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I heard he sang a lullaby
I heard he sang it from his heart
when I found out, thought I would die
because that lullaby was mine.
I heard he sealed it with a kiss
He gently kissed her cherry lips
I found that so hard to believe
because his kiss belonged to me.
**How Could an Angel Break My Heart?*** - Toni Braxton, 1996
"So, I hear we're back to Toni Braxton today?" Carole Granger called out to her husband Michael as she hung her coat on the rack in the foyer.
"I had so hoped that we might have moved on to that Fugees song we heard the other day, or even that Alanis Morissette girl again." Carole crossed to the kitchen where her husband greeted her with an absentminded kiss, somewhat engrossed in the raft of parchment that littered their oak table.
Glancing over his shoulder, she grimaced. "More information from that Dumbledore fellow again. Rather a lot of it this time. But I guess with Hermione being of age now, there is more for us to be aware of."
Reluctantly sifting through the pile of parchment, she plucked a somewhat ominous-looking grey piece from the pile.
"Oh, I'm not so certain you'll be wanting to read that one without this, love," Michael said as he handed her a tall glass of amber liquid that she knew instantly was her favourite Australian Chardonnay.
It did not take any time at all before she began to smile, and there was laughter in her voice as she said, "He actually sent us a letter to tell us that our daughter might require a little extra, now how did he phrase it? Tea, sympathy, and a particularly tart raspberry cream cordial."
Taking a small sip of the lovely oaky wine, Carole sat beside her husband of almost twenty years and absentmindedly patted his hand.
"All of this information detailing bad wizards and something particularly nasty called Inferi, and you are rubbing your forehead over your daughter's boy problems. Michael, you knew there was going to come a day when Hermione was going to become interested in the opposite . . ."
"For the love of God, woman, do not say that next word."
Carole continued as if her husband's muttered interruption had never occurred. "She is seventeen after all, and she is quite lovely to look at and smart. It's only natural that boys would be interested in our daughter. And that she would be interested in them. After all, her two best friends are boys. Rather fanciable young men if Hermione's pictures are any indication. They've certainly grown up quite a bit since the last time we saw them. Michael, whatever are you doing?"
Michael was rocking slightly in his chair, hands over his ears, muttering what seemed to be la, la, la over and over again.
"Not listening. Not listening. Staying quite happily in my fantasy world where my daughter doesn't date till she's thirty and my wife does not spend any time noticing how fanciable sixteen-year-old boys are."
Laughing at her husband, she promised, "Don't worry, hon, I made Hermione promise not to have sex until you are dead."
Michael's splutter of outrage was squashed by the sudden increase in volume of the latest verse in what seemed to be an endless series of sad, melancholy songs that had been spewing from Hermione's room since she had returned from Hogwarts three nights ago.
As Ms. Braxton mournfully pleaded with someone to Unbreak Her Heart, Carole took another delicate sip of wine and fixed her husband with her patented "Someone has to go and talk to her" look.
Talking with children about matters of the heart was never an easy proposition for any parent and being the parents of a child who was as bright as Hermione was doubly difficult. Michael was not at all comfortable with his pre-teen daughter being best friends with two boys. After all, he had been a boy once and he knew exactly what type of beasts were lying dormant in the chests of her two friends. But Carole had been right to stop him from confronting Hermione on her choice of friends. Hermione did not make friends easily at all. In fact, she never even had what could be called a best friend in all her years in primary school. The idea that she had found two best friends in such a short period of time warmed his heart. He would just have to learn to live with the fact that they would end up becoming walking bags of testosterone. Happy to return relatively unscathed to his glorious denial, Michael felt a lot more comfortable when Carole had assured him, she would have "The Talk" with their daughter. Of course, Hermione seemed to know everything - well, at least about the mechanics - and while Carole had wanted to spend more time discussing the emotion behind sex, she found that Hermione was quite happy with the "tab a into slot b" explanation. The conversation had left her feeling somewhat like she had failed her daughter.
