Hermione had got so used to the silence inside the hospital wing that it was quite a jolt to her ears to be back inside Gryffindor Tower again. Everyone seemed bent on making as much noise as they possibly could. At first, she thought she could stay in her favourite seat by the fire -- after all, she needed to sit down after that long walk back to the tower. Ron even sat down beside her to keep her company, so she felt everything would be fine. But the sounds of Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess being played all around her brought to mind memories of the final battle. She stood up -- rather too quickly it seemed, because she felt her knees buckle. Ron caught her just in time. Luckily, he had chosen the same moment to get up from the seat next to hers.
He walked her to the foot of the girls' staircase with one arm wrapped around her waist. "Sorry, this is as far as I'm supposed to go. Will you be all right?"
The worry etched in his face made her knees even weaker. "I -- I guess. Thanks," was all she could say.
"Will you be coming down for lunch?"
"I don't know. I still feel a bit weak. What about you?"
"Have to. Keeping the peace, and all."
"You're making me look like a lazy arse for not doing my duties too."
He smiled at her choice of words. "You don't feel well. No one'll blame you for that."
"Neither do you, but it hasn't stopped you from trying to kill yourself with overwork."
He shook his head dismissively. "That's different."
"How? You're Head Boy, I'm Head Girl. Ergo, if you're expected to do your duty, I'm also expected to do mine."
"It's different."
"How?"
"It just is, all right? I can't explain how, or why, but it is."
"Ron--"
"You should go get some rest. I'll have Ginny call you down to lunch, okay?"
She sighed. The tone of his voice warned her that there was no room for argument. She had heard that tone of voice countless times before, and she usually ignored it, much to her regret. But today, she heeded it. She tried to delude herself that it was probably because she was still too weak to discuss the matter with him. Yeah, right, a voice echoed in her head. She knew the truth: she couldn't even think of arguing with him when the look in his eyes was so intense. "Okay," she answered, surpised at how meek her voice sounded.
Somewhere in the jumble of her emotions, she found herself in her room, crawling into bed and closing her eyes. The last thing she felt before falling asleep was a touch of something soft and warm brushing her forehead.
She jerked awake. It was already dark. She had slept the day away. At first, she couldn't remember how she got up to her room. But then she recalled a pair of strong arms holding her up as she hobbled upstairs and along the hallway. She got up shakily when she noticed something wrapped in a napkin on top of her night table. The bundle contained slices of roast beef tucked into a few rolls and several treacle tarts. She had already bitten into a roll when she found a note inside the bundle that read:
Dear Hermione,
Ron wouldn't leave me alone till I promised to bring this up to you. I don't know why he didn't do it himself, seeing as he has special clearance to go anywhere he needed to, being Head Boy and all.
I told him it made no sense for him to avoid you while getting into a right strop worrying about you at the same time. But he just ignores me and goes about as if all the misery in the world should be placed on his shoulders.
I know it's not my place to say this, but please do something, anything, to make him feel better. He tries to hide it from everyone, but we both know how terribly lonely he is.
I know I'm interfering, but I'm not sorry,
Ginny
Hermione swallowed hard to stop herself from bursting into tears. After all, she needed to cheer Ron up, and she wouldn't be able to do it if she was trembling with emotion. She got up and took the longest bath she had ever taken to calm her nerves. Then she finished off the food Ginny left for her, and felt her strength returning with each bite.
A few minutes later, she found herself dressed in her school uniform and standing in the middle of an empty common room. The boys' staircase beckoned to her, almost taunting her to prove her courage. Everyone was probably still eating dinner at the Great Hall, so nobody would know that she went someplace she wasn't supposed to go. But then again, she also had special clearance to go anywhere she needed to, and nobody would be able to stop her. Without another moment's thought, she marched upstairs and went straight to the Head Boy's room.
