Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October 1990

Harry had learned at a very early age that there was something wrong with him. After all, only good things happened to good children, right? Of course, his cousin Dudley was a huge exception, but he still had his parents, he was still loved, and he was the most spoiled child Harry had ever known. Television, specifically the channels Aunt Petunia watched during the day (mostly gossip shows where there were always guests and they called them "experts," although Harry wasn't sure he even knew what that meant) always emphasized loving upbringing, that children should be in safe places, where they knew they were heard and appreciated, a home where their feelings were valued. And Harry wasn't having any of that. Those programs usually said that children who didn't stay in healthy homes always ended up as criminals.

Harry didn't know love. He didn't have a mother to read to him at night or a father to carry him on his shoulders. He couldn't talk about that strange feeling he couldn't shake, similar to anger but stronger, hotter. Harry knew he was an invisible child, or at least he tried to be. His uncles didn't usually address him directly unless they needed something, like breakfast, cleaning, or any chores, or when Dudley insulted him along with his friends—who were just as spoiled and round as he was. But it was the only time anyone cared about his existence.

He had also discovered that he could do things no one else could. When he was angry, he could make things explode or move; he could make things levitate or catch fire (this only happened once, when Aunt Petunia had spoken badly of his parents, the only time he ever really spoke of them).

And, taking advantage of all the time he spent locked under the stairs, he'd learned that those "accidents" weren't what Uncle Vernon said; in fact, he was the one causing them. At an early age, he'd realized there was something strange about him, something strange and wonderful at the same time, and that he just needed to practice a lot to be able to make things obey his commands, at his commands, and not just because of his emotions.

Something surprising had happened that October night. Something he would never forget.

For the first time, he had taken revenge on Dudley.

It was Halloween, and Dudley was wearing a horrible pumpkin costume; his parents had hovered around hi,m taking pictures, telling him how cute he looked, calling him pumpkin and pinching his cheeks until they were incredibly red. The Dursley family was ready to go trick-or-treating (Dudley was too lazy for a trick, so he always tricked without giving anyone else any choice but to stuff his bag full of all kinds of goodies). They wouldn't take him with them, of course not, they never did, and Harry was grateful for that because it was a perfect time to close all the windows and curtains and practice how he always did when he was alone, but today there was something different.

Maybe it was that Aunt Petunia had drunk more than her thin frame could handle, or that Uncle Vernon had failed to meet his sales target for the month, making everyone feel like they were walking on eggshells, or the fact that Dudley hated his costume and had thrown a tantrum, tugging at the itchy fabric and pouting so hard his head looked rounder than it already was. Maybe it was that. Maybe it wasn't.

Harry didn't remember, not exactly, he usually ignored his aunt when she was drunk (who was extraordinarily cruel to him in that state) as well as his uncle (who upon failing to get his sales voucher would start talking about how sorry he was that Harry's parents had given him up to them because he was just a liability) and his cousin (who upon not getting what he wanted would pester him by pinching and hitting him on the head at every opportunity and when his parents weren't looking). Maybe it was all at once.

Maybe it was the fact that Harry was alone, really alone, and there was no one to go costume shopping with him, trick-or-treating with him, or defend him from the horrible family that had taken him in.

It was on October 31st when Harry realized that, really, there was something wrong with him. The hissing had started out of nowhere, the Dudleys had looked around nervously as Dudley stole some of the dinner in the kitchen, in front of him stood Harry with his fists clenched, concentrating, as he had so often done, letting his emotions guide him.

One second it had been there, Petunia's new stove, while Dudley was putting his grubby hands into the saucepan, and the next, everything had exploded.

Petunia's screams had brought him out of the trance he was in. The wall was now a huge black stain, the smell of burning fabric filled his nose, his uncles' screams and Dudley's fluids hurt his eardrums, and before he could really see the damage the family had caused, he was already running towards the front door. They were probably taking Dudley to the doctor, but Harry knew it hadn't been that bad.

In one second, the Dursleys' house had become a shambles of screaming, whining, and stew smeared on the ceiling. Then, the house was peaceful again. The Dursleys were gone, and Harry was alone again, at peace, ready to get back to practicing. He had cleaned up after himself, though. Just because he didn't care about his cousin's well-being didn't mean he liked the mess they'd left behind. Of course, he didn't. Besides, he was used to cleaning up after himself, and he preferred it that way, a huge, clean house all to himself.

