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Chapter Text

Inside the train station of Palermo, by the train tracks, Hermione sat with her travel book.

She brushed her fingers lovingly over the torn edges of its cover, the title smiling at her. Must-See Destinations Off the Beaten Path in Italy – its title had captured her attention the second she saw it in the book shop back home.

In the end, it was the book that had resulted in her lonesome journey through Italy, discovering new destinations and crossing them off her list.

Now, the trip was going to Rome, from the lovely train station of Palermo.

The weather outside had been scorching hot when she exited her motel at midday. Inside the train station, the hot, dry air cooled off into a cold, air-conditioned gust of wind, that seemed to make her shiver for every person that brushed past her.

She was looking forward to donning the cold place, and finally get onto the train.

As if one cue, the speaker coughed back to life in livid Italian, followed up by a slightly accented "Train R132 headed to Rome is due to arrive on track one in five minutes".

She closed her book with a snap and stood up, barely holding back her excitement to get off designated dead, waiting place by the tracks.

In her side vision, she noticed a tall red-haired boy stand up as well. Turning around slightly, she noticed that he had been sitting on his soft luggage bag, instead of on the benches like herself. Immediately she wondered why he hadn't asked to sit by her on the benches. She would've been happy to share.

Hermione brushed the thought off. Not everyone was like her, she thought, maybe he liked to sit on his bag or didn't want to bother her when she was reading.

Before she could look away, the redhead turned towards her, his glinting curls bouncing on his head. Their eyes met, and she was baffled with their pale blue colour.

From their distance, his eyes almost looked translucent. It was striking.

"Train R132 has now arrived at platform one," she heard over the speakers.

She realized she had been staring at the redhead, and her eyes shifted onto the arriving train.

It screeched to a halt. The doors opened and the passengers started pressing out through the doors. Suddenly, she was standing in the middle of a crowd.

Hermione lifted her bag onto her shoulder. It had been starting to slip.

She saw a blur of flame-red curls rush past her. With her eyes lock on the only orange thing between her and her train, she made her way after the tall person in through the door.

It wasn't until she slid down into her seat with her luggage on the overhead shelf, that Hermione finally let out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

There was a sense of calmness in her gut – probably from the knowledge that she would be sitting on the same train for the next ten hours. There were no expectations and no errands she had to run. Her life was on pause for ten hours – and she was going to enjoy it.

She put her travel book back in the big handbag she'd bought in Palermo. She looked at all her new purchases, wondering which book to choose next.

She settled with her favourite, a slightly Transfigured Hogwarts: A History. She didn't want Muggles to question what she was reading, so she had simply changed the title into Different Frog Species in Sub-Saharan Forests.

As she fished its worn pages out of the handbag, she noticed a flame in the corner of her eye.

Her heart jumped – it was the redhead she'd seen on the platform.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the train, his feet elevated on the neighbouring chair to the one he was sitting in. She took a moment to study him, taking advantage of him looking down into his hands.

He had pale skin, littered with freckles and slightly sunburnt. The burnt skin on his cheeks clashes horribly with his red hair. Although the redness was very nice, the hair itself looked unkept, with long bangs that framed his face.

The redhead looked frustrated. His brows were furrowed, and he kept touching his face. She followed his gaze and got a glimpse of something colourful in his hands.

A Rubik's Cube, she told herself.

Hermione turned back to her book, opening the first page of her magical book.

It was hard concentrating. Whereas it had been too cold for her at the train station, the train itself was very warm.

She took off her cardigan. Hermione caught a glimpse of herself – and therefore also the red head – in the window.

He was a colourful person, she concluded, with his pale eyes, red hair, and sunburns. It only strengthened her belief when he, ironically, muttered some colourful curses under his breath.

Hermione huffed. She didn't like when people cursed.

A bald man in the seat in front of her picked up the phone, and she found herself becoming an involuntary listener to his rapid Italian discussion.

Thirty minutes passed, and she had only progressed to page five in her book. With a sigh, she put it down and tried enjoying the passing view instead.

It didn't last long though, as the train seemed to enter a tunnel.

The window turned black. Her mirror image was staring back at her again. Bushy hair and bags under her eyes. But still nice-looking, she argued with herself. It was difficult keeping the ugly thoughts from rearing their heads.

Years of bullying did that to you.

She touched her lips, feeling the softness in them. Hermione found her eyes wandering back to the red head sitting opposite of her.

He hadn't solved the Rubik's Cube yet. She doubted he would.

His hand kept fidgeting. His fingers brushed the end of his sweatpants, as if trying to pull them down. They looked too short for him. He wore two different-coloured socks. It was the oddest combination of purple and green.

He hadn't taken off his shoes. They were white – or rather, had been white – and looked weary after use. The shoelaces were sloppily knotted and hung almost freely. It looked as if a breath alone could make them untangle.

A phone rang in the train compartment. She thought it was the bald man in the seat in front of her.

She was proven wrong when the red head answered the phone, astonishing her with his British accent.

"Hey, mom," he said.

The phone buzzed back.

"No, no," he replied, "Charlie couldn't meet up. He was busy with his work in Romania,"

Maybe she should visit the dragon sanctuary in Romania, she thought. Hermione had always been interested in seeing dragons.

With a shudder, she remembered that Harry Potter kid in her year when he battled the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament. It was no wonder he had been placed in Gryffindor.

Hermione felt a flare of anger ignite in her chest. It was animal abuse, the way the Tournament had been treating the dragons. It was no wonder they were aggressive when their children's eggs were at stake. It was the natural instinct of the mother.

The rest of the conversation was muffled. She didn't hear anymore until it was over.

Before she could stop herself, she asked the red-headed stranger, "Are you British?"

He looked up at her as if alarmed. With an askew smile, and a bubbling laugh, he answered, "Yes! I didn't think there were more of us here,"

"What are the chances," she replied, "And where are my manners? I'm sorry. I'm Hermione,"

"Ron," he beamed, and shook her hand. He had to crawl a step towards her to greet her. There was an awkward break in their conversation, before he added, "So where are you from?"

"Oxfordshire,"

If the redhead had beamed before, then he was radiating now, "That's not so far from Surrey, is it?"

"Not really," she replied, "Around an hour, I believe,"

"I have a friend there. You probably don't know him,"

Hermione smiled, "What's his name? Who knows, maybe I do know who he is,"

"There's a slim chance," Ron answered, "And besides, I don't know him personally. He's just together with my sister,"

"Sister? Do you have more siblings as well?" she asked.

He exhaled, "More than you could guess," pausing, his eyes locked with hers again, "To clarify, I have six, no, I mean five siblings,"

"What are they like?" Hermione questioned, noticing his correction from six to five with a sense of dread.

"I'm the second youngest in the family. The two oldest are Charlie and Bill. We hardly see them anymore, but they're cool. Charlie's got the coolest job, working with dra –" he coughed, and finished, lamely, "cows. He works with cows,"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "I didn't picture you as the person who thought working with cows was –" she imitated him, "– the coolest job."

His ears turned red, and his voice lost some of its spunk, "Yeah, well, it used to be cool, at least. Anyway, the third oldest is Percy. He's a real prick. I mean, he is like the black sheep of the family. A real stick-up-the-arse prick,"

Hermione cringed; how could he speak so badly about his family? She shrugged it off, "Speaking of sheep now too, are we? Do you by any chance live on a farm?"

He chuckled, "No comment, as long as I'm not the pig,"

The comment melted into soft laughter that Hermione couldn't resist joining in on.

"So, what about the others?"

"Then there's George. He and Fred used to be the best prankers. They even established a joke shop together. Fred was always the one that pushed the pranks too far. It was fun when we were kids, but you learnt to watch your back. Though, that's not a problem anymore," he said grimly.

Hermione didn't question the subject of Fred any more than he already had given her. It set his face in a grim expression that looked unnatural on his otherwise colourful and dazzling features.

She remained silent a bit longer, before she spoke up, "Are there no girls in your family, besides your sister?"

His face lightened a bit, but she could still see the feelings churning underneath his skin. "Except for my mother, then no. There's just my sister, who's together with the Surrey guy. She and I used to be best friends through all of childhood,"

"Aww, that's sweet," Hermione said, "I wish I had siblings like you had,"

He looked at her questioningly.

"I was an only child," she explained.

"It must have been nice getting all the attention and stuff, though. I love my siblings, but I'd die to not only get hand-me-downs for Christmas," Ron said. His fingers found the end of his pants again, and he suddenly looked very conscious of the way they ended halfway up his shin.

He almost sounded bitter. She felt warm with something akin to anger. She lashed out, regretting how harsh it sounded once it came out of her lips, "I'd die to have siblings. At least then, you would never be lonely,"

He looked taken aback, but quickly regained his posture. His shoulders turned slack. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I guess we all think the grass is greener on the other side, am I right?"

She felt so strangely at ease with him, so that the childhood memories had slipped out of her mouth, even if he was just a red-haired stranger from the platform in Palermo. It was not like Hermione would ever see him again after the train ride, what did it matter if he knew she'd felt lonely in her childhood?

"You're right," she gave him a weak smile, "I guess we should be tending to our own grass, instead of envying everybody else's,"

Yet, she couldn't help but envy the beautiful pale colour of his eyes.

Chapter Text

At some point – in the noise of Italian chattering and the turning swishes from Ron's Rubik's Cube – Hermione had fallen asleep.

She dreamt of Hogwarts, of Viktor Krum's face when they'd kissed at the Yule Ball, and of Luna's colourful shoes. Then, the dream turned into a twisted tale of loneliness and anxiety.

She was standing alone in the middle of the corridors of Hogwarts, watching pale faces glide by, as if they were ghosts and not students.

The more she concentrated on finding her friends, the blurrier the faces became.

She tried to spot her fellow Ravenclaw Luna, but she was unable to find her blonde locks in the chaos. In her dream, Hermione was too fearful that she would find the blonde only to realize that the bleached hair would belong to cruel Malfoy.

As she became more and more frustrated in her dream, the faces turned to fog, and all she could see were colours.

The colours swirled around her, until suddenly, a fiery orange smudge passed her. It took away her breath like the wind on a stormy day.

She felt freezingly cold. The orange mass turned to her, and she imagined that she saw a face in full clarity. A face with light blue eyes and red hair.

Hermione felt something stab at her heart, like an old memory refused to be forgotten. It took her by surprise so suddenly, that she woke herself up.

With a racing heart, she sat up in her chair on the train.

The familiarity of the chattering Italian and the sound of the air conditioning calmed her down. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed her in her sleep.

She met no eyes and let out a deep exhale. It would be silly to disturb other people on the train, Hermione thought.

Her gaze settled on Ron on the opposite side of the seats. He hadn't moved much since before she'd fallen asleep. Hermione shook her head, trying to clear the dream from her mind.

A little hope grew in her chest, making her lightheaded. What if Ron really was a wizard? Maybe she had dreamt the truth, that the sight of him had awakened a deeply buried memory of seeing him at the wizarding school?

It was silly, she concluded. Of course, he wouldn't be a wizard just because he was British, and lightly resembled an orange blur from her dream.

Still, her mind kept wandering back to her dream, and the odd possibility that they had something extraordinary in common.

Fixed on his pale, sunburnt face, her eyes lost focus. He was reading some kind of magazine, so deeply focused that he didn't realize her glance at him had turned into a full-blown, glazed-over stare.

Hermione toyed with the idea that he maybe was a wizard. What house would he have been? Would he be pureblood, half-blood, or Muggle-born like herself? Not that it mattered to her what kind of blood that ran through his veins.

He must be a half-blood or Muggle-born, she concluded. Otherwise it would be unlikely that she found him on a train.

Looking away, she wondered what house he'd be in at Hogwarts. Maybe he'd be a Ravenclaw like herself, seen as he liked solving (or in his case: not succeeding in solving) the Rubik's Cube. And he read too…

Hermione looked out the window again, breaking out of her reverie.

It was a way to entertain herself, she reminded herself. She was in no way interested or fascinated by the red head on her train.

Finding the view dull, she turned to her travel companion.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

He looked up, an askew smile evident on his face, "An extremely disinteresting paper,"

"It's still better than the view," she chuckled back.

"I couldn't agree more," Ron answered, "Vineyard fields are great to look at, but only to some extent,"

Hermione laughed. It felt great, like some of the pressure that had been building up in her chest since her dream, dissipated with the laughter that bubbled out from between her lips.

"Are you hungry?" Ron asked her abruptly, "How would you like trying to track down a vending machine with me?"

It was the first sign of anything remotely exciting to do, and as the situation was, she jumped at the chance, "Yes!" she said, a bit too excitedly, "Let's go exploring,"

Looking back at their seats, Ron added, "Since we have reserved seating, do you think it's alright if we just leave it?" he waved at the humble luggage they'd both brought.

"It's probably alright. It's a long-distance train," Hermione stated, and they went searching.

It took half an hour of squeezing between space-eating passengers, talking with train employees in broken Italian, and a lot of laughs, to finally arrive at the vending machine.

As it turned out, the vending machine closest to where they'd been sitting, had been just around the corner behind them – the opposite way they had walked in search of it. It had given them both a good laugh.

Hermione noticed more and more frequently how Ron's face lit up when laughing. His cheeks would deepen in colour, swallowing up his freckles. His eyes stood out more, that way.

When they returned to their seats, both of their faces were flushed. Hermione felt refreshed, yet sweaty and disgusting from the humid air in the train. The cold soda she'd purchased at the vending machine helped somewhat.

She looked over at Ron who was holding a snack bar in one hand. With the other, he was trying to solve a sudoku from the disinteresting magazine from before. It didn't look like he managed well.

It occurred to her that Ron made her feel seen in a way that she rarely had felt previously. It was strange. She had only known him for a few hours, yet it felt like an eternity.

He had lent her his Rubik's Cube. It felt nice having some new entertainment. Although he tried giving her helpful tips, she still had a hard time trying to solve it.

"How long did you take before you managed to solve it?"

"I finished it when you were asleep," he answered. So, he had noticed, she thought. It made her feel warm inside. She felt the need to remind herself he was still a stranger.

The dream was still haunting her. She had a wicked feeling that she'd seen him before today. It was like there was an old memory that was trying to resurface from the deep of forgottenness.

She shrugged it off.

"You'll probably take no time," he said reassuringly.

"There are plenty of hours ahead for me to try," she replied. With an afterthought, she added, "I'm looking forward to exploring Rome,"

"You're going to Rome as well?" the pitch in his voice was high. It almost sounded hopeful, "Maybe we could explore a bit of Rome together too? Hell, at least there's more to explore there than here to the vending machine,"

The blood gathered in her face, "Yes! That would be so nice!"

