“Mum, Hermione and I are going for a walk. We want to spend some time together before I, well, before I leave.� Ron watched his mother warily, wiping his sweaty palms nervously in the pockets of his jacket.

“It’s all right, Ron,� Molly Weasley muttered, pausing to blow her nose on a handkerchief crumpled in her work-worn hand. Continuing, she gestured futilely to the somber-faced Weasley clan surrounding her. “We all understand. You two go on. Have fun.� Mrs. Weasley sadly gave her permission to the young pair standing before her, though her sorrowful eyes betrayed her true feelings; she’d never really given any thought to her youngest son’s future departure, yet, here it was. With a gloomy sniff, Mrs. Weasley grabbed a handful of her faded kitchen apron with the hand clutching the hankie, and wiped her eyes before quickly turning to grab her husband’s hand.

Ron smiled weakly at his mother’s thoughtfulness, but almost laughed out loud at the inaccuracy of her statement.

Have fun? Was she serious? The only “fun� that he and Hermione would have would be the long hours he’d spend convincing her that everything was going to be all right, and that he would be home soon. He knew what it was like to reassure Hermione about anything: At school, she’d been terrified of failure after every exam. When he had dated Lavender Brown briefly in their sixth year, Hermione had doubted her own beauty—and she was beautiful. Because of all this, Ron not only knew that Hermione was a highly emotional person, but also that she would most likely cry, though her Gryffindor bravery and renowned stubbornness would try to prevent that.

As he stood there, uncomfortably shifting from right to left foot while Hermione clenched his hand, Ron recalled his first year at Hogwarts, and the first time he’d seen Hermione show emotion—before they became friends. It was in Charms class, and she’d just shown him up in a spell; frankly, it was embarrassing, and Ron had made fun of her afterward, mimicking her know-it-all voice as he walked from class with Harry. To his dismay, however, she’d heard him, and rushed off to the bathroom to cry. It was only later, after her life had been threatened by a rampant troll, that she’d forgiven him, and they’d become friends.

It was true, though, Hermione didn’t often show her emotions to her formal acquaintances; her stalwart behavior and superior intellect were legendary, yet, Ron had seen his friend (and now his girlfriend) weep on several different occasions.

Yes, contrary to the belief of many, Hermione was able to cry, and though Ron would be gone for a period of only six months, the very real possibility of danger still existed, and he knew she was frightened. These were dark times: Death Eaters were frequently seen in the wizard and Muggle worlds, and there had been more deaths lately, many of them Aurors. There was quite a demand in the Wizarding community for protection, and Ron was going to fulfill his duty while pursuing his dream.

Ever since his sixth year at Hogwarts, Ron Weasley had wanted to become an Auror. In fact, he’d wanted to become an Auror his entire life. Well, after he decided that becoming a member of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Team was out of the picture, of course.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement housed some of the highest-paying jobs in the Wizarding community, and becoming an Auror was the pinnacle of adventure and wealth combined. Also, Ron mused wryly, as he fingered a patch on the inside of his bomber jacket, because money was something that he hadn’t had a lot of in his youth, it would be nice to have a few extra Galleons to spend.

But money wasn’t the only reason he wanted this occupation so badly. Ron desperately wanted the respect, dignity, and skills that came along with the Auror profession. As a “middle child,� Ron had never received the attention that his brothers and even his sister had. All of his siblings had accomplished so much: The twins had the joke shop; Charlie was an adventurer, dealing with the most fearsome creatures in the wizarding world—dragons; Bill worked for Gringotts and he was engaged; Ginny was just talented; and, though Percy was a git according to Ron, he was making a name for himself in the Ministry. Ron simply felt he needed to make his way in the world. He knew instinctively that he had the will to persevere until he reached his goal; until he accomplished his dream.

After years of hard work (and days spent “referencing� an irate Hermione’s notes,) Ron had finally got the opportunity to become what he had always wanted to be. He knew that his time would come eventually; one couldn’t be a sidekick forever, though Ron would always be Harry’s best mate. With the help of Hermione, and the companionship of Harry, Ron had been amongst the topmost students in his year at Hogwarts at the end of his seventh year.

Of course, it wasn’t all achieved just like that. Ron hadn’t made the best grades on his Potions final for Snape’s class during sixth year, but Hermione had helped him slide past that class. With her notes, he and Harry had managed to cram in some studying before the major exam, both finishing with an Outstanding on their N.E.W.T.S.
He had known—and hoped—that the chance to become an Auror would come someday, yet, as he looked back on the past few years, he hadn’t thought it would be so soon. It was only his second year out of Hogwarts, but suddenly it was also August thirty-first, his last day in England before departing the country to attend Auror training school.

