A/N: Many thanks to songbook99 for betaing, and to Ravensgryff for helping sort some things out with this!

January 1st 2002

Hermione sat by the window, watching, waiting for the owl that never came. She felt as though it should be raining, to suit her mood. But the one time she thought she could rely on the British weather, it seemed to turn against her too. The sun could be seen at moments streaming out from behind the clouds. What a great start to a new year, she thought sadly, slumping down even further into her seat. She half thought about going into work but knew it would all be locked. No one would be working today. They'd all be happy, celebrating the new year with their friends and family, Hermione thought, though she wished hadn't as immediately after it had crossed her mind she could feel the familiar tears well up inside of her. She blinked rapidly, trying to force them to go away. Or I could do something productive instead of sitting here wallowing, something that might make the tears go away for good. A new year, a new start and all that.

Not for the first time, she picked up her quill and parchment with the same intent as she had had so many times before, but for the first time, she wrote more than two words.

Dear Ron,

I don't know if you'll even read this. I don't know where you live now, what you're doing or who you're with. You might even be married for all I know.

I miss you.

My owl doesn't know you, or where to go, but I think she'll get this to wherever you are. Remember when Harry wanted to send letters to Sirius, he didn't have an address, but Hedwig managed to get it to him?

Sorry. You probably don't want to talk about that.

I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for fighting. I'm sorry for leaving. Although it wasn't all my fault. Though I suppose I overreacted. Maybe it wasn't really that much of a big deal. We could have worked through it. You really shouldn't have - I'm sorry, I'm not very good at apologising. I'm sorry for letting it go on so long. I'm sorry for not writing before now. I'm sorry.

I don't know if you'll read this, as soon as you see the writing on the envelope. I don't even know if I'll send this. But I think I will.

Love From,
Hermione

---

March 1st 2002

Hermione watched as once more her tawny owl spread her wings to deliver another letter to Ron. She didn't know why she keep writing, only that it kept alive the hope that one day she might see Pig flying haphazardly towards her window, likely as not straight into it, a letter with her name scrawled clumsily upon it attached to his leg. Plus writing to Ron with her weekly news had gotten to become something of a habit.

Dear Ron,

Happy birthday. I hope you like the chocolates; I didn't really know what to get you. I don't know if you got my last letters, as I haven't heard from you, but they haven't been sent back. Persephone, my owl, always seems to know where to go, so she's either found you or some other Ron Weasley's being harassed every other week!

I heard the Cannons moved up a place in the league yesterday, so I suppose you’ll be celebrating doubly today! Do be careful though - you don’t want to fall off like Charlsky did in that bad weather after he scored the third goal - however amusing it might look!

Don't go thinking that I actually watched the match or anything - it's just that's all anyone's been talking about in the office today - Merlin forbid anyone but me should do any work!

This past week has been such a hassle - it feels like my boss hasn't noticed I only have two hands by the amount of work he's trying to offload onto me! Not that I'm complaining - I do love my job, and wouldn't trade it for the world - or any number of Chocolate Frog cards!

How's your mum? I don't get to see any of your family much, not since I moved. We still write at Christmas and birthdays, but that's about it. I miss you. All of you, I mean, I miss all of you.

I used to speak to Ginny quite often, but I haven't heard from her since Christmas actually. I owled her yesterday, though I haven't heard anything back. I told her that I'd been writing to you; I bet she'd be pleased. She was always going on at me to talk to you again. She said she could tell I missed you, and that she knew you missed me too. Though obviously not that much, otherwise I guess you'd have written back. Has she said anything to you?

I saw Lavender at the weekend - how funny! We exchanged a brief hello, and she asked how I was. In fact, her exact words were, "How are you? About Ron, I mean?" But I wasn't sure she really wanted to know, as she had this queer look on her face. I don't know how she knew we had a fight, unless you've spoken to her recently? I rather thought she'd gloat, but she didn't. Maybe she's grown up a little.

Well, I ought to go now, I have the ever-growing pile of aforementioned work to toil through!

Love From,
Hermione

---

April 12th 2002

Hermione sighed as she reached for another folder.

“What’s wrong, Hermione? You haven’t seemed yourself all day - it's nearly lunchtime and you haven't finished all next months work! Is something bothering you?”

