Chapter 7 and the story will earn its M rating here. There is a bit of smutty goodness ahead, plus cursing. As always, thank you so much for your reviews and for favouriting the story. Although I don't respond to each review individually, please know I read and save them all. For those of you who have left me a review and are fanfic writers yourselves, I am slowly making my way through your work- it has been great to read other stories.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NINETH CIRCLE

Hermione wasn't sure how they had ended up in this bar or what she thought of their decision to come here. She was very certain that her initial intention had been to take Ron for coffee and when they had had started out into the city, she had been keeping an eye out for somewhere suitable. All her usual haunts were crowded though, people spilling out onto the streets, faces up at the sun. They needed peace not bustle. Eventually they came upon shiny railings that led down some stone steps to a basement bar.

"This place is nice", Ron said, the first words he had spoken since they left City Hall. Hermione took this as a good sign and nudged him down the steps. Inside, the bar was cool and quiet, clearly losing business to establishments with beer gardens. Hermione led Ron to a booth decked out in red leather with a high wooden table and indicated that he should sit down.

A lone barman was cutting lemons into wedges and acknowledged her with a nod. She thought about asking for coffee but she couldn't see a coffee machine and when she glanced back at the booth, Ron was hunched over the table, elbows propping him up, fixated on a spot in front him. Hermione felt maybe this required something stronger so she ordered two bottled beers. If Ron had been expecting a coffee cup he didn't show it. He took the bottle from her and took three long swallows, downing half the contents. Hermione took this as a further good sign she had made the right choice.

At first the conversation had been stilted and awkward, mainly made up of Ron telling Hermione about Mrs. Alderdyce. It seemed to lift his mood, describing all her crazy antics, her unique wardrobe. It was touching to watch him talk about this woman with such affection but then Ron had always been easy with his feelings. His love was accessible, free and abundant. He treasured his family and friends and he did not shy away from showing it which was something Hermione had invariably found appealing about him. His openness countered her spikiness. He had been the sunflower to her cactus.

Eight beer bottles now stood on their table and they were halfway through their fifth each. The conversation had turned rather inevitably to their school days and Ron was describing a prank he and Harry had pulled on one of the school bullies.

"Honestly I thought the teacher was going to lose her mind. We got a week of detention for that", he chuckled, swigging from his bottle.

"I'm not sure whether you two were good for each other at school. You were always in detention for one thing or another". She tried to sound stern but melted into laughter with Ron who seemed looser and more vibrant with each drink . She could feel the pleasant lightness of the alcohol in her own body, heat circulating through her veins. The bar was filling up, the room temperature hiking up with it and her cheeks felt flushed. The low rosy light above them gave everything an amber radiance.

As he talked, Hermione noticed that Ron's long arms were taking up more space so now, as they sat at right angles to each other at the table, their elbows were touching. An unbidden thought floated into her head, an image of Ron at school continually being reprimanded by teachers for unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. He used to say that he wasn't meant to be constrained by buttons, 'I need to be free!'.

It was a habit he took into adulthood; every occasion where he was required to wear a shirt would predictably end with Ron rolling his cuffs. He had good forearms, Ron. It was an odd thing to admire about someone but she had noticed them from early on, even though Ron was undoubtedly long and lean there was strength in his musculature. Today, his sleeves had stayed resolutely down, cuffs buttoned and Hermione wondered what his forearms looked like now. What were the scars like?

"What?"

Hermione shook herself out of her reverie. "What?"

Ron smirked. "You were staring at my arm. Maybe you've had enough beer little lady". He reached for her bottle and closed his hand around her fingers on the bottle neck. There was a pause and Hermione knew he felt it too. The connection felt so hot it almost burnt. Ron's Adam's apple shifted as he swallowed, his head lowered but his eyes firmly resting on hers. She had to get them out of this fast.

Abruptly she pulled the bottle out of his reach and took a drink. "I'll decide when I've had enough, thank you Ronald Weasley". Her voice was prim and jokey and he half smiled, taking a breath. Was it her imagination or did he look relieved? Oh God she hoped she hadn't offended him by staring.

Ron stood and walked to the bar, leaning against a length of it that had miraculously become free. Hermione watched him banter easily with the barman, exchanging money for another two glass bottles. His broad shoulder blades moved under his shirt as he raked both hands through his hair. She could still remember what it felt like to run her hands over them as he hovered over her, pelvis grinding hers. Her small fingers pressing deep into his skin, losing grip every so often with their combined sweat.

