Measured in Summers
Rating: K+
Prompt: Summer holidays
Height can be measured in inches on a doorframe; love can be measured in summers.
Summer, 1992
As was the case with most school age children, summer was Ron Weasley’s favorite season. Blissfully setting aside his homework until the last possible minute, just like anyone else would do (except Hermione. He knew, instinctively, that Hermione had probably finished it her first night home), he set out to enjoy his summer to the fullest extent. This meant swimming in the pond, whining his way into Quidditch games, and climbing trees with Ginny. It was catching frogs and lightning bugs, and eating homemade ice cream while watching the sunset. Sometimes it meant finding out of the way places on their property to sit and think of nothing in particular, and other times it meant reading comics and organizing his Chocolate Frog card collection.
He was bored within three days.
As much as he hated the tedious aspect of lessons, he found that he missed his time at Hogwarts. Actually, he missed his friends (mainly Harry), so he set about writing a letter, because he figured Harry was probably going spare living with those Muggles. He waited for a reply, but none came. He sent a letter, and then another, but still nothing. Finally, he wrote to Hermione; if anyone could figure out what was wrong, it was her. He found that Harry hadn't been answering her, either, and now both of them were worried.
Things that Harry had let drop about his homelife during the year whispered through Ron’s head, leaving nasty suspicions and a sick feeling. Finally, one night after tossing and turning, he kicked off the hot, sticky sheets that were clinging to his skin, and made a decision. Swinging his legs of the edge of the bed, he stood up, and began to creep down to the twins room, knowing that he needed their help, and that this was the sort of thing they lived for. He paused briefly, suddenly thinking about Hermione, and whether he should ask her to help, or not. after several moments of hesitation, he decided not to. She would only come up with a hundred and seventy-six reasons why they shouldn't do it (whatever ‘it’ turned out to be), and Harry didn't have time for that. Hermione was brilliant, he thought, his hand on the knob, and he liked her well enough.
But he could get on just fine without her.
Summer, 1993
Ron peeled the last shred of sunburnt skin from the back of his neck, rolling it into a ball and flicking it away. It was one of the curses of being a Ginger; the sun was not your friend. The only upside was that the rest of his family was suffering right along with him, so the teasing was almost nonexistent. At least, on that score. Percy was getting the brunt of the twins’ attention, and Ron privately thought that there were few others as deserving. He had always thought of Perce as a bit of a pinhead, but ever since getting that Head Boy badge, it had swollen to dangerous proportions. And, he thought with a grin, who better to pop it than a couple of pricks? He didn't know what it was about smart people that always made them think they were so much better than everyone else. Well, Hermione wasn't that bad. She might blather on about the rules, and nearly nag him into a coma, but he had seen her smash right through the rules, and do things that he couldn't even imagine Percy even considering. And she could be fun when she wanted to, and, although he’d never admit it, she had written things that had helped him deal with what had happened to Ginny in the Chamber.
When he had told her about the vacation his family was taking, she had been nearly as excited as he was, and had made him promise to remember everything he could, because she wanted to hear about it when he got back. The attention was.....flattering, really; no one else had ever been that enthusiastic about hearing what he had to say. Which was why, when asked if he wanted to invite anyone else to Diagon Alley when they found out Harry wasn't home, he had taken the twins’ joking suggestion about Hermione seriously. The prospect of spending time with just her was oddly appealing, and when her reply came back saying that she would meet him, he didn't give too much thought to how happy that made him. He reckoned that, along with Harry, she was his best friend.
He enjoyed having her around a lot.
Summer, 1994
The sunlight stung his eyes as he squinted across the field, barely able to make out the heads of Fred and George in the distance. He watched suspiciously for awhile, but he was too far away to be able to tell what they were doing, and he wasn't stupid enough to risk moving any closer. They had been even more sneaky and secretive of late, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Mum caught them out and the whole mess exploded. He just hoped he wouldn't be standing close enough for any of the gore to land on him.
He pulled nervously on the collar of one of his nicer t-shirts, and checked once more to make sure that his trousers were actually covering his ankles. This was going to be one of the best summers ever, he thought with a grin. He could count the number of professional Quidditch games he had been to on one hand, and he had never thought he’d be lucky enough to go to a match this important. And not only that, but Harry and Hermione were getting to come, and he could finally feel like he was making up for a few of the butterbeers and sweets they had treated him to. Not that he didn't try to do his share, and not that he let them get away with it often; but it felt nice, for once, to be the one providing something special, even if they were technically his dad’s passes. And he was going to get to see Viktor Krum himself in action! Krum was amazing, and one of his heroes, even if it made him feel a bit disloyal to the Cannons. Still, this was a once in a lifetime chance, and he had been saving his money so he could make the most of it.