After he received his acceptance letter, Ron felt as if he was unfettered to anything but the clouds. This was his dream, and he’d soon be a full-fledged Auror; but there was one hitch to this plan: Hermione Granger.

He loved her so much that, sometimes, it hurtto even look at her. He had never felt this way about another girl … woman, and he knew that he would never feel the same love for anyone else. What he felt for Hermione was true adoration, unblemished affection, and pure love, and he knew that she felt the same way about him.

However, though his feelings for his former classmate ran deep, his dedication to his dream was unfailing. After he’d applied to the Ministry of Magic and passed their stringent background check, he was informed that his training would take place in Italy, and also that he was not allowed to stay in contact with any of his family or friends while there. There was no reason given, and Ron still hadn’t worked out why communication was unacceptable, but he figured that it had something to do with the rebel Death Eaters intercepting letters. Therefore, there was no letter writing, no Floo visiting, no parcels or packages in the mail on weekends for six months.

It was with a heavy heart, then, that Ron had visited the Burrow and prepared to bid his assembled family farewell.

Now, after a quiet evening and scrumptious meal prepared nervously by Mrs. Weasley’s shaking hands, Ron unenthusiastically and solemnly bid everyone good evening, then, holding Hermione’s smooth hand, walked out into the chill of a late summer’s night.

It was quite cold for the end of August, but Hermione and Ron snuggled against each other, sharing the warmth of their bodies, as they took a leisurely stroll down the bumpy lane leading from the Burrow to the quaint town of Ottery St. Catchpole.

“That’s where you first told me you loved me,� Hermione murmured, her voice ill-concealing her worry as she pointed to a rickety, decomposing bench lying chipped and weary underneath a drooping willow tree.

Ron wished that she wouldn’t talk about their shared memories; her quiet comments just made him dread leaving her even more. As Hermione gave a particularly loud sniffle, Ron sighed and stopped, spinning Hermione’s slight form to face him.

Her face was drawn, but she opened her mouth and said, “I’m fine; it’s just cold out here.�

But Ron knew she was more concerned about his upcoming journey than she cared to admit. Tentatively, he reached out and tilted Hermione’s chin up; Ron stared into her chocolate-brown eyes for a moment before pulling her closer, wrapping her inside his bomber jacket.

~ * ~

Throughout the evening, Hermione had determined to remain in control of her emotions, but thinking about Ron’s departure made things difficult. Dinner was strained, and Hermione found that she wasn’t able to eat much. She wanted so desperately to speak with Ron, and when he’d asked her to take a walk with him later, she jumped at the chance.

Now, as they stood under the sheltering tree, Hermione wondered vaguely whether Ron would remember this night. He was often so forgetful; at this notion, Hermione smiled and relaxed against Ron, nestling into his chest, taking in his distinctive scent. He smelled like a mixture of aftershave, Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, and, much to Hermione’s satisfaction and delight, her own perfume.

“I love you, Ron,� she told him softly, her voice breaking the slightest bit as she uttered his name. “I wish that…� As a lump rose in her throat, Hermione trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. She couldn’t lose her self-control in front of him; he was the one leaving, after all, and Hermione knew that it was hard enough for him to leave all that he’d ever known and loved. And yet, she had to tell him how she felt. Otherwise, who knew? She might never have the chance to do so again. “I wish that you weren’t leaving -- that you didn’t have to go.� A single, silvery tear slid suddenly down her pale cheek.

~ * ~

Ron, who had been staring at the bright stars through the waving arms of the willow as Hermione leaned against his chest, gazed down at her as she began to speak. When suddenly she began to cry, he quickly wiped the telltale drop away, then Summoned a blanket for them to sit on in a clearing under the same willow tree where their love had first been declared. With a grunt, Ron flopped to the ground, pulling Hermione down beside him. He smiled as she let out a reluctant laugh, then he reached down to pull the blanket over both of their legs.

Still chuckling, Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron’s waist and leaned back to lay her head on him. “This is where we first kissed,� she said lovingly, planting a soft kiss on Ron’s chest.

Ron simply smiled down at her, though she could not see the twinkle of humour and unconditional love shining from his bright blue eyes.

The embracing couple sat in silence for a long time, neither saying anything, but both thinking a great deal, mostly about the other. The night air was soundless, but for the song of chirping crickets and Hermione’s teeth chattering from the cold.

