Same Auld Lang Syne
Lyrics by Dan Fogelberg

'Met my old lover in the grocery store
Snow was falling Christmas eve. . .'

Snow fell soundlessly, the curtain of fluffy-looking snow drawn over the window as Ron stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. He tiredly wiped his boots on the shaggy mat, bespelled to suck grime and water off of many a travellers' dirty feet.

Finally raising his head to look about himself, Ron plunked himself into a cushy booth. He surveyed the comfortably-lit pub come inn for familiar faces, hoping to socialise for once. He ran his eyes over a dejected poet that never seemed to stir from the rickety corner table at which the writer was currently slumped at, the new bar boy, Henry, who was wiping down a table and whistling, a curly-headed witch nursing a bowl of the Leaky Cauldron's famous pea soup and a lovestruck (and, evidently, lip-stuck) couple snogging in the front window. He sighed, and was about to rest his head on his hands when something struck him and he looked at the brunette in the corner again.

"Hermione?" he breathed, recognising the slightly ink-stained fingers cupped around the bowl, the mainly untameable chocolate-hued hair and the usually thoughtfully compassionate teak-brown eyes that were currently gazing doubtfully into the murky soup in her bowl.

'I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve.'

Ron slipped out of his padded booth and inconspicuously made his way behind Hermione's table and chair. He stood there, contemplating her wayward mane of endearing hair, then reached out a Quidditch-calloused hand and tapped the unsuspecting witch on the shoulder.

Hermione jumped, her hands flying; one to her wand, the other to the table as her head whirled around. Ron smiled slightly guiltily while Hermione eyed him, politely waiting for him to offer some sort of explanation for his unexpected foray into her quiet life.


'She didn't recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide. . .’

Suddenly her dark, deep eyes widened hugely as something clicked and she recognized the six-foot freckled redheaded man standing behind her chair.

"Ron!"

’She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried.'

Hermione attempted to get up, arms outstretched to hug him, but as her body was facing away from where she had been intending to go, the manoeuvre failed rather spectacularly. The pea soup spilled, soaking Hermione's lower legs and feet and creating a greenish-grey puddle with the consistency of puke on the floor. Ron tried valiantly to keep the mirth from his expressive Gryffindor face, but as Hermione glanced up with an adorably sheepish look on her face, Ron dissolved into merriment. Hermione looked indignant for a fleeting moment, but she was quick to see the humour in the situation and laughed until small tears ran down her lightly lined face.

'We took her groceries to the checkout stand
The food was totalled up and bagged. . .'

Hermione wiped the tears off her face and flagged down Henry the bar boy. He rushed over, his pimply face smiling expectantly. Hermione paid him and tipped him extravagantly, seeing as it was rather late on Christmas eve. Henry's smiling face and fervent 'Thank you, ma'am!' shone the bright light of sincerity into Ron and Hermione's lonely holiday.

'We stood there lost in our embarrassment
As the conversation dragged.'

Hermione's polite smile was back, showing that she was rather at a loss regarding what to say and Ron just stood there studying her up close. Her face had more lines than the last time he had seen her, but her shoulders were firm and upright, telling Ron's observant eyes that she stood up for herself as well as ever. Hermione noticed him studying her and they both looked away, embarrassed.

'We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldn't find an open bar. . .'

"Uh . . . wanna go somewhere and have a butterbeer or two?" Ron asked, hoping to revisit or recreate some of the comradeship they had had a minute ago.

"Sure!" Hermione responded happily, glad that the brief moment of awkward silence was over. "How about we try the Three Broomsticks?"

"Sounds great!" Ron replied enthusiastically.

"On three?" Hermione's eyes were questioning.

Ron grinned. Same ol' Hermione; always wanting to take charge.

"On three," he agreed.

Hermione smiled at him, then counted; "One, two, three."

As agreed, on 'three' the two of them turned sharply into thin air and disappeared with simultaneous pops.

They appeared on the cosy Hogsmeade street where the popular haunt of their school days resided. Unfortunately, the usually well-lit pub was dark and cold, obviously closed on this snowy, cold night. Ron sighed.

Hermione seemed disappointed, but then she turned to Ron with an idea.

"Why don't we grab a drink or something from a Muggle store?"

Since neither adult felt like trying to find an open pub, wizarding nor otherwise, Ron agreed to this suggestion with alacrity. Hermione knew a store that was always open and she Apparated them both to an alley alongside the Muggle establishment.

'We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car.'

Ron, having managed to find his way through the grocery store and get a package of plastic cups and a bottle of wine, proceeded with Hermione a block or so down the street to her powder-blue Ford parked at the curb. He considered idle chit-chat, but it took him so long to think up something to say that they arrived before he dredged up something he considered idle enough for walking-to-a-car chit-chat.


'We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now. . .'

Ron magically popped the cork of the wine bottle and poured a good measure into two of the cups once they were seated comfortably in the car. Handing one to Hermione, he raised his for a toast. Hermione beat him to it, reaching across and tapping her cup against his with a slight sticking sound as she said, "To the old, innocent times."

Ron nodded soberly, took a sip of the wine and extended his own arm. He bumped his cup gently against hers and intoned as he gazed into her dark-cocoa eyes; "To this Christmas . . . and now."