The door to Ron's room was open just wide enough for her to slip through. She stood just inside the dormitory, rooted to the spot by what she saw. He had just taken a shower and was drying his hair off with a towel. He was wearing a tattered gray bathrobe that barely skimmed the back of his knees. It was at least three sizes too small for him. The sleeves of the robe were in danger of bursting at the junction of stitches between the shoulder and arm due to the frequent movements of his upper body. All she wanted to do was release him from the confines of that ridiculous robe, feeling him to be as fettered by that robe as he was by... whatever it was that made him feel "terribly lonely," as Ginny put it. Yet, it wasn't the desire to see his naked body that was raging inside her so much as the need to make him happy again. She had to close her eyes for several moments, knowing that if she stared too hard at him, he would feel he was being watched.
He hadn't sensed her presence as yet. His back was to her, and he was concentrating on what seemed to be a task of utmost importance. He had slung the towel over his shoulders and was now carefully spreading out his school uniform over his bed. He smoothed his shirt and spread the sleeves full length on either side, as though he was going to iron it. He did the same thing for his trousers and jumper. She watched as he cast a Cleaning charm on the clothes, then an Ironing charm, a Fresh-smelling charm and finally an Impervius charm. He folded the clothes as neatly as he could and placed them on top of his pillow. He repeated the entire process for his school robes, adding a Mending charm to fix the fraying edges, tears and holes he found in it. Then he took care of his undershirt, boxers and socks.
She was wondering why he was exerting all his strength to do something that he would have been previously content to let the House-elves take care of. But then, the answer hit her: those were the only clothes he had left. He certainly wouldn't have let them be carted off and cleaned while he stood around wearing only a bathrobe that didn't even fit him properly.
He still hadn't sensed that he wasn't alone. That was the only explanation for him to have done what he did next. In one sweeping motion, he undid the ties of the bathrobe and peeled it off his body, leaving him standing naked before her. His long, lean body seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the room. She would have ogled him, probably even drooling at the muscles that flexed as he moved... were it not for the scars. His shoulders and back were disfugured by ugly criss-crossing patterns of the wounds he had received in battle, the darker ones indicating cuts that penetrated deep into his flesh. She knew he was strong -- he had to be, to have survived a fight with trolls. But as he stood there with his scars exposed, his vulnerability brought tears to her eyes.
He took up his boxers to make room for the towel to be spread out on the bed. She almost wished that he wouldn't put them on, but he did. He fumbled for his undershirt and put it on as he shivered slightly. He cast a Drying charm on his towel and proceeded to clean and iron it.
The spells he had been casting seemed to have left him exhausted. He dropped his wand on the bed, walked over to the window seat and sank into it, his back still towards her. He held up an object lying on the seat. It seemed to be one of the jumpers his mum had made for him -- at least she thought so, as it was maroon. But it was little more than a rag now, a casualty of the Burrow's destruction. He buried his face in it with a groan that went straight to her heart.
She shouldn't be here, watching him relax the tight rein of control he exerted over his emotions. But she couldn't leave him alone. He was grieving and she wanted to comfort him. She thought for a moment, then slipped out of the room, knocked softly on the door and went back inside, pretending to have arrived just at that moment.
He didn't move a muscle. She cleared her throat. He didn't react to her presence. She whispered his name. Still no response from him. She walked over to him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "Ron?" she whispered again.
"You shouldn't be in here," he murmured, his face still hidden in the folds of the maroon rag.
She placed her other hand on top of his head and threaded her fingers through his hair. It was so soft it felt like velvet in her hand. She would have been content to just stand there and touch his hair all night long.
His muffled voice startled her out of her reverie. "Please -- just -- go away -- y-you shouldn't -- be here."
The words he spoke didn't register in her mind. What she had caught was the desperation in his voice. "Ron... don't shut me out. I want to be with you. I want to -- to share everything with you. Please..."
When he still didn't move or speak, she knelt in front of him and closed her fingers around his wrists. She tugged them down slowly, revealing his face to her. The pain she saw in his eyes broke her heart. The emotions that were overpowering him were also flooding her whole being, making it almost impossible to withstand his gaze. She let go of his wrists and moved her hands up to cradle his face. His cheeks were hot -- almost feverish. His skin was an odd mixture of smoothness, from the cheekbones up to the area just beneath his eyes, and roughness, over the stretch from his jawbone to his chin where stubble was beginning to crop up.
