A/N: SMUT ahead!


Prompt: "All Time Low" by Jon Bellion

Prompted by: callieskye


He'd been having the same damn dream every night for the past two weeks, and he was fucking over it. He could see, in a kind of morbid curtain call, all the people who had died during the war… and as he stood there, paralysed and watching, all the fear he'd felt, all the mistakes he'd made, reached out and choked him, physically wrapping long, brittle fingers around his throat.

He tried very hard not to focus on the images that flashed through his mind in the showers at the Ministry, after too many night shifts in a row. But, people talked, and that was making things infinitely more complicated. He was over all that, he'd always remind himself, pressing down hard on insecurities that tried to resurface whenever he'd been too long away from Hermione and Harry, whenever his cold bedroom at Grimmauld Place wasn't nearly enough to comfort him.

He climbed out of bed, on a particularly sleepless night, to write her a letter, the second one he would send this week without a reply. But he told himself, emphatically, that he wasn't going to do that shit again. He wasn't going to spiral into doubt and let his co-worker's drunken tirade, from a night out last week, make him forget the things he knew, with certainty.

He did know, didn't he?

His colleague's cynical words on long distance relationships never working were only calculated from personal experience. This bloke didn't know Hermione. He didn't know them, together. Sure, Ron had never had a proper girlfriend before, but he even hated that term, when he applied it to her. That didn't express anything close to what she was to him.

But doubt could swirl far too easily in the middle of the night, when he was avoiding sleep by thinking, over and over… wanking to shut down the part of his mind that spiraled through the past.

He swallowed nervously as he sent Pigwidgeon out into a roaring storm. It wasn't really fair to give his owl such a long fly on a night like this, but he could feel the knot in his stomach expanding, and there was very little that logic could do once he'd reached this point, once his nightmares had gotten so out of control that he was actively trying to stay awake long enough to shake them.

Which, he grimaced, was going on three days, now. Almost three full days without sleep, and he was expected at work, day after tomorrow. At least he could try for a few hours of rest when the sun was up, blinding light cascading between open curtains to fight back the darkness that crept through him.

At least she'd be home for Christmas holiday in two weeks.

Two bloody weeks. They stretched like an endless sea before him, and, by the first pink light of dawn, the storm had cleared away and he'd halfway convinced himself that she'd finally come to her senses and was just trying to find the most polite way she could to split up with him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had tugged two jumpers on over his shirt and was on his way downstairs.


Hogwarts was beautiful in the snow. A part of him had missed that, waking up to a pristine, white landscape outside his tower window.

He now stood in front of the main gates, realising that his next move would have to be his Patronus. He wouldn't be able to get through without a student or professor accompanying him. Only… he wasn't sure if he could produce the damn Patronus with the way he felt…

He was too aware of his new, consuming fears to find anything of use in the most amazing memories of his life over the past seven months, with her, because if it was going to end… well, he honestly didn't even know what he would do. Devastated wouldn't cover it. So, he tried a memory of Christmas, from when he was little, and his Jack Russell materialised. He sent him off with a simple message for her that he was waiting at the front gates, and then, he waited.

Minutes ticked past, and he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, starting to feel like a real prat for waking her up at dawn on a Saturday just because he was having bad dreams and irrational thoughts. But then, he spotted a bushy head of brown hair, bunched up at her ears by the scarf she'd wrapped many times around her neck. And the way she was practically running down the hill toward him helped to chip away several substantial chunks of doubt.

As she moved down the final slope, she caught his eyes and smiled broadly, and his heart beat wildly, an excited lump lodging halfway up his throat. But there was something else in her expression, some apprehension, and he gripped the iron rail in front of him in one hand, flexing the other inside his pocket.

"Ron! Is everything alright?" she panted, at last arriving a metre away from him.

"Yeah!" he said, quickly, feeling like an idiot for not immediately guessing her source of stress. "Just wanted to see you."

"Oh," she smiled, relaxing as she stepped right up to the gate and reached through it to grip his coat collar. He leaned down and she rose up onto her toes to kiss him awkwardly. They both laughed as their faces encountered cold metal bars, and they broke apart.

She let go of him and waved her wand at the gates, which opened too slowly. Impatiently, she squeezed between the opening and tossed her arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground and inhaled the warm scent of her hair before lowering her back to her own feet.