******
Seeing his wife's intense look and knowing he had avoided the birds and the bee’s conversation, Michael sighed. "Okay, I will go and talk with her. I'll tell her that all men are prats, he's obviously not worth it, and could she please put something cheery on the CD player soon. It’s the ruddy holidays and I haven't heard White Christmas even once."
Throwing up her hands in disgust, Carole turned around, muttered something about having the sensitivity of a garden gnome, and ascended the stairs. When he heard his wife knock on Hermione's door, Michael breathed a sigh of relief. While he was loathe to discuss it with her, he was not insensitive to his daughter's pain. All he wanted to do was find the boy that had caused her tears and beat him senseless. But as Karen Carpenter claimed that she'd Say Goodbye to Love, he knew that a mother's touch was required. Once Carole got the whole story from Hermione and calmed her down, he could then hunt down the boy responsible. Or better yet, get that Ron Weasley Hermione was always talking about to hex some boils on the lad. After all, he seemed to look out for her in the past.
That errant thought stuttered to a stop for a moment in Michael's brain just long enough to register a "maybe" before dismissing it as nonsense. Content to leave Hermione in his wife's capable hands, Michael Granger settled down with his brandy and his paper and prayed for the lilting tones of Bing Crosby to soon fill the air.
*****
Hermione heard the knock on her door and knew just from the tone and the rhythm that it was her Mum. She really didn't feel much like talking, but Hermione knew that her mother was as stubborn as they came and would harass her until she blurted out why she was hiding in her room playing ridiculously sad songs. Truth be told, she wanted to talk, and it would be nice to chat with someone not so ruddy connected to the whole ruddy mess.
Perhaps her Mum would have some advice on how to stop her heart from breaking each and every time she saw Ron and Lavender together. She felt so brittle from weeks of trying not to care that she was worried she might crack into a hundred little Hermione pieces, and no one would ever be able to put her back together again.
"It's open, Mum."
Poking her head through the door, Carole grimaced as she noticed the state of Hermione's room. Wisely refraining from commenting on the small mountain of tissue on the floor, or the parcel carefully wrapped in red and gold paper, she simply crossed into the room, plunked herself down on her daughter's bed, and gathered her into her arms. Now when your heart is breaking, there are few places as comforting as being wrapped in your Mum's arms, and as soon as her Mum had stroked her hair just once, horrible, bitter sobs wracked Hermione.
As she held her sobbing, shaking daughter, Carole felt her own heart break a little. Hermione was a strong, capable young woman and she would recover from this bitter ache, but she knew that the kind of healing that came from mending a broken heart would leave an imprint forever. She would come out of this on the other side, a little wiser and a little more mature and that unalterable fact brought tears to her eyes. She was going to kill Ronald Weasley.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Carole felt Hermione's shake of her head rather than saw it, engulfed as she was by a mop of bushy brown hair.
"It will make you feel better. So, what's Ron gone and done now?"
Hermione pulled away from her mother's embrace far enough to look at her in astonishment.
"How did you know it was Ron, Mum? I never said it was Ron."
"Hermione Jean Granger, just where do you think you get your brains from? I've suspected that you have had feelings for Ron for a while now. I just figured that for you to be this upset . . . well, it had to be either Ron or Harry. And as you've been trying to set up Ginny and Harry for a couple of months now, I just assumed it was Ron. Am I wrong?"
Hermione suddenly knew how Ron and Harry felt when she was questioning them. She truly was her mother's daughter.
"No, Mum. You're not wrong. It's Ron and me. Or rather, it's not Ron and me. It’s Ron and Lavender Brown and not me. Mum, he's snogging Lavender Brown. He's dating her and taking her places and loving her and . . .and . . . and . . . it's not me. I'm not even sure why. One minute we were going to a party together and the next minute he was kissing another girl, pulling her into empty classrooms. He won't speak to me, and I won't speak to him, and it hurts, Mum, so much. It hurts to see them kiss. It hurts to see them hold hands. It just hurts so much, and I can't get away from it. Ron and I are in almost every class together. I share a dormitory with Lavender. I have to see it and listen to it and hear about it . . . all the time. I pretend like I don't care, but I do, and it hurts, and I don't understand. I'm angry and alone and it’s awful. I can’t talk to Harry; I can't talk to Ginny and I just know that everyone is laughing at me. Poor little Hermione Granger. It's so awful, Mum. It’s the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I remember at night. I've lost my best friend, Mum, and it just hurts."
