Follow Through

If I told you a secret

You won't tell a soul

Will you hold it and keep it alive

Cause it's burning a hole

And I can't get to sleep

And I can't live alone in this life

So take me

Don't leave me

Take me

Don't leave me

Baby, love will come through

It's just waiting for you

"Love Will Come Through" Travis

**

In her opinion, one of the most amazing things about Italy was the difference in the weather. Even in December, there was a dry humidity to the air that contrasted vastly with the continuous, damp, sometimes dreary weather that England is famous for. Hermione loved England and wouldn't want to live anywhere else, but now, especially, it was such a relief to go somewhere where she could feel the sun on her face.

That warm winter sun was shining brightly now through the small stained glass window, spreading splotches of pink, yellow, blue, and red light across the table. At first, Hermione blamed her distraction on the multi-colored lights that were dancing on the pages she was trying to read. But Hermione knew it wasn't the stained glass window that was causing her to not retain anything she reading. She just hoped that the notes she was half-heartedly making would be enough. Her revised Hogwarts: A History sorely needed a great deal of work after Malfoy had sent some his friends to ruin her apartment, and her goal was to finish at least three chapters by the time she left Rome. She had one down, but there was still a long way to go.

"Miss Hermione? We're closing."

Hermione sighed and set down her quill. "Thank you," she said to the soft-spoken, elderly woman who oversaw the magical archives where Hermione had been spending every possible hour for the last three days. The librarian patiently approached Hermione's solitary table to help her restock the stack of books Hermione had been reading for the past ten hours. Sometimes, Hermione even surprised herself with how long she could work without a break. Hermione rubbed the inner corners of her eyes wearily; it also surprised her that she didn't have to wear glasses after the many hours of reading she had done in her lifetime.

With a polite 'goodnight', Hermione emerged from the archives and walked along the simple, yet well-kept courtyard in the center of the complex. The magical school archives were carefully hidden on the grounds of a Sacred Heart convent at the top of the famous Spanish Steps. Hermione knew that the pious Muggles of the convent thought she was a particularly devout traveler who came every day to pay her respects. Of course, they had no idea just how much time Hermione actually spent at the convent, but Hermione still kept her head averted from passers-by nevertheless. You could never be too careful.

Even though it was early dusk and the air was becoming colder by the minute, there were still a great deal of tourists and locals perched companionably on the Spanish Steps, chatting with friends, taking photographs of the landmark, or just taking a moment to sit, stare down on the streets of Rome, and reflect. Hermione picked her way through the throngs of people, carefully taking her time so she wouldn't stumble on the steep stairs. She got quite a workout climbing and descending these stairs every day, always hoping she wouldn't break her neck in the process.

She waited until she had safely reached the bottom of the stairs before coming to a halt. Her arms were still wrapped protectively around herself, and she lifted her face to feel the wind tickle her cheeks. She needed a moment to catch her breath. The December breeze blew wisps of her hair off of her face, and Hermione leaned into the gentle caress of the wind. It didn't happen often, but sometimes when she was feeling like this, she just wanted to fly. There was something remarkably freeing about defying the laws of nature, defying gravity, defying the laws against magic in front of Muggles, defying conventions, defying everything, and just soaring away, completely free of all restraints and limits and having the ability to stop thinking and just let herself be.

She knew she should keep walking and get back to her hotel, but something held her fast to this spot and kept her in this moment. Hermione Granger was not the type of person who could stand still and just let the world continue to rotate around her; she always had something to do or somewhere to be. One of her greatest flaws, as she was perfectly aware of, was that she seldom just let things be. It was one of the many things that she admired about Ron; he could just sit back sometimes and let the world spin on its axis and let fate play out her little games. He fought valiantly whenever it was necessary, of course, but he never tried to alter destiny. He never tried to force people to change or to force them to live the way he saw fit. Ron could let people just be. It was why he hadn't had trouble with Harry when the war had started; he just let Harry make his own decisions and backed him up until the very end. Hermione, however, had a knack for trying to change people's minds. She always wanted to help people, but sometimes she knew that she had crossed the line. She had crossed the line with Harry and had almost wrecked their friendship in sixth-year. But now she knew better. She had to just let people be. She just had to let Ron be--let him figure things out.

