A/N: This idea popped into my head months ago and sat around on my computer until I decided to finish it today. The inspiration originally came from a line in Pink's, "Who Knew?"

Who Knew?

If someone had told Ron Weasley in first year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have punched them in the face.

For surely anyone wishing him well would not have said such a thing. Ron disliked Hermione the moment he laid eyes on her. She had that arrogant, "I'm-better-than-you" air about her, reminding Ron of all the expectations set upon him.

You see, Ron was thoroughly undistinguishable from his family.

Bill was Head Boy, and by far the coolest sibling. He was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, a dangerous and mysterious profession. He sported a daring ponytail and earring. He was also able to successfully fend Mum off regarding said ponytail and earring.

Charlie came a close second to Bill, both in age and in success. Charlie was Quidditch captain in his day, and a very good one at that. He now worked with dragons in Romania, a dangerous and impressive profession.

Ron was not very worried about living up to Percy, as he seemed a bit too uptight. But he was already a prefect and seemed to be a likely candidate for Head Boy. He was also sure to receive a respectable position in the Ministry once he graduated, something Ron was sure he could never do.

What Fred and George lacked in grades, they more than made up for in street smarts. Their penchant for trouble was legendary. They were admired by legions of students and everyone was sure they had bright futures ahead of them.

Ron was next, and he had no particular flair for magic, even though he had yet to receive formal training. He wasn't edgy, like Bill; risky, like Charlie; uptight, like Percy; trouble-making, like the twins; or female, like Ginny (for he knew his mother had so desperately wanted a girl when Ron was born, despite how deep she hid it). In short, he needed to find some way to distinguish himself from the rest of his family, and at this rate, he really wasn't sure what he'd have to do to be different.

This Hermione Granger girl, standing in the compartment door looking down her nose at him like that, reminded him of all that he was expected to be. And he didn't like it.

Here she was, standing here, criticizing him on his attempt of a spell. He burned with embarrassment when he realized that the spell George had given him was false. He glanced over at his new friend, hoping against hope that he wouldn't think badly of Ron. Thankfully, he didn't seem to care one way or another.

His dislike for this bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl grew as she continued to speak with that bossy, know-it-all tone. She even had the nerve to point out the dirt on his nose that his mother had been so relentless in trying to remove. She treated him like a child, the one thing he was trying to escape from.

And she continued forcing her knowledge upon others. She'd shoot her hand up in the air and wiggle frantically back and forth, as if trying to prove to everyone that she knew more than them. He finally snapped when she tried to pretentiously correct his spell pronunciation. He hadn't even been saying it that badly.

He tore her apart viciously in front of his friends, but when she pushed past him, sobbing, he felt a soft stab of remorse.

But he still was not a fan of Harry's plan to find her with a troll on the loose. He was never as scared as when he stared straight at that troll, trying to think of a plan to save all their skins. His mind focused on the first spell he could think of; the one they'd learned earlier that day. She caught on immediately, and in a more gentle tone, helped him through the motion of the spell. To his astonishment, it had actually worked. The troll was out of commission, and they had escaped unscathed.

Later that evening, he found her to apologize. He was sorry for what he'd said, and he was grateful for her help. They became friends of sorts.

If someone had told Ron Weasley in second year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have laughed.

Yes, they were friends now, but he was twelve. In his mind, girls still had cooties (he always a bit slow to mature).

She was bloody helpful with homework and her quick thinking could always get them out of a fix, but she was still a buck-toothed, bushy-haired girl.

Not someone he wanted to kiss.

But then, she was Petrified. Suddenly, Ron became hyper-aware of her presence in his life. No one was there to help with assignments, no one was shooting her hand up in class to answer a question, and no one was there to help them figure out what the bloody hell was attacking everyone.

He missed her. A lot.

And so when the opportunity arose for him to help her, even if it meant following a trail of spiders, he took it. He wanted her back.

As he sat by her bed in the hospital wing, his eyes fixed on her pale, unmoving face, he felt something constrict in his chest. He'd taken her for granted, had always assumed she'd be there to help.

But then she wasn't. And he didn't like it.

If someone had told Ron Weasley in third year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have scoffed.

How could they, he'd ask, when they weren't even in speaking terms? They'd had a huge row about Scabbers and Crookshanks, and now each was refusing to talk to the other.

At first, he really had been angry with her. He'd told her multiple times to control her cat, to keep him from Scabbers, but she hadn't listened. And now his faithful pet was missing.

But as the days passed, he found himself missing her. It was not unlike the time in second year when she'd been Petrified. But now she was ignoring him and not speaking to him on purpose.

That hurt.

He was so relieved when they'd started talking again. Her sudden hug had baffled him. But he liked the feeling of her in his arms, something that had surprised him.

And watching her smack Malfoy…Ron began to realized what a fiery spirit she had. He'd always wondered what made her a Gryffindor, and seeing her hit someone—he'd begun grasp just how strong and brave she really was.

Then Scabbers had turned out to be Peter Pettigrew, the man who'd betrayed Harry's parents. All of a sudden he felt a surge of gratitude toward Crookshanks, along with a vain wish that the cat had caught the stinking rat. He wanted to apologize to her, but he didn't.

