George Harrison said about Beatlemania:
They gave us their love and their money. We, in return, gave them our music and our mind sanity.
Yes, maybe this is the hardest price of fame, of giving something only you can create to the others. To police yourself in every step you take, asking all the time Am I doing right? Am I doing wrong?, while at same time, you can't forget to live your own life in the way you think it should have lived and to believe in your principles.
In the latest days some photos of Rupert and Emma with their dates or friends (nobody knows the true and it really doesn't matter), had surfaced in internet.
After I saw them, I thought that maybe this is the perfect opportunity for people see in my art what I really see on them, before, while and after I’m working.
My love to Ron and Hermione.
That is all what they are about.
Art about this love, and how I see it in my mind.
And if, like I said many times before, they look like the actors, this is more than anything, a tribute and respect to their work.
Maybe for these two young actors, I’m taking my part in their mind sanity, but I have to declare, believe me, I’m giving lot of mine too!
***
You have noticed that my life isn't giving me many chances to draw, my enthusiasm declined a lot, or I'm just tired, too.
Maybe because I've been a little lazy to start, to draw something new, I’m working lately in some old works I did last year for More than Memories and Never enough and I have never finished. Making those sketches has taken me a lot of time too and I couldn’t left them undone.
So probably it'll be a little repetitive for you, but I need this feeling that I’m finishing something that was left aside that I shouldn’t have.
Like I had to finish them before to start something new.
And there are so many new things I want to do now, like for example, to dedicate some of my work to this new couple I found out in Outlander series, Jamie and Claire.
Like to work in some originals for the original work, of this friend of mine, Kele , aka![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
redblaze or Bluerain who wrote this incredible unfinished fanfic.
A story, which I truly hope, she could find someday, with herself, time, peace of mind, joy to finally end it.
I have already read some roughs of the next chapters, and believe me, they are amazing!
I chose to illustrate a part of it that in my opinion is one of the greatest moments in all Ron and Hermione fanfics history, where you can feel while reading it, the tension growing up between the characters till it culminates in this scene.
I hope you enjoy the drawing, the passage I chose of the story (and I didn’t cut it for your all pleasure) and the most perfect (old) song I could find for More than Memories. And to all this post, trust me!
Tell me what do you think! ;)
Pray God you can cope.
I stand outside this woman's work,
This woman's world.
Ooh, it's hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking
Of all the things I should've said,
That I never said.
All the things we should've done,
That we never did.
All the things I should've given,
But I didn't.
Oh, darling, make it go,
Make it go away.
Give me these moments back.
Give them back to me.
Give me that little kiss.
Give me your hand.
(I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.)
I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking
Of all the things we should've said,
That we never said.
All the things we should've done,
That we never did.
All the things that you needed from me.
All the things that you wanted for me.
All the things that I should've given,
But I didn't.
Oh, darling, make it go away.
Just make it go away now.
…"Despite his shoulder that was throbbing in pain, and the icy rain that had long since chilled him to the bone, Ron pushed forward, moving stealthily through the trees until he was close enough to look in, but still remain hidden in the shadows.
He noted that whomever was staying there had cleaned it up. Curtains hung in windows that had once been bare, and from what Ron could see there was no dust anywhere. It looked almost immaculate, quaint and kind of feminine, definitely not something Harry would do. Suddenly, realization hit him. Ice flooded Ron's veins, and it had nothing to do with the rain, he stumbled and backed against the tree, knowing who was in there before she appeared.
And she did appear.
He watched her come from kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand, her long curly hair tied in a loose bun with curls springing free all over the place. She had on a simple white nightdress, very conservative, very her. Even so, in the light, he could almost swear he was seeing the outline of her breasts through the light cotton, the faint darkness of her nipples, puckered from the cold evening.
No, he was filling that in himself. His mind was playing tricks on him due to cold, and pain, and loneliness. God, he missed her. He missed her everyday. No woman, nameless or not, could replace her. He'd tried, he really had, but it just didn't work. One night with Hermione had ruined him for life, and he'd give just about anything to take it back. Yet, even as he thought that, his mind flooded with memories. He could still feel her naked body against his, her hands fisted in his hair, clinging to him for dear life, as she called out his name in broken sobs.
He hadn't meant for it to happen. He'd wanted nothing more than to offer her a shoulder to cry on, to give her some small bit of comfort while she mourned for her parents, but something had happened and even now he had no idea what. One minute Ron had been holding her, crying with her, feeling his heart break over the pain she was in and the next she was kissing him. Her lips were soft and wet against his, salty from the tears that were still flowing down her face. Then her hands were on him, touching him, running underneath his jumper to come in contact with naked flesh. Her voice had been low and pleading against his ear, begging him to make the pain stop, to let her feel something, anything but what she was feeling now.
It had been far too much for a seventeen year-old boy to handle. He'd spent the better part of three years fantasizing about her, and there she was, begging him, Ron Weasley, to make love to her. He couldn't have turned her away even if he'd wanted to. He would have done anything for her at that moment.