A part of her was tempted to go back right now. Maybe he did know what he wanted and wasn't furious at her for leaving without saying good-bye. Hermione looked away and let out a disbelieving breath. She knew what the odds of that happening were. Maybe writing that letter wasn't the more intelligent thing she had ever done, but she was convinced that it had been the right thing to do. Ron might not agree with her on that point, but it didn't matter. He might be rather angry with her, but that didn't matter, either. She was still pretty angry with him. Hermione lifted her head with new confidence and made her way through the chic shopping district in Rome. She had told him she would give him a week, and that's what she intended to do. She just had to wait.

The cheery yellow awning of the small, discrete hotel a block down a side street looked more welcoming than ever after her melancholy thoughts. Hermione retrieved her key with a distant smile to the concierge and hurried up the two narrow flights of stairs, looking forward to another evening to herself. Another distant hope, however, caused her to quicken her stride. What if Ron had thought it over and had come to find her? It would certainly be like him to track her down. He was an Auror; he could find her if he really wanted to. It wasn't as though she was hiding in some obscure place. If he really wanted to see her, he would.

Hermione unlocked her door and looked about her cozy, empty room with a disappointed smile. Nobody. Hermione set her key down on the bedside table and plopped down on the twin bed, sighing ever so slightly. What should she have expected?

**

It looked like rain this morning. Hermione frowned up at the sky, hoping she could make it to the archives before the downpour began. She didn't have an umbrella, and since she was in a predominantly Muggle neighborhood she couldn't risk using a spell to keep dry. She hugged her jacket closer and took off at a half-jog, knowing from the low rumbling coming from the clouds that a rainstorm would begin at any moment. She just had to get up those blasted steps in time.

The Spanish Steps weren't as crowded as usual, but there was still a fair number of people milling about, their umbrellas, raincoats, and newspapers at the ready. Still, despite the masses, her eyes went straight to him. Her stomach spiraled out of her and crashed into the pavement.

He had found her.

He was seated on the edge of one of the highest stairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him, jerking nervously. Even from this distance, she could see that his fingers were almost crushing the century old stone as he prepared to jump up the moment he saw her. His copper hair was sparkling in the tiny sliver of sunlight that had somehow managed to break through the storm clouds, reminding her of the first time she had ever seen him. The September sun had been playing wonderful tricks on his hair that day on the Hogwarts Express, and that's when she had known. She was destined to befriend this boy with hair as vivid and distinctive as her own. She hadn't realized, of course, just how well they'd end up getting along, but she had known immediately, even before she had seen those eyes or before he had flashed her that smile. They belonged together.

However, whether they belonged as friends, or as something much, much more, was still yet to be determined. Repositioning her old schoolbag she used to carry all of her notes, Hermione mounted the many steps, her stride slowing as she drew closer. She wanted to run to him, but severe dread clutched at her ankles, holding her back. This was the discussion she had wanted to have with him for the longest time, but now that it was only a few seconds away, she was irrationally tempted to run. He could be giving her an answer she didn't want here, one that she didn't even know how to begin to deal with. If he said no, and if they had go to back to being friends, she would survive, of course. She was a survivor, yet without him, her life would be a great deal lonelier and more wretched than she could ever possibly imagine.

Ron realized she was coming by the time she was halfway there, so as soon as she was within speaking distance, he was on his feet, hands uncomfortably jammed in his pockets. "Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," Hermione returned. She tucked her hair behind her ear to prevent the pre-storm breeze from blowing it into her face. There was a brief silence, and Hermione continued to dejectedly fiddle with her hair. She had never felt so awkward in her life, and the fact that it was with Ron, the one person she felt the most comfortable with, made the rift between them seem painfully wider than ever.

"It's nice here," Ron continued, nodding toward the sky. "But I preferred the weather in Venice."

