A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with this story. This will be the last chapter of the first part, so there will be a break after this. With HPRomione Discord Secret Santa on my plate as well as the holidays coming up, it might be a while before this story starts getting updated again, but I'll be back eventually - first three chapters of the next part are already written.

In the meantime, let me know what you think of this first part, and have a lovely holiday season!

There was no other way to put it; the night had been a disaster.

Ron sat on the edge of his bed in Grimmauld Place contemplating the evening. A small lamp on his desk cast long, strange shadows on the walls like dark fingers closing around him. He could still smell a faint hint of the ham and chicken casserole he'd made for dinner, a meal he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to eat again. It was suddenly tied to terrible memories of a relationship that was destined to fail before it even properly launched.

Many of Hermione's words still echoed through his head as he allowed the silence to envelop him. They hadn't exactly sounded like an ultimatum, but Ron knew that he had a choice to make and that he'd better do it quickly. Truthfully, he should've put more forethought into what would happen when she went back to school, should've been considering the ramifications all along instead of living in what in retrospect seemed like a dream world for the past several weeks. Once again, Hermione was proving that she'd outsmarted him, anticipating issues well before he had and proving that she'd always be one step ahead of him.

She always was, really, but it was different once they'd become involved in a relationship. Shouldn't relationships be a partnership of equals? It didn't seem like that would ever be the case with him and Hermione. She'd always be doing more, reaching higher, and excelling on a bigger stage while he…he could only try to keep up and do his best not to embarrass her.

Once his mind had tormented him enough, he padded across the room and turned out the light, returning to his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. He still had no idea what he was going to say to her the next day, of course. His mind was still a jumbled mess of thoughts, anxieties, and contradictions. And even though he knew it was happening and knew that life wasn't always so miserable, it seemed like he was powerless to stop himself from assuming the worst in every situation.

It took him almost an hour of tossing and turning before he was finally able to fall asleep, his brain racing the entire time. Perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise, then, that his dreams were full of equally dichotomous memories.

Flash.

Ron was sitting with Harry in their regular armchairs in the corner of the Common Room after Dumbledore's funeral. A chess board was half full of pieces as though the two of them were mid-game. Harry had just broken up with Ginny, but he looked strangely calm about the whole thing.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Ron asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, part of me is thrilled you're not snogging my sister anymore, but are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"No, not really. But it's the best I can come up with," Harry said, instructing a knight to capture one of Ron's pawns.

"But if you're not sure, then why do it? You're happy, she's happy…what's the problem?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, dropping his forehead into his hands. He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger for a moment before sitting up straight again. "I guess it's like…if you really care about someone, you have to realize when it's best for them not to be with you. Even if you need to force the matter."

"If you really care about them, why wouldn't you want them to be with you?" Ron asked, brow furrowed as he immediately offed Harry's knight with his bishop.

"Oh, plenty of reasons, although most of them are pretty depressing. There are times when you'd just be…I don't know, getting in the way of their life. Not allowing them to reach their full potential, yeah? Not only is it too dangerous for me and Ginny with Voldemort on the loose, but how is Ginny supposed to move on and enjoy things if she's always worried about me?"

"Hate to say it, mate," Ron replied with a shrug, "but she's going to worry about you either way."

"Maybe. But at least this way she stays a bit more out of harm's way and can try to have a better school year."

"A better school year? You're sure?"

"I just mean that she can live her life the way that she wants to, not the way she feels like she should because of me. I want her to do whatever she thinks is best for her future and not factor me in."

"Right. I guess."

Flash.

A cool, salty breeze came in through the second-story window of Shell Cottage as Ron sat beside Hermione's bed. The girl in front of him was frail, covered in dried blood, and barely able to keep her eyes open.

"R–Ron?"

"I'm here," he said, leaning forward and scooping her hand into his. "I'm right here."

"Ron? Ron! RON?!" Her body started thrashing in her semi-conscious state. Despite looking right at him, she was blind to his presence, trapped inside another nightmare, forced to relive her trauma over and over again.

