A/N — I know, I know … there are literally thousands of Shell Cottage fics out there. Well … here's mine. I hope you like it.

Please, please review!

Holly.

oOoOoOo

Chapter 10: The Most Powerful Magic There Is

"It seems I'm forever putting jumpers on you," I say, trying to sound severe but knowing I'm only amusing her. Hermione is sitting on a weather-beaten wooden bench by the cliff that overlooks the beach beneath Shell Cottage. Though the temperature is surprisingly mild this evening, there's a fierce wind blowing and, of course, Hermione is shivering.

She smiles. "Oh, thank you so much," she says, and I can't help but notice her voice still sounds a little hoarse, even after a few days' rest and Fleur's meticulous care. I offer her that old Weasley jumper that she loves so much and she pulls it over herself, pausing to run her hands up and down her arms before budging over on the bench and patting the space next to her. I sit and wrap an arm around her shoulder, leaning against the back of the bench and resting one ankle on my knee. She cuddles up against me and we both turn our attention to the open sea and the sunset beyond it. It's nightfall, and the clouds on the horizon signal a storm is coming.

We sit in comfortable silence, each content to explore our own thoughts as the sky and sea turn pink and purple in the light of the setting sun. I study Hermione's profile out the corner of my eye — a trick I perfected at Hogwarts, when I couldn't risk being caught admiring her. Fleur's care is evident in Hermione's face: Her cheeks have pinked up, and the dark circles under her eyes have all but disappeared. Her neck is no longer bandaged since the knife wound has closed up, and the bruises on her face and arms have shrunk and faded. Her back and chest are another story, somewhat black-and-blue even after several poultices of elderweed and thornroot. Fleur says Crucio marks can be stubborn. Hermione is still weak as a kitten, but all in all, she's on the mend, and I find myself thanking Merlin, the universe, the heavens above — hell, anyone out there who's listening — several times a day for our good fortune.

Hermione is of course thankful as well, mainly for Fleur and Bill, who have taken such tender care of her. She keeps including me on her list of saviors, so to speak, but I honestly don't think I did anything that I should be terribly cocky about. The fact that she was in that kind of danger to begin with still kills me — I should have found a way to get the Snatchers away from her, should have done something sooner to disarm Bellatrix. I didn't keep that bitch from torturing her. And yeah, at a certain point, I was able to summon … something, I don't really know what … but that goes down in my book as an accident, basically. There was no strategy involved. It was a fluke. Blind luck. Hard to take credit for that, no matter what everyone else says.

In fact, I know I'm bloody lucky that Hermione is alive and her mind seems sharp — though she does tire easily now, truth be told. I bounced back quicker than she did — the next day, really — but then, I wasn't tortured to within an inch of my life. She could easily have come out of the Malfoys' in similar shape to Neville's parents, but somehow she held on. *She's* the hero, if you ask me. How she managed to shield her mind from those Crucios, to come up with a plausible story about the sword, and to stick with it despite the pain and fear … it's incredible that she could do it, and her bravery bought me and Harry precious time to act. I told her as much this morning — and got the usual lecture about how I don't give myself enough credit and blah, blah, blah.

"Ron, are you all right?" she whispers, stilling my knee with her hand — and I realize that it must have been bouncing at 100 miles per hour. Whenever I think of what happened at the Malfoys', I can't seem to sit still.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Just thinking."

She gives me a sad little smile. "Me, too." She squeezes my knee then returns her hand to my chest. I wrap both arms around her and hold her tight, resting my chin on the top of her head.

"It was a delicious meal tonight," Hermione says. "Fleur's an excellent cook, isn't she."

"She is. I quite liked those potatoes you made, though."

She chuckles. "It's fairly difficult to ruin a potato."

"Oh, I don't know. I've done it."

She stretches and yawns.

"Sleepy?" I ask.

"Yes, though I shouldn't be. It's only half eight."

"Come on, it's getting chilly out here. Let's go inside and relax for a bit, then we'll get you to bed, yeah?"

She smiles, and I help her into the house. In the lounge, we find a quiet scene. Dean and Bill are just finishing up cleaning the kitchen, talking quidditch. Fleur has stretched out on a window seat with a book, and Luna is settled in next to her, knitting.

"Care to kick my backside in Wizards Chess, Ron?" Harry calls out from the dining room table.

