Current mood:

excited

Challenge Entry: Return
Title: Return
Summary: After the war, everyone's managed to pick up the pieces of their lives, but a visit to Hogwarts shows Hermione that there's still some pieces left that need to be put back together.
Author: bluejeanphoenix
Artist: krislaughs
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: HBP Spoilers.
Notes: There's also more great art to come from both krislaughs and northernsky_, but they'll link to this post in later entries. :) Enjoy!

EDIT: There's a larger posting of the artwork here.


“Miss Granger,” purred a surprisingly deep voice.

Hermione felt shivers go down her back. No one had called her "Miss" since Hogwarts. After graduation, she’d insisted on “Ms.,” thank you very much. All-purpose, no annoying insistence on marital status - utilitarian. Besides, "Madame Granger" was incredibly pretentious.

“Or should I say, Supreme Mugwump?”

“Honestly, Ron!”

“Well, Miss Granger, you have been very naughty and interrupted my class,” Ron grinned, lounging on the edge of his desk, “Five points from Gryffindor, I think.”

His Defense students tittered, and Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. Memories from her years at Hogwarts came flooding back: the massive dragon skeleton dangling from the ceiling; a rather familiar-looking grindylow tank in the corner; the neat desks in their rows.

And Ron, lounging perfectly in the midst of it all, "mischief" spelled out in the freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose, the crinkle at the corners of his blue eyes...

"Thanks for waiting," he said later, after his last, lingering students had trickled out of the classroom. He flicked his wand at his office door to lock it.

"Oh, not at all," Hermione smiled, rising awkwardly from the small chair. It felt like the desk was so close to her knees - were they really ever that small?

"Just had to take care of a few things. Detentions, and the like," he continued, stuffing parchments willy-nilly into his second-hand valise.

"Ron Weasley, giving out detentions?" Hermione pasted a lock of mock horror on her face.

"I know," Ron said, rolling his eyes with a rueful grin, "But surprisingly, it's really the first-through-third years that give me the most trouble. I expect the older students are just better at not getting caught."

Hermione's breath almost caught in her throat - it had been four years since she'd seen him last. His voice was so much deeper...he seemed broader, somehow...more...settled. Not nearly so beefy as Charlie, but at least he wasn't as stringy as he was in their Hogwarts days...

He eyed her oddly, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Am I really that different?"

Hermione laughed, feeling her face grow hot.

"Yes," she answered truthfully, "Why, has everyone been telling you?"

Ron laughed a throaty laugh that reminded Hermione of Sirius.

“Yeah. Everyone's shocked and bewildered that I made good, I reckon. I'm beginning to think everyone had me pegged for a bit of a loser."

"Ron, really!" Hermione scowled, "That's not true! Don't - "

"I think teaching’s been good for me, though," he added, waving aside her concern lightly, "Boosted my confidence a bit. At least it’s not anything one of my brothers has already done.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione teased, “I might miss the old Ron.”

“I don’t,” he said, firmly, “The old Ron couldn’t even tell a girl he fancied her.”

Hermione’s breath caught. But there was only an impish grin in response. An enigma.

Hermione loved puzzles. Normally.

“You’re terrible.”

“I’ve missed you.”

She swallowed, hard, unsure of how to respond...Hogwarts was so long ago...

"Come on," he said, shyly proferring his arm, "Let's go for a walk."

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

They hadn't planned it as part of their walk, of course, but it was impossible to avoid - the white marble tomb, placid yet undeniably present, jerking Hermione out of fond reminiscense.

"It seems so...wrong." Hermione said, vehemently.

"I know," Ron said, quietly.

They stood there together, for a while. Despite her best efforts to remain somber, it was a beautiful day, like so many she remembered from end of term - golden, warm, smelling impossibly fresh and green, breeze wafting through her hair. To her own annoyance, she began to worry what she must look like, stray bits of frizzy hair wafting about aimlessly. She forced her mind back to weightier thoughts.

She looked up, to see Ron eyeing her funnily - like he knew something she didn't...something sad.

"You're allowed to smile, you know..."