Not caring about anything but his night of practice, Harry sat down on the couch in front of the television, focused his eyes, and began to concentrate. After all, practice makes perfection.

October 1991

Harry sighed heavily, his mind on one thought: "October is the worst month ever." It definitely was, he'd come to that conclusion quickly, and he even had a long list of reasons why he believed that:

1. His parents had died in October.
2. Vernon had found his pet spider (a spider he named Tooths) and killed it in front of him, then called it disgusting.
3. Last year, Dudley's arm was burned, and he now bore marks from his fingertips to his shoulder. Although he had intended to hurt him badly, he had gone too far.
4. A troll had entered Hogwarts.

And now he was running down to the dungeons in an attempt to save Hermione Granger from being killed. Ron had been really rude to her for days, making comments about what a know-it-all and nerd she was, talking about her ugly bird's nest hair and her beaver-like front teeth (they'd heard that from Draco, but Ron would never admit he found that comment funny).

Although Harry had never openly defended her, he did disagree with Ron, but he was her first friend in her life. She didn't want to anger him over something as silly as defending someone who was more of an acquaintance than a friend. Or so he liked to think. After all, the only thing he and Hermione had in common was that neither of them knew anything about the wizarding world until they entered Hogwarts. And the only time they shared was when Hermione shared her notes with him (without Ron noticing) to help him with his homework and classes. Of course, she also wished him a good day whenever they met at breakfast in the Great Hall and wished him a nice night before going up to her room, but that didn't make them friends, did it?

However, Harry found himself running, while Ron followed behind him. He was a little annoyed with Hermione, but that was a topic for another day; for now, all he could think about was not letting her get killed, no, no, and no.

And luckily, because even he knew it had all been luck, Ron had managed to knock him down when the troll had tried to attack with its mallet. At least everything had gone well. Harry was mentally preparing himself for the points deducted and possible detention, but then Hermione had blamed herself. He'd shared glances with Ron about how out of line Hermione sounded for admitting she'd disobeyed a direct order from the Headmaster, but Professor McGonagall had believed him and had even awarded them points.

Odd.

Not as odd as realizing how annoyed Harry was with Ron, with Hermione, with himself. That feeling he hadn't experienced since he'd set foot on Platform 93/4 had returned. Harry wanted to hit something, wanted to scream, wanted to get even, but now he shared a room and had early classes tomorrow, so there wasn't much he could do.

He closed his eyes and tried to figure out why he was so upset.

It wasn't too difficult to get some answers.

He was angry at Ron for being so rude to Hermione. He was angry at Hermione for putting herself in danger by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was angry at Ron because he'd knocked out the troll when he was the one who wanted to take down the beast. He was angry because his stupidity had cost them points Hermione was working hard to earn. He was angry because when they walked back to their common room, Hermione was still teary-eyed. She hadn't spoken to any of them the whole way, only saying a quiet thank you before running off to her room.

Of course, I understood most of his reasons for being upset.

What he didn't understand was why he cared so much about Hermione Granger if they weren't friends, and they weren't close.

And for many years, there was no real answer.

October 1992

And of course, October once again brings bad news for Harry.

Filch's accusatory glare, the fact that he thought he was really going mad, and the writing on the wall could all be bad news for him.

He was always in the middle. Always walking the fine line between being someone horrible, a villain, and being a good person, the hero everyone thought of when they heard his name.

But that day, there was much more on his mind than the fact that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or that the adults looked at him as if he were a spawn of evil. No, that didn't affect him; he was used to it.

It was the look on Hermione's face that made him squirm, squirm, and wonder if he'd really done something wrong.

Of course not. Still, as she walked back to her common room, she couldn't help but feel fear and sadness.

October would definitely be the same shit it always was for him.

October 1993

“You must be careful, Harry.” Hermione kept talking, and everyone was tense. Couldn't he have a normal school year?

A normal life. That's what he wanted. Without having to look over his shoulder to confirm that nothing bad was happening, to make sure no one was chasing him, or that some monster wasn't about to attack him at any moment, without his biggest worries being his homework and exams, or who would win the Quidditch season.

But of course not, he was Harry Potter, of course he couldn't have a normal life.

However, this year it wasn't a monster, no (although it could very well be classified as one). This time it was a wizard who was after him for some reason.

Sirius Black was on the loose. He'd tried to get into the castle, and Hermione was worried about him.