When she looked into his eyes again, she was stunned at how dark they had become. His eyes were now the colour of the sky at the onset of a storm. On impulse, she maneuvered herself onto the window seat beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair. She ran her hands up and down his back. Something hot trickled down the side of her neck.
"Go on. Let it all out," she breathed in his ear. His tears started falling down like a rain of molten fire, soaking the collar of her school shirt. He pulled her to him, holding on as though his life depended on it. Her own tears fell as she realised he couldn't even mourn unless she was there to let him cry. She had that much power over him. The discovery intoxicated her.
After a few moments, he straightened himself out and brushed away his tears with the back of his hand. "It's very stupid of me to do that," he whispered. "After all, it's not as if anything tragic happened to my life, at least not in the same way as Harry's. He's had to grow up not knowing what love is, and he's lost a lot of people he cares about. Compared to that, I'm just being -- well, stupid. So there's a hole in the ground where the Burrow used to be. That's not equal to losing one's parents, right? The stuff I owned -- which I once called 'rubbish' -- I don't have that anymore, but it was rubbish to begin with, anyway. Charlie and Percy aren't okay, but they're alive. Charlie remembers something from when he was five, Mum says, and he still loves dragons, so he'll be all right. Percy swears he can move his big toe. So it's okay, isn't it? And I -- I still have my wand, although I have Lucius Malfoy to thank for fixing it. Isn't that funny? Bloody hilarious, in fact. So nothing really happened to me. Lots of folks have lost their homes, and even worse, during the war. I guess I'm just being an idiot over all that's happened."
"Ron, shush... don't talk like that. You shouldn't be thinking you have no reason to be sad, or that you have nothing to be unhappy about. You have every right to grieve."
"No, I don't. I'm just whining. People have died in this war, and I'm carrying on about a house."
"But you let me cry about Mr. Brown when my house burnt down."
"What? Who?"
"Mr. Brown. My teddy bear."
He let out a feeble snort. "Oh, that. Well, your parents were in hospital. You've earned the right to cry about whatever you want."
"And you don't? You've lost just as much as I have. You've lost your innocence, too."
"That's nothing to cry about. We all lose it. All of us. All the time. War or no war. It happens."
"Yes, it is worth crying over. It's not fair. We paid such a high price. We're entitled to kick and scream and 'carry on,' as you put it."
"I'm not really entitled to much of anything. Never have."
She didn't like his tone of voice. It just wasn't him. It was as though he had lost all hope. "Ron, don't--"
"Why not? It's true."
"Ron, please..."
But he wasn't listening to her anymore. He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his eyes on something only he could see outside the window.
She stood in front of him and uncrossed his arms. She held onto his hands. His fingers remained curled within her palms, unresponsive to her touch. She tried to catch his eye, but he was determined not to look at her. "Ron, please talk to me."
"Why do you even bother with me? It's not like I'm anything special," he murmured, his eyes still staring into the darkness.
"What are you going on about? Of course you're special. You're -- you're my -- best friend." She was on the verge of saying she loved him, but thought that perhaps it wasn't the right time. She squeezed his hands gently.
"Well, maybe you should make other friends besides me."
"Why are you acting like this? Are you -- have you -- grown tired of me?"
That made him turn around and face her. His fingers wrapped around her own. "What? Where did you get that idea? How can you even say that? God, Hermione, can't you see? You -- you're too good for me. Everything that I am -- all that I thought I was -- it's all gone now. And I just realised I didn't have all that much to begin with."
"Oh, Ron... that's not true. It isn't. You have a big heart and you give so much of yourself to the people you care about. Please... just because the Burrow's gone doesn't mean you've lost your identity."
"Did you know Mum and Dad were going to leave the Burrow to me? Bill wants to live in London, or in France with Fleur. Charlie already has a house in Romania, which he doesn't remember, but Mum and Dad will probably stay there with him for a bit. Percy -- well, after Fudge promoted him in our fourth year, he said he'd rather get a place that reflected his status in the Ministry. And he did. In spite of everything, he's determined not to be a burden to anyone. The twins are talking about buying the place where their shop used to be. And Ginny -- Harry will take care of her. So that means I get to keep it. Wonderful thing, really, owning a hole in the ground. Just splendid."
