Thanks to everyone following along with this story - I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Let's see what happens when they see each other for the first time in months!

Inside the party, people were rubbing elbows with celebrities, snacking on hand-passed appetizers, and drinking from automatically refilling flutes of champagne and butterbeer. Celestina Warbeck's gentle crooning set a mellow mood, and regular peals of laughter and overexaggerated stories pierced the air. Despite the normally drab academic setting, the room had received innumerable flourishes, looking positively elegant with shimmering candles, luxurious draperies, and decorative art everywhere. It was the epitome of class, and students, professors, and guests alike were taking advantage of the opportunity to mingle.

Just outside the party, however, the air was thick with tension, and an uncomfortable silence enveloped the doorway. Nobody knew what might happen as Ron continued to stare at the girl he hadn't stopped thinking about for a day since they'd parted. His palms started sweating, and his face felt like it was on fire. There was both nothing to say and everything to say, and his brain turned instantly to mush, rendering him temporarily mute. It wasn't lost on him that she'd never written back after he'd sent her a letter a couple months prior, which if anything made things easier. At least that way he didn't have to confront the truth.

However, the truth was suddenly standing right in front of him, entirely unavoidable, and wearing the same dress she'd worn the last time they'd danced together. And just like a year prior, she looked gorgeous. Why did she always have to look so gorgeous?

"Hello, Ron," Terry said, mercifully breaking through the quiet. "All's well, I trust? I hear you're in Auror training; must be fascinating."

It took longer than it should have for Ron to break the connection with Hermione before turning to Terry and reaching for his outstretched hand. "Oh, yeah, hey mate. Yeah, it's fine. H–How are you? How's school?"

"School's been lovely, a far better sight than last year. Can't keep up with this one, but who can, really?" Terry said, tilting his head toward Hermione and shooting Ron the kind of smile that made him want to punch the boy in the face.

Instead, though, he chuckled. "Yeah, course."

Again, the five of them stood around quietly, stepping aside to let another couple into the party. It was clear that something needed to happen but equally clear that none of them knew what that thing was that would diffuse the tension.

"Erm," Ginny started, fidgeting with her sequined bag, "what are you doing here?"

Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Gin."

"No, I–sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just…didn't know you were coming."

"Oh," he responded with a shrug. "Yeah, Slughorn invited me a couple weeks ago. Guess I'm famous enough now or something like that."

"I see." Ginny turned to Harry and continued, her tone laced with quiet fury. "And you didn't…mention anything?"

Harry's eyes widened as though he'd been struck with an epiphany. "I, uhh, didn't think it was…"

"...What, exactly?"

"Erm, important."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I see."

Ron was starting to wonder if it might be best for him to leave. For her part, Hermione was staring at the floor, shuffling her feet, and clearly wishing she had her wand with her so she could simply apparate away. Four out of the five people in the area were mortified, each realizing the clumsiness of the situation.

The fifth, however, did his best to keep the conversation flowing, completely oblivious to the hushed drama playing out around him. "Good to see you too, Harry!" Terry offered. "You know, I still keep my old D.A. coin in my trunk just in case."

"Oh," Harry said with a snicker. "That's great, Terry."

"Although I suspect we're rather in the clear now, aren't we?"

"Well, that's the hope."

"Good times, those were," Terry said. "You were quite the teacher."

"Thanks. Glad–Glad it was helpful."

"Still have your coin, Ginny?"

The redheaded girl furrowed her brow. "Erm, I think so. Maybe back at home?"

"Very cool."

Merlin's Beard, will this ever end?

A loud roar went up from inside the party, and the five of them looked inside briefly before turning back to each other, everyone nodding their heads with no purpose. The half-eaten sausage roll was dripping grease onto the floor next to Ron's foot, splashing up onto his shoes. Still, he didn't move, unsure what he could possibly do to make things easier for Hermione.