Holding her sad, damp daughter in her arms, Carole thanked the Lord that she was not seventeen anymore. With a firm, yet gentle tone, she handed Hermione a tissue, and said, "How about you start at the beginning?"
****************************************
Three hours, two glasses of Chardonnay, and four cups of hot chocolate later, Hermione and Carole were sitting side by side on the bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Hermione had her eyes closed and looked both exhausted and calm. Carole was holding a rather large book in her hands watching in amazement as a pretty girl in Quidditch robes flew back and forth between the front cover and the spine. She doubted that she would EVER get used to how things worked in the magical world. Mind you, she certainly appreciated that Accio spell Hermione used to get her that second glass of wine. Ruddy useful that spell was. So deep was she in her contemplation of all things magical, that Carole didn't even hear her daughter call her name.
"Mum . . . Mum . . . Carole Granger."
"Wha.. ? Hermione, oh pumpkin, I'm sorry, I was just looking at the girl on this book - who keeps flying and is she . . .? Yes, why she's winking at me. Honestly! What cheek!"
Hermione had to laugh. "She certainly has cheek, Mum. That's Gwenog Jones and she plays for the Harpies." Seeing her mother's confusion, Hermione elaborated. "They're a professional Quidditch team that's made up of all witches. Gwenog is their captain and I met her at a few of Professor Slughorn's parties. She's nice enough; I suppose . . . just a little full of herself. I had to talk with her about the 1994 World Cup match for over an hour before she was willing to sign the book for me. Talk about an hour I'll never get back!"
"Oh, she signed it for you, well, that's nice of her." Not noticing the tears that were welling yet again in her daughter's eyes, Carole opened the book and read the inscription on the inside cover.
To Ron Weasley:
Keep playing, keep the passion and remember,
A Quidditch match a day keeps the healer away.
Cheers Mate,
Gwenog Jones
Underneath Gwenog's scrawling signature, was a much smaller note.
Ron,
Thought you would enjoy Gwenog's new book. There's an entire chapter
Devoted to Keeping!
Happy Christmas,
Love, Hermione
Trying to keep her voice even, Carole closed the book and turned to Hermione. "So, you still bought him a Christmas present even after everything that happened. Oh, honey."
"Mum, I'm not that pathetic. I had all my Christmas shopping done after the first Hogsmeade visit in September. I got Ron the book, Harry a set of telescope lenses for Astronomy and Ginny a lovely jumper I saw in Madame Malkin's."
Carole looked around at the disaster that was Hermione's room and noticed that those two items were suspiciously absent.
"I already sent Harry and Ginny their presents before I left Hogwarts, Mum."
"Well, I suppose you can give Harry the book for his birthday. He likes Quidditch too, right? Can you do something magical to charm the words to read Harry's name rather than Ron's?"
"No, Mum, I think I'll keep the book just as it is. It'll be a good reminder of just how stupid I've been."
The morose, resigned look on her daughter's face had Carole picking her next few words very carefully.
"Hermione, what you did wasn't stupid. Well . . . maybe the bird thing was a bit dodgy but loving someone is never stupid. I know it's hard to love someone who doesn't love you back. It's ruthlessly painful, but it will get better with time. Trust me, one morning you will wake up and your heart will feel less bruised."
"It's just that I thought that I knew him. Did he have any idea how hard it was for me to ask him to the party? Did he have any clue how I felt seeing him kiss Lavender? He must have, Mum, because when they were first together, he wouldn't even look at me. He never even tried to explain. It's just like he wanted to throw his snogging right in my face. And all because I dared to look out for his best interests. Oh yes, I made the fatal mistake of actually having his best interests at heart. I knew Harry was trying to spike his drink with Felix and not only was it wrong, it was also bad for Ron. How would he ever improve, how would he have ever had any confidence in his own abilities if he thought everything was due to a spell? That's why I told him, not because I didn't have any faith in his abilities, but because I do. I know he's wonderful and brilliant and a good Keeper, it's Ron who has no faith. And look what I get for all my troubles."