"But we can fix it, I know we can. I'll help you. Harry will, too. We'll all go back and help rebuild the Burrow. We've got to try..."
"It's no use. I have nothing -- I am nothing."
She winced as though he had slapped her. She knew what he was trying to do. He was digging in his heels, trying to push her away. She didn't understand why, but she had to get through to him, to get through the wall he was building to keep her out. It had to be said -- she had to tell him. "You have me, if that's any comfort. I love you, Ron."
He backed away from her so fast that for a moment, she thought she'd said she hated him. "Please, don't..." he said in a strangled whisper.
She stepped forward. "Why not? I've loved you for years. And I know you love me back."
"You shouldn't..." He stepped back even further, until he was pressed up against the wall.
"But I do," she murmured. She reached out and touched his forearm.
He trembled when her hand made contact with his skin. "Y-you should be with someone who can take care of you," he said.
"I am," she answered, as she brushed her fingers up and down his forearm. Gooseflesh broke out all over his arm at her touch.
"I -- I -- I meant someone who'll give you security. There'll be hard times ahead, so you'll need someone who's -- rolling in it."
"'Rolling in it?'"
"Yeah, you know... someone who could offer you a home, and who's -- rich enough to support you."
"Like... Viktor?" she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. She couldn't help it. He tried so hard to be noble, to sacrifice his own happiness just to make sure she didn't have to worry about her future, but he was so awkward about it that she fell in love with him all over again.
"NO!" He nearly leapt out of his skin. That sudden surge of emotion made him look at her again. "Well, yeah... I guess. I think he's a slimy old git, but... You deserve someone who can give you everything and let you do anything you want. Someone with enough gold to pay wages to all the house-elves in the wizarding world, if you want to. Someone who'll take you all over the world because you think it'll be a learning experience. So, yeah, I guess... someone like -- like Krum."
She raised an eyebrow at him. He hurried on before she could interrupt him. "He's always wanted you. He even asked you to stay with him in Bulgaria when your house burnt down."
She laughed softly. "Viktor may want me, but I could never want him. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I love you." She moved closer to him. He swallowed hard and looked away. Her hands moved up his arms, coming to rest on his shoulders. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around him.
He melted into her almost at once. She sighed as he embraced her. He actually believed he wasn't good enough to be loved. She didn't know what else to do to convince him otherwise. She was still thinking about what to say to him, when he reached up to unwrap her arms from around his neck. He held on to her by the shoulders and kept her at arm's length.
It was so cold, now that she wasn't in his arms anymore. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, just so he'd let her stay, but it was his eyes that stopped her. The way he looked at her made her gasp and blush. She saw everything he felt for her reflected in his eyes. They had connected again; but this time, instead of merging only their thoughts and emotions, their very souls had met and clasped.
He took a stray wisp of her hair between his fingers and marveled at it. After tucking it behind her ear, his fingers slid into her hair and tangled with her curls. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and drew her close. He bent lower to bury his face in her hair. She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart thundering beneath her ear.
"I've always wanted to do this -- to just run my hand through your hair." His voice, muffled with emotion, comforted her in ways she didn't even begin to understand. His mouth gently touched her neck, and he murmured "I love you" against her skin. She could feel his lips forming the words, and the words seeping into her skin down to her blood. She now recognized that touch of warmth she felt on her forehead before falling asleep in her room earlier: it was his lips. That one little kiss he gave her helped her sleep with a light heart. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into his chest.
The next sensation she felt was heat -- overwhelming, engulfing heat that came from his lips. From deep, fiery kisses that made her toes curl and her knees knock together. She clung to him, trembling with the knowledge that the world would be unbearably cold and empty if she broke contact with him. As his kisses became more intense, she felt a compulsion to make contact with all of him.
He moaned into her mouth when her fingers brushed against a raised portion of his skin through his thin undershirt. Oh, Merlin! Does he have scars on his chest, too? she thought. She broke away from his mouth long enough to whisper, "I want to see it... please let me see..." She tugged at his undershirt and kept on tugging until he took it off to please her.
