Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Deathly Hallows Compliant, as well as Nineteen Years Later compliant. Takes place in the weeks following the Battle at Hogwarts. Enjoy!
Bergamot
Hermione Granger woke up gasping from an all-too-real dream, a vivid nightmare. She looked around her wildly, acknowledged sleepily that it had all been a dream, and sat up in bed. Looking across the room to find Ginny sleeping peacefully, she breathed deeply, in and out to quiet her nerves. But Hermione knew that only one thing would truly calm her again, stop the racing of her heart and ind, and that was a warm cup of tea. Ever since she had been a little girl, before the days of magic, and dark magic, and nightmares that resembled past experiences, tea had been the only thing that could calm her down, even better than a good long book. So she put her feet down on the wood paneled floor beneath her four poster bed, stood up shakily, and walked, quietly out of the bedroom, taking care to close the door softly behind her. Walking down the creaky stairway posed a new problem, as with every step she took, another loud squeak or grunt emitted from each individual antiquated stair.
When she finally reached the bottom, she breathed a sigh of relief, glad not to have awoken anyone with her unnecessarily loud journey. She walked into the kitchen, her mind set on the tea kettle, and which kind of tea she would want, her mind drifting from her present situation and retreating inside itself--only to find Ronald Weasley sitting at the kitchen table, his head down, nursing a ceramic mug of dark, fragrant tea. She was so startled in finding him there, that she had to fight the uncontrollable urge to run, to flee. She had felt this way around him ever since the battle at Hogwarts. So much had happened in the space of one night--so many lives had been lost, including that of his own brother, a new order to the world had been secured, Harry had died and come back to life, and, of course, they had kissed in the Room of Requirement. Well, in all honesty, she had kissed him, but never-the-less, they had kissed, and somehow, deep inside her, past the conscious Hermione that knew it would be inappropriate and indelicate and tactless in light of all the tragedy and all the work that had yet to be done, a less rational Hermione had held onto a hope that that kiss would somehow be the keystone to the beginning of something more between the two of them. But she had felt so guilty about this selfish Hermione, that she had hidden her deep within the recesses of her reasoned mind, but not so deep that she couldn't creep up to the surface in moments like this when Ronald Weasley was there, right in front of her, his eyes sleepy and his red hair a mess and in desperate need of a trim. And so, Hermione had to fight the urge to run back up the creaky stairs and climb into her bed, a place where she was safe from that Hermione who would force her feelings on a boy who had lost so much just weeks before.
But she conquered that urge, and forced that Hermione back into her place, there in the muck that filled her heart, right beneath her embarrassing attraction to Muggle romance novels and horrible films. She took a deep breath, and walked fully into the room, heading in a determined manner to the stove, calmly whispering an Aguamente spell to fill the battered copper kettle with water, and put the pot on to boil. Through all of this, Ron Weasley didn't seem to notice her presence, but when she finished and sat down in the chair beside him, he looked up at her, and their eyes connected. And, once again, Hermione Granger had to fight the desire to let that devil on her shoulder guide her actions, especially when he fumbled charmingly for her hand and held it in his own.
"Hermione?" he said in a strange tone. "You know, I just can't stop thinking about that night. The night of the last battle, I mean." She squeezed his hand in hers, knowing that he was speaking of Fred and Tonks and all of the others they had lost.
"Me too. How can we help it? That night was, although it ended well for the wizarding world at large, one of the worst in my life. In fact, it would probably be more strange if it wasn't on your mind." she said in a small, soothing voice, trying to lull him out of the mood he seemed to be in.
"You know--I just can't stop thinking about Percy. How much he missed in the years he was gone. How much was lost unsaid between him and--" he paused, seeming uncomfortable with speaking the name of the brother he had lost. "Its just so strange, right, that for nearly four years, a bloke can just not say something that he's been meaning to say--he waits so bloody long that suddenly its too late," he took a deep breath and turned in his chair to face her. "Hermione, its been weeks, and I know you've probably been holding off, staying away from me because you think that you need to, or that there's some bloody rule telling you that you should. But Hermione--we've already broken every rule in the book, and everythings so wrong and so right right now in this world and this house--that there's no way that I'm going to pull a Percy, and wait too long to say something. Of course this isn't the right time, but I sear, there's never ever really a --" And Hermione silenced his sputtering, rambling, whispered speech, placed her scarred and calloused hands against his flaming cheeks and kissed him. Perhaps it was wrong, but for some reason, that small, stunted and selfish Hermione just couldn't wait any longer. So as the kettle began to scream from the boiling water trapped inside, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley finally began a conversation that would last the rest of their lives, and she knew that she had found something even better than a cup of Earl Grey to calm her nerves.
Fin.