He still couldn't decide if the sacrifice had been worth it. He had eased her pain for a bit, but in the morning things had been awkward. He had felt guilty, thinking he'd taken advantage of her. That night had been the best moment of his life, but it had happened because Hermione's parents had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters. It made him feel terrible, and it was made worse by Hermione. She had avoided him after that, never really looking him in the eye. They were polite to each other, never arguing, never bantering, and never laughing.
Ron had hated it. It made him miserable. All that was dear to him was dead, devoid of passion. He'd rather stay away, than just pretend that it hadn't happened. It broke his heart to hear Hermione's voice dull and impassive as she spoke to him.
It had been over seven years since he saw her. They'd separated after school, with Harry and Ron going into Auror training and Hermione working for the Department of Mysteries, doing what, he never knew. She traveled a lot and had actually ended up being stationed in France the last Ron had heard. Harry kept in touch with her, but he seldom mentioned her to Ron, somehow knowing that it was too painful for him to hear, even if he didn't really know the details of their rift between the two of them.
And now, there she was, looking just as beautiful as he had remembered, even more so. From the distance it seemed her features had softened with adulthood. Her hair was darker, and looked slightly tamer, but it was up, so he could be wrong. Her figure was a little rounder, more womanly, rather than holding the last few angles of childhood like it had when he'd been with her. She was still short, slim and elegant in her own way. He was in love with her, the distance hadn't changed anything, and that terrified him. He was seriously considering just staying out in the rain that was still freezing, still soaking him to the bone, when he saw her turn to look out the window. Her eyes narrowed to peer through the murky wet darkness, and then widened. Ron cursed out loud when he realized that his wand was still lit. He'd been distracted and forgot all about it. Some Auror he was.
Hermione moved toward the door and Ron extinguished his wand before she could see who it was outside her window. He moved to hide behind the tree when the door opened and Hermione looked out, holding a hand over her head to keep her hair dry as she called out.
"Ron?"...
…Hermione's heart was beating rapidly as she waited for an answer to her call, but none came. She was positive that she'd seen Ron. She wasn't going mad. She'd know that tall frame and shock of red hair anywhere, even if it had just been a glimpse of it in the single light of a wand.
She gripped the wand in her hand tighter. It could be a trick. Death Eaters weren't past using glamour spells or polyjuice potion to gain ones trust.
"I recommend you answer me or I'm going to start throwing hexes, and you don't want that," she snapped into the darkness, lowering her hand that was blocking some of the rain bouncing off the house.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as she caught the echo of shuffling feet and a few choice words that made her almost certain that it was the real Ron.
"I'm not joking. . . I suggest you show yourself," Hermione said, surprising herself at her fierceness.
"Okay! Blimey, you've got rather grouchy since I last saw you," she heard a gruff voice mutter as Ron stepped from behind the large oak tree he'd been hiding behind.
It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to reprimand him, to snap at him for hiding from her in the dark and scaring her half to death, but then she caught a good look at him. Of course, he was still very tall maybe even gaining an inch or two. His hair was still red, though it was soaked, so she couldn't tell if it had got darker and that was where the similarity ended with the boy she remembered.
He'd grown into his frame and was actually a very large man, which was surprising. All this time she'd been picturing him as somewhat thin and lankly like he had been. His face was very masculine, no longer youthful as she'd held him in her mind. Ron had on a simple pair of jeans and a black shirt that was sticking to him, due to the rain, leaving very little to the imagination. Hermione could see the outline of strong, hard muscles underneath it. She was reluctant to admit it, but he looked incredible. She wasn't prepared for how handsome he'd grown. For some reason, she had never once considered that he'd changed over the years. Harry certainly had never mentioned it, but then again, Harry was Harry and he probably hadn't noticed.
"Can I come in or are you going to let me stand out in this rain all night?"
Hermione blinked at his annoyance, shocked. He'd been very dull and passive with her before she'd left, painfully bland, not the Ron she knew. Now, though, he sounded much more like the Ron she'd missed all these years.
"What are you doing out in the rain, anyway?" she asked, more as a distraction against her raging emotions.
"Oh, I just thought I'd go for a stroll, freeze my arse off, and maybe catch my death," Ron said in a deadpan voice, before he stepped closer to her, looking at her seriously. "I'm working, Hermione. Can I come in or not?"
She stepped aside, and Ron moved past her, his frame filled the doorway, and his arm brushed against hers, sending a tingle through it, She wasn't ready for this. Memories of him still haunted her. When she closed her eyes at night all she'd hear was his voice, deep against her ear as he moaned her name, sliding into her, filling her. She hadn't even felt the pain her first time, her emotions had been too raw. All she'd felt was him connecting with her, their souls merging as one, if only for a short time.
It wasn't until the next morning that the reality of what she'd done had hit her. She'd thrown herself at Ron brazenly. She'd behaved just like a scarlet woman. She'd begged Ron to make love to her. She'd never get over the humiliation of it all. Even now, staring at him over seven years later, she still felt her face heat up. Maybe, it wouldn't have been so bad if Ron had returned her feelings, if he had loved her, but he'd been just as awkward the next morning, as through miserable that it had happened.
