Inspired in part by the John Mayer song "Daughters"; the quotation on Hermione's ring is from Thomas Aquinas. I do not like using the horizontal line to break POV, but apparently it won't let me use anything else. Bah.
"And that's all you can say? I swear you're an idiot, Ron Weasley!" Hermione Granger's voice was scathing, and she gave Ron one last glare before turning on her heel and marching up the stairs to the their bedroom on the second floor. Seconds later, there was a loud SLAM, and then
"Bloody hell!"
Ron smashed his fist into one of the handy pillows scattered about in the living room of the flat he shared with his long-time girlfriend, Hermione, and his best friend, Harry Potter. "I swear to Merlin that girl is like puzzle with half of the pieces missing! I mean, damn, you try to give a girl a sincere compliment and she gets all upset!"
Harry glanced up from where he was sitting on one of the scarlet couches, his own girlfriend and Ron's baby sister Ginny curled in his lap, and chuckled. "Ron, all girls are like that: hard to figure out. It's just the way they are. OUCH!" Harry paused to rub at his side, where Ginny had unobtrusively pinched him.
Ginny hid a smirk in Harry's shoulder, before lifting her head to look at her fuming brother. "I think what Harry is trying to say is that we're sweet and generous and kind for putting up with all you clueless male gits. The reason we seem so barking to you is that you don't even try to understand us."
When Ron gave Ginny a very rude look and snorted, and Harry developed a sudden interest in his fingers, Ginny sighed and sat up straighter. "Listen, case in point. Do you really think Hermione would enjoy hearing you compare her to a puzzle?"
Ron had the grace to look chagrined, his face flushing a bit as he looked down and smoothed out the cushion he had pummeled. "No. No, it would probably make her even more mad." But then he lifted his head, and grumbled, "Still, I really was only trying to give her a compliment."
Ginny softened at the completely lost look on her brother's face. He really was crazy about Hermione, and Ginny could understand how love sometimes made you do stupid things. She'd stuck her elbow in a butter dish, for Merlin's sake!
Smoothing a hand down Harry's arm with a loving smile, which he returned, she stood up and walked over to Ron, who still looked forlorn. Curling up next to him on the couch, she slung a pale, slender arm over his shoulder and placed her cheek against his, so that their fiery red hair mingled. Ron slid his arm around her and squeezed, letting out a soft breath.
"What did I do wrong, Gin? I mean, I know I'm not always the most romantic of blokes, but you have to give me credit for trying. Especially tonight."
Ginny frowned and glanced over to Harry, who shook his head and lifted his hands, palm up, as if to say 'You got me, I didn't know tonight was special, either'. Smoothing her soft cheek against Ron's rough one once more, she murmured, "What do you mean, especially tonight? I thought you were just taking her out to dinner."
Ron didn't say anything for long seconds, just held onto Ginny, basking in her gentle comfort, before finally digging around in the pocket of his dress robes and then shoving something into her hands. Ginny's eyes went wider than saucers when she saw the small, square, black velvet box. They went even wider when she popped it open and found a beautiful amber stone winking up at her from an antique gold setting. "By Merlin, Ron, it's beautiful!"
Ron didn't even bother to look at it, instead getting up to pace restlessly. Harry was suddenly very aware of his own little black box, tucked neatly away in the bottom dresser of his bureau, just waiting for him to get up the nerve to give it to Ginny. Intrigued that Ron had been going to beat him to the punch, Harry moved over to sit beside Ginny and admire the ring. Though it wasn't anything like the dark blue sapphire with the platinum band he'd purchased for Ginny, he had the feeling this was more Hermione's style. "It is beautiful, Ron."
Ron made a dismissive gesture with his hands, but then paused in his pacing to look down at the ring, which Ginny had taken out of the box to examine more closely. "It reminded me of the color of Hermione's eyes." Ginny and Harry both glanced up at him, surprise clear in their faces, and Ron felt the tips of his ears go red. Returning to his pacing and his morose thoughts to cover his embarrassment, he added, "There's an inscription."