Because he didn't like to be wrong.

If someone had told Ron Weasley in fourth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have been skeptical.

Sure, he liked her. She was his friend. But then Krum had to go and ask her to the Yule Ball.

He wasn't really sure why he reacted the way he did. He thought for sure he would end up going with Hermione. Her rejection stung. Yeah, he'd been a little tactless in his invitation, but she didn't have to lie to him.

But she wasn't lying. She'd shown up on his idol's arm. And she'd been happy. He'd watched her smile and dance and laugh. She was having a good time. Without him.

And then he'd had to lash out at her. He felt a savage pleasure in making her hurt the way he was, but a small part of him died with each word. He was pushing her away, and closer to Krum.

As often as he'd reflected and pondered, he wasn't sure why he hated the idea of Hermione with him. It shouldn't bother him.

But it did.

But now she was angry with him and there was no way they would ever be going back to the way they were.

If someone had told Ron Weasley in fifth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have remained silent.

Because really, how do you respond to a statement like that?

Okay, so maybe, maybe, he liked her. A little. She'd matured throughout the years and was curvier than she had been previously. Her hair was not bushy so much as wavy now, and her smaller teeth flattered her quite a bit. She'd also started to exercise slight control over her burning need to answer every single question.

In short, Hermione Granger was attractive.

But he was only her best friend. He wasn't someone she would like. Tall, gangling, flaming red hair…who would like him?

But he retained a small hope every time she looked at him, or smiled at him, hell, even when she told him off a part of him desperately wished that she would one day look at him in a different light.

But marriage? How could that be, when he could hardly even admit to himself what he was feeling?

If someone had told Ron Weasley in sixth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have smiled.

Everything would turn out all right, then. He wouldn't be with Lavender anymore. The day after he'd snogged her, he'd begun to regret it. She clung to him like the Giant Squid, never letting him out of her sight.

He knew his relationship was killing Hermione. He could see it every day when she looked at him. There was well-disguised hurt and anger in her brown eyes, buried deep enough that he wasn't really sure he'd actually seen it.

But he couldn't shake Lavender. Even though he didn't want to be with her, he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't like to hurt people.

But then Hermione started to rub McLaggen in his face. He felt like an ice-cold dagger had been plunged between his shoulder blades. Maybe this was how she felt whenever he was with Lavender.

He couldn't blame her for being angry.

When he'd been poisoned, he'd dreamed about her. What life might be like if he could hold her, kiss her…

Things with Lavender fell apart after his release from the hospital wing. He wasn't too broken up about that, to be honest.

But things with Hermione didn't go anywhere. Every time he thought about telling her how he felt, his palms began to sweat and his ears turned red.

No, he decided, better to wait and see how things turn out.

But he still couldn't forget the smell of the Amortentia: Ink, parchment, and new books.

Who else could it have been?

If someone had told Ron Weasley in seventh year (or what would have been their seventh year) that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have said he'd known it all along.

There were moments of doubt, though, in that forest. Wearing that locket had been torture. Riddle had kept whispering in his ear, pointing out every gesture and moment between Harry and Hermione, and blowing it way out of proportion. He'd left in a jealous rage, and as soon as he'd left, he'd wanted to go back.

But he couldn't. He was stuck between places, not being able to go home or rejoin his friends.

Then he'd found his way back, but she'd been furious at him. She hit him and yelled and screamed at him. How could he redeem himself in her eyes? It seemed impossible.

But he did. He wasn't sure how, but suddenly they were okay. And then she was taken from him.

Hearing her scream in Malfoy Manor ripped him apart. He was frantic, would've taken her place in a second if he could have.

But then they escaped, and everything seemed okay again. They grew closer at Shell Cottage as he comforted her. He thought something might have happened between them, but they had to plan Gringotts.

Then Hogwarts came. Harry had dashed off somewhere, and he'd started thinking. How would they destroy this next Horcrux? They'd ventured down to the Chamber of Secrets and retrieved basilisk fangs. Hermione had destroyed the cup, which hadn't been easy.

It fought back.

Ron was eerily reminded of the locket when a grotesque version of himself rose from the cup. It sneered at her and ridiculed her, asking how she ever thought he would love her. He wanted to kick the cup aside and gather her into her arms, protesting that he did, he did. But before he'd gotten the chance she'd stabbed it. She gathered up fangs and pushed past him, out of the Chamber.

He wanted so badly to tell her how he felt, but she wasn't in the mood for talking. Then they'd met Harry and shown him the mangled remains of the Horcrux.

What happened next would always be burned into his memory. He'd brought up the house-elves, had suggested relocating them for their safety (if you were friends with Hermione long enough, her cause became your too). Before he could register what was really happening, Hermione was kissing him.

She was kissing him. He'd immediately dropped whatever it was he'd holding (he could no longer remember who he was or what he was doing) and kissed her back, holding her close and pouring years of repressed emotion into it.

He loved her. And he wanted her to know that.

Years later, Ron would always say that he knew they were meant to be. No matter what anyone else seemed to think.

A/N: Not as long as I wanted it to be. Oh well. What do you think? Please review!