Dec 3, 2005

A/N:

I know I said I wasn't going to be writing for a while, but I'd already had this done and though I still wish I could tweak it a bit I figured it's the best I'm ever going to get it.

So here it is.

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Seventeen

(…The day she was finally born)

She'd been sitting there for over an hour, just sitting there in the common room long after even the last stragglers had gone to bed. The fire was out, the sleepy coals extinguished, and the room was entirely dark save for the occasional flash of lightening and entirely silent save for the distant rumbling of thunder and her own peaceful breathing.

The clock struck midnight, and it was then that she remembered.

It was her birthday. She was seventeen. And suddenly, that seemed the oldest age it was possible to be. Seventeen. And where was she? No better off than she had been when she was fourteen.

Wouldn't it be so much better, she mused, if life could be read in a book? If there was a text somewhere in which she could read all the answers, all the right paths to go down, the right choices to make. And she wouldn't feel so confused.

…It didn't matter. She'd put it away and worry about it tomorrow.

There was a certain giddiness, she decided, to sitting silently and just…being. She didn't have to think, didn't have to act, didn't have to come to terms with the fact that he probably would never realize that she'd been dropping subtle hints to him all year.

She didn't want have to think about the Dark Lord, and how they only had so long before they had to face him; she didn't want to have to be seventeen, older, or wiser; didn't want to stop being her daddy's little girl, the little ballerina that never grows up.

She didn't want to, and so she didn't. Seventeen could wait another moment; she'd be sixteen for just an hour more.

And then, just as she was beginning to feel better, there he was, soft steps on the stairs, a shadow in the doorway, smelling of soap and wrinkled fingers…now of all times, here to snap her back into reality. For a moment she wondered if he was really there.

She turned to him in the darkness, saw the red hair and freckles illuminated by a stray flash of lightening and struggled to keep her grip on the sweet sixteen that was quickly flitting away.

He approached her, and she could hear the small exhale that always preceded his smile. She closed her eyes and was enveloped in even more darkness than just that of the room. Another hour, she thought desperately, just one more. She wasn't ready to face the future, not just yet.

"Hullo Hermione."

His voice sounded different somehow, the tones and rhythm not the same as she remembered…it as if he were the one having a birthday, as if he were the one that was changing. But maybe that was just the rain. Her own imagination.

Why did it always have to be just her imagination? Why couldn't it be real for once? She opened her eyes and smiled, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she spoke.

"Hello Ron."

She heard the squeak of the couch as he sat down beside her and wished that he felt as anxious as she did for once. Besides that, she wished that he would just go away and let her ease into her seventeenth year and that she could stop time or escape or fly or…but for now Hermione felt that having him share in her nervousness would be enough.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked through another roll of thunder.

Hermione didn't know. She hadn't even tried to. She didn't want to wake up to find herself older and having to deal with whatever darkness loomed ahead. She shrugged, then realized the inadequacy of that gesture.

"I just wanted to sit and think for a while. Watch the rain and things."

"Oh." Ron said, then, "Don't you think it's weird, the rain? I mean, water falling from the sky? If you really think about it, don't you think it's weird?"

She didn't, but she felt she owed him a reply nonetheless.

"Everything's weird if you think about it long enough," she replied a bit curtly.

"I guess."

A flash of lightning illuminated the common room for a brief moment, and Hermione thought she saw a bit of nervousness in his face. She was glad as the light faded and they were enveloped in the darkness again.

She waited patiently as he fiddled with his hands and then spoke again, quietly:

"Are you mad at me, Hermione?"

She blinked, then hurriedly ascertained that no, she wasn't.

"Oh," Ron said, sounding sheepish.

"Why would you think I am?" Hermione had stopped being angry with him ages ago. That rage had been replaced with frustration, the desperation, and now…she didn't feel much of anything now.

Ron shrugged, or at least she thought he did, watching his outline in the dark.

"I dunno," he admitted, "you're always mad at me for one thing or the other."

Was she really? She supposed it was true; maybe that's all he ever saw in her—a bossy know-it-all whose only use was her history notes.

"I don't want to be angry at you anymore, Ron," she hurried to say at the same time that he said, "I really don't mind sometimes."

They trailed off, then sat in silence as a particularly ferocious clap of thunder pervaded the quiet. Hermione gave a little laugh that held no humor.

"Do you think we'll ever be the same, Ron? Now that this is our last year, and…" she swallowed, and found she couldn't speak.

"When it's all over we won't have to be afraid anymore."

She realized he hadn't answered her question. "I suppose," she sighed.

"But sometimes I don't think it'll ever end."

"It will," Hermione said firmly, though there was no real conviction in her voice. "It has to."

Ron smiled slightly. "Because if you let yourself believe for just one moment that it may not, you don't think you could keep going." He laughed lightly when she only stared at him, stunned. "I feel the same way," he explained.

Her answer was drowned out by the thunder, but not before the flash of lightening illuminated her smile. When it passed, she repeated herself. "There really is something about you, Ron."

"Cheers."

The pair grew thoughtful again,

"Now that you mention it, Ron, I do think water falling from the sky is strange."

"If you really think about it?"

"Yeah. I think it's amazing."

He grinned widely and repeated her words: "Amazing."

Hermione smiled, and suddenly the room seemed a whole lot more cheerful. Somehow, things had changed between them, and though she wasn't sure how or why, it didn't really matter. He hadn't said anything, and she hadn't said anything, but they just both knew.

It wasn't a cataclysmic revelation, and she knew it wasn't very romantic, and though she'd always imagined this moment to be out on a mountain top somewhere with both of them looking their very best, she was glad all the same. This was Ron, after all, and it had always been that way with him. It had snuck up on them, and faintly she wondered if it had been there, hiding all along. Either way, she didn't really care. There hadn't even been a kiss, but she wasn't much in the mood to be swept off her feet.

Their hands had somehow joined, and she looked down and laughed.

"Wow."

"Yeah…wow," he repeated, his voice incredulous.

Hermione considered for a while. "We'll have to tell Harry," she said, "He'll want to know," she commented lightly.

Ron seemed to go cold at this prospect and Hermione was suddenly filled with a giddy happiness before the pair grew thoughtful again. It was a while before she spoke:

"I don't think we'll ever be the same again, but…we will always be who we once were, surely."

"We'll get through this," he told her firmly, "You and I and Harry. We'll get through this."

Hermione nodded and leaned against him, feeling his warmth. They remained like that, neither of them speaking, reveling in each other's company, until the thunder and lightning had given way to the steady pitter patter of the rain.

"Hermione?" Ron finally said as the glow of the sunrise appeared above the hills.

"Hmm?"

"Happy Birthday."

(fin)

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Hope it was enjoyable, and please be so kind as to leave a review.

Aloha!