Disclaimer: Sadly, they'll never be mine.
A/N: Title is taken from "As for saying goodbye, we don't know how" by Anna Akhmatova. Also, this is entirely unbeta'd, so please be kind if you review.
When he was a boy Harry was told that he was the master of his own fate and that everything came down to choice. And, for the most part, Harry believes this to be true. He is so glad he chose Ron over Malfoy on that first train ride, glad he didn't try to work things out with Cho and made it work with Ginny.
But, sometimes, there are days when he doubts; days when he is sure that someone, somewhere, up there has already made all of his choices for him.
(left/right, yes/no, Slytherin/Gryffindor, and We could stay here, Harry. Grow old.)
There are days where he will look out of his window and think of how different it would be to see trees instead of a garden; nights where he wonders what it would be like to awaken to a bushy brown mane instead of sleek auburn. There are moments where he will look at Hermione and wonder if there was a choice in there somewhere.
(She leans against him, entwines her fingers with his and they fit so well.)
He decides.
Hermione is fairly happy with her life. It's not perfect, but it's hers and it's the life she has wanted since a grey barn owl first flew through her window. She has children she loves and a husband she adores. She is successful and loved and fairly happy.
But when it is early or late and the house is quiet, there are hours minutes where she looks at Ron's ginger hair and imagines unruly raven black in its place. There are days when she will look at her house surrounded by flowers and a fence and envisions a cottage shadowed by trees.
(Sometimes she sees a little tent in its place.)
She doesn't feel guilty for pretending for seconds minutes hours. She gave up her childhood for the greater good; she can keep some dreams for herself.
They share moments in winter.
It's Christmas and the Burrow is warm. They sit in the snow with their arms wrapped around each other to keep warm while their spouses and children sleep inside. They whisper memories and would-be promises to each other.
"We could go back," He says into her hair.
She presses a smile into his neck and hums as they sway.
Ron remembers how he found Harry and Hermione in the Forest of Dean that winter. How they all seemed a little older than they should have been. He remembers how Harry stood just little closer to her and how she seemed to lean on him a little more. Ron asked them once, what had happened while he was gone. Harry told him that Hermione cried every night and he never asked again.
He was never told that the reasons had changed.
Ron knows that he is loved. He knows that Hermione is the most faithful person he has ever met but then he remembers I get it. You choose him.
Sometimes he wonders.