Photographs

She didn't have time to brush the soot off her robes before being pulled into a bone crushing hug.

"It's good to see you again, Mrs Weasley," choked Hermione as Mrs Weasley released her.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Molly, Hermione dear? Oh how you've grown!" she continued, looking Hermione up and down. "It seems like only yesterday you were- and now look at you; practically a woman!" Hermione blushed and dragged her trunk, along with Crookshanks' basket, into the kitchen as Harry emerged from the fireplace behind her. Mrs Weasley rushed to welcome him too.

Ron and Hermione had stayed with Harry at Privet Drive for the first few weeks of the summer, much to the displeasure of the Dursleys, though with two legal wizards in their house they weren't about to complain. They slept in Harry's room, after enlarging it slightly and adding two extra beds. They spent most of their time in the room studying Dark Arts books only leaving to use the toilet or to quickly grab something to eat. They had returned to the Burrow just days after Harry's seventeenth birthday to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding which was planned for the next day.

The Burrow was packed: Fleur's family had come over from France for the wedding and were staying with the Weasleys: Fleur was in Percy's old room; her sister, Gabrielle, was in Ginny's room along with Hermione; Bill was in his old room; Fleur's parents were in Fred and Georges' old room and Harry and Ron were, as always, back in Ron's room at the top of the house.

Hermione spent the afternoon in Ginny's room unpacking and chatting to the girls. Gabrielle, who spoke little English, was mainly ignored as Ginny told all about her summer so far and her complicated and unchanging feelings towards Harry. Hermione listened patiently and offered the little advice she could think of, all the while wondering if Harry was going through the same thing.

Evening came and brought with it a fantastic meal prepared by Mrs Weasley and Fleur's mother. They sat outside as there was not enough space inside and enjoyed the company and the accompanying conversations until late into the night.

Heading up to bed, the three friends said their goodnights as Hermione left the boys on the second landing and went into Ginny's room alone; Ginny had helped her mother clean up, though Hermione knew she was just trying to avoid Harry. Gabrielle entered the room shortly after and changed for bed silently. Hermione was already lying in her bed comfortably before Ginny came in. She changed quietly and slipped into bed softly wishing both girls goodnight as she did.

Three hours later Hermione was still awake. She had tried everything to sleep; counting sheep; reciting rune patterns in her head; she'd even tried to clear her mind of all thoughts but it was impossible, there was just too much for her to think about. Including a certain red haired seventeen-year-old only a few floors above her. Giving up, she got out of bed and quietly, so not to wake up the others, crept to the door, slowly opening it and cursing every squeaky floorboard on her way down to the living room.

Lighting the fire, she took the time to look at the pictures on top of the fireplace, something she had never found the time to do before, though she couldn't think why.

A seven-year-old Ron waved at her, from within a worn wooden frame, with a six year old Ginny standing beside him in the garden. A teenage Bill and a slightly younger Charlie zoomed past in the next frame throwing a quaffle to each other as the twins watched from below. The picture of the whole family, from the Daily Prophet, waved up at her from another battered old frame and Hermione smiled; she loved that picture. Picking up the last frame she moved to the couch and sat down. She could feel her eyes beginning to well up as she look down at a photograph that must have been taken years ago. Mr and Mrs Weasley, who looked around their mid to late twenties, stood side by side, his arm around her shoulders, while the other arm held a four year old Charlie. In between the couple was a six year old Bill holding a toy broomstick which was avidly trying to escape his grasp and in Mrs Weasley's arms was a baby Percy, wrapped up in a blanket. Hermione hadn't even realised that she was actually crying until the first tear drop hit the glass, landing on Percy who then began silently crying in his mother's arms.

"Hermione?" She gasped and quickly wiped her eyes as she heard Ron's voice calling from the foot of the stairs. She turned to face him with what she hoped was a neutral expression on her face.

"Oh, eh, hey." She knew she sounded pathetic but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What are you doing up?" he asked in a would-be-casual voice. He wasn't wearing a shirt, making Hermione's face heat up slightly.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied with a slight sniff, which she cursed herself for.

"Yeah, same." He stood at the foot of the stairs awkwardly just looking at her. She remembered that she was only wearing a nightdress making her face heat up even more. She looked away from him wishing he would just go back upstairs to bed. But he seemed to have other ideas.

"Mind if I, em, join you?" he asked, already moving toward the couch on which she was sitting. She just looked back down at the photo and tried to slyly wipe the teardrops off the glass. She felt the couch lower slightly as he sat beside her but she didn't look up; she didn't want him to know that she was crying.

"Are you- are you ok, Hermione?" That was all it took; she found herself clinging onto him as she cried onto his shoulder. It was just like Dumbledore's funeral; she cried onto his shoulder and he stroked her hair and, no matter what she tried to tell herself, she knew it felt right. He whispered into her hair meaningless words of reassurance and comfort that meant nothing to him but everything to her.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" When she didn't answer him he just pulled her up so that he was looking into her face and wiped the tears from her chin. "You can tell me you know," he said softly.

Hermione just pulled away from him and looked down at the frame now sitting on the couch between them. "It's nothing-"

"Don't tell me it's nothing, Hermione," he said harshly.

She turned to look at him at his rough tone of voice. "I didn't ask you to care," she said back in a similar tone.

"So what am I supposed to do? Just walk away and let you cry in piece?" he asked sarcastically.

"Preferably," she muttered darkly, shifting further away from him.

"Well sorry for caring," he said darkly, standing up suddenly and knocking the photo to the floor. They both watched it fall to the floor and watched the glass shatter. Hermione let out a strangled sob and covered her mouth with her hands as tears began to fall again. Ron looked concerned.

