounding so vulnerable I distinctly felt my heart breaking over and over again. "Don't shut me out. Don't do this."

I closed my eyes, my teeth sinking in my lower lip as I forced back the sob that was swelling in my throat, and I felt one single tear escape my shut eyelids, leaving a burning trail on my cheek.

I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want his voice to sound so pained, so…

So broken.

It took every single ounce of my strength to turn around and face him, and a moment later his arms were around me, and I was clinging to him with the same desperation a drowning man tries to hold onto a piece of wood with – like my life depended on it.

When I finally managed to look up at him, I knew that no matter what, I would have never been able to get over him. I would have never been able to just forget him and move on – and I didn't want to.

"I am sorry," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "I am so sorry, Ron…"

I stroked his cheek, feeling the familiar texture of his skin under my fingertips, and I kissed him, like I had already done a million times; that time, though, there was an edge of finality to it – it tasted like tears, loss, and goodbye.

And then, too soon, it was over.

"I love you," he murmured, his eyes boring into mine with such intensity they seemed to smolder like blue fire. "No matter what, Hermione Granger, I love you. And even if I had the power of changing the past, I would make the same choices all over again, for it's always been you, from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. I want you to know that."

"I love you, too," I whispered, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears as Ron wiped the tears away from my cheeks with the gentlest of touches. "And it doesn't matter how much it hurts now, I wouldn't change a single thing of the last nine months, either. Not for anything in the world."

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, and when we eventually let go of each other, I felt a hollowness inside that threatened to overwhelm me. If the pain was so excruciating now, when standing just inches away from him, how would have it felt the following day, when saying goodbye? Or the day after, when there would be hundreds of thousands of miles of water between us? Or after a week, or a month? How would have it felt, when memories would have eventually started to fade, first at the edges, and then more and more by the day?

I knew how it worked, for it had already started happening with my parents: the small things would have gone first – the way the sunlight played with his hair when we sat outside in the school grounds, the pattern of his freckles across his nose, the feeling of his hands, rough and gentle altogether, as he caressed my face. And then, slowly, the bigger, more important things would have drifted away, and I would have forgotten the sound of his laughter, the exact colour of his stormy eyes, his sweet smell of clean laundry and summer rain and freshly mowed grass. Would my love have faded away eventually, too – this love that now seemed unbreakable and everlasting to me – taken away by merciless Father Time?

The simple thought made me sick to the stomach. I had already lost so much – it wasn't fair that I had to give up on him, too, on my newly found family and friends. But there was business I had to take care of, and exams, and college, and Emma's school…

It all seemed of no importance to me now.

"I don't want to do this," I whispered, closing my eyes as a fresh wave of tears rolled down my face and dripped down onto the soft carpet that lined the stairs, leaving small, perfectly circular marks onto the light fabric.

I let them fall, along with the pieces of my broken heart.

Looking back at it, I can't remember much of the rest of the day. The courier boy came and went, taking all of our things, carefully packed in large cardboard boxes, away with him, and for the whole afternoon people kept knocking at our door for one last hug, one last goodbye word, one last recommendation. There were Emma's friends, and my friends, along with their families; I was dizzy, my head throbbing after crying so much, and the memories of those last hours are confused, as though seen through a thick fog. But I can remember the feeling of my friends' hugs, and of Mrs Weasley's, who was crying as though Emma and I were two of her own children – and I felt like I was losing my parents all over again as I slowly bid goodbye, letting a small piece of myself go with each of them that left.

By the time darkness eventually came, I felt empty – like the seashells I used to collect when my parents brought me to the seaside: perfectly intact on the outside, but inside hollow, uninhabited.

"Go upstairs and get into your pyjamas, honey," I told Emma, softly stroking her hair; she was curled up on the sofa with her head in my lap, exhausted after weeping for most of the day. "I'll come and tuck you in in a few minutes."