She'd ruined their friendship because she'd been too weak to deny her feelings. She'd spent years keeping them carefully hidden, but in a moment of extreme sorrow they'd poured out of her in desperate actions, and there was nothing she could do to take it all back. That night she had lost her parents and one of her best friends. It was something she didn't think she'd ever fully recover from and it was far more than she'd been able to face.
So, she'd left. She'd accepted a position with the Department of Mysteries that allowed her to travel. She buried herself in old volumes studying the most deadly and complex magic, and working with some of the wizarding world's greatest minds to develop defenses against it. She liked her work. She loved to travel and felt like she was making a difference in the process. It was her way of helping the fight.
Of course, what she did was hardly exciting in comparison to Ron and Harry, who dedicated themselves to field work. Hermione kept in close contact with Harry, unwilling to lose two friends because of her lack of judgment. Sometimes he'd disappear for months at time, only to return beaten, tired, and a little more world-weary than he had been before he left. She was sure Ron was no different. In fact, as she looked at him now, dripping wet, shaking from the cold, she noticed that his face had lines that a twenty five year old shouldn't have, his eyes spoke volumes about what he did.
"Do you have some floo powder? I'll just use it to get home," Ron mumbled, shifting apprehensively, looking around the small living room as though the walls were caving in on him.
Hermione felt her guard go up. True, they hadn't been close in the past several years, but she'd been his friend for a long time. He was being down right rude for someone who hadn't seen her in seven years.
"Well, hello to you too, Ron," she snapped going to the mantle over the fireplace, grabbing a small container of floo powder and thrusting it at him.
Ron reached to take the container from her, wincing sharply when he moved, and Hermione peered at him closer. He was pale, a faint misty steam was coming off his large body, obviously from the ice-cold rain that drenched him, his lips were near blue, and the crease between his eyebrows told her that he was in pain and trying very hard to hide it. He hadn't changed that much after all.
"You're hurt," she whispered, feeling all the anger drain out of her. "Tell me what's wrong. "
"It's nothing," Ron said, shaking his head. "I've just had a bad night."
Hermione went to the desk and grabbed a chair then pushed Ron into it. He winced again, stifling a curse when she put a hand on his shoulder. At least now she knew where he was hurting. He resisted her at first, but when she started casting warming spells over him, drying his clothes and heating his skin, he stopped complaining. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, allowing her to help him as though it had only been seven days rather than seven years since they'd last seen each other.
At first, she was only concentrating on warming Ron up. He'd catch pneumonia in the state he'd been in. His skin was freezing. When she noted that some of his color returned, she focused on his shoulder. She had to cut his shirt off him, since he wasn't able to lift his arm. Hermione determined instantly that he'd broken it. It was a wonder that he'd been able to withstand that much pain, without crying out. As she poked and prodded at the freckled flesh he finally asked her if she knew where Harry's store of alcohol was.
Hermione didn't condone heavy drinking, being very against anything that confused the mind. She'd almost thrown out Harry's stash of liquor, which was considerable, but she hadn't. He'd been nice enough to offer her a place to stay when she transferred back to England. She hadn't had time to look for a flat straight away, and she very much enjoyed his quiet cabin, it was a great place to think. So, she let it go.
Hermione got up and searched through the kitchen cabinets until she located a large bottle of Fire Whiskey. She handed it to Ron and arched an eyebrow when he drank far more than she thought was necessary to take the edge off the pain.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Hermione said as she got back on her knees in front of him, feeling around his shoulder, noting that it was a pretty bad break. She wanted to know what happened, but knew better than to ask
"It'd take a lot more than this to make me sick," Ron said taking another drink, and then looking down at her with a small smile.
"I'll take your word for it. I'm sure you've tested your limits many times."
"Once or twice." Ron laughed painfully. "I've missed you. How are you?"
Hermione stopped poking at him, and looked up. His gaze ran over her face as though reacquainting himself with her features. It made her throat feel dry and she choked on her answer. "I'm. . . good. How are you?"
"I've been better," he said, taking another drink. "Although, seeing you is nice. Sorry I was a prat earlier. I just didn't want to disturb you."
Hermione frowned at him. "Disturb me? Ron, you should know that you wouldn't disturb me. We're still friends, aren't we?"
Ron studied her, his eyes clouding over for just a moment before he smiled weakly. "Yes, Hermione. We're still friends."
Hermione nodded, more than willing to leave everything else unsaid. She felt at Ron's shoulder for a few more seconds. "It's broken."
"I'd pretty much worked that out. Can you fix it?"
Hermione bit her lip, hesitating for a bit. "I can, yes, but I don't think it'd be as good as a healer could do."
"I trust you."
"Maybe you shouldn't. . . Medical charms aren't my specialty. You'd be far better off going to St. Mungo's."
"I'd rather not. I've been there enough," Ron said, turning slightly red, just as he had when he was a boy.
"Oh," Hermione mumbled, again wondering what had happened to him that he'd ended up in St. Mungo's more than once. "Well, I guess I can do it then."
