Archive of Our Own ^beta

She found him at the edge of the garden, under the shelter of the Rowan tree's boughs. With his back resting against the wide trunk and his eyes closed, his hair contrasted sharply with the pale bark - not exactly hidden, but not entirely approachable.

A fortnight after the kiss and still, Hermione felt the uncertainty of their situation. They'd buried Fred, and Tonks and Remus, and stood alongside too many other graves as families grieved and remembered.

It wasn't as if they were completely distant from each other. Her hand in Ron's was what kept her anchored and present as they attended what felt like endless memorials - they were here, they were somehow alive, the war was over - and each night she stole into his room, doing nothing more than holding each other tight before falling asleep. But they hadn't talked, not really, not like she needed.

The silence between them was newly frustrating to Hermione. All those evenings of studying in the Gryffindor common room that she wished Ron and Harry would hush, all those occasions in class where she wanted to snap her fingers at Ron to pay attention and stop talking; and now, she'd give most anything for the easy, constant thrum of his voice to return. But knowing that the loss of Fred was still so fresh, she didn't want to push Ron to talk about or do anything that would add to his and his family's burdens.

It was, then, with some trepidation that she approached, clutching the recently arrived parchment from the Ministry (what was left of the Ministry, at any rate) in her hand. She knew how to talk to Ron, her best friend; she was less sure how to talk with Ron, her possible-but-not-for-certain boyfriend whose proximity gave her an unnerving thrill when she saw him. Literally, annoyingly, deliciously every time she saw him.

"I can hear you thinking from here," he called out, eyes still closed. The sunlight dappled over him through the leaves, and Hermione drew a breath as it highlighted his slightly upturned face, and toned arms, and muscular legs, and - oh, bother.

"I was simply ascertaining if you were asleep before I approached, Ronald," she responded, resorting to overdone propriety in the wake of how unsettled she felt. But he knew that move too, now, so Ron only smiled and opened his eyes slowly to her.

"Come and sit with me a bit?" he said, patting the grass beside him. Hermione took a breath, nodded, and braced herself for what she was fearing might be a significant, perhaps heartbreaking, conversation.

As she closed the distance between them, Ron looked at her appreciatively. He could tell something had her flustered, from the haphazard way her hair was drawn up and the tightness in her steps. He also knew well enough that she would tell him, in her own time, if she'd only unwind a smidge.

As Hermione sat down close to him, he brought his hand to her easily, rubbing soft circles across her back. She started a bit, and looked back at him with a mix of wonder and surprise. He felt it, too, the rush every time he touched her - the incredulity that he had permission to hold her, reach for her, comfort her. He was sure his cheeks were heating up as she returned his gaze.

"So," she said, dropping her eyes to the parchment she'd nearly crumpled in her hands. Ron kept a gentle hand on her back. She trembled a bit and Ron's brow furrowed, but he let the silence be. He'd gotten better at that since he'd left them, hungry and shivering in a tent, and then found his way back again; knowing that some things could only happen or heal in the quiet, that sometimes words were insufficient for the occasion.

And even more, he'd gained a remarkable clarity following the leaving-and-returning. He'd forced himself to think of it that way, leaving-and-returning, so the guilt wouldn't eat him up every minute. A mistake and a repair. A weakness and an overcoming. Ron knew now, as simply as he knew he loved chess and the Chudley Cannons and his mum's fudge, that his place was by Hermione.

It was a relief and terror, actually, to have worked it out, because much of his acting like a right git finally made sense (it was ridiculous, how long he'd fancied her) and also, frightening that much of his happiness rested on her. And his thus far less-than-stellar but, hopeful, ability to not make a complete mess of things.

"So," Hermione started again, not looking up from her hands. "The - the Ministry just wrote that they've found - that is, they've located them. My parents. They're still in Australia." She gulped a breath in as Ron moved his hand to hers, and she handed the wrinkled parchment over.

Hermione had a desperate need to fill the silence as he read the short note from the Ministry, which she had already memorized. Parents in Melbourne. Portkey in two days. Prepare to stay several months, to eliminate any lingering affects from the memory charm. And thrumming behind it all was her fear of what this meant for them, for her and Ron, who had perhaps waited too long and never seemed to get the timing quite right and were finally on the precipice but now -

"I understand if you'd rather we take a break while I'm gone - or, that is, maybe we aren't together so we can't take a break from anything, really, could we, I don't want to assume, but I'll be gone for a few months, as you can read, and I know your family needs you here and Harry still has bad days and I'll probably have to fly on an airplane to bring them back, that is if I can manage to lift the charm and they want to come back, and if I can't I'm not sure what will happen after, or perhaps they'll want to live in Australia and expect me to be there, and - ".

