A/N: Apologies in advance for a lengthy a/n but it's important.

IMP: In view of a recent review I received, I am going to repeat myself again here(although, I honestly feel I have said enough by now). This story features both Ron and Draco as Hermione's love interest at some point. However, this is a Ron/Hermione fic. It is not a Dramione and anyone who has read it before will be able to confirm on my behalf. I really can't say more for the sake of readers who might be reading it the first time.
Draco is a part of the story because I needed a redeemed DE for this ploy to work. While I could have used any other character, Draco Malfoy is crucial for the plot to progress. There are NO explicit Dramione scenes. However, if it still bothers you in any way- PLEASE STOP READING RIGHT AWAY. At the end of the day, this is my story and I have the right to chose my characters. I am not forcing anyone to read it against their will so please keep your nasty reviews to yourself. As far as warnings are concerned, I have given enough of them already. Don't like it? Don't read it.

a/n ...
This story was my first ever Romione fanfic, posted here way back in 2014. It embarrasses me to see how unedited and amateurish this work was.
However, now courtesy two of my internet besties- CallieSkye and Jenn582, I'm bringing back the edited version of this story, one polished chapter at a time.

CallieSkye gets all the credits for being an awesome beta and making this baby shine.
And this fic is now dedicated to Jenn582 for being such an awesome friend (and also because she loves this story so much - quite possibly even more than I do).

If you are a new reader, please note that Callie and I are both busy mums, and are working our way slowly through this massive piece as and when our schedules permit. A small note on the header should tell you if the chapter has been edited or not. If you have returned to this story for a reread, I welcome you and hope this read will be more pleasurable.

The entire story remains the same. We have only worked to get the typos and grammatical errors out of the way.

Timeline:

-This story is set 7 years post the Second Wizarding War of 1998.
-It is mostly canon compliant except two things
*the epilogue
*Hermione never modified her parents' memories. The question of their security is dealt with in later chapters.

Most Important Note: This is a Romione, and although it might seem otherwise in the beginning - this is NOT a DRAMIONE. No matter what certain scenarios may depict - it is Never a Dramione.

Happy Reading and reviews are always appreciated.

Apologies for a lengthy author note.

All Characters of this story belong to Ms J.K. Rowling and no profit is being made from this.

Edited Version
Chapter 1: Old Acquaintances, New Relations

Ron stood outside the pale yellow door with the familiar nameplate, contemplating his decision for the hundredth time that morning. The very fact that she hadn't visited or even replied to his owl since his return a week earlier spoke volumes. Maybe he should have accompanied Harry and Ginny as Harry had suggested. He took a tentative step back but decided against it. He was done running away. They would eventually have to meet at the Burrow the following week. It would do better not to have their first meeting in front of the entire family for he wasn't sure what she would set on him this time.

Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, he rang the bell and gripped the bouquet tightly, smiling to himself at the hilarity of his situation. He, Auror Ronald Weasley, famed to be the most ruthless Dark wizard catcher of his time, was afraid of facing the petite young woman residing on the other side of the door. But anyone who knew her would agree that it was not the least bit funny to be scared of her.

Hermione was flipping through the papers for her recent case when the doorbell rang. She was still in her pyjamas. It was a Sunday, and she wasn't really expecting anyone so early. Putting on her housecoat, she walked to the door and peeped out. All she could see was a white button-down shirt. Her visitor was definitely tall enough to have her eye hole at his mid-chest level. Gripping her wand tightly, she opened the door a fraction and looked up.

What she hadn't imagined even in her wildest dreams was the tall handsome redhead who stood somewhat self-consciously, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

"Ahem… Hermione? " Ron stammered at the girl who had haunted his dreams all these years. The first look of surprise held in her eyes ceased and gave way to something else. Now, it held no anger or hurt; in fact, it held nothing. It was the shutdown of all emotions that hurt Ron more than all those canaries had back in their sixth year or her punches during their run from Voldemort.

"Will you let me come in? Please?" he asked, sure she would turn him away.

After a moment's hesitation which felt much longer to Ron, she finally moved aside, opening the door to let him in. He followed her sceptically, and she gestured at the familiar couch he used to lounge on years ago. The living room was much the same as he remembered with the exception of her enormous bookshelf. It seemed to have swelled in size to accommodate her entire collection.

Ron finally handed her the bouquet, having almost forgotten about it from sheer nerves. She took it tentatively, muttered soft thanks but all without meeting his eyes. Gesturing again at the couch, she went in, to what Ron knew to be her bedroom.

As he sat down waiting, he realized how beautiful she had grown in the past six years. Even with her pyjama bottoms peeping out of the housecoat and the tousled up hair bunched in a messy knot, she looked breathtaking.

Hermione clutched the bouquet hard as she moved towards her dresser. Leaving the flowers on it, she moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of denims and a plain grey top. She wasn't dressing up for Ron: quite the opposite in fact. The only reason for her changing was that she felt oddly uncomfortable in her pyjamas in front of him. It was as if he was a stranger and not someone she had known for more than half her life, and quite intimately in fact for a few glorious months. Steadying her breath and managing her hair into a passable ponytail, she crept out of her room.