Contrary to her expectation, his face darkened instead of lighting up with one of his sweet smiles. With furrowed brows, she asked what was wrong. He replied, "I'm having some trouble with this sudoku,"

"Maybe I could look at it?" Hermione offered, still feeling giddy from his proposition for in Rome.

He looked at her. She noticed how his ears had turned red.

"Catch," he smiled and threw the magazine to her.

It ended up on the floor halfway between them. They both reached to the paper. Their fingers met, and Hermione let go as if burned. Once again, she could feel the heat collect in her cheeks.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly, handing her the magazine.

During the exchange, the pages had turned, and Hermione got a glimpse of the article in her hand. She squinted, thinking she'd imagined how the picture on the front had moved.

Hermione gasped.

It was a wizarding magazine.

She froze. Maybe she had been right all along about seeing him before.

Ron was a wizard. Hermione couldn't believe it. The Ron she had met on a Muggle train in the south of Italy, was a wizard. What were the odds?

But more importantly, why in the world would he read rubbish like The Quibbler?

Chapter Text

They were entering the fourth hour of their train journey, and Hermione didn't know how to tell him she was a witch.

They were, after all, situated in a train full of Muggles.

Frankly, she wanted to scold him for being so reckless with the paper. What if she had been a Muggle? Calming down, she reasoned with herself that he must have put a spell on it. Otherwise, he would be breaking the International Statue of Secrecy.

She recalled that his sister was together with a guy – probably a wizard – from Surrey. Living up to the Ravenclaw name, she remembered that the famous Harry Potter was from said county. Although it was a wild guess, she figured that she would give it a try.

"Your sister…" she began, "Is her boyfriend by any chance named Harry Potter?"

Ron's eyes widened, "Yes! Are you a…?" he trailed off.

When he confirmed it, a fuzzy picture of a red-headed girl with Harry Potter formed in her mind. Of course, she thought, she had seen them together before. What was her name, again – Ginevra?

Hermione nodded excitedly, "Yes! Though I have never seen you before in Hogw–" she cut herself off, "In school, I mean,"

His smile bleached, just a little bit, "Yeah, I tend to go unnoticed. What house were you in?"

She thought for a moment. She felt close to breaking the International Statue of Secrecy herself, "The house of the raven,"

"I was in the house of the badger," he said.

So, he was a Hufflepuff, Hermione thought. It suited him.

The bald man sitting in the seat before her turned all the way around to look at them weirdly. He stared for a second – enough to make her uncomfortable – before he turned back to his own seat.

Ron's eyes met hers. He wore an amused grin. Wanker, he mouthed at her and pointed at the man.

Ron probably knew Cedric, Hermione realized. The topic still hurt to think about. Although she did not know Cedric personally, his death had sent a wave of grief through all of Hogwarts.

And poor Harry Potter. The Triwizard Tournament didn't become easier when Voldemort had returned.

She hesitated a moment, "And how much older than Ginevra are you?"

He laughed. It was warm and bubbly. His face looked open, his brows high on his forehead, dipping into his bangs. The blueness of his eyes shone towards her. She felt her gaze slip down to his mismatched socks. At least the clashing purple and green fabric didn't look back at her.

"Nobody calls her Ginevra," he chuckled, "I'm a year older than her,"

"Then we were in the same year," Hermione said.

There was no way that they could talk about the subjects they had taken. Oh, how she wanted to talk about all the wonderful times she'd had at Hogwarts.

Ron suddenly leaned forward, his hands resting on top of his knees. His feet were bent in front of him on the seat. If the conductor saw it, he would probably be yelled at.

"Wait," he said, "Are you the girl that Viktor Krum took to the Yule Ball?"

There it came, the one question she'd dreaded.

"Yes, unfortunately," she agreed.

"Why unfortunately? Did something happen between you?" he looked at her, and the realization of his question seemed to dawn on him, "I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to answer,"

"It's fine," she looked out the window. Green trees and vineyard farms expanded from the train all the way to the horizon. Small, cosy houses littered the fields as if someone had placed them randomly around, "It was short-lived anyway,"

"Oh,"

"He was very sweet, a little on the quiet side. When he went back to Bulgaria, he promised that he'd write me," she said, "We kept on writing, but it became less and less, until it just stopped,"

"So, you haven't talked about it with him. It just kind of…stopped," he asked.

"Exactly," Hermione turned to look at her red-headed stranger again. It would be weird calling him a stranger when they had so much in common. She decided on acquaintance instead.

"It sounds painful, not ending it properly,"

"It was, in the beginning," she elaborated, "But it was just how he was. I think maybe he was intimidated by my English," she laughed. She was over Viktor, but she still occasionally missed him, even if it was years ago.

Pity was written all over his face. She added, "But it's fine now,"

"If you say so," he smiled, "I always looked up to him in school because of how excellent he played. I can't even imagine how happy you must have been when he asked you out,"

"Actually, I don't like watching the sport," she felt like a spy, the way she was talking in codes all the time. She wished she could just cast a Muffliato spell so they could talk freely. Never had she ever damned Muggles as much as now.

"You don't like Quidd – I mean, sports!" he exclaimed, shock marring his fine features.

She chuckled, "I have never even been to a game,"

He repeated after her, gesticulating wildly, "You have never been to a game,"

She only laughed more.

"Are you even human?" he joked, "But seriously, you should go to a match once,"

He had stars in his eyes. The entire train seemed to lighten up with his enthusiasm.

The train entered a tunnel, dousing them all in white light from the ceiling. She imagined she looked horrible in this new lighting.

"We'll see, if I can find someone who will go with me,"

Ron blurted out, "I can go with you,"

He cringed. She understood why. It was silly to ask a witch he'd known for less than four hours to go to a Quidditch match with him.

Hermione didn't quite know what to say, so she just nodded, "Talking about entertainment, I guess your brother in Romania probably doesn't work with cows, then,"

Their eyes locked, and they both laughed.

His brother worked with dragons, not cows, of course.

They looked at each other. It lasted just a little too long before Hermione looked away. Something in her stomach tickled. She felt strangely giddy.

Chapter Text

…and giddy Hermione felt, up until the point where Ron offhandedly mentioned a girlfriend.

His girlfriend.

"Lavender, you see, she only likes to travel to places with luxury. Those places where I can't really–" she suddenly didn't feel quite as sympathetic regarding his money issues anymore. Despite barely knowing him, she had been left with an impression of his interest. Since he hadn't mentioned that he had a girlfriend before now, it felt like a betrayal.

She tried to brush off the wounded feeling, her eyes downcast and a frown upon her face.

He must have sensed her change, because suddenly he halted in his speech. His laugh died out.

"So, Lavender's great?" she said, hearing how flat her voice sounded.

He eyed her suspiciously, like she was an animal that could bite him. She found herself becoming irritated.

He nodded slowly.

With a smile she would've found dazzling, he said, "She's wonderful. Very happy and positive. People like that are one in a million, the way their happiness seems to infect others,"

Hermione nodded, "That's great," she said. The words felt clipped and hard on her tongue. Her mouth was drying out.

"Excuse me, I will just refill my bottle," she said, and then she was on the move.

Hermione entered the bathroom on the train a moment later. The walls were metallic. Some places, passengers had written text on them. The fluorescent lights above her cast a contrasting shadow on the walls.

She made out the letters A and V on the wall. Around it, someone had used a sharpie to draw multiple hearts around it.

A and V had probably been a pair of teenagers in love that thought their relationship would last.

Hah!, she thought bitterly.

Hermione took a deep breath. She popped open the bottle and turned on the sink.

She met her own eyes in the mirror.

"You, girl," she said out loud, like a mother scolding a child, "Need to accept this. It's not that difficult. You're a grown woman,"

She felt silly. Getting to be with Ron was a ridiculous fantasy. She was in the real world now, and she would not succumb to childish hopefulness like the lovers on the bathroom walls.

Draco Malfoy's cruel words ringed in her ears, "Bucktoothed with that bloody hair. Are we even sure she's not a man?" he'd laughed, "And as if that wasn't enough, she's a Mudblood as well,"

A familiar voice in the back of her head told her that nobody wanted her.

She was tired of fighting it back.

"Oh, cut it," she muttered, "You're being dramatic,"

Of course, someone as wonderful as Ron would not be single.

She let the cold water run through her fingers. Hermione washed her face, careful to remove the redness in her eyes that had been building up.

Then, she capped her bottle and returned to her seat, as if nothing had happened.

"You know," Ron started, his blue eyes failed to capture her brown ones, "It says right here on the ticket that we will have a thirty-minute stop in Naples,"

Unwillingly, she felt hope build up in her chest. Malfoy's sneer still flashed behind her eyelids.

"Yes, and…?" she said, trying to sound neutral.

"I was wondering if you would like to take a short walk, just stretch our legs in Naples,"

"We can do that," she agreed, "But we can't wander too far. I don't want to miss the train when it leaves,"

He nodded. His bangs blew out of his face for a second, and Hermione was once again reminded of how colourful he looked. The freckles stood out in his pale face.

She felt a twinge of guilt in her chest.

She wasn't supposed to think of someone's boyfriend that way – but she couldn't help it.

Hermione felt neither worthy enough for him, nor was he single. It was inappropriate.

And frankly, ridiculous.

Thinking back to the conversation with herself in the bathroom, she decided that if he invited her to another one of his activities, she would decline.

Yes, she thought, that must be the solution.

And maybe it would calm down the feelings that were clashing so violently in her stomach, that she almost felt sick.

The brakes whined. The train glided effortlessly into the station.

There were a people of all ages waiting for the train on the platform. There was a little girl pointing her finger at something. She was tugging at her mother's sleeve. Another person, a boy in a grey hoodie, scowled. Among them was a girl with a brown suitcase and red lips. Her skin glowed in a brilliant, deep colour. Hermione envied the girl's perfectly done cornrows.

Hermione's smile flickered. Why couldn't she be stunning like the cornrow girl?

Ron said her name. She turned back from the window and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"We're here," he simply said.

The speakers crackled back to life again, "We will now have a thirty-minute stop here in Naples, Napoli," it said after coughing out a string of Italian phrases.

"Come on," Ron said eagerly, his smile wider than she'd ever seen it before, "We only have thirty minutes,"

Hermione smiled back weakly.

He had a girlfriend.

Chapter Text

It was refreshing to step out of the train, and into the cool air of platform thirteen.

The platform was built partially outside the main station in Naples. There were separate entrances into the main building from the secluded platform tracks. Overhead was a roof, but no walls, so that the air blew straight through the platforms.

The roof blocked the view of the sky, but she knew that the sun was shining. It reflected on the moods of the people walking by, in the summer warm breeze. They looked happier.

Hermione and Ron walked past a bench. A man sat there, casually reading his newspaper and eating a bagel. Around him, grey doves were dancing, trying to fight for the crumbles. The light reflected the green and blue of their otherwise grey feathers.

Ron put his hand on her shoulder. The butterflies in her stomach made her sick. It was all so wrong.

"I bet they have a café in the main station," he said.

She nodded. Coffee sounded good. Maybe the bitter taste would make her come to her senses again.

They walked leisurely through the tunnel that led into the main station.

It was like another world inside. People were buzzing around, each with a different destination in mind. Above them, a large screen showed all the train departures and arrivals. A giant digital clock filled the other half of the screen.

They still had another 26 minutes before their train would leave.

"There!" Ron exclaimed. He was pointing at a café on the other side of the hall, "Doesn't it look great? It's the one called Café L'Avven… L'Avventur–"

Hermione cut him off, "Café L'Avventuriero," she corrected him, "It means the adventurer,"

He looked at her, baffled, "I didn't know you spoke Italian,"

"I don't," she simply said, "I just like reading books,"

"How do you learn Italian by just reading books?" he said.

"Trade secret," Hermione smirked.

They ordered their drinks. Hermione decided on a cup of caffe latte. It was warm in her hands. The man behind the desk had even made a pattern in it for her. It was a small, plump heart of milk engulfed in smaller white circles. It was a masterpiece.

Ron took his time ordering. In the end he ended up with an espresso. He counted his change carefully with a worried expression before he paid. The coffee maker smiled warmly at them.

He probably thought that she and Ron were a couple. Hermione shivered, only partly horrified.

Ron got his coffee. He gestured to one of the tables in the outer part of the café. From their seating place, they could watch all the people in the train station.

They sat down by the wooden table. It even had a flower on it. Having the beverage in her hands calmed her. Ron twirled his coffee cup in his hands. It seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

"So," he began, and trailed off.

"So," she raised an eyebrow.

Their eyes locked. His bright blue stood out in the dim light, as if they glowed themselves. The silence turned awkward.

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched, before, in a split second, they found themselves bent over in laughter.

"I never thought I would find a witch like yourself on my way to Rome," he said, finally, after they had calmed down again. The tension between them was gone in an instant.

"Neither would I," Hermione said.

Her eyes flickered to the digital clock on the big screen in the station hall. They still had plenty of time left in Naples before the train would departure.

From there, the conversation took many twists and turns, until it finally landed on their common interest in traveling.

"Have you traveled much before?" Ron asked.

"Not really," she replied, "If you don't count during the war. I worked with Madam Pomfrey for extra credit half a year. We did some travelling for families in need,"

He was silent for a moment, "Wow. That's really impressive,"

She felt bubbly. And it was not because of the coffee.

"Thanks," she said, unsure of how to take the compliment. She was about to add more, but her eyes found the digital clock on the hall screens.

"Shit!" she cursed.

Time had flown by faster than she had expected. The train would leave in only six minutes!

Hermione stood up. Ron swallowed the rest of his coffee and put the mug down on the table, "What is it?"

"The train leaves in six – no, five – minutes," she said. He immediately stood up as well.

They managed to find the way back to the main station hall easily. From there, the problems arose.

"What platform were we at, again?" Ron asked, staring down at all the signs pointing in oh so many directions.

"I…" Hermione began. What was it again? She distinctly remembered that they came from the left, but from which platform?

Her eyes found the screen overhead. Her heart was racing, and she could hear it beat in her head.

The screen was filled so tightly with numbers and places that it was almost impossible to read. Especially when her pulse was thumping so hard in her head.

R132.

That was the train she was looking for.

R132 to Rome.

Finally, she found it. Her eyes locked with the name on the screen, and her stress died down momentarily.

"Platform 13," she breathed. Ron said something incoherently.

They only had two minutes.

Then, they started jogging towards platform thirteen. The seconds ticked by. They accelerated into a run, their clothes flapping around them as they ran.

It was hard to keep up with Ron's long legs. Her breath was coming out in short puffs. She felt the acid creep up her calves. Not now, she prayed. This was not the time for her to get a cramp.

Then, they arrived under the sign that said 'Platform 13'.