Hermione tried to smile at her co-worker, Maggie, but just wasn’t able to muster the strength.

“I’m fine, honestly. Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Ooh - is it a guy?” Maggie leaned forward, suddenly a lot more interested in her friend's predicament.

Hermione rolled her eyes; Maggie was friendly enough, but a bit of a gossip queen.

“No! Well yes, but...he’s just a friend! Or he was, anyway... well, actually, he wasn’t...but then there was...it’s complicated!”

Maggie laughed at the look on Hermione’s face, which seemed to be very confused.

“Definitely not just a friend then - not if it’s 'complicated'! So what‘s the story?”

Hermione sighed once more.

“Like I said - it’s complicated. Let’s just say, we had a fight. A long time ago. It was really stupid. So I wrote to him on New Year’s Day...and didn’t hear anything back. Of course, any normal person would just think, ‘Oh, he’s not interested. Forget it, move on.’ But no, I write again! Nothing. Even then, I don’t stop. Why can’t I just take a hint! Well, I couldn’t take one back at school, why should now be any different!” Hermione cried, falling down onto her desk.

Maggie carefully prised the parchment away from underneath her hair before concentrating once more on the task at hand - for Maggie, it was decidedly more interesting than her work, much to Hermione's irritation.

“Wow, it sounds like you've fallen deep! What‘s so special about this one?” she quizzed, settling back down to work, whereas Hermione took to pacing around the room.

“Nothing. Everything. Argh! That’s just what he’s like! I thought I knew everything until I met him. No-one else can confuse me so well, make me question everything I ever thought I knew, everything I ever felt. That's just what he's like!" Hermione admitted.

“So...what went wrong?” Maggie was now intrigued, all work lay aside, forgotten.

Hermione could feel her beady eyes boring into her.

“Well, it’s complicated...” Hermione sighed. “But that doesn’t matter now. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again. My only link with him now is a few scraps of parchment and an owl flying over the skies to Merlin knows where, just so my words can be used for extra fire kindling.” She turned back to her desk and shuffled some parchment in an attempt to appear as if she were working.

“Well, why not use that? Find out where he lives, go visit him and say, ’Hey, remember me? Your soul mate?' Come on, Hermione, he’s obviously special. You don’t just let someone like that go, not without a fight."

"How can I? I don't know where he lives. He probably doesn't want to see me anyway," she said sadly, picking up her quill once more.

"You don't know that!" Maggie persisted. "Don't you want to find out, at least? Don’t you want to know where your letters lead? I mean, otherwise you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if?' What's worse, you're going to spend the rest of your life complaining to me about it! Come on, Hermione, what's the worse that can happen?"

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hermione said to herself, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. After her first year at Hogwarts, she had vowed never to get on another broom again. She was perfectly content to stay in the stands, cheering on Ron and Harry from afar. But now she was standing perilously near to the broom at her feet, and her hand was outstretched, her lips almost ready to say the word 'up'.

If there had been any other way, Hermione would have done it. She actually spent several days desperately trawling through books, looking for another way of transport. It was only when she seriously considered venturing back into the Forbidden Forest to see if Mr. Weasely’s old Ford Anglia was still there that she knew there must be no other way.

If it had been anyone other than Ron, she wouldn’t have done it. But it was Ron. It was always Ron, she thought with a small smile. She tried not to look at Persephone flying around, took a deep breath, and said, “Up!” The broom rolled over. Hermione scowled. She wasn’t off to a good start.

An hour later, Hermione took another deep breath, her letter clutched tightly in one hand, the other still extended above the broom, and tried again.

“Up!” she commanded loudly. She almost let go of the broom in shock when she found it in her hand. She mounted it slowly, trying to remember the Chudley Cannons book on flying she’d read before going with Ron to a game a few years before. She wished they’d won a few more matches, or that Ron had supported a team that didn’t regularly fall of their brooms quite so much, so that their advice might give her a bit more confidence. But nonetheless, she called Persephone, attached the letter to her leg, and nearly screamed as the broom rose higher. Knowing there was no time to spare, she urged it on after her owl.

