Disclaimer: I do not own anyone, except the characters that I've made up – though I wish I did it before JK did. Hmphr.

Note: This is my first ever fanfiction, so, cut me some slack, aight? I do however, welcome reviews – whether constructive criticism or worthy praises, I truly appreciate them. So, read and review!

1. Stressful Matters

He did so much as to kick it nonchalantly with his left foot. The door then shut with a soft 'click'. Fumbling in the heavy darkness of the room, his fingers searched the inner pockets of his coat, and he drew out what looked like a thick and long stick in the pitch blackness.

"Lumos," muttered the man lethargically. And with that, a ball of soft light glowed from the very end of his wand. He mumbled a few other unrecognizable words, and the whole room suddenly filled with light. The blinding glare from the light fixtures made him flinch slightly, and it was after his eyes had adjust to the now-illuminated room that he purposedly stepped across the living room floor, threw his black briefcase onto the armchair and plopped down heavily onto the sofa.

The man who was sitting in the couch breathed a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his thick, messy hair and shut his eyes.

And he opened them back.

Ron tilted his head back and rested his neck upon the top edge of the chunky sofa and stared at the white ceiling above him. His heart started to pound as he watched an oddly-shaped shadow begin to take shape on the very ceiling of his hall. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on ends, and almost by instinct, Ron took his wooden wand in his hand and prepared himself for anything that might happen next. His eyes were fixed on the shadow, unblinking.

Ron squinted furiously at the dark form. What the – What in the name of Merlin is that? he thought. Then, he finally saw it – a face. There was absolutely no mistaking the wild, bushy mane of a hair that belonged to –

"Jeez!" was the exclamation when he finally realized what it actually was. He closed his eyes, not believing of himself, and opened them back to see that the face had disappeared. The shadowy form of his old flame had actually been a figment of his imagination all along.

He placed his face in his palms and smoothed back his hair with them. "Hermione, Hermione," Ron said, almost whispering to himself. "What are you doing to me…?"

Ron looked around his apartment before getting up from the comforts of his chair. He looked at the messy pile of paperwork on his coffee table, shook his head in dismay and smiled tiredly at it, and with a wave of his wand, his living room dissolved into the darkness again and he began the taxing ascent up the staircase to his bedroom. Just moments later, the sound of snoring filled the house.

……….

Ron awoke. Apparently something, someone, some noise had stirred in his dream and awoken him from his sleep. Thinking it was nothing by his mind playing tricks on him again, he shut his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep. Then he heard it again.

At first he thought that it had been raining. But then he quickly remembered that it was winter, and it was snowing just yesterday; there was no way it could be raining now. And then the rain suddenly stopped. Weird, he thought, although still on his bed, refusing to believe that he was already awake and this was just another part of his dream. His brain – already half-dead and burnt-out from exhaustion – insisted that whatever the noise was, it should be as important to Ron as getting Potions homework done back when he was in Hogwarts – which meant that it was not absolutely necessary.

But pretty soon, Ron realized how necessary when he distinctly heard the trickling sound of water, followed by the definitive 'click' of a faucet. It was coming from the bathroom. His own bathroom.

His eyes flicked open at once and were now fixed upon the door of his bathroom. He had not even realize – up until now, that is – the sliver of light at the gap under the door, coming from inside the bathroom. Ron reached for the wand on his bedside table and got up stealthily, not wanting to make a noise or alarm the intruder.

Of course he knew there were dangers and problems when one chose to become an Auror. And one of those dangers was this: he knew that although Aurors worked in secret and were most discreet in everything they did, some of them have actually been found out in the past. And some of those who actually had been were unlucky enough to have either been killed in battle with other enemy wizards whose leaders or fellow 'bad wizards' have been snubbed out and put in prison by the Aurors themselves.

But above all that, Ron knew he had always wanted to be an Auror. He and Harry had always thought it was "cool" and fighting evil had always been his top priority after the War. That, and protecting his family and his two best friends.

Right now though, his eyes remained glued on the door while his wand remained firmly grasped in his right hand. He never would have thought that the burglar, or whoever that was inside, would have time to ransack his already messy home and still found time for a shower. Or perhaps he urgently had to go to the loo. Ron chuckled silently. Whoever it was inside, he was in for a rude shock. Ron remembered the spell to bust open a door and began chanting it in his head when –

"Click." The knob had turned from inside.