Hermione inclined her curly head and sipped her drink.

'And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.'

Ron and Hermione sat there, the companionable silence rapidly becoming an awkward one.

"So . . . um . . . what are you doing these days?" Ron asked her, hoping to resurrect the dying conversation.

'She said she married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry. . .'

"Well, I married one of my co-workers from the Office of Magical Mishaps . . . he's very sweet."

'She would have liked to say she loved the man
But she didn't like to lie. . .'

Hermione's eyes softened fondly when she thought about him, but Ron didn't see the sort of loving care or burning commitment that he saw in Harry's eyes when the 'Boy-Who-Lived' talked about or looked at Ginny. Hermione noticed him eyeing her and she blushed slightly and demanded, "What?"

Ron gazed at her steadily and said, "You don't love him. You like him fine, but you don't love each other."

Hermione was speechless.

"I . . . how did you . . . ?" she stuttered, completely bowled over.

"It's your eyes." Ron told her, starting to feel a little embarrassed about his rather sudden and quite personal statement. Seeing she was still confused, he tried to explain better.

"See, when Harry talks about Ginny, his eyes go all bright, and. . . I just didn't see that. . . I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said anything. . ."

But Hermione was nodding.

"I . . . it's all right. I would say I love him . . . but it's more like we're two good friends living together." Hermione had been fiddling with her cup and now she raised it to her lips and took a deep, fortifying draught.


'I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue. . .'

Ron rather bashfully looked away, and, afraid he had embarrassed her, quickly grasped hold of one of his random observations of her and blurted it out.

"Your eyes are still as wonderfully brown." Before she had time to reply to this unplanned compliment, his mouth went on to say "And you’re still just as beautiful."

Ron felt like smacking himself for saying such cheesy things.

'But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw
Doubt or gratitude.'

Hermione's eyes had taken on a strange cast, as if she wasn't sure if she should believe Ron or not. Ron couldn't tell if she looked grateful for the compliment or thought that Ron was just making polite conversation.

'She said she saw me in the record stores
And that I must be doing well. . .'

"I've seen you play Quidditch a couple times," Hermione commented, changing the subject as she looked earnestly at Ron. "You're really good, you know."

Ron couldn't tell whether she sounded wistful and sad or was just making idle chit-chat. Or maybe she was just telling the truth and meant it as a heartfelt compliment as he had when he had told her she was pretty.

'I said the audience was heavenly
But the travelling was hell.'

"Yeah, the games are great. Sometimes, after the games I talk with the players from the opposing teams, and they're really cool guys!" Ron's eyes were bright and happy. "The travelling pretty much sucks, though. I rarely get to stay in one place. . . I meet new people, but I can't really stay in touch with friends."

Ron sounded slightly gloomy.

'We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time. . .'

Ron shook himself. Christmas was no time to be glum! He topped up Hermione's and his own cup then raised his glass for another toast.

"To youth."

They drank, then Hermione stuck her fuzzily transparent cup in the air and declared, "To old friends." She smiled her little half-smile and tossed back the half-inch of pale wine left from Ron's toast. She immediately reached for the bottle and filled it back up, however.

'And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how.'

Ron watched her as she took small sips of the wine, lost in her own recollections. He felt like there was a part of him missing when he looked at her . . . like he had missed a chance at something. He had felt it before, on the day they had left school. He and Hermione had been an on-again, off-again couple, and they had agreed at the castle to end it. But when Ron watched her get off the Hogwarts Express, take a hold of her trunk and walk away, he felt a hole inside him open up where she used to be.

He was feeling that now, a little bit, as he watched her chew her bottom lip, something that seemed to prod the hole in his heart and make it twinge a little more.

'We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time. . .'

Ron gently tapped her cup as he said, 'To oppression defeated." Hermione, startled, looked up into Ron's deep blue eyes. She didn't break eye contact as she raised her cup and said, "To the time we had, the time we've got now, and all the time to come."

They drank deeply, Hermione's mildly questing eyes never leaving Ron's face.

'Reliving in our eloquence
Another 'Auld Lang Syne'. . .'

Ron and Hermione sat like that for a while, conveying more with their eyes than they did in the long conversation that followed. They spent at least an hour and a half talking about anything and everything they could think of.

'The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say. . .'

Quite a while later, their conversation was petering out, and when Ron downed the last of the wine they knew their brief time together was at an end.

'She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away.'

Hermione leaned over and placed a tender, chaste kiss on Ron's wine-sweet lips, and then he climbed out of the car. They didn't say anything, no goodbyes, no farewells.

Ron waved a slow wave that held pain and sadness as he watched her leave him again, still feeling her warm lips upon his.

'Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain. . .'

The pain of last time pierced him again. If anything, it was even stronger than before. Ron wanted nothing more than to run after her, to beg her to stay just a little longer. He wanted to cry, knowing he knew he couldn't do anything . . . he just wanted her back in his life. He missed her so much.

'And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain--'

Ron turned, tearing himself away from the empty street and started trudging through the snow . . . no, now it was cold, chilling rain.

Now he realized. Now, when it didn't matter in the slightest, now that it was too late to do anything, now that he knew he could never have her . . . he had found out.

He loved her. So much.

~fin