A/N: All characters belong to JKR…sigh….

Worth Having


Another argument, and more harsh words are exchanged. The steady thrum of her heart sustains her as all the words she wishes she were brave enough to say crowd about on the tip of her tongue.

All left unspoken.

She is a charlatan, a liar, and most of all, a coward. Oh yes, she is a very clever girl, too clever by far. But afraid by more. Afraid of being denied, of being rejected, being vulnerable. So she walks away, leaving him in his room.
Turning her back on him, she does not see defeat slump his proud frame, uncertainty dull his bright eyes.


She walks into the kitchen in a fog of her own making. The Burrow is crowded this morning. Harry and Ginny are standing at opposite sides of the room, desperately trying not to look at each other and failing utterly while attempting to listen to the twins discuss their latest innovation. Charlie, Remus, Tonks, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sit around the table discussing the possibility that Hogwarts may not reopen for September. Bill and Fleur are off to the side, beside the sink, totally immersed in each other.


It is Bill and Fleur that initially draw her gaze, their absorption in each other making it impossible to look away. Envy lights up her heart, making it burn. As she watches, Fleur slowly raises her hand to gently trace one of Bill’s scars with a dainty fingertip. Bill, gaze fixed on Fleur’s face, grasps her hand and brings it to his lips.


Hermione looks away abruptly, sudden tears burning her eyes and making her gasp. She suddenly wants Ron so much she could die.

Just as she feels she should leave the room, obtain some much-needed privacy, Harry calls out to her, obviously glad of anything to distract him from Ginny. She edges over to him, and she sees him notice her reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. He looks at her strangely, as if to ask what is wrong but miraculously does not.

A commotion ensues as Fred and George finally emerge from their discussion to notice the close proximity of Bill and Fleur.

“George, will you take a look at that? Not even two days after the wedding and they still look lovesick. Oi, you two, get a room!”

“Mum, I do believe grandchildren are going to be in the very near future,” says George with a smirk, dodging the washcloth that Bill flings his way.

The conversation at the table temporarily disrupted, Mrs. Weasley stands and points an angry finger at Fred and George. “Enough of that, you two. I despair of getting either of you married off, if this is the way you behave in public.”

She then turns to Bill and Fleur. “I would love to be a young grandmother,” she says rather wistfully while the twins roar with laughter at the rising blush on Fleur’s face.

As grandchildren become the new topic of conversation (much to Bill and Fleur’s chagrin), Hermione thinks about her own grandmother, lost to her at a very young age. “Nothing worth having comes easy,” her grandmother used to say.

An exclamation from Mrs. Weasley breaks into her thoughts. “Arthur, remember the Familius Charm?”

“Oh, no, you don’t, my dear. Remember how horrified you were when my mother tried to do that to us?”

“But that was because she didn’t even ask me first! Fleur, do you mind…?” Mrs. Weasley doesn’t wait for a response (which is just as well, as Fleur’s mouth opens and closes silently in bewilderment) and starts pulling open drawers, frantically pulling out recipe books, odd-looking utensils and bits of cork.

Mr. Weasley shakes his head wearily as he watches his wife search.

“Dad, what on earth is she on about?” asks a very confused Bill.

“Unfortunately, I think we will all see in a moment,” replies his father with a sigh.

“I found it!” Mrs. Weasley crows in delight, brandishing an ancient looking scrap of paper.

Reading it intently, she murmurs something under her breath while giving her wand a few complicated swishes and flicks.

“Uh oh,” Fred groans as it becomes apparent that something big is happening.

A ball of light forms in the center of the room and Harry, Hermione and Ginny quickly scoot over to the table to avoid it. It takes the shape of an arrow and hits one wall before rebounding and hitting the opposite wall. Immediately, the line of light stretches, elongating till it reaches the ceiling, then the floor. It stays there, shimmering softly, for all the world resembling a movie screen or one of those force fields Hermione used to see on reruns of Star Trek.

Within the shimmering square, the Burrow’s kitchen can be seen. The odd thing is, it isn’t the kitchen Hermione is familiar with. The fixtures seem new and the floor and wall are an entirely different color.

“Arthur, prepare to see your future grandchild!” Mrs. Weasley exclaims delightedly.