Hermione took a few deep breaths to clear her head, and then started performing the healing charms. He let out a huge sigh of relief when she was done. She set her wand on the table and looked up at him. Ron gave her a brilliant smile, one of those smiles that went straight to her heart.
"See, I knew you could do it," he said, moving and stretching his arm. "It's perfect, better than the healers could do. I've had more than a few bones mended by them and they never do this good of a job. It usually aches for days after."
Hermione had only been half listening to him, she was distracted by the way his muscles moved and shifted as he stretched his arm. She noticed that he did have several faint scars over his chest and arms; they were just a shade darker than the rest of his skin, slightly pink against the pale freckled flesh. They weren't ugly or disfiguring. Actually, Hermione thought they were rather attractive. The scars added character to him and made it rapidly apparent how very masculine he was, not that Hermione was having a hard time grasping that.
Entranced, she reached out and ran a finger over one jagged scar, wincing at what a terrible wound it must have been before it was healed. It ran from his collarbone all the way down to the center of his chest. Usually, you could heal a flesh wound with no markings left on the skin. It would have had to been a very severe injury or several days old by the time it was treated to leave such blatant evidence. Hermione guessed it was a little of both.
He shivered, and Hermione watched goose bumps spread across the flesh she touched. Suddenly, Ron's large hand closed over hers, trapping it against his warm skin. She looked up, disappointed that he'd stopped her, but felt a shiver of her own when she saw how he was looking at her.
"Don't. . ." Ron started, his voice cracking as though he hadn't used it in years. He licked his lips and closed his eyes for a second. ". . . don't look at me like that, Hermione."
Hermione wasn't stupid. She hadn't had much experience with men, but she did know when one wanted her and she was fairly certain Ron wanted her. It sent a thrill through her. Her life had been painfully lonely these past many years, simple and organized, but not much more. She'd almost forgot the spark Ron had added to it. The excitement she'd felt in his presence.
Their friendship was already in tatters. By analyzing the situation she realized that she really had nothing to lose by acting on impulse. If Ron was gone in the morning she'd be no worse off than she was before he'd shown up. So, she licked her own lips, and spoke.
"Why not?"
At the sound of Hermione's voice, low and teasing, Ron's jeans tightened uncomfortably. He shifted, still holding her hand against his chest, his skin tingling from her touch.
Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd end such a dreadful night with Hermione looking at him the way she was right now, and touching him the way she had been, in reverence, biting her lip as she studied him. It had been the most sensual thing Ron had ever seen. It was almost worth the suffering he'd gone through getting the scar she found so fascinating.
Gods, he wanted her. There had been so much that had been left undone the first time they'd been together. He'd been a bumbling idiot, too caught up in new sensations to really pay attention to what he was doing. Still, he didn't want to hurt her like he had the last time. They'd both suffered for years because of his mistake.
"Hermione, this isn't a game," he reminded her.
Hermione nodded, still looking at him, her eyes hot with desire. "I know."
She was so beautiful kneeling before him, her skin was rosy against the white nightdress she wore, her face was flushed in anticipation, framed by chestnut curls that sprang free from the bun she'd pulled her hair into. She looked nervous, and still so innocent, but sensual and womanly all at the same time.
Ron hadn't had the strength to resist her at seventeen. He'd have liked to believe that over the years he'd gained a little more willpower, but he hadn't. Her effect over him was as strong as ever, and he was still powerless against it. It was nothing like the one-night stands he sometimes indulged in to kill the pain his life inflicted on him. This was exciting and new, yet warm and comfortable at the same time. He marveled that time and space hadn't killed the companionship he felt with Hermione. Being around her was effortless, like she'd never left.
He reached out to her, freeing her hand and holding her face between his large palms. They stared at each other in awe at something so fast and unexpected, and he would have told her then. He would have said that he'd always loved her, that he'd never stopped, not for one minute, but instead, she leaned into him, kissing him gently, and all sense of thought left him.
Her lips parted with a soft sigh and his tongue invaded her mouth, desperate to breathe her in, to know her after so long. Ron groaned at the fire that speared through him. She was just as soft, just as sweet as he remembered, tasting of raspberry tea, and something more, something that was just Hermione. He'd often thought that he'd somehow built her up in his mind over the years, that the incredible memories burned into his mind were a young boys reaction to being kissed by a girl he'd always desired, but he'd been wrong. It had nothing to do with anything other than them and the connection they shared.
His hands fumbled in her hair until it sprang free from it's confines, spilling around her in a glowing tangle of curls that smelled of flowers, and made her look like a goddess. Without thinking, he got up off the chair, never letting her go as he dropped to his knees, the fire casting a warm glow over their skin as they fell to the hearthrug.
A small image
This drawing was made in a 180gr Canson A4size paper with gouache and watercolor pencils. NO PHOTOSHOP.
My drawings for More than Memories:
Leave them on...for now
You're beautiful to me too!
Ask me, Ron!
Enough to die for
You can find the fanfic in these sites(only to registered members):
The Quidditch Pitch
Simply Undeniable
And don't forget, people we're in the last days for April's![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
the_hp_love Challenge!
