A/N: Thanks to superfan24 for being such an awesome beta and editing this chapter and getting it back to me in a matter of hours so you guys wouldn't have to wait any longer than necessary.
Chapter 6: Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste
6 May, 1998
Ron was sure he would never be able to explain how it'd happened. One minute he'd been punching his best friend and storming off in a rage, and the next he'd found himself being devoured by Hermione's mouth. When she'd followed him to his room he thought she would yell at him, maybe even hit him, certainly make him go and apologize to Harry for what he'd done. Instead, she'd told him how proud she was of him. Hermione was proud of him. For punching Harry.
He'd never understand this woman.
He'd actually opened his mouth to tell her how mental she was, but that was when he'd started crying. He didn't know why. He hadn't cried at the funeral so why was he crying now? And of course it had to be in front of Hermione. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd cried since he was ten and Hermione had been there for all of them. Well, she hadn't been there for the locket—or at least the real Hermione hadn't—but almost all of them.
But she didn't seem to mind. She was holding him and whispering things he couldn't really process. And slowly those soft kisses turned hungry, her gentle touches became claws raked across his skin. And then she'd been touching him, touching it, for the first time.
In some part of his mind, some very, very distant and miniscule part that he rarely used, Ron realized Hermione probably wasn't acting this way because she suddenly found him irresistible. She'd never had a real boyfriend before. Hell, if he believed her—and after Krum and Lavender, Ron couldn't imagine them ever lying to each other about things like that ever again—she'd only had a few kisses with Krum and a single snog that amounted to something more like an unsolicited groping with McLaggen before him, whereas Ron had had months and months with Lavender. This kind of touching was all still new to her, and just as when Hermione came across anything new, she wouldn't stop until her curiosity was satisfied.
Not that this was exactly old hat for Ron either. Yes, he and Lavender had more snogging sessions than he cared to remember and yes, they had done other things. But holding Hermione's hand was better than anything he'd ever done with Lavender. Hermione could make him blush with just a look, could set his heart racing with just the sound of her voice, and her touch was like fire so hot he was sure his skin would be charred to the point that he would never be able to feel anything ever again after she let go.
Which he supposed was why he came to be half lying on top of Hermione, the both of them panting, his trousers undone and sliding halfway down his thighs, the skirt of her dress bunched around her waist, her knickers pushed aside giving his fingers access to…
Bloody hell, he'd just made Hermione Granger cum! A ridiculous idea, really, yet there they were, Hermione sweating and flushed, Ron's finger still inside of her. He didn't really know where to go from there. Fuck, he'd only touched her there in the first place to distract himself from what her hands were doing to him. Yet in the end it seemed Ron Weasley's powers of concentration were greater than hers, not that anyone would believe him.
Not that I'm ever telling anyone about this, Ron told himself. Slowly he extracted his finger and raised himself up enough to look at Hermione. Her chest was still heaving and it seemed like it was taking forever for her eyelids to open and shut as she blinked in slow motion.
Disturbingly, Ron recalled something Charlie had mentioned offhandedly at Bill and Fleur's wedding, something about how one of the best places to find a girl ready and willing to snog was at a wedding, because it made birds feel vulnerable and lonely and desperate to find a man.
"And the only place better than a wedding is a funeral," Charlie had said knowingly. How his brother knew this, Ron had no idea, but he'd listened with rapt attention. "Funerals remind birds they're going to die someday. And that makes 'em want to live now, makes 'em want to feel alive. And the best way for a bird to feel that is to find herself a bloke who can make her…" Here, Ron forced his brother's voice out of his mind. When Charlie had said these words at their brother's wedding, he probably had never imagined his youngest brother would be testing that theory at the funeral of yet another brother. But looking down at Hermione, she certainly looked alive, and he couldn't really argue with Charlie's wisdom.
Is that what Hermione was doing with him? Trying to feel alive after all the funerals they'd been to the last few days, after all the reminders of death and her mortality, after nearly losing Harry? For that matter, was that what he, Ron, was doing with her as well? Just using her as a distraction to think about something other than the fact that Fred was gone, gone and never coming back? If he was, it wasn't working. Fred was invading his thoughts at the one time he absolutely shouldn't, and Ron wished him away, feeling sick with himself for doing so.
"You okay?" he asked her with great difficulty. He felt like he'd eaten a ton-tongue toffee. A string of unintelligible syllables escaped Hermione's lips. Apparently she was having even more trouble speaking than he was. He smiled. He'd actually made Hermione Granger speechless. He felt like he'd won both the House Cup and Quidditch Cup single-handed, like he'd gotten his picture on a chocolate frog card.
"Merlin you're gorgeous," he told her. This was apparently the right thing to say because Hermione just blushed and smiled a little. He cupped the side of her face to pull her toward him for a kiss, but she shied away from his hand.
"Hermione?" he asked, confused.
"Sorry," she said, breathless, "it's just your hand. It's still…"
Still? Oh. Right, his finger, well his whole hand really, was coated with…essence of Hermione. He moved his hand away from her, bringing it closer to his own face. And then he could smell it, smell her, and he had no choice but to slide his damp fingers into his mouth for a taste.
In that moment, when his tongue savored her salty fluids, he finally realized why he was able to stuff himself silly with an endless assortment of foods and sweets and always feel hungry for more: he'd been hungry for this, for her. No wonder nothing else satisfied him, since there could be nothing else like this in all the world.
After that there was no stopping him. Ron gripped Hermione by the waist, pulling her up the bed while he slid himself down. Distantly he heard her utter a squeak of surprise and a string of words questioning what he was doing, but he wasn't listening. He needed more, needed to taste her, to devour her.
