The Beginning of the End

A young woman, walking very graciously it may be said when you consider the fact that she was carrying two extremely large and well used suitcases, a cloth covered cage, and a wooden box in which something very ginger and very fury was stirring, emerged through the double doors of a London Airport.

Presently the woman began to wonder along a pavement, eyeing the long line of black cabs along side it, evidently looking to see if any were free. It appeared that none were free, for she laid down her possessions and, trying to ignore the admiring glances she was receiving from the Londoners who walked by, gazed intently down the wide street.

As I have now mentioned the Londoner's appreciation of the young lady's sudden presence in London, it may now be the appropriate time to tell you of her appearance. She was a tall girl, and she wore long robes of a deep blue; her eyes were of a lighter, periwinkle blue and her pale cheeks were pink with the cold. Her hair fell in tumbling mousy-brown curls down her back, ending just above her waist. She stood tall, hands held before her in a state of relaxed elegance. Put it this way, none of her old school friends would have believed it was Hermione Granger.

Unfortunately, our description must now be interrupted, for at this moment, just as she was beginning to wonder why on Earth she had let Fred and George talk her into this, Hermione's features took on a broad smile. The reason for this smile became quite apparent as an old and battered sky blue Ford Anglia came zooming down the street, stopping abruptly as it reached Hermione. Very slowly, the tinted side window came smoothly down; firstly to reveal a vast amount of violent red hair, then a freckly forehead and finally the broad smiling face of Fred Weasley.

"Hey babe," he said, smiling, "well, what are you waiting for?" he continued, indicating to the door behind him with an exuberant hand gesture, "Hop in!"

Hermione, reciprocating Fred's smile, did so; and once she had relieved herself of the luggage, and Crookshanks was out of his box and safely on her knee, she surveyed her surroundings. This certainly was not the Ford Anglia she remembered. The old shabby seats had been replaced with thick, soft black leather, which enveloped itself around her back; instead of the plastic effect dash board there was a new, classy black one, fitted with stereo and even a small television; the glove compartment lay open, revealing a number of CD's labelled with names such as Celestina Warbeck and The Weird Sisters. All of the windows apart from the front were tinted, and they were all electric.

Enjoying Hermione's amazement, George turned from the crocodile skin covered steering wheel, following Hermione's gaze he said, "Yep, pure leather, only the finest velvet covering the doors and floor, best stereo you can get and top of the range portable TV."

"Well," said Fred, "as Dad's still obsessed with all this muggle stuff, we thought we might as well get him something good..."

"Yes," continued George, solemnly, "it is an improvement on the old plugs and batteries obsession - and we even managed to put some music onto them CB muggle thingies. Can't do magic though; messes up the system."

"Plus we don't have a clue what the muggles are on about on the TV - a weather forecast? Muggles have seers?"

Hermione laughed, first telling George that compact discs were actually called "CD's", and then on to the extremely confusing (in Fred and George's opinion) subject of the weather forecast. Thus their journey to the Burrow began. For some time, Fred and George told Hermione of things which she had missed whilst she had been away, Hermione had never realised so much could happen in just 4 years; they had gone so quickly for her. Fred and George told her of how they now had a long chain of joke shops running through Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Paris and Ireland; yet how they had tired of only working at the shop in Hogsmeade, and had therefore taken a job in the department of experimentals at the ministry when it had been offered. Mrs Weasley had been most pleased about the decision. It was at this point in their story that Fred and George began to laugh more and more frequently, and it didn't take Hermione long to work out why -many of the experiments performed down in the depths of the department of experimentals had gone drastically, make that hilariously, wrong.

Somewhere along the way, Ron's name was mentioned, and Fred and George cast mysterious glances to one another. However, when Hermione asked the reason for this, Fred simply smiled knowingly and George turned around, suddenly eager to concentrate on the road - quite unnecessary, as the car appeared to be driving it's self.

As the hours wore on, they seemed to begin to take their toll, as even Fred and George succumbed to silence, drifting in and out of sleep. All the while Hermione did not sleep. There were so many thoughts running around in her head, so many feelings that she couldn't explain, that all she could do was gaze out of the window, sometimes smiling broadly into the darkening sky, sometimes looking strangely wistful, as though remembering something almost forgotten, lost in memories past.

Hermione continued to stare out of the window for some time; the royal blue sky of evening gave way to darkness, blackening deeper behind a sheet of twinkling stars as the night progressed. Eventually, so much time had passed that Hermione, unable to sleep, could no longer think, so she simply stared out of the window. She was gazing absently up at the sky when a crooked chimney popped into the square of her vision. Casting her eyes down, the whole of the Burrow came into view; first the deep red bricks, forming the many mismatched rooms which somehow managed to stay attached to the main body of the house, and then the large garden, full to the bursting of cockerels and chickens, all clucking happily as they feasted on the seed which Mrs Weasley had no doubt laid out for them.

