Honestly, Hermione

Chapter Eleven: That Long-Lost DTR

Arm in arm the two went out into the hall. Both felt the awkwardness between them, but neither were quite ready to address it. So they walked, silently, down the extremely long enchanted hallway. Hermione felt utterly foolish for having spoken so...honestly...to Ron in Ginny's room. Ron hadn't said anything, and she was feeling quite guilty. What right had she to say that she loved Ron? After all, she had been the one to send him away. What had possessed her to blame him?

Ron kept stealing looks at the young woman at his side, wondering when the moment would be right for him to say what she had said. When she'd said she loved him, his heart nearly burst. But now he wondered if she'd meant it. Hermione seemed rather loath to walk with him now. He could feel the tension in her as they walked. Yet, he noticed, she didn't pull away.

"'Mione -"

"Ron -"

They spoke at the same time. They'd stopped walking and found themselves in front of the nursery. Ron gestured for Hermione to speak, but she'd already lost her nerve. She turned to look at the babies behind the glass, and smiled at them. Jamie Potter was right up front, near the glass, and Hermione thought he was the most adorable baby in the nursery. He had Harry's black hair, and already Ginny's stubborn chin was apparent. He was looking at them - Hermione knew that newborns couldn't really focus their eyes like that, but really, Jamie's eyes followed her, and he appeared to smile and coo happily when she smiled at him.

"He's such a dear thing," she murmured.

Ron raised his eyebrows, not a little bit surprised at this sudden show of maternal affection from Hermione. She'd always been so sensible, so logical, so...bookish. To see her cooing over their godson sent Ron into his most treasured vision. He'd had it often, ever since he made up his mind to ask her to marry him: Hermione, holding a small redheaded boy by one hand as Ron grasped the other. Or the two of them, gazing adoringly at an infant girl with her mother's bushy hair. Or, his favorite, Hermione, surrounded by a Quidditch team of little Weasleys, smiling at him as they surveyed their little family. Seven years away from her hadn't dimmed the vision at all. In fact, Ron thought, it only made it stronger.

Not that he'd ever expected Hermione to want seven children. Not even before she refused him and he ran off did he delude himself into thinking she would eagerly become another prolific Mrs. Weasley. She'd been an only child, after all. Not likely she'd have wanted so many children.

Of course, he reminded himself, such speculation had been completely useless for the past seven years. She'd refused him, he'd left, and now...well, it seemed a bit late to indulge in such a fantasy now.

"Look, Ron," Hermione said, nudging him in the side. She pointed through the glass at Jamie. "He's smiling at us."

He couldn't help it; it was the most natural response in the world. Ron stepped closer to the glass, and to Hermione, and put his arm around her waist. After an infinitesimal pause, she relaxed in the casual embrace, and Ron released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

***

Hermione felt warm all over when Ron's arm snaked around her waist. She had the strongest sensation of being home at last. She looked up at him and noticed the slight smile on his face. It made her want to smile back, want to pretend this whole day hadn't happened - pretend the past seven years hadn't happened - and just stay like this forever. Pretend they were gazing at their baby, rather than their godson. Know that no matter what happened, he belonged with her, and she with him.

She sighed.

It just didn't work like that.

"Ron, we really need to talk."

He nodded slowly, and Hermione could tell that he was wishing they could stay there forever, too. She thought it was a good sign. Even though he hadn't said those three little words back to her, he hadn't run away screaming. He didn't seem to despise her, even though she had so recently cast every kind of insult his way. It made her nervous again, and she was tempted to run away from his arms.

She tensed, as the thought raced through her head. What had she just thought? She was tempted to run away? Hermione Granger? Run away? Had Ron been right? Had she really been the one to run away seven years ago? The blood drained from her face as her carefully constructed world came crashing around her shoulders. She gripped the narrow ledge below the nursery window, hanging onto it like it was the only thing she could be sure of as she questioned herself.

***

Ron saw Hermione go white, and he wondered if maybe she was sick. She looked about ready to faint. He released her waist and grasped her shoulders to hold her up. "Hermione? Are you okay?" She turned her face up to his, stamped with a bleakness he'd only seen once before. Then, though, her stubbornness had won out over any other feeling. Now it threatened to overwhelm her. He shook her slightly. "'Mione, come on. This isn't funny. Are you sick or something?"