Now Bill groans, placing his head in his hands as everyone else crowds around to watch. “Mum…”

“This is a very old bit of magic,” Mrs. Weasley says proudly. “I’ve never had an occasion to use it before. It only works when hearts are seriously bonded, like those of newlyweds.”

Bill tries again. “Mum…”

“Oh hush, love. I wouldn’t mind seeing some future babies,” Fleur says shyly, her eyes shining with excitement.

Hermione finds herself intrigued. She has read about the Familius Charm; apparently it shows future offspring, but it only works when there is a deep and abiding love between the couple in question.

There are a few moments of silence while they all stare at the screen. Even Fred and George look spellbound.

The silence deepens as they hear singing coming from the shimmering light. The voice gets louder, and a figure enters their view within the screen. It’s slightly blurry, but they all can make out a tall red haired male carrying an infant.

“Well, Bill, I guess you’re father material after all,” hoots George. “Who would have guessed?”

“Oh my goodness,” whispers Mrs. Weasley with tears in her eyes. “A baby.”

They all stare raptly as the “picture” suddenly clears and it becomes suddenly, glaringly obvious that it’s not Bill holding the baby.

Hermione feels her heart seize, and her mouth goes dry. In her state of utter shock, she vaguely hears Mrs. Weasley and Ginny gasp and sees Harry swallow convulsively as they all realize simultaneously the man they are looking at is Ron.

Fred and George curse in unison. Their mother is too surprised to reprimand them for their language.

For it isn’t only the astonishment of seeing Ron singing to an infant, but Ron’s appearance which is the most shocking.

Hermione doesn’t know where to look first. She slowly takes in the gold wedding band on Ron’s finger, the way he cradles the baby’s downy head in strong capable hands, the soft and tender look in his eyes as he croons nonsense words to what is obviously his child.

Then, in horror, she notices the hideous scar that emerges from the future Ron’s shirt, trailing up from his chest to slash across his neck. She sees the four fingers missing from his right hand; she sees the gray hairs sprinkled liberally amongst his flaming red ones, belying the youthfulness of his face. The Ron they are looking at is in his early twenties at most. What happens to him? Does the war take so much?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Mr. Weasley sink into his seat, aghast at his son’s extensive injuries. “Arthur, he is alive,” Remus murmurs, clutching Tonks for support.

“Oh Ron, my poor Ron,” cries Mrs. Weasley as she watches the future version of her son limp painfully over to the counter.

They watch as he brings the baby higher up on his chest before propping it up in a baby seat. He turns to get a jar of baby food out of the cabinet and then returns to the infant, crouching down to smile and look at the baby.

“Well, Madeline, there’s no way I’m going to be as good at this as your mum, so bear with your poor father until she gets back, okay?”

Abruptly Hermione turns around and leaves the room, not caring to see the rest of this glimpse into the future, not caring what anyone thinks about her leaving, not caring to hear the reactions of those in the kitchen.

She walks resolutely to the stairs and begins to climb, her heart pounding in her chest. All of a sudden she is not afraid. She has no doubts, no uncertainty. There is just this terrible, fierce joy building up in her, forcing her to climb.

Before she knows it, she is at his door. Before she can raise her hand to knock, the door swings open and he is standing there. Determined, she walks toward him. His eyes widen at what he sees in her face, and he takes a hesitant step forward.

She clutches his face, his dear face, in her two hands and brings his mouth down to hers. With the groan of a dying man, he kisses her. And kisses her. And kisses her.

It is a kiss to end all kisses. Her mind spins out of control as he opens her mouth with his, deepening the kiss. She is drowning and wants never to reach the surface. She doesn’t even notice when they fall to the floor. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him.

She loves him for the boy that he is and the man that he will become. She loves him for the bravery he will show in the coming war and the pain he will suffer in it. She loves him for the tenderness he will show their child, because she knows beyond a doubt that it was indeed her child that she saw in his arms. She loves him completely, and she knows that he loves her too. And love like this lasts for always.

As her grandmother Madeline used to say, “Nothing worth having comes easy.”

And the bliss she feels right now, under him, drowning in his kiss, is most assuredly worth having.

Fin



A/N: Any and all feedback would be welcomed!