The end of the summer had probably been the lowest time in his entire life. Training started out abysmally; he quickly found he could barely focus on the lessons. Everyone expected him and Harry to come in and immediately be top of the class based on their experiences, and while Harry mostly proved them right, it quickly became evident that Ron wasn't keeping up. Whenever he tried to study, he ended up rereading the same passage in the book or letting his mind wander. And it usually wandered to thoughts of Hermione.

All of the feelings he'd been experiencing around the time she left were toxic; he knew that now. Insecurities that had plagued him his entire life had reared their ugly head at the exact wrong time, sapping him of his courage and resolve when he needed it most. And the temporary fixation on his inability to understand the Muggle aspects of her life seemed so insignificant in retrospect. If he needed to know something in the future, she'd tell him. If he didn't, then did it really matter if he had that knowledge gap? Everything had gotten so much clearer once she'd returned to school, but it was too late to act on it as always.

Besides, recognizing the absurdity of his positions and being able to adequately explain them to Hermione were two completely separate things. She probably had no desire to hear from him ever again. For weeks, he wallowed in his room, pretending to read and trying to keep up with the training material all while actually laying in bed and thinking most of the time.

One thing was certain–he wasn't over her. It was juvenile for him to think that just because she did better than him in school or had better job prospects or came from a wealthier family meant that she could never love him. If he hadn't been so blinded by his own self-doubt, he probably would've realized just how much she cared for him in spite of all of those things. He'd ruined a potentially life-changing relationship by acting like a child, and what was worse, despite his attempts, he didn't seem any closer to repairing that relationship.

It wasn't until early October that he decided to try to write her a letter, offering an olive branch of sorts. Draft after draft wound up in the bin, insufficient to capture the sentiment he was trying to express. Nothing would be wholly adequate to explain himself, but he knew it was up to him to at least start the conversation. The letter he finally settled on wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do.

Not that it seemed to help. He knew Pig had delivered the letter as soon as he returned; he was squawking eagerly and looking for attention as thanks for a job well done. But that was the end of it. Nothing else came of the letter. If it had caused any change in emotion or intent on Hermione's part, she'd kept it to herself.

For the first time in months, however, she was in the same room as him, and all he wanted to do was try to clear the air. A tall task, no doubt, but when was the next time he'd have the opportunity?

Of course, at that moment, he glimpsed her giving her head a quick shake, the way she did when she was forcing herself to get out of her own mind and come back to reality.

"Terry, shall we get a drink?" she asked, wrapping her hands tightly around his arm.

Ron's eye twitched involuntarily, and his stomach felt like it was being run through by an Erumpent horn. Seeing her hanging off of another bloke made him feel like throwing up.

"Oh, of course! Where are my manners? Can we get anything for anyone else?"

"No, thanks," Ginny said, the only one to offer any response.

The pair of them headed into the party and left Harry and Ginny alone with Ron, both of them watching him closely, likely watching to make sure he wasn't about to explode.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ginny turned to Harry and smacked him on the shoulder "Harry! You didn't think to mention that Ron was coming?!"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, shielding himself the best he could. "You didn't tell me that Hermione was coming, either!"

"Of course she was coming!"

"Why of course?"

"What do you mean, why? She's been in the Slug Club since Professor Slughorn arrived!"

"Yeah, but I didn't know if she'd still–" He clammed up as his gaze flitted over toward Ron, not wanting to cause his best friend any further discomfort.

"It's fine," Ron said, trying to shut down any further arguing. "Probably should've assumed anyway. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Ron," Ginny reassured him. "It just…is."

"Yeah, but I should've…ugh, I don't know. I shouldn't have come. This is her space, and I don't–"

"No! Stop it! It's not her space. Just like Grimmauld Place or the Burrow isn't your space. We all need to coexist, do you understand me?"

"Ginny," Ron started, deflating with a deep exhale and trying to keep the pain out of his expression. "What do you want me to say? I'll try, but…I mean, you saw what just happened, didn't you?"

Ginny sighed and dropped her hand onto her popped hip. "Yes, I saw."

