Scattered

Ron stood at the screen door, hands in his pockets, staring out into the backyard. The morning sun was filtering through the trees overhanging their yard, and the last of the dew was off the grass. It looked to be a beautiful autumn day, the kind that always made him think of Quidditch and Care of Magical Creatures class, and Hogwarts... of the ceiling of the Great Hall, charmed to be a matching sky blue... of the way his sister's hair matched the leaves on the trees, and the way Hermione's would blow in her face. He closed his eyes and imagined her walking next to him, on the way to Hogsmeade, talking about something that excited her, impatiently pushing an errant strand of hair back again and again. She hardly ever put it up, though, the way most girls did. She let it blow around and just kept shoving it back impatiently, and as the years went by he found it harder and harder to resist the urge to reach out and do it for her.

He opened his eyes.

The real Hermione, not the one in his memory, but the girl he lived with now, here, was sitting on the wooden bench Bill had conjured for her a week or so ago, back by the tree. She wasn't looking at him, or at anything at all, as far as he could tell. She looked small and far-away, and cold. But her hair was still down, and as he crossed the lawn towards her he felt the same longings he'd been living with for years now burning in his chest.

She turned when he was only a few feet away and met his eyes for the first time that morning. He could tell, with a stab of guilt, that she'd been crying last night; there were dark smudges in the hollows below her eyes, testament to how tired and worn-out she was.

Still, she didn't look away, and that was something.

"I brought you a sweater," he said, holding it out to her awkwardly. "You left it hanging in the front hall closet, so I figured it would do. It's chilly out here."

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

He put the sweater down on the bench next to her and stood there, uncertain. She seemed unapproachable, and yet in the old days that wouldn't have stopped him in the least from barreling through her defenses, even if it caused a huge row between them. He'd never been able to accept the cold shoulder from her very well, and instead he'd spent years prodding and pushing and making her pay attention to him, at any cost.

In sixth year, though, he'd lost his nerve. For months she'd ignored him, refused to acknowledge him, gone about the castle as if he didn't exist, as if he'd never been her best friend. He'd have given anything for her to just yell at him, to just chew him up and spit him out. He never thought he'd have wanted such a thing. It wasn't necessarily fun being on the receiving end of Hermione Granger's anger, as he knew better than anyone. It wasn't until he wasn't on the receiving end of anything from her that he realized just what he'd had. Hermione was the most passionate person he knew, and for their entire friendship she'd focused that passion on studying, on helping Harry, and on him. He'd meant something to her. He'd meant a lot. And then... he hadn't seemed to mean anything to her at all. And that bothered him more than he would have imagined possible. He wanted to force her to acknowledge him again, but he couldn't even speak to her anymore, much less pick a fight as he'd always done in the past... he thought all the time about marching up to her and just starting in, just so she would react. But every time, he chickened out and said nothing. Because deep down, he was afraid she wouldn't react at all. That she'd just walk away, because he didn't matter to her anymore.

But then again, he remembered Ginny's response to that reluctantly-confessed fear all too well.

"Hermione doesn't care about you anymore, that's what you're saying? Well, that's a nice bit of hypocrisy. Talk about rationalizing away your own cruddy behavior, Ron, and turning the tables on her. Nice. Next you'll be telling me it's Hermione's fault your grades have been slipping this term, because she's not around to bail your arse out whenever there's an assignment due. For heaven's sake. Your fear of confronting her couldn't have anything to do with the fact that you know you broke her heart when you dumped her over for that idiot you're dating, could it?"

Ginny had been right, of course. Beneath all the self-pitying and cowardly excuses he could come up with, he knew the truth. He'd hurt Hermione, and the worst part was, he'd meant to. He just hadn't expected her to shut him out of her life so absolutely as a result. If he was being truly honest with himself, after all, he hadn't given the whole situation much thought at all, not until it was too late.

In the end, as always, when the going got tough, they'd come back together as friends. Without discussing what had happened, though, of course. Their friendship hadn't ever included very many apologies or sorting out of what had gone wrong. Every time he and Hermione had fought, over the years, when it came to making up he'd always been just so damn glad to have her talking to him again that he hadn't dared look too closely at why the fight had happened in the first place. It was easier -- for both of them, he suspected -- just to put it behind them, and go right back to being friends. Really, to pretend the fight had never happened. Sixth year was no different, but things had changed so much since then. They weren't kids anymore, and the stakes were higher, somehow.

And yet, he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to try to bully her into paying attention to him, but he also didn't want to just let her walk away from him again. He couldn't stand it now. He'd barely been able to stand it then.

