Oh so romantic
I HAD to share this with you here. This is amazing. Ok maybe my hormones are totally out of contrrol and I'm starting seeing stars and heats everywhere but still...So sincere!
So thanks to Tinkerbelle for those two pearls.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in first year that she would end up
marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have laughed hysterically.
That would only be to cover up the tears. Because Ron Weasley hated her. He took any excuse to pick on her and make her feel miserable.
When she received her Hogwarts letter (and Professor McGonagall had shown up to explain it), she'd been confused at first. She was a girl of logic (even at eleven) and logically, this world shouldn't exist. But she thought long and hard about the strange events that had plagued her throughout her childhood, usually involving freak accidents happening to schoolyard bullies, and she came to the conclusion that this world was real.
Then came the excitement. She could do things no else she knew could! She absorbed the information she read from her new books like a sponge, desperate to learn as much as she could.
She learned that she was a Muggle-born, and with new nugget of knowledge came the anxiety. There were those that thought people of her lineage were inferior. They thought she had no right to learn magic.
Well…she would just have to prove them wrong, wouldn't she? So she memorized her textbooks, attempted all the spells she thought she could pull off.
The ride to Hogwarts did not go as well as she'd planned. She'd helped a boy named Neville locate his toad, and in the middle of her task she'd found herself in a compartment with two boys her age. One of them was the infamous Harry Potter, a skinny, quiet boy who was quite unlike anything she'd imagined.
And the other…well, she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He attempted a spell that failed dismally (she wasn't even sure it was a real spell, to be honest), and she'd merely pointed that out. He'd gotten snappy with her, which irritated her. She'd just been trying to help. She'd left and hoped she'd never have to see him again.
But Fate can be a cruel thing. He was in all her classes, and took even the slightest excuse to mock her. She was just trying to prove herself. She wanted everyone to know that she belonged here, without a doubt. And he was taunting her for it.
One day, she snapped. She'd tried to help him in Charms, and he'd started teasing her mercilessly in front of his friends. She dashed to the bathroom and spent the rest of the days sobbing in a stall (missing most of her classes, which should be an indicator of how upset she'd been). And just when she'd calmed down enough to leave, a troll was standing there, staring down at her with its beady little eyes. So she'd done the only thing she could think of.
She'd screamed at the top of her lungs and ducked beneath a sink.
Two boys had burst in the bathroom, and one of them was the last person she'd wanted to see. They'd distracted it for a bit, but suddenly Harry was around its neck and looked like he might fall off at any moment.
Ron had lifted his wand and almost immediately, Hermione knew what he was going to do. At risk of being snapped at again, she'd locked eyes with him and showed him the motion for Levitating.
To her immense relief, it had worked. The troll was unconscious and they were safe. And even better, Ron had apologized to her. He didn't tease her so maliciously after that (though the occasional good-natured jab was thrown in), and they were friends.
Funny how a life-threatening incident can do that.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in second year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have been confused. Because really, how would that ever happen? They were friends. That's it. Ron still teased her sometimes and occasionally got on her nerves (okay, so maybe more than occasionally). How could that evolve to marriage?
But she would be the first to admit that they were on better terms than last year. She liked to believe that they were good friends (Harry and Ron were her only true friends, really). She even knew that Ron had visited her in the hospital wing before Madame Pomfrey told her. She couldn't explain it, but she knew that Harry and Ron were there. She assumed it must have been because she was witch. She could feel their presence. She couldn't see them, as her gaze was fixed straight at the ceiling and was a little fuzzy from staring at the same crack fordays at a time, but she knew they were there.
Of course, this didn't satisfy her, just feeling. She wanted hard evidence. She'd combed book after book, but none had mentioned any Petrification victims being able to sense their surroundings, so just feeling would have to work.
She felt so much better when they were there. She didn't feel as lonely when they sat next to her, talking. Her hearing was also a little fuzzy, so everything sounded like a garbled mess. But their voices got all excited and she swore she felt someone touching the hand clutched around the page they so desperately needed.
But she also swore that she could feel someone touching her other hand. It was a softer, more comforting brush and that one little contact relaxed her (well, as much as one could relax when Petrified). It wasn't Harry, because she knew he was the one to discover the paper ball in her hand. So it must have been Ron who'd grabbed her hand.
If a Petrification victim could have blushed, she would have.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in third year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have smacked them.
Because Ronald was such an irritating prat; why would she marry him? And who in their right mind thought it was funny to tell her that?
He was being a complete prick about his rat. He always complained about it, but as soon as it was in peril, he treated it like the greatest love of his life.
Hermione didn't feel sorry for Scabbers, honestly. She'd suspected Crookshanks was not like other cats, so she'd looked it up. She'd found out that Crookshanks was half-Kneazle. Kneazles could detect untrustworthy people (or animals, apparently), so Hermione wasn't all that broken up when Scabbers went missing. She'd always had a funny feeling about that rat.
But Ron was not going to place the blame fully on her cat. Crookshanks had been through so much; it was unfair of Ron to relentlessly persecute him. And whenever she tried to defend her pet, Ron went berserk on her, blowing up at anything she said. Even when she was talking to Harry, he'd twist her words around back to their row.
Those weeks were some of the loneliest of her life.
Then Scabbers turned out to be an Animagus; the man who'd sold out James and Lily Potter. She and Ron were on good terms again, and everything seemed alright.
When Ron received Pig from Sirius Black, he'd held the minute owl out for Crookshanks to inspect. To her, this was a better apology than any spoken words.
Although a spoken apology would have been nice.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in fourth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have blushed.
To tell you the truth, the idea didn't repulse her as much as in years previous. But everything was in such utter chaos, how could that ever have a chance of happening?