"Of course," Hermione said, feeling a bit annoyed with Ron for being so callous, "I just, don't really feel like smiling right now. Obviously."

Ron sighed, but didn't press the issue.

"I can't believe we'll never see him again," she said quietly, "He'll never be there to explain it all to us, or make us feel like everything will be alright."

"We have Harry to explain it all to us," Ron grinned, "He's halfway through Dumbledore's library already."

"Have you heard from him recently?" Hermione asked, hopefully.

"Yeah," Ron said, "He stopped by last week."

"And he didn't Floo? The nerve!" Hermione scowled, "I suppose he's just busy, though. I'll have to send him an owl."

"Uh-oh," Ron snorted gleefully, "I smell a Howler coming."

"I'm sure he's just busy," Hermione huffed playfully, "Seriously though, you must hardly ever see him."

"It's true," Ron admitted, "Puddlemere's schedule's really mad...I mean, any professional team's is, of course, but he's really only there a week out of every month..."

They spent a few happy hours reliving "Harry" stories, Hermione teasing Ron about the time he'd interrupted Harry and Ginny, "testing" the new mattress.

"'Yes! Well, that seems fairly sturdy!'" Hermione quoted, collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Ugh, thank you, for that," Ron grimmaced, "I'd finally managed to get that out of my head for five minutes."

"Oh, I think it's sweet," Hermione protested, beaming, "Harry's a sweetheart, but he's always been...well...a bit repressed."

Ron snorted.

"This coming from Miss Prefect, Miss Head Girl, Miss Supreme - "

"Now Mr. Ronald Weasley, you'll want to reconsider before levelling such allegations at me," Hermione warned, her eyes sparkling, "In fact, you are one of the few people at Hogwarts who knows exactly how...er...repressed I may or may not be."

Ron laughed shyly, his ears reddening, but they quickly lapsed into silence as they continued their stroll around the lake.

Hermione felt her own ears grow hot and looked out over the lake, hoping Ron wouldn't notice her blush.

Stupid. She'd probably gone way too far, too fast, bringing up their Hogwarts relationship like that. Once everything with V...with Voldemort had started up, they hadn't really had time for dinner and dancing...just like Harry and Ginny, they'd put their budding relationship on the back burner, so they could focus on defeating Voldemort, and supporting Harry. But now that that was all over...

...Well, it had been difficult finding their way back. The wizarding world was in an joyful uproar in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat, and there were interviews, and galas, and awards, and scholarships...and then, the real work began - putting their lives back together from all the pieces.

Harry, after an exhausting regime of Goodwill Tours and speaking engagements, did a brief stint as Dark Arts Professor, but decided that being at Hogwarts brought back too many memories, and that he wanted to start fresh. He consented to join the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, made things work with Ginny, and after running into Oliver Wood in a pub, tried out for Puddlemere on a whim, and was the only one surprised when he made Seeker. He still wanted to go for Auror some day - "Quidditch isn't forever, you know," he'd say, to Ron's horror - but for now, he was happy to just...well...be happy, for once.

Ron, on the other hand, had floundered for a bit. He enjoyed getting his due of recognition at first, but after being constantly hounded for months, he began to understand Harry's distaste for fame. For all his yearning for recognition, the title of "Hero" never sat well with Ron - Hermione secretly suspected that unlike recounting his Quidditch glories, or midnight escapades under the Invisibility Cloak, retelling war stories was too painful for him. He moved back to the Burrow for a brief and disastrous period of time before getting a flat with Harry (to both his own and Mrs. Weasley's relief). Arthur got him a job at the Ministry, but he didn't have the patience or the politics for it, and mainly used the job to finance his weekends pubbing with his mates, or Cannons season tickets, or exploring Muggle London. He talked about trying out for the Cannons Keeper, but could never build up the nerve. Finally, on Harry and Hermione's intervention, he agreed to see Professor McGonagall, who promptly offered him a position teaching Care of Magical Creatures. Despite it not being his favorite subject, he rapidly became a favorite amongst the first years for his sense of humor, and when Harry said that he'd prefer not to accept tenure, Ron petitioned for the Dark Arts job, and was quickly approved.