Harry wouldn't be coming until tomorrow, but his dad was taking him to pick up Hermione today. For some reason, thinking of her made the memory of her hugging him flash through his mind, and he felt uncommonly hot. The sun must be brighter than he thought. He looked around nervously, as if someone might be able to read his thoughts. He didn't know why he was embarrassed at the thought of her; it was just an odd feeling he’d been getting around her lately, or whenever he thought of her too much. To distract himself, he imagined how lost she’d be trying to figure out some of the more complex moves that they were sure to see, and he couldn't help snickering. She always got so flustered when there was something she didn't understand, like it was a personal insult. She got all pouty, and her face scrunched up in a way that was.....he wasn't sure, and he backed away from the thought uneasily. There was just something about Hermione.
He thought he would be better off ignoring it.
Summer, 1995
It was raining out, a sudden summer storm, and Ron scowled the sound, checking his window every few minutes to see if it was letting up. He needed Pig to get this letter to Hermione pronto, to make sure she had gotten her parents permission to spend the rest of the summer with his family. It would be her longest visit yet, and he was shaky with nerves and excitement. His parents had told him that they wouldn't be staying here very long, but they wouldn't say where they were going. He knew it had something to do with Dumbledore, but they said he would find out later. Fred and George, hacked at being left out even though they were of age, had set about inventing ways to get around their mum. Ron knew that Dad would probably tell them more, if it was up to him, but he didn't blame him for not being willing to risk Mum’s wrath. A Howler was bad enough, but it wasn't a patch on what the live version was like.
Part of him couldn't blame her for being more protective, after what had happened to Diggory just a few short weeks ago. He hadn't gotten a close look, but even at that distance, he had known that the older boy was dead. He had felt numb, watching as Harry clung to the corpse, the only thing anchoring him to the earth had been Hermione’s hands, fiercely grasping his arm. Ron had been afraid before; with all of the mental things they had done over the years, it would be bizarre if he hadn't been. But somehow, the death of someone that they knew, someone so young, really made it hit home how fast things were changing, and just how much was at risk.
And that wasn't the only thing changing, though he was still trying to adjust to the new revelations that had struck him. He had found out exactly what a Bludger felt like, when he saw Hermione at the Ball with Krum, and the pain slammed right into his gut. Things that had been carefully buried below the surface had shot to the top, and he knew there was no way to stuff them back down again. He wasn't sure he wanted to. All he really knew was that he wanted to be the one at her side, and for her to look at him the way he had seen girls look at other blokes. He hadn't hashed out all the details, and he sure as hell wasn't going to make a move until he did; because, quite frankly, this development scared him almost as much as the prospect of fighting You-Know-Who.
He fancied Hermione Granger, and he hadn't a clue in the world what to do about it.
Summer, 1996
Lightning bugs tapped against his window, drawn by the light shining out from the lamp on his desk. Crumpled up sheets of parchment lay scattered about, lines of writing scribbled through and blotted out. He threw his quill down, and rubbed his face with his hands, frustrated at the words that just wouldn't come. How hard was it to tell a witch that you fancied her? Even Percy, the flaming git, had managed to get himself a girlfriend. And his own little sister could probably start her own Quidditch team with all of her exes. He had bungled his way through last year, hoping he would find a way to prove himself to her, or at least see a sign that she was open to the idea. But nothing had seemed to go right; he faintly recalled a kiss on the cheek, but he had been too sick with nerves at the time to enjoy it properly, and he didn't want to get his hopes up that she had meant it in more than a friendly way.
He had never actually flirted before, and didn't know how to go about it. He wasn't one for the soppy stuff that he had heard most girls liked, and he knew that Hermione wouldn't go for anything crude. Not that he thought he could manage that without his ears melting clean off his head, anyway; besides, he didn't want to give her the impression that that was all he was after, although he’d be lying if he said he didn't find the thought greatly appealing.
But he was growing a bit more desperate. The fight at the Ministry was something he still had nightmares about, waking in a cold sweat, the scars coiling around his arms throbbing and aching. He had come closer than he was comfortable with to dying. He had hid it from Harry, who had been plunged in grief at the time, but those brains had very nearly strangled him to death.
