Ron and Hermione had never slept together as a couple before. They had fallen asleep on his bed a couple of days ago, which had been blissful if not for his mother's unpleasant arrival. Hermione had crawled up in his bed earlier today, but she had not fallen asleep then.
Ron awoke feeling very refreshed. The trip on the plane, the portkey to Brisbane; the jet lag of nine hours; it had all made him more tired than he had ever been before. His head had felt like it would explode, and even a three hour spell of sleep had done nothing to reset his body in the new rhythm that belonged to the Australian winter. Until he awoke pressed against Hermione.
They were spooning. Hermione was pressed firmly against him, her body warm to his touch. Her hair was in his face, and inhaling deeply, he took a smelled a strong whiff of it. It brought him back to their first potions class in their sixth year. My! If this is what waking up next to Hermione is like…
Someone knocked on the door. By the sound of it, not for the first time. Hermione stirred awake. Ron instinctively pulled the covers up to his chest.
"Miss Granger?" the voice on the other end of the door said, "Are you there?" Another set of knocks. "Miss Granger, please open the door. It's Bernstein, from the ministry."
"Who are you?" Hermione said, now wide-eyed and frantically searching for her clothes.
"The ministry official that took you from the airport in Darwin to the hotel. We stopped the car twice along the way, once to point out a dental clinic, and once to point out house with a woman painting."
"We have an appointment at that dental clinic," Ron said, "Under which name?"
"Miss Delacour," Bernstein said, confirming his identity. Meanwhile, Ron had managed to button up his pants and had hoisted himself into his sweater which he had needed to extract from the ground. He unlocked the door.
"May I implore you both," Bernstein said as he looked at both of them from the hallway, "To lock your doors magically from here on out? If you are just going to use the muggle lock, you could just as well leave the door open entirely." Bernstein's eyes flicked to the bed which was considerably more ruffled and messy than it had any right to be. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I thought we had an appointment for tomorrow," Ron said, a little unsure why Bernstein was visiting them. "Is something wrong?"
"No, everything is fine," said Bernstein, "Your appointment for tomorrow still stands. I was on my way to the ministry and wanted to ask if you needed any help with anything today. I'm not sure if you had planned anything for today, but if you need to get someplace I wouldn't mind driving you over."
"Thank you for your offer," Hermione said. Ron glanced over and saw her camisole was turned inside-out. "We hadn't yet prepared anything."
"Well, I happen to know quite a bit about tourism in Brisbane," Bernstein said. Ron could not suppress a smirk at the self-impressed tone with which Bernstein intimated this. There was a strong resemblance to Percy. "What sort of activity would you kids like to do? We've got museums, a river walk, some parks, a couple of zoo's. Would you like to visit the muggle places, or the magical ones? The Queensland Museum has a very nice collection of magical hairpieces from 1800 and onwards."
Ron looked at Hermione. She looked at him imploringly, but Ron merely shrugged. This was Hermione's trip, and he wanted her to choose the program for today. She was going to have an emotional day tomorrow, so the least he could do was to make sure today would be relaxing for her.
"I was hoping to visit the aboriginals at some point," she said, "Do you know if we could do that today?"
Bernstein seemed somewhat fazed.
"Are you sure?" he asked, "I assure you that our city has numerous activities of interest. Perhaps a visit to a magical spa? You'll never feel cleaner…"
"No, we will visit the aboriginals," Hermione said, resting her hands on her hips. Ron knew by many years of experience that she was not going to be swayed from her idea easily. Bernstein seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he let the matter drop and told them he would have to make a few calls.
"I will meet you downstairs in the lobby in half an hour," he said, "That should give both of you a little time to – err – brush your teeth."
Ron collected his shoes from below the bed while Hermione fished their wands out of the bed. Handing him his wand and telling him to take a shower in his room, Hermione half-pushed him out of her own room. He did as he was told, and fifteen minutes later found himself washed, dried, clothed, and hungry. He had half a mind to enter Hermione's room again, but thought better of it; he wasn't sure if she was out of the shower yet. Extracting the bag of crisps from the backpack, he pocketed it.
Hermione opened the connecting door between their rooms a few minutes later. She was wearing the same clothes she wore last night. Her hair was still damp from showering, and she had bunched it together messily with a black hair tie. Several strands stuck out, and some of them even hung free. She had applied a bit of makeup, making her eyelashes a bit darker, and though he hardly felt that she needed it, it did made her look a bit less fragile.