"It's ok, I'll fix it," he said hastily as if it would stop her crying. Pulling out his wand from his waste band he rushed over to her but Hermione continued to cry. Picking up the now fixed photo frame, Ron knelt in front of her.

"It's ok, now. Look, it's fixed," he said, holding it up as proof, but Hermione carried on crying, still covering her mouth with her hands. He put the frame down and placed a hand on her knee leaning forward, trying to catch her eye.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he said quietly. Hermione slipped off the couch and sat in his arms and cried even harder as he pulled her close to him.

"I'm just being stupid," she whispered into his neck.

"You're never 'just being stupid'."

"Well I am now. I'm crying over a bloody photo."

"It's alright, it's all fixed."

"I'm not crying because it was broken," she said looking up at him and wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"Well then, what are you crying about?" he asked confused. She sighed.

"It doesn't-"

"It does matter."

"I just- I dunno- I just want that," she finished faintly motioning towards the photo sitting on the floor next to them

"You can have it. It's only an old photo. Nobody'd even miss it-"

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" he asked, frustrated.

"I want that. I want to be that. I want to be the one there, standing with my husband and our kids; happy; a family; a happily-ever-after," she cried, picking up the photo and staring down at it.

"Hermione, you've tons of time to have all that; you're only seventeen!" he laughed.

"Oh come on, Ron," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "There's an extremely small chance that I'll make it out of this war alive."

"What are you talking about?" asked Ron outraged.

"I'm Harry Potter's mud-blood best friend. There are only two chances of me surviving: slim and none," she said gently with only a small hint of resentment. She stood and walked to the fire place, where the fire was slowly burning, and replaced the photograph beside the others.

"You're forgetting three things," said Ron quietly. He was still sitting on the floor, in front of the couch looking up at her.

"And what are they?" she asked, turning to face him.

"First of all," he said, counting one on his fingers. "You're the smartest witch I've ever known and I know you can protect yourself in any situation."

"Like I protected myself in the Department of Mysteries?" she asked sarcastically. He stood up, ignoring her exclamation, and moved towards her.

"Secondly," he said, counting two on his fingers. "As you said yourself that Harry Potter is your best friend. Do you think he's going to let anything happen to you?"

"Harry's not always going to be there-"

"Thirdly," he said, counting three on his fingers and moving even closer to her. "Me. Do you think I'm going to let anyone touch you? Hermione, you -and Harry- mean everything to me and if I have to-"

"Promise me something Ron," she interrupted, looking up at him. "Promise- promise me that you won't do anything stupid." she said looking into his eyes.

"I don't under-" he said, his brow furrowing.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid and- and noble or heroic. I mean- I mean if someone throws a curse at me, promise me that you won't- you won't jump in front of it," she said tears, again, brimming in her eyes. Ron looked away and ran a hand through his hair.

. "I can't- I don't make promises I can't keep, Hermione."

"Please, please just promise me!"

He looked down at her, suddenly angry. "I can't and I won't." She walked to him and placed a hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder, speaking to them instead of his face as her tears began to fall.

"Promise me, promise that you'll live. Tell me that you'll survive this war," she said desperately, still not looking at him.

He sighed, "I can't." She cried harder.

"Tell me that we'll win," she cried, making her hands into fists.

"We'll win, Hermione," he whispered.

"Promise me that I can have my family. Promise me my happily ever after. Promise me that I'll grow old with my husband. Promise that I'll have my picture. Promise me," she sobbed while he pulled her to him once more.

"I promise, Hermione. I promise," he said in a low voice. She looked up at him.

"I thought you didn't make promises you couldn't keep," she said bleakly.

"I don't." He ran a hand through her hair. "I promise you that I'll do anything I can to make sure you survive, to make sure you get your picture whether I'm in it or not. I know I'm not perfect, Hermione, but-but I'd do anything for you." He sighed. "I just want you to be happy and- and safe. I couldn't bare it if- if anything happened to you. Or Harry," he added. "And if that means doing something stupid or noble or heroic, then that's what I'll do." Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and shook her head.

"Don't say that, please don't say that. We need you - I need you Ron- don't leave me," she said looking in his eyes, seeing a intensity that she'd never seen there before.

"I'm not going anywhere, not yet."

"Don't go anywhere ever, please. Promise me you'll stay with me." He lowered his head and his lips met hers in a kiss neither had been expecting but both had been dreaming of. And it was perfect; perfect for them. It was passionate, as she always knew it would be; their fights had shown her as much. It was powerful, as he always knew it would be; their fights had shown him as much. And it was loving, which both had longed for but which neither had wanted to hope for; for fear of rejection. He pulled away, cupping her face with one of his hands, with a lopsided grin on his face. She smiled too but bit her lip nervously. Ron was about to ask why when she spoke.

"I never did kiss Viktor."

"Never?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled, "Never." He kissed her again, this time for longer. She broke away with a small groan from Ron.

"We have to go to bed," she said dispassionately, remembering that they were supposed to be attending a wedding later that afternoon.

"I'd rather not," he said, kissing her gently.

"We have to. What if someone discovers we're both out of bed and starts to worry." Ron just rolled his eyes.

"Ok, ok we'll go to bed- separate beds, I mean- you know what I mean," he said as his face turned redder and redder. She just smiled, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked past him, starting up the stairs. They climbed the stairs in silence, Hermione leading the way, until they reached the second landing; Ginny's room.

"Em, goodnight Ron," said Hermione shyly as she put her hand on the doorknob. Ron leaned in towards her, she closed her eyes, but instead of kissing her he just leant in close and whispered in her ear, before turning away and going upstairs to his room.

"I promise, Hermione, I promise."