With a start, Ron sat up; moving a grumbling Hermione off his chest. He removed his jacket and draped it around her thin shoulders, then slid his arm behind her, his sleeve snagging slightly on the bark of the willow tree. Sighing, he pulled her into a tight embrace, as she began to speak.

“I don’t want this night to end, Ron,� Hermione murmured, burying her face in his shirt. “What’ll happen after this?�

“I don’t want to ever lose you, Hermione,� Ron replied, his tone serious and purposeful. “You know that, right?� he asked the concerned woman, reaching down to stroke her hair comfortingly.

Ron watched closely as Hermione closed her eyes, then sat up, her hair wild in the light of the moon. She swallowed several times and simply sat, looking at her lover for a moment before nodding.

“Good,� he said, trying to sound satisfied and confident though he didn’t feel self-assured in the least. As Hermione lay down again on the Conjured blanket and placed her head in his lap, Ron swallowed too, knowing instinctively that his voice might soon break if he continued speaking. He was worried, too, but grown men don’t cry, especially in front of women, particularly their girlfriends.

Rubbish, men do cry, Ron thought, but he wasn’t going to do so in front of Hermione, especially after he had just convinced her that he wasn’t worried, and that the danger wasn’t as real as she feared.

Silence again.

Both of them had a great deal to say to one another, yet neither had the words to express themselves eloquently. Ron, however, felt the silence was weighing too heavily in the air; he wanted Hermione to be sure of his affection and regard for her. With a sigh, Ron ran his hands gently through Hermione’s tangled hair.

“I love you, Hermione. I always will.�

Hermione said nothing, and Ron sat very still, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing. As the silence dragged on, a hot blush began to creep slowly up the back of his neck. Wrinkling his brow, Ron opened his mouth to apologize for his hasty declaration, but Hermione beat him to the punch.

Rolling onto her back, her head still in his lap, she smiled up at him. “Ron, I love you, too. And when you get back in six months, I’m going to be here for you. I’ll wait for you. I’m still going to love you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you.�

“That’s good to hear,� Ron murmured, though his heart beat loudly, reverberating in his chest, until he felt positively breathless. “I want the same thing,� Ron told her before leaning down for a kiss.

Through his absolute haze of happiness, Ron felt her Hermione reach up to link her arms around his neck; she kissed him back passionately. With a sigh of contentment, Ron slipped down the trunk of the tree and wrapped his arms around Hermione, deepening their kiss as the stars sparkled overhead.

The two were in love, and that was all there was to it.

It was nearing dawn; a beautiful pink blush lit the early morning sky, spilling through the branches of the willow, drenching a slumbering couple with a beautiful, orange citrus glow. Suddenly, however, a piper’s shrill call rang out in the dewy air and the red-haired man stirred…

Ron lay there, under the willow tree, for several minutes, twirling a strand of Hermione’s crinkly hair, thinking about nothing in particular. Within moments, however, he began to feel the prickling dots of sunlight striking his pale skin as the sun moved out from behind the tree’s sheltering branches. With a frown, Ron rolled closer to the tree trunk, trying to find shade, but the sun was coming up fast. He checked his wristwatch absently; it was almost six o’clock a.m.

“Hermione, wake up. I think that we fell asleep an hour ago.� Ron whispered, gently shaking her awake.

“Hmm?� she asked sleepily, sitting up to rub her eyes blearily. But when her hands wandered to her wild hair, a confused expression settled over her face. “Why are there leaves in my hair?� she asked, staring at Ron in bewilderment. Then, as she gazed at the equally sleep-tousled Ron, comprehension seemed to dawn: Ron was leaving in a few hours, and she wouldn’t get to see or hear from him for six months. Six long, depressing months.

Hermione leaned over, elbows in her lap, and started sobbing. Coupled with last night’s emotionally trying conversation and the realization that Ron was leaving today, she couldn’t have held it in for much longer anyway.

Ron, however, had anticipated this breakdown. Though he had already stood to fold the now-wrinkled blanket, he dropped down to the ground, folded her in his arms, and stroked her hair, sighing, “’Fine, then; Hermione ... I won’t go. That’s the end of that. We both can’t live without each other, and we both know it. Besides, I’d miss my family too much.�

“NO!� Hermione cried, picking herself up and wiping her dripping nose on the back of her sleep-marked hand as the sudden outburst of tears dried in the morning sun. “I know how much you want this, Ron. Go. I’ll be fine.�

She was lying, of course, but she couldn’t let him pass up this opportunity of a lifetime. Not many people got the chance to become Aurors, and Hermione didn’t want Ron to waste his talent because of her, even if it meant that they would be apart during such dangerous times.