They had spent the last few hours in the library, theorizing about who Sirius Black was, but they didn't have enough information beyond what Mr. Weasley had given him that afternoon at the Leaky Cauldron and what he'd heard from McGonagall at the Three Broomsticks. He wants to finish it. He couldn't finish it that night. He was his godfather, and he had betrayed his parents, but why? If they were such good friends, what had happened? Had they argued? Or had Sirius really considered them his friends? After all, he was quite aware of pure-blood beliefs. In the end, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

“I’m serious, Harry.” Hermione bent down to his level, looking him straight in the eyes. "You can't break the rules this time. You can't leave the castle in your cloak—it's dangerous! Don't do anything stupid."

And he's grateful for that, grateful to have a friend who truly cared about him, and that that concern had even led her to send him food during the summer, personalized gifts, and immense loyalty. Still, I can't help but feel irritated. He wasn't a stupid kid; Harry wouldn't intentionally put himself in danger, but he didn't want to be left out either. Not going to Hogsmeade had been difficult; fortunately, the twins had given him a small gift, and he hadn't missed the little trip.

And, though Harry would never admit it out loud, a part of him really wanted Sirius to find him, wanted to hurt him, wanted to ask him why, and wanted revenge for his parents. He wanted revenge for everything that had gone wrong in his life because of them.

That night, as he stared at the ceiling, Harry couldn't clench his fists and let anger take over.

He had decided it.

Harry Potter would kill Sirius Black, and no one would stop him.

October 1994

The room was silent, and all eyes were on him. Beside him, he felt Hermione gently toss it toward Headmaster Dumbledore, who was also staring at him, the paper in his hand, a frown on his face.

Harry had hoped, however small, but he had. This year couldn't be bad. Especially after learning about the tournament, and that the participants had to be 17 years old. That had made him feel the weight on his shoulders lighten.

There was no way this year was going to be bad; there was no way this year was going to be ruined.

And somehow, it happened. The chalice revealed one last participant, and it was him.

He walked heavily beside Professor Dumbledore, feeling the gazes glued to his back.

Was there a solution? He wasn't of legal age, nor did he want to participate, so they could disqualify him, right? Besides, since he had entered his name in the chalice, he wasn't foolish enough to even try.

But Harry wasn't upset; in fact, he'd gotten used to things never going his way. He was sad. Ron was going to be furious. He was stressed. Hermione was probably making a mental list of all the books they could use as a reference to save his life. He was tired. He knew that even if he asked Sirius for help, he wouldn't be able to do anything; after all, he was still at large.

He was alone in this. This time he didn't have Ron and Hermione by his side, ready to charge in alongside him, to help him. This time, he was alone, and for the first time, he realized how sad his life had been before he met them. How unhappy he was when they weren't by his side.

October 1995

Harry was going to kill that disgusting pink toad; he was dying to, and he had every reason to, but he knew he couldn't do it. At least not without hurting Dumbledore.

It was bad enough that they had an underground club to learn defense, adding the death of the High Inquisitor would only increase speculation about Dumbledore and his supposed army.

Harry was an emotional wreck. Not only did he feel responsible for the DA and his training, but now he had to add that Hedwig had been attacked by the toadface when she was trying to deliver a letter to Sirius, his familiar, attacked for following his orders, and his godfather had almost handed him over on a silver platter! Helplessness was a much worse feeling than anger.

And not only that, to close in a very nice way, Ron had gotten into trouble for fighting with Draco.

For a second, he was thankful that Hermione wasn't in trouble; he couldn't bear it that everyone he cared about was in trouble or about to be.

Or at least that's what he thought until he saw her walk into the common room. Harry knew what people who had detention with Dolores Umbridge looked like, and Hermione looked like that, with her watery eyes, one hand covering the back of the other, staring into space.

Hermione sniffed before making up a pathetic excuse—she was the worst liar he'd ever met—and went to sleep after wishing them goodnight.

Ron didn't notice the change, of course not. Ron hardly noticed anything, always distracted and in his own world.

But Harry had noticed. And he had promised.

That night, Harry started a new list.

People who would kill, one day, but they would, and right after Peter Petty was her name. Dolores Umbridge.

October 1996

Harry had never had any problems with Ron.