Positioned exactly where he wanted to be, he slid his hands up her calves, raising the hem of her dress once more. He leaned in and planted a soft, wet kiss on her stomach half an inch above her knickers. He felt her shiver slightly, and grinned. She was probably still hyper sensitive after her orgasm. He wondered if he should even go through with what he had planned, if it was too soon for her, but inwardly shook his head. There was only one way to find out if she wanted it. He kept his lips pressed to her skin, dragging them across her flesh before kissing her again in the crevice where he leg joined with the rest of her. And then again and again. He knew his target, his eventual destination, but moved toward it in no discernable pattern. Meanwhile his hands roamed over her backside, one cupping her bum, the other sliding to the small of her back which she was now arching slightly.
Her questions had stopped, her words disappearing into silence, with only the soft ruffling of clothes and sheets, the gentle smacks of Ron's lips on her skin, and the occasional whimper or sharp intake of breath from Hermione breaking the silence. And then, after kissing her navel, his tongue flicking inside to tease her, he ducked his head and kissed her mound through her knickers. Instantly he was rewarded with a gasp and a buck of her hips, which was exactly what he'd been waiting for. Utilizing that small gap between her and the bed, he lifted her higher with one hand, his other sliding her kickers down her legs, removing the last obstruction in his path.
He tossed the scrap of cotton aside and returned his eyes to the juncture of her legs. Unsurprisingly, she'd crossed them doing her best to maintain her modesty. Her hands were scrambling, trying to push her dress back down when he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning them to the mattress.
"Ron." He looked up to her face and into those big brown eyes. He could see her fear, her hesitation, her embarrassment. But he could also see that she wanted this, maybe as much as he did.
"It's all right, Hermione," he said reassuringly. "It's just me." When still she hesitated, he tried once more. "Please, Hermione."
He reached up and kissed her hard. And that was it. He felt her hands still beneath his, felt her body lose some of its stiffness. He kissed her again and looked to see her eyes were closed. He moved back down her body, and slowly parted her legs so he could settle between them and finally caught his first glimpse of heaven.
It was only a glimpse however, because of the thick dark curls covering her mound. He'd known she'd be hairy. He'd felt it when he'd fingered her just minutes before, and in the thousands of fantasies he'd played out in his mind, he'd always pictured her with a mess of curls down there to match the ones atop her head, wild and untamed. And he'd been right. But he'd never expected a certifiable forest down there.
At least it seemed a lot like a forest in his limited experience. It was so different from Lavender. Not that he'd ever done with Lavender what he was planning to do with Hermione. But when he'd touched her down there, he'd always found her well groomed, usually shaved completely. Occasionally he'd come across some rough stubble if she hadn't shaved for a few days. And when he had, he'd found it exhilarating: the contrast of rough and smooth.
He heard a sound halfway between a squeak and a cough and realized he'd been staring. More than that, he'd been staring at Hermione while thinking about Lavender. He knew she was probably mortified but couldn't look her in the face, not then, with thoughts of Lavender still in his mind to make him feel guilty. So instead he nosed forward and kissed her mound again. He was surprised to find the hair was soft, not coarse like he'd expected, and it was matted down with sweat and arousal.
Ron started to panic. He had no idea what to do next. Yes, he'd gotten her off once already with his fingers, but this was new. Was he supposed to use his tongue or his lips? Both? And what about teeth?
Deciding that she'd been enjoying herself when he'd simply been kissing her, he decided to start there. Again he was laying kisses all around her, not daring to approach her lips, not yet. But his kisses were no longer gentle. His nose was pressed against her curls, her scent was burning his nostrils and each taste only spurred him on and soon he was nipping at her thighs, sucking hard on her flesh, knowing he would leave marks. And slowly he found his scattered kisses circling closer to his goal and finally planted a kiss against her folds.
"Ron. Oh...Ron," came Hermione's quiet voice. Merlin he'd thought it was something when he'd made her speechless. But hearing her moan his name pushed Ron into a frenzy. So what if he didn't really know what he was doing as he slipped is tongue between her lips, bringing his fingers into the mix to part her folds and give him better access? What he lacked in technique, he more than made up for with his eagerness to please her.
And please her he did; his broad tongue darting in and out of her or offering long licks along her sex in no discernable pattern. Of course it was soon made obvious by the way she was thrusting her pubic bone against his long nose that the small hard nub he could only find by touch was the place to concentrate his efforts. He couldn't linger and suck on it as he pleased; she was still too sensitized from earlier and Ron had to resort to soft teasing flicks around her nub instead of directly on it. Meanwhile his fingers pumped into her center, now stimulated enough to permit two of his large fingers.
Eventually he became aware that Hermione was trying to yank clumps of hair from his head as she tried to spur him on, pushing his face against her sex every time he came up to breathe. And finally, with one last swirl, and one more crook of his fingers she was coming again, and she was pushing him away, needing space to recover.
He could hardly breathe. He felt like he'd just run a marathon or had held his breath for an hour underwater. He knew he was covered with Hermione's fluids, but he found that he didn't mind in the least. He really didn't think anything could bother him in that moment.
But apparently, it could get better. Because he found himself being kissed by Hermione over and over as her fingers played lightly with his chest hair through the opened buttons on his shirt. They weren't particularly long or deep kisses—neither had the lungs for that at the moment—but they were wonderful all the same. He felt Hermione shifting into him more and more until suddenly she was actually on top of him, straddling his waist.
She sat up, smacking her lips lightly. "It's sort of sour, isn't it?"
For a moment Ron was too stunned to speak. "Thought it was sweet m'self," he finally managed.
"I think you're the sweet one," she said, looking embarrassed at her corny line, and Ron knew if she wasn't already so flushed, she'd be turning red. Merlin, he was mad for this woman. After everything they'd just done, she could still get embarrassed by paying him a simple compliment. It was the cutest thing he'd ever seen and he considered the possibility that someone had been slipping Felix Felicis into his morning pumpkin juice.
In this position he was aware that he still hadn't had the chance to relieve his own frustration, which was growing more pronounced by the second now that he could feel the heat radiating off of her, feel the shape of her through the fabric covering his cock. Apparently Hermione was quite aware of his state as well because he caught her glancing to the place where their bodies connected and saw the wickedest grin break out across her face.