It had all started with that blasted Yule Ball. She'd always scoffed at adolescent drama; at least, until she was stuck in the middle of the most bizarre love triangle ever concocted.
She'd never really paid Viktor Krum much attention until he asked her to the ball. She was flattered he'd noticed her, and she hadn't anticipated another invitation, so she accepted.
Then stupid Ron Weasley had to ask her a week later. And while it was a rather tactless invite, it was an invite nonetheless. She'd felt her heart swoop unpleasantly before her temper had flared and she'd snapped at him. She couldn't believe he thought she was lying, and that made her madder. Serve him right, realizing that she wouldn't always be there.
The Yule Ball had been something like a dream. She couldn't really believe all this was happening to her, the bookish, bushy-haired girl (though she'd spent hours taming her frizzy locks). She'd had such a good time, and Viktor was the perfect gentleman, it was almost too good to be true.
She should've known it wouldn't last.
She knew Ron had been stewing in a corner all night, and she felt a vengeful happiness when she saw the sour expression on his face. But then he'd had to open his stupid mouth and ruin her entire night. Every word stabbed her through the heart. She'd cried herself to sleep that night.
If he'd only admitted that yes, he really did want to go to the ball with her, everything might have been sorted out. But he had to retain his mulish disposition.
Sometimes she wasn't sure whether to kiss him or smack him.
Sometimes she wanted to do both.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in fifth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have stared out the window wistfully.
Because she had to admit, the thought of kissing Ron sent shivers up and down her spine. Not that she'd admit it to anyone. He was still tall and gangling, but that was part of who he was. Imagining a short, stocky Ron was like imagining…well, he'd just look like Charlie or the twins. But he just wouldn't be Ron. And the red hair? It was who he was.
If she really wanted to be totally honest with herself, she came up with the idea of the DA to impress Ron. Of course, that was only a fractional part of it. She really couldn't stand that Umbridge woman.
But Ron always teased her about following the rules, all the time. She wanted to prove him wrong, show him she could rebel. She wanted him to see a different side of her.
Plus, she really couldn't stand that Umbridge woman.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in sixth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have burst into tears.
Because it wasn't funny to joke about that. He was with her and he really didn't seem to care about how she felt about the whole thing. And after she'd helped him! She got him the position on the team that got him her. It didn't seem fair…
But life wasn't fair. He'd taught her that.
When she saw her tangled up in a chair with him, she'd snapped. He had the ability to do that to her.
She'd fled, taking refuge in an empty classroom. Harry had come to comfort her, and his cluelessness cheered her slightly. But then he'd shown up with her in tow, and she really couldn't help herself. She'd set the birds on him.
Then came the day when she learned he'd been poisoned. She'd fallen apart, unable to speak or do anything except wait to see him. She'd sat faithfully by his side, which is more than what she'd done. When he'd uttered her name, she'd felt a surge of vicious pleasure at the look on her face. Ron was hers. He always had, and he always would be.
Those two little words he'd spoken ended his relationship. She'd hoped and waited, but nothing had happened.
Ron Weasley did nothing.
But she would always remember the Amortentia: Freshly mown grass, new parchment, and Ron Weasley's hair.
She would bet top dollar that she couldn't smell that. And Hermione Granger was not a betting girl.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in seventh year (or what should have been their seventh year) that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have smiled.
Because it was obvious, really. Who could have thought otherwise?
Okay, so maybe it wasn't so obvious throughout the year. She was convinced that something would happen at the Burrow, but they just ended up dancing around each other, picking their words oh-so-carefully.
He always understood her better than anyone. He could say the exact words needed to calm her down and reassure her. They'd actually fallen asleep holding hands that first night at Grimmauld Place. She'd been so worried and broken up over her parents, and he'd reached over and clasped her small, gentle hand in his larger, calloused one.
She'd never gotten such a good night's sleep.
But…it all fell apart. They had to wear that blasted locket, and while it did make her more irritable, it affected Ron the most. She'd catch him watching her and Harry, a furious jealousy etched on his features. She could hardly recognize him when he wore it.
One day he'd had enough. He'd yelled and accused, reducing her to tears. He'd told her to choose. And as much as she wanted to leave with him, she couldn't leave Harry to collect Horcruxes on his own.
So she stayed. And wondered if she'd done the right thing every single waking moment.
As the weeks progressed, she grew bitter. He must not care anything for her, if he left her in a split second. She conveniently forgot his jealous words and hurt expression.
As if he had never left, he returned. And the prat expected a hearty welcome, as if he'd never forced her to choose.
As if he'd never left at all.
Hermione Granger was not that kind of girl. She snapped. She wanted to hit him. Hard.
And hit him she did. She struck every inch of him she could reach. And then the prat had the nerve to suck up to her! He agreed with every single thing she said, trying desperately to get back in her good graces. She hated it.
Though it really was sort of flattering.
Malfoy Manor. The only thing that let her look back on that memory was Ron's shouts, pleading with their captors. Let him take her place, torture him. Anything. Just don't hurt her.
His voice steeled her resolve, let her lie under torture.
At Shell Cottage, he was what healed her. He'd never left her side; he'd stayed with her constantly. His soothing tone and comforting touch calmed her panic, ceased her nightmares. He was what got her through Gringotts, got her through being that horrible woman. He was there. He always would be.
But it was the Battle of Hogwarts that would push them together. Harry had just run off when she'd turned to Ron, asking how they were going to destroy it, even if they did find it?
His eyes had lit up. He'd led her to the Chamber of Secrets, explaining about the basilisk. He'd gotten them in, found the skeleton. She'd pulled a fang from the remains of the giant snake, and turned in surprise when he'd told her to destroy it.
It was her turn.