They had never really fought, at least he didn't mention what had happened during the Triwizard Tournament. He was jealous, of course, he had said horrible things to her, of course, but they had never fought, at least not a big fight with major, irreparable disagreements, never.

Until that day.

Ron kissed Lavender. Well, she had kissed him, but he had kissed her back, in front of everyone, in front of Hermione. And she had cried on his shoulder for hours. And Harry had hated it.

Lavender was no match for Hermione. Lavender was a silly girl, a teenager in every sense of the word. She would grow up to be a great woman without a doubt, but right now, Harry didn't understand how Ron didn't realize it.

He had decided to step aside a long time ago, he had decided that the feelings he had for his best friend would disappear, after all it was clear that she was drooling over Ron and he couldn't do anything about it, he wouldn't get in the way, he wouldn't fight, he would let things blossom between them and he would look for someone else.

At the time, Ginny had sounded like a good idea. She'd been after him for years, ever since she was a little girl and had turned red and flustered when he'd first met her at the Burrow. He could fall for her; she was brilliant. Ginny was everything Hermione wasn't, and that sounded good to him. Where Hermione was quiet and invisible, Ginny was the kind of woman who stood out, the popular type, and she loved Quidditch as much as he did! He had more in common with her than he did with Hermione.

Still, he didn't understand why he felt like his heart was breaking when she leaned on his shoulder for comfort. It shattered his heart when she called out to him best friend, and set him on fire when she asked him if he felt that way when they saw Ginny kissing someone else.

She didn't understand, she didn't understand that his heart belonged to her and belonged to her. That there was no better witch than her.

Hermione, who blindly followed him wherever he went, who cared for him and looked after him, who had never left him at will.

As Hermione cried on his shoulder, Harry wondered for a second if it would be worth it. Ron was a fool, and sooner or later, he'd understand what kind of witch Hermione was, but would it be worth trying, trying to go after her? He wasn't sure if Ron would ever forgive him, but he still wasn't sure if she would ever reciprocate.

For days, as he accompanied her everywhere, Harry wondered what life with Hermione Granger would be like.

And I never stop thinking about it.

October 1997

For the first time, Harry had a trouble-free October; for the first time, Harry experienced a Halloween with friends; an autumn spent enjoying pumpkin juice while watching the brown leaves fall from the trees on the paths to the Ministry of Magic.

And Harry was determined that October would be different; he would put his plan into action, and the Wizarding World would be under his power.

And Hermione Granger would be his.

Chapter Text

7 years A.V. (After Voldemort)

Harry was many things, but he always stood out for being responsible and meticulous, something he had learned during his time as an Auror. He was patient and persevering, qualities acquired during the war.

He wasn't stupid, nor the type to forgive easily. At least not anymore.

That was why Harry couldn't help but rub the bridge of his nose hard; the throbbing in the back of his head was increasing, and he really didn't feel like listening to all the crap coming out of his best friend's mouth anymore.

All the affection and loyalty he'd once felt for the youngest Weasley had died the day he'd abandoned them at the tent. Ron hadn't just left them there; he'd also instigated it and made both him and Hermione miserable for days.

But even then, Harry didn't hate him. Of course not. Maybe he didn't consider him the brother he once was. What made Harry hate him was seeing him return, as if nothing had happened, and claiming what wasn't his.

His hatred was born when Hermione and Ron appeared hand in hand after getting rid of yet another Horcrux. Harry had tried to shake the feeling; he really tried. After all, he knew he was about to die. It was part of Dumbledore's plan; it was what the prophecy had intended for him. His end had been written before he was even born, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

And then he didn't die. He came back from the dead once more and finished the job. He took Voldemort's life and turned him to ash—a spell he'd found in the Half-Blood Prince's book—and when the adrenaline in his body wore off, he realized that everyone had a happy ending. Ron had a happy ending, and he didn't deserve it. He hadn't suffered half as much as he or Hermione had; he hadn't fought like they had, and yet he was the one who stayed with her.

But Harry didn't do anything, at least not immediately. Harry had locked himself in Grimmauld Place for days after the two of them had seen Hermione off on the express to Hogwarts and begun his plan. There were many things he had to take care of, many things that were unresolved and that—due to lack of evidence or because of the alleged use of the Imperius Curse—he couldn't leave in the hands of the Ministry, not as long as half of the Wizengamot were pure-bloods.

It was okay. Harry was patient and ready to contemplate the fallout in peace.