"Hermione, it's me. It's Ron." Wasting no time, he crawled into the bed with her and embraced her, hugging her body close to his. "You're safe here, she can't get you anymore."

"Ron! R…Ron…R–" Voice dying to a whisper, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, relief washing over her facial features as she became aware of her surroundings.

"You're okay. I'm here," he continued, brushing a stray lock from her face.

"Ron? It's you?"

"It's me, Hermione. It's Ron. You're safe; I won't let her get to you. I'll never let her get to you. I'll never let anyone get to you."

"Ron," she sighed, melting into him.

"I'll protect you…I'll always protect you."

Flash.

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter! Over here, Mr Potter!"

A throng of reporters started following the three of them as soon as they emerged from the castle onto the grounds. What was supposed to be a quick trip down to see Hagrid had turned into a chance for virtually all of the magical press to interrogate the so-called 'Golden Trio'. Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried to dodge them as they walked down the familiar well-worn path to Hagrid's house, but it was virtually impossible to do so without tripping over a photographer or journalist.

"Mr Potter, what can you tell us about the final battle?"

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter! Can you confirm that one Remus Lupin, a former Hogwarts professor, died in the struggle?"

"Mr Potter! Is there any truth to the rumor that You Know Who faked his death and is still alive somewhere, waiting for the right moment to strike?"

It wasn't a surprise to Ron that his friend pushed through the group and took off at a dead sprint toward Hagrid's, leaving him and Hermione alone with dozens of reporters.

"Ms Granger, are you planning to return to Hogwarts for school next year?"

"Mr Weasley, how about you? And what do you have to say about the speculation that you'll be starting with the Aurors soon?"

"Ms Granger, Kingsley Shacklebolt was overheard saying you would likely be the one to take his job someday. Care to comment?"

"Mr Weasley, what is it like to stand next to a living legend in Harry Potter?"

"Ms Granger, are you still keeping in touch with Viktor Krum? We've heard that the two of you were seen together at a wedding last summer."

"Mr Weasley, what's next for you? School? Work? Ministry? Do you think you'll be offered a job without having sat your NEWTs?"

Grabbing Hermione's hand, Ron pulled her through the sea of people, taking off after Harry as fast as he could. No more questions. No more speculation. No more. Please, no more.

Flash.

The sun was setting over the ridge, tucking behind the apple orchard that would be Fred's final resting place. Ron sat in the seat that his mother had conjured earlier in the day, vaguely aware of the family, friends, and well-wishers surrounding him. A short man in ceremonial dress stood at the front of the assembly, his words lost to the wind as far as Ron was concerned. Life would never be the same either way; and besides, who was this person to tell him about Fred?

Sitting next to him, her arms permanently intertwined with his, was Hermione. She was wearing an understated black dress and rubbing his arm in what he knew would have normally been a comforting pattern. But it was as though his nerves had stopped responding, had stopped sending signals to his brain to interpret the pleasure. Pleasure was a sensation that seemed so remote as to be impossible.

Regardless of the physical and emotional numbness encapsulating his body, however, he still appreciated that she stayed with him. Throughout the last several days, the most difficult and trying of his life, she'd stayed with him, soothing his anguish when it was possible and patiently waiting for it to pass on its own when it wasn't. In the back of his mind, he knew how lucky he was to have someone like her to do that for him. Still, it seemed impossible to appreciate given the circumstances.

At some point, the man stopped talking, and everyone started to disperse. Ron remained in his seat as if he were rooted to the spot. He watched as the sun continued to disappear, shrinking to a sliver above the horizon. At some point, Harry stood up, clapping him on the shoulder before walking off to join the rest of the Weasleys in the garden. Ron knew he should probably join them, but even standing up and walking across the grounds seemed like a monumental task.

"Can I stay with you?" Hermione asked, still clinging to him.

His voice failed him, but he nodded, and she lay her cheek down on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she continued. "We can stay as long as you like. I'm not going anywhere."

Flash.

"Ron, hand me a Phillips-head screwdriver, please," Mr Granger said.

"Ron, don't worry, it's just the telephone!" Mrs Granger implored.