Ginny turned over the ring and glanced inside the band. She frowned. "Ron, there's nothing here."
Ron, however, didn't seem to hear her. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he and Ron were more alike than they knew. "Accio wand." Ginny frowned at him when his wand came zooming from the mantelpiece, but Harry just smiled at her and touched his wand tip to the ring, murmuring "Amor Ron." The stone immediately began to glow, and writing began to trace itself along the inside of the gold band. Harry distinctly heard Ginny sniffle, and felt his own throat tighten.
My 'Mione. "Love is a binding force, by which another is joined to me and cherished by myself."
"Ron. Wherever did you come up with that?" Ginny's voice was reverent and choked as she looked up at her brother. Ron paused and blushed once more, running his hands through his hair and grinning sheepishly.
"Hermione, of course. It's from some Italian philosopher she was reading about the time I was picking out the ring. She read that quote to me, and smiled at me in such a way that I just...it seemed to fit us, you know?"
After a moment, Ginny pressed the ring back into its velvet box, snapped it closed decisively and held it out to Ron. "I think you should go tell all of this to Hermione."
Ron grimaced as he took the box and stuffed it back in his robes. The thought of facing his girlfriend with a proposal, after her volatile reaction to his innocent compliment was enough to give him cold chills. Gryffindor he might be, but Hermione never took it well when he tried to apologize for something he'd not even realized he'd done wrong.
Harry tried not to chuckle at the look of distress on Ron's face, and instead pulled Ginny closer to his side. "I agree, Ron. You should go talk to Hermione."
Ron grumbled, scrubbed his hands over his face, and then let out a long, heavy sigh. "I know you're right. I do, really, but she...well, she scares the piss out of me, to be honest."
This time Harry did laugh, and Ginny joined him. Neither of them heard Ron mutter, "And she doesn't ever really want to talk to me, anyway." Ron managed a half-smile of his own, quite aware of how amusing the whole situation had to be for his best friend and his sister, even if it was nothing short of painful for him.
Before either of them could open their mouths, Ron sighed again, long-suffering like, and headed toward the stairs. "All right, I'll go. But if she throws something at me, you two are responsible for taking me to the hospital." The joke was meant to keep him from blubbering like a baby in frustration. It helped that Harry took his cue.
Harry sketched a salute, and snickered when Ron stuck his tongue out at him. "Real mature, Weasley. One would think you were twelve, instead of 24!"
Ron's affectionate "Wanker!" from the top of the stairs sent Ginny and Harry both into fits of hilarity, until they collapsed on the couch in a tangle of arms and legs. At the same moment, they realized how close their lips were, and Harry couldn't resist kissing her. Ginny let out a little breathless sound of pleasure and sank into him. Seconds later, with Ginny's soft protest at the ending of their kiss making his eyes twinkle, Harry murmured, "Accio box."
'I mean, if Ron can do it, certainly I can, too, right?' he thought to himself, as Ginny eyed him warily. Harry really, really, really tried to ignore the owls winging their way around his stomach.
Hermione slammed the door to the room she shared with Ron hard enough to make the pictures on the wall bounce alarmingly and the vase of tulips teeter precariously close to the edge of the dresser. It made her feel marginally better, but snatching up the nearest object (sadly enough, it was only a pillow, for Hermione loved the sound of things breaking when she was angry) and hurling it at the wall made her feel even better. "The idiotic, imbecilic, troglodytic cretin!" she fumed, marching over to plop down on the bed.
Ron just made her so angry! How could one person be so sweet and adorable one minute, and a complete and utter ass the next? It boggled the mind, it really did. She'd been so excited when he'd mentioned this date. They got to spend little time alone together, what with her job with the Department of Mysteries and his being away on Auror missions, and then sharing a flat with Harry, who more often than not had Ginny staying over, as well. The idea that Ron might like to spend some time alone with her outside of their bedroom had been intoxicating. She'd been very careful with her appearance, taking a bath in the strawberry-scented bath oil that he said drove him mad, smoothing the matching lotion into her skin so it would be soft when he touched her, finally, after the long hours of dinner and wine and...