Half an hour later, Hermione wished that she’d thought this through more thoroughly. Ron could be anywhere for all she knew! What if he was still down south near The Burrow? That could take nearly all day, and she’d already lost sight of Persephone twice. Luckily she’d been able to catch up, but only just. So far she hadn’t come across any Muggles looking up at her in the sky in confusion, but she had no idea what to do if she did. The few times she’d had to make an alteration in her path, it had either been a fluke or the broom which had saved her from falling or crashing. Hermione really didn’t want to push her luck. Why had she listened to Maggie’s stupid idea?

Hermione’s nerves seemed to tense even more as she began to recognise some of the landmarks that she’d seen when travelling to the Weasley’s house all those summers before.

What am I going to do if Ron’s still at The Burrow? How can I face not only him, but everyone else? After I left, after all this time has passed? It seems even Ginny doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, let alone Ron. And what about Mrs. Weasley? What will they all say? What am I going to do? Maybe I should just turn back now.

Hermione didn’t know what it was that made her carry on; she wasn't sure if it was her natural determination to finish anything she started or the thought of the long journey she’d have to endure if she turned back. At least if she carried on she could probably find a fireplace to Floo herself back, or at least a train.

She heaved a heavy sigh of relief, the first one since she’d gotten on the broom, as Persephone, now only a smallish spec in the distance, turned away from the route she’d have had to use to get to the Burrow.

Of course he wouldn’t still be there. He’ll have his own life now. Hermione felt a small pang as she realised that she wasn’t in his new life, and hadn‘t been for over a year. That he might not want her in it, even now. That his wife would probably want her in it even less.

Stop it. You don’t know that. He might not have married; he might not be with anyone. He might be waiting for you, Hermione tried to console herself. There might even be some pigs flying around in the back garden.

She flew on and let out her second sigh of relief as she saw the speck start to float lower, circling some way ahead of her. She knew that her expedition must finally be coming to a close, but her feelings were conflicting as the internal battle continued inside her head. While she couldn’t be more delighted to be able to get off the broom, she was still apprehensive about facing Ron again, which she surely must if she was to get off the broom as Persephone would probably be delivering her letter at that very moment.

It’s still not too late. You could turn round and go back, never think of this again, move on, get back to your life, tell Maggie that nothing happened, and nothing ever will. It’s not too late.

But still Hermione flew on, though she directed the broom haphazardly to the ground a little too soon and fell off. Hermione groaned, when she'd fallen she'd lost sight of Persephone - but she wasn't too worried, Persephone had been flying to the ground, so she must have found Ron, and where Hermione had last seen her didn't look too far away. Luckily it was only in a field, and she knew that she must be near Ron’s home, or civilization of some sort. She brushed the mud and grass from her sleeves, picked up her broom, and walked on, out of the field and onto the narrow country road, unaware of the strange looks she received from passers by.

She walked along fairly happily for a while, mainly just relieved to be back on her own two feet. She noticed how Ron had chosen a place in the country - how like him, she thought with a smile. Even though he branched out, he still has a soft spot for his roots. Hermione’s smile broadened as she thought of something else that statement could imply, though wondering if she was being just a little too hopeful.

Fairly soon she reached a drive, surrounded by tree’s and shrubbery, which she walked up. As she neared the building, she realised that she had in fact reached a church but, too tired to turn back and considering that the people there were bound to be kind and give her directions, she carried on.

The church was a fairly old building, with cold stone walls and stained glass windows with pictures of selected saints on them. Hermione felt rather overwhelmed by the two large wooden doors that creaked loudly as she pushed one open. She walked inside, but there was no one she knew. A service was starting so she sat down, feeling it would be rude to leave then. Besides, she really did need a rest. She looked around as the priest recited from the Bible, but she still couldn’t see any sign of Ron. Her head lolled dangerously near the end of the reading but soon snapped up again, reminding her of the days when she was smaller, before she had known she was a witch, when she had to go to church services on some Sunday mornings.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said when everyone else filed out of the two wooden doors she had entered by. She went the other way, up to the priest, who smiled at her, as priests do. “I was wondering if you could help me?”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said when everyone else filed out of the two wooden doors she had entered by. She went the other way, up to the priest, who smiled at her, as priests do. “I was wondering if you could help me?”

