RATING: R (Or M, whatever…)

PAIRINGS: R/Hr, H/G

DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own these character's, all credit to J.K Rowling, with the exception of those I make up.

SUMMARY: Seventh Year of Hogwarts proves difficult when Hermione and Ron come to terms with 'those' feelings, each in different ways. Can they get out of this before they sink to deep?

A/N Basically I'd really like to send this out in chapters, and then join them all into

one long chapter, to save people the time in reading it. Read, Review, hope it's ok.

CHAPTER 1: Damn

Hermione Granger sat in her bedroom, tired but still awake, reading through their latest Defence Against the Dark Arts book. As glad as she was that they'd managed to convince Remus Lupin to return to teaching, she was still exhausted from all her work.

Checking her watch and finding it to be a little past midnight, she decided to go to the common room and attempt to write her 6 foot essay on Vampire mating rituals.

Walking down, she found Harry to already be on one of the couches, brooding into the fire. Beyond the point in their friendship of always needing words, she simply sat down next to him, leaning on him a little so he was aware of her presence. Well, that was part of the reason she leaned on him. The other was because she new how much physical contact meant to him, being cramped with the Dursley's constantly had given

him an aversion to touch, one that was taking him a while to get over.

Hermione, however, was one of the few who could encourage him into contact, and though he continued his brooding, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek and rested a friendly arm around her shoulder. In the outside world, perhaps this could be considered a more than amicable affection. However after everything they'd been through, it was simple companionship and comfort that created the physical bond.

Hermione worked quietly on her essay, leaving Harry to his thoughts. But after about ten minutes, Harry spoke. 'I'm worried about Ron.' Hermione nodded, she understood. Over the last year Ron had changed, matured. Whilst with his friends he was still the relaxed, funny git he had always been, he had definitely grown up. The awkwardness had left him, and in its leaving revealed a confident young male, with one thing on his mind. There were few girls within the school he had not bedded, and those he had…well, let's just say that despite anger at his callous treatment of them, they still would not hesitate at the thought of a second round.

Hermione had found it a difficult time. She loved Ron dearly, he was one of her best friends, and a part of her knew that these feelings were probably because she was no longer the main female in his life. But the other part of her, the one she had buried the first time she saw him with Lavender, knew she was hurt.

'He'll be fine Harry, the only thing Ron Weasley has to worry about is his fanclub turning nasty and beating one another to death.' Harry grinned, but his heart wasn't in it, and she could tell there was something he was hiding. Not wanting to pry, she left him to his thoughts. After another hour of work, she packed up and closed her books. She shook Harry, who had fallen asleep in her lap about half an hour ago, said goodnight and went to bed. She dreamed of fire.

Hermione sat with Ginny over breakfast, smiling at the changes in her young red headed friend. Ginny had changed, slowly but surely, from the shy pale girl Hermione knew, to a beautiful young woman. Her hair had darkened from ginger to auburn, her skin clear and glowing, and her eyes a beautiful shade of green. She'd filled out too, Hermione regarded her curves jealously. Whilst Ginny had grown taller and more womanly, Hermione had stayed at the same height she'd arrived at Hogwarts in, and her figure had curves, but no where near the sensuality of Ginny. At least, that's what she thought.

'I still like him'. Hermione jumped, their breakfast had been a quiet one, but she knew instantly what Ginny meant. 'I had a feeling you did, why on earth don't you do something about it?' Ginny shrugged, 'He's Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the Chosen One, and I'm just…Ginny.'

'You're right, you are Ginny. You are funny, and smart in a sneaky kinda way. You are gorgeous, so why on earth would you not be worthy of him?' Ginny smiled sadly.

'Because he only has time for his thoughts, his brooding thoughts, and he always recoils from me, even when I pat him on the back.' And that was when Hermione understood – Ginny didn't know about Harry's dislike of touch. She made a mental note to have some firm words with Mr. Potter, whom she often caught staring at the youngest Weasley.

'His lordship enters,' Ginny scoffed, still slightly repulsed by her brother's new found hobbies, namely women. Hermione turned. You had to hand it to them, Quidditch was an excellent game.