He was always hungry for her, always wanted more. He could have worked a twenty four hour shift, literally sleeping while he stood, and he would amble in as she took a shower before work, stripping out of his uniform, ready for her. Drunk with tiredness, it wasn't lovemaking with finesse, but his gentle hands in the hot water made her come every time. Ron was reticent and unsure about lots of things in life, so many of their decisions together had been driven by what Hermione thought was best. Sex was not something he was unsure about. He knew what he wanted, made the time to find out what she wanted and took them both there with confidence.

As he set the bottle in front of her, Hermione felt the slick between her thighs and she crossed her legs.

"I didn't ask. What were you doing at the City Hall today?" Excellent, she thought, nothing to dampen the ardour for your ex-boyfriend quite like discussing your future husband.

"I got the permit you asked for. For the licence. For Viktor."

Ron pursed his lips and picked at the label on his bottle. "Still gettin' married then?"

"Yes. Of course". She drank nervously.

"So I took you away from important business? Sorry about that". He didn't look that remorseful and she found she wasn't really either.

"It's fine. This was more important". He raised his eyebrows. "You were upset. And I can sort it out later in the week."

Half the label had been stripped from Ron's bottle now, paper curls collecting on the table. "How's the wedding plans going? No one dead yet?"

"Do people normally die during the run up to a wedding?"

He laughed. "I thought Ginny was going to kill Mum at one point. She kept making 'suggestions' about things she didn't like and it wound Ginny right up. Harry kept having to intervene and calm everything down. I wouldn't have been surprised if there had've been a punch up over the canapes but it actually all went well on the day".

Hermione winced. "They sent me an invitation but it didn't seem appropriate. And I was already in the US. I felt bad about it afterwards though."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, Harry was pretty mad you didn't come. He understood why but I think he thought you should have just got over it".

"I should have. But at the time... It seemed too much. It was too soon".

"Yeah. I was kinda glad when you didn't come. It made things easier in a way. Still felt wrong you weren't there though. Like a family member was missing." He paused. "Annnnyway, if no one has died then you must be doing something right".

"I'll be glad when it's all done to be honest". Again with the twitch of the eyebrows. "Wedding planning is a bit repetitive. And expensive. You have an idea what you want and then it gets blown up into this juggernaut and then it's just MONEY. Writing cheques all the time. Sometimes I struggle to remember what it's all for".

Ron knew this was a precarious topic of conversation, he could see hazards ahead.

"I think that's just the way it is for everybody. I mean, Bill got married this weekend and it was just meant to be a quiet do in our back garden but of course Mum wants to invite every Weasley still living and she insisted on doing all the food herself even though it was far too much to do alone. And Fleur's mother was upset because she wasn't consulted about the food and so she was trying to outdo Mum by ordering the flowers. And they didn't even want flowers... Honestly, I think all couples go through it. That's what wine is for. You sit down at the end of the day and laugh about it."

"But they did it together. They had each other. I'm pretty much doing it alone".

"Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "Viktor isn't big into details. Plus he's working all the time so I bring him ideas and questions and he just nods. I should be grateful really. Given what a control freak I am. I should love having all the power".

"But you don't?" Ron asked softly.

"It's just not how I imagined it. I thought it would be fun, choosing stuff together, making our plans. It should be fun, exciting. I thought Viktor would want to help. But he says I know best, that I should pick whatever I want. So now, we're having a wedding and I have no idea if it's what he wants. If it's his taste".

"Is it yours?" Still with the soft questions.

Hermione snorted, swigging from her bottle. "It should be. It's the big white wedding every little girl is supposed to want. Designer wedding dress, custom suits, string quartet. Thousands spent on flowers, cars. The bloody cake is taller than me. A five page spread in a magazine." She paused, thinking over what she had just said. "Fuck, what must that sound like?" She looked at him.

"Sounds like a big deal". He wanted to ask her again if it was what she wanted. What she had described sounded like a bloody circus, surely that wasn't who she was now. He acknowledged that many years had passed, that they didn't really know each other anymore. Could she have changed that much?

"It is a big deal. A lot of really important people will be there, from the sporting world. Viktor has been pulling together a deal for work with some of them. I wanted it to be really spectacular, make a good impression."

"It sounds like it will do that alright". Ron was wavering between being supportive and tearing through the circus wedding. He knew he should be the bigger man and nod politely but they were talking about that smug bastard Viktor marrying Hermione and she wasn't just any girl. She was the girl he should be married to right now.

"Actually, it all sounds like a fucking nightmare Hermione", Ron said now, taking a deep swallow of beer.

For a second, shock registered on her face and he panicked he had said the wrong thing. Then her smile broke and she laughed aloud, shoving his arm.