Even though Hermione had worked herself into a right state again, Carole knew that something needed to be said and she knew it was going to hurt.
"Hermione, have you ever considered that Ron truly fancies Lavender and that his snogging her had nothing to do with you? Maybe he just likes being with her. You did say that she thinks he is quite the catch, didn't you? Trust me, there is nothing that makes a woman more attractive to a man than one who makes him feel like a hero."
Hermione sat up straight and still and while her eyes welled with unshed tears, her voice was calm as she spoke.
"Then it would be really true, Mum. I don't know Ron Weasley at all anymore. What a waste of five years being his friend."
"Now, Hermione, that is not true. Ron has been a good friend to you and Harry. But, pumpkin, people change, feelings change, and sometimes friends don't stay friends. Now you and Ron may never be good friends again, you may never even speak another word to one another, but that doesn't diminish the past five years at all. No matter what, Ron Weasley was your friend. He may not be now, and he may never be again, but he was once and that will always be worth something."
"I guess I got to know him best for five years . . . and now it's Lavender's turn." As she slid the book into her bedside table, Hermione 's stomach growled, reminding Carole of how far behind she was in getting Christmas Eve dinner on the table.
"I must go set the table for supper. Do you want to give me a hand with the potatoes?"
"I'll be down in a tic, Mum. I just need to tidy up my room a bit."
"And have one last little cry?"
"And have one last little cry."
As Carole reached the door to Hermione's room, she took a glance back at her daughter and as a rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm her, she quietly spoke.
"I love you, pumpkin. And for heaven’s sake, put on some happy Christmas music before your father whines me to death."
As she turned to go, a small voice stopped her. "Mum?" She waited a beat. "Thanks."
Carole shut her daughter's door before Hermione could see the two tears that slid down her cheeks. Ron Weasley may have broken her daughter's heart, but he had also given Carole something most precious. For Carole Granger knew that no matter how old she got or how different her world would be from theirs, her daughter still needed her mother. For that reason alone, she was almost positive that she would let him live. As Bing started singing about Dreaming of a White Christmas, Carole knew that this holiday would be happy indeed.
**********************************
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - January 27th, 1997 - Boys' Dormitory
Hermione Granger was a desperate witch. She was also determined. Very determined. Which was why she was sifting through the contents of the trunk of one Ron Weasley in the boys' dormitory.
Without either his permission or knowledge.
Ron and Harry had always jokingly claimed that her love of books would be her undoing, and she mused rather mirthlessly that, given her current situation, they just might be right. For Hermione was breaking at least a dozen school rules willingly just to retrieve a book that she had lent Ron over four months ago.
But weighing the only two options she had had available to her - actually speaking to Ron and asking for the book or sneaking into the dorm and going through his things - Hermione had honestly felt that she had no other option than to . . .well . . . snoop.
However, now that she was actually in his room, rummaging through his trunk, Hermione wondered if she wasn't taking this whole acting like Ron and Lavender were mere annoyances in her otherwise perfect world just a little bit too far. After all, would it have really killed her to ask Ron for the book on the 1153 Goblin Rebellion? Especially since it seemed to even her eyes that Ron was just a little less "into" Lavender since returning from the Burrow. She'd also caught him a few times looking at her with an expression of such seriousness that she'd had to turn away lest the butterflies of hope take wing again in her stomach. But she had come too far in her Ron recovery to backslide at this critical juncture. While it still hurt to see them together, her heart didn't actually feel like it was shattering each and every time. As her Mum had promised, time did indeed seem to heal all wounds.
So, she had waited patiently until she was sure all the boys were down in the dormitory playing a rousing match of progressive Gobstones to make her move.