She'd steeled herself and taken a deep breath, preparing herself. But as soon as the fang started to descend, the cup had exploded. A cloud of slimy smoke twisted and writhed over the Horcrux. A grotesque caricature of Ron had taken form in the cloud, sneering down at her. He'd laughed and teased her, reminding her of the insults he'd thrown first year. How could a boy like that ever love her?
Anti-Ron asked her how she thought he would care for her. He didn't love her, he only put up with her because she was useful. She did his work for him. That's the only reason he kept her around.
Liquid rage boiled through her veins, and she slammed the fang into the cup, finding a visceral pleasure in its last scream.
She turned to find Ron staring at her, opening his mouth to say something.
But she pushed past him, not wanting to hear anything he had to say.
They'd finally found Harry and had explained about the fangs. She couldn't help admire what Ro had done, as it had been very clever.
But it was the house-elves that had done it in the end.
Ron, with a completely serious expression, had suggested evacuating the elves, to prevent any more sacrifice and bloodshed.
That's when she lost it.
She dropped her fangs and threw her arms around his neck, doing the one thing she'd wanted to do since fourth year.
She kissed him.
And he kissed back.
They'd stayed intertwined for a fraction of the time she'd wanted. He seemed reluctant to let her go, and she bit back a grin.
Because nothing could go wrong now.
Years later, Hermione would insist that they were meant to be. Anyone could see that from the day they first met.
But then, hindsight is always more accurate.
But she still liked to think that there was something there from the beginning.
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If someone had told Ron Weasley in first year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have punched them in the face.
For surely anyone wishing him well would not have said such a thing. Ron disliked Hermione the moment he laid eyes on her. She had that arrogant, "I'm-better-than-you" air about her, reminding Ron of all the expectations set upon him.
You see, Ron was thoroughly undistinguishable from his family.
Bill was Head Boy, and by far the coolest sibling. He was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, a dangerous and mysterious profession. He sported a daring ponytail and earring. He was also able to successfully fend Mum
off regarding said ponytail and earring.
Charlie came a close second to Bill, both in age and in success. Charlie was Quidditch captain in his day, and a very good one at that. He now worked with dragons in Romania, a dangerous and impressive profession.
Ron was not very worried about living up to Percy, as he seemed a bit too uptight. But he was already a prefect and seemed to be a likely
candidate for Head Boy. He was also sure to receive a respectable position in the Ministry once he graduated, something Ron was sure he
could never do.
What Fred and George lacked in grades, they more than made up for in street smarts. Their penchant for trouble was legendary. They were admired by legions of students and everyone was sure they had bright futures ahead of them.
Ron was next, and he had no particular flair for magic, even though he had yet to receive formal training. He wasn't edgy, like Bill; risky, like Charlie; uptight, like Percy; trouble-making, like the twins; or female, like Ginny (for he knew his mother had so desperately wanted a girl when Ron was born, despite how deep she hid it). In short, he needed to find some way to distinguish himself from the rest of his family, and at this rate, he really wasn't sure what he'd have to do to be different.
This Hermione Granger girl, standing in the compartment door looking down her nose at him like that, reminded him of all that he was expected to be. And he didn't like it.
Here she was, standing here, criticizing him on his attempt of a spell. He burned with embarrassment when he realized that the spell George had given him was false. He glanced over at his new friend, hoping against hope that he wouldn't think badly of Ron. Thankfully, he didn't seem to care one way or another.
His dislike for this bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl grew as she continued to speak with that bossy, know-it-all tone. She even had the nerve to point out the dirt on his nose that his mother had been so relentless in trying to remove. She treated him like a child, the one thing he was trying to escape from.
And she continued forcing her knowledge upon others. She'd shoot her hand up in the air and wiggle frantically back and forth, as if trying to prove to everyone that she knew more than them. He finally snapped when she tried to pretentiously correct his spell pronunciation. He hadn't even been saying it that badly.
He tore her apart viciously in front of his friends, but when she pushed past him, sobbing, he felt a soft stab of remorse.
But he still was not a fan of Harry's plan to find her with a troll on the loose. He was never as scared as when he stared straight at that troll,
trying to think of a plan to save all their skins. His mind focused on the first spell he could think of; the one they'd learned earlier that
day. She caught on immediately, and in a more gentle tone, helped him through the motion of the spell. To his astonishment, it had actually
worked. The troll was out of commission, and they had escaped unscathed.
Later that evening, he found her to apologize. He was sorry for what he'd said, and he was grateful for her help. They became friends of sorts.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in second year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have laughed.
Yes, they were friends now, but he was twelve. In his mind, girls still had cooties (he always a bit slow to mature).
She was bloody helpful with homework and her quick thinking could always get them out of a fix, but she was still a buck-toothed, bushy-haired girl.
Not someone he wanted to kiss.
But then, she was
Petrified. Suddenly, Ron became hyper-aware of her presence in his life. No one was there to help with assignments, no one was shooting her hand up in class to answer a question, and no one was there to help them figure out what the bloody hell was attacking everyone.
He missed her. A lot.
And so when the opportunity arose for him to help her, even if it meant following a trail of spiders, he took it. He wanted her back.
As he sat by her bed in the hospital wing, his eyes fixed on her pale, unmoving face, he felt something constrict in his chest. He'd taken her for granted, had always assumed she'd be there to help.
But then she wasn't. And he didn't like it.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in third year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have scoffed.
How could they, he'd ask, when they weren't even in speaking terms? They'd had a huge row about Scabbers and Crookshanks, and now each was refusing to talk to the other.
At first, he really had been angry with her. He'd told her multiple times to control her cat, to keep him from Scabbers, but she hadn't listened. And now his faithful pet was missing.