"You haven't sent a letter back," he said, regretting how pathetic he sounded as soon as the words were out.

"I know, I'm sorry," she said, dropping her arms from his neck so her hands rested on his shoulders as she stared up at him. "We had a storm here the night after you sent the school owl back, and it was really bad til last night. But, I've got a letter in my pocket for you."

She smiled and let go of him completely to reach into her cloak pocket, handing him a folded sheet of parchment. He tugged up the corner of his mouth and started to open it, but she put her gloved hand on top of his to stop him.

"Read it when you're home."

There was that sickening flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach, again.

"Let's go to the Quidditch changing rooms," she suggested. "There's no game today, and no one would be there this early, anyway."

"Sorry I woke you up…"

"I'm just glad you're here," she said, turning to lead the way through the gates, "don't care what time it is."

Iron clanged shut behind them, and they trudged along toward the pitch in silence, until-

"Wait, why are you up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled, hoping she wouldn't ask him to elaborate-

"Why not?"

-he hadn't really thought he'd be that lucky.

"Dreams. I'm fine."

Her eyes flashed over to him, but they'd reached the doors to the changing rooms, and she tugged them open, stepping through and stomping her boots on the mats to flake off some of the snow from their walk. She removed her cloak, draping it over a bench, and then she turned to face him again as he was shutting the doors behind them.

"What sorts of dreams?" she asked, in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter," he heard himself say. So, what, exactly, had been his plan? To simply snog her until he'd convinced himself everything was fine?

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, not in a threatening way, but he knew he was gonna talk, regardless.

"Just… nightmares, what do you think?"

She looked almost hurt for a moment, and he considered his tone. Why the hell did he feel defensive? He was losing it.

"Sorry," he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair and pacing across the room for something to do.

"What's going on?" she asked, in that soft voice, again.

"Bloody hell, I haven't slept in three days, yeah? I'm sorry. I kept seeing him…"

He swallowed, stopped walking, and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I see Fred, when I fall asleep." He couldn't tell if his eyes were burning so fiercely just from lack of sleep, or if he was also on the verge of tears.

"Ron…" She took a tentative step closer, but then he was pacing again.

"And I'll get so fucked up about it, I'll start thinking you're through with me."

"What?!" Her voice had gone up an octave at least.

"So, I've been staying awake, on purpose," he pressed on, "hoping it would stop, and I dunno if it's even helping, because blokes at work have been talking about how I shouldn't expect you not to move on. You're all the way up here, and I'm-"

"What blokes at work?" she interrupted, and he paused again to watch her fists clench at her sides.

"They don't know you," he reasoned, "and I know I shouldn't listen, but when it's been a while since I've seen you, I start wondering why you'd even want to stay with me."

"Maybe because I love you?!"

He looked her directly in the eyes, and he could see how much she meant it. He took a slow breath and licked his chapped lips.

"Reckon that's a pretty good reason."

She nodded, and he felt like a git, again, for bothering her with this bollocks so early on a Saturday.

"I know you're really busy," she said, tentatively, "but you could always visit more… any time."

"Yeah, but when I was here a couple weeks ago, you were trying to study, and I think I was distracting you."

"Well, of course you were distracting me," she agreed, "but that's alright. I like to be distracted by you. Maybe I shouldn'tbe, every day… unless you want me to have to come back here for yet another year…"

"No." His eyebrows shot up, but he could feel himself calming, just a bit.

"But I want to see you, always."

He stared at her again, letting her words soak in.

"Ron," she began, once more, quietly, "I know we don't talk about it that much… but you know I'm not going to leave you. Don't you?"

A fluttery feeling erupted in his stomach, and he supposed that vaguelyknowing it and hearing it were two vastly different things. He reached into his pocket and held up the parchment she had given him.

"What's this say, then?"

"Really?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. "It goes on for a few paragraphs about Quidditch, because, last time you wrote, you asked about the match you couldn't make it for, and then I think I spent the rest of the page telling you how much I missed you."

She sniffed, cheeks a bit pink. He really was a prat, he thought.

"Please visit more," she added, in a squeaky voice, and were her eyes suddenly watery?