Yet, that wasn't the worst thing; at least to him. No, the worst thing had been waking up and rolling over to find Hermione stretched out on a bed in the hospital wing, as still and unmoving as she had been when she was Petrified. For a few agonizing heartbeats, he had thought she was dead, and a scream had started in the back of his throat, only to be cut off when he saw her chest rise slightly. On those nights, when everyone had left them, he had been able to piece together things from what she had told him, and what he overheard from others. They still weren't sure what spell had been used on her, but they considered it was a miracle she was still alive. The thought filled him with guilt; if they had just managed to stick together, maybe he could have......he didn't know. All he knew was that time felt like it was running out, and he was no closer to her than he had been before, and he might very well lose her before he even have her. And she seemed completely oblivious to all of the hints he had been tossing her way, and he was beginning to wonder if she was ignoring them on purpose.
He still fancied Hermione, but his heart was heavy with the near certainty that she would never feel the same.
Summer, 1997
Ron tiptoed out the back door and into the muggy night air, relieved to get away from the sounds of his mum and Fleur. The only noises were the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the frogs down by the pond, and he stood still, enjoying the quiet and the sensation of the grass under his bare feet. He walked a short distance away from the house, careful to stay in the Wards. He shouldn't be out here, but everyone rushing about trying to get ready for the wedding was grating on his nerves. Even Bill, normally calm no matter what was thrown at him, was acting a mite edgy. Ron gulped, thinking about his oldest brother. He had been terrified when he had heard he had been attacked by Greyback; not many survived that, and fewer still managed to come away without becoming a werewolf themselves.
Not that Ron had a problem with werewolves, in general. Sure, some were dangerous like Greyback, but most were just regular folks that had to take certain precautions once a month. But he had seen the way people treated Lupin, and the toll it had taken on the other man. That wasn't something he wanted for his brother; Bill had been someone he had looked up to ever since he could walk, and it pained him to think of others judging him for something he had no control over. Of course, they were going to do that anyway, what with his face being the way it was. The thought made him squirm guiltily. He had always been secretly jealous of Bill, partially because he knew witches considered him to be handsome. He wasn't handsome anymore, although he respected Fleur more than ever for still looking at him like he was. Ron wondered if that was a side effect of love, and if anyone would ever look at him like that if he were to somehow become disfigured.
Not that he would deserve it, he thought as his shoulders slumped. Not with some of the shit he had pulled this year. He still wasn't able to believe he had been prat enough to treat two girls so shabbily; he knew his mum would be ashamed, but no more than he was himself. Lavender wasn't for him, and he had always sort of known that. Just because it had been her to make the first move didn't mean it had been right for him to use her to make Hermione jealous. And Hermione.....how could you say you loved someone, and then treat them like that? And he knew, now that it might be too late, that he did love her. He had been laboring under a false idea of what love really was all about, and it had taken Lavender to show him that. Love wasn't always light and easy, though there could be that, he knew from watching others. But love, real love, required a little more effort, some give, some take, and plenty of compromise. At Dumbledore’s funeral, he had been hit with the realization, as Hermione sobbed into his chest, that he would rather be holding her while she grieved than have Lavender on his lap snogging him senseless. Somehow, having Hermione come to him when she was crying and vulnerable was more intimate than all of the snogging and groping he had ever done with Lavender.
Longingly, he stared in the direction of Hermione’s house, wishing it was time for her to arrive. He knew she was up to something; her last letter had been full of sadness, though she refused to tell him what was going on. He wanted to push the subject, but the book said to let her open up in her own time, so he was trying that first. He shivered, though there wasn't even a breeze in the air. He would feel better when she was within the Wards, and he could see that she was safe. Crimes against Muggleborns were on the rise, and he knew that she would be a tempting target to Death Eaters, who surely knew of her connection to Harry. He clenched his fists; he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, no matter what he had to do. If they got through this somehow, he would finally tell her how he felt. Until then, he would focus on keeping her safe; and if it came down to it, he would give himself to make sure she stayed alive.
He loved Hermione. And love meant giving all that you had.