Ron had grown even more last summer, now towering over every other Weasley at 6ft7. His hair, like his sister's, had darkened to auburn and now reached his shoulders, and he had filled out. Broad shoulders tapered off into a lean waist, and his robes hid a stomach that could still make Hermione think bad thoughts. His awkward walk, brought about by hands and feet too large for his body, had changed into a confident swagger. Harry entered with him. Whilst nowhere near as tall as Ron, his body had the same leanly muscled look, though Harry's were slightly stockier. His hair, though still unruly, was somewhat tamed by the length.

They each pulled up a chair either side of Hermione, Ron's long legs stretched out under the table. Harry smiled at Hermione, and Ron planted a quick kiss on her cheek before stealing a piece of buttered toast off her plate. Many girls at Hogwarts had wondered how Hermione had the two best looking guys in the year trail after her, and the mystery still stood.

The truth was, it was because they adored her. No one else helped them with their homework in a way that they could understand, no one else knew what to put on a Quidditch injury so Madam Pomfrey would let you play another game. No one else would be there for a hug, at times when they were feeling incredibly unmanly, and needed female attention of the non-sexual variety.

At least, that's what used to happen. Whilst Harry still stayed close, Ron had stopped hugging her a while back. Hermione had tried to hide her hurt, tried to ignore the realization that Ron now had other girls to get his female contact from, but it still ached.

Hermione sat quietly in the common room, working through the essay she'd just written. She often liked to read through and re-write her essays several times before handing it in, especially her potions essays. She heard the portrait door open, and in stumbled a slightly drunken Ron. Knowing full well that a man of Ron's size would have needed to drink several bottles of fire-whiskey before it hit, Hermione frowned.

'Where have you been? And why on earth are you so drunk?' Ron refocused his eyes, and saw before him an angry sprite. Hermione didn't realise it, but she had changed too. Her hair had tamed slightly, so that dark chocolate curls now formed around her pointed face. Her mouth, with its slight moue of a frown, was like two dark petals, and her eyes looked deliciously deep in the darkness. She still wore her school uniform, but one of her buttons had come open, so the slight rise of her breasts could be seen. The moonlight streaming in through the window created a slight see-through affect on the white school shirt, and Ron's drunken eyes noted the curves and flatness of her hips and stomach.

He grinned.

Hermione's heart did a slight flip flop at the grin, but she ignored it to focus on the youngest male Weasley's drunken state. 'Who was she?' She was proud that she'd managed to keep the hurt out of her voice. Ron shrugged, 'Does it really matter?'. The alcohol hadn't slurred his words, but it did create a huskier impression. His voice, already far deeper than it had been a few years ago, now had a husky edge to it. Again, Hermione held her dignity, refusing to be enthralled by her best friends new looks.

Ron stared. It had been a while since he'd let himself think about Hermione like this, although thinking about anything right now was slightly difficult. Lurching, Ron was held up by Hermione, and found himself resting against the wall by the fireplace, supporting himself with one arm, whilst the other gripped Hermione's left shoulder. He looked down. She was so tiny, her big brown eyes staring up at him.

'Who cares who she was, why do you care, no one cares.' Hermione winced, he had slurred slightly, and his words were the kind of drunken ramblings that she'd gotten used to with two males as friends. She couldn't help but notice the look in his eyes, they'd gotten so much darker, and were now staring at her intently, particularly at his mouth. His hand still gripped her shoulder, but now started to trail down to her side, sending shivers as he passed over her ribcage.

Ron's drunken mind noted how thin his friend has gotten, and was about to tell her to eat more, when he noticed her eyes fogging over. Even in his drunken state, Ron had enough knowledge of women to grin slightly.

God he looked good, towering over her and running his hand across her stomach. She closed her eyes momentarily, only to find that his hand had slipped lazily inside her shirt, and despite their proximity to the fire, she found herself shivering.

Ron moved his hand slowly upwards, purely experimenting with her facial expressions, and noting the changes in her body. He found very quickly the ill effects of such experimentation – his pants had gotten painfully tight, and, after lightly brushing the underside of her breast with a thumb, found her tiny sigh to be the strongest aphrodisiac he'd ever faced. He couldn't stop thinking how small and light she was, and decided to test it (for in his drunken state this seemed like a brilliant idea). Removing his hand from her shirt, Ron ran a thumb down her back, cupping her buttocks. He found she was small enough to lift with one arm.

