She had always been strong. Always. That was her job, to be the emotional balance of the trio, and not once in the past year had she let herself get visibly upset. Nothing more than a few tears, at least.
She hadn't ever been one of the girls who were overly emotional. It was quite a trend, she noticed, unfortunately, with most female witches. But not her, not Hermione Granger, she kept herself together, and she constantly provided support and logic in the face of any sort of trauma.
Today, though, she felt that foundation begin to crumble. It had all been too much. There were bodies strewn across The Great Hall. Fred Weasley was dead. Tonks….Lupin.
It was dawn. Harry had disappeared a while ago, with Ginny, maybe, somewhere off to sleep or talk or maybe just sit, quietly. Decompress, for a while, probably. Ron was with his family. She was alone, for the time being, and suddenly felt quite desperate. Quite empty.
She found herself walking towards the library.
For years, this had been her second home. The safety of the shelves and the constant quiet became a sort of religious experience for the young witch. And now, she returned. She found there hadn't been much damage. To the front, of course, there were a few toppled shelves and remnants of the fighting, but towards the back of the library, it looked untouched. With a small smile, she walked up and down the shelves, fingers absentmindedly dancing across the spines.
She heard footsteps at the front of the library, and then a voice.
"Hermione?" it called gently. Ron.
She walked out through the shelves, saw him standing there in the doorway. She felt a pang deep in her stomach as she saw his red eyes. He was hurting. She couldn't much blame him.
She walked to him, quickly, silently. There was a lot of unsaid things between them, but today wasn't the time, and just then, there wasn't a need. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest, feeling it catch with a hollow sob. The familiar goal-oriented shift hit her suddenly, distracting her from any of her own feelings. Comfort. Support. Provide love.
"What do you need?" She asked, pulling away, brushing away a couple tears from his cheek. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. He shook his head once.
"Mom and Dad went home. Took him….Bill too. I didn't want to go."
"That's alright. Are you hungry?"
Again, his head shook.
"I'm tired, mostly." he said, his voice hollow.
She smoothed his hair back gently, looking up at his face. This past year, Ron had looked like a different person, in ways. Like she was noticing parts of him she never had. Of course, he was the same old boy she'd met on the train, but now his eyes made her stomach flop. His arms, toned and large, his chest broad and wide and oddly inviting. His jaw, covered in a slight stubble, more brown than red, was angular and defined. She felt an unexpected pang below her navel, and flushed, realizing she was oggling.
"Then...er, let's go to sleep." She slid her fingers between his, a movement that was becoming more natural. "Common room?"
"You'll stay?" he asked weakly, and she smiled slightly.
"Yeah, of course."
He looked immensely relieved. He guided her from the library, and they walked in silence, taking in the destruction around them. The Fat Lady, instead of asking for a password, looked solemn and understanding, and swung open.
The common room was deserted. Hermione looked towards the fireplace. The fire, in their Hogwarts days, was never extinguished. Even in the warmer months, it remained embers, warm and glowing. But now, now it was cold black ash.
Something inside her split. The determined calm she wanted so desperately to cling to, was shattered in a quick and painful moment. She let out a desperate scream against her will, as the emotions rolled over her like a thick and suffocating smoke. Tears sprung in her eyes, and a sob shook her body. She felt herself fall to her knees.
Ron spun, looking alarmed. It was only a half a moment of confusion before he realized what he needed to do. She was breathing funny, in between sobs, bordering on hysterics. He reached for her, easily scooping her up. She was limp, mostly, and his stomach twisted painfully. He fell into the nearest chair and pulled her into his lap, holding her against him.
She screamed into his chest, the waves of grief nearly too hard for her to stand. For a long while, he let her cry, gently stroking her back and smoothing her curls. When the crying turned into hyperventilating, he pulled her away from his chest, pressing his forehead against hers.
"Hermione." he said firmly. Her face glistened with tears, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Her mouth was open, gasping for air, and her entire body shook. "Look at me."
Her eyes met his, and she nodded slightly.