"Better time of year then," Hermione agreed. "Things are cooler now."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, his voice casual. She could feel something lurking deep inside of him, however, and it made Hermione's heart twinge with sympathy. "I was just there," he told her somewhat reluctantly.

"You went to Venice?" Hermione asked with slight surprise. "Why?" Did he get sent on assignment again?

"Well, you said you were out of the country, so I was checking places I thought you might go. I went there, I went to Hogwarts, I went to your parents' house in France--"

"How did you know to go there?" Hermione interrupted. "They just bought that place a few months ago. Did you--" Hermione's jaw dropped slightly. "Did you go see my parents?"

Ron never particularly enjoyed accompanying Hermione to family functions, primarily because he and her mum didn't get along too well. Mum still rather fancied the idea of Hermione marrying a Muggle dentist, hopefully one by the name of Jeremy Bateman, and forgetting about the magical world. Although her mother had by this time accepted that Hermione was a witch, she made no secret of her opinion that she would prefer that things were different. It infuriated Ron that her mother rejected the magical world so openly, and he found it difficult to hold his tongue on the matter. He only barely managed to do so out of infinite respect for Hermione. So, Ron kept his distance until it was absolutely necessary.

He apparently deemed this to be one of those necessary times. "Well, yeah. I knew you wouldn't go to Harry or Ginny because that would be too obvious, so I reckoned that you might have gone home. I went to check, and your dad mentioned that I might try looking at their house in France."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in pleased disbelief. She had imagined Ron to react in a lot of ways, but surprisingly she hadn't counted on this. She hadn't thought Ron would Apparate halfway around the world to find her. She didn't know why she wasn't expecting it; after all, it was a very "Ron" thing to do. "Sounds like you've just been traveling all over the place, haven't you?"

"I guess," Ron said with a hint of a smile. Some of his awkwardness began to fade at the sight of her smiling for the first time since spying him at the top of the stairs.

"Did you go anywhere else, or do you have a three country limit?" Hermione joked weakly.

"Well, no--no I don't have a limit--I also went to Bulgaria--"

"You went where? You thought I went to stay with Viktor?"

"Yeah," Ron answered defensively. Unconsciously, he raised himself to his full height as if Viktor was standing there, scowling at her side. "He's an even bigger, uglier git now," he added childishly.

Hermione fought a smile. Some things waned and ebbed over the years, but Ron's resentment of Viktor Krum would never ever die. "Yes, I suppose he is."

"But anyway, then I finally remembered that you wanted to come here that summer so you could use these archives. And then with all of your notes getting torn up, and you wrote that you had work to do..." Ron finished with a shrug. "I should have known you'd come here."

"How long have you been looking for me?" Hermione asked. It seemed like Ron had gone through an awful lot of trouble on her behalf, and Apparating to so many places had to have taken a great deal of time.

"Oh. You know, a while," Ron said vaguely. Hermione fixed him with a look he knew all too well, and Ron sighed. "I started three seconds after finishing your letter."

"Oh," Hermione echoed, looking down at her feet. There was that jolt she hadn't felt in a long time: the warm burst that filled her from head and toe whenever he unexpectedly did something wonderful on her behalf. "You didn't want to think about--"

"I didn't have to think about it," Ron corrected sharply.

Uh oh. This didn't sound good. "Okay." Hermione didn't feel ready to look up from the safe sight of her shoes just yet. She could feel Ron trying to catch her eye, but she refused to relent. "And?" she asked over the hopeful and anxious lump threatening to permanently lodge itself in her larynx.

"How could you--" Ron began hotly, but he stopped himself. That attracted Hermione's attention enough to raise her eyes to him. It wasn't like Ron to show restraint in a situation like this. However, he was no longer looking at her. His eyes were roving over the crowd, searching for something. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

"Of course," Hermione agreed with trepidation. It wasn't like Ron to act like this. He never had difficulty shouting at her in public. They had done it all the time at Hogwarts. In fact, they were rather famous for their rows--they were legend for their special talent. When Ron was furious, he didn't care who overheard him unleash his temper, and Hermione was just the same. The fact that he was obviously restraining himself, controlling his temper until they could reach a better location, showed that he either had a great deal of maturity that Hermione hadn't seen before, or he was so angry at her that he was about to say some things that even he didn't want to be overheard. She bit her lip. It would be so much easier if he would just be mad at her, shout at her, and get it over with. She would at least then know where they stood, and she knew how to deal with Ron's anger. After all, she had loads of experience in that field. But this new, mature, confident, controlled Ron--Hermione didn't know what to do with him.