She had meant to open Ron's trunk and just quickly grab the book, but once she had gotten past Ron's ridiculously simple protection charms, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had been fascinated to find, beyond the broken quills and half-written astronomy notes many very interesting items. Such as a small figure of Viktor Krum, minus his left arm, a soft blue scarf that she thought she had misplaced sometime in November, and a small beautifully wrapped box with a card that she read before she could stop herself. To: Hermione, Happy Christmas. From, your friend, Ron.
And suddenly, she wished she hadn't come up here at all. It was so easy to hate Ron. It was easy and she was damn good at it. But these things that he had kept in his trunk . . .well, they made her heart ache. He had bought her a Christmas present. She didn't know how to feel anymore, and she knew if she weren't careful, she would let Ron back in. The walls she had so carefully constructed would crumble and she would be vulnerable and watery all over again. And that was not going to happen.
Hermione, get the ruddy book and get the hell out of this dorm.
And just as that thought reverberated through her mind, her hands touched on two items simultaneously. In her right hand was the Goblin rebellion book, in her left a jewelry box. A box that still had a sticker on it that read: My beloved Won-Won, Happy Christmas, Love from your Pooky.
Oh, sweet Mary, mother of God, it was Lavender's Christmas gift to Ron.
She couldn't? Could she?
Oh bloody hell, she was already in so much trouble if she got caught, what would a little invasion of privacy mean in twenty years?
Now that the decision had been made, Hermione's hand started to shake. This was important. This would help her, she realized. The gift would be so perfect, so absolutely Ron that it would finally prove to her just how well-suited Ron and Lavender really were. Then she could move on.
A moment later Hermione was rolling on the floor laughing, hands clasped over her mouth to hold in the almost hysterical gasping sounds she was making.
A necklace? My Sweetheart? In large gold letters?
For a very brief second, she felt sorry for Lavender. But it didn’t last very long, what an idiot! Did she honestly think any seventeen-year-old boy would wear this? Especially Ron. Oh, it was too funny for words. Did she not know him at all?
It was, quite simply, too funny and while she was laughing and replacing all the items in Ron's trunk, she felt something and although she fought against it for a moment, she knew it was there. A small spark of something, that if she had thought on it a little more, she would have recognized as hope.
Book in hand, Hermione quietly re-entered the common room, unnoticed by all. She slipped the book into her satchel quickly, leaned back in the worn squishy armchair, and smiled to herself for a job well done. She was almost drifting off when she heard two chairs being pulled out behind her. As she recognized Ron and Seamus' voices, she sank even further into her chair, figuring that adding eavesdropping to her already large list of transgressions today was perfectly acceptable.
She heard Seamus speak first. "It's bloody awesome, isn’t it, Ron? Gwenog Jones's new Quidditch book - Quaffles, Quirks, and Quarks. It’s brilliant."
Even without seeing his face, Hermione could hear the envy in Ron's voice. "Bloody hell, Seamus. It's sold out everywhere. How did you get your hands on a copy?"
"My Nan got it for me. My Mam's Mam. You know, the magical side of the family. Seems Mum had told her how much I'd like it and she got it on her last trip to Scotland. Right nice to have someone who knows exactly what you like. Right nice, it is. What did you get for Christmas?"
"Well, my mum gave me a jumper as always, and Harry gave me some keeper gloves and I got sweets and games from the rest. It was a pretty good haul, given the circumstances."
"And what did the lovely Miss Brown give you, or can't you tell . . . edible knickers, chocolate sauce . . . other things?" Hermione all but heard the leer she knew would be all over Seamus' face. Prat. But Hermione quickly put Seamus out of her mind. She so wanted to hear exactly how Ron answered this one.
"Just a little something, Seamus. Just a token, you know, nothing serious or anything, like jewelry . . . or something like that. You know, it’s a bit personal."
God, she loved it when Ron stuttered.
"I should bloody hope not. Jewelry . . . bloody hell, that means a right serious commitment. Anyway, I was wondering if you think I could ask Hermione to get Gwenog to sign the book for me. After all, I heard the Slug Club got to meet her. Do you think she'd do it?"