"What?" he asked her thickly.
"Nothing," she teased. "I just think that you deserve a reprieve after all your hard work." He was about to open his mouth to stupidly tell her she didn't have to do anything, that he didn't expect anything in return when she rocked her hips, sliding her still-sopping pussy up his length. "I mean, you can't be expected to get anything done with this," she rocked her hips again, eliciting a groan from his lips, "now can you?" The bloody woman was teasing him. TEASING him! Not that he was doing the best job of appearing confident and in-control, as the rock of her hips caused her to shudder and flinch at the contact on her swollen pussy.
Not that Ron really noticed. He was trying to concentrate on forming the words to answer and NOT on the fact that she'd completely soaked his pants with her cum to the point that they were molded to his cock when he heard a knock at the door.
"Ron?" Shite. It was Harry. Ron had forgotten about everything that had been happening before Hermione came and found him in his room. Actually, he'd forgotten that there even was a world outside his room, but that knock brought him crashing back to reality.
Like lightning Hermione was off him, making her way to the door while trying to tie her hair back into some semblance of decency. Ron did up his trousers the best he could in his condition and re-buttoned his shirt, not even bothering to look for his tie.
Hermione glanced back to check to see that he was presentable and he nodded at her. She opened the door and there was Harry, a nice welt forming under his left eye which had turned a horrid shade of blue. "Oh, Harry," she exclaimed at his state, taking his chin in her hands to examine him. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Hermione," he told her without looking at her. "I was wondering if I could talk to Ron for a minute."
She stiffened and Ron knew she was fearful of what Harry might do. Nevertheless, she released him and let him slip past her into the room. Ron, too, was nervous, not because he was afraid of what Harry might say or do, but because of what had been going on there just moments before. Behind Harry, Ron saw Hermione bend over and pick up her knickers from where he'd tossed them earlier. Harry turned, following Ron's eyes, and Hermione stood up, quickly hiding her hands behind her back.
"So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?" stammered Hermione.
"Err, I was hoping to talk to him alone actually. No offense," Harry added in a poor attempt at manners.
She glanced between the two boys for a moment, clearly torn between her desires to flee the possibly embarrassing situation and wanting to stay and make sure things wouldn't turn violent. Ron tried to let her know she could go with his eyes and she must have gotten the message because she finally relented, announcing that she was going to take a bath. She gave Ron one last look at the door that filled him with such longing and need that he felt no guilt in wishing he wasn't friends with Harry Potter—at least not for the rest of the afternoon—before she shut the door and the two boys were alone.
Harry took a seat not on the camp bed but next to Ron on his, and Ron was struck with déjà vu of when Hermione had sat down beside him only an hour ago. He looked down at his soiled sheets, soaked with sweat and Hermione's cum, and immediately felt himself grow hard again, cursing his body and wishing Harry was too angry with him to notice anything unusual.
"Are you alright?" asked Harry him.
"'Course I am," said Ron nervously. "What, don't I look alright?"
Harry eyed him for a moment. "Dunno. I guess. You just seem a bit off." Ron wondered what he meant. Was it because of how nervous he was? Because he'd just had his tongue buried inside Hermione? Because he'd buried his brother a few scant hours ago?
The last thought brought back his guilt and sadness and anger. "Yeah well I reckon I'm allowed to be a bit off today." There was silence, and then Harry scooted a bit closer. Ron felt weird about their close proximity. He and Harry weren't big on affection, at least not with each other, and it was odd especially after their fight earlier.
"Ron that's what I wanted to talk about. About before, when I…when you…"
And then Ron realized Harry was about to apologize to him and he burst out laughing. First Hermione tells him she's proud of him and tries to wank him off and now Harry was trying to apologize for letting Ron knock his block off. Yup, the world has officially gone mad, he thought.
Ron continued laughing, noticing Harry was growing angrier by the moment. "Sorry mate, it's just I couldn't let you do it," Ron finally managed to choke out in between laughs."
"Huh?"
"Were you really going to apologize?" Ron asked, still laughing softly.
Harry looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess I was."
"Why?"
"Well, you were right. What you said. I was…I was being—"
"Don't, Harry. Just don't." Ron had to cut him off. Finally serious, he looked Harry in the eye. He and Harry had fought twice before in all their years as friends, and Ron believed himself at fault on both occasions. Yet neither time had Harry made him, or even wanted him to, apologize. And though Ron still thought he'd been justified in striking Harry, he didn't want Harry to apologize for making such a thing necessary in the first place. He just wanted everything to be okay with his best mate.
They just looked at each other in understanding before they both cracked smiles and they began laughing. "So does this mean if I kick you in the bollocks, you'll give me your invisibility cloak?" Ron chuckled.
"Not likely mate."
"Maybe I should as a precaution anyway. Especially if you're going to be dating my sister again." Harry stopped laughing and Ron knew he was treading on dangerous ground. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean…"
"It's fine," said Harry forcing himself to sound jovial. "No problem."
Ron felt sorry for his friend. He had so little left in the world that brought him happiness, and now he was struggling to hold on to yet another piece that seemed to be slipping away. "Don't sweat it. She'll come around mate. She's been mad about you since she was ten. She spent years waiting for you to stop being so thick. No way is she throwing away all that time and effort."
Harry didn't seem to hear him. "Ron, can I ask you something."
"Uh, maybe?"
"How do you know you're in love with Hermione?"
Ron certainly hadn't expected that. He and Harry didn't talk about things like that. They never had, and once Ginny and Hermione had entered the picture he'd been sure they never would. "Who says I'm in love with Hermione?"
Harry rolled his eyes and managed to smile a little. "You did. You told me the other day, remember?"
Not really, Ron thought. When it came to Hermione, it seemed like things just sometimes slipped out these days without his meaning them to. "Harry, what's this about?"
