The location is the Three Broomsticks. The time is eight o'clock in the evening. I am sitting alone, by the window, waiting. For what, I don't know.

Five years ago, I sat at this very place, a smile lighting up my face, staring at the red ears of Ronald Weasley. He sat across from me, nervous out of his wits, not knowing what to do, or what to say. It would have been quite an amusing scene, really, had I not been just as nervous. That day, one year after the Great War, the summer twilight was particularly perfect. It was our first date.

I had loved him, and he me. The future was bright, our love was strong, and we could survive the grief of the war. Fred's departure had hit Ron especially hard, and there were days when he said nothing at all. I often had to leave the room when he and George were just sitting on the couch, Fred's broomstick on the table in front of them. Neither of them would be speaking, and both would be staring at the broomstick, faces empty, and streaks of dried tears lining their cheeks. The frightening silence and overwhelming emptiness would overpower my emotions, and I would have to leave. I didn't like crying in front of others.

I found mum and dad three months after the War ended. They were living in a small suburb outside Sydney, in Australia, making a living out of a little dentist clinic, as Doctor Wendell and Monica Wilkins. I stayed at a small inn near their clinic for a total of two weeks, each day daring to walk just a bit closer to the clinic. I was afraid. Afraid that I could not undo what I had done. Afraid that they wouldn't understand my intentions in sending them to Australia. Afraid that they wouldn't come home with me. On the 13th day, however, I opened the door to the clinic and looked around. It was near 6pm and Wilkinses were heading home.

"Sorry, we're closed," she said, "We'll be open tomorrow at 9am. If you want, I could write your name down for our first appointment tomorrow?"

I didn't reply. In fact, I made no sound but a small sob. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. My mother's voice hadn't changed. It was that same voice that calmed my fears during exams. It was that same voice that told me to come downstairs for dinner before I wiped their memories. Before I knew what I was doing, I had my arms around both of them, tears flowing uncontrolled. The look that they gave me told me that I had absolutely succeeded in my memory charm. I felt as though I was a homeless child from the way they looked at me. They must have thought I was a lost teenager, looking for her parents. Well, funnily enough, they would have been right.

Gingerly, I let go of them. One last look into their eyes, I took out my wand and pronounced, "Immobulus." Their expressions froze, and with a gentle flick of my wand, they were seated on the chairs next to them. I took a deep breath, and after mentally double checking that I had memorised all the spells needed to lift the false memories, I centred my concentration on the execution. As lights of different colours flowed from my wand, I saw the mist of confusion and uncertainty lift from their eyes. Now, it was for the last spell that would restore the awareness of the past year to their consciousness. I could feel the sweat in my palm, my slightly shivering hands, and my pounding heart. This was it, and if it didn't work, then all would be lost.

Each syllable was enunciated, and as the flow of heat from my wand ceased, I froze. Unable to tell whether it had worked, I began to shiver. Uncertainties and insecurity flooded back: what if it didn't work? Tears rolled down my cheek once again, yet this time it was in sync with my mother's. She stood up, cupped my face in her palms, and pulled me into her embrace. Seconds later, my father wrapped us both in his arms. Each of us had words stuck in our throats, but no words were needed. The warmth of the embrace, the flow of hot tears, and the chuckles of happiness were all that was necessary. We returned to England and a new chapter of my life opened.

Six months after the Great War, funerals were over and the reconstruction was well under way, physically and mentally. Ron gradually opened his heart again, and I ran into his open arms. The aforementioned dinner date, however, did not occur until six months after this. Why, you may ask? Well, Ron and Harry were invited by Kingsley to join the Auror force, without any N.E.W.T.S. qualifications. Two days after the invitation, they dived straight into training. Not knowing how long each training period would last, an hour before he left, we strolled to the tree just outside The Burrow that we sat under whenever we wanted time alone. For a while we sat in silence, drinking in each other's presence, delighting in each other's warmth. Then, I reached over and laced my fingers with his.

"I'll miss you," I half-whispered, despite our solitude.

He smiled, warmth lighting up his blue eyes. "I'll only be gone for a short while. I'll be back before you know it."

