Ron and Hermione Fic a thon

Fic for lizabethy

2004-04-16T06:02:27Z

Author: Rudhampaiel

For: Lizabethy

Requests: dark and romantic with a positive ending.

Restrictions - No soap opera-y plotlines. Prefer no fluff. :D

Rating: High PG-13, possibly R for language and some unpleasant things that are alluded to.

Disclaimer: Not mine, it’s JKR’s, yadda yadda yadda.

Yes, it’s finally done! Apologies for the wait, especially to lizabethy because you’ve been wonderfully patient. I really hope you like it and I tried to make it dark, but I don’t do dark very often so I’m not sure how you’ll like it. Also, it hasn’t been betaed yet so I please just ignore any mistakes. Hopefully there aren’t any really horrid ones. Again, sorry for taking so long!

~~~

Everything’s Gonna Be All Right

~*~*~

And just before

She hangs her head to cry

I sing to her a lullaby, I sing

Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye

Everything's gonna be all right

Rockabye, rockabye

Rockabye

- ‘Lullaby’ Shawn Mullins

~*~*~

“So, explain to me again why you’ve got to stay here?” Ron Weasley said, eyeing his friend rather skeptically.

“Dumbledore asked me to,” Harry Potter replied patiently, for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

“But it’s a Hogsmeade trip,” said Ron. “Why is he making you miss it?” Harry simply shrugged.

“He said he needed to talk to me and this was the only chance he’d have for awhile.” Ron sighed and flopped back onto his bed. Harry rolled his eyes. “Enough with the dramatics, Ron. It’s not that big of a deal. And anyway, you’ll still have Hermione.”

“That,” Ron said as he struggled to sit up, “is exactly the problem. I’ll end up doing something stupid again I just know it. Remember the last time I was alone with her and I almost – I almost…” he gulped, flushing red, and Harry choked back a laugh.

“You know, Ron, you could just tell her how you feel,” Harry said, a grin spreading over his face. “After all, you are a big boy now, however much you don’t act like one.” Ron flung a pillow at him.

“Wanker,” the redhead muttered. “Congratulations on making me glad you’re not going.” Harry readjusted his glasses, which the pillow had knocked askew and sent an infuriating smile at Ron.

“If you want any breakfast you’d better go now,” he said. “You’ve only got twenty minutes until you leave for Hogsmeade.” Ron groaned and got off his bed. As he reached the doorway of the dormitory, Harry gave him one last instruction, still grinning foolishly.

“Don’t come back until you’ve given her a proper snog, Ronniekins. And pick me up some sugar quills while you’re there, please. I’m all out.”

Ron threw Harry a disgusted look and slammed the door behind him, just as Harry burst into a fit of laughter.

~*~*~

After breakfast, (a hastily eaten egg sandwich and orange juice) Ron met up with Hermione in the Great Hall.

“Where were you?” he asked when she appeared, completely out of breath.

“The library,” she said. “I was finishing some Charms homework and I lost track of the time, and then I had to run my bag back to the common room.” Ron simply shook his head and made his way to the door. Hermione made an annoyed sound and followed.

“At least I do my homework, Ron. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you but ever since your birthday you’ve hardly touched a book. Don’t you realize that N.E.W.T.S – ”

“Are only two months away,” Ron finished, effectively cutting her denouncement short. “Yeah, Hermione, I know. You’ve only been reminding me for the past five months. Let’s just not talk about schoolwork today, all right? Please?” he added in a plaintive tone. Hermione sighed then nodded her agreement. She looked around for a moment then frowned.

“Where’s Harry?” she asked.

“He can’t come. Dumbledore wanted to talk to him,” Ron explained quickly, doing his best to keep Harry’s last words out of his mind. ’Give her a proper snog…’ Tosser.

The two reached Filch, who eyed them closely before crossing them off his list. They stayed silent until they reached the village, enjoying the warm sunshine and flower-scented breeze.

“So,” Ron said when they had reached the main road, “where should we start?”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly. “There’s this one place I’ve always wanted to visit. See, Salazar Slytherin supposedly built a small house around here, and he stayed there for awhile when he got into that argument with Gryffindor… what now Ron?” A very funny look had appeared on Ron’s face, and Hermione found herself unable to put a name to it. When Ron spoke, he did so very quietly.

“You’re telling me that Salazar Slytherin built himself another secret chamber of sorts. And you want to go see it.” Ron’s tone made it sound like he had never encountered anyone so off their rocker.

“It’s not like the Chamber of Secrets, Ron. And… well, yeah, I do want to see it,” Hermione admitted.

“Are you crazy?” Ron said, his voice suddenly very loud. “How do you know it’s not like the Chamber of Secrets? How do you know there’s not some deranged monster hidden in that place?”

“It’s been deserted for years, Ron,” Hermione said testily. “Hardly anybody knows about it. It’s not even in ‘Hogwarts, a History’ and that has an entire chapter on Hogsmeade.”

“Well yippee,” Ron muttered sarcastically. “Less people to think to look there when we go missing.”

“We’re not going to go missing, Ron,” Hermione shot back. “I just want to go take a quick look. “Or are you too scared?” she said, a smirk creeping onto her face.

“What? I’m not scared!” Ron spluttered.

“Good, then let’s go,” Hermione said, grabbing Ron by the arm and pulling him down the road.

~*~*~

A short time later they were standing on the edge of a dark forest.

“Well?” Ron said irritably. “Where do we go now?” He eyed Hermione, following her gaze to the shadowy mess of trees. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “We can’t go in there.”

“What do you mean we can’t?” Hermione replied, raising an eyebrow but still looking at the forest.

“Because it’s the Forbidden Forest! I’m not going into that horrid that place again, at least not by my own free will.” Hermione chuckled, finally glancing at Ron.

“That’s not the Forbidden Forest, Ron. That’s the Wailing Wood.”

“And that sounds so much better,” Ron grumbled sarcastically. Hermione’s _expression became one of exasperation.

“It’s called the wailing wood because a flock of augureys used to next there. The residents of Hogsmeade heard their cries whenever a storm was imminent and thought that spirits haunted the wood, hence the name.” Ron looked unimpressed and was staring longingly back at the distant shops of Hogsmeade where he could just make out the bright pink shop that was Madam Puddifoot’s. Hermione laid a hand gently on his arm, and when he turned to look at her, Ron saw a pleading look in her eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Why do I let you talk me into these things?” he said. Hermione laughed and pulled him with her into the forest.

~*~*~

“So you’re sure this isn’t off limits?” Ron asked Hermione as he ducked under a low-hanging branch.

“Not as far as I could find out,” Hermione replied, climbing over a mossy boulder. “I mean, this eventually leads in to the Forbidden Forest but we’re not going in that far.”

Ron stopped walking. “It what? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t agree to come if you knew that,” she explained, obviously unconcerned. Ron gritted his teeth and resumed walking.

“What if someone saw us go in here?” he asked, hoping that if he kept questioning her, Hermione would get nervous and agree to leave.

“They’d probably figure we were sneaking away for a quick snog,” Hermione said, keeping her voice carefully steady. Ron made a strangled noise and coughed to cover it up. Damn Harry and his stupid snogging advice.

“Who would come in here to snog?” he asked, glancing around at the eerily silent forest. Hermione turned around and flashed him a grin.

“You obviously didn’t hear about what Sally-Anne Perks and Anthony Goldstein did last year.”

“Er, no, I didn’t,” Ron said, feeling his ears going red. “What exactly – ” he broke off as Hermione stopped and he almost tripped over her.

“Ron,” she whispered. “This is it.”

Before them stood a run-down shack. The roof was falling in, vines were climbing up the outer walls, and the huge stones that made up the sides were covered in thick green moss. The stones were probably the only reason the house was still standing.

“Are we going in?” Ron said quietly, a reluctant edge to his voice.

“Of course!” Hermione breathed, still awe-struck by the ancient building. She turned around to look at him. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Ron snorted.

“Right. I’m going to let you go in there alone.” Hermione shrugged. “Come on,” he sighed. “The sooner we get in the sooner we can leave.”

~*~*~

The house didn’t smell musty inside as Ron half-expected it would. In fact, despite its rather neat appearance, there was something about the inside of the shack that made Ron feel uneasy, though he couldn’t figure out why. Hermione was prowling about, her keen eyes taking everything in. Ron just watched her, trying to figure out why this place unsettled him so much. It was only a one-room shack and there was nothing particularly threatening about it. So why did he have goosebumps?

“Ron!” Hermione called from a corner of the house. “Come look at this.” Ron crossed the floor and looked down at what Hermione had found.

“A trapdoor,” he said, trying to sound interested. Hermione was already fumbling with the latch.

“Help me open it,” she urged. Ron hesitated a moment too long, and Hermione tossed her hair back and peered up at him. “Since when have you been the cautious one?” she asked.

Ron took a moment before answering. “This whole thing just seems… weird. I mean, Harry’s not here, we’re in a little shack that Slytherin himself built, we’re on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, no one knows where we are…” Ron shrugged again, unsure of how to continue. “It just makes me nervous, I guess.” Hermione studied his face for a moment, then bent down to examine the latch once more.

“I just want to see what’s down here and then we’ll go. I promise,” she added.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ron said, managing a forced grin. He pushed down the ever-growing fear that was gnawing at his stomach and knelt down to help Hermione.

~*~*~

Within minutes the door was open and Hermione and Ron were descending the steps that they had discovered beneath the floor. The staircase was long and dark, so they went slowly. Both had their wands lit in an attempt to push away the blackness. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the bottom.

The air was dry and musty. Thin slits near the very top of the ceiling revealed sunlight at ground level, just enough to see by. Ron walked over to a shadowy shape, holding his wand in front of him. The light revealed a rectangular stone slab, covered in dust. Ron blew some of the dust away and nearly gagged. A dark stain marred the surface of the stone. It could only be blood.

Ron moved hastily away from the slab to where Hermione was inspecting a bookcase, filled with books too horrible for even the restricted section at Hogwarts’ library. Hermione pulled a book out to see its title then pushed it back in. A cloud of dust flew into her face, making her cough. She waved a hand, trying to clear the air.

“There’s so much dust down here!” she murmured, running a finger along the spine of another book. Ron suddenly felt very ill, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Hermione?” he whispered. “Didn’t you say this place was deserted?”

“No one’s lived here for ages, Ron. Why do you ask?” she replied. Ron swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. The fear was back, a cold, heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

“There wasn’t any dust upstairs, Hermione,” he said softly. Hermione turned to him wide-eyed. “I think we’d better leave,” Ron breathed, his voice barely audible. Hermione nodded and the two raced for the stairs.

They didn’t speak, just ran as fast as possible. Ron was in front and he hoisted himself out of the trapdoor, then turned to help Hermione up. Neither noticed that the front door was open until it was too late and they were already surrounded.

Five figures stood on all sides, their wands directed at Ron and Hermione. Two wore black cloaks, which obscured their faces. The other three were Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy. Hermione let out a tiny whimper and Ron took a step forward, positioning himself in front of her.

“What is this, Malfoy?” Ron kept his voice low to keep the fear out of it. Malfoy simply smirked.

“It seems you’ve stumbled upon one of our little hideaways,” he drawled. “I saw you two head this way and I knew that if the prude Mudblood was with you it wouldn’t be for a snog. So I contacted two friends for reinforcement to ensure this place is kept secret.”

Ron’s neck had gone red the moment Malfoy mentioned the word ‘Mudblood.’ His hands were in fists now, and Hermione gently slid her hand into one of his, praying he wouldn’t do anything rash.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked, trying her best to keep her voice steady. Ron squeezed her hand tightly, trying to convey some reassurance.

“First, I’m going to take your wands,” Malfoy said, bringing his own wand to center on Ron’s chest. Hermione quickly handed hers over, eyeing Malfoy’s wand apprehensively. Ron took longer, glaring with hatred at his captors the entire time. Once Malfoy had the wands, he handed them to one of the cloaked wizards.

“Burn them,” he ordered. Hermione inhaled sharply and Ron swore under his breath. Malfoy watched them, malicious amusement glinting in his eyes. “Now,” he said silkily, “you’re going to turn around and walk back down to the dungeon that you felt the need to explore.” Ron and Hermione slowly turned and descended, both wondering if they would ever be coming back up again.

~*~*~

It wasn’t long before Malfoy, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, returned to the underground chamber. Malfoy muttered something and a dim light filled the room.

“I’ve brought a present for you two,” Malfoy announced. He tossed a bag at them, though neither moved to touch it. “It’s the ashes of your wands,” Malfoy said, a glimmer of cruelty in his eye. “Just so you’re both aware, I’ve been put in charge of making sure you both stay here.” Ron scowled, but continued staring at the bag.

“They’ll miss you up at the school,” he said. Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly.

“You forget, Weasel. Yesterday was the last day of term. I had special permission to go home over the break, but I can just as easily spend my time here.” His cold eyes shifted to Hermione, who sat huddled next to Ron with her legs drawn tightly to her chest.

“Granger,” Malfoy said suddenly, curious glint in his eye. “Tell me, are you still a virgin?” Hermione gaped, obviously shocked by the question, but Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes sparking with fury.

“And why are you asking, scum?” he spat. Malfoy shrugged, his eyes raking over Hermione’s body.

“If I’m going to be spending so much time here, I’ll need something to occupy myself.”

Ron stood up, a tower of rage, and walked deliberately toward Malfoy.

“You’ll find other ways to occupy yourself, Malfoy,” he growled. Malfoy let out a sharp laugh.

“So you’re threatening me, Weasel? Let me remind you that I have a wand and you don’t.” He produced his wand, aiming it once more at Ron.

“I wouldn’t need a wand,” Ron spat, lunging at Malfoy.”

“Ron, no!” Hermione yelled, just as Malfoy shouted ‘Crucio!’

Ron was thrown backward a few feet, then crumpled to the ground. White-hot knives cut at him from everywhere. Pain shot through his muscles, his bones. He refused to utter a sound, to give voice to the pain he felt, so he suffered in silently agony. From what seemed a far way away, he heard Hermione sobbing, pleading with Malfoy to lift the curse. Suddenly, the pain was gone and Ron lay trembling on the floor.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Malfoy whispered, his voice dripping venom. “I bet you didn’t know I could do that, huh? I would have killed you if I wasn’t under strict orders not to, but if you ever try that again I won’t hesitate to keep the curse on a bit longer.” He abruptly turned back to Crabbe and Goyle. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice once more crisp and loud. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he informed Hermione and Ron icily. “If you’ve been good, I might even bring you something to eat.” The three captors disapparated, leaving Ron and Hermione alone once more.

Hermione crawled over to Ron and laid a hand on his still shaking shoulder. He turned to her, tears of pain still rolling down his cheeks. Hermione’s throat was tight with unshed tears as she looked at her friend. She reached out and cupped his face, carefully wiping away his tears. Ron grasped her wrist, as if that was all that was keeping him together.

“Oh, Ron,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, if I hadn’t–” Ron moved his hand to her face, his thumb resting over her lips.

“Don’t think like that,” he said in a raspy voice, capturing her eyes in a steady gaze. “We’ll think of something. We’re going to be fine.” He struggled to sit up and didn’t protest when Hermione helped. They moved to a corner where Ron could lean against the wall for support. His muscles were no longer trembling, though he felt very weak. Ron gave a sigh of relief as he settled against the cool stone wall. Hermione tucked herself into his arms, and he could feel her shaking.

“Hermione,” Ron whispered, holding her close. “I won’t let him hurt you.” She gave a shuddering sigh and buried her head into his chest. Ron tightened his arms, as if that was all it would take to protect her. He hummed softly under his breath like his mother used to do when he couldn’t sleep at night and gently stroked her hair. Within minutes, the two of them had drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

~*~*~

“What do you mean they’re not back yet?”

“They never showed up last night.”

Professor McGonagall rubbed her forehead, glaring at the messy-haired boy who stood in front of her. “Any idea why, Potter?” she asked tersely. An uncomfortable look flashed across Harry’s face.

“Well, see, I told Ron to do something, and if he did, well… I mean, he was supposed to tell… Hermione, you see–” McGonagall held up a hand.

“Potter, stop talking before your face gets any redder,” she ordered. Harry took a deep breath and managed a small smile. “Now,” McGonagall continued briskly, “would whatever you told Ron to do be taking this long?” Harry slowly shook his head.

“No, Hermione wouldn’t have let it. And that’s why I’m worried.” McGonagall saw the fear flash in his eyes as he spoke.

“Very well. Let’s go down to the village and ask around, see if anyone’s seen them.” Harry nodded and they quickly left McGonagall’s office, hoping someone would have some information about Ron and Hermione.

~*~*~

Ron awoke first the next morning, aching all over. He grimaced and tried to stand up but was unable to do so because of the body in his arms. He froze, the events of the previous day rushing back to him. Salazar’s shack, Malfoy’s threat to Hermione, the Cruciatus Curse… he shuddered. Hermione stirred in his arms, and he felt her tense as she too remembered what had taken place yesterday.

Slowly, Hermione turned herself around to face Ron. There was a question in her eyes, begging him to tell her last night was a dream. He shook his head sadly. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears and she threw her arms around Ron’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Ron held her, awkwardly stroking her hair. After awhile, the tears subsided and Hermione pulled away, wiping her glistening cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, in a semblance of her normal voice. “I’m just… I’m scared, Ron,” she added in a broken whisper. Ron nodded.

“Me too,” he said. Hermione appeared to take comfort in this and repositioned herself so she was sitting next to Ron. Silence filled the dungeon until Ron’s stomach growled. Hermione laughed, but then her face became still and serious.

“Do you think he’s going to feed us?” she asked in a small voice.

Ron smiled tightly. “I doubt it.” Hermione moved closer, resting her head on Ron’s shoulder.

“Ron… I… I don’t want him to – to touch me.” Hermione’s voice broke on the last two words and tears began rolling down her cheeks again. Ron closed his eyes against her pain and wrapped an arm around her.

“I won’t let him,” he declared roughly. “Anyway, he’s probably just trying to scare us.” Hermione stayed quiet and Ron was beginning to wonder if she had fallen asleep when she spoke again.

“I’ve never even really kissed a guy.” Hermione said softly. Ron started and frowned.

“What about Krum?” he asked. Hermione shrugged.

“It wasn’t a real kiss. I didn’t like him enough, I guess.”

Ron stared at the top of her head in surprise, then cleared his throat. “I’ve never really kissed anyone either,” he said in a low voice. “At least, not anyone who really mattered.” Ron was suddenly aware of how close the two of them were sitting. He could hear Hermione’s breathing, feel every tiny movement she made. She was sitting very still and her body was tense, and when she spoke, she didn’t look at him.

“Do you know anyone who would matter enough to kiss?”

Ron slowly turned her face toward his, placing a hand on her cheek. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the way he was looking at her.

“I could think of someone,” he murmured, moving closer to her.

Hermione had just closed her eyes when a loud crack announced the presence of three new arrivals. She and Ron sprang apart from each other as a low laugh filled the room.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Malfoy said, his trademark smirk on his face. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered appreciatively. Malfoy’s laughter died abruptly and his face became cold with malicious intent.

“Granger,” he snapped. “Come over here.” It was Ron who stood.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” he growled. Malfoy sighed, his _expression bored and disdainful.

“I thought we’d been through this, Weasel.” Ron paid Malfoy no attention and started toward him. He got no more than three paces before Malfoy shouted a hex and sent Ron flying into a wall. Hermione cried out as Ron fell to the floor, groaning in pain.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Malfoy said sternly. His two large cronies stomped over to Ron, who was trying to pick himself up off the floor. Goyle grabbed Ron’s shirt and jerked him up, then pinned his arms behind his back. Crabbe glanced at Malfoy for permission and, when Malfoy nodded, he slammed his fist into Ron’s stomach. The next punch hit Ron in the side of the head near his eye. A third landed on his jaw. A barrage of blows to the stomach came next, and Ron went limp with the pain. Hermione watched in wide-eyed horror, feeling sick to her stomach. She turned to Malfoy, her voice shaky and pleading.

“Make them stop, they’re going to kill him,” she begged. “Please, Draco, call them off.” Malfoy glanced at her, his lip curled in disgust, then held up a hand. Crabbe punched Ron once more, this time on his cheekbone, then stopped. Malfoy turned his attention to Hermione.

“It’s not wise to meddle, Granger,” he said softly. “You would do well to watch yourself in the future.” Hermione stumbled away from him, her eyes wide with fear. Malfoy lunged and caught her arm, but she wrenched it away. Ron was struggling once more.

“Leave her the hell alone, Malfoy!” Ron shouted, attempting to twist out of Goyle’s grip. Malfoy’s eyes flickered coldly over him before moving back to Hermione. Malfoy’s wand appeared in his hand.

“Let’s make this easier, Granger,” he said, ignoring Ron. “I don’t feel like chasing you around.” Using the same spell had used earlier, Malfoy sent Hermione flying into another wall, though with much less force than he’d used on Ron. Malfoy made a complicated movement with his wand and cried out ‘Manaclaeum.’ Chains appeared on the wall above Hermione’s head, complete with manacles. They quickly closed over Hermione’s wrists, effectively trapping her against the wall.

Malfoy smirked and walked slowly over to her. “Oh, I like this much better, Granger,” he drawled, looking her up and down. “No chance of you squirming away from me now.” Hermione swallowed as he came closer, trying her best not to shiver at the way he was looking at her.

“Malfoy!” Ron’s voice rang out across the cold dungeon.

“What is it now, Weasley?” Malfoy snapped without turning.

“Don’t hurt her. She’s never even done anything to you. I’m the one who’s always tried to attack you, to hurt you or get you in trouble,” Ron said, a desperate edge to his voice. Malfoy shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he continued to gaze at Hermione.

“Sorry, Weasley, but the mudblood’s prettier than you are.”

“Remember those three weeks of detention you had to serve at the beginning of the year?” Ron said loudly. “That was my fault. I told McGonagall how you were practicing those hexes on first years. And remember when that rumor about how your mum was going mad? I found out about it from my brother and I was the one who spread it around.”

Malfoy’s eyes were now narrowed, glinting dangerously, and focused on Ron. “And why are you telling me this, Weasley?” His voice was low and menacing, and it sent chills up Hermione’s spine.

“To remind you that it’s me you hate,” Ron said softly. “I don’t care what you do to me, Malfoy. Just don’t hurt her. Please.” Malfoy stared at Ron, then burst out laughing. Crabbe and Goyle stared blankly at each other for a moment then followed Malfoy’s lead, adding their low chuckles to his snickering. The laughter ended when Malfoy gestured for Crabbe and Goyle to bring Ron closer. They did so, keeping Ron’s arms pinned behind his back. Malfoy stayed near Hermione and watched Ron with amusement.

“You love her, don’t you Weasel?” Malfoy said, smiling wickedly. Even under such horrid circumstances Ron couldn’t stop the blush from creeping onto his face. Malfoy’s smirk grew wider. “That just makes it more fun. Because you’ll be wishing you were the one touching her,” he paused, turning to Hermione and running a hand over her stomach, watching her recoil from his touch, “kissing her,” his fingers skimmed over lips that were pressed tightly together, “having her.” His eyes roamed down her body before flicking over to a deathly pale Ron. “And that will be more painful to you than any torture I could dream up,” he said quietly. “Make sure he watches,” Malfoy said to Crabbe and Goyle, his voice louder than before. He turned to Hermione, his eyes alive with anticipation. “I wouldn’t want him to miss anything.”

~*~*~

Ron felt a wave of nausea hit him as Malfoy ran his hand along Hermione’s jaw line. Hermione violently jerked her head away and kicked out with her feet. Malfoy avoided the kicks and pressed his body against hers, effectively ending her movements.

“Having fun, Mudblood?” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear. He flicked his tongue over her earlobe and she once more jerked her head away. Malfoy grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, his eyes dark with anger.

“You’re only making this more difficult for yourself, Granger,” he growled. “I suggest you cooperate. Some men may like a fighter, but I find it rather unnecessary.” He leaned forward and roughly covered her mouth with is.

Crabbe was holding Ron by his hair, forcing him to watch Malfoy and Hermione. He was just about to close his eyes when Malfoy gave a sudden shout of pain and pulled away from Hermione. A steady flow of blood streamed from his lower lip.

“You bitch!” he snarled, slapping Hermione across the face. Hermione glared back at him, her eyes snapping with hate. Malfoy slowly wiped the blood from his lip, meeting her gaze.

“We’ll see how much fight you’ve got left in you once you’ve gone for a day without food,” he said steadily. “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.”

Crabbe and Goyle tossed Ron roughly to the floor and joined Malfoy. Without another word, the three disapparated.

~*~*~

Ron got to his feet, moaning softly. He walked over to Hermione, who was staring at the floor. Ron carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are you okay?” he murmured. Hermione gave a shuddery sigh and shook her head. Ron looked sadly at the top of her head. She moved slightly and a hairpin gleamed dully in the dim light. Ron’s eyes widened and he slid it out of her hair, as reverently as if it were made of gold. Hermione looked up.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Tying something,” he replied, examining the pin closely. He reached up to where Hermione’s hands were both fastened directly above her head. He could feel her body trembling against his. Biting his lip, Ron slid the pin into one of the locks, carefully twisting it around. Within minutes, he was rewarded with a small click and the manacle fell open.

Hermione gasped and looked up, her eyes shining with hope. Ron quickly freed her other hand from the second manacle and she brought them down in front of her, rubbing her wrists where the skin had chafed against the metal. She suddenly sagged against Ron, as if she no longer had the strength to stay upright. Ron winced as she fell onto his recently acquired bruises but he wrapped his arms around her just the same.

When Hermione stopped shaking, she pulled back from Ron and lifted her hand to his face. She lightly ran her fingers over his eye, where a bruise was rapidly darkening.

“Your lip’s bleeding,” she informed him. Ron smiled, then grimaced, as the action pulled at the cut.

“It’s okay,” he said lightly. “Malfoy and I match now.” Hermione moved her fingers to his cheek. Without warning, she swayed and Ron only just managed to catch her before she fell.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, noticing the worried look in Ron’s eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“Then sleep,” Ron said, sliding her to the floor. Hermione clung to his hand for a minute then released it, her head dropping to the side with drowsiness.

“Thanks, Ron,” she murmured. The next moment, she was asleep.

~*~*~

Hermione awoke sometime later to a heavy silence and a dungeon dark with night’s arrival. She whirled around, her eyes searching for Ron. She was just about to call out for him when she spotted him. He was in a dark corner and his knees were pulled up to his chest. His head down and one hand covered his face. Hermione crept over to him as quietly as possible. He seemed completely oblivious to her approach.

“Ron?” she murmured softly when she reached his side. Ron’s shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t move. Hermione sat down next to him, placing her fingertips on his arm. “Ron, look at me,” she said. Ron didn’t.

Hermione gently took hold of Ron’s hand, drawing it away from his face.

“Hermione, don’t,” he said, his voice thick and tired. Hermione continued to pull and when Ron’s hand fell away, Hermione saw the glint of tears in his blue eyes before he turned his head. She touched his cheek, wiping away the glistening drops.

“Why are you crying?” she asked softly. Ron placed one of his hands over the hand still on his cheek.

“He was going to hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking. He didn’t look at her. “He was going to hurt you and there was nothing I could do about it. And I told you I would keep you safe and I tried… but it wasn’t enough.” Hermione felt tears spring to her own eyes. She forced Ron to look at her.

“Ron,” Hermione said, “I feel completely safe with you. I feel safer with you than I feel with… with Hagrid.”

Ron managed a smile and Hermione felt her own lips twitch as she wiped away one last tear on Ron’s cheek with her thumb. Ron’s fingers suddenly tightened on her hand and he stared at her with wide eyes.

“Hermione,” he said slowly. “They broke Hagrid’s wand into pieces when they expelled him, right?”

Hermione frowned, watching Ron curiously. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do – ”

“And he’s probably got them hidden in that pink umbrella of his!” Ron said excitedly. Hermione still looked confused. “And, Hermione…” Ron took a deep breath, a grin spreading across his bruised face. “He can still do magic with it!” Hermione gasped as she realized what Ron was getting at.

“You don’t think,” she stammered.

“Oh yes I do think,” Ron said happily. “It’s worth a try at least.” Hermione nodded, an equally big smile on her lips.

“If it works…” she breathed.

“If it works, Malfoy will wish he’d never even thought about touching you,” Ron said grimly.

~*~*~

Harry sat in the common room, his head in his hands. Ron and Hermione had now been missing for an entire day. He and Professor McGonagall had spent the whole day asking the residents of Hogsmeade if they remembered seeing a tall, redheaded boy and a petite girl with loads of brown curls the previous day. No one did. Professor McGonagall finally convinced Harry to go back to Hogwarts for some supper, while she spoke to Dumbledore. She found him later and informed him that they would not be able to go out searching that night, but Dumbledore was planning to call on a few friends for favors. Harry had protested, but eventually had gone up to the common room, where he had been sitting ever since. Night had fallen some time ago, though Harry wasn’t sure just what time it was.

No one else had noticed that Ron and Hermione were gone. Many students had left over the break, including Ginny Weasley. Ron and Hermione had both been planning to stay at Hogwarts, so their parents had not yet been informed of the disappearances.

Harry ran his hand through his hear, swearing softly under his breath. He hated feeling so helpless. He stood up, fully prepared to go to bed, when something caught his eye. Hermione’s bag was tucked into an armchair near the fireplace. Under normal circumstances, Harry was not one to snoop, but he picked the bag up anyway, wondering if it might hold some sort of clue.

Inside, Harry found a massive stack of notes, all on advanced protection charms. Underneath was a neatly written essay and a few library books. Harry grabbed the library books, glancing at their titles. One was titled “Protection Charms: A detailed look at the complicated world of safety”, another “Safety in Magic – How to protect your home and your loved ones.” The other was simply titled “Hogsmeade.”

Harry stared at the Hogsmeade book and quickly sat back down in his chair. He opened it up and found a list tucked inside, written in Hermione’s handwriting. Page numbers had been marked down, along with brief descriptions of what could be found on that page. Harry skimmed it, then sighed. To find out anything he would have to read, and unfortunately, the book contained a very tiny print.

Nearly three hours of careful reading later, Harry had a small list of places where Hermione and Ron might be. The book had mentioned a tiny bookshop, apparently hidden by the other larger shops. Harry thought this was the best chance. Hermione could never resist a book. There was also a branch of Gringotts located beneath Hogsmeade that he hadn’t even known existed. It was supposedly difficult to find but it sounded like something Hermione might want to see. Lastly, he’d made note of a house built by Salazar Slytherin, located in a place called the Wailing Wood. To Harry, it didn’t sound very interesting, but Hermione had marked it so he’d put it on the list.

Harry glanced at his watch. His eyes widened as he realized it was three o’clock in the morning, a rather inconvenient time to go find McGonagall. Harry yawned hugely and a second later, found himself horizontal on the couch. As his eyes fluttered shut, Harry decided he would sleep for a few hours then go see McGonagall. Hopefully, Ron and Hermione would be back by lunch.

~*~*~

After about twenty minutes of searching, Ron and Hermione finally found the bag of ashes. It had somehow been kicked into a shadow corner, most likely during one of the many scuffles that had taken place the day before. Ron took a handful of the ashes and glanced at Hermione.

“Cross your fingers,” he said. She did, and Ron took a deep breath before saying ‘Lumos.’ Immediately, he had a handful of light. Hermione gave a strangled cheer and threw her arms about him. Ron laughed, being careful not to drop the ashes. “Nox,” he said, and the light went out. Hermione let go of him and stepped back, a brilliant smile on her face.

“This is fantastic. Malfoy doesn’t know we’ve got magic and we’ll be able to catch him completely off guard – ” Ron held up his hand, cutting her off.

“We need to make sure that we can do all kinds of spells. Here,” he said, dumping the ashes into one of her hands. “Stun me.”

“What?’ Hermione said, looking at Ron skeptically.

“Light isn’t going to help against Malfoy. We need to make sure we can protect ourselves against him. So you need to see if you can stun me,” he explained. Hermione bit her lip, looking uneasy. Ron looked at her pointedly until she sighed and held her hand out in front of her.

“Stupefy!” she cried. Ron closed his eyes, steeling himself for the impact of the spell. A second later he opened one eye. Hermione stood before him, obviously shocked that it had not worked.

“Try it again,” Ron said. Hermione nodded and shouted out the spell once more, but again, Ron did not fall. Hermione let out a moan of despair and made a motion like she was going to fling the ashes from her hand. She froze suddenly, and motioned at Ron to stay where he was. Ron did, and this time, when Hermione shouted “Stupefy”, she threw the ashes at Ron. There was a bright flare of red light and Ron crumpled to the floor.

Hermione immediately grabbed another small handful of ashes and ran to Ron. She murmured “Enervate” and tossed the ashes onto Ron’s chest. He sat up with a cough, blinking rapidly. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened and he pulled a laughing Hermione into a hug.

“You are brilliant,” he said, holding her tightly. Hermione smiled and stood, pulling Ron to his feet as she did so.

“We should practice a bit,” she said. Her eyes weren’t focused on Ron. They stared past him, and seemed to be filled with determination. “We’ll only have one chance to get Malfoy.”

~*~*~

Ron spent much of the night lying unconscious on the floor. Hermione had stunned him again and again, throwing in various hexes and jinxes. When they finally agreed that they were ready for Malfoy, the sun was just rising, turning the dark night sky to a sea of reds and golds. Hermione helped Ron up for the last time, then grabbed a handful of the ashes and went over to the wall where the manacles were.

“Er, Hermione, what are you doing?” Ron asked.

“If Malfoy comes in and sees me walking about he’ll get suspicious and we’ll lose any hope of catching him off guard,” she said. “We’ve got to keep acting hopeless and scared, all right?” Ron nodded his agreement and sat down near Hermione, preparing himself for a long, tense wait.

~*~*~

Harry was at the end of his rope. He and Professor McGonagall had been up since six o’clock in the morning, continuing their search for Ron and Hermione. They had started with the bookshop, which included dealing with owners who were not very happy to be woken up at the crack of dawn, especially as they had no information about Ron and Hermione. They next tried Gringott’s, and it took them a good half-hour to find the entrance. They spent another forty minutes speaking with various goblins. By the end of the visit McGonagall’s lips were nearly invisible and Harry had a headache. Goblins, Harry found, weren’t the easiest of creatures to speak with. They offered no information until they had asked about a million questions and were highly suspicious of wizards who came to the bank before it was open. By the end of the visit McGonagall’s lips were nearly invisible and Harry had a headache.

McGonagall agreed that, though Slytherin’s shack would have been an unlikely place for Ron and Hermione to visit, it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look. After getting directions from the postmaster, who was probably the only person truly awake in Hogsmeade, they headed off to the Wailing Wood.

~*~*~

Ron’s back had developed a most uncomfortable ache by the time Malfoy showed up. Although he tensed when he heard the telltale pop of an apparation, Ron did not get up. He kept his eyes averted, knowing that Hermione was doing the same.

“Well, Granger,” Malfoy said almost as soon as he had appeared. “Are you in a more agreeable mood today?” This question was met with stony silence and Malfoy shook his head. “That’s too bad, Granger. Because I’ve decided that if there are any repeats of what happened yesterday, Weasley gets to experience the Cruciatus until he’s as cracked as Neville’s parents are.”

Ron tightened his fist over the ashes as fury rose in his body. Next to him, her hands appearing to be encased in the manacles, Hermione nudged Ron with her foot, warning him against any rash action. Malfoy walked over to Hermione and Ron took a deep, shaky breath. Three more steps… two more… just a bit closer… one more…

Ron jumped to his feet and shouted “Stupefy!” flinging an entire handful of ashes at Malfoy. Without waiting to see if the spell had worked or not, Hermione threw her two handfuls at Crabbe and Goyle, who were standing directly behind Malfoy. Ron kept his extra handful ready, just in case one of the spells went wrong. He needn’t have worried. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were all lying on the floor, all very unconscious. Ron grinned at Hermione, who looked torn between laughing and shouting and tackling Ron in a hug. She settled for returning the grin. Ron glanced down at their three captors and held his hand over them. He dropped the ashes as he said the word “Bindiurota” and thin ropes appeared, binding the three tightly.

Hermione grabbed the bag of ashes and went to stand by Ron. “I think we should walk,” she told him as she tucked the bag into her pocket. “Just in case we would need any more ashes.” Ron nodded and they both walked over to the steps and began their ascent. They soon reached the trapdoor. It was locked. Hermione took out the bag of ashes and, taking just a small pinch, scattered the fine dust over the lock as she said “Alohomora.” The trapdoor sprang open and Ron went through it, pulling Hermione up after him. They were just dusting themselves off when the door flew open, filling the shack with glaring light. Hermione screamed and Ron stepped in front of her, all too aware that Hermione had the bag.

“Who’s there?” he called, blinking furiously in the sudden sunlight.

“Ron?” a voice answered. A very familiar voice. Hermione peeked out from behind Ron.

“Harry?” she asked. Harry stepped into the shack and Hermione let out a relieved cry. She ran over to him and hugged him tightly. “I thought we’d never see you again,” she said as she began to cry. From behind Harry, a second figure appeared.

“Mr. Weasley, exactly what is going on here?” Ron smiled as Professor McGonagall looked around the room, her lips thin and her brow furrowed.

“We got, er, taken captive,” he said slowly. “Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and two other death eaters kind of ambushed us. Malfoy’s lying unconscious down there,” he pointed down the staircase, “along with Crabbe and Goyle.” Professor McGonagall gaped at him, then pulled out her wand and strode off down the stairs. Harry was still holding Hermione, patting her back kind of awkwardly.

“Malfoy didn’t do anything to you, did he?” he asked Ron sharply. Ron shook his head but his eyes were on Hermione.

“He tried,” he whispered, but gave no further explanation and Harry didn’t ask any more questions.

When McGonagall reappeared from the dungeon she closed the trapdoor and locked it. “Let’s go,” she instructed, taking out her wand. Ron and Hermione each reached into the bag and pulled out the ashes. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“They burned our wands,” Hermione said quietly. Harry’s eyes narrowed with an intense anger and he glared at the trapdoor, where far below, Malfoy lay, still unconscious. McGonagall gave a tiny cough and all three turned their heads.

“I suppose we’ll have to walk then,” she began, but Ron cut her off.

“Oh, don’t worry. Malfoy gave us the ashes and they’ve still got magic in them. That’s how we escaped,” he said.

“Ah,” was McGonagall’s only reply and she once more readied her wand. “To the entrance of Hogsmeade on the count of three,” she said. “One… two… three.”

All four disappeared at the same, leaving the shack empty and still once more.

~*~*~

Once they had reached the castle, after a silent walk, McGonagall hurried off to see Dumbledore, leaving Ron, Hermione and Harry alone in a heavy silence. Harry was the first to move. He grabbed Hermione in a tight hug, then, to Ron’s surprise, gave the redhead a hug.

“I was really, really worried about you two,” Harry said softly. “I thought I’d never see you again.” Hermione’s eyes were looking shiny again and Ron felt his throat go a bit tight.

“You won’t get rid of us that easily,” Ron said, twitching his lips in a small smile. Harry returned the smile and disappeared into the castle. Hermione started to follow when Ron suddenly caught her hand and pulled her back to him.

“Wait, you can’t go in yet,” he said.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, frowning up at her friend. Ron gave a shaky sigh and ran his hand through his head, causing it to go in all directions.

“Harry said I couldn’t come back until I’d… until…” Ron trailed off, unable to say anything else. Hermione looked at him curiously and when he didn’t say anything else she took a step closer.

“Until you’d what?”

Ron gently placed a hand on her cheek and ran his thumb over her lips. Before he lost his nerve and ran back to his dormitory, Ron closed his eyes and covered her lips with his. To his intense relief she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Ron moved his other arm around her waist to draw her closer, amazed at how perfectly they fit. After a moment he pulled away, opening his eyes to look at her face. There was a happiness there, as if, for the moment at least, she wasn’t worried about anything.

“That’s what Harry told me to do,” Ron said, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “And since I couldn’t get him the sugar quills he asked for, I figured I should do this.” Hermione smiled, but her eyes no longer looked quite as happy.

“So you only did it because Harry told you to?” her voice sounded odd, kind of shaky and quiet. Ron swallowed as he realized how his explanation must have sounded.

“No,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do that for… well, for a really long time. It’s just, Harry can be very persuasive, and when he tells you to give someone a proper snog it sounds like a really good idea.” Hermione’s _expression softened and her smile became warm again.

“That wasn’t a proper snog at all, Ron,” she told him, her chocolate eyes dancing.

“Excuse me?” Ron said, looking rather taken aback. Hermione laughed.

“It wasn’t anywhere near long enough,” she murmured, and pulled him close for another kiss. This one was much longer, and lasted until Harry cleared his throat from the doorway, grinning wickedly. Ron and Hermione blushed and stepped apart before following Harry into the castle. On the way in, Ron took Hermione’s hand in his and squeezed it tightly, feeling that as long as he had this, as long as he had Hermione, everything was going to be fine.

r_h_ficathon @ 2004-03-21T20:05:00

2004-03-22T01:06:53Z

Author: wildebeth (Angelfeather)
Title: A Simple Solution
Rating: PG-13
Who you wrote it for: seakays
The request: An older R/Hr story - post 25 at least. Happy ending. Any rating
Restrictions: Pair Harry with someone other than Ginny.

The story: A Simple Solution

Delays still noted!

