A/N: A few quick things...

1) Sorry for the long wait between chapters.
2) This is why I probably need a beta.
3) Things get a little PG-13 here, so just a head's up (yes, the story is rated M and it'll get there eventually, but I wanted to give everyone fair warning here just in case).
4) Thank you to all who are reading, reviewing, and being lovely and supportive. It literally makes my entire life :)

Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Midnight Tea

As Ron stepped out into the corridor, he saw Tony rapidly walking towards him holding a large purple folder.

"There you are. I checked in with the Ministry and I want to go over some of the details of our mission now that we're here. You settled in yet?"

"Oh, er– " Ron glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, and with a small frown nodded. "Yeah. Now's good."

He followed Tony downstairs and back into the sitting room. As they walked in, Tony closed the doors behind them, then turned to Ron quickly, his wiry brows furrowed and his jaw set.

"Before we get started, I need to know right now if there's going to be a problem with you working on this case."

Ron's stomach dropped to his feet.

"Wh-what? Of course not. I'm completely dedicated to it."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "I didn't want to say anything earlier while we were all in here, but I know about your history with Ms. Granger. You two are quite famous for helping Harry stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and while he didn't let on that he knew, I would imagine it's only a matter of time before Christopher Rhiney figures out who you are, too, if he isn't already aware." Tony crossed his burly arms over his chest, tucking the folder under one arm. "Look, I like you, Weasley. I think you're a good Auror with remarkably spot-on instincts and a lot of potential. But if what the Minister just told me is true, and you and Ms. Granger haven't been on good terms since the end of the war, then I need you to be honest about whether you can be objective."

Ron swallowed hard as sweat sprung up at his temples. "I promise there won't be an issue. I don't know how much Kingsley told you, but, well, yeah, Hermione and I sort of… fell out a while back and I haven't seen her in about three years until today. But I swear to you it's not going to affect my work. I want to do whatever I can to help with this investigation."

He looked at Tony with what he hoped was the sincerest look he could muster. Tony stared at him carefully for a moment longer, but as Ron's answer seemed to satisfy his concerns for now, his expression softened.

"All right," he growled. "But I'm serious, Weasley, if there's even a hint of an issue at all between you and her–"

"There won't be."

"–then I'll have no choice but to let the Minister know immediately so we can figure out new arrangements. Understood?"

Ron nodded vigorously. "Yes."

"Good. Now, we need to discuss some of the finer points on how we want to handle our work here." Tony strode over to the sofa and took a seat, opening the folder on the coffee table in front of him. "Discovering there are now two people we need to protect isn't really an issue, it'll just take some extra coordinating on our part. But learning there was a fire only a week ago at Ms. Granger's flat is, at best, alarming."

"Especially when you consider the uptick in I.W.P. activity and the threats Rhiney's been getting," Ron said darkly as he plopped down in one of the chairs across from Tony. "Any chance we can have a unit from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes go down to her building to run tests? If it was started by magic, maybe there are traces of the spell left."

"I'm glad to see you and I are on the same page," Tony said as he flipped through a few pages in the folder and produced a grey quill from the inside pocket of his robes. "I've already put in a request for a team go check it out. Next, we'll want to coordinate with McLean and Potter so they can be looped in. And it's probably best if we take a statement from Ms. Granger in the next few days as well."

"D'you think we can get a record of who lives in her building?" Ron asked as he watched Tony scribble something on one of the forms in front of him. "I know Hermione said she's the only magical person living there, but I still think we ought to confirm that ourselves. It could help rule out any outlying causes to the fire if needed."

Tony nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll have Gemma request a registry of who's been living there from the property management group, as well as have someone follow up with the Muggle fire services since they've been doing their own investigation and may have evidence that can help us."

"Won't that get a bit tricky, trying to suss out information from the Muggles without raising any red flags?"

"We'll have a few Aurors go undercover to try and get the information organically. Whenever Muggles are involved, the less magic used, the better." Tony sighed as he stroked his salt and pepper goatee. "It may very well be the fire was merely a coincidence. But in the meantime, it's for the best that Ms. Granger's here."

Ron's stomach twisted, but he nodded in agreement. "By the way, Rhiney said we could speak with his head of staff, Benson, about the protective enchantments being used, so we should probably try and meet with him this afternoon. We can take note of who's working here at the manor and what their shifts are."

"Good. We'll want to see what gaps there may be in their security, as well as interview everyone on staff. After that, we can focus on meeting with Rhiney and going over how he's been conducting business recently and with whom."

"Something tells me he won't mind talking about his work," Ron scoffed as he bit back a smile. "Though it may take a few hours to get him to focus on the important bits of information rather than just telling us stories about how some famous friend of his sent him a gold toilet seat or whatever."

Tony shook his head and sighed. "Christopher Rhiney is a successful and powerful man who's clearly used to being in charge. It's important he feels comfortable and that he trusts us, so if listening to his… colorful stories helps, then so be it. However, I shouldn't need to remind you that our job here, first and foremost, is to keep him safe. At some point, he'll realize he's no longer the one calling the shots. But for now, I would strongly urge that you withhold whatever personal opinions you may have about the man and focus on the task at hand. Do you think you can do that?"