"Now breathe. Steady." he inhaled, slowly, and exhaled, setting an example. The second time he inhaled, she did the same. Shakily, she did it again. Her eyes looked more focused now, and behind them was a firm determination to get a grip.
For a while longer, she settled, a sob still escaping occasionally. Now that she wasn't going to faint, Ron let her have at it. He spoke more, as well. Offering small, quiet words of comfort.
"We're okay, it's over, it's over. You're okay, I'm here, we're all okay." he repeated, his voice thick again with emotion. His own tears had spilled down onto his face and her hair. He was nowhere near the state she'd been in, but seeing her like that had hit him harder than most things that day. He thought grimly of Malfoy Manor, and her screams, and held her tighter. He couldn't bear to think of what he'd do if he'd lost her that night.
Or ever. If he lost her ever. With a sudden epiphany, he realized what that meant.
Her crying had stopped, and now she just listened to the steady heartbeat beneath his jumper.
"Hermione?" he asked softly, and she looked up at him. He took in her face, her beauty. Her thick eyelashes and glowing brown eyes, the spattering of freckles only across her nose, her bowed and inviting...tantalizingly full and pink lips. He'd tasted them, like he'd always dreamed of, hours before. He'd felt them moving against his, her tongue slipping between his. The memory of this stirred him slightly.
He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip.
"I love you." he whispered. Hermione's eyes widened.
"Ron, I...I love you too." she replied quickly.
"Wait…" he sighed. "Not like, not like…" he sputtered. "Not like I love Harry...or my sister. Like, I love you. Like, in love with…..with you."
"No, I know." she said softly. She looked somewhat relieved, he noticed. "I am, too."
He bent down, kissing her carefully, tasting the salty tears on her lips. He heard her sigh, deep in her chest, and open her mouth invitingly. He gripped her hair, kissing her desperately, ravenously, like he was making up for lost time. She pushed herself up, readjusting so her knees fell on either side of him, his hand slid across the small of her back. All the emotions transferred themselves into desperate hunger for him. She pressed her hips against his, rolling them a couple times, grinding softly, as she kissed him. With a small moan of satisfaction, she felt his response.
A moment later, he jumped, and she pulled back. He shook his head, breathing heavily.
"We can't." she said. He nodded. It wasn't time, it wasn't right.
"I know." he said, his voice gruffer. "I'm sorry….that was..." he trailed off, and pressed his hand against her back again.
"You're tired." she said. "I am too."
"You okay, though?" he asked. "You were in a right state."
She nodded. "Feel much better. Needed to get it out of my system. Thank you."
She slid off him, and held out her hand. He followed her up to the boys dormitory. He looked at their room, beds still made with whatever bedding the current occupants had. He lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, thinking of all the time spent in there. Joking with Harry, throwing candies across the room at Seamus and Dean. The fights. The early mornings.
He looked at Hermione. She'd undressed, and was down to her panties and a white tank top.
"Don't get excited." she grinned wryly. "My clothes were filthy. Yours are too. You'll be more comfortable in your pants."
He nodded stupidly, not able to pry his eyes off her. He'd never seen this much skin on Hermione ever. Her legs were long, her belly flat. Her ass curved out more than he expected it too. Her breasts pert and standing at attention in the chill. Her hair fell down her midback, and across her collarbone, wild.
She'd been up for nearly two days straight. Her eyes were puffy and red. There were injuries all over her. Bruises, mostly, some cuts.
She walked across the room, and helped him out of his jumper. The animalistic side in him wanted nothing more than to pull down those panties and have at her, kiss her again, feel every inch of her skin. Taste every inch.
"You're staring." she said. "You're tired, remember?"
This sentence brought him back into reality. She slid her hand down his bare chest, letting it rest on his belly. She was surprised to feel some definition there. The year of traveling had toned him out. She ached to follow that dark red fuzz above his waistband and lower. To be touched in every untouched place.
"Sleep." he said. He walked to the bed, pulling back the sheets. They were singles, but roomy enough for two people. She climbed in after him, curling against him like a cat.
They slept 16 hours.