“Of course, my dear. Are you looking for a link to God, a confession, or...?” He looked down at her inquiringly, and Hermione felt almost guilty at just asking for her friend.

“Well, I was actually looking for a friend of mine who sometimes comes here. Ron Weasley?” In truth, Hermione had no idea whether Ron would go to church; she had never gotten the impression that the Weasley’s were particularly religious. But she felt sure that if he lived near there then someone would know him. There weren't too many buildings around, and Ron wasn't the most subtle man in the world. The priest nodded without too much enthusiasm, but still with the customary small smile, and walked down to the entrance with her.

“Yes, he’s near here. Unfortunately I have a mass to lead, but I’m sure our caretaker, Mr. Roberts, will take you. Ah, Mr. Roberts,” he said, gesturing to a man in his late fifties, a little smaller than Hermione, sporting a head of grey hair with flecks of black here and there, who swiftly hobbled over. “This young lady would like to visit Ron Weasley. Would you be able to show her the way?” Mr. Roberts nodded and smiled at Hermione as the priest walked slowly away.

“It’ll be quicker if we go the back way, although your shoes might get a bit muddy,” he commented, taking a look at her overall appearance, which still held a few muddy marks and twigs from her earlier fall.

“That’ll be fine,” Hermione replied, rather self-consciously rubbing at her elbow which seemed to be sporting a rather large grass stain. Mr. Roberts merely smiled and started walking, rather slowly for Hermione’s taste, round to the back of the church.

“I just got a letter for him actually,” he told her after a minute of silence, waving an envelope in his hand, which Hermione quickly recognised as her own. “You wouldn’t believe the types of post that gets delivered here, we really ought to start up our own version of the Royal Mail; it‘d probably be faster!” he said with a small chuckle. “It's lucky I have such a good memory - I never forget a face or a place!" he boasted. "That's one of the reason I'm a caretaker here, I always know where to go, where to take people to, what happened and so on. But I don't see why I should be a postman too! Not that there's much else to do around here. I'm always around if anything much happens, so people just depend on me for everything! I suppose as this is the only noticeable building around here, people just assume that everyone would come here for the mail. Apart from the customary letters to God, we’ve had a few for the locals, the police, Harrods, even the MI5! I suppose postmen these days just can‘t be bothered to go that extra mile!”

Hermione nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. She was too submerged in her own thoughts, craning her neck to see if she could catch sight of a house that could be Ron’s, or any red-headed, freckle faced children running around, or the man himself. But she saw nothing.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he noted, making Hermione come back down to earth rapidly.

“No, I live up further north,” Hermione explained. “I only came here to visit an old friend.” Mr. Roberts nodded as they walked on. They seemed to be reaching the end of the church ground when he slowed to a stop. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do, so she waited half a step behind him, still looking around for Ron’s house, wondering how much further she would have to walk before her toes grew almost completely numb. The clouds seemed to be turning a rather ominous dark grey colour, perhaps foreshadowing something. Most likely more rain, thought Hermione. She looked on as Mr. Roberts bent down to one of the numerous headstones around the church land and put down the envelope.

“Wait - what are you doing?” Hermione snapped back to attention; she realized what exactly the old man was doing. “That letter’s for Ron!” Mr. Roberts stood back up, giving Hermione a far stranger look than any of the people she had passed on her journey. Hermione’s breathing became suddenly more forced and rapid as the understanding sunk in.

“No,” she breathed quietly. “No! That letter was for Ron, you said so yourself! You can’t just leave it there! You have to give it to him; you have to take to me to him!” Mr. Roberts sighed sadly, knowing that the reason she was being so hysterical was because she knew the truth.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“No. No, you don’t understand - I’m looking for Ron Weasley! This isn’t him... It can’t be him...” Hermione looked around, as if she were looking for Ron himself, so he could come and contradict the caretaker. "You have such a good memory - what happened to him? Where is he?" Hermione didn't care if she sounded rude, what she was having to take in couldn't be true. It just couldn't.

“I’m sorry. I was there when it happened; his brother identified him.” He looked on as Hermione didn’t say anything, just staring wordlessly down at the headstone. “It was a crash of some sort, though I’m not quite sure how it happened, it wasn’t near a road of any sort, just in the middle of a field...”