The tips of Ron's ears burned as he pressed his mouth into a thin, resigned line and nodded in agreement.

"Now, in terms of his actual day to day business, I think the both of us should plan on being in on as many of his meetings as possible moving forward."

"What about Hermione?" Ron asked. "Wouldn't it be better to split our coverage so one of us can be with her during the day?"

Tony rolled the quill between his fingers. "Now that you mention it…" He furrowed his brow. "Let's plan on meeting with her tomorrow to discuss the fire at her flat. Then we can ask about her job and how her days usually look."

"She works at the Ministry," Ron responded quickly. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She's been there since she left Hogwarts two years ago."

Tony raised his brows in surprise. "I thought you said you two fell out three years ago?" The heat from the tips of Ron's ears trickled down the back of his neck and he brought a hand up to quickly rub at it as he looked away. Tony folded his hands together under his chin. "Ministry employee or not, you're still right– it's better to keep someone with her until we can assess the threats being made and start making arrests."

"D'you think we'll need to have additional Aurors come here to help with the guard?"

Tony shook his head. "Not yet. From what I can tell, things have been safe at the manor, so it shouldn't be a problem if it's just us two. Once we get a clearer picture of what Rhiney's day-to-day operations are like, we'll reassess. As for overnight shifts, we'll want to create a regular schedule so neither of us is feeling overworked. I was thinking that for tonight–"

"I'll stay," Ron volunteered quickly and Tony's eyebrows shot up in surprise yet again. "I know you have concerns about me, but I promise I can handle it on my own. Let me prove it."

Tony scratched his goatee, looking resigned. "Fine. You can stay here alone tonight and then we'll reconvene tomorrow morning. But if anything looks odd or suspicious–"

"I'll send word straight away, I swear."

Ron and Tony continued to discuss the details of their investigation for most of the afternoon before eventually meeting with Benson and the staff at the manor. And although he was happy for the distraction work offered and the chance to feel productive, Ron still found himself glancing toward the double doors every so often, searching for a flash of curly hair or the sound of heels clicking hurriedly across tiled floors.

He had hoped at some point he could sneak off to try and find Hermione and apologize – just what he would say to her, he still wasn't entirely sure – but with both Harry and Tony's words ringing in his ears, he knew he had to do something. But as the afternoon faded into evening, the opportunity never presented itself and he and Tony continued working steadily all the way until dinnertime.

Seated at the long dining room table, Ron's stomach growled painfully as he realized he hadn't eaten more than some toast and coffee early that morning. He watched gratefully as the staff, led by Benson and a tiny older French woman with striking grey eyes named Helene, who was the head of the kitchen, brought in platter after platter of food. They laid out a sumptuous meal of roasted quail with mushroom and wild rice stuffing, buttery mint peas, boiled golden potatoes, freshly baked rolls and, for dessert, an apple and rhubarb crumble topped with vanilla ice cream. Ron piled his plate high, so consumed with his need for food that he barely registered the near-constant stream of anecdotes coming from the head of the table. Clearly, not even a long and busy day could slow down Christopher Rhiney, who was as bright and cheerful as ever and gladly led the dinner conversation, hardly pausing for a breath or a bite of food.

While he ate, Ron watched Hermione surreptitiously, a practice he had all but perfected back at Hogwarts. He hoped to catch her eye at some point, but quickly realized his efforts were useless; Hermione stubbornly refused to look in his direction. Studying her, Ron once again was struck by how odd it was to feel like he could both know her so well that he could place every curl in her hair and freckle on her skin, yet still feel as though she were barely an acquaintance. Glimmers of the Hermione he had once known peeked out every so often, like when a member of the staff came to clear plates or glasses and she made a point of thanking them by name and smiling kindly. But for the majority of the meal, she sat quietly, picking at the food in front of her and sipping her wine while periodically stealing glances at her watch.

When Chris finally turned the conversation to Hermione, Ron was surprised by her lack of interest. She only just acknowledged Chris as he spoke, instead allowing him to speak for her, though Ron did note the occasional narrowing of her eyes and pursing of her lips. She seemed absorbed in her thoughts and wholly disinterested in what was being said. But while no one else seemed to notice, to Ron, it was so unlike the Hermione he knew, who never once missed an opportunity to offer her opinions, debate, or even argue, to choose to sit in self-imposed silence.

After dinner at Chris' insistence, the group retired to the sitting room once again. Ron watched as Hermione moved ahead of him and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, and felt his stress ratchet up a notch. He still had no idea if, or when, he might have the opportunity to speak to her alone and knew his time was running out. Tony, he noticed, was also growing more restless as the evening wore on, but true to his words from earlier in the day, he continued to smile blithely and accommodate Chris' clear need to entertain.

Finally, as the grandfather clock struck nine and the clang of bells from deep within echoed out through the room, Tony stood up. "I really should get going," he said, an apologetic smile crossing his face. "Thank you for dinner and your patience today."

"Ah, yes! I do suppose I've kept you here long enough," Chris replied as he stood as well, clapping a hand on the sturdy Auror's shoulder. Ron once again found himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Ron's staying overnight to help keep an eye on things, but I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning."

