Footprints

Notes: Okay. This got a bit angsty. This is the stuff the Ron never mentioned. Why? Because I decided he was going to put things out of his mind.

Disclaimer: Not mine. None of ‘em. ::sigh:: oh well.

Footprints 2: Just Thinking

    “Ron, slow down. Your food isn’t going to run away from you.”

    He glanced up at her and smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “You never know, do you?”

    Harry couldn’t help himself. He reached a hand out and began to slide Ron’s full plate away from him, but the lanky red-head smacked the pale hand with his fork.

    “OW!”

    Hermione couldn’t help it. She had to snicker. “And people say Ron and I act like an old married couple,” she marveled, shaking her head, feeling her brown, frizzy hair shake as well.

    “You do,” Harry replied, rubbing his scorned extremity. “Bloody hell, Ron! Don’t hit so hard, I was only joking!”

    “Never joke about food!”

    Hermione looked from her best friend to her boyfriend. They continued to banter back and forth, but she lost track of their conversation. She wished she could say that they’d always been so happy. That nothing ever went wrong for them. That Harry’s emerald, be-speckled eyes always glittered, and Ron always had a good-natured smirk on his freckled face.

    She couldn’t. The memories of war, and bloodshed were still fresh in her mind, even though nearly a year had passed.

    She knew Harry and Ron never spoke of the war. They tried not to think about it, because it was in the past. It was done with, and there was nothing they could do to take back the events that had taken place. ‘Why dwell on what we can’t change?’ Ron had asked her. Maybe it was a girl thing to dwell on what ifs.

    Her eyes wandered to Harry. No one could bring back his parents. No one could replace his horrible childhood. No one could tell him he didn’t need the Muggle medication he took every morning. No one could take the death he had caused off of his hands. She remembered that day so clearly. The day they’d found him hunched over in the shadows, hands and arms dripping with blood. Blood smattered all over his face and glasses. She shivered inwardly at the memory of the look on Voldemort’s lifeless face. Shocked.

    No Death Eater had been prepared for The Boy Who Lived to come after their Dark Lord with a meat cleaver.

    He’d become darker as he’d gotten older. He took things more seriously. He still joked around, but when he did, it was usually in small doses and on the bitter side. He’d faced death, and he’d been the death of his worst enemy, and it had affected him immensely. She knew that while he never mentioned his memories of the war, he thought about them. She could see it in his forever-haunted green eyes.

    Lazily, she let her eyes look upon Ron. No one could bring back his brother. No one could stop the crutiatis curse or Lucius Malfoy’s pleased smirk from haunting his dreams. She couldn’t count the times he’d shown up at the door of her dorm room late at night, shaking and looking terrified. She hated seeing him like that.

    During the day Ron was a very different person. So much more confident than his earlier school years. He had to be. His efforts had been essential for winning the war. Not only did his confidence win him standing in the Order of the Phoenix, but it earned him the title of co-captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Harry. While Harry had destroyed the Dark Lord from the inside, Ron had worked hard in strategizing the Order and doing his part to win the war from the outside.

    Hermione wished she could take all the pain away for them. She knew that half of the time their smiles were fake. Then again, so were hers.

    She wished she could rid her mind of her own nightmares. Of her roommate’s death. Of her father’s murder. Of the war in general.

    She didn’t see that she’d changed all that much in the course of her years at school. She still spent obscene amounts of time in the library. She still hated to hear her friends and boyfriend swear. She still read everything in sight. Ron and Harry had both assured her that she really had changed a lot. They said she’d become even smarter. That she had more of a sense of humor, and that even though she was Head Girl, she had loosened up a little.

    She was proud of making Head Girl. Even though her friends teased her a little for it, she had been ecstatic when she’d been informed of her standing.

    She noticed that Ron was giving her an odd look. “Mione-Love? Alright?”

    She didn’t know why she was doing this. Normally, she wouldn’t. Especially not in front of people at breakfast. She got to her feet, grabbed Ron by the collar of his thin, orange t-shirt, and dragged him across the table to press her lips against his.

    Harry rolled his eyes. “Some of us are trying to eat.”

    “What’s wrong, Potter? Feeling left out? Need a little love?”

    “Sod off.”

    “Oh, come on, Potter, I only want to love you.”

    “Oh, bloody hell.”

    The blond teen launched himself at Harry. “Let me love you, orphan boy!”

    At the sound of Draco Malfoy’s loud voice, Hermione let go of Ron and sat down. She cleared her throat and straightened out her night shirt. “Good morning, Draco.”

    “Granger,” Draco nodded, still clinging to Harry. “I see you’re getting some good snogging in before even finishing breakfast.”

    Since the war had ended Draco Malfoy had become much more light-hearted. She had no idea why. He’d lost so much during the war. Maybe he was just trying to forget it all. No one could blame him for that. The anniversary of his mother’s death was coming up in the next week, and he’d refused to visit Azkaban to see his father, and with good reason. Hermione would have lost touch with her father, as well, if he’d killed her mother. But, then again, her father was dead.

    She blushed, and looked down at her plate of food, pushing dim thoughts from her mind.

    Ron blinked, completely dazed and dumb-founded. Glazed, blue eyes staring at Hermione in shock. “What’s my name again?”

    “Now look what you’ve done!” Draco cried. “You’ve scrambled his brain!”

    “Malfoy, will you let go of me?!” Harry cried. “I don’t even know if you’ve had your rabies shots recently!”

    “If he hasn’t, then I’m in trouble.”

    Ginny Weasley sat down next to Hermione, her red hair in pigtails, wearing a pair of green sweatpants with a brown sweater that had a large, golden ’C’ on the front. She stared at her brother, who was still staring at Hermione. “What did you do to him?”