But as the days passed, he found himself missing her. It was not unlike the time in second year when she'd been Petrified. But now she was ignoring him and not speaking to him on purpose.
That hurt.
He was so relieved when they'd started talking again. Her sudden hug had baffled him. But he liked the feeling of her in his arms, something that had surprised him.
And watching her smack Malfoy…Ron began to realized what a fiery spirit she had. He'd always wondered what made her a Gryffindor, and seeing her hit someone-he'd begun grasp just how strong and brave she really was.
Then Scabbers had turned out to be Peter Pettigrew, the man who'd betrayed Harry's parents. All of a sudden he felt a surge of gratitude toward Crookshanks, along with a vain wish that the cat had caught the stinking rat. He wanted to apologize to her, but he didn't.
Because he didn't like to be wrong.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in fourth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have been skeptical.
Sure, he liked her. She was his friend. But then Krum had to go and ask her to the Yule Ball.
He wasn't really sure why he reacted the way he did. He thought for sure he would end up going with Hermione. Her rejection stung. Yeah, he'd been a little tactless in his invitation, but she didn't have to lie to him.
But she wasn't lying. She'd shown up on his idol's arm. And she'd been happy. He'd watched her smile and dance and laugh. She was having a good time. Without him.
And then he'd had to lash out at her. He felt a savage pleasure in making her hurt the way he was, but a small part of him died with each word. He was pushing her away, and closer to Krum.
As often as he'd reflected and pondered, he wasn't sure why he hated the idea of Hermione with him. It shouldn't bother him.
But it did.
But now she was angry with him and there was no way they would ever be going back to the way they were.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in fifth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have remained silent.
Because really, how do you respond to a statement like that?
Okay, so maybe, maybe, he liked her. A little. She'd matured throughout the years and was curvier than she had been previously. Her hair was not bushy so much as wavy now, and her smaller teeth flattered her quite a bit. She'd also started to exercise slight control over her burning need to answer every single question.
In short, Hermione Granger was attractive.
But he was only her best friend. He wasn't someone she would like. Tall, gangling, flaming red hair…who would like him?
But he retained a small hope every time she looked at him, or smiled at him, hell, even when she told him off a part of him desperately wished that she would one day look at him in a different light.
But marriage? How could that be, when he could hardly even admit to himself what he was feeling?
If someone had told Ron Weasley in sixth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have smiled.
Everything would turn out all right, then. He wouldn't be with Lavender anymore.
The day after he'd snogged her, he'd begun to regret it. She clung to him like the Giant Squid, never letting him out of her sight.
He knew his relationship was killing Hermione. He could see it every day when she looked at him. There was well-disguised hurt and anger in her brown eyes, buried deep enough that he wasn't really sure he'd actually seen it.
But he couldn't shake Lavender. Even though he didn't want to be with her, he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't like to hurt people.
But then Hermione started to rub McLaggen in his face. He felt like an ice-cold dagger had been plunged between his shoulder blades. Maybe this was how she felt whenever he was with Lavender. He couldn't blame her for being angry.
When he'd been poisoned, he'd dreamed about her. What life might be like if he could hold her, kiss her…
Things with Lavender fell apart after his release from the hospital wing. He wasn't too broken up about that, to be honest.
But things with Hermione didn't go anywhere. Every time he thought about telling her how he felt, his palms began to sweat and his ears turned red.
No, he decided, better to wait and see how things turn out.
But he still couldn't forget the smell of the Amortentia: Ink, parchment, and new books.
Who else could it have been?
If someone had told Ron Weasley in seventh year (or what would have been their seventh year) that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have said he'd known it all along.
There were moments of doubt, though, in that forest. Wearing that locket had been torture. Riddle had kept whispering in his ear, pointing out every gesture and moment between Harry and Hermione, and blowing it way out of proportion.
He'd left in a jealous rage, and as soon as he'd left, he'd wanted to go back.
But he couldn't. He was stuck between places, not being able to go home or rejoin his friends.
Then he'd found his way back, but she'd been furious at him. She hit him and yelled and screamed at him. How could he redeem himself in her eyes? It seemed impossible.
But he did. He wasn't sure how, but suddenly they were okay. And then she was taken from him.
Hearing her scream in Malfoy Manor ripped him apart. He was frantic, would've taken her place in a second if he could have.
But then they escaped, and everything seemed okay again. They grew closer at Shell Cottage as he comforted her. He thought something might have happened between them, but they had to plan Gringotts.
Then Hogwarts came. Harry had dashed off somewhere, and he'd started thinking. How would they destroy this next Horcrux? They'd ventured down to the Chamber of Secrets and retrieved basilisk fangs. Hermione had destroyed the cup, which hadn't been easy.
It fought back.
Ron was eerily reminded of the locket when a grotesque version of himself rose from the cup. It sneered at her and ridiculed her, asking how she ever thought he would love her. He wanted to kick the cup aside and gather her into her arms, protesting that he did, he did. But before he'd gotten the chance she'd stabbed it. She gathered up fangs and pushed past him, out of the Chamber.
He wanted so badly to tell her how he felt, but she wasn't in the mood for talking. Then they'd met Harry and shown him the mangled remains of the Horcrux.
What happened next would always be burned into his memory. He'd brought up the house-elves, had suggested relocating them for their safety (if you were friends with Hermione long enough, her cause became your too).
Before he could register what was really happening, Hermione was kissing him.
She was kissing him. He'd immediately dropped whatever it was he'd holding (he could no longer remember who he was or what he was doing) and kissed her back, holding her close and pouring years of repressed emotion into it.
He loved her. And he wanted her to know that.
Years later, Ron would always say that he knew they were meant to be. No matter what anyone else seemed to think.