"So you have to know what I'm talking about. It's not going to be easy for us to be in the same room at the moment."

"I know, Ron. But you two have been friends for years. Do you honestly think you're done with each other?"

"I don't know," he answered with a shake of his head. "I really don't. But I do know it won't help to rush it."

"I see." Ginny suddenly looked worried, sharing a tense look with Harry. "Then…perhaps now's not the best time to tell you that she's coming to the house for part of Christmas."

Ron's body locked in place, and he was unable to move. She was coming to his family's house? For Christmas? In less than a day? How could Ginny just be informing him of something so significant? Didn't she realize how awkward that was going to be?

"Gin, come on. You have to realize–"

"I'm sorry, okay!" Ginny responded in an exasperated tone. "Her parents were going to be out of town for a bit and she really wanted to be among friends, so I just thought…it didn't seem like that big a deal."

"Not for you, maybe. Might have ruined my Christmas, but who cares as long as Ginny has a friend over, right?"

"Ron, come on," Harry chimed in. "You didn't expect Hermione to just stay out of your life forever, did you? She's been our best friend for years. I, for one, am thrilled to be able to spend the holidays with her. I see so little of her as it is. I know it's not ideal, but it's Christmas. It's a time to be with the people you care about. I know you still care about her, and I'm sure she still cares about you too, even if things are a little…frosty."

Folding his arms across his chest, Ron's eyes darted around the corridor. He was stuck. There was nothing he could say or do that would change anything. He supposed he could simply stay at Grimmauld when she was over, but his mother was liable to kill him if he missed Christmas with the family, so that probably wouldn't work.

"Okay?" Ginny asked. "Does that sound alright?"

Ron threw his hands up in the air, dropping them with a loud clap against his thighs. "I suppose it'll have to be, won't it?"

"It'll be fine. We'll be there too." Harry said, trying to help Ron process things. "We'll be a buffer if you need one."

"Kinda like you just did with Terry fucking Boot back there?"

"Erm, yeah, sorry. I never know what to say to him. But I promise, we'll do better, okay?"

Ron sighed, throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah. Okay, fine."

"Good. Now come on, let's go see who's here."

The party was exactly what Ron had expected–stuffy, self-important, and insufferable. Professor Slughorn had learned his name, at least, but as soon as he roped Ron and Harry into conversation with some undersecretary or another from the Ministry, he wished the professor had remained ignorant of his existence. It seemed especially slimy to Ron that Slughorn would go out of his way to be nice to him now that he was famous. Was he not worth any attention before, back when he was just Ron Weasley the student?

Fortunately, some of his old mates from school were there as well. Neville had returned for a seventh year and had come to the party with Luna, and reliving memories from the old days was a highlight of his evening. There were several younger kids at the party who kept looking at him and giggling, which only forced him to retreat further into conversation with the people he knew well. A few of his old professors had nice things to say, although again, Ron wondered why they hadn't said them before he'd left school.

Overall, it wasn't a magical evening in any way, and no matter what he was doing or who he was talking with, his eyes kept finding their way back to Hermione. She seemed to be at ease talking with teachers, students, Ministry higher-ups, and everyone in between. Terry stayed by her side for part of the time, and Ron nearly choked on his butterbeer when he caught a glimpse of the boy's hand on her waist. It didn't last long as Hermione moved away to talk with someone else, but it was enough to make his blood boil. Terry Boot. What a stupid bloody name.

The party was nearing its end when he saw Hermione duck out of the main room and out onto the balcony. His heart started hammering in his chest as he considered his options. On the one hand, it might be his only opportunity to talk with her alone, and if they were going to be spending part of the holiday together, he figured it would be a good idea to at least try to clear the air and see what she thought about them as…whatever they were. On the other hand, though, seeing his face already caused her to leave the room as fast as possible once; what's to say it wouldn't happen again? Or worse, what if she was so mad she decided to hex him? He was doing well enough in Auror training that he was pretty sure he could repel her attacks, but Hermione was a strong witch, and anything was possible.