Thank you,spidergirl30 for your help, and all of you for the attention!:D
They gave us their love and their money. We, in return, gave them our music and our mind sanity.
Yes, maybe this is the hardest price of fame, of giving something only you can create to the others. To police yourself in every step you take, asking all the time Am I doing right? Am I doing wrong?, while at same time, you can't forget to live your own life in the way you think it should have lived and to believe in your principles.
In the latest days some photos of Rupert and Emma with their dates or friends (nobody knows the true and it really doesn't matter), had surfaced in internet.
After I saw them, I thought that maybe this is the perfect opportunity for people see in my art what I really see on them, before, while and after I’m working.
My love to Ron and Hermione.
That is all what they are about.
Art about this love, and how I see it in my mind.
And if, like I said many times before, they look like the actors, this is more than anything, a tribute and respect to their work.
Maybe for these two young actors, I’m taking my part in their mind sanity, but I have to declare, believe me, I’m giving lot of mine too!
***
You have noticed that my life isn't giving me many chances to draw, my enthusiasm declined a lot, or I'm just tired, too.
Maybe because I've been a little lazy to start, to draw something new, I’m working lately in some old works I did last year for More than Memories and Never enough and I have never finished. Making those sketches has taken me a lot of time too and I couldn’t left them undone.
So probably it'll be a little repetitive for you, but I need this feeling that I’m finishing something that was left aside that I shouldn’t have.
Like I had to finish them before to start something new.
And there are so many new things I want to do now, like for example, to dedicate some of my work to this new couple I found out in Outlander series, Jamie and Claire.
Like to work in some originals for the original work, of this friend of mine, Kele , aka
redblaze or Bluerain who wrote this incredible unfinished fanfic.A story, which I truly hope, she could find someday, with herself, time, peace of mind, joy to finally end it.
I have already read some roughs of the next chapters, and believe me, they are amazing!
I chose to illustrate a part of it that in my opinion is one of the greatest moments in all Ron and Hermione fanfics history, where you can feel while reading it, the tension growing up between the characters till it culminates in this scene.
I hope you enjoy the drawing, the passage I chose of the story (and I didn’t cut it for your all pleasure) and the most perfect (old) song I could find for More than Memories. And to all this post, trust me!
Tell me what do you think! ;)
I stand outside this woman's work,
This woman's world.
Ooh, it's hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking
Of all the things I should've said,
That I never said.
All the things we should've done,
That we never did.
All the things I should've given,
But I didn't.
Oh, darling, make it go,
Make it go away.
Give me these moments back.
Give them back to me.
Give me that little kiss.
Give me your hand.
(I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.)
I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking
Of all the things we should've said,
That we never said.
All the things we should've done,
That we never did.
All the things that you needed from me.
All the things that you wanted for me.
All the things that I should've given,
But I didn't.
Oh, darling, make it go away.
Just make it go away now.
…"Despite his shoulder that was throbbing in pain, and the icy rain that had long since chilled him to the bone, Ron pushed forward, moving stealthily through the trees until he was close enough to look in, but still remain hidden in the shadows.
He noted that whomever was staying there had cleaned it up. Curtains hung in windows that had once been bare, and from what Ron could see there was no dust anywhere. It looked almost immaculate, quaint and kind of feminine, definitely not something Harry would do. Suddenly, realization hit him. Ice flooded Ron's veins, and it had nothing to do with the rain, he stumbled and backed against the tree, knowing who was in there before she appeared.
And she did appear.
He watched her come from kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand, her long curly hair tied in a loose bun with curls springing free all over the place. She had on a simple white nightdress, very conservative, very her. Even so, in the light, he could almost swear he was seeing the outline of her breasts through the light cotton, the faint darkness of her nipples, puckered from the cold evening.
No, he was filling that in himself. His mind was playing tricks on him due to cold, and pain, and loneliness. God, he missed her. He missed her everyday. No woman, nameless or not, could replace her. He'd tried, he really had, but it just didn't work. One night with Hermione had ruined him for life, and he'd give just about anything to take it back. Yet, even as he thought that, his mind flooded with memories. He could still feel her naked body against his, her hands fisted in his hair, clinging to him for dear life, as she called out his name in broken sobs.
He hadn't meant for it to happen. He'd wanted nothing more than to offer her a shoulder to cry on, to give her some small bit of comfort while she mourned for her parents, but something had happened and even now he had no idea what. One minute Ron had been holding her, crying with her, feeling his heart break over the pain she was in and the next she was kissing him. Her lips were soft and wet against his, salty from the tears that were still flowing down her face. Then her hands were on him, touching him, running underneath his jumper to come in contact with naked flesh. Her voice had been low and pleading against his ear, begging him to make the pain stop, to let her feel something, anything but what she was feeling now.
It had been far too much for a seventeen year-old boy to handle. He'd spent the better part of three years fantasizing about her, and there she was, begging him, Ron Weasley, to make love to her. He couldn't have turned her away even if he'd wanted to. He would have done anything for her at that moment.