Hermione, though, saw that despite its enthusiasm, the wizarding world was in sore need of reconstruction and reform. She dove into the Ministry, trying to change things from the bottom up...in particular, she secured some improved legislation for Magical Creatures, including the Voluntary Or Mandatory Indenture Tract, a bit of legislation which stated that unless house elves were given the right to choose to serve a family, their service was deemed "Mandatory Indenture," and were thus permitted to free themselves. Only a few house elves had taken advantage of it as of yet...but she knew that more would. Besides, at last house elves like Winky or Kreacher would have some recourse. It was her work with regards to Werewolf rights and Labor Laws that really got her respect within the Ministry, however, and combined with her war efforts, and growing fame, she soon found herself being promoted, and promoted again, until finally she landed the Wizengamot, and a few years later, the youngest member of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards. She was not, as Ron kept teasing, the Supreme Mugwump...she was no Percy. Still...someday...

So there it was - pieces all put together, everyone moving on with their lives, everyone doing alright...

The only two pieces they hadn't managed to put back together yet were...well, Ron and Hermione.

"What are you thinking about?" Ron asked, finally brave enough to break the silence.

Hermione shrugged, "Just how everything's turned out I guess."

"Mm."

They walked a bit more.

"It's really nice, you coming to visit."

"Oh, I know!" Hermione enthused, patting Ron's arm, "It's so great to just be here again, and see everyone, and see the castle, and...the teachers...Oh, and is the Giant Squid still..."

But she trailed off, because had Ron looked away abruptly, and his smile seemed to become fixed and lifeless.

"Yep, still here," he affirmed. But the clouds over his features evaporated as suddenly as they'd arrived, into a broad grin.

"Come on," he said, "I have something cool to show you."

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

Hermione hung back suspiciously as they approached Gryffindor tower and the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Er. Ron? I'm not sure I want to - I mean, there'll be students there - current students, that is...and I don't want to just go barging - "

"We're not going to the common room," Ron said cryptically, with a cavalier expression - he was obviously enjoying keeping her in suspense.

Indeed, they swept straight past the Fat Lady, who yawned broadly and ignored them. Instead, they stopped at a portrait of a shaggy-bearded knight, several yards down the corridor.

"Ready?" Ron asked, positively squirming with glee.

"Ready," Hermione said, reticently. Hermione wondered vaguely if the painting was going to say something particularly off-color, or if Ron was about to show her a new secret passageway, or some kind of teacher's bathroom with a cascading waterfall for a shower...

"Godric's Balls" Ron said, clearly.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione cried, clapping her hand over her gaping mouth, and laughing more out of shock than anything else.

"I get to set the password myself," Ron grinned, as the portrait gave a hearty guffaw, and swung open. He put one foot inside, and reached out a hand to assist her over the threshhold.

"But what if the students hear you?" Hermione asked, scandlized, "And just where are we going, anyway?"

"Don't you trust me?" he asked innocently, hand still extended.

Hermione snorted. "About as far as I trust Fred and George."

"C'mon 'Mione," Ron pleaded, "I really want you to see this."

He was so instantly sincere, and...yes, even crestfallen, that the idea of refusing seemed ridiculous. Of course she was going. She would follow this deep-voiced, sweet-faced freckled person anywhere he cared to go. But she quickly shook aside such a girlish notion, took his hand, and clambered through the portrait, in what she hoped was a very coordinated and business-like (yet politely trustful) manner.

When she looked up, she was surprised to see what appeared to be a miniature version of the Gryffindor common room - only much cozier, and a bit worse for wear. A Weasley sweater was draped over the plush red sofa by the fireplace, and the one large desk was completely cluttered with parchments, quills, planners, calendars, and gradebooks. A tall bookshelf held many tattered, well-worn books, as well as some gadgets she recognized - a Time turner, one of Sirius's two-way mirrors (Harry probably had the other), a Sneakoscope, and several other Dark Detectors. Against the far wall, clashing horribly with the rest of the rich velvety decor, was an orange Cannons poster, the same he'd had next to his bunk at Hogwarts, if memory served her right. A similarly painted portrait of the bearded knight she now recognized as Godric Gryffindor hung to her left, and through the ajar door on her right, she could make out a lush four-poster, messily unmade, with the familiar red velvet hangings.