"I know!" she spluttered, trying to contain herself, "I know it's insane isn't it? I don't know what I'm doing. Floral arches!"

"Fuck the floral arches".

"Yes!" She clinked her bottle against his. "And the string quartet!"

"Fuck the string quartet too". They clinked and drank.

"And the bloody six foot wedding cake!"

"Especially fuck the six foot wedding cake", Ron nodded decisively and drained his bottle. She laughed and copied him. Sliding sloppily out of the booth, Hermione swayed over to the bar, unsteady on her high platforms. Ron watched a group of men as they noticed her standing nearby. One of them made a show of chivalrously making a path for her to the bar, which she accepted giddily. She obviously didn't drink that much anymore, the alcohol was affecting her much more than him and the beer was light. The good knight had propped himself up next to her at the bar as she ordered and was leaning in towards her, beaming into her face. If she was uncomfortable with his close proximity, she didn't show it, chatting animatedly, hands gesturing. At one point, the crowd of waiting punters surged and she lost her footing. Mr. Courteous placed a steadying hand on her bare back and Ron felt his stomach heave.

God damn her, she was going to earn this guy a punch in the face if she wasn't careful. Although what justification Ron was going to use for punching him was unclear. Chatting to his ex-girlfriend in a bar for three minutes wasn't much of an excuse. Ron checked in with the scene at the bar and found that the hand was still on Hermione's back and he had moved closer, body now half pressed against her arm. Sod it, he was going to get it just for being a lecherous prick.

Luckily for everyone concerned, Hermione chose this moment to untangle herself and come back to the booth. In each hand she precariously held two glass tumblers of golden liquid. "We used to drink the cheap version of this when I was at Uni, remember? The barman said it was two for one."

Ron took his two glasses and sniffed. Whiskey. "Got yourself an admirer".

"Oh I don't think so. Do you think he was chatting me up?" She looked baffled.

They both turned to look towards the bar and Ron tipped his glass to the guy at the bar who was staring reproachfully in their direction. He scowled and turned away.

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "I haven't been chatted up in a long time. I didn't realise."

Hermione was plump with heat, her skin had a faint sheen of sweat owing to the poor job the air conditioner was doing in the bar. Her hair, once a neat straight ponytail, was coming undone in sweet little curls at her forehead and neck. The colour of the sundress was stark against her tawny skin but it wasn't displeasing. She looked like a cupcake, sugary and appetizing. Ron felt his tongue dart out to wet his lower lip.

In his mind he could see her rolling her head back, batting her eyes shut, exposing her slender neck to him. He would grab her by the upper arms and inhale the scent of her before nipping the soft skin. He could cover her in nibbles and bites so Viktor would know she was his girl first.

Hermione was demure and proper in public, for God's sake she was a librarian. Watching her head out for work in the morning, skirt and blouse in muted colours, hair pulled back without fuss, she had been the very definition of stuffy and straight laced. But Ron would watch her go knowing that underneath her unassuming clothes was the proof she was far from it. Violet suck marks on her inner thighs, reddened skin on her arse. Perfect matches for the scratches up his back or the bite marks on his lower neck.

From the very first time together, clumsy and embarrassed, to the later years of their relationship, sex had been exciting with her. It helped that he had always found her hugely sexy, all that wild hair, dark, intelligent eyes and sweet succulent mouth. And the things she could do with that mouth... Jesus. Not just what she could do but what she could say. Together, buried deep inside her, she had the filthiest mouth and what a turn on it was to hear her tell him what she wanted. Aloof and introverted during the day, wanton sex goddess at night. He felt his cock twitch.

"You don't need chatting up. Gettin' married", he realised he was slurring his words now. The alcohol was catching up on him too so he took a long swallow of whiskey, just to be sure.

"Yeah, but it's nice to know you're attractive. Someone finds you attractive". Her finger circled the rim of her glass.

"Are you fishing for compliments now Granger?"

"No! Not necessary. Absolutely not". She cut through the air with her hand, almost toppling her drink. "It's just nice that's all".

"That's what Viktor's for. He has to tell you you're beautiful. Is his job" Ron prodded the table with a finger to make his point. Hermione snorted in response. "Well, doesn't he?" She stared intently at her whiskey. "If he doesn't tell you how beautiful you are, why the hell are you with him?"

"He does tell me. He's very complimentary". Silence. And then, "Are you going out with Lavender Brown?"

Ron had to take a minute to ascertain what she had just asked him. Where had that come from? "Nah. We're just friends".

"She's… pretty".

That seemed like a trap. "Yeah. Suppose so".

