A/N: Just another snippet of Ron and Hermione's life. Set more in the future, maybe when they leave Hogwarts? This could just be a one-shot but a reckon I could think of ways to continue it. So leave me a review and let me know if you think it's worth it.

Hermione's POV

I found him. I found him leant across the bar, spilling his drink on the floor with the barman telling him he'd had "one too many." One was an understatement.

"Ronald!" I'd given him my best angry mother impression, he'd just looked up sideways and almost toppled backwards.

I'd caught him…just, and he rewarded me with a grateful smile. "I'm taking you home," I'd explained.

He didn't argue, he didn't have the current mental capacity to do so. He just leant against me, draped an arm round my shoulders and murmured "weyhey" into my left arm.

I had my arm hooked loosely round his waist to allow me to drag him to the door and out into the night. We made it down the road, where I opened the car door and dropped him on to the passenger seat. I closed the door, walked round to the other side, got in the car and turned the key.

As I pulled out of the parking space, Ron made a poor drunken attempt at conversation.

" 'Mione, love you."

"Ronald, I have no idea what you're implying but I can assure you that you're not in your right mind." Wherever that is.

He looked hurt, confused, probably because he wasn't aware of what he was saying, I'd save the drinking lecture for the morning, he'd never listen now anyway. He slumped back in his chair, resting his head on his own shoulder and closed his eyes, right as I turned the corner into his road.

He was asleep, perfect.

"Ronald…Ronald! You need to wake up, you're home."

He hummed back at me, acknowledging my voice but not exactly regaining consciousness.

I parked and nudged his arm in order to provoke him into fully awakening.

"'Mione?"

"Well done Ronald, now get out of the car."

I waited for him to oblige before I realised he'd never make it to his front door alone and escorting him there, using my spare key to gain access and following him inside.

"Ronald, have you actually eaten anything?"

He shrugged.

I sighed.

"How much have you drunk?"

Another shrug.

Another sigh.

"You need food," I told firmly. He stood there bewildered as I went to the fridge and took out the first healthy-ish thing I saw: eggs.

"How does scrambled eggs sound?"

No reply, I took that as agreement.

I cracked the eggs in a bowel, added milk and mixed. It was as I poured the mixture into a frying pan that I heard the footsteps behind me.

Before I had a chance to think (and believe me, that's fast) his arm snaked round my waist, his body against mine, his hot breath on my neck.

I continued to stir the eggs.

"'Mione," he murmured in my ear, his lips were brushing against my skin; he was so wondrously close that it made me feel dizzy… but he was drunk.

I span out his grasp, resting against the surface behind me and looked back at Ron. There was a look of hunger in his eyes and it wasn't for the eggs.

"You're utterly intoxicated, you won't even remember what you're doing by morning."

He opened his mouth, as if in protest but merely blinked at me wordlessly . He stepped forward.

Much more of this and I'd find myself giving in. I placed my hands on his shoulders, summoned my inner strength and pushed back.

"No."

It was harsh, it was far too strict, I sounded like a parent denying a toddler cookies but it was necessary.

And it worked. A look of realisation dawned on him and he stepped back, walked away like a disciplined child.

I finished cooking the eggs and he ate them in silence. With the same tension in the air he left the kitchen and walked into the bathroom and emerged in pyjama bottoms, hugging his arms to his bare chest as though he felt guilty for something. He looked ridiculously vulnerable. I couldn't leave, I'd never forgive myself if he choked on his own vomit.

I waited for him to settle into one side of the double bed and then sat, fully dressed, above the duvet, against the headboard till morning.

* * *

I must've fallen asleep. I opened my eyes as the sunlight invaded the room to find Ron standing above me in jeans and a t-shirt looking fairly proud of himself. After his actions the night before I couldn't imagine why.

He presented me with the tray he was holding, offering the word "breakfast" as explanation. I realised eggs were probably just about all he had in his fridge as I looked at the plate in front of me. Fried eggs on toast and a glass of orange juice.

"Hermione…"

I looked up, he only ever used my full name when he felt bad.

"…I'm really sorry for you know, to tell you the truth I don't remember most of it. I just wanted to thank-you, you didn't have to stay, I tend to be a jerk when I'm drunk."

I gazed into his nervous eyes, he was awaiting my approval, his face begging for forgiveness.

He shrugged in apology.

I sighed to compose myself.

I nodded at him.

"You're forgiven," A grin lit up his face, "but you're doing the washing up."

His smile dropped slightly, but he accepted the terms with held-back laughter. He knew he could get almost anything from me.

As I ate my breakfast and Ron began washing up the pile left from last night, I wondered about the connection between us.

This odd relationship, where we'd go from me looking after him one minute, to him looking after me the next. This constant skimming the boundaries of our friendship but never reaching into anything more. Ron seemed to conveniently forget his drunken outbursts, the things he said and the things he did, leaving me with this dilemma of whether there was truth in his words.

Could we really carry on like this forever?

A/N: So yeah, should I continue? Reviews please :) I had vaccinations today which I hate and reviews would somehow make me feel a whole lot better about the pain in my arm. Oh and I apologise if this is a bit patchy in places, I was fairly tired when I wrote it.