"Wonderful!" Chris said as he walked Tony over to the fireplace and removed a small crystal bowl filled with Floo powder from the mantle. "As I said before, I hope you two will be comfortable here and can make yourselves at home. I know it probably isn't your first choice, having to temporarily move in at least part time, but if there's anything my staff or myself can do to help make you feel more at ease, please let me know."

"I'm sure we'll be just fine, thank you. And it was very nice to meet you, Hermione," Tony said, turning towards her. She was now standing as well, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.

"You too, Tony. Thank you for staying, and please send our apologies to your wife for keeping you so late."

"Have a good night," Tony said as he flung the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames.

Once he disappeared from view, Hermione turned to Chris. "I think I'm going to turn in as well."

"So soon?" For only the second time that day, Chris frowned. "I feel like I've barely spent any time with you."

"It's been a long day and there have been a lot of… surprises." Hermione's eyes flicked towards Ron. "I really just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep, if that's all right."

"If you must," Chris said with a pout as he approached her, placing a hand on each side of her waist. "Perhaps it's for the best – you do look rather tired. Besides, maybe now Ronald and I can spend some one-on-one time together. Get to know each other better."

Ron, both desperate to avoid spending any alone time with Chris, and sensing an opportunity to try and get Hermione on her own, all but flew out of his chair. "Er, actually, now that you mention it, I should, erm, head upstairs as well. You know, it really has been a long day and it's, er, late and we – meaning me and Tony – have loads planned for tomorrow, so I should probably rest up. I still need to finish unpacking and, erm, wrap up my reports for the day. Boring stuff, but a necessary part of the job."

Hermione's calculating stare met Ron's from across the room. She narrowed her eyes briefly, then, with a small smile, turned her gaze back towards Chris as she wrapped a hand around his arm.

"Why don't you come up to bed with me? I can tell you about my day with my mum and you can tell me how your meetings went. Like you said, we've barely had the chance to spend any time together. Alone." She purposely emphasized the last word, and Ron clenched his jaw as he fought to keep his face neutral.

Chris beamed and wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "Now, how could I possibly say no to that?" He snaked an arm around Hermione's back. "I hope you'll be comfortable in your room tonight, Ronald. And if you need anything, please know my home is your home." He grabbed Hermione's hand. "Have a good night!"

He led her out of the room, quickly ushering her through the double doors. Right before they clicked shut, Ron watched, transfixed in horror, as Chris pulled Hermione to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

The sound of footsteps across the marble floors grew distant and after a few moments, the only noise that filled the room was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. Ron stared, his chest aching and his stomach in knots. Why had he volunteered to stay the first night? Why had he told Tony he could handle this on his own, or even at all?

There's no fucking way I can work this case, he thought dejectedly. First thing tomorrow morning, I'm telling Tony he needs to find a new partner. The faster I can get out of here, the better.

Despondent and eager to escape, Ron made his way out through the foyer and trudged up the staircase towards his bedroom. Once inside, he quickly and quietly kicked off his boots and changed out of his robes, leaving them in a scattered heap on the ground, before pulling on a pair of sweats and a thin, cotton t-shirt. Not caring that he wasn't really tired or that there actually was a report he should work on, he crawled into the large four-poster bed, yanking the giant white comforter up over his head as though trying to hide. He grabbed the Deluminator off the bedside table, flicked it open, and watched as the room was immediately submerged in darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight that issued in from the window and fell gently across the bed.

As he lay there, his stomach still twisting and turning, he struggled to chase away the image of Hermione and Chris kissing that kept replaying over and over again. He tossed and turned, his body and mind completely restless, but eventually exhaustion began to creep up on him. He tried to relax, though mostly unsuccessfully, yet in spite of himself, he slowly drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

It's hot. Stiflingly so, as he sits in the shade of an apple tree in the orchard at the Burrow. He's supposed to be picking fruit for that night's dinner after de-gnoming the yard, but he gave up the pretense of trying a while ago. Truth is he doesn't care and doesn't care who knows it. Running his hand across the back of his neck as he stares out into the distance, he allows himself to get lost in thought.

Just twenty-two days ago, he was running around Hogwarts, battling Death Eaters while searching for Ravenclaw's diadem and a way to destroy Voldemort's snake. Seven days after that, he sat through a memorial service for those who died during the Battle of Hogwarts, including his own brother, and watched as his family wept and the world collapsed around him.

Two days later, he saw Hermione naked for the first time. And a week after that, they had sex.

Grief is a funny thing. He knows its only been three weeks since the world ended and then started all over again, but to him, it feels infinitely longer. He's an old man at eighteen - a tornado of emotions and difficult, painful memories, all percolating inside of him, ready to explode at any moment and it takes everything he has to try and keep himself together, minute by minute.

He's grateful for his family and friends who are alive, and for his own life, and the chance to move forward and start fresh. Yet he's also filled with a bitter, unabating rage, which beats deep inside him like a drum, rattling his ribcage with every heartbeat. Rage at the lives lost and shattered by the war. Rage at the wildly unfair ways that fate has turned out for himself and for those around him.

Rage that his brother is dead.

And the fear – the earth-shattering, heart-stopping terror, which claws at his insides like the icy hands of a Dementor leaning in for a kiss… it startles him awake at night, leaving him shaking and drenched in a cold sweat.