I look to Hermione. She nods. We shuffle over to the little hearthside seating area where Harry and I play — two overstuffed chairs facing one another over a small table that carries the chess board and, opposite, a small loveseat. Harry settles into one chair and I drop down into the other, fully expecting Hermione to deposit herself on the sofa but, to my surprise, she climbs onto my lap and curls up, tucking her forehead against my neck and her feet on the chair's poufy arm.

Hermione has never been much for public displays of affection, but that's all changed since Malfoy Manor. Whenever she's in a room with me now, we're touching in some way. Harry at first seemed mildly amused by it all, but must have gotten used to it, because he hardly bats an eye as Hermione snuggles in closer to me. I, however, haven't quite gotten over the way my heart skips every time she holds my hand or tucks herself against my chest.

I wrap my arms around Hermione and announce my first move — king's knight to bishop six. Harry starts fiddling nervously with his pawns, and soon I feel her eyelashes blink closed against my neck, her breathing evens out, and I know she's dozing.

Harry and I get rather wrapped up in the game. Hours go by, and the other occupants of the cottage eventually bid us goodnight one by one, though the three of us remain by the fire.

Later, the distant rumble of thunder followed by a clap of lightning causes Hermione to stir in my arms. She stretches. "Oh, I didn't realize I'd drifted off," she says through a yawn.

I squeeze her and kiss her head.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"No idea," Harry answers, not looking up from the game. "Not quite midnight, I think."

"Hmm," she says, sitting up to survey the chessboard. "Time to wrap this game up and get a proper night's sleep, don't you think, boys?"

"Don't worry, love, we're just about done here," I say quietly.

"No, we aren't!" Harry says, shaking his head in annoyance. He turns his attention back to the board. "Give us a few more minutes, Hermione — I've got an idea I'm still working out here, just two more moves…"

He points at a pawn and orders it forward one space, then leans back with a triumphant smile.

I turn to Hermione. "All right, love — time to head upstairs. 'Night, Harry."

I move to lift Hermione from my lap, and Harry cries, "Hey, just a mo' … where do you think you're going?"

I pause and look back at the board. "Oh, sorry, I forgot," I say, reaching forward and taking Harry's pawn with my bishop while trying to suppress a grin. "Checkmate, mate."

"Wait! What? How did you … oh, bugger …" Harry mutters.

"See you in the morning, Harry," I say, rising from my chair and patting him on the shoulder.

"Rematch tomorrow," he says with an amused smirk.

Hermione kisses him on the forehead. "Better luck next time, Harry."

In the bedroom, Hermione curls up in her usual spot on my left and I tuck the covers tightly around her — a gesture she claims she finds silly, but I know she secretly likes it very much. I fall back against the pillows, wondering why I'm so exhausted — all we really did today was talk about the mission and spend more time interviewing Ollivander. Maybe I'm not quite as recovered as I think I am just yet. I reach for the Deluminator on the bedside table and snuff out the lights. The chess game was a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that haunted me earlier while Hermione and I sat outside, but I'm finding they're creeping back into my brain.

Hermione sighs and snuggles closer. "It was so lovely to see Professor Lupin — I mean, Remus — last night, wasn't it?"

"Mmm."

"Wonderful news about the baby."

"Yeah," I say, kissing the top of her head.

We lay there in silence for a minute, listening to the rain outside.

"Makes one hopeful," she says, followed by a yawn.

"How do you mean?"

"You know — new life in the midst of war and all that," she says, yawning again. "It's good to be reminded the world keeps on turning, no matter what."

"I guess."

She lifts her head from my shoulder. "Ron, are you quite all right? You seem … you seem far away tonight."

I shrug. "I'm right here. Honestly. I suppose when you brought up Lupin, my mind went somewhere different than yours did. You're right about the baby, of course. Hell yeah, it's great news. But I was thinking about the other stuff Lupin had to say."

She searches my face in the darkness. "You mean about … about Bellatrix and the Malfoys … and … Greyback?"

"Mmm."

Hermione returns her cheek to my chest, and I pull her against me, feeling my throat clench for the hundredth time in the past bloody week, though this time I can't sort out why. I'm not only angry … I'm disappointed … and scared. And maybe even ashamed.

Hermione fingers the collar of my nightshirt and sighs. "They have no idea where we are right now, Ron. We're safe — *I'm* safe — for the time being. You don't have to worry that—"

"Hermione, they survived, and they could hurt you again."

She pauses to consider. Then she lifts the fingers that had been toying with my collar to my cheek and strokes the beard that I've allowed to grow there these past few days. "There are no guarantees, darling," she says in a tone that's meant to soothe me, but I also hear a note of fear in it, and my throat clenches again.