The car stopped abruptly, and George jerked awake in the drivers seat.

"Finally," he said, groaning with pleasure as he climbed out of the car and stretched his back, "thought we'd never get here."

"Well," said Fred when they were all out of the car, surveying each other, sleepy eyed, "we best be going in. Come on," he added kindly to Hermione, who was smiling nervously.

However, as Hermione began the walk down the garden path to the Weasley's front door, Fred and George hung back, suddenly realising that they needed to retrieve something from the trunk of the Ford Anglia, and they took a very long time over it. So it was Hermione who first approached the large red door of the Weasley household, and it was she who gave three loud knocks upon the wood. A few minutes went by, whilst Hermione observed something that looked very much like a potato lying upon the grass, but kept twitching every few seconds. Just as she was about to go and have a closer look, to see if it really was a gnome, the door flew open. Before Hermione knew what was happening, she heard a scream of 'OH HERMIONE!' and was engulfed with a vast amount of long red hair. The hair's owner seemed extremely happy to be seeing Hermione on her front door step, for she held on to her for some time and Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh.

The girl drew back, and Hermione saw a young woman with sparkling eyes and sleek red hair that fell to her waist smiling back at her. She had a very slim, delicate looking frame; although Hermione knew from past experience that Ginny Weasley was to be described as anything but delicate; and she had grown much taller. It was evident that this was a girl well out of her teens, for her high, yet soft cheekbones, and white English Rose skin coated with a layer of delicate freckles, matched the soft curve between her hips and waist. She wore a black skirt, which skimmed over her thighs and stopped at the knee, and a soft maroon cashmere sweater. There was a brightness in her eyes that had not been there before.

Hermione and Ginny had been looking at each other so intently, that they hadn't spoke a word, and as they caught one another's eye, Ginny was the first to smile her confident smile and say, "Hermione, it really is wonderful to see you. It looks like Fred and George are going to take a while," she said, craning her neck to see what the boys were up to, " - the trunk must be jammed shut again. C'mon, I'll show you in; Fred and George won't need any introduction."

Hermione nodded, mutely following Ginny down the hall and into the kitchen. Ginny pushed the door open, and Hermione set her eyes upon the familiar, yet much changed Wesley kitchen. The structure was identical, and the stone walls and tiled floor were the same as ever, but they had a different air about them. Perhaps it was the beautifully handcrafted oak table, which took pride of place in the centre of the room, varnished and gleaming. Or maybe it was the cream, satin curtains that decorated the small window above the sink. One thing was for sure. Wealthy people lived here.

Presently the room was full of chatter and laughter. Eight people were seated around the table, enjoying a large feast, which included chickens, turkeys, hams and pork, together with vast amounts of soft mashed potatoes and succulent vegetables.

At the head of the table, on Hormone's left, sat Mr Weasley. Two of his sons, Bill and Charlie, were sat on either side of him and they appeared to be having a passionate discussion, neither of them agreeing with the other.

"Well, I think we have as good a chance as any," stated Mr Weasley proudly.

"No way, Dad," said Charlie, whilst Bill shook his head covered with a long main of black hair hopelessly, although he was smiling, "We managed to scrape through last match, but this is the Bulgarian team we're talking about - we've got no chance."

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said Mr Weasley weakly, "but if Harry would join..."he continued, eyes brightening, "the team would love to have him."

"Oi!" shouted Harry from the opposite end of the table, where he had been chatting enthusiastically to a girl with blonde hair and striking eyes, "That game against Holland was a one off! Just a bit of fun. I'm afraid England will have to do without me, and besides, I've got my auror exams coming up."

"Oh, Harry!" exclaimed the girl next to him, who had chosen to wear a canary yellow robe, matching her dirty blonde hair, "you're too sensible. Think of all the travelling you and Ginny could do! It'd be great. If I was you I'd jump at the chance."

"But Luna, you're always travelling, no doubt when you leave tomorrow you'll be off on some exciting trip to pastures new. There's too much going on for me at the moment - Ginny and I need some time to get on our feet; she can sort out her law studies, and I can get the exams out of the way."

Standing at the door, waiting to introduce Hermione to the party, Ginny couldn't help but smile at how practical her adventurous husband had become. Looking down to wear her hands caressed her firm stomach; proud tears welled up in her eyes. That had been happening a lot lately. Soon enough, she thought, no matter what happened, there would be a lot more going on in Harry's life than what he was expecting.