So thanks to Tinkerbelle for those two pearls.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in first year that she would end up
marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have laughed hysterically.
That would only be to cover up the tears. Because Ron Weasley hated her. He took any excuse to pick on her and make her feel miserable.
When she received her Hogwarts letter (and Professor McGonagall had shown up to explain it), she'd been confused at first. She was a girl of logic (even at eleven) and logically, this world shouldn't exist. But she thought long and hard about the strange events that had plagued her throughout her childhood, usually involving freak accidents happening to schoolyard bullies, and she came to the conclusion that this world was real.
Then came the excitement. She could do things no else she knew could! She absorbed the information she read from her new books like a sponge, desperate to learn as much as she could.
She learned that she was a Muggle-born, and with new nugget of knowledge came the anxiety. There were those that thought people of her lineage were inferior. They thought she had no right to learn magic.
Well…she would just have to prove them wrong, wouldn't she? So she memorized her textbooks, attempted all the spells she thought she could pull off.
The ride to Hogwarts did not go as well as she'd planned. She'd helped a boy named Neville locate his toad, and in the middle of her task she'd found herself in a compartment with two boys her age. One of them was the infamous Harry Potter, a skinny, quiet boy who was quite unlike anything she'd imagined.
And the other…well, she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He attempted a spell that failed dismally (she wasn't even sure it was a real spell, to be honest), and she'd merely pointed that out. He'd gotten snappy with her, which irritated her. She'd just been trying to help. She'd left and hoped she'd never have to see him again.
But Fate can be a cruel thing. He was in all her classes, and took even the slightest excuse to mock her. She was just trying to prove herself. She wanted everyone to know that she belonged here, without a doubt. And he was taunting her for it.
One day, she snapped. She'd tried to help him in Charms, and he'd started teasing her mercilessly in front of his friends. She dashed to the bathroom and spent the rest of the days sobbing in a stall (missing most of her classes, which should be an indicator of how upset she'd been). And just when she'd calmed down enough to leave, a troll was standing there, staring down at her with its beady little eyes. So she'd done the only thing she could think of.
She'd screamed at the top of her lungs and ducked beneath a sink.
Two boys had burst in the bathroom, and one of them was the last person she'd wanted to see. They'd distracted it for a bit, but suddenly Harry was around its neck and looked like he might fall off at any moment.
Ron had lifted his wand and almost immediately, Hermione knew what he was going to do. At risk of being snapped at again, she'd locked eyes with him and showed him the motion for Levitating.
To her immense relief, it had worked. The troll was unconscious and they were safe. And even better, Ron had apologized to her. He didn't tease her so maliciously after that (though the occasional good-natured jab was thrown in), and they were friends.
Funny how a life-threatening incident can do that.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in second year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have been confused. Because really, how would that ever happen? They were friends. That's it. Ron still teased her sometimes and occasionally got on her nerves (okay, so maybe more than occasionally). How could that evolve to marriage?
But she would be the first to admit that they were on better terms than last year. She liked to believe that they were good friends (Harry and Ron were her only true friends, really). She even knew that Ron had visited her in the hospital wing before Madame Pomfrey told her. She couldn't explain it, but she knew that Harry and Ron were there. She assumed it must have been because she was witch. She could feel their presence. She couldn't see them, as her gaze was fixed straight at the ceiling and was a little fuzzy from staring at the same crack fordays at a time, but she knew they were there.
Of course, this didn't satisfy her, just feeling. She wanted hard evidence. She'd combed book after book, but none had mentioned any Petrification victims being able to sense their surroundings, so just feeling would have to work.
She felt so much better when they were there. She didn't feel as lonely when they sat next to her, talking. Her hearing was also a little fuzzy, so everything sounded like a garbled mess. But their voices got all excited and she swore she felt someone touching the hand clutched around the page they so desperately needed.
But she also swore that she could feel someone touching her other hand. It was a softer, more comforting brush and that one little contact relaxed her (well, as much as one could relax when Petrified). It wasn't Harry, because she knew he was the one to discover the paper ball in her hand. So it must have been Ron who'd grabbed her hand.
If a Petrification victim could have blushed, she would have.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in third year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have smacked them.
Because Ronald was such an irritating prat; why would she marry him? And who in their right mind thought it was funny to tell her that?
He was being a complete prick about his rat. He always complained about it, but as soon as it was in peril, he treated it like the greatest love of his life.
Hermione didn't feel sorry for Scabbers, honestly. She'd suspected Crookshanks was not like other cats, so she'd looked it up. She'd found out that Crookshanks was half-Kneazle. Kneazles could detect untrustworthy people (or animals, apparently), so Hermione wasn't all that broken up when Scabbers went missing. She'd always had a funny feeling about that rat.
But Ron was not going to place the blame fully on her cat. Crookshanks had been through so much; it was unfair of Ron to relentlessly persecute him. And whenever she tried to defend her pet, Ron went berserk on her, blowing up at anything she said. Even when she was talking to Harry, he'd twist her words around back to their row.
Those weeks were some of the loneliest of her life.
Then Scabbers turned out to be an Animagus; the man who'd sold out James and Lily Potter. She and Ron were on good terms again, and everything seemed alright.
When Ron received Pig from Sirius Black, he'd held the minute owl out for Crookshanks to inspect. To her, this was a better apology than any spoken words.
Although a spoken apology would have been nice.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in fourth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have blushed.
To tell you the truth, the idea didn't repulse her as much as in years previous. But everything was in such utter chaos, how could that ever have a chance of happening?
It had all started with that blasted Yule Ball. She'd always scoffed at adolescent drama; at least, until she was stuck in the middle of the most bizarre love triangle ever concocted.
