Rain pattered softly against the windowpane as you curled up on your couch, a half-finished book resting in your lap. It had been years since Hogwarts, years since the war had torn everything apart and forced everyone to find a way to rebuild. You had tried to move on, tried to settle into something resembling a normal life, but there were still ghosts of the past that lingered—ones with freckles and bright blue eyes, ones who had made you laugh even in the darkest of times.

You hadn’t spoken to Ron in ages. Letters had faded into silence, swallowed up by time and distance. You had told yourself it was for the best, that he had his own life to live, just as you had yours.

Then, there was a knock at your door.

It was late—too late for visitors—and for a moment, you hesitated. But something in your gut told you to move, to pull the door open despite the uncertainty twisting in your chest.

And there he was.

Ron stood on your doorstep, soaked from the rain, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. His hair was tousled, his face unreadable, but his eyes—his impossibly blue eyes—were locked on you with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than you remembered but still undeniably him. “Took me long enough to find you, didn’t it?”