“Are you sure about this?� Ron murmured, hardly daring to believe that Hermione would allow him to go; yes, she was remarkably tolerant and resilient, but she was really taking this hard. Although he had promised to stay with her, he desperately wanted to achieve his dream. Ducking his head to conceal the hope shining in his eyes, Ron continued, “I can always find another job. I mean, if it means being apart from you, then I don’t know if I can stand it.�

Sniffling, Hermione reached out and placed a soft hand under Ron’s chin; tilting it up, she gazed into his hope-filled blue eyes. They stayed that way, staring into each other’s eyes for the longest time as the summer sun rose higher around them. As Hermione’s brown eyes, wise and brave, gazed into his own, Ron realized what he had to do: He would go to Italy and train to become an Auror.

Hermione read the answer in his eyes before he said a word. With a small, knowing smile, she slumped back on her elbows and gazed at him through half-shut eyes. “You’d better study hard,� she joked feebly. “I’m not going to be there to give you the answers.�

Chuckling, Ron hopped to his feet and reached his hand out to the girl on the ground. “Hey, you didn’t give me all of the answers!� he said as they made their way up the country lane, back to Ron’s home, where they could already smell the heady aroma of Mrs. Weasley’s continuous cooking.

At Hermione’s inquiring—and, one must admit, doubtful—look to this comment, Ron quickly said, “I promise—I’ll study hard.�

This was typical Hermione. Always making sure he did everything right; it could be annoying, but Ron knew at this moment that he’d miss it terribly when he was away. In a sudden burst of affection, he leaned down to kiss her on the nose, while rolling his eyes at her unfounded fears. She playfully hit him on the shoulder, her morose mood alleviated for the time being as they tripped along, reveling in one another’s company.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. As they traipsed down the familiar, long dirt driveway, Ron realized that now was his one chance; the Burrow would be abuzz with packing and activity, he wouldn’t be in peace with Hermione then. Now was the time. Ron stopped, pulling Hermione back.

“What is it, Ron?� she questioned, her eyes darting towards the Burrow; the scent of frying bacon drifted lazily towards them on the summer air.

Ron took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. As Hermione looked on in curiosity, he pulled a small velvet box from his back pocket, opening it just as comprehension dawned in Hermione’s wide, innocent face.

“OH, RON!� Hermione gasped in delight as she saw the dazzling ring, its cut-crystal edges sparkling in the sunlight, lying in the satin cloth of the box,.

“It’s a promise ring, Hermione. It means that I’m always yours. And, if you still want me when I get back,�—Hermione scoffed and Ron chuckled—“we can get married.� He sank to one knee, took the ring from its place in the velvet-interior box, and, raising his gaze to hers, slid the ring gently onto the third finger of her left hand.

As the ring slipped smoothly into place, a single tear dropped down Hermione’s cheek, but just as suddenly as it came, it dried in the hot sun and she began to laugh. Peals of joy ringing through the air, the happy pair whooped loudly, and in that moment, they forgot their troubles as Ron rose from the ground and pulled his girlfriend into a dancing hug, swinging her around and around.

However, once their hilarity had subsided, reality struck once more as they reached the shabby, dusty front lawn of the Burrow.

“Ron? Hermione? Is that you?� Mrs. Weasley asked hurriedly, poking her head out the front door; the now sober couple saw that she wore a blue velvet beret crammed over her frizzy red hair.

“Apparently, she’s ready to go … That’s a new one,� Ron whispered to Hermione, who smiled uneasily. The couple waved and walked towards Molly Weasley, hand in hand.

“Oh, thank goodness!� she cried, swinging the door open and running towards them, her exuberant manner as it ever was. “I didn’t know when you’d be back. I— �

“It’s all right, Mum. We’re back now; what is it?� Ron asked anxiously.

“Your train, Ronald. It’s leaving earlier than scheduled. Your father used the Floo to get to work, and they had the new time schedule posted—both for the Express and for Muggle trains—and he saw they’d changed the times for departure, so he Floo-ed right back here to tell us.� Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath, then reached forward to grab her son’s arm. “It now leaves at 7:37 . It’s nearing seven now, you must hurry!� she declared hastily. The expression on her round, dewy face had now changed from one of utter stress to one of worry and cheerless purpose.