She'd never really paid Viktor Krum much attention until he asked her to the ball. She was flattered he'd noticed her, and she hadn't anticipated another invitation, so she accepted.
Then stupid Ron Weasley had to ask her a week later. And while it was a rather tactless invite, it was an invite nonetheless. She'd felt her heart swoop unpleasantly before her temper had flared and she'd snapped at him. She couldn't believe he thought she was lying, and that made her madder. Serve him right, realizing that she wouldn't always be there.
The Yule Ball had been something like a dream. She couldn't really believe all this was happening to her, the bookish, bushy-haired girl (though she'd spent hours taming her frizzy locks). She'd had such a good time, and Viktor was the perfect gentleman, it was almost too good to be true.
She should've known it wouldn't last.
She knew Ron had been stewing in a corner all night, and she felt a vengeful happiness when she saw the sour expression on his face. But then he'd had to open his stupid mouth and ruin her entire night. Every word stabbed her through the heart. She'd cried herself to sleep that night.
If he'd only admitted that yes, he really did want to go to the ball with her, everything might have been sorted out. But he had to retain his mulish disposition.
Sometimes she wasn't sure whether to kiss him or smack him.
Sometimes she wanted to do both.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in fifth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have stared out the window wistfully.
Because she had to admit, the thought of kissing Ron sent shivers up and down her spine. Not that she'd admit it to anyone. He was still tall and gangling, but that was part of who he was. Imagining a short, stocky Ron was like imagining…well, he'd just look like Charlie or the twins. But he just wouldn't be Ron. And the red hair? It was who he was.
If she really wanted to be totally honest with herself, she came up with the idea of the DA to impress Ron. Of course, that was only a fractional part of it. She really couldn't stand that Umbridge woman.
But Ron always teased her about following the rules, all the time. She wanted to prove him wrong, show him she could rebel. She wanted him to see a different side of her.
Plus, she really couldn't stand that Umbridge woman.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in sixth year that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have burst into tears.
Because it wasn't funny to joke about that. He was with her and he really didn't seem to care about how she felt about the whole thing. And after she'd helped him! She got him the position on the team that got him her. It didn't seem fair…
But life wasn't fair. He'd taught her that.
When she saw her tangled up in a chair with him, she'd snapped. He had the ability to do that to her.
She'd fled, taking refuge in an empty classroom. Harry had come to comfort her, and his cluelessness cheered her slightly. But then he'd shown up with her in tow, and she really couldn't help herself. She'd set the birds on him.
Then came the day when she learned he'd been poisoned. She'd fallen apart, unable to speak or do anything except wait to see him. She'd sat faithfully by his side, which is more than what she'd done. When he'd uttered her name, she'd felt a surge of vicious pleasure at the look on her face. Ron was hers. He always had, and he always would be.
Those two little words he'd spoken ended his relationship. She'd hoped and waited, but nothing had happened.
Ron Weasley did nothing.
But she would always remember the Amortentia: Freshly mown grass, new parchment, and Ron Weasley's hair.
She would bet top dollar that she couldn't smell that. And Hermione Granger was not a betting girl.
If someone had told Hermione Granger in seventh year (or what should have been their seventh year) that she would end up marrying Ronald Weasley, she would have smiled.
Because it was obvious, really. Who could have thought otherwise?
Okay, so maybe it wasn't so obvious throughout the year. She was convinced that something would happen at the Burrow, but they just ended up dancing around each other, picking their words oh-so-carefully.
He always understood her better than anyone. He could say the exact words needed to calm her down and reassure her. They'd actually fallen asleep holding hands that first night at Grimmauld Place. She'd been so worried and broken up over her parents, and he'd reached over and clasped her small, gentle hand in his larger, calloused one.
She'd never gotten such a good night's sleep.
But…it all fell apart. They had to wear that blasted locket, and while it did make her more irritable, it affected Ron the most. She'd catch him watching her and Harry, a furious jealousy etched on his features. She could hardly recognize him when he wore it.
One day he'd had enough. He'd yelled and accused, reducing her to tears. He'd told her to choose. And as much as she wanted to leave with him, she couldn't leave Harry to collect Horcruxes on his own.
So she stayed. And wondered if she'd done the right thing every single waking moment.
As the weeks progressed, she grew bitter. He must not care anything for her, if he left her in a split second. She conveniently forgot his jealous words and hurt expression.
As if he had never left, he returned. And the prat expected a hearty welcome, as if he'd never forced her to choose.
As if he'd never left at all.
Hermione Granger was not that kind of girl. She snapped. She wanted to hit him. Hard.
And hit him she did. She struck every inch of him she could reach. And then the prat had the nerve to suck up to her! He agreed with every single thing she said, trying desperately to get back in her good graces. She hated it.
Though it really was sort of flattering.
Malfoy Manor. The only thing that let her look back on that memory was Ron's shouts, pleading with their captors. Let him take her place, torture him. Anything. Just don't hurt her.
His voice steeled her resolve, let her lie under torture.
At Shell Cottage, he was what healed her. He'd never left her side; he'd stayed with her constantly. His soothing tone and comforting touch calmed her panic, ceased her nightmares. He was what got her through Gringotts, got her through being that horrible woman. He was there. He always would be.
But it was the Battle of Hogwarts that would push them together. Harry had just run off when she'd turned to Ron, asking how they were going to destroy it, even if they did find it?
His eyes had lit up. He'd led her to the Chamber of Secrets, explaining about the basilisk. He'd gotten them in, found the skeleton. She'd pulled a fang from the remains of the giant snake, and turned in surprise when he'd told her to destroy it.
It was her turn.
