Chapter 54

The last time Ron remembered feeling this nervous was on his wedding day, back in March. He had the same twisted feeling in his stomach, his hands were slippery with sweat, and he felt as if he might be sick.

The space was cramped. His legs didn't quite fit in the small space. It was like the airplane didn't account for tall people to sit in their seats.

They hadn't even 'taken off' yet and he was already hating agreeing to this ridiculous method of transportation. Not only was he too big to sit in the seat, he couldn't shake the idea that his life (and that of Hermione's) was depending solely on pieces of metal put together by Muggles who couldn't perform any kind of magic to ensure its security.

He liked Muggles, and over the years, he'd come to appreciate them and the things they could do even more, but flying just seemed to be something beyond the capabilities of non-magic folk.

They should have gotten a Portkey.

Hermione, who had used up all her energy in laughing at his nerves, now reached out a hand and placed it comfortingly on his knee. There had just been an announcement that they would be moving in five minutes, which had caused the onset of nervousness from Ron. At least when they were stationary, they were still alive.

"It's okay," she said softly. "Remember, it's just a few hours."

Their flight, so he'd learnt upon checking in, was to France. Lyon, to be more precise. The moment they'd gotten on the plane, Hermione had torn open the envelope and began reading up about the city and listing off all the things they could potentially do when they got there.

Ron had barely listened, unable to think of anything other than if they got there. He still wasn't convinced.

"This… can stay up for that long?" he asked quietly.

"Longer. People fly all over the world."

Ron swallowed and looked down the aisle where the flight attendants were closing all the overhead lockers and ensuring that everyone had their seatbelts on. No one apart from him looked the slightest part worried — not even Hermione, who had all the pamphlets spread out before her.

"We're staying in a really nice hotel," she said after a moment, which Ron thought was an attempt to distract him from the impending flight. "Right by the river."

"Sounds nice," Ron said vaguely. "Tell me when we get there." If we get there.

There was an announcement from an invisible person who introduced themself as the captain. He told them the details about the flight, how long it would take them — just short of two hours — and the expected conditions.

To Ron's relief, it was supposed to be clear the whole trip. He knew what Quidditch was like in bad weather, so didn't want to think about what it would be like in something not fuelled by magic.

The flight attendants finished closing everything up and preparing the plane for take off. Ron watched with such intensity, taking note of everything they did, that Hermione had to tell him to stop.

"What if they miss something?" he hissed.

Hermione looked amused. "Are you going to correct them?"

Ron scowled but said nothing else. He sunk back into the chair and closed his eyes, only for them to be jolted open a moment later as he felt the plane begin to move. He leaned across Hermione to look out the window, but they were still on the ground.

"We're not up?" he asked, feeling rather relieved. Perhaps it was broken, perhaps it would be cancelled and they'd have to find an alternate route.

Hermione smiled, her look almost pitying him. She reached for his hand. "Not yet. We will. Soon."

Ron swallowed.

Damn.

He leant back against the seat and closed his eyes again, trying to get used to the repetitive bump of the plane against the road. He was okay while they were on the ground and he relished in that knowledge.

The plane did some turns, changing direction every so often, and then… and then it picked up speed, almost unexpectedly.

Rather than opening his eyes again, he squeezed them shut. He felt ridiculous, because he'd faced far worse things than this in his life, but he couldn't help but think they were going to crash. They were going to hit a wall, or land in the water, or something. He still had a lot of living left to do with Hermione — he didn't want this to be the last time they ever saw each other.

He felt Hermione squeeze his hand, which only made him more certain of the belief that this was the end for them. She was scared, he decided.

The plane increased speed and Ron braced for the impact, but… it never came. He felt himself be gently pushed back into his seat, and even he could recognise the feeling of getting into the air, even if it was different to being on a broom.

Hermione's hold on his hand tightened, but he realised now it was for his benefit, not hers. He dared open one eye. Hermione had her gaze to the window, not on him. Ron could see why. With every second they soared higher into the air, the houses and life below got smaller. This was higher than a broom could ever go.

Ever so slightly, he relaxed his grip on Hermione's hand, and she turned to look at him. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"These go pretty high, huh?" he said.

She smiled. "Higher than any broom."

"And you actually prefer this?"

"I don't have to do it. You know how I am with flying… it's nice to know there are other people out there with skills in such things. Plus, I get to enjoy a better view this way." She turned back to the window again and Ron withdrew his hand entirely. They were still going up, his only view being fields now, London long behind them.

He was comforted by the fact that they'd gotten this far without crashing. Maybe he really could enjoy this trip.

Feeling himself relax with every second they were in the air, Ron dared to look around again. Everyone was still seated, but no one else seemed the slightest bit worried and Ron decided that Muggles, once again, had defied his expectations.

"You know," he said, letting a smile form across his face, "when I told Dad, he almost asked to come with us. Can you imagine that? Some holiday that would be with Dad tagging along."

...

Their first three days in Lyon had been filled with sunshine and warm weather. By the time they would get back to London, the weather was forecasted to turn cold.

For any sensible people, they would have made the most of the sunshine, spent the days out and about, in parks, at cafes, seeing the sights. But for Ron and Hermione, they'd barely left their hotel room in that time.

The sun was shining, the days were warm, but they much preferred one another's company, curled up in bed beside each other, knowing that they could actually lay there all day and no one would worry.

Ron had joked that they could have done the exact same thing in the comfort of their house, but it was nice to wake up to a different landscape every once in a while.