"You think I'm worried that I won't be able to protect you if we cross their paths again," I say, "and yeah, that's part of it, but … but it's … it's deeper than that, love."

I capture a strand of hair that's escaped from her plait and twist it gently in my fingers, pressing my cheek to the crown of her head.

"I worry this war is changing me, Mione."

She takes the hand that's playing with her hair and pulls it to her lips, kissing the fingertips. "It's a war, Ronald," she murmurs against my hand. "You wouldn't be human if such a thing didn't change you. It's changed me, I know that. But you're still you. You're still Ron Weasley."

I shake my head.

"I don't know," I say, picking up her curl again. "Depends on what's changing, I guess."

We're interrupted by another rumble of thunder outside.

"What do you mean?"

Hell, what *do* I mean? I stop to try to sort out my feelings. But then, I start speaking before I'm really sure what's in my heart — I'm beginning to figure out that this almost doesn't matter when it comes to Hermione. She helps me find I'm looking for.

"It's just … I reckon … Mione, can I be honest with you?"

She lets out a little laugh. "That would be my preference, yes."

"All right. Here it is." I pause to play with her hair again for a moment.

"When Lupin told us LeStrange and the Malfoys and Greyback are still alive and kicking, I was … I was really, really angry, love. I was fucking disappointed, I won't lie. Then I realized what that meant. It meant that, deep down, I had honestly hoped I had killed them, or at least that I had killed Bellatrix. And then I was horrified, because even though that bitch can go straight to hell as far as I'm concerned, I never really thought of myself … gods …"

I run my free hand through my hair, trying to find the words. She leans up on her elbow to look in my eyes.

"Mione, I never really thought of myself as a killer," I continue. "I mean, if I'd killed someone … even if it was one of them … what would that make *me* … and what would *you* think … and *then* I thought, bloody hell, why *shouldn't* I have wanted to kill her? She tried to kill you, after all. And then I thought what a useless berk I am that I *didn't* kill her, and how I really should have. And then—"

"Ronald," Hermione says, "look at me." She takes my cheek in her hand. "Look at me, darling."

We both sit up and she turns my face firmly toward her. I can't quite lift my eyes to meet hers. "Look at me," she repeats, more softly this time — and I do.

Now she has both hands on my cheeks and she's looking me up and down in the moonlight. "Ron," she says, her thumbs brushing my beard. "From the moment the Snatchers caught us to the moment we escaped Malfoy Manor, you did the best you could do — the best *anyone* could do — in a terrible situation that was not of your own creation."

She sees something in my face she apparently doesn't like, because she looks frustrated now. "No, listen to me! You had to choose from a range of awful alternatives and had no time to consider the consequences of your choices. You acted on instinct, yes, but your instincts, Ronald, are often correct, especially in a battle. I know this from experience."

She pulls herself up so she's facing me, sitting on her knees, still holding my face in her hands. "And here's another thing I know: I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you, Ron. You saved my life. And I won't listen to you diminish that or minimize it ever again. If you *had* killed that night, it would have been justified. They attacked us, Ron, not the other way around. You did what you had to do."

I shake my head slightly, though she's still gripping my face. "Mione, I … I wasn't even conscious of what I was doing when that ruddy explosion happened. I don't think—"

Hermione exhales loudly. "Now you listen to me, Ronald Weasley," she says sternly, her voice sharpening like she's about to lecture me on the importance of prefects rounds or the unfair treatment of house elves. "Yes, you summoned Raw Magic, and I was alert enough to witness some of it, and it was the most extraordinary thing I've ever seen a wizard do — and that's saying something."

She clears her throat and dips her head to catch my gaze, which has slowly slid down to her shoulder in the moonlight. "I know you can't stand to hear a compliment, but it's true, Ron. Just accept it. You did something extraordinary, all right? Would it kill you to admit it?"

I shrug. She chuckles.

"Besides, as extraordinary as the wandless magic was, Ron," she continues, with a softer tone now, "that's not the whole story of how you saved my life."

Stunned, I look up to meet her gaze, and she loosens her grip on my cheeks so she's simply caressing my face.

"Sorry, Mione, but what are you on about? You've lost me."

She smiles. She runs her eyes up and down my face again slowly, taking me in. "Oh, Ronald Bilius Weasley." She shakes her head and bites her lip. "Don't you know? I could never have survived the Crucio if it wasn't for you."