2004-03-21T14:23:00Z

Real life sucks so everyone be patient these wonderful writers are working hard for you all!

wildebeth
winters_end
Rudihampiel
Harpin Red
Fictional Pixie
shellyk
anamchara
Phillyjersey
Mapletide

Here's another

2004-03-21T14:13:49Z

Title:The Lesson
Author: Julia Weasley
written for: Phillyjersey
Rating: PG
Summary: Ron Teaches Hermione how to fly in more ways than one

“Ron, how many times have I told you?” asked Hermione in an aggravated tone. “When are you going to realize I can’t fly and don’t want to.” She moved a little further back against him, trying to steady herself.

Ron chuckled at her obvious discomfort. During the second day of Christmas break, he and Harry had gotten into a little teasing match with Hermione about her lack of skills when it came to flying. She’d gotten so angry at their annoying taunting and had finally given in. He’d convinced Harry to let him borrow his Firebolt so he could show Hermione how to fly properly, but his attempts were so far unproductive. She wasn’t exactly excelling in flying and he was having a hard time thinking with her this close.

“You’re just complaining because you’re sore you don’t know how.” Ron tried to suppress a grin unsuccessfully. “Admit it, Hermione. You don’t like to be bad at something, especially something that comes so easy to Harry and me.”

“Oh shut up!” snapped Hermione over her shoulder as she raked an offending curl away from her brown eyes. “I only agreed to this because you two promised you’d shut up about this if I did!”

Ron and Hermione were both on the Firebolt, both of their feet firmly on the ground. Ron moved a little closer to Hermione’s back trying to reach his arms a bit further in front of her, though her hair was making it a little hard to accomplish.

“I already showed you the proper way to grip the broom and you still aren’t doing it right.” Ron brushed her hair out of his face but not before noticing the sweet smell of whatever shampoo she used, once again distracting him from the task at hand.

Ron reached his hand over to where hers were positioned and placed them over hers. He felt his stomach give a little jolt at the contact that somehow felt strangely intimate as he placed them where they were supposed to go. His ears started to burn a little. He knew they were already red.

“There,” Ron said his voice a little shaky. “You have to get the right grip on the broom or you’ll start to slide off when the broom is in the air.”

Hermione was having a difficult time listening to anything Ron was trying to tell her. She could hardly breathe with the closeness of Ron’s body. If she’d known this was how he would teach her to fly, she’d have given in much earlier.

“But I won’t have to worry about that. You’ll be behind me to catch me, right.” She asked not really caring. She was being distracted by his voice.

Ron laughed in spite of himself. “Hermione, I’m not going to be in the air with you. It’s too risky with two people.” He loved teasing her.

Hermione stiffened. “Don’t even joke about something like that, Ron!” she said in a shrill voice.

”But I’m not!” Ron protested in his best believable voice.

“Well, then I’m going back inside. That’s just mad!” Hermione made a move to get off the broom.

Ron quickly grabbed her to prevent her from leaving, but she lost her balance. He tried to break her fall, but his precarious position made him fall back and they both tumbled to the ground with Hermione falling on Ron. He let out a little “Oaf!” as she landed roughly on top of him.

Neither one of them moved for a few seconds.

Hermione’s heart was in her throat. She didn’t feel like she could move, didn’t even know if she wanted to. He was too warm and she was far too comfortable in his arms. She didn’t want to move, even if it was an accident.

Ron wasn’t in an easier position. He could feel everything that made a woman different from a man. He couldn’t loosen his grip on her waist without a little mental shove to himself. Her breath was warm on his neck.

He cleared his throat trying to think of something to say.

Somewhere around his shoulder he heard her mutter, “You were kidding weren’t you?”

She removed her face from his neck and looked at him.

Ron’s breath caught in his throat when she looked down at him. She was so close. “Of course,” was all he could manage to say. Her lips were inches away from his. He could hardly believe she was so close. He swore he saw a flash of something more in her eyes but then it was gone as fast as it came.

She pulled up and the spell was broken. He reluctantly let her go.

Hermione moved off Ron before she forgot herself. She glanced at him under her eyelashes and was heartened to see he looked awkward as well. At least she wasn’t the only one affected.

He glanced at her and caught her eye. He gave a small smile and was relieved when she smiled back.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmured.

She smiled at how cute he was when he was shy.

“So how are we supposed to fly then with you in front of me” Hermione asked.

“Naw. It wouldn’t do you much good if I didn’t let you guide it.”

She looked at the half grin he was giving her. “But what if I can’t fly it properly”

“That’s what we’re here for isn’t it? That’s why you’ve got to try it first. It’s not like you to automatically think you’ll fail at something,” Ron protested. “At least give it a try.”

Ron heard her murmur something.

“What was that?” he leaned a little bit closer to her trying to hear what she was whispering.

“I said, I’m scared of heights.” Her hair was partially covering her face from Ron’s view.

“Well I’m scared of spiders,” he told her like she didn’t know.

Hermione suppressed a giggle. “So I’ve heard.”

Ron turned serious and his tone quieted. “So that’s why you never wanted to fly. I always thought that you just didn’t have time for it or thought it a complete waste of your time.”

She looked off for a second and then, “Well yes, there was that too. It was part not having time to waste, but mostly it was my fear.”

“You won’t fall with me. I won’t let you.”

Ron’s quietly spoken promise brought her attention back to him. “Thank you,” was her quiet reply. He was looking at her so seriously. Her stomach fluttered and her heart was in her throat for the second time in five minutes, making it difficult to look Ron in the eye. She looked away and cleared her throat, desperately trying to appear indifferent. She bent down to pick up Harry’s Firebolt to give herself something to do.

Ron held back a sigh and raked a hand through his thick hair. He was so tired of their bizarre relationship. She either pretended something didn’t happen or she snapped at him. Yet he always found himself coming back for more. Not that she was completely to blame for all of this. It was just easier to blame her for his lack of nerve. He was so frustrated.

Hermione was tired of this. Why couldn’t he make a move? How many hints did she have to drop? Why couldn’t he understand that she didn’t have the courage to lay herself on the line? She cursed herself for what seemed like the thousandth time that she couldn’t say anything, that she couldn’t bring up the courage to do something about it.

“Maybe we should try again” she suggested.

Ron’s grin was back in place.

After they were back in the same position, Ron began giving instructions again. He boldly scooted closer to her until she was snuggly trapped between his legs and his arms were around her waist. He pushed her hair aside with awkwardly unsure fingers and gently placed his head next to hers. “You’re hair…makes it a little hard to see what I’m doing.” was his lame excuse. He didn’t care; whatever it took to get closer to her.

Apparently, the excuse was sufficient for Hermione because she offered no resistance. Little did Ron know she wasn’t about to stop him.

“Now remember to grip the broom tightly, but not too tight to where your hands become numb and you can’t feel what you’re doing. That would throw your direction completely off.”

His voice was in her ear, his breath brushing softly against her cheek. She found it so hard to concentrate because all she could think of was what his mouth would feel like on hers. She blushed, and all she could do was nod at whatever he said.

His heart was thumping so loudly in his ears that it was hard to ignore it. Awkwardly and hesitantly, he spoke again, trying to keep his voice more level this time, “Do you think you want to try it now?” He felt her shaky intake of breath that alerted him of just how nervous she really was.

Hermione tried to nod her consent, but she wasn’t quite sure she had moved her head enough for him to pick it up. Before she had any more time to question it, she heard Ron’s voice again.

“Ok, we’re going to try it then. We’re only going to lift up a little from the ground at first and see how that goes before we try anything else, alright?”

His voice was so convincing and she felt herself relaxing despite herself. When had his voice gotten so deep? It was so smooth and rich as it flowed over her.

She flinched and grabbed the broom more tightly when she felt them lifting off the ground. She was suddenly very aware of Ron’s arm around her waist. When had he placed it there?

“That’s it. Just keep it steady. It’s not so bad is it?” Ron asked.

“Yes, but we’re not that high off the ground yet,” Hermione protested, still more than nervous about going any higher. They were barely five feet off the ground, but she was already feeling a little more than anxious.

Ron laughed. “You’re doing fine. So stop worrying so much. I already told you I won’t let anything happen to you. If I was you, I’d worry more about the speed than the height,” he couldn’t help teasing her.

“Ron!” she nearly screeched.

“You ready to go a little higher and pick up some speed?” he asked.

“Not really.” She clenched her eyes tightly when they rose higher. Suddenly, they picked up speed and she felt queasy. “Oh! I really don’t like this. I really don’t!”

“Hermione, your eyes better be open or we’re going to be in some real trouble,” Ron said a little louder because of the difficulty of hearing while going so fast.

Opening her eyes, she squinted a little at the sudden rush of air.

“Look, just relax.” With his free hand, he reached down to her hands that were clutching the broom with all her might. He gently loosened her grip. “Don’t think about the height. Just concentrate on flying. It’s not nearly as bad as you think it is.” He placed his arm around her waist where his other one already rested. “Loosen up and just enjoy it. Don’t you feel free this high up?”

A smile started to form on Hermione’s face. As long as she didn’t look down, she was fine. And it was a good feeling. It was like a little rush.

“As long as we don’t go any faster, I’ll be fine.” She muttered.

“What did you say?” Ron asked in her ear.

She turned her head a little so he could hear her speak, “I said that as long as this is as fast as we go, I’ll be fine.” She heard him laugh at her remark. He tightened his grip on her waist and she smiled. It was as if he was hugging her.

The wonderful feeling of flying and being this close to Ron made her completely calm down and she was starting to really enjoy herself despite her fears.

Before she knew it, they were descending. For some reason, it was a little scarier to her going down then it was going up, but she scrapped up her courage and refused to close her eyes.

With much more finesse than she expected, they landed softly on the ground. As wobbly as her legs were just at that moment, she turned around laughing and practically jumped on Ron, hugging him with all her might.

Ron was beyond amused. “I take it you liked it?” he asked somewhere in the depths of Hermione’s hair.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you haven’t taken me before!”

“Hey,” Ron defended himself, “it’s not like you were begging me or something.”

She pulled back a little from their embrace and her breath caught in her throat. They were inches from each other and she felt her grin slowly melting away when she saw Ron’s eyes dart from her mouth to her eyes and back again.

Ron swallowed hard. He could feel her starting to put up the usual barriers and abruptly, he decided that he had had enough. “Aren’t you tired of this already?” he suddenly blurted out before he lost his unexpected nerve.

Hermione’s heart slammed in her chest and she felt the need to clutch at Ron’s sleeves. “Of course not,” she tried to play like she hadn’t understood what Ron meant; she didn’t know if she was ready to face this yet now that it was so glaringly here, “I’ve just started this flying business and I’m not about to stop now.”

“Hermione,” he said softly, “you know perfectly what I mean.”

His gentle reply made her meet his eye and in that moment, when she looked into his eyes, she knew without a doubt that he loved her. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought that he loved her as much as she loved him. She released her grip on Ron’s sleeves and covered her face with her hands. All of the emotions she had been holding back for so long came flooding in and it was all she could do was cry.

Ron felt like he was back in third year, because suddenly he was back to patting her on the back and he felt all awkward and very unsure of what to do with himself. He could feel her shoulders shaking from her weeping.

“Hermione?” he asked uncertainly, touching her shoulder. He was afraid of her reaction.

She wiped her tears away with her hands and shook her head.

Ron felt his stomach drop. He had been wrong. She didn’t love him after all. He let go of her shoulder, feeling like he was going to be sick.

“Ron,” she almost whispered. He could not meet her eye.

“Ron,” she said again when he turned away, “, look at me.” She took his arm and turned him around to face her again. “Would you please look at me?” she asked again, when he refused to meet her eye. When he looked at her, she saw how uncertain he was and she melted.

“Ron…” she pulled him to her. If he could be brave, then so could she. With resolve, she leaned up and pressed her lips lightly to his.

Ron’s eyes widened and he let out a little choked noise. Hermione was kissing him; just standing there kissing him. He could hardly grasp that fact. He wrapped his arms around her when he felt her starting to pull away; he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Hermione relaxed a little when she felt him start to respond to her kiss. Kissing him was everything she thought it would be. One thing came to mind; as cliché as it sounded, kissing him felt a lot like flying.

__________

Harry couldn’t suppress the wide grin that suddenly broke out on his face. He’d watched the whole thing from his hiding spot by the stands. He let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

__________

A/N: I’m hoping you like this and that this is what you wanted phillyjersey71. I definitely tried for it to be not overly sappy. :)

A special thanks to my beta and sister, Starr. If you hadn’t helped me through this and given me that huge suggestion near the end…this might not have turned out as well as I would have liked. Thanks for putting up with my constant whining. *hugs*

2004-03-16T20:24:52Z

Author: Mynuet
Written For:claireyfairy1
Title: Untitled
Rating: NC-17

There wasn't enough whiskey in the world. This was Ron Weasley's opinion as he stared into the bottle he'd been drinking out of steadily since he had decided to drop in on one of his best friends and found her standing on her doorstep, being held and kissed by his other best friend. He'd turned around, not wanting to see anything more, walking down the stairs and out into the night, only stopping when the word "pub" on a sign caught his attention. He'd decided to follow the best method he knew to suppress the feeling inside of being torn in half, ordering whiskey and telling the bartender to leave the bottle. It'd worked the last time he felt like this, when they had left Hogwarts and he'd realized that he was the stupidest sod on the face of the planet, in love with a girl who had gotten well over her crush on him and was now living with an international quidditch star.

He'd woken up the next morning in bed with a splitting headache and the largest pair of breasts he'd ever seen, and he'd spent the ensuing year devoted to Yvette, the blonde attached to the marvelous bosom. Hermione had walked out on Krum, but by the time Yvette left Ron because of her rage at the amount of time her boyfriend spent comforting his best friend, Hermione had found his replacement, happily snogging Blaise Zabini at every opportunity. As Ron dated his way through all of the witches in England with a cup size of D or above, he convinced himself that, just because you were in love with a girl at school, didn't mean you were destined or anything. Besides, it would never work, because she was his mate, just like Harry. That she was dating up a storm herself and showed not one flicker of interest in him, Ron, was irrelevant, because he wasn't interested in her, right?

Wrong. She was his, not Harry bloody Potter's. If she was going to jeopardize their trinity, it would damn well be for Ron Weasley, not for the Boy Who Lived. Enough was enough. He wasn't going to be a second-class anything any more, and Hermione should damn well know it.

He stood, taking hold of the bottle by the neck and leaving some money on the table, both pounds and galleons since he couldn't remember whether he was in a muggle or wizard bar, and couldn't be arsed to find out. Staggering a bit, he made his way out of the door and tried to get his bearings. He was going to go to Hermione's flat, and if Harry fucking Potter was there, he'd thrash him. Decision made, Ron set out, pausing occasionally to take a long drink from his bottle.

It started to rain at one point, but it just helped clear his head. He looked at a street sign and shifted directions, stumbling just a little but then recovering with a grace he congratulated himself on. Swiping water out of his eyes, he sighted her flat at last, all the lights off and the curtains drawn. He stood outside the building for a moment, the water pouring over him as he leaned his head against the cool brick and let the pang of misery that had swept over him pass. Why? Why didn't she see him that way? Why wasn't he good enough?

Grief gave way to anger, which had built up considerably by the time he made it to her door and banged on it with a heavy fist. Wondering if perhaps she didn't hear, he called her name, then banged again until the door flew open.

"Ron! What the hell are you doing? Do you realize it's gone two o'clock in the morning?" She was clutching a dressing gown around herself, held tight near the neck, and her hair was in a rumpled and untidy braid. Thoughts of violence faded as he stared at her, trying to decide if she was beautiful, or only seemed so. "Good Lord, you're soaking! Come in, come in, before you catch your death from cold or angry neighbors."

He allowed her to guide him into the flat, then held up his bottle and said companionably, "Do you want a drink? Only it got some water in it..."

She wrinkled her nose at him in a way that had always driven him mad, wanting to knock her off her pedestal and bring her back to earth where she couldn't look down on him. Then she clucked her tongue, another of her infuriating habits, and started undoing his shirt buttons. "Drunk as a lord, soaking wet... I swear, you have no common sense at all--"

Her litany of complaint was cut off as she was slipping the shirt off of his shoulders and he took hold of her wrists. "You're not my mother, Hermione."

She blushed, but said querulously, "Well, someone needs to look after you."

"Yeah," he said, letting go of her to peel his shirt off, but keeping her trapped between his body and the wall. "Yeah, I need you to look after something for me." Ron didn't give her a chance to do more than look up at him curiously before he seized her wrists again, pinning them to the wall above her head as he ground his hips into hers. "I really need taking care of."

"I'm not one of your sluts, Ron," she said, struggling against him. "Go find a tart with gigantic implants to bother."

He dropped his head to nuzzle the tops of her breasts through the gap in her dressing gown, muttering, "You're perfect." She moved to try to slap him, but he kept control of her as he tugged down her dressing gown, trapping her arms behind her. She was wearing a nightgown underneath, plain white cotton that had become translucent where his wet skin had pressed against it. He closed his mouth over one of her nipples, laving it through the cloth until she started struggling again.

"I'm not good enough, am I?" he said almost pleasantly. "Am I?" he shouted, making Hermione jump and look up at him with wide eyes.

"Ron..." She was looking at him with what he suspected was pity, her eyes filling with tears.

He snarled, one big hand closing over the neckline of her gown before he tugged sharply, buttons flying off as he bared her to the waist. "I'll show you good enough. You'll never even think of anyone else, because you'll be busy with me."

She said his name again, but he was licking her bared breasts and fumbling to pull up the long skirt of her nightgown, biting down on one of the nipples and making her hiss as his hands finally reached the skin of her thighs. He was caressing the back of one of her knees as she started to slide down the wall, and he straightened enough to support her weight on his shoulder, the hand not still occupied with running up and down her thigh going to his trousers.

"Tell me you want me," he breathed, then when she hesitated he shouted it. He had her nightgown bunched in his hand now, holding it out of the way so that she was naked from the waist down.

"I... I want you," she whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek. He ignored it, using the hand that had been holding her nightgown to bring one of her legs up, wrapping it around his own. His other hand he used to guide his cock just barely inside her, and he waited there, panting, until she said again, louder, "I want you!"

He wasn't slow and he wasn't gentle, two things he always thought that he would be, if ever given the chance to be with Hermione. Instead he slammed into her, exulting in the little scream she gave. Her arms were still trapped behind her and she was completely at his mercy, and he loved it, loved her, loved the power he had over her as he thrust into her feverishly. "Mine," he gasped, grinding into her harder as if to forever imprint himself on her.

She whispered his name and he kissed her then, the taste of her more intoxicating than the whiskey that still lingered on his tongue. Another hard thrust and he lost himself inside of her, his entire weight pinning her against the wall as he shuddered and moaned against her lips, his hands leaving bruises where they were clenched on her thighs.

After a minute, he thought muzzily that sleep was something he wanted very much, but the bedroom was much too far away. He pulled the both of them down to the ground and tugged her dressing gown back up to her shoulders. "Don't want you to get cold," he explained seriously, then settled his chin on top of her head and drifted off to sleep.

The next he knew, light was stabbing his eyes, his mouth felt like something had crawled into it to die, and his back felt like it had been used for a corkscrew by an alcoholic troll. He moaned and shifted, noticing his legs felt dead, and frozen within soaked and clinging denim. Rolling over and confronting a pale beige carpet, he realized that he wasn't in his own flat, and then memory rolled in like a steamroller.

He had raped Hermione. The one person in the world that he would give his life to protect, and he had harmed her irrevocably. He was disgusted with himself, more than he'd ever been at anyone or anything else, and he rather thought that he would rather be dead, but it would be too merciful of a vengeful God to allow him to die rather than face the horror of what he had done.

"So you're awake," came her cool voice, and he shut his eyes and said a prayer of thanks that she sounded angry, not broken. She could have him arrested, send him to Azkaban, kill him, anything that would make her feel better, and he'd be grateful for it as long as she was still Hermione, and not some shadow of her former self.

"God, Hermione, I--" He was cut off by Hermione lifting his head up by the hair in order to force him to look at her.

His eyes dipped as he felt shame course through him, but she tugged on his hair again and snapped, "Look at me." He obeyed; what else could he do? Even as his soul shriveled at the thought of hearing his condemnation from her lips, he knew it was no more than he deserved. "You seem to have been operating under some misconceptions, Ron Weasley, and now you're going to listen to me, because I don't intend to repeat myself."

He attempted to nod, stopped by the sting of his hair being pulled by the act. "First off, how dare you?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry! There's no excuse--"

"You're damn right there isn't," she said before shocking the hell out of him by kissing him. "Having to get drunk before you'd have sex with me? I've never been so insulted in my life."

Something was seriously wrong with that statement, and as soon as his brain was working again, he'd figure it out. "But... I..."

"But nothing. And then that business about trapping my hands!" She had let go of his hair and was standing over him, practically vibrating with rage. He turned so that he was sitting straight, facing her as he tried to think of what he could possibly say. He was easily a foot taller than she was, and considerably heavier. It was inexcusable that he had used that to rob her of her choice in the matter. He closed his eyes against the very real fear that he might cry, then snapped them open as she said, "After all these years of waiting to get my hands on you! Honestly, you're going to have to do a lot to make it up to me."

"I know, I'm sorry--" His brain caught up to his ears and he stopped. "What did you say?'

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. "Ronald Adolphus Weasley, you're going to stand up, go brush your teeth, then get into my bed and maybe, if you're very lucky, I may let you back out of it without breaking both your legs."

"But... Harry!" Suddenly remembering what had driven him to seek out the embrace of whiskey in the first place, he scowled back.

"What about Harry?" He started to speak, but she held up a hand and cut him off. "You know what? I don't care." Her wand came out of the sleeve of her dressing gown then, and he felt himself being lifted off the ground. "You can explain later, after I've gotten my own back." With that, he was dumped unceremoniously onto her bed, several spells in succession leaving him naked, damp, and with a minty taste in his mouth.

"Um, Hermione?" She gave him a basilisk stare and he said meekly, "Why's my hair wet?"

"Because that's how I want you," she said, then kissed him, her mouth tasting of whiskey.

2004-03-16T10:04:56Z

Marvelous
Rated: PG
Spoilers: Everything through OotP, just to be safe.
Pairing: RW/HG, of course! And (for some reason) veery slight Charlie/Tonks.
For hughroe – here you go! I hope you enjoy it!
Request: Must use a feather, no restrictions.
Summary: Hermione is given a few things to think about.
Disclaimers: These characters really aren’t mine. I swear.
Warning #1: Gratuitous Weasley-Adoration and fluff. I’d apologize, but I really wouldn’t mean it.
Warning #2: I don't think I've ever really had a story with a mind completely of it's own before, until this one. It refused to do what I intended. And so here is the weird result - it's almost two different stories.

~*~

…and as such, the Rebellion that sparked many of the social reforms of the fifteenth century, in an attempt to ensure equality for all magical creatures, actually led to greater social stratification in the wizarding world…

Hermione paused for a moment, reading over the paragraph to make sure she knew where she was going with it. It seemed to make sense for the most part, she supposed, although the wording would need to be shifted a bit when she started the second draft...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, rather ominous-sounding crash from the hall, followed by muttered, rough cursing. Not that either of these were unusual noises to hear at number twelve Grimmauld Place, but Hermione didn’t recognize this particular voice or the footfalls. Standing up, she quietly crept over to the partially ajar sitting room door, and pulled her wand out. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, and pointed the wand directly at...

...a hideous, misshapen, warty nose. The bloodshot eyes above it crossed slightly to get a good look at the wand, and then looked up to see who wielded it.

A smile appeared in the pockmarked face. “Wotcher, Hermione!”

“Tonks!” Hermione exclaimed. “Goodness, you startled me!”

The Auror grinned unrepentantly. “Sorry. Got off assignment a bit early, felt like a bit of a celebration with my mates back here. The daft bloke we’ve been trailing thought he could blag out of a charge...say, you haven’t spotted Charlie around, have you?”

Hermione blinked. Keeping up with Tonks was a bit of a challenge when she’d just come off a case. She had more energy than a room full of Cornish pixies, and tended to shift her appearance to rather odd things. At the moment, her lank, greasy hair was shortening into bright green spikes, and her nose was resuming a more normal shape. But what was odd was she somehow strongly resembled Billy Idol, if Billy Idol had happened to be a petite and pretty young woman. “Er...I think he and Ron are running an errand for Molly at the moment.”

Tonks looked slightly disappointed, but perked up again almost immediately. “Well, then we - could have a chat! Girl talk. How about a cup of tea? I think I smell biscuits, as well. They’re not Ginny’s are they? She’s a dear girl, but her baking is nearly as bad as mine. Shall we?” Tonks, now with her trademark purple hair and heart-shaped face, extended an arm in the vague direction of the kitchen. Hermione thought about her still-unfinished essay. ‘Blimey, Hermione. There’s still three weeks of holiday left - relax!’ a voice said, it's low tones ringing through her head. It sounded infuriatingly like Ron. Shrugging it off, she smiled back at Tonks. “That sounds lovely.”

In the kitchen, Hermione ended up making the tea. The whole of number twelve had been doing their best to keep Tonks away from potential household accidents, and giving the woman a kettle of boiling water seemed like a terribly bad idea.

“Where’d Charlie and Ron get off to, then?” Tonks asked, once they were settled with their cups of tea.

“I think it was to get more cleaning supplies. And Charlie was going to see about getting some treats for Buckbeak. The poor thing’s been a bit down, lately.”

“I can't say I blame him, spending all his days in a dreary place like this," Tonks agreed.

“Perhaps Charlie knows of a refuge or someplace he could live? I know Harry doesn’t want to give Buckbeak up, seeing as how Sirius was so fond of him. But like Ron says, it’s just not right to leave him stuck in the attic.”

Tonks nodded sadly and took a sip of her tea. Overhead in one of the bedrooms, Kreacher was wailing and beating something against the floor. Hermione winced.

“So,” Tonks said, regaining a bit of her playful demeanor. “How is Ron doing, lately? I’ve been so busy with assignments for the Order and the Ministry that I’ve hardly seen him.”

Hermione, despite being one of the smartest witches of her age, was not well equipped to deal with what was clearly an invitation to gossip. Particularly when the gossip was about one of her best friends. Sure, she and Ginny often chatted about Ron, but it was usually more of a venting, irritated, Merlin-he-is-driving-me-mad type of chat.

She had a feeling that was not the sort of talk Tonks was looking for.

“He’s fine,” she answered cautiously. “Good. I think he’s happy that all of his family is here.”

“It must be dreadful, having your family spread all over the globe,” Tonks said. “Not that I’d know, but I’m sure it’s very unsettling.”

“Yes. Ron seems to be a bit more...calm...now that they’re here.”

“And now that you’re here.”

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes. “Well, Ron’s always been a bit like Mrs. Weasley in that respect, I suppose. He likes to be able to watch over his family and friends. And since there is no way Harry is going to be able to visit until the end of the month, he’s making up for it with the rest of us. He's been a bit...”

“...clingy?” Tonks suggested. Her face acquired a dreamy _expression, and she sighed. “What a lovely thought. If I were five years younger...”

“Tonks!” Hermione said, scandalized.

The Auror grinned at her. “What? Surely you’ve noticed that he’s not a bad looking bloke, Hermione. Don’t tell me you haven’t. Looks a lot like Bill, that one. And when I went to Hogwarts, all the girl had mad pashes on Bill Weasley. Those who didn't fancy Charlie, of course.”

Hermione tried to imagine the female student body fainting at the feet of Ron Weasley, and failed. He didn't exactly come across as heartthrob material. He was far too...solid, she supposed. Steady. Comfortable.

But there was Luna and her little crush. And all those silly first years, who’d decided to set their eleven-year-old hearts on the tall, slightly over-protective Prefect. It had been that particular instance where he'd picked up a third-year Slytherin who'd been terrorizing the girls in the passageway that had done it, most likely. And Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Lisa Turpin spent most of her Transfiguration class last term gazing at him...but that hardly made him the school dreamboat. “Well, that isn’t the case with Ron,” Hermione replied firmly. Tonks looked skeptical, but sipped her tea.

“It isn’t,” Hermione insisted. “Look, there are a few first years who think he’s marvelous, but...”

“And you don’t agree with them,” Tonks stated. She was enjoying this far too much, Hermione decided, but she couldn’t see a way out of this conversation, short of getting up and leaving. Which would just be rude. What hadn’t occurred to her was that Tonks was not only enjoying this ‘little chat’ immensely, but that she was also well-versed in interrogation techniques, and was bringing several of them into play.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

“Honestly, Tonks. You know that Ron is my best friend. I think he's...great."

“Great." The older witch managed to make it sound like Hermione had suggested her friend was a gangrenous flobberworm.

Hermione held her chin a bit higher. "Yes, he's great. He's very...nice. Except when he's being stubborn. And he's really very smart, or he would be if he'd just apply himself..."

Tonks winced. "Oh,dear."

Hermione decided it would be wise to shift the topic a little. She raised her eyebrows as if an idea just occurred to her. “By the way, why were you so keen on finding Charlie before?"

It was Tonks' turn to look away. She made the universal waving gesture for ‘it’s nothing’, and nearly dropping her teacup in the process. “It’s not important, really. He owes me a few quid, is all.”

A likely story, Hermione thought. “What did you two bet on this time?”

“Well...promise you won’t tell Ron?” Tonks asked, leaning forward as eagerly as if she were Lavendar or Parvati, and not a professional Auror.

Nevertheless, Hermione would promise no such thing. “What have you and Charlie done, Tonks?”

“Let’s just say that Ron’s owl had the dubious honor of testing out the first of Wizard Wheezes’ new line of owl treats. And I correctly guessed the outcome.”

That sounded very bad. “What—?“ Hermione started. She was cut off by the noisy arrival of the two Weasleys they had just been discussing. Tonks promptly sprang out of her chair, spilled half her tea on her shoe, and went out to greet the newcomers. Or, more precisely, Charlie.

Charlie, who was currently trying to fend off Ron’s angrily exuberant arm gestures with a large leg of lamb.

“...told them that if they want a Guinea Pig, they can use their own bloody owl! Pig’s already balmy enough without them feeding him that rubbish!”

Hermione took in the scene. Charlie, loaded down with the lamb (presumably the treat for Buckbeak) and a shopping bag of cleaning supplies, was trying (unsuccessfully) not to laugh at Ron, who was covered in various unidentifiable sticky liquids, and a smattering of feathers. As he continued to yell and wave an arm about, something jam-like slid off his hair and hit the floor with a splat. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Pay up, Weasley,” Tonks said, striding out of the kitchen and stepping between the two. So much for secrecy, Hermione thought. “I called it, didn’t I? Say it, now.” Charlie remained resolutely silent. Tonks looked at him steadily, her eyes now their original blue. “Charlie...”

Charlie heaved a sigh. “’You were right, Tonks, as you always are,’” he answered in a monotone. Tonks nodded in satisfaction, but Charlie wasn’t finished yet. “You’ve seen the divine light of truth, oh loveliest, all-knowing, Nymphadora. If I had but a speck of your wisdom—“

Tonks turned a bit pink. “Shut up, you great prat. Do you want a hand with that lot or not?”

Charlie ceased his exultations and passed off the leg of lamb. “Cheers,” he said. She grunted a bit under the weight, and the two of them headed up the stairs.

Back in the hallway, Ron paused his irate mutterings to stare at the retreating pair. He appeared to be trying to work something out. After a moment, he shrugged, and turned to Hermione.

“My brothers,” he said carefully, while a rivulet of blue liquid made it's way down his face, “are wankers.”

“Ron,” Hermione chided, “don’t swear.”

“Hermione – do you know what those bloody—“

“—Ron!“

“—blooming idiots did?”

Hermione looked him over. “Yes, well, I think I can tell. But it’s not worth getting worked up about it. A few cleaning spells...” as she towed him towards the kitchen, she realized that whatever he’d been doused in seemed to be solidifying. “...or maybe scouring spells...and you’ll be fine,” she said, injecting cheer into her tone. "And clothes are easy enough to clean."

Ron exhaled angrily. “Sod the clothes – those prats nearly killed my owl!” he yelled. Hermione blinked, and followed his eyes to flannel shirt he’d been holding carefully in his left hand the entire time. She’d thought he’d merely been trying to spare it from the mess that covered the rest of his clothes, but as she watched, it...moved.

Cradled in the makeshift nest, Pig was lying on his back, blinking wearily and panting for breath. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed. “What’s happened to him?!”

“Fred and George decided to try out their new ‘Speedy Owl’ line on him," Ron growled. "And you know what he’s like – he already flies like he needs training wheels. The treat doubled his speed, and he ended up trashing the back room of their store before he collapsed.” Ron gently brushed back the downy fluff on the top of Pig’s head with one long, freckled finger. “Poor little fuzzball,” he added softly.

Hermione watched, feeling an odd warmth spread through her stomach, one that not even the disgusting-looking goop covering her friend could squash. The whole picture was just so…Ron. How many times had she seen Ron, covered in dirt or blood or filth, scared or hurt or angry? And yet every time, he still managed to have these moments where the absolute best part of him shone out for all the world to see - something so true and beautiful that Hermione couldn't help but marvel at it. It was because of this something that the Viktor Krumms and the Justin Finch-Fletchleys of the world, dispite their merits, would simply never be able to measure up in her eyes.

“Is he going to be alright?” she asked, watching his face carefully. Ron looked up from the owl and nodded. “Yeah, he should be right after a bit of sleep. But I’m not lending him to the twins again, that’s for bloody certain.”

Ron carried the bundled bird over to the corner of the kitchen, where it was dark but still close enough to the fire to be warm. After a bit off fussing - filling up a dish with water, and another with a bit of left-over bacon - he turned back to Hermione.

She was leaning against the kitchen table, wearing a very odd _expression on her face.

“What's wrong? Something on my nose?” he quipped.

“You’re marvelous, you know."

That was one of the last things he'd expected to hear from Hermione Granger. “Wha-what?” he asked, and watched with trepidation as she walked towards him, stopping just inches away.

She looked into his eyes, and breathed in the scent of a city at dusk that he still wore on his clothing.

He looked into her eyes, and stopped breathing all together. As she reached her arm up to his neck, he briefly wondered if it were possible to die from abject fear and overwhelming hope, simulateously. Then he felt a slight tug at his hair. "Erm?” he said cleverly.

Hermione stepped back, and seemed to take his center of gravity with her. She held something up. “A feather. You, er...you had a feather. In your hair.”

“Oh,” he said, and took it from her. “Thanks.”

And he could scarcely believe it, but she blushed pink and looked shyly away. “No worries. You’d better get cleaned up. Your mum won’t be happy when she sees what you’ve tracked in, hey?”

“Yeah."

“Right," she said. "Good. Okay. I’d better get back to my hands--homework! I have to finish my homework.”

“Okay,” Ron replied, and watched as Hermione practically dashed from the room. He looked down at the feather in his hand, and smiled.

And yet another

2004-03-16T02:10:30Z

Author:ladyanabelle
Title: Flare
Written For: Dresa
Rating: Hard R for some mild cursing and sexual situations
Requests: wanted a Hogwarts tale, no angst, all fluff. how about some borderline R -rated heavy petting. R/H, obviously, throw in H/G if that's your fancy. I want it to be sudden, no pre-story relationship. Something sparks them and they just go crazy.
Summary: A late night studying session turns into something more for Ron and Hermione

Ron was suppose to be working on his Potions essay but he had given up a half hour ago when Hermione fell asleep on the floor next to him. He had propped himself up on his elbow and studied her—noting the way the lines on her forehead smoothed out when she was sleeping and the little sighs that escaped her lips. Her eyes were twitching and he wondered what she was dreaming of—who she was dreaming of. He had barely noticed when Harry had gotten up and said he was going to turn it. The firelight played over her features and cast a shimmering glow over her hair. He reached over and tucked a stray curl behind her ear and drew his hand back quickly as she began to stir.

He turned his head back to his essay and watched her eyes open out of the corner of his eyes. She blinked sleepily a couple of times and stretched her arms up over her head. The arching of her back caused her blouse to ride up revealing the pale skin just above the waistband of her skirt. He couldn’t help but wonder if the skin there was as smooth and soft as it looked. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor when he felt the tightening of his trousers.

“Ron, were you watching me?”

Her voice was husky with sleep and it sent another shot of pure arousal through him. He should be able to control himself around her…he had three years of practice and he tapped his quill against his chin feigning concentration.

“Why would I be watching you?”

He heard the fabric of her skirt rustle against the rug and suddenly he got a whiff of her perfume. It was the perfume he’d bought her for at Christmas during fifth year and he turned to look at her. She had inched closer to him and when he turned his head her lips were inches from his. His eyes traveled between her lips and her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Why would you be watching me?”

He couldn’t take anymore…he had to have one taste…one taste would soothe the ache inside him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers and thunder crashed inside his head. She whimpered and opened her mouth against his and he deepened the kiss. He laced his hands in her hair and shifted closer to her bringing their bodies in contact. He felt the shiver that ran through him answered in her and it threatened his sanity. The kiss was a fire that was quickly flaring out of control and was threatening to overcome him.

He pulled his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck, loving the way she turned her head to grant him access, and he moaned when her fingers worked his tie free.

“I want to touch you…” She moaned as she struggled with the first button on his shirt.

He suckled on the smooth skin at the base of her neck and ran his hands across the front of her shirt undoing the buttons swiftly. He heard the buttons on his own shirt scattering across the room and he sighed in relief when her hands slide inside his open shirt and along his chest. His breath grew ragged as she traced her nails across his nipples and he finally got her blouse open. He took her lips again and traced the outline of her lower lip before parting them effortlessly. Her hands where around his shoulder and she rolled onto her back pulling him over the top of her.

“So beautiful…so beautiful…” He said pulling back to part her blouse. “So soft…”

Her nipples were already hard and he suckled her through the thin lace fabric of her bra. She arched upwards and brought their lower bodies into contact. The feeling was incredible and he shifted his hips against her again fighting the urge to take her. He had to stop…it was too much too soon.

“More…” she moaned and let loose with a whimper as he circled his hips against hers.

Blinding need ripped through him and he hiked up her skirt around her waist before settling back against her. Her head tossed to and fro against the rug and her hips shifted against him…he was more aroused that he had ever been and he wanted her so badly that he ached with it. His hands came between them and pushed her bra over her breast revealing them to his gaze. He raised his eyes to meet hers and found them glassed over with need before lowering his head and taking one then the other in his mouth.

The reaction from Hermione was instantaneous and she worked the button on his trousers free and lowered the zip before plunging her hand inside and stroking him through his boxers

“Bloody fuck…”

Her hands were playing havoc with his resolve and he grabbed her hands in one of his. He stretched her arms above her head and he lowered his trousers just a bit so he could feel more of her against him.

“Can’t take…you…touching me…” He said through clenched teeth.

She responded by wrapping her legs around his thighs and pushed her hips upward against him. The sensation of being so close to what he wanted combined with the wetness he could feel even through his boxers caused him to groan.

“Ron…more…I need…more of you…”

He pushed against her harder, letting his instincts take over, and he released her wrists to move one hand to her breast and the other to her hip to guide her movements against him. He planted kisses along her neck and claimed her lips again his tongue mimicking the movement of his hips. He heard her growl and felt the trembling in her body as she raked her nails up and down his bareback.

He pushed against her harder and her hands came down to his arse under the back of his trouser pulling him tighter against her. The heat was swelling in his belly and he knew he was going to find release. The pleasure was so intense he hand to lift his lips from hers to draw a ragged breath. She was moaning beneath him and he took her nipple into his mouth again and tugged it to a hard point. She let out a cry that threatened to wake the whole tower and he covered her lips again.

Tremors were racking his body with each upward thrust of her hips and he pulled his lips from hers. Their eyes locked and he tried to tell her… how she was making him feel…that he loved her but he could only moan her name. He shook his head and he thrust his hips against hers and he bent forward to whisper in her ear.

“I love you…”

“I think… I’m going to …oh Merlin…” she cried out, “Ron!”

She shattered beneath him and her body thrashed against his just as he felt his own release pouring over him. He grunted her name and pressed his hips hard against her as he came. He kept his eyes locked on her and was surprised to see them welling with tears.

They lay there wrapped around each other, foreheads resting together, and tried to regain their breath. He hadn’t expected this to happen… he wasn’t sorry that it did…but he wasn’t sure what it meant. All his old doubts and insecurities came rushing to the surface and he tried to pull away from her but she wouldn’t let him.

“Ron did you mean what you said?”

He felt his face grow hot but managed to meet her gaze evenly. She was biting her lip and he kissed her forehead.

“Which part? The part about you being beautiful and soft?”

“No, the part where you told me you loved me.”

He could see her own insecurities welling to the surface and a bit of hurt in her eyes. It was now or never—this was his one shot to have everything he ever wanted.

“I reckon…I reckon I do love you.”

A smile spread across her face and she threw her head back and laughed, “I’m so glad you finally got the point!”

MMM yummy

2004-03-16T02:03:28Z

Title:Control
Author: dreamsome
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A moment of comfort turns into much more for Ron and Hermione.. Who really has the control?
Written for shellyk

"Ron?"
He heard her voice, timid and unsure, at his bedroom door. He couldn’t find the strength to answer, so he continued to stare out his window into the oncoming storm, his eyes raking over the ominous gray clouds that gathered quickly. His hands were clasped in his lap, his shoulders slouched forward slightly as he focused on breathing in and out.