"Just answer the question Ron."
He tried. He really did. He'd certainly spent enough time thinking about why he loved Hermione over the years. He could give a million reasons why he loved her. But what had made him realize it?
Well, Ron knew exactly what had made him realize it, or at least helped him realize it. But he couldn't exactly tell Harry to give the Mirror of Erised another try and see if he saw Ginny, not now that the mirror had been destroyed. Besides, that couldn't be the only way to know. His parents knew they were in love without the help of the mirror. The same for Bill and Fleur. So what should he tell Harry?
"You…I don't think you can explain how you know. You just…do," he said lamely.
"Oh that's deep Ron," said Harry, rolling his eyes.
"Oi! That's the truth!"
"Oh, come on. Can't you give me something better?"
"Well…" Ron started, noticing Harry was leaning forward and listening with the same attention Hermione showed when studying for Arithmancy. "It's like…it's as if she's your only reason for living. No, that's not it. It's more like…bollocks…like you don't feel alive unless she's around, like you're sleepwalking through life unless she's there to wake you up," he said, remembering how he'd felt when it had been just he and Hermione up there, alone. "And you know she's the most important thing, the only thing. That her happiness is more important than your own, that your happy just because she's happy, and when she cries you wish you could take those tears away, even if it meant you had to cry them yourself. And when she gets up to leave the room, you miss her so much—"
"Okay, okay. Christ, I get it," said Harry, chuckling slightly. "I knew there was a reason we didn't talk about this stuff. Remind me never to ask you about Hermione again."
"Sorry," said Ron as he rubbed the back of his neck, his ears quite pink.
"So?"
"What?"
Harry shoved him. "Have you told her?"
"Told who what?"
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, I really worry about you mate." Ron only looked at him in confusion. "Have you told Hermione that you love her?"
"Oh. No, I s'pose not."
"But you will?"
"Of course I will! Are you going to tell Ginny?"
"I don't know…I'm not sure if we're there yet."
Ron felt his anger rise and had to calm himself for a moment before speaking. Harry wasn't going to hurt Ginny, he was just confused, and Ron owed it to his sister to help. "How can you not be sure? You've been together longer than me an' Hermione!" Well so much for not getting upset, he thought.
"Mate, you and Hermione were together long before you were together." It made no sense, but somehow Ron understood. "It's just with everything that's happened this past year, with us splitting up before last summer, and everything now…with Fred."
Ron swallowed the lump that had mysteriously appeared in his throat. "Look mate, of course it's going to be hard on Ginny. That's what I was trying to get across earlier with the whole, you know…" Ron imitated punching Harry earlier. "Your job is not to rush things, and to make it easier on her if you can." Harry seemed doubtful. "Listen, that's Ginny's business. She'll figure things out, and she'll let you know what she wants. You just focus on straightening things out for yourself, because you are not going to string my sister along. So figure out how you feel and make sure she knows it."
Harry nodded, seeming a bit intimidated by Ron's seriousness. Perhaps punching Harry would turn out to be a good thing in the long-run, Ron thought.
The two friends sat there for a moment, both lost in their own worlds before Harry finally stood, reaching around to pat his bum experimentally, then glancing back to the bed. "Ron why are your sheets all wet? And…" he sniffed, "and what is that smell?"
"Uh…dunno," Ron said quickly, standing up. "But never mind that. Come on, we better get back downstairs and see if we can help with anything." He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him toward the door, snatching up his tie from the windowsill as they left.
000
9 May, 1998
Three days later, Ron found himself lying in the field outside the Burrow feeling utterly content with Hermione's head resting on his chest and Harry and Ginny sitting together a short distance away. The past two days had been almost like a holiday, like the summers robbed from them the past three years by the war, by Riddle, by death.
He was in the best of spirits. Not that things were perfect. His Mum had hardly left her room since her breakdown the other day and George still hadn't so much as cracked a smile. But it was hard to think about such things. There seemed to be nothing more important than laughing and joking and simply being together. The four of them slept late in the mornings, spent the afternoons flying, and in the evenings, Ron rubbed Hermione's feet as she read while he kept one eye on his chess game with Harry and Ginny, though he wasn't sure if they actually worked better as a team or if he was simply too preoccupied elsewhere to play to his usual standards. And in between were those wonderful moments Ron spent alone with Hermione hidden away from the rest of the world. He couldn't help it. He couldn't remember ever being this happy, ever feeling so…so…young.
The Burrow had finally settled down. Bill and Fleur were still there, but Charlie had left the day before to go back to Romania, promising he would be back before the end of the month to check in. And Percy, who surprisingly announced his intentions to return to the Burrow, had left temporarily to get his affairs in order and move out of his flat in London. And having fewer people around made sneaking off with Hermione much easier.
After his talk with Harry the day of the funeral, things had been too busy to duck out of sight with Hermione for a second time, but she'd made things worth the wait the following morning.
After breakfast he'd gone to the loo to brush his teeth, when Hermione had appeared from behind the shower curtain, playfully scolding him for taking so long to eat.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been hiding in here for almost twenty minutes."
"Why would you—"
The rest of Ron's question was unnecessary as Hermione had stepped toward him and reached down to fondle him through his pajamas while sealing his mouth with a searing kiss.
He'd been shocked—SHOCKED—that Hermione would surprise him in such a manner. It had been incredible feeling her small, cold hands slip beneath his waistband and grasp him. She had no technique, and if his brain had been working Ron would've poked fun at her for not quite knowing everything. But honestly he was glad. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if Hermione had known what she was doing. Besides, her enthusiasm and desire more than made up for it. Technique, they could learn together in time.
But their liaison in the bathroom was nothing compared to yesterday.
Harry had gone to Ginny's room to talk, hopefully having worked out a few of the things he and Ron had discussed the day of the funeral, and Hermione had shown up moments later to give them some privacy.