"Ron, it's Auror training. If you're back before I know it, then I'll be very concerned about the quality of our Death-Eater-fighters."

"I was just trying to make you feel better." He shrugged.

It was my turn to smile. I turned my head to look at him. "I know. Thank you. I'm taking up an apprenticeship with Madame Dupont for three months, where I'm going to work under her on the rights of magical creatures in France. So I don't know if I'll be here when you're back."

"We'll work it out. We always do."

That marked the end of our conversation and the beginning of a very lingering kiss. As he finished saying his encouragement, his nose was slotted next to mine, while his clear blues eyes met my brown ones, longing evident in both. His lips were only a breath away. Knowing that I could not feel those lips on mine for more than three months, I leaned in.

Three months later, I arrived back at The Burrow. Mrs Weasley was cooking a "Welcome Home" dinner. Ron and Harry were not there; they were still in training. As we all sat down for the meal, a knock on the door sounded and a man in wet, black travelling robes entered the house. I was flying into his arms before everyone could see who it was. I could recognise his form anywhere. We were locked in a searing kiss within seconds and I poured all my longing into him. When we broke apart, his eyes caressed my face, while his fingers trailed his gaze. I smiled. Then, with a kiss on my nose, he released me and walked into the kitchen and gave Mrs Weasley a hug. "Hi everyone. I'm only given five minutes back here, so I must leave now. I'm sorry, mum. I'll be back home soon. Wait for my owl."

I walked him outside. It was a clear night. I looked at his drenched robes, "It's raining in Bulgaria. I asked for a ten minute leave to come back here. So I have to go back now."

"You risked getting kicked out of the Auror program for a ten minute break?!"

"You said you'd miss me, and I said I'd make it work. See, now you miss me a bit less." The cheeky smile was on his lips, and I kissed it before a "pop" announced his departure.

The next time I saw him was three months after. I was staying alone in my parents' apartment in London, filling in application forms for more apprenticeships at the Ministry. A knock sounded on the door, brisk, hard. He looked strange in muggle clothes. I pulled him inside and he ran instantly into the bathroom to change into his robes. I laughed. When he came back out, however, he charged straight at me with a crushing embrace. "Hermione."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Ron." It was so natural.

The time was four o'clock in the afternoon. The location was my apartment. We were locked in each other's arms, lips fusing, clothes flying off. It was an afternoon for those in love. The summer sun dozed lazily in the west, while the passion flowing between us shone bright. We came together in unity. It was perfect.

After we were dressed, we departed, apparating at the Three Broomsticks. Our first date, after the declaration and consumation of love. We both decided that our relationship was a strange one.

Now, I sit in the same spot, looking out into night, where the rain is drizzling. What happened? I ask myself. Just two years ago I loved and was loved. I was in the arms of my best friend and I loved him. Yet now, I have rejected that beautiful first love, engaged myself since in two different relationships that could not compare to the first.

You may wonder how two people who were so in love would eventually break apart. Well, although our love was strong, we were still Hermione and Ron. We bickered and fought each other to no end. It was one stormy afternoon, three years after the Great War, two years since I finished my N.E.W.T.S. The sky was quite grey, and the rain poured, fouling my mood. I was sorting through papers about Goblin Rights and categorising them into different sections. A cup of coffee was on the table, cold. The door opened and a man in drenched muggle clothes entered, quickly closing the door behind him. I was greeted with a few curses about the weather and the muggle pedestrians. I smiled, and continued with my work.

"Hermione, are you going to look at me?" he said, once he dried himself and joined me in the living room.

"Just a second. These papers need to be filed as soon as possible. We have deadlines too, you know."

"Oh come on, you and I never get to see each other now that Harry and I are in undercover training. I'm only back for a day and you know that."

"Ron, you may think that because that's the case, I would have to reschedule my life around you, but no. I have work and a job to do, with or without a boyfriend. I can't just put it down because my boyfriend's an Auror."

"You always do this. Do you even care about me? Or am I just a hindrance to your promotion? Am I preventing you from rising up in your ranks because I demand just a bit of attention from you when I can only see you for one day in a few months at best?"