Mr Granger held up his hands in reassurance. "Yes, Ron, the television always has moving pictures like that. I hear it's like your wizard newspaper!"

"I love your outfit," Mrs Granger said, staring him up and down. "It's so unique!"

"Oh, don't mind him," Mr Granger said calmly. "That's just the postman. Much more hygienic than those owls of yours."

Mrs Granger laughed. "It may not be as good as a magic spell, but the microwave still does a lovely job of heating things up quickly. All you have to do is press this button!"

"Ron," Hermione said, finally pulling him aside. "It's alright. They know that these things aren't as familiar to you."

"But what about you, Hermione?" he asked. "You can't possibly tell me it's alright with you that I don't understand how to live a Muggle life, can you?"

"Well." Her facial expression and her tone gave her discomfort away instantly. "You can learn. And besides, we're wizards. I don't intend to go back to Muggle life completely."

"Completely?"

"I mean, there will always be some things."

"...Right."

"But don't worry, I'll help you!"

"Oh. Thanks."

Flash.

Her cheeks lit up rosy pink as the morning glow reflected off of her face. Caramel brown eyes glistened, their corners crinkling as her dazzling smile lit up the entire world. A breeze passed by and her nose crinkled, identifying the pleasing aroma of the honeysuckles his mother planted every spring. Ron sat in the garden and marveled at her, smiling back as she walked toward him. How had he gotten so lucky?

When she reached his position, she held out her hands, inviting him to join her. He wasted no time, grabbing hold, pulling himself upright, and immediately wrapping her in a big hug. She giggled, arms snaking around his side and up his back before locking into place behind his neck. Their eyes met and he leaned forward, his lips crashing into hers with all of the fervor of seven years of pent-up adoration and infatuation. Stolen summer moments were becoming more commonplace since the end of the war, but as far as Ron was concerned, he would never tire of them.

They pulled back from each other, her smoldering gaze still fixed on him. "What was that for?"

"I dunno…you just looked so beautiful."

"Ron, I just woke up ten minutes ago, I still feel gross–"

"You're beautiful. Inside and out."

Flash.

The dream faded as Ron's eyes peeled open, the dim grey light filtering in through the edges of the window an indication that he'd slept straight through until morning. It must have been over twelve hours since he'd fallen asleep the previous evening, but he still didn't feel very refreshed. Dragging himself out of bed, his mind was foggy with fatigue, unable to adequately make sense of the visions that had plagued him throughout the night.

Why was it even so hard to figure out what to tell Hermione? He cared about her more than anyone else in the world; he knew it and she knew it. And she felt the same way about him. He knew he'd never find anyone better than her, and she'd likely make him happy for the rest of his life.

And yet, the doubts persisted. Every other thought going through his head reminded him that he was never going to be good enough for her, that he would hold her back and keep her from flying as high as she could. She possessed a mastery of both the Muggle and wizard world while he could barely manage to keep up in one. If he truly cared about her and wanted what was best for her, wouldn't it be smartest to let her go? To let her reach her potential on her own without him anchoring her to his mediocrity?

He'd promised her that they could get together later that afternoon, but it seemed pointless to arrange a meeting when he had no idea what he was going to say. Then again, he may never feel like he was completely prepared for the impending conversation, so maybe it was smartest to simply wing it, say what he felt in the moment, and figure out the rest later.

Wandering downstairs, he found Harry sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and munching on a scone.

"Morning," he called to his friend, who looked up from the Daily Prophet and gave a half-hearted wave.

"Morning."

"Surprised you're not already over at the Burrow. Ginny's last day at home today."

"I could say the same about you and Hermione."

Ron waved off his friend. "I'll get there."

As Ron took a seat across the table, he poured himself a cup of tea and used his wand to open the refrigerator and summon the leftovers from the night before. Neither he nor Hermione had eaten too much of the ham and chicken casserole, and there was no point letting it go to waste. He dug in, eating straight out of the bakeware, his eyes glued to the table in front of him.

"Is everything alright? I didn't see you after Ginny and I got back from our date last night."

"Yeah, it's fine. Had already gone to bed."