She'd steeled herself and taken a deep breath, preparing herself. But as soon as the fang started to descend, the cup had exploded. A cloud of slimy smoke twisted and writhed over the Horcrux. A grotesque caricature of Ron had taken form in the cloud, sneering down at her. He'd laughed and teased her, reminding her of the insults he'd thrown first year. How could a boy like that ever love her?
Anti-Ron asked her how she thought he would care for her. He didn't love her, he only put up with her because she was useful. She did his work for him. That's the only reason he kept her around.
Liquid rage boiled through her veins, and she slammed the fang into the cup, finding a visceral pleasure in its last scream.
She turned to find Ron staring at her, opening his mouth to say something.
But she pushed past him, not wanting to hear anything he had to say.
They'd finally found Harry and had explained about the fangs. She couldn't help admire what Ro had done, as it had been very clever.
But it was the house-elves that had done it in the end.
Ron, with a completely serious expression, had suggested evacuating the elves, to prevent any more sacrifice and bloodshed.
That's when she lost it.
She dropped her fangs and threw her arms around his neck, doing the one thing she'd wanted to do since fourth year.
She kissed him.
And he kissed back.
They'd stayed intertwined for a fraction of the time she'd wanted. He seemed reluctant to let her go, and she bit back a grin.
Because nothing could go wrong now.
Years later, Hermione would insist that they were meant to be. Anyone could see that from the day they first met.
But then, hindsight is always more accurate.
But she still liked to think that there was something there from the beginning.
--------
If someone had told Ron Weasley in first year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have punched them in the face.
For surely anyone wishing him well would not have said such a thing. Ron disliked Hermione the moment he laid eyes on her. She had that arrogant, "I'm-better-than-you" air about her, reminding Ron of all the expectations set upon him.
You see, Ron was thoroughly undistinguishable from his family.
Bill was Head Boy, and by far the coolest sibling. He was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, a dangerous and mysterious profession. He sported a daring ponytail and earring. He was also able to successfully fend Mum
off regarding said ponytail and earring.
Charlie came a close second to Bill, both in age and in success. Charlie was Quidditch captain in his day, and a very good one at that. He now worked with dragons in Romania, a dangerous and impressive profession.
Ron was not very worried about living up to Percy, as he seemed a bit too uptight. But he was already a prefect and seemed to be a likely
candidate for Head Boy. He was also sure to receive a respectable position in the Ministry once he graduated, something Ron was sure he
could never do.
What Fred and George lacked in grades, they more than made up for in street smarts. Their penchant for trouble was legendary. They were admired by legions of students and everyone was sure they had bright futures ahead of them.
Ron was next, and he had no particular flair for magic, even though he had yet to receive formal training. He wasn't edgy, like Bill; risky, like Charlie; uptight, like Percy; trouble-making, like the twins; or female, like Ginny (for he knew his mother had so desperately wanted a girl when Ron was born, despite how deep she hid it). In short, he needed to find some way to distinguish himself from the rest of his family, and at this rate, he really wasn't sure what he'd have to do to be different.
This Hermione Granger girl, standing in the compartment door looking down her nose at him like that, reminded him of all that he was expected to be. And he didn't like it.
Here she was, standing here, criticizing him on his attempt of a spell. He burned with embarrassment when he realized that the spell George had given him was false. He glanced over at his new friend, hoping against hope that he wouldn't think badly of Ron. Thankfully, he didn't seem to care one way or another.
His dislike for this bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl grew as she continued to speak with that bossy, know-it-all tone. She even had the nerve to point out the dirt on his nose that his mother had been so relentless in trying to remove. She treated him like a child, the one thing he was trying to escape from.
And she continued forcing her knowledge upon others. She'd shoot her hand up in the air and wiggle frantically back and forth, as if trying to prove to everyone that she knew more than them. He finally snapped when she tried to pretentiously correct his spell pronunciation. He hadn't even been saying it that badly.
He tore her apart viciously in front of his friends, but when she pushed past him, sobbing, he felt a soft stab of remorse.
But he still was not a fan of Harry's plan to find her with a troll on the loose. He was never as scared as when he stared straight at that troll,
trying to think of a plan to save all their skins. His mind focused on the first spell he could think of; the one they'd learned earlier that
day. She caught on immediately, and in a more gentle tone, helped him through the motion of the spell. To his astonishment, it had actually
worked. The troll was out of commission, and they had escaped unscathed.
Later that evening, he found her to apologize. He was sorry for what he'd said, and he was grateful for her help. They became friends of sorts.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in second year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have laughed.
Yes, they were friends now, but he was twelve. In his mind, girls still had cooties (he always a bit slow to mature).
She was bloody helpful with homework and her quick thinking could always get them out of a fix, but she was still a buck-toothed, bushy-haired girl.
Not someone he wanted to kiss.
But then, she was
Petrified. Suddenly, Ron became hyper-aware of her presence in his life. No one was there to help with assignments, no one was shooting her hand up in class to answer a question, and no one was there to help them figure out what the bloody hell was attacking everyone.
He missed her. A lot.
And so when the opportunity arose for him to help her, even if it meant following a trail of spiders, he took it. He wanted her back.
As he sat by her bed in the hospital wing, his eyes fixed on her pale, unmoving face, he felt something constrict in his chest. He'd taken her for granted, had always assumed she'd be there to help.
But then she wasn't. And he didn't like it.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in third year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have scoffed.
How could they, he'd ask, when they weren't even in speaking terms? They'd had a huge row about Scabbers and Crookshanks, and now each was refusing to talk to the other.
At first, he really had been angry with her. He'd told her multiple times to control her cat, to keep him from Scabbers, but she hadn't listened. And now his faithful pet was missing.
But as the days passed, he found himself missing her. It was not unlike the time in second year when she'd been Petrified. But now she was ignoring him and not speaking to him on purpose.