Hermione slowly wagged her head back and forth. Regaining control of herself, she stood up straight. Outside of Ron's contact. On her own two feet. Like she'd done for the past seven years. Like she'd done all her life, to be honest. She needed to think. Thinking was what she did best, and she knew that if she just sat down and thought this all through logically, she'd figure out what went wrong.

"Do you want to go outside? Fresh air? Hermione?"

She realized Ron was talking to her. She needed to answer him. She'd think later. "Sorry, Ron. No, I'm fine." She arranged her face in a smile.

"Well, then. Shall we talk?"

***

Harry and Ginny were well pleased that their transparent ploy had worked, and didn't pretend to hide their glee when Ron and Hermione quickly took their leave. Ron held Hermione's hand as they apparated together back to her flat.

Once inside the tiny apartment, Ron's eyes shot to the bed where his note lay, unread, on Hermione's pillow. Muttering a charm she had perfected years ago, he sent the note up in easily-contained bluebell flames before she could read it.

Hermione gave him a sharp glance, but Ron seemed so nonchalant that she decided not to pursue it. After all, what difference did it make that Ron was turning things to ash in her apartment? He gave her that innocent look he'd tried so many times when they were children - a look she'd never believed - and shrugged. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know," she said, just as she'd said on numerous occasions when Ron and Harry were up to something at Hogwarts. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to the futon, which folded back into a couch at her word.

Ron grinned. "What, no tea?" At Hermione's death glare, he sat, and didn't say anything else.

For a moment, she stood in front of him, staring, waiting for Ron to start this most important conversation. Hermione noticed with some disturbance that Ron appeared to have no intention of starting this conversation. She threw up her hands in disgust and began pacing. How was she supposed to start this? So, Ron, how was your day? Right. Bloody brilliant, Hermione, she thought. Well, what else was there to say? Sorry, Ron, I'm an idiot. You were right, I was wrong, I love you, don't leave? That would never do. She'd already told him she still loved him. Didn't that make it his turn?

For his part, Ron had no idea how to say all he was thinking. It was easy to fall back into their old relationship, with easy smiles and teaasing remarks and all the rest, but they were seven years older now, and both of them had lived a good deal since leaving Hogwarts. How did one articulate all of that in one simple conversation? It was impossible, from what he could see.

Hermione finally sat down. At the desk where she kept her quills and parchment. Not beside Ron. That would have led to anything but talk...and they really needed to talk. With a tortured sigh, she realized if this conversation was going to happen, she was going to be the one to start it. "Ron?"

He reached for her hands, effectively closing the gap between them and eliminating all safety zones. "Yes?"

Hermione heard the note of eagerness in his rich voice. Yesterday that bit of eagerness after seven years apart had put her off. Today it came as a relief. It meant that there was hope. Still...what to say next? "So what did you do today?"

Had she really said that? Honestly, Hermione! she scolded herself. How pathetic can one witch be? Was she doomed to a life devoid of intelligent words if she remained with Ron? For it was becoming quickly apparent that his presence had a stultifying effect on her normally brilliant command of the English language.

***    

Had she really said that? Ron wondered. What did he do today? Well, nothing much. Lost his temper, almost severed the most important relation of his adult life - again - went to see Harry and Ginny, underwent the third degree several times, and felt his life come back together for a moment when Hermione said she loved him...then watched it crumble around his feet when she cast every sort of insult his way. All in all, a pretty dull day. What did she expect him to say? "Not too much. You?" Lord, this was going from bad to worse.

Before Hermione could answer with an equally stimulating turn of phrase, Ron saved their conversation from its inexorable downhill slide. "Look, 'Mione. Let's cut to the chase. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have pushed you to get married right after graduation. I shouldn't have ignored you for the past seven years. I -"

But he'd opened the floodgates, and Hermione's words came gushing out. "No, Ron, I am to blame. I was young, scared, and too full of myself and my high and lofty plans during our seventh year. I was just using you, and I ran away, too. And I haven't been very forgiving or tolerant since, either. I never expected you to disappear from my life for seven years, but it was my fault you left. I wasn't very honest then, and I haven't been terribly kind today."

She looked up from their entwined hands and met his bright blue eyes. "I'm acting like a git, I know, but Ron, I can't wait another minute. I - I meant it when I said I still loved you. Even if I've never said it before, it's true. I love you. Do you..." her voice became small and fearful "...do you feel - I mean, well, how do -"

"I love you, Hermione Granger. I always have."

In an instant the space between them disappeared as Ron swept Hermione into an embrace that had waited seven years.