He could remember the picture being taken many, many years ago with a battered camera. He had mistakenly aimed it at his traveling companion, they had both been alarmed when the flash had gone off without warning.

"Well, that picture is bound to be absolutely brilliant!" She had exclaimed, her eyes dancing mischievously in the tent's dim light.

He had caught her off guard, after all, they had quit mucking about with the decrepit camera almost an hour before he had aimed it at her one last time, not even expecting there to be any exposures left.

As she poured over Magick Most Evile she could hear him approach, and for a moment she took her nose out of the book to look at him, her eyes glinted and widened almost imperceptibly, something like amusement playing through them. The corner of her mouth tugged upward as she feigned annoyance, giving way to an entrancing smirk. He held the camera to her almost too long, forcing himself to tear it away after her gaze became questioning.

"Are you alright?" He had gulped audibly after she asked this. There was so much still left unsaid.

Am I alright? Yes, of course. I was just distracted... by the way you were looking at me. i'm madly in love with you, you see, and the ten seconds of your time I just "wasted" only made me fall deeper... rather, the single look you just gave me was the most enchanting thing I've ever seen.

"What? Oh, yeah..." he blurted stupidly, fumbling with the camera, pretending to check the film. He could've kicked himself. He walked away awkwardly, waiting for the magical artifact to spit out the last picture. The other pictures from that night had been shoved to the bottom of some pile of papers or another, they were mostly pictures of the tent's canvas walls, misfires of the device, or pictures where Ron or Hermione would appear for only a brief moment, only to dart back out in a blur. Those pictures had been lost.

Ron still had the picture of Hermione though, he had carried it with him ever since he had taken it. She had never known he had it, in fact. Two weeks after he had taken it he had deserted Hermione and Harry. He had carried it with him throughout the war, and after it had ended it had been transferred to his wallet, growing worn and faded from being handled and from age.

And still, the photograph managed to make him feel like he couldn't breathe. The life in her eyes dazzled him, and though the photo was in black and white, he could see a faint, pinkish blush across her cheeks, surreptitious in its disguise amongst a light smattering of freckles. He hadn't noticed this until after he had learned the feelings of love were mutual, she had been shy and embarrassed around him without him ever realizing it. Her dark brown eyes which appeared only a few shades lighter than the black tones in the photo still glowed magnificently, their intelligent gleam surprising him years later.

What still amazed him the most was how the photo moved, the series of motion it had captured was the same as her raising her head to meet his eyes. The smile of acknowledgement, the delight in him being there...

Ron sighed and tucked the photo back into place amongst the photos of his children, the photos of his grandchildren. The footsteps of someone coming up the stairs startled him, his heart thudded a little faster for a moment when he realized the steps belonged to a woman.

"Dad?" It was just Rose. She peeked her head into the bedroom, surveying her father who sat on the bed. "Mum's funeral is starting in a moment, come on."

Ron's eyes burned. She looked so like her mother, the slight chiding tone was unmistakably reflective of Hermione's. A mother herself, Ron saw many of Hermione's qualities in Rose, who had inherited her brown eyes and brown hair.

"Coming." He said gruffly, putting the wallet which held the photo into the front pocket of his jacket, patting it gently where it rested against his heart, which thumped painfully.

I'll be seeing you soon, Hermione.