"Ta-da!" Ron grinned, "I made Head of House."

Hermione gasped aloud, both hands flying up to her face.

"Oh, Ron!" she breathed.

Ron laughed deeply, collapsing onto the nearby sofa, and putting his legs on the arm.

"Go on then, have a look 'round."

"Ron, you didn't!" Hermione shrieked, "That's - that's fantastic!"

"In't it?" Ron beamed, "McGonagall said that what with being Headmaster, she didn't think she ought to play favorites amongst the Houses, and that she was really too busy to give a damn about giving or taking away points. Can you believe it? McGonagall said this."

"Ron, I - I just," Hermione stammered, feeling her eyes prickle despite herself, "That's just - I'm so proud of you!"

"Oh, don't do that," Ron said demurely, "It's not such a big deal...My Mum already cried about it, you don't need to!"

But Hermione could tell from his reddened ears that he was pleased that she was proud of him.

"Here," Ron said, in a would-be casual tone Hermione recognized only too well, "Have a seat."

He swung his legs off the arm of the sofa, and scooted over to one end of the couch.

Hemione realized she must have adopted a dubious expression indeed, because Ron burst out into that throaty laughter again, so deeply reminiscent of Sirius, and held up his hands defensively.

"No funny business, Miss Granger" he swore, innocently, "It's more comfortable than my desk chair. Besides, are you implying that a dignified Head of House such as myself would engage in any, err...uncouth behavior?"

Hermione felt her face growing hot as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Cheeky little bugger. Well. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

She plunked herself primly down at the other end of the couch, smoothing her robes fussily. This only served to provoke more laughter from Ron, who seemed to be in stitches ever since her arrival.

"Am I really so hysterical, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked, frostily.

"No, no, sorry," Ron hastily apologized, "I'm being a prat. Sorry, I'll stop teasing you. Hungry?"

The instant reversal caught Hermione off-guard yet again...Ron used to delight in catching her off-guard, pressing at her weaknesses...it was like a sport to him, then. The fact that he was suddenly so polite and mature had once again yanked the rug out from under her - a fact obviously not lost on the new Ron Weasley, who was still smirking as he handed her a golden plate of sandwiches, which had been waiting for them on the end table.

"Rest assured," he intoned gravely, "These sandwiches are completely VOMIT friendly. They are positively VOMITous."

"It's not VOMIT!" Hermione snapped, "It's the Voluntary Or Mandatory Indenture..." But she stopped herself as Ron broke out into another broad grin.

"Fine," Hermione said airily, "Go ahead and take the mickey. But if I hear you're indenturing house elves against their will, I'll just have to turn you in to the Aurors."

"Of course," Ron said nodding, still pretending to be quite serious, "Understandable. Oh, and I think I shall have to dock you five points for threatening a teacher."

"Ah, but I'm not a student anymore," Hermione countered, through a mouthful of sandwich.

"And thank goodness for that, or I'd be in quite a bit of trouble," Ron added with a wink.

Hermione swallowed, hard, the bread painful in her throat.

"And why is that?"

"Well," Ron said, in his would-be casual voice, "Two of us in here all by our twosies, door closed and everything - McGonagall would have my head."

Hermione snorted, "Only if you weren't behaving yourself."

"As I seem to recall, Miss Granger," Ron smirked, "You had a certain penchant for misbehavior."

"Me?!" Hermione cried, scandalized, "You and Harry were out under that cloak more times than I can - "

"I was thinking more of our 'Prefects' duties,' actually," Ron grinned.

Hermione felt another wave of heat prickling her cheeks and the back of her neck...and other places best left unmentioned.

"Ron," Hermione ventured, quietly, "If...If you're..."

Ron shook his head dismissively, sensing he'd strayed into dangerous waters.

"So how's everything at the International Confederation?" he asked innocuously.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. Shop talk. This she could manage.