She was suddenly beside him and he wondered when it was she had entered the room and crossed to him. The mattress dipped only slightly under her weight as she sat and he felt her hesitate before her small hand reached out to cover his own.
They sat in silence for a moment before he heard her small sigh. Finally tearing his blue eyes away from the rain starting to sprinkle against his window, he turned to look at her. She was gnawing slightly on her bottom lip, causing Ron’s stomach to clench tightly despite the despair upon his shoulders.
He watched her for a moment, the soft, full, pink lips glistening as she licked them quickly. He lifted his gaze when she paused and he caught her staring at him. Her lips curved cautiously as she reached out to brush his russet colored hair away from his eyes.
“You should be sleeping.”
Ron breathed in deeply before jerking his shoulder. “It doesn’t seem right to be in my own bed and dreaming at times like these.”
Her fingers continued to stroke his cheek as she considered him. “Everything will work itself out. The good guys always win, didn’t you know?”
“I wish I could believe that,” Ron murmured, turning to press his lips against Hermione’s palm. “Sometimes the bad guys are just too strong…too powerful. They feel no remorse, Hermione, and that makes them more dangerous than we could ever be.” He felt anger beginning to break past his sullen barriers. “I’m just sick of this. Of this bloody war, and this bloody house. I want to go home.”
Not wanting to frighten Hermione or upset her, Ron fought the urge to yell and throw things, instead he leaned forward and placed his head in his hands before clenching his eyes shut tightly.
Suddenly he felt her behind him, kneeling on his mattress as her hands began to knead into his shoulders slowly. Her tiny breasts were pressed against his bare back and he rubbed his temple, amazed at how quickly her ministrations were soothing his temper.
“You have your family, Ron. And Professor Lupin, and Harry…and you have me.” Her voice was soft and tickling his neck, causing his breath to shudder between his lips as he straightened and let his eyes close against the pleasure that she was invoking inside of his body.
Hermione was a clever witch. His little bookworm. But underneath the studies and knowledge, she knew how to talk to him—how to make him believe that everything would be all right and that they would survive this war along with Harry.
She knew how to kiss him until he could no longer think properly and best of all, she knew how to touch him in all the right places until he was a quivering mess of ecstasy.
He groaned her name when her lips began placing tiny kisses along his neck to his bare shoulders and he felt her hands slip underneath his arms until her palms splayed against his chest and her fingers rubbed over his nipples gently.
Her tongue flicked at his earlobe, causing him to jerk his head away at the same time his cock twitched achingly beneath his pajama bottoms.
“Hermione you have to leave,” Ron growled, panting despite himself when her tongue moved over his jaw. “Now.”
“Why?” she asked, her hands running down his stomach. “No one is awake.”
“It’s just not…I mean…” Christ, what DID he mean? His eyes crossed when her hand slid over his arousal tenting his pajama bottoms and he found he could only muster one last warning before he would have to place a silencing spell on the room. “You’re driving me mad.”
“Tell me what you want me to do,” she whispered boldly. “Tell me how to make it better.”
Her hand was stroking him through the cotton and he leaned his head back against her, his hips moved tentatively against her hand.
“Hermione,” he said, his voice choking on the gasp that caught in his throat.
Suddenly her hand was gone from his crotch and she was moving off the bed, leaving Ron to bite back a moan of frustration. His heavy eyes opened and then widened to see her suddenly kneeling before him on the carpet, her hands shoving his thighs apart.
“What are you doing?” Ron asked suddenly, nervous and aroused to the point of pain. His cock moved in anticipation but he grabbed her wrist before she could pull at his pajama bottoms. They had slept together several times since she turned seventeen, but she had never done…that…before. He had never asked her to either. He wasn’t sure he could ever imagine his poised, studious Hermione on her knees and sucking him off. Not that he didn’t want her too of course…but it just didn’t seem like something she would willingly do.
Hermione raised a delicate eyebrow at him and gently pulled her wrist from his grasp. “What does it look like I’m doing, Ron?” With than her hands were at the waistband of his orange pajamas and she was pulling at them, her eyes clouded with determination and passion. Ron stammered but lifted his hips off of the bed to allow her to pull them down his legs.
His cock stood at attention, iron hard and aching as she bit her lower lip and gently wrapped her fingers around it. Ron’s breath shuddered again and he leaned back on his hands, his eyes closing as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb moving over the velvety tip.
“Ron,” she whispered, shifting on the carpet until she was farther between his thighs.
“Hmm?” He managed to open his eyes, just barely, and immediately noticed her nipples straining against the simple white cotton nightdress she wore.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” she whispered, brown eyes shimmering shyly beneath thick lashes. Ron felt heat spreading throughout his body and he resisted the urge to grab her to him and fuck her brains out. Instead he licked his lips and clenched his jaw as she looked up at him with pure innocence.
“Use your lips,” he said hoarsely, a low groan reverberating in his throat when she leaned forward and began placing tiny kisses along his length, her breath hot and burning on his flesh.
“Like that?” she asked quietly, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth and sliding up his shaft.
“Yeah…just like that…oh, fuck.” Ron let his head fall back as she teased him with her lips, her hands cupping his balls and driving him to the brink of madness. He balanced himself on one arm and lifted his other hand to slide deep within her curls, his fingers intertwining around the bushy hair. “Take me in your mouth, Hermione…”
She complied immediately, and he couldn’t help but watch the erotic vision of his cock disappearing between her lips. She took him as deep as she could without gagging and began to bob her head up and down, her mouth warm and wet, creating delicious sensations that surged all over his body.
“Fuck that’s good,” he moaned, swirling his hips underneath her. Ron heard her throaty moan…no, he felt it, the vibrations all around his cock as she quickened her pace, her tongue lapping, her fingers stroking.
Fire built inside of his stomach, release coiling dangerously as Ron fell to his back and began to fuck her mouth vigorously, his hands gripping her hair tightly.
Suddenly the need to be inside of her was overwhelming and before she could manage one more lap of her tongue, Ron was rearing up and pushing at her shoulders until she shifted back on her knees, her brows drawn together curiously.
“You didn’t come—“
“Shut up,” he growled, grabbing her by the forearms and lifting her roughly until his mouth was crushing hers.
Tongues and teeth clashed and Ron gathered her to him, his mouth demanding and bruising as his hands lowered to bunch up her nightdress in his fists. He cupped her arse through the cotton knickers, squeezing as he pulled her father up to straddle his lap.
“Ron!” she gasped, tearing her lips away from his as she writhed against him, her fingers raking over his shoulders to thrust into his hair.
He thrust against her instinctively and wrapped one arm around her waist. In one swift movement she was underneath him, her hair fanning out below her as he crawled on top of her and violently pulled off her nightdress, tossing it into a ball to the corner of the room. She reached for him and he leaned down to capture her swollen lips, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth as his hand lowered to her breast to tease the nipple into a taut peak.
“So bloody beautiful,” he muttered, his lips falling to her neck and sucking quickly, his teeth scraping over the skin before he leaned back and let his fingers slip inside of her knickers.
He saw Hermione swallow as he smirked at her and pulled the offending material down her long legs, not caring where they fell to when he tossed them over his shoulder. His grabbed her ankle and lifted her leg, letting his tongue slide over the calf before he began to lick his way up her leg to the inside of her thigh.
She was trembling beneath him and he placed a knee on the inside of her legs to push her thighs farther apart. He could tell she was blushing from head to toe as he raked his blue gaze over her entire body. Her clit was swollen, slick with arousal and he couldn’t help but sneak taste before he took what was rightfully his.
He lowered his head and slid his tongue between her folds, stabbing at her heat as she cried out softly and arched off the bed.
“So wet,” he murmured against her, slowly circling his tongue around her clit. Her hand was twisting in his hair and she was pleading with him, her body wriggling beneath his mouth as he suckled at her flesh.
“What do you want, Hermione?” Ron breathed, taking her clit between his lips and sucking hard.
She cried out again, louder this time as her eyes shut and her head flew back on the mattress. She was whispering incoherently and he tried to hide his smug smile. He wanted her to beg for it…he wanted to see how far he could push her.
His hands slid up her hips to her breasts and his fingers pulled at the pebble hard nipples. Hermione’s own hands fell over his and she scraped her nails against the backs of his hand as she thrust her hips against Ron’s mouth.
“Please,” she rasped, her feet sliding helplessly against the sheets.
He turned his head to place a small kiss on the inside of her thigh before slowly moving up her body. “Please? Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she moaned, half in desperation, half in frustration. He slid his body over hers, biting back his own groan as their heated flesh came into slick contact. His cock was doing its own begging, sliding against Hermione’s heat teasingly.
He braced himself over her, staring down into deep pools of chocolate that were heavy with an arousal he’s never seen before. She looked like she was on the brink of either begging him, or slapping him. It only turned him on more.
“Do you want me?” he whispered, lowering his head to barely brush his lips over hers. He could feel her trembling breath against his mouth. She nodded meekly, parting her legs wider for him. His lips slid over her jaw. “Tell me you want me.”
“Ron!”
“Say it,” he growled, biting her earlobe gently.
“I want you…god, please!”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.” His heart stilled as he heard her whimper. “Tell me, Hermione…”
He wondered if she would be so bold to curse…to beg him to fuck her…Ron leaned up on his elbows and watched her bite her lips, a blush at her cheeks at the same time she wriggled beneath him. Then something flashed in her eyes as she reached up and caught Ron behind the nape of his neck.
She was pulling him down to her, her tongue sliding past his lips as she kissed him hard, taking his breath away. Sucking in oxygen when she finally released him, he opened his eyes to look down at her.
“Fuck me, Ron,” she whispered, confidence and painful arousal etched in her eyes. “Please fuck me.”
When he would look back on that night, he would wonder how the hell he didn’t come right then and there all over her stomach. He hadn’t imagined the words on her lips would sound so damned erotic and his control finally snapped as his hand gripped her hip.
“Turn around,” he groaned, nudging her body when she blinked in confusion. “Turn the fuck around! Please...god…”
She sucked in a breath as she rolled over on her stomach. Ron kept his body close to hers, his knees separating her legs before he lay across her, his hand positioning his cock between her folds. He slid in slowly, allowing her time to adjust to his size. She was tight and sopping wet, causing him to swear under his breath and reach out to clench the sheets in his fist as she did the same and moaned loudly.
When he was buried to the hilt, he shuddered, biting down his quick release. She had begun to move slowly, silently pleading for him to move. Hermione was clenched tightly around his cock, milking the throbbing length to the point that Ron gritted his teeth to hold back. Finally he begun to move, his arms braced on either side of her head as his eyes took in the smooth plane of her back. His hips plunged hard and fast, driving her into the mattress with each thrust.
She was moaning repeatedly, her hands fisted in the blankets above her head as she lifted her hips up to meet Ron’s body.
“More!” She gasped, turning her head and sucking in a deep breath as Ron focused on the tiny freckle beneath her ear. How the bloody hell could one freckle be so goddamn sexy? He was sweating now, his body on fire as he continued to bury himself deeper and deeper.
He wanted to feel her come around him, to scream his name. Rolling back on the balls of his feet, Ron dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her to her knees, pushing himself even deeper into her warm body. She cried out, her neck arching back and her hair falling wildly about her shoulders as Ron began to slam into her, his breath shallow and his grunts loud.
“I never want to stop fucking you,” he breathed, the pleasure boiling to an unbearable point. His hands massaged her arse firmly, his hips bouncing her body forward until she released a strangled cry and choked out his name. She was pulsating around him then, milking his cock with the force of her orgasm. Sweat gleamed erotically on her body and Ron whispered an oath and a prayer as he grabbed her hips still and thrust roughly into her, his release exploding within him painfully. He slowed his movements to a gentle rocking, making sure he had emptied himself completely before his body gave away and he pulled out of her.
The mattress bounced slightly under his weight as he fell to his bed, his heartbeat pounding and sweat blurring his vision. He felt Hermione move beside him, her head on his outstretched arm.
Suddenly feeling wary of her reaction, Ron opened one eye to find her smiling up at him, her skin glowing with satisfaction. He cocked an eyebrow quickly. “I know this is going to be a very odd question but, what are you smiling at?”
“I could tell when we made love you would always hold back,” Hermione said simply, stretching out like a feline. “I suppose I wanted to make sure I could make you lose control sometimes…”
“Shit Hermione, do you know how many times I’ve just wanted to fuck you senseless?” He turned on his side and gathered her damp body against his. He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re so sexy—“
“Stop,” she said, blushing and lowering her eyes. He tilted her chin back with his fingers until they were eye to eye.
“You’re sexy and beautiful. And the fact that you’re so modest about it only makes you sexier,” Ron said, grinning at her. “It just makes me love you even more.”
“I love you too,” she whispered feverently. Her fingers trailed over the muscles in his forearm. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Every night,” he promised, resting his head on the pillow beneath him, his heart beating as one with her own. “Just promise me one thing?”
“Hmm?” Her voice was already full of exhaustion and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Cut down on the dirty talk, will you?”

More of the precious

2004-03-16T00:42:29Z

Author claireyfairy1
Title Untitled
Written for: Kandymonkey
Rating Nc-17
Author: claireyfairy1
Pairing: Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC17
A/N: This is my official return to het. I haven’t written a het story in a long time. Please be gentle. Also, it’s un-betaed, so ignore the mistakes :) Er, it may get a title eventually. LOL.
Summary: After an attack in Hogsmeade things flare out of control between Ron and Hermione

Untitled
by claireyfairy1

“What are you doing here, Hermione?” asked Ron. Although it was dark and he couldn’t see her face, Ron could sense her presence immediately. Her scent – the soft smell of Jasmine – haunted him day and night.

“They let me out of the hospital wing today.”

Ron didn’t say anything as she flicked her wand to light the empty classroom. Candles flickered and cast a soft glow over the room. Ron looked up from where he’d been staring at the floor and felt his stomach lurch as he saw her staring at him from her position in the doorway. She was pale; her hair was wild in a mass of curls framing her thin face.

“Why are you hiding in here?” asked Hermione, taking a step into the classroom and letting the door swing shut behind her.

“I’m not hiding.”

“You missed dinner…”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hermione sighed and Ron ignored her, not allowing himself to make eye contact with her for fear of giving away his hurt and anger.

“You’re always hungry…What is this about?”

Ron felt his pulse quicken as he lifted his head and looked at Hermione. Her brown eyes were wide with questions, penetrating him and making his belly ache with pent up desire.

“I came here to be alone, Hermione.” Ron tore his gaze away from hers and let his eyes wander down her body, taking in her thin form. She’d lost weight in the hospital wing he noted. But still she was a goddess in her robes, tempting him…teasing him.

Undeterred, Hermione moved closer.

“Why didn’t you come and see me in the hospital wing?”

“I…uh…” Ron faltered, unable to lie and unable to speak the truth.

“Is this about Terry?”

Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes on Hermione’s again as she looked at him earnestly, full of curiosity. For a moment Ron thought he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes before it was gone.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” said Ron, almost shuddering at the vision it invoked.

“But I didn’t. I’m fine. Just a small scar and some bruises.” Hermione smiled, cheerfully brushing aside Ron’s concerns.

“It’s not a fucking joke, Hermione. Christ, what were you thinking? Throwing yourself into a curse, for what?”

“I was protecting Terry.”

“Do you think that wankers life is worth more than your own? For fuck’s sake, you have to be more careful.”

“Terry’s not a wanker, Ron. He’s a nice guy.”

“Right,” replied Ron, turning away from Hermione slightly so that she wouldn’t see the pain on his face as she said it. He felt sick to his stomach, unable to say what he really wanted…and unwilling to say what she wanted. “Well, if you don’t mind…” Ron motioned for Hermione to leave him alone.

“Come down to the common room. Harry and I were thinking to visit Hagrid,” Hermione said softly, trying to coax Ron out of the classroom.

“I’m fine here,” Ron said firmly, his teeth clenched to stop himself from blurting out something best left unsaid.

“Please, Ron…if I say I’m sorry for jumping in front of Terry will that make you look at me again?”

Ron could hear the pain in Hermione’s voice as she spoke and it hit him like a punch in the stomach. To hear her pain…to be the cause of her pain…

“Tell me you won’t do it again…”

Hermione was silent and the only sound in the classroom was of their breathing, both heavy as the question hung heavily in the air.

“I…it was a reflex action, Ron, I was protecting him. I can’t say that I wouldn’t do it again…”

Ron turned to look at her, not caring if his pain was evident on his face. “He’s that important to you?”

“He’s my friend…”

“He’s not just a friend though, is he, Hermione?”

Ron watched as Hermione blushed and looked down, shifting from each foot with restless agitation.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Terry’s just a good friend…”

“You’re lying…”

“No, Ron-"

“I saw you,” Ron hissed, his eyes fixed on Hermione as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were questioning. “I saw you kissing him…that day…the day of the attack.”

“What…where?”

“Outside the Three Broomsticks.”

Hermione blushed even harder and looked away again.

“He…he kissed me…I couldn’t…I mean…” Hermione paused and snapped her head up, looking at Ron with an accusing glare. “Were you spying on us?”

“No,” Ron lied, turning his head so that she couldn’t see his eyes. She could always read him like an open book.

“We were at the back of the pub…I don’t see how…Ron, you were spying!” exclaimed Hermione incredulously.

“I wasn’t spying…I just wanted to make sure you were okay…that Terry Boot…”

“What do you have against Terry?” Hermione asked, her voice raised, anger lacing through it.

“He’s a wanker, Hermione…a bloody wanker.”

Hermione shook her head, still confused as Ron ran a hand through his hair with frustration. The conversation was getting them nowhere and he was worried that it may end up taking a turn in a direction he wasn’t prepared for.

“Ron, you are so immature sometimes, honestly.” Hermione threw her hands up in the air with annoyance and scowled at him, her anger evident on her face.

“I’m immature?” spat Ron, angry at her accusation. “I wasn’t the one snogging some Ravenclaw’s face off behind the Three Broomsticks in broad daylight!”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head and walking closer to Ron. “You’re jealous,” she whispered, letting out a short giggle as she did so.

Ron felt his blood boil at her laughter. She was laughing at him…making him feel more stupid than he already did. And she was right. She knew. She could sense what he felt was radiating off him in droves daily. His jealousy. The way his skin burned with rage when he saw her talking to Terry. The way his heart pounded with anger when she laughed at one of his jokes. And that day…That day he couldn’t see straight. His fury and jealously ran through his veins like a burning fire and he’d run all the way back to Hogwarts, his fists clenched and ready to punch the first person he saw.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut and blocked out memory of that day. “I’m not jealous,” he rasped, ignoring the amused look on Hermione’s face.

“Sure you are. Did Susan Bones not let you stick your tongue down her throat? Is that what this is about, Ron? That I got a snog and you didn’t.”

Ron opened his eyes and looked at Hermione, marvelling at how such a great witch had managed to get it so wrong. His anger boiled as she said the words, the thought of Terry Boot’s tongue anywhere near Hermione making him feel sick to his stomach. Hermione’s face was flushed with annoyance.

“You really are immature,” she said, shaking her head and backing away from him.

“Don’t patronise me,” Ron yelled, unable to keep his anger from his voice. He stood up and looked down at Hermione, watching as she bit her lip, her eyes wide with surprise at his fury. “I don’t give a fuck about Susan Bones.”

“Then what on earth is this all about?” Her voice was raised now, matching Ron’s as she glared at him angrily.

Ron felt desire flash through him as Hermione looked at him stubbornly, her face flushed. She was biting onto her bottom lip, as she waited for an answer…an answer Ron was reluctant to give. He didn’t say anything as he moved closer, his face close to hers, his eyes watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily.

“This is about you…and that tosser…”

“Me and Terry? What about me and Terry?”

“God, Hermione, for such a brilliant witch you really are stupid sometimes,” Ron shouted scornfully, unable to keep the pure anger out of his voice. He realised he was overreacting…but his hands were clenched again, and suddenly all the fury of that day was running through his veins with no outlet. He banged his fist on the desk next to him and Hermione jumped back as the ink pot on the table fell onto the floor, shattering into little pieces.

“Ron…calm down…” Hermione reached her hand out and laid it on his arm in an attempt to soothe him.

Ron whipped his arm away as if she had burned him, his lust flowing through him and making his heart race dangerously. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered, backing away slightly.

“Why? Ron, talk to me.”

Blinded by his desire, Ron grabbed hold of Hermione’s arm and yanked her to him, pressing his lips on hers and kissing her furiously. He pushed her lips open and let his tongue slide into her mouth, dominating her, keeping a firm grip on her arms. His skin was ablaze as he felt her pressed against him, his cock growing hard with that one kiss. He felt her resist for a moment, before relaxing and opening her mouth willingly, sighing as his other hand fisted in her long hair and cradled her head.

Ron felt dizzying lust shoot through him as Hermione slid her hands over his arms and gripped his shoulders firmly. Their kiss was breathless and never-ending, and Hermione was kissing Ron back with as much fervour and passion as he kissed her with. Hermione moaned as Ron’s lips broke away from their kiss and slipped down her neck, trailing over her throat and nipping at her flesh. Hermione’s hands slid into Ron’s hair, encouraging him to continue with his ministrations.

Ron was drowning, his senses leaving him as his hands pushed Hermione’s robes off her shoulders. She gasped as he trailed his fingers lightly over her collarbone and to her breasts. In the back of his mind Ron was aware he was moving too fast…pushing his luck…but he didn’t care. It could be his one moment to touch Hermione and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. Ron ran his thumb lightly over her nipple, emboldened by Hermione’s hands pushing off his own robes. The robes pooled at his feet and Ron gasped as Hermione’s hands were suddenly roaming every inch of him, stroking over his chest and pausing to sneak inside his shirt, which was open at the top.

The fire inside of him burned fiercely and Ron ran his hands feverishly over Hermione’s body, pulling her blouse from inside her skirt and running his hands over her smooth belly. Ron felt Hermione shudder under his touch and she arched her body against him, throwing her head back as his hands snaked over her skin and up to cup her breast. Ron tentatively pushed his fingers under the lacy fabric of Hermione’s bra and let out a groan when Hermione moaned and writhed beneath his touch.

“Hermione…”

Hermione didn’t answer, she was too busy pulling open Ron’s shirt, fighting with the uncooperative buttons. Popping them open, Hermione pushed off Ron’s shirt and let it fall to the ground, quickly running her fingers over his firm stomach and up his torso. Ron gasped when she bent her head darted her tongue over his nipple, licking and sucking it between her lips. He forgot all that he was intending to say – that they were going too fast. That if she didn’t stop he would be unable to prevent himself from taking her roughly there and then. He’d lost all thought; he was drowning in sensation and he wasn’t sure he’d ever come up for air.

Ron raised Hermione’s blouse up and over her head, forcing her to break contact with his nipple. Ron’s hands immediately flew to Hermione’s breasts, cupping them and squeezing gently, rubbing a thumb over her nipples through the coarse fabric of her bra and making her moan. Hermione dropped her head and kissed Ron desperately, her hands running up and down the firm curves of his back. She thrust her tongue into his mouth in between gasps, pushing her body forward and her breasts against Ron’s hands.

Ron pulled away from Hermione’s kiss and traced his lips over her jaw, licking down her throat and biting at the flesh as he reach the soft swell of her cleavage. One hand pushed her bra away and his lips pulled her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Hermione arched her back, pushing her chest up in encouragement. Ron’s eyes were on her as he licked and nibbled, pausing only to move onto her other breast. He watched Hermione’s head fall back, her eyes closing, her breathing deep.

Ron’s hands moved to steady her hips as Hermione swayed, as if she might collapse under his touch. They stumbled back slightly and Hermione banged into a nearby desk. She gripped the edge of the desk as Ron continued his assault, his actions brutally frantic and burning her skin. Hermione let one hand loose from the desk and grabbed Ron’s trousers, quickly undoing the button and pulling down the fly. Her hand slipped inside and Ron growled against her skin as she gripped his cock firmly and with surprisingly expert hands.

“Shit, Hermione,” murmured Ron as she touched him, squeezing her hand around the base and rubbing her thumb over the tip. “If you do that again I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Hermione did it again and when Ron pulled his head up to look at her she had a sultry look on her face, her eyes wild with lust and desire. Her skin was flushed with arousal and Ron knew there was no going back now. There were no words spoken, no promises or declarations of love, but there was implicit understanding and that was enough.

With a growl Ron gripped Hermione’s hips and lifted her onto the desk behind her. She opened her legs and he settled between them, pressing his lips against her stomach and dipping his tongue into her belly button. Her felt Hermione squirm as he pushed his hands up the sides of her thighs and under her skirt. His fingers found the edge of her knickers and Ron slipped them past the fabric, plunging them inside her without warning. She was so wet and ready for him; Ron thought he might come from just the feel of her throbbing around his fingers. She moaned and writhed as Ron used his thumb to rub over her clit, pressing firmly and moving in circular motions. Ron marvelled at how she trembled, low sounds of pleasure escaped her lips as she gripped the desk and bucked against his fingers, demanding more. With one fluid movement Ron pushed his trousers and boxers over his hips and let his erection escape into the cool air. He was hard, so damn hard, and he realised he’d have to try desperately not to pound her into the desk.

Ron pulled his fingers out of Hermione and tugged at her knickers, pulling them awkwardly down her legs and letting them fall to the floor. Hermione had raised herself onto her elbows and was watching him. He locked eyes with her and gripped her legs, pulling her forwards so that she was right at the edge of the desk. He stepped against her, his cock grazing her entrance as he gripped her hips tightly.

“Are you ready?” he asked. It was the first calm moment since their first kiss and it was all Ron could do not to be thrusting into her.

Hermione nodded, inching forward and opening her legs wider in invitation. Ron needed no further encouragement and, wrapping her legs around his waist, he plunged into her with one swift movement. Hermione cried out as he entered her and Ron paused momentarily suddenly afraid that this had been too much too soon. But Hermione was leaning back, moaning, and thrusting her hips up against his. He pulled back and pushed into her again, setting a slow rhythm.

“More…Ron, more,” whispered Hermione, sliding one hand over her own breast, squeezing and rubbing the nipple between her fingers.

Her words and the vision before him awoke some animalistic instinct inside him that Ron never knew he had. He thrust hips thrust violently against Hermione, plunging into her deeply and filling her to the hilt. She arched her back off the desk and groaned, gasping as he pushed her skirt above her hips and reached to caress her clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

As Ron drove into Hermione he looked down to where their bodies were joined. He could feel the heat of his arousal spread through every inch of his flesh as he watched his cock slide in and out of her body. His fingers were working furiously on her centre, pushing her over the edge as he pounded into her. Her moans were louder now, her breathing heavy and irregular as she convulsed around him, crying out his name.

The sound of his name on her lips as she came was enough to drive Ron to edge. His heart was pounding dangerously in his chest and he thrust one last time into her soft body, his eyes never leaving the vision of them joined as one. It was perfect and right and it drove Ron mad with lust. He came with a shudder, his orgasm rippling through his body violently as he emptied himself inside Hermione.

Their heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the classroom as Ron pulled out of Hermione and stepped back. His feral lust had subsided and he was suddenly aware of what they had done…what he had done.

Hermione sat up, her cheeks red and her hair wild and tangled. She sat on the edge of the desk and looked at Ron, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. Ron reached down and pulled up his trousers, grabbing Hermione’s blouse from the floor and handing it to her. She took it and held it, glancing around.

“My bra.”

“Oh,” said Ron, moving to pick it up, his face red from embarrassment. He handed it to her and their fingers grazed, a sudden spark of electricity making them both jump. Hermione entwined her fingers with Ron’s and squeezed them tightly. Ron moved and stood between her legs, lowering his face and kissing her gently. They were no longer heated and fierce, instead they kissed slowly, exploring each other and drinking each other in.

Hermione pulled away and looked down to her feet. “There was never any me and Terry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Ron hooked his fingers under her chin and raised her eyes to his, searching them.

“I know.”

*END*

More of seakays story

2004-03-15T18:18:12Z

Bubotuber Pus, that would work. It might just be enough to erase the image of what he had seen outside the Gryffindor portrait hole. But, it would have to be an awfully large amount. His mind whirling and his stomach in knots, he clambered through the opening.

He had to know what had happened during the date. He had seen what had happened at the end of the date. He just needed to know how bad it really was. When the wedding would be? Did they have the names for their brunette little sprogs yet?

He knew he was being ridiculous and nosy and downright interfering, but he just had to see Justin drop her off. He knew that Justin could not enter the common room, so he was certain that any good-byes between the two would have to be said in the corridor. He suspected that Justin would try for a chaste peck on the cheek and Hermione would sidestep him and offer her hand instead. After all, the way she kissed him under the apple tree, she couldn't possibly kiss another bloke like that.

He had been waiting a good half-hour before he heard footsteps and then Hermione's full-bodied laugh coming up the stairs from the main hall corridor. He quickly hid behind the statue of Nigel the Neglected and was rather proud of himself for the perfect view that his hiding spot gave him.

About ten seconds later, he was wishing it wasn't quite so perfect. They had reached the entranceway hand and hand, with Hermione smiling from ear to ear. He couldn't really hear exactly what they were saying, but he was able to make out the odd word.

"Thank you . . . nice . . . "

"Come here. "

That phrase Ron heard clearly and watched as Justin pulled on the hand he was holding, slid it around his own neck and deftly moved Hermione so close to him that he was able to slip his other hand firmly around her waist. Before Ron even had a chance to file away Justin's incredibly smooth move for future reference, they were kissing.

It was hard enough to watch at first, but he was absolutely certain he would be sick as he watched Hermione, his Hermione kiss Justin back. Hermione had moved both of her hands around Justin's neck and Ron all but heard his heart break when he saw her move closer.

Justin's hands had left their position on Hermione's waist and were moving ever so slowly up and down her arms. Coming to rest on her shoulders, he moved to pull her closer, but Hermione finally pulled back. From where he was hiding, Ron could only see both Hermione and Justin in profile and he was bitterly uncertain as to the _expression on her face.

Was she happy? Was she going to suggest they move to the Astronomy Tower? Was she going to propose marriage? His increasingly erratic thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's voice, low and husky.

"Justin . . . I . . .better . . . someone . . .to"

Even from his angle and distance, Ron could see the pained _expression on Justin's face. As Ron was also a seventeen-year-old boy, he had a split second of male solidarity with Justin, before the anger of where exactly Justin's pain was situated took over.

" . . . Quite lucky . . . tell . . . said that."

"I'll . . .sure. . . "

Ron wished with all that was magical for a pair of Fred and George's extendible ears right at that very moment. He watched Justin pull Hermione into a fierce hug, kiss her on the forehead and with almost what seemed like a shrug leave and continue down the hallway to the Ravenclaw common room. Hermione stood for a brief second, with her fingers pressed to her lips, then turned quickly and moved through the portrait hole.

Counting slowly to twenty, Ron rushed after Hermione, counting on the fact that she would have stopped at the centre couch where he had left his divination homework. He was hoping that she wouldn't be able to resist looking at his parchment.

He was right. There she was, coat flung across the back of the sofa, gently pulling her hair out of its clip, reading over his essay. Biting her lip, and reaching down to pull off her pumps, she looked so much like his Hermione that he was sure his heart actually stopped beating. When it stuttered to a beat again, he realized that she hadn’t sensed his presence yet. Taking this advantage, he moved to sit beside her and when he touched her thigh, he was rewarded with a squeal that might have awakened the dead.

"Does Finch-Fletchley know you scream like a girl?"

"Ronald Weasley, you are damn lucky I am so young, you almost gave me a heart attack. How dare . . . hey, I don't scream like a girl."

Hermione smiled at him, a bit confused by the look on his face. "So waiting up for me, were you, Dad? Or just hopelessly behind on this essay?"

"Well, we all can't have your brains or Justin's flair for organization now can we?" Ron's voice seemed to have dropped an octave and he had narrowed his eyes at Hermione. He didn’t know how to handle this at all. This sophisticated woman masquerading as his best friend with her soft words and small jokes was casting a Confundus on him. He wanted to yank a choke chain on his anger, but he was so scared. He was terrified that he had lost Hermione and that fear made him want to lash out at her, make her angry, anything to have things familiar between them again.

He actually breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it, the flash of anger in her eyes. The anger and then a very brief glimpse of something else, something very, very sneaky. Something conniving. If he weren't so angry, he would have been worried. Very worried.

"Why thank you Ronald, I'm rather fond of my brains and I'd say I found a boy who likes them almost as much as I do."

"I might be so bold as to suggest that it wasn't your brains he was so fond of just a minute ago."

"What do . . . why you interfering, spying, little, peeping, peeping . . . Tom. You were out there just now, weren't you?"

"And so what if I was? It was a good thing too. Going to have to be defending you through the corridors of all of Hogwarts tomorrow, once Finch-Fletchley starts boasting about your Scarlet Woman behaviour."

And the gauntlet was thrown.

In a split second, the polished young lady who had so enjoyed dinner and the museum had all but Disapparated. Hermione had finally reached the end of her proverbial rope. She had really enjoyed her time with Justin. He was witty and fun and being Muggleborn like herself, they had familiar frames of reference. Justin was also quite good looking and if she was being honest with herself, she did quite like the liberties he kept trying to take all night long. It was so nice to be seen as desirable for something other than her revising skills. There was only one fly in the ointment, however. Justin Finch-Fletchley wasn't Ron Weasley. Hermione had lost count of the number of times she had thought about Ron throughout the day. Or how many things she thought Ron would find amusing. Or how she had wished with all her heart that it was Ron who was kissing her so passionately in the hallway. She had been so happy to see his Divination essay on the sofa and had been thrilled to see him. After he had scared two years off her life, of course.

But, now here he was, the Boy-Who-Didn't-Want-Her acting all pissy and self-righteous and bloody well arrogant. How dare he spy on her? How dare he call her a Scarlet Woman? How dare he play that damnable "Big Brother defending her honour" card with her?

Jumping up off the couch, she radiated rage, but it was controlled. Taking her right index finger, she poked at Ron's chest and proceeded to push every single one of his buttons.

"Scarlet woman, huh? You know, I kinda like the sound of that. Much better than Nightmare, don't you think?" She had stopped poking at this point and turning away; she all but flounced over to the fireplace.

"Nightmare? Oh that figures. What is it with you witches and bringing up things from seven years ago? Don't you ever let anything go? You were a nightmare then and you are a nightmare right now. It is so nice to know that some things never change."

"Never change. That's exactly the issue here, Ron. I've changed. You've changed. But you insist on keeping me eleven years old in your mind. I am seventeen years old and I want you to start treating me like what I am. A fully grown witch."

It took every ounce of self control Hermione had to keep from stomping her feet as she said this, knowing somehow that her claim to maturity might be compromised should she stomp away as she wanted to.

"Oh, that's rich. Snogging random blokes in the hallway. You think that is mature behaviour? Next thing you know you'll be up in the Astronomy Tower comparing scars and tatoos."

Oh, she had him. Curving her lips into what could only be called a predatory smile, Hermione undid the top two buttons of her blouse, and looked Ron dead in the eye. "I already know where Justin's tattoo is. He's got this sexy little eagle right on his shoulder, kinda back here and down a ways. Oh and lookee here, whatever is wrong with me, my buttons are all mixed up. I can barely dress myself these days."

If Ron had of been thinking straight, he would have known that Hermione was quite effectively fueling his anger. She was never this flirtatious, never this girly. But, it was hard to think rationally when all you could see was the red haze of rage in your eyes. All you could feel was the agony of your heart breaking. All you wanted to do was touch that shoulder and push that blouse all the way off. Breathing heavy by this point, standing knee deep in a quicksand of anger, heartbreak and desire, Ron once more went with the familiar and harnessed the heartbreak, reigned in the desire and unleashed the anger.

"You let him touch you? You let him put those poncy little thin lips of his on your body? How could you be so stupid, Hermione? Do you know what boys like him want from girls like you? Have you any idea what he's going to think is going to happen on your next date?"

"Girls like me, Ron? You mean you don't think Justin likes me just because of my revision skills? Do you think Justin might like me for my legs, or maybe my arse or because her really wants to see if my breasts are more than a handful? And Ron, you are right. Justin does indeed have thin lips, but it's not so much what he does with his lips that's so darned impressive, it's what he does with his tongue."

Hermione had picked up her shoes during her tirade and was making her way to the stairs. Her back was to Ron and she didn’t see him move, didn't even know he was behind her until he grabbed her arm, spun her around and in one swift motion yanked her against him and kissed her.

Kissed her hard.

Of all the bloody . . . and even that thought evaporated as Ron's tongue darted out and licked at the seam of her lips. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to pull away and yell in outrage, but his lips were so soft and he felt so good and somehow her hands were around his neck and she was opening her mouth and Sweet Morgana, he tastes incredible.

And Hermione forgot that they were in the Gryffindor common room. All she could think was that the boy she was completely and utterly in love with had his tongue down her throat and his hand under her shirt. She knew Ron was angry with her and she was with him and she knew that they needed to talk, but right now for the first time in weeks, she wanted to feel instead of think. She almost protested audibly when Ron stopped kissing her, but that objection turned into a moan as he began to move his mouth along the line of her neck, licking and sucking and nibbling his way along her jaw and up to the lobe of her ear. He buried his face in the side of her neck as his hands threaded their way through her hair. Ron moved and placed his forehead against hers. This girl, no this woman in his arms was wreaking havoc on his self control. Sure, he was the one who had pulled them so close together, but did she have to keep moving her hips like that? Merlin.

"Hermione, you have to stop . . . that." Ron looked almost pained as he spoke; yet he didn't move away from her. In fact, he moved his hands to her hips in an effort to still their movements.

"Don't tell me what to do, Ron. I happen to like doing that . . . and maybe this." Taking his hands from her hips, she placed them firmly on her arse and bending backwards slightly at the waist, brought their lower bodies into complete and sharp contact. Ron's only answer was a moan that was drenched in longing and Hermione threw her arms around Ron's neck and pulled him into another kiss. Even though Hermione was expecting heat, even was anticipating it, Ron surprised her yet again. For this kiss was soft and sweet and full of everything. Full of hope and promise and tomorrows. Brimming with more than anger, more than desire, much more than lust. This kiss, soft and gentle spoke of love. Of love finally realized, finally accepted and finally appreciated. Of a love forged in the past, fired in the present and built for the future. Their future. Together. Always.

When Ron pulled back from the kiss, he was surprised to find Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "Ahh, Hermione. Don't cry. I'm a useless, stupid git and I'm sorry. For everything I've ever put you through, but mostly for these past few weeks. I let . . . well everyone . . . influence me and though I still think they are mostly right, I can't be without you. I need to be beside you when you free all the house-elves, when you travel with the Minister, when your name gets mentioned in Hogwarts, a History. You are so incredible now Hermione, and you are only seventeen. You are going to be so great. So incredibly great and I need to be with you. Let me be with you."

Wiping her eyes, Hermione looked at Ron rather perplexed. "I suppose somewhere in there are reasons. Reasons for you dating and snogging other witches, which we will be discussing . . .at length . . . later."

Hermione had to smile as she watched Ron flush and look at the floor rather sheepishly. Taking mercy on him, she continued.

"I want to succeed, Ron. You know that. And there are many people I want by my side when I do. Harry, Ginny, my Mum and Dad. But there is only one person I need by my side, Ron. Only one and he make me angry and crazy when he doesn't seem to know how much I need him. He says I'm going to be great, but all I know is that Hermione Granger doesn't know how to be great without Ron Weasley. I need you, Ron. I may be smart, all books and cleverness, but without you by my side, all the accolades, all the achievements would mean absolutely nothing. I love you, with all my heart and all that I am. Let's be great, Ron. Let's be great together."

Ron was at a loss. She loved him. She needed him. She wanted him. All was right with the world. Unsure of both what to say and how he could possibly talk past the lump in his throat, Ron simply pulled her to him once again and kissed her.

***********************************************

15 years later

The Burrow

"Mum, I heard a pop, is that Dad back yet?" Julia Weasley yelled up at her mother who was sitting on the back porch with her Grandmother. She knew she was going to catch it as she had asked this same question about ten times in the last half hour, but she really missed her Dad and she wanted to show him just how well she was doing on her new Cinderbolt 2500.

"Julia Molly Weasley, you know your Dad will be here as soon as he can and asking me every six seconds is certainly not going to make him Apparate out of annoyance. Keep practicing, and do help your little sister, she's having a devil of a time keeping on that new broom of hers." Hermione smiled at her eldest daughter to take the sting out of her reprimand, but honestly, Julia was every inch as impatient at twelve as her father had been.

"Is that Ronnie? Has he come home?"

Hermione turned to the frail witch who sat beside her and her heart broke again as she thought of the robust and feisty Molly Weasley that she had met over twenty years ago. The Weasleys had suffered their fair share of ups and downs in the past fifteen years, not the least of which had been Arthur's sudden passing two years ago and Molly's subsequent stroke. Although all the siblings had offered assistance, Molly's daily care had fallen to Ginny and Hermione. Not that Hermione had minded. She had wanted to scale back her duties at the Ministry and staying at the Burrow with the girls had given her an opportunity to spend quality time with them before they both headed back to Hogwarts in the fall. She knew that Molly missed Ron very much when he was away and Hermione found herself glancing through the porch windows to catch a glimpse of the clock on the kitchen wall. Ron's clock hand was resolutely pointing at travelling.

"Perhaps some tea, Molly. You keep an eye on the girls and I'll fix us a spot." Hermione moved into the kitchen, set the teakettle with a swish of her wand and summoned two teacups with a flick of her right hand. She was just reaching for the biscuits when she heard six telltale pops. Then she heard his voice from the front hallway.

"Wright, enough on the hippogriff licenses for today. Go home to that lovely wife of yours. That's not a request, by the way."