"Hermione, we need to talk," he said finally. She didn't answer. "You know we do." He sighed and looked away. "Bill and Charlie have gone out for the day. If you're not ready to talk now... I'll accept that. We can talk whenever you're ready. But we can't leave things the way they are."

"No, we can't," she said softly.

He nodded. "Okay. I'll go in the house, and whenever--"

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said, turning to face him. "I'm being... please, don't go in." She picked up the sweater and edged over slightly. "I am a little cold, actually."

"We could go inside and talk, then," he said quickly.

She shook her head. "No, no. It's nice out here. I'll be fine with this."

He sat down next to her, feeling nervous as all hell. She pulled the sweater over her head and then lifted her hair out from the collar. He watched her, mesmerized as always, even now.

"I'm sorry there hasn't been word about George yet," Hermione said. "But there will be. Try not to worry."

Ron felt his chest ache just a little at her words. She'd just learned that wizards and witches everywhere, Muggle-borns like herself, had been exterminated, and that as long as Voldemort and his people were in power, she'd have a death sentence hanging over her own head. And she was... worried about him.

"Percy's with my parents," he said, not trusting himself to respond to her kindness.

She smiled. "Good."

Ron let out a breath and slumped over, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He watched several birds flit amongst the hedges and down to the grass, pecking in the dirt for food.

Hermione cleared her throat softly, nervously, perhaps. He knew he should be the one talking, the one trying to straighten out what was wrong between them. If he could just find the words...

"I'm sorry about last night," he said finally. "I know it's not enough, but I really am. That was... inexcusable."

She was quiet for a moment. "Why did you do it?"

He frowned. "Why?"

"Why did you come home and... kiss me?"

"Because I want to kiss you all the time, Hermione," he said bluntly, unable to stop himself. He could feel his ears going red immediately, but it was too late now. "That time I just didn't stop myself."

He felt her shift on the bench and slide towards him, just a few short inches, until she was close -- very close, but not quite touching him. She turned to face him and one small hand reached up tentatively and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

"Ron," she said, and nothing more.

He turned to look at her then and her face was not so very far from his. Her eyes, tired and worn, were nevertheless shining at him with a warmth he'd begun to worry he'd never see again. He breathed in sharply, his heart beating fiercely as if it had been stopped and just started again, the blood pounding in his ears.

"We were out at the bar, and I drank a lot," he said in a rush. "Well, not a lot, really, but I'm not used to the stuff, you know? And Bill was there, and he convinced me it was time to go home. He said something about you, and suddenly all I wanted was to be with you. Not out at some crummy pub, or at the gym, or anywhere else but with... you. My head was all, I dunno, fuzzy, and all the way home I was thinking about climbing the stairs and going into our room and seeing you there. And that's what I did, and you were there and, and... I wanted to kiss you. Like always. And that time I just didn't resist it."

"It's okay, Ron," she said, cupping his cheek in her hand. "It's okay."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "It wasn't okay, though. That was terrible of me. It makes me feel... sick, to think that I just... assumed..."

Hermione sighed and her hand fell away. She propped her head up on her other arm, against the back of the bench. "Let's be fair, Ron. It wasn't that huge of an assumption."

"What do you mean?" he asked miserably.

"That I... wanted to kiss you, too," she said quietly. He stared at her for a moment, confused. "Why wouldn't you think that?" she continued. "We've been tiptoeing around this for years. And you know I... I told you that I love you. I asked you to stay with me. I asked you to... sleep... in my bed. And in the night..."

Ron knew his face must have turned a bright scarlet by now. He couldn't pretend not to know what she meant. In the night sometimes, he couldn't help but turn towards her, and sometimes she towards him, and sometimes she held his arm and sometimes he couldn't resist dropping his lips to her hair. In the day they flirted and teased, but in the night he touched her sometimes, only in the smallest of ways... but it changed everything.

"I wanted you to kiss me," she said finally. "I did. Just not... then."

Why would she? Ron thought bitterly. A drunken, slobbery mess like that? But... she wanted me to, at least. Just not then. That's something, I guess.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Saying I was drunk is no excuse."

"That part wasn't all that wonderful, I'm forced to admit," she said with a small teasing grin. He groaned, feeling like the world's biggest prat. "But... if we're going to be really honest and, you know, finally talk... about us..." she trailed off.

Ron nodded, a little regretfully. "I think we have to."

"Well, then, that wasn't really what upset me," she said awkwardly.

He frowned, but waited for her to continue.

Hermione leaned back on her arm a bit more, looking up at the tree limbs waving in the wind. "Did you ever think about us? Before? About us getting together?" she asked and glanced over at him. He nodded silently. "So did I. When we were... apart... last year, I didn't think about it then. It was too painful. But before that, and after, I thought about us then. I liked thinking about it."