Huh? She knows what I'm thinking, because she continues before I have a chance to argue.

"Ron, when you and Harry were forced downstairs … and I stayed behind … with Bellatrix … you could hear it … you could hear *me,* couldn't you?"

I close my eyes for a moment, chasing away the memory of her screams. I open my eyes and nod.

"I could hear you too, Ron," she whispers, tears forming in her eyes. With a strangled sob, she adds, "I heard you calling my name, and …"

She leans forward and props her head on my shoulder, sobbing, and I ease us back down to the pillows, lying side-by-side. I feel her tears moistening my collar. "It's all right now, Mione," I whisper into her hair as I pull her close. "You're here now. I love you. It's all right."

She settles down after a few minutes and pulls her head back to look at me across the pillows. "Yes, it's all right because you didn't give up. You couldn't be in the same room with me so you did the next best thing — you let me know you were there, so I wouldn't feel alone."

I shrug. "I think Harry, Luna and Dean might beg to differ. They thought I was deranged."

"Nevermind that," she says with a shake of her head. "Ron, I don't mean to scare you, but there were times, after the fourth or fifth Crucio, when I really started to think I couldn't hold on. And after eight or so, the idea of … I don't know … *letting go* … honestly, it had a certain appeal."

Sweet Merlin. I lift my hand to her face and sink my fingers into her hair. "Don't say that," I croak.

"It's true," she says. "The pain, Ron … it was like nothing I've ever felt before. And all I wanted to do was escape it. And when she wasn't cursing me, there was the fear — of her kicks and punches, of her knife, of Greyback worst of all. I can't say what was worse."

I feel a shudder shake me hard — so hard that she notices it. "It's all right now," she reminds me gently, and I will myself to settle down so I can really listen to her. I know she has more to say.

"Ron, when we were sitting outside earlier this evening, I could tell you were lost in your own thoughts, and I certainly was lost in mine. And sitting there, I pieced some things together, some things that have been at the back of my mind ever since I woke up from the Dreamless Sleep."

I nod and she pauses, looking over toward the window, which is being pelted with rain. Her eyes settle there as she continues, like she's picturing something she was told as a tiny child and had almost forgotten. "Tonight I remembered what came to me as you called out my name during the torture," she says, still looking toward the window. "I was so frightened as Bellatrix cursed me, but every time I thought about giving in, letting go … dying … I would hear you call me, and it would remind me that there's something *beyond* the present, if that makes any sense. The sound of your voice reminded me there's a future, Ron, something worth staying alive for, and I needed to be strong so we could have it," she says, drawing her eyes back to my face, "so we could have it together."

I know she's got more to tell me, but I can't stop myself — I reach out and pull her to me, clutching her tightly to my chest. "You're trembling," she whispers, wrapping one hand around my shoulder and stroking my chest with the other. "Shh, don't worry, I'm here now. We're here now. It's over."

I can't speak. All I can do is squeeze her tighter and hope she knows I'm listening.

"I remembered some things tonight, Ron — my memory of the torture has been a little patchy, but tonight some things came through to me," she continues, remarkably clearly. "And I realized that this future that came to mind while Bellatrix was cursing me, it wasn't just an abstract thing. I think, in some way that I don't quite understand, I went somewhere else to escape the pain … somewhere you led me to with your voice. The pictures that came into my head there … well, they were beautiful, and they seemed almost real to me. And the things I pictured … it wasn't me being named Head Girl, or breaking the Hogwarts record for the highest NEWT scores, or getting a big, important job at the Ministry. Accomplishments and accolades weren't enough to shield me from the pain that witch was inflicting on me."

She pulls back so she can look into my face again through the darkness. Her face is sparkling with tears. "Maybe it was Remus's news that brought the specifics back to me … but what I pictured as Bellatrix was hurting me, when the Crucios went on and on and on like they would never stop … was you and me, Ron. All the things we talked about back at Grimmauld Place, all the plans we made. I'd hear you crying out my name from down below and, somehow, my mind followed you … and I visualized a little cottage in the countryside, surrounded by a garden and a makeshift quidditch pitch out back." She smiles. "I pictured you puttering around there in the garden, degnoming without complaint — because it was *your* garden now, not your Mum's. I pictured us painting and wallpapering … you putting up shelves for me to store my books … I saw us making love in our own bed at night … cooking together in our kitchen … I saw myself one sunny day, waiting for you to come home so I could give you the news …" She sniffs and smiles, choking back a sob. "To give you the news … that we would have a baby …"

