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.
The Night Before (Life Goes On) by Ron x Hermione
Chapter Notes: I would, once again, like to thank Julia (Celestial Melody), for beta-ing! Thanks, Julia!