Incurable, in 48 Hours
A/N: During a bout of writer's block for my fest fics, I came up with this little idea for a story, written in 48-50 parts (one for each hour, and one or two conclusion chapters). It's in Hermione's POV, and this is purely a fluff/smut story with no angst! So, not my average, we'll say! I hope you enjoy it!
30 August, 1998
10:00am
She walked along the dirt path with her patched bag slung over her left shoulder. She was still recovering from the shock of Apparating from a busy city street onto this peaceful country road. The worries of life seemed to melt into nonexistence as the chirping of birds and the scent of summer flowers calmed her into a state of dreamy anticipation.
Relief, she could call it. And recognizing this feeling at last, a cascade of anxious memories flooded through her.
So this was it. This was how it felt to be... normal.
The moment of relief had come mere seconds after the final battle for Harry. She'd seen it in his eyes when he'd approached them after it was over. He was alive, and he probably hadn't expected to be. She supposed that was its own version of relief, and maybe she'd had it too, looking into green and blue eyes on either side of her, knowing that things could have turned out so very different.
Ron's moment had come nearly a month later. His family had gone to Romania for two weeks and letters had been slow to arrive. It wasn't as if Hermione hadn't had her share of things to do, but she'd missed hearing from him every day. He'd written her a letter on his last day away, pointless because it wouldn't arrive until he'd returned anyway, but she'd appreciated the thought that much more for that very reason. He'd talked about his days in Romania with Charlie and his other siblings, and he'd finally transitioned from mundane detail into words sighed out through ink... and she'd known. He was going to be alright.
But now, standing here nearly dead still, looking down towards a place she could really call home, as much as any other place ever was... it was as if the world had simply stopped to let her live.
It had been far too long since they'd all been together. After the war had ended, there had been much more to do than she had thought possible. Bringing her parents home had proved endlessly more difficult than she had hoped, though not nearly as difficult as she had feared at her worst moments. It had taken over a month to set everything straight. Ron and Harry had helped with the house, but she'd asked them to remain home while she'd gone to Australia. She had to hope Ron hadn't take it all the wrong way. He'd been so quiet the night she'd broken the news. Aurors had gone with her. She'd been more than protected, and she had a feeling Harry and Ron had both called in a few favours.
But by the time she'd returned, set up the house again, and helped her parents with their old practice, Ron was whisked away to Romania with his family and Harry was inundated with Ministry offers and congratulations. She'd busied herself with magical law only to assist in the arrest of the outstanding Death Eaters and suspected Voldemort followers who had disappeared upon his death.
Weeks had passed so slowly, despite how busy she kept herself, and when her Hogwarts letter arrived, she'd welcomed the familiarity, accepted her place, and taken off for Diagon Alley to buy her supplies early. So she'd spent the better part of August reading, studying... and missing. Ron and Harry had been dragged hardly prepared into arrests, and she helped with what she could, but she felt, in some way, like they no longer needed her. She knew it was silly, to think they could really forget her, but nothing in her life felt like it should. She wasn't used to being without them. She didn't think she'd ever be. And she hoped they'd always feel the same way.
But now, at last, she could breathe. For two days, forty-eight hours, she had absolutely nothing to do. And she knew they didn't either. Ron's family was on holiday at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, leaving the house to Ron, Harry and Ginny. Excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. By now, they'd know she was on the way.
She checked her watch at the exact same moment that a tiny owl hooted merrily above her. She looked up and watched as Pig flitted between the treetops, jerking this way and that at every possible distraction. And then, eyebrows raised, she noticed her carefully rolled parchment... still attached to the bird's left leg.
"Pigwidgeon..." she sighed, shaking her head as the little owl dived deep into the trees, resurfacing a moment later with vigour, zigzagging his way down the sloping hill towards...
The Burrow.
Her heart soared.
Pig clattered against one of the second story windows, and she watched, heart thumping wildly, as someone opened the window to let him inside. From her distance away from the house, she couldn't make out any detail. And she could do nothing but wait, frozen, for Ron and Harry to read her letter and realize...
She'd meant for them to get it much earlier. But it had been mental to rely on Pig to deliver anything in a timely fashion. So her letter said she'd be arriving at ten. And here it was, four minutes past.
The door opened.
Her stomach churned with fitful butterflies.
And a head of perfect ginger hair streaked out through the door, leapt across the porch, and zoomed up the hill, straight towards her. She watched as he looked up, long legs carrying him so much faster than the two people now running up the hill behind him.