"I'd be here every day if I could think up enough excuses to give McGonagall and the Ministry…"

"I'll help you make a list," she smiled.

They stared across at each other for a minute, and he really was exhausted, but this had been more than worth it. He could work himself up so quickly, and all it took were a few words from her to make it right. He walked over to her and took her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles.

"If you asked me to, I'd come back," she said.

He squinted a bit, startled.

"What, leave Hogwarts? I'd never ask you that."

"I know you wouldn't. But… I would."

He blinked as he took an extra second to comprehend her.

"I'm just… fucked up, I think." He wrinkled his nose at his lack of eloquence. "You're the best thing in my life, you know."

He was sure her eyes were watering, now.

"You're not… fucked up, Ron," she said, grinning as she watched his eyebrows shoot up at her language. He'd walked her into that one.

"You know I love it when you swear," he grinned back, and she rolled her eyes.

"I really have missed you. A lot." She took a step closer so there was hardly any space at all between them. "And, no one's coming down here this morning." She slid her hand around his side. "I glanced at the practice schedule when we came in."

"Yeah?"

She nodded as he ducked, bringing their faces very close together, close enough that he'd hardly have to move at all to kiss her. He reached up to touch her face, suddenly annoyed by his gloves, but before he could do anything about it, she tugged the back of his neck and crushed their lips together. Their kiss turned almost instantly frantic, and she was trying to work his jumpers off, making a frustrated sound in the back of her throat until he grinned against her mouth.

"Not funny," she muttered against his lips as he continued to try and kiss her.

"Aren't you a witch?" he said, before he swiped his tongue across her bottom lip.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed.

She dropped away from him and worked the fabric of his jumpers and shirt into her fists before she began peeling all three layers off his body. He quickly shed his gloves and raised his arms as she stood up on her toes, and he had to slouch forward so she could (a bit roughly) pull it all over his head. She dropped everything to the floor as he reached for her own clothing and noticed.

"You're still wearing pyjamas."

"Didn't want to waste time getting dressed when I saw your Patronus…"

"I'm an idiot," he sighed, so much evidence reminding him that she really wanted to be with him.

"No, you're not. I need reminding, too, you know."

"I love you," he said, immediately.

"That's nice," she smiled, and he went back to work on her clothes, removing her single layer - a long-sleeve flannel - so quickly that he didn't have time to consider that she wouldn't be wearing a bra if she'd just come directly from bed.

"Fuck…" he breathed, as he dropped her shirt to the floor, staring at her naked chest, but she was already removing her own gloves and reaching down for his belt.

He helped her move faster, shedding the rest of his clothes in seconds before she removed her own pyjama trousers and knickers in one. Her eyes traveled down and back up his body before she shoved him backward against the lockers and half-climbed the front of his body, an ankle wrapping around his calf, to snog him again. A deep groan vibrated up the back of his throat as he felt her naked body all along the front of his.

His right hand wrapped around her arse as their tongues met, and she was shakily running her hand up and down his thigh, slowly moving further inward, not that he needed additional encouragement. She dragged her lips down from his, over his jaw to his neck, sucking on a sensitive spot as she rubbed her chest against his.

"Ah… God, Hermione…"

He tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut.

"My cloak," she moaned against his neck.

"Hm?" He spread his hands across her bare back.

"Put my cloak on the floor."

He opened his eyes, and she backed slightly away from him, trembling and breathing harshly between parted, swollen lips.

"Oh," he smiled, haze clearing away enough for him to make sense of her request. "Good plan."

She took another step back, and he brushed past her to remove her cloak from the bench where she'd left it, fanning it out and lowering it to the floor. She got to her knees on top of it, and he joined her, cupping her face in both hands so gently before kissing her again. But she was pulling him down on top of her almost as soon as their lips met. She parted her thighs and bent her knees, and he worked his way down her neck with his teeth and his tongue, delighting in the feeling of her hands in his hair as he ran his tongue straight down between her breasts. She arched her back as he bit down lightly on a hardened nipple, and his hand moved between her legs. She let out a breathy squeak as his fingers discovered how wet she was.

He exhaled hotly against her skin, and she tugged his hair.

"Come here," she requested, at a near-whisper.