"So what do you want to do?" Ron had asked hopefully as she joined him on his bed.
"Honestly Ron," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.
"No, I didn't mean…" Of course he had meant that, but as much as he wanted it, there was no way he was risking a row with Hermione. They hadn't quarreled in days. It might have even been a new record.
But Ron's attempts to deny the fact that he was a randy tosspot didn't matter because in the next moment Hermione had launched herself at him, smothering his body with her own, eliciting a small "Oomph!" from Ron as her weight landed on him. Apparently Hermione was as randy as he was, or perhaps even more so…after all this was the third encounter she'd initiated in as many days.
It was a scramble for dominance, the pair of them flipping each other again and again, a tangle of limbs and lips and laughs and it dawned on Ron why exactly they hadn't felt the need to row with each other lately. Unfortunately, this momentary epiphany was enough of a distraction for Hermione to pin him down, sitting on his stomach to weigh him down as she held his wrists.
Ron could have broken free, but for once he was the one with a plan. "You look like you're enjoying yourself."
"You know how much I enjoy coming out on top," she said, leaning over him so her curls fell and tickled his face, keeping her lips just out of his reach teasingly.
"So you like being on top when you come, do you? I didn't know, Hermione. Can't say I'm surprised," Ron said cheekily, causing Hermione to gasp out a scolding "Ron!" which gave him the opening he needed. His hands broke free of her restraint, buried themselves in her hair, and pulled her down, crushing their lips together.
Phase one complete, Ron thought, feeling rather pleased. He wasn't done yet, however. He was after something, something he had wanted since Hermione had hugged him back in third year, something that until now had been denied him.
He didn't try and wrest control back from Hermione, but let her take over their snogging, letting her enjoy the illusion of power, as she bit down rather hard on his bottom lip. Her hands were roaming across his chest, plucking at his shirt, trying to tug it off his body, which was impossible seeing as she was pinning his back to the bed. Finally getting the message he sat them both up until she was in his lap, her legs splayed to either side, and he found his shirt gone within seconds. She started to lean into him, trying to push them both down again but he stopped her.
"Wha—"
"Hermione," Ron said emphatically, glancing from her eyes down to her breasts and back again.
"Oh," she said, blushing. "I…I suppose that's only fair." Somehow Ron was disappointed. He didn't want her to take of her shirt because it would be fair. He wanted her to want it, to want to be touched as much as he wanted to touch her.
"You don't have to…" and just like that her shirt was off. He tried; really, he did. But it was impossible not to stare. They were small by anyone's standards, certainly when compared to Lavender's. But what mattered to Ron wasn't their size, but the fact that they were Hermione's. And they were perfect. Thoroughly uncomfortable under Ron's scrutiny, Hermione pressed herself to him again as they kissed, and this time Ron relented and together they fell back on the bed.
`Oh God he could feel them, so soft and yet so firm, flattened against his chest. With her shirt gone, he could feel the hard pebbles of her nipples through her bra and knew he needed more. Slowly he moved his lips from hers, kissing her cheek, then her chin, then her jaw, trailing kisses down to her throat, eliciting soft moans from Hermione. Thoroughly assured he had her distracted, Ron's left hand snaked around the back of her and, after a pinch and slide of his fingers, it was done—or rather undone. It was easy. For all the confusion girls brought to Ron Weasley, bras were one thing he innately understood. He remembered shocking Lavender the first time he'd deftly unclasped her bra, causing her to question where he'd learned such things until he had embarrassingly assured her he had no experience whatsoever.
As he continued to suckle on her neck, he slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders and down her arms as far as he could, before sitting the both of them up together again. And when she leaned back to look him in the face and ask what was wrong, she finally noticed her bra was undone and half off. And sure enough one glance downward offered Ron a glimpse of the edge of one rosy nipple. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand took the right cup of her bra and pulled, giving his mouth the access to her breast he so craved.
"Ron!" gasped Hermione, finally letting him know he wasn't in trouble for what he'd done. Encouraged, he finished undressing her from the waist up and pushed her back to the bed, claiming dominance for himself finally, palming both her breasts as he licked and sucked on her pale stomach, his hands rolling her nipples between his fingers, kneading her creamy flesh. He kissed his way up her stomach to her chest, kissing the valley between her breasts before he was met with a terrible choice.
The right or the left? How could he choose one over the other? It was like choosing…well…like choosing between Hermione's breasts. There really wasn't anything else to compare it to. Finally, though a small part of him died, he went with the left, trailing his tongue along the alabaster skin of her gentle slope and up until his lips closed on her puckered nipple, sucking and licking and biting.
Eventually he became aware of a tug on his hair. Hermione was pulling him away from her breasts, and toward her waiting mouth where their tongues met as she kissed him, and he kissed her back harder, trying to give as good as he got. And finally, in this position he could feel her heat pressed against his hardness, and couldn't help but buck his hips against hers. From the way she bit down on his tongue, Hermione had liked that as much as he did and he did it again and again, and soon they were rocking against one another, not quite in rhythm due to their desperation. And there was no time, no thought of removing more clothing as their mouths lost one another and Ron groaned in relief as he came against her. Relentless and desperate for her own release, Hermione continued grinding her center up and against his and he did his best to counter her, to give her the friction she needed and soon enough, she followed him over the edge, coming in a series of fluttering shudders and small gasps.
Just the memory of the encounter drove Ron mad with longing as they lay together in the field and he flipped over, cushioning Hermione's head with one hand as he settled on top of her and covered her mouth with his as she giggled into his lips.
Ginny gagged. "Merlin, they're disgusting, aren't they?" she exclaimed to Harry. "And I thought Bill and Fleur were the ones in their honeymoon period. But these two are worse."
Ron tore his lips from Hermione to glare at his little sister and toss her the finger without a trace of guilt. "Now you know how it feels," he told her. Hermione smacked his hand and grabbed his face with both her hands and forced him to meet her gaze.
