After The War (Romione & Hinny fan fiction)

Quidditch Stars and Romantic Boys

"Ron, could you bring the leftovers to the chickens, please?"
Mrs Weasley collected the glasses on the table with a flick of her wand. They levitated in the air and landed neatly in the sink. Ron grunted a response and took the dark green bowl with the leftovers of the lunch.
"I'll go with you." said the brunette girl, rising form her seat.
And they were outside, warm sunlight kissing their skin as the chilly wind brushed their faces.
Two figures stained in the afternoon night.
The girls's fingers brushed the boy's hand, and he reached out to take her hand. Slowly, they let their fingers entwine. They walked in silence towards the chicken coop.

What a strange pair they were. Capable of spending hours in complete silence, just looking at each other, cuddling in a bed or in each other's arms just as if they needed nothing more or less than being the other's company. They would rest. Take a moment to relax. A moment to remember. A memory they would never let go of.

And now, the chickens came running clumsily towards them, hustling to be the first to get to the food. "When I was three, Fred taught me that chickens were demons," said the boy as he smoothed his shirt, "he told me that they once were birds that lived in the sky, but their wings had been cursed. They were forced to live an earthly life, without never once lifting off the ground." his eyes twinkled "And I was foolish enough to believe that."
Hermione smiled. "I don't think you were foolish. You were three, how were you supposed to know the truth?"
"Yeah," agreed Ron, "but my point is that I believed that until I turned nine. Could've guessed by then, but I remember my shock seeing a hen jump off the roof of the coop."
"She hadn't lifted off the ground then!" said Hermione excitedly.
"Technically she hadn't." he rolled his eyes "Not as if I was this logical at nine."
Hermione laughed softly as Ron gently pulled her to him. "Nature can surprise you, you know, especially when you learn hens aren't glued to the ground with hexes," his eyes examinated her face. Every line, every feature. "and creatures like you exist."
He closes the space between them, leaning in for a kiss. Soft. Grateful. And another. Deep. Happy.
Hermione feels one of his hands resting on the nape of her neck, the other sliding down to her back. As the kiss deepens she can feel the need in it. She responds hungrily, letting her weight fall into him, feeling the comfortable press of his body as his lips brush her cheek, her temple, her forehead.
Three simple words. Just three words. A soft wishper in her hair.
I love you.
She freezes. It is not the fist time he says it, but this time it sounds different when it leaves his lips.
"I-" she was surprised to find out that the words came more easily than expected, "I love you, too, Ron." And she meant it.
One day, the girl will get used to saying it every morning to greet her her husband, but now the words sound strange on her lips. A powerful weapon and a beautiful formula at the same time.

***

Hermione sat on her favourite armchair, watching the sky go red outside the window. It wasn't like the sunsets she'd seen in France, of course, but watching the sun slowly go down had become a habit.
That evening she'd finished working earlier than usual, so now she was sitting in her bedroom, a cup of Mrs Weasley's hot chocolate in her hands and a book open on her lap. Ginny was still at Quidditch training. Hermione sometimes wondered where Ginny found the strenght to get up at six every morinig and train 'till the sun went down and it was too dark to play, but again Ginny was one of the strongest people she knew. Every evening she arrived home tired but happy, and talked about that day's training session with anyone who would listen. She'd always liked, - even maybe admired - Ginny's positivity and determination.
Her thoughts moved to the house Ginny, Harry, Ron and her had decided to buy. When Ron had told her, Hermione hadn't needed much time to think on it, beacuase of course, her friends' plans sounded brilliant. Ron had promised at some point either Harry and Ginny or them would move to a new house, and she really didn't mind the idea of that.
"I don't know, Ron." Mrs Weasley had said when he'd illustrated her the idea of the house. "You're still young. Not even fiancés..."
"But Mum, we're already gathering money to buy it." Ron had protested, "And now that we all have a job it would be just more reasonable to move somewhere on our own." Mrs Weasley had considered the matter and sighed loudly. "We'll visit every weekend!" Ron had said hurriedly before leaving the room-- Knock knock knock!
Knock knock knock?
The sound jolted her out of her toughts and brought her back to reality.
A big snowy owl was perched on the frame of the window, his beack knocking furiously on the glass. Hermione frowned. Who could possibly be at that hour? Besides, owls from the Ministry were hardly ever snowy ones. She hurriedly put the book down and opened the window. The owl landed fluttering his wings with so much strenght that a few pieces parchment and half-written letters fell on the floor. The bird's big claws clasped the arm of the pale red armchair Hermione had been sitting on just seconds before and the owl stretched out his leg for her to take the letter. Hermione untied it with expert hands and tossed the owl three treats he caught on the fly.
Her eyes moved on the thick evenlope in her hands 'Hermyoni Granger, Ottery St Catchpole, England'.
Of course it was Krum, who else could it be? He'd never stopped writing her after the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and she'd sent back responses regularly, too. He'd told her a bit more more about Durmstrung, the Bulgarian Quidditch team and his trips around the country. He'd asked her to come to stay at his place for a few weeks sometimes.
It hadn't been simple to lie whenever he asked to meet with her. By now, she was running out of excuses.
Ron was already mad at him enough, she didn't want to make that hate grow. Ron just would never get that: Hermione liked being in Viktor's company.
Even if he sometimes asked her out.
Even when he flirted with her.
She liked his polite manners and rough accent. To her, Viktor was just a good friend.
She'd once wondered what they could've become if his permanence at Hogwarts had lasted more, but she'd shaken the thought off immediately. That had been years before.
Viktor surely had his circle of girls, being a famous player and all, but since the beginning of her fifth year at Hogwarts, Hermione had discovered she didn't care about that.
Ron, tough, still acted like the jerk of a fourteen-year-old boy he'd been.
It was just as she was unfolding the letter that the door banged open and Ginny Weasley hurled herself in to collect fresh clothes, her flame red hair still soaked from the shower, exclaiming "Hello Hermione!" as she went. Hermione greeted back and flung casually the letter in a drawer of her bed-side table.