It's suffocating. And relentless.

He's walking a tightrope between fine and not fine, happy and despairing, brave and cowardly. He doesn't know how much longer he can carry on like this. He realizes it's become a case of when, not if.

Pushing up off the ground, he searches the distance as he walks and sees Harry and Ginny walking slowly together as they feed the chickens and speak softly. Heading back into the house, he squints as his eyes adjust to the dark. It's quiet, except for the ticking of the family clock and the gentle rumbling snores emanating from the sofa where his mother has fallen asleep.

He stares at her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes and suddenly his lungs constrict and his eyes start to prickle. His strong, wonderful mother who has lived through two wars and buried not just her friends and loved ones, but her brothers and now a son as well. She looks so peaceful as she sleeps, the lines on her face smoothed temporarily, and in that instant, he has to stop himself from tightly wrapping his arms around her, hiding his face in her lap, and screaming.

Instead, he takes a deep breath in and pulls an old knitted blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it carefully over her sleeping frame.

From the next room, he can hear the gentle murmur of voices and the sound of a tap running. Something fluffy brushes against his leg and he looks down to see Crookshanks weaving his way between his legs, his bulbous yellow eyes peering up from his comically squashed face. He leans down to scratch between the cat's ears before walking towards the kitchen.

He feels like a magnet being pulled to its opposite pole, and his heart begins to thump inside his chest as he draws closer to her. As he approaches, he sees her standing at the counter, tearing the husks off of corn as she helps Fleur prepare dinner and he drinks her in hungrily – the way her hair is loosely tied back and away from her face, but with a few escaped curls that dangle freely and brush against the exposed skin of her neck; the way her brow furrows as she methodically removes the silky hairs clinging to the corn before dropping the cleaned ears inside a large pot; the way she gently wets her lips with her tongue, leaving them momentarily glossy in a way that makes his heart stop and his jeans tighten.

The war inside him rages as loud as ever, a lethal mixture of lust and guilt, but looking at her helps quiet the din slightly. He knows if he can get closer, it will help mute it, even if only for a moment, and this knowledge, mingled with the desperate desire he feels for her, propels him forward.

Fleur stands at the sink as she washes a basket full of summer squash and zucchini, chatting happily while keeping her back towards the room. He enters silently, hoping to avoid detection by his well-meaning sister in law, and reaches up for a glass from inside the cupboard. He grabs a pitcher of icy pumpkin juice from off the counter, filling his glass and taking a long swig, and as he brings the cup down again, he sees Hermione staring at him, a small frown etched across her brow as she searches his face.

He feels another flicker of shame combined with desire, and glances over towards the sink where Fleur is, checking to make sure she hasn't turned around or noticed his presence yet. She's still scrubbing the vegetables, prattling on about a summer she spent with her sister years ago in the south of France, and as he turns back to Hermione again, a half smile tugs at his lips.

Moving carefully, he draws his hand up her side ever so gently, before slipping his fingertips underneath the hem of her shirt. Hermione's eyes grow wide, and feeling emboldened, he licks his lips before dipping his fingers down past the waistband of her shorts. His hand is still cold from the pumpkin juice, and he watches as she bites her lip in an effort to keep from gasping, though her eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact.

She takes a shaky breath in and as she does so, leans closer, flattening his palm against her skin. Now it's his turn to stifle a moan as he sinks his fingers into her, gripping her hip in his hand and pulling her closer to him.

"Are you done with ze corn yet, 'Ermione? Because you can start chopping ze squash and ze zucchini zat are finishing being washed."

At the sound of Fleur's voice, he swiftly pulls his hand away and Hermione takes a step backward. He grabs his glass off the counter and heads out of the kitchen towards the stairs, taking two at a time on his way up to his bedroom, his heart racing inside his chest. As he leaves, he can hear Hermione answer Fleur, though he only catches snippets of her response, including something about a tonic and Crookshanks.

Once he reaches his bedroom, he shuts the door behind him, placing his half full glass of juice on his dresser and begins to pace. In his head, he counts.

1…2…3…4...

Before he gets to five, there's the sound of footsteps and then a small knock at the door. He crosses the room swiftly, and in rapid succession, opens the door, grabs Hermione's hand, and pulls her inside with him before closing it shut again.

He barely has time to turn the lock before they're kissing frantically. Hermione grips his shirt in her hands, pulling his mouth crashing down to hers, clumsy and reckless and with a kind of wild abandon that makes him lightheaded. They stumble across the room, bumping into his dresser and causing a bag of owl treats to topple over and pumpkin juice to spill and dribble down the side and onto the floor. They finally come to a halt when they crash into the far wall and he presses her up against it, his body flush with hers.

His hands move up under her clothes again and now freely explore her body, causing her shirt to bunch up as he kneads her breasts before moving around to the clasp at the back of her bra. As he fumbles with it, he trails his mouth down the side of her neck, stopping to gently kiss the thin pink scar that lives there now, before moving to suck on her earlobe. She moans and dips her head back, exposing more of her skin to him and with a jolt, he feels her tugging on his belt.