Another beat. "You went out with her at school, do you remember?"

Definitely perilous. "Yeah, vaguely. It was only a few months. It didn't take long for her to get bored of my schoolboy humour. I used to ping her bra strap a lot".

There was a ghost of a smile on Hermione's face. "I was so jealous…"

That was just surprising. "Jealous of Lavender? Why?"

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and liquid. "I didn't really know I was jealous at the time. I just thought she was annoying. Always swinging on your arm, laughing at your stupid jokes…"

"Hey! You laughed at my jokes too! I was funny!"

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes. "You had your moments. She was just always hanging around, taking up your time. Harry and I didn't see you for weeks on end".

Ron considered this. "Well, I was a teenaged boy. There was snogging to be done. Honestly if it was a choice between sitting in the library and looking at boobs…"

"Showed you her boobs did she?" Shite, he knew this was a trap. Best say nothing, lest he incriminated himself further. "I figured as much. She seemed the type".

"Ooooh that's the pot calling the kettle black Hermione Granger. I saw your boobs too".

"That was different", she replied quickly, rubbing the back of her neck, "We were… serious".

"Oh yes. I was very serious about seeing your tits. Made it my life's work".

"Ron!" She slapped his arm as he laughed. "I didn't come here to talk about my tits."

"Shame".

"Honestly! Now. What was I saying?"

"You were jealous of Lavender cos you wanted to show me your tits and she got there first". Her mouth twisted and he had never wanted to kiss her more. All this talk about tits was tightening things below his belt.

"I didn't say that. But I was jealous. I didn't know I liked you and then you started going out with her. When you broke up, I was so glad. I told myself it was because Harry and I were getting our friend back. But obviously that wasn't it". She hunched forward over the table and the sundress tightened across her chest. She was a little scrawnier than Ron liked; she had clearly lost weight since he'd last seen her. It didn't stop him wanting her though.

"You didn't have anything to worry about. The thing with Lavender was never going to last. Think at that point I knew I liked you too. Lavender was a distraction really. Once we started going out, I never thought about her that way again".

"Even now?"

"Yeah. I'm mean she's good fun and she gets the party going and stuff. But there was never any competition. It was always you".

Neither looked at the other, both suddenly fixated on the grain of the table. Ron took a belt of whiskey, trying to think how best to follow on from that. Hermione's bottom lip was caught in her teeth and he couldn't help himself. "Why did you fix your teeth?"

She looked blearily up at him. "That's the second time you've mentioned them. What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing. They just aren't yours, that's all. I didn't know they bothered you that much".

"They didn't. Well, sometimes they did. I mentioned it to Viktor once and he offered to pay to have them fixed."

"Not perfect enough for him?" Ron found himself growling.

"No, it wasn't like that. He thought they were annoying me. And they were, a bit. Anyway. It took a while to get used to them but I like them now. They look natural". Hermione frowned and took a gulp from her glass. "He's not a bad guy Ron. I think you two would get on.".

This frustrated Ron and he wanted to tell her so. It was bollocks that they would get on, he would never get on with Vicky. How could she say that? As if he would get on with the man who was marrying the big love of Ron's life. He wanted to tell her she was bloody insane if she thought that. Instead, he stood up and grabbed his jacket, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. "I think we should go home".

Meekly, Hermione nodded and pulled her cardigan up over her shoulders. He stepped out of the booth and, on reflex, reached behind and took her hand to lead her through the bar. When they got outside, cool air fanning over them, he realised he was still holding her hand and dropped it. They started walking in the vague direction of the subway. Ron wasn't even sure where in the city she lived but he was mad and he didn't really care right now. He could hear her shoes slapping the pavement behind him, every so often stumbling a little. Then they stopped. He wheeled round and watched as she walked over to the derelict building on the pavement and leant against it, adjusting her shoe.

"Having high heel regret?" She didn't answer him, continued to fiddle with the strap. "Look if this is about Viktor.."

"You don't have to be mean about him. I know you never really liked him but I meant what I said. He isn't a bad guy."

God, she was infuriating. "Well then what's up? Cos something's up. He's this great guy who you love so much. But at the cocktail party you spent the whole night starting into space while he talked shop. You're trying and failing to be excited about getting married and he's nowhere to be found. You allow yourself to be chatted up by some random knob at the bar so you can feel attractive, even though you have a fiancé who should be making you feel attractive every single day. So what is it?" Ron suddenly felt very sober.