"Sheldon, Costner, Jones, I beg of you not to move another inch with those boots. Hermione will have your guts for garters if you track that all through my Mum's house. Home, now. We can finish this in the morning."

"Elizabeth, my wonderful, gorgeous assistant, if you tell me about one more function I have to attend in the next week, I swear I'm not sure what I will do. Bloody hell, owl Hermione with all the details and we'll be there. Bless you, now go home and get some sleep. I don’t want that baby appearing before it should. Harry would kill me. Goodnight, love."

Smiling broadly at the sight of her husband so effectively delegating his staff, Hermione bounded into his arms. "So a week away and you are already moving in on other witches. Mind you, Ronald, I suspect that Harry might be a bit tetchy about you calling his wife "love"."

Laughing, Ron pulled his wife into his arms. "Cor, I've missed you. I hate it when you don't come on these trade missions with me. The Canadian Minister was quite put out that you weren't with me. Seems he had some house-elf goings on that he needed the infamous Hermione Weasley to help with. Even on sabbatical, they can't get enough of you, beautiful."

"Ron, they see enough of me, what with all the Ministry functions we have to attend. I take it from what you said to Elizabeth that we have another black robe function to attend this weekend."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. But I have to attend. Can Ginny come and sit with Mum and the girls? It’s a dedication to Madame Pomfrey and we really should go."

Kissing her husband softly on the lips, Hermione thought for a moment of the words that he had finally told her he had overheard so many years ago. Words that had almost cost them each other. He had been so certain that all of what Dumbledore and McGonagall had been talking about had been about her. They had been, but not exactly in the way he had assumed. He thought that they were saying she would be working for the Minister of Magic and she would be very important to him. Here he was right and wrong.

He was right that Hermione Weasley would be extremely important to the Minister of Magic. In fact, she was arguably the most important person in the world to the Minister. But, Hermione did not work for this particular Minister of Magic. She had, in fact, met him at eleven, almost lost him at seventeen and married him at twenty-one.

The Minister of Magic, Ronald B. Weasley and Mrs. Hermione J. Weasley are honoured to accept your invitation to the Dedication for Madame P.L Pomfrey on Friday July 17th at 7:00 pm.

More of the precious

2004-03-15T18:08:16Z

Title: You Raise Me Up

Author: Seakays

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to BloomsburyBooks, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Assignment: This was written for Julia Weasley. Her requirements were that Ron and Hermione not be together. However, in the end, if they ended up together, that was fine.

Author's Notes: This started out as a short piece for the Fic-a-thon and ended up much longer. Much, much longer. LOL. My absolute heartfelt thanks to Libbie and Renee for being the absolute best in beta and for continually jumping ship to support my writing. Also, without the encouragement and friendship of Sara, Kele, Annie and Liss, this "little" piece would not have made it past page one. You ladies are awesome and I am forever in your debt. Julia, I hope you enjoy!

"You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas,

I am strong, when I an on your shoulders;

You raise me up . . . to more than I can be."

--You Raise Me Up, Josh Grobin

"Harry, did you know that giant squids mate for life and if their mate is killed, they will remain faithful until the day they die?"

Harry Potter's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he looked at the young witch who had just provided him with this totally random fact about magical marine life.

"Hermione, he didn't mean . . . he doesn't mean to . . ." Harry trailed off running his hands repeatedly through his hair, trying without much success to wrap his mind around what had happened in the Great Hall half an hour earlier. He really didn't want to be out by the lake trying to explain Ron's behaviour to Hermione, because as God was his witness, he was hard pressed to explain it to himself. No, he really didn't want to be here; what he really wanted to be doing was confronting one Ronald Weasley in the boy's dormitory and knocking some bloody sense into his best friend's head.

But it seemed that Ginny had felt better able to handle her brother and so, providing the requisite shoulder to cry on was left to Harry. He did allow himself a moment of sympathy for his redheaded friend. Ginny had looked almost homicidal when she had stalked after Ron following his exit from the evening meal. Ginny's temper was legendary amongst the sixth years and right now Ron was probably experiencing first hand just how deserving Ginny was of that "O" in charms.

However, any sympathy Harry had for Ron evaporated like the mist on a clear summer morning when Hermione finally turned her head to look at him quickly. Had anyone else been responsible for that look on her face, he wouldn't have hesitated to hex them into oblivion, or better yet, hit them and hit them hard. For the first time since the Troll incident in their first year, Hermione Granger looked lost. Lost and confused and achingly fragile. Like somehow the Hermione that he had known for the past six years had somehow faded, leaving behind a girl, still the same height and still with the same brown eyes, just one made of the finest crystal and glass. That Ron was responsible for putting this look on her face made him angry, confused and somewhat nauseated all at the same time.

"Herm . . . " Harry tried again to say the words, any words that would take away the pain he knew she had to be feeling. But, once again, as she had so many times in the past, Hermione Granger shocked him to the core.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm okay. This is what he needs to be happy, I guess. Or who he needs. And I'm happy that he's happy, Harry. Truly, I am."

Harry might have been more inclined to believe her had she actually spoken to his face rather than her own lap, but he did recognize both the effort and the strength of purpose behind the words. Harry was very aware of his own tendency to bury his feelings behind a wall of reserve and polish and he recognized and admired his brunette friend's attempt to do the same. He knew from long personal experience that burying your feelings only gave them stronger roots, but he also knew that today Hermione needed no pearls of wisdom from him.

"I still want to kick his arse, Herm."

Harry had walked over to where she was sitting by this point and plunked himself down beside her, throwing his right arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a combination hug/choke hold. When she did nothing but raise her eyebrows, he continued. "Or hex him. That little Bat-Bogey Hex of Ginny's might just be the ticket now, wouldn't it?" Seeing the beginnings of a grin, Harry continued, "as a matter of fact, Ron might just be experiencing that particular hex right at this very moment."

When Harry didn't elaborate, Hermione tilted her head at him and raised her eyebrows even further in confusion. Twisting his face up in a small grimace, Harry started picking at a rather large, flat blade of grass.

"Well, you see, after you left the Great Hall, Ron stormed out and then Ginny kind of took over. I really wanted to go clock the prat, but she said you would need a strong shoulder to cry on and she really wanted to speak to Ron, sister to brother. I reckon there's just a little bit of residual anger left in Ginny from that Epidermal jinx he cast on Dean last week. Cor, those boils were ghastly."

Quietly, Hermione extricated herself from Harry's hug and stood, extending her hand and yanking Harry to his feet.

"Well, it's half seven now, that's a good forty-five minutes Ginny's had him in her clutches. I suppose it's time to go rescue your best friend."

Visibly wincing at Hermione's not so subtle inflection, Harry grabbed her arm with his right hand and lifted her head to look in her eyes with his left.

"You sure you are okay with what's happened? You know, you and Ron have been friends an awful long time, Hermione. There must be something we're missing here. I just can't believe he'd ask Megan Doyle to Hogsmeade on a date. And on your birthday, for Merlin's sake."

Harry realized about a second too late that bringing up the very exact reason why Hermione was out at the lake contemplating the mating habits of lake creatures was definitely not fulfilling his strong and stoic shoulder to cry on role. As tears filled her eyes, he would have willingly kicked his own arse for being such an insensitive git.

"Shit, Hermione. . . . I'm a git. I'm sorry. Don't cry, shit, don't cry."

Gently pulling herself from Harry's grasp, Hermione tried to smile through her tears. "Harry, not to worry, Ron and I will still be friends. Eventually."

She closed her eyes and her face was thoughtful. "You know something? When Dolohov and the others captured you and Ron, I did something that I haven’t done since I was a very little girl. I prayed, and when I didn't think God was listening to me, I made all kinds of deals with him. Things like, I'll stop going on about S.P.E.W. I'll owl my parents more often. I'll never ask for anything ever again as long as he returned the two of you to me, safe and sound. I want Ron to be happy, Harry. I do. I thought, I really thought that he might be happy with me, but I guess I was wrong and you know something else? I so hate being wrong. Mark it in parchment, witches and wizards, the day that Hermione Granger was indeed incorrect."

She slowed both her progress and her speech at this point, pressed her fingers to her eyes and, for the first time since he had come out, looked Harry solidly in the eyes. The blank look he saw there cut him to the core quicker than any tear could ever have.

"I just wish, Harry, that I hadn't finally been proven wrong about something that was so very dear to me."

Shaking her head slightly, she continued. "And, my dear Mister Potter, I promise to stop with the tears, if you will stop with the swearing. Now let's go and see which Weasley is left standing."

Pulling her into a desperate hug, Harry mumbled into Hermione's hair, --"You are the most incredible person that I know. And Hermi, I want you to be happy too, you know."

"I will be, Harry. I will be. Maybe not tomorrow, but I will be."

With heavy footsteps, the two friends walked back to the castle, one reflecting on the strength of his best friend and the other wondering what exactly to do with the heart that had been so recklessly tossed back to her tonight in the Great Hall.

****************************************

Two Hours Previous

The Great Hall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Almost seventeen year old Hermione Granger was happy, thrilled with life, giddy with possibilities and so chuffed to be back at school, -- she wanted to skip down the passageway to the Great Hall. Knowing that frolicking her way around Hogwarts would not be considered appropriate behaviour for the newly appointed Head Girl, she tried her very hardest to walk serenely to dinner with the rest of the students. But, no matter how hard she tried; she couldn't stop the little hop in her step or the million-watt smile that adorned her face.

Voldemort was dead. The Death Eaters were being rounded up and carted off to Azkaban and the Wizarding World was returning to normal. The war had been unbelievably violent. The death toll on both sides had been enormous and Hermione knew that they would be feeling post-war repercussions for years, if not decades, to come. But that didn't mean that lessons hadn't been learned. One that had been made crystal clear was the simple fact that life was precious. Families were slowly reuniting, grieving and moving forward. The Wizarding government, so fractured by the war, was quietly healing and doing something that it hadn't been able to do in years; actually governing.

Hermione had spent the summer with her parents, who had seemed almost unable to let their only child out of their sight for more than a moment at a time. In the final battle, set against the backdrop of Little Hangleton, Hermione had been ruthlessly cursed and it had been touch and go for days as to whether she would ever recover. Her recovery had been slow and quite frustrating, but as July turned into August, her life took on more normalcy. Even if that form of normalcy came in a whirlwind of studying, healer visits, dealing with interview requests and fan mail, and dreaming of the day when she would get to see Ron again every day.

They had been so very lucky and Hermione knew that she would be forever grateful that those she loved had all made it through the war at least physically sound. Ron and Harry had been captured by Anton Dolohov at the very end of the war and it had been Hermione and Neville who had created the charm that eventually set them free. Harry had, as the prophecy dictated, faced Voldemort alone and with no wand. Weak from capture, he had defeated the most powerful wizard of their generation. No one, not even Dumbledore had been able to explain for certain how exactly Voldemort had been killed. But Professor McGonagall had, in one of her many visits to Hermione's home over the summer, theorized that when Voldemort tried to delve too deep into Harry's mind, to take over his will, whatever he found there, be it Harry's innate goodness, or the love that he was so capable of sharing, was so toxic to Voldemort that it had killed him.

Regardless of what actually had caused it to happen, Voldemort was dead and Harry was a national hero. Ron, Hermione and Neville had all feted rather nicely too, with Ron receiving the Order of Merlin, First Class for his unrelenting loyalty to Harry in the final battle. It had been so amusing to read Ron and Neville's letters detailing the number of marriage proposals and knickers that they had received since their exploits had become known. Hermione herself had received an enormous amount of press coverage and it was a rare day indeed when Mulligan, her barn owl, didn't arrive at her parent's home without a parchment signed by some wizard declaring his undying love for her. Hermione had been scandalized at first, then annoyed, and was now simply amused by all the attention. Her favourite moment had come when Ron had been visiting and she had received the invitation to pose in Playwizard magazine. Watching Ron's entire ears from the tips to the lobes become scarlet had almost been worth the painful rehabilitation she had been going through.

But the summer was over and they were almost three weeks into their final year at Hogwarts and she had just been named Head Girl. There had been much discussion as to the naming of the heads this year, as many felt that the brave Gryffindors had received more than their fair share of accolades. But after much discussion and debate, fifteen days after school started, Hermione was finally able to pin her Head Girl badge on her robes. Neville had been named Head Boy and while initially a little disappointed that neither Ron nor Harry had been named, she was thrilled for Neville. His Gran had been over the moon and Neville, like Hermione, seemed to be in danger of bruising his facial muscles from too much smiling.

Entering the Great Hall, Hermione quickly scanned the Gryffindor table and found exactly who she was looking for. Ron Weasley, her best friend and the boy she adored with every fibre of her being. Even without all the attention and the parties and the celebrations, the last three weeks would have been the happiest of Hermione's life simply because of Ron. They had finally begun to act on their feelings for one another. Feelings that had been discounted at first, fought against next and then put on hold while their world had struggled to survive.

No grand and glorious declarations had been made yet and while they had held hands and kissed, their relationship was still relatively chaste. Hermione sensed that Ron was terrified of hurting her while she was still in rehabilitation. He had been a bit more boisterous during their time at the Burrow in late August, but he had seemed so much more restrained upon coming back to Hogwarts. Just yesterday when Hermione had gone to kiss him goodbye in the common room, he had pulled away and muttered something about the need for privacy and not wanting the world to know his business. Hermione thought it amusing that Ron's sudden fame was not turning out to be quite as attractive as he originally had thought in his fourth year.

Seeing her lost in thought at the entranceway, Harry waved her over and Hermione all but ran to sit next to Harry and across from Ron. Ron seemed very distracted and Hermione briefly wondered what could have him so thoughtful that he wasn't eating one of his favourite meals. Hermione was just going to ask him, when Seamus Finnigan piped up. "So fellow Gryffindors, we meet at 2 pm in the Three Broomsticks. And for those of us that are of age, which means everyone but you, Miss Granger, it's Firewhiskey all around." Cheers rang out around the table, and Hermione grinned at Seamus broadly. "Just a mere forty-eight hours, my dear Mr. Finnigan and I too shall be of age to partake in such delicacies."

"Aw yes, the baby of the group is finally celebrating her seventeenth. Will it be cake and tea as usual in the common room before dinner on Sunday, Ron?" Seamus's question was a perfectly innocent one, but its effect on Ron was astounding.

"How am I supposed to bloody know, Finnigan, I'm not her keeper." Hermione's jaw dropped at both Ron's tone and his actual words. Struggling to talk past the sudden lump in her throat, she started to say, "Ron that was incredibly rude. Seamus was just ask . . " Hermione stopped her speech as it became apparent that Harry was overcome with mirth.

Thrilled that Harry was finally laughing at anything with such relish, but almost ill with a growing sense of dread, Hermione snapped at him.

"And what, pray tell, is so bloody amusing?"

Gasping for breath, Harry tried to explain, "He said he's . . . not . . . keeper. But he is . . . the keeper . . . your keeper. And Hermione Granger, you sw- sw -swore." At this, Harry was laughing so hard that everyone else had really no choice but to join in. While thankful that Harry's warped sense of humour had ended the very real potential for a blowout argument between her and Ron, Hermione knew without question that something was very wrong with him. Stubborn as Ron was, she knew it might take all night to find out what it was.

It turned out that it didn't take nearly that long at all. Instead of the private conversation Hermione had envisioned having to get to the depths of the reasons for his mood, the answer arrived exactly thirty-five seconds later in the very attractive personage of Megan Doyle, Hufflepuff.

Megan Doyle was pretty. And fun and lively and sweet. And that was before the war. Hermione quite liked the vivacious Hufflepuff and under different circumstances could possibly have sustained a cursory friendship with the girl. What she said next rendered that possibility quite impossible.

"Ron, just wanted to make sure everything was still on for Hogsmeade on Sunday. Two p.m. right? You are just an angel to let me go to Flourish and Blott's first to get Professor Lockharts' new book." All of this was said in a rush and Megan's arms had ended up around Ron's neck and her mouth just inches from his left ear.

"You two have a date for Sunday?" This question was croaked out by an increasingly agitated Ginny Weasley. "This Sunday, as in September the nineteenth?"

"Yes, my darling sister, this Sunday, September the . . . oh no," Ron blanched under everyone's scrutiny, including his sister's. He sought out Hermione, hoping to make eye contact, but found to his dismay that she was looking quite resolutely into the gold napkin laying in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, you don't mind, do you? Meg and I, well, we made these plans a few days ago."

Still looking at her lap, Hermione replied. "Not at all, Ron. You and Meg enjoy yourselves . . . on your date."

"Oh gosh, Hermione, aren't you just the sweetest thing? Ron, pick me up outside the Hufflepuff common room at about 1:30 on Sunday, okay? Bye for now."

With that, lovely, blonde Megan Doyle planted a kiss on Ron Weasley's cheek and flounced out of the common room, heedless as to the damage that she had just wrought.

Harry was, funny enough, the first to speak. "Ronald, anything you were wanting to share with the table?" Harry looked confused, angry and hurt all at the same time, somehow feeling righteous indignation on Hermione's behalf, yet miffed that Ron hadn't told him of his date with Megan.

It wasn't Ron that answered, but Hermione. "Trading up, I suspect, Harry. He's just trading up."

It was really quite unfortunate that she was stuffing her books haphazardly in her bag, for if she had looked up at her fellow Gryffindors, she would have seen three very distinct emotions played out upon their faces. Seamus, Neville, Lavender and Parvati's chins had hit the table and were in obvious danger of never reconnecting with their upper lips; Harry and Ginny's were screwed up in an almost identical scowl from which anger seemed to be almost palpable. But it was Ron's that she should have seen. For on Ron's face, for a split second anyway, was agony. Pain and regret fighting a losing battle for domination. While he quickly schooled his features into a moue of apology, he tried to reach a hand out to stop the witch who was almost Olympic in her speed to leave the table.

"Hermione, --" Ron began and then stopped abruptly for at that moment she looked very briefly right at him. She hadn't made either the effort nor had the time to control her reactions and the hurt in her eyes floored him. Nailed him to his seat more effectively than any curse could have.

"No . . . please . . . I have to leave . . .now. I have class, Ron . . .please."

She sidestepped his half-extended hand and with a small righting of her shoulders, walked out of the Great Hall, head held high and heart in tatters.

Hermione's departure seemed to spark an end to the almost eerie silence at the table and once the two grand oak doors swung shut, the Gryffindor table almost exploded in frenzy as everyone tried to talk at once.

Throughout the din, Ron remained uncharacteristically silent and controlled. Ignoring the laughter, the speculation, the questions and the anger, he simply sat at the table his head hung low and his shoulders slumped. It was Ginny, his five foot two spitfire of a sister, that finally snapped him out of his reverie.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, you prat? How could you? Why would you want to date Megan Doyle for Merlin's sake?"

All of this had been said in ever increasing volume while swatting his arm with amazing force for someone quite so small. Grasping her hand in his, he gritted out, "bloody hell, Gin, stop hitting me. You know it’s a bloody free country. I can date anyone I bloody well please. I'm sorry I forgot about Hermione's birthday tea, but she'll have all of you with her. She won't even miss me."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ron got up and stalked out the front doors, too quickly to hear the last words Ginny was famous for having, "but, she only really wants you, Ron."

*******************************

The Quidditch Pitch

A Few Hours Later

Maybe if he ran flew fast enough, he wouldn't feel it anymore. If he pushed his body past its limits, forced his muscles to tighten in pain, he could somehow ignore the agony in his heart. He'd had to do it, he knew that, knew it better than anyone did. But, dear Merlin, he hadn't counted on it being that hard, that overwhelming. He'd hurt her, he knew that for certain, but he also knew it was better having done it now. It would have been worse later, much worse. They were better as friends; they worked as friends, not as lovers, or even something more. As friends, he could still be part of her life, but not central to it. He could cheer her achievements from the sidelines, watching in awe as she changed the landscape of the Wizarding World. As lovers, he would hold her back, keep her from doing all she needed to do, all that we needed her to do.

Perhaps, Ron thought, as he finally slowed his frantic flight, if it had only been him, it would have been different. If he was the only one who saw it, he could have ignored it, fought against it, somehow forgotten about it. But it wasn't just him. He had always known that he loved Hermione Granger. At first, he was too young to do anything with his feelings and then the war came and declarations of love seemed ill conceived during such destruction and carnage. They knew, somehow without saying anything they knew, that it was no longer a question of who, just a question of when. But, this summer, Ron had overheard a private conversation between his mother and father and for the first time he could actually remember; he considered not pursuing Hermione romantically.

Late August

The Burrow

12:23am

Ron hadn't been able to sleep and was coming downstairs to get a drink of warm pumpkin juice in an effort to relax. The war was finally over, Harry was staying at the Burrow all summer and he had finally kissed Hermione. Ron knew that it was the kiss that was responsible for his sleepless state and as he descended the stairs, he knew he would sacrifice more than a few hours of rest for more of the same.

They had been under the apple tree in the easternmost part of their yard. Hermione had been wearing a pale blue sundress that looked amazing, but almost anything looked great on her. They had been talking about nothing really, just enjoying the day and each other, when one of her curls had blown across his face. Laughing, he had pushed the errant piece back behind her ear and somehow his hand had gotten lost on its way back to his side and he was touching her cheek and she was moving ever so close to him. The next thing he knew, she was in his arms and they were kissing and it was the most brilliant thing he had ever done in his entire life. She smelled like sun and tasted like heaven and both her lips and her body were so soft and so yielding, Ron was certain that he never wanted the moment to end.

Hermione had pulled back after a while and when he looked at her face, the sheer joy, the contentment, the desire he saw rocked him to the core and made his already speeding heart move almost painfully against his ribs. She had smiled then, his smile, a shy smile somehow, yet not sweet, tinged he thought with just the hint of seductress. They had come together once again and this time it was less sweet and sexier and the way she had pressed her body to his had made his head start to swim and his hands start to wander. They had made their way to her bottom and pressing firmly, he pulled her even closer to him, wanting her to know just how much she affected him. Her small moan, the rocking of her pelvis and her own hands on his arse had made his blood boil. Their kisses had become less schooled, almost greedy in their intensity and Ron's mind had begun a drumbeat of words running recklessly though his head. Words like hard and want and breasts and bed. Wondering briefly if his mum could see them from the kitchen window, he groaned in earnest when Hermione had wrapped a leg firmly around his thigh and began to rock rhythmically against him.

So lost in emotion and desire, he hadn't heard the laughter until it became quite loud.

"Get a room, you two . . . preferably in Hogsmeade so I don't have to see this sort of display."

It must have been rather comical to see how he and Hermione had jumped apart and started muttering denials and offering apologies. Ginny, had however, simply smirked, turned around and laughing, called back. "You know, I may be scarred for life after seeing that, dear brother of mine. I somehow see degnoming the garden in your future tomorrow afternoon."

As she had taken in Ron's stunned and angry _expression, she had continued. "That way, I'll get a chance to chat with Hermione here and be much too preoccupied to tell our Mum that you were trying to get our dear, sweet, innocent house guest starkers under the apple tree."

Hermione had blushed a very unbecoming shade of red and he had sprinted off after Ginny, trying but failing to catch her before they'd entered the kitchen. He had known he was done for the second they made it there. He'd definitely be degnoming the garden tomorrow. He was really close with his parents, but he certainly did not want to have another conversation about the birds and the bees. But, he mused to himself, if degnoming got him some private time with Hermione, he'd do it daily, twice on Sundays. Not sleepy at all and high on Hermione, he had no real intention of eavesdropping until he heard the names of Anabelle Harlow and Sara Monroe being mentioned.

Annie Harlow was Bill's fiancée and although the Weasley family had seen pictures of their soon to be daughter-in-law, they had yet to meet her. Everyone was very curious to meet this witch, because Bill was notoriously picky when it came to women. Annie would have to be some kind of witch to have held his eldest brother's attention. Sara Monroe, petite, blonde and an incredible Quidditch player had been dating Charlie for about six months. Sara and Charlie had been living together since the war ended and Ron knew that this fact drove his mother crazier than a kneazle in heat.

This should be interesting.

"Molly, if Sara and Charlie are happy, you shouldn't be interfering."

His dad sounded on the edge of exasperation, a place he reached rather quickly these days whenever the marital status of his children, or more precisely, the lack thereof, came up in conversation. Molly Weasley was a woman on a mission. She wanted grandchildren in the worst way, but her values still made her insist that the word wedding came before the word parent. Truth be known though, she was quite all right if the word pregnant appeared first.

"Arthur, I didn't interfere. I simply suggested that June is a lovely month for a wedding at the Burrow. The snapdragons and the azaleas will be in full bloom and it would give me two months to prepare after Annie and Bill's wedding in April. I certainly didn't expect Charles to go off on a tangent about traditions and pieces of paper being meaningless. Honestly, you would think that gypsies raised that boy, so intent he is in never putting down roots anywhere. Hard way to raise children."

Ron could almost see his father's smile in the silence that followed. Although his Mum blustered and bossed everyone in the family around, he knew that deep down she really did have everyone's best interests at heart. Molly wanted life to be better for her children than what it had been for her and Arthur. And she wasn't just referring to the lack of galleons in their life. The senior Weasleys had been through two devastating wars in their lifetimes, living with the sometimes heart-wrenching uncertainty and loss that war brought and they wanted nothing more than a happy, carefree existence for their brood. They hadn't had one to this point and Molly was almost tyrannical in her desire to make this their future.

"Molly, you do need to relax a bit. Bill is getting married, Charlie is certainly committed to Sara and if my eyes haven't been deceiving me these past two weeks, Ron and Hermione might not be far behind. I honestly don't think I've ever seen Ron so agreeable. Why just today, he actually offered to degnome the garden instead of me bribing him to do it."

Ron could hear the clink of porcelain and knew that his Dad was fixing tea. He wondered for a moment if his Dad would be as pleased with his unsolicited desire to help if he knew that it had come as a result of Ginny's blackmail. Ron turned to go back to bed, but what he heard next floored him. It was his Mum speaking; her voice tight with so many emotions that he was hard pressed just to name one.

"How could you possibly think that Ron and Hermione getting serious would please me, Arthur? Have you ever met two people more ill suited to be husband and wife than Ron and Hermione? Now you just wipe that look off your face, dear because you know it's true. Hermione is a lovely girl and I adore her, but she's not for Ron. Hermione's too full of ideas and causes and her career to ever settle down for a husband and family. And you just know that a girl as bright and as driven as she is is going to be dead successful. Do you really think Ron, our Ron, could handle being Mister Granger?"

"Molly, really . . . "

"No, don’t start. This has to be said. Merlin, Arthur. They are so young. Too young and because of this war, too damned inexperienced."

"You know they are the same age as we were when we got married, Molly."

"Yes, I am aware of that fact, but Arthur we had experience on our side. Plus, times were different back then. It was expected that a witch and wizard at eighteen would at least have intentions, even if no bonding had actually taken place. I'm worried that Ron thinks he has feelings for Hermione simply because he has never even held hands with another witch. And Hermione . . .I think she fancies herself in love with Ron because he is safe and a ticket into the pureblood world."

"Molly Elizabeth Weasley. Is this because Hermione is Muggleborn? How could that possibly matter to you anymore?"

Ron, stunned into absolute stillness, registered the fact that his parents' voices had become progressively louder and the soft whooshes that he heard had to be from his father's robes, which meant that he was pacing; never a good sign.

"Arthur, of course it doesn't matter to me . . . well, not really. I don't care that the war is over, people don't change overnight. People who hated Muggleborns will still hate them. And you have read the statistics on Squibs, haven't you? Over half of the children born as squibs come from mothers whose parents were Muggles. Can you possibly imagine a grandchild of ours as a Squib?"

"But, Molly dear, it's never been important to you in the past. I always got the impression that you would welcome a Muggle into this family with open arms."

There was a period of silence before his mother responded and the words she said resonated with Ron.

"What if she leaves and goes back, Arthur? What if they get married and she decides that she wants to be a Muggle full-time? What if she takes Ron with her? I can't bear it, really I can't. Losing Percy the way we did . . .I can't lose another son, Arthur. I won't."

"Do you really think that Hermione would force Ron to choose between her world and the Wizarding one? Do you honestly believe that she would leave all the potential she has here?"

"Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But, someday she might get tired of being treated as a second class citizen. Tired of fighting all the time. Tired of the death and the destruction and the difference. You see it, don't you? How much harder it would be? How much harder it would be if Ron and Hermione got married? For both of them. I want Ron to be happy. To have a life that's simple and wonderful and filled with joy. I love Hermione, Arthur. Truly, I do, but I just don't want her marrying my baby boy."

On that note, his Mum had started to cry and as the sobs grew in intensity, Ron returned to his room, stunned by what he had heard. What exactly did his mother mean? Were he and Hermione doomed to failure? Would Hermione really want to return to the Muggle world? Were his feelings for Hermione true or simply a by-product of teenage hormones, extraordinary circumstances and way too much time together?

Ron had never really come up with any answers that night or the remainder of his time at the Burrow that summer, but his mother's words ate away at him every single day. By the time they had returned to Hogwarts, his feelings for Hermione had been diluted. Diluted by fear, by misunderstanding and by the mind of a seventeen-year-old boy.

Present Time

Ron shook his head to clear the memories. His Mum had been right. He should gain some experience before he settled down. He was a Hero of Hogwarts for Morgana's sake. He shouldn't be limiting to himself to just one witch. Not even a witch that looked like Hermione, all curly hair and long legs. All books and cleverness and full lips and the most perfect arse in all of Scotland. But, Megan was just as pretty and it had been so very easy to ask her out. The way she had looked at him, like he was brilliant. He thought back to what Seamus and a couple of sixth years had been talking about just a fortnight ago.

2 Weeks Previous

Seamus Finnigan was holding court with two sixth year boys in the common room, regaling them with tales from his personal battleground; the Hogwarts' dating pool. He was telling them about a particularly personal incident in the back of Greenhouse Three with Lavender Brown, when Ron and Hermione walked through the portrait hole.

Hermione waved in greeting, kissed Ron quickly on the cheek and headed up to the Head Girl's quarters. Ron, still a bit wired from their patrol, plunked himself down on the plaid sofa next to Seamus.

"Don't believe a smidge of what this git is telling you boys, full of shit, he is." Ron playfully smacked Seamus on the upper arm and Seamus pretending to be mortally wounded made quite a scene, effectively expiring on the sofa.

"Oh, just because you and Hermione are all but married, us single guys can't get some?"

"Married? . . . Married. . . .Seamus, we're barely even dating."

"Ch-cheeeee." Laughing, Seamus made a whipping sound and moved the arm holding his wand in a semi-circular motion like he was cracking a whip. "Not even dating and she has you whipped. You're pathetic, Weasley. All these women just gift-wrapped here at Hogwarts for you, all waiting to be unwrapped and you want to settle down to just one little package. You are a blight on the name of Wizard, Ronald, and I shall have to challenge you to a duel."

Seamus was, of course, being overly dramatic as usual and under different circumstances Ron would have laughed, but there was a kernel of truth in what he had said.

"What exactly do you mean I could have all these women? I don't exactly see witches throwing themselves at my feet in between classes, do you?"

Looking at Ron oddly, Seamus sat back down on the sofa. "That's because they all think you are taken. By our beloved Head Girl. Not many girls willing to risk the wrath of Hermione Granger and make a play for you, even if you are, in my sister's not so astute opinion, a hunk. A hunk of shit, that's what I told her."

"Kele thinks I'm a hunk?" This information stunned Ron. Kele Finnigan was Seamus's 15-year-old sister and she was gorgeous. All dark hair and blue eyes. She thought he was a hunk - the information simply floored Ron.

"Cor, Weasley. This summer she went on and on about it. Oh, Ron's eyes are so blue and he's so tall and nice and he helped Harry save the world . . . It was bloody awful."

Ron sat stunned on the couch, and Seamus continued. "I've never figured out why you would want to date Hermione now anyway, Ron. You could have almost any witch at Hogwarts. Hermione's great, don't get me wrong, but blimey, she's the sort of girl you marry, not the sort you take behind the Quidditch stands and get friendly with."

All this was said with a wink at the two sixth years who had been sitting rapt during Seamus' antics, but Ron took it to heart.

Did everyone think it was crazy of him to date Hermione? Wouldn't it be better to date other witches? Wouldn't Hermione be around later if they were truly meant to be together?

Lost in thought, Ron muttered a half-hearted goodnight to Seamus and the other boys and ascended the stairs, more than convinced that the Hogwarts Hero just might have a possibility of being the Hogwarts' Heartthrob.

After a terrible sleep in which dreams of brown haired witches armed with whips chased him through Muggle London, Ron had come to the decision that he and Hermione needed to slow things down between them. He needed to get some distance to be able to think clearly because whenever she was near him, his mind just refused to cooperate and actually think.

The next week was very difficult for Ron as he attempted to avoid Hermione, but as he and Harry had started Quidditch practices again, all of his begging off of time together certainly seemed legitimate. Ron was knee-deep in Quidditch equipment, stuck in the equipment shed when he heard the high-pitched mutterings of Professor Trelawny. Her breathy little "Oh Albus" struck his curiosity and moving behind the door, he tried to listen to what was being said. Unfortunately, he could only hear snippets of the conversation, but it was clear that the other two people involved in the conversation were Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. He tried thinking of a spell to amplify his hearing, but his concentration faltered when he heard Professor Dumbledore mention Hermione's name.

The Minister of Magic . . .?

Miss Granger . . . vital . . . so important

Am . . . surprised

Always . . . thought . . . potential

House-elves. . . platform . . .interesting

Are you . . ? Prophecy?

Great day . . . wizarding . . . It's wonderful

A bit . . . shocked.

Smart of her . . . really.

After the last bit, the three professors moved away and Ron couldn't be bothered to follow them and try and hear more. He had already heard enough. Trelawny must have had a vision about Hermione and her future. And it was just as his mother had suspected and if he was truthful with himself, what he had always known; Hermione Granger was going to kick the Wizarding World on its arse.

And he had to let her do it. Without him holding her back. With a heavy heart, he finished putting the equipment away and headed back to the castle, knowing that his future with Hermione would be as her friend and her friend only. As the fall leaves crunched under his feet, he tried to convince himself that this was the best for both of them.

Present Day

Ron sat at the edge of the pitch lost in his memories. He had seemed so sure of everything until today. So certain that he was doing the right thing. It had been awesome asking out Megan. Here was this beautiful girl, blushing and nervous around him, Ron Weasley and when he had asked her to Hogsmeade with him, she had actually squealed when she had run back to her fellow Hufflepuffs. Perhaps this forgetting about Hermione wouldn't be so hard after all. He had completely convinced himself that his romantic feelings for Hermione were merely a product of proximity and nothing else. After all, if he was so incredibly happy about Megan, how could he possibly feel anything for Hermione?

He was an absolute and utter prat. He had hurt her; he knew that without question. And his heart broke with that knowledge. He hated being the cause of her tears, but she would thank him later. He knew she would. When she was the special assistant to the Minister of Magic, Apparating here and there, dining with dignitaries and changing the world, she would thank him.

Rubbing his arm where Ginny had smacked him, he got back on his broom and steered it back towards the castle. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to get Hermione a really nice birthday present, he needed to apologize to Ginny for calling her a misguided, ill-informed harpy and he really needed to get ready for his date with Megan Doyle.

A few Weeks Later

Hermione glanced outside the southernmost common room window and watched quietly as Ron helped the tall brunette on with her heavy cloak. They were heading for dinner at the Three Broomsticks and then a play based on some obscure wizarding playwright named Baxter Borstein. Hermione had suggested the play to Ron, when he had asked her for a suggestion as to where to take his most current interest. Julia Matheson was definitely an artsy type and Hermione knew that she would really enjoy the play.

So it had come to this? She was actually helping Ron try to impress his dates. Oh dear lord, Hermione, look how far the mighty have indeed fallen. Her inner McGonagall aside, Hermione had to admit that the past few weeks, since the Doyle incident, as she privately referred to it, she had paid direct homage to that old adage:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

And it had almost killed her. The false cheerfulness she had to put on for everyone to make sure that they knew she was all right with Ron's dating. The nasty and rather creative rumours someone had spread about her either being on suicide watch or shagging both Crabbe and Goyle. The pitifully bad job she did when Ron asked her if she was okay, which he did with annoying frequency for the first two weeks. Until she had held him pinned to the back door of the Prefect's bathroom at wand-point threatening to use her newly acquired skill at the Bobbitt hex. Ron's confusion was immediately cleared up when she directed her wand tip south of his belt buckle. After that, she was safe from his constant inquiries as to her general health. Hermione knew she was a terrible liar and she suspected that Ron was so thrilled that they weren't fighting, that he was willing to overlook her blatant untruths.

Ginny and Harry hadn't been as easy to fool, so she didn't really try. They knew she was sad and hurt, maybe not to the extent that she actually was, but she had made them both promise that they would leave Ron alone about the whole situation. Ron really hadn't done anything wrong, except maybe forget her birthday. A fact that he made up for in spades when he had given her his birthday gift a week later. It was a small silver charm bracelet and on it there were three charms; an otter, a stag and a fox. Their Patronuses. She had been so thrilled by the gift, yet at the same time so incredibly sad; that for once words had failed her and uttering a choked thank you had run up the stairs to her dorm. Once there, the tears had flowed. Huge, ugly, painful tears that turned her white blouse almost translucent. That night she had promised herself that these tears would be the last ones she would ever shed over this situation with Ron. She was in love with him, but it was her problem. He obviously wanted to be friends, and truth be told, so did she.

From that point on, she had worked at her friendship with Ron like she hadn't since their third year. The really great part was that they rarely fought and when they did, it was almost nostalgic and sweet, rather than hurtful. The not so great part was watching Ron date so many other witches. Megan had just been the first of many. Next it had been Lea Copperfield and Donna Magnuson from Ravenclaw, then Siobahn Slocum and now it seemed Julia Matheson. It still hurt each and every time she saw him with another witch, but the urge to hex them into oblivion had subsided. In a massively silly, rather drunken boy bashing session with Ginny, Lavender and Parvati along with a couple of other 6th and 7th year girls the previous evening, Hermione had decided that it was time to move her arse along. She had, as Ginny so nicely reminded her at breakfast, agreed to accept the very next offer that came her way, unless it was really Crabbe or Goyle. Knowing that she had just helped Ron out on his date, she knew that her time to move on had finally arrived.

And it did arrive, quite nicely as a matter of fact. In a dark-haired, brown-eyed, six foot two package named Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione had been rushing to meet both Ron and Harry in the Great Hall for a late supper, when she had run headlong into Justin, knocking the books out of her hand and a carafe of hot cocoa all over his robes.

Quickly muttering a cooling spell, Hermione had steeled herself to look up and meet the eyes of whomever it was she had almost scalded.

"Merlin, I am so frightfully sorry. Professor Vector kept me late and I . . . oh thank heavens, Justin, it's just you. Are you all right?" Hermione kept patting his robes, somehow not really aware that he was holding her quite nicely in the circle of his arms.

"Just Justin is it, Hermione? And to think I might have made a better impression on you in the last seven years. I'm really quite fine. That Mercury spell was quite brilliant, saved me from a nasty burn, I'd say." Justin was smiling down at her and she was suddenly struck by the fact that this boy was so tall and had such very nice teeth and what in blue blazes was he doing standing so close to her?

Slowly moving out of his arms, Hermione grinned back, "It is a great spell, isn't it? Of course, I wouldn't have needed to use it, if I had have been watching where I was going. I'm sorry, Justin. I hope I haven't made you late."

As she moved to continue on her way to the Great Hall, she heard Justin say, "Hermione, you can make it up to me. After all, you could have disfigured me." Turning around, she knew he was just being good old smooth Justin. Well, Mr. Double F, I can be smooth right back.

"Mercy me, I just might have at that. Whatever could I do to make things right with you Mr. Finch-Fletchley?"

"How about dinner and the 16th Century Salem Exhibit this Saturday?"

Hermione was gobsmacked and smooth flew right out the window. "You have tickets to the Salem Exhibit? My parents wrote me about that. I've been dying to see it. But it's in London. Muggle London."

"And is the beautiful witch suitably impressed?" Justin laughed at this and continued. "My Dad got me two tickets and basically begged Dumbledore to let me go. Honestly, Hermione, I am really looking forward to some time in the Muggle world. I'd really love it if you would come with me. I'll owl my Dad and he can make reservations for us at The Owl Triangle(some swanky London restaurant - any ideas?). Please."

Hermione pretended to make a big deal of pondering, but the combination of the Exhibit, Muggle London and a very handsome, intelligent escort had her grinning from ear to ear as she nodded her head yes.

"Smashing, just smashing, Hermione. I'll fetch you at your common room about two-ish? Great." As he was saying this, Justin had grabbed her hand and lifting it to his lips, he turned it and placed a small kiss directly on the palm.

As a small shiver ran through her, she looked at him. The smooth was returning. "That wasn't really a very gentlemanly place to kiss me."

Looking her dead in the eyes, he smiled. "Whoever said I was a gentleman, Hermione? I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

It took a couple of seconds before she could actually close her mouth and she had to laugh at herself when she realized that her books were still sprawled across the corridor. Stuffing them into her satchel, she all but ran to the Great Hall, hoping to still catch Harry and Ron at dinner.

"You're bloody late, Hermione. Harry and I are starving. And what in Godric's name are you so happy about? We have at least twelve feet of parchment to write and this is a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Whatever is the problem, Ron? A little time management skill and you could still write all your essays and shag all the blonde witches in Hufflepuff."

Hermione wished she had a camera, Muggle or magical, it wouldn't have mattered. The look on both Ron and Harry's faces really should have been captured for all eternity. She knew, without question, where her next inspiration for Patronus producing would definitely come from.