He still couldn't decide if the sacrifice had been worth it. He had eased her pain for a bit, but in the morning things had been awkward. He had felt guilty, thinking he'd taken advantage of her. That night had been the best moment of his life, but it had happened because Hermione's parents had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters. It made him feel terrible, and it was made worse by Hermione. She had avoided him after that, never really looking him in the eye. They were polite to each other, never arguing, never bantering, and never laughing.
Ron had hated it. It made him miserable. All that was dear to him was dead, devoid of passion. He'd rather stay away, than just pretend that it hadn't happened. It broke his heart to hear Hermione's voice dull and impassive as she spoke to him.
It had been over seven years since he saw her. They'd separated after school, with Harry and Ron going into Auror training and Hermione working for the Department of Mysteries, doing what, he never knew. She traveled a lot and had actually ended up being stationed in France the last Ron had heard. Harry kept in touch with her, but he seldom mentioned her to Ron, somehow knowing that it was too painful for him to hear, even if he didn't really know the details of their rift between the two of them.
And now, there she was, looking just as beautiful as he had remembered, even more so. From the distance it seemed her features had softened with adulthood. Her hair was darker, and looked slightly tamer, but it was up, so he could be wrong. Her figure was a little rounder, more womanly, rather than holding the last few angles of childhood like it had when he'd been with her. She was still short, slim and elegant in her own way. He was in love with her, the distance hadn't changed anything, and that terrified him. He was seriously considering just staying out in the rain that was still freezing, still soaking him to the bone, when he saw her turn to look out the window. Her eyes narrowed to peer through the murky wet darkness, and then widened. Ron cursed out loud when he realized that his wand was still lit. He'd been distracted and forgot all about it. Some Auror he was.
Hermione moved toward the door and Ron extinguished his wand before she could see who it was outside her window. He moved to hide behind the tree when the door opened and Hermione looked out, holding a hand over her head to keep her hair dry as she called out.
"Ron?"...
…Hermione's heart was beating rapidly as she waited for an answer to her call, but none came. She was positive that she'd seen Ron. She wasn't going mad. She'd know that tall frame and shock of red hair anywhere, even if it had just been a glimpse of it in the single light of a wand.
She gripped the wand in her hand tighter. It could be a trick. Death Eaters weren't past using glamour spells or polyjuice potion to gain ones trust.
"I recommend you answer me or I'm going to start throwing hexes, and you don't want that," she snapped into the darkness, lowering her hand that was blocking some of the rain bouncing off the house.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance as she caught the echo of shuffling feet and a few choice words that made her almost certain that it was the real Ron.
"I'm not joking. . . I suggest you show yourself," Hermione said, surprising herself at her fierceness.
"Okay! Blimey, you've got rather grouchy since I last saw you," she heard a gruff voice mutter as Ron stepped from behind the large oak tree he'd been hiding behind.
It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to reprimand him, to snap at him for hiding from her in the dark and scaring her half to death, but then she caught a good look at him. Of course, he was still very tall maybe even gaining an inch or two. His hair was still red, though it was soaked, so she couldn't tell if it had got darker and that was where the similarity ended with the boy she remembered.
He'd grown into his frame and was actually a very large man, which was surprising. All this time she'd been picturing him as somewhat thin and lankly like he had been. His face was very masculine, no longer youthful as she'd held him in her mind. Ron had on a simple pair of jeans and a black shirt that was sticking to him, due to the rain, leaving very little to the imagination. Hermione could see the outline of strong, hard muscles underneath it. She was reluctant to admit it, but he looked incredible. She wasn't prepared for how handsome he'd grown. For some reason, she had never once considered that he'd changed over the years. Harry certainly had never mentioned it, but then again, Harry was Harry and he probably hadn't noticed.
"Can I come in or are you going to let me stand out in this rain all night?"
Hermione blinked at his annoyance, shocked. He'd been very dull and passive with her before she'd left, painfully bland, not the Ron she knew. Now, though, he sounded much more like the Ron she'd missed all these years.
"What are you doing out in the rain, anyway?" she asked, more as a distraction against her raging emotions.
"Oh, I just thought I'd go for a stroll, freeze my arse off, and maybe catch my death," Ron said in a deadpan voice, before he stepped closer to her, looking at her seriously. "I'm working, Hermione. Can I come in or not?"
She stepped aside, and Ron moved past her, his frame filled the doorway, and his arm brushed against hers, sending a tingle through it, She wasn't ready for this. Memories of him still haunted her. When she closed her eyes at night all she'd hear was his voice, deep against her ear as he moaned her name, sliding into her, filling her. She hadn't even felt the pain her first time, her emotions had been too raw. All she'd felt was him connecting with her, their souls merging as one, if only for a short time.
It wasn't until the next morning that the reality of what she'd done had hit her. She'd thrown herself at Ron brazenly. She'd behaved just like a scarlet woman. She'd begged Ron to make love to her. She'd never get over the humiliation of it all. Even now, staring at him over seven years later, she still felt her face heat up. Maybe, it wouldn't have been so bad if Ron had returned her feelings, if he had loved her, but he'd been just as awkward the next morning, as through miserable that it had happened.
She'd ruined their friendship because she'd been too weak to deny her feelings. She'd spent years keeping them carefully hidden, but in a moment of extreme sorrow they'd poured out of her in desperate actions, and there was nothing she could do to take it all back. That night she had lost her parents and one of her best friends. It was something she didn't think she'd ever fully recover from and it was far more than she'd been able to face.
So, she'd left. She'd accepted a position with the Department of Mysteries that allowed her to travel. She buried herself in old volumes studying the most deadly and complex magic, and working with some of the wizarding world's greatest minds to develop defenses against it. She liked her work. She loved to travel and felt like she was making a difference in the process. It was her way of helping the fight.
Of course, what she did was hardly exciting in comparison to Ron and Harry, who dedicated themselves to field work. Hermione kept in close contact with Harry, unwilling to lose two friends because of her lack of judgment. Sometimes he'd disappear for months at time, only to return beaten, tired, and a little more world-weary than he had been before he left. She was sure Ron was no different. In fact, as she looked at him now, dripping wet, shaking from the cold, she noticed that his face had lines that a twenty five year old shouldn't have, his eyes spoke volumes about what he did.
"Do you have some floo powder? I'll just use it to get home," Ron mumbled, shifting apprehensively, looking around the small living room as though the walls were caving in on him.
Hermione felt her guard go up. True, they hadn't been close in the past several years, but she'd been his friend for a long time. He was being down right rude for someone who hadn't seen her in seven years.
"Well, hello to you too, Ron," she snapped going to the mantle over the fireplace, grabbing a small container of floo powder and thrusting it at him.
Ron reached to take the container from her, wincing sharply when he moved, and Hermione peered at him closer. He was pale, a faint misty steam was coming off his large body, obviously from the ice-cold rain that drenched him, his lips were near blue, and the crease between his eyebrows told her that he was in pain and trying very hard to hide it. He hadn't changed that much after all.
"You're hurt," she whispered, feeling all the anger drain out of her. "Tell me what's wrong. "
"It's nothing," Ron said, shaking his head. "I've just had a bad night."
Hermione went to the desk and grabbed a chair then pushed Ron into it. He winced again, stifling a curse when she put a hand on his shoulder. At least now she knew where he was hurting. He resisted her at first, but when she started casting warming spells over him, drying his clothes and heating his skin, he stopped complaining. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, allowing her to help him as though it had only been seven days rather than seven years since they'd last seen each other.
At first, she was only concentrating on warming Ron up. He'd catch pneumonia in the state he'd been in. His skin was freezing. When she noted that some of his color returned, she focused on his shoulder. She had to cut his shirt off him, since he wasn't able to lift his arm. Hermione determined instantly that he'd broken it. It was a wonder that he'd been able to withstand that much pain, without crying out. As she poked and prodded at the freckled flesh he finally asked her if she knew where Harry's store of alcohol was.
Hermione didn't condone heavy drinking, being very against anything that confused the mind. She'd almost thrown out Harry's stash of liquor, which was considerable, but she hadn't. He'd been nice enough to offer her a place to stay when she transferred back to England. She hadn't had time to look for a flat straight away, and she very much enjoyed his quiet cabin, it was a great place to think. So, she let it go.
Hermione got up and searched through the kitchen cabinets until she located a large bottle of Fire Whiskey. She handed it to Ron and arched an eyebrow when he drank far more than she thought was necessary to take the edge off the pain.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Hermione said as she got back on her knees in front of him, feeling around his shoulder, noting that it was a pretty bad break. She wanted to know what happened, but knew better than to ask
"It'd take a lot more than this to make me sick," Ron said taking another drink, and then looking down at her with a small smile.
"I'll take your word for it. I'm sure you've tested your limits many times."
"Once or twice." Ron laughed painfully. "I've missed you. How are you?"
Hermione stopped poking at him, and looked up. His gaze ran over her face as though reacquainting himself with her features. It made her throat feel dry and she choked on her answer. "I'm. . . good. How are you?"
"I've been better," he said, taking another drink. "Although, seeing you is nice. Sorry I was a prat earlier. I just didn't want to disturb you."
Hermione frowned at him. "Disturb me? Ron, you should know that you wouldn't disturb me. We're still friends, aren't we?"
Ron studied her, his eyes clouding over for just a moment before he smiled weakly. "Yes, Hermione. We're still friends."
Hermione nodded, more than willing to leave everything else unsaid. She felt at Ron's shoulder for a few more seconds. "It's broken."
"I'd pretty much worked that out. Can you fix it?"
Hermione bit her lip, hesitating for a bit. "I can, yes, but I don't think it'd be as good as a healer could do."
"I trust you."
"Maybe you shouldn't. . . Medical charms aren't my specialty. You'd be far better off going to St. Mungo's."
"I'd rather not. I've been there enough," Ron said, turning slightly red, just as he had when he was a boy.
"Oh," Hermione mumbled, again wondering what had happened to him that he'd ended up in St. Mungo's more than once. "Well, I guess I can do it then."
Hermione took a few deep breaths to clear her head, and then started performing the healing charms. He let out a huge sigh of relief when she was done. She set her wand on the table and looked up at him. Ron gave her a brilliant smile, one of those smiles that went straight to her heart.
"See, I knew you could do it," he said, moving and stretching his arm. "It's perfect, better than the healers could do. I've had more than a few bones mended by them and they never do this good of a job. It usually aches for days after."
Hermione had only been half listening to him, she was distracted by the way his muscles moved and shifted as he stretched his arm. She noticed that he did have several faint scars over his chest and arms; they were just a shade darker than the rest of his skin, slightly pink against the pale freckled flesh. They weren't ugly or disfiguring. Actually, Hermione thought they were rather attractive. The scars added character to him and made it rapidly apparent how very masculine he was, not that Hermione was having a hard time grasping that.
Entranced, she reached out and ran a finger over one jagged scar, wincing at what a terrible wound it must have been before it was healed. It ran from his collarbone all the way down to the center of his chest. Usually, you could heal a flesh wound with no markings left on the skin. It would have had to been a very severe injury or several days old by the time it was treated to leave such blatant evidence. Hermione guessed it was a little of both.
He shivered, and Hermione watched goose bumps spread across the flesh she touched. Suddenly, Ron's large hand closed over hers, trapping it against his warm skin. She looked up, disappointed that he'd stopped her, but felt a shiver of her own when she saw how he was looking at her.
"Don't. . ." Ron started, his voice cracking as though he hadn't used it in years. He licked his lips and closed his eyes for a second. ". . . don't look at me like that, Hermione."
Hermione wasn't stupid. She hadn't had much experience with men, but she did know when one wanted her and she was fairly certain Ron wanted her. It sent a thrill through her. Her life had been painfully lonely these past many years, simple and organized, but not much more. She'd almost forgot the spark Ron had added to it. The excitement she'd felt in his presence.
Their friendship was already in tatters. By analyzing the situation she realized that she really had nothing to lose by acting on impulse. If Ron was gone in the morning she'd be no worse off than she was before he'd shown up. So, she licked her own lips, and spoke.
"Why not?"
At the sound of Hermione's voice, low and teasing, Ron's jeans tightened uncomfortably. He shifted, still holding her hand against his chest, his skin tingling from her touch.
Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd end such a dreadful night with Hermione looking at him the way she was right now, and touching him the way she had been, in reverence, biting her lip as she studied him. It had been the most sensual thing Ron had ever seen. It was almost worth the suffering he'd gone through getting the scar she found so fascinating.
Gods, he wanted her. There had been so much that had been left undone the first time they'd been together. He'd been a bumbling idiot, too caught up in new sensations to really pay attention to what he was doing. Still, he didn't want to hurt her like he had the last time. They'd both suffered for years because of his mistake.
"Hermione, this isn't a game," he reminded her.
Hermione nodded, still looking at him, her eyes hot with desire. "I know."
She was so beautiful kneeling before him, her skin was rosy against the white nightdress she wore, her face was flushed in anticipation, framed by chestnut curls that sprang free from the bun she'd pulled her hair into. She looked nervous, and still so innocent, but sensual and womanly all at the same time.
Ron hadn't had the strength to resist her at seventeen. He'd have liked to believe that over the years he'd gained a little more willpower, but he hadn't. Her effect over him was as strong as ever, and he was still powerless against it. It was nothing like the one-night stands he sometimes indulged in to kill the pain his life inflicted on him. This was exciting and new, yet warm and comfortable at the same time. He marveled that time and space hadn't killed the companionship he felt with Hermione. Being around her was effortless, like she'd never left.
He reached out to her, freeing her hand and holding her face between his large palms. They stared at each other in awe at something so fast and unexpected, and he would have told her then. He would have said that he'd always loved her, that he'd never stopped, not for one minute, but instead, she leaned into him, kissing him gently, and all sense of thought left him.
Her lips parted with a soft sigh and his tongue invaded her mouth, desperate to breathe her in, to know her after so long. Ron groaned at the fire that speared through him. She was just as soft, just as sweet as he remembered, tasting of raspberry tea, and something more, something that was just Hermione. He'd often thought that he'd somehow built her up in his mind over the years, that the incredible memories burned into his mind were a young boys reaction to being kissed by a girl he'd always desired, but he'd been wrong. It had nothing to do with anything other than them and the connection they shared.
His hands fumbled in her hair until it sprang free from it's confines, spilling around her in a glowing tangle of curls that smelled of flowers, and made her look like a goddess. Without thinking, he got up off the chair, never letting her go as he dropped to his knees, the fire casting a warm glow over their skin as they fell to the hearthrug.
A small image
This drawing was made in a 180gr Canson A4size paper with gouache and watercolor pencils. NO PHOTOSHOP.
My drawings for More than Memories:
Leave them on...for now
You're beautiful to me too!
Ask me, Ron!
Enough to die for
You can find the fanfic in these sites(only to registered members):
The Quidditch Pitch
Simply Undeniable
And don't forget, people we're in the last days for April's
the_hp_love Challenge!Thank you,
spidergirl30 for your help, and all of you for the attention!:D 
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