Ron thought about the last few years. Hermione had never worn any makeup before the Yule Ball, and had only minimally been interested in it directly afterwards. It wasn't until after the O.W.L.s that she had begun wearing makeup regularly. Ron knew this because by then his interest in Hermione had spiked to unhealthy levels. She never left his mind for more than a minute at a time when she wasn't there, and when she was, he would be unable to keep from glancing over at her. He must have spent half his time in the common room staring at her while she was knitting, revising, or just reading a book. He was fascinated by her (still was, come to think of it) and relished absorbing all of the little things she did when she was lost in thought. If only I'd had the bravery to make that first step to her, he thought, if only I hadn't been so afraid of her reaction. From what they had discussed about their past, Ron figured he had wasted two whole years he could otherwise have spent with Hermione. Perhaps we would have blown it, though. If they had gotten together sometime during the fifth year, would they have still been together? Would Hermione have been irritated at his somewhat juvenile self? He had matured late, much later than Hermione and Harry. Even Ginny had been more mature at some point. Would his childish behaviour have irritated her? Would it have driven a wedge between them? It was an interesting question. He would have to–
Hermione had reached out and taken his hand. It was the second time in less than 24 hours that she had startled him out of his revelry. She said nothing, just stared up at him with a slightly sad smile. She squeezed his hand once, then took off for the lobby. Ron fell into step with her quickly.
In the lobby, Bernstein told them he had made a couple of calls to set up a nice informative trip that would take up the entire morning, and most of the afternoon. He would take them to a place called Kangaroo Point, where a local tribe of aboriginals lived. They would spend the morning there, doing various activities related to the old ways of the people. He would pick them up again after lunch, and take them to an Aboriginal wizard that lived in the outback a couple of dozen miles outside of Brisbane. Ron could tell that Hermione was greatly excited for the trip; she had a look in her eyes he knew she also had a start-of-term classes, or when they would start a new subject.
Bernstein drove them to Kangaroo Point, his frantic driving as mad as it had been the day before. Traffic lights sprang to green at the just the right moment, pedestrians held back without knowing why, and other vehicles swerved out of the way just in time for him to pass through the very centre of the city within minutes. Ron was gazing out of the window, his left hand intertwined with Hermione's right. Her thumb was massaging the back of his hand absently, as she too gazed out of the window. Her side showed the river and, across from it, a couple of large buildings. He leaned in to check her side, and when he did he gave her a quick peck seeing as his lips were close to her cheek anyways.
A couple of minutes later, Hermione and Ron stepped inside the entrance building of the Aboriginal reserve. They were greeted by a fellow standing behind a reception. His skin was dark, like the warlocks from Papua his father had once invited over to the Burrow when Ron had just been a kid. They had been in the country for a few days on ministry business, and his father had wanted to show them how they lived. The chap was a few years older than Ron and Hermione, and sported the beginnings of a beard. His dark eyes shone with bright enthusiasm as he explained what they were going to be doing that morning.
A couple of hours had passed, and the sun was high up in the sky. It wasn't as cold as it had been the night before, but Ron was glad he had decided to wear a sweater today. He sat with Hermione in front of the park's entrance. It had been a fun trip. Ron had been fascinated by the musical instruments that the elder aboriginals seemed to be able to play non-stop, even though they had to blow in them continually. The deep, ululations of the didgeridoo capturing his interest. He was sorely tempted to buy one of the instruments himself, but thought better of it once he had seen the price.
The other activities like starting a fire and such were interesting, but Hermione agreed with him that they were a bit touristy. Another downside had been that the aboriginals on the reserve had no real medicine man. Hermione was boiling over with questions, but with no-one to ask them to, had been a little dispirited. They had opted out of eating at the reserve (the prices were as touristy as the show of starting a fire), so they had decided to share Ron's packet of crisps. They sat next to each other, watching the traffic go by as they waited for Bernstein, who was due in ten minutes.
"I wonder how Harry is doing," Hermione said, as she reached out and extracted a handful of crisps from the bag.
"Probably off snogging my sister," Ron replied, "Or getting into her knickers."
Hermione stopped munching her food and regarded him critically. "You're one to talk. Remind me again, what were we doing before we fell asleep?"
Ron felt his ears glow. He suspected that Hermione didn't need the question answered. "That's different. You are not my sister. Ginny is."
"But you know Harry better than some of your own brothers! Surely you don't think he would hurt Ginny in any way?"
"I don't," Ron replied, "But when it comes to little sisters, no bloke can ever be good enough. No bloke will ever be trusted as her boyfriend. Harry is going to have to earn our trust with him being Ginny's boyfriend just like any other chap would."
"And how does he do that?" Hermione asked, clearly sceptical.