The door creaked open, and light from the bathroom began spilling into his bedroom. Ron could hear his heart pounding in his ears as a silhouetted figure began to step out of his now smoky, steamy bathroom. His wand was now pointing directly at the face of the figure. He squinted; still unable to identify who it was that had been in his bathroom, having a hot shower. And how the heck had he gotten in his house, not to mention the bathroom?

He was sure he had locked the door, plus, his whole apartment was sealed with a locking charm. The only people that had access to his home was would be a few of his colleague-friends, but Ron knew they respected his privacy – they only came if it was absolutely urgent, and it did not seem to him that having a shower in his own home was necessary to save the world and rid of it of all evil.

The others, who knew, besides his family, were his two best friends. But Harry of course, had been away for the past couple of months in America, exposing a big syndicate – a group of wizards who was selling Class 1 Dangerous Substances in the black market, conspiring with a group of Russian Squibs. That meant that the only person inside would have to be –

"Ron?"

"H-Hermione?"

"So sorry that I've woken you, Ron," Hermione said, rather breathlessly. Then she added more sensuously, "Go back to sleep love, I won't be a distraction." Ron caught a glimpse of her biting her bottom lip as she stepped out of the bathroom precariously, her body slightly damp from the steam, draped with nothing but a towel. His own towel.

"Hold on, Hermione," said Ron, still reeling from the shock. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I was having a shower…" she replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was in the neighborhood… felt a little chillier than how I'd like to be, so I figured a hot shower would help." She switched off the bathroom lights with a wave of her wand.

Ron cocked his head to a side. "So you figured you could come to my place" – Hermione nodded – "after all these years, without even a call?" Ron was practically shouting. He knew he was being too harsh on her, and he could tell that he had hurt Hermione when he saw her face drop; and although they had broken up and parted on good terms, he was still nursing a broken heart. After all, until last week when he saw her downtown, he hadn't seen her for a good five years.

After all, Hermione had been away at Scotland. Climbing away at the ivory towers of higher learning, Ron thought. She hadn't just been away, she ranaway. Just like you, Ron. And as much as he was thrilled to find a wet Hermione wearing nothing but his bath towel in his own bedroom, he still felt that it was just… wrong. It was so un-Hermione-like of Hermione to do such a thing. For one, she was seldom spontaneous to drop on by and say 'hi'; she had always called to see if anyone was at home, or busy or not. And for another, he did not think she was this daring to have a hot shower in his bathroom, with his towel wrapped around her, and now standing in front of him half-naked.

Not that I mind though, thought Ron, but that's beside it…

"Well, I wanted to call you, but… I figured you weren't back yet." She stepped away from him so that her back was now facing him. "Then I saw that you were here after all, so, yeah," she finished rather lamely.

"So you let yourself in…?" Especially when you haven't even spoken to me after 5 bloody years?!

Ron saw her turn to face him in the semi-darkness. "Oh, Ron. Don't be such a spoilsport – I was going to visit you sooner or later," said Hermione, dismissing Ron's subtle hostility, which in fact, was no longer subtle at all. "So… sooner it seems," she added.

She was now approaching him slowly, Ron could see. "Besides, we have a lot to catch up on…" Ron felt her fingers intertwining in his hair. He swallowed.

Hermione's face was directly in front of his, and now her body was against his as well. He felt her chest rising up and down against his own, the fabric of the towel straining at her bosom. His heart was pounding frantically as he tried not to stare at the part where her body met his. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was debating as to whether he should back away before something ever happened, or whether he should just grab her and 'get on with it' himself. But –

"'Mione, what're you doing?" Ron managed to find his voice, though it was still shaking. "Do you want something?" It was a dim-witted thing to have asked, and Ron was surprised that he had become so nervous.

This isn't right, Ronald, he thought. Maybe she's not Hermione; maybe she's some bad-ass chick who drank Polyjuice potion containing Hermione's hair to look like Hermione, and she's come here to seduce me, and use me to leak information and secrets from the Ministry. Or worse, it could be a bad-ass bloke…

"I… just… want," she started seductively. Ron, try as he might, was transfixed. Her face was now so close to his, he could feel her breath on his face. "I just want… you, Ron. I want you." And with that, she closed her mouth on his.

Ron awoke with a start. His forehead was beaded with perspiration. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

It had been just another dream. Ron let out a sigh – whether it was one that was of relief, disappointment or disbelief, he was not sure. If one brief encounter could have such an effect on him, then he did not know what to expect afterwards, especially now that he was going to see her more often, after her move back to London.

What he knew now though, was that he needed a vacation. A break. Whatever it was, he needed it soon. And that was definite.