Hermione found herself being lifted up and pressed against the wall at her back, held in place only by instinctively wrapping her legs around Ron. She was now eye to eye with the man she had wanted since second year, and found herself hypnotized by his sharp features and soft mouth.

Ron's drunken mind was enough to note the fact that she wore stockings, the kind with a suspender belt, so he could see a line of golden flesh where his hand pushed her skirt up. He leaned between her legs, and she felt a hard bulge in his jeans. This was enough to snap her out of her reverie, and she quickly used her second advantage to push back and jump down. Hermione Granger, sensible and clever, returned. She ran upstairs without looking back, whilst her tall best friend stared, still leaning against the wall.

Damn.

Ron couldn't sleep. True it was a Saturday, and they didn't have training until the afternoon, but he still couldn't sleep. Admittedly, part of this was due to the roaring hangover he had, but the other part was thinking of last night. He could barely remember what happened, only climbing into through the portrait and then…what? He remember skin, so soft it felt like silk, and a smell. Vanilla and coconut and parchment. He remembered eyes, deep and brown, and he remembered the body, a tiny thing with curves that made him drool at the thought. He remembered a sigh, so soft and delicate that it had made him harder than a brick wall.

Who? Who the hell had it been? He'd felt so good, like no other woman in the castle made him feel. He knew why he'd turned into such a…well…slut. It was because there was a woman, in his very house, who had plagued his every thought. She was brilliant and smart, and stunning, and his best friend. Hermione. He'd wanted her since she first told him his rat wasn't yellow. That bossy, infuriating, passionate witch. But no, he'd never compare to what she could have. First were her studies, her constant obsession with being top of everything. And then there was Krum, Gods how he'd hated Krum. That sallow brow and sulking face, and the way he'd looked around Hermione. She could have any man in the world.

So he'd chosen his own means of dealing. Other women. And oh yes there had been plenty. But none whom actually he cared for, or who wanted him for any other reason than sex.

Until last night. That girl, that young woman, the very thought of her was intoxicating. He couldn't get it out of his head.

Quidditch had formed a brilliant distraction, and, after washing off in the locker room, Ron decided on a walk. Down by the lake, the sun was setting and, after finding a secluded area, lit up a cigarette. Dirty habit. Disgusting habit. But with the kind of fire he had in his blood right now, fire for his mystery common room woman, Ron quenched it. He took a long drag, holding in the nicotine, and slowly breathing out.

Harry found him about 15 minutes later, still smoking, and sat down with him, pulling out his own pack. (A/N look I know it's bad that I am making them smoke, but I figure that after all they've been through, you're gonna have some kinda vice. In no way I do promote smoking or think it is cool).

'I can't figure out who it was mate.' Harry shrugged; he'd gone to bed early, thoughts of a certain red-headed woman crowding out all his brooding. 'Maybe she'll be there tonight.' Ron nodded assent, grimacing when he realized he was supposed to be meeting with a Hufflepuff 5th year. He knew he should really cut down, but sex was like a drug to him, he had a constant craving for…well for her. Hermione. He couldn't escape it, and the episode last night had just caused a greater need for a female body underneath him.

Hermione had had a difficult day. Working was difficult when all you could think about was your best friend's hands on your body. His reaction when he saw her during Quidditch practice made her realize he didn't remember anything from last night. Well she did. She remembered his hands, his long fingers exploring her. She remembered his strong arms, how she could feel his muscles bunch and tense in his back when he lifted her. His smell…god his smell…he smelt like spices and sweet whiskey, and…Ron. She sighed.

She'd suppressed this, hidden it, avoided it constantly, until her feelings were just a tiny buried rock in her heart. And now…now it was all here again. The distraction and the dreams and the hurt at the sight of him with other girls

She watched as he and Harry entered the common room, each smiling slightly. She smiled to herself, they honestly thought she didn't know that they smoked! She didn't care to much, but it hurt a little that her two best friends hid it from her. She shifted slightly in her chair, and, unbeknownst to her, her skirt rode up a little.

Ron stared. Stockings. Hermione was wearing stockings. The girl last night had worn stockings. He quickly hugged Hermione, breathing in deeply. Vanilla and coconut…parchment. Ron stared as Hermione went back to her work.