The man was still on the couch; shoulders slumped, palms under his chin. He appeared fitter than she had ever seen him. His hair was shorter than ever, and yet, the ginger fringe still fell over his eyes, just the way she remembered. His crisp white shirt and well fitting cargo pants were a testimony to the fact that the lanky, tall boy from her school was now a grown-up man.

At the sound of her footsteps he looked up at her, and Hermione noticed that it was his eyes that had changed the most. Gone was the sapphire blue that twinkled with mirth and mischief. They were deeper now as if he had seen more than he ought to have in his short twenty-five years.

Ron looked up expectantly. He could have taken her shouting, calling him names; it was her silence that broke his heart. Realizing that he would have to be the first to speak, he got up and moved towards her but stopped abruptly as she seemed to back away from him. Merlin! What did the woman think he was going to do?

Taking a couple of deep breaths, he looked at her eyes as she resolutely looked away. It did not escape his notice that she had changed into something else, and knowing her as he did, it wasn't done to impress him either. Whatever he had expected from their meeting, this was going far worse.

"Hermione, I can see you don't want me here," he exhaled, and since she didn't comment, continued. "I guess I should have gotten the hint when you didn't come to the Burrow last Sunday, or reply to my owls for that matter. But, you know, I can be a little dense at times," he laughed a hollow laugh.

She moved into the dining area and he followed in silence. Putting the kettle on to boil, she pulled a chair at the table.

"Please sit," she motioned offering the chair opposite to her. The formal tone didn't go amiss, and Ron wondered how much more pain this visit would leave him with. He did as she asked and waited for her to fetch the tea before speaking again.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, pulling strength from the steaming cup in his hands. "I am sorry for all I said and did, Hermione." He looked up pleadingly, and for once, her eyes met his gaze.

"I won't ask you your reasons for leaving, Ron," she declared. "I have long accepted that you did what you wanted to. At least one of us was happy."

"What if I want to tell you the reasons, Hermione?" he inquired earnestly.

"You didn't bother when I needed that explanation, Ron, did you? Then why now? I told you, I don't want to know," she announced with a finality which Ron found reflected in her eyes.

The silence was thick as pleading blue eyes met the brown, searching desperately for the girl he once knew. But if the brown eyes held anything, it was sheer indifference. With a deep sigh of regret, Ron got up to leave. Just outside the door, he paused.

"Why, in all these years haven't you told anyone that… that we ended our engagement?" he managed with difficulty. It still pained him to think of it. "Not even Harry or Ginny?" he added, looking up at her. She had followed him to the door and was again resolutely looking away.

At his question, she met his eyes, and for a flicker, he thought he saw the anger and the hurt. "It was your story to tell, Ron, considering it was you who called it off."

And with that, she shut the door in his face.

...

Ron stood outside, facing the wood she had just closed on him. He looked back at the nameplate, imagining her leaning on her side of the wall, hoping against hope that she hadn't shut the door on their relationship forever, hoping that he could pacify her somehow.

Could he not force it open and make her listen to him just this once? Could he not beg her to take him back, again? Could he not kiss her senseless like he wanted to ever since he saw her in her pyjamas, and simply make the hurt go away- both his and hers?

No, he couldn't, answered a voice inside him. Not this time. He had broken her that fateful night six and a half years ago, and nothing he did or said, could pardon his actions. She wouldn't let him explain. And honestly, what explanation could he provide? He would only sound lame, and if truth be told, like a pompous git. Would he ever be able to explain all that had made him make the most painful decision of his life?

He slowly walked away from her flat and on reaching the narrow bi-lanes down the street, apparated away to a clearing in the orchard outside his childhood home.

...

Hermione indeed stood leaning on the door as Ron had imagined. It was as if her whole life had come to a standstill. Seeing Ron again was like a punch in the gut. It angered her to no end that he could still create turmoil of emotions in her head and heart, even after so many years, even after she resolved to have closed that chapter once and for all.

She slid down the door and landed in a heap on the floor. Pulling her knees close to her body for some sort of comfort, she stared unseeing at the blank wall ahead. Did he invoke love? No, pain was more like it; pain, rejection, betrayal and humiliation.

Where did he get the nerve to come knocking at her door after all this time?

The cool demure she had managed to keep was slowly fading, giving way to anger. Or maybe he thought she could be convinced by his sob stories? Surely his assumption was based on the fact that everyone, their families and even Harry and Ginny still thought they were engaged?

It was only when she hit the bed that she realized she had been walking. A look at the dresser and the bouquet he had brought fumed her insides, intensifying the pain in her chest. She picked them up and threw the bunch away; the ribbon holding the stems came loose, scattering and tearing the yellow petals all over the floor. Breaking down finally, she walked to her study and jotted down a hasty note before tying it on her owl, Athena, and sending the bird away.

Somewhere far away, a man opened his window to let in a brown tawny owl and smiled at the familiar handwriting.

'I need you.' it said.

He folded the note and pulling on a black turtleneck over his bare torso, apparated away.