"We shouldn't be doing this right now," she gasps as she undoes the buckle and begins working on the top button of his jeans. "It's the middle of the day; the house is full of people. We're going to get caught."

She manages to undo his jeans just as he unclasps her bra underneath her shirt.

"Say the word, and I'll stop," he says, his voice husky. Hermione drags her fingernails across his back as she pulls his shirt up and off his head and he emits a low growl. He temporarily abandons touching her in order to free himself of the oppressive garment, before immediately reaching for her again, this time grabbing her backside as he grinds his hips against hers.

A dull pang of guilt rings out inside his chest but this time it's so faint, he almost can't feel it. He wants to hide, to bury himself deep inside her and never come out. He needs to escape his pain and rage and the lurking fear that threatens to swallow him whole, even if only for a moment. He knows he's a walking catastrophe and that in time, if he's not careful, he's going to break her in the same way that he is broken. But he also knows that selfishly, she's the only thing that makes him feel steady. She's the only thing that calms the storm raging inside him.

She's the only thing that makes him feel alive.

"Fuck, I've missed touching you…"

Hermione gives a breathy laugh as she draws her hands around his sides and up the front of his chest, lightly grazing his skin and he shivers in response.

"I literally slept here last night. It's been less than twelve hours!"

She tangles a hand up into his hair at the back of his neck and presses the other into his chest over his heart. He reaches inside the back of her shorts, feeling lace and cotton covering soft, smooth skin and kisses her neck again.

"It's been a bloody eternity, is what it is." He squeezes and she gives a tiny squeak in response. "I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep without you again."

Hermione tilts her head back and cocks an eyebrow at him. "You won't be able to sleep without me or without…?"

He takes his hands out from the back of her shorts and in an instant, he's undone the button and pulled down the zipper. He gives her a roguish smile.

"Both."

"Randy git."

He leans over and kisses the skin beneath her ear, eliciting another soft moan from her. The hand resting on his chest now slides down his front, just stopping at the waistband of his boxers. She begins to pull at the elastic, and he takes a sharp breath in.

"Says the girl with her hand practically shoved down my pants."

Suddenly, she pushes him away, disentangling from him completely. He's so shocked by the action and the loss of contact he gapes, open-mouthed, at her.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, her cheeks flushed and her swollen lips pressed into a frown. "It's just – you're right. We have to stop."

He stares at her, dumbfounded. "Are you mad? I didn't – no, I definitely did not say that. I want to do the opposite of stopping. I want to go. I want to go and never stop again. I want to go and go and go–" He takes a step towards her, but she puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Ron," she says his name like a warning, "please don't make this harder than it already is."

"I feel like I should be the one saying that."

She makes a tsking noise and rolls her eyes, but she can't fully hide the smile that's pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm serious. We're being reckless. What would we do if we were caught?"

"Learn to be quieter and start casting anti-intruder charms?"

"Ron–"

"All right, all right! I'm only joking…" He sighs heavily and brings a hand up to her face, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "I didn't really think I'd be able to convince you to get a leg over before dinner anyway." Hermione eyes him dubiously and he laughs. "Okay, fine, maybe I hoped I could talk you into it."

"I'd hardly call what we were doing talking," she says and shakes her head. "And it almost worked." He chuckles and she cups his face tenderly in her hands, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks. "I have to get back downstairs. Fleur's going to grow suspicious if I'm gone much longer." She leans in and kisses him gently and he wraps his arms around her in response, hoping to extend this moment and put off the inevitable for just a bit longer. As she starts to pull away, he leans his forehead against hers.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

His voice cracks and he swallows against the lump forming in his throat. She smiles brilliantly, her eyes crinkling at the corners, as she wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head up so she can kiss the tip of his nose.

"I do. And I love you, too."

"Come stay with me again tonight?" He hates himself for begging. He feels pathetic and embarrassed and he's sure she's secretly repulsed by his obvious need for her, but he can't stop himself. "I really do only sleep when you're near."

"I know," she says, her voice small and tinged with sadness. "Me too."

He's teetering on the edge, convinced that her answer will either save or destroy him. "Please, love?" he whispers and then holds his breath, praying she can't see how close he is to completely falling apart.

Hermione exhales a small, contented hum. Her lips brush against his, feather-light and soft, before she carefully slips out from between him and the wall.

"Okay," she smiles as she works her hands up into her shirt, refastening her bra, and then buttons and zips her shorts. "But just for tonight since Harry's still sleeping in Percy's old room. I really couldn't bear it if we were caught." She picks his shirt up off the floor and helps him put it back on. As he gets dressed, she shakes her head. "It's the oddest thing…"

"What is?" he asks as he tugs on the hem and she looks at him curiously.

"I can't quite place why, but it feels like we're living on borrowed time."

He watches as she turns and heads out of the room, closing the door behind her. As soon as it clicks shut, his stomach lurches, dread filling his veins, and he rushes to follow after her. He flings the door open, desperate to stop her from leaving him, but as soon as he steps onto the landing, the setting changes.

He's standing in Hogwarts just outside the Room of Requirement, but the castle is no longer the welcoming home he once knew, but the site of a devastating battle. There are gaping holes that have been blasted through the thick, stone walls, smoke billows and floats away from a singed tapestry as it hangs loosely, and he can hear fighting in the distance growing closer and closer. His body aches and he's covered in grime and dirt, and as he realizes what's about to happen, his heart seizes with fear.