"I -- I have to --" he pointed to the shirt in his hand apologetically. She nodded. He folded his undershirt and set it down on the window seat before standing in front of her again.
It took all of Hermione's strength to keep from crying out. If possible, the scars on his chest looked worse than the ones on his back. The one that she had touched cut diagonally across dead center and just above his heart. It had, in all likelihood, exposed his breastbone. She traced each scar with trembling fingers, and then with her lips. At the same time, his mouth moved across the top of her head and across her temple, giving back gentleness for gentleness, until the fever overcame them and his mouth sealed across hers once again.
She didn't notice that her robes, jumper and tie were melting away from her body one piece at a time, fluttering onto the floor like the beating of a dove's wings. She snapped out of the drugging influence of his mouth on hers when he jerked back, panting heavily. They both became aware that they were starting something that would consume them if they went too far. But instead of scaring her into leaving his room, she made up her mind to lose herself in him.
At first, he tried to hold back, not because he didn't want her, but because he wanted her too much. She moaned in protest, choosing not to leave his embrace. He bowed to her will. Each caress was reverent, every touch of lips against skin worshipful. Soon, she was revelling at the sensation of lying naked in his arms, with no barriers between them.
He stretched her so impossibly wide, then filled her until the sensation was too much to take. She felt as though a lightning bolt shot through her as he slowly buried himself within her. But after that brief flash of pain, her body filled with a pleasure that was as elemental as fire and rain and earth. His hands caressed her, and he breathed his love into her. He moved over her, drawing all her senses to him -- to the delicious, burning, aching friction he was creating. The tremours came then, unexpectedly and from deep within, from where their bodies were joined. She soared so high that she screamed his name with the rapture of it. Then she plunged into oblivion, taking him with her.
She mewed softly as he emptied himself inside her. His seed was hotter than his tears. She closed her eyes and smiled, knowing that no one else would ever learn that secret.
She was about to fall asleep when she felt him ease up from where he was pinning her to the bed. The sense of loss when he pulled out of her almost made her cry. She whimpered like a frightened child. He instantly gathered her up in his arms, soothing her, murmuring incoherent words in her ear. But she knew what they meant. Love. Devotion. Commitment. Sacrifice. Forever. She clung to him with all her strength until she fell asleep.
Some time later, she heard a voice calling out softly. "Ron? Hermione?" She heard the door creak open, but she was still half-asleep and didn't want to wake up just yet. It's just a dream, she thought, and tightened her hold on Ron.
Another voice spoke. "Did you find them, Remus?"
"Er, well,... that is..."
"Are they in there?"
"Well..."
"Stand aside, Remus."
"But,... Professor McGonagall--"
"Their parents are worried about them. I just want to make sure they're--"
The door creaked again, and Hermione's eyes flew open. It wasn't a dream, after all. There, by the door, stood Remus Lupin and Professor McGonagall. Gryffindor's head of house gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. Hermione tried to sit up in bed, but Ron's arms kept her securely in place half-atop his chest.
It was then that she remembered she had nothing on, save for the blanket (and Ron's arms) wrapped around her. Ron's shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat told her that he had also been awakened.
Remus swung the door back until it closed. As he did so, Hermione heard him say to Professor McGonagall, "I'm glad they found their way at last."
"So am I, Remus, so am I," Professor McGonagall replied just before the door clicked shut. The sound of their retreating footsteps died away after a few moments.
Hermione looked up at Ron. He bent his head and kissed her. "And we'll walk down this road forever, won't we?" he asked.
She nodded. "Forever," she echoed.
-- THE END --
A/N: Many thanks for all your reviews. I hope you enjoyed this story. I didn't disappoint you with the ending, did I? Anyway, feel free to give your feedback.
Special thanks to three wonderful ladies -- Cara, Velvethope and simons_flower -- who read this story in its roughest draft (when I say rough, I mean cringe-worthy), and then had to wade through more drafts before I got it right (or at least readable). If you think this story wasn't all that bad, then go read the stories of these three authors to see some really good fics.