Hold Me
(Lyrics by Savage Garden)

Ron sighed deeply, so deeply in fact that he later believed the very air had touched his soul, faintly stinging it.

The sunrise that morning was spectacular. The streaks of gold cast on the murky sky, washing it from its gentle slumber. It really was spectacular.

He looked down at the girl he held in his arms. She was beautiful too. Hermione always had been beautiful. He'd always thought so. If only he had told her so before, and more often at that. Now it was too late.

Fingers of wind reached over his shoulders and stroked her wispy curls, all lit up gold and red with the sun. She still breathed in those rhythmic sleep-breaths, but curled closer into the curve of his body to find warmth.

Hermione was so lovely in the moment Ron was pretty sure his heart would crack in two. It was that, coupled with his guilt, that made him hurt to the very tips of his toes. For every moment he spent with her, he knew, was ruining both their lives.

Hermione had been married to his best friend just two years before. Ron's jaw went rigid thinking how badly he was betraying Harry. There were reminders of it everywhere. The unmoving photo of Harry in her wallet, the charming little voice-message on their Muggle telephone that they'd carefully rehearsed and giggled through in the excitement at sharing a last name, the wedding ring she still wore. And yet, their exquisite little affair was passing its six-month anniversary.

The wind blew again and Hermione shivered in his arms. A frown forming deep lines in his face, making him appear much older than twenty-six, Ron reached forward and pulled the blanket further up and settled it around her shoulders. But something stopped him.

He felt her hand. It was resting on the blanket. Shifting it upwards, he took it, squeezed his own round her delicate fingers. And felt it: Harry's ring that she wore on that special little finger on her left hand.

Ron couldn't resist. Careful not to wake her, he toyed with it. He rolled it around her finger, playing with the way it caught the light.

Then he realized what he was doing and nestled her hand under the blanket, pushing the albatross out of sight.

He was sick, he realized. That's what it was. He loved to torture himself. It was plain sick.

Disgusted with himself, Ron could do nothing but pull her tighter against him.

Yes, it had started six months ago. Hermione and Harry, they'd had a fight. A bad one.

Harry hadn't hit her or anything like that. He would never lay an unwanted hand on her. Or a spell, at that. But it had involved a frying pan being thrown past his head.

Anyway, it had scared Hermione enough for her to Apparate into Ron's apartment only a few blocks away in London for comfort from her other best friend. He had been in the middle of a date. Rachael, was it? Ron couldn't remember. But it didn't matter now. He had sent her away what with Hermione standing in his living room sobbing, tears giving her mascara-eyes.

Ron had never seen her so upset. Especially with Harry. But it had been bad that time. Harry had completely rejected her hopes of starting a family and things had erupted from there.

He'd taken her trembling body in his arms, held her for a long, long time. After Ron-didn't-know-how-many hours, Hermione had calmed down and they talked. Very sincerely and quiet-like. And then they betrayed him.

Six months ago. Ron didn't know how they'd kept it up so long. It was hard. So hard. With time, the shame built up on both their shoulders. With every time they lie in the darkness together, with every kiss, he felt another heavy brick add to the pile.

At first, it had been fun. The world had looked bright and magnificent, like it always did in good times. It had been the first since before their marriage for Ron, when he still had a fair chance with Hermione. They'd promised each other the world and they were happy. Hermione would leave Harry and they could be together: no lies, no sneaking around. And Harry would be happy for them because he would know deep down that this was how it was meant to be.

But eventually, it wore off and their affair was an affair, a dirty thing. They would make love as soon as Ron got off work, quickly and animalistic—to get it over with so they wouldn't get caught. They would fight over the smallest things. Menial, stupid things like washing dishes. It was nerves. They had become skittish cats being naughty behind their master's back.

And they became less and less careless. Hermione was careful to be able to account for the time she and Ron were together, and Ron made sure to shred any receipts for lingerie, for anything really.

And they both came to realized that Harry would not be at all happy for them. In fact, it would kill the friendship they'd had for over a decade. Harry would hold it against them—if he ever spoke to either of them again, that it—till the end of time. He would not forgive them, could not forgive them. Ron and Hermione both understood it too. It was something too great to expect from Harry.

Last night had been one of the good times. Harry worked at night, Ron in the day, at the Auror Office. Not that it was busy anymore after the Great War. Harry had left for work, right on time. They met at the little café across from Ron's apartment, as always. Kissing passionately once they'd made it inside, they made beautiful love right there on the kitchen floor.

Because Hermione didn't work actually at an office, she'd made them a quiet dinner. Some Italian dish that was so good he'd wanted to ravish her right on the spot.

After dinner, they told each other about their day. Ron at the Ministry, Hermione at the quaint little newspaper Luna Lovegood had started. Then they watched some Muggle romance movie and went into his bedroom and had a delightful little time until they both collapsed under the sheets from exhaustion.

Finally, after the moon had been out a decent half the night, they'd made their way out to the porch, Ron kissing on her neck all the way. And that was how they ended up.

But those good times were far outnumbered by the bad. Their affair had been tainted, turned dirty and unwanted. Most of the time they fought or sat in silent rage or avoided each other for days at a time. Ron grimaced. The bad times were when he thought about leaving her the most. Then they could forget it all and Harry wouldn't be the wiser. And best of all, his conscience would be cleared.

That's what he thought of now. They were slipping into the bad again. It was far simpler to fall into the bad then struggle in the good. How easy it would be to forget this ever happened. The lightness he would feel. Move on with his life. The good always ended too soon. It was never enough. Things could never be right with Harry until he did something.

In his arms, Hermione began to stir. He could fell her muscles straining, stretching. With a flutter of lashes, her brown eyes opened and blinked at him. God, how he loved her. But at the same time, he hated her for what she'd done to him, what she was making him do. His heart trembled with the thought of losing her. All of a sudden, he wasn't sure if he could free himself.

She smiled and lazed in his arms. Hermione reached out a hand and stroked the stubble forming at his jaw. "Good morning, sunshine."

Ron tried to smile back. "Morning," he mumbled.

Hermione frowned a little frown and gingerly sat up. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and tried to grin at her. But it didn't work right. "Nothing."

"No, Ron. Really, what's wrong? Didn't you like last night?" she grinned seductively.

Ron looked away for a moment, at the fading sunrise behind her. It had gone sour. "It's just that…Don't you feel guilty?"

"Of course I do," she snapped suddenly. Her eyes flashed dangerously at him. "Do you think I couldn't feel guilty for cheating on my husband with his best friend? Do you think I could be so heartless?"

"No, no. Of course I don't think that," he snapped back. "I hate this! Sneaking around like rats! Like Slytherins! I can't take it any more!"

Hermione stood from the wicker couch they lounged on, the blanket spilling onto the porch. "I hate you! I hate what what's happened to me!" she shrieked. Her scream traveled off the upper-level deck and into the silent morning.

Ron almost retorted but saw she was crying, sobbing like a child. Just like the first time. He hated himself in that moment. It was enough to break their cage, to free them both. "I don't need this, Hermione. Neither of us does. I can't do this. I can't…" his voice broke and Ron began crying himself. "Hold me. Please. I need…"

Hermione sank down beside him. She wrapped her arms around him. "I know, I know."

Shaking and pressing their bodies together, they sat and sobbed in the hot, August-morning sun.

Gah. Sorry about the absense. Got caught with lyrics on the story. Illegal, had to edit them out. Not terribly important on this story, though. REVIEW. Thanks kindly.