She was losing her youngest son… and there was nothing that could be done about it. She’d loved her little boy since he was born and it was a cruel, simply cruel act of life to take him away so soon. It wasn’t fair; she should’ve had more time with him! But when Mrs. Weasley saw Hermione’s carefully controlled face, she felt even worse.

Hermione’s beauty was more developed than it had been in her younger years. While her hair was still untamable, her perfect complexion more than made up for it. At this moment, though, Mrs. Weasley could see future tears falling silently down Hermione’s cheeks, marring her pretty features, blurring her red, puffy eyes. As though she felt Mrs. Weasley’s pitying gaze, Hermione hung her head lower, face dry but heart bleeding, and stared at her brown sandals, wriggling her bare toes in the warmth of the sunshine.

Ron gasped. “Shit!� he yelped and ran inside to grab his luggage for the long trip. He had already packed; he just needed to write a little something for Hermione, a letter, truth be told, telling her how much he loved her, and how he would miss her. He just needed a few minutes---he was a fast writer.

~ * ~

Ten minutes later, Ron tromped down the stairs and loped into the kitchen. Seven pairs of eyes gazed at him as he entered the kitchen; in self-conscious embarrassment, Ron scuttled to his chair and sat down.

In the following half-hour before departure, Ron had his last meal—also perhaps his most uncomfortable meal—with the people that he loved: Ginny, Harry, his mum and dad, Charlie, Bill, and, of course, Hermione. The family all exchanged solemn glances each time the clock ticked another minute.

After breakfast ended, Ron jumped up, relieved, from the table and gave one last, quick round of goodbyes, but Harry stepped in front of Ron and grabbed his best friend on the shoulder.

“Wish I could be there with you, mate.� Harry spoke flippantly, but as Ron looked at him in doubt, he realized just how serious and concerned Harry really was. “You’ll do great, Ron. I know you will,� Harry told him, reaching down to firmly clasp Ron’s shaking hand.

“I’m going to go with you,� Hermione told Ron as he stood and slipped his bomber jacket on. Leaning forward, Hermione quickly forked one last bit of scrambled egg into her mouth, then stood quickly, grabbing a coat and hat from a nearby chair.

“I’m just Apparating to the station, Hermione. It won’t be anything special. It’ll just make it harder on both of us,� Ron whispered, uncomfortably aware of the entire family’s eyes on him.

Hermione looked hurt. “You… you don’t want me to see you off?� she asked him.

Ron heaved a sigh and leaned closer to Hermione, trying to cut out the rest of Weasley clan from his and Hermione’s conversation. “Hermione, please… don’t. You know I do. I just… I know that we can’t easily … accept that I’m leaving as it is; besides, to know that you’re there at the station, and I’m getting on the train, leaving you there … I don’t know if I can do it, Hermione.�

The whole family was watching, each in various positions. Charlie had a forkful of food halfway to his mouth; Bill was leaning back on the legs of his chair, combing his fingers through his long hair and Fleur stood nearby, her huge, lovely eyes focused on her large belly; her French manners were, quite clearly, preventing her from staring directly at Ron and Hermione, but she was obviously curious, too, for she sent sneaky, covert glances in their direction from time to time. Harry and Ginny were standing against the wall, clasping hands; Mrs. Weasley was holding her handkerchief to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Arthur Weasley patted his wife on the shoulder as she silently sobbed. Hermione looked into Ron’s blue eyes, pleading.

“Fine,� Ron said finally, rolling his eyes the slightest bit. He couldn’t ignore Hermione’s puppy-dog pout, and she had used it at just the right time. “But we need to go now, or I’ll miss the train.�

Hermione nodded shortly in agreement.

As everyone began to speak at once, (Ron’s declaration setting off the family on another round of farewells) Ron could have sworn that he heard someone whisper, “And that’d be a good thing.�

~*~

With the last cycle of goodbyes and hugs off his chest, Ron Apparated with Hermione to a small, London train station just south of the Burrow in nearby Kensington.

As they arrived, new and fresh scents and the sound of a rumbling diesel-powered engine greeted them. The train smoked and whistled impatiently as bustling people gave one last hug to their companions and boarded the train. Other latecomers, like Ron, hurried to get their luggage in the racks or handed to porters before they missed the train.

Ron placed his age-battered and graying suitcase on the platform before slowly before turning to face Hermione who was standing, her face ill-concealing the now permanent etchings of worry, behind him.

“I’ll be back, you know. It’s just a matter of time.�

Hermione looked as if she would have liked to scream, but instead she bit her lip.