Grinning even more, she punched Ron in the shoulder and sat down. "Cor, I'm just pulling your leg, Ronald. Lighten up, would you?" Hermione had to laugh out loud as she watched Harry and Ron wordlessly exchange looks of total and complete bewilderment.

"Oh, you two . . . can't a witch just be happy?" Hermione pointed her wand and spoke clearly, "Cream of mushroom soup and saltine crackers, please."

As she set about to crush her crackers into dust, a very sarcastic voice sotto-whispered in her ear.

"For a witch to be that happy, it must be because of a wizard." Ginny Weasley sat herself down beside Hermione, who was blushing a rather fetching shade of pink, nicked the packet of crackers out of her hands and said, "spill, Granger."

"Don't be silly, Gin, Hermione's not this chuffed over a boy. I bet she just read that Flourish and Blott's has a new shipment of Lockhart Laments in." Ron and Harry had started to chuckle in earnest, but Hermione's next words, cut them off.

"Actually . . . Ronald. I have a date this Saturday with Justin." Hermione smiled as Ginny actually squealed. "Where, what are you doing?

More importantly, what are you wearing?"

"It'll have to be something Muggle, Gin. We're going into Muggle London."

"He's taking you to London. Why?" Hermione turned to look at Harry who had spoken for the first time since she had sat down.

"Yes, he is. We are going to see the Salem Exhibit at London Museum and then out for dinner at The Owl Triangle. It's very exclusive and it will be so nice not to have to wear robes out all the time."

"And what exactly is wrong with robes?" Hermione was shocked to hear the underlying anger in Ron's voice and was even more surprised to see the less than happy _expression on his face.

Placing her hand on his arm, she tried to explain. "Nothing, Ron, just sometimes I miss it. Miss the Muggle world. Miss drinks that don't steam and places where wands aren’t necessary. Where the pictures don't move and the mirrors don't comment on your dark circles in the morning. And Justin is Muggleborn too, we have a lot in common."

"But The Triangle is a really exclusive restaurant, or at least that's what Kristin told me and she would know, being the debutante that she was back in London. However did you get reservations?" Ginny was watching her brother very closely while she said this.

It was Harry who answered. "Justin's Dad is some high profile surgeon at London Memorial. I think the Finch-Fletchley family is pretty well connected." Hermione looked at Harry, astonished. Harry merely shrugged. "After the cobra incident in second year, I made it a point to talk to Justin a little bit more. He's a great guy, Hermione. I know you'll have a good time with him."

"Yes, it sounds just about . . . perfect, wouldn't you say, Ginny? Just sodding perfect." Without another word, Ron got up and left the table, his long stride carrying him to the oak double doors within seconds. All Hermione was able to note was that his hands were clenched into fists and the tips of his ears were practically glowing.

As Ron shut the doors of the Great Hall behind him, all he could think was that he had lost her. Lost Hermione Granger. The only woman he could ever love.

**********************************

Saturday

Gryffindor Common Room

Pumps, that's what Ginny had called them, after he had so erroneously referred to them as just shoes. Pumps, shoes, trainers . . . whatever they were, all he knew was that they were black and shiny and had made Hermione's legs look incredibly long.

But it wasn't just her legs that had looked so good when she had walked down the staircase; it had been every square inch of her. Now Ron had seen Hermione in all types of Muggle clothing over the years, but it seemed that for any dressy occasion, he had always seen her in Wizarding robes.

What she had worn tonight quite simply had taken his breath away.

He had been waiting in the common room with Ginny and Harry to see Hermione off on her date. He had spent the past thirty-six hours thinking and thinking hard. Too much pumpkin juice, not enough sleep and the grand conclusion that he was an incredible, myopic git had made him tired and miserable and wanting nothing more than to stop Hermione from going on this date. Smacking Ginny for at least the tenth time to stop her bouncing, he had opened his mouth to speak when Hermione finally descended. His mouth never closed.

The aforementioned pumps were high; at least two inches, making Hermione seem very tall. She was wearing a simple black skirt that was straight and stopped about an inch above her knees. Her blouse was a copper colour and some kind of soft and shiny material that caught the light as she moved. It too, was simple. Three quarter length sleeves, fitted with mother of pearl buttons and a proper shirt collar. She wore a simple gold chain, with the initial "H" that Harry had given her for her 16th birthday and a pair of small gold hoop earrings. Her hair had been charmed straight and Hermione had pulled the front pieces back into a clip at the crown of her head. Her black wool coat was slung over her arm and she looked at the three of them with nervous anticipation.

Ron knew that Hermione was a pretty girl. He had known this for a very long time. She was long and lean, and edged somewhere between slender and athletic in her build. She had often bemoaned what she termed her lack of endowment, but Ron had always thought she had a great body. True, she definitely wasn't curvy, but she was tall and willowy and strong. She had a great face, huge brown eyes, full lips and a dusting of freckles across a rather long nose. She was perfectly lovely in that witch next door sort of way and both Ron and Harry had always enjoyed how other wizards reacted to her looks. But this Hermione . . . this Hermione he had never met before. She looked . . . polished and sophisticated and rich . . . and dead sexy. Ron wasn't sure what it was, the legs encased in the sheer black hose, the hair that when straightened reached her waist or the lips reddened by gloss, but he found himself watching her, not only stunned but extremely turned on.

And she was going out on a date with Justin Finch-Fletchley. A date that he might as well have pushed her into. A date with a wizard who was perfect for her. Handsome, smart, Muggleborn, rich, sophisticated . . . everything he was not. Here she was, standing before him right now, everything that he could ever want and more, and she was going on a date with another man. Ron briefly wondered if there were awards for stupidity for he certainly was well ahead of the pack.

"So . . . do I still pass as a Muggle?" Hermione was grinning as she turned around.

"Hermione, you look great. Poor Justin having to fend off all those snooty Museum types this afternoon. He'll never get a chance to see the exhibit." Harry had given her shoulder a squeeze as he said this and Ron briefly wondered when Harry had gotten so smooth.

Ginny simply smiled, then asked if she could borrow Hermione's skirt for her next date with Dean.

"Ron, you hate the hair, don't you?"

"You look . . . beau . . . gre . . .you look real nice, Hermione, real nice. Have a good time. Be safe." Ron ran his finger gently down the sleeve of her blouse as he spoke and then quickly turned and walked up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

It was only because Harry and Ginny knew Hermione so well that they caught the look of disappointment that swept across her features, for it was so very brief. When the knock came at the portrait hole, Hermione grinned, impulsively hugged both of them and left for her date to Muggle London.

"Shall we go and try and cheer up my git of a brother, Harry? Did you hear what he said to her - you look real nice - blimey, it's hard to believe that I have such a smooth talker for a brother."

"Gin, he looked miserable, have a bit of pity."

"Oh, Harry I do. Did you see his face? I think maybe he's finally coming to terms with the fact that there is only one witch for him and he basically just shoved her into the arms of another man. It's still a Hogsmeade weekend, I say its time for a round at The Three Broomsticks."

***new post for the rest of the story****

More of the Precious

2004-03-15T18:02:52Z

Title: Journey Into Sunlight

Author: The Treacle Tart

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Words: 5,616

Disclaimer: I'm not Rowling. 'kay.

Challenge written for: sunshyndaisies

Criteria:

* One or two other requests you would like in your fic - post-Hogwarts... Surprise me :).

*Two restrictions - no third parties involved! And, um... I don't really have a second restriction.

Summary: Hermione invokes centuries old magic to try to save everything she holds dear.

Author's notes: I assumed that by “no third parties” you meant no love triangle or former lovers, and not that no other character could be present in the fic. I'm sorry if I misunderstood.

Special thanks to moonlitwoods for her speedy beta and encouragement. All remaining mistakes belong to me.

There was something about being there that felt like home. Something about the rows of books that seemed to stretch for miles; the smell of must and old magic that filled the air and her lungs with every breath. She ran her fingers along the spine of “Innovations and Incantations of the Third Century,” relishing the feel of its worn cover beneath her fingertips.

This particular shelf was always very dusty indicting that even three years after the completion of her own schooling, the students still didn't understand the knowledge held in the yellowed pages of this section; that they still failed to recognize the value of magic at its beginnings. Most likely they continued to rely on modern texts, not appreciating the older works that detailed the origins of spells or the basis of the charms they used daily. A shame, really - to miss out on magic at its most base level… at its birth… at its heart.

She found her way to the window she always thought of as her private space -- the one that faced the Quidditch pitch -- and with her books clutched tightly to her chest, she watched the sunlight stream through the glass panes and cast rainbows on the floor at her feet. There was so much to think about, and so much to consider. The key to the world lay somewhere in the rows of books around her, in yellowed musty pages and dust, and if anyone would find it, it would be Hermione Granger.

She wasn't sure how many hours had passed when a warm hand found her shoulder and tore her attention away from her research.

“I think it's time for a break, Hermione. You've been at this for nearly five hours.”

“Has it really been that long?” she rasped, her voice coarse from disuse.

“It has,” replied Remus Lupin with a gentle smile. “You need to eat something and we need to discuss the practical applications of your research.”

“I'm not done reading the materials.”

“I think you've done enough research for us to have this conversation, Hermione. It's important for you to realize exactly what it is you are thinking of doing before you continue. I know how you feel about your books but this sort of magic hasn't been attempted in centuries, and I'm not sure these books can give you all the answers you need.”

Hermione looked affronted at the notion that she couldn't find what she needed in books. It was something she understood the reality of, but no one ever really voiced it aloud. She closed her books and followed Remus Lupin away from her window. It was only then that she realized the sunlight and rainbows were long gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She played with her food as Remus discussed the current state of affairs. As the months grew into years, Voldemort grew stronger in body and in minions. Death Eaters spent years planning, and the methodical attacks were ending. Actual war was looming on the horizon.

As the Order waited for all out combat, they found a systematic and calculated campaign for dividing the Magical community -- and it was working. Half the population still thought they could ignore the signs and that nothing would happen. Others were so paranoid they trusted no one -- on either side. Meanwhile, high-ranking officials and military strategists were being hunted and Muggles began disappearing more frequently. It was a simple matter of time. If something didn't happen soon it might be too late; he would be too powerful and they would be too ill prepared.

Despite all she saw first hand, Hermione wasn't really prepared for it; for battles, for war. Images of bloodshed plagued her days. Images of her loved ones dead haunted her nights. It was during one of her ever increasing bouts of insomnia that she thought of it, while lamenting her inability to sleep, hating the rest of the world for finding peace during the long hours she listened to the crickets singing outside her window.

Somewhere, in some book she read sometime ago, was mention of dream traveling, of entering the minds of others when they were at their most vulnerable. One could actually become part of the dream altering it, guiding it. Controlling it.

It had long since been considered a myth; it was Dark Magic and the ritual was stopped somewhere in the fourth Century as those who practiced it went irreversibly mad. At the time Hermione wondered if it was possible that Voldemort used some modern variation on this to connect himself to Harry.

Now she wondered what if someone used it on him.

What if someone was able to invade his sleep? What if they trained an army to do it and invaded the dreams of every known Death Eater, altering their perception of reality? It would be a powerful tool.

It would be the tool.

There were risks involved, so no one was to know about it until she was certain it was feasible. She didn't want to get people's hopes up if she couldn't manage it. Dumbledore agreed to help her but only if she had someone supervise her training. She chose Remus Lupin.

“You need to pick a test subject,” Remus stated while they sat having tea.

“Test subject?”

“Someone to try your dreamscaping on. The subject can't know you're doing this, it has to be completely unaided.”

“Unaided?”

“He can't open his mind to you. He has to be following his normal sleeping routine. I would suggest someone close to you, someone with whom you already feel connected to make things a bit easier in these early stages. Someone whose dreams you would be able to interpret and participate in without it seeming too unusual for you to be there in the first place. Probably Ron or Harry, maybe Ginny.”

Harry was out of the question. Too many people were invading his dreams as it was. She hated the idea of intruding on the few hours of sleep he did get. Ginny might never forgive her if she ever found out. Being possessed by Tom Riddle affected her terribly and she wouldn't take kindly to someone she considered a friend doing the same thing to her, whatever the rationale.

She had reservations on using Ron as well, but for completely different reasons - most of which had little to do with Ron and more to do with something else entirely. But he was the best candidate and he would understand should he ever discover what she was doing. He was too dedicated to Harry and to stopping Voldemort to begrudge her efforts.

“Ron. It should be Ron,” she said unconvincingly.

“All right,” he responded softly. “When do you think you would ready to begin?”

“Right away.” Hermione's excitement was laced with fear -- and now guilt -- over what she considered her duty. She thought of Ron as she sipped her tea, of his courage and trust and all that he meant to her. It was with remorse that she whispered, “I'm sorry,” to ears who could not hear it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drawing the runes took days. Almost a week of carefully replicating a dozen pages of symbols in precise configurations of constellations. They could only be written while bathed in moonlight; the ink, a mixture of unicorn blood, Phoenix tears, and one drop of water from the Black Sea. The old ways required patience, devotion, and a certain amount of reverence. If one weren't meticulous in every aspect of the ritual, the entire thing would fail. It was the reason the old ways died out.

The first attempt would have to wait until the night after the full moon and could only be attempted again until the night before the next full moon. When that time interval had passed, the runes would disappear and the entire procedure must be repeated from the very beginning. Many of the ancient ways were structured around the phases of the moon, the ebbing of tides, the movement of stars. There was an immense power held in astral cycles, and elemental magic was swathed in it.

The evening after the full moon Hermione found herself on the cold stone of the tower no one ever used, laying amidst a thousand runes. The only clothing she could wear was a ceremonial shroud draped over her body; one that hadn't seen moonlight in a few centuries. The material was coarse and chafed against Hermione's bare skin, weighing heavily on her shoulders. On her hands, etched in the same solution used to scrawl the runes, was the name of the chosen dreamer - Ronald Weasley.

Remus Lupin entered and took a seat across from her. He looked surprisingly alert considering it was the first day after his transformation. Without a word he sat, well aware his purpose was to observe and intervene only if Hermione seemed to be having difficulties.

When the first rays of moonlight shone through the large open window, Hermione began the lengthy incantation she had memorized. With each word spoken, a rune would glow in vibrant color. Within a few minutes the room was alight with red and blue and green. She concentrated on a mental image of Ron and when the last word was spoken and the final rune burst into color, Hermione found herself plunged in blackness and falling.

When she regained consciousness it was morning. The night had passed though it felt like only a few minutes. She was exhausted and barely able to move. Remus Lupin raised his wand and quietly uttered the charm that would gently levitate Hermione from the ground. He guided her prone body to a cot set upon the corner of the room and placed her down softly. “Sleep now.”

“I can't. I have to-“

“You have to sleep.”

She hadn't the strength to argue and closed her eyes. She found blackness there as well.

The next two nights yielded the same results. Hermione was beginning to lose faith, fearing she had overlooked some component of the ritual. Remus assured her she did no such thing, the fact that she found blackness at all was a good sign, as many didn't even make it that far.

It was on the fourth night that they had a breakthrough. Hermione saw a flash of color. A bright and vivid shock of red.

More colors began to show over the next few nights. Some nights there were just a few, but they were vibrant. Other nights Hermione found herself surrounded by the spectrum.

A week and a half after they started, Hermione heard a word. “Harry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found herself humming in the library, high off the excitement of the second breakthrough -- a fully formed word. As her body was becoming accustomed to the ritual, she found she needed less recovery time and was taking advantage of her alertness by doing some research on dreams. She was heavily immersed in a Muggle article discussing current theories of dream analysis when she sensed someone watching her. She turned and nearly fainted at the sight of her best friend.

“Ron! What are you doing here?” she asked nervously.

“Looking for you.” He sounded angry. “You've been gone for weeks and didn't tell anyone where you were going.”

“I said I was working on something and would be gone for a while.”

Ron shook his head and nearly yelled, “You can't just owl a message like that and then vanish. You know what's going on out there right now, Hermione. You could be… you could have… someone could have…” He stopped to calm himself, seeming angrier with himself for his outburst. “Something could have happened and we wouldn't have known,” he said quietly. You need to tell us where you're going and what you're doing.”

Her stomach tightened at the darkness under his eyes and the lines of worry engraved in his brow. Guilt assaulted her again. “I'm sorry I worried you.”

The sweet boyhood blush found its way to his ears. “You worried everyone,” he replied softly.

Always everyone, Ron, she thought sadly. Always someone else.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

With a crooked smile he said, “I used my Hermione-sense. Where else would you disappear to for weeks on end but a library? It took a bit of time to find the right one, is all. I didn't think you'd come all the way back to Hogwarts.” He scanned the books on her desk. “What are you working on?”

“I …I can't tell you.” She closed the book she was reading and began to gather her things, looking up in time to see a very hurt _expression in his eyes. “Ron, please you have to trust me. I am working on something important but I can't let anyone know what.”

“Even me,” he said sullenly.

“Yes. Even you.”

He nodded in acceptance. “Can I at least take you out to lunch?”

“Ron -“

“Don't say no. A quick trip to Hogsmeade-”

“Ron, I'd lose the whole day-“

“How about I ask the house elves make to us a picnic. Winky's still around and she's always been sweet on me. We can sit on the pitch. Surely, you can spare a few hours for me.”

It was the smile that made her cave in; the lopsided half smile - half smirk that made him look like a little boy with a face smeared with chocolate asking for a cookie before dinner. On a fully grown man - with a lightly stubbled cheek and tousled hair -- it had an exceptionally powerful effect.

Within an hour they were sitting on the Quidditch pitch, surrounded by what the house elves considered a light lunch - all seven courses of it.

“Winky does remember you,” Hermione said with a smile.

“I told you she was sweet on me.” Ron's cheeky grin was interrupted by his yawn.

“I'm glad to see the effect my company has on you. Am I that exciting?”

“No. I mean yes. Ugh, don't interrupt a man mid-yawn. It throws him off completely.” He yawned again. “It has nothing to do with you. I've been having a hard time sleeping lately.”

“Really. Something wrong?” she asked innocently.

“I don't know. It's like I can't fall asleep deep enough to dream properly. All I get is distorted images. Last night was the first night in weeks I had a dream I could even remember and I still woke up exhausted.”

“What did you dream about?” she asked while running her finger across the top of a butterbeer bottle.

“The usual stuff. War. Death. Harry.”

“That's the usual stuff.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I get away with other dreams; nicer ones, depending on the day I'm having. Tonight for example I should have better dreams.”

“Why is that?”

His shoulders fell as he looked into her solemn eyes. “Because I know you're not dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was beginning to set when he said goodbye. It was with a heavy heart that she watched him leave, watched his form disappear in the horizon. Their lunch together was another twirl in their dizzying dance, another paragraph to their unwritten story. They agreed long ago that some things were better left unsaid, as the future was so uncertain. She had always felt that one day they would have their talk. That one day, they would finally stop dancing around each other and finish that story.

One day. But not today.

She hurried to her tower room and all too soon she found herself amid the runes on the cold stone; Remus Lupin looking a bit more concerned as he sat in his usual chair. She wrapped the shroud tightly around her body, not from cold but from feeling terribly exposed. Ron's face was clearly burned into her mind. His vibrant hair, his long nose dappled with freckles, his eyes the color of the sky before a storm. She concentrated on his face, on the inflection in his deep smooth voice, and began the incantation.

There was color again - rich and dazzling. And sound. More sound… and words, there were words. Slowly the colors blended, and the words grew louder. It took a while before she realized she was seeing people. She woke up in a sweat.

She did it. She saw his dream.

It took nearly an hour for her to be able to speak, her mind trying to reconcile what just happened. Soon after, Hermione was sipping tea in her quarters telling Remus everything she saw. “It was Ron and Ginny…and one of the twins, I'm not sure which…and I think Bill was there. They looked really young, like they were all still children.”

“Do you remember any details?”

“It looked like the Burrow, but never as I've seen it. I just knew it was the place. It was home. He was happy… comfortable. It was a good dream. Maybe even a memory.”

“Did they say anything?”

“They were teasing Ron about something and Ron was telling them to stuff it. That's all I got.”

She looked for a reaction from Remus. Her heart told her this was huge, that it was a monumental step, but she needed confirmation. She needed to hear that this was as big as she thought it was and not just her wishful thinking. He remained silent, his face expressionless as he looked through her.

“Say something,” she pleaded.

“I…I don't know what to say, Hermione. No one has made it this far, this fast, in the recorded history of the ritual. Frankly, I'm a bit frightened of you.” He smiled and she beamed.

Things progressed quickly after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What did you see?”

“There was an owl and Ron kept chasing it. He kept calling out but it ignored him and just flew farther and farther away. Ron refused to stop chasing it. He was on his broom and he kept slipping but he kept pressing forward, begging the bird to stop. I…I think the owl was supposed to be Percy.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

~~~~~~~~~

“What did you see?”

“Ron was defending the hoop at a Quidditch finals game. He kept missing goals. There was no noise at all, the stands where empty. I couldn't see his opponent. The whole time he was being pricked in the heart by his prefect's badge.”

“Sounds like he's afraid of failure?”

“No…he thinks he's already failed.”

~~~~~~~~~

“What did you see?”

“He's on a train that's going out of control. Only he and Harry are on it. Harry is trying to stop it but it just keeps going…it never slows down and it never reaches it destination.”

“Where is it going?”

“It's not the trip but the train itself that's important. The train is Sirius.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione had been at it for over three weeks and though her body had adjusted to her routine her mind was exhausted. The euphoria she felt at succeeding battled with the heartache she felt at what she saw in Ron's dreams.

Ron dreamed of the dead. He dreamed of the lost. He dreamed of darkness.

The world saw an Auror commanding force, a brilliant strategist, a staunch soldier. He promised his mother he would protect his sister. He promised Harry he would never leave his side. Despite the veneer he showed the world, he could not hide from himself. He still had all the insecurities that plagued him as a child, but now coupled with an adult prospective of a deteriorating world.

His dreams were mired in images that seemed one thing on the surface but meant something different to him, and Hermione felt each emotion as strongly as if they were her own. It was easy to see why people went mad. You begin to forget which feelings are your own and which belong to someone else. You begin to forget to feel your own emotions at all.

There were only a few days left until the full moon and she still hadn't attempted to join the dream. It was the purpose of her training - not to observe but to participate. To manipulate. She hated doing this to Ron. Ron, who trusted her, who encouraged her. She hated doing this… but had no choice. It was too late to turn back now.

She entered the dream as she had for so many nights, but knew straight away that something was different. It was dark, but not threatening. Emotions were thick in the air but they were not of loss or grief or fear, they were of peace, of devotion… of desire. Wherever Ron was he felt safe… he felt loved.

It was silent, which was a frequent occurrence in Ron's dreams, but the stillness was slowly giving way to something else. There was something…a buzzing or humming that kept whirling around her ears. She couldn't make out any images or distinct words. Ron was fighting her entry; he didn't want to share this dream.

She concentrated harder on the buzzing and soon she realized that Ron was calling her name. When she finally broke through she looked up into her own face.

Hermione flushed when she realized what she was looking at. In this dream Ron was laying on his back and Hermione was straddled across his hips, her body slowly rising up and down in a gentle, steady rhythm. They were surrounded by blackness, seeming to be floating in air, and a glowing light - a yellowish moonlight - shone down upon them like a message from God.

What surprised her most was how much like herself the dream image looked. To her knowledge Ron had never seen her naked, but he knew her body as if he'd seen it everyday for years. The places she curved and didn't, the scar on her abdomen from when she had her appendix removed, every flaw replicated in a precise facsimile. The only difference was that she was beautiful, so much more so than she ever felt in the real world.

This was how Ron saw her, beautiful perfection in imperfect lines.

She remained rooted just outside the dream watching it as if it were a movie. The hero with a look of adoration and joy on his boyish face as he called out the heroine's name. The heroine, her head thrown back, her lips parted. They never finished, they seemed joined in eternity. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away.

It was when she saw a silver trail of glistening tears cascade down her dream image's face that she left.

Hermione woke to the darkness of the tower room. Remus Lupin jumped from his chair across the room. “What's wrong?” he asked nervously.

Her eyes were unable to focus on anything in the room. All that she could feel was a bitter chill prickling her skin.

“Hermione, are you all right?”

She heard a voice coming from somewhere. But it sounded so far away.

“Hermione, can you hear me?”

She remembered. She remembered where she was, what she was doing there and what she had seen. It was the first time she had ever pulled herself out of a dream sequence. The first time she couldn't bear to watch. She shivered in the icy air.

“Hermione, what happened?” His voice was frantic and she felt she should answer. It seemed the right thing to do.

“Nothing,” she replied softly.

He pulled back and stood silent, watching her movements. When she offered nothing else he asked, “What did you see?”

“Nothing….nothing at all.” She pulled the shroud around her, trying to chase away the biting cold. It was when she grasped the material in her trembling fingers that she realized it was drenched in her tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus was reluctant to allow her to continue after that. He seemed mollified when she told him it was a very private dream, and since it added nothing to their research, she felt Ron had the right to have it remain private. He didn't question when she asked to skip a night -- the first night in 26 days -- only saying that she should take all the time she needed.

She understood little of where she was, allowing something else to carry her throughout the day. Out of bed, to the shower, to breakfast. She allowed an invisible hand to guide her, a hidden puppet master to pull the strings. It was little surprise that she ended up at her window in the library, the window overlooking the Quidditch Pitch.

It was her favorite place in all of Hogwarts. She could sit in the safety of her books and still watch him. She watched him when he was merely supporting Harry as an anxious first year playing a game he had never heard of. She watched him when he trained vigorously for his own stint as Keeper, so eager to be successful. She watched him as he led the team to victory in the final year. And some part of her could see him there still, with his nervous smile and vibrant blush.

They loved each other.

Neither doubted that, but both were frightened to explore what that could mean. In a world where their extermination was an every day prediction in The Daily Prophet, it seemed ridiculous to attempt a relationship. Their minds and bodies needed to be clear and alert -- saving the world required dedication. One cannot fight destiny. Harry needed them focused. The world needed them focused. And they would be.

Until yesterday, she was all right with that.

Then she saw something she wasn't prepared to see. She saw a glimpse of the life she wanted, the one that she dreamed of. Ron was dreaming her dreams. She felt his emotion, she felt his love for her, and it nearly killed her.

The sun was beginning to set and the sky filled with bright orange and red. She smiled as she realized those are the colors of Ron. Ron was her sunlight. It wasn't time to watch him set. Not yet.

It was with a steady step that she made her way to the unused tower room.

This would be the first time she would attempt this alone, the first time she would not have the reassuring figure of Remus Lupin by her side. But this was between her and Ron and no one else deserved to be there. She settled into her spot, wrapped the shroud tightly around her, and started the familiar chant.

She found him in his Quidditch uniform about leave for a game. He stood in dimness, inspecting his broom and preparing to mount it. Her heart beating wildly in her chest, she ran over to him, wanting to stop him before his took off. “Ron,” she called out.

He turned to face her and smiled, before a very puzzled look came over his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, almost amused.

“I need to talk to you.”

He shook his head. “I have a game, I'll be late. The team needs me.”

“There is no game, Ron,” she said planting her feet firmly into the non-existent ground. “This is dream.”

“A what?”

“A dream,” she said with a small swallow. “You are asleep right now and this is all a dream.”

“I don't think so, Hermione,” he said laughingly.

“Ron…”

“You see, in my dreams Hermione, you're usually not dressed.” He smirked.

She blushed. “And in real life … in real life you would have never said that to me.”

His brow creased as she spoke and he carefully began looking at his surroundings, at himself…at her. “I…I don't understand…”

“Ron I've been watching your dreams,” she said in a rush, needing to get the words out before she lost all her courage.

“What?”

With slumped shoulders she pressed on. “The project I've been working on is dream traveling. I've been visiting your dreams for weeks now.”

Whether it was the pained look on her face, or his own sense of truth, Ron seemed to believe her. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't.” Her voice grew smaller. “I needed to see if it would work and the only true way to test it is to have a subject who had no idea what was happening.”

“I guess it worked,” he said, his voice like stone.

Her heart tightened at his tone. She needed to make him understand. “I was supposed to join your dream to see if I could change it. To see if I could control it. Don't you see, Ron, if we could do this we could end the war. We could stop it all.”

“Is that why you're talking to me now…to try to control me.”

“No Ron. I 'm here to tell you that I love you.”

The anger on his face gave way to a familiar sober look, one Hermione had seen far too often. “Hermione -“

“Don't say it Ron.” She put her hands to her ears to keep from hearing the words she was sure were coming. “Don't say that we shouldn't talk about it, that we've got too much at stake. I know that. I know that more than anyone. But that's the outside world. That's someplace else. That's not here.”

She lowered her hands and stood up straight. Her eyes pleaded with his but her voice was strong. “This is the last time I'll be visiting you, Ron. This is the last time I'll be invading your dreams. Once I leave here, things will have to move quickly and they'll be no time for…for us. But before all that starts, before we deal with the rest of the world, I want this. I want a moment in time when no one else exists. That we can forget who we are and just be Ron and Hermione. I want one memory to sustain me, to motivate me. I need this more than anything else in the world. I need you.”

His features softened as if all at once he understood everything, as if it didn't matter anymore where they were because they were there together. Without a verbal reply to anything she had said, he walked to her, dropping his broom along the way. He stood in front of her looking down into her face, her eyes large and wet. When he took her face into his hands she closed her eyes and the tears that had been threatening to fall, ran silently down her still cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Are you sure you want to…like this… here?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

He gave her a small smile and stepped back to look at the empty space around them. “Then we should do this right.” He closed his eyes concentrating as hard as he could, and opened one tentatively to see if he succeeded.

The empty space was now a bedroom. A large canopied bed stood in the center; a sheer white fabric hanging down created a private alcove inside.

“How's that?” he asked.

“Nearly perfect,” she said with a smile. “It just needs one thing.” Suddenly the room was awash in sunlight. Bright, glorious sunlight shone around them like a new morning.

“Yes,” he said, a bit awed. “Now it's perfect.” He was looking directly at Hermione.

It was at that moment that time ceased to be.

It didn't matter where he touched her, where his hands or lips traveled, because she felt it in every part of her body; to the ends of her fingers, to the tips of her toes, and through every strand of hair. She found herself surrounded by him; his strong hands, his soft lips, his arms, his legs, his love, his fear, his hopes, his reason.

She felt everything he felt.

And he felt her as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus Lupin rushed around Hogwarts, frantically looking for Hermione. No one had seen her since breakfast the previous morning and she hadn't been in her room all night. He raced up the steps to the tower room they had been using for weeks, wondering if he would be more angry or relieved to find her there.

He pushed the door open to find Hermione huddled in her spot amid the runes, wrapped in her shroud, and staring at the sunlight pouring through the window.

“Hermione?” he asked softly, his anger forgotten once her saw her impassive face.

“Remus,” she said, not taking her eyes away from the window. “We need to assemble a team of volunteers to begin training immediately. I have a tentative list of several Gryffindors and Ravenclaws I think would be ideal candidates. We need to procure a location to train. I think we should works with several private rooms instead of one large one, which means we'll also need several volunteers to act as guardians - “

“Hermione,” he interrupted, worried about her _expression …or lack of one. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Remus.”

Though she appeared to be, outwardly anyway, something has obviously happened. She was more focused than he had ever seen her. She was self-possessed and determined; every bit the powerful witch he always knew she was. Something had happened to Hermione Granger, and Remus wondered if it was a good thing. “Are you sure you want to move so quickly?”

With the shroud falling slightly off her shoulders she stood and was immediately immersed in glittering sunlight. Hermione turned to face him, her eyes steeled and her shoulders squared. “It's time to win this war,” she stated. “I've got a life waiting for me.”

He could only nod. He knew an order when he heard one.

Finis.

More Delays

2004-03-15T11:24:42Z

wildebeth who is writing for seakays
seakays who is writing for julia weasley

And yet another

2004-03-15T11:20:53Z

Title: Magic
Written by :Quatto
Rating NC-17
Written for: mapletide

Chapter 1... The first step

Ron sat at the Three Broomsticks with Harry, discussing his recent purchase. They had now left Hogwarts and had whittled the summer away doing a lot of nothing, simply having fun and relaxing. Fall had arrived and they were to the point of having to decide on the next paths in their lives. Career choices loomed on the horizon but for now, they wanted to enjoy the last bit of freedom they had

“They are the absolute coolest. I saw them in the “Wonders of Voodoo” catalog.” Ron said as he sipped his butterbeer extra with Harry.

“So what are they then?” Harry asked.

He knew the Halloween Party the twins were throwing was rapidly approaching. It wasn’t customary to give your date a token of esteem for a normal Halloween party, but Ron and Harry decided to surprise Ginny and Hermione for a change. Harry had been very unsure of Ron’s choice in gifts to give in the first place and his choice of catalog to choose it from made him extremely uneasy.

“We ARE trying to impress them you know.” He continued.

“They are really nice looking charm pendants. They are not very large but are bright silver colored with some funky twisting in the metal.” Ron said before taking another pull of his drink. “They also contain a secret stash area like in the old style poison rings people used to wear.”

Harry sat silently. He wasn’t feeling any better about Ron’s decision. He took a drink and waited for Ron to continue.

The advertisement said each contains an” Ron wiggled his fingers in a quoting motion for effect and made his best mock scary face, “enchantment to make your dreams of love come true. Course there’s no way it’s any real magic. I mean they’re coming from the Bahamas for Merlin’s sake. Probably just full of sand really, but they look really cool and the girls will love them.”

Harry nodded and stood up when Ron did. “And they are at the sweet shop here in town you say?”

“Yea” Ron answered. “They said it was fine to have them shipped here, since I am such a good Chocolate Frogs customer.” Ron winked at Harry as they made their way to the store.

The owner of Honeydukes greeted them warmly and gave Ron his Owl order packages after the sale of 36 chocolate frogs had been negotiated. They barely made it out of the store before Ron got out the packages and opened the 1st small velvet covered box. What Harry saw next was the most amazing thing he had ever beheld. A beautiful necklace with a charm so unusual it belied words.

The chain itself was very fine. It had teardrop shaped prismatic sections that were only about one eighth of an inch thick and about half an inch long. However, there was a small space between each one with nothing visibly holding them to each other. The charm itself was just awe-inspiring. It was about two inches long and twice as thick as the necklace. A silver sheen really could not describe it’s appearance as it seemed somewhat transparent and if one looked into it long enough, stars and galaxies that pulsated and moved could be almost seen within it. The outside edges contained fine grooved lines that twisted clockwise around it while running top to bottom. Harry was just at a loss for words.

“Pretty cool huh?” beamed Ron. “And with two days to spare even. Sometimes I even amaze myself.” He was sure he had finally done something right in his life.

Harry nodded and added “Mate, this could be the single most intelligent decision you ever made.”

Harry knew without a doubt that Ginny would absolutely love the gift, as it was so beautiful. He also knew that Hermione would be elated to receive hers from Ron for two reasons: Number one, that he actually thought to get her something feminine. Number two, it was so unique that she could spend hours or days studying it and barely crack the surface of its appearance. Harry was duly impressed.

The two made their way happily back to the isolated farm house that Fred and George now lived at, and where the party was to be held, knowing that they were going to make Ginny and Hermione’s day with these gifts.

The eve of the party arrived and both Harry and Ron were positively beaming with pride. They each had their gifts neatly tucked inside the light coats they wore and were eager to hand them to their selected “Dates”. No one would have ever really considered that the time the four of them spent together as a date though because nothing had ever happened between any of them, much to all their chagrin. But both Ron and Harry secretly thought that maybe, just maybe, something special might happen tonight.

Hermione and Ginny soon arrived at the festivities, as did many other partiers. The guest list included a multitude of people. The list included the likes of Neville, Luna, Tonks, Remus, Finnigan, Angelina, Oliver Wood, and many many others. Wizard tents had been erected, allowing people to stumble into them when they had experienced enough raucous fun. Fred and George had also made space available in the house and barn, should anyone need a place to sleep it off. Soon the bonfire was blazing and music was playing loudly. There were large bowls of heavily spiked punch and party games were being discussed. Ron and Harry were feeling relaxed after a few glasses of the punch and they were flirting with Ginny and Hermione while watching the twins set off magical fireworks in the dark sky.

The party group decided to play Imagery, which is played with a special kind of magical powder. A person takes the powder, thinks hard of some person or object that should be somewhat well known to the group and throws the powder into the fire. The magic of the powder slowly makes the image the player thought of come into focus within the smoke. It starts off fuzzy and lacking any real substance and gradually increases in definition until the subject is correctly guessed or until the person/object is completely in focus. The winner then takes the next turn and so on. The group ran the usual gambit of Merlin, Dumbledore, Hogwarts and dragons and then degenerated rapidly into more teasing and erotic images. The people had an exceptionally fun time and merry laughter was plentiful.

The four were also having a fun time but had limited their alcohol intake a bit more than the others had. They had not been playing the game as much as the others had the last few rounds and Harry decided to make his move.

“Ginny, I think that some more food is in order here. Wanna help me get some from the house?” Ginny, Suspecting nothing agreed happily and together, they set off for the house.

Ron, sensing his moment as well, turned to Hermione.

“Hermione, the gang here seems to be getting pretty well ploughed. I think we should stake out a tent for the four of us now before the drunks start looking for hiding places.”

Hermione saw the logic in that statement as George poured himself his 10th glass of punch, sloshing half of it into the fire, which erupted in a purple flash to the cheers of the other party goers. Grabbing their glasses, the set out for the tents, unnoticed by the revelers.

Chapter 2.... Mom told me there were girls like you.

Hermione and Ron looked over the choices of sleeping quarters. She selected a nice looking tent and both her and Ron entered. A soft light emanated from wall sconces throughout the interior, which was a dozen times larger than the outside actually was. There was a living room, small kitchen, 2 bedrooms, a utilitarian bath and dining area.

“I think this will do. What do you think Hermione?” Ron asked and he steered her towards one of the bedrooms. Completely clueless to his intentions, she inspected one of the rooms with a king-sized bed.

“This one is OK. If the other room has double beds, Ginny and I can take this one. I know you and Harry don’t want to share a bed.” She said smirking at him.

Ron snickered in return and glanced around the place. “Not much for decor though.” He stated, inspecting the walls and floor coverings. “Not very lady like I must admit.”

Hermione glanced around the place as well. “Yes, but after a few more drinks, that won’t mat...”

She abruptly stopped in mid sentence as Ron held a now golden colored - velvet covered box in front of her.

“Perhaps this might help out some.” He said quietly.

His eyes danced with mischief as Hermione’s shaking hands reached for the box. “Wha.. what’s thi.. this?”

“A little something to let you know I DO think of you. Not just as a friend, but also as a Lady.” Ron replied. He watched as she opened the box, her eyes growing wide as she beheld the gift within.

Hermione was nearly speechless as she looked at the almost mystical item in the box. “Ron, it is the most incredible thing I have ever seen.” She replied in time.

“Let’s see how it looks,” He said smiling.

He took the necklace from the box and walked behind her. Hermione tilted her head down, her hair falling to either side, exposing her sleek neck. He reached up to put it on her and was mildly surprised that, as his hands approached her neck, the necklace parted on its own. As he reached around her neck and moved his hands together the necklace attached itself on it’s own as well. Neither of them noticed the small, needle sized holes that appeared in the charm, nor the small wisp of dust that was released as he placed the charm around her neck.

Ron’s hands parted and followed her neckline, coming to rest on her shoulders as his eyes traced the curves of her increasingly seductive neck. He gently laid a soft kiss on the back of her head.

Hermione’s fingers fondled the charm as she whispered “So beautiful.”

She then turned to Ron and laid a pair of eyes on him so very fiery he was taken aback. He took a slight step back with growing concern mumbling “ I..I thought you would like it?”

Hermione’s advance matched Ron’s retreat.

“Don’t you dare say one word.” She said in a steely voice and snatched his jacket in her hands, roughly pulling him to her. “I want your mouth unoccupied right now”

Her lips descended upon his with a vengeance. She was finally doing what her body had screamed for her to do for years. Just take the bloody fool and let him work it all out later.

Ron’s knees weakened under her attack. His surprise giving way to the fire rising inside him. His head swam as his hands began seeking her body out, desperate to feel flesh. Hermione’s tongue, dividing his lips and conquering his tongue with unerring precision.

Her heart was beating like a drum, pumping the life blood that heats oh so many parts of her body and heat her it did. She tangled her fingers in Ron’s hair, clenching it in her hands so he would not be able to get away from her any longer.

Ron was responding to her out of instinct alone. His mind was simply not capable of rationalizing what was going on and he took no initiative for the moment. He whimpered slightly when Hermione grabbed his hair and pulled his face tighter to hers. His hands immediately cupped her lovely breasts, thumbs rubbing small circles over and around her rock hard nipples.

The effect was instantaneous.

Hermione growled at him and her hips started wiggling like she had an itch that could not be scratched. Her hand shot down to his member and she grasped it firmly, as if trying to release it by pulling his manhood through the very fabric of his pants. She stroked him with one hand while the other found his hard and tight nipple. She rolled the little pea between her thumb and finger, pinching slightly and Ron gasped as his breathing quickened.

Ron slid his hand beneath her shirt and returned the favor, feeling her warm flesh against his hands. Hermione’s nipples pulsed with each touch of Ron’s fingers. Her tongue continued to be relentless and her squirming only intensified. She was almost in a world of her own, moaning loudly with each undulation of her hips and began nibbling and biting his lower lip.