But the red-haired idiot had decided to ruin part of his plan, an important part, and confessed it to him as if it were nothing, as if Harry should be happy for him. He wasn't.

Ron continued chattering in front of him, while eating, without manners, and with a smile on his face.

“I don’t think it’s the best time, mate.” Mate, that word felt sour on his tongue. “I think you should wait, Ron, I think you should think more about this.”

“But I don’t want to wait any longer.” Ron leaned in, trying to get a little more privacy, looking for something more intimate. "I know what she is. Hermione is what I want for the rest of my life. Maybe you don't understand because you haven't had a partner in a while, mate, but trust me, once you know... You just know." Ron didn't realize he had struck a nerve, but Ron never noticed anything, never. “I’m sure she’s for me.”

“Last week, you complained that you never had fresh cooked food, that she doesn’t want children, and so much more.” Harry pointed out, looking him in the eye. Ron had the decency to shift uncomfortably in his place. “I’m just saying that maybe you’re not looking for the same thing, or maybe you just need to give it time before proposing.”

"She'll change her mind. She's responsible, she knows where relationships lead, and if we got married, Hermione will be smart enough to know that children are part of the deal." Ron returned to his position, slumping into his chair, his gaze filled with excitement. "I know what she wants, even though she doesn't seem to know it. Sometimes she's so wrapped up in her work that she forgets to breathe. She can't take care of herself, so I'll do it. I'll take care of her." And it was true, Hermione, just like at school, had moments when her brain seemed to shut down on everything but her work. She didn't know how to take care of herself, but that wasn't Ron's job. That was Harry's. He would take care of her, he’ll give her the freedom to choose whether or not she wanted to start a family, but it had to be with him. There were no other options than him. He had let them play couple in the hopes of finishing his business and that they would both understand that they weren't right for each other, but it had been seven years, and they were still together.

“Harry.” Ron’s call made everything in his head disappear for a second. Harry put down his cup and looked at his friend, really looked at him. “I’m telling you this because I’d like you to be my best man.” Ron smiled, big. “You’re my brother, there’s no one else I’d ask.”

"I'd love to." Harry smiled, even though it was a promise he wasn't going to keep. “I think you're right. It's about time.”

Ron grabbed his jacket, still smiling, and headed for the exit. Just before closing the door, his head peeked out.

“And Harry, I know a couple of witches who would be thrilled to go on a date with you. I think I should get over Ginny and move on.” Ron's voice softened. “You have a real opportunity, my friend; seize it. Don’t be alone.”

The door closed with a thud, leaving Harry alone in his office, letting Ron's words sink into his bones.

Ron had no idea, but he’ll follow his advice.

He would change his plan, move quickly, and get what was rightfully his this whole time. .

Hermione walked briskly, her heels echoing down the long, dark corridor. She was in a bad mood, and although she had stopped to greet a few people on her way to her office, she wanted to be alone without anyone bothering her. A part of her had felt guilty; no one had done anything to her, no one had made her angry, and therefore she didn't have to be rude, but she hadn't slept well for days. Her job at the Ministry of Magic was simple: a lot of paperwork to read, sign, and write. The only difficult thing was her presentations to the Wizengamot, where they always treated her like a silly girl. She had gotten used to that part. The hard part had started when she had agreed to publish the translation of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She had dusted off the old book she had inherited from Dumbledore, as well as her diary. Both items had never left her bag, the one that had accompanied her during the war. Part of her had wanted to get rid of it, the other part told her to keep it close in case of any catastrophe, but in the end, she'd just tucked it away on one of the shelves in her home, letting it gather dust. If it were up to her, she would never have touched it again.

The last few weeks had been spent getting everything ready and on time to be able to hold discussions with the Flourish and Blotts staff, sharing ideas and progress on the translation and her annotations. Hermione wasn't interested in the color of the book's cover, or whether it should have drawings for a general audience or something more elegant for an adult audience; she was interested in what was inside. Dumbledore had gone to great lengths with all the writing in the borders, with all the information he'd added, and Hermione truly believed it was a gem she couldn't keep for herself.

So that was her routine: in the mornings, she was at the Ministry, in the afternoons, she was getting everything ready to meet with Bloodsgy, the person in charge of polishing and publishing the book, and at night, she spent his time reading, translating, revising, and transcribing. Fortunately, Harry had given him an enchanted typewriter; it prevented spelling errors, horrible ink marks, and mistakes, and that made her work a lot easier.