Collecting herself, Ginny took a deep breath, "Hey everyone; - look who just arrived."

The company looked around, jaws dropping when they saw their visitor, but Mrs Weasley was the first to squeal, and the second that night to exclaim, "OH HERMIONE!" and throw her arms the girl whom she regarded as a daughter.

"Oh, how are you, Hermione, dear?" she said, grasping Hermione's shoulders and examining her as one does when checking a child with a hot temperature, "Why on earth didn't you tell us you were coming? Oh, but what a lovely surprise! Ron will be...well, never mind that, have you been well? You're looking rather pale. It must have been a long journey, what would you like to drink - or would you rather go for a lie down?"

"Mum," laughed Charlie, standing up to shake Hermione's hand, "Let the girl be!"

Mrs Weasley, giving Hermione another concerned look, rushed back to the stove, where a pan of gravy was bubbling vivaciously. Hermione was then left to greet the others, all but one who gave her broad smiles. Harry was first; at first he shook her hand, but then put his arms around her and gripped her tightly. Luna came next, whom Hermione eyed warily, until the woman said with a grin, "remember me?" and they both laughed and shook hands. Percy brought with him a girl with curly locks that fell to her just below her shoulders, proudly introducing her as his wife. So that once Hermione had shook hands with Bill, and Mr Weasley had given her a fatherly kiss on the cheek, only Ron remained. He was still sitting at the table, looking dejected. When he noticed Hermione was still standing alone by the door, waiting for him to greet her, he slowly got up and strode across the room. He firmly shook her hand, unwilling to meet her eye, and then, without a word, made his way back to the table.

When the group was seated back at the table, all grinning at one another, so pleased that another member of the old gang was to be joining them for Christmas, someone cleared their throat.

"Well," said a curt voice, carrying on the old conversation as though their had been no interruption, "I think that Harry is quite right to concentrate on his studies at this important time in his career, don't you agree Penelope?"

Penelope smiled indulgently at her husband, understanding that this was an unsuitable time to be discussing Harry's studies, especially when one the family's long lost friends had just turned up for dinner; but knowing that Percy meant well by it.

"Well, yes and no, Percy dear," she said, looking apologetically at Harry, "after all, I still think its a wonderful opportunity and, Harry - you love Quidditch!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione got there before him, "There's no way I'm going to let you say what you're about to say, Harry, you do love Quidditch. In fact, I agree with Luna - you are being too sensible."

"Wow," said a voice, and everyone turned to see Fred and George entering the kitchen. "Did you hear that, George?"

"Yes, Fred, I think I did," replied George, awestruck, "Was that Hermione Granger agreeing with Luna Lovegood?"

"Yes, George, I...I think it was..." said Fred, staring down the table at Hermione and Luna.

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, beginning an explanation of how Luna and her had never disliked each other that much and that they were just very different, whilst Luna looked on, suddenly serene. George said that he could have thought of a better word than 'disliked' to describe Hermione and Luna's previous relationship, whilst Fred went into a mock argument, insisting that they had always been the best of friends.

And so the evening began. Hours passed, seeming like minutes, and Hermione didn't have chance to stop and realise that she was having the best time she'd had in years. Sometimes she was enticed into conversation, which later led into discussion - the type of talk she liked best - and at other times she simply sat back in her seat, vaguely listening to the gentle chatter of her friends. During the course of the night, she learned how Harry's auror training was going, Luna talked enthusiastically about a new breed of Crumple Horned Snorkack which had been discovered in the midlands (Hermione forced herself to smile encouragingly) and Mr Weasley informed them of new ideas he had thought up for the ministry in the coming year, and also the difficulties that he was facing as Minister for magic. Percy talked for some time on how spectacular his and Penelope's wedding had been, and Charlie told them about his tall, tanned, super model Romanian girlfriend, whilst Mrs Weasley tutted disapprovingly. Bill had given up the curse breaking for Gringotts; he had now joined Charlie to work with the dragons in Romania. He too was hoping to find a Romanian girlfriend.

Hermione had received countless owls from her friends but, working at Beauxbatons for the past four years, where they had the Hogwarts style rule of 'no apparating or disapparating from within the school grounds', it had been difficult to see them in person. Hermione was just thinking how glad she was to be back at home, chatting with her favourite people, when Mrs Weasley turned from the sink, where she had been washing the pots with Penelope, and suggested that they all went to bed. Everyone nodded their consent, expressing how tired they were with various yawns and groans, but two hours, and several glasses of pumpkin juice with a little of something extra added later, at nearly three in the morning, they were still talking and laughing. It wasn't until four o'clock that everyone finally gave in to sleep. Stretching and yawning, they rose from their seats and filed out. Fred and George lingered for a moment, seeing Hermione and Ron were still sat at the table in silence, but George seemed to discover some kind of tact within himself, for he nudged Fred, and dragged him from the room.