She was crying. Dammit. Big fat teardrops were making tracks in her careful Muggle makeup, and she could already feel her nose starting to stuff up and turn red. Hermione knew she was not pretty when she cried.
"Well, fuck, apparently I'm not pretty when I try to be, either!" The sound of her own voice, weepy and miserable and cursing, startled her, as did the sudden ring of the telephone on her bedside table. She reached for it on instinct; it was probably her Dad, and who better to wail to about her unfortunate choice of boyfriend?
"Princess?" Only her dad ever called her princess, and Hermione burst into fresh sobs.
"Oh, Daddy, why c-can't he be more li-like youuuuuuu?"
Ron hesitated in front of his and Hermione's bedroom door for several long seconds. Try as hard as he might, he couldn't force down the hippogriffs doing a dance in his stomach. Sure, it was all well and good to propose to your girlfriend when she was soft and mellow from a nice dinner and a little wine, but to think of proposing after she'd called you an idiot...
"An idiot! I mean, I know I'm not always the smartest bloke, but bollocks to her for ruining a perfectly good evening!" The sound of his own voice had Ron's legendary temper stirring, and so he pushed open the door with every intention of giving Hermione a piece of his mind.
Except, Hermione was on the telephone. And she was crying. He scowled, remembering another argument, not too far in the past. Yes, he knew it was a telephone, not fellytone. Could he help it that he really didn't care much for Muggle devices? Hermione's tear-clogged voice snapped him back to the present.
"Oh, Daddy, why c-can't he be more li-like youuuuuuu?" Frowning even harder now, though the sight of Hermione's tears was making his heart ache, Ron slowly backed out into the hallway and then sank into the floor next to the door.
He suddenly felt...defeated. Weary. Sad.
Jealous.
He snorted and scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to blot out the sight of Hermione crying, once more, to her father, over something "horrible Ron" had done to her. She never just talked with him about the mistakes he sometimes blundered into with good intentions and so much love that sometimes just looking at Hermione made his heart stutter. No, instead she always somehow ended up talking to her father. And instead of it being Ron who comforted her, who stumbled over soft apologies and gave her gentle kisses to ease away the hurt he never meant to cause, it was her father who calmed her, who murmured soothing words and gentle promises.
At first, he had to admit he'd been grateful for Mr. Granger's (they were not on a first-name basis, he had been informed sharply) interference. Ron knew he was often clumsy with Hermione's emotions. Hell, he was often clumsy with his own! So, in the beginning, when their love was still new and fragile, he had only been relieved when she had found solace in her father. But now...
He groaned and bumped his head back against the wall, the thunk of his skull striking the drywall very satisfying. But now, now Ron wanted her all to himself. He wanted...he wanted to gather her up and hold her close and never let her go. He wanted to be the one to whom she brought her pain, her pleasure, her grief, her joy, just...her.
He covered his face in his hands as his emotions threatened to rise into his throat and choke him. God, he loved her so much! Why couldn't that be enough? Why couldn't his dream of a little house and a little garden and a little family of bushy-haired little children be enough for her? Why wasn't he enough?
Hermione stared at the phone in shock. "What did you say?" Surely, surely she hadn't heard her father right. He could not have just said that maybe she should talk to her mother. He never pawned her off on her mother. Even when she had been little and she'd had the normal scrapes and falls of childhood, it had been her father who scooped up, who doctored her boo-boos and kissed away the hurt. Oh, sure, Hermione knew her mother loved her, but it was in Daddy's arms that Hermione had always found solace and understanding.