"Ron, you're being unreasonable."

"No, I am not! Do you think it's easy? Training to be an Auror? Even some incompetent ones have died during training! Sometimes it gets so hard, you're the only reason why I grit my teeth and survive through it all. Yet when I come back, all I get is a Hermione buried in papers!"

"Ronald Weasley! You are not the only one with a job! My work demands my full attention and it is no less stressful than yours! Do you think that while you were away, I was having the time of my life? I was torn between the stress of work and the worry for your safety. But if you don't understand that, and still beg for attention like a child, then I can't help you."

"Like a child! Well I'm sorry if I'm not Miss I'm-so-mature! You have got to stop assuming superiority and realise that I am an adult who is just as responsible for himself as you are for yourself. Just because you were a bloody bookworm at Hogwarts doesn't mean the world bows at your feet!"

"Ron! Don't you realise we've come to a dead end? You want my attention when I can't give it, at the time when you most need it. My workload is ridiculous, and yours even worse. We get to see each other for a day or two in two or three months at best, and during this time we're always bickering!"

"What the hell do you mean by dead end? We'll make it work!"

"Ron, you always say that! But we won't make it work because we can't! I'm so tired of expecting someone to show up after two months, only to see them for two days before they're off again. I have needs too! I want someone holding me when I get depressed about life. I want someone to share life's pleasures with me. Not someone who may or may not be half a globe away, in a mission that may or may not get them killed."

"Hermione, don't…"

"Ron, it won't work."

The time was three o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday. The location was the apartment Ron and I had shared for a year. I stood at the door, looking into the rain, after his disappearing form, my heart lying at my feet. In broken pieces.

I look up at the stars through the window, that scene playing over and over in my head. For the thousandth time, my heart aches. It aches at how easily I had given up. How easily I had let go of something that had been my life. He had applied for transfer to Germany afterwards and had been there since. Harry had given up trying to make him come back, hoping only that one day we could face each other without tears stinging our eyes. It was tough, trying to get him out of my head. Eventually, I opened myself up to others, and had had two boyfriends, neither of which was good enough. Because they weren't him.

There is a gentle tap on my shoulder. My breath is lost when I turn to see who it is. My heart has stopped. Stubbles line his chin, creating a line of red. The clear blue in his eyes seems deeper, a depth that could only be achieved by experience. A smile hangs around his lips. "Are you going to say hi to an old friend?" At this, I hurriedly compose myself and return his smile.

"Hi Ron." There it is. His name. It just flows so naturally from my lips, as though it had never left. His smile widens as he gestures to the empty seat in front of me. I nod, telling him that it is unoccupied.

"What is a beautiful lady like yourself doing at a fine restaurant, alone?"

I smile. Well here's flirty Ronald for you, bet you never thought it possible. "Just reflecting on my life, is all. What brings you here?"

He looks thoughtful and for a second, I am almost sure he's read what I've been thinking. But he replies, "I'm coming back to England. Papers have been filed and I should be starting in two days. We're tracking down some harmful creatures in the forests in northern England."

"What brings you here then?"

He hesitates. "Us."

It's the same scene all over again, except this time we are much older, and no longer together. My hands are dotted with sweat as I watch his ears turn into the shade of his hair. Both of us have so much in mind, but neither knows how to express it.

"I wanted to come back to see the place that marked the most perfect day of my life," he continues, "and see if it's still the same. I was about to come sit over here on this table, yet I saw you." This is it, the moment. I can't let it slip past me. I must do something, if this feels so right.

"Ron?"

"Yes?"

I hesitate, "Nothing." Merlin, do I hate myself sometimes.

So, we share the evening together. Eating, talking, laughing. We exchange stories of our lives in the past two years, filling in the gaps of each other's lives. I can feel the joy seep through my veins, as we become more and more at ease in each other's presence. When dinner finishes, we stand, unsure of the next step.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I ask.

"Yeah, well, I'll be staying at The Burrow before I find a place in London."

It is now or never. "Do you want to… come over and have a drink or something? You know, to catch up."

"Yeah, sure. I'd love that." The way his eyes light up as I made the suggestion tell me that I'm heading in the right direction.