Oh, this would be interesting.
There was a long pause before she heard Ron quietly answer. "Sure, she would, Seamus. She's helpful with that kind of stuff . . . I guess."
"Still not speaking to her, are you?" Did Seamus sound a little peeved? "Right stupid that is. But I guess you have Lavender now. She sure is something, isn't she, Ron?"
"Yeah, she is that. You know you could always ask Harry to get Gwenog to sign the book. He's in that stupid club, too." The irritation in Ron's voice was evident, even to Hermione.
"Naw, I'll take my chances with Hermione. She's real thoughtful about getting things done for people. She found me a store in east London that sells this beautiful Irish yarn and owled it to me for me Mam for Christmas. I'd have been a dead man without her. And she helped Ginny pick out these wicked markers for Dean. He was over the moon. Not to bother Harry with this, I'm sure if I make a decent donation to S.P.E.W. Hermione will give me a hand. Cheers, mate. I'm off to find her."
Hermione heard nothing more from Ron that day, and in the end, it would still be months before they truly spoke to one another. But that day, hope had returned to Hermione Granger's internal dictionary. A hope that she still really knew him best. Better than anyone else. Knew him most of all. This boy she loved.
*************
June 30th, 2003 - Teachers' Quarters - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"Hermione, how many more books do you want packed in this trunk? I've had to increase the magnification on the spell three times just to try and get everything into it." Ron Weasley was getting more frustrated by the second, and he only had himself to blame. She had told him she had it taken care of, but no, he just had to open his big mouth and offer to help her pack. So here he was, on a brilliant Sunday afternoon, cooped up in Hermione's rooms, trying to shrink twenty-three years of her life into three storage trunks.
As Ron watched the last book he had shrunk repeatedly eject itself out of the trunk, he knew he would have to start over. Plopping himself on the floor, he ran a hand over his face, grabbed his wand, and very half-heartedly muttered, "Custodias." He watched amusedly as all the items he had tried to pack, leap out of the trunk, resize themselves, and fall gently to the bedroom floor.
The witch was a packrat! Did she never throw anything out? Well, she was just going to have to make some sacrifices to the rubbish bin! After all, did she really need to keep every single piece of correspondence she had ever received?
Ron was slowly making his way through years of report cards, birthday cards, various pieces of ribbon, and a multitude of books on every subject known to mankind, when a rather large book on Quidditch caught his eye. He certainly didn’t remember packing this, and curious as to why Hermione would even have a book on Quidditch, he gently picked it up, turned it over, and was pleasantly surprised to see one of his first crushes, Gwenog Jones, flying from front cover to spine.
"Bloody hell, I would have given my eyeteeth a few years ago to have had this book," Ron muttered to himself as he quickly flipped through the text, pausing every so often to admire a particularly interesting play the former Harpy had made. "Wonder why Hermione has it hidden away in her trunk?"
Getting up off the floor, Ron was just starting to sit on Hermione's bed to continue a more comfortable perusal of the book, when he flipped over the front cover and stood right back up. There was a dedication on the inner flap, along with a note and a date. And as he read, puzzle pieces reorganized in his head, and Ron Weasley very quickly walked to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds and Disapparated.
***********************************
"Ron, I'm so sorry, I got waylaid in the corridor by Minerva. It seems the seventh years caused quite a ruckus at the end of term party at Madam Rosmerta's last night and we will have to make a quick stop there with some spell bindings before we can . . . Ron? Ron? Oh, where has he gotten himself to?" Hermione had rushed into her room, frustrated at being held up by Minerva, and was now more than a little annoyed to find her packing assistant seemingly vanished into thin air.
"Well, he certainly couldn't have Disapparated, now, could he?" Hermione mumbled to herself as she took in the organized mess that was her bedroom. She was just beginning to go through the pile that had been crudely marked with a flashing sign saying, "Hermione's Rubbish" when she heard the door to her room open and shut.