Downing a flute of champagne, he took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

No time like the present, right? I have to start somewhere.

A chilly breeze gusted through his hair as soon as he stepped outside. The balcony was small, only able to comfortably fit a few people, but the view was worth it. Just beyond the stone balustrade, the ground stretched out all the way to the Forbidden Forest and beyond. The lake was shimmering, the moonlight reflecting off of its gentle waves. And up above, hundreds of stars dotted the sky, more visible than anywhere Ron had ever been in his life.

But the most beautiful sight he saw was the woman in front of him, her arms resting against the weathered limestone as she leaned over the edge. Her dress, the same one that had driven him wild at Bill and Fleur's wedding, looked perfect on her, and he could still remember how the impossibly soft material felt under his fingertips.

With one last burst of courage, he stepped forward, leaning over the railing next to her, his arm only centimeters away from hers. She had to notice him, but she didn't say anything at first, eyes still fixed on the horizon as far as Ron could tell.

"Weird being back here," he finally said, unable to tolerate any more silence.

If Hermione heard him, though, she didn't say anything. She also didn't storm off, though, so it wasn't all bad news.

"Seeing the professors and friends. Seeing the castle again for the first time since it ended. …Seeing you…"

As soon as he mentioned her, however, she pushed back from the edge and started making her way back into the party. Before he could stop himself, and barely realizing the danger of what he was about to do, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hermione?"

"What?" she spat, spinning around toward him and pulling out of his grip.

"Can we just…talk?"

"Ron…"

"Please. Just for a minute."

"I'm being rude to my date."

His wince must've been noticeable, because she took the smallest of steps back toward him, a quick look of regret immediately plastered back over by her stony facade.

"Right, yeah. Look, I promise I won't keep you long. Then you can get back to…"

She groaned, retreating back to the edge of the balcony and taking up her previous position again, still not making eye contact with him.

With a bit more space between them than when he'd first come outside, he tried again. "Ginny said you're coming by for Christmas."

"I am."

"That's great. Erm, I guess I'll see you there, then."

"I'd assumed so."

Her tone was so angry, so clipped. Was she really that cross with him still? Was she going to be cold and distant for the rest of his life? Maybe he deserved it, but at least he was trying.

"So, I just thought…well, I wondered if maybe we should talk beforehand."

"We are talking."

"About us."

Another gust of wind blew across the balcony, and Hermione shivered. Ron thought about offering her the outer layer of his dress robes, but he couldn't be sure how she would take the gesture. They were finally talking, and he didn't want to disrupt that.

Hermione let her head drop back as she stared up at the sky, bringing it back down and still glaring straight ahead. "What about us?"

"Did you…did you get my letter?"

"I got it."

"Oh. Good." So she had received it. She just hadn't found him worthy of a response. It looked like getting through to her might be more difficult than he thought. "And…and what did you think?"

Ron tried to keep his eyes focused ahead of him, but when he peeked over toward Hermione, his heart broke. Even in the dark, he could tell that her eyes were bloodshot and tears were pooling in the corners. Her lower lip was trembling, and when she finally replied, her voice cracked with emotion. "What do you want me to say, Ron?"

"I dunno, really. I suppose I'm wondering how it made you feel."

"It made me feel…confused, honestly."

"Confused?"

"Yes. Confused."

"O–Okay. Well, maybe I can help clear things up."

She shook her head. "I don't know if it works that way."

Something had to give. Hermione didn't seem likely to divulge any information, which left it up to him. He'd been the one to seek her out, hadn't he? He'd sent her the letter in the first place. If he could ever hope to have a chance with her again, he had to take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. It was now or never.

"Well," he started slowly, making sure she heard every word. "I sent that letter because I really needed you to know how sorry I was for acting the way I did. Toward the end of the summer, something was off, Hermione. Way off. I don't know what was happening, but that wasn't me. I wasn't thinking clearly. I've had a lot of time to think about things since then, and I realize how stupid I was to let things bother me so much that I lost…something really important.