Summer, 1998
Somewhere outside, an owl hooted, and Ron held his breath, hoping it wouldn't wake Hermione. Neither of them had been sleeping well, but she had finally fallen asleep an hour ago, and he would hate it if she lost out on the rest she desperately needed. She was curled tightly on her side, her back nestled up against his front, his arm wrapped around her waist. The air was beginning to feel too warm, the Cooling Charm she had cast earlier tonight finally fading. He would have to cast another one soon, but he didn't want to move until he had to. It had been a week since the battle, and four days since Fred’s funeral. He was still exhausted, both events taking it out of him in completely different ways. He was haunted, when he actually slept, with dreams of Hogwarts, and the families and lives that had been torn apart and left in ruins like the castle he had once thought of as a second home. He didn't think it ever would again, not that he ever planned on going back long enough to find out. He knew Hermione would; it would be hell on her, but she wouldn't let it stop her. But he couldn't bear to think of that separation right now, not after losing so much. He finally had her where he wanted her, and even though things were far from perfect right now, he took comfort in her presence, and the love he finally knew she felt for him in return.
She would be going to Australia for her parents soon, and he would be going with her. He wasn't sure how they would get there, or what her parents would think when they learned what had been going on (or the fact that their daughter was now in possession of one very scrawny, ginger boyfriend), but he knew that Hermione would have it figured out, and all he really needed to do was support her so she didn't freak out too badly. Beside him, she gave a soft whimper, and he thought she was going to wake up. Instead, she flipped herself around, and burrowed into him with a sigh, and settled back into sleep. He studied her face in the dim light; it was still too thin, and there were circles under her eyes that he could make out clearly even now, but the sight of her there, in his arms, was probably one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen in his life. Things were far from alright, and they were both going to be messed up for a long time while they healed. It wasn't going to be easy, but then, had it ever been?
He loved Hermione. Hermione loved him. Whatever happened, they would get through it together.
Summer, 1999
One of the benefits of being as tall as he was was the fact that he could easily see over most people’s heads, and he didn't have to bounce around on his tiptoes, like a certain specky squirt at his side. Ron smirked at the movement from his peripheral vision, but didn't take his focus off the track, wiling a certain red train to make its appearance. It had been ages since the last Hogsmeade visit, and he was tired of having to be content with letters, though he wrote enough to wear poor Pig out. The last year seemed to creep along and go by in a blur all at once, but it felt like everything had been leading up to the moment he finally saw her again.
Ginny had kept an eye on her for him, being there for her when he couldn't; he loved his sister for that, but it just wasn't the same. He had spent summer holidays away from her before, so this shouldn't have been much different; but he found, especially when lying alone in bed at night, that it was like having a part of him missing, though it was a part he could still feel.
He had tried to keep himself busy, helping George at the shop, and studying up on all of the Auror training materials he could get his hands on in the evenings. It had helped, but there was always that sense of waiting, like things couldn't really get started until she got back. As the day had drawn nearer, he had practically began to vibrate with excitement, much to the amusement of all around him. Even George, who had been far too quiet, had taken evident delight in taking the mickey out of him. He had kept Ron in the shop right up until the last possible second; Ron had nearly had a heart attack when he had looked at the clock and saw that he was an hour late, until he caught George grinning like a prat and realized he had been tricked. He would’ve been furious, but it was more important to see his brother looking out from the depressed fog that had been consuming him, and he wasn't actually late. So he had flipped George off, ran to the back room to change out of the putrid robes that the staff were forced to wear, and had Apparated away.
Though not before spiking George’s coffee with a melted Puking Pastille.
His heart began to beat faster as the train pulled into the station, and everything around him ceased to matter. He was vaguely aware of Harry saying something, but whatever it was could wait. Students began to emerge, but none of them with the bushy brown hair his eyes were straining to see. People began to crowd around him, pushing and jostling, and he lost sight of anything but the bald head of the large man in front of him for a small eternity. When he finally pushed his way past, he found her standing with her luggage cart, Crookshanks glaring out from the confines of his wicker basket. Hermione was looking back and forth, searching the crowd. Big, brown eyes landed on him, and he froze in place as her face lit up; before he could move, she was barreling towards him, and all he could do was brace in time to catch her as she launched herself into his arms.
They ignored the stares of people around them, clinging to each other and laughing with the sort of joy that just seemed to bubble up, unable to be contained. This, he felt, was it; the last train ride, the last real summer of youth before they began to dive into their careers. But it was also the first. The first time they were coming together, with no real long separations in their future to divide them. Their lives, which had been running on two close, though different tracks, were now finally starting to merge into one, the rest of their lives spreading out before them with a multitude of possibilities that they would explore together. There were things they still had to decide on, things that had to be talked about. But there was at least one thing that he knew with a certainty. While he had been lonely, he had managed to get on fine without her. But he loved her, and that meant that while he could, he didn't want to; and the difference was a choice that you made when someone was really and truly worth it.
And that was something, he would tell his children, years later, that made all the difference.