"Couldn't have done. Some very smart witch once told me that you can't Apparate or Disapparate . . . "
"Yes, I know, in Hogwarts," Hermione finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Where did you go? I'm sorry I was late, but Minerva stopped me . . . and don't you think for one sorry second that I am binning my report cards, Ron Weasley. Really, the nerve! Putting my academic achievements in the rubbish pile."
Hermione hadn't turned around at Ron's return, but she did now, with a brilliant smile on her face to show she wasn't truly annoyed with him. But her smile faltered slightly when she saw him leaning on the door jamb holding a book in one hand and a small box wrapped in faded paper in the other. "Whatever do you have there? Oh my goodness, where did you find that book? Give it to me right now. It's mine."
It had taken Hermione a few seconds to recognize exactly what Ron was holding and as she tried to take the book from him, she cursed every single one of Ron's almost two hundred centimeters as he held the book over his head.
"Now you wait just one sweet minute, little lady. I do believe this book is mine. See there is this note on the front that says: Ron: Thought you would . . ." Easily keeping the book out of Hermione's reach, Ron smiled down at the angry witch in front of him.
"I bloody well know what it says. I did write it." Hermione had stopped trying to get the book and now stood in front of Ron, arms crossed tightly across her chest, eyes flashing.
Looking altogether too pleased with himself, Ron continued, " . . . enjoy Gwenog's new book. There's an entire chapter devoted to Keeping . . . You did buy me a Christmas present that year. I just knew you had."
Huffing angrily, Hermione finally sputtered. "Oh, you did, did you? I have no idea why you would have ever thought that. After all, if you remember correctly, we weren't exactly on speaking terms that Christmas."
There were a few moments of utter silence before Ron finally spoke. He had lost his smug expression and his voice was much softer than before. "I remember. Merlin, I remember. It was bloody awful. I guess I'd always hoped things with you would be better by Christmas. When I saw the school owl arrive on Christmas Eve with parcels, I was so happy. Then Ginny read your note. Standing there in the kitchen at the Burrow, I realized for the first time that our friendship might actually be over. I know I made some stupid joke about not needing another homework planner, but it hurt to think you hadn't cared enough to send a Christmas present. I guess I just needed to keep on thinking that you really did buy me something that year. I had to think that, because not to was just too hard." Ron had sat down on the bed by this point, heart heavy with memories of a time he'd have liked to erase.
"Would you have liked it?" Hermione's voice was strained, but it was the shy, hopeful tone that had Ron answering almost immediately.
"Would I have liked it? Are you daft, woman? Hell, I love it now. . . but, back then. Oh, I swear I would have given up Quidditch for this book. I was so bloody jealous of Seamus when he showed me his. It's perfect, Hermione. But you had to know that I would love it. After all, you knew me better than anyone when we were at Hogwarts." As he moved to take Hermione in his arms, Ron was stunned to see the sadness in her eyes. "Hermione . . . love . . .c'mere. . . what's wrong?"
"I thought that I knew you. I really did. But then you were with Lavender, and I didn't know why, and I had this stupid, stupid book and I thought you would love it and I so wanted it to be special and then you were kissing her, and it was awful because I didn't know you and I hated being so pathetic."
Wrapping Hermione tightly in his arms, Ron settled his chin on her head. His voice was gruff when he spoke.
"We've never really taken the time to talk much about sixth year, have we? What with Dumbledore and the Horcruxes and well . . .the rest. But if you think you were pathetic, then I guess we both were, because I got you a Christmas present too. Would you like to open it now? Just remember, I wasn't quite seventeen, and trying to buy something for someone like you was a daunting task, let me tell you."
Ron watched as Hermione wiped her eyes and peered at the small box in his right hand. "Well, I suppose you can’t be the only one who gets to have Christmas in June, now can you? Give it here; let's see what you came up with. Although it's awfully small to be a book!"
"It's not a book, Hermione. It was a stupid young wizard's attempt to buy the girl he adored something special. Open it, it'll be worth a laugh at least."