"I know I don't really deserve another chance, and I'm not asking for us to go back to…anything like it was before, but I–I don't know, I just…I really miss talking to you."

A tear trickled down her cheek as she lowered her head toward the ground, staring at her shoes. She still didn't respond, but maybe that was okay. He was the one that needed to get things off his chest, and he had. The ball was in her court, and there wasn't anything else he could do to get her to open up. It was probably best to just leave it at that.

"Anyway," he continued. "I'm sorry if my being here ruined your evening. I'll probably leave soon if I can manage to tear Harry away from whoever's congratulating him. I'll, erm, I'll see you soon, Hermione."

After waiting a moment in vain to see if she would respond, he pushed away from the bannister and started walking back toward the party. Hopefully, he could find Harry and the pair of them could get out of there as soon as possible. He'd had more than enough for one night, and the only thing that had any chance of making him feel better was his bed.

"Ron, wait."

Her voice was soft and shaky, and when he turned around, she was facing him for the first time since they'd first laid eyes on each other at the entrance to the party. She looked so small standing alone, and he wanted to rush over and wrap his arms around her. But that wasn't his right, so he pushed down the urge.

"Thank you," she said, taking a step closer to him. "...For saying that. Again."

He nodded. "Of course. 'S true, innit?"

"Do you…" She paused and tried to compose herself before moving on, sniffling and wiping away her tears. "Do you know how many times I thought about writing you back?"

"I'd have been happy with just one."

"Dozens. Hundreds, probably. I wanted to, honestly. But then I thought to myself…what would it have accomplished? I'm still here, and you're still not. And that seemed to be a problem for you."

"I know," he said, mirroring her and closing the distance between them. "But like I said, I was confused. Worried that it would be too hard to be in different places. Turned out it was much harder without you."

"It hasn't been a cakewalk here either, Ron," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hogwarts was our home for six years, but that doesn't mean that all the memories are good. Terrible things happened here as well, and reliving them on a daily basis has been…really difficult."

"I can imagine."

"I mean, every time I walk out the front door, I get a vision of Hagrid carrying Harry's limp body back from the forest. Every time I walk down the stairs, I can picture the Death Eaters' curses flying left and right. I eat my meals less than five meters away from where Lupin and Tonks were laid after they…"

She couldn't continue, breaking down and crying, her knees buckling just before she fell forward into his chest. His arms shot up and caught her, and he held her tightly against him as she regained her footing. It was wonderful to hug her again, to be reminded of all the contours of her body, the smell of her hair, and the way her head tucked under his chin perfectly. The sensation was blunted, of course, due to the delicacy of their situation, but it was encouraging that she didn't immediately shrink away from him. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be helping her feel better either as the sobs continued to pour out of her.

"I know, Hermione. I'm so sorry. I wish–"

"No, you don't know, Ron!" she yelled, pushing him away and wiping her eyes. "You don't know! Because you're not here! Do you have any idea how helpful it would've been to talk about all of this with you? You're the only one who really gets it! You're the only one who knows what I'm going through, and you left me!"

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I wanted to reach out, I promise. I wanted–"

"But you didn't! You didn't, Ron! For weeks, nothing! And then, just when I was starting to feel like I could get through the day without breaking down, then you wanted to talk?"

Taking a step closer to her, he watched her closely to make sure he wasn't overstepping. Her tears had slowed, but her expression had morphed from sadness to anger, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

"I–I'm sorry. I fucked up, Hermione, plain and simple. I wasn't there for you when I should've been, and I know I let you down. I don't know what else to say, but I am sorry. More than you know."

Her eyes continued to bore into him, and she remained rooted to the spot, her arms crossed over her chest. Ron wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to leave, but part of him wondered if it would be best if he just allowed her to move on with her life. Another part, though–a bigger part–still wanted to be there for her in the difficult times, and that part prevented his legs from starting to move. Maybe his indecision contributed as well, but whatever it was, he stayed, staring back at her and refusing to blink.