"Well," she said, animatedly, "We're talking about starting up the Triwizard again...err, that's confidential, by the way. Only this time Hogwarts can't host because they hosted the last one, so we're taking petitions now, and the Salem Institute's put in a bid against Beauxbatons, which is making it very hard to work with both representatives on other projects..."

She rattled off all the exciting twists and turns, all the daily frustrations, and the treasured perks of her job, and all the while Ron smiled, nodded, and punctuated with muffled "Mmphs!" around his sandwich. She felt a bit bad for carrying on for so long, but she so rarely had a chance to discuss her job with...well, with a friend. Harry was always off somewhere with the team, and they wrote, but it wasn't the same. Ginny was sweet, but the Confederation minutae bored her to tears. The closest friend she had who appreciated her work was Professor Lupin, and while it was always a delight to have lunch with him, it wasn't the same as talking with a peer, a best friend...someone who knew you and loved you...whose approval could brighten your whole week.

"So, I suppose we'll just have to compare their budget proposals, but it's so confusing converting between dollars, francs, pounds, and galleons...it's creating no end of work in accounting," she concluded, with a heavy sigh. Ron simply smiled into her eyes in response.

Hermione gasped, suddenly. The sandwiches were gone, and the fire in the grate was burning low.

“What time is it?”

“I dunno, why?”

Hermione glanced into Ron's bedroom - there was no more pinkish-golden light streaming into the room - only the dim glow of the fire, and a full moon in the window.

“The Express - I’ve missed it!”

“No problem - just Apparate.”

“Ron!”

“Oh, right. I still forget that..."

There was a long, awkward pause, in which Ron tried very hard not to glance towards his bedroom, and Hermione tried very hard not to notice. Finally he sighed heavily, and stood.

"Well, come on, I’ll walk you to Hogsmeade.”

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

Hogsmeade was cool and silver in the moonlight, its normally vibrant, primary colors subdued and muted. The village looked even smaller from the last time she was here...but it only served to make it more cozy and inviting. There was an air of serenity about the place at night time that she was unaccustomed to.

"Well, here we are," Ron said, casting a glance about the deserted courtyard, "This looks alright. Sure you won't splinch yourself, now?"

"No, no," Hermione said, shaking her head, "This is fine."

They waited for the opportune moment, but none came.

"Haven't been here in a while, myself," Ron said, "Sort of loses its fun when you go by yourself."

Hermione squirmed guiltily. "Don't you go with the other professors?"

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "I'm too young and too new to feel at home in a group of professors...Can you imagine ordering a shot of Firewhisky in front of Professor McGonagall? I always feel like I'm at a job interview, or about to get detention."

His expression suddenly brightened.

"There's a final Hogsmeade weekend next Saturday, actually. If things aren't too crazy at the Ministry, why don't you -"

"I can't," Hermione blurted, before she could help herself. What was she doing?

Ron blinked.

"It's alright. Duty calls, right?" he said stiffly.

The spring night suddenly seemed to grow a bit chillier.

"I miss you," Ron finally said, the huskiness in his voice betraying him.

He was pawing at the back of his neck, and had shifted all his weight to one side. His eyes darted upwards from the middle distance between them, and then back again. Suddenly he wasn’t suave and mature and accomplished anymore, but awkward, gangly, and very lonely. He reached for her shyly, and after a moment's hesitation, she stepped into his embrace.

"I...I miss you too," Hermione admitted, and then, before she could stop herself, "Both of you. Er, you and Harry, I mean. It's been forever since we've spent any time together, what with all of us being so busy and - "

"You're not listening," Ron insisted, his blue eyes piercing her, "I miss you."

Hermione felt a bit dizzy...as though she'd just taken a deep breath after holding it for...oh, about four years, now.

"I know," she admitted, tentatively. Why was this so damn difficult? What was stopping her?

This is what you want, isn't it? Why are you sabotaging it?!

"Then stay,” Ron pleaded, quietly, “Why don’t you stay? They’ll understand at work.”

“Oh Ron, I - I can’t, it’s late, and…” she looked away.