An explosion goes off beside him and he's flung to the floor. He scrambles to his feet, twisting and turning wildly, searching for her in the clearing smoke and rubble. Then he hears it.

"No – no – no! No, Fred! No!"

Eyes staring without seeing.

The ghost of a laugh still etched upon his face.

Then nothing.

Ron awoke trembling and drenched in sweat. He bolted upright in bed, his heart thumping at a maddening pace while he gasped for air and gripped at the bed sheets.

His mind was hazy, still stuck in the terror of the scene he just escaped, and as he sat in bed trying to figure out what happened and where he was, he worked to focus on his breathing. He took long breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth over and over again, until finally his heart rate began to slow and he could form cogent thoughts once more. He reminded himself that he was fine and it had just been a nightmare, but the ever-present knowledge that it all had been real once lurked at the surface and prevented him from settling down completely.

Just as he had at eighteen, he suddenly found himself craving the only thing that had ever brought him a modicum of peace when he was this emotionally raw. The only person he had ever wanted, or needed, when the nightmares and memories swarmed around him and threatened to drown him in the past.

Hermione…

Ron looked around, half hoping to miraculously find her there and pull her close to him, but was only met by pillows.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he weighed his options. He could lie back down, stare at the ceiling, and play his dream on repeat until the sun began to peek out from over the hills in the distance and the rest of the house stirred to life. Or, he could do what he always did: get up and find something to do.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed as he pushed back the comforter, grabbed his wand from off the bedside table, and tiptoed out of the room.

The house was dark except for the beams of moonlight streaming in from the windows, casting long shadows on the walls. Muttering, "Lumos," the tip of his wand shone brightly as he continued his way down the stairs and into the foyer.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was going but decided the best idea was to probably head into the sitting room. Maybe he could play a game of chess or read a book next to the fire. Something about the idea of paging through the old copy of Hogwarts, A History that was nestled into one of the bookshelves calmed him slightly. The feeling of its well-worn pages slipping through his fingers just as they had once passed through hers–

A muffled noise to Ron's left stopped him dead in his tracks as he walked through the dining room and he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. His Auror instincts kicking in, he stood with bated breath, waiting to see if he heard it again.

Clink clink clink...

In an instant, Ron swiftly and silently maneuvered himself next to the door to the kitchen, his wand poised and ready. He pushed the swinging door open and slipped inside, his eyes darting around as he looked for a hidden intruder, but was met with an empty room. Confused but still on high alert, he crept in further, checking around the corners of the dark granite countertops and the tall wooden cabinets. As he walked towards the large fireplace, he noticed a pile of wooden logs sitting in the grate, but as he began to move past it, Ron sensed someone walk up behind him. He whipped around, his wand pointed.

"STUPE— Hermione?"

She stood in front of him looking far more like the Hermione he knew from his youth than she had earlier, wearing a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, and a sour look on her face. She carried a copper teakettle and a handful of teabags, and she shifted the contents slightly as she regarded him with a mixture of surprise and deep dislike.

"What are you doing up? Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked her roughly, his heart still racing.

She rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't you?" They stood in a silent standoff for a moment longer before she sighed exasperatedly. "Would you please point that thing somewhere else? Honestly..."

She pushed past him and placed the kettle inside the fireplace. With a flick of her wand, Ron watched as bright, blue flames erupted underneath, instantly filling the room with warm, flickering light.

Ron pocketed his wand, watching as she walked over to a set of cupboards to her right and stood on tiptoe to remove a small, plastic bottle of honey. As she stretched, her shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin underneath. He swallowed hard as he fought to ignore the memory of his cold hands dipping inside the waistband of her shorts as he sunk his fingers into her hip and her eyes fluttered shut at the contact–

"Are you all right?"

He shook his head distractedly, his ears burning, and he mentally cursed himself.

"M'fine."

With another look of great annoyance, she pushed an errant strand of hair off her face and continued to rummage through the cupboards, pulling out a small box of chocolate biscuits and a plate. Ron, unsure of what to do, stood awkwardly to the side as he studied her, noting how the light from the fire reflected on her face, warming her complexion, and the gentle curve of her mouth as she quickly wet her lips with her tongue before pursing them together.

Ron's ears and neck burned again, and he opened his mouth to say something, anything, to break up the silence. But as he did so, a soft whistling noise came from the fireplace and Hermione walked over to the kettle, taking it off the fire and bringing it back over to the plate of biscuits and container of honey. She grabbed two large mugs from the back of the counter and began filling them before turning around, holding a steaming mug out towards him.

"Here."

Ron frowned. "What?"

"You're here with me, so I may as well make you a cup."

"Er, you didn't have to–"

"Oh, would you just take the stupid thing?" she snapped, and Ron's mouth immediately shut as he took the tea from her outstretched hand. Hermione turned back to the counter, picking up her mug and the plate of biscuits before walking around the island in the middle of the room and sat down on one of the tall barstools. She stared at him expectantly, then sighed again. "Are you just going to stand there and gape or are you going to sit?"

