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It was snowing out, and Ron sat in the rocker on his porch, slowly swaying back and forth. In his old age, the cold usually nipped at his body until he was forced to retreat back to the warmth of the burrow. But not today, the cold didn't seem to effect him at all. Perhaps he was numb from the crisp air already, or perhaps there was finally some relief in his slowly waning life. He'd always loved to sit on the porch of the burrow, since he'd been a young boy. He remembered sitting in this very rocker right after he'd graduated from Hogwarts. He remembered sitting in this very rocker right before he'd left for the flat he would share with Harry in Diagon Ally when he was 18, where Ron and Harry had lived for several years. Yes, the pair of them had had some fun times, living together in that flat. Late night's of studying, trying to achieve their dream jobs. And eventually, both of them did. Harry, he went on to become one of the top Aurors that the Ministry had ever seen. And Ron, he became a healer. No one had expected him to choose a career in the healing field. But his life changed when he was 16. Hermione was taken away from him, by a curse with no known cure. It had taken Ron all of his life time to move on. And there was not a moment that went by that Hermione's face didn't come to his mind. Yet something about her absence fueled him on. In his final year at Hogwarts, he became increasingly devoted to his school work, and graduated amoung the top of his class. Even after he'd graduated, he continued to study healing. He became obsessed with finding the cure to the curse that had killed her. In the years that followed Hermione's death, the Mortimoria curse had taken nearly fifty thousand innocent wizards and witches. And then late one night, Ron found out Harry had been cought in a battle, due to his Auror duties, and had been hit with the Mortimoria curse. Ron didn't sleep for five whole days while Harry struggled for his life. If Harry died, not only would it kill him, but it would tear apart his sister Ginny, who happened to be in love with Harry. And in the early hours of the 6th day after Harry had been attacked, Ron had done it. A happy accident, Ron had been so tired, he'd knocked his Firewhiskey into a couldron of strengthening potion he'd been mixing. In his efforts to salvage the huge vat of the potion he'd been mixing, he'd attempted to add more dragon's blood to the mix, but instead, he'd added hippogriff's blood, and this mistake potion had saved Harry's life. And many others, to say the least. The strange mix of ingredients seemed to beat all of the effects of the curse. Basically, the mortimoria curse slowed down the heart. The curse only lasted about two weeks, so if the patient could endure that, then he would survive, but if not, he was doomed. But, something about Ron's accidental potion had given the heart extra strength, allowing it to withstand the two weeks. And now, Ron sat in his rocker on the porch, staring at the snow. Oh, how the snow had always been there. He remembered his first and only date with Hermione, the only girl he had ever loved. And there had been snow the day he'd administered his new potion and saved Harry. With those gentle flurries sinking to earth, Harry had proposed to Ginny when he'd finally woken up that miraculous day. When the two had wed on Valintine's day of the following year, it had snowed. Ron looked out into the snow, remembering that day. He was 28, and so was Harry. Ginny was a year younger. She'd looked so beautiful, in dress robes of all white, with a soft pink rose stuck behind her ear. As he stood next to Harry, being his best man, he could have sworn he saw Hermione's face flicker through the window, gazing back at him through the snow. It was true, he would never marry. He'd dated, of course, but no one would ever come close to Hermione. But he never had any desire to marry. And it was because he was the only Weasley that had not married that he'd moved back to the burrow. His mother's health was failing, purely due to old age. And he moved back to the burrow happily, to care for his mother. In fact, Ron had a vague memory that included rocking back in forth in the rocker on the porch, staring at the snow in his first week back at the burrow. And then again, when his mother had finally died, she'd been burried with a light snowfall dancing all around. It had even snowed when Harry and Ginny had their first child. A baby girl they named Hermione. She was the light of their life. And in the first hours of her life, it had snowed so much, there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground. Looking out at the snow, Ron began to realize just how ironic it was, that it snowed at nearly every important event of his life. Most would wonder why, but in his heart, Ron knew. Hermione had loved the snow. She'd said so the day she'd died. Then, she'd kissed him. Their last kiss. And in each event in his life that was accompanied by a snowfall, he knew it was Hermione, coming back to say hello. Ron shut his eyes, which were growing tired, begging to be closed for the night. But something in his heart kept him from going inside and sleeping. His heart begged to stay just a bit longer. The more he stared into the snow, the happier Ron became. The pains of old age left him, and he was no longer cold at all. Each flake danced and twirled until it joined the blanket of white on the ground. And in the distance, a figure, clad in white, emerged from the snow. The contrast of white on white was so faint it was nearly impossible to notice, but Ron did. Even though the figure was in the distance, Ron couldn't help but feel that his eyes were becoming stronger with each step the mysterious figure took. Each, graceful step, the long silky dress of the figure flowing behind as it walked. And within minutes, the person had reached Ron's porch. He was staring into a face he hadn't stared into for nearly 85 years. A sixteen year old Hermione stood in front of him. "Hello, Ron," she said. "Hello?" Ron mumbled, confused. "How.. what... umm.." He stuttered, standing up from his rocker now. Hermione giggled. "Turn around, look at your reflection in the window." Ron did as she said, thinking she'd been laughing at how much he'd age, and how his hair now matched the hue of the snow that so often fell. But when he turned around, he saw himself, sixteen years old again. When he turned back around, Hermione took his hand. "Hello, angel," he whispered in her ear. "Come dance with me," she whispered back. And so Ron took her hand. Her soft, warm hand in his own. And they walked into the front yard of the burrow. He felt his youth run through his body once again, replacing the aches and pains he felt as his hair faded to white, and his skin faded with it, gaining deep wrinkles as years passed. He felt young in every sense of the word. He was dancing with his sweetheart once again, and the pains of age had floated off with the snowflakes. And as they danced, the snow continued to fall. The wind created a gentle music for the two of them. And slowly, the burrow faded from the background, covered by a misty snowfall. "I knew you'd come back for me," Ron whispered as he held her tightly. "And, thank you for all those snowflakes." Hermione smiled. Then she kissed him, the most passionate kiss the world would ever know. The music grew louder, and the snow surrounded them. And Ron twirled Hermione around, happiness and love clearly emanating from each of them. They remained for all eternity, dancing in the snow. A/N: This is an epilogue to At My Most Beautiful, so if it doesnt make sense, please read that story first. Oh, and please please review, I've worked so hard to make this epilogue perfect.

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