"I didn't know you stayed here," his voice is low, a hint of melancholy reminiscence in his tone.

"There was never a place more comfortable than this," I reply, my voice a half-whisper. Because it belongs to us. And us alone. My unsaid words linger in the air. I lead both of us into the house as the door closes behind us. We are both silent. He, absorbing the familiarity of the place, immersed in his thoughts as he realises how nothing has changed in this place. I, knowing that if either of us speaks, our voices would betray us. As if out of instinct, I reach out for his hand, and lead him to the couch as I summon two butterbeers. Our favourite drink, for it was our first drink together.

"Cheers," I say, half-heartedly. He smiles weakly at me and sips at his bottle.

"Harry said to me that I eventually have to come back. And stop running away. But I didn't know if I could come back and face you." Without wanting to run back into your arms. His unsaid words, too, hang in the air around us. I can feel it now, the tears. They're stinging the back of my eyes, threatening to break free.

"I…" What can I say? What can I possibly say to make him understand how sorry I am? What can I possibly say to make him realise that I regret not trying harder to make everything work? What can I possibly say to make him realise that I want everything back? That I selfishly want him to love me again?

"Hermione, Germany was hell." I held my breath, waiting for him to say more. "Not because you're not there, but because you were never going to be there with me. All I could do was work, I couldn't think of doing anything else. Eventually, I tried to go on dates to get you out of my mind. It worked, for a short while. I had a girlfriend, she was a German Auror. Everything was fine. I liked her and she me. But…" Here he stops. I feel as though everything in this world has stopped. Everything is hanging on to his words. The words that are yet to come forth. He turns and steals a look at me. He sees that my expression is one of absolute concentration, anticipation, and most of all, a longing to hear his long confined emotions. With this, he turns back and stares at his bottle, before continuing.

"But everytime I held her hand, hugged her form… kissed her lips, all I could think of was how she wasn't... you. Her hair didn't tickle my cheeks, her eyes weren't the right shade of brown, her waist was not the right width, her voice did not have the same commanding tone and, well, she wasn't bookish enough." He turns around to steal another glimpse of me. "She wasn't you, Hermione." He's now staring at the fireplace, unable to meet my eyes. I find tears rolling down my cheeks as I stare at his reddened ears. I wait a little while. I don't want to break the spell of the moment; Ron Weasley divulging his emotions like this is a rare occurrence. Especially when it concerns me.

I lace my fingers through his. Staring, too, at the fireplace.

"Ron," I begin, my voice strained yet soft, "what have I done to deserve you? I let go of us so easily, without trying as hard as you ever did, and yet you still keep me in your thoughts. In your heart. Two years ago, when you walked out, I hadn't lived since. Like you, I eventually got boyfriends. But, they weren't you. It just all felt so wrong."

"Hermione…"

"Let me finish," I interrupt him. He smiles at this this. I continue, "If you'll let me, I want to love you again. More than I ever have. I want to make it up to you, for giving up so easily two years ago. I just…" Here, I hesitate. Uncertainty is gnawing at me again. "I just hope that you'll have me." He spins around and stares at me, incredulous.

"Do you hear what you're saying? What happened to that brilliant head of yours, Hermione? I'd never have taken you for a daft one, but this…" He shakes his head, as though to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I left. I should've come back after a week and say that we had a fight and let's move on. But I left. We were both at fault."

"But, Ron…"

"I don't know what I would have to say to get through that brilliant head of yours and make you understand that tonight, coming back here, I plan to ask you to accept me again. Hermione Granger, I need you to love me again. I need us."

His blue eyes are the last thing I see before I surrender all my senses to the touch of his lips. I don't know who leaned in first and quite frankly, I don't care. The familiarity of it all comes crushing back to me. The smell of his hair, the feel of his hands on my waists and back, the burning heat of his ears.

We will make this work. It's funny how humans seem to grab onto second chances with their lives.

The time is ten o'clock at night. The location is, once again, the place that belongs solely to the two of us. I am wrapped in Ron Weasley's arms, captured in his lips, floating in his love. Once more.