"So did I," he said.

She smiled. "I didn't mean together like that, Ron."

He grinned sheepishly. "I know. In the spirit of honesty, though, I did enjoy thinking of us that way. As well as in the other less carnal sense of the word."

"I'm sure you did," she said, and he warmed to the affection in her voice.

"Go on," he prodded. "Just ignore my one-track mind."

"You know, and it wasn't like a fantasy, really, because I truly believed everything I pictured would happen eventually. That we'd live out those images in my mind. You and me at school, with Harry and our friends. In the common room in the evening, at your parents' house in the summer. Doing everything we've always done, in all the places we've ever been but... together."

She stared up at him and he nodded, pulling her to him gently. She curled into his chest and his arms went around her and he breathed her in, gratefully.

"And now it'll never happen," he said, understanding.

"Never," she agreed. "And it shouldn't matter, but it does."

He shook his head slightly, though she couldn't see. "It's what I wanted, too. There's nothing wrong with that."

She leaned back away from him to see his face. His arms were still loosely around him and her hand rested lightly on his chest. "The problem is, Ron, we didn't get what we wanted. We got this instead. And now, I'm just not sure what to do. How it goes. I think we skipped a step somewhere, and the scary part is that I don't think we can go back and make it up."

"Bill thinks we're in over our heads," Ron confessed reluctantly. "Charlie just said to straighten things out, whatever it took. But I think Bill thinks... well, I think he thinks we've screwed up."

Hermione frowned a little, and then sighed in resignation. "Bill and Charlie feel responsible for us. Especially Bill. They're just trying to help. But... this is about you and me. The real question is, what do we think?"

"Can I answer what you think and you'll answer for me?" Ron asked facetiously.

"You can read my mind?" Hermione responded skeptically.

He snorted a denial. "No, I have no idea what you're thinking. But I'm lazy, and I'm used to you doing my homework for me, so I thought it was worth a shot."

She swatted at his chest lightly. "Ronald Weasley, sometimes I think you're only friends with me to get your hands on my History of Magic notes."

"That's really not what I want to get my hands--"

"Stop right there," she cut him off with a poorly-hidden grin. "Honestly, Ron, if you know what's good for you."

He grinned back at her. His whole body was filled with relief at having her like this again, talking to him, smiling at him, chastising him. It was too late for him to even imagine about living life without that.

"I don't know what you think, love," he said. "I've been trying to figure you out for six years now, and I'm beginning to doubt I ever will. What I do know, though, is that I don't want to ever stop trying."

Her eyes filled with tears but she smiled and swiped them away quickly. "That's a very lovely thing to say, Ron."

"Well, you know me," he said, a little embarrassed. "Always with the fancy words."

She laughed. It wasn't a full-out burst of laughter or anything, but it was a real laugh, something he wasn't sure he'd heard from her in a very long time.

"I love you," he said bluntly. "I don't know what we should do but, I know that much."

Hermione gave him a tender look. "I know you do."

"And... I think we should be together. Really together," he said in a rush. As the words left his mouth he felt as if a weight of uncertainty had been lifted off his shoulders. He hadn't heard her answer yet, and he didn't presume she'd agree but -- hell, it just felt good to say it out loud. Finally.

She didn't say anything at all, right away. She looked down and took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Her eyes were dry and she didn't look upset or angry, but he couldn't tell at all what she was thinking, what she was going to say.

"Sometimes," she said softly, "I worry that Bill is right."

Ron frowned, confused. "You do?"

"Sometimes. I worry... that we're where we are because we're in this situation. Because we lost the war and almost everything we had, except each other."

"That's bollocks," Ron said heatedly. "And I told him the same thing. Hermione, I've been crazy about you for years. This isn't something new."

"That's two lovely things you've said in one day," she said with a small smirk. "Though this one was slightly less lovely, what with 'bollocks' being involved, and all."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I meant it."

"I know. Don't snap at me."

Ron pulled away, slouching back and running his hands over his head tiredly. "I'm sorry. It's just that--"

"What?" she prompted.

"It's just, when Bill said that to me, he was implying -- or worrying, or something -- that I was using you. I would never do that," he said vehemently, turning to hold her gaze with his own. "Never."

She ran a soft hand over his face. "No, no, of course you wouldn't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean I thought anything like that when I said Bill was right. I didn't know he said that. Bill only talked to me about us going too..."

Hermione trailed off and blushed. Ron realized he'd almost never seen Hermione blush before, and it was a pleasant sight indeed. She didn't turn a nasty beet red the way he did -- or Ginny did, for that matter, he'd noticed. No, Hermione's skin remained much the same, warm-hued and smooth, but her cheeks turned a darker, dusky rose, and her neck, and her chest where he could see skin exposed above the collar of her shirt as well. It was amazing.