He crawled up until he was propped on his forearms and her hand was reaching between them, small fingers wrapping around his erection as she looped a leg around his waist. Overwhelmed with sensation, he ducked and kissed her fiercely again at the same moment that he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She gasped as one of her arms curved over her head, and he reached up to hold her wrist there as his chest rubbed back and forth over her breasts, her body arching underneath him, his other hand dropping to hold onto her thigh, pulling it higher up his hip as he pressed his forehead to hers and panted erratically.

Their eyes met, holding on, and she was almost crying with pleasure when he finally felt his body start to tense, not even wanting to break their gaze to kiss her again.

"Ron," she whispered, and the next sound she made was a shaky scream, the hand above her head clenching into a fist as he swore and came inside her.

All he could hear were the sounds of their mingling breaths, and all he could feel was his whole body turning to jelly and his heart pounding behind his ribs. He'd figured out exactly how to collapse on top of her without crushing her. So, he did it, just as he let go of her wrist and her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and buried his face against the side of her neck.

Eventually, he slid off of her, to his stomach, arm draped heavily across her.

"Remember when I said you should visit more often?" she said, through a grin.

He laughed, opening his eyes to stare across at her. God, he loved her.

"Will you stay with me at Grimmauld Place for your holiday?" he asked, in a deep, raspy voice.

"Yes," she said, without hesitation.

Pushing his luck, he swallowed and lifted his head, dragging his hand up over her breast to touch her cheek.

"Will you move in with me after you're done with school?"

She laughed and nodded, licking her bottom lip.

"Yes, please."

He propped all the way up on his elbow to stare down at her in awe.

"Really?"

"Of course."

Right. He wasn't supposed to be surprised by this, anymore. She loved him. She wanted him. She wasn't going to leave him.

"Please, don't worry," she said, gently.

They moved to sit up at the same time, but he scooted closer immediately to pull her in for a hug. She bent her knees up behind his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"I worry, too, you know," she admitted, in a small voice, "that you'll meet some beautiful Auror in your training and realise how much better you can do."

He shook his head, suddenly feeling quite tired and delirious.

"There's no such thing as better," he said, confidently.

She pulled back to meet his eyes before leaning in again and kissing him softly.

"Any time you wonder if I really love you, remember what you just said, because I feel the say way. Always have, always will."

He rested his forehead against hers for several breaths before she spoke again.

"I should probably get back up to the castle, before everyone's up for breakfast."

They separated reluctantly and got dressed, and he wondered if maybe he'd still feel as calm about trying to sleep by the time he got home.

"Oh, I should get you something, to help you sleep," she said, as if reading his mind, as she pulled on her cloak.

"I may be alright," he said, blinking his burning eyes. "Can't possibly stay awake much longer."

"But you might not be alright, later," she pointed out, and she was probably right. He followed her out onto the snowy grounds again, heading for the front gate.

"Wait here, and I'll get it for you." She stood up on her toes to kiss him quickly before she turned and walked briskly back up to the castle.

He was swaying slightly, from exhaustion, by the time she returned.

"It's not magic, it's just herbal tea," she said, as she handed him a small packet. "But it makes me feel happy and relaxed. I don't know why. I just really like the taste. Maybe you will, too."

"It'll work, I reckon," he said, smiling as he took it from her. "I'll just think about you."

She gazed up at him for a long, tranquil moment before he ducked to kiss her, just one more time.

"Same time next weekend?" she grinned. "Oh, but there's Quidditch-"

"I'm coming to that," he said.

"Oh, good!"

"Got off work and everything."

She pressed her gloved hand to his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly before she backed away.

"See you soon," she said, quietly.

But this was always the hardest part, not just because they wouldn't see each other for a few days when they separated, but because he never could quite make the last kiss, or the last touch, truly be the last one.

He looped his arm around her neck and tugged her against his body, hugging her tight for a long moment before finally exhaling heavily, realising he'd be risking splinching himself if he didn't Apparate now, before he fell asleep standing up.

"Go on, then," she whispered, and he nodded, turning around and walking out through the gates before he could change his mind.


Her tea was delicious, and he was drifting in that hazy half-sleep where dreams and reality blurred together. Only, this time, he didn't see what he'd come to expect. Instead, he saw only a pleasant, velvety darkness, cut only by the beautiful, floating sound of her voice, gently calling his name.