Prompt: Summer holidays
Height can be measured in inches on a doorframe; love can be measured in summers.
Summer, 1992
As was the case with most school age children, summer was Ron Weasley’s favorite season. Blissfully setting aside his homework until the last possible minute, just like anyone else would do (except Hermione. He knew, instinctively, that Hermione had probably finished it her first night home), he set out to enjoy his summer to the fullest extent. This meant swimming in the pond, whining his way into Quidditch games, and climbing trees with Ginny. It was catching frogs and lightning bugs, and eating homemade ice cream while watching the sunset. Sometimes it meant finding out of the way places on their property to sit and think of nothing in particular, and other times it meant reading comics and organizing his Chocolate Frog card collection.
He was bored within three days.
As much as he hated the tedious aspect of lessons, he found that he missed his time at Hogwarts. Actually, he missed his friends (mainly Harry), so he set about writing a letter, because he figured Harry was probably going spare living with those Muggles. He waited for a reply, but none came. He sent a letter, and then another, but still nothing. Finally, he wrote to Hermione; if anyone could figure out what was wrong, it was her. He found that Harry hadn't been answering her, either, and now both of them were worried.
Things that Harry had let drop about his homelife during the year whispered through Ron’s head, leaving nasty suspicions and a sick feeling. Finally, one night after tossing and turning, he kicked off the hot, sticky sheets that were clinging to his skin, and made a decision. Swinging his legs of the edge of the bed, he stood up, and began to creep down to the twins room, knowing that he needed their help, and that this was the sort of thing they lived for. He paused briefly, suddenly thinking about Hermione, and whether he should ask her to help, or not. after several moments of hesitation, he decided not to. She would only come up with a hundred and seventy-six reasons why they shouldn't do it (whatever ‘it’ turned out to be), and Harry didn't have time for that. Hermione was brilliant, he thought, his hand on the knob, and he liked her well enough.
But he could get on just fine without her.
Summer, 1993
Ron peeled the last shred of sunburnt skin from the back of his neck, rolling it into a ball and flicking it away. It was one of the curses of being a Ginger; the sun was not your friend. The only upside was that the rest of his family was suffering right along with him, so the teasing was almost nonexistent. At least, on that score. Percy was getting the brunt of the twins’ attention, and Ron privately thought that there were few others as deserving. He had always thought of Perce as a bit of a pinhead, but ever since getting that Head Boy badge, it had swollen to dangerous proportions. And, he thought with a grin, who better to pop it than a couple of pricks? He didn't know what it was about smart people that always made them think they were so much better than everyone else. Well, Hermione wasn't that bad. She might blather on about the rules, and nearly nag him into a coma, but he had seen her smash right through the rules, and do things that he couldn't even imagine Percy even considering. And she could be fun when she wanted to, and, although he’d never admit it, she had written things that had helped him deal with what had happened to Ginny in the Chamber.
When he had told her about the vacation his family was taking, she had been nearly as excited as he was, and had made him promise to remember everything he could, because she wanted to hear about it when he got back. The attention was.....flattering, really; no one else had ever been that enthusiastic about hearing what he had to say. Which was why, when asked if he wanted to invite anyone else to Diagon Alley when they found out Harry wasn't home, he had taken the twins’ joking suggestion about Hermione seriously. The prospect of spending time with just her was oddly appealing, and when her reply came back saying that she would meet him, he didn't give too much thought to how happy that made him. He reckoned that, along with Harry, she was his best friend.
He enjoyed having her around a lot.
Summer, 1994
The sunlight stung his eyes as he squinted across the field, barely able to make out the heads of Fred and George in the distance. He watched suspiciously for awhile, but he was too far away to be able to tell what they were doing, and he wasn't stupid enough to risk moving any closer. They had been even more sneaky and secretive of late, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Mum caught them out and the whole mess exploded. He just hoped he wouldn't be standing close enough for any of the gore to land on him.
He pulled nervously on the collar of one of his nicer t-shirts, and checked once more to make sure that his trousers were actually covering his ankles. This was going to be one of the best summers ever, he thought with a grin. He could count the number of professional Quidditch games he had been to on one hand, and he had never thought he’d be lucky enough to go to a match this important. And not only that, but Harry and Hermione were getting to come, and he could finally feel like he was making up for a few of the butterbeers and sweets they had treated him to. Not that he didn't try to do his share, and not that he let them get away with it often; but it felt nice, for once, to be the one providing something special, even if they were technically his dad’s passes. And he was going to get to see Viktor Krum himself in action! Krum was amazing, and one of his heroes, even if it made him feel a bit disloyal to the Cannons. Still, this was a once in a lifetime chance, and he had been saving his money so he could make the most of it.