He could tell she was trying not to look flustered, and he gently prodded her to continue. "Go on."

"Going too far," she said softly.

Ron didn't blush in return, though he could understand why Hermione had. In all honesty, he'd shamefully imagined them "going too far" a few too many times for it to be a new and embarrassing idea.

"I think that's enough on what Bill thinks, though, really, don't you?" Hermione said, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"Yes," he agreed.

"I just worry that we're not ready," she continued. "That we might have gotten together on our own--"

"Might have?" Ron blurted out, alarmed.

She smiled gently. "Would have." He breathed a little easier. "But we would have done so in the way we were meant to, not because circumstances threw us together."

Ron knew she had a point. And he opened his mouth to say as much, to agree with her, to acknowledge the possibility that they'd messed things up somehow, even if they hadn't meant to. But something stopped him, something he couldn't define... except that, he remembered what he'd said to her earlier, about never wanting to stop trying. Never wanting to stop at all.

"Does it really matter so much, Hermione?" he asked her.

"Doesn't it?" she asked, and his hopes flew higher, for he could see the smallest glimmer in her eye, a spark that told him that there was a part of her that felt as he did. In that moment he knew, for the first time, that he could just throw away all the years of doubts and questions and worry and fear where she was concerned, where they were concerned. There was no risk in feeling this way about her... not when she loved him in return.

"We're going to be together for the rest of our lives, Hermione," Ron said. "Does it really matter so much when or how it all began?"

She laughed again. "When you put it like that, no."

"That doesn't mean I didn't make a mess of the whole beginning part," Ron added, still feeling a little guilty over his behavior the night before. "I really think we should have a do-over."

"A do-over?" she asked dubiously.

"Sure. We declare that the first one didn't count, and do it over. I mean, you can't erase the event, obviously. But it's like, if Harry was helping me practice Keeping, and he shot a goal at me when I was, you know, swallowing a bug or something, and I was distracted and it went in, the Quaffle, I mean, so, if it's in it's in, obviously, no stopping that. The bug's still swallowed as well, unfortunately. But anyhow, we'd just say, on account of the distraction and all, we'd just have a do-over and start from scratch."

"That was, on the other hand," Hermione said in an exasperated tone that was belied by her smile, "one of the more unlovely analogies I've ever heard in my life. You basically just negated all of the points you earned with the earlier two."

"Was it the Quidditch or the bug that pushed it over the edge?"

"The bug."

"Well, you know me and the fancy words," Ron said, grinning. "Not so much with them, as it turns out. The point is, I don't know if you're aware of this, but you've got a birthday coming next weekend."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're kidding. I had no idea."

"Good thing I reminded you then," Ron deadpanned. "I think a party's in order. And, well, maybe a... date."

"With you?" she asked in mock-seriousness.

"Of course with me, for crying out loud. Will you?"

"Yes, Ron, of course I will. Thank you."

"Thank you for saying yes."

She moved towards him again and placed a soft kiss low on his jaw. He pulled her into his arms once more.

"Ron," she said quietly, her mouth close to his ear and her breath skating across his skin. "Do you think... for now... do you think we should sleep in separate rooms?"

He sighed, having dreaded the idea almost since the moment he'd woken up this morning, first thinking there was no way in the world she'd ever allow him to be near her like that again, then, when she'd started talking to him again, thinking that she would probably think it would be for the best while they were... beginning... to be together. For the latter, he knew she was probably right. Deep down in his gut, though, he never wanted to spend a night away from her again.

"If you think that's for the best," he said, resigned and trying to push aside his own regrets. "I understand."

She tilted back to frown at him. "I didn't say I thought it was for the best. Though," she admitted reluctantly, "it probably would be."

"I know."

"It's not what you want, though, is it?" she asked.

Ron couldn't give anything but an honest answer. "No. I don't want to... be without you. But I'll do what you want."

She was quiet for a moment, and then, to his surprise, she shook her head. "Well, I don't want to be without you either. Not because I can't sleep without you there, or because you make me feel safe and strong, though all of that is true enough. Just because... because I just want you there, and I'm always going to, and, you know, that's all that really matters, isn't it? Like you said."

"That's something I really didn't think I'd ever hear you say," Ron said with amused amazement. "'Like you said'. It has a nice ring to it, you know. I could get used to being right."

"As long as you don't get all smug about it every time," she grumbled.

"I promise I won't."

"Good," she said, curling back into him.

They sat there together for the rest of the morning, as the sun moved through the trees and warmed the sky. Hermione tucked her face into his neck and he ran his fingers through her hair, as the wind blew it wild.