She could see the train from where they had stopped.

Although clearly out of breath, she asked, "Why did you stop?"

"You looked like you needed a break," he said. It irritated her. She was not some damsel in distress. She was used to saving herself. They hadn't boarded the train yet. There was no reason to stop.

The train would leave in a minute. They better not miss it.

"It leaves in a minute," she puffed in between breaths.

They started running again.

"Hurry up," she urged him again. She rushed past him in an attempt to make him speed up.

"Hermione," Ron said, "We're basically there already,"

He was right. They were so near already.

She slowed down and navigated them past a group of middle-aged men in suits.

They reached the platform in time. Hermione felt herself relax. She exhaled deeply, letting her finger rest on the door opening button, before pushing it.

She waited for the mechanical sound of the door opening, but nothing happened.

Suddenly feeling alarmed, she pushed the button again. The door still did not budge.

The train moved ever so slightly. It shook, then it whirred, and it started accelerating.

"Fuck!" she heard Ron swear behind her.

She turned around, seething.

It was his fault.

Chapter Text

"Do you have any idea what you just caused?" Hermione said through clenched teeth. Her knuckles tightened into fists at her sides.

She glared into the blackness of the tunnel where her luggage, ticket and train ride had just moved through.

Her eyes shifted to Ron, narrowing dangerously.

At first glance, Ron almost looked surprised. He raised an eyebrow. Then, his features shifted, until his face was knit into a hard scowl.

"How is this my fault?" he shot back.

"It was you who insisted on walking out of the train!" she yelled.

A family of three turned around to glare at them. Hermione lowered her voice. Ron didn't answer.

She pulled at her hair, "How stupid was I? Of course, this was going to happen,"

"I just thought coffee sounded nice!" he threw his hands up in the air, an exasperated look on his face, "And it was your fault too!"

"How was this my fault?" Hermione bit back.

Ron took a deep breath, before continuing, "If you had bothered to check the time earlier, then we would never have ended up in this mess,"

"So suddenly, it was my responsibility to look out for the time?" she said coolly, a challenge laced in her question.

He arched his back, as if to appear larger. He took a step towards her, his hands gesticulating wildly, "It certainly wasn't mine! I was sitting with my back to the clock,"

"I didn't know you weren't capable of turning around," she said sharply.

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.

"Can't we just Apparate onboard?"

It was as if the anger died down in her instantly. His voice sounded so soft.

"Are you silly?" she answered. Her inner teacher appeared, and she was hit with a nostalgia from her time at Hogwarts, "Firstly, the risk of splinching is very high when the destination is a moving vehicle. Secondly, it's a Muggle train. We can't Apparate in front of Muggles, Ron,"

She uttered his name like it was a curse. She wanted to remind him that she was still angry, and that they certainly were not friends.

He frowned, "We could Apparate to the bathroom, and then walk out as if nothing happened,"

"Remember the splinching part," Hermione reminded him again.

Ron stared at her, "I didn't forget the splinching, you wench," Hermione was taken aback by his insult of her. The coldness in his voice reminded her of Malfoy's. She shuddered, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Oblivious to her emotion, Ron added, "I have done it once, and it is not an experience easily forgotten,"

"When you're like that, I think you deserve to get splinched," she said.

Around them, fellow passengers were eying them nervously.

The old man on the bench had eaten his bagel. He was pretending to read his newspaper. At some point, the doves had flown off, leaving all the breadcrumbs on the ground.

"You know what," Ron started, "You're bloody annoying when you argue,"

Hermione hated being called annoying. It brought up bad memories from school. From her so-called friends back then, who would pretend to be friendly with her, only to belittle her afterwards.

Annoying.

It was like calling her worthless. Like her presence didn't matter. Like it was not valued.

Hermione wanted so badly to say 'fuck you'. She hated swearing. But she wanted so badly to say it.

"Fuck you," she said. It felt foreign on her tongue, but it felt good.

Then she stalked off, leaving him alone with the breadcrumbs on the ground and the staring people.

Hermione felt the tears well up in her eyes. Trying to read signs was proving difficult with her eyes blurring. Somehow, she still managed to find the information's desk in the main station.

The line was long. The middle-aged woman before her in line was tapping her foot impatiently. It looked like she'd been waiting a long time. Hermione was blinking away tears, hoping that the lady wouldn't notice that she was crying.

Blinking again, Hermione looked around.

The information desk was in the quieter part of the main station. She could not spot the café she and Ron had visited or the big screen with the clock. There were also less people here. Those that happened to be in this part of the terminal, were either in line or hurrying past them on their way to a secret destination.

A flame of orange lit up in the corner of her eye.

She recognized Ron immediately. He was looking around with wide eyes, walking in a seemingly random direction.

She turned her head back around, her eyes once again finding the lady in front of her in line.

Hermione sighed.

"Ron!" she shouted.

His head immediately turned her way.

Although it was his fault that they had missed their train, it was still wrong to let him wander around the station like that. He was obviously lost and in need of some help.

It still did not mean that they were friends, though.

He smiled at her when he came closer. It was a brief smile. It only lasted a moment. Then, his mouth returned to its tight line.

"Hermione," he said in greeting.

"You're welcome," she snapped.

Ron remained silent.

The line moved slowly. The lady before her tapped her foot quicker and quicker, as if it would make the line shorter. Hermione found it extremely irritating. She was about to snap at the lady when Ron cut off her train of thought.

"You know what," he said, "This is not the way to do it. We should be at least civil to each other. We should work together to fix this,"

Hermione froze. She did not meet his eye.

He continued, "And if an apology is what it takes for us to be friends again, then I am sorry," his voice sounded bleak, but his words were genuine. He was looking at her now.

"It's alright, Ron," she replied, shame burning in her cheeks, "It was I who was being immature. I was overreacting. Things have been difficult lately, and I guess I'm taking out my stress on you,"

His eyes widened. The colour was brilliantly bright.

"It is I who should be sorry," Hermione finished.

He smiled his askew smile. It felt like ages since she'd last seen it. It brought a warmth to her bones that she would never grow accustomed to.

"You're forgiven," he smiled, "So, what's the plan?"

Chapter Text

The line took its time. It gave them just enough time to discuss their alternatives and sort out a plan. The next departure would leave in only a few hours, and therefore they decided to board that train.

They finally arrived at the information desk.

The employee behind the desk briefly looked up. Her eyes flashed back to her screen and she let out a string of fast Italian.

"English, please?" Hermione asked patiently.

It didn't seem to affect the girl at all. With the same bored expression and tone of voice, she said in crisp, close-to-perfect English, "What can I help you with?"

"We lost our train," Hermione explained, "We would like to purchase tickets for the next departure to Rome,"

"I'm sorry," the girl said, without looking sorry, "The train is full. Because of maintenance work on the rail, there are less trains operating on the route. The next departure is at 04:26 –"

"We'll take it!" Hermione said.

"– in three days," the girl finished.

"Oh," was all she said. Ron looked crestfallen. His bangs hung down in his face. Hermione felt how the disappointment resonated in her chest, like an echo. It felt cold and foreign. A shiver ran down her spine.

Ron sighed, "It seems that we will have to stay here the next three days. There are probably some cool places to explore here too," He tried to sound positive and almost succeeded.

"Of course, there is, this is Naples!" Hermione said. She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing, "I have already booked the hotel room in Rome. It's non-refundable. I can't really stay here for another three days,"

Ron fidgeted. The employee's stare was blank, as if their little conversation were a long-awaited break for her.

"And the theatre," Hermione continued, her frustration growing, "I was going to see the famous Shakespeare play, Othello,"

"Othello?" he asked.

"It would be wonderful," she replied, "But it is in two days. I can't miss it. I have been looking forward to it ever since I purchased the ticket,"

Ron's look softened at her dreamy enthusiasm, "I'm sure there is some way…" he trailed off, directing the question to the employee.

The girl blinked, "I'm sorry, unless someone cancels their tickets, you won't be able to leave before Wednesday. Your other options are car rental and bus,"

Hermione frowned.

The girl's eyes twinkled. It was the first display of emotion on her face. "Although," she said with a gleaming smile, "Since you travel outside the regular tourist season, and I can give you two coupons, you can get a discount on car rental so that the total cost is only two times the bus ticket price,"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply.

She cut her off, "I really recommend the car rental. You will have to change bus twice because of maintenance work on–"

Ron was looking at her with his wide blue eyes. She didn't know what to say. He smiled his askew smile again, "What do you think?"

She hesitated slightly, "As long as I'm in Rome in time to catch my theatre play, then I'm all down for car rental. Then we can stop along the way, too,"

"Then it's settled," Ron said. She didn't know if she hated or loved his smile. Her knees felt weak, but it was hard to stay mad. She was supposed to be mad.

He opened his wallet. Glancing at the employee, he said, "How much was it again?"

The girl answered. Thankfully, Ron seemed comforted by the answer.

"What about our luggage? It is still on the train," Hermione asked.

"It will be arranged so you can pick it up in Rome,"

"Thank you," she said, feeling light on her feet. She wanted to go, but not before thanking the girl that saved the day, "Thank you for all your help,"

The girl managed a weak smile, then she said what Hermione presumed meant, "Next!"

They picked up the car shortly after. It was a red, rusty car. When Hermione opened the door, she was hit with a strong cigarette smell. There were no doubts as to why it was so cheap.

Hermione sat down in the driver's seat. Ron picked at the radio.

"Of course, it's not working," he said, "It is just our luck,"

Hermione didn't answer. It was she, not he, who had just had their hopes crushed because they found out that their travel companion wasn't single after all.

The silence continued, until the tension in the air was thick as butter. They hadn't even driven out of the city yet. She followed the signs, and they ended up stopping at a red light.

"So," Ron said unsurely, "You worked with Madam Pomfrey, right?"

"I did," she said. The light was still blazing red.

"For half a year?"

"Yes," she turned silent again, before changing her mind. She might as well have a decent conversation, "I was actually going to visit one of the families we helped here in Rome,"

He chuckled, "Of course you were,"

"What do you mean?"

"You are always there for everybody. At least that's how it seems," he shook his head, as if to snap out of a daze, or shake away a headache, "You're resourceful,"

"Ehm," Hermione didn't know what to say, "Thanks?"

With a confidence in him she had rarely seen before, Ron grinned, "You're welcome. And yes, it was a compliment,"

She absolutely hated the bubbly feeling that arose in her stomach. Gripping the steering wheel, she corrected herself. She didn't hate it, she despised it.

The light turned yellow, then green. She might have stepped a little too harshly on the pedal.

Chapter Text

The drive from Naples to Rome would take four hours. They had only driven for half an hour when Hermione stopped the car for some fresh air.

The compliment that Ron had given her had created a strange atmosphere in the car. All the way, her pulse had beat as if she was running the distance between the two cities instead of driving it. The following conversation had felt forced and unnatural. She couldn't quite get rid of the tension in her shoulders.

Naturally, that meant it was time for a break.

Especially when the scenery was so magnificent.

Hermione closed the door of the car softly. She took a few steps away from the car to admire the view.

She had taken a narrow road off the main highway. It was crooked and the asphalt full of cracks, going through a landscape dominated by bushes and small green trees, growing up from a reddening sand. The sun was setting behind them, and neither knew what met them around the next turn.

Then, by the battered road, a stone building arose. It resembled a small church. The path in front of it was paved with grey stone. There were carved four holes in the front wall around the wooden door. In those holes, a brilliant artist had placed four porcelain pale stone figurines.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. She had always liked beautiful architecture.

She heard Ron's steps behind her. She turned around, still trapped in a dreamy daze.

"Look at the sunset," Ron's voice was swallowed by the vastness of it all.

The sun was barely peeking up behind the treetops. A few houses were bathing in the magnificent sunlight. It painted the sky yellow and red. The clouds stood out like golden wools, each dyed a different combination of orange and pink. The blue creeped in on the edges, painting it all in a purple light.

"It is beautiful," she said.

At some point, they had crept closer to each other. She could feel the warmth from his skin on hers, even if they were not touching. She feared that if she turned, she might have kissed him on the cheek.

The sun was swallowed by the horizon, then they were suddenly engulfed in cold.

Ron shuddered, "We should probably get back to the car. We'd want to get back on the road before it gets too dark,"

Hermione almost yelped when he removed his arm, drawing away all his warmth. It took all her willpower to agree with him.

"Do you have a driver's licence?" she suddenly asked.

He smiled in the settling darkness. The lights from the surrounding houses were dim behind him, "Yes," he laughed, "I almost lost it once, but if you dare, I'll drive,"

They got back in the car, only now Hermione was sitting in the passenger seat. Before Ron adjusted the seat, she let out a laugh at how his legs almost didn't fit.

"Now, I want to hear about how you almost lost your license," she chuckled lightly.

With a glint in his eye, he started his story of how he and his brothers – Fred and George – had missed the Hogwarts Express. In fear of their mother finding out, they had taken the family's flying car and flown to Hogwarts. They had parked by the castle, sent the flying car back, then snuck into the Great Hall for the yearly welcome feast. Although it had worked quite seamlessly, it had not been problem free. As it turned out, the teachers had reported the incident back to the family soon after.

"–and then Mom sent a Howler! I had never been so embarrassed in my life," he finished.

"I don't think that's an adventure you'll ever forget," she replied. Hermione had not missed the way his brows furrowed every time he mentioned Fred. His deceased brother seemed to bring him great sorrow.

The car's headlights were weak and barely lit up the road in front of them. The horizon still held a small belt of light blue, just above the tree tops.

She fingered with the radio. Suddenly, music boomed from the loudspeakers.

Hermione turned the volume down to a comfortable level. With a scoff, she turned to Ron, "It wasn't broken, you dork,"

The banter was beyond friendly. It felt intimate. Driving in the darkness with the radio playing only boosted the romantic mood.

She wanted to yell 'to hell with this' and love him even if the position was already taken by the Lavender girl.

Ron chuckled. The sound rolled in the back of his throat like gentle rain pouring on a roof. Her eyes were drawn to his face and she couldn't break them away. She watched his smile fade as he watched the road. With sadness, she reminded herself that he'd never be hers. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, "Don't blame me, at least I have a reason for being technologically inept,"

The comfortable warmth inside her flickered briefly. She had suspected that he was not Muggle-born, from the absence of technology, to the confusion he'd shown at the main station in Naples. He had a phone, however, but it did not seem like he knew how to use it properly.

"Are you a pureblood?" she asked quietly, the music humming in the background.

"Yes," he answered, almost ashamed. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"I'm Muggle-born," she said, thinking of all the times they had called her Mudblood.

He answered with such interest that she almost felt flattered, "That's actually really cool. How did it feel when you received your Hogwarts letter?"