As she's been speaking, I've felt my heart begin to pound like it's going to bust out of my chest, I love her so much. And just now, at these last words, I can't hold back anymore. I lay her down on the pillows and crush my lips to hers. I've been so careful with her as she's recovered, trying not to be a randy git, and I don't want to hurt her, but I … well, I just can't resist at least kissing her, even if that's all she can manage, because I've just got to feel her, to remind myself that she's alive and she wants me and she's mine.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders tighter than I thought she'd be able, and that's all the encouragement I need. Still careful not to put any weight on her, I delve my tongue into her mouth and she moans in response, sucking it in deeper and wrapping one leg around mine.

I can taste our tears on my lips, but something about it — that we're both crying and snogging at the same time — well, it's strangely wonderful, especially because I'm not sure if the tears are of sadness over her suffering or joy over her survival, or maybe both. All I know right now is, the tears are proof that we've both managed to stay alive thus far, and we're together, and the thought of it makes me want her like I didn't know was possible before.

Still, I'm holding back. She may not be ready. Perhaps she's too frail yet. Maybe I shouldn't.

And then, to my surprise, she takes my hand — never breaking our kiss — and guides it to her breast, moaning into my mouth as I run my fingers gently over her pyjama-covered nipple.

I moan, too — I've missed her so much — and, still kissing me, she reaches to unbutton her top button, then the next. Then I realize what she's doing and reach down to help her out. Within seconds, she's shimmied out of her pyjamas and we're both working on mine, and soon we're lying side-by-side in one another's arms enjoying the skin-to-skin contact I've literally craved for days, and I'm sucking and nibbling on her ear as she plants kisses on my shoulder, neck and arms.

"Tell me more, Mione," I murmur against her skin, my cock drumming against her belly. "I want to hear all of it … all of it …"

"Mmm," she hums next to my ear, "you were so surprised by my news, darling, and so happy."

"I will be. You know I'll be over the moon."

She lets out a little laugh. "What did I write about you in my journal … the ultimate family man, remember?"

I return my lips to her mouth and plunge my tongue in. For a minute, I'm caught up in a wave of passion for her, then I remember her injuries and pull back. In that moment, she reaches over my head for the wand sitting on the nightstand next to the Deluminator — and she waves it over my rock-hard cock, saying the incantation, and shoots a Silencing charm at the door. I clear my throat. "Are you sure, love?"

She slips the wand beneath her pillow and nods.

"No, really … I don't want to hurt you, Little Dove. I can wait."

She wraps her arms around my neck. "I *can't* wait, Ron. Please."

I kiss her again. Then I prop myself up on one elbow next to her and look her in the eyes while stroking her breasts, then her belly, and then the warmth and wetness between her legs. She's bruised, but her bruises only make me feel more tender toward her — she's so sweet, so strong. As I begin to massage her folds, she moans appreciatively and squirms in the way that has always driven me mental. I lay down on my side so I can whisper in her ear. "You're so beautiful, Little Dove, still so beautiful and so, so sweet … I've missed this so much."
She inhales sharply and her legs tighten. "I've missed this, too," she answers. "Oh, Ron … please don't stop."

"Let me love you, my brave girl," I whisper. "Let me make you feel good, love … come, Little Dove … come for me."

Within minutes, she does, her cheek tucked beneath mine as she breathes in sharply against my neck, then lets out a long, low moan and sinks down into the pillows. I lay back and she nestles herself against me. We listen to the rain splashing against the window for a minute. Then she kisses my neck and lowers her hand to my cock, which is still as hard as granite.

I pull her hand away and plant it on my chest, holding it there with my palm. "No, love," I say rather abruptly, then realize I may have hurt her feelings. "It's not that I don't want you — Merlin knows I do. It's just that …"

"You won't hurt me, Ron," she whispers, wiggling her hand out from beneath mine and returning it to my cock, which she begins to massage gently, and I'm suddenly on fire.

"Are you sure, Mione?" I ask as I raise myself up on one elbow. "I'd kick myself into next week if I hurt you."

"I'm positive," she says, still stroking me. "Please."

I want her so badly — and gods, she wants me, too. I can't resist her. But I decide to prop myself up on my elbows so I won't crush her — at least not too much. I hope.

I climb above her carefully and position my cock at her entrance, pausing there to look in her eyes. "I love you so much, Mione. I just can't say it enough."