"Okay. Oh. Oh. Wait, Hermione didn't…she's not here, is she?"

"What?" Ron looked up at Harry with an incredulous look on his face. "Course she's not here!"

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head. "I didn't think so. But she was here earlier, wasn't she? Weren't you cooking for her?"

"Yep."

"And?"

Ron dropped his fork with a clatter onto the table, prompting Harry to push back from the table a bit. "And what?"

"Wow, sorry. Sore subject, I guess."

The thought of reliving the events of the previous evening made Ron even more anxious than he already was. Hermione had left as soon as dinner was over, and he'd barely tried to stop her. What kind of boyfriend would do something like that?

Still, it wasn't Harry's fault that things had gone so poorly. Ron picked up his fork and sighed, running a hand through his messy bedhead. "Sorry, mate. Just kind of a rough night."

"Sorry to hear that."

The pair of them sat in silence again, each eating their breakfasts and allowing the other space. When Harry finished, he picked up his cup and plate and carried them to the sink before returning to the table and sitting back down. "Wanna talk about it?"

Ron shrugged. "Not much to talk about. Just wasn't a great night."

"Did you guys get in a fight?"

"No, not really. She just wanted to talk about what's going to happen once she and Ginny leave for Hogwarts."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Erm, and what did you decide?"

"Nothing, really. Told her I'd think about it."

"Hmm." His friend was staring at him as though he were appraising a piece of fine art. "Yeah, that's a rough night, alright. Let me ask you, though, and maybe I'm off track on this, but is there really much to think about?"

Thinking for a bit, Ron experienced a moment of clarity, realizing how silly he'd been to doubt their relationship. Hermione was the best thing that ever happened to him, so why would he ever want to give her the impression that he didn't want to be with her? She was smart, beautiful, and for some reason, she seemed to like him. Why would he ever think breaking up with her was the right thing to do?

Because she's too good for you. She's always been too good for you. She's probably just been patronizing you all this time. You're no hero, just a coward who ran away when things got hard. And you're not going anywhere in the future either. Just let her go, let her succeed without getting in her way.

He groaned, scratching the back of his neck and shaking his head. "I wish there wasn't."

Harry quirked an eyebrow in his direction, setting the newspaper aside and leaning forward, propping his elbows on the table. "You've been in love with her for years. Don't bother denying it; I was there the whole time. I saw it with my own two eyes."

"Yeah, well, that was before."

"Before what? Did she do something to you?"

"No, she didn't do anything."

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

"Not really, but–"

"Did she say anything that made you question whether she cared about you as well?"

That was an interesting sticking point. Technically, Hermione had never said anything to him that made him doubt her intentions. But the second she'd brought up the idea of breaking up and simply seeing what happened in the future, his brain started to assume she'd only presented it as an option because it was what she preferred. The rational part of him knew that probably wasn't the case, but the thought of telling Hermione he wanted to stay together when she truly wanted to separate was paralyzing.

"She didn't exactly, but…" he said, purposefully trailing off.

Of course, Harry was having none of his obfuscation. "But what? Ron, what could she have possibly said?"

"She said that some couples break up instead of trying long-distance and just see if they wind up together in the future. Leave it up to fate to decide or some bloody rubbish."

"She said that?"

"Mmhmm."

Harry's grimace only lasted a second, but it was enough for Ron to latch onto. Did his friend know something he didn't? Had Hermione confided in him because Ron was too busy wallowing in his own problems?

"Look, mate, I'm sure that's not what she wants, though. I mean, sure, some do, but I'd be surprised if she felt that was about you and her."

"I dunno," Ron replied, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. He wasn't sure why, though; it barely tasted like anything all of a sudden. "Maybe it's time I stop pretending."

"Pretending what?" Harry implored him, expression shifting to one of concern. "Ron, what's gotten into you lately?"

"Nothing."

"Bollocks, nothing! You've been off for a while now, and I'm starting to wonder if you're clinically depressed or something!"

"I told you, I'm fine," Ron growled.

