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Her parents liked Australia, they really did. They'd visited it, often talked fondly about the trips they'd made there, and more than once Hermione had found her mother tracing the faces of the family photo taken while they'd been there when Hermione had been a mere three years old.

It was because of their fondness for the down under that Hermione suspected they did have a secret desire to perhaps retire in Australia one day. This thought had been something she'd used to justify the modification of their memories.

She'd hated herself for doing it. She hated herself even more when two months after the war had ended and most of the Death Eaters had been rounded up, she'd found her parents happily living as Wendell and Monica Wilkins and shattered their happy bubbles with the restoration of their memories.

But they promised her they didn't hate her. They were angry, frustrated and flummoxed as to how to go about proceeding in their lives, but they couldn't hate their daughter. They loved their wonderful, brilliant, brave daughter who'd done so much and sacrificed everything. And how was she doing? They wanted to know as they cooked her breakfast that fateful morning. Was their little girl ok? She was so thin. Surely she'd take five pieces of bacon in lieu of her customary three. And on and on their praise went.

She was grateful they'd taken the news so well. But then, they'd always been emotionally the exact opposite of Hermione. Rational. Calm. Reasonable. But she almost felt as though the guilt wouldn't be so bad if at least they'd shown a bit more anger. It would have been better if they'd shouted, that way at least she'd know how they really felt. All of how they felt, not just the rational, calm bits they revealed to her.

It was like how things were always better between her and Ron after they'd shouted about whatever'd been bothering them. Ron. How she'd missed him. How she partly wished she'd let him come with her to Australia, though he hadn't been particularly enthusiastic on his offer. When she'd said, "No, Ron. You need to be here with your family" he'd somberly agreed.

"That'll be the last time that happens," she muttered to herself as she sat at the kitchen table to endure her third night of guilt induced insomnia and stared out the window into the Australian rain.

Suddenly through the rain a shape appeared with the customary small "pop" signifying apparation. Instinctively, Hermione clutched her wand and rose and crossed the room to the window, not all the Death Eaters had been rounded up. She momentarily cursed herself for not waiting longer to reunite with her parents in order to ensure their safety.

Her worries were put on pause for a moment when she heard a soft knock on the door. She wasn't sure that was particularly death eater style, but she wouldn't put it past any of them. Gripping her wand still tighter and gripping the door handle with the other hand she whispered, "who is it?"

"Hermione it's me," came Ron's voice.

"Ron? What are you doing here?"

"Nevermind that, can you let me in? I'm swimming out here."

"Hang on," she said, still wary. "How do I know you're the real Ron?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Ron!" she hissed. "Death Eaters are still on the loose. How do I know you aren't one of them?"

"Oh bloody hell, Hermione. Okay, fine. I'm Ronald Bilius Weasley, youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, I hate my middle name, spiders, and horcruxes you have to wear around your neck. I walked out on my best friends five months ago and I still haven't forgiven myself for it, mostly because it still scares me to think something could have happened to you both without me being there to try to help, but partly because I think I might be in love with you and I realize now it was a really shitty thing to do to someone you love and I'm afraid you won't ever be able to really forgive me. Also a part of me still thinks I'm rubbish compared to a lot of the guys you could probably have and I kind of worry that you don't even like me and that the kiss in the Room of Requirement was just a fluke and-"

Hermione finally wrenched open the door.

Ron stopped short and they both stared at each other for a moment. He gulped. "And?" she found the breath to prompt. Though she found getting the one word out was more difficult than it should be.

"And. Uh, it was a lot easier to say that to your door than it was to your face."

She cleared her throat and found her breath again, though she wasn't certain if her heart was beating.

"I can close it again if you like."

"No! No. Can I come in now?"

"Yeah." She opened the door wider, unable to keep her eyes off him and stood as if in a trance. She came to herself a moment later when she realized he'd caught her staring and that she hadn't shut the door yet.

She blushed, then hurriedly shut the door. The empty minutes crept by. She had no idea what to say.

Ron did however.

"Look," he finally said, running a hand through his wet hair making it stand up worse than Harry's. "I meant to be a lot smoother about this but um, now that I've said it I guess it's fair for me to say too that if you don't feel the same way, I – I understand. And we can still be friends if you want, we don't have to mention this to anybody. I get it that end of the world stuff makes you-"

She finally spoke. "Do you maybe want some tea?"

He gaped at her. "Look, Hermione, I said I'd be your friend, and I will be. But my brother just died and my best friend's shagging my sister, I'm pretty emotionally spent. I don't know if I can sit here and make nice with somebody who just rejected me, k?" He made for the door. "I need some time to recover. So I'll just-"

She grabbed his arm from behind. "Wait."

Ron stopped, but didn't turn around.

She took a breath. "I – I don't want to be friends."

He looked up and to the side but didn't turn around and she knew he was biting his lip to keep from saying how hurt he was.

Realizing her mistake, she hurriedly corrected herself. I mean, I don't want to be just friends." He turned around and her breath caught again. He was so close to her. "I mean, I want to be more. I think... I think I might love you too," she hurriedly admitted. "But everything was such a mess before and I was afraid to move too fast and ruin anything because you seemed so... sad over … Fred and Tonks and Lupin," she added feeling the need to speak even more quickly. She was on a roll now, if she slowed down, there was no telling when she'd get the guts to say all this again. "And I missed my parents and I needed to make sure they were ok and before... oh Ron I was. I was. I was so... mad at you for leaving. I could have killed you and I think I almost did when you came back. But I didn't because you came back. You came back and it meant the world to me Ron. And it made all the difference. You came back."

He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when he felt awkward. "Well, yeah," he said.

It wasn't a particularly eloquent phrase, but it was no less revealing of the good heart she'd always known he'd had and in that moment she needed him, just like she'd needed him in the Room of Requirement. She needed to show him how wonderful he was and how much she cared for him. Abandoning caution, she flung her arms around him and for the second time in her life, kissed him full on the mouth and this time it was better without the tinge of worry that they might never get to do this again.

But the urgency was still there. Hermione clung to him, not caring that he was soaking wet. They broke apart a moment and Ron murmured, "Merlin, Hermione. Why didn't you say something sooner? I nearly-" they kissed again "-I nearly lost it there-" kiss "probably would've splinched myself apparating away."

They kissed again, Hermione whispering into his mouth, "I'm sorry-" kiss "-I didn't know what to say at first-" a longer kiss "-I guess I just couldn't-" more kissing "-couldn't believe at first you'd want a relationship."

Ron stopped her before they kissed again and held her by the shoulders, a more serious look on his face than she would have expected.. "I do, Hermione. I mean, I do want a relationship. I want to – I wanna do this right." He took her hand. "I don't want to screw this up."

"Me neither," she admitted.

"I want us to be... official."

"Yes."

"Exclusive."

"Goes without saying."

"Serious."

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

"And I'll try not to be such a great prat all the time."

She laughed and they kissed again. "You aren't a prat. Now how about that cup of tea?"

He grinned. "Yeah I think I'll stick around for one now. Could do with some time to dry off at least."

He poked around in the cupboards for mugs while she filled the kettle and suddenly she remembered something he'd said earlier. Without thinking she blurted, "Are Harry and Ginny really shagging?"

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