It felt like an eternity before she finally spoke, dropping her arms to her side and shifting her gaze back to the night sky. "So what now?"

"Erm…I dunno. I suppose…that's up to you."

"Don't put it all on me, Ron. That's why we're in this position in the first place."

The words were sharp but not undeserved. Her body was still facing away from him, so she didn't see him grimace again. The pain of her resentment shot through his entire body, twisting his stomach round until it throbbed. "Right, fair enough. Well, if you're asking me…I'd really like to be your friend again."

She sighed, shaking her head as her eyes started glistening in the moonlight again.

"Only if you'd like, though," he added, just to be safe.

"Of course that's what I'd like, Ron!" Her hair fanned out behind her as she spun toward him. "Of course it is! But how do I know…I mean, I've been fooled once."

A groan deflated her body, and he took the opportunity to come closer to her. He contemplated putting his arm around her shoulder, but they clearly weren't at that point yet. "Yeah, I know. I know."

What more was there to say? Perhaps that was enough to start. He'd managed to apologize and express his wishes to her, and even if she didn't say another word, at least it was some progress. At least she spoke to him. Even that was on the optimistic side of his initial expectations.

Just when he wondered if he should take her words as a cue to leave, though, she reached out and picked up his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. Her hand was cold, but the gesture was so warm that it didn't even register. The feeling of her skin against his was exhilarating, and if she was capable of making him so happy with a single touch, he knew he'd do anything to get back in her good graces.

"I just…I really miss you, Ron," she said. "I really do. I'm still so angry with you about what happened over the summer, even if I don't want to be. And even with all of that anger inside of me, I still miss you. I still wanted to see you again…talk to you again…"

"I wanted that too. And I miss you…so much."

"And even though I couldn't write back to you, I hope you know that it didn't mean I ever stopped caring about what happened to you."

"I care about you too."

"But if we're going to be…speaking again," she said, dropping his hand and weaving her fingers in and out of each other as her brow furrowed, "I have to know that–that things are different now. That what happened before…"

"I understand," he assured her. "It's not like it was before, Hermione. I promise. Things have changed. I've changed."

"I hope so. For your sake, more than anything else. As hard as it was for me, it was difficult seeing you like that too."

"I'm sorry for putting you through that. It wasn't fair of me. And…thanks, you know? For giving things another chance."

She nodded back at him, and he could see some of the tension release from her shoulders. "Thank you for saying something. It helps."

It was a start. And it was far more than he expected. Relationships were built on foundations of trust, and at least she was allowing him to try to rebuild that trust again. Perhaps the holiday wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Well," he said, backing away, "I suppose I should let you get back to the party."

"Oh. Right. Yes, I should get back. Terry will wonder where…"

He remained still as she passed him, her scent invading his nostrils and flooding his mind with memories of easier times.

"I wasn't even planning on coming tonight, you know," she called back to him when she reached the doorway.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. But then Terry asked me and…well, I didn't want to be rude."

Why is she telling me this?

"Yeah, I understand."

"But it's not–" She clammed up, a tinge of pink in her cheeks as the warm glow of candlelight shone on her face.

There didn't really seem to be anything he could say about her date for the evening, so he just gave her a small nod and a smile. "Enjoy your night, Hermione. I'll see you for Christmas."

"You too, Ron. See you soon."

"Hey…" he called just before she turned the corner.

She spun back toward him. "Yes?"

"Your dress."

Her fingers skirted over the material, the fabric flowing in waves down to her ankles. It was impossible not to remember that night a year and a half prior, the night that could've represented a major turning point in their relationship. If only they hadn't been interrupted…

"You look just as beautiful as you did the last time you wore it."

As she turned back toward the main room, he could swear he saw a hint of a smile spread across her face. "Goodnight, Ron."

"Night, Hermione."