Harry sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it with me, that's fine. I'm not going to make you. But you need to talk with Hermione. She's crazy about you, Ron. It's as obvious as the fact that you're crazy about her. I don't know what happened to sour your mood recently, but if I were you, I'd try my best to snap out of it in the next twenty-four hours, because they're leaving, and it might be a while before you have the chance to sort things out."

It was absolutely the right advice. Ron knew that he had to do something. What to do, however, still eluded him, and his mind insisted on continuing to torture him with conflicting information and evidence. The right answer never seemed so far away.

"I know. I will," he murmured.

"Good," Harry said, standing up from the table. "I'm going to head over to the Burrow in an hour or so. Want to come with? Ginny said Hermione was coming for lunch."

"Yeah, fine. I'll be ready."

"Okay. And Ron?"

"What?"

"She really does care about you. I know she does."

With that, his bespectacled friend left the room, climbing the stairs back to his bedroom to get ready. Ron was left alone with the empty casserole dish in front of him, somehow having eaten all of it over the past several minutes. As he tried to make sense of his confusing situation, he pushed back from the table, dropped his elbows onto the surface, and buried his head in his hands, hoping he'd figure something out soon.

Returning to his family home was usually a joyous occasion for Ron. The smells of freshly baked pies and biscuits, the beautiful surrounding grounds rich with childhood memories, the happy chaos that surrounded the place when a houseful of people were there. And yet, knowing the conversation that he had ahead of him, he would have rather been anywhere else. When his feet finally hit the ground inside the Burrow's fireplace, he'd never been so nervous reentering his parent's house.

The rest of the morning had been pure torture, going over things time and time again in his mind. Just when he thought he'd figured it out, another factor popped up in his mind and made him question everything all over again. It was an infuriating cycle, and it left him no closer to knowing what to say to Hermione when they finally had a chance to talk.

Fortunately for him, lunch was already prepared by the time they arrived, so everyone sat down to eat as soon as he and Harry showed up. Hermione had arrived earlier and had spent half an hour making last-minute preparations with Ginny. When the girls came down the stairs, Hermione gave Ron a quick kiss on the cheek and sat down next to him, clearly avoiding his gaze on purpose.

That can't be a good sign.

George had come for lunch too, and both of Ron's parents were there for a change, everyone discussing the upcoming school year with excitement. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been instrumental in helping with the rebuilding of the castle, and they were eagerly telling Hermione and Ginny about some of the upgrades the team of helpers had been able to add while they were fixing things up. By the sounds of it, Hogwarts was good as new and ready to welcome back students with fresh enthusiasm. Even for Ron, it was nice knowing the place that had been his home for so long was returning to its former glory, the previous troubled year hopefully only a blip on the long timeline of the prestigious school.

As soon as lunch ended, however, the doxies started swarming around Ron's stomach again. People slowly filtered out of the kitchen until he was left alone with Hermione, Harry, and Ginny.

"Well," Ginny said, "Mom agreed to let me Side-Along with Harry to Diagon Alley for a little last-minute shopping. Anything else you need, Hermione?"

The older girl shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you, though. Besides, I promised my parents I'd be back in time to help them make one last family dinner, so I can only stay for a bit longer."

Everyone at the table instantly grasped her meaning as Harry and Ginny pushed back from the table, tactfully excusing themselves to give her and Ron some space.

"Well, I'll see you over the holidays, then?" Harry asked Hermione, stepping around the table and wrapping his friend in a hug.

"Of course. Hopefully sooner; I'm sure you'd always be welcome to stop by."

"We'll see. Don't forget to write, though, yeah?"

"I won't. Good luck with your training."

"Thanks. Ron, see you at home."

Ginny offered one last wave as well. "Meet you on the train tomorrow!"

The pair of them slipped on their trainers, stepped out the back door, and within seconds, they evaporated into thin air.

Standing in the middle of the suddenly silent kitchen, Hermione turned to Ron. "Hi," she offered, chewing on her bottom lip.

He leaned forward, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Hi."