She also didn't know how she should react to his surprise visit. She had explicitly told him to wait until she contacted him. She had left because she was furious and hurt by his actions. Technically, she should be the one preparing to yell at him. They had yet to deal with a whole lot of issues, and she had been ready to have the row of the century just a few days ago. But it was different now. Here, in a completely different, exotic place, the problems they had seemed like a lifetime away. All that was left was the two of them. And as wildly romantic and wonderful as that sentiment was, it still confused the hell out of her. Logically, she should be mad, but right now, she just couldn't be. It also didn't help that he looked fantastic. The Aurors must have helped him pick out the Muggle clothes he was wearing so that he would blend in with the chic tourists milling around them, because there was no way he could have dressed himself that well. Unless, of course, Ron had lost his mind and had let his mum pick out his clothes for him again. But that didn't matter; what mattered was that Ron looked better than ever in his gray slacks and thin green sweater. That realization was causing inappropriate, yet joyful, thoughts to spring up in the back of her mind, and they were making it really hard to stay properly angry.

Ron took her by the elbow, nodding over her head. "Come on." He led her up the last few steps and into a small alcove off of the convent's courtyard. There was barely enough room for the two of them to stand a few feet away from each other, so Hermione leaned against the wall, her fingers sliding over the bumped grooves of the stone. Ron dropped her arm so he could take a step back to look at her. Shadows were shielding his face from view, so she couldn't see his expression, and she was picking up on so many different, conflicting emotions zinging away inside of him that Hermione had no idea how he felt. Was he even angry?

"How could you not know what I want? How could you think I--" Ron's fury cut him off, and he used the opportunity to jam his hand back into his pocket. Despite the situation, Hermione smiled mirthlessly. So Ron was angry. He emphatically waved the worn parchment he had extracted: her letter. "How could you really expect this to reassure me? Since when do you, of all people, run away from a problem? You, the strongest person I know, gave up. Instead of facing the problem dead on like always, you ran away. You ran away from something. You gave up on something. You won't give up on house-elves rights, but you give up on me? You gave up on us, and I have never done that! I never said we would never be--I always knew you were the one, so why the hell can't you see that too!" He spread his arms as wide as he could in the narrow space. "So I think you can understand how I wasn't exactly reassured!"

Her hand went to her forehead. He was making her feel guilty. He was right, of course; her taking off for Rome like this was completely out of character. That's why she had done it. The problem was she hadn't thought about the consequences. She didn't know how she could even begin to placate him now. All she could do was patiently let him rage on.

"For all I knew, one of Malfoy's stupid friends had been waiting for you when you got home and forced you to write it, or disguised the handwriting to look like yours."

Okay, now this Hermione could deal with: an obstinate, thickheaded Ron. "Don't be silly," Hermione interrupted. "Harry took me home. He stayed until I fell asleep and put about twenty different charms on all possible entry points. You knew I was fine." She indicated the letter. "I poured my heart out to you in that--couldn't you tell that was me?"

"No, not really," Ron shot back. "Because you are not stupid, and whoever wrote this is stupid, because whoever wrote this doesn't know me."

"Ron--" Hermione protested hotly. But Ron was too far gone. Auror training or not, Hermione Granger would always be able to get under his skin in the best and worst possible ways and cause him to lose his tempter, his head, his heart, and his sanity. She drove him crazy, and he loved every minute of it.

Well, not every minute. He certainly wasn't enjoying it very much right now. "Listen," Ron barked. "First of all, maybe I have changed. I grew up. It was about time I grew up. You've always have been telling me to grow up. So that's what I did. That's what happens. You did it too when we first got out of school, and believe me, there were moments that I thought the same things you wrote about. But there's a part of me that's still me. And that's the me that only you have ever seen, and that me will never change. Got it?