Hermione wasn't grumpy about all the work; in fact, she didn't love everything she did. What infuriated her was that Ron had shown so little kindness or understanding; they'd fought like cats and dogs for days, and Ron had even stayed the night with Harry several times. That's not even counting Ron's constant pressure to settle down, to have children, urging her to quit or get another line of work that would allow her to have a more normal life.

Godric, Merlin, and Morgana would save her from that. She knew she wasn't made for an ordinary life.

Getting married, having a home, having children, and having her life centered around that for the rest of her days.

Of course not. 

She wanted to do something big; she wanted to go far. Of course, she wanted a family, but she wanted a family that would be happy for her accomplishments, a partner who was willing to get down and dirty when she couldn't, just as she would do for him. She wanted equality in a relationship, not an empty promise, and not to be locked in a kitchen for the rest of her life. She got to know many witches with that dream, a peaceful life, to take care of their families, but she wasn’t one of them. 

Hermione hoped that if she ever had a daughter, that daughter would be proud of her mother. She didn't want to be a trophy wife or a housewife. Hermione wanted more. She wanted something domestic without being miserable. She wanted to go back home at the end of a long day, ready to have her family time. She didn’t want to stop doing something to get other things. She wanted both, and she would make it work. 

And sometimes—more than she'd like to admit—she wondered why she stayed with Ron, who was used to a family dynamic so different from her own, who wanted his wife waiting for him with hot stew as soon as he got home from work and rubbing his swollen feet at the end of the day. No, that wasn't her; she's more than that.

She'd considered leaving him on more than one occasion, but it wasn't that simple; she was losing more than she was winning. She no longer had any family other than the Weasleys and Harry, and she knew that if she decided to end their relationship, she'd lose the Weasleys, and even if Harry didn't want to choose a side, he'd end up choosing Ron. He always did.

And Hermione could handle almost anything, except loneliness. She preferred to be alone, at home, locked in her library, but being alone wasn't the same as feeling lonely, knowing there was no one outside her four walls who cared, who truly cared for her.

She'd experienced that during her first year at Hogwarts, and as soon as Harry and Ron had opened the door for her to be a part of it, she'd latched onto them like a tick. It had always been the three of them together. She couldn't lose that. She couldn't bear it. And she'd already lost so much.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.” Lesandy, her assistant, greeted her, standing ready to start the day. “Today the agenda’s full.” He said before letting her greet her, Hermione just smiled and allowed her to continue. “Minister Kingsley wants to know if you will be attending the annual gala for war heroes. He expects confirmation by the end of the day at the latest, but he emphasized that you should not feel pressured. At noon, the Wizengamot will hold its first audit for the passage of the Lupin Act. Chief Gregory wants updates on the progress of the proposed changes to the introduction of Muggle-borns to the wizarding world, and also expects a more concrete report by the end of the day. He says that they can organize a meeting with Kingsley to review the proposal and discuss the pros and cons before formally submitting it. Your presence is expected at the hearings for the death-… criminals captured in the last raid and…”

"Les, breathe." Hermione looked at her assistant mockingly, a look all too common between them. Lesandy, a wonderful witch, and very much like her. They could talk for hours about work without needing to breathe, and she was witty. However, she was sometimes overwhelmed. On more than one occasion, Hermione wondered if the people around her felt that way when she droned on and on. “Let’s get ready for the early hours. After lunch, we can review everything that’s left.” Hermione dropped her robes onto the brown leather sofa  in front of her desk. “I have an appointment with Bloodsgy at five today. I need you to clear my schedule for five minutes beforehand and for the rest of the day.” Hermione adjusted the collar of her blouse and smoothed her skirt, always perfect, but it was a habit she had acquired over the years working at the Ministry.

“Yes, ma’am.”

"Please confirm the attendance at the gala. Can you ask if there's a dress code? And please coordinate my lunch time with Harry." Hermione began to flip through the stack of reports on her desk. “I’ll move this forward and let you know as soon as it’s ready so we can get back on track.”

Ron was determined, though he wasn't quite as confident anymore. He'd turned to Harry, hoping he'd be on his side. He understood that no one was the same after the war. Harry had become more careful, no longer the unruly boy he'd gotten into mischief with at eleven. Part of him thought Harry wasn't fun anymore, at least not like he used to be. He was still a great friend, sure, but he wasn't fun anymore, and he wouldn't admit that he was jealous.