Just say "yes!" You are a grown woman! Merlin's beard, are you on the International Confederation or aren't you?

“They’re expecting me tomorrow, and it’s far too late for them to -”

“That’s not why,” Ron said, accusatorily, and Hermione recognized the familiar signs of another big fight coming on, “It’s because of Harry. That’s why you never see me anymore, or return any of my owls. Because you think if you get involved with me, it’s like cheating on Harry.”

Hermione's jaw literally dropped open.

"What?! That’s ridiculous!” Hermione shrieked, pushing herself out of Ron’s arms, “Harry and I were never anything but best friends, Ron! You know that!”

“Still!” Ron said, angrily, his ears discernibly red, even in the dim light.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione shouted, refusing to back down.

"Doing what?" Ron retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Being a prat for no good reason!" Hermione spat.

"Because - !" Ron blustered, "Because..."

Suddenly it was as though he'd run out of steam. His posture slumped a bit, and he looked down at his sensible "professor" shoes.

"Because fighting with you is easy," he admitted, "Because it's familiar. Because I'm resorting to old tricks. Because I can't think of any other reason you would stay. Because I'm pathetic."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, her heart melting despite her best intentions, "You're not pathetic."

"Why is this so hard?" Ron asked, genuinely, "Harry and Ginny managed it so easily...and they hardly even spoke to each other before our last couple years...but just a month after...you know," Ron snapped his fingers, " 'Job done, nice work, let's go for a malted and maybe shag later.'"

Hermione laughed out loud, in spite of herself.

“It's like...It's like you can't let it go. Like you don't even want to be happy."

The warm feeling slowly blooming in Hermione's trunk suddenly evaporated.

"What?"

Ron quailed a bit at her tone, and looked as though he'd very much like to reverse what he'd just said.

"What? What is that supposed to mean? I don't want to be happy?"

"Well, it's just..." Ron stammered, "I mean...after...what happened, and all...it's like you never really...you're different."

"And you're not?" Hermione snapped, "Isn't something...something so..."

She suddenly had a glimpse of Harry, bloodied and bone-weary, struggling to his feet...a jet of green light, catching Luna square in the chest...why hadn't she been faster? The scene faded, replaced by Ron, face contorted and beaded with sweat, twitching under the red light of the Cruciatus...

"Isn't something like that supposed to change people? Weren't we just 'oohing' and 'aahing' over how different you are?" Hermione spat viciously, "What, you're the only one allowed to grow up?"

"But you haven't grown-up!" Ron shouted, his brow furrowing, "You were always grown-up! 'Growing-up' for you meant...not being such a...grown-up all the damn time!"

"We're not at Hogwarts anymore, Ron," Hermione sniffed.

"Exactly! It's like you've always felt like you had to... prove yourself. I always though you were mad...I didn't understand who you were trying to prove it to...I though maybe people like the Malfoys, that you were trying to prove something because you're a Muggle-born..."

Hermione felt as though she'd been slapped. The look on her face must have been really horrible, because Ron looked instantly apologetic.

"No, wait, I didn't mean," he stammered, "I just mean...first at school, and now all this with the Ministry...there's more to you than just a brain and a work ethic, Hermione! The only one you're trying to 'prove' anything to is yourself!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted, icily, "Are you implying that because I am intelligent, and have a successful career, and am not currently shagging you, I must therefore be miserable? Or that all this time, all the work I've done is just out of some misguided effort to...to make people approve of me? Did it never occur to you, Ron Weasley, that I like my job? That I like being smart and capable? That I like making a difference?"

"But you're not happy," Ron said, meekly, "You can't be, if we're...I mean...are you?"

"Well maybe 'being happy,' doesn't necessarily include you, Ron Weasley!"

The street was silent, Hermione knew that. The stillness was ringing in her ears - not even the stars twinkled in the cold sky. But she could have sworn that nonetheless, she heard a quiet “pop” like the snap of a guitar string.

“Fine,” Ron said, quietly, “If that’s true, then…that’s fine. I’ll stop owling.”

“Ron -”

“Take care of yourself, Hermione. Okay?”