"Second: that you could possibly think that I would love my job more than you-- " He waved his hands with emphatic fury, once again so overcome for a moment that he couldn't speak. "That is without a doubt the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Yeah, I like being an Auror. I love it. But there's also a lot of shit that goes on with it that I don't like so much. For example, it may surprise you, but I really don't like getting clobbered on the head and almost dying. I don't like long stakeouts. They're really boring, especially since Harry's stupidly started supporting the Tornadoes and tries to convince me that they're going to beat the Cannons. I don't like the paperwork I have to file after nabbing someone, and I really don't like having to stay away from home for days at a time without telling anyone I care about it." Ron took a step forward so he could see Hermione's eyes. "It's hard, Hermione. It's bloody impossible sometimes. But then I see you. And you remind me of every good thing I fight to protect. And then it's easy and I'm better than ever. I'm only good at my job because of you, so I can't really love my job without you being involved in the whole package, now can I?"

Hermione was once again feeling incredibly guilty. She hated how he could make her letter sound stupider and stupider with each sentence he snapped out. She remained silent as he paused momentarily to catch his breath. She had no idea what to say, which was unnecessary because Ron wasn't even close to being finished. When he spoke again, however, his voice was not angry, but desperately lost. "And as for the whole 'did I learn my lesson from last time,' thing--I did learn," he said hollowly. "Believe me, Hermione, not a bloody day goes by where I don't think about how stupid I was for letting you go and wasting all of that time without you--not a bloody day!" The fury had returned to his voice, and Ron finally couldn't remain in the restraints of the cramped alcove any longer. He paced out into the covered pathway surrounding the open courtyard, blankly registering that it had finally started to rain Kneazles and boarhounds. "You know what I went through, Hermione--you felt what I went through too, so don't be telling me that I didn't learn, Hermione, because you know better than anyone that I will always hate myself for what I did to you!"

Something soft flickered in the back of Hermione's eyes, but she quickly pushed it away. She couldn't allow pesky, all-consuming sentiments of true love cloud her judgment now. She needed answers, because she was having a difficult time holding onto her own thoughts right now. She knew deep inside that Ron blamed himself entirely for the infamous break-up and would never fully forgive himself for falling for the Death Eater's trick. After all that they had gone through from that mistake, he would never risk losing that again. But at the same time, how could she trust that Ron knew not to make important life decisions for her when he went and pulled something like that whole Memory charm stunt?

"I screwed up, Hermione. I did it again. I saw that you were in trouble, and I did what I thought I had to do. Now, if I could get my hands on a Time-Turner and go back and change things, I sure as hell would, because I know now that Memory charming you was not the way to fix things, and I'm sorry I did it. But I'm not sorry I felt the way I did. I may need to learn not to take matters into my own hands, but I'm never going to stop fighting for you, because it's what I do best. It's the most important thing I do.

"And I'm not going to get into the whole secret-keeping crap," Ron continued through clenched teeth. Hermione had hoped that he had been losing steam, but instead, it appeared as though he were getting madder and madder. His ears and neck were still a furious red, and his strides were long, and fierce. Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one who had exploded in the past couple days. Ron must have been absolutely dying to say these things to her the moment he had completed reading the letter, and not being able to shout them at her until four days later had taken quite a toll. "Because I had to do it to you, and I may have to do it to you again. But you've done it to me too for the same reasons. There was the Time-Turner--"

"That was third-year!" Hermione couldn't help interrupting in outrage. "I was thirteen!"

"It's still the same thing!" Ron retorted. "A secret's a secret, right? You did it because you had to, and you expected me to understand and accept that when I finally found out, right?" Hermione didn't reply at first out of stubbornness, but finally she nodded tightly when she realized that Ron was just going to stand and glare at her until she acknowledged that he was right. "Then what does it matter how old we are? It's still the same thing. You had to do it for the Time-Turner, and you had to do it for your book and probably with other things with the paper, like Sean Dolohov." He spat out that name as if it were Viktor Krum. "I hate that git by the way."