His cock throbbed very noticeably when she bit him and she moaned an “mmmm” into his mouth, excited at the result of her nip. Ron grew hotter with each passing moment of lusty contact with Hermione, the person he had fantasized about so many times.

Hermione however, was feeling much different. She DID have an itch and it DEFINATELY was not being scratched. Each touch from him only made her hungry for more. Each throb of him made her mound wet and tingling, begging to be filled. Her brain was insane with desire and was growing increasingly frustrated with denial of its want.

She pulled her lips away from his and pushed him violently to the floor. Ron fell in a painful way but was speechless as Hermione dropped her knees to the floor on each side of his knees, looking like she was a woman possessed. She yanked his belt strap hard and relieved him of it quickly. She grabbed his jeans on each side of the brass button that held the waist together and ripped the fabric so forcefully that the button popped off it’s mount and bounced off the ceiling 10 feet above the floor. Ron’s eyes grew fearfully wide and he whimpered her name in the same voice he used to ask Harry if they should now panic in Aragorn’s cave as the spiderlings descended upon them.

He looked Hermione over and had no idea of how her shirt had come off or if he had anyhow caused it to happen. He was beginning to get scared of her and her actions. She stripped his jeans down to his knees,

taking the boxers with them and his knees tried to draw toward his chest to protect his groin area. Hermione was still firmly sitting on his shins and she just grinned at him evilly and laughed.

"Your not going anywhere lover." She said, emphasizing the word "lover" most seductively.

She stood and stepped forward until her hips were even with his. She then slipped her jeans and panties down and stepped out of them. The sight mesmerized Ron. She bent over to slip one foot from her jeans leg and her firm tits came closer to his face, inviting him to take them. Ron's erection throbbed painfully at

the sight but his attention was quickly diverted as he saw her hips begin to sink toward his crotch.

Ron's cock actually jumped, as if trying to close the distance. She lowered herself onto him. His eyes rolled back in his head as her hot mound sheathed him fully. The sensation was too much and Ron came in

great jerking pulses, filling her with his sticky love juice. He then became instantly afraid she might kill him now that he was spent.

Hermione seemed unfazed though and started to ride him slowly, her eyes boring into his. Ron became lost in her eyes, not noticing that his erection never softened.

She undulated and writhed upon him, feeling him filling her over and over. His cock was positioned so that it slid over her clitoris perfectly with each thrust. Ron began pumping his hips to meet hers and

their lovemaking continued and quickened. He felt delicious to her, parting her folds with each increasingly powerful thrust and her muscles tightened around him, trying to pull him deeper inside her.

Ron was in ecstasy as he felt the velvet softness of her womanhood caressing him with each stroke. It was hungrily trying to draw his seed, coaxing him to fill her again. It was like heaven and hell incarnate as the sensation of pure pleasure raced through him with each undulation of her hips. He groaned lustily and reaching between them, began massaging her love button with his thumb, causing her to begin emitting husky grunts each time her hips met his.

Her clit was now tingling and throbbing itself as she felt her own orgasm building. Ron reached up and pulled her body to him, hugging her, as his hips slammed into her harder and harder. Hermione now just rocked her hips back and forth, letting Ron do the most moving. She was losing control of her body as succulent waves of pleasure began to flood over her.

Ron buried his face into her neck, breathing deep of her sweat and perfume. Hermione’s hands snaked around his back and her nails dug into his flesh. Ron’s member swelled at the new sensation, filling her so much more that she finally succumbed to her own climax.

Hermione came in great heaving screams, nails drawing blood on Ron’s back and hammering his lap with her hips. The flood of wetness that erupted from her drenched Ron and oozed lovingly down his inner thighs. Ron, feeling her milking him and begging for him to fill her, came with animalistic intensity. She collapsed on top of him gasping for breath and still hugging him tightly while his body shuddered and convulsed below her as his climax finally subsided.

Neither of them said a word. Their bodies were speaking for them with small twinges of pulsating pleasure and borderline mini orgasms continuing for felt like eternity.

They lay there like that for who knows how long; just savoring the sensation of still being joined as one. Ron finally softened but never left her love nest. He remained inside her as they both fell asleep on the floor of the tent house.

Unfortunately, neither of them had the foresight to lock the door, much to the unforgettable shock of a few select drunken party guests who correctly guessed that, In the end, Hermione had screwed Ron silly..

Delay's noted

2004-03-15T11:17:05Z

anamchara who's writing for redblaze
claireyfairy1 who's writing for Kandymonkey
dreamsome who is writing for shellyk
shellyk who is writing for Andarta
ladyanabelle who is writing for Dresa.
hughroe who is writing for eluchre

But in all fairness I'm writing two stories this is my excuse.

And another

2004-03-15T11:11:33Z

Author: Dresa
Title: All Because of a Bubble Bath
Written for The Treacle Tart.

Post-Hogwarts. Check.

Bubble Bath. Check.

Happy Endings All Around. Check.
Rating: R

Sometimes, Hermione Granger wished she was eleven again.

Between arbitration hearings, departmental meetings, and all the reports she had to wade through constantly, Hermione’s new position as head of Law and Legislation in the Ministry was fast losing its appeal.

The youngest Ministry department head in history, Hermione was determined to do her position justice, and bring the Wizarding government into the new century as well.

But on days like today, she felt like telling everyone soul she came into contact with to just bugger off. She’d canceled her last meeting of the day so she could actually have an hour of peace to herself.

Her head ached, her feet hurt, and she’d gotten barely any sleep, courtesy of Ron’s “guest” the night before.

She, Harry and Ron had all decided to get a flat together. It simply made sense, as Hermione had no intention of returning to Muggle life. Harry had nowhere else to go, and Ron- well, Ron had been plotting his escape from the Burrow since the age of five.

A year later, Ginny had joined them. They made a nice team, the four of them. A lawyer, two Aurors, and a Healer- they were now able to help each other professionally as well as personally, though Hermione had been doing the latter as of late. It was an open secret that Ginny and Harry were seeing each other again, after they had broken up in Hermione’s seventh year.

Hermione had never known exactly why the breakup occurred, only what Ginny had told her, which was that Harry wasn’t ready for her love yet.

Hermione had pondered that for a long while, before coming to the conclusion that Harry hadn’t been prepared to offer that much of himself after having to be on constant guard for seven years.

For once, she’d realized that Harry would have to work through it on his own. And miracle of miracles, he’d gotten a clue and gone to Ginny the day she’d graduated Hogwarts.

Fearing that Ron wouldn’t let her move in with them if he knew of their relationship, they had both pleaded with Hermione to keep their secret. She’d reluctantly agreed, and so she often found herself facilitating their “alone time.”

She sometimes felt horrible about keeping it from Ron, but then he’d do something idiotic that erased her discomfiture. Like the blond he’d brought for a “tour” of the flat the night before, which had caused her to be cross with him today when he’d visited her office.

He’d yelled back, and Hermione had actually banished him out of her office with her wand. She was not looking forward to the row they were sure to continue after his arrival at home tonight.

Hermione apparated directly into her room, promptly removing her cloak and outer garments.

A bath, she decided, would be just the thing to turn her mood around. After becoming a Prefect in her fifth year, Hermione had grown addicted to long baths at least twice a week. She found they relaxed her, and had allowed her to cope with the sometimes overwhelming strains of her youth.

Wrapping a terry cloth towel around herself, she walked out of her room and into the bathroom directly across the hall. The main reason she had agreed to this flat was the enormous size of the loo. It was wide and expansive, with a bathtub along the wall big enough for three people to fit in.

Hermione dropped off some of her toiletries, then pointed her wand at the bathtub, filling it immediately with hot water and frothy bubbles. She was all set to enter, then suddenly realized she had left her hair tie in her room. Hermione hated to get her hair wet unless it was absolutely necessary, as it took forever to dry and would frizz up three times as much as usual.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Harry and Ginny had apparated into the flat shortly after her.

“Harry, stop,” Ginny murmured, playfully batting at his hands as they roamed over her chest.

“Now why would I want to do that?”

“I told you, my back hurts. I’m going to take a bath, not shag you up against my bedroom wall.”

“Well, then.” Harry moved to nibble on Ginny’s neck. “How about a compromise?”

Ginny shivered involuntarily as his soft breath hit her skin.

“Compromise?” she managed to squeak out.

Harry gave her a devilish grin. “Shagging in the bath.”

Ginny took all of two seconds before she started ripping off her clothes. “Hermione’s working late, right?” she managed, her voice muffled by the shirt she was presently lifting over her head.

Harry took a moment to enjoy the view before responding. “Uh, yeah, we have a couple hours. And Ron has a date tonight.”

Ginny grinned. “Good.” She dropped her skirt and panties, leaving her deliciously bare to Harry. With a saucy wink, Ginny wiggled her rump at him before running for the bathroom.

Harry growled and chased after her, cornering her by the tub. He ripped off his own clothes, grabbed her round the waist, and pulled her into the tub with him.

Hermione entered the bathroom with a flurry, her hair now secured in a loose ponytail.

She turned towards the bath, about to remove the towel, when she saw Harry and Ginny snogging passionately in the water.

“What are you doing?” she demanded crossly.

“Hermione,” Ginny cried.

Harry blinked at her. “What does it look like?”

Hermione huffed. “It looks like the pair of you just stole my bath!”

“Your bath?” Ginny questioned.

Just then, all three of them heard a loud bang.

“Hermione, I know you’re in there! I want to talk to you!”

Harry cringed, and let out a “Shit!”

Hermione shushed him, but it was too late.

“Is Harry in there with you?” Ron raged. “Bloody- Alohamora!”

The door flew open. Ginny took a deep breath and submerged under the bath. Harry stood up halfway before realizing he was starkers, and slowly sank back down into the water.

Ron looked from Harry, face wet and hair plastered to his head, to Hermione, heavily flushed and wearing nothing but a towel.

“You son of a bitch.” Ron said quietly. He turned and walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to his own, slamming the door behind him.

Ginny surfaced with a splash.

“What happened?” she gasped, looking from Harry to Hermione.

Harry groaned and buried his head in his hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stalked out of the bathroom.

It was her turn to bang on the door. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, open this door.”

“Fuck off,” was his bitter retort.

Hermione kicked the door, and when that only served to shoot pain up her leg, she hobbled back to her own room to retrieve her wand. With it, she quickly unlocked Ron’s door.

And was completely unprepared for the sight of Ron hunched over on his bed, shoulders shaking and eyes suspiciously wet.

“Ron?” Hermione’s voice was suddenly timid.

“Go ‘way,” Ron mumbled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He looked so utterly dejected that Hermione was at a loss for what to do. Of course, it wasn’t hard to figure out his mindset.

She was quite aware that Ron had feelings for her. She shared those same feelings. But, for some reason, neither of them had made a move to change their relationship. It felt like, once they’d left Hogwarts, they had missed their deadline. So instead, they circled around each other, insulting prospective dates and generally antagonizing one another. That was how they worked.

It was simple. And usually uncomplicated.

But now, Ron was under the impression that she was up to something with Harry, of all people.

And there was only way for her to convince him otherwise without revealing Harry and Ginny’s secret.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “You know quite well that I’m not having it off with Harry, of all people. He’s not who I want.”

Ron snickered. “Sure, Hermione. The Boy Who Lived isn’t up to your standards, eh?”

“No,” was her quiet reply. “Just like that bottled blond isn’t up to yours.”

Ron’s gaze shot up to meet hers, but not before lingering momentarily on the open seam of Hermione’s towel.

“And what does that mean?” Ron said, gulping audibly.

Hermione crossed the room and sat down on Ron’s bed. Holding the towel with one hand, she touched his arm with the other.

“What do you think it means?”

Ron stared back at her for what seemed like an eternity, before attempting to shrug casually. “No idea,” he returned.

Hermione was suddenly tired of it all.

“Forget it,” she spat out. “You just keep doing what you do and I’ll keep doing what I do and maybe you’ll bloody make a move sometime before my hundredth birthday!”

She whirled towards the door, deciding suddenly to just go to sleep and let this horrible day end.

Ron’s hand grabbed her arm, spinning her back around and flush against his chest.

“I’ll show you a damned move,” he growled, shoving her back against the wall. He took both of her hands in her, forcing the towel to fall, exposing her breasts to him. He lowered his mouth to them feverishly, suckling both in turn and causing Hermione to squeak in surprise and arousal.

At that point, her knees startled to buckle, and Ron slid down with her, now attacking her mouth and neck in turn.

In between kisses, he muttered things like, “Beautiful,” “So sexy,” and “You, always you.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, giving herself over to the sensations he was creating inside her body.

When he made her his, their mingled “I love you’s” echoed loudly through the flat.

Inside the bathroom, Harry and Ginny mustered the energy to give each other a high five.

***********************************************************************

Hermione stretched out in Ron’s large bed, absently running her fingers through his hair as she recovered from their coupling.

Ron was grinning like a Chesire Cat, fondling her breast like it was a brand new toy.

Which, she mused, it probably was, from his point of view.

She started to speak, but Ron cut her off. “No more blonds for me, I suppose.”

“You needn’t sound so heartbroken.”

Ron sighed. “Just as well. My type runs more towards the frizzy haired bookish ones.”

She kissed the side of his jaw. “Good answer.”

“And just so you know,” she murmured sleepily, “Harry was entertaining a friend and I walked in on them by accident.”

“Must’ve been Ginny in there, then.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “How, I mean, when-“

Ron chuckled.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I know they’re back together, have for months. It was just really funny seeing you try to lie for them. You’re horrible at it, did you know?”

Hermione shut him up first with his pillow, then with her mouth.

And another

2004-03-15T11:06:39Z

TITLE: This Woman’s Work

RATING: NC-17

AUTHOR: Andarta Wildhearth (andarta_wildhearth@adelphia.net)

SUMMARY: Written for dreamsome for the R/H Ficathon

PAIRING: RW/HG

GENRE: PWP/Angst/Drama/Romance

DISCLAIMER: I own none of what I am writing about nor do I make any monetary gain from said writing.

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 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 should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking

Of all the things we should've said,

That were 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.

“This Woman’s Work”—Kate Bush

Don't die on me; just please don't die. I can't live without you. I won't. Don't make me do this. No...no...no...NO! I won't let you leave me. You can't leave me. Stop it, stop it, stop it! Wake up, please, wake up.

This is my fault. Why couldn’t I stop this? It should have been me. You had no business being there. Why the hell didn't you listen to me? A woman in your condition; you shouldn't have been with us. You should’ve been locked safely away. You should’ve thought about the baby. So why is it you thought of me instead? Damnit, Hermione, why don't you ever listen to me?

I sit here at the end of this cold, sterile hallway with my forehead in one of my hands, staring at the floor beneath my feet. I've always hated St. Mungo’s. Now I'll come to hate it even more. If Mum doesn't shut up, I'll go mad. I wish she'd just leave me alone. I don't need medical attention. Neither does Harry. No, only you. That's so fucking ironic.

Mum sits next to me. She won't let go of my other hand. She won't stop crying. I can't hear her words anymore. I haven’t heard anything clearly since the moment I heard you scream. All I can hear now is a distant hum--the voices of everyone crowding this hall don't matter anymore, not really. Dad sits across from us. I've lost track of everyone else. Where is everyone? Oh yes, there they are...right in front of me.

Why did you do it, Hermione? Why did you step between me and V-v-vol-demort? That curse was meant for me, not you. Not our baby...and I don't want to hear your logic. I know what you'd say, even though your lips may never move again. You'd say that Harry was more important. He had to stay alive to kill Voldemort. I had to stay alive to protect Harry. Harry's mission was more important to the world than the life of my wife and my unborn child. That's bollocks, Hermione, and you know it. Didn't you even stop to think that my life wouldn't be worth living without you in it? I’d rather live in a world devastated by Voldemort as long as I could have you with me. Even with his defeat, the prospect of my life being a happy one is bleak without you. Without you and our baby in it.

The staff looks frightened. The nurses keep looking around the corners at us. Their whispers--I can’t stand their whispers! Trying to sneak a look at the boy who lived and his very best friend. Only one of his very best friends is in this hallway with him though. I fight the urge to shout at them, "Yes, it's the fucking dream team, and oh yes, Harry Potter has saved the world yet another time. Now go the fuck away!" Saved the whole bloody world, didn’t he? But he couldn't save you and the baby now, could he, Hermione? No, and neither could I for that matter.

Oh, Hermione, please don't die on me. Come back to me...

There's a commotion behind a set of swinging double doors and, oh, there you are. The doors rock back with a muted force as your lifeless body hovers past, accompanied by what looks to be the entire staff of St. Mungo’s. They are taking you to magical surgery. The charge healer asks for Mr. Weasley, and for once, my father isn’t the Mr. Weasley who answers. No, this time I am that Mr. Weasley.

She quickly tells me how the curse affected you. How the surge of electricity (meant for me) entered your body, nearly stopping your heart. She tells me that although you’re still alive, she can’t predict for how long or if you’ll even be able to regain consciousness...or if you’ll...if you’ll...I can’t bring myself to say or even think the words. The curse is that new, that unknown. You were the first person ever known to be struck with it.

Then she tells me that they can’t find the baby’s heartbeat. They think it would be best to take the baby from you immediately. With the outlook of the baby being alive grim at best, taking him or her from you now would be best for your recovery. I choke at the words, but I can’t fall apart now.

I take your hand as I walk beside you. Please, feel me here with you. Don’t leave me just yet. We can have another baby...maybe this one just wasn’t meant to be. But I can’t do this without you. Don’t make me live without you, Hermione.

“Mr. Weasley, you can’t go in.”

Your small hand slips from my own...

A second set of doors take you from me. I press my forehead to the cool glass as I watch them prepare you. Someone whispers a charm as he circles his wand above your face. I stare in horror as I see blood pooling on the sheet just below your waist. Something terrible is happening to you and the baby. I’ve never seen that much blood, not even when the animals at the Burrow give birth.

What’s happening?

A wandless nurse is trying to use the sheet to absorb the blood, but there’s too much. It puddles at the side of the table on which you lay.

Too much...it’s too much...

A drop slides over the edge and falls to the floor, the deep red making a tiny splatter on the stark white tiles below...again and again.

A young healer is called by the doctor in charge. As the older woman motions to the door, the young man nods and turns to look at me. He’s walking toward me. You disappear as his hand reaches to abruptly cover the glass with a curtain.

I remain standing, face pressed to the glass, imagining what might be happening to you at this moment. What are they doing to you, love?

The coolness of the glass soothes the side of my face as I run a hand through my hair. I haven’t cut it in a while, just like you asked, just like you wanted. For the life of me, I’ll never understand your fascination with my hair. I hate the red mess myself. I wish I could just shave my head and be done with it. But you say you like it long enough to run your fingers through it...long enough to grab hold of and tug during moments of passion.

I swear, Hermione, if you walk out of St. Mungo’s with me, I’ll never cut my damn hair again!

A cool drop of something hits my hand, and then drips into my hair. Drip, drip, twice more. I look down at the back of my scratched and blood-caked hand. Drops of water... After more drops slide through my hair, I stop to look at the ceiling. Maybe something is leaking from the floor above, but I find nothing there.

Then it happens again, only this time the icy-cold drops hit my upturned face. One, two, three more. I close my eyes and when I open them again, I am no longer looking at the ceiling in the hospital, but at an angry, dark grey sky...

***

“For goodness sake, Ron, hurry up! We have to make it to the house before it starts raining any harder!” It’s you, Hermione, it’s really you. You’ve run ahead of me, and I find I’m so surprised at my surroundings that I just stand, dumbfounded, in the middle of the road leading to the Burrow.

But this day, this day is not today...this day is nearly nine months ago. You walk back to me as I stare at you in utter disbelief. I barely register your presence as you yank at my arm.

“Come ON, Ron, RUN! We’re going to get soaked!” You tug again and something inside me clicks into place.

“Hermione,” I whisper and slowly pull you into my arms. “It’s you.”

“Who did you think I was, silly?” You try to squirm away, but I’m not letting you go, not this time. “Come on, Ron, if we run for it, we won’t get all that wet.”

“We’ll never make it,” I reply as I judge the distance to the house. “But we might make it as far as the shed.”

Your brow knits in frustration and I grab your hand and take off at a sprint.

***

We are laughing as we nearly tumble through the rickety wooden door. I’m laughing so hard it’s difficult to catch my breath. I lower the warped board that serves as the door-catch and watch as you squeeze water from the hem of your dress. Such a pretty dress, I’ve always liked it on you very much. Sleeveless and pale yellow, with tiny little flowers, or are those stars? I can’t tell; they might be snitches for all I know.

Right now, that dress is definitely my favorite thing for you to wear because I can see straight through the soaking wet top. The cold rain, well, it’s made your nipples stand at attention and the material is clinging to your bosom and you--you, well, you’re so pretty, Hermione. I find myself standing like an idiot, staring at your breasts.

“Ron?” You sound confused and you tilt your head to the side like a puppy.

I’m trying to figure out whether I should tell you that, well, that your nipples are, well, they’re quite pert at the moment. Maybe if I look away you won’t slap me. So I avert my eyes and gesture toward my own chest.

Oh bloody hell, now you just look more confused. For such a brilliant witch, you can be incredibly dense when it comes to some things. Maybe if I pointed... Shite! Hermione, you didn’t have to hit me that hard!

And there you go, crossing your arms over your chest. I knew you’d do that.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look!” It’s just that it’s so difficult not to, you know--look, that is. I notice you’ve lowered your head so you don’t have to meet my eyes. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.

I’m suddenly aware of the tenting in my trousers, along with the fact that your now lowered gaze is focused...right...there. I hear you giggle quietly. I refuse to get embarrassed about this.

“It’s not like we’ve never seen each other this way before!” I try to hide my embarrassment by covering my groin with my hands. I fight back a moan as I accidentally touch myself through the cloth, wishing your hands were there instead of my own.

You laugh a bit more and turn so that you’re no longer facing me. You’re so beautiful, Hermione, with the warm flush of embarrassment on your skin. We’ve not been a couple very long, just since spring. I know we’ve only been together twice now, the last time being the night of the graduation feast. It feels like years to me instead of a month. You’re trying to smooth down your hair as I reach for your shoulder, and you jump slightly at my touch.

“Aren’t we a pair?” I hear your whispered words even with your back to me.

I ease up to you and slide my arms around you in a half-backward embrace. Shivers from more than the cold rain course through me as you kiss my forearm.

“Yes, we are.” As I nuzzle your neck, I am filled with the scent of you--wet skin and sweetness.

You’re good enough to eat. I don’t want to hold back anymore and I nip your neck. You know...the spot where your shoulder begins, and when I hear you sigh I want to come undone. Part of me wants to be gentle and soft and slow with you, I love you that much.

But then again...

There’s a part of me, a really big part of me that wants to turn you around and rip the dress from your body and throw you against the wall of this shed and plunge into you over and over and over. I want to make you scream my name louder than the thunder pounding in my ears.

As if reading my thoughts, you arch your back against my chest and grind your bottom into my hardness. I didn’t expect that at all, love. You’ve made my breath catch. You rub against me. Don’t tease me, Hermione.

“Oh, Ron,” your voice releases me and I grab your hips and pull you to me. I can’t help but growl; I’m so turned on by you.

“You drive me mad.” You turn around in my arms and attack me with your mouth. You’re not acting like my sweet little bookworm right now, are you? Hard, needy kisses. I like you like this, very much...the way your tiny body rises up to meet mine. You’ve never been this way with me before. My cock lurches by itself as you shimmy against me. I want to touch you everywhere. Right now! More hands...I need more hands!

Impatient, you’re so impatient, the way you’re yanking at my t-shirt. Whoa, woman! This is my Cannons shirt, don’t rip it. Aw, fuck! Rip it, just rip it off. Tear it to shreds.

But that orange monstrosity somehow finds its way to the straw-covered floor in one piece. Now YOUR hands are everywhere at once. You stare as you touch, looking at everything about me. It feels like you’re memorizing every freckle, every scar. I hate that I’m so freckled, but, oh, sweet Merlin! You’re going to kiss every one of them, aren’t you? Your lips and tongue move across my chest, your hands softly light upon my shoulders...

Your hair--it’s all I can see. I kiss the top of your head and I swear I can feel your mouth curve into a slow smile against my bare chest. You’re licking at a nipple and I didn’t think that would turn me on so much, but, damn, you just bit me! Ow, ow, ow, oh, wow...remind me to do that to you...

So you want to play rough, huh? I sink the fingers of one hand in your hair and pull your head back, making you squeak. Red hot anger flashes in your eyes before I kiss you hard, like this is the last time I’ll ever get to kiss you and I want to make it last.

You lean back slightly, giving me permission. Your arms fall slack to your sides, giving in. You’re giving in to me. Ok then, I’ll do something romantic, like, like, like, sweep you off your feet. Yes, I’ll do that.

Ha, ha! You’re so light. You burst into laughter as I spin around and pretend I’m about to drop you. I can’t help but laugh more as I carry you to the back of the shed. After I set you on your feet, I turn to see if I can find something to spread out for us. I shuffle through some tools and old muggle trinkets of Dad’s. When I find some tattered blankets, you help me spread a few of them out in a dark corner, gazing at me across the material as it billows to the floor.

“This is where we used to keep the car. But now we just keep the animals in here during winter, that, and Dad just tinkers around out here.” You’ve pulled your sandals off and I guess I need to remove my wet shoes and socks. I notice you’re shivering a bit and I instinctively put my arms around you.

You’re cold, no, you’re freezing. I try to rub some warmth into you arms, then grab another blanket and drape it over your shoulders. Maybe a kiss will help.

So I do kiss you, slow and steady...unhurried. I love the way you tilt your head back and let it fall into my hands. Moving to hold your face in my hands as we kiss. Sliding my fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, your tongue so smooth and soft, your lips parting and closing in time with my own. Your tongue shyly reaching the edge of my lips, slowly, achingly dragging across my mouth. Your teeth, I like to inch my tongue across your teeth as your mouth goes slack. You’re relenting, Hermione, giving in to me. Give me more, give me all of you.

I feel your dainty fingers fluttering at my sides...now I’m breaking into chill bumps. They spread over my skin, burning me with a fiery cold. I’m melting, I’m melting into you. Soon I’ll be a puddle at your feet. My hands are shaking uncontrollably as my fingers find the collar of your dress, fumbling for the buttons, fighting to try to get them undone. My fingers aren’t working. I can’t believe I can cast complicated spells, but I don’t have the power to open a simple button!

Somehow I find a way to open each one. I can sense your smile as I bow my head to your face, cuddling you, like you were my very own puppy or kitten. I can almost hear you purr, Hermione.

When I part the material of your dress, it falls from your body and I’m awestruck by your loveliness. Your skin, so pale beneath the white lace of your bra and knickers. Modesty gets the better of you, and you move to cover yourself...but I grab your hands and hold them away from your body.

“Don’t be shy. Let me see you?” I plead. You stand, still as a statue, a crimson flush unfolding on your skin. You blush worse than a Weasley! I smile bashfully, honored to be able to look upon you so.

“Please, Ron.” You’ve bowed your head to hide your embarrassment. I won’t stare anymore. After all, I have the rest of our lives together to look at you this way, don’t I?

I reach for your knickers, hooking a finger at each of your hips, and slowly dragging them down your thighs, past your knees, to your delicate feet. You balance yourself against my shoulders so you can step out of them. As I stand again, I steal a secret glimpse of the hair between your legs, careful not to let you catch me looking. You’re dark brown down there. I’m dark red.

I put my arms around you once I’m standing and reach for the clasp of your bra. I find myself fumbling again. I don’t think I’ll ever get this part right. But with skillful hands and a lithe move that defies flexibility, you open the clasp...just like that. I’ll never be able to do that, Hermione. With a shrug, the straps slide from your shoulders and you hold the material over your breasts. I reach for the lace, gently taking it away, opening you as if you were a present. The wrapping falls to the floor at our feet.

I slowly bend to lave your nipple with my tongue, and then stop the movement with a firm suck.

“Oh, oh, oh, Ronnnn,” you moan as you lurch up to my mouth. I’ll never tire of this.

“Never leave me, Hermione, never leave me all alone,” I beg, I plead as I lap at the now hardened and puckered center of each of your breasts.

“Never,” you gasp, “I’ll never leave you.” Your voice bubbles in my ears and I am quick to catch you and pull you close before you can shy away and cover yourself. You should go naked, all the time, and I tell you so in a whisper. Another amazing blush spreads from your cheeks to your shoulders, threatening your courage once more. There’s nothing I want more than to nibble at your neck, and I do.

“Don’t shy away from me,” I whisper.

You take that next step and become braver because it is you who makes the move to lie down on our blanket. I’m caught in the wonder of you and I can only stare. A great artist should paint an image of you, here and now, as you are. I would gladly waste my life away just staring at that portrait. You before me, both shy and brave. So beautiful that I ache.

“Hermione,” I breathe your name. “I love you so much.” Your eyes glisten with tears as your lips form the same words in reply...with no sound...just the movement of your perfect lips.

I love you.

Thunder jars us back and I realize I need to get rid of my trousers and pants if this act is to be made complete. You reach to assist me and in seconds the rest of my clothes have joined your dress.

Your eager hands find my shoulders again as I kneel between your legs. You’re urging me to lie atop you. I struggle to cover us with the old blankets as the chill from the air makes itself known. Then I cover your small frame with my body. Make you warm, I want to make you warm. Burn for me, Hermione. Your hair spreads out in the straw and your eyes are luminous in their dim surroundings. I cover and protect as much of you as I can. My heart is pounding so hard...and yours is answering every beat. Forever, Hermione, forever. This is going to be forever...

“Marry me, Hermione.”

The words are past my lips before I complete the thought. We both tense, but I’ll not let this stop. I reach down to position myself at your entrance. Your wide eyes glance down between us before looking back at me.

“Please?” I nudge your legs farther apart with my own as the tip of my cock meets your wetness. I draw my hand up and gently stroke your clit as you jerk in response. “Make this last forever. Tell me you’ll never leave.”

Your hands cup my cheeks and your fingers lace into my hair. Your eyes, so brown and warm, they aren’t looking away now. You’re not looking away.

I mouth the words...I love you...

You’re smiling now, and you nod your head and whisper, “Yes...”

I’m looking at you, wondering for what reason your yes was spoken.

“Yes...yes...I’ll marry you, Ronald Weasley.” Your arms wrap around my neck.

With a tilt of your hips my tip is encased in your warmth. Courage, this calls for courage...courage and boldness. Don’t look away from me...and I promise, I’ll never look away from you. Our eyes are locked as I ease into you. Brilliant...warm and tight. I know I’m probably making the silliest face, but you’re not laughing at me. You never laugh at me. Your slender neck is arched back and your head is lifting your shoulders from the blanket. Our eyes, they never break contact. Your look is intense as your mouth curves into a flawless “O” before going flat as you bite your bottom lip.

You’re whispering to me now, promises. Promising yourself to me and me alone. My movements inside you are slow and steady.

“I won’t last much longer,” I growl into your neck.

“Then be still, love.” Your moans and sighs encourage me to keep moving, but I mustn’t, not just yet.

So I lie still, my breathing heavy and ragged. I like that you’re panting as much as I am. That’s right; yes...I can make you feel the same as you make me. I can do that to you, Hermione, yes!

But now I have to be very still. Very still and sweaty. I’m above you, resting my weight on my arms. I feel your small hands moving up and down my back, stopping occasionally to move in little circles. I’ve always needed your touch.

I pull back and look down between us and notice you’re sweating too. When I see the place where our bodies are joined, I almost lose myself in you.

“Look at us,” you whisper.

I suddenly realize the need to touch you there once more, at that spot that makes you wild and unrestrained. My fingers slid through your folds to find that nub and you shudder again.

“Be still or I’m going to come,” I pant.

“Well, it’s just that it’s, oh, oh, OH...so diff-i-cult,” you gasp “to be still when, when, when...uhnnnnn...you’re driving me mad like, like, like, like...oh, God...oh, RON!!!”

Your mouth opens in a fierce yell as you start to come. Now THAT is the most wonderful sound in the world--my name shouted from your lips as you come for me...come for me, Hermione.

As my name spills from your mouth, I begin to move once more. I thrust and pump into you and I swear I can feel the back of your womb with the tip of my cock.

I’m surprised to find that one of your legs is wrapped around my waist and I can feel your foot planted at the small of my back, forcing me even deeper inside you. A second surprise comes as I notice that your arm is holding your other leg up to your side, your knee almost even with your shoulder. Holy fucking Merlin! Where was I when you did that?

I’ve got to think quickly, so I slide my arm to your leg and brace it with my shoulder. You’re pinned beneath me...you’re moaning and writhing and mewling beneath me. My soul is bursting, Hermione...you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

“Hermione," I thrust hard and pull back to yet another moan from you, “Weasley,” I growl, my voice and movement anything but gentle. “Hermione,” I force all my strength and energy into you. “Weasley...Hermione,” a groan, a harsh groan, “...Weasley,” a push and another growl and you moan as if you were dying.

Your hands are holding my face again as our foreheads touch and bump with our eager movements. Flashes of lightning are illuminating the room, branding your image into my memory. I’ll always remember you like this...the moment you promised yourself to me, forever.

I finally lose control and begin to empty deep inside you. My body tenses and explodes with each heartbeat. I’m not going to...close my eyes...this...time! No...NO! I want to see you. I want to see you! Then my eyes close...so tightly. I can’t keep them open. I’ve lost sight of you! My entire body seizes up and I lose you...

“Hermione Weasley, Hermione Weasley, Hermione Weasley, Hermione Weasley,” your melodic whisper caresses my ear. “I love you, Ron...”

A boom of thunder rattles through me and my world goes hazy as I call out your name.

***

Time stood still for me in that moment, love. My entire life flashed before me in the glow of the lightning as it burst around us. I saw our life together, the life we hadn’t yet lived, stretching out in front of me in the blink of an eye.

And then it was gone...

***

Your soft laughter brings me back as I realize my strength has fled and I am now crushing your body beneath mine. I love the sound of your laughter. Please, let me hear it for the remainder of my days. I kiss your face, your sweet face, your eyes, your lips, as I release your leg.

“I’m so in love with you.”

“And I’m in love with you too, Mr. Weasley.” Now we’re both smiling and laughing and kissing and I want nothing more than for this moment to last forever...when I hear a faint noise...a growl, feral and angry.

Now it’s getting louder and I move to cover you, protect you.

“Sometimes we get wild animals in here during bad weather. Just be still, be quiet,” I hold you tightly as I realize I’m still inside you. We lay together, absolutely still as the growl gets closer. Without moving, I look about, trying to locate its source.

Then I see something, over by the broken board where there’s a splintered hole in the wall. A faint light flashes through it to the outside. You stir.

“Shhh,” I look down at you quickly.

There it is! Some sort of animal, stalking through the hole to escape the storm. It looks to be furry, but the rain has soiled and matted its fur.

“Blimey! It’s Crookshanks!”

“What?” You finally turn to see. “Crookshanks, where have you been hiding?” He snarls at you as he marches past us, apparently dragging something with him. You squirm and try to see where he is going. “Crookshanks! Answer me! Where are you going?” You push me off and wrap yourself in one of the blankets. “What do you have? Crookshanks, come here now!” The irritation in your voice peaks as he continues to ignore you. I squint to see what he is carrying.

“Bloody hell, Hermione! He’s got mum’s roast chicken!” I cover myself with the other blanket as Crookshanks disappears behind an old wooden crate in the corner. I gather you to me as we get up to follow him. The lightning still flares and the thunder still rumbles as we quietly make our way to the dark corner of the shed. You gasp as you peak around the crate and I tense slightly and pull you close before I see...

“KITTENS!” you squeal. “Ron, there are kittens back here! Awwwww! Look, kittens!”

Yes Hermione, kittens...what is it about a litter of kittens that transforms the smartest witch I’ve ever known into a squealing little girl?

“So this is where our old Grimalkin disappeared to,” I can’t help but smile. “We thought she was too old for kittens. Guess Crookshanks fixed that!”

You slap me on the arm as we watch him offer the meat to her. He nuzzles and licks her brown face as she takes a hungry bite. She remains on her side to accommodate her nursing kits.

“I’ve never heard her purr before,” I reach down to touch one of the kittens but you grab my hand back.

“Be careful, the new Mummy and Daddy might be overprotective just yet.” You lace your fingers with mine. I bring the back of your hand to my lips in a kiss. Crookshanks growls again.

“My hero, Hermione,” I grin at you. “You’ve surely saved me from you-know-who,” I chuckle and point down at Crookshanks.

You swat at me once more.

“Look, one has a bottlebrush tail already!” You sound so excited. The Grimalkin looks at us with a glazed _expression as she continues to purr.

“She’s making bread,” I whisper and kiss your temple as the new mother works her paws at her mate’s side.

“Yes! Oh Ron, here’s the proof--Crookshanks is a kneazle.” You laugh as you take me in a warm embrace. “Male cats hide or destroy the babies to perpetuate the queen’s heat cycle. And kneazle males, they mate for life and protect their spouse and their young to the death.”

I squeeze you against me, then pull back to look at your teary eyes before I speak. “Just like wizards...”

***

The closest clap of thunder roars at that moment and light bursts around me as an unseen explosion knocks me to my hands and knees.

You’re gone.

All I see is blackness. Fear grips me. I’ve been here before as well. But this, this memory is much more recent, and much more unpleasant.

Somewhere in the dark distance, I hear a scream, the masculine scream of my best friend. He needs me, needs my help. He can’t do this thing alone. We promised him we wouldn’t let him and in your next breath you promised us, promised ME, you would stay away, stay safe, for the sake of the baby. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing you are far, far away from here.

I grope and feel for anything in the pitch black. Water and rocks and bones are scattered everywhere. Harry’s screaming continues. I have to get to him, so I crawl. I crawl to the side of the room until I feel the stone wall with my scraped and bloodied fingers and pull myself up to stand. Fumbling for my wand with my free hand, I break into a run, running toward the screams as they echo through the dungeons.

The yelling stops and fear grips me again. If he would just keep screaming, I’d know he was still alive...

Come on, Harry, scream, you bastard, scream! Let me know where you are!

A faint light appears ahead of me and I know I’ve found him. As I peer around the doorway, I see him, Harry, held motionless by a Death Eater at each side. And then there’s Voldemort. He’s there too and I’m scared shitless. Voldemort stands across the room from Harry. Not too close, he’s become too afraid of Harry to get very close to him. Voldemort is holding two wands, both pointed at Harry. I can only assume they are the phoenix feather wands.

I can’t let this happen. I have to help him, save him somehow. This is it; I have no other choice...

And this is the precise moment that you grasp my shoulder and pull me back. I spin around and slam you against the wall, thinking you’re another Death Eater, but as I see the point of my wand pressing into the flesh of your neck, I realize it’s you. Your eyes are wide with the reflection of my own fear and shock. And disbelief--complete disbelief. You shouldn’t be here, Hermione! Why? Why did you do this?

Your soft eyes well and I become conscious of how thankful I am to see you, perhaps for the last time.

“Go to him, help him,” you usher me on.

I realize that I can do this. I see myself in your eyes and I know my whole life was meant for this very moment. Before I step away from you I place my hand against your swollen belly. To be able to look into your eyes one last time.

I will miss this most of all...

“Go on, love,” you whisper as the tears fall down your face.

Then I turn and step through the doorway to face my fate...

I honestly wish I had no memory of what took place after that.

No memory of Voldemort’s reptilian eyes turning to meet mine...

No memory of his voice hissing a curse I had never heard before...

“Enflamus Electricus!”

No memory of the bolt of lightning as it sped from the tips of both wands, now pointed at me...

No memory of seeing you, the only girl I will ever love, step into harm’s way to keep me from dying...

No memory of watching the flash of lightning engulf you, only to drop you, lifeless and twitching, to the cold stone floor...

No memory of my heart being ripped from my chest as I run to cradle you in my arms...

“Baby, wake up...baby, wake up! Oh please, oh please, Hermione, don’t be dead!”

I look up at Harry through my tears...seeing rage and devastation on his face...

I see him slowly turn from you and me to look at Voldemort...

I see his body take on a brilliant glow as he raises his right hand to Voldemort...

Then I hear the words from Voldemort that have terrified me my entire life.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!!!”

I watch in horror as I see the green flash of light stream from both wands toward Harry.

***

He didn’t even need a wand.

Harry only lifted his hand and the torrent of light from the spell bounced back onto Voldemort.

Voldemort never had a chance...

***

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, please come with me.”

Another nurse asks me to follow her. She refuses to meet my eyes. This can’t be good if she won’t look at me. My father pats me on the back and my mother covers her eyes with her hands. I hear her sobbing again. I glance around at my family, but no one will look at me, not even Harry and Ginny.

As I turn from my family to follow this stranger, I begin praying I will be able to handle this without losing my sanity. I didn’t tell you everything I should have told you, Hermione. I knew you for seven years, seven wasted years. If I ever get to live my life over again, I’m going to kiss you on that very first day, when you walk into my compartment, looking for Neville’s toad. I don’t care if you react badly; I’m going to do it anyway. And next time, Hermione, I’m going to give you the world. I don’t care, next time I’m going to make sure you have everything you ever wanted and more, even if I have to steal it all to give it to you. When we meet again, I’m going to kiss you more often and hold your hand every second I’m with you. You’ll grow tired of me, but it won’t matter, because I’ll have you back. I’ll have you back.