Harry wouldn't be coming until tomorrow, but his dad was taking him to pick up Hermione today. For some reason, thinking of her made the memory of her hugging him flash through his mind, and he felt uncommonly hot. The sun must be brighter than he thought. He looked around nervously, as if someone might be able to read his thoughts. He didn't know why he was embarrassed at the thought of her; it was just an odd feeling he’d been getting around her lately, or whenever he thought of her too much. To distract himself, he imagined how lost she’d be trying to figure out some of the more complex moves that they were sure to see, and he couldn't help snickering. She always got so flustered when there was something she didn't understand, like it was a personal insult. She got all pouty, and her face scrunched up in a way that was.....he wasn't sure, and he backed away from the thought uneasily. There was just something about Hermione.
He thought he would be better off ignoring it.
Summer, 1995
It was raining out, a sudden summer storm, and Ron scowled the sound, checking his window every few minutes to see if it was letting up. He needed Pig to get this letter to Hermione pronto, to make sure she had gotten her parents permission to spend the rest of the summer with his family. It would be her longest visit yet, and he was shaky with nerves and excitement. His parents had told him that they wouldn't be staying here very long, but they wouldn't say where they were going. He knew it had something to do with Dumbledore, but they said he would find out later. Fred and George, hacked at being left out even though they were of age, had set about inventing ways to get around their mum. Ron knew that Dad would probably tell them more, if it was up to him, but he didn't blame him for not being willing to risk Mum’s wrath. A Howler was bad enough, but it wasn't a patch on what the live version was like.
Part of him couldn't blame her for being more protective, after what had happened to Diggory just a few short weeks ago. He hadn't gotten a close look, but even at that distance, he had known that the older boy was dead. He had felt numb, watching as Harry clung to the corpse, the only thing anchoring him to the earth had been Hermione’s hands, fiercely grasping his arm. Ron had been afraid before; with all of the mental things they had done over the years, it would be bizarre if he hadn't been. But somehow, the death of someone that they knew, someone so young, really made it hit home how fast things were changing, and just how much was at risk.
And that wasn't the only thing changing, though he was still trying to adjust to the new revelations that had struck him. He had found out exactly what a Bludger felt like, when he saw Hermione at the Ball with Krum, and the pain slammed right into his gut. Things that had been carefully buried below the surface had shot to the top, and he knew there was no way to stuff them back down again. He wasn't sure he wanted to. All he really knew was that he wanted to be the one at her side, and for her to look at him the way he had seen girls look at other blokes. He hadn't hashed out all the details, and he sure as hell wasn't going to make a move until he did; because, quite frankly, this development scared him almost as much as the prospect of fighting You-Know-Who.
He fancied Hermione Granger, and he hadn't a clue in the world what to do about it.
Summer, 1996
Lightning bugs tapped against his window, drawn by the light shining out from the lamp on his desk. Crumpled up sheets of parchment lay scattered about, lines of writing scribbled through and blotted out. He threw his quill down, and rubbed his face with his hands, frustrated at the words that just wouldn't come. How hard was it to tell a witch that you fancied her? Even Percy, the flaming git, had managed to get himself a girlfriend. And his own little sister could probably start her own Quidditch team with all of her exes. He had bungled his way through last year, hoping he would find a way to prove himself to her, or at least see a sign that she was open to the idea. But nothing had seemed to go right; he faintly recalled a kiss on the cheek, but he had been too sick with nerves at the time to enjoy it properly, and he didn't want to get his hopes up that she had meant it in more than a friendly way.
He had never actually flirted before, and didn't know how to go about it. He wasn't one for the soppy stuff that he had heard most girls liked, and he knew that Hermione wouldn't go for anything crude. Not that he thought he could manage that without his ears melting clean off his head, anyway; besides, he didn't want to give her the impression that that was all he was after, although he’d be lying if he said he didn't find the thought greatly appealing.
But he was growing a bit more desperate. The fight at the Ministry was something he still had nightmares about, waking in a cold sweat, the scars coiling around his arms throbbing and aching. He had come closer than he was comfortable with to dying. He had hid it from Harry, who had been plunged in grief at the time, but those brains had very nearly strangled him to death.