She answered him, telling him about all the strange incidents she'd had growing up. From balloons popping when she was angry, to faucets turning on unexpectedly when she was sad. It had been a relief to know she was a witch, and not insane.

"I'm sorry about how people treat Muggle-borns," he said abruptly, "I don't think you deserve it,"

Hermione smiled sadly, "It is much better now that the war is over,"

"I'm glad to hear,"

"What about purebloods? Are people having grudges for you now, because of Voldemort and all?" her interest piqued up. He cringed.

"Nah, not really. We were blood traitors anyway, so I think we're good," Ron spat the word 'blood traitors', just like she did 'Mudblood'.

There had only been a handful wizarding families who hadn't joined the Dark Lord and his followers during the war. In a way, it delighted her that he was one of those.

"I admire that," she admitted, "But even so, what does it matter now that the war is over. People tend to judge anyway,"

He looked at her with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to ask but came no longer. He had sensed that there was more to Hermione Granger than most assumed.

Chapter Text

They were driving on a winding, narrow road. The sun had set an hour ago, plunging them in total darkness. The only source of light outside the car was the white moon. The headlights of the car flickered frequently, sometimes leaving them driving in only the moonlight.

It forced Ron to drive extremely slowly. It did not bother Hermione until he mentioned the name she dreaded – Lavender.

"–that she absolutely despises. Lavender is kind of interested in that," he finished. Hermione had completely zoned out after he first mentioned her name and had no idea what he was talking about. The cold spread in her chest.

"How long have you two been together?" she asked in an attempt to get rid of the cold, dead feeling in her heart.

Ron gently pushed the brake when the headlights flickered again, "Around four years,"

"That's a lot,"

"Yeah,"

They lapsed into silence. Hermione didn't feel like talking anymore.

He cleared his throat, "But I don't think it'll last much longer. I've been thinking about it, and the relationship hasn't been going well lately,"

"Oh," she breathed, "What is wrong?"

The glow of the instruments in the car glowed just enough for her to make out his features in the night. It gave his sunburnt skin an orange glow, just like his hair. His brows furrowed and he licked his lips. For some reason, Hermione found it slightly sensual.

"It's a lot like you and Krum, actually," he explained, "We just haven't been talking lately,"

"When did you see her last?"

"Maybe a month. We haven't been owling each other either. It feels…" he shook his head, unsure of what to say.

"I understand," Hermione said anyway.

"We've been having fights, too," his eyes met hers briefly, "About the future. I want to be an Auror, but before that, I want to travel. I want to see the Muggle world. She comes from a traditional pure-blood family. She's not interested in it at all. She wants to settle down, get a house, a job,"

She nodded.

"It's just dividing us. I –" he choked.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. She hated how she felt triumph at their doomed relationship.

"Are you okay?" she blurted out.

He smiled gently, one corner of his mouth curling up higher than the other, "Yeah, thanks, Hermione,"

She looked out the window, into the dark night. If her eyes had been focused, she would've seen the stars.

"I should have broken up with her a long time ago," he suddenly said, "I have been holding on, hoping it would get better, when in reality, it's only gotten worse,"

"Yes, you should," she said truthfully, still looking out the window into the darkness, "If you feel like that, then it's not going to last, I'm sorry. Speaking from experience here," she let out a humourless laugh at the end, her smile fading before she was finished.

Ron looked at her with a warm smile on his face. His freckles stood out in the red glow of the car. The radio hummed comfortably in their silence.

"When we first met on the train," Hermione started, an amused look on her face, "Why did you read the Quibbler?"

Ron's eyes widened. She could see the whites in his eyes clear as day. All the tension suddenly left his body, and he raised his eyebrows, "I sincerely hope that you don't think I usually read rubbish like the Quibbler!" he exclaimed.

"I was beginning to worry!" Hermione explained, laughing.

"I don't understand how anybody could possibly ever believe all the news that are written in it. I mean, imagine how messed up you must have to be to believe in Nargles!"

She thought about Luna, her only friend in Ravenclaw. It hurt her to hear him indirectly insult Luna, but Hermione couldn't help but agree. Her dearest friend did have a weird streak in her, she had to admit, even if she loved her dearly.

"My best friend's father actually writes that paper, but honestly! I don't believe half of it,"

"Wait," Ron started, "Are you saying that you're friends with the Looney Lovegood?"

"Don't call her that," she snapped, "But yes, she's my friend,"

"I didn't mean to insult her,"

"I know,"

They fell silent. It was broken by Hermione, who started chuckling.

"What?" Ron asked.

She continued laughing, "I like Luna, but come on! Who would ever believe all that's written in the Quibbler?"

He relaxed, she noticed. Maybe he'd been afraid that he had hurt her.

He laughed with her.

"But seriously," Hermione said when they'd calmed down, "Why did you bring it? Ron, you were extremely reckless to bring it on a Muggle train,"

He ignored the scolding, "They did an article about my father, actually,"

"Your father?"

"Yes. He works for the Ministry. In the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office," Ron said.

"That sounds like such a lovely job!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron's face fell, "Yes, it was, until he lost it. You have probably heard of Lucius Malfoy?"

The name ringed in her ears. It brought back many displaced memories from her childhood. She could almost hear Draco Malfoy spit insults at her. Ron took Hermione's shudder as confirmation.

"He and Dad have always had a feud between them. I guess it's from when they were in Hogwarts. Malfoy always hated Dad for not joining the Dark Lord, so he did everything in his power to make his life hell. In the end, Dad lost his job,"

Hermione was stunned.

"Malfoy's in Azkaban now, fortunately, but he has demanded a new hearing. Dad is supposed to be there as a witness. There are a lot of people arguing that he shouldn't be there, because Lucius caused him to lose his job,"

"Oh,"

"I just wished they would lay off," Ron said with a tired look on his face, "Fred died because of Lucius. Dad has a right to be there, whether he lost his job or not,"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, "What did the Quibbler say about it?"

Ron scoffed, then smiled, "I don't know. I didn't bother to read it. I got stuck on the sudoku instead,"

Chapter Text

They had driven for roughly three hours already.

Hermione felt slightly on edge, but she wasn't sure whether it was because the headlights of the car were flickering dangerously in the dark, or the fact that in one hour they would have reached their destination.

In one hour, she may have to say goodbye to Ron, and she may never meet him again.

It made her feel melancholy. He had a girlfriend, but she knew it was not going well. The fact sent joyous shivers up her spine. Maybe there was hope after all.

Ron just seemed so perfect.

Too bad they probably would never meet again after Rome.

She snuck another glance at him. He was tapping the wheel in rhythm with the music, humming along with the song. Hermione hadn't noticed how long his light eyelashes were before. They were lit up in the golden light from the instruments in the car.

He had high cheekbones, too.

She tried focusing on something else. Hermione felt warm, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She hoped Ron wouldn't notice that she had been staring at him. With her luck, he probably had.

With the lever on the door, she cranked down her window. Instantly, cold air flushed into the car.

Ron yelped, "That's cold, Hermione," he said, but his tone hinted that he didn't really care.

"But I'm warm," she chuckled, looking over him. He was wearing a dark hoodie, whereas she only wore a thin shirt, "I have no idea how you can wear that in this weather. You should be overheating,"

His eyes left the road for a second, meeting her gaze. They lingered, before he gave her a once over. Hermione felt the blood rush to her face again. The cold didn't chase it away. The blush burned in her face.

Before he could reply, a flash of something brown collided with the front window. A sharp bang followed straight after.

Hermione jumped and shrieked.

Ron swerved to the side of the road, instantly coming to a halt. The brakes whined in the dark night.

"What was that!" Hermione shouted. Her eyes were wild when she met Ron's.

He looked surprisingly calm.

"Why are you looking like that?" she asked, somewhat calmer.

"It's my owl," he deadpanned.

"What?" Hermione was taken aback. She was about to open her car door, when another bang sounded, this time from the window by the driver's seat.

Ron calmly opened his door. The pudgy owl crash landed into the cupholder between the witch and the wizard. Seemingly happy with its landing, the owl looked at Ron expectantly, waggling its leg tentatively in his direction.

Some of its feathers were stuck to the windows of the car. Trying to be of assistance, Hermione tried to flatten its feathers to the owl's body. At least, she didn't want it to look sick.

Ron untied the letter from its foot.

"Thanks, Pig," he said, before guiding it outside the car again. It responded by biting him in the finger, before flying off again.

"That was…" Hermione searched for the word, "wild,"

"It happens a lot," he explained, "Imagine how it is when he crashes into our flying car,"

She was speechless.

"We don't know what's wrong with him, but I guess it is a combination of old age and horrible balance," he smiled at her. One of his teeth stood out a little crooked. It looked nice on him.

Hermione pouted, "Poor bird. And what's with his name? Do you really call him Pig?"

Ron didn't stop smiling, "I got him from one of my older brothers. He named him Pigwidgeon. One time, Fred nicknamed him Pig. I guess the name just stuck,"

His smile wavered slightly at the mention of his deceased brother.

Hermione felt courage build up in her chest, spilling out from between her lips. She said, "Are you okay?" she shook her head. It sounded wrong, "I mean, if you ever want to talk about your brother, I'm here to listen,"

His expression was hard to read. His entire body had gone rigid. His eyes carried a blank look. "Hermione," he said ominously. She suddenly felt afraid that she'd said something wrong. She was proven incorrect when his face split in a shy smile, "It means a lot to me that you say that. Thank you,"

His words felt genuine. Hermione looked at him. It was a pleasant silence, before he spoke again, "I –" he took a deep breath, as if to collect the courage to say it, "I can tell you the whole story, if you want to hear it,"

She swallowed, "Yes, I would like that, Ron,"

Her eyes watered when he started telling.

He told her how the Death Eaters wanted Ginny as hostage for Harry Potter. During the war, their home had no longer been safe for any of the Weasleys. His mother had been constantly worried sick for all her children. Then, the Battle of Hogwarts began.

Hermione had also been there during the battle. His story alone brought back painful memories for her. Professor Lupin's dead face flashed behind her eyelids.

Ron told her how Lucius Malfoy, the horrible Death Eater, had noticed that Fred and George had been separated in the battle. Lucius had always hated Ron's father and he saw an opportunity for revenge. He had cursed Fred.

At this part, Hermione's vision was blurry with tears. Her hand had somehow found Ron's. She rubbed her thumb over his hand in a way she hoped felt comforting to him.

Ron's voice wavered and cracked, but he continued to tell her his awful story.

His story of how broken George had been when he'd seen his twin die. About his mother, and how she didn't function anymore. With a sigh, he even told her how fed up he had been with his family. How he had responded to his grief by closing off his feelings. He had felt overwhelmed and angry.

It was obviously difficult for him to speak about his feelings. Hermione felt proud at him for daring. She knew just how difficult it was. He continued, "Fred passed a year ago, but my family's still…" he paused, searching for the words. His brows were furrowed, his shoulders tense, and his eyes were glossed over with tears, "They're still not right. I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like we will never be happy again," he trailed off.

Hermione replied in a shaken voice, "I know it will never feel the same again. Time will help, but I'm afraid the grief won't go away,"

She didn't know how to console others when they were sad. She guessed it was a consequence of never having friends in the first place. Well, she did have Luna, but she was far from normal.

He added, with a tight smile, "In fact, I travelled to Italy to get some distance between my family and me. It was only meant to be a pause. A little time to catch my breath and figure things out. I never thought I'd meet someone as wonderful as you while I was at it,"

She didn't know what to say. In a way, she felt guilty, knowing he talked so highly of her while he had a girlfriend. At the same time, she felt honoured. It was seldom she got compliments, especially from sweet boys that she liked.

"Thank you, Hermione," he finished, taking her hand in both of his. He looked her deeply in the eyes. For once, the blueness in them didn't comfort her. She was almost afraid he'd kiss her.

"I just want to help. I know how it feels to be alone, surrounded by all these dark thoughts," she piped up. The words had just slipped out of her mouth. She didn't mean to say them.

He looked at her questioningly. The grim expression had disappeared, replaced with a worried face. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered.

Hermione felt trapped, like an animal in a corner. Ron was the predator, ready to sink his teeth deep in her skin. Ready to shred her with his claws as easily as he could with the letter in his hands.

She was afraid of feelings.

She was afraid of opening up.

And he was asking her to admit her feelings. He was asking her to open up. It was the exact opposite of what she wanted to.

Hermione stared at him for what felt like a full minute, her eyes wide. Her thoughts were racing.

Forcefully, she inhaled a deep breath. After they reached Rome, the two of them would part ways anyway. It was not like they would explore Rome together like they'd toyed with. He would return to his hotel, owl his girlfriend and family, and solve his Rubik's Cube. She would retreat to her own hotel, open her favourite book, and watch Shakespeare plays alone.

They would never meet again after Rome. Love was like that for Hermione. Whenever she liked someone, they fled like she was the plague.

Hermione never opened up to anyone about her past. About her bullying. About her issues. She was horrified to face people after they knew that about her. They would think she was weak and lonely – and definitely not worth their time.

But Ron was disappearing from her life anyway.

Fuck it, she thought, she might as well tell him.

Chapter Text

"I don't know why they always chose me," Hermione started in a voice so quiet that she was surprised he heard her. The voice didn't feel like her own. A numbness was spreading in her body, making her feel alien in her own skin.

Hermione didn't know where to begin. She simply couldn't remember a time where she hadn't been lonely.

So, she told Ron about everything, from the very beginning.

"You already know I was an only child," she said in a clipped voice. Her mouth felt dry, "I was lonely,"

The statement alone sent relief through her body. Instantly, it was like a wave washed over her, making every tense muscle soft and silencing her screaming brain. The thoughts – the fears – which had been rushing in her mind halted and left her in a numb state of calm.

It was too late to go back now. She had promised to tell her story.

Her heart was pumping hard in her chest. It throbbed in her temples. She could hear herself swallow.

"When I started Muggle school, I had never really had a friend before. I don't –" she blinked away tears, "I guess nobody wanted to be friends with me in school either. I worked so hard to get them to like me, but they never did,"

She remembered all the times she had eaten lunch in the girls' restroom. She preferred it there. It was the only place that she could escape the ugly remarks. Hermione remembered how she often cried there, in the girls' toilets. The puffiness in her eyes afterwards was always difficult to hide, but without friends, nobody bothered to ask anyway.

Shaking her head, she tried to let go of the memories.

"So, when I got my Hogwarts letter, I was ecstatic. I could finally leave home and all the cruel children there," she hadn't dared look at Ron, her eyes fixed on her feet, "It was a new chance,"

In the corner of her eye, Ron glanced at her worryingly.