His voice was funny, and she watched him turn, watched his back as he started walking back towards the castle.

“Ron!”

After what seemed like forever, he turned on a dime, and then suddenly he was there again, though she didn’t know how it had happened, and his mouth was on hers, so soft, and for some reason she was crying.

Somewhere in the rush, she had a memory...of waking up in the hospital wing her second year, after receiving the Mandrake root...feeling her body slowly unpetrify...

Everything dull and gray and hard inside her felt like it had suddenly broken, and what was left was so tender, it was painful -

“Stop!”

“I can’t,” Ron protested, kissing her cheek, squeezing her inescapably tight.

“I can't do this!"

“Of course you can” Ron said, as he gripped Hermione’s arms gently, his blue eyes desperate, “It's alright, Hermione. Nothing's going to happen to me...to any of us...it's over."

And he took her in his arms again, as she soaked his jacket, tears rolling down his front.

“I’m s-so sorry! The things I said -"

"Forget about it," Ron murmured into her hair, breathing her in.

"I was afraid...I thought...I thought if I let my guard down, even just for a second...if I actually asked for what I wanted..."

“That someone would come and take it away," Ron supplied, quietly, "I know."

"And seeing you again, it was just..." Hermione made a vain gesture at her chest, trying to explain.

"If you feel one thing, you have to feel them all," Ron said, quietly, "I understand, 'Mione...Harry went through the same thing."

“I’m so stupid!" she bawled, snotting all over him, "I think I’m smart, but I’m so, so, stupid!”

“We’re all stupid,” Ron said, and they left it at that for a while.

After a while, Hermione tried to inobtrusively wipe off Ron’s jacket with her mitten, which elicited a watery laugh from Ron.

“Well, I couldn’t help it!” Hermione said, trying to wipe her nose as subtly as possible.

“I have Supreme Mugwump bogies all over me,” Ron grinned, “This must be some kind of bizarre baptismal ritual.”

Hermione laughed entirely too much, still wiping her face helplessly.

“Come on,” Ron chuckled, “You look a fright.”

They started walking back to the castle.

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

"Merlin's Balls," Ron whispered.

Hermione stifled a giggle along with the portrait on the wall.

"Sorry," Ron apologized bashfully, "Bit of a mood-killer."

Hermione stumbled over the portrait frame, but Ron caught her, as always. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and Ron snickered quietly.

The bath was just hot enough, and there were plenty of magically-warmed towels and a worn, blue bathrobe with an "R" on it, waiting for her.

The air in the sitting room felt much cooler than before when she stepped into it, and it raised goose bumps up and down her arms and legs...or maybe that was just the way Ron turned from the fireplace and looked at her...

He crossed the room, and scooped her into his arm, kissing her gently...he grabbed the ends of the terry-cloth belt, grinning as he tugged her gently forward, backing into his bedroom...she laughed, and closed the door behind them with her foot.

It was different from their Hogwarts tryst...back then, it felt as though death were lurking around every corner...that you had to hurry up and take what you could get...so it was easier, in a way - hot, sweaty snogging in an abandoned classroom, or secluded corridor. But they were still children...in a way, they had stayed children on purpose, knowing that in some way, they were a more powerful weapon against the darkness. In more ways than one, the day Voldemort fell marked the end of their childhood.

But this...being here with Ron...discovering the freckles on his shoulder blades, the dip of his collarbone, kissing the shiny pink scars on his forearms...this was new again. And slow. And very deliberate. And definitely a far sight from fumbling in a broom closet.

It did hurt, but not in the way Hermione had expected. It was good pain…the pain that comes from tenderness, and a full heart.

Ron was a perfect gentleman. Hermione suspected he’d done this before (he certainly knew what he was doing)...but she wasn’t about to ask - besides, it didn’t matter. It was the first time he’d done it with her and that made it new for them both.

He smelled like Quidditch afterwards - sweat, fresh earth. She traced patterns across his chest, through his red hair, down the bridge of his freckled nose.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear. They shivered together, in the cool room…or maybe it wasn’t the cold.

“I’ll never leave you again,” she promised.