And what a stunning landscape it was. Their room had a water view with a balcony that looked out right over the river that weaved its way through the city, and it was where Ron found Hermione when he woke up on the fourth morning. Sitting in an old, wooden chair, taking in the picturesque view they'd been blessed in receiving, she was wrapped in a dressing gown, hair tied up and a mug of steaming coffee resting in her hands. She looked at peace, which had been his goal in bringing her here.

Hearing him approach, she looked up and smiled.

"You're up early," he said, yawning. "What time is it?"

"A bit before seven," she replied softly.

He sat in the chair beside her, the table between them. The sun wasn't yet fully up, turning the sky purple in the early light.

Hermione returned her gaze back to the water without saying anymore. He watched her, and as they sat, he saw her expression change. He recognised it as something being on her mind. The only difference was, she seemed to have come to a resolution already and didn't need to talk it out with him. She just needed to say it out loud.

"Tell me," he said softly.

She smiled.

"You've been right," she said.

"That's something new," Ron chuckled. "What am I right about?"

"I'm not happy with what I'm doing… not really."

The corners of Ron's mouth curled up. He'd known that for a while now, looking at her from an outside perspective. She was finally seeing it for herself.

"I'm glad you can see it. What are you going to do about it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It's… well, what can I do?"

"Find something else. Something that makes you happier."

"What I'm doing does make me happy," Hermione reasoned.

"I said happier."

Hermione sighed. "It would be alright if it wasn't for the pressure… or the expectations everyone has for me —"

"You're brilliant and they're taking advantage of you," Ron said flatly.

She nodded. The first time she'd ever agreed to it.

"Maybe if you tell them where to put their expectations, it'll become better for you?" Ron suggested. "And you'll be happier doing your thing…"

Hermione gave a small laugh. "I can't do that."

"I'll do it then," Ron said. "You know I will."

She laughed again, turning to look at him with deep affection. "I know you would… I'll… I'll sort it out when we get back. I don't want to dwell on it while I'm here. But being at peace like this… it's just helped me make a clear decision."

Ron nodded. "Well, for what it's worth, you can do anything you set your mind to, and no matter what you do, know that I'll support it. Even if you decide to quit all together, stay at home, raise six kids… I'll support it."

The look Hermione gave him told him that that was never going to happen. He couldn't help but smile, because he knew that and had only said it because it was the furthest thing from what she would do.

He grinned. "Admittedly, that would be weird and take some time to get used to, but I'd support it if it made you happy."

Once again, Hermione looked out at the water. Ron heard her release a content sigh.

"So, getting away was a good idea, huh? Gave you time to think, get your head sorted. I'm glad. That was my goal. Has anyone ever told you, you work too hard?"

"Only you every day," Hermione said.

"You needed to hear it."

"I don't know what you mean by giving me time to think, though," she then said.

"Huh? You've been out here thinking for a good hour," Ron said.

She smiled mischievously, looking at him once more. "You haven't given me much time to think. Your time sitting here is the longest you've gone without your hands on me in three days."

Ron shrugged, not at all sorry for what had happened since they'd arrived here. He leaned back in the chair, smirking. "I haven't seen you complaining. I like you when you're all hot and bothered about something, but I also like you like this, too. Calm, collected, looking after yourself. I like you all the time, basically. Not my fault." He shrugged again.

Hermione placed the coffee on the table and drew her knees up to her chest and continued to sit on the chair. "Maybe we should actually leave the hotel room today… you know, put some clothes on and get out."

Ron grinned. "I like it better when you're not wearing any clothes." He reached across the table, hoping to take her hand, but he couldn't quite reach. Instead, he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling and tugging at the knots that had accumulated over three days — partly because of Ron, partly because that was just how her hair was.

"Maybe I shouldn't have even bothered packing," Hermione said absently, offering half a smile.

"Fine by me," Ron said. He slid his hand down from her hair and to her shoulder, slipping it inside the gown. "Hey, you're still not wearing anything!"

She laughed, and suddenly she seemed brighter than she had in months — less tired, less stressed. Just… Hermione.

Ron nodded his head towards the door, indicating they should go back inside. He was wearing clothes, but nothing appropriate for the cool morning.

Hermione obliged, allowing him to take her hand and pull her to her feet. Ron guided her around the table and wrapped his arms around her waist. She melted against him, sighing, content, about where they were.

He brought her inside, closing the balcony doors behind them. They were once again enclosed in four walls, and, as far as Ron could tell, they were both perfectly happy about that fact.

Slowly, methodically, he untied the dressing gown from her waist and allowed it to fall down her shoulders. She smiled up at him, stretching to kiss him. He brought his mouth closer to hers, breathing her in, tasting her lips, feeling every bit of love for her that he'd felt since he was sixteen.

The gown fell completely to the floor and he brought his hands to her face, kissing her deeply, because no matter how many times they'd been in this exact position, in this hotel room, he just couldn't get enough of her. And she seemed to return the sentiment.

This holiday had been to try and get her to relax, to see things more clearly, but it had worked for him, too. He was perfectly at peace here in this city, being with his wife, and he hadn't even set foot outside the room.

For those of you who missed the Instagram post or the message on my profile, posting day is now Wednesdays! I was finding it too tricky to make time to post on Saturdays so rather than missing weeks, I thought it better to find another day where I'd have more time. And that's Wednesday!

I hope you like this chapter! I'll see you all next Wednesday!