"Did you meet him?" Hermione asked with shock.

"No, I just hate him!" Ron barked as if that was the stupidest question he had ever heard. Hermione held up her hands in mock-surrender. This really wasn't an issue she was going to press. "So since we both have to do it, let's just accept that and try to deal with it and work through it whenever it gets really bad like it has, okay?" Hermione nodded again. Ron sucked in a long breath, knowing that the only thing left to rant about was the most important issue. "And then there's that whole marriage thing," Ron concluded irately. "How you're not sure we want the same things," he added with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "That I need to think things over."

It seemed that Ron had saved the most sensitive subject for last. Hermione, who was now leaning against the arched entrance to the alcove, bit her lip and waited apprehensively. Ron had halted about three meters away from her, oblivious to the fact that the pouring rain was bouncing off the rim of the concrete walkway and onto his damp pants. Even from the distance, Hermione could still see how earnestly his eyes were burning. Her stomach jolted so roughly that it stopped her breathing momentarily. Whatever he was about to say, he really meant it.

"If we don't want the same things," Ron began. He abruptly strode back towards her, his hands roving violently in his pockets. He found what he was seeking by the time he had returned to her, so he grabbed her hand and slapped the object into her awaiting fingers. "Why do I have this?"

It was a small, ironically maroon, velvet box. Everyone, Muggles and wizards alike, knew what that meant. Hermione stared down in utter shock at the telltale box in her clenched fingers, while Ron resumed pacing, annoyed at himself and in the situation. She looked at his back momentarily, and then, with trembling fingers, opened the lid and peered inside.

There is no possible way to deny that at some point in her life, every girl thinks about this moment. Some wonder if they will ever have it, or if the current boy they're lusting after will give it to them, or even how many carats the diamond will have. In some capacity, every girl does think about it, however fleetingly or intently. Because everyone dreams of finding that love you read about in books, and one of the most solid, tangible forms of proof we have of that love are these once-in-a-lifetime moments. Even sensible women like Hermione dreamed about it, but those matter-of-fact, levelheaded ones always promised themselves that when it happened, they wouldn't act silly and squeal like the girls they had always rolled their eyes at. They would be beyond elated, of course, but they wouldn't lose their heads and stared squealing and crying.

But there is also no possible way to prepare for this moment. So when Hermione snapped up the lid and saw the ring, despite her promises, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying right there, under the awning. It wasn't like her to cry at the sight of a piece of jewelry, but it was so beautiful. It was a series of very thin, white gold bands that wove around each other in a series of elegant whirls. A closer inspection revealed that the ring glowed as luminously as it did because each band was encrusted with very small, almost microscopic diamonds, almost like diamond dust. Just one of those diamonds alone would be invisible to the naked eye, but arranged together as they were, they created this faint, magical, incandescent glow that made the ring appear as if it were almost alive. It was tasteful, discrete, gorgeous, elegant, vibrant, and everything Hermione would ever want. It was perfect, and a large part of its glorious perfection had to do with the fact that Ron had picked it out for her.

"Where did you get this?" Hermione breathed, daring to gingerly touch the band, reassuring herself that its flawlessness was real.

Ron cleared his throat slightly, his voice thick and husky. "Some little store in Venice."

Hermione chuckled under her breath. "So that's why you went to Venice."

"No," Ron corrected. "I got it the first time we went to Venice." Hermione finally looked up from the ring, her eyes wide. He had done it again: he had knocked her flat, rendered her speechless, and had totally taken her breath away. She just stared at this man who was proving to her once again just how lucky she was. Ron was tentatively approaching her, gesturing to the ring. "One of the first days we were there. You and Harry still had to rest every so often; so both of you were sleeping at the hotel. I was out walking with Ginny, and we saw this store, and it was in the window, and I just knew and--" Ron broke off when he realized what was brimming in Hermione's eyes. "--Oh, son of a bitch, don't cry!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized automatically, swiping at her eyes. "You've had this for three years," she whispered. Ron shrugged, trying to brush off the significance of his actions, but knowing he never could. She blinked several times in attempt to keep the tears at bay. "It's a good kind of crying, I swear," she reassured lightly.