"I love you too, Ron."

"I want everything with you. Everything."

She smiles and drapes her arms loosely around my neck. "Then take it, Ron. Take it."

I slide into her and, though we've done this so many times before, this time feels different. The things that are so easy to take for granted — her warmth, her pulse, her breath, the sounds she makes, the feel of her skin against mine — well, I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for all these things, which could so easily have been taken away from me, from us. I know she and Harry and I are still in deep shit, but right now, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

She opens herself up to me with such trust and, moving slowly and carefully, I savor every inch of her. I kiss her scars and bruises. Angling my nose against hers, I pepper her lips with gentle kisses. She's such an incredible blend of softness and strength, this girl. I could love her like this all night — I expected my arms to be tired by now, but I decide I could hold myself up like this forever if she needed me to.

We're thrusting against one another in a slower and gentler way than I'm used to, and eventually I feel a slow wave of pleasure building in the base of my cock that washes over me in an incredibly long and deep orgasm — like none I've ever felt before. And not long after that, I'm spent, rolling over on my back and pulling her with me. I cradle her in my arms and cover us both in the bedclothes, tucking her in again like I did earlier, which draws a little chuckle from her.

She sighs. "It's still raining outside."

"Mmm."

"I love sleeping to the sound of the rain."

"Me, too."

She rubs my chest, kissing my neck. "While we're still awake … there's one thing I didn't get to tell you earlier. About, you know, that future I was talking about."

I give her a squeeze to indicate I'm listening.

"I pictured one more scenario before the whole … thing … with Bellatrix was over," she breathes, then returns her lips to my neck.

I kiss the top of her head. "Tell me, love."

I lean back to look into her eyes and give her a smile in the darkness. She smiles back, her cheek propped on my shoulder.

"I heard your voice, screaming my name, and then I saw…" she stops and bites her lower lip, searching my face one more time before continuing.

"I saw myself handing you a little bundle for the first time — our baby," she says with a little half-laugh, half-sob. "And the look on your face, Ron, as you held that child in your arms … I'm sorry, I don't have the words to describe it. But the happiness I felt seeing you, it was like a Patronus. It shielded me from her. I think it was Love — the kind Dumbledore always taught us about — and it gave me the power I needed to get through that night, Ron. I don't know how, it just did. And you wielded that power in that moment just as surely as you wielded Raw Magic, darling. Your love saved my life in more ways than one," she says as she touches my cheek. "Please, never forget that."

"You're amazing, you are," I answer. Tilting my forehead against hers, I gather my thoughts and count my blessings. I'm crying like a ponce, but I don't care. She's alive. She loves me and she's alive. "I'll never, ever forget anything you've said tonight for as long as I live," I whisper against her lips. "I love you, Little Dove, more than anything. And we'll get there, my Mione. We will."

oOoOoOo

A/N — Oh, these two lovebirds just slay me. They're such wonderful characters, aren't they?

You know, when I first decided to expand this fic from a one-shot to a multi-chaptered story, I cursed myself for having chosen to tell what would become the opening chapter in present tense and Ron's point of view. I *love* Ron, but he's not always the most observant guy, and he's not one for flowery descriptions — and so I worried that I had created a straitjacket for myself as a writer. But I quickly learned how wrong I was. As you may already know, Ron is very, very pleasant company. It's been so fun to have his voice rattling around in my head these past few months.

Even so, it seemed only fitting to give Hermione a little more time in this chapter. After all, she slept through pretty much all of Chapter 9!

Anyway, I *have* to thank jesrod82 yet again for all her enthusiastic support - and she's writing like mad right now, so go check out her stuff. Meanwhile, so many of you have reviewed and sent me direct messages — thanks. Reviews keep me going! Without them, I lapse into worry and self-doubt. Don't let that happen! Please review!

Finally, here's a tip for all my fellow Romione shippers out there. I got into fan fiction fairly recently, which means that I unfortunately missed out on what was purported to be a motherlode of great Ron/Hermione stories: Checkmated. The site is gone — has been for a while, actually — and it looks like it's never coming back. BUT!

There's a Tumblr blog that's been attempting to recapture and preserve Romione fics — particularly those that were seemingly lost forever when Checkmated went away. It's called, appropriately enough, "S.P.E.W: The Society for the Preservation of Excellent Works." Or spew-rc. Check. It. OUT!

OK, so, here's one last plea for reviews … and thanks, everybody!

Cheers,

Holly.