Hermione faced Ron. She couldn't think of anything to say. She searched through her thoughts, looking for something, which might start a conversation, but her mind kept going round in circles, useless images flashing up one after the other, until Ron stood up to leave. Hermione must have envisaged this conversation at least a thousand times back in her room at Beauxbatons, and she was not going to let it end before it had begun.

She shot up from her seat, grabbing Ron's wrist, "stay," she said, meeting his eye for the first time that night. Ron quickly turned away, withdrawing his arm, although he didn't leave. He crossed over to the sink where he stared hard out of the window. Hermione followed, her adrenalin rising as she realised that she had most likely missed her chance. She placed her hand on his lower back, feeling how the material of his robe dipped and rose as her fingers followed his spine up to the neck. How could she have stayed away for so long? She traced and invisible line along the firm muscles, finally resting her hand on his shoulder. She looked up at the window, trying to keep the moisture within her eyes, and saw Ron watching her in the glass. His expression was stolid, unreadable.

"I'm sorry," she said to Ron's reflection.

Ron's eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her. What the hell did she have to be sorry for?

Hermione cleared her throat, "I'm sorry for staying away for so long, it was wrong of me to...hurt you like I did."

Ron snorted, turning to look her square in the eyes, "You really do think a lot of yourself, don't you!" he laughed, mocking her, "You, cause me pain? HA! That would be something to talk about! What makes you think I should give a damn about you?"

So, he thought, she thought she'd hurt him. He'd teach her a thing or two about pain.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but Ron cut her off, "It's like you think you're God's gift or something!" he said viciously, letting loose all the hate and anger which he had felt for Hermione in the past four years, making up for the pure injustice of it all, "You're not half as beautiful and clever as you think, you know! Nor as good a friend! What is it you do when the people who you're supposed to care about most need you? Who is the first person you think about? YOURSELF!" he roared.

Hermione, tears now trickling freely down her cheeks, began to speak. Again, Ron brushed her words aside, "and now look at you," he said, his voice descending into a malicious whisper as he smudged away the tears on her cheek, utter disgust on his face, "poor little Hermione, poor unjustly done to Hermione! What suffering she must have gone through, what an awful life she must lead! I mean, travelling the world with her Quidditch stars and random French men..."

"Ron!" cried Hermione, "you know that's not true!" This wasn't how she'd planned it at all.

"Oh, do I?" said Ron, sarcasm etched into every line of his face. The face that Hermione thought she knew. "And how am I supposed to know that poor Hermione hasn't been going with every Tom, Dick and Harry that's been coming her way, beautiful as she thinks she is!"

Hermione let out a wrenching sob and lashed a hand across Ron's face before flying from the room. Ron followed, completely unaware of himself, wrapped up in a rage that he hadn't known he had, until now. He stopped her in the hall by taking hold of her wrist. Her eyes shined in the darkness.

"How do I know..." he said, spitting out the words, "that Hermione hasn't got a bit bored with her snazzy lifestyle, and now she thinks that she can just come back and get a bit more use out of Ron. Safe. Soft. Reliable. GULLABLE RON! ISN'T THAT WHY YOU'VE COME BACK?"

Hermione just looked at him. Searched his eyes for some trace of the old Ron, but found none. "What the hell's happened to you?" she sobbed, before striding away down the hallway.

Ron returned to the kitchen, punching his way through the wooden doors. He ended up back in front of the kitchen window, where he pressed his hands hard onto the surface where Mrs Weasley would normally be preparing food. His breathing was uneven, and he could see that his face was burning red, even in his dark reflection within the window. As he looked at himself, Ron tightened the grip of his hands upon the wood, laying his full body weight upon his hands, tensing the muscles,

"Yes," he told his reflection, "that is what she thinks. She thinks that I'm just gonna welcome her back with open arms. Like nothing ever happened. Well, she didn't want anything to happen. She wanted to go off with her French friends. She chose them over me, well, she was bound to really - too good for us, too good for me. And now; now that I've got a bit of money on my side she thinks she can just waltz back in and take what's rightfully hers - but I don't owe her ANYTHING! NOTHING! She's the one who wanted NOTHING to happen, and that's what she'll get!"