Yet, that wasn't the worst thing; at least to him. No, the worst thing had been waking up and rolling over to find Hermione stretched out on a bed in the hospital wing, as still and unmoving as she had been when she was Petrified. For a few agonizing heartbeats, he had thought she was dead, and a scream had started in the back of his throat, only to be cut off when he saw her chest rise slightly. On those nights, when everyone had left them, he had been able to piece together things from what she had told him, and what he overheard from others. They still weren't sure what spell had been used on her, but they considered it was a miracle she was still alive. The thought filled him with guilt; if they had just managed to stick together, maybe he could have......he didn't know. All he knew was that time felt like it was running out, and he was no closer to her than he had been before, and he might very well lose her before he even have her. And she seemed completely oblivious to all of the hints he had been tossing her way, and he was beginning to wonder if she was ignoring them on purpose.
He still fancied Hermione, but his heart was heavy with the near certainty that she would never feel the same.
Summer, 1997
Ron tiptoed out the back door and into the muggy night air, relieved to get away from the sounds of his mum and Fleur. The only noises were the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the frogs down by the pond, and he stood still, enjoying the quiet and the sensation of the grass under his bare feet. He walked a short distance away from the house, careful to stay in the Wards. He shouldn't be out here, but everyone rushing about trying to get ready for the wedding was grating on his nerves. Even Bill, normally calm no matter what was thrown at him, was acting a mite edgy. Ron gulped, thinking about his oldest brother. He had been terrified when he had heard he had been attacked by Greyback; not many survived that, and fewer still managed to come away without becoming a werewolf themselves.
Not that Ron had a problem with werewolves, in general. Sure, some were dangerous like Greyback, but most were just regular folks that had to take certain precautions once a month. But he had seen the way people treated Lupin, and the toll it had taken on the other man. That wasn't something he wanted for his brother; Bill had been someone he had looked up to ever since he could walk, and it pained him to think of others judging him for something he had no control over. Of course, they were going to do that anyway, what with his face being the way it was. The thought made him squirm guiltily. He had always been secretly jealous of Bill, partially because he knew witches considered him to be handsome. He wasn't handsome anymore, although he respected Fleur more than ever for still looking at him like he was. Ron wondered if that was a side effect of love, and if anyone would ever look at him like that if he were to somehow become disfigured.
Not that he would deserve it, he thought as his shoulders slumped. Not with some of the shit he had pulled this year. He still wasn't able to believe he had been prat enough to treat two girls so shabbily; he knew his mum would be ashamed, but no more than he was himself. Lavender wasn't for him, and he had always sort of known that. Just because it had been her to make the first move didn't mean it had been right for him to use her to make Hermione jealous. And Hermione.....how could you say you loved someone, and then treat them like that? And he knew, now that it might be too late, that he did love her. He had been laboring under a false idea of what love really was all about, and it had taken Lavender to show him that. Love wasn't always light and easy, though there could be that, he knew from watching others. But love, real love, required a little more effort, some give, some take, and plenty of compromise. At Dumbledore’s funeral, he had been hit with the realization, as Hermione sobbed into his chest, that he would rather be holding her while she grieved than have Lavender on his lap snogging him senseless. Somehow, having Hermione come to him when she was crying and vulnerable was more intimate than all of the snogging and groping he had ever done with Lavender.
Longingly, he stared in the direction of Hermione’s house, wishing it was time for her to arrive. He knew she was up to something; her last letter had been full of sadness, though she refused to tell him what was going on. He wanted to push the subject, but the book said to let her open up in her own time, so he was trying that first. He shivered, though there wasn't even a breeze in the air. He would feel better when she was within the Wards, and he could see that she was safe. Crimes against Muggleborns were on the rise, and he knew that she would be a tempting target to Death Eaters, who surely knew of her connection to Harry. He clenched his fists; he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, no matter what he had to do. If they got through this somehow, he would finally tell her how he felt. Until then, he would focus on keeping her safe; and if it came down to it, he would give himself to make sure she stayed alive.
He loved Hermione. And love meant giving all that you had.