“Who? Who was it that identified him? How do you know that they didn’t get it wrong?” Mr. Roberts simply shook his head again sadly.

“The face was pretty disfigured, that’s why they needed to get immediate family. That’s why there’s no way that they could have gotten it wrong, I’m sorry. It was his brother; he had red hair, I think, glasses... I was only there by chance, as it wasn’t too far from here...I‘m so sorry, Miss.”

“No,” Hermione gasped. “It couldn’t be...” A million different scenarios ran through her head, how it could have been someone else, someone else with red hair, the face too mangled to tell. How Percy (as he was the only Weasley with glasses) could have been mistaken, not having seen Ron for so long, or maybe deliberately misidentified him, as a sort of twisted revenge for Ron testifying against him...but each of her ideas were as unlikely as the next.

“There must be a mistake,” she said abruptly. “I’m looking for Ronald Bilius Weasley. He’s not dead. He’s not dead.” The caretaker looked down at her sadly.

“I’m so sorry,” was all he could murmur, before he left her, just staring unblinkingly down at the headstone.

“No, it’s not true. It can’t be true. It’s not Ron; there’s a mistake. He wouldn’t leave me. It’s not true...”

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she knelt down, and actually looked, properly looked at what was in front of her.

Ronald Weasley
1st March 1980 - 31st December 2001
A loving friend and brother to us all, and always will be.

At the foot of the grave stood a heap of rather bedraggled flowers, a box of chocolate the same brand as the one Hermione had sent for Ron's birthday and a small pile of envelopes beneath the one Mr. Roberts had placed there only minutes before. She rifled through them, recognising them as the ones she had written all those weeks and months ago, all the way through to January 1st. She supposed that one of the Weasleys must have put it there at the funeral.

Why didn't they tell me? I suppose that's why Ginny didn't owl me back after Christmas. Though I'd have thought she of all people would understand...though maybe that's why...

But underneath her letter from January lay another. This time not in her own handwriting. Though it was written in a scrawl she recognised equally as well. It was addressed to her.

---

31st December 2001

Dear Hermione,

I don't know what to say. How about; I miss you. Because I do. So much. I always do, whenever we fight. In our sixth year, when I started going out with Lavender, I really missed you. I always wished it was you there instead. In third year, when we fought over Crookshanks and Scabbers - I missed you then. In second year when you were Petrified, I missed you then. I think that might have been the only reason I followed those stupid spiders - I missed you that much. And that's a lot, Hermione - did you see the size of Aragog's bloody legs? But that's nothing compared to how much I miss you now. At least then I could always see you sometimes, always hear you and (had the chance to, even if I didn't!) talk to you.

Now you're a million miles away (well, up north, same difference). And I really miss you. It's been a year! One whole year, Hermione! I think we beat our record.

But the truth is, I'm sorry. Really sorry. It was stupid - all of it. I'm sorry. Though I think you did over react a little bit... I'm sorry. That's not really a very good apology. But I am sorry. For everything.

We've lost enough people already, I don't want to lose you too, Hermione. I love you.

I never told you that before, did I? But it's true. I love you.

I don't want to spend another year until I can say that to you properly. Why not leave our fight with the rest of this year, and make a new start with the coming of the next one? So hopefully we can see the new year in together. 'Cause if you're not in my new year, Hermione, I don't think I really want to be in it either.

I think I'll come over now. I'm going to fly up right now and see you. Hope that's okay. Because, well, come on, we've wasted enough time already. I don't want to waste any more, especially over something as unimportant as - well, I don't want to get into it again. 'Cause you're more important than that. You're more important than anything, Hermione (but Chocolate Frogs come a close second...).

I guess I'll just follow Pig (although that sounds an awful lot like a death wish - he hasn't changed!) to wherever he takes this. So I guess I'll see you soon.

Love,
Ron

---

Long into the night, after the final services had been held, the choir had sung their last song, the lights had been turned off, Mr. Roberts had driven home and the priest had retired to his house, a small figure could still be seen through the darkness, still knelt at the foot of a grave. She had been there so long you could no longer tell the rain from her tears.