"Ron," Hermione said sternly, reminding him of just how hard she was capable of hitting. He still hadn't forgotten the greeting he'd received upon returning to her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt.
Okay, so maybe it was a little insensitive to parade about with Hermione in front of Harry and Ginny when they were still working things out. But it's not like the situation hadn't been reversed a year ago, and it certainly hadn't bothered Ginny much back then when the shoe was on the other foot.
Thankfully, her expression seemed to soften immediately and melted into one of contentment, the same he saw on her face when she sat down with a brand new book. She reached up, cupping the side of his face, and smiled. And Ron was once more lost to a world where Ginny didn't exist. Merlin, how could he want to kiss her again already, feel that he needed to kiss her? How could anything else matter when he had the most brilliant, beautiful witch in the world lying beneath him, looking up at him adoringly? How could he…
Suddenly Hermione was flipping them over. "Hermione wha—?" She was leaning in. Perhaps she couldn't control herself any more than he could. But instead of planting another kiss on his lips, she flicked the end of his nose with one small finger. And before he could respond, she was pushing herself off his chest and running across the field away from him.
Without comprehending what was happening or why, he stood and gave chase. It was easy, even with Hermione's head start, for Ron to catch her. His long legs and a childhood spent playing in those fields gave him an impossible advantage.
Ron tackled her, lifting her up off the ground before they fell together into the long grass. "You're bad, you know that?" he told her, shifting her hair out of her face.
"Well I suppose as a former prefect, you can find a suitable punishment, can't you?"
Cheeky witch, he thought. He loved this side of Hermione, this side he knew no one else would ever see and was reserved only for him. He knew what she wanted. Which was why, instead of snogging her, he tickled her. Only it didn't work.
"You're not ticklish," Ron said after several minutes during which he failed to make her squirm even once.
"No I'm not," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "But I suppose you are?"
"Hermione," Ron warned. But it was no use. She was tickling his sides until he was laughing hysterically, unable to escape as he was pinned beneath her weight once more.
"Hermione…stop, stop….I give….stop….please" Ron gasped between laughs and Hermione finally relented. "You really are bad."
Hermione ignored this. "You know Ron," she started thoughtfully, "I'm not ticklish. But…" Ron thought for a moment before completing her sentence in his head: but there are other ways to make her squirm.
He felt himself growing hard at just the thought and they were kissing again, Ron's hands snaking beneath the waistband of Hermione's jeans to squeeze her arse, sliding her against his leg.
"Ron," Hermione mumbled against Ron's lips, but he wasn't listening. And after he rubbed her along his thigh again, she wasn't either. Soon, she was grinding against him of her own volition, freeing his hands to move from her bum to her tits, sliding up her stomach to cup them, squeezing and pulling on them more roughly than he previously had.
He was just contemplating exactly how starkers he could get Hermione when he heard something or someone approaching them.
"Ron? Hermione? Fleur says she's got supper read—OH BLEEDING HELL!" Ginny's exclamation hastened Ron's hands out from under Hermione's shirt, but he didn't let her go, instead rolling them to the side so that his body shielded Hermione's from Ginny. "I didn't see anything. I swear." Ron wasn't sure if she was trying to convince them or herself. He turned his head around and saw Ginny was looking at the ground, shielding her eyes, muttering something under her breath.
"Thanks, Ginny. We'll be in…we'll be just a moment," Hermione said embarrassedly.
"Right. I'll just…I'll just leave you to it. I mean I'll…" Ginny didn't even finish her sentence but instead started walking back to the Burrow. Ron turned back to Hermione who looked positively humiliated.
"God Ron, that was just…just…"
"Fucked up?" Ron supplied helpfully.
"Absolutely mortifying," she said, shooting him a glare. "Honestly Ron, how could you? And out in public like this?"
"Me? But you…I wasn't…I didn't hear you complaining."
"How could I with your tongue down my throat."
Suddenly it struck him that Hermione had ran off, wanting him to catch her sooner rather than later, that their short game of tag had only been an excuse to put some distance between them and the other, less happy couple, had only been a means to get a little privacy. Which made Hermione as guilty as he was in this mess, as far as Ron was concerned.
Even guiltier, he reasoned with himself. There was no way she was blaming this all on him and playing the innocent victim. So he stood up, dusted himself off and tromped toward the house.
"Where are you going? This is not over Ronald!" Hermione shouted, but Ron simply ignored her.
000
Dinner was a somewhat awkward affair. Ginny was clearly too uncomfortable to look or speak to either Ron or Hermione, and judging by Harry's behavior, she'd told him in exactly what position she'd found her brother and best friend. Not that Ron minded. He preferred silence punctured by a few uncomfortable looks than the teasing his sister normally wouldn't hesitate to doll out if Hermione wasn't involved as well.
And of course, deciding that rather than give her the row she was looking for, Ron had taken a leaf out of Hermione's book and simply ignored her. He knew how frustrating he found it when she behaved as if he didn't exist and guessed that she'd find turnabout equally annoying.
And he was right. She did everything in her power to get him to cave, from tossing casual insults about Ron into conversations where they were not remotely relevant, to picking up dishes and moving them out of his reach, or passing them in the opposite direction around the table to delay Ron's gratification.
At first, it was infuriating, but soon his anger turned to amusement. It wasn't every day he saw proper Hermione behaving like a child. Soon, her death glares were only met by Ron's chuckles, which of course only fed Hermione's rage.
After dinner, Ron was busy asking Harry to a game of chess when Hermione seized his arm and dragged him into a cupboard.
"What are we doing in here?" Ron asked thickly.
"Having it out in private. I think our relationship has suffered more than enough public exposure for one day."
He didn't respond.
"Ron Weasley, you will stop ignoring me right now!"
"Or what?"
"Excuse me?"
"I stop ignoring you or what? You'll get angry at me? Blame me for something that's equally your fault? Been there, done that."
