An image of Ron below her, his blue eyes staring up at her with such burning passion in them, it made her shiver. She had leaned forward planting her lips on his, and felt the sweat trickle down her brow. She had needed to be closer to him; she couldn’t have it any other way.

Holding his head in his hands, he looked through his open fingers out the window and at the door of the Leaky Cauldron. He sucked in air out of surprise as there she stood, Hermione. Her soft brown hair down, blowing lightly in the light breeze. The sun seemed to break through the cloud cover for one momment lighting up her flawless skin. She walked out to the street, looking both ways before quickly walking. Her hair bounced away, and as she drew closer he saw that she wore no make-up. Just the way he liked it. She entered the coffee house, her brown eyes searching for his blue.

One last pang of nausea hit Hermione, and she rushed to the lavatory, crashing on to her knees, and bending low over the loo. In relief, she lay down on the cool bathroom floor; the side of her face cooling as she breathed slowly, sweat trickling down her brow.

As Ron walked, his thoughts wandered. He still could not believe that he was in Paris, France, with a great job and living inhabited home. Unlike his parent’s house, Ron felt that it was a lot more relaxed, quiet, probably due to the fact that they did not get anywhere near as many visitors as the Burrow did, but Ron found that Harry’s house was more freeing. Less memories inhabited this home, fewer memories that had been haunting Ron ever since he was seventeen years old.

For the last hour he had been awake, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw the same image play over and over again in his mind. He was oblivious to everything around him, and could not hear the excited cheers from the kitchen. He didn’t know that Hermione Granger was now a lot closer to him then he could have ever dreamed.

The lamps flickered on as he pushed the swinging door open, and he absently walked over to the cupboard, not noticing the surprised figure that sat at the round table. He saw a note on the counter from Harry saying he had gone out to dinner with Annie and her parents, and Ron grunted to himself. He took a mug out of the cupboard, and pulled out his wand to make some coffee.
“Ron,” Hermione spoke softly as not to scare him. She had gone on long enough without saying a thing.

The back door led straight into the quaint kitchen, and Hermione walked over to the fresh blueberry pie that sat on the counter. Pulling out her wand, she magically moved it on to the table, and then cut it into seven. Putting her wand back into her pocket, Hermione went over to the cupboard and pulled out three plates, and sat them on the table. As she turned around to fetch a scoop to put the pie on the plates, Ron came into the kitchen carrying a hysterical Rose over his shoulder.