The nurse leads me down a long corridor. We stop in front of an open door. Inside, you lay still, a single white sheet covering your body, your hands folded reverently on your now-flat stomach. Your eyes are closed and I’ve never seen you look more peaceful, more angelic.

“Mrs. Weasley wishes to speak to you.”

“What? What did you say?” But the nurse is gone. I step into the room and notice you slowly turning your head toward me, as if the movement requires more strength than you possess.

“You’re alive!” Unable to stop myself, I run to your side. This is my chance. I’m going to kiss you more often and hold your hand every second I’m with you. I’m kneeling beside you, clutching one of your hands. I’m kissing your face while my other hand caresses your messy hair, your wonderful, beautiful, curly, messy hair. You’re as weak as our kittens once were...but you’re here...you didn’t leave me! I barely hear your laughter as it mixes with my own. And my tears, my tears are suddenly joyful.

“Sweetie,” you rasp.

“Sh, sh, sh, don’t say anything. Save your strength, love.” I lay my head on the bed beside yours, your eyes so close to mine. “Sh, sh, sh...I have you back.”

“But sweetie, I have to,” you take a deep breath, fighting some unseen pain, “have to tell you something, about, something about the baby...” Your voice trails off.

“I know, I know,” I interrupt. “It’s all right, Hermione. We can have another baby.”

“No, sweetie.” The grimace on your face tells me all I need to know.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. We’ll adopt, then. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. Sh, sh, sh, sh.” I want to kiss away your pain. “I love you no matter what.”

“Ron, would you SHUT UP for one second?” Your tone and volume surprise me.

“Hermione?” Even in your condition, you still have the wherewithal to chastise me, to row with me, even now.

As you nudge your head to mine...I recall the day we made love in that storm...how we watched my Grimalkin nuzzle with Crookshanks after the birth of their kits. That was the day we made our baby. Don’t worry, love, we’ll have children soon enough, a whole litter of children if you want.

“Sweetie?” you whisper.

As I look at you, so close to me, I nod and try to smile, just for you.

“Yes, Hermione?”

“The baby’s a boy.”

“What?”

“Our baby...he’s a boy.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you smile as my laughter fills the room...

It’s a boy!

Note: The idea for this story was shamelessly taken from the John Hughes movie, “She’s Having a Baby.” The title of the story is from Kate Bush’s song, “This Woman’s Work,” which also happens to be featured in the aforementioned movie. My eternal gratitude goes out to PureBloodGryffindor and Lizabethy (Angelfeather) for being my wonderful betas. Much thanks also goes out to Skeeter-Sam (Poidog) for the wonderful ideas and suggestions, and for reading my fanfiction, even though it’s smut. ;-)

And another

2004-03-15T11:01:50Z

Title: What I want
Written by: annalisa
Rating: PG-13
Written for myunet

Silently she signed the letter, tucked it in her robes and started to make her way up to the owlry. She had been secretly keeping correspondence with Viktor since their 4th year. He asked her to come visit him over Christmas break and yet again she refused. He said all he wanted was friendship from her but she knew better than that, anyway her friendship with Ron was flourishing and she hoped soon they would be more than just friends. This is why she had to keep her and Viktorâ€™s letters a secret; if Ron knew anything of it he would be furious.

She stepped into the owlry and tied the letter to a brown school owlâ€™s leg and sent it away. As the owl left the window sill, the door to the owlry opened and Hermione was quite surprised at who had walked through it.

â€œWhat are you doing here this early?â€ he said skeptically.

â€œJust sending a letter to my parents is all.â€ She replied calmly.

â€œYeah same hereâ€

Ron took his letter and attached it to Pigs foot and sent his flying out the window. He turned as Hermione started-

â€œSpeaking of your parents, mine wanted to know if you Harry and Ginny would like to join us for Christmas break. Itâ€™s just a thought, you donâ€™t have to go of courseâ€, Hermione was expecting this to be a shock to Ron because they had always gone to the Burrow for events like this, but he didnâ€™t seem to mind at all.

â€œSounds coolâ€ he said with a shrug â€œIâ€™ll write my mum when she replies.â€
Hermioneâ€™s head flooded with excited thoughts when he said he would come and as the huge smile came across her lips he smirked at her as if he knew what she was thinking. She blushed and giggled because she didnâ€™t mind that the thought was coming across his mind also.

An hour or two later as Ron was washing himself he couldnâ€™t help but think about how excited he was to be going somewhere different for break, especially since it was Hermioneâ€™s house they were going to. He scrubbed shampoo into his auburn hair and wished he could run his hands through Hermioneâ€™s beautiful waves. There friendship was growing and both of them knew, they had a silent bond and soon he was going to end this silence.

Down at Breakfast they took their usual seats and Ron guessed Hermione had already told Ginny and Harry about going to her house when Ron was in the shower. Everyone seemed pretty excited about it; Ron just wished Ginny didnâ€™t have to tag along. Ginny had always been left out of things, even as children, being the only girl and all. Ron felt bad because of this and in any other case wouldnâ€™t have minded that much. But since Ron was planning on telling Hermione how he felt over this break and if everything worked out to plan that would just leave Harry and Ginny alone together and everyone knows Ginny had a major crush on Harry during her 1st year. He was just didnâ€™t want her to make a fool of herself is all, plus he didnâ€™t want her to ruin his chances with Hermione. Ginny and Harry were busy talking about the trip so that left Ron and Hermione to talk to themselves. Sometimes Ron wondered if Harry did it on purpose, you know, talk to Ginny all the time so Hermione and Ron could talk with themselves.

Ron, Ginny and Harry all followed Hermione inside, eyeing the unfamiliar house. Suddenly Hermione noticed something coming towards her face, she turned and Ron started to whisper something in her ear, he obviously noticed her quick intake of breath and frightened but excited look on her face and decided to make a joke out of it. He got her all excited just to askâ€¦

â€œWhatâ€™s for dinner?â€ and she simply turned and left all three of them with her parents as she made her way up to her room, Ron would find that a good punishment. She had to admit that his warm breath teasing her pure skin was something she often fantasized about but not in front of her family.

He wouldnâ€™t be able to wait much longer. Him and Harry unpacked their things in Hermioneâ€™s guest bedroom and Ronâ€™s mind couldnâ€™t stop wondering to Hermione. The way she looked earlier when his face was so close to hers made him want to stay like that forever, but the cocky and sarcastic side always takes over. He wanted to be with her so bad he hasnâ€™t thought about anything else for ages.

â€œSo, when are you going to tell her?â€ Harry said as if reading his mind.

She left Ginny in their room to go and help her parents with dinner and see how Ron and Harry liked their room. She made her way down the familiar hall ways and glanced at the baby pictures and family portraits as she passed them. It felt nice to be home, to see all the people she missed and loved. She was just outside Ron and Harryâ€™s door now and she can hear their voices inside-

â€œI donâ€™t know if it can wait much longer than tonight.â€

â€œGood because I donâ€™t think she can eitherâ€
â€˜Ah ha I was right! He does like me back!â€™ and with the thought crossing her head her knees gave out and she fell to the floor with a thump.

â€œHey, Mione are you ok?â€ she could hear Ron choking back a laugh above her and Harry openly hysterical.

â€œUh, yea, Iâ€™m alright.â€ She was feeling a little flustered now as Ron helped her up and started to help her brush off her clothes- â€œRon its ok, I just came up to see if you guys were alright.â€

â€œYeah weâ€™re good.â€

â€œHermione would it be ok if I went to take a look in your room?â€ Harry asked innocently, as if he didnâ€™t know Ginny would be in there alone.

â€œSure, just uh, donâ€™t get too messy, okâ€

â€œOh course not, Iâ€™m just going to take a look.â€ He said with a sigh as Hermione turned back to Ron.

â€œWell, I have to go and help my parents down stairs-â€œ

â€œLet me come with you, Iâ€™m uh, great with parentsâ€ he said and could see Hermione chuckle out of the corner of his eye.

Later that night at dinner.

â€œNo, defiantly the funniest thing ever was Ron trying to stir tomato sauce.â€

â€œFall on your face lately Hermione?â€ Harry Ron and Hermione all started to laugh while Ginny, and Mr. & Mrs. Granger looked utterly confused.

â€œOk well, anyone for dessert?â€ Hermioneâ€™s mom asked, she had the same bushy hair Hermione had but could defiantly tame it better. She was thin and had brown eyes and a beautiful smile, Ron could see where Hermione got her good looks. Ron didnâ€™t know much about the intellectual side of Hermioneâ€™s parents seeing as he only met them a couple hours ago but they seemed to love their practice and be very good at it.

â€œOf course, whatâ€™s dinner, or anything at that, without dessert?â€

â€œVery true Ron, very true.â€ She replied with a chuckle â€œOh, Hermione, dear, would you help me in the kitchen.

â€œOh course mumâ€ she pulled out her chair and walked into the kitchen to help her mom get the cake, she knew something was coming, her mum always put on an act for everyone to see but when they were alone, she was a controlling freak.

â€œSo, is there something youâ€™re not telling me about this Ron boy?â€

â€œWhat do you mean mum?â€

â€œWell it looks to me that you totally forgot about Viktor and are going to settle for thatâ€“Why hello Ron, is something wrong?â€ Ron entered the room.

â€œNope, just seeing if you need some extra hands?â€ he said enthusiastically, he obviously didnâ€™t hear what they had been talking about, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione shoot her mother a look that would have sent him, if he was receiving this, running.

â€œActually Ron, I think my mother is doing just fine by herself, lets go back inside.â€

â€œWell alright.â€ He answered tentatively, he didnâ€™t want to offended Hermioneâ€™s mother, or Hermione. After they left the room Ron pulled Hermione aside and asked â€œWhat was that all about?â€

â€œOh, nothing, you know how mums can beâ€ she said distantly, her mind seemed to be on 100 different things.

â€œHey guys!â€ Harry yelled.

â€˜Ugh, what?â€™ â€œYeah Har?â€ Ron replied.

â€œDessert is served!â€ Hermioneâ€™s mother said happily. Hermione started back towards the table but before she reached it her mum stopped her and said- â€œWeâ€™ll finish this later,â€ And resumed to put on her show for everyone with her huge smile.

â€œAnd thatâ€™s why you should floss daily.â€

â€œWow, thank you Dr. Granger!â€ Ginny said enthusiastically while she kicked Harry and Ron under the table to say thanks.

â€œYeah thanksâ€

â€œI really learned a lot sir.â€

â€œOk kids, I guess its time for some sleep!â€

â€œWow, heâ€™s worse than mum,â€ Ron whispered to Ginny

â€œWatch what you whisper Ronâ€ Hermione replied sneaking up behind him.

â€œWhere have you been the last hour Hermione?â€ Ron wished she was there to save them from the lecture on dental hygiene.

â€œJust got in a row with my mum, nothing to worry about, itâ€™s all settledâ€

â€œWell, Iâ€™m off to my room.â€ Ginny said

â€œOh, uh let me, uh, finish unpacking with you Ginâ€ Harry said without looking back, which left Hermione and Ron alone.

â€œYou know sometimes I wonder-â€œRon started

â€œHey why donâ€™t you come to the study with meâ€¦I can uh, show you old baby pictures.â€

â€œAny of you naked?â€

â€œRonald Weasley!â€ Hermione said as she slapped him in the arm, â€œmaybeâ€ she said under her breath, maybe a little too loud.

â€œThis should be fun, you lead the way,â€ and Hermione started walking when-

â€œOh Hermione, come here me and your father would like a chat with you.â€ Hermione gave Ron an annoyed look and told him to wait for her in his room.

â€œYes?â€
\
â€œHermione what happened to Viktor? You seemed to like him so much.â€ Her parents constantly tried to control her life, always telling her to do better and who to like or dislike, she quite franky had enough of it.

â€œNothing dad, I-â€œ

â€œYou what? You canâ€™t just do this to that poor boy; we liked him so very much.â€

â€œBloody hell dad! This isnâ€™t about you or mum, this is about me and what I want, and right now I donâ€™t want Viktor!â€ she could hear her mother screaming after her as she stormed out the room. â€˜Oh I hope Ron didnâ€™t hear thatâ€™ she had forgotten how close her guest room was to the room she was just screaming in. She opened the big white creaky door slowly.

"You and Viktor?â€ Ron said with a mixed look of surprise and hurt.

â€œOh Ron, Iâ€™m so sorry I didnâ€™t tell you, I didnâ€™t tell anyone-â€œ

â€œItâ€™s alright Hermie, as long as Iâ€™m the one you want now,â€ he said with a smile.

â€œOh you are!â€ and she embraced him for the first time and really meant it, and there they spent the night in each others arms.

After the best sleep he had it seemed in years he woke up to feel even better when seeing Hermione by his side. He could smell bacon and egg from the kitchen and he was so happy to be there, until he recalled the fight about him Hermione and her parents had last night. He gently kissed Hermioneâ€™s lips to wake her. Her eyes opened up to him and a smile came from the lips he just kissed.

â€œYes?â€ she said tiredly rubbing her eyes.

â€œWell, I was thinking maybe I should leave.â€ He could see disappointment in her eyes now, â€œI want you to come with me thought, I donâ€™t feel like Iâ€™m all that welcome here, we can spend the rest of vacation at the Burrow.â€

â€œOf course, if you feel that strongly about it, but lets get breakfast first,â€ she could tell he didnâ€™t want to be with her parents, â€œwe can eat in here.â€

â€œSounds great, should I go and get Harry and Ginny?â€

â€œUh, no itâ€™s ok; Iâ€™ll go get them while I get some eggs.â€ She started to make her way to the door but before she could reach she felt him grips her arm, so she turned and he kissed her gently again, before she got to brush her teeth of anything.

She gently closed the door behind her and tip toed over to her room, she didnâ€™t want her parents to catch her. She found Ginny getting out fresh clothes while Harry slept on her bed, she made a mental note to change her sheets.

â€œSh, donâ€™t make too much noise, heâ€™s still sleeping,â€ Ginny said pointing to Harry on the bed.

â€œLike I hadnâ€™t seen-â€œ Hermione replied in a normal tone.

â€œShush, youâ€™re so loud.â€

â€œWell it doesnâ€™t matter we should get up now anyway, me and Ron decided were going back to the Burrow for the rest of vacation.â€

â€œWhy, we just got here?â€

â€œUh, long story, Iâ€™ll explain some other time,â€ Hermione knew she wouldnâ€™t though, she felt it was something she and Ron should keep to themselves. â€œHey Har, wake up!â€ she said shaking him furiously. He made a grunting noise and turned over.

â€œYeah?â€ he sighed out rubbing his eyes.

â€œCome on, weâ€™re going to get breakfast then go back to the Burrow.â€

â€œOh alright,â€ he said absently.

While in the kitchen Hermioneâ€™s parents eyes remained on her waiting for her to make contact. She got her food and some for Ron and when asked where he was by Harry she simply said waiting for me to come back. Her parents wanted to call her out of the room and interrogate her once more but they knew she would not follow through with their request. They all made their way back to where Ron was awaiting them and ate breakfast all together and they all seemed equally happy to be going back to the Burrow for vacation.

His hand grasping Hermioneâ€™s tight as he turned the knob into a place where he felt welcome and everything was right.

And yet another

2004-03-15T10:58:26Z

Title: SuperHero
Author: Katekas
Rating PG-13
Written for: harpinred

Superhero by Katekas, for Harpinred.

Hermione yawned and pulled her arms into a stretch over her head. Her back and shoulders cracked and she winced slightly. At least she finally had finished her Arithmancy essay and had a couple of hours left before bedtime to enjoy herself, doing what she liked best: curling up in her favourite armchair in front of the fire, with Crookshanks on her lap, not forgetting a good book – the most important thing of all.

She packed her bag up neatly, rolling up her essay and slotting it into the section she had specially charmed to hold her parchments in. It was important to Hermione for her work to not only be good, but look good, too. Ron had scoffed at her when she had explained this to him a couple of weeks earlier. “Honestly, ‘Mione,” he had said, deliberately using a shortened version of her name to annoy her, “I swear sometimes I just don’t understand your whole obsession with work. You need to take a break. Making sure your parchment looks nice? I tell you, they’re lucky if they even get a parchment from me!”

Harry had chuckled at this, but Hermione had rolled her eyes and said nothing. She had learnt it was best not to quibble about the subject of her working too hard, it was for the best. It was bothering her recently, this idea of perhaps taking things, especially her work, to extremes. She knew she worked hard, but also knew the benefits of relaxation. Which is why, she told herself as she turned down the corridor with the Fat Lady’s portrait, she was taking the rest of the evening off.

“Noisy crickets!” she said to the portrait.

“Enjoy your evening, dear,” replied the Fat Lady as she swung forward to let the sixth year in. “And don’t work too hard!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief – even the portraits knew how hard she liked to study. She glanced around the common room for her two best friends. Spotting a familiar shock of red hair stretched out in front of the fire, she ambled over to him, picking up a mug of hot chocolate on the way. Ron smiled up at her, munching on a sugar quill. “You alright?” he asked, sitting up. Hermione smiled as she sat down beside him, smoothing down her school skirt. “I’m good, Ron. What are you up to?”

Ron shrugged. “Ah, you know, the usual. I’m trying very hard not to do any work.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know what? It’s succeeding.”

Hermione grinned, and sipped at her drink. This was just what she wanted, an evening with Ron. It was not often just the two of them, and she really appreciated the times they did spend together. It was as if when she was with him, everything seemed to be all right.

Hermione lay down on her front, resting her head on her arms. She could stay like this for hours, just sitting in the company of her best friend, not saying anything and yet communicating. Her feelings for Ron seemed amplified, on a deeper level than usual; as if there was something they were both trying to say but could not with words. She gasped slightly as she felt him take a stray curl and start to idly play with it. It was unlike him in so many ways to be affectionate; he was never the overly touchy type that she seemed to be, especially towards him. It had been a while when she had no worries like this; sometimes it was good to just let go. With all the fears about Voldemort growing ever more, it was good for them to act like normal teenagers for a while. She sighed contentedly; right now, her life seemed to be perfect.

She turned over to look at Ron, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, a small smile playing on his lips. She smiled up at him. “What are you thinking about?”

Ron grinned back. “I’m thinking that we must have lost track of time. The common room is completely empty.”

Hermione leaned up to look around; Ron was right. There was no one left, apart from someone’s cat sleeping quietly on a chair in the corner. “We’ve been lying here for hours! I didn’t even notice people leaving.” She paused. “I wonder where Harry is, he would have come over.”

Ron shrugged. “He’s probably still with Dumbledore. He’s been spending a lot of time in his office recently. Harry won’t say about what either, but it’s got something to do with Voldemort. I know it does. But I just wish….’ Ron sighed. “I just wish that he could talk to us about his problems. We’re his best friends, Hermione, and he’s just so closed off about it all. It’s his bloody nobility superhero complex thing and it drives me nuts!”

Hermione was taken by surprise by Ron’s sudden outburst of feelings, but she could understand it. Feeling that it was the right thing to do in the situation, she slowly took his hand. Ron looked at her, his blue eyes watery and intense. “I know it’s tough, Ron, but we just have to be there for Harry. That’s what we do, what we’re here for. And he’ll talk when he’s ready, I know he will.”

The left side of Ron’s mouth turned upwards in a half smile. “I guess so.”

Hermione grinned. “I know so.”

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “If you were a superhero, Hermione, you would be Knowledge Woman. You would destroy your enemies with random facts and really heavy books.”

Hermione laughed. “I’m sure. And what would you be, if you were a superhero?”

Ron put on a thoughtful _expression. He was silent for a few moments, and Hermione found herself staring at the corner of his mouth. “I wonder what it would be like to kiss him…” she wondered, before chastising herself for thinking of this. He was her best friend, for Pete’s sake and therefore completely out of bounds. Ron suddenly spoke up, jolting her out of her daydream.

“I would be SuperRon, defender of Knowledge Woman. When she is in danger, SuperRon flies faster than a Firebolt to the rescue!” Hermione suddenly felt a strong arm around her waist as Ron hoisted her onto his shoulder. “Ron!’ she squealed. “Put me down!”

Ron ran with her to the other side of the common room. “Never fear, maiden, SuperRon is here to rescue you from the Evil Mountain of Work! My archnemesis, the wicked Professor of Doom, tried to trap you with excess homework and infinite essays, but I have rescued you from a lifetime of drudgery!” She laughed as she feebly pummelled his back in vain. He whirled around a couple of times, before putting her back down on the floor, his hands still firmly on her waist. They were inches apart.

“You saved my life! What can I do to ever repay you, SuperRon?” Hermione asked, continuing the game. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes ablaze with excitement. As they both panted from the exertion, she felt the atmosphere in the room suddenly change. They stood there, just looking into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. She became very aware of the two of them standing so very close. If she just tilted her head up and he moved his down to hers, then their lips would touch and…

“I…ummm….I think it’s time for us to go to bed.” Ron broke the silence, dropping his hands. “I mean, our separate beds, not…together, or anything.” He looked at his feet, his ears glowing red. Hermione nodded. She was desperate for the evening to not end, but had no idea how to prolong it. Reluctantly, she agreed. “You’re right,’ she lied. “We’ve got Potions in the morning; I don’t want to be overtired for that.”

They walked slowly towards the staircase leading to the girl’s dormitories in silence. As they got to the foot of the stairs, Ron turned to Hermione. “I better go, I can’t go up there, you know, because of….”

“I know. The alarm.” Hermione replied. Outwardly, she tried to give off a feeling of indifference, inwardly, she was in turmoil. She forced a smile. “Well…goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” Responded Ron awkwardly. They looked at each other for a moment, and a bolt of tension ran through Hermione’s body, making her shiver with pleasure. Before she could think about what she was doing, Hermione pressed her lips to the corner of Ron’s mouth. She held her lips there for a few seconds, before pulling away again and scurrying up the staircase up to her room.

Hermione closed the door of her room and leant against it, breathing hard, heart pounding. Closing her eyes, she relived the moment her lips touched his. It had seemed so right, a perfect end to a perfect evening. She walked over to her bed, and undressed quickly, folding her clothes neatly on her chair. Her heart was still racing as she slipped under her duvet. She licked her lips and she thought she could detect the faintest taste of sugar quills. She felt as if nothing would be normal between herself and Ron again; she had fallen for her best friend, Ron Weasley. She closed her eyes, and pictured his face in her mind’s eye. She could see every freckle, every fleck of blue in his eyes, the exact colour and shape of his mouth. As Hermione finally drifted off to sleep, she had one final thought: Harry may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but Ron was her superhero.

And another

2004-03-15T10:54:12Z

Author: Nothing

Genre: Romance, Angst

Rating: NC-17, for graphic sexual scenes

Pairing: R/Hr

Summary: When war is raging around you and you’re helpless to the cause, sometimes all you can do is cling to each other and hope.

Written for LadyAnabelle in response to the R/Hr Fic-a-thon.

A/N:I hope you all enjoy it! Reviews are always appreciated ^_^

***

Holding On

The air in the Gryffindor common room was cheery and warm, indicative of the festive season. Green banners and bows hung from the arched stone ceiling and along the walls, occasionally spewing out glittering silver confetti over the passing students. A perpetual fire crackled in the grate and lit the room with a soft orange glow. Hidden in the corner, behind a pile of open books yet not really seeing them, was a girl with bushy brown hair and serious eyes, a Head Girl badge pinned carefully to her black robes, staring passively at the wall. Her cinnamon eyes were unfocussed, her eyebrows stitched into a half-frown, as she thought of things that haunted her far more frequently than she would have wished.

Absently Hermione lifted her quill to her lips and began to chew on its end. The wall blurred into a sea of red and gold as she contemplated her life and its sorrows and fears since the war had begun. In first year she never would have believed that being a witch would be quite so wonderful and yet so terrifying and horrible at the same time. Most of her time these days, when she wasn’t in classes or studying, was spent worrying about her friends and the members of the Order who risked their lives every day for the Light. Recently she had even found it difficult to concentrate on her studies, her mind often wandering to unpleasantries as it did now.

Living in a war was neither as glamorous nor as exciting as she had anticipated, and more often than not she, Harry and Ron were confined to the castle with little to no explanation of the goings on apart from the articles printed in the Daily Prophet – and Hermione was beginning to question their reliability. The three friends, despite Harry’s toils with the Dark Lord, sat very much on the sidelines, doing what they could but being ultimately helpless.

Still, it wasn’t as if there weren’t good parts to her life. She was extremely proud of herself for being chosen as Head Girl, and was equally intrigued with her studies which were far more interesting and complicated now that she was in her final year. Most of all, though, it was Ron who kept her head straight, who stopped her from slipping too far into melancholy or disturbing thoughts. She wished she could say the same with Harry, but he had never quite recovered from the death of his godfather and those after him, and spent the majority of his time alternating between great lengths of brooding and raging outbursts that disrupted even the most remote corners of the castle.

Of course, her relationship with Ron wasn’t exactly the same as with Harry. One morning at the end of their sixth year, after being teased and prodded by his sister and Harry until his ears were the deepest shade of red Hermione had ever seen, Ron had dragged her into the courtyard and, after pacing in the thick grass for a few moments, had gazed at her with such piercing strength that it took her breath away. Moments later he had stuttered the question Hermione had been hoping to hear for over two years: will you go out with me? Hermione, of course, had said yes, and ever since she and Ron had grown into much more than best friends, now sharing a closeness that Hermione had not thought possible.

Sometimes, when they were alone – usually late in the evening after everyone had gone to bed – Ron would wrap his arms around her and hug her as though he would never let go, as if he were afraid to let go. And in those times Hermione would hug him back fiercely, smooth out his ruffled flame of hair and thank whatever Gods had brought him to her and kept him so. Hermione understood his fear, because it was her own.

She tried not to dwell on it, but it was difficult without classes or friends to distract her, and so she sat alone underneath the cheery Christmas decorations, staring at the wall with a ball of worry gnawing away at her gut.

“Hermione. Hermione! Oi! HERMIONE!” Hermione stirred at the sound of a deep male voice, tilting her face upwards towards the sound. A tall young man stood before her, dripping wet and shivering in his maroon jumper, his red hair tousled and sticking about his head in an undeniably sexy way. Hermione felt a soft blush creep up her cheeks and she smiled.

“Hello Ron,” she said, her voice sounding rough to her ears.

“Hello Hermione,” Ron responded, his voice light and teasing, and motioned towards the stack of books on the table in front of her. “Up to your usual, I see.”

“Not really,” Hermione shrugged and rested her chewed up quill on the topmost volume.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ron chucked, and settled down next to her. Hermione nuzzled into his warmth only to find him soggy and cold. She sat back abruptly.

“You’re wet,” she stated.

“I’ve noticed,” Ron chortled with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well obviously, but why?”

“Fell into the snow. Ginny’s a pretty good bludger, you know.”

“You’re all right?” Hermione asked, a tinge of concern creeping into her voice. Ron nodded and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m fine, just wet.”

“Where are Harry and Ginny, anyways?” said Hermione curiously, peering around behind her beau to see if she could spot the pair.

“Still out on the pitch, which means,” Ron grinned as a mischievous sparkle came into his eyes, “we’re alone.”

“Oh!” Hermione squeaked as she understood Ron’s insinuation and vivid images of his freckled, naked body suddenly clogged her mind. Ron leaned into her and kissed along her neck. Hermione breathed in his scent, dark and musky, and grasped his jumper as her senses fired electric bolts through her body. The sweater squished beneath her fingers, and Hermione once again found herself pulling away.

“You’re still wet,” she said vexedly. Ron appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then a fiery gleam, twice as vibrant as before, escaped his eyes. He grasped her wrist between his callused fingers, and brought her to her feet.

“I have an idea,” he said, “follow me.” Hermione did so, and allowed herself to be pulled out of the common room and away from Gryffindor Tower. She did not ask where they were going, though she wondered, and felt her stomach hitch in excitement as they trotted covertly along the great stone corridors. Along a narrow hall Hermione found herself passing the statue of Boris the Bewildered, and suddenly she knew where Ron was taking her. Ron whispered a password in front of the thick oak door, and it swung open, revealing to them the large sunken bathtub with its many taps, and the stalls beyond – the Prefect’s bathroom.

Ron closed the door behind them and then turned to Hermione with a dark flare of desire behind his eyes. His hair, having dried on the walk down, fell into his face and half-hid his gleaming orbs behind a curtain of flaming hairs. Hermione felt her stomach swing in anticipation and her breath quickened despite her lack of movement. Ron always looked so intense before they made love, as if a beast were about to be set free upon her. She loved it, loved the way he stood tense and ready to devour her whole. A spark ignited inside her and she stepped toward him, pulling off the sodden jumper that disturbed them so and threw it to the floor. Underneath was a plain white t-shirt, worn thin with age and patched with spots of wet where the water had seeped through the thick sweater.

Ron withdrew his wand and pointed it at her abdomen, mumbling familiar words, and then at the door, saying a rough ‘Colloportus’ before shoving it back into his jeans.

“Just in case,” he winked, and then let loose a growl as he pushed Hermione to the door, pinning her between his muscular weight and the cool wood. He savaged her mouth with his own, pressing his lips against her and dipping his tongue fervently along her mouth. Hermione moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair. Quickly their clothes were removed and thrown haphazardly onto the tiled floor as they continued to kiss each other hungrily, their hands skirting along each other’s naked bodies.

Hermione released another moan as Ron’s fingers brushed her nipple and teased it into a knobby peak. Expertly her own hands glided along his back, resting against his buttocks and pulling him into her until his hardness ground into her stomach.

“Bathtub,” Ron growled, his voice low and thick with desire. Swiftly Hermione nodded and went to the bath, turning on taps as she lowered herself into the water. Ron slid in next to her and then she found herself once again pressed with her back against the wall, only this time beneath a pool of sudsy water.

Hermione reached between them and grasped Ron’s length in her palm, and began to stroke him in long, practiced movements. The water lubricated the action, and her hand moved smoothly across the hardened flesh, eliciting a loud groan from her partner. He grasped the side of the bath for support, closing his eyes as she continued her caresses, alternating between long strokes and curving her fingers around his ridge. Finally he let out a harsh moan, and his milky semen settled in the liquid around her waist.

Far from finished, Ron kissed Hermione firmly and cupped her cheek. They continued until Ron dipped his fingers between her thighs, rubbing at the hard nub there with his thumb. Hermione squirmed in delight, the warm water and scented bubbles assuaging her senses as Ron sent electric bolts of pleasure through her abdomen with his touch.

Shortly after her release she felt Ron’s hardness pressing against her thigh, and she opened her legs eagerly to allow him access, grasping his shoulders for support. He drew his arms around her and pulled her close, gently sliding himself into her in one long movement. Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips as they began to move together, awkward at first but soon matching each other’s rhythm.

Arching her back to allow him further entry, great tendrils of delectation spread through her groin as Ron thrust in and out of her. Ron took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked it softly. His velvet tongue danced in circles around it as his penis rocked within her, and Hermione couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips as she gave in to her senses completely and allowed the world to disintegrate around her.

Ron’s pace increased with their desire, and with one final thrust he exploded within her before coming to rest. He pulled himself from her but did not let her go, instead kissing her tenderly and smoothing the hair from her face.

Hermione smiled as her breathing slowed from its frantic rate back to normal, and hugged her partner close. It was hard to believe that only a few hours before she had been staring morosely at the wall, contemplating her life without him. The thought caused her breath to catch, and she hugged Ron tighter beneath the soapy water, fearing his loss if she let him go. She did not realize that among the wetness spread across her face were her tears.

Ron, however, heard her ragged breath, and carefully pried her away from him so he could look into her eyes.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked gently. He brushed her cheek with his fingers and Hermione let out a harsh sob, burying her face into his neck. Ron dutifully stroked her hair and soothed her with soft hushes and words, despite his bewildered _expression. Eventually Hermione regained enough composure to speak, and explained herself.

“I’m so scared, Ron,” she whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.” At her words Ron gripped her hard, and Hermione felt his shoulders tense beneath her.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said roughly, his voice cracking slightly. “Just – don’t you go anywhere either, okay?” Hermione raised her head and looked into his glistening eyes that were filled with such transparent fear that Hermione could only think to curse those who had caused her love such pain. Instead she kissed him, trying desperately to express her emotions through her lips, and then pulled away.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she choked, and then settled back into his arms. Together they held each other close, fear and love forcing them to remain until their skin shriveled up like prunes beneath the water, and silently promised never to go away.

Another one

2004-03-15T10:50:37Z

It took so many rewrites my head is spinning. My friends are so sick
of hearing me whine that Zu "flogged my muse with a North Atlantic sea
salmon, then teased her to the point of ecstacy before skipping away
laughing, leaving the evil bitch hanging." Funnily enough, after that she
became cooperative.

But it all really works. I'm actually quite proud of it.

r_h_ficathon

For: lendolyn
Title: Quod Timet
Rating: PG
Summary: Ron's not the only one who can be jealous!
Warnings: Angry Hermione ahead. If you're Ernie MacMillan, you
may want to stay away entirely.
Pairing: R/Hr of course!
Requests: Post OOTP include a flirty Luna
Restrictions: No non canon deaths; hopeful or happy ending

Quod Timet

Amans semper quod timet esse putat--A lover always thinks that what he fears exists.

--Ovid

“Ron not back yet?” Ginny asked resignedly, sliding into place across from Hermione.

“No…I expect Snape’s being difficult…keeping them through dinner just because he can.”

“That might be it…” Ginny frowned absentmindedly at the spoonful of potatoes she’d just served herself. “Or, of course, Luna might have finally succeeded in getting her point across, in which case there’s another reason for it. Pass the gravy?”

“What do you mean?” The gravy was passed.

“Oh, it’s this thing she has for him…she seems to think the most likely way to get him to notice her is to trap him alone with her whenever possible.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione’s tone had noticeably frosted over.

“What?”

“Are you saying that Luna has a crush on Ron? And is actively ‘pursuing’ him?”

“Yes…”Ginny gave Hermione a puzzled look. “You can’t mean you haven’t noticed? Everyone has!”

“I haven’t…hadn’t! When did this happen?”

“Oh…well…” Ginny looked down at her food. She had never had Hermione’s feelings confirmed, but the look on her friend’s face at the moment seemed a pretty good indication. In which case, it might be taking Luna’s life into her hands to answer. But there was no hope for it now. “She’s…rather fancied him for a couple of years now. And last year she started thinking that perhaps she should try for him.”

She chanced a glance up, and followed Hermione’s gaze. Judging from her expression, she was really staring at a mental image of Ron with Luna, but in the real world she was staring particularly venomously at Ernie MacMillan, who was sitting at the next table. Ernie, like the proverbial moth to flame, had found his eyes drawn to meet hers…and, like the moth, been burned to a crisp. Ginny, her head turned to watch, saw his cheeks pale and his jaw drop. Before he could be irreparably damaged, she snapped, “Hermione!”

“What?” Hermione refocused on her friend before moodily orienting on her plate and stabbing her beef viciously. Rivulets of juice began trickling out of the meat, filling the cuts with dark liquid. Behind Ginny, Ernie fell backward off the bench.

“Erm, nothing.”

Ron appeared in the doorway, Luna trailing behind him. She stopped him for a moment, smiling happily up at him while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing an asparagus-shaped violet earring. Ron smiled back down at her. Hermione pulled a piece of beef off her fork tines and ground it angrily between her teeth before very carefully wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“’Lo, Hermione, Ginny,” Ron sat beside Hermione and started reaching for potatoes.

“How was detention, Ron?” Hermione inquired pleasantly, her napkin still in both hands.

“Usual,” he grunted. “Removing tongues from Doxies. Near as anything got scratched by the teeth, and Luna was. I had to take her up to the hospital wing for the antidote. She asked me to stay with her while Madam Pomfrey injected her…she nearly broke my hand. She must have a thing about needles, she seemed really scared about it…”

Hermione stood up, shoving her napkin beneath her plate. “Ron, I’ll come and find you in half an hour or so. You have a Charms essay due tomorrow I know you’ve only written half of.”

“Sure, Hermione,” Ron replied, obviously startled. He and his sister looked after her warily as she stalked toward the door, stepping over Ernie’s unconscious body as though he were a floor fixture, completely oblivious to the anxious Susan bending over him. They watched her shoot a lightswitch smile at a waving Luna before going out the door. She must have kicked the doorstop: the heavy door slammed shut behind her. A bewildered look in his eyes, Ron turned to his sister. “What was that about?”

Ginny shrugged.

Glancing at her food, she spotted a tightly wound bit of cloth below Hermione’s plate rim. Pulling at it, she found she was holding up Hermione’s napkin…twisted into an unmistakable hangman’s noose. She let it dangle from her fingers, unsure of what to do with it. Then she glanced up to check on the unfortunate Hufflepuff.

Ernie had been persuaded to wake up by extreme applications of cold water. Sitting up, he caught sight of the deadly napery swinging ominously, the white linen contrasting vividly with the tapestry behind it. He passed out again.

************************************

Hermione came marching up to them through the hallways of Hogwarts with a purposeful step.

“Ron! There you are! I thought you’d forgotten you were supposed to meet me. Hallo, Luna.” There was a sickly sweet smile on her face that was so obviously artificial even Ron noticed.

“Hallo, Hermione,” Luna’s voice was imperviously dreamy, as always. “Ronald and I were just discussing Nargles. Did you want to borrow him for something?”

“We’re going to study, Luna,” Hermione informed her, eyes narrowed. She wrapped her arm around his, tucking her hand into the crook of his shoulder; she didn’t seem to notice his shock when she touched him. “He may be able to finish your discussion when I’m ready to let him go—he needs me, you know, for so much. Come on, Ron.”

“Oh, good; Ronald is having so much trouble with his Charms essay and I’m sure you’ll be able to help him with that. I’ll see you later then, Ronald?”

“Yes, of course Ron will see you later, won’t you, Ron?”

Ron had been watching the two of them in bemusement…well, really he had been watching Hermione, her skin pink and her eyes sparkling from the heat of battle. “Er, what? Oh, yes, right. Right. See you later, Luna.”

He submitted tamely to her tugging, following her down the corridors.

“Erm…Hermione?”

“Yes, Ron?”

“Is something the matter?”

“No, of course not, why would you think so?” She was clearly going to remain unperturbed if it killed her.

Ron looked at her askance, but decided that he knew better than to push it just now. He knew that tone of voice. It was the tone that had hissed “This is such a waste of time. I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms--” right before she had told a teacher where to get off. He frantically fished for another excuse. “Erm…well…I do know the way to the library, you know.” 'Idiot'! Horror-struck at what he had just implied, he stared at her hand on his arm, willing her to leave it where it was.

“Well, you certainly should! After all the time we’ve spent in there…” Hermione followed his gaze. “Oh.” She dropped her fingers with a sheepish grin.

'Nooo!' Ron’s inner voices howled. 'Fool! She was touching you! Couldn’t you think of anything else?'

While he was busy castigating himself—'C’mon, prat, think of something, say something, get her arm back through yours, don’t mess this up, you were so close, you could almost smell her hair'—she appeared to reconsider. She tossed a small, contemptuous glance back over her shoulder. And she grabbed his hand.

He was in such pleasurable shock that he let her march him back to the Common Room in silence.

When they got back through the portrait hole, Hermione steered him to their usual table and dumped him unceremoniously in a chair across from where she had already laid out her own work. Harry was slouched in a chair near the fire, brow furrowed as he studied the Charms text for details on Bubblehead charms, but Ron didn’t dare say anything to him when all Hermione had given their friend was a short nod.

Hermione got Ron to work on his essay and began work on a translation for Ancient Runes. She was still acting rather flustered, but contact with her books seemed to have steadied her somewhat.

Ron couldn’t concentrate. Walking back he had been unable to get quite as close to Hermione as he would have liked. However, the table was narrow, and Hermione was leaning quite far forward to study the charts she’d laid out above her translation. Stealthily, he slid his parchment a little farther across the table and to the left, imperceptible millimeters each careful second, until his parchment was level with hers, although facing the other way.

Hermione was muttering irritably to herself as she checked and rechecked her charts and books. She looked very focused, and Ron said a silent prayer that she would continue so. He slanted his body out so that he appeared to be reading over his earlier work, his head drawing level with hers. Trying to be subtle, he breathed in…there it was, her scent: mostly coffee that was almost a third cream (he smiled to himself, thinking of her mouth disappearing behind her mug as she scribbled essay outlines and highlighted key passages), the old-leather of the library, and the vinegary traces of ink, but there was the faintest hint of something else, something he could not quite put his finger on, what was it…his eyes were half-closed in concentration.

She suddenly sighed loudly.

“Hermione?”

“Yes?” Ouch. Not in the best mood, still. But he’d said something now.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t concentrate, all right? And it’s not like you’re doing much better, sitting there with that asinine expression on your face; are you too busy focusing on other things to concentrate?”

Ron started guiltily…that was a little too near the mark. Hermione seemed to notice. “Well, stop it! I took you away so that you could study, not…” She blushed a hot scarlet.

“Right, right, sorry.” His knew his ears were a familiar maroon and sensed her glaring at him as he hurriedly went back to scribbling charm details. After a few seconds, she banged her book shut and shoved it deep into her bag. Looking sideways, he saw that Harry (who had been wisely silent as she put Ron through his paces) chanced a glance up from his fireside seat, but he said nothing. Probably wise. She still had her bitch-slapping expression on...he let a fond smile drift across his face, thinking of the look on Draco's face the day she'd landed him a good one.