She laughed, excitement uncontainable as he moved close enough for her to see the glimmer in his bright eyes, the full grin plastered to his freckled face. Mere feet away now, she knew she'd be knocked flat to the ground if he collided with her at this speed. But she made no move to protect herself. And she was suddenly no longer standing on her own two legs.
She was quite sure she was flying.
Warm, strong arms circled her waist. And then she was spinning.
"Oi! Give us a turn!" she heard Harry shout as she closed her eyes, clinging to Ron as his previous velocity kept them moving several moments longer in stumbling, soaring circles.
"Stupid Pig," Ron mumbled into her hair as she grinned against his neck. She laughed again, body shaking in his arms as he lowered her to the ground, precariously balancing and coming to a full stop as she leaned back to look up at him.
"Hiya," Harry grinned as he made his way up to her and extracted her from Ron's lingering embrace for long enough to squeeze her gently before passing her along to Ginny. Somewhere in the midst of her path from hug to hug, Ron took her bag from her and slung it over his own shoulder, to which she could do nothing but blush excitedly as Ginny beamed at her.
"Another girl! At last!" Ginny exclaimed dramatically as she threw her arms around Hermione."I was ready to murder Ron this morning."
"Cheers," Ron said as Hermione slid back over to him, ducking under one of his arms purposefully. He grinned down at her, eyes almost drunk with happiness. "Are you really free until the train?"
"Absolutely," she sighed. "I saw Pig on his way to deliver my letter just after I Apparated from London. I sent him off with it last night!"
"Bloody bird never has understood the concept of fast deliveries."
"There're scones and jam in the kitchen," Ginny interjected, taking Harry's arm, "which means you're right on time, Hermione."
"Who made breakfast?" Hermione asked as Ron squeezed her against his side, tucking her head under his chin for a moment before turning them towards the house.
"Harry," Ginny said, looking back at Hermione with raised eyebrows.
"Harry makes great scones, we've discovered," Ron said, patting his stomach. "Already had two."
"You already started eating?" Ginny asked, glaring at him.
"It was on the table for at least thirty seconds!" Ron exclaimed, looking shocked. "What was I supposed to do?"
Ginny shook her head at him in mock disapproval as the four of them stomped down the slope, past the garden, and up onto the porch.
"After you," Ron said, scratching the back of his head as his cheeks reddened, motioning for Hermione to go through the front door first. She smiled at him before walking in after Harry and Ginny.
And the scent of breakfast overwhelmed her as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
"I'm calling Harry's bluff," Hermione said as she took in the sight of a full breakfast on the table, sausage and eggs and toast as well as the aforementioned scones. "There's no way he made all this. Sure he's not hiding a poor house elf in here somewhere?"
Harry elbowed her in the side as he passed her, taking a seat across from her at the table as she continued to stare, dumbfounded, down at the spread before her.
"I'd never let him do that," Ron said seriously as he stretched his arms up high over his head, revealing a rather large strip of pale skin between shirt and jeans... Hermione's eyes clearly had no choice but to glue themselves to the mesmerizing combination of smooth skin over hipbones, ginger hairs trailing from belly button downward, and scattered light brown freckles...
Harry noticed. And smirked. And raised a teasing eyebrow. And she blushed while simultaneously rolling her eyes as she took a seat next to Ron.
"How gallant," Ginny said sarcastically, and Hermione had to think exceptionally hard to figure out what Ginny had just responded to...
Ron shrugged and Hermione watched his ears turn red, sure they were both thinking about the same thing... their very first kiss in the Room of Requirement, now nearly four months ago. Bravely, Hermione reached over and ran her left hand lightly along Ron's thigh before clearing her throat and loading her plate with Harry's cooking as if nothing had happened. This gave her quite the advantage... at least ten seconds devoted to delighting over Ron's sudden inability to function. Harry looked at him curiously before loading up his own plate.
"When did you get back?" Hermione asked, and she watched as Harry gave Ron plenty of time to answer, only to roll his eyes as he came to the conclusion that Ron wouldn't be able to form real words at the moment.
"Dinner last night. We ate their mum's absolutely incredible cooking," Harry said, gesturing between Ginny and Ron with his fork, "then pretty much fell into bed. Slept until about an hour before you showed up."
"And you really cooked all this?"
"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging as he bit into a sausage, "but I got a little help from some of the cookbooks around the house."
"Still," Hermione said as she buttered a slice of toast, "I'm impressed."
"Why thank you," Harry said, raising his glass of pumpkin juice in her direction before gulping it down.
Ron ate quickly and silently, then settled back in his chair, watching Hermione as she took small bites of scone, careful not to spill a single crumb.
"Watching you eat is kind of-"
"Creepy?" Ginny supplied.