So it was a jarring, unwelcome shock when there was an awkward clearing of a throat, and then, "Prin...Hermione, I think that perhaps I've been wrong to encourage you to come to me for so much. I think...I think maybe you should talk to your mother." And before she could protest, she heard her mother's soft, melodious voice come on the line.
"Hello, Hermione, dear. Dad says you're having a bad night of it. Did something happen between you and Ron?"
The silence lengthened, stretched, and Hermione could swear she heard her father say, "I don't think this is a good idea, Judith. That boy is so awful to her; she needs me." And then...then her mother said the most amazing thing.
"Darrel, Ron is not a boy, he's a man. In fact, he's a very sweet, generous, kind, respectful man, who loves Hermione more than anything else in this world. And though you're doing your bloody best to keep Hermione from noticing, she's a woman, and she should not be coming to you with her problems. She should be taking them to the man she loves."
Hermione hung up. For a long, breathless moment, she just stared down at her hands, barely noticing that she was crying once more. Instead, she was thinking about what her mother had said about Ron.
About her. Was...was her mum right? Was her father trying to keep her from being a woman? "Or am I trying so hard to still be Daddy's little girl that I'm missing what's right in front of me?" Hermione breathed to herself, shocked. Her head came up, and she stared at herself in the freestanding mirror near the bathroom door.
She didn't notice her blotchy skin or swollen eyes, or the black tracks of her mascara; she was really looking at herself for the first time, and wondering if, instead of Ron making the mistakes, it had been her. How must he have felt, that she would go to her father before she came to him? How must that have hurt his sensitive heart, to know that while she loved him, she shared who she really was with her father rather than him?
Hermione's voice was heartbroken, shocked...pained. "Oh, no. What have I done?"
And it was then that she replayed the scene from earlier with new eyes. Saw Ron's eyes go wide and glassy with shock and love and lust all tangled up as she came down the stairs, wearing the pretty mint green Muggle dress that skimmed her curves and the mile-high heels that would only put her chin level with his shoulder. Saw Ginny nudge Harry and chuckle as Ron stuttered to come up with something to tell her how she made him feel, when she smiled at him, when she held his hand...when they made love. Felt his hand tremble as he took hers. Heard him say, softly, "You look bloody brilliant."
And felt his pain in her own heart when she told him that what he had to say wasn't enough for her.
She had a lot to make up for.
Hermione Granger could be a lot of things. Brilliant, stubborn, loyal, dangerous, even sometimes charming. One of the things she was not, however, was a procrastinator. Quickly grabbing her wand and muttering a spell to repair some of the damages of her tears, Hermione marched out into the hall to find Ron.
And promptly fell into his lap.
Ron was working himself into a right good funk. He felt he deserved it. He figured any bloke who had just come to the realization that the woman he loved was never going to love him the way he loved her deserved to wallow in self-pity for a bit. Sure, he and Hermione would always be friends; they'd been through too much to never see each other again. But that wasn't really comforting when one of his most cherished dreams for years had been to see Hermione round with their child, asking him if he wanted to feel the baby move.
Ron groaned and thunked his head once more against the wall, then let out a yelp as he felt a foot snag on his trousers seconds before Hermione spilled inelegantly into his lap. For what seemed like hours, they just stared at each other. Ron was fighting the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears, while Hermione was feeling guilty all over again at the pained, lost look in Ron's eyes. Then Hermione righted herself, curling up against his chest and cupping his face in his palms. "I've...I've really messed it up this time, haven't I, Ron?"
Ron's brows drew together in puzzlement as he gave into the urge to touch her hair, curling a lock of the soft brown mass around his fingers. He couldn't quite meet her eyes; how was he supposed to tell her he understood she was never going to love him when what he really wanted to do was drop his head in her lap and beg shamelessly? Gathering his courage, he started to tell her...and then found that she was, as usual, several steps ahead of him. Only...only not on the same track. Wait...was she apologizing to him?