"And then, Malfoy came along," she laughed a humourless laugh. It was dry and raspy, and even to her it sounded awful.

He muttered something under his breath. If she knew him correctly, she would say it was a curse. She paused and he repeated it louder, "Malfoy, that bloody git. I wish I could punch him,"

"I actually did," Hermione admitted.

"What?!" Ron shouted, "Hermione, you did?"

"He deserved it,"

"Of course, he bloody deserved it!"

Hermione huffed.

Ron sent her a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry. I interrupted you, please continue,"

The numbness in her chest had momentarily disappeared. Now it came back at full force. It took her breath away.

"At first, he seemed arrogant, but when I told him I was a Muggleborn, he became downright cruel. He started commenting on my appearance. He called me all sorts of ugly names, called me bucktoothed and Mud–" her voice hitched.

She glanced at Ron, who thankfully was looking on the road. Otherwise, he would have seen the tears glistening in her eyes.

"It became worse when he realized I was better than him in school. He probably felt threatened that a Muggleborn could do better than his own Pureblood arse," she spat, "He scared away anyone who dared to be friends with me. He would do these awful things, like curse them or threaten them. Malfoy never got caught either, he always snivelled his way out of punishment, like the snake he is,"

She could feel anger hot on her lips. How she hated that bully.

He deserved Azkaban. She hoped Ron' father would testify against Lucius Malfoy and bring him there as well. What a sweet revenge that would be. To have the boy who insulted her parents land his own in Azkaban.

"In the end, the only person that wasn't scared away by Draco, was Luna Lovegood. I'm very thankful for having her in my life. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't,"

"You are a strong girl, Hermione," Ron's voice was clear and genuine, like he really meant it.

She didn't expect the softness in his voice, and especially not his understanding. It was silly, she had expected him to laugh at her or think she was weak. It felt good to be proven wrong.

Hermione didn't want to speak anymore. She felt like she had told him enough already. He didn't need to hear all the things Malfoy and his cronies had done to her.

Therefore, she tried lightening up the mood by telling him the story about when she punched Malfoy.

She told Ron about how Malfoy, in an attempt to make Luna leave her, had continuously threatened her. It didn't work, mostly because Luna wasn't the most rational girl in Ravenclaw. Threats didn't work on her.

Malfoy got angry and cursed Luna's owl with fear of heights. Her owl had tried flying from the tower, gotten surprised by terror, and fallen out of the air. It died on impact. Hermione still remembered how it had looked when she and Luna found it.

Feathers and blood everywhere.

Malfoy then boasted to her about his curse. Hermione was furious when she saw the smug expression on his face. She had punched him in the nose.

With a silent chuckle, she added, "What I didn't know was that Professor McGonagall was nearby and saw the whole thing. When I turned around to leave, she was standing in the other end of the hallway watching us. She didn't even intervene. I couldn't believe it, but I think now that she too thought Malfoy deserved it,"

Ron tapped his fingers on the steering wheel again.

It felt nice to speak her feelings out loud, she realized.

She had buried them so deep that she expected the pain to be fresh like new again. She dreaded the pain almost as much as the openness to Ron. She felt vulnerable, and for a girl who always overcame difficulties alone, it was scary. But, Hermione thought, it felt good to know that the pain from the past didn't feel the same in the present.

"I hope Malfoy broke his nose," Ron said, finally.

"Ron!" Hermione said, "Don't say that,"

He looked at her with wide eyes.

Leaning towards Ron, she added in a whisper, "He did,"

With a triumphant look on his face, he exclaimed, "Yes! You are brilliant, Hermione!"

Hermione smiled.

They fell into silence together. It felt strange. She wanted to speak, but at the same time, she didn't. Her mind was already racing with doubts. Was it right to tell Ron about the bullying? Maybe he thought badly about her now, like a girl too weak to stand up for herself. With a calming breath, she reminded herself that he had been impressed. She had punched Malfoy. Ron was genuine.

"Do you want me to read your letter to you?" she asked him, who was driving.

His eyes left the road ahead. In the glow of the car, they locked with hers and he smiled, "Yes, please,"

Chapter Text

Hermione squinted at the letter. The handwriting was hardly understandable.

"It is from Charlie," she said hesitantly. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

"My brother," Ron commented. Secretly, she appreciated the reminder. It had been, after all, well over a day since they had talked about his brothers for the first time.

She skimmed the letter, pausing in between scribbled words to make sense of them. What horrible handwriting, Hermione thought to herself. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Ron's blue eyes were fixed on her.

She read out loud, "Ron,

Dad was ecstatic about your phone call with Mom. Just wanted to tell you that he'd appreciate if you called him later to tell him how you are,"

Hermione paused. It felt personal, and in her opinion, it was wrong to read someone's letter. Patting her own shoulder, she reminded herself that Ron had asked her to read it. She would just have to bear with it.

"I'm sorry that I blew you off when you asked if you could visit me in Romania. You are probably very busy in Italy, but I have rescheduled my timetable so you can come visit during this week.

I'll send you a Portkey via owl.

I hope to see you,

Take care,

Charlie,"

She finished the letter, then looked at him expectantly.

"You should come, Hermione!" he exclaimed, eyes wide and hopeful.

They drove past some trees in the dark.

When she didn't answer, his smile faded.

Her brows furrowed. Her mind worked on high gear to make up excuses for why she couldn't. Hermione said quietly, "I don't know if I can. I have the Shakespeare play and…" she trailed off, realizing that he probably thought she didn't like him.

But he had a girlfriend. To flirt with someone else at the same time, like she thought he did, was mad.

"You already told me you only booked your hotel up until that Shakespeare play, Omello," he argued.

"Othello," she corrected him, "And I hardly think you would like to stay in Rome for two days only to wait for me,"

She realized her mistake when his face lit up with a childish joy, "Of course, I would, Hermione!"

Damn.

He continued, seemingly oblivious to the dread building up in Hermione, "The play is–" he tapped the steering wheel, racking his brain for something, "–the day after tomorrow. And after that, we could, if you want, spend a few days here or go to Romania to the dragon sanctuary,"

The Dragon sanctuary, she thought. She remembered how Ron, thinking she was a Muggle, had told her Charlie was working with cows and not dragons.

It lessened the tight knot in her stomach for a minute, but it didn't make her forget the fact that he knew about her story. She had agreed to tell him, but only because she knew she would never meet Ron again in her life.

Now he was breaking that silent agreement she had made with herself.

Hermione liked order. Now, Ron was breaking her rules and creating chaos under her skin.

But, Hermione did like Ron.

She wanted to tear her hair out of her head. The frustration was building up in her chest. She wanted to scream. With a scoff, she wondered what his reaction would be if she did.

"I…" she said, and found herself horrified to say, "I think that would be a great idea,"

"Don't be afraid," Ron said, "I won't kidnap you. I only want to show you Charlie's dragons,"

She didn't know how to react with the growing ball of chaos in her stomach, but she always thought humour was the easiest, "Maybe it is I who is going to kidnap you, and not the other way around. Never underestimate a Shakespeare-loving witch,"

Ron laughed merrily, "I'd like to see you try,"

He smiled his askew smile. Somehow it calmed her down. Maybe this was the right thing to do. Even if he probably didn't like her romantically, she would still gather a friend. And, she didn't exactly have a huge range of friends.

Anyhow, it had felt good to speak up about her feelings and past trauma.

She decided that she would give him a try. Maybe it was indeed the right thing to do.

Outside, a flicker of the headlights revealed a sign by the road.

In huge, bold letters it said, first in Italian, then in English: ROME CITY CENTRE

Underneath: 7 KM

"Finally," Hermione breathed, "We're almost there,"

Soon after, they reached the civilisation. They drove past houses, both small and huge. The road became narrower the closer to the city centre they came. The spaces between houses shrunk, then disappeared completely.

With Hermione's navigation skills they worked their way to the train station. They had both hoped for a 24-hours open information desk inside, but they both got a good laugh when they realized the customer service was closed. Their luggage could wait another day.

Ron drove Hermione to her hotel. He stopped in front of the entrance.

Fresh air greeted her when she stepped out of the car. She inhaled deeply and treasured the feeling that followed.

Tiptoeing around the car, Hermione knocked on the window by the driver's seat with a wide smile.

A surprised look washed over his face before he opened the car door and stepped outside. She was astounded by his height again. His curly, long bangs fluttered in the wind. The colour emitted a strange red glow in the yellow light from the hotel.

Without a word, she swiftly embraced him in a hug. She could feel his arms on her back. He smelled like shampoo and musk, and a little bit of sweat. Together, she thought the scent fitted him.

"Thank you for today," she breathed, before letting go of him. He held her for a second longer, "It was wonderful, even though we missed the train,"

He chuckled and smiled. His blue eyes shone in the dim light, "Can I see you tomorrow?"

A wave of warmth washed over her. The blood pooled to her cheeks, "Nine o'clock here," she said.

"Let's say ten, and we have a deal," he smirked.

"Nine," she stated, then started walking away from him, leaving him in the dim darkness of the night. She had almost reached the double doors of the hotel when he replied.

"I'll be here ten!"

Hermione smiled to herself as she reached the hotel entrance. She halted, her foot hovering over the pavement, hesitant about the next step. She turned around and yelled, "Remember to return the rental car!"

"Will do!" his voice sounded from the darkness.

When she turned back, he was gone. She spotted the flickering headlights of the car in the distance.

Instantly, Hermione realized how exhausted she was. She yawned and blinked. Thinking about laying down in a bed, she entered her hotel.

What a day it had been.

Chapter Text

They met the following day a couple of minutes past ten.

Hermione, early as always, had already waited a while when Ron rounded the corner by her hotel. His face was flushed, and his hair dishevelled.

"I didn't want you to wait for me," he panted, when he reached her.

Apparently, it was not easy to navigate Rome. He had taken some wrong turns and ended up running to be there on time.

Hermione couldn't help but blush at that.

"What do you want to do today?" Ron asked.

She smiled, feeling far more appreciated than she had felt in a long time, in his presence.

"What about we go and fetch our missing luggage first? I feel nasty in these clothes," she gesticulated towards her own body with a disgusted face.

While they walked to the train station, they talked about everything from pasta to their favourite Butterbeer. They passed a few cafés that they both wanted to explore on their way back, later in the day.

"Which hotel did you end up in?" Hermione inquired, noticing that Ron had come from the direction they were walking in when he had met her only half an hour ago.

Ron's sunburnt cheeks reddened, and he looked away, almost ashamed, "It's… it's not quite as nice as yours. We have passed it already. It was next to the wearied nightclub back by the grocery shop you commented,"

Hermione shook her head.

"You know," she said in a bout of courage, "I don't find it embarrassing that you aren't rich. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You can speak freely when you are with me," she assured him.

His eyes didn't meet hers until she stopped speaking. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. Ron looked down at his feet again, "I just don't like people knowing," he muttered.

"Why is that?"

"I don't want them to treat me differently. People always look at me like I am a charity case," he explained. Hermione's heart twinged in her chest. He sounded miserable.

She hesitated, trying to find the correct words to say, "I don't see you like that,"

He seemed to relax at that, "Thank you,"

Silence filled the room between them. The only sound was of chattering Italian voices and their footsteps on the stone. A few birds chirped, nibbling at the breadcrumbs on the road.

"Do you want to talk about something else?" Hermione said, then cringed at how she had turned their conversation awkward. She wasn't a skilled talker.

Luckily, Ron didn't seem to mind. He chuckled for himself, "That'd be nice,"

Before the awkwardness returned, he added, "Now, let's only hope that our luggage has arrived here, and not been sent somewhere else,"

"With our luck, it's probably in Germany by now," Hermione laughed, thankful for the change of subject.

They had arrived at the front entrance of the train station. Above the doors, huge, white letters spelled out: stazione centrale di Roma.

"It means Rome Central Station," Hermione said out loud.

They entered together quietly. People scurried past them, talking loudly on their phones. In the distance, a train hooted, indicating its arrival.

The train station was vast on the inside. The air was colder, and there were people everywhere.

Hermione wondered how they would find the information desk in the chaos. She could barely look past Ron in the stuffy hall.

"You wouldn't know the Italian word for information desk, too?" Ron asked jokingly, earning a chuckle.

"Sadly, I don't,"

With his flaming red hair and towering height, Ron stood out in the crowdy station. Fortunately, this also meant that, in contrast to her, he was able to see above most of the people's heads and therefore spot the line of tourists in the more desolate, opposite side of the hall.

His hand wrapped around hers. She was taken aback by the gesture, her eyes widening in surprise. He tugged lightly at her hand. Then, he started leading them towards an unseen goal.

His hand was slightly bigger than hers. She shivered at the coldness of his skin.

When they came closer, Hermione understood why he had been so quick to spot the customer service desk.

The people in line were obviously tourists.

The middle-aged couple in front of them in line wore cameras around their necks. They had plastered American flags on both their backpacks. A few others in the line wore t-shirts with prints with pictures of Colosseum and 'I love Italy' on them.

A sign informed them that they had arrived in the right place, too.

"See, you don't always have to be a linguistic genius to find what you need," Ron teased.

She raised her eyebrows, then shot back, "Care to remind me how many languages you speak, again?"

He raised his hands in a defensive position, "I do know some Latin,"

Hermione brought her hand to her face to hide her grin. Spells were, after all, based on Latin.

"That's the least I would expect," she said with a wide smile.

"How many do you know?"

Before she could answer, the line before them had cleared up, and the impatient brunette behind the desk asked, "What can I help you with?"

Hermione explained how they'd lost their train, and that the desk worker in Naples had informed them that their luggage would be sent to Rome.

"I haven't heard anything about that, but I can check. I will be back in a minute," she said and disappeared.

Ron looked at her, "Do you want to bet if it is there?"

She smirked, "What's life without a little excitement? I bet that it's not there,"

His smile faded, "You can't choose that. That was what I was going to bet,"

"Too bad. You asked me first," she giggled.

"Alright then. I bet our luggage is there, just behind the door waiting for us to grab it. If it's not there, then I owe you a…" he trailed off, thinking, "What is the reward for the winner?"

"Hmm," Hermione said, "Maybe the loser has to do something embarrassing, like breakdance in the middle of the street,"

"Breakdance?" Ron asked.

"A Muggle dance. Trust me, it would be embarrassing," she said.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"What if the loser has to be the other's slave for the rest of the day?" Hermione asked. Ron's eyes bore into her.

She regretted proposing it. What if she lost?

Relax, she told herself. It would not be the end of the world. Even if it felt like he was flirting with her when he suggested it.

The worker returned with the same bored look upon her face.

Hermione's breaths were shallow. There was a small doubt gnawing away at her. She hoped she was right.