"Care to take a walk with me?" Her eyebrows lifted expectantly as she glanced toward the door.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Together they snuck outside and through the garden, ambling down the familiar dusty trail that headed toward the pond before they knew it. Somewhere along the way, Hermione's fingers had brushed up against his own, and he captured her hand, lacing their fingers together in a tight embrace. She smiled at him, bumping her shoulder into his with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry," she finally said just as the scent of algae started to hit Ron's nostrils. "I feel like we left off in a bad place last night, and I feel like it was my fault."

Ron's face screwed up in confusion. "Not your fault."

"No, it was," she reasserted. "I shouldn't have given you an ultimatum like that. I shouldn't have put so much pressure on our relationship. It wasn't fair to either of us."

"I don't know," he responded with a shrug. "And either way, you were probably right about one thing. It seems like we should be able to decide something."

"But if that makes you uncomfortable, then it's not right for us. I got so worried about what most couples do that I didn't stop and think about how we don't have to be like other couples if we don't want to. We can just…wing it."

"Hermione," Ron stated flatly, "do you really think that's something you'd be okay with?"

Her eyes glazed over and her head tilted to the side, a sure sign that she was trying to rationalize something she didn't believe in. Ron had seen the look countless times in the past, usually when she was bucking up the courage to challenge another of his or Harry's harebrained plans. It was all the confirmation he needed to know for certain that she would never be satisfied with a half-measure when it came to their relationship status.

"Yes, I think I would."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I would, I swear."

"Hermione. I know you better than that."

She let out a long exhale, raising her arms and dropping them to the side. "Well of course it wouldn't be my preference–"

"Exactly."

"–But that doesn't mean I'm completely inflexible!"

"Alright, so what were you thinking, then? What's your plan?"

"My plan is to be your girlfriend!" she exclaimed. "Even when it's hard! Even when I've had a long day and the last thing I feel like doing is more writing, I'll still write to you. I'll write every day if you like."

Shuffling down toward the lake, he took a seat underneath the giant oak tree along the bank, leaning back against the rough bark. The shade was refreshing, shielding him from the midafternoon heat, and the tiny gusts of breeze helped as well. "I appreciate that, but I wonder if it might get a little boring after a while."

Hermione sat down cross-legged across from him on the grass, picking a blade or two as she settled. "You think writing to me is boring?"

"No, no, I didn't say that! I just mean that after a while, how much more is there to say? I mean, do you really want daily letters about practicing shield charms and eating mincemeat pies?"

"If they're from you, of course," she replied, still staring at the ground.

An invisible knife plunged into Ron's chest. It didn't make any sense to him that she would want something like that, something so objectively mundane. But the fact that hearing about his mundane life would be enough to cheer her up was strangely nerve-racking. It should've been flattering, but instead, he found himself even more worried that for yet another reason, he couldn't replicate her feelings. In yet another way, he couldn't measure up.

"Besides," she continued, "writing to each other doesn't mean we'd never see each other. I'm sure Professor McGonagall would allow you to visit from time to time. And we could meet up in Hogsmeade any weekend I'll be there. I'd bet you could come to Quidditch matches as well; I'll surely be there to support Ginny."

"You're sure you'll be willing to take all that time away from the library? NEWTs are bound to be difficult; I'm sure you'll be studying all the time."

Hermione reached forward and picked up his hands. "I'll figure it out if it means more time with you."

"But see, that makes me feel as though I'm pulling you away from what you'd really prefer to be doing," he said. The last thing he wanted was to spend time with her when her mind was on her work instead of him. That would be no way to maintain a relationship.

"Ron," she started, glancing off into the distance and stiffening her lip. "I'd love to be with you. I'd love to go back to Hogwarts with you!"

Not again. She couldn't possibly think that bringing up seventh year yet again would be helpful. It was painfully obvious that she didn't think he was academically talented, but she didn't have to try to drag him back to school when she knew he couldn't care less about finishing his education.

"Hermione, please don't start with that again."

"I won't. I know how you feel, but I need you to know that–that I'd like to be spending all of my time with you. And of course, since I'll be at school, I'd love it if you came too. But," she said, holding up a hand as she sensed his rebuttal. "But I know that's not what you want. I understand why you're not interested, and even though I so wish–"

"No, you don't, and you shouldn't. I'd just drag you down like always!" Didn't she remember how frustrating it was working with him in the library day after day, always having to help him catch up on his homework?

