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

Warnings: Mild allusions to alcohol use, infidelity and fem-slash. Post DH, but we'll close our eyes and pretend the epilogue never happened.

On Moonlit Sand

She would have called it an accident, would have said it was nothing to do with feeling and everything to do with the liquor; she would have said it had been pleasant, a convenient release of frustration, that it hadn't meant anything and she had put it out of her mind as soon as it was over with.

She would have said those things... but she wasn't a liar.

The beach was calm, the breeze blew salted sea air through the palms and Ron's hair was caught in it too, it flailed on the invisible fingers and Hermione saw her own pale hands, tanned with sun and fleeced in red; she thought of Ginny and her face fell and suddenly Ron was frowning too because he knew. Experience was a hard teacher and he was an apt pupil; he'd learned volumes during those long dark months and they'd stuck harder than any Hogwarts lesson ever could have.

And then he was leaving, his shoulders set, muscle tense, little clouds of sand kicking up after his heels and Hermione wanted to call out after him, ask him to come back, tell him she was wrong, that she was sorry but she couldn't... she wasn't a liar.

Author's Note: I'm not sure what this is, where it came from or where it's going... if it's going anywhere at all; just some words, trying to convey a feeling, paint a picture. How'd I do?

-Peace