Ron's eyes grew wide as he bit back a smile. He definitely recognized this Hermione.

Realizing her statement as more directive than a question, he wound his way around the island and joined her on the stool next to her.

They sat silently; the only sound coming from the occasional clinking of their mugs on the countertop and their quiet sips, but neither spoke a word. Mentally, Ron waged a war with himself, trying to work up to courage to speak, as well as figure out just what to say. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

"Thanks for the tea."

"Yes, well…" Hermione shifted slightly before sniffing as she gave him a cursory glance. "I may be a snob, but that doesn't mean I don't have manners."

Ron grimaced, hiding his face behind his mug. Finally, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I'msorryIwasanarseearlier."

Hermione stared at him bewildered. "What?"

Ron took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. I was an arse and I feel awful about what happened and what I said. I just… it should come as no surprise that you were right; this is an awkward situation for both of us. It's not your fault we are where we are and if we're both going to be here and around each other, it would be better if we weren't always biting each other's heads off. So, I mean it. I'm really sorry, Hermione."

She frowned as she looked at him and Ron could feel his hope for forgiveness start to slip away. However, as she turned back to her tea and stared down into it, she spoke quietly.

"Thank you for saying that." She absentmindedly traced her finger around the rim of her mug. "I suppose I should apologize as well. I said some hurtful things to you, too, so… I'm sorry."

Ron fought to stifle a chuckle. "I appreciate that, even if I don't think you entirely mean it." Hermione whipped her head around to stare at him indignantly and Ron gave her a cheeky smile. "Come on, Hermione – you really expect me to believe you hadn't practiced that speech you gave? Though, for the record," he rushed, raising his hands in surrender as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, "I deserved at least some of it. And you had the right to say most of it."

Hermione bit her lower lip as she tucked the same loose curl that had fallen into her face before behind her ear. "I didn't practice it…" she said and Ron raised an eyebrow at her. Her cheeks flushed as she looked away, hastily grabbing a biscuit off the plate. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, and Ron snorted as he watched her break a chunk off in her hand. "Some of what I said may have been warranted, or at least partially true, but it doesn't mean I should have said it. I got carried away and I should have behaved better. So, I mean it, too. I'm sorry."

She turned to look back up at him, her expression soft and sincere, and warmth blossomed in his chest as he met her gaze. He sat up a little straighter and smiled.

"So… should we call it even, then, and pretend it never happened?" Hermione looked skeptical, but Ron turned in his stool so that his body completely faced hers. "Hello, Hermione. It's nice to see you again."

He saw a small smile nudging at the corner of her mouth before finally, rolling her eyes, she replied, "Hello, Ron. It's been a long time."

"Three years, to be exact," he said, and then more seriously, he added, "Look, I know you never expected to see me again, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought the same. And I know your feelings towards me are... less than friendly." His stomach twisted, but he pressed on. "But even if the chances of us being close again are almost nonexistent, I hope my being here won't be unbearable for you…" He trailed off, then grew quiet as he fiddled with his mug.

All at once, the full impact of his words hit him. Regardless of how he felt or what Harry said, he could never really win Hermione back; it was practically impossible after what he had done and the time that had passed. But as his shoulders slumped, he breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have gotten out what he needed to say.

"It isn't unbearable," Hermione said in a small voice, causing him to look up at her. "It certainly helps that you apologized, but I was serious earlier when I said I'm grateful you and Tony are here." She looked out the window into the backyard, watching the moon's reflection in the pond. "I don't want to make your job more difficult. And…" she hesitated, "maybe we can't be friends again. But I don't want to spend the next however many months constantly at war with you."

Ron nodded solemnly. "I don't want that either."

They fell silent again, each sipping their tea and absorbed in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Hermione chuckled quietly, and Ron eyed her dubiously.

"We really do have quite a history together, don't we?" She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "We're part of the famous 'Golden Trio,' as the Daily Prophet put it." She rolled her eyes, bringing her elbow up on the counter and leaning her head against her hand. "With all we've gone through together and with Harry, it's a bit hard to ignore, isn't it?" She stared wistfully out the window again into the yard. "Sometimes, I wish we could go back in time to when we were young. Some things were much… simpler."

Ron coughed into his tea, and Hermione looked back at him, bemused.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied breezily as he grabbed a biscuit off the plate and took a bite. "Just the idea that you think hunting for Horcruxes and barely escaping Voldemort and his Death Eaters was simple–"

"That's not what I meant!" she looked at him, half exasperated, half amused. "And besides, it's not like much has changed for you and Harry. You two are still chasing dark wizards."

Ron smiled and shrugged. "I guess you're right. But at least I get paid to do it now. Makes it a bit easier to deal with."

He popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth when a meowing sound caught his attention. Crookshanks was rubbing his squashed face against Ron's leg and staring at him expectantly.

"Well, hello there, Crookshanks. Come to join the party, have you?" Ron chuckled as the tabby meowed again and jumped lightly onto his lap, purring loudly. Hermione looked on in wonder.

"I can't believe you two. Honestly, you used to hate each other and now look at you – you're the best of friends, aren't you?" She scratched Crookshanks' head, before continuing. "You know, he doesn't even like Chris. I don't understand it – Chris has always been nice to Crookshanks but Crookshanks won't go anywhere near him. He just stares at him, and if Chris tries to pet him, he starts hissing."