"That's not true!"

"Of course it's true! Most of the time we were at school, you were annoyed with me! You were excelling at everything and I was your…remedial pupil or something."

A brief pause stretched on, and Hermione kept looking at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. How could she not understand, though? She was there, wasn't she?

"Do…do you really think that poorly of yourself?" she squeaked.

"Just being realistic."

She inched closer to him, her eyes pleading with him to listen. "Sod school! Sod marks! You helped us win the war! That means more than any mark ever will!"

"I ran away from the war when it got hard."

"But you came back! Let's not get into that again, Ron; you know we've all forgiven you. And everything you've accomplished since then…people all over the country look at you and see a hero! Why is it that you look at yourself and see nothing but a problem? A misfit?"

"I just see…Ron. Plain, normal Ron."

"Well, that's not what I see. I see a hero like the rest of them because I know how much you sacrificed for the good of witches and wizards everywhere. I see someone who puts in the effort when it really matters. And besides all of that, I see the man that I've been falling in love with for years!"

Surely she was exaggerating. While it was nice to hear her say how long she'd cared about him, it couldn't possibly be true. He knew for a fact that she hated him for a good portion of sixth year when he was with Lavender. Maybe she'd come to think more fondly of him since, but throughout their entire year on the run, he was the only warm body around besides Harry, who was basically taken. It was the situation and the proximity that led to her feelings for him, nothing more.

Besides, he knew the truth. During the Horcrux hunt, he slowed Harry and Hermione down far more than he helped. The war was won because of her intellect and his bravery. Just because he was there doesn't mean he really contributed. As always, he was the imposter of the bunch, just along for the ride, grabbing at glory by association.

"Now I know you're lying to me."

For a moment, she sat staring at him before relinquishing her grip on him and standing up, stepping down to the edge of the lake. She stared out over the glassy surface, rippling gently with the light breeze. Something about it was deeply unsettling to Ron, prompting him to follow her down to the shore. When he finally caught a glimpse of her eyes, they were bloodshot and wet, tears threatening to break free and spill down her face.

"Ron," she started, her voice trembling. "I'm starting to think that you don't want this anymore. I hope I'm wrong, but I–I have to wonder."

Oh no. What have I done? I was just trying to…ugh, why do I have to ruin everything?

"No, Hermione, it's not that," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She shook it off with a huff, a sob breaking through as well. "Then what, Ron? What do I have to do to convince you that I want this? That I want you…"

"I want this too, Hermione. I just…we've never done anything like this before. I wish I could say it sounds simple and foolproof, but the more we talk about it, the more difficult it seems like it would be."

"But aren't some hard things worth doing? Aren't I worth doing hard things for, Ron?"

"Of course you are, but–"

"Even if they're mundane or frustrating and they never feel like enough?"

"Right, even then, which is why–"

"Isn't our relationship, one which I hoped would be fairly permanent, a good reason to put forth the effort?

"It is, if you'd just let me–"

"Then do it, Ron!" she yelled, rounding on him and closing the distance between them in a hurry before wrapping him in a tight hug. Her sobs echoed around the clearing, and her tears soaked into the fabric of his t-shirt, wetting the shoulder as she cried. "I th–thought…I thought we were past this! Things have been so much better since I g–got back from Australia; you've been yourself again! I don't understand what's happening, why you're suddenly saying these horrible things about yourself…about us!"

"I'm not saying anything that isn't true, Hermione. Why can't you see that?"

She released him, stepping backward and turning away from him, her cheeks wet with the tears that kept coming. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! It's like you can't trust me when I say that I'm happy with you, but I am! I've chosen you! Things make sense with you, they're easy with you."

Easy? Was that the only reason she was with him? Because it was easy?!