She had hoped that it would make him laugh, but Ron was past laughing. Their relationship was anything but silly and funny. "Look." Ron's voice was now low, even, and wonderfully sincere, and it gave Hermione warm chills up and down her spine. He reached out to take hold of the hand not clutching the ring box. "I think we both know that we both have been screwing up a lot lately." Hermione let out a soft laugh of agreement. "But there is one thing that we did do right, and that's stay together. Either of us could have left at anytime, but we didn't did we?" Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly, and Ron reciprocated with a roll of his eyes. "Well, until now," he amended. "But you were coming back. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. We both want to stay here. Together.

"I take it for granted sometimes that this empathy thing we share lets me not have to tell you every thought that pops into my head. You have to hear it or see it to really believe some things. I reckon I just expect you to know that I do want the same things as you. It's hard for me to say some stuff out loud, because--" Ron paused, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he ran his thumb over back of Hermione's hand, "--because you're the best thing that ever happened to me, Hermione, and you're the truest, most real thing in my life. You're all I ever wanted, and I--I reckon it still scares me even now just how much you mean to me, and saying it aloud--" Ron broke off and looked away momentarily. Hermione's eyes were becoming a little too much for him at the moment. "Well, it's just hard for a bloke to talk like this, Hermione!"

"You're doing just fine," Hermione reassured gently.

For the millionth time, that smile of hers made Ron feel like he was flying on Harry's Firebolt, whipping through the wind hard and fast and completely out of control, and he loved every second of it. That magic smile of hers also made it loads easier for Ron to press on. "But anyway, I just reckon that you know. But you really don't, and I'm sorry for that, but Hermione, you have to know--I think I was ready to marry you the day you kissed me after Easter Break. I knew then that one day I was going to do this with you, but sometimes circumstances just aren't the best." He sighed. "I just can't afford--"

"I can't either," Hermione interrupted soothingly. "But if we pool our resources, I bet that together, we could."

It was very difficult for Ron to agree to that, but as it was for Hermione, he was able to swallow his pride and nod in acceptance of her offer of financial assistance. "And then I was trying to make sure that your mum didn't hate me before I asked," Ron confessed. "I mean, I got your dad's blessing ages ago, but your mum," Ron shook his head, "she's as tough as you."

"Oh, I don't think she's that bad," Hermione said teasingly.

"Well, I know, but she's still real tough, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get her on my side completely, but that's not what's really important now." Ron abruptly took hold of her other hand, pressing the box with the glittering ring between their palms as he stooped ever so slightly to look right at her. "Hermione, I have to hear it from you now. We still have loads of stuff to discuss and work out and everything, but I need to know right now if you're in for the long run. I mean, I think you are, I can feel that you want to be, but after everything that's happened...." He squeezed the hand with the ring. "In the same way you needed this ring to really understand that I was in this for good, I just need to hear you say it. Because it's gonna be hard, Hermione. My job is not going to get any easier. I will have to keep stuff from you again. I will act like an idiot again. We're going to have fights like this again. Are you ready for that? Can you follow through with me until the end?"

Hermione took a minute to answer, not because she didn't know what to say, but because she had to phrase it perfectly. He had just told her everything she needed to know in the most beautiful way, and he deserved the same from her. She had to swallow back some more blissful tears before beginning. "Ron, I'm so sorry for everything that's gone wrong in the past few weeks, and I'm sorry I ran away like that, because you--" she burrowed her hand even deeper into his so they could sustain the glorious contact as long as possible, "--have always meant so much to me. The first moment I saw you I knew that you were special, but I had no idea how much, because in all of my life, with all of the books I've read, I never imagined that what we have could be even as half as wonderful as it really is."