That hurt.
He was so relieved when they'd started talking again. Her sudden hug had baffled him. But he liked the feeling of her in his arms, something that had surprised him.
And watching her smack Malfoy…Ron began to realized what a fiery spirit she had. He'd always wondered what made her a Gryffindor, and seeing her hit someone-he'd begun grasp just how strong and brave she really was.
Then Scabbers had turned out to be Peter Pettigrew, the man who'd betrayed Harry's parents. All of a sudden he felt a surge of gratitude toward Crookshanks, along with a vain wish that the cat had caught the stinking rat. He wanted to apologize to her, but he didn't.
Because he didn't like to be wrong.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in fourth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have been skeptical.
Sure, he liked her. She was his friend. But then Krum had to go and ask her to the Yule Ball.
He wasn't really sure why he reacted the way he did. He thought for sure he would end up going with Hermione. Her rejection stung. Yeah, he'd been a little tactless in his invitation, but she didn't have to lie to him.
But she wasn't lying. She'd shown up on his idol's arm. And she'd been happy. He'd watched her smile and dance and laugh. She was having a good time. Without him.
And then he'd had to lash out at her. He felt a savage pleasure in making her hurt the way he was, but a small part of him died with each word. He was pushing her away, and closer to Krum.
As often as he'd reflected and pondered, he wasn't sure why he hated the idea of Hermione with him. It shouldn't bother him.
But it did.
But now she was angry with him and there was no way they would ever be going back to the way they were.
If someone had told Ron Weasley in fifth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have remained silent.
Because really, how do you respond to a statement like that?
Okay, so maybe, maybe, he liked her. A little. She'd matured throughout the years and was curvier than she had been previously. Her hair was not bushy so much as wavy now, and her smaller teeth flattered her quite a bit. She'd also started to exercise slight control over her burning need to answer every single question.
In short, Hermione Granger was attractive.
But he was only her best friend. He wasn't someone she would like. Tall, gangling, flaming red hair…who would like him?
But he retained a small hope every time she looked at him, or smiled at him, hell, even when she told him off a part of him desperately wished that she would one day look at him in a different light.
But marriage? How could that be, when he could hardly even admit to himself what he was feeling?
If someone had told Ron Weasley in sixth year that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have smiled.
Everything would turn out all right, then. He wouldn't be with Lavender anymore.
The day after he'd snogged her, he'd begun to regret it. She clung to him like the Giant Squid, never letting him out of her sight.
He knew his relationship was killing Hermione. He could see it every day when she looked at him. There was well-disguised hurt and anger in her brown eyes, buried deep enough that he wasn't really sure he'd actually seen it.
But he couldn't shake Lavender. Even though he didn't want to be with her, he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't like to hurt people.
But then Hermione started to rub McLaggen in his face. He felt like an ice-cold dagger had been plunged between his shoulder blades. Maybe this was how she felt whenever he was with Lavender. He couldn't blame her for being angry.
When he'd been poisoned, he'd dreamed about her. What life might be like if he could hold her, kiss her…
Things with Lavender fell apart after his release from the hospital wing. He wasn't too broken up about that, to be honest.
But things with Hermione didn't go anywhere. Every time he thought about telling her how he felt, his palms began to sweat and his ears turned red.
No, he decided, better to wait and see how things turn out.
But he still couldn't forget the smell of the Amortentia: Ink, parchment, and new books.
Who else could it have been?
If someone had told Ron Weasley in seventh year (or what would have been their seventh year) that he would end up marrying Hermione Granger, he would have said he'd known it all along.
There were moments of doubt, though, in that forest. Wearing that locket had been torture. Riddle had kept whispering in his ear, pointing out every gesture and moment between Harry and Hermione, and blowing it way out of proportion.
He'd left in a jealous rage, and as soon as he'd left, he'd wanted to go back.
But he couldn't. He was stuck between places, not being able to go home or rejoin his friends.
Then he'd found his way back, but she'd been furious at him. She hit him and yelled and screamed at him. How could he redeem himself in her eyes? It seemed impossible.
But he did. He wasn't sure how, but suddenly they were okay. And then she was taken from him.
Hearing her scream in Malfoy Manor ripped him apart. He was frantic, would've taken her place in a second if he could have.
But then they escaped, and everything seemed okay again. They grew closer at Shell Cottage as he comforted her. He thought something might have happened between them, but they had to plan Gringotts.
Then Hogwarts came. Harry had dashed off somewhere, and he'd started thinking. How would they destroy this next Horcrux? They'd ventured down to the Chamber of Secrets and retrieved basilisk fangs. Hermione had destroyed the cup, which hadn't been easy.
It fought back.
Ron was eerily reminded of the locket when a grotesque version of himself rose from the cup. It sneered at her and ridiculed her, asking how she ever thought he would love her. He wanted to kick the cup aside and gather her into her arms, protesting that he did, he did. But before he'd gotten the chance she'd stabbed it. She gathered up fangs and pushed past him, out of the Chamber.
He wanted so badly to tell her how he felt, but she wasn't in the mood for talking. Then they'd met Harry and shown him the mangled remains of the Horcrux.
What happened next would always be burned into his memory. He'd brought up the house-elves, had suggested relocating them for their safety (if you were friends with Hermione long enough, her cause became your too).
Before he could register what was really happening, Hermione was kissing him.
She was kissing him. He'd immediately dropped whatever it was he'd holding (he could no longer remember who he was or what he was doing) and kissed her back, holding her close and pouring years of repressed emotion into it.
He loved her. And he wanted her to know that.
Years later, Ron would always say that he knew they were meant to be. No matter what anyone else seemed to think.