Autumn Leaves and Golden Kisses
They had met in autumn, when the leaves were browning and crisp, and the smell of fresh pinewood was clinging to the air. Deciding to lie down underneath a young, but still towering oak tree, they had looked up at the cloudless blue sky and opened their mouths in awe. Then they had laughed, and pointed at each other’s inspired faces.
Later on, a smirk forming on her mouth, she had tickled him relentlessly under the chin until he had whacked her with a nearby stick, which broke on contact.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she had said.
“It broke!” he had exclaimed, checking for a mark on her arm. “See,” he had said, shoving her arm under her nose, “no mark.” He seemed to think this settled the matter, and had crossed his arms and turned so that his back was facing her.
She put her hands on his eyes and said, “So, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!”
“Yes, it does, you know it does,” he had said, nodding his head, but removing her hands from his eyes so he could turn back around.
She had stuck her tongue out at him at frowned. “Well, it hurts.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
She grinned. “You will be,” she had said, pushing him over before she had run away screaming.
“You’re in for it now.”
He had run straight after her, as fast as he could, his legs burning. He had caught up to her leaning against a small tree, bits of dead leaves stuck in her hair. He had grabbed her middle and brought her down to the ground, so that they were both lying down, fighting.
She’d grabbed his hair tightly and pulled it so he had to hit her hand away, in case some of it came out. In retaliation, she had begun to kick him, not too hard, but still rather fiercely. He had tried to block the kicks with his hands, but he met too much force. Instead, he had joined in and kicked her back. Starting to laugh, their legs had become too tired to move. So, he had turned to lean over her and tickled her under her armpits. But instead of fighting back, she had simply let him, her squealing shrieks filling the air around them. Eventually laughter had overtaken them both, and he had stopped, instead sitting up and letting the laughter spill from him.
They then had both looked at each other and had eyed a pile of autumn leaves not far from them. He had gotten up and scooped as many leaves as he could into his arms, and sat back down, placing them in the centre of where they were sitting. Grinning at each other, they had each reached out for some leaves and thrown them up in the air, watching them fall lightly to the grassy floor. In a moment, they had both stood up and had proceeded to reach down for the rest of the leaves, throw them in the air, and then run through the raining leaves, cackling like old wicked witches. After all the leaves had fallen, and there were no longer any left in the pile for them to throw, he’d offered her his hand and they’d both sat down again.
“That was a horrid thing to do.”
“Horrid?” he had asked, his eyebrow cocked.
She’d swatted his arm. “Yes, horrid.”
“Yeah, well you deserved it. You pushed me over!”
She had pulled a face of indignation. “You hit me really hard with a huge stick! It wasn’t very nice.”
“I didn’t mean for it to hurt, I guess I’m just so strong,” he’d said, striking a pouting pose and flexing his right arm to show off his muscle.
“Yeah, right, sure you are,” she had said, rolling her eyes. “I can see your muscle from here.”
“Well, you are quite far away, aren’t you,”
“I’m right next to you,” she had said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, well…” he’d trailed off.
“You want to go get some orange juice?” she’d asked him, about to stand up.
“Will it have ice?” he had asked, as he was beginning to get a little sweaty.
“Definitely.”
“Then I’m in.”
They had run back across the field, trying unsuccessfully to bump into each other. Then, they had concentrated on trying to make the other one trip over instead. With him trying to kick at her feet and her simply trying to push him over, by the time they reached the chalk white cottage that was her rented vacation house, they had both been tripped up and had fallen to the ground twice.
They had run, laughing, through the pile of rotting leaves that her mother had just spent ages building, too tired to jump over it. Racing to the back of the house and into the kitchen, they’d skidded on the checked floor and had sat down at the wooden table on high light-wood chairs. After placing their hands on the top of the table, they’d stared at the girl’s mother who, after hearing them scramble in had looked up, a cloth in her hand. She had smiled and asked them if they had wanted a drink.
“Two orange juices please,” the girl had said, “with ice!” as an afterthought.
Her mother had brought them two tall glasses, filled to the brim with cold orange juice and ice cubes.
“Enough ice for you, you little madam?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you two enjoying your day?” her mother had asked them, smiling.
As an answer, they both had nodded animatedly and then turned their attention to their drinks.
The girl’s mother had laughed slightly before saying, “Well, I’m going to go in the living room, and don’t drink your drinks too fast, or you’ll get indigestion.”
They had both nodded vaguely, not really listening to anything except the gulps of the other.
After finishing his drink and slumping down on his chair, he had suddenly exclaimed, “Nothing’s moving!”
She had briefly looked puzzled, but then she had sat up taller. “That’s because this isn’t our house. We’re just on holiday here so that my dad can be near his university as well as sunbathe,” she’d said with a giggle.
“Oh,” he had said, “okay.”
After she had placed her empty glass on the table, he had suggested playing a game outside, ‘because it’s so sunny,’ being his reasoning.