Something snapped, and it was as though all of the fog had lifted and his vision was suddenly crystal clear. She had never agreed to be his girlfriend because she respected him or loved him; it was just the simplest thing to do. Real boyfriends and relationships were too difficult, so why not just grab the dumb, lovestruck puppy who had a tendency to tag along after her? He was too stupid to figure out the ruse anyway, so might as well string him along for the rest of his life. That way, she'd always have someone to hold her bag and smile next to her while she conducted interviews with the Prophet or attended official Ministry functions.

And if that was all he meant to her…if that was the only reason he was there, then what was the point?

"So our relationship is only 'fairly permanent' because it's easy? Because it's the convenient thing to do?"

"Ron, what do you mean? I simply meant that everything feels…natural! Not that–"

"I know what you mean, Hermione. You've made it more than clear what you mean. And I'm sorry, but now I have to wonder if–if convenience is a good enough reason to carry on, especially when we're six hours apart."

"You don't mean that!" she cried, face screwed up in anguish.

"Don't I? I really wanted to make things work, Hermione…but not like this!"

"You did? Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Then make them work, Ron!" she begged, grabbing the front of his shirt tightly in her fists. "Stop complaining about how difficult it is to be with me and just…be with me!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't want me to!"

"You…You're missing the point entirely! You're twisting my words and…and it's like you're still wearing the Horcrux!"

"Maybe the Horcrux was the only thing that helped me see clearly."

Hermione's face gradually shifted from despair to anger, her eyes narrowing and her lips setting in a thin line. She released him and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest, giving a faint sniff, and wiping away the last of her tears. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this isn't you. Now, I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong idea about…something, but that's no excuse for the things you're saying to me, for treating me this way. For treating yourself this way, for that matter."

"Don't worry about me, Hermione. I'll be fine."

"You won't. But I hope Harry's willing to deal with it, because I'm certainly not. Not anymore."

"You're going to get back to school and forget all about me, just watch."

With a shake of her head, she scoffed, one more tear tumbling down her cheek. "I wish I could."

"Won't be as hard as you think. I reckon blokes'll be lining up. After all, you're a war hero now, too."

"Just…just leave me alone," she said, her voice almost a whisper. Her shoulders slumped as she collapsed to the ground, landing on her knees and burying her face in her hands. "Just go."

Finally, some honesty. She'd probably been waiting months to say that, and he didn't give her the chance to change her mind. Whipping out his wand, he spun on his heel, landing a few moments later in the front room of Grimmauld Place. The house hadn't changed at all since he'd left a couple hours prior, but it felt much darker than he remembered. Dust was floating in the air, and the cold, worn wood of the bannister passed under his fingertips as he climbed the stairs. All of the lights were off in the upstairs hallway, so even though it was a beautiful sunny day outside, the rest of the walk to his room was dim.

He twisted the knob and entered, closing the door silently behind him. A draft was creeping in through the old window frame, sending an odd chill through his body. Walking over to his desk, his eyes landed on the framed picture sitting next to his open textbook. It was Hermione, beaming at him before kissing his cheek and turning back to the camera. She looked radiant, and the longer he stared at the picture, the deeper the pain bored through his insides.

What did I just do?

His hand started to shake, and he grabbed onto the back of his desk chair to steady himself. Making his way to the bed proved difficult as his legs wouldn't move the way they normally did, locking up with every step he took. When he finally made it, he crashed down onto the mattress, his head hanging off of one side. He was still clutching the wooden frame; Hermione's eyes and the ghost of her smile followed him wherever he looked. The frame dropped out of his hands, landing face down, the glass shattering over his wooden floor.

Pulling himself all the way onto the bed, he reached down and grasped his legs, pulling them up to his chest. Images of the last few months began to play through his mind, taunting him over and over again with memories of the good times he'd shared with the woman he thought he cared about more than anyone in the world. The woman he'd just left behind. The woman he'd told he didn't want anymore.

The back of his throat constricted, and his eyes started to sting with tears. His head was pounding, almost as though his conscience was sitting in the back of his skull and flogging him with a hammer repeatedly for his foolish, impulsive, and ill-timed outburst. To make matters worse, he knew he deserved it. Something told him that he'd just made the worst decision of his life; that the world as he knew it had come to an end.