Summer, 1998
Somewhere outside, an owl hooted, and Ron held his breath, hoping it wouldn't wake Hermione. Neither of them had been sleeping well, but she had finally fallen asleep an hour ago, and he would hate it if she lost out on the rest she desperately needed. She was curled tightly on her side, her back nestled up against his front, his arm wrapped around her waist. The air was beginning to feel too warm, the Cooling Charm she had cast earlier tonight finally fading. He would have to cast another one soon, but he didn't want to move until he had to. It had been a week since the battle, and four days since Fred’s funeral. He was still exhausted, both events taking it out of him in completely different ways. He was haunted, when he actually slept, with dreams of Hogwarts, and the families and lives that had been torn apart and left in ruins like the castle he had once thought of as a second home. He didn't think it ever would again, not that he ever planned on going back long enough to find out. He knew Hermione would; it would be hell on her, but she wouldn't let it stop her. But he couldn't bear to think of that separation right now, not after losing so much. He finally had her where he wanted her, and even though things were far from perfect right now, he took comfort in her presence, and the love he finally knew she felt for him in return.
She would be going to Australia for her parents soon, and he would be going with her. He wasn't sure how they would get there, or what her parents would think when they learned what had been going on (or the fact that their daughter was now in possession of one very scrawny, ginger boyfriend), but he knew that Hermione would have it figured out, and all he really needed to do was support her so she didn't freak out too badly. Beside him, she gave a soft whimper, and he thought she was going to wake up. Instead, she flipped herself around, and burrowed into him with a sigh, and settled back into sleep. He studied her face in the dim light; it was still too thin, and there were circles under her eyes that he could make out clearly even now, but the sight of her there, in his arms, was probably one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen in his life. Things were far from alright, and they were both going to be messed up for a long time while they healed. It wasn't going to be easy, but then, had it ever been?
He loved Hermione. Hermione loved him. Whatever happened, they would get through it together.
Summer, 1999
One of the benefits of being as tall as he was was the fact that he could easily see over most people’s heads, and he didn't have to bounce around on his tiptoes, like a certain specky squirt at his side. Ron smirked at the movement from his peripheral vision, but didn't take his focus off the track, wiling a certain red train to make its appearance. It had been ages since the last Hogsmeade visit, and he was tired of having to be content with letters, though he wrote enough to wear poor Pig out. The last year seemed to creep along and go by in a blur all at once, but it felt like everything had been leading up to the moment he finally saw her again.
Ginny had kept an eye on her for him, being there for her when he couldn't; he loved his sister for that, but it just wasn't the same. He had spent summer holidays away from her before, so this shouldn't have been much different; but he found, especially when lying alone in bed at night, that it was like having a part of him missing, though it was a part he could still feel.
He had tried to keep himself busy, helping George at the shop, and studying up on all of the Auror training materials he could get his hands on in the evenings. It had helped, but there was always that sense of waiting, like things couldn't really get started until she got back. As the day had drawn nearer, he had practically began to vibrate with excitement, much to the amusement of all around him. Even George, who had been far too quiet, had taken evident delight in taking the mickey out of him. He had kept Ron in the shop right up until the last possible second; Ron had nearly had a heart attack when he had looked at the clock and saw that he was an hour late, until he caught George grinning like a prat and realized he had been tricked. He would’ve been furious, but it was more important to see his brother looking out from the depressed fog that had been consuming him, and he wasn't actually late. So he had flipped George off, ran to the back room to change out of the putrid robes that the staff were forced to wear, and had Apparated away.
Though not before spiking George’s coffee with a melted Puking Pastille.
His heart began to beat faster as the train pulled into the station, and everything around him ceased to matter. He was vaguely aware of Harry saying something, but whatever it was could wait. Students began to emerge, but none of them with the bushy brown hair his eyes were straining to see. People began to crowd around him, pushing and jostling, and he lost sight of anything but the bald head of the large man in front of him for a small eternity. When he finally pushed his way past, he found her standing with her luggage cart, Crookshanks glaring out from the confines of his wicker basket. Hermione was looking back and forth, searching the crowd. Big, brown eyes landed on him, and he froze in place as her face lit up; before he could move, she was barreling towards him, and all he could do was brace in time to catch her as she launched herself into his arms.
They ignored the stares of people around them, clinging to each other and laughing with the sort of joy that just seemed to bubble up, unable to be contained. This, he felt, was it; the last train ride, the last real summer of youth before they began to dive into their careers. But it was also the first. The first time they were coming together, with no real long separations in their future to divide them. Their lives, which had been running on two close, though different tracks, were now finally starting to merge into one, the rest of their lives spreading out before them with a multitude of possibilities that they would explore together. There were things they still had to decide on, things that had to be talked about. But there was at least one thing that he knew with a certainty. While he had been lonely, he had managed to get on fine without her. But he loved her, and that meant that while he could, he didn't want to; and the difference was a choice that you made when someone was really and truly worth it.
And that was something, he would tell his children, years later, that made all the difference.