Hermione looked shocked, and Ron understood it wasn't because he was standing up to her—he'd been doing that for years—but because he had managed to remain calm and collected and kept an even voice while she was spitting mad. "You…you…"
"You know you drive me mad when you're like this," Ron said, maneuvering awkwardly in the small space to reach for her. "Your hair gets crazy and your eyes have this fire behind them and…"
Ten minutes, an assortment of compliments and a great deal of blushing later, Ron and Hermione were playing chess against Harry and Ginny, their argument forgotten, though he noticed she didn't sit as close to him as she usually did. Each time it was Harry and Ginny's turn, Ron would tell Hermione out loud exactly which move they were going to make next. While Harry and Hermione were both very amused by the situation Ginny was growing more and more frustrated by the second thanks to Ron's antics. At first, she moved other pieces just to spite Ron, but this almost always turned out for the worst and soon, she was doing exactly what he predicted she would do. Not that it made much difference. It only prolonged the inevitable.
After Ron and Hermione won their third straight game, there was a knock at the front door and a moment later, Bill ushered Kingsley Shacklebolt into the room. After a few short greetings, Bill excused himself and Kingsley sat down.
"I was wondering if I could have a word with you three?" he asked. Ginny, looking disappointed, moved to leave. "No, please stay. I'm sure they'd just tell you after I left, so I might as well save you the trouble of repeating everything."
Ron was wondering what the interim Minister of Magic could want to talk to them about when he withdrew two familiar objects from his cloak.
"My wand," Ron exclaimed, surprised. It was indeed his wand. His and Hermione's.
"We recovered these the day after the final battle when we raided Malfoy Manor and I thought you'd like them returned to you. Actually, we found plenty the Death Eaters had confiscated. Ollivander is helping us to identify them and return them to their owners." Kingsley offered the two wands and Hermione and Ron reached out and took them.
Just holding his wand again after weeks felt wonderful. It felt like coming home, and he understood why Harry had wanted to stick with his phoenix wand. Ron reached into his pocket and took out the wand that had formerly belonged to Peter Pettigrew. He flipped it around and offered it to Kingsley.
"Ah. I was wondering how you all made do after your capture," he said taking it. Hermione handed over Bellatrix's, obviously very eager to rid herself of the cursed thing. Ron had barely seen her use it since the battle. "And do you know who these belonged to?"
"Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange," said Harry. "And I still have Draco Malfoy's. It's in my room, if you want it."
Kingsley nodded. "Well, seeing as Pettigrew and Lestrange are dead, these two won't be of much help, but the Malfoy boy's wand could definitely help."
"Help with what?" Ginny asked curiously.
"With the trials. We've got dozens of Death Eaters in custody and I'm doing my best to make sure they all wind up behind bars this time. And the more evidence we can gather against them, the better chance we have of making sure none of them walk free."
Ron saw a strong determination in Kingsley's eyes as he spoke. Ron really didn't know the man very well. He'd spent more time with Sirius and Moody as far as the Order went. But what he knew he liked and Ron felt confident that the man before him would make an excellent Minister of Magic, especially when compared to his three predecessors.
"Kingsley, you should know…the Malfoys…well Draco and Narcissa, they helped us, helped me." Although Ron, Hermione and Ginny had heard the story of what had happened in the Forbidden Forest and at Malfoy Manor, all eyes in the room whipped around to look at Harry. "Narcissa, she lied for me-,"
"So what," Ron interrupted. "You already had the magical protection or whatever on you because you sacrificed yourself. You-Know…Riddle couldn't have touched you."
Harry shook his head. "No, but any of the others could have. Any of them besides Riddle could've killed me with one spell. But she lied, made them believe I was already dead, so no one else would check. I…I don't think she really wanted to do what Riddle told them too, at least not for some time."
"Harry, she's married to Lucious Malfoy. She has a torture chamber in her basement. She kept Luna and Ollivander and who knows how many other people locked in there for weeks. Harry, she just sat there as her sister tortured Hermione." Ron was adamant, and he looked around for support. Kingsley's face remained passive, but Ginny seemed to be nodding slightly at Ron's words. Hermione however was looking down at the chess board, her expression unreadable.
"I know. I know all that Ron. But what else was she supposed to do? Hell, we don't even have proof that she did anything. For all we know, she could've been a prisoner in her own home. It certainly seemed like her and Lucius didn't have much say when we were there."
Ron couldn't believe it. It had been one thing to save the ferret's life in the Room of Requirement, but another to…
"What are you saying, Harry? That they should go free? That after everything they've done, they should get to walk around with wands they could use to curse someone whenever they feel like it?"
"I don't know. I'm just trying to tell Kingsley the facts." He looked back at the older man. "At the Manor, when we were captured, Hermione tried to disguise me. Bellatrix asked Malfoy to identify me and he didn't. He lied." Harry looked around somewhat guiltily at his friends. "And remember, he didn't kill Dumbledore last year. He lowered his wand."
"What about Dobby, Harry?" Ron asked, trying to get some bit of anger out of his friend to direct at the Malfoys. "Remember how terrible they were to him his whole life; remember how he had to die to save us from them?"
"Stop! Just stop it, both of you!" The room was stunned to silence by Hermione's outburst. "Ron you've said your piece and Harry's said his." She looked up and Ron could see her eyes were swimming with tears and he put an arm around her, thankful when she didn't shy away from him. "Now is there anything else?" she asked Kingsley, who smiled back at her.
"Yes actually. I've contacted the Australian Ministry and made arrangements for a portkey to take you and Ron to Canberra, the capital."
"You have?" asked Hermione, clearly not having expected this to be Kingsley's something else.
He nodded. "For next Thursday, the fourteenth. When you arrive, you'll meet with officials from their Ministry, probably aurors, who will help you get settled in and help you with the search for your parents. And don't worry, all your expenses will be taken care of. It's the least we can do for you."
Hermione blushed and said thank you, and Ron squeezed her shoulder supportively.