Ron stuffed down the laugh building in his throat, feeling a sudden wave of affection for as the mass of ginger fur sitting in his lap. "Yeah, but Crookshanks was never the most trusting cat in the world, was he? Maybe he just needs some time to warm up to him." Crookshanks purred loudly as Ron rubbed behind his ears. "So, how is it working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? I imagine they'll be announcing your promotion to Department Head any day now."

"Hardly," she said, and Ron couldn't help but notice the slight sharpness in her tone as she gripped the mug in her hands. "To say that things move slowly where bureaucracy is involved is an understatement." She began to pet Crookshanks again, and he happily nuzzled his face into the palm of her hand. "When I first started, I was thrilled because I thought I could really make a difference in the lives of magical creatures who, all too often, are pushed aside or maligned by our society. But…"

Ron frowned. "But what?"

"But when I got there, I found that most of the people I work with are more interested in maintaining the status quo and emphasizing the "control" part of Regulation and Control." Hermione met his gaze and shook her head. "It's been a battle every day to try and make inroads, and even the small gains feel insignificant in the long run. It's like I'm trying to climb a hill of sand."

"I'm sure the work you've done has made a bigger impact than you think. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself." Hermione looked unconvinced and Ron pressed on. "What are you working on now?"

"I'm helping draft a bill to set up protections and further the rights for house elves – sort of an offshoot of what I started with S.P.E.W."

Ron beamed at her. "That's amazing, Hermione. And I bet once you're finished, you'll cut through all the bureaucratic bullshit and get it passed."

Hermione's cheeks turned faintly pink, but she smiled. "I know you always thought I was mad when it came to elfish welfare, but after I graduated from Hogwarts, it felt like something I needed to do." She grew quiet, and her smile faded. "And there's a part of me that feels like I owe it to Dobby to try and give other house elves a chance to be happy like he was. Before he…" she trailed off, looking down at her lap.

Ron pictured Dobby, his tiny body wrapped in Harry's jacket, wearing a woolen hat from Dean and his own socks and shoes, and he cleared his throat, trying to loosen the tightness that had set in.

"I think Dobby would be really chuffed to know you think so highly of him."

"Of course I do!" Hermione said, looking up at Ron again, her eyes sparkling. "Dobby saved our lives – he deserves to be remembered."

Suddenly, flashes of that night at Malfoy Manor rushed across Ron's mind. They had been so close to dying; she had been so close to dying, and in many ways, he had never gotten over the trauma of it. And the horrible injustice that Dobby, the kind, free elf who had saved them all from his old masters, had been killed in the end left Ron feeling as bitter and angry as ever.

He looked at Hermione and she met his gaze as a silent moment of understanding passed between them. But as they continued to stare, Ron became acutely aware of the fact that they were now facing one another, their knees gently touching. The strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail earlier was dangling in front of her face again and without thinking, Ron reached out and carefully tucked it behind her ear. As he brought his hand down, he noticed Hermione had closed her eyes at the contact. When she opened them, they looked at each other apprehensively, but unmoving.

CLANG!

The grandfather clock rang out from the sitting room, cutting through the tension and causing them both to jump in their seats. Crookshanks, who had been sitting on Ron's lap, jumped down, his bottlebrush tail swishing angrily as he stalked away. Ron cleared his throat noisily as Hermione blushed, and they both quickly averted their gazes. The clock chimed only once, stopping almost as soon as it had started, and in no time at all, the room drew quiet once more.

"Er –"

"We should probably head up to bed," Hermione said in a rush and before Ron could reply, she stood up, and with a flick of her wand, sent the mugs and plate soaring into the sink, while the box of biscuits and the container of honey retreated back into the cupboards. Once she was done, she walked over towards the door, stopping to turn back to him. "Are you coming?"

Ron nodded, standing up and shuffling out after her, his head still spinning. They walked upstairs silently, and as they reached the landing, Ron was struck by a thought.

"What's today's date?"

Hermione stopped for a moment as she turned to face him. "The nineteenth."

"Did you know it's been your birthday for a whole hour now?"

Her eyes grew wide in surprise as she laughed quietly. "I can't believe you remembered," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Of course I remembered! How could I forget?" He faltered slightly as his ears burned and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Then I suppose you get to be the first one to wish me a happy birthday."

"So, does this mean we're all right?" he asked hopefully, giving her a lopsided grin. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she cocked an eyebrow at him. "Too soon?" he offered, and Hermione snorted.

"Well, there may be hope for you yet, Ron Weasley."

She turned down the hall and began walking towards her bedroom. Ron watched as she passed in and out of the shadows like a ghost, the soft padding of her footsteps punctuating the quiet hum of the night.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered after her. "And happy birthday."

She turned, her face half illuminated in the moonlight and as she smiled, Ron's heart skipped in his chest.

"Goodnight, Ron."

She turned and quietly disappeared into her bedroom. Ron watched the doors for a moment longer, then walked gingerly to his own room, a warm, tingling sensation expanding inside his chest. As he crawled back into bed, that feeling stayed with him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.