And Hermione promptly burst into tears, because it was just too much.

What would have formerly bewildered Ron only caused him to draw Hermione closer, closer. She soaked his shoulder with tears as he held on, until she finally gave a quieter sigh and pulled away.

And with her face puffy and tear-streaked, her nose with an unbecoming sniffle, and her hair frizzing about in the warmth of May, she looked at Ron miserably. And he looked at her with his bright blue eyes and proceeded to laugh. A rather great laugh, deep from within and his smile going wide. She would have been thrilled to hear his laugh again if she wasn't completely flummoxed.

"Are you - Ronald, are you laughing at me?" He responded by kissing her on her unbecoming nose and teary cheeks, still chuckling.

"Mione, for the brightest witch of our age you sure do miss the important bits sometimes. Here, read this." Ron handed her a parchment of his own that she hadn't noticed beside him, scrawled in his untidy hand. Her eyes began to fill up again as she read through the list he'd made.

-I'm sorry I called you a nightmare and you got locked in the bathroom with a troll

-I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from getting petrified

-I'm sorry I fought with you about Crookshanks, even though he is a ruddy cat

-I'm sorry I didn't ask you to the Yule Ball first and that I didn't tell you that you looked beautiful, because you are beautiful

-I'm sorry it took me a long time to support SPEW

-I'm sorry I couldn't stop Dolohov from cursing you

-I'm sorry I didn't go with you to the Christmas party and you went with that slimy git Cormac instead

-I'm so sorry for everything with Lavender

-Merlin, I'm sorry I couldn't stop Bellatrix

-I'm sorry I left

-I'm sorry that I

And the listed ended like that, in the middle of a thought that Hermione guessed Ron had been writing before she approached. Ron smiled at her again, though more sadly this time.

"I want us to be together, Hermione, of course I do. You're - Merlin, you're incredible. And I wanted us to have a fresh start, in a way, not to forget everything that happened - not that we could - but just to, you know, clear it out a bit." Ron cleared his throat, wanting to get this right.

Hermione still hadn't looked up from the list. Her heart was full and her mind was full and all she could think was that if you'd told her last year that this was where she and Ron would be, she would have though it was almost too good to be possible. "What was the last point you were writing?", she asked.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I felt sooner," Ron said. He reached for her hand again. "I reckon I've liked you - well, a lot longer than I even knew. I wish I'd told you so much sooner, because then maybe - wait, what are you doing?"

A quill had appeared in Hermione's hand - "it was in my pocket Ron, honestly, just a simple Reducio and Engorgio, that's basic third-year magic" - and began adding to the parchment in her precise hand.

I'm sorry I took such delight correcting you in school

I'm sorry you had to belch up slugs for me, even though it was oddly endearing

I'm sorry Crookshanks attacked your pet before we knew Scabbers was an evil animagus serving Voldemort and that my cat was actually doing us a favor

I'm sorry I doubted you being a Prefect

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the terrifying brains

I'm sorry I didn't ask you properly to Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party

I'm really sorry about the yellow birds

I'm sorry I didn't show you sooner how important you are to me

I'm sorry because I'm sure there is more I'm forgetting

Hermione read her own additions once more through, then handed it back to Ron expectantly. He held her hand as he read, rubbing his thumb ever so slowly against the back of it, soaking up the softness and nearness of her. Ron put the parchment down between them, looked into Hermione's eyes, and - much to Hermione's delight - kissed her soundly.

"If we can get through all of that and still be here, together, don't you reckon we can get through most anything?" he said after they parted, slightly breathless.

"Even Australia," she said, nodding.

"I'll come with you, of course, if you'll have me," he said, holding her gaze.

Hermione's smile broke through, though she tried to reason it away. "It could be so many months, Ron, are you sure? With your family and Harry here, and still grieving. We can't pop back in for a visit once we're there, I already looked into how many Portkeys different countries will have to approve." She sighed. "Are you sure?"

"If you'll have me," Ron said again, and she heard it this time, the weight of it. She knew then, somehow, that it wasn't just Australia. That if she'd said she fancied moving to Provence and starting a winery that Ron would willingly grow grapes and grudgingly learn French; that if she wanted to open a bookstore in the Alps he'd build the bookcases; or if she said she wanted five more cats he'd roll his eyes and go with her to the Magical Menagerie (whenever it was rebuilt, of course).

"Yes," she breathed out, and it felt deeper somehow, too, more resonant than what the small word could hold. "Yes of course, Ron, I'd love it if you came with me. I didn't imagine you would but - oh, it will all be so much better with you."

And it was.