Then Ron said what she dreaded, "Deal,"

The desk worker looked her up and down, as if judging her for something unbeknownst to Hermione. The girl said, her look softening, "I'm sorry, it seems that your luggage never was taken off the train,"

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. The desk worker looked at her weirdly. Ron was silent, probably regretting that he joined their bet.

She won the bet. He was to be her slave for the rest of the day.

"I will call around to locate it," the girl continued, "I'm sorry, but it looks like you must survive without it for a few days, while we get it sent to you,"

Ron shook his head, falling out of his daze, "I'm afraid that won't work. We're leaving for Romania in two days,"

The girl thought for a moment, "We can send it to the address for a small fee,"

Hermione suspected that the fee was far from small. Although Ron didn't like pity, she still felt sorry for his slimming wallet.

"How about we ask Charlie if we can send it to his place? Is that possible?" Hermione turned to Ron.

"I'll ask him to fix it. I'm sure it will work out fine,"

"Perfect," the girl behind the desk said, "Now I only need your numbers, then the office will call you when they are ready to send,"

The desk worker handed Hermione a blank piece of paper and a pen.

She wrote down her Muggle phone number, then made space for Ron to do the same. He didn't move. He wore a lost expression, and when Hermione's eyes met his, he smiled an insecure smile.

"You don't know your number?" Hermione said.

He nodded, "How do I see it?"

The desk worker looked at them as if they were both alien to her.

"Call me, and I'll see your number," Hermione said, ignoring the shocked stare from the girl.

He fumbled around on his phone, clearly not certain of what he was doing. She put her hand over his, stopping him, "Let me do it,"

"Please don't blame me for being technologically inept," Ron chuckled.

She smiled, warmth pooling in her cheeks. His blue eyes lingered on her face for another moment, before she broke eye contact to examine his phone.

"I don't,"

Then she added teasingly, "Slave,"

Chapter Text

The rest of the day had gone by in a whim. According to Ron, Hermione had been 'abusing her power' and 'making him tie her shoelaces unnecessarily many times'.

Hermione had just laughed him off, telling him that slaves weren't supposed to have opinions.

They were currently sitting at the café they had passed previously on their way to the train station. Both Italians and tourists were occupying the tables around them. The waiter came by Ron and Hermione's, dropped off her wine and his beer, and lit the candles.

"Butterbeer tastes better," Ron said, grimacing at the taste.

"Italy is widely known for wine. You should have gotten that instead," she answered.

"And do your bidding one more time?" he replied, smiling, "Never!"

"I swear you are just like a child, Ron," she laughed, sipping her red wine.

"Do you have your wand with you?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course," Hermione replied, "I hope you didn't leave yours in the luggage?"

Ron looked at her accusingly, "I'm a wizard," he whispered, "Leaving my wand would be like leaving my shoes or my arm,"

Hermione chuckled, "True,"

"So, do you know any spells to transfigure this horrible beer into butterbeer instead?"

"Need I remind you of who is whose slave?" she questioned with a smirk.

"Are you telling me that the magnificent, smart Hermione Granger doesn't know that spell?" To her shock he spoke with no sarcasm, and with a sweet and hopeful expression on his face instead. She found herself bubbling warmly on the inside.

Then, Hermione pulled her wand up from its safe place in her sock. Making sure no one were watching her, she slid it up her sleeve and with practiced ease cast the spell on his beer.

"Thanks," he beamed with a wide smile. His face seemed to brighten up the entire café. Hermione's heartbeat quickened. She could hear it thumping in her ears.

He sipped the beer, "It tastes wonderful. I mean it, thank you for saving me from this horrible Muggle invention,"

"No problem at all," she said, smiling, silently hoping her spell hadn't turned it poisonous.

"Charlie wanted me to call my dad. Is it okay if I do it now?" Ron said.

"Yes,"

"Could you show me how?"

The words slipped out of her mouth before she could think about them, "You're so sweet,"

Ron's ears turned brightly red. He seemed speechless, his blue eyes wide, "Tha–" he started, "Thanks, Hermione,"

He handed her his phone and a crumbled piece of paper. When she unfolded it, she found the number she presumed was his father's.

She dialled the number and gave the phone back to him.

Her eyes lingered on his face a little longer. His cheeks hadn't yet returned to their pale colour. His freckles were lost in the pink colour.

Hermione was no longer as horrified that she found it cute.

"Hey, Dad," Ron said.

The muffled voice answered him. Ron looked confused, turning the phone in his hands.

"I can't hear you, Dad, give me a sec," Ron looked at her, clearly needing her help. He mouthed, "Hermione?"

She put it on speaker. For just a moment, their fingers touched, and she felt like her skin was bubbling where his had been.

"Ron? Ron?" his father called out from the speakers.

"Hi!" he exclaimed. The happiness was evident on his face, and it seemed to rub off on her. She found herself smiling in his presence. Her smile widened when he added eagerly, "I met someone I went to Hogwarts with on the train. Her name is Hermione!"

"Hullo, Hermione," his father said, "I'm Arthur Weasley, Ronald's dad,"

The conversation carried on. They talked about everything from their travel to their next step in Italy. Arthur seemed like he genuinely wanted to get to know her too!

She ended the conversation with a warm feeling in her stomach, feeling lighter than she had ever felt home in Britain.

"Your dad sounds very nice," she said to Ron, taking the first sip of her second glass of wine.

He, too, had ordered another beer, and replicated her spell, turning it into the well-known Butterbeer of the wizarding world once again.

"He is," Ron said, his own downcast. He fidgeted with his beer.

She didn't know what more there was to say.

"I think he liked you," he said, finally. His eyes met hers. She could swear he blushed.

Hermione blushed too, her cheeks warm, "Well, he's not difficult to like,"

"Neither is you,"

Their eyes locked again. The blueness of his eyes stunned her for a second, stopping her in her tracks. All the words were lost in her head. Every coherent thought dissipated immediately, like smoke in a clear sky.

"I didn't know your name was short for Ronald," she said slowly, trying to remind her mouth how to speak again.

He curled a bit in on himself, like he disliked hearing it.

"Don't you like it?" she chuckled, seeing his sweet reaction.

He shrugged, "Mom always calls me that when she's angry," he let out a chuckle, "It's not that I don't like it, but I prefer Ron,"

"If you say so," she teased.

He smiled his askew smile again.

"Are you ready for the Shakespeare play tomorrow?" Hermione asked. The laughter still lingered on the tip of her tongue.

"I am. And then you will have to tie your own shoelaces," Ron laughed.

"Oh, come to think of it," she said, wiggling her toes underneath the table, "I think my shoelace is loose again,"

Ron groaned loudly.

"Come on, Ronald," she joked, showing him her shoe.

Ron muttered something, but his eyes still shone with their playful glint. Once again, she felt that warm bubbly feeling.

Chapter Text

Hermione grew more and more restless during the play. As much as she loved Shakespeare, Othello and his endless dramas, the situation reminded her too much of her own.

The main character loved his wife, but jealousy for someone else led both husband and wife into death. It felt familiar.

It reminded Hermione of herself, Ron, and Lavender.

With a sigh, she focused her mind back on the play, silently hoping the ending would be different this time.

The play Hermione had been looking forward to seeing for so long, suddenly didn't sound as appealing as she had first thought. Her attention was wavering simultaneously with her mind. She found her attention wandering back to the same subject over and over: Ron.

It didn't exactly help that Ron's leg was brushing against hers on the seats either. She found her eyes drawn to him no matter what happened on stage.

He had transfigured his clothes into a more formal-looking suit. No, he had tried to transfigure them. Magic had its limits, making his outfit look more experimental than traditional.

Hermione was in no place to judge him either, looking down at her own clothes. She had been afraid of ripping the fabric by transfiguring her pants into a skirt. She ended up changing the colours, darkening all her clothes into the closest shade to black. It resulted in a look with three different shades of black that did not match with each other.

"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy," the actor bellowed dramatically on stage.

She decided, then and there, to confront Ron about Lavender.

No matter how much she tried to deny it, she liked Ron. Really, really liked him. And therefore, they needed to discuss Lavender.

She wanted to know more about Lavender. He rarely spoke of her, and when he did, it was scarce and fleeting. It was a subject that never stayed for long, gone quicker than she could bat her eye, man up, and ask him properly about it.

Hermione felt her heart speed up just at the thought. She didn't like confrontations, and especially not with people she liked.

"But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve," the actor's voice rang out. It was strangely inspirational.

Thank you, Shakespeare, she thought, for giving me advice that is more than three-hundred-and-fifty years old and still useful.

"I am not what I am," the actor said hollowly, looking over the crowds. She felt like he spoke directly to her, probably like most people in their seats, baffled at his skills and the magic of the theatre.

She saw Ron's eyes glide over her face in the corner of her eye. When she turned, she caught his glinting smile. Hermione felt uplifted by all the experiences around her – the actors, the play, and the boy next to her.

When it ended, they retreated out of the theatre.

The dark had settled outside, plunging the city in black. Only the lights of the theatre and surrounding buildings fought back the blindness of the dark. It set the intimate mood of romance in the evening air.

Hermione could spot a couple from their row in the play sharing a kiss under the dim light. The girl laughed quietly, then led her girlfriend deeper into the shadows, their heels clicking in the night.

Ron looked at Hermione. The silence was deafening. His freckles sparkled in the night, his blue eyes dark and hidden in shadow under a fringe of his bangs.

A squeak from above jerked them both out of their trance. She didn't remember moving so close to him. She could still feel his breath on her skin.

Hermione instantly recognized the shriek. It was Pig, Ron's balance-impaired owl.

She cursed its timing. It ruined her shot at asking him about Lavender. Though, she doubted that was what was happening between them in the dim night. The thought of it being her that was the reason he cheated, was terrible.

Ron's hand found hers and they hurried into a more desolate part of the street.

The darkness hid the owl's arrival fairly well. Hopefully, nobody noticed the out-of-place bird.

Pig crash-landed on the stone tiles of the paved ground. It hopped onto a stool nearby, whimsically shaking its leg in the wrong direction. As if not to hurt the owl's pride, Ron moved to where it was showing its foot and untied the thick letter.

"It's the Portkey," Ron said, walking back to her, "To Romania,"

"I checked out of my hotel this afternoon," Hermione said quietly, as if to keep the intimacy from before the owl cried out and broke it.

"Anything else you need?" he asked, still standing a little too close to her for being only friends. The warmth of his skin blended with hers, "A souvenir, maybe?"

She chuckled, "I take my memories with me, aren't those souvenirs enough?" she asked him, looking up.

His hand wrapped around hers. Inside of his palm, now in hers, laid an object.

"You didn't get anything for me, did you?" Hermione asked him, feeling baffled and flattered at the same time. The blood pooled to her cheeks, making her feel like she was burning.

"Of course, I did," he said. He removed his hand, "Look at it,"

It was a silly little thing. It was a key ring, flat with a map over Europe and Africa, with Italy in its centre. She rubbed her thumb over it, feeling the smooth surface of the earth.

All thoughts of discussing Lavender vanished from her thoughts, leaving only the tingling feeling of where his skin had touched hers.

"Look a little closer," Ron smiled.

She did and was happily surprised to find a train in the middle, engraved over where Greece would have been on the map.

"I take it Greece is next, then?" she joked.

His smile widened, if possible. She thought maybe he looked hopeful.

"But thank you, Ron, it was very sweet of you,"

He said nothing in return, but rather opened the flap of his letter. Pig had flown away a while ago and the cold was settling. Soon, it would be freezing.

Their eyes locked.

"Ready for Romania?" he asked.

"Ready for Romania," she replied, feeling the familiar surge of the Portkey.

Chapter Text

The first thing Hermione noticed when the Portkey dumped them in Romania, was the smell.

They had landed on the grass at a campsite, with small wooden cabins (which wasn't such a great idea, considering the dragons) littered among a few clusters of trees. A few people spared them a glance at their arrival but continued their stroll a moment later.

The sun was setting in Romania as well. The soft lines of the clouds were painted a sweet orange. Here and there, smoke drifted up from around them, creating new patterns in the sky.

But the smell. That was the first thing she noticed.

It grated in her nose, that's how strong it was. It smelt of burnt logs, of ashes, and of burning flesh. The smell itself, although impossible, seemed to bring a new quality to the air – making it scorching hot and filled with particles that choked her. She could taste the bitterness of the smoke on her tongue.

It was one of those smells that you only experienced once in your life, but which you would never forget.

A crowd of people in thick leather suits exited one of the biggest huts on the campsite. A tall redhead broke out from the crowds and greeted them.

"Ronnie!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his brother.

"Charlie!" Ron shouted back.

The resemblance between them was uncanny, even if Charlie's face was marred with scars.

They broke out of their embrace, and with a slightly awkward hand gesture, Ron made Charlie aware of their other companion.

"This is Hermione," Ron said, "And Hermione, this is Charlie, my brother,"

They shook hands, "A pleasure," she said politely, "I hope it is alright that I joined you,"

"A friend of Ron's is a friend of mine. You're always welcome here. Hermione was it?" Charlie said amiably. She nodded.

"I'll show you around properly tomorrow. I bet you are tired after your journey," Charlie said, "This is the campsite area, where we eat and sleep," he gestured to the surrounding huts, then pointed to the smoke on the horizon, "Over there, as you probably could guess, we keep the dragons. They have been misbehaving lately, hence the fires,"

Hermione chuckled quietly. Ron smiled as well, and his blue eyes locked with hers. It was an intimate moment. It felt right, even though, deep down, Hermione knew it was wrong.

For once, she didn't think of Lavender. She only thought of Ron, and how he had the tiniest of dimples in his cheeks.

"I'll get you quartered in," Charlie rambled on, "We were only really prepared to have one visitor, so you two will have to share the cabin. I hope that's alright?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other again. Hermione could feel the laughter brewing in her chest. The joy was overwhelming. Underneath, her skin tingled with nerves.

"No problem," he said for them both. She hadn't stopped admiring him – how his blue eyes reflected the sky, the soft curve of his jaw, the way his hair fell in waves around his face.

Charlie showed them to their cabin – a small, four-bed hut that would have fitted perfectly in a children's summer camp.

"Is there any chance we could borrow some clothes?" Ron asked his brother, "We lost our luggage. We have been wearing the same clothes since, and it would be wonderful to get changed,"

Charlie nodded, "Of course. Though you'd have to Transfigure them slightly, nothing major, but I'm larger than the both of you,"

"I'll go and get them for us, Hermione," Ron said. She found herself excited at the way he said her name.

They closed the door to the cabin behind them, leaving Hermione in the silence alone. She looked around, at the bathroom, the bunking beds, and out the window. The view of the sky was beautiful. It had darkened, the orange paled into grey.