It took all of Hermione's fast dwindling courage to keep talking, when Ron wouldn't look at her. What if...what if she'd left it too late? Oh, Merlin, what if she lost him for good? Fear leant a desperate sincerity to her voice. "Ron, I really am sorry. I've been such an idiot. It never dawned on me that I was turning you away. It's been terribly unfair of me to compare you to my father. You're not my dad...I don't want you to be like him. Not really."
Now Ron did look at her, and Hermione winced at the incredulity in his big blue eyes. So she was right, this situation was terribly, horribly wrong, and she'd caused it. She swiped her thumbs over his cheeks and sighed softly, leaning in to lay her forehead against his. Her voice this time was choked with tears of regret. "Oh, Merlin, Ron, please don't tell me I've left it too late. Please. I love you."
"Do you, Hermione? I mean, do you really?" Hermione jerked back so fast that she got a little dizzy. Ron steadied her automatically with hands on her back, but watched her face closely as something like panic chased across her features. She opened her mouth, but Ron shook his head. He was on the same track she was, and he had some things he wanted to say. "Wait, wait, let me have my turn. I appreciate the apology, Hermione, I do. And I know you love me. But I'm starting to think that maybe what I mean when I say 'I love you' is not what you mean when you say it."
Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip and worried it for a bit, her big eyes worried, stunned and just a little guilty. Ron nearly gave in, nearly kissed her when he saw her jewel-bright tears sparkling on her lashes, nearly let himself go back to pretending that this was okay, this half-love they had. Instead, he sighed and shook his head, once, to clear it, and said softly, "When I say 'I love you', do you know what I'm really thinking about?"
Too afraid to open her mouth and say the wrong thing, she just shook her head, her heart suddenly thumping wildly in her chest. It was rare for Ron to be so candid, so open, and something...something told her this was really important.
Ron's eyes had softened, gone blurry and indistinct as if he were looking through her, rather than at her. And then...then she heard the second most amazing thing she'd heard all night. "I'm thinking about me, a few months from now, you walking down the aisle in a half-Muggle, half-Wizard wedding, my hands sweaty and my heart trying to burst out of my chest at how beautiful you are.
"I'm thinking about you, a couple of years from now, your face flushed, a little scared and apprehensive and so full of joy as you touch my arm and tell me you're going to have my baby.
"I'm thinking about us, both of us, trying not to cry as our youngest heads off to Hogwarts for the first time, and it's just me and you again, alone in the house." Hermione was crying again, silent tears, and Ron brushed them gently away with his thumbs as he focused once more on her face, his voice so soft, so gentle, so true, straight from his loving heart.
"And I'm thinking what it'll be like, fifty years from now, as we hold hands and watch our children's children frolic in our garden and wonder where the time went, wonder why it feels like just yesterday that we met on a train and you told me I had dirt on my nose. Those are the things I think about, Hermione, when I say 'I love you', and those ordinary moments are tangled up with a thousand others that make my love for you extraordinary."
Hermione lifted her hands to cover his around her face and squeezed. She was still crying, but they were tears of joy, of understanding; finally, after all of this time, she understood how deeply Ron loved her. It dawned on her then that maybe, just maybe, he loved her better than her father ever could, because he loved her not just for how things had been, but for the way they could be. And so, she said his name.
"Ron." It was just his name, just that, and suddenly, Ron saw it in her eyes. He saw their future together. Saw those ordinary moments that he'd dreamed about for so long reflecting back at him and finally, finally, he felt like maybe she wanted the same things he did. That maybe she loved him, just him, just like he was, just Ron Weasley, and that his love was enough.
And that's how, after 13 years of friendship and 7 years as lovers, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger found themselves sitting on the floor in the hallway of the flat they shared with their best friend, Harry Potter, engaged to be married. And in a distant part of her mind, as she and Ron laughed and cried and held on to each other, Hermione wondered if one day, it would be her on the phone with her and Ron's daughter, explaining that for love between a man and a woman to work, sometimes a daddy just had to let go of his princess.