Ron was actually blushing, and it was so damn cute that she could make a grown man blush that Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. So she just kept talking, straight from her heart, which she hadn't done with Ron so openly since the night Voldemort fell. It felt wonderful. She had to remember to do it more often. That's what had led to them getting into this mess; she had let her doubting brain overrule her heart's instincts. "You're right. We do have things to work on, but I'm ready to work them out. I've always said that my life didn't really begin until I came to Hogwarts, partly because I never knew what I was missing by not being a part of the magical world. But really, I really didn't begin living until I met you. I began as yours, and I'm going to end as yours."

His temper wasn't the only thing Ron couldn't restrain at times. Whenever Ron was feeling particularly affectionate, he never held back. So Hermione barely had time to catch her breath after her monologue before he was taking her breath away again. Good lord, he hadn't taken her breath away like this in a good long time. Sizzling sparks and bright, bold fireworks were bursting beneath her skin, and those magnificent explosions caused the white-hot inferno that Ron always stirred up to rekindle and burn hotter, faster and brighter than ever. It was ravaging away inside of her, and Hermione sank deeper into him, her arm traveling up to hook around his neck to keep him as close to her as humanly possible. She had to stand, precariously, on her tiptoes to do so, but who the hell cared? As long as she kept drinking him in and feeding off his love, she could be stranded at Azkaban for all she cared. She just wanted him. He quickly reciprocated by wrapping his arms around her waist. It was a good thing he did; she was getting a bit weak in the knees. Once again, as always, Hermione couldn't help wondering just what it was about this man that got her every single time. You would think that she'd grow accustomed to the way his large hands felt, the way she fit perfectly against him, the spicy smell of his aftershave, the imprint his mouth left on her skin. But even the most intelligent witches were still women at heart; even the most rational women melted into a puddle of desire when that one perfect person kisses you until you're completely breathless and your head is spinning and everything goes blurry and your world spins out of control. At the same time, however, you never ever want it to stop.

Not even the most glorious of moments can last forever, though. Especially when three Muggle nuns interrupt you and request that you leave the premises. Hermione apologized profusely, blushing to the roots of her curls, but Ron was squishing his lips together, trying desperately not to laugh into the women's faces. He looked rather like a monkey, and it was making Hermione want to giggle more than ever. She poked him warningly in the ribs, but that only made Ron snort and laugh even harder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, waving a cheery good-bye to the confused Muggles, and led her outside again. It was no longer raining as heavily as before, and even it was, Hermione wouldn't have cared. She felt like she was walking on clouds.

"Well," Ron said abruptly, carefully taking the box from Hermione's hand. "I reckon we should get this on."

"I reckon so," Hermione echoed softly. He extracted the ring from the box and took Hermione's waiting hand. Even more carefully than he tended to his Chudley Cannons gear, he slid the ring on Hermione's left ring finger. Both watched it sparkle and twinkle in the dim storm light, quiet raindrops splashing lightly on top of it.

"Now, I may not be able to get all the money for a while," Ron admitted.

"Ron, I never meant that we had to get married now," Hermione amended. "I just wanted to know that there was that possibility. We can wait as long as you need to."

Ron grinned cheekily. "Well, maybe we should take that ring back then--"

"You just try it!" Hermione threatened with a smile, pulling her hand out of his reach. "We don't have to be married for a while, but we can be engaged." Ron chuckled in acceptance. Hermione held out her hand to look at her ring from another angle. "It's beautiful," she said again. It wasn't like her to be so materialistic, but this ring was rapidly replacing Hogwarts: A History as the most important thing she'd ever owned.

"Oh!" Hermione and Ron both looked over at the alcove they had just come from. The three nuns were still watching them curiously, and one had just spotted the new ring on Hermione's finger. She was gesturing to it and speaking in rapid, excited Italian, and the others echoed her 'oh' of understanding a few moments later. "Congratulations!" one shouted in broken English. "Good wedding!" She added her well wishes.

Ron waved a thank you, but now it was Hermione who suddenly couldn't contain her laughter. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," Hermione giggled again, "that it's awfully appropriate that we got engaged in the middle of a row."

He wrapped his arm happily around her shoulders as they began the long descent down the steps. "I agree," he concurred wholeheartedly with a grin so wide that his face almost split in two. He couldn't have imagined a more perfect way.