"There is one more piece of business as well." All four of them looked to Kingsley expectantly. "I'm not sure if you three have thought about your futures at all, but, well, it's looking like I'll be appointed the next minister on a more permanent basis any day now. And there's a lot of work to be done, getting things back on track. Especially with rounding up all the death eaters that escaped during the final battle and Volde…Riddle's other supporters that were busy elsewhere."
Ron wasn't exactly sure where Kingsley was going with this, and guessing by his face neither did Harry. But like always, Hermione was three steps ahead of everyone else. "Are you offering us jobs?"
Kingsley nodded. "I'll need all the help I can get, especially dependable people with some experience."
"What kind of jobs," asked Ron bluntly.
"Well, I was hoping maybe you'd all like to be Aurors?"
"Even me?" Ron asked.
Kingsley chucked. "Of course. Based on the past year you three have had—and on the six before it if I'm to go by the stories Minerva's told me—all of you are more than qualified and capable. In fact, I was thinking I'd offer the same to the Longbottom boy…" Kingsley rambled on but Ron was no longer listening. An Auror. Him. He couldn't believe it.
As a child, Ron had dreamed of playing for the Chudley Cannons. But while a part of Ron still dreamt at night of himself decked out in the orange robes as he floated between the hoops in front of a roaring crowd, he'd known that it was only a fantasy since his keeper trials at the beginning of fifth year.
Sure he loved Quidditch. And occasionally, Ron even thought he was actually good at Quidditch. But the truth was, he couldn't realistically see himself playing professionally. The pressure, the nerves…it was all too much just being on the House team, let alone playing professionally. In fact, another year on the team and he might lose his ability to enjoy playing Quidditch forever. Two-on-Two in the fields surrounding the Burrow was much more appealing, even if he got Hermione for a partner and she made them lose.
But being an Auror was something he could actually see. It had been his third greatest desire since fourth year, after getting Hermione to fancy him and Harry living through the mess with Voldemort. He would make a good Auror. He knew that. Harry had said it himself to the D.A.; it wasn't about knowing all the spells and such, but about nerves and instinct and bravery. And Ron was finally starting to believe that he really did possess these qualities.
"…So I'll be back in a few days and you three can let me know your decisions," concluded Kingsley as he stood. He exchanged a few goodbyes with the four of them, and then let himself be walked out accompanied by Mr. Weasley. Immediately Ron and Harry began talking excitedly about working as Aurors, imagining themselves as partners hunting down dark wizards together and bringing them to justice while Hermione reveled in the return of her wand.
Soon, the four of them split off for bed but Ron had only removed his shirt and slid one leg from his trousers when the door to his room opened and Hermione slipped in.
"Hermione, wha—"
She ran across the room and kissed him, causing them both to lose balance and fall onto his bed. Hermione laughed softly and smiled. "I just wanted to say sorry for earlier."
"You don't have to apologize."
"No, but I wanted to. It was a good excuse to tell Ginny why I needed to come see you," she said coyly, reminding Ron of just how brilliant Hermione really was.
"Reckon it was nice of Kingsley to give us our wands back. I'd kinda settled on never seeing it again."
Hermione nodded. "And to offer us jobs as Aurors without having to take our N.E.W.T.s or go through the full training…"
"Yeah," he said.
"Is that what you really want to do?"
"Hermione, you've known I wanted to be an Auror since I was fourteen."
She turned the words over and over in her mind, not saying anything, and began kissing him again. But as wonderful as they were, the light nibbles on his lips were only a distraction for he soon felt Hermione tugging down his shorts. Instinctively he lifted his hips in compliance and felt her tentatively grasp his length.
He shivered from his cool touch and felt his cock snapping to attention. He almost felt like he should be embarrassed that he was such a randy bugger, but Hermione didn't seem to mind, so who was he to complain?
Her strokes were amateur, quick and short, pumping him in an almost mechanical fashion until she heard his breathing became labored and shallow, and she managed to relax, assured that she wasn't doing anything wrong. Her touch grew more confident, teasing him with long, languid strokes, her grip tightening to increase the friction. For his part, Ron simply did his best not to move, to keep his hips from thrusting upward. He didn't want to scare Hermione away, not when he wished she would never stop exactly what she was doing. And soon Ron felt his stomach begin to twist itself into knots.
But surprisingly, it wasn't the pressure of his oncoming release that he was feeling. He was thinking back to Hermione's tone when she asked if being an Auror was really what he wanted, remembering glancing into her worried eyes as he talked excitedly with Harry. And most of all, strangely enough, he was recalling the image of Andromeda holding little Teddy in her arms at Lupin and Tonk's funeral, giving the baby boy one last look at his parents. And Harry's words from 12 Grimmauld Place all those months ago: Parents shouldn't leave their kids. Unless…unless they've got to.
So what if he didn't have a kid. It worked both ways, didn't it? He had a family he loved. And he had Hermione. Could he really leave them to go and fight dark wizards, to go and have more adventures with Harry?
And then Ron realized that he didn't need to become an Auror to abandon his family. He'd been doing it for days now, too preoccupied with Hermione to pay attention to them and their grief. Hell, he hadn't thought about Fred since the afternoon of the funeral. He hadn't tried speaking to George or his Mum in days. What kind of brother was he, what kind of son, what kind of man?
"Ron?" Hermione questioned from somewhere near his waist. It was then that he realized that while Hermione still had one small hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his little soldier wasn't exactly standing at full attention. In fact, it looked like it was trying to climb back into his body to hide, and he couldn't blame her for giving up on the task at hand.
"Sod Kingsley," Ron whispered to himself, covering his face with his large hand, wondering what excuse he was going to give Hermione.
A/N: The chapter's title comes from the song "Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste" by Galaxie 500 off their album Today. It's actually a cover of a Modern Lovers song, but they get their own chapter later and the Galaxie 500 version is much better anyway.