Still wearing his soft expression, Ron looked up. “Are you finished? I thought you said you had a couple of hours worth to do, and I know you’ve not had that much time since you got me from Luna—“

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You don’t have to make it sound as though I threw her out of your clinging arms!”

Ron immediately lost his grin and hunched his shoulders. Hermione didn’t often lose it quite this badly. To be sure, no one was in earshot at their current vocal level…except Harry…but it was obvious the conversation had the potential to ring the rafters the way “Well, if you don’t like it” had. An open, half-full common room…but it was a bit late now.

“You were perfectly willing to come…at least you didn’t fight me…probably relieved to get away from her, the little—“

He was still bewildered by the sudden onslaught. She’d just finished yelling at him for trying to figure out her scent, what was all this about? Hermione seemed to take his expression as a denial of her accusations.

“Yes, well, if you weren’t, you should have been. Honestly! At least I can call you by your name, can’t I? Who calls you Ronald, except your mother?” A faint stirring…'"Vare is Herm-own-ninny?"'…

Harry, as though he couldn’t help it, snorted, although he flipped to a new page. '
"… How can she like anyone who can’t even pronounce her name? He doesn’t even know who she is!"'

“But I’m sure you’ll overlook anything for blonde hair and big blue eyes…that’s all it’s ever taken for you to make a total fool of yourself over someone who’s completely the wrong age for you…”

Harry snorted again, rather louder this time, but Ron was too lost in his echoes'"…Oh, come on, he is so too old for her, what is she thinking?"'

“First that tart who was far too old for you, and now this girl! She’s too young! You can’t possibly have a successful relationship with someone less mature than you are, as you’re well behind the normal rates of development yourself, you oaf--”

“Hey!”

“And how mature can she be if her idea of flirting with a man is deliberately getting him into trouble and then arranging to have him take care of her? Holding her hand while she gets a shot, it’s a wonder even you didn’t see through that one, talk about ulterior motives…”

Harry appeared to be having trouble with allergies, Ron thought distractedly, hearing his own voice years ago: '"Yes, well, that’s his story…he knows who you hang around with…"'

“She must have some kind of impairment to think that trapping you in detentions with her is going to get you to notice her…”

The fourth snort was so loud that even Hermione had to notice. “What, Harry? Is something caught in your throat?”

“No, no…” he smirked at her a moment. “I just think that last comment was a bit rich, coming from someone whose idea of flirtation is a really well-outlined Potions essay and whose idea of foreplay is a blazing row in the middle of the Common Room.” He closed his book and began gathering his materials, ignoring Hermione’s swinging jaw. “I think I’ll finish this up in the dorm. Goodnight.” And he strode out. 'Foreplay? Flirtation? Hermione? But she said the same things I think…feels the same way I do…can she?'

*********************************************

Hermione closed her mouth and swallowed hard, tears stinging her eyes. Wasn’t it bad enough without Harry coming right out and telling him? She glanced at Ron’s face and immediately looked away from the dawning revelation in his eyes.

She began to pick up parchment and quills, putting them back into her bookbag. She was plugging her inkbottle when his hand fumbled for her wrist. “Hermione?”

She looked up at him miserably. Slowly, he raised her hand to his face and kissed the back of it. “I love you.” She stared at him. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Love me?” The happiness was so swollen and uncertain inside her that all she could do was nod. He walked to the end of the table, pulling her with him, and pulled her, half-stumbling, to his side, where he could whisper in her ear. “What say we find a place we can indulge in some more traditional foreplay?”

With a little cry, she buried her face in his shoulder a moment, shaking her head affirmatively. She then tried to go back to finish her packing, but he caught her and swung her around. He sent her toward the portrait hole with a little push, and when she tried to protest, nudged her again, laughing. She smiled up at his antics and let him chase her out.

************************************

Epilogue

Luna Lovegood was on her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, with her friend Ginny trotting beside her. Luna was humming the latest Weird Sister’s love song to herself, deliberately taking the path to the DADA classroom that passed by Professor Flitwick’s door. She knew that Ronald had Charms next and he could usually be seen waiting for the room to open, talking to Harry or a few Hufflepuffs and ripe for a swift hello.

Today was different.

Ronald’s voice reached her before the sight of him did. “Aw, c’mon, Hermione—“ a faint trace of a scowl passed over Luna’s forehead “—it doesn’t matter if just one essay is a little late, does it? It’s too late to do anything about it now…and it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Luna came around the corner and stopped dead. Ron’s tone, half-anxious, half-pleading, half-teasing, had been a nebulous source of worry…he was usually far more defensive when Hermione was scolding him about his homework…but this was far worse. He was standing far to close to the brunette, and he was holding her hand.

Hermione spotted her former rival around Ron’s shoulder. A thoughtful look passed over her face. “C’mon, Hermione, wasn’t it?” She relented, allowing a smile to form on her lips.

“Yes, it was.” She reached up to plant a soft kiss on his lips. It was clear this was not the first time that had happened. It was fairly obvious that whatever had happened last night had taken the time that should have been devoted to half a Charms essay.

”Luna!” Ginny snapped.

“What?”

“Erm, nothing. Let’s get to Defense, we’re going to be late.”

“Of course.” She marched on, flashing a lightswitch smile at Ronald and Hermione, stepping over Ernie MacMillan’s unconscious form as though it were a floor fixture.

Finis

Please forgive the sensitive sweater man Ron. He was worse before the beta beat it out of me. And every fangirl has to be allowed her dreams.

Author’s Notes:

* Zillions and billions of thank-yous to lizabethy, adalanne and bluedaisy62, for their beyond brilliant beta jobs. This story makes so much more sense now!

* Thanks to ladyg_funk, the_portkey, and prettygnomeface for talking me through the bumps; zuzuanni for the muse torture; thaliachaunacy and lizabethy for being excellent friends and suffering through the ordeal at the same time; and Chase for motivating me to hate men enough to let Hermione do it

* References: HP Lexicon for knowing what order the tables are in; and ChineseMoon for writing such an accurate Luna;
Latin Proverbs: Wisdom from Ancient to Modern by Waldo E. Sweet for the title; also what Viktor says is a direct quote from PoA, and of course the chars are JKR's.

* Thanks also, naturally, to ladyanabelle for doing this for all of us!

* The asparagus and the Nargles are my own private jokes and if you can spot why, fifteen points to your house and a “Get out of detention free” card…or, if you prefer, “Detention alone with the snogging partner of your choice.” Make it fifteen for the Nargles and fifty for the asparagus…it’s pretty dang obscure.

Thanks also, naturally, to ladyanabelle for doing this
for all of us!

Entry 2 by redblaze

2004-03-15T01:18:34Z

Author: redblaze
Title: Something To Hope For
Written for: Rudhampaiel
Summary: Hermione is recovering and tries to convince Ron of something important
Requests:Something angsty... perhaps a fight or argument? But not a run of the mill fight, something unique.
Rating NC-17

Something To Hope For
By: RedBlaze

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers--Emily Dickinson.

Hermione lay on a large checkered blanket spread out on the bank of a small pond behind the Burrow. She was reading a particularly fluffy book and enjoying the warm breeze that carried the sweet scent of wild flowers with it.

It had been so long since she’d been able to just relax outdoors, unencumbered by the nagging worry of a Death Eater attack, it felt almost like she was dreaming. They’d lost so much in the war. Hermione had cried so many tears she wasn’t sure she had any left, but today she refused to cry. Voldemort was gone, Harry was alive and recovering, and it was almost a disservice to those who had died to remain locked indoors one more day. They were free again. That’s what the sacrifice had been for, and she’d be damned if she’d let those sacrifices be in vain.

She had just got absorbed in the book, drifting away with the vivid imagery, when she heard the sound of footsteps trudging towards her location. She spent years fighting, had been forced to camp out months at a time in war camps, and the sound of unannounced footsteps was enough to make her draw her wand and point it at the intruder.

She lowered it when she saw it was just Ron walking towards her, clad in a pair of faded jeans and white cotton shirt. He was frowning, glaring at her menacingly and Hermione groaned in irritation as she rolled onto her back and went back to reading.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Hermione peered over the pages of her book, arching at eyebrow at Ron who stood above her, his muscular arms crossed over his chest in a stance he clearly thought was intimidating.

“I’m reading.” She lifted the book and pointed to the lines of print. “See, they use words to create sentences, which when grouped together properly can become paragraphs and eventually it creates a story.”

Ron wasn’t amused. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and for just the moment Hermione caught a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley in him.

“You didn’t tell me where you were going.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was under the impression that I was a grown woman and could make decisions without your approval,” Hermione said, the sarcasm bitingly obvious.

“You should be in bed,” he sighed, weariness sinking into his voice. “You scared me half to death when I came home and found you gone.”

Hermione relented then, knowing how truly worn out he was. Ron had spent countless hours aiding with the search and recovery missions in the hope of finding more survivors in the aftermath of the final battle. It broke her heart, so many souls lost, so many more injured. She didn’t know how much longer they’d search through the rubble, but it seemed they were all unwilling to give up. Not everyone was as lucky as she’d been.

“I’m sorry. I should have left a note. I just had to get out. . . I felt like I was suffocating in that room. It was either this or start ripping down all those hideous orange posters.”

“I could have replaced the posters.”

Hermione frowned and tried to ignore how handsome he looked with the sun behind him, outlining his tall, solid frame that moved with a strange sort of masculine grace. He’d grown to be a strikingly attractive man, but that still didn’t change the fact that he’d become the world’s biggest pest since her release from St. Mungo’s.

“Ron, please, I know you’ve had a hard couple of weeks, but --”

Ron laughed incredulously. “A hard couple of weeks? That’s the understatement of the century! Now let’s head back, I’m starving.”

“You head back, I’m going to finish reading.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone,” Ron said firmly, reaching down to help her up.

Hermione brushed his hand away. “You’ll get over it.”

“Stop playing around, Hermione. Come on back to the house. I’ll make you some tea and then you can have a nap.”

Ron’s voice was soft and soothing, sugar sweet as though he were talking to a precocious child. Hermione saw red. She was sick and tired of being treated as though she might break. The fact that Ron obviously saw her as childlike stung her ego. She wanted him to see her as a woman, not some misguided pet.

Her fury raged and she shoved at him, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but her words froze in her throat when she watched Ron loose his footing and topple backwards. His eyes grew wide in surprise right before he crashed into the pond, dousing Hermione with the tidal wave of water that splashed from around him.

She blinked in shock, brushing the soaking strands of hair away from her face as Ron coughed and sputtered, rising to his feet instantly. He was looking back at her through an over long, wet fringe, gapping at her like a large fish. Then suddenly a small smile dusted his lips, only to be replaced by a genuine one that lit up his whole face and made the skin crinkle around his eyes. It was one of his boyhood smiles, the kind that had always melted her heart. Then he did something she’d thought he forgot how to do -- he laughed.

Ron leaned over and gripped his side as he laughed heartily, hardly able to grasp for breath and it was infectious. Hermione found herself laughing too as she got up on her knees and reached to help Ron out of the pond.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Ron said between bouts of laughter as he crawled out of the pond, a soaking, dripping mess. “Oh Christ, Hermione, and they say I’m the one with the temper.”

Hermione giggled harder. “I’m sorry,”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, still grinning as he ran a hand through his hair to brush the fringe out of his eyes.

“Here, let me help you dry off.” Hermione reached for her wand, intending on doing a drying spell.

“Don’t bother,” Ron mumbled through the wet fabric of his shirt as he pulled it over his head and tossed it on to the grass. “Feels nice. We used to go swimming in this pond when we were kids. I always liked laying in the sun afterwards.”

He laid back on the blanket, laced his hands behind his head and shut his eyes, obviously enjoying the warm summer day. He kicked his shoes off next, and sighed, completely oblivious to the fact that he was half naked. Hermione stared at his chest and arms, watching the way the muscles flexed slightly as he breathed. Her eyes drifted lower to his stomach that was flat and hard with a faint dusting of reddish hair that lead below the waistband of his jeans.

Hermione sighed and looked back up, glancing nervously at Ron who was raising an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Nothing!” she said a little too quickly, noticing the way the water droplets sparkled on his skin. “Nothing. . .”

Ron frowned then, sitting up on his elbows. “ Are you okay? You look flushed. We could walk back.”

Hermione groaned and flopped onto her back again. Erotic fantasies were swirling around in her head and he couldn’t care less. She’d been sharing a room with him for almost two weeks, yet he insisted on sleeping in the other bed. At first, it hadn’t been a problem, she’d slept most of the time anyway, too weak to eat, let alone think about the sexy redhead who spent his every free moment fussing over her. He’d been a comfort then, to know that he was just a heartbeat away. Now, it was something else. She wanted more than just someone to fetch her supper. She wanted him to live up to the words that he’d said before the final battle. The ones he’d sworn were true, yet on all accounts looked to be a lie.

“Did you mean it?” Hermione said suddenly, unable to hold back anymore.

“Mean what?”

“What you said. . . before,” Hermione said and then gave into her nervousness and bit at her lip.

Ron sat up, looking at her hesitantly. “Oh, before the final battle when I said --”

“When you said you loved me,” Hermione finished for him.

“Yeah, I meant it. . .” he mumbled, picking up a blade of grass and studying it intently. “I just reckoned. . .”

“Reckoned what, Ron? I’m sick of this!”

“I reckoned you wouldn’t love me back, okay!” Ron shouted back. “I failed you, Hermione. How could you love someone who failed you so miserably?”

Hermione sat back then, looking at him in confusion. “Failed me how? What are you talking about?”

Ron turned towards the lake, using his shoulder to block her view of his face. “I let them get you. I. . . I was so busy making sure Harry made it, I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“It wasn’t your job to protect me, Ron. You did what you were supposed to do. If something had happened to Harry we all would have lost.”

Ron’s was shaking his head in self-recrimination. “No, you don’t know what it was like when I finally found you. . . I thought. . . I thought you were dead. There was so much blood, and I knew that you’d suffered, and I just. . .” His voice cracked, and his head dropped into his hands as his shoulders started to shake. “. . . You were just lifeless in my arms. I. . . Oh god.”

Hermione went to him. She ran her hands over his broad, freckled shoulders, coaxing him to her, until with no where else to go, Ron’s forehead fell against the curve of her neck and broken sobs racked his body.

“You didn’t fail me. It wasn’t your fault.”

“They told me that you’d been tortured and all those nights I sat up with you at St. Mungo’s, all I could imagine was you wandering about in your dressing gown handing me old gum wrappers for the rest of our lives,” Ron choked out as his body still shook violently.

Hermione was silent. It’d be a lie to say that his words weren’t churning up her own awful memories of black-cloaked figures, and horrible screams that she realized later were her own. She’d had those fears too, fleetingly through the pain. She’d never thought to wonder how everything had affected Ron. He’d escaped with barely a scratch on him, how awful must it have been to see the others he loved suffering. Especially after already having lost so much.

His hands were running up her arms, and one laced into her hair, almost as if he was assuring himself that she was still there.

“Ron, it’s okay. . . I’m fine. I’m better then fine. I feel alive. Those things were awful, but they’re over,” Hermione said, brushing the overlong red hair off his forehead, knowing it had been months since he’d had it cut.

Ron didn’t respond and just held her. They stayed like that until his breathing became even and his shaking stopped. She soothed her hands over his bare back and she had to will herself not to notice how the muscled skin felt under her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Ron finally rasped against her neck without lifting his head. “You must think I’m a bloody poof for coming apart like that.”

“You know I’d never think that. . . I think it’s good,” Hermione whispered as her fingers trailed up to run through his wet hair. “It’s not good to keep everything bottled up. . . When was the last time you cried?”

“My mum and dad’s funeral.”

Hermione sighed, surprised that Ron could say it so bluntly when for years he couldn’t speak about his parents deaths at all. “Then it was a long time in coming.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ron shrugged, and then his stomach grumbled and he gave a short laugh. “I forgot to eat today. . . I’m starving.”

“Well, then let’s go back. Is Ginny home from visiting Harry?”

Ron shook his head. “No, I stopped by the hospital before I came home and she’s planning on spending another night up there.”

“How was Harry?”

“Sick of being in the bleeding hospital. I don’t know why they won’t just let him come home already,” Ron said as he finally lifted his head and turned from her to wipe at his eyes. “Come on, let’s go back. . . I’ll make dinner.”

“Oh, I can do it,” Hermione piped in as she gathered her book and stood. “I really am feeling much better.”

Ron winced grabbing his wet shirt and the blanket. “No thanks.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a bad cook?”

Ron smiled. “No, I’m telling you flat out. . . You may be a brilliant witch, but you’re a horrible cook.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, knowing it was true. Culinary skills weren’t her greatest talent. Together they walked back to the Burrow, letting everything else go until they were up to talking about it.

~*~

Hours later, Hermione lay in bed staring at the darkened ceiling of Ron’s room. For some reason, the Burrow felt eerie late at night. It seemed so empty that sometimes her mind would run away with her and she felt like she could almost hear the ghosts of the past whispering in the hallways.

It had lost a lot of its warmth after Ron’s parents were killed and it got steadily colder with every Weasley’s death until she almost hated being there. Though, things were better when Ginny was around. She possessed her mother’s natural domestic talents. Harry would be home soon and that would certainly brighten the place up. Hermione supposed the time would come when they’d move out, though she wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny stayed on.

Her mind drifted to Ron and the events of that afternoon and she turned her head to see him sleeping on his back on the other bed. He usually only slept in pajama bottoms, especially since the summer heat was especially brutal lately, even his sheets were kicked to the foot of the bed. A strip of moonlight illuminated him and Hermione stared as his bare chest rose and fell steadily in sleep. He put in long days with the recovery efforts, and with worrying over her, Harry and Ginny, by bedtime he was usually exhausted.

He looked so beautiful and she loved him so much. Her heart sang with the knowledge that he loved her too. She turned on her side and bit her lip. Funny, it hadn’t seemed important before, in the midst of war, but now she wished she knew a little more about how to please a man. It was almost shameful that at twenty-three, she was still a virgin. She’d missed out on so much. With all sadness and death, she felt like she’d been robbed of the rest.

Hermione hadn’t realized that she made her decision until she found herself slipping out of bed and quietly walking to Ron’s. Her heart was beating furiously all of sudden, but she couldn’t stop herself from crawling into his bed. They were both adults and they loved each other. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be with him.

Ron jerked awake when she brushed against him and Hermione could see him blinking in the darkness as he turned to her.

“Wha’. . .Hermione?” he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Ron swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sick?”

Hermione shook her head and bit her lip, hoping she wouldn’t have to spell it out for him.

“I don’t think I’d get much sleep if you sleep next to me.”

Hermione sat up and rested her chin on her knees, being aware that the old cannon’s shirt she was wearing slid up her thighs, leaving them bare. “That’s kind of what I was hoping for.”

Like a dear caught in lamplights, Ron looked at her exposed legs glowing in the moonlight, and then stared back up at her wide-eyed. “I-I don’t think you understand, Hermione.”

Hermione sighed in irritation. “Ron, when in the past twelve years have I ever given you the impression that I’m stupid? I understand perfectly.”

Ron contemplated her for a long moment and then slowly sat up next to her. He ran a hand through his hair once before he turned to her, looking very serious. “This is a big step. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”

“Would I be here if I wasn’t sure?”

Ron took a deep breath and nodded. His eyes ran over her bare thighs once again, but he still spoke hesitantly. “Have you ever. . .”

“No, I haven’t. . . Is that a problem?”

“No!” Ron said instantly, but then looked embarrassed and lowered his voice. “I mean, No. . . It’s not a problem at all. It’s just. . . I’ve never. . .”

“Oh please, spare me,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I know you’ve done it. You think I didn’t hear you and Harry stumbling back into camp all those nights?”

Ron had the good grace to blush, and even in the darkness she could see embarrassment flood his face. “Most of the time we were just out getting pissed. . . It’s not like we were off shagging a bunch of birds or anything.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve never slept with a woman? Not in all these years,” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“No, I have,” Ron whispered, looking away for a second. “I was going to say that I’d never done it with a virgin. . . You’re still recovering and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I told you I feel fine,” she huffed, feeling a little irritated that this was taking so much work. “Do you want to do it or not?”

“I can wait if you’re not ready.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione said, now totally exasperated. He couldn’t get more clueless if he tried.

Not knowing how to put it any more bluntly to him, she got on her knees and grabbed the hem of the shirt she was wearing, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. Ron’s eyes grew so wide she feared they may fall right of his head. Red faced, he stared at her bare breasts and flat stomach.

“Do you want me, Ron?”

“I. . . Yes, it’s just. . .” He continued to stared hard at her exposed body and then let out an audible groan. “Oh fuck, Hermione.”

She heard his control waver and the next second he reached out and grabbed her arms, pulling her to him until her breasts crushed against his bare chest. His mouth assaulted hers in a rough kiss and she gasped in surprise at his fierceness. He took advantage of her shock as his tongue parted her lips, plunging into mouth and processing it. She moaned, leaning heavily against him and gripping his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless as he pulled away. “You’re just so. . . and it’s been so long. . . and I. . Oh, bugger. . . “ He groaned again and gazed down between their bodies, looking entranced as he reached up and cupped one of her breasts in his rough hand. He rubbed his thumb over the tip and then leaned down until his breath was hot against her “You’re just so beautiful.”

He laved his tongue over her hardened nipple and then sucked it into his mouth, letting his teeth scrape softly against the sensitive skin. Hermione gasped, arching into him and fisting one hand into the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He moved to the other breast and pangs of pleasure shot through her, going straight to center, creating an intense throb of need she was unprepared for. Unwillingly, her hips bucked against him. Ron groaned in response, his voice humming against her skin and Hermione arched against him again, searching for relief from the coiling pressure he was creating.

“Shit, Hermione. . . Don’t do that,” Ron said, finally releasing is hold on her breast and grabbing her waist to still her movements. “It’s too fast, I’m going to end up fucking you.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” Being intensely curious, she reached down to touch him, running her hand over the hard length of him, feeling the heat of his arousal through his pajama bottoms. “Oh, it’s warm. . . I can feel it. Does it hurt?”

“Christ, Hermione don’t. . .” he gasped incredulously. “D-don’t touch me.”

“Why, you touched me?”

“It’s different,” he said, trying to pull her hand away, but failing as she stroked him in retaliation, dragging a long moan out of him. “Fuck, bugger. . . I can’t think when you do that.”

Hermione grinned, loving the low hitch in his voice and feeling incredibly womanly that she’d caused it. “You’re enjoying it.”

Her smile faltered when Ron seemed to rally his senses and trailed his hand over her hip and down her stomach. His fingers slipped past the lining of her knickers and her breath caught. He was staring at her intently as his touch grew bold, brushing against the curls between her legs, then slipping inside her warmth, making Hermione’s thighs squeeze together.

“Oh, no, Hermione. . . Don’t close me out now,” Ron said, using his other hand to pull her tighter against him as he continued to touch her intimately. “You touch me, I touch you. . . Isn’t that the game we’re playing?”

“I don’t. . . “ Hermione whispered, finding that her words were trapped in her throat as he continued his quest, easily finding her clit and rubbing it in a torturously slow manner. “Y-you’re teasing me.”

“Fair is fair,” he whispered against her neck as he leaned to place a kiss there, sucking lightly at the hollow of her throat and making the ache inside her grow stronger. “Just being around you is a tease. . . All I have to do is look at you and I’m hard.”

Somewhere along the way, the hunter had become the hunted and Hermione forgot to touch him altogether as the pulsating crescendo built, making her move wantonly against his hand in a silent plea for more. Still his touch was soft, feather light and so torturous that she had to bite her lip to keep from begging out loud. Little mewing noses were coming from the back of her throat. Her legs were shaking, protesting the kneeling position she was in, but it didn’t matter, she didn’t dare move and distract Ron from touching her.

“Ron, please,” she whispered, unable to hold onto her pride a second long. “Please help me. . .Make it. . . Oh, God!”

Hermione’s head fell back as Ron responded to her pleas by touching her in earnest, rubbing his fingers against her in a firm, fast motion that left her grasping for breath. Ron’s voice was hot on her neck as he whispered encouragement to her, spurring her on until his own breathing was harsh and irregular.

Then the tension that had been building in her suddenly sprung free, releasing a flood of warmth and heat that poured over her body in waves of pulsating bliss. The shuddering pleasure was white-hot and all consuming, making Hermione grip at Ron’s shoulders as she cried out his name in broken sobs.

When the blinding release started to fade, Hermione collapsed against Ron, noting for the first time that his hands were shaking as he lowered her to the mattress. Hermione closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the pillow, still glowing from the after effects of her climax.

“Hermione,” Ron rasped, leaning down to place another lingering kiss over her pulse point as his heavy breathing stirred the hairs against her neck. “I need to feel you. . . Just feel. I won’t go all the way. . . I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh,” Hermione shook herself from her daze, realizing what he was talking about, noting how his how body trembled and his voice vibrated in a low timbre against her skin. “Yes, I want to feel you, too. . . Just tell me what to do.”

Ron moved off her and ungracefully slid her panties down her legs until Hermione kicked them off. His gaze was hot against her skin, his eyes the deepest shade of blue she’d ever seen as he looked at her bare body for a second and then leaned back over her, allowing some, but not all of his weight, to press her into the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a shaking voice as he pushed his pajama’s down past his hips, freeing himself so that his length brushed against her naked stomach. “Here, move your legs a bit.”

Fascinated with his intense response, Hermione complied and casually draped one leg over his hip, as the other fell across his thigh. “Like that?”

“Yes, just like. . .” Ron moved down until his erection slid against her entrance. “. . .that. . . Oh fuck. . ” He moaned, shifting his hips until their bodies were touching intimately, with his hard length resting against her moist heat. “Oh, god, you’re wet. . . and you feel. . . I won’t hurt you. . . I’ll just. . .”

“Ron, it’s okay,” Hermione said, trying not to get irritated that he was still fussing over her health, but instead savoring the new thrill of excitement that rushed over her when she realized that after all these years, they were finally going to be lovers. “I won’t break. . . I feel fine.”

Ron nodded and slid a hand between their bodies, gripping himself and guiding the tip of his erection inside her. Ron was panting and the knowledge that she could affect him so intensely caused a fresh stirring of desire to build in Hermione. She arched into him, gasping as more of him slid inside her.

“Oh, Ron,” she moaned, savoring the feel of him stretching her, filling her body. Unable to help herself, Hermione reached down and gripped at his lower back, trying to bring them closer together. “I want more of you.”

“Shhh,” Ron coaxed, releasing a shaky breath and wrapping a hand around her waist to still her movements up against him. “You need to stop moving. . . I’m going to lose it.”

Hermione had to bite back a scream of frustration that he was still fussing over her. Knowing that yelling at him would ruin the mood, she reached up and fisted her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers and kissing him. She parted her lips, swallowing his groan of desperation as he kissed her back fiercely. His tongue slide in and out of her mouth, mimicking the actions his body would make if he’d just allow himself to let go. Slowly, Ron’s hips began to move against hers, as though the wires in his brain had got crossed and he simply couldn’t help himself. Inch by inch, he slid deeper, slowly driving Hermione mad.

Nearly full and aching, she was wild with passion. Forgetting her seduction, she released his mouth and her head whipped against the pillow. She was writhing beneath him, wanting so desperately for him to fill the emptiness completely, to be buried fully inside her.

Her actions must have affected Ron, because he was moaning, cursing softly under his breath until finally, with an animalistic growl, his hips thrust hard against her, breaching her barrier and sheathing himself in her to the hilt. Hermione gasped at the twinge of pain, but it was nothing next to surge of pleasure she felt at him deep inside her, the glory of knowing she’d won.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, leaning up on his hands to look down at her. “Are you okay? Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that. . . I. . .”

“Ron, if you stop I’ll hex you,” she moaned, shifting and gasping again when she felt him pressing bluntly against her cervix. “I swear I will. . . Please make love to me. . .please.”

With a groan of defeat, Ron pulled out of her, and Hermione thought for a moment that he was going to stop despite her threats, but then his hips moved forward again. His pace was slow at first, but quickly became something much more primal as his body started pounding into her, filling her, pulling out and filling her again. The friction of his movements caused blinding heat to surge through her body and she arched into him, countering his thrusts as best she could. She was moaning and begging him not to stop, running her hands over his back, feeling his tense muscles beneath her fingers as he claimed her, made love to her, fulfilled the promise of hope that Hermione had fought so long for.

Light sparked behind her closed eyelids as she climaxed a second time, screaming his name and bowing beneath him as her body was racked with shuddering pleasure. She pulled Ron with her into oblivion. His thrusts were erratic as he cried out and the warmth of his seed spilled inside her.

Once they came down for their high, Ron rolled off her almost instantly, leaving her feeling bereft as he flung an arm over his eyes and tried to gain his breath back. Once his breathing had fallen into a more steadying rhythm, Ron turned on his side, looking at Hermione in concern.

“Don’t ask me if I’m all right,” she said, reading his worry instantly. “I’m fine.”

Ron hesitated for a moment. “Hermione, I’m sor--”

“If you say you’re sorry for that, I’m leaving,” Hermione said in a reprimanding voice. “You have to stop treating me like a child, Ron.”

Ron let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Hermione, trust me, I don’t think you’re a child. . . I think you’re incredible.”

She smiled as the warmth of happiness filled her. She’d never been more sated, her whole body still hummed from the after affects of their lovemaking. It was a wonderful feeling and she was hit with a surge of gratitude.

“Ron, thank you. . . that was--”

“Amazing,” he finished, smiling back at her. “Really amazing. . .”

“I love you,” she breathed, unable to hold back her feelings a moment longer.

“I love you, too,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her to him until her body was draped over his. He placed a chaste kiss on her lips and then fell back against his pillow.

They were silent for a while and Hermione contented herself to listen to rhythm of his heartbeat, so strong and steady, savoring the knowledge that they were both still alive and healthy.

“Hermione. . . ”

“Hmmmm?“

“Marry me.”

Shock surged through her and she lifted her head to look at Ron incredulously. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, looking young and more relaxed then she’d seen him in years. “Marry me. . . I’m sick of being sad, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, laughing when she saw that Ron was trying to figure out which part of his question she was agreeing too. “Yes, Ron, I’ll marry you.”

“Oh, good,” Ron said, leaning up to kiss her and then relaxing against the pillow once more. “God, it feels nice to have something to look forward too. . . A reason to hope.”

“I always had hope.”

Ron stretched out across the bed, sighing contently. “I know and that’s why I love you. You always gave me something to hope for.”

One of my entries

2004-03-15T00:57:03Z

Since sunshyndaisies has been sidelined by sickness
so bare with me as I'm writing two fics.
So here's the first one:

Author:ladyanabelle
Title: Conversations with Crookshanks
Rating PG-13
Summary: Ron confronts Snape after he insults Hermione
Written for winters_end who wanted Ron confronting Snape.

Reviews appreciated but not demanded.

“Twenty five points from Gryffindor,” Snape bellowed as he stood directly in front of Hermione. “I’ve repeatedly told you Miss Granger you are not to help Potter with his potions.”

Ron studied Hermione silently from across the desk and was surprised to see her square her shoulders. She lifted her head up to meet Professor Snape’s gaze evenly.

“Professor—you told me not to help Neville,” she said firmly. “You said nothing about helping Harry.”

Ron winced as the words tumbled from her mouth and waited for the explosion that was sure to follow in their wake. Snape was infuriated he opened his mouth to speak and then pressed his lips together forcing them into a thin line.

“Miss Granger,” he said through clenched teeth, “I suggest you stop right there. You are already an insufferable know-it-all an unattractive one at that!”

Ron heard Malfoy snickering behind him and felt his stomach clench in rage. Hermione was still staring at Snape but he could see the telltale signs of a blush starting at the base of her neck.

“Perhaps,” Snape snarled. “You should stop trying to impress Mr. Potter with your brains and work on your glamour spells.” With a flourish of his robes Snape whirled away from her.

The Slytherins took Snape’s word to heart and immediately burst out laughing. Ron heard Pansy whispering to Draco that there was no glamour spell in the world that would make Hermione pretty.

Ron’s eyes darted back and forth between Snape and Hermione—Snape looked extraordinarily pleased with himself while Hermione was biting her lip and fighting back tears. A fresh wave of rage threatened to boil over and Ron clenched his empty potion vial shattering it completely. Hermione turned to him and laid her hand on his arm and he could see the shine of tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t Ron,” she whispered, “I’m not worth getting detention over.”

The bell rang before he could respond and they gathered their books. It was then the plan formed in Ron’s head—maybe he couldn’t say anything in front of the class but he would be damned if he was going to let Snape get away with this. He left his book bag sitting on the floor and scooted it under the table so that Harry and Hermione wouldn’t notice before trailing behind them out the door.
No one spoke as they made their way towards the Great Hall and he decided now was the perfect time to put his plan into motion.

“Bloody hell—I was distracted and left my bag!”

He turned and took off down the hallway towards the Potions classroom. He heard Harry calling out behind him but he kept going. He was on a mission and he was determined not to fail.

He stopped outside the classroom to catch his breath and glanced inside. Snape was sitting at his desk marking up essays. Ron entered the room quietly and was surprised when Snape raised his head.

“Well Weasley—you’re nothing if not predictable.”

Ron was relieved when his usual blush did not creep downward from his ears and he glared at Snape. The fury he had held back returned full force.

“Sir, I was wondering—do you think it’s really appropriate do be insulting students about things that are so personal.”

Snapes nostrils actually flared and he seemed to weigh his response carefully.

“That Mr. Weasley is really none of your business.”

Ron fought back the urge to leap over the desk and hit him outright. He was head boy and had no desire to lose that position or to be expelled but he couldn’t keep silent. It might be better for all concerned if he did but serving a detention for putting Snape in his place didn’t seem like a bad trade off.

“Oh,” Ron said through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry Sir, I think it is very much my business when you’re insulting my best friend.”

Snape sat back in his chair and whispered something softly. Pictures and images flowed from the past washed over Ron’s mind and he threw up a blocking curse causing Snape to tumble backwards in his chair.

“Honestly, did you really think Harry wouldn’t have taught us how to protect ourselves from that handy trick you and Voldemort seem to have mastered?”

Ron surprised himself by saying Voldemort’s name and Snape wince as he stood up. He could see the surprise in Snape’s eyes but it was quickly masked with a look of fury.

“Mr. Weasley—you are close to being expelled here—what exactly is it that you want.”

Ron paused because he hadn’t really thought of what he expected to have happen when he confronted Snape. He had only wanted not to see that particular look on Hermione’s face again—he never wanted her to say that she wasn’t worth fighting for again—she was always more than worth it.

“I want you to apologize to Hermione—she didn’t do anything to warrant your comments.”

“Weasley—Miss Granger is an insufferable know-it-all. This is my classroom and I will not apologize to her.”

Ron felt his stomach clench in anger. Snape would apologize and he would do it in front of the entire classroom. What he was about to do could be construed as blackmail—but sometimes you have to fight dirty for what was right and fair.

“Professor—I spent a great deal of time with Sirius Black the summer before fifth year. I think there are quite a few things that happened when you were at school together that would amuse the class.” Ron said as his heart raced, “What was it they called you?”

Snape’s face went pale and Ron turned his back to go throwing his book bag over his shoulder. He paused at the door and without looking back he drove home his point.

“I think a lot of people might like to know all about the mark on your arm too.”

He stepped out into the hallway and heard Snape throw something against the wall.

Snape was behind him before he could get more than a hundred yards up the hallway.

“Weasley—detention for trying to blackmail a Professor—see Filch for your assignment!” Snape roared.

“Fine—I’ll take the detention but keep in mind what I said.”

He took off down the hall towards the Great Hall and his mouth twitched upwards into a smile. He may have gotten a detention but bloody hell he had bested Snape and Snape knew it.
~

The common room was empty when Ron arrived back from detention. It was nearly one in the morning and he had spent the last five hours cleaning the owlery without magic. He had left there and gone to the Prefects bathroom and cleaned up a bit. He wasn’t sure he could even make it up the stairs to his room. He flopped down on the sofa and groaned as the muscles in his back throbbed. Crookshanks who had been sleeping curled up in the chair by the fire leap up and gave him a nasty stare.

“Oh don’t you start on me too,” Ron growled, “Your mum already let me have it for getting detention.”

Crookshanks padded towards the couch and leapt onto Ron’s chest. He peered down at him, his gold eyes penetrating into Ron’s. Ron suddenly had the feeling Crookshanks could read his mind and he really didn’t like it.

“Knock it off if you want to know I’ll tell you but stop staring at me!”

Crookshanks mewed and for some reason it seemed to be Ron’s cue to start talking.

“Your mum is really hacked off with me because I wouldn’t tell her why Snape gave me detention.”

Crookshanks glared down at him again almost reproaching him. Ron was surprised when Crookshanks hissed softly and tightened his claws in his jumper.

“Hey! Knock that off—I had a good reason for not telling her.”

Ron shook his head and tried to gather his thoughts. It entered his mind briefly that he should probably be telling Hermione this but he had to get it off his chest now.

“She thinks she’s not worth getting a detention over! I mean honestly, how could she think that? She’s beautiful, brilliant, and worth the worst punishment that Snape could think of.”

Crookshanks mewed in agreement and Ron continued.

“I love her—I really do.” Ron said softly, “She infuriates me, astounds me, and arouses me to the point where I can’t think. I can’t stand to see her cry and don’t get me started on how I feel every time she mentions bloody Vicky.”

Ron was surprised when Crookshanks nuzzled his chin with his head. It seemed that Crookshanks was trying to comfort him and Ron scratched the top of Crookshanks head.

“Snape is a fuck wit—insulting her that way and making her cry. I almost told him so instead I threatened him with blackmail.”

He fell silent for a moment and stared into the fire. He wondered if he would ever work the courage up to tell Hermione how he felt—that she haunted his dreams and his thoughts. He loved the way she twirled a stray curl and bit her lip when she was studying, the way her eyes flashed when he argued with her, and the way she was always there for him—no matter how big of a prat he was being.

“Crookshanks do you think she could ever feel the same way?”

Ron’s heart pounded in his chest when a familiar voice rang out in the common room. His palms went sweaty and he felt the blush creeping downwards across his face.

“Maybe she’d tell you how she feels—if you talked to her instead of her cat.”

Crookshanks jumped off his chest and approached Hermione cautiously. He rubbed against her bare legs that were covered by her dressing gown and then bounded up the stairs.

“You shouldn’t have tried to blackmail Snape,” she said softly her eyes not quite meeting his. “Why would you do that?”

Ron swallowed as she crossed the room and kneeled down on the floor in front of him. He could smell a hint of vanilla wafting from her still damp curls and he shivered when she licked her lips.

“Err…ummm…I can’t stand to see you cry and well you deserve an apology.”

Hermione peered at him in the same manner Crookshanks did. The look on her face was a mixture of annoyance and affection and Ron continued in a hurry.

“I guess I umm… fancy you and I know you don’t feel the same…but you’re brilliant and I can hardly keep myself from kissing you.”
He thought if he said it all real quickly that his words wouldn’t register but much to his horror they did and he didn’t think it was possible for his face to grow hotter but it did.

“So what’s stopping you?”

He searched her eyes and finally saw what he was looking for—acceptance, anticipation, and something he felt might be mirrored in his own—love.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her forward until his lips were inches from his. He could smell a hint of the perfume he hand given her for Christmas in fifth year and it was driving him mad. His gaze fell to her lips and he almost whimpered when her tongue darted out to moisten them. He forced his gaze back to her eyes and was mesmerized by what was in them.

“Are you sure? If we cross this line—Hermione there will be no going back—I couldn’t take it.”

“Ron—shut up and kiss me.”

He pressed his lips to hers and suddenly the world tilted on its axis as fire shot through him. He heard her whimper as their lips touched and she parted her lips to deepen the kiss taking him by surprise. Her tongue darted out to trace along his lips and he moaned deep in his chest. This was better than Quidditch, chocolate frogs, and it was so much better than his dream. He broke the kiss when he became desperate for air and he noticed that her lips were swollen from his kisses—her eyes glazed and unfocused.

He sat up and took her hands in his pulling her to her feet. He kissed the fingertips of both hands and inched closer to her.

“Hermione?”

“I fancy you too, Ron.”

They stood there for what seemed like an eternity simply staring in each other’s eyes until Ron lowered his head to kiss her softly again. He found this kiss to be ever bit as passionate as the other but it held something more—a promise of future kisses and of love.

She pulled away from and he forced himself not to pull her back against his body. She lifted her hand to push the fringe off his forehead and kisses his cheek.

“We should go to bed…it’s late…”

Ron didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to keep her in his arms because now that he’d held her he wasn’t going to let her go. Logic warred with need in his head and he finally nodded his head in affirmation.

“Just so you know—I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to either but we have class tomorrow,” she said and brushed her lips against his before turning and heading up to the stairs.

“I love you, Hermione,” he called out behind her.

“I love you too.”

He heard her running up the stairs and he pumped his arm up and down in victory.

Detention like Hermione was more than worth it.

Just a Reminder

2004-01-30T14:00:30Z

This is the Last day to sign up for the R/H fic a thon.

So Run don't walk!

Hugs,

Annie

Just a Mention

2004-01-20T14:27:43Z

This doesn't necessarily have to be smut. It can be
G rated also.

I'm easy I like both!

Hugs!

Annie