–Do you remember?†he asks, his fingers sliding through her hair, a caress so soft she barely knows he is there.
–Remember what?†she says, not entirely sure what he’s getting at.
Ron says nothing, but instead watches the flames of the fire, noticing how they curl around the logs, spitefully eating up the air.
He’d almost lost her in Fiendfyre.
Following his gaze, and in time with his thoughts, Hermione kisses him softly on the cheek. He gets like this sometimes, not remembering the good things about the Battle, but focusing on the bad. Although if she’d lost a family member, she’s not sure she’d ever have been able to think of happy things again.
–I always thought Crabbe was an idiot,†he mutters.
–He was,†she agrees. –We underestimated him ... but the Carrows didn’t.†Turning into him, she rested her head on his chest. –Is that what you were remembering, Vincent Crabbe dying in that fire?â€
He shrugs. –Maybe.â€
She wants to demand that he tell her, but his face in the firelight is shrouded, and suddenly she’s afraid that he’ll come out with an answer that she doesn’t want to hear.
They have spent the day at a Memorial Service. Not just to remember the Fallen, but to celebrate the victory. To show their deaths were not in vain and their ultimate sacrifice cannot and will not ever be forgotten. For some, the fifteen years has hit harder than other years. It’s a milestone, after all, and not one those still grieving wish to celebrate.
Molly is greyer these days, and not just her hair. Surrounded by grandchildren, she’s all smiles and very little scolding, but it’s a front. When Hermione watches her mother-in-law, she realises a part of Molly will never heal.
–Hugo turned his lemonade red today,†she whispers to Ron, when the silence has become almost unbearable. –And then he asked if we had anything gold he could float along the top.â€
He chuckles. –That’s my boy. Gryffindor all the way.â€
–What else could he be with Weasley blood running through his veins?†she replies. –Although, Molly’s not a Gryffindor.â€
–Mmm, funny that,†Ron murmurs. –I did think she might be a Ravenclaw like Audrey. But Hufflepuff?†He shakes his head. –Don’t think there’s ever been a Weasley in Hufflepuff.â€
–Don’t let Hannah hear you sound so disparaging.â€
–I won’t! I mean, I’m not,†he protests. –I’m glad really. She’s a sweet kid. I just hope she’s happy there.â€
–Probably happier than she would have been in Gryffindor,†Hermione replies. –I hate to think what it must be like living up not only to the Weasley name but to two cousins who are an eighth Veela.â€
Standing, Ron stretches, yawns, and picks up the plates. Intending to carry them to the sink, he first asks Hermione if he can fetch her anything. She shakes her head.
–We could open a bottle,†he suggests. –Commemorate, perhaps.â€
Considering, she screws up her face as she thinks of all of those who died, not realising that Ron is watching her, a smile on his face when he sees the small creases in her nose as she remembers.
–I’d like to toast them all,†she says at last. –But not for dying. Let’s remember them as they lived.â€
He withholds the sigh, feeling churlish, for obviously her thoughts are with them. They should be on a day like today. It’s just...
–Red or white?â€
–White, for me.â€
–I’m not planning on opening two bottles,†he mutters, then stops his grimace, smiling instead. –White it is. I can’t drink too much. I’ve got to open up tomorrow.â€
–Shame,†she replies, smiling back. –I have tomorrow off.â€
–Hermione Weasley taking the day off!†he exclaims in mock horror. –How will the Law Department cope without you?â€
She throws a cushion and glowers at him. It’s a running joke, with an undercurrent of tension, that she never leaves the office on time. But there’s still too much to do, so many loose ends and unpunished criminals years after the Battle, drive her onwards.
He catches the cushion and lobs it back towards her where it lands with a flop by her side. –I’ll get the wine.â€
–Astoria Malfoy was there today,†she says when he returns. –Did you see?â€
Taking a larger gulp than he’d intended, Ron tries not to choke, but doesn’t recover until she’s slapped him on the back. –I saw a snotty looking blond kid that I had to stop myself from slapping. Was that his son?â€
–Mmm, Scorpius. Same age as Rose.â€
–I know,†he mutters darkly. Then his face brightens. –He’ll be a Slytherin like his parents. No chance my Rosie will get friendly with him.â€
–If you tell her that, she’ll be all the more determined,†Hermione replies, sounding arch. –Your daughter has inherited the Weasley contrariness.â€
–Con-whatiness?â€
–Tell her to do one thing, and she’ll do the opposite,†Hermione informs him. –Sometimes I swear she’s channelling your brother.†She bites her lip and returns to her wine, hoping he hasn’t heard the last bit.
–Which brother? I have five ...†His face blanches. –Four, I have four. Shit, how the hell can I forget that?â€
He is angry now, getting to his feet and pacing the floor, furious at his own stupidity, his slip of the tongue, stinging his words with regret.
–I meant Fred,†she admits. –Sometimes I forget too, Ron. And...â€
–And what?â€
–Perhaps it’s a good thing. We still talk about him as if he’s alive. Because he is, in a way.â€
Heaving a sigh, Ron sits back on the sofa. The early intimacy has gone, but he doesn’t mind - not really - for Fred should be uppermost in their thoughts.
Along with Remus and Tonks, fighting and dying for a better world, and Colin ...poor, innocent, brave Colin. Poor Colin who could barely duel, let alone fight for his life.
And then he feels ashamed because his thoughts earlier had not been of those who died, but of something else. Something palpable. Something that had obsessed him, but he hadn’t realised quite how much until it happened.
But Fred wouldn’t have minded. He’d have laughed and clapped him on the back saying ‘About bloody time!’
–What are you thinking about?â€
I’m a Gryffindor, for Godric’s sake. Just tell her!
Putting down his glass, Ron faces her. He clasps her hands in his, and fixes her with what he hopes is his most sincere and loving of looks. –Fifteen years ago, Hermione Jean Weasley, we kissed ... well, you kissed me, actually, but I didn’t complain and responded-â€
–Enthusiastically,†she replies, giggling.
He notices she’s still smiling, but it’s different now. It’s not a smile of amusement, or nostalgia, but the smile of promise. He grins back and holds up the wine.
–Fancy finishing this in bed?†he suggests.
She pulls him to his feet. –Thought you’d never ask.â€
Another Anniversary by Equinox Chick
Chapter Endnotes: A day late, but the site crashed on me :( I hope you enjoyed this.