"The war is over." Hermione and Ron were sitting on her bed in the Gryffindor dormitories. It was one part of the castle left more or less intact, and they reveled in the sense of normalcy amongst the destruction. The final battle had ended seven hours ago, and no one had slept since, let alone the Golden Trio.
"Yeah." Ron replied numbly, staring at Hermione, gangly legs crossed. They had finally showered, and both were clean and dry, though had numerous scratches and a few splintered bones that Madam Pomfrey had mended after the battle.
"Voldemort is dead." Hermione reiterated, as if it hadn't fully sunk in.
"Yeah."
"We're free to do whatever we want."
"Yeah."
"Would you stop saying that?"
"Ok."
Hermione groaned in frustration, and in a second her lips were locked with Ron's, her hands on his chest, pushing him back against the bed. Ron responded immediately, one hand tangling itself in her mass of unruly, knotted curls, and the other clutching her hip, pulling her closer.
They stayed like that for quite a few minute, kissing passionately, before Hermione broke away. They were both breathing heavily, flushed red, and her clothes were slightly eschewed.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?"
"A lot of people are dead."
"Yeah."
"But we're alive."
Hermione smiled, and kissed him lightly on the lips, cupping his face tenderly. "Yes, we are. And we are going to live life to the fullest. It's what they would have wanted. We'll be happy... for them."