    “She shoved her tongue down his throat before he finished eating,” Harry answered for his best friends. “I think it put him into shock.”

    “Ron!” Ginny cried. “Chuddley Cannons!”

    His blue eyes seemed to become more alert, and he jumped slightly. “What? What? Where?”

    Draco blinked. “That’s just… sad.” He stared at Ron. “You’re a sad, sad, boy.”

    Ginny rolled her eyes, and patted the seat next to her. “Draco, leave Harry alone and come maul me. I don’t mind.”

    The bleached Slytherin’s eyes lit up and he let go of the Boy Who Lived immediately. He got up on the table and hopped over to sit next to her, draping an arm around her. She snuggled into his chest and reached for the toast.

    Ron twitched.

    Hermione glared. “I saw that.”

    Her boyfriend shrugged and poked at his food.

    It was painfully obvious the effect that Ron’s sister’s relationship with his former enemy had. Both Ron and Harry had beaten the living nightlights out of Draco the moment they’d found out. Ginny hadn’t spoken to either of the Gryffindor boys for a week straight until both apologized to she and Draco. Grudgingly so, but they had apologized, and it was enough.

    Hermione sighed, remembering the endless years of verbal torment Draco Malfoy had inflicted on her. It had been so strange when he’d wound up on their side during the war. It had taken a long time for her to really accept him and trust that he was on their side. It had taken his protection of Ginny to convince her he wasn’t going to turn, and he’d protected her with his life.

    Ron was convinced Draco wasn’t going to turn, but Hermione doubted he’d ever be convinced that Draco would never hurt Ginny.

    And Hermione, herself had to agree, at least a little.

    “Damn. I’m the last one again!”

    A tall blond girl plopped herself into Harry’s lap, and kissed him lightly. She wore and green tank-top with red and gold boxers that were obviously not hers.

    Harry lit up like a Christmas tree and wrapped his arms around the girl.

    “Hi, Blaise,” Ginny said. “Sleep well?”

    She shrugged. “For awhile. But…” she glanced back at Harry. “That didn’t last.”

    Harry grinned.

    Ron and Draco threw down their forks simultaneously.

    “Completely ruined my appetite,” Draco agreed. “Bloody hell!”

    “So much for breakfast,” Ron muttered. “Thanks a lot, you two.”

    Harry snorted and glared pointedly at Ron. “And your little snog-fest wasn’t disgusting?”

    Ron’s ears went as red as his hair and Hermione looked down.

    Blaise glanced sideways at Hermione. “Public snogfest? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?”

    Hermione couldn’t remember when it was exactly that Harry had starting dating Blaise Zabini, though she thought she should. They were such an unlikely pair. They’d never even looked at each other before the war, but apparently, they’d just clicked. It was strange having Blaise around so much.

    Sometimes she wished for the days when Draco and Blaise and Ginny weren‘t around. Running about, getting into loads of trouble. Well… it was more like Ron and Harry getting into trouble and Hermione trying to stop them. Eventually she learned there really was no stopping them, and to just go along with their plans, and stress caution, which was usually scoffed at or brushed aside.

    But as she looked at the people seated around her, she realized that this was really how it was supposed to be. It would always be the three of them on some level, but to not let other people in was ridiculous and in some ways selfish.

    Blaise reached over and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hermione? Where are you?”

    “She had that look on her face just before she licked the back of Ron’s throat,” Harry commented, disgusted. “Don’t do that again, it was gross.”

    Hermione shook out her head, realizing they were trying to talk to her. “What? Sorry.”

    “You alright?” Ron asked, putting his fork down.

    “Yes, fine,” she replied. “Just thinking, is all.” She glanced out the frosty windows of the great hall at the falling snow. Ron loved the snow. She never understood him. It was too cold for her. She always told him he was probably cold-blooded, and probably should have been put into Slytherin because of it. He’d always tell her that if he had to walk down the stairs to see Malfoy and Pansy every morning, he’d turn his own wand on himself.

    She supposed there was one major reason she didn’t like snow so much. Last’s year’s first snow had come in smack dab in the middle of a major battle during the war. So much had happened in that battle. So many dead. She remembered her Father’s eyes remaining open as he fell from the Avada Kedavra, and gave a little shiver.

    “You sure?” Ron asked her. “Mione, you don’t look so good, and you’ve been acting strangely all morning.”

    “Don’t baby me, Ron. I’m fine.” She sighed. “In fact, I’m not very hungry anymore. I’m going to go study.”

    Harry shook his head. “Come on, Mione. It’s early, yet. You don’t have to study now, do you?”

    She bit her bottom lip and stared at her plate. “I just…” ‘Can’t let go of things like you can…’ she thought. She didn’t say it.

    At that moment, a piece of bacon was flung at her, hitting her shoulder. She looked up to see Blaise readying another piece. She tossed it at Hermione. “Stop zoning out. It’s annoying and you’re scaring people.”

    Hermione sighed. “Sorry… Maybe I’m still tired.”

    Ron gave her his trademarked Weasley grin. “Wanna go back to bed?”

    She sighed and smirked at him. “Maybe later.”

    And then it dawned on her.

    Later.

    There would be a later. Where a year ago, no one was quite sure that there would be a tomorrow. Everything was up in the air. Now,

they had time to do anything. They had won. They had lived. The people sitting around her may have been scarred, and a little tainted, but safe, and as content as they could be.

    And, yes, she missed her father, and her friends, but she was there to sit at the table and eat, and talk to her friends and stare out the window at the falling snow.

    She smiled feeling a tiny bit of weight lifted off of her shoulders. “So… what are everyone’s plans for Christmas?”