When he'd returned to them after leaving due to some disagreements, Ron had returned, and both had welcomed him back. Of course, they had their reservations, and although Harry was much more receptive and forgave him more easily, Hermione didn't, but it wasn't his fault. For months, they hadn't eaten properly; they had survived, they had endured the damn Horcrux, and he had been weak, but no one could judge him. After all, what he'd said wasn't entirely a lie. Hermione and Harry didn't have a family to fight for. He had siblings and parents, and he lived day after day praying their names wouldn't be next on the list. They didn't understand. They had nothing to lose; he did.

Something had changed, he knew it, something had broken and was beyond repair, but he hoped that in time they would both let it go, and that seemed to be the case most of the time, then they had both become important elements within the ministry and he helped his brother with the joke shop, once again left aside, once again out.

He loved that Hermione was smart, that she was resourceful and fought for what she believed was right, but sometimes he felt like an accessory rather than her partner.

Hermione had no time for him and her duty as a couple.

That's why he knew he was doing the right thing, that's why he thought Harry would understand and support him, but something had changed in both of them, something beyond what he could understand, after all, they had won that war so they could move on with their lives, right? So why did it seem like they were both eternally locked in a war? Hermione, with all the changes she wanted to make in wizarding society, Ron wasn't that stupid, and he knew - even better than she did - that even if his proposals were approved and became laws, they would hardly be followed and properly applied. Purebloods were used to being the center, the leaders and overseers, and they wouldn't give up that power so easily, not even if they were coming out of a war, but she kept fighting and struggling for her ideals, she loved that and hated it, she could well let someone else do it, she could well stay aside and only contribute when necessary, but that would not be the Hermione Granger he knew.

The Hermione he knew would fight tooth and nail whenever possible until she got what she believed was right and just, and she would sacrifice herself so no one else would have to. Just like Harry. Victim complex, or something like that, he'd heard when they'd talked about Muggle psychology and how to integrate it into the wizarding world. Ron had zoned out after that and never asked another question.

He preferred it his way; he had already done his part, he had already fought, he had already won, now he wanted to enjoy what was left for him.

And Harry too, when he was promoted to head Auror he thought that for the first time he would relax, of course not, he used his position to make sure that every Death Eater would be hunted down, so that every person in the world who was even remotely linked to Voldemort would be relentlessly pursued.

No one could really stop.

And he was hurting them, he could see it, even if they didn't.

Ron knew that if Hermione said yes, something in her head would change; she would reorganize, focus more on their relationship and their future plans, and hopefully, in a couple of years, they would start trying to expand the family. It was time, but he had been patient and had let her grow and improve. He knew that Hermione would not be happy if at least some of her ideas did not materialize, and many had already done so; some others were in the works, and in time, he could even leave some things prepared for the future, so that she could breathe and break away from the Ministry.

The velvet box in his robe made him feel heavier, but he just had to find the right moment.

Once Hermione said yes, everything would change, everything would fall into place, and it would be just the three of them again.

In the process he might even help Harry get someone for himself and settle down, Merlin knew he needed that too, it had been years since he and Ginny had broken up, for a second Ron thought that when the war was over they would get back together but it wasn't like that, both had grown apart beyond repair, and Ginny now had a boyfriend she didn't say anything about, maybe so as not to hurt Harry.

There was a time when he quit his job as an Auror, when jealousy and fear had taken over. Hermione and Harry had grown closer and shared inside jokes. Back then, he'd even thought that maybe, just maybe, Hermione would leave him and run into Harry's arms. If Hermione hadn't been so crazy about him, he would have believed it, but it only took a couple of weeks of romantic dates and daily bouquets of flowers at his office for her to become clingy with him again, and he wanted to believe that Harry wouldn't do that. Ron was everything Harry needed to have a good life, a family. And Ron knew it. He wouldn't lie and say he'd never thought about it. Of course, he had, and it made him happy. Harry, the hero, needed him. He wouldn't spoil it, he wouldn't abandon it, he would always forgive him. Even now, with his doubts and being cautious, asking again and again if he really wanted to marry Hermione, he confirmed it.

Harry would always be there for him. Harry would always need him in one way or another. He would always be an important part of his life. Now he just needed Hermione's acceptance, and everything would be perfect.