"Is this going to go on until you leave for Hogwarts?" Ron asked, now staring his sister down across the table.
She shrugged.
"I was going to say something along the lines of 'captivating'..." Ron finished, still glaring at Ginny.
"Why?" Hermione asked, her temperature rising even with Ron's eyes focused elsewhere for the time being.
"You..." he began, looking back over at Hermione, "kind of take these tiny little bites, and it's just so organized."
"You're just now noticing this?" Hermione asked, pausing with a scone halfway to her mouth. "I'd guess we've had at least half of our meals together for the past seven years."
"Not just now noticing," Ron said, smile returning as his eyes held onto hers for a bit longer than he would have ever dared before this summer.
"Right," Harry said, clearing his throat meaningfully. "I'm going for a walk. Gin?"
"Alright," Ginny said, but as she stood from the table, she was unable to resist tossing a bun at Ron's shaggy head.
"Twat!" Ron shouted, tossing the bun back in her direction, but she ducked and he missed. And, grinning, she allowed a chuckling Harry to haul her out of the kitchen and through the front door, the screen slamming behind them.
A tiny silent pause passed by during which Ron and Hermione remained perfectly still. And then, without warning or explanation, Hermione burst out laughing.
"Oh God, I missed you all so much," she choked out. "Especially you."
Ron grinned. And Hermione continued to laugh with enthusiasm, pushing back from the table as Ron stood.
"C'mon," he said, stretching out a hand for her to take. She obliged, with pleasure, and stood next to him.
"Where are we going?" she asked, overwhelmed by this new and wonderfully gratifying feeling of joy that had taken hold of her and was now blatantly refusing to let go.
"No idea," Ron said with a laugh.
"Right, take me there then," Hermione said, squeezing his hand and taking a tiny step closer to him.
But he didn't move them towards the door. In fact, he must have stopped breathing for a moment because he was suddenly so still that he could have been petrified.
"Ron?" she tried lightly, butterflies surprisingly active in her stomach again.
He finally exhaled, inhaled... and pulled her against him with one arm wrapped sneakily around her waist.
And he kissed her.
He tasted like honey and slightly burnt toast. And she weaved her hands into his hair, fingers locking together. Her chest tingled from the tight contact with his, and her knees were suddenly made of jelly instead of bone and muscle.
With a pillow soft finish, his bottom lip was last to slide away from her, and he sighed out a hot, breakfasty breath before lazily cracking his eyes open and grinning.
"When was the last time I got to do that?" he asked throatily.
"So very long ago," she whispered.
"A week? Definitely more," he pondered.
"Who cares," Hermione sighed. "Do it again now and that 'last time' won't be long ago at all."
His grin spread before he pressed it to hers. Distantly, the sound of Pig hooting around the kitchen resonated in her ears, though she was far too distracted by Ron's hands spreading wide across her lower back and his tongue gently running along her top lip, tickling her sensitive skin as she parted her lips without question.
Their moans echoed in their mouths at the same moment, joining into one two-pitched sound as their tongues slid together. She felt a rumble through Ron's chest, followed by a rippling shiver. And she cut their kiss short to breathe and press her palms to his stubbly cheeks, blinking dazedly up at him.
"Are you keeping count?" she asked, breathing heavily through swollen lips.
"What if I say yes?" he replied, biting his bottom lip. She focused on his teeth just there, right where she wanted hers to be. In a moment. For now, she raised her eyebrows, marvelling at his mind-reading capabilities as he hadn't even had to ask what she'd been on about.
"Go on. How many?" she breathed.
"Twenty-seven," he said. Then, "no, those last two make twenty-nine."
"Spot on," Hermione giggled.
Twenty-nine kisses, and she could remember every detail about each one.
"I think we can lose count before I leave for Hogwarts, don't you?" she teased.
"Sure hope so, blimey," he grinned.
Well, now they were doing entirely too much talking. She stood up on tiptoes and tilted her head at just the right angle, moved up against him, and replaced his teeth with her own, biting his bottom lip gently as he melted.
And on cue, Pig smashed into something on the table behind them. Hermione jumped away from Ron and their heads snapped over to assess the damage. Pumpkin juice was flooding the table top quickly, dripping off the edges on either side now. And what had remained of the sausage was now spread chaotically over both the scone plate and the pumpkin juice river.
"Fantastic!" Ron exclaimed sarcastically, releasing Hermione to remove his wand from his back pocket. Hermione chuckled as she removed her own wand to help him. And within minutes, the mess was contained and the leftover food was packaged and put away.