“But what shall we play?” she had asked, wanting to stay in her vacation house’s garden, and slurp ice lollies with the boy she had met just this morning.
“A ball game,” he had said. “Do you have any brooms?” he had asked, his face lighting up.
Not wanting to disappoint him, but thinking his request strange, she had said, “In the cupboard, I think, but there’s only one.”
“Oh, right,” he had said, looking slightly dejected. “Oh well, we can play ‘Catch’!”
She had sighed softly, but it was too quiet for him to hear. “Okay,”
He’d grabbed her arm and smiled. “Let’s go.”
Once in the field again, they both had fun running up and down trying to catch the ball, sometimes falling over or being hit by an awry ball. The girl had chucked the green ball rather pathetically into a puddle of golden leaves so the boy had dived into it and fetched the ball so he could throw it back at her. Unfortunately, his aim had been off balance and the ball had flown down to the other side of the field.
The girl, coming to stand next to him, had said in a slightly annoyed tone, “That wasn’t to me.”
“Sorry about that, I don’t know what happened. It just went the other way when I threw it.”
“It doesn’t matter; do you want to go get it?”
“Why me?”
“You threw it!”
“Exactly, I need a rest, you go get it.”
“No, that’s not fair, don’t be mean.”
“Fine, let’s both go.”
“Okay.”
So they had run together down the field once again to go relieve the ball from its hiding place.
Once at the bottom of the field, their eyes couldn’t spot the ball. No hint of green was to be seen.
“Can you see it?” the girl had asked the boy, hopeful that he had so they could continue their game.
“No, can you?”
“No.”
They looked around once more. “Do you think it’s near that tree?” the boy asked pointing to the oak tree they had laid under earlier in the day.
“Let’s go look.”
They had reached the tree again in record time, and had ducked down to avoid its vicious branches so they could get to its trunk. After looking around and moving the dead leaves and bits of earth out the way for a few solitary minutes, the girl had shouted loudly.
“Found it!”
She’d picked it up from under a piece of rough bark and put it into the boy’s outstretched hand.
The boy had examined the ball for any scratches, and just as they had turned to leave, he had bent down to pick up a grey, sharp edged piece of stone.
“What are you doing?” the girl had asked.
But the boy had simply motioned for her to accompany him in walking to the very base of the tree.
“Do you think we should?” he had asked her as they had reached their destination.
“Do what?”
He looked at the sharp edge of the stone, and then at the soft bark of the tree.
“Do you?”
“You mean cut into it?”
He nodded.
“But why? What’s the point?”
“Why not? Come on.”
When the girl had still looked unsure, he’d asked her, “Have you had a good time today?”
“The best,” had been her answer.
“Me too, and don’t you think we should be able to remember it?”
“We will anyway,” she had pointed out.
“Yeah, but we might not,” he had reasoned.
She had scrunched up her face before nodding. “Okay, but what shall we put?”
He had whispered in her ear and they both had smiled with her giggling, pleased with what it would be.
After the boy had used his stone to chip away at the tender bark of the tree, he’d stepped back to admire his work, large wood shavings at his feet.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Yes,” the girl had said, “perfect.”
The boy had then looked abruptly to the sky that was darkening quickly.
“I’ve got to get back!” he had exclaimed. “My mum will be going crazy.”
The girl looked had at him, her face falling. “Do you want me to get my mum to take you home?”
“No, don’t worry; I don’t live too far away,”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, positive.”
There was then a small awkward moment, in which they both had looked at each other.
“Well, I’d better get going,” he said, moving forward as if to go, but then he had stopped and steeled himself.
He had then awkwardly brushed his lips lightly against her cheek before running off into the distance, scattering autumn leaves in every direction, his echoing footsteps being the only thing about that day that had become lodged in her mind.
It was daybreak during the summer holidays and they were in a large grassy field, sitting underneath the wooden arms of a large oak tree.
“Do you remember?” he asked her, his face illuminated, and his voice hopeful.
Hermione stared at the tree intently, determined to unmask the secrets it held.
Shaking her head slightly, she stared into his blue eyes for a moment before looking back at the now old oak tree, staring at the initials carved into the bark.
“HG + RW,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to touch the letters softly.
“We really wrote them?” she asked Ron.
Ron looked at her and nodded. “Ages ago, when we were young.”
She stared back at Ron before looking at the tree again. She bit her lip briefly, and then a look of understanding flashed across her face.
Turning around so she was facing him, she asked, “Ron?”
“Yeah?”
She stepped forward, took a deep breath, and smiled before fluttering her eyelids closed and kissing him gently on the lips.
Autumn Leaves and Golden Kisses by punk_109600
Chapter Notes: A/N: Thank you so much to solemnlyswear_x who beta-d this for me!
For clarification, the younger Ron and Hermione are about six or seven.