Ron watched as Hermione made short work of the wrapping and opened the top of the box. It was quite amazing to watch as shock, happiness, sadness, love, and anger all seemed to war for dominance in her eyes. In the end, he wasn't sure if he was pleased or horrified when she threw herself against his chest and burst into tears.
"It's not that bad, love. C'mon, stop with the waterworks. It's just a stupid little book light. Nothing to get upset over."
Hermione stepped back from him, thankfully smiling, and hugged the box to her chest. "Don't you dare say that, Ron. Oh, it's just perfect and that's what makes it so damn sad. I would have loved this so much back then. It would have meant everything to me. Everything."
Ron watched as Hermione sat down on the bed, carefully removing the "Keep it Dark for your Mates Book Lite" from the box. "You knew how much Lavender and Parvati were complaining about my reading at night. And that if I wanted to read at night, I had to go to the library or the Common room. And, oh Ron . . .you charmed it to be in the shape of an otter. Merlin, we were a right pair of idiots, weren't we?"
Hermione was smiling through her tears, and as Ron sat on the bed next to her, he was surprised to find his own vision a bit blurry. "Ruddy morons, if you ask me. Merlin, we couldn't even fight properly. I doubt two people who hated the sight of each other should have been able to pick such perfect gifts."
"I never hated you." Hermione said, and as Ron lifted his eyebrow in disbelief, continued. "I didn't. I hated what you were doing and how it made me feel, but I never hated you. Why? Did you hate me?"
Not really knowing how to word what he had to say, Ron hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I hated that you had such power over me. I hated that your opinion meant more to me than anyone else’s. And I hated that you were always, always on my mind. But hate you, Hermione . . .. Hell, I was six ways to Sunday in love with you. Head over heels, in way over my head in love with you. Still am, you know." Ron smirked at the witch who was now resting her head on his shoulder.
"Ruddy useful that is now, isn't it? Considering that little get-together we're taking part in next Saturday. I'm rather fond of the idea that my husband-to-be might still be in love with me." Hermione chuckled as Ron pulled her onto his lap. "And truth be told, even though it hurt, I think we needed to go through sixth year in order to get to this place."
Ron pretended to look aghast. "What, the teachers’ quarters at Hogwarts?"
Laughing, Hermione smacked him on the arm. "Prat . . .No - this place." Hermione waved her hand between them. "This together place. This man and wife place. I think I needed to realize that I could lose you - and not just to things like poisoned mead - but to indifference and taking you for granted. I'd always assumed we would just happen, and I never figured I should have to really do anything to make it right between us. I was so lazy about it, our friendship . . . everything. I needed a wake-up call and trust me, watching you and Lavender for months on end was better than any alarm clock could ever have been."
Ron looked down at the proud young witch in his arms and realized it might just be time for a little confession of his own.
"Did you ever wonder why I treated you so badly in sixth - even before I got with Lavender?" Ron watched at Hermione shook her head. "Well . . . I found out that you and Krum had snogged, and it pissed me off. It really pissed me off. And here I was, Mr. Never Kissed a Witch Weasley, fantasizing daily about kissing you and I find out you had experience and a bloody lot of it. I just couldn't believe it. You were supposed to wait for me! You were supposed to be mine and you had snogged someone else. Well, let's just say it got all jumbled up with hormones and revenge and Lavender being right bloody there . . . and that's kind of how we ended up in that clinch in the common room that night." Ron finished and was surprised to find that Hermione was shaking . . . from laughter.
"We are a right pathetic little pair, aren't we? We both thought we were so entitled to the other. I think we should Floo Lavender and Viktor and thank them for getting our heads out of the clouds. Can you imagine if we had gotten together earlier? We would have self-destructed, and never known how wonderful it would have been. And we are great together, aren't we?"
As Ron gathered his bride-to-be in his arms and bent his head to kiss the only woman he had ever loved, he murmured, "Damn straight, Hermione, damn straight."
*************************************
Sometimes, we need to lose something to recognize its value, and sometimes it is not the big things in life that give us hope, but the small and the insignificant. Like a necklace . . . gilded in gold . . .engraved with a sentiment untrue.