"Help me unpack?" Hermione asked, reaching for her bag where Ron had discarded it unceremoniously next to the table. But he got there first, grinning, and he lifted her bag far out of her reach before taking her hand and pulling her out of the kitchen, towards the stairs.
They climbed the first set in silence, but Hermione began to wonder, as they crossed the first landing, where Ron assumed she was going. Now, for the first time, she was faced with a rather impossible query: whether or not Ron wanted her to sleep with him.
She shivered as he climbed the second set of stairs, closer and closer to Ginny's room. Would he stop? When would he start wondering exactly what she was wondering?
He reached the second landing. And stopped.
She held her breath.
"Wait, where am I going?" he asked, dropping her hand and looking down at her. He scratched his ear, and the tiny gesture of nervous embarrassment was so wonderfully familiar that a very large chunk of Hermione's uncertainty vanished into thin air instantaneously.
"Where do you want me to go?" she asked, voice steady.
"Do you have to ask?" he said, cringing slightly as his expression morphed into a shy grimace.
Hermione laughed at the combination of fear and apology in his eyes.
"Want to stop for a drink of water?" she asked, tilting her head in the direction of the loo, located just off the landing.
Ron's confused eyebrows furrowed intensely, and she laughed again.
"We've got a long walk to the top," she explained, furiously blushing through her joke.
Ron's grin very slowly spread from cheeks to eyes as he caught on.
"That was good," he said, taking her hand again. He looked away, grinning broadly, and led her up, up, higher and higher towards his bedroom. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, and she found herself craving him so deeply that by the time they reached the door to his bedroom, she was simultaneously terrified and exhilarated at the assorted possibilities of what she might do to him...
He dropped her hand, dropped her bag on his bed... and turned to look down at her. Right at her.
She took two steps in his direction.
And a crack resounded against Ron's window. But he was evidently so lost in their sudden isolation that it took a second crack for him to make a move to break away.
"What the hell..." He peered out the window, and Hermione desperately tried to drown her desire with the curiosity of this abrupt interruption.
But, it was just too difficult a job.
She breathed through her parted lips as she watched him open the window to lean slightly out, a warm, gentle breeze floating in on either side of him.
"What do you want?" he shouted.
"Two a side Quidditch! You game?" came Ginny's voice from below.
Ron turned a windswept head back around to look at Hermione, and she smiled at the sight of his questioning eyes and tilted brows, fringe flitting across his forehead as another lazy gust blew through the window.
"Do you want to?" Hermione asked him.
Ron paused for a long moment, contemplating. And then, looking a bit surprised at himself, he shook his head.
"Actually, I don't. Unless you do."
Hermione clutched her chest.
"You don't want to play Quidditch? !"
He grinned at her and tossed the nearest shirt he could find in her direction. It hit her right over her heart, where her hand was still sarcastically placed.
Ron turned quickly around again and leaned back out the window.
"Later, Ginny!" he shouted down before closing the window with a slam, drowning out whatever reply she'd shouted back up at him.
Hermione took a step towards him. He took a step towards her. And who knew who closed the rest of the distance.
He swept her up again, feet leaving the threadbare rug, and he kissed her like he'd not seen her in years. Like their separation had nearly killed him and this one kiss would be the only way to ensure he would survive.
She made all sorts of noises into his mouth that she'd never heard herself make before. She felt her shins hit his bed, and it was somehow thrilling to imagine falling back right now, just letting him cover her. She felt him resisting, however, and it was only her own nervous tension that kept her from yanking him down on top of her.
He broke away, panting and pressing his forehead to hers as her feet hit the rug again.
"Sorry," he laughed.
She smacked the side of his head and he raised his eyebrows, offended.
"Hey!"
"I love you. Don't say sorry."
And it was too late to act like she hadn't said it.
His eyes widened brilliantly and his embrace loosened noticeably.
"What?" he managed through his tightly constricted throat.
She could see the gears turning as she looked into his sparkling eyes. Somehow, they seemed to shine with more intensity than she could remember, and it was hard to hold his gaze, especially now that her cheeks were on fire and her stomach had dropped down to the vicinity of her knees.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, fear rising all of a sudden. Irrationally.
"What?" he repeated, now looking both confused and maybe even slightly hurt.
His arms loosened again, and she trembled as she tried to figure out what to say now. But he pulled himself together before she could ever hope to.
"Okay, almost without fail, we misunderstand all the important stuff we say to each other," he began, "so please, you have to say it again if you meant it, because right now... I'm kind of freaking out."
Hermione tried to breathe, but her heart was now lodged in her throat, making it impossible to successfully inhale.
"Freaking out good or freaking out bad?" she asked, begging for reassurance.
"Depends on what you say next."