She nodded and, without a word, she stood and walked away, clutching her stuffed Eeyore like it was a lifeline. I wished I could hold onto something too, but now wasn't the moment: I had to be strong, for both of us, for I was supposed to be the adult, the responsible one, even though all I wanted was to hide somewhere and weep like a little child.

"I'll go and do the dishes," Aunt Elspeth said then, standing from her armchair and bending down to kiss me on the cheek. "Good night, honey. I'll see you in the morning."

She, too, looked pale and drawn, her dark eyes shining slightly with unshed tears; I knew that there was no washing-up to do, that it was only an excuse to hide away into the kitchen and give me a few last, precious minutes to say the most difficult goodbye of all, and I smiled at her gratefully, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment before she went.

We were both silent, me sitting on the sofa, Ron leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast, so still he looked like a statue.

It was him who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It just seems like there are so many things unsaid, doesn't it? So many things that we should have thought of earlier, no matter how stupid they are."

I sighed, wrapping my arms around my body as though to keep myself together as I stood and walked to him, slowly, carefully; my legs felt too weak now, just like they were when I first arrived.

"It always feels like this," I whispered, struggling to push my voice out, past my lips. "No matter how much time we have, when we have to say goodbye there are always more things we want to say, more things we want to do."

"I wish I had found the guts to ask you out sooner," he muttered with a small, sad smile. "We would have had more time, then. Weeks. Months, maybe."

"We can't live for the maybes, Ron. Not now that we can't change anything of what has happened."

He gently pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on my hair.

"You have always been the rational one," he said, his voice sounding constricted and muffled as he spoke. "But you know I'm not that good when it comes to reality. I'm not as strong as you are, I have never been. And tomorrow, watch you get on that plane –"

"I don't want you to," I said suddenly, interrupting him before he could finish the sentence, holding him as tight as I could as I hid my face in his shoulder. If he walked me to the gate, I would have never been able to leave him, I knew. That's why I was doing that, even though I knew it was going to hurt both of us.

A clean break.

I felt him exhale slowly, felt his arms tighten around me as his whole body seemed to freeze for a moment.

"You don't want me there," he said simply – it was not a question, but a statement, and his voice sounded so weak and…defeated that, for a moment, I almost changed my mind. But I couldn't. I knew that I couldn't.

I lifted my head to look at, my hands instinctively going up to caress his face as I saw the veil of tears shining in his eyes.

"If I see you at the airport tomorrow," I said slowly, carefully weighing each word before I spoke it, "I won't be able to get on that plane."

He was silent for a few moments, his face unmoving and his eyes closed, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed the only sign that he was alive, and as I felt his body shake ever so slightly against mine, I wished I could simply disappear inside him, fuse with him so that I wouldn't have to let go.

If only…

"So it is goodbye, then?"

His eyes, when he opened them again, were burning – with pain, loss, longing, and, most of all, love. In that moment, I knew that they mirrored mine perfectly.

There was nothing I could say in that moment that would have made things easier – more words would have only led to more tears, to more pain.

So I just kissed him, with all I had, holding him tight as I shook with silent sobs, for hat felt like an eternity; all that mattered was him, his arms around me, his hands caressing my face and hair, the soft, sweet words he was whispering in between kisses – the same I was whispering back to him.

I love you.

I'll miss you.

I love you.

Don't forget me.

I love you.

I'll write.

I love you.

I'll call.

I love you.

And, too soon, it was over; our kisses became slower, sweeter, and they tasted like the salt of the tears we were both shedding.

They tasted like goodbye.

Slowly, fighting against ourselves, we parted, and took a step away from each other, hands itching to reach out, arms longing for one last hug, lips begging for one last kiss.

We walked in silence to the hall, neither of us speaking as he opened the door and took a step forward to stand onto the stone steps outside; only then he turned around to face me, his eyes dark as the night sky during a storm as they moved over my face, as though trying to memorise my features now that they still could.

I stood on the threshold as his hands found mine one last time, as we stole one more kiss, and another, and another, each unable to let go of the other.

