Promises to Keep

"Professor Granger is hot." Hermione rolled her eyes. The things some students carved on their desks. Hot indeed. It would definitely be Michael Malfoy who had carved that one. His father, although civil to Hermione for his wife's sake, would not approve. Speaking of them, although she hadn't been, she needed to send Draco and Ginny yet another owl about their son's behavior. Ginny would have a fit when she got it, and probably send a pair of howlers to the twins for providing him with an unlimited supply of joke shop items to give them free advertising around Hogwarts.

Hermione calmly touched her wand to the desk and muttered the familiar spell to repair the wood. Professor Flitwick had never come this far back to erase the students' crude carvings on the desks. While she was much more diligent about removing such graffiti from school property than her teacher had been, she could never bring herself to erase one carving on a desk in the back corner.

During their seventh year, Ron had always sat at that desk. She had never figured out exactly why he had sat there, but she was often grateful that he had, because Professor Flitwick had never cleared this desk. And the heart, with the letters RW+HG, had been her only connection to Ron for 20 years.

She had no idea how many hours she'd wasted over the course of her career standing here, running her fingers through the endless trails of dust that filled the rough carving, pondering what might have happened had Ron not tried to save Harry's life. There would be a house in Hogsmeade, no doubt, and bunches of little reheaded children to chase after and take care of. Funny that she'd never really wanted children before, but somehow, now, she wanted Ron's children almost as much as she wanted Ron.

"Some promise, Ron," she thought almost bitterly, her mind wandering back to the night before he'd gone.

"If you go, I might never see you again. And Harry- well, you can't help him now. No one can."

"I have to try. And I promise you, Hermione. I will come back. No matter what happens, I will come back."

Before she could say anything else, Ron has kissed her into a silence. And somehow, Hermione found that it was her hand, not his, that reached for the broom closet door that night.

Even in the dim moonlight, the man's red hair was a sharp contrast to the pale snow that filled the deep forest. The white streaks in this fiery red mane were, although none who saw him realized it, the marks left behind from his hard fought battle to get out of death's clutches. His breath came in ragged gasps. He had won. He had won, and now he could return to Hogwarts, and to her. He threw back his head and laughed. It was too good to be true, and yet, it was. He was going home.

These woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost, Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening