Part 2: Ron

Author�s note: �custodis animus meus� is Latin for �keeper of my heart.�

I felt my wife�s eyes on me sometime before dawn.

I was just coming out of a dream--one I can�t even remember anymore, though I could have sworn I could still taste the lingering flavor of a sherbet lemon when I woke--when I felt Hermione�s breath on my cheek, and the unmistakable brush of her fingers on my skin. I know I must have woken up with a smile, because I can recognize her touch at once, even half asleep.

When I open my eyes, I see her looking down on me, chin resting on one hand, while the other traces lazy circles on my torso. She�s giving me one of her many brilliant smiles--my smile, she calls it, the one she reserves only for me--and I feel my heart expand at the mere sight of it.

She laughs when I tease her, just as she always does. Our teasing has changed over the years, no longer the petty, childish arguments of the first year of our friendship, nor the tension-filled rows just before we finally took the plunge and admitted how we felt about each other; now it�s an easy, comfortable banter, a push-and-pull between two people who know each other inside and out, and know which words bring out that spark, that laugh.

She tells me how I�ve changed since childhood, how different I am from the little boy she met on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago, with the bright orange hair and the dirt on his nose. And she�s right.

And I think, thank goodness I�m no longer that boy.

The Ron Weasley she met, the one with the hand-me-down trainers and the faded robes, feels like a whole other person now. He was the insecure one, the one who was unsure of his place in life or where his talents lay, who wouldn�t have been able to imagine the rich life I�ve been able to make for myself now--with a beautiful wife and children who are the pillars of my life.

Hermione�s different now too. In the very beginning she had held everyone at arm�s length; blimey, I�d never met anyone who seemed more determined to keep everyone at a distance. But in time I was able to break through her walls--if only by mere accident, thanks to the sheer luck of defeating a troll--but my reward was her trust, her friendship, and ultimately her heart.

She lets her guard down with me. There are a few others she allows to see her as she truly is--Harry, Ginny, our children--but it�s with me that she bares it all: her angels and her demons, the things she treasures, the things she fears. And each day that goes by, I still find something that surprises me about my wife, another little piece she shares with me that no one else in this world has ever had the privilege of knowing, or probably ever will.

I feel her hand trace a path up my arm, and look up in time to see her give a small shiver and nestle into me.

�It�s freezing,� she says, pulling up the covers to her chin.

I laugh, unable to resist the opportunity to point out something I�m quite sure she�s well aware of.

�Well of course you think it�s freezing,� I say, and I lean into her, grazing my lips across the line of her jaw. �You�re not wearing any clothes, after all.�

She looks up at me, her eyes taunting me with a mixture of desire and mirth. �Something that hasn�t escaped your attention, of course.�

�Of course.�

�Hmm,� she says, giving me a wicked smile, �and you don�t seem to be dressed either.�

I grin back at her. �Fancy that.�

She laughs and gives me a quick kiss, then slides out of bed to fasten the shutters on the window. I watch her, fascinated by the grace of her movements, the way she glides across the room, without any trace of shyness or self-consciousness.

I know she�s not immune to her own insecurities, however. There are times when I hear her talking to Ginny, lamenting the loss of her girlish figure, that her hips are wider now, and that she�ll never get back the taut, flat stomach she had before becoming a mother.

I suppose her body has changed over the years. The curves brought on by womanhood have grown even rounder, softer in time. But they are curves I�ve committed to memory, ones my hands know by touch, ones my body knows by feel. This is the body that bore my children, that brought them life and brings me life as well.

As if feeling my eyes on her, she turns around and smiles at me.

�What are you looking at?� she says with a laugh, making no effort to conceal herself in any way, much to my delight.

�You,� I say.

�Me?�

�Mmm... You�re beautiful, do you know that?�

The words hit her unexpectedly, I can tell; she doesn�t say anything, only crossing the room to slip beside me once again.

�You really are, you know,� I murmur. I gather her in my arms a place a kiss on her temple, feeling the brush of her sigh on my skin. �Always.�

Her fingers dance on the small of my back, and when I look down, I see her smiling up at me.

�Do you believe in fate?� she says.

�Love,� I say, �some questions shouldn�t be asked this early in the morning.�

She laughs and swats at my arm. �I�m serious, Ron.�

�So am I.�

�Ron!!�

�Okay, okay...�

I have to admit, this isn�t something I usually give much thought, but now that she�s asked me, I realize, I do.

�Yeah,� I say. �Yeah, I reckon I do.�

She shifts in even closer to me. �Do you ever wonder what things would be like,� she says, �if Neville�s toad hadn�t run away, and I hadn�t gone into yours and Harry�s compartment on the train that day? Or if you hadn�t locked that troll in the bathroom with me?�

The very thought makes me shudder.

�No,� I say. �I wouldn�t want to.�

She gives me one last smile, and just before she pulls me into a kiss, I hear her say, �Me neither.�

As I lose myself in her, I think, the universe must have known what it was doing.