His eyes darted, and she took some small comfort in the fact that his hands were still lightly touching her sides.
"Ron," she moaned, "you haven't had to do any of the hard stuff!"
His expression didn't falter, and she knew, now that she'd blurted it out, that she had to say it all again, properly, and with his eyes on her like that, impatiently hoping and questioning...
"Come here," she instructed, trembling again.
His eyes darted a bit more furiously as he visibly stumbled through her words.
"Just lean down here a bit..." she explained, feeling far too hot, and way too lightheaded.
He leaned closer, closer... and she tugged him further, speeding up the agonizing process of bringing his ear to her mouth.
"A-are you telling me a secret?" he asked nervously. And sod it all, she smiled before she spoke. He was a genius. Stupid... bloody perfect jokes...
"I... love... you," she said slowly, lips against his ear, little hairs along his jaw tickling her skin.
His hands jerked around from her sides to her lower back, pressing her against him.
"Ha!" he exclaimed. "I didn't misunderstand you!"
Blushing, she ducked her head as he turned to look down at her again.
"Bloody fucking hell!"
His lips caressed each syllable of his triumphant curse, and she looked up at him finally, dazed from his dirty words, stomach absolutely churning again. Well, truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to rip his clothes off his body and shag him, at the moment...
"Well, obviously, I love you, too," he said, left side of his mouth arching up a good deal higher than the right.
She let out some strangled combination of moan and squeak.
"Prove it," she laughed, shaking with excitement.
He pressed his forehead to hers. Moved his hands up from her back to stretch against either cheek. Looked deep into her eyes. And tilted his head.
She lost all sense of balance, control... feeling, other than pure bliss. His tongue alternated between carefully drifting against hers and hungrily exploring every curve and crevice of her mouth as she held onto any bit of his clothing that she could reach, fists clenched in denim and cotton. Her tongue chased his into his own mouth and his knees bent as he collided with her, knocking back against the bed again as he groaned.
She pulled back and they panted.
Shouts broke through from outside as Harry and Ginny zoomed through the air around the house. Distantly, Hermione was aware of them climbing towards the window, moving in circles ever closer. To the left of Ron's shoulder, she could see the occasional flash of black or streak of auburn hair, more prominent with each passing second...
"Does th-that..." Ron stammered, "...prove it?"
She nodded, unable to speak as his love somehow radiated from every freckle across his gorgeously pale face.
And then, his glowing blue eyes turned away. His delighted smile increased in width. And he jumped away from her.
He jumped.
Actually jumped. Around his room, knocking into things.
And she had to cover her mouth to stifle the eruption of thrilled laughter that was trying to make its escape.
"Hermione Granger loves me!" he screamed.
She lost the battle against the giggles and dropped back onto his bed, rolling slightly with joy.
She heard the window open. And covered her mouth again as she sensed what was coming.
"Hey!" Ron shouted.
"Hey!" Ginny shouted back, more than a bit perplexed. And Hermione stared up at the way-too-orange ceiling above her head. And she listened to his voice as he screamed his next words, probably directly into his sister's face from where she was perched on her broom, floating...
"Did you hear? !"
"Yes, Ron," she began, laughing, "we-"
But he cut her off.
"HERMIONE IS IN LOVE WITH ME!"
"What did I tell you, mate?" Harry said, with far too little grandeur.
"Brilliant!" Ron responded dramatically.
Grinning drunkenly at the ceiling, Hermione heard the floorboards creak as Ron crossed the room and toppled onto the bed, right on top of her.
He burst out laughing, shaking against her.
"Shall we move onto the next town now?" she asked, eyes glazed with happy tears. "I think this one's got the message."
He grinned, teeth showing. And then he bent over her. And kissed her neck. And she melted down into the mattress as the sounds of Ginny's fake-gagging from outside the window faded out to nothing.
Ron rolled off of her just enough not to hurt her, but his lips remained attached to her neck, slowly moving up towards her jaw. Her impatience finally got the better of her and she forced his face against hers, noses crashing together before she had the chance to tilt left.
But through the haze of so many brand new things, his hands moved smoothly down her thighs, one after the other. And his lips and tongue and even his essence merged with hers. And time moved double speed... and half speed. Light behind her crushed-closed lids went from red to purple to the brightest blue, and it wasn't until she came to the conclusion that it shouldn't be so enthralling, so heart-stopping, to be visualizing her dreams coming true that she realized she was looking at him, eyes open and an inch from each other's. When had she lost so much control of her own body, her own life? And why was it that now that it was happening, she could do nothing but beckon it closer?
As long as he always had her.
And he always would.
If she had anything to say about it.