She plopped down on the bed to the left of the window. On the other side of the room, Ron's bed loomed in the dark.

With a jump of her heart, she realized that this would be her first sleepover. And with a boy, nonetheless. With a boy she liked very, very well.

She stretched her hand out. With a little extra force, she managed to open the window enough for some fresh air to slip in. The hinges were slightly rusty.

What she hadn't anticipated, was that together with the air, the two brothers' voices drifted into the room as well.

"Mate," she heard Charlie say, "I see the way you look at her,"

"Yeah…" Ron murmured. Hermione's gut tickled in delight. Did he like her back? She had to blink away the watering in her eyes.

"You need to do something about it,"

"I just –" he sounded despaired.

"I always knew Lavender was not right for you,"

To Hermione's surprise, Ron answered, "I know. I have known ever since I became friends with Hermione. She's so wonderful,"

The water in her eyes, she realized, were tears of relief. He had called her wonderful! It tickled in her stomach. She felt light. Her skin was bubbling all over, and her hands were shaking.

She felt strangely safe, in the darkness, hidden behind the glass.

She could hear the brushing of clothes and a whisper, and assumed they were hugging.

"You go get her," Charlie whispered and clapped him on the shoulder.

Ron's laughter was low and bubbling. He had such a true, gentle laugh that warmed Hermione's heart.

A moment later, he pushed the door to the hut open and shut it with a gentle push.

"Look at all these wonderful clothes," Ron joked, "It looks more like a fashion statement than my suit at the Yule Ball!"

In his hands, a pile of clothing articles were poorly folded. The colours clashed. It was a mixture of clothes in varying dark colours, all with different band logos of wizarding bands and artist logos on them. The top one was a dark brown t-shirt with neon orange writing with a colourful picture of the Screaming Sisters.

Hermione chuckled, the sound bubbling out from deep within her stomach. She doubled over, unsure whether she was laughing so hard because of the silly clothes he brought, or out of the pure joy she felt from their conversation she'd just overheard.

He sat down on the floor, tipping the pile of clothes over in the process. Hermione sat beside him, and they began filing through the clothes.

"What about this one? It would look so good on you," Hermione laughed, holding up an orange sweater. It would clash horribly with his hair.

His cheeks turned pink and he smiled. For a moment, she was afraid that he would take her joke personally, but he chuckled instead, "No thank you, I'd rather go for this one,"

He held up a red t-shirt with the phrase 'Dragons before hoes' on. He looked down at it again, and added, "I can't believe Charlie has ever worn this,"

"This one's not so bad though," Hermione said, handing him a black shirt with only a small, pink writing on it.

"Thanks," he replied, "You can have this one. The brown colour fits your hair,"

She took it.

The silence that followed was slightly awkward. They would, after all, need to remove their own clothes before jumping into the new ones from Charlie.

"Turn around," she said, and he turned away from her, giving her the privacy she needed to get changed.

"You can turn back now," she told him after a moment, "What do you think?"

She stood up with her arms out, dancing in a circle to make sure he saw every inch of the shirt that went down to her knees.

He chuckled and paused, his face turning serious, "It's actually not that bad. Except for the size. It is way too big for you,"

She sat down again, in a fit of laughter. It was common that she found herself laughing in his presence. It was refreshing. It was something she'd hardly ever felt before.

Hermione remembered how horrified she had been at first that they didn't part ways after she had told him about the bullying. She had been ashamed. Now, she only felt relief.

She shook her head. How bad could this really be?

The only thing stopping her from enjoying this completely, was the thought of Lavender. It always loomed in the background of every butterfly in her stomach and in every joke rolling off of her tongue.

The hut door slammed shut, startling them both.

She assumed it was Charlie but was proven wrong when a shrill voice pierced the air instead.

"Won-Won!" the girl squealed, her shriek startling Hermione.

She caught a glimpse of Ron's shocked face.

Ron choked, "Lavender,"

Chapter Text

Ron's voice was hollow. Her name rung out and echoed through the cottage, even though he barely spoke it at all. There was a tension in the cottage, which had, only a moment ago, seemed so small and cosy, but now felt entrapping to Hermione.

The newcomer caused fear to well up in her stomach. Hermione was paralyzed with dread, as if she were made of stone, and only the smallest of movements would break her apart. She wanted the girl to disappear, to leave her alone. To leave the both of them alone.

And she looked so pretty, so goddamn pretty.

She looked magnificent, with her striking eyes and pale skin. Her blonde hair was braided into perfection, resting over her shoulder. Even in anger, she was striking. Lavender was much more beautiful than Hermione, she realized sadly.

Hermione felt dumb for thinking that Ron would ever leave such a beautiful girl for someone like herself.

"Who is that?" Lavender demanded. Her voice was quieter but no less shrill, "Who is that girl, Ron?"

"She's –" Ron spluttered out, clearly not over the surprise of seeing her yet, "She's somebody I met in Italy,"

Lavender glared at him. Hermione was glad Lavender was ignoring her. She would not have borne the pure spite in her eyes. Her expression had changed so quickly. Her fine features were now twisted into a scowl, her eyes hardened and narrow.

"I come all the way here to Romania for your sake," Lavender shrieked, "Only to find you with some girl you 'met in Italy'," her eyes were sizzling, now, with boiling rage.

"She's a friend," Ron said to his defence. It felt as if his words had slapped her in the face. Were they only friends? She felt disconnected, sitting on the floor next to Ron, not moving at all, just watching as everything went by in an apathetic daze.

"A friend?" Lavender screamed, "A friend?!"

Ron gaped at her. His lips were forming words, but no sound came.

"At least tell me a lie you can believe yourself!" Lavender snapped, her face livid with anger.

"Honestly," Hermione started, but the words died on her lips when Lavender's burning gaze landed on her. It was filled with so much malice that she was taken aback.

Ron piped up beside her, "Lavender–"

"I came here to surprise you. I thought you would be happy about it," she said, her voice now sounding fragile rather than furious. In a split second, her entire demeanour had changed. Lavender looked away.

Hermione was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes.

"She's even wearing your clothes!"

"No!" Ron and Hermione said simultaneously, but Lavender didn't listen.

Don't cry, Hermione wanted to tell her, I don't want to bring you this pain.

"You haven't been talking to me lately. You're away all the time. You're never here with me. I'm your girlfriend, Ronnie," Lavender cried out.

Little by little, Hermione's heart broke for Lavender, the girl she had hated from the very beginning.

"Yes, and I'm sorry for that! It's –" Ron tried to explain but was once again interrupted by Lavender, whose face was blotched red with tears and rage. Her hair was loosening from her braid, which, together with her expression, gave her the look of a rabid animal.

"Are you breaking up with me?!" she screamed. Spit flew from her mouth.

"I –"

"And no less because of that– that bitch!" she yelled, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Hermione blinked.

Her heart skipped a beat, as if someone were squeezing it in their hands and didn't let go. It was getting difficult to breathe. She was suffocating. She couldn't take deep breaths.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Hermione suddenly shouted, surprising herself. She took a shaky breath, "You two need to sit down and talk,"

With a quieter voice, Lavender said, with her eyes still locked on Ron, "I need you to say it. Are you breaking up with me?"

The silence was deafening. Ron's eyes were glued to the fuming girl in front of him.

The blood rushed in Hermione's ears.

"I suppose I am,"

"I'll let you two talk," Hermione said, "I'm going for a stroll,"

Lavender and Ron kept silent. Lavender had brought her hands up in front of her face and appeared to be crying. Ron was looking at the floor, his face paler than she'd ever seen it before. The angst in the room felt suffocating, like she breathed it in with the oxygen.

Hermione grabbed her jacket, stood up, and walked swiftly towards the front door. She wanted out of there. She gave Ron a last glance before she exited. He didn't look back at her.

She closed the door behind her gently.

The night was black, and the smell just as awful as when she'd first arrived in Romania. Still, she inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the growing dread in her stomach. The air cooled her. It was fresh yet tasted bitter from the smoke.

She tried to remember what her dad had instructed her to do when she needed to calm down.

Her mind drew a blank, and instead, she let the silent tears free. It was a different kind of relief.

Hermione stepped down the stairs and listened to the sound of her own footsteps in the silent night. She was here, she was alive, and she awaited the worst answer to the most difficult question in her life.

The question replayed in her mind like a broken record.

Whether Ron would choose her, or Lavender.

Somehow, either way, it would be painful.

Chapter Text

"Hi," Hermione spoke when she entered the hut.

Her own voice bounced back to her, and she wondered if Ron was even present in the cabin. She listened for any sounds of him, his answer, but found it hard to make out any noises when her heart was racing so fast. She only heard her own heart beat loud in her ears.

She had seen Lavender leave a while ago but she had figured that Ron would appreciate a little time by himself after Lavender had left.

"If you want," she started, still frozen in place by the door, "I could ask Charlie to move me to another cabin, so you can get some space,"

"It's fine," Ron answered hoarsely.

Hermione was uncertain what to do. She felt out of place and didn't want to disturb him, but she was curious about how it went down with Lavender.

She spotted him, sitting crouched on the floor with his back to the bed frame. She could only see the back of his head, his face resting on his knees.

In a spurt of bravery, Hermione sat down beside him. The gesture came along with a sense of regret, but she ignored it. Deep down, she knew that it was right to support him now.

"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively after a moment of silence.

He looked up.

To Hermione's surprise, it did not look like he'd been crying. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his hair unruly. His blue eyes were downcast, and although they weren't red or swollen from crying, they were definitely more watery than usual.

"I just…" Ron met her eyes, which were full of concern. He halted.

"Do you want to talk about it? I can leave, too, if you think that's better,"

"No!" Ron exclaimed, then blushed, "I mean, no, I don't want you to leave. Although, if you want to, I'm not stopping you,"

"I don't want to leave. I'm right here for you,"

Ron's sullen expression lessened, and he gave her a small, yet still very much present, smile.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, I appreciate you. You have no idea how much you –" he stumbled over his words, "This means to me,"

Hermione had never been very good at taking compliments, so she did what she always did – switched the topic, "How did it go with Lavender?" she asked, cringing inwardly at herself for asking so inconsiderately.

Ron took a deep breath. He was blinking away the water gathering in his eyes.

"I broke up with her," he whispered.

Part of Hermione's heart broke for him, for the fragile way he uttered those words, as if he were afraid that if he had spoken them any louder, the world around him would shatter in a million little pieces.

But part of her inner voice cheered too. The bubbly feeling returned to her stomach in huge waves. Maybe this was the confirmation she needed. Maybe he had chosen her.

"I'm sorry," she said anyway.

"We were meant to break up either way, if you remember what I told you about our relationship back in the rental car to Rome,"

Of course, she remembered. It had been a nice, little stab to the heart.

"I remember," she answered.

"Actually, it is a relief that it's over. Although I have many good memories of me and Lavender, it was quite obvious that it wasn't meant to be. I haven't really talked to her in a month. I think that's a sign in itself,"

"I see…" Hermione said, her mind racing, trying to come up with anything comforting to say to him. She asked him, "How did Lavender take it after you told her?"

He huffed, "She got angry and yelled a lot," he murmured under his breath, "Typical for her,"

"Oh,"

"But don't worry. She calmed down after a while. She cried so much I almost wished I hadn't told her, but…"

Hermione's head piqued up, "But…?"

"It was definitely the right thing to do. And I'm happy I did,"

"I don't think you will regret it," she said, trying to comfort him the best she could, "You did look kind of miserable when you talked about her,"

"I did," he chuckled quietly. He paused, then looked back up at her, "She'll probably send some angry letters, but she'll get over it. We both should have seen it coming anyway,"

"Yeah," Hermione muttered. Somehow, his hand found hers, and every coherent thought vanished from her mind.

They sat in silence for a while, her thumb rubbing over his palm.

She wasn't good with words anyway.

Hermione noticed how warm his hands were. His warmth spread to her own. Her fingers were tingling with delight. He was so close to her, and they were holding hands. There was a nervous tickling in her stomach.

"Hey," she said.

He looked into her eyes.

"It will be okay," she stated, not doubting herself for a second.

"Yes," he said, "It's just strange,"

"I understand,"

She didn't really understand, but that was fine too.

"Four years wasted," Ron said, trailing off.

"I don't think it's four years wasted," she said, "You probably had times where you needed each other. You grew together, whether you like it or not. She helped make you into who you are today,"

He nodded.

"I can only imagine all the fun things you have done together. Drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace, eating out together in the weekend at Hogsmeade, and drinking your first Butterbeers together. Those moments only happen once, you know. And I'm sure you wouldn't like to replace them,"

Her heart ached. She longed to have those moments with him, and she was jealous that Lavender was the one who got to have them.

"Yes," he agreed, "You're right. It wasn't four years wasted. And even if they had been, there would still be one good thing that came out of it all – I met you!"

Hermione's cheeks burned, "Aww, that's very sweet of you, Ron,"

"I'm serious, Hermione. You're one of the best people I've ever met! You're so funny –"

The little voice in her head piped up, but I never know what to say!

"– and you're smart–"

But I spend too much time in the library!

"– and you're one of the nicest people I've ever met!"

If I were so good, then why would Malfoy be mean to me?

There was a moment of silence. Hermione's eyes were drawn to his.

"Hell, you are the nicest person I've ever met," Ron corrected, his voice falling an octave.

He lifted his hand, and lightly brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

He was really close now. She could see all the freckles of his skin.

Then, his posture shifted, and the expression on his face changed. She could see the doubt tearing behind his eyes. He let his hand fall from her cheek.

"I'm really happy I met you. Thank you, Hermione," he said, and embraced her in a hug.

She could smell his scent. It was so definitely his. Hermione felt herself relax in his arms. It was comforting and caring in a way she was unfamiliar with.

"You too, Ron," she breathed, "You too,"

Chapter Text

He had showered in the morning.

She had tried not to look, but it was hardly easy.

Which is why, even though the dragons looked amazing, her mind kept going back to Ron draped in his bathrobe with dripping wet hair.

"And this is the Norwegian Ridgeback Carl. It can be hard to spot the difference between him and the Hungarian Horntail," Charlie said, pointing animatedly towards the blackened iron cage. Inside, the dragon screeched, the spikes on its head pointing dangerously towards him.

They were long enough to stab him through the cage. It made Hermione uneasy.

She looked to Ron, and he, too, had gotten a queasy green colour in his face.

She squeezed his hand, seeing his warm smile broaden. He had light bags under his eyes, but he still radiated with happiness.

"Aren't you afraid of it?" Ron asked.

"Him, not it, Ron," Charlie answered, "And no, I'm not afraid of Carl. Deep down, he's tame as a puppy,"

Ron and Hermione's eyes met, and they both grimaced.