With a cry of anguish, Ron leapt at the table behind him, ripping the cloth like a wild animal. He roared over the sound of it tearing, and bit his teeth into it as he proceeded to kick at the chairs, sending them flying. The first went into an old mahogany cabinet, dinting it when the two collided. The sound ringed out around the room. The second went to the sink, smashing into plates, bowls and saucers, sending the broken pieces cascading onto the floor. Ron sneered with satisfaction. The third chair, he took up in his arms, and proceeded to slam it onto the floor. Over, and over, and over, until one of the chairs legs detached it's self and his arms ached. Once all twelve chairs were strewn across the floor, he moved on to the salt and pepper pots, taking them in his fist, and feeling them crack before throwing them at the far wall.

All the while that he kicked, punched, bit, roared, screamed, raged, cursed and shouted, Ron could feel little of the anger dispersing until, finally, his energy was spent, and he could do not more than to collapse in a heap, exhausted. For some time he sat beneath the table, and he wept. He felt like a child, sitting there, looking out from under the table. He remembered sitting in exactly the same spot (although the table had been much less grand then) when he used to hide from Fred and George whenever it became apparent that he might be the next subject to one of their "experiments". Of course, he never expected to be sitting there at the age of 22, crying like a baby, but then again, he had never met Hermione back then. This thought seemed to be a deciding factor for Ron because, taking a deep breath, he rose from his old place of refuge, and went to do what he knew he had to do.

He found Hermione in the living room. She was curled up on the sofa like a kitten, and was fast asleep. Ron held back a gasp, plus the gigantic wave of guilt, which whooshed over him like the plague. He no longer felt any anger towards Hermione. It had all been washed away with his tears. The only thing he could see now when he looked at Hermione was just that; Hermione. The woman he loved.

He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. She had to be the most amazing woman that he had ever met. He gently extended a hand, gently removing the hair from her face, feeling the tears, still fresh upon her skin.

She murmured something, and opened her eyes, see Ron before her. "Oh, Ron," she said, trying to sit up, although Ron ushered her back down, telling her to rest, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it to be like this, I-"

"No," said Ron, the most relieved he'd ever felt in his life, and just as guilty, "You've got nothing to be sorry for. It's me who should be apologising for the way I acted. I'm sorry, Hermione."

Ron steadied his breath, waiting for Hermione to rage at him, to tell him how awfully he had behaved, how he had hurt her, but she didn't. She didn't even give him the cold shoulder. She smiled.

"It's okay," she said.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," said Ron, kissing her forehead, forgetting himself. Hermione noticed his blush, but she remained smiling lazily up at him, like a contented cat.

"Well," she said, "What are you waiting for?" And with that, Ron, blushing furiously, lowered himself. His warm hand gently travelled along her arm, resting on her neck as he kissed her slowly. Hermione slinked her arms around his neck, inhaling his smell whilst they drank each other in, feeling safe, and wanted and loved. They opened their eyes, smiling softly, amazed at how things could change so quickly. They kissed again, laughing tenderly this time, and they sat up.

Ron took hold of Hermione's hand, telling her that there was something he had to show her. He led her out into the garden, where they sat on and old bench with Ron's cloak wrapped around Hermione's shoulders. She gasped.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Ron, following Hermione's gaze, pleased that he had impressed her.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a magical glow upon everything in sight. The tree's glistened with the rain of the night before, and there was a cluster of swirling clouds around the sun, each a different colour. There were soft shades of oranges, mingled with Burgundies, finally slipping in to soft magentas. Below these were lighter colours such as butter yellows lined with deep oranges, which faded into lilacs and darker purples. It was beautiful. Hermione took a deep breath, soaking it up.

"I've been coming here almost every morning, you know," said Ron as he watched a group of excited gnomes being chased by a curious lamb in a neighbouring field, " I was wondering if the time would ever come when you'd be sat here with me, or if you'd stay in France forever."

Hermione squeezed him tight, "I'm here now," she said, "and I'm not going anywhere."

Ron smiled, and then looked hesitant. Hermione looked at him, searching his eyes. "Hermione," he said, "How long have you known you were ready to come back?"

"Oh, a while now."

"Then...why didn't you come?"

Hermione blushed, "Well," she said, "I do love teaching, and Beauxbatons was beautiful, I mean really beautiful, but..." she faltered. Ron gave her a squeeze, prompting her.

"I - I was kind of hoping that you'd come and get me."

Ron shuddered at his own stupidity, but then he grinned mischievously, "You always were proud," he said cheekily, " - and stubborn."

"As were you," said Hermione, and Ron smiled, looking into those periwinkle blue eyes. It was a smile that told Hermione that everything was going to all right; that the old quarrels were forgotten, and the future would be bright.