The impact of what he said splashed over Hermione's face; her mouth made a little O of surprise at his summation. Ron felt the fury in him die and was beginning to regret what he'd said when she spoke. "It's just sometimes… Sometimes I feel like I don't really know him. That he doesn't really know me." She tipped her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the chilled dark wash over her. Ron stood where he was, watching her. "When he asked me to marry him, we'd only been together eight months. It was completely out of the blue, I had no idea he was planning it. I had no notion of marrying him".

Ron's words felt hard in his mouth as he bit out, "Well normally in cases like that, the person being proposed to says no. Not yes".

"I know that!" she erupted, voice getting louder. "Jesus, Ron. I know that. But you weren't there. The whole set up… it was perfectly arranged. Romantic, picturesque. It was a fairy tale proposal. And he made it sound so great.". Voice up another octave. "And suddenly I'm wondering why I was going to say no. Why would I turn down this charming, lovely man who wants to marry me? Why would it matter how long we'd been together? He was serious about me, he loved me."

"And do you love him?" This was not a question Ron wanted to know the answer to, really. Either way, the outcome was shitty.

"Yes. I do love him. I love him but I'm not sure if it's the kind of love that keeps people together forever."

Ron crossed the pavement in three long strides and stood in front of her. "How can you not know? Hermione, you're getting married in a few weeks. How can you not know?"

"Because it doesn't feel the same." It came out in a whisper but he heard it clearly. She lifted her head, eyes dark with something it took him a second to recognise. "I know what that sort of love feels like. And it doesn't feel the same".

It took exactly four seconds for Ron to cup her little face in his big hands and press his mouth onto hers. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen after that, he hadn't thought that far ahead. A slap upside the head would probably be the best option for both of them, he knew. However, when a slap wasn't forthcoming, he was relieved. When she whimpered and leant closer to him, he was surprised; it was good for his ego, if not good for his heart. He pressed her against the brick and kissed her fervently, letting go of her face and allowing his hand to wander. It came to rest on the curve of her arse and when he squeezed the flesh she groaned.

A few moments went by before he realised there was something wrong. He was kissing her hard, and she was taking it, but she wasn't giving anything back. He had pressed Hermione against plenty of walls and he knew how it was supposed to feel. His body retained the memory of those times, pulling his hair, clawing at him, as though she was trying to climb inside him. She was a hellcat, Hermione. Not some soppy girl who just stood there and got kissed.

He registered her hands, delicately pressed on his chest, arms creating a demure barrier between them and he pushed against her firmly but there was no push back. No attack.

Ron took a step back and took her in. Her lips were swollen and she looked dazed; at some point she had lost her hair tie and her curls were bobbing around her head. She put a hand up to her forehead and then dropped it. When she met his gaze, her unhappy face told him everything he needed to know.

"Well that was fucked up".

Her voice was hoarse as she replied. "I know, I don't know what came over me…"

"That's not what I meant. You. You're different. You even kiss differently".

Her eyes flicked over his face in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Where's your spark Hermione? Where's the fire? There are two ways that could have gone and it was neither." She stared at him. "Either Hermione Granger would have walloped me up and down this street for doing that. Or she would have kissed me and meant it. You didn't wallop me and you didn't mean it".

"I did…" She looked positively wretched now, pulling at the sleeves of her cardigan.

"Nah, you didn't", Ron countered, feeling stupid now. For a moment she'd almost had him. Reeling him in with all that talk about her shitty wedding, being jealous of Lavender. That thing at the end, though: 'It doesn't feel the same'. That was the bloody kicker. She'd said that and he knew he would follow her anywhere, to the ninth circle of hell if she'd have asked him. It was her kiss that gave her away. It was the ninth circle made real. Treachery.

"You don't know what you want Hermione. You're marrying a guy you don't even know and you're kissing your old boyfriend in a back alley. You can't have it every way". He wanted her to speak, get furious with him. Nobody could wind her up like he could, he had always possessed the dubious skill of being able to infuriate her more than anyone. He wanted to see it in her eyes so he could prove to himself that it had been real. That it wasn't a sad play by an old flame who had cold feet. She couldn't reduce herself to that. Yet here she was, silent in the darkness, eyes snapping round him as if looking for an escape. Who was she?

"I think we're done here". She nodded. He turned to walk away but stopped himself and speaking to the pavement, he said, "Are you able to get home?"

"Yes. Thank you". Her speech was thick but he didn't think she was crying. She circled round and started walking up the street, all clumsiness and drunken ambling gone, now long, purposeful strides to get away from him. He watched her for a bit and then slowly followed behind, far enough back that if she turned she might not see him. But she didn't turn and when she hailed a cab and stepped up into it, he followed its progress until it merged with the traffic.