"Honestly, you two," Charlie said.

Ron looked away, and she took a moment to drink in his appearance.

They had tried to style their borrowed clothes after he had showered in the morning. Laughter had bubbled in her throat, watching her sweet Ron try to remove the neon pink writing from his shirt. He had failed and was now wearing the shirt inside out.

The morning sun warmed her back, and the calm breeze cooled her down again.

He looked cute in his ridiculous shirt. His orange hair glowed in the sun, showing its yellow shine. His skin looked soft. She wanted to hug him badly.

"And that–" Charlie interrupted, "Was the tour,"

She brought her attention back to Charlie, "Thank you for showing us around," she said.

"No problem," he beamed, "Now, you can walk around as you please, but remember not to come to close to the dragons without one of us present,"

"Thanks," Ron said, and Charlie left them.

His hand found her shoulder. Her whole chest tingled.

"Hermione," he said gravely, and Hermione instantly got a bad feeling.

He didn't meet her eyes. She felt vulnerable in front of him. The warmth of the sunlight no longer felt comforting. It scorched her skin.

"What?" she choked, her voice laced with fright.

"I don't know how to say this," he started, "I am really sorry, but I think I need a pause,"

It felt like the earth disappeared from under her feet.

"A pause from…? From me?"

"No, just a pause. I need to think things over. I like you very much, but –" he looked somewhat shocked that he had said it out loud, but continued swiftly, "I think I need to go home,"

She didn't answer.

"I just need to think," he repeated.

"I understand," she muttered, "Do what you must,"

Hermione knew she sounded dejected and hurt, but that was exactly how she felt, so she didn't bother hiding it.

Way to spoil her vacation, Ron.

"I am really sorry, Hermione. Just give me a week. I promise I'll be back with answers then,"

She took a shuddering breath, "Okay, Ron,"

His blue eyes caught hers. She could see the tears glistening in them. He opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something. Then, he turned on his heel and he was gone.

Hermione felt empty. Her body was foreign to her, her emotions drained.

She stood there like an empty shell of herself, for what felt like hours, until someone put a broad hand on her shoulder, jerking her out of her daze.

"Charlie," she sighed.

"Where were you all this time? I have been looking for you for half an hour," he said, trying to make eye contact.

"Just here," she muttered.

"Hey," he said softly, "Don't think too much of it, alright? I know my brother. He will be back for you,"

"I'm not so sure," she said hesitantly, pressing into his hand as if it were the only warm thing left in the world.

"Have you not seen the way he looks at you?" Charlie asked, tapping her forehead, "Are you blind?"

She shrugged, "It doesn't have to mean anything,"

"But it does," he pressed on, "Can you keep a secret?"

Hermione's interest piqued up, "Yes,"

"Then I can tell you that he very much adores you. He does not have one, single negative feeling about you, so forget about that,"

She nodded, somewhat relieved, but still feeling heavy after Ron left her.

"I can assure you that the pause he's talking about, is some way of his to run away from his feelings. He will find out that he wants you. You just need to be patient,"

She frowned and met his eyes.

"You know us boys, with our emotional range of cutlery," he continued, chuckling, "He likes you,"

"I don't know," she said.

"Well, I do," he said, "Now, just because he wants to sort things out, does not mean that we still cannot have fun. Right?"

His cheerful presence affected her mood, infecting her with just a tiny bit more joy. "Right," she said.

"He's a twat, alright?"

She smiled.

"So, what would you like to do first – feed the dragons or assist the rescue team?"

Chapter Text

It took two days before Hermione got Ron's letter.

She had spent all morning cleaning cages, then all afternoon tending to three newly hatched dragons. Charlie had been helpful getting her mind off of other things in the meantime.

Then, her owl arrived.

It had landed safely out of reach for the dragons. It scratched itself between the feathers with its beak, still keeping a wary eye out for its fire-breathing cousins.

The white letter on its foot stood out in the forest like snow in Sahara.

Hermione met Charlie's eyes, and he nodded, Take a break.

She slipped out of the leather gloves and protective helmet.

Her owl came to her and she untied the letter. It slid off of the bird's foot easily. When the thread loosened, her owl immediately flew away. She didn't blame it, as the dragons had watched it since the second it had arrived.

Her throat closed off. Finally, she would have an answer.

She broke the sealed envelope and took out the dreaded parchment inside.

To Hermione, it said.

I am very sorry for leaving you this way.

I have done what I promised to do. I have sorted everything out with Lavender. She won't bother us anymore. I persuaded her that to break up was the right thing to do.

Once again, I'm really sorry for leaving you. It won't happen again.

The lump in her throat burned. Her eyes stung. She had to blink away tears, not knowing if they were tears of sadness or of joy.

I have been thinking about us.

It was the sentence she dreaded the most.

And I have realized that leaving you was running away from my feelings. I really like you, Hermione. I am sorry that you will have to read it instead of hearing it from me yourself. Please, don't leave. I will be back.

Yours,
Ron

The ending was scrabbled, like he'd been in a hurry when writing it.

Still, her entire skin tingled.

I really like you, he'd written.

The tingling intensified until all she could feel was numbness. It was aggressively delightful. She felt lighter than ever before. A weight she hadn't known was there, was taken off her shoulders.

Behind her, Charlie had taken off his protective gear. He looked at her in concern, "Are you alright?"

Hermione kept blinking tears out of her eyes, her brain unable to form coherent thoughts.

She clutched the letter between her hands as if her life depended on it. She had spent so many hours doubting herself, feeling angry or sad for never being able to be with him. Now, all those negative feelings had been proved wrong. Ron was hers.

A loud crack! resonated in her ears, jarring her out of her daze.

Instantly, the fog in her mind lifted, and the lump in her throat cleared.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, seeing him standing on the other side of the clearing, by the trees.

His head snapped towards her, his eyebrows high and his mouth drawn into a broad smile, "Hermione,"

She couldn't hold back. The feelings ran over the brim. The tingling in her skin returned, humming pleasantly underneath. Her heart beat so fast, all other noises became ghosts in the wind.

She was beaming with joy, feeling the breeze in her hair, and hearing the sound of her running feet, on her way towards her favourite person in the world.

He caught her in an embrace. His arms flew around her, squeezing tightly, as if he were afraid that she would disappear if he didn't hold her.

"Hermione," he said, his voice wavering.

Then, in a burst of courage, so sudden that she didn't even think about twice – Hermione leant back and kissed him.

His lips were soft.

She sensed a change in him, and he leant towards her, kissing her back.

She could feel herself melting into his touch. Ron's fingers tangled with her hair. She put her hand on his neck, and her shaking hands stilled.

A sense of calm washed over her.

They broke apart. Hermione's chest stung for a moment, as if her heart tried to leap out through her skin. She didn't want him to stop.

"I like you like I've never liked anyone before," he admitted in her ear, his voice crisp and clear.

The relief she felt was overwhelming. She wanted to cry.

She opened her mouth and heard herself speak, "I like you, too, Ron,"

She stayed in his embrace, feeling his warmth, drawing in his smell.

Ron took Hermione's hand in his, and she kissed him on the lips again.

"We have a lot to talk about," he said lightly, brushing her hair away from her shoulder.

"Agreed," she said, admiring how the light played around in his eyes. It created a depth in them, resembling something much deeper than the clear blue sky of the same colour.

He chuckled.

It was a warm chuckle. It sent excited shivers up her spine.

With her hand in his, he led her down a path continuing past the trees.

Just before they disappeared from the clearing, she looked over her shoulder.

Charlie met her gaze. She smiled at him, and he winked back. Of course, he had been right, she thought. Ron had come back for her, just like he had said.

Ron squeezed her palm, having noticed her exchange with Charlie, "Did you two have fun when I was away?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione laughed. Above them, the birds were singing, unseen among the treetops.

He looked at her, not bothering to hide it when he looked too long.

She turned to him, laughing, "And by the way, you need to work on your handwriting,"

Jokingly, he grimaced. He wrinkled his eyebrows and opened his mouth into a horrified 'o'. He looked ridiculous.

"It is just as bad as Charlie's, if not worse," she added.

The grimace disappeared, leaving the face of the sweet Ron she knew. He laughed, once again making Hermione feel warm on the inside. It was a sound she would never forget.

She squeezed his hand.

He didn't need a week, – only two days to decide that he loved her.

Joy bubbled in her chest.

Ron had come back for her. A two day's wait was worth it, for the rest of their lives together.

Chapter Text

The day had finally arrived.

Hermione and Ron had, after being reunited in Romania, continued to trek through Europe. They had visited Hungary, ecstatic about the wonderful architecture there. Then, they had hiked on the white rocks of the mountain tops of Slovenia, before they boarded a train heading for Greece.

She shivered.

Yesterday, she and Ron had hired a boat, exploring the Greek shore.

They had felt the wind blowing through their hair, the deep blue colour of the water beneath them was sparkling with the warming light of the sun.

They had found a creek all by themselves. Then Ron had kissed her.

It was by far one of the fondest memories Hermione had.

But now, the day had arrived.

The day they were going home.

Anxiety rippled underneath her skin, like a volcano would rumble just before erupting.

"Hermione," Ron murmured into her hair, his arms around her in a caring embrace.

She sighed.

"Are you ready?"

"Will I ever be?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes. His freckles were dark from the sun, his cheeks glowing slightly red.

Ron caressed her hair, pulling a stray, brown lock behind her ear.

"It's going to be fine," he said reassuringly.

Hermione nodded with determination, forcing a brave face.

Then, she put her hand on the Portkey, and the world around her mashed together in an instant.

She shut her eyes, afraid that she would barf when they landed.

The spinning stopped.

The wind that had been screaming in her ears, stopped immediately. With a sense of dread, she opened her eyes.

They stood in the driveway of a tall and crooked house, which desperately needed another stroke or two of paint. Around them, weeds were growing wildly. If not for the light in the windows, Hermione would have thought of it as abandoned.

"It's not much," Ron said, his voice soft with homesickness, "But it's home,"

She opened her mouth to reply.

Chaos ensued.

Out of the door sprinted a crowd of redheads, their eyes locked on the newcomers.

"It's Ron!" one of them shrieked.

"They're here!" another one of them said.

Hermione hadn't closed her mouth, still frozen in shock.

Ron squeezed her shoulder, jerking her out of her daze.

She turned to look at him, eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed in worry. She mouthed, "There are so many,"

She felt nauseous.

"You'll do alright," he reassured her, although it hardly helped. The crowd of redheads had reached them. She tried to smile invitingly, but ended up with a stiff, forced smile that looked more like a grimace.

"You are Hermione?" one of them asked, "We – I thought Ronnie had made you up!"

Her smile weakened, hearing his correction from 'we' to 'I'. She remembered Ron had told her about the twins, that one of them had died. She figured that this was the brother that had survived – George.

"Yes, I'm Hermione," she said, snorting a bit, then immediately regretting it. They must think she was being rude!

A plump woman made her way through, swatting the others away.

"Where are your manners!" she scolded, "She is a guest, and at the Burrow we treat guests like human beings, not like animals in the zoo," she said.

"It is alright, really," Hermione said.

The woman turned around to Hermione, showing what she looked like, a lovely woman with a broad smile, "I am Molly Weasley, Ronald's mother," she said.

She gestured to the others.

"This is Arthur, my husband and their father," she said. The man in question smiled broadly and nodded excitedly as she spoke.

"Bill, the oldest," He was a tall man, with deep dimples in his cheeks.

"Charlie here, I've heard you've already met,"

Charlie nodded at her, then chuckled knowingly, "Nice to see you again, Hermione,"

"Percy," Mrs. Weasley introduced. Percy stood rigidly, his mouth curved into a thin-lipped and stiff smile. He wore a tie, fastened tightly around his throat.

He nodded, although Hermione felt like it was far from friendly. Ron rubbed her shoulder.

She remembered him telling her about Percy. Apparently, he was like that with everybody.

"And this is George," The lonesome twin had a mischievous look on his face, but Hermione could tell that he was tired, from the dark bags under his eyes to his deflated, hunched-over pose.

"Lastly, the youngest. This is –"

Before Hermione could stop herself, she interrupted, "Ginny,"

Ron laughed warmly beside her, accompanied by Charlie.

Mrs. Weasley looked surprised, "Yes, Ginevra, or Ginny,"

Hermione was worried for a bit, that once again she had sounded rude, but was proven incorrect by how the rest of the family eased into comforting laughter.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, all," she said politely, not knowing where to place her hands. In the end, she let them dangle at her sides awkwardly.

The others agreed, in a murmur of different voices.

"Now, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, leading her away from Ron and towards the house, "Let us go inside, where we can all get some peace,"

One of the boys snickered behind them, and Mrs. Weasley looked over her shoulder at the perpetrator. He choked.

When they got inside, Hermione was greeted with the smell of firewood and pie.

She found Ron in the crowd, and with his arm around her in support, socialized with his siblings.

She found that she immediately liked Ginny, and before she could blink, they were suddenly sitting by the table, talking privately about how she had broken up with her ex the year before she had met Harry.

Soon, Mr. Weasley interrupted their private chat, "Tell me, Hermione, what does your parents do for a living?"

"They are dentists, Mr. Weasley," she answered.

His eyebrows rose in interest, "So you are Muggleborn? Then perhaps you could explain to me how my new Muggle device works, after dinner? I think they called it a smart-phone!" he smiled excitedly, a gesture she did not expect from a Pureblooded wizard who just found out his son is dating a Muggleborn.

He added, "And no need to call me Mr. Weasley. Please, just Arthur,"

After finishing both the pie and the pleasantries with Mr. Weasley – no, Arthur – Hermione and Ginny once again connected.

Ginny leaned over the table, chattering excitedly with her.

They talked about both everything and nothing in particular. It had been long since Hermione had felt such a belonging like she did with Ginny.

"And then, Harry asked me out –" Ginny giggled. Hermione couldn't help giggling as well, nodding along as the story progressed.

On the other side of the table, squeezed between Charlie and Bill's animated discussion, sat Ron.

With a knowing smile, he was looking at Hermione, who was joking with Ginny, unaware of how fondly he was looking at her.

They were both laughing now, Ginny and Hermione. Ron could see the laughter wrinkle the corners of Ginny's eyes. Their joy was genuine, and it made something inside him puff with pride.

Hermione turned around. She saw Ron, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

The roaring laughter around him seemed to still abruptly, freezing the moment for only a second. He admired the way her hair frizzed around her face, the way her eyes were twinkling, and the gently way she was rocking with laughter.

He smiled, feeling the warmth spreading from his lungs, and all the way into the tips of his ears. He was blushing now, too.

Hermione never seemed to stop impressing him.

The Weasley family already liked her.