“Why are you so worried and unhappy, Hermione?�

Hermione gazed at her boyfriend as if he was daft. Incredulously, she murmured, “I’m not going to be able to see you for six months and there’s a bloody war going on!�

“I know… but I’ll be back. Then, we can get married, and we can spend the rest of our lives together.� Ron said, placing emphasis on, “together.�

Hermione smiled resignedly before nodding again. “I love you so much, Ron.�

“I love you, too, Hermione,� he said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her in an embrace.

She put her arms around his neck, clinging to him as though her life depended upon it. Ron bent to kiss her cheek, then turned his head to rest his cheek on hers; slowly a tear rolled down her face and onto his neck, for it seemed as if Hermione would not cry at one time, but rather her tears would slowly eek out, one by one.

Ron smelled the sweet, flowery scent of her hair and sighed. “I’m going to miss you, Hermione,� he murmured thoughtfully, as though he hadn’t quite considered the separation fully. In response, she smiled into his shirt, wishing that six months was already over, and that he had already gone, wishing that time had passed quickly, and he was back in her arms.

“This is it, isn’t it? For a month, now, we’ve been dreading this. And within minutes,� Hermione gazed towards the giant clock on the stationhouse wall, “you’ll be gone.�

Ron tried to smile, but couldn’t find one. “It’s just—�

“Six months,� Hermione mouthed, horrified, as chills skittered down her spine.

“If I could write and visit you, you know I would, but…“

“But it’s procedure.� Hermione finished for him again. “I know. I understand,� she intoned blankly. “I want you to be careful, Ron,� she then stated, reaching up to fix the collar of his bomber jacket. “Study hard, like we talked about, all right? I know that you will do your best, but don’t let yourself get discouraged easily. Please, don’t let me stand in the way of your dream. I know how much you want this. Do your best,� she repeated, seemingly forgetting her words as she stared fixedly at a nonexistent spot on Ron’s jacket. “I’ll be here when you get back … Don’t forget to remember me,� she finished, as though her speech had been rehearsed.

Ron let out a laugh, more of a bark, really, remembering that his worrying, perfectionist girlfriend had repeated herself several times. “I could never do that, love. You know that. I am going to marry you, Hermione Granger, there’s no way I could forget, besides,� he said, stepping closer to her once more, “I love you.� He closed the distance of several centimeters and softly kissed her lips.

The two lovers broke apart only because a loud, shrill whistle shrieked through the country air, signaling for Ron to board the train. With a deep breath, Ron picked up his suitcase and stood for a moment, uneasily rolling the handle between his sweaty fingers.

“Go on, Ron.� Hermione said slowly, encouragingly, her face slightly upturned, no emotion betrayed in her stoic features.

~*~

This is it, Hermione thought dispassionately, determined to show nothing outwardly, but feeling as though her insides were being twisted, wrenched, and ripped into shreds.

Ron nodded once, took another deep breath and kissed Hermione one last time. As he whipped around towards the train, Hermione’s hands involuntarily crept to his shoulders, turning him around to face her again. Ron spun and pulled Hermione into a hug. And then, his eyes silently telling her he loved her, Ron fled to the horrid, roaring train that would take him towards his dream of being an Auror.

As he walked to the train, Ron paused, then turned around to gaze one last time at Hermione.

She mouthed, “I love you,� and he smiled, it was a rather watery smile, but it was a desperate attempt to be brave so Hermione controlled her turbulent emotions. She smiled and waved, once. Ron grinned, seemingly reassured and hopped onto the passenger car.

~ * ~

As Ron wound his way through the passenger car, looking for his compartment, he grinned secretively to himself: He was on his way to become his dream. Ron felt his face nearly split in two as he gave a joyous laugh; he was young, he was smart, he was off to live his own life! However, almost immediately, Ron sobered once more and gazed out the window of his compartment, gazing at the flying figure of a late coming passenger, but not really seeing him.

True, becoming an Auror was his dream, but Hermione was also his dream. He had to marry her and that was that. He couldn’t decide which to choose right at this moment, but as the train rolled into motion, its rusty wheels creaking and moaning, Ron guessed that the choice had already been made.

~ * ~

Out on the platform, Hermione folded her arms to her chest and gazed at the train as it puffed to a start, preparing to leave the station. She almost expected it to stop, or Ron to jump off, saying that he couldn’t do it, that he couldn’t leave her for that long… but it never stopped, and he never came.

Hermione, her feet stumbling to the side, followed the train for a moment; she stared mutely at the roaring beast, willing it to stop. But as the engine gathered steam and emitted a triumphant burst of steam, Hermione knew it was no use.