It was him who pulled away in the end, his hands gently cupping my face as he brushed my tears away with his thumbs.

"Don't cry," he whispered softly, though his own eyes were shining once again with tears. "Don't cry, my love, my beauty, my heart. You're going to be ok, I promise."

I shook my head, slowly, as I leaned into his touch, covering his hands with mine. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't.

"Yes, you will," he replied, his eyes boring into mine as he spoke. "You will, and you will do well, and you will be happy. I know you will."

And then his hands were gone, and he was walking away, leaving the pool of light of the doorsteps, crossing the yard and heading into the field, his figure becoming smaller and smaller until he disappeared in the darkness and I was left alone.

Alone.

I couldn't hold it anymore, and I slid to the ground, sobbing and hugging my legs as I rocked myself back and forth slowly, shaking in the cool breeze of the late August night.

It was Aunt Elspeth who found me like that a while later, still curled up by the open door. She helped me up and walked me upstairs, to my bedroom, and held me tight and soothed me until my eyes ran dry and my sobs subsided, until, exhausted, I fell into a restless sleep.

That night, I dreamed of all that could have been. In the morning I would have faced reality, but for that one last night, I let myself live a few last hours of happiness.

The following morning, Aunt Elspeth woke us up at dawn, and I went through the motions automatically, my mind blank as that of an automaton. I barely registered what I was doing as I washed my face and got dressed, as I took my suitcase and Emma's and carried them downstairs. There was a full breakfast laid out for us, but I didn't touch a bite of it, and would Emma hadn't I forced her to eat something before we went.

I gathered my last things – my jacket, my bag – and checked that Emma hadn't forgotten anything in her room; only then I allowed myself to say goodbye at the house – my home – that I would have missed so much.

It was time.

I helped Aunt Elspeth to load the suitcases in the small luggage van, and I climbed in the narrow backseat of the shiny black car with Emma, staring longingly out of the window as I tried to memorise every detail of the landscape, every insignificant bit of it all.

The engine started, and then we were moving, first leaving the house behind, then the fields of ripe wheat, and eventually the town, until nothing familiar was left on the long road to London.

I pressed my hand to the cool glass of the car window and leaned my head against it, letting my eyes linger on the villages and farms we passed on our way, losing track of time as the car continued its journey.

Eventually, we got to Heathrow Airport, and again it was as though someone had pressed the fast forward button: unloading the car, checking in, taking the tickets, it all passed in a blur.

Once we arrived at the gate, we stopped.

"Aunt…" I said softly, finding myself at a loss of words as I hugged Aunt Elspeth tightly, feeling at home in her motherly embrace. How could I tell her how much I loved her, how much I would have missed her? How can you put those feelings into words?

"It's ok, dear," she told me softly, smoothing my hair down and smiling a sweet, tearful smile. "You don't need to say anything to me. I already know."

I smiled through my tears, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Thank you," I said simply, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you so much – for everything."

She hugged Emma, too, and kissed her on the forehead with a hundred recommendations and gentle words, and she eventually sent us off, wiping her eyes with a flowered handkerchief as she waved.

And then, we were alone again, Emma and I, she clutching my hand in her small one and I trying to be strong enough not to break as we boarded the plane, like those nine months had been only a wonderful dream, like nothing had ever changed and we were still two scared orphans trying to brave the storm.

Now, the only thing I could do was pray to make it through.

Ok, I know, this was really sad - I cried my eyes out as I was writing this, really! :,( But the good thing is, the happy ending is just around the corner - just one more chapter to go! Plus, I think, an epilogue of pure fluffy happiness... :)

So, what did you think of the chapter? Hated it? Loved it? Pleasepleaseplease, let me know - I love your feedback and your reviews, they make me so happy! And remember, a happy writer writes more and faster... :D

I can't set a date for the next update, but I'll try to put the last chapter on before the end of the week, or by the next weekend at the latest, it depends on how much homework I will have. Until next time!

Jez