a.n I do not own any of the Golden Trio of HP. Or any of the riches that
they gave J.K Rowling. Too bad.
Now that I have that out of the way...this is a small ficcie set at the end of Seventh Year. Ron has something tres importante to tell Hermione.
Didn't you ever wonder why I ever called you 'Mione? Seriously—this isn't a joke or a side thing. There is a reason, and if you haven't guessed already...well, I just can't take it anymore, I HAVE to tell you.
sigh...our first year. Oh, man, you remember what it was like. It really started there, I suppose. To be more specific, Halloween of that year. When you were trapped in that bathroom. I hate to say it, but I didn't really want to go after you—I figured the professors would handle it. But Harry went, and you know how it is; you just can't say no to Harry. But I guess something snapped when I saw you cowering behind that troll. Snapped. I had to do something, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Windgardium leviosa. Enchanting that club to get that git and save you.
I just HAD to save you. And if you remember, it wasn't long after that that I called you 'Mione for the first time.
You still don't understand? Well, onward then...
To second year. We were worried all year then, weren't we? I guess being friends with Harry made our school days cursed or something. Then the basilisk got you. Petrified you to stone. Thank God you didn't die—yes, I know how close you came to it, and if you weren't so smart, you would have. Huh. But Harry and I visited you in the Infirmary—you wouldn't remember that. And I remember standing above you, thinking that it should have been me, that I should have been there to save you. I don't think you saw my face when I saw you alive and safe and happy once again. You were safe. And that colored the whole summer gold.
sigh...no recognition yet? Ah, 'Mione, you're losing your edge! But I will oblige you through one more year of memories.
Third year. For once, You-Know-Who didn't make an appearance. That was good, I guess. But breaking your leg and being attacked by someone you think is a deranged mass murderer can more or less overshadow it. But that's not the point. See, you may not know, but I did find out about all that happened when I was in the Infirmary. You were in such danger, in so many ways—losing you soul, destroying the timeline as we knew it, all that. And I wasn't there to help you.
I wasn't there to save you...
'Mione. Do you understand now? There is an old legend: if you save a life, it belongs to you. Ever since I saved you that first Halloween that first year, you've been mine to me. And that's why I call you 'Mione; the words sound so alike. In mind, every year since then (all seven of them), you were my girl. Mine to keep, mine to protect. Mine to love.
And if you don't mind, I'd like you to be that way for real. Forever.
My 'Mione.
Now that I have that out of the way...this is a small ficcie set at the end of Seventh Year. Ron has something tres importante to tell Hermione.
Didn't you ever wonder why I ever called you 'Mione? Seriously—this isn't a joke or a side thing. There is a reason, and if you haven't guessed already...well, I just can't take it anymore, I HAVE to tell you.
sigh...our first year. Oh, man, you remember what it was like. It really started there, I suppose. To be more specific, Halloween of that year. When you were trapped in that bathroom. I hate to say it, but I didn't really want to go after you—I figured the professors would handle it. But Harry went, and you know how it is; you just can't say no to Harry. But I guess something snapped when I saw you cowering behind that troll. Snapped. I had to do something, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Windgardium leviosa. Enchanting that club to get that git and save you.
I just HAD to save you. And if you remember, it wasn't long after that that I called you 'Mione for the first time.
You still don't understand? Well, onward then...
To second year. We were worried all year then, weren't we? I guess being friends with Harry made our school days cursed or something. Then the basilisk got you. Petrified you to stone. Thank God you didn't die—yes, I know how close you came to it, and if you weren't so smart, you would have. Huh. But Harry and I visited you in the Infirmary—you wouldn't remember that. And I remember standing above you, thinking that it should have been me, that I should have been there to save you. I don't think you saw my face when I saw you alive and safe and happy once again. You were safe. And that colored the whole summer gold.
sigh...no recognition yet? Ah, 'Mione, you're losing your edge! But I will oblige you through one more year of memories.
Third year. For once, You-Know-Who didn't make an appearance. That was good, I guess. But breaking your leg and being attacked by someone you think is a deranged mass murderer can more or less overshadow it. But that's not the point. See, you may not know, but I did find out about all that happened when I was in the Infirmary. You were in such danger, in so many ways—losing you soul, destroying the timeline as we knew it, all that. And I wasn't there to help you.
I wasn't there to save you...
'Mione. Do you understand now? There is an old legend: if you save a life, it belongs to you. Ever since I saved you that first Halloween that first year, you've been mine to me. And that's why I call you 'Mione; the words sound so alike. In mind, every year since then (all seven of them), you were my girl. Mine to keep, mine to protect. Mine to love.
And if you don't mind, I'd like you to be that way for real. Forever.
My 'Mione.