"Well, I'm not sure if anyone will ever truly be trusted by her older brothers," he said, "We still feel that she would be better off living a life of celibacy."
"Celibacy?" Hermione chuckled, "Can you honestly imagine Ginny as celibate? She's no wallflower. Besides, who's we?"
"Bill," he said, ticking names off on his left hand with the thumb of his right hand. "Charley. Percy. George. F-" His thumb lingered at his pinkie finger. "Me," he continued, feeling more than a little sad now. "Harry is going to have to earn the trust of each of us."
"And how will he go about doing that?"
"By treating her right," Ron stated simply, "By not dumping her at the end of term."
"You know he only did that to keep her safe, right?"
"Sure, but he might have explained it to her a little more. She told me he had said it was for some noble reason. Not scoring points there, he was."
Hermione moved to sit a little closer. "Sometimes," she said, as she wrapped her arms around his and nuzzled in close, "you say and do things I just don't understand, and every time that happens I wonder to myself why you are so immature, or careless, or rash."
Ron was unsure if it was meant as a compliment. It didn't sound like one.
"But lately, I've found that all of those things are said out of a deep sense of commitment, concern, and loyalty to the people you love."
"That makes me sound like a tosser."
"No," Hermione said, "It makes you sound like the man I fell in love with. You are wonderful, Ron." She rested her head against his shoulder and grasped his arm tighter than before. They sat like that, in silence and revelling in the feeble rays of the mid-winter sun until Bernstein arrived a couple of minutes later.
"Sunbathing?" he said, "Not a great time for that, I'm afraid."
Bernstein cleaved through the traffic a few minutes later. His car was hurtling away from the centre of the city, now passing through a couple of residential neighbourhoods that were obviously a little shabby. Soon, the car had passed out of the city altogether, and was zooming across a highway towards a destination only Bernstein seemed to know.
"The man you are about to meet," he said suddenly, craning his head back as he talked to them, "Is old. He's a medicine man; an original one, that studied the old arts in the outback in a time when that was outlawed. He is respected greatly by his people. He also has exceptional skills in healing, so many of the wizards in Australia seek an audience with him."
Meanwhile, the car was swerving dangerously from right to left. Still overtaking even the fastest cars on the road, Bernstein had seemingly lost interest in checking what happened in front of him, and was animatedly explaining things about the medicine man. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand.
"His name is Nerang," Bernstein said, while the car narrowly missed a sixteen wheeler truck. They were heading for the shoulder now. "Try to get him to talk about the outback. He has some amazing stories to tell." The car was turning away from the shoulder again, and veered back to the guard rails on the opposite side of the road. They squeezed in between a shiny BMW that seemed not to even register how close they had passed, and a station wagon filled with a family of five. The youngest of the kids watched them with open mouth.
"I've arranged that you can eat both lunch and dinner at his place," Bernstein said, "His wife is a wonderful cook."
Bernstein turned his attention back to the traffic ahead of him. He lazily flicked on his signal lights before moving into another lane, missing the dump truck that had broken down on their lane by inches. Then, he quickly changed into yet another lane, muttering about how the other traffic was not driving fast enough.
Hermione's extracted her hand from his. She had squeezed so hard that her fingers were still visible as red spots, her nails leaving deep crescents in his skin. They exchanged a look of relief.
They arrived at the house of medicine man Nerang little over fifteen minutes later. Bernstein had taken a turnpike to a tiny village, and had turned onto a dust-road soon after that. He still drove like a maniac, but Ron felt marginally safer; nobody else was on this road. They drove into a small forest, which surrounded a small lake. It was hardly half the size of the lake at Hogwarts, though it looked much more inviting. The absence of the giant squid might have been a factor in that.
The car skidded to a halt when they had reached a small clearing, where a simple house stood. Ron had half expected a thatch-roofed hut made out of clay, but instead it was a simple, one-story brick house with a slanted roof. It looked old though, like it had been built centuries ago. It had seemingly been unaffected by the years though, because even though it looked old, it certainly had withstood the test of time. Beside the house stood an ancient-looking tree. If the house looked old, the tree looked like it had always been there. It was a gnarled and weathered thing. Most of the branches bore little leaves, and those that did, only held a couple of them. It didn't look like it was dying, more like it was just… reserved.
Some of the inhabitants of the house were outside. They were obviously magical. There was a little girl that was levitating stones to hurl them at high speed over the water. Several of them had skidded over the surface so often that they ended up on the far bank. Another kid was playing with a dog. He was making snarling and barking sounds that the dog seemingly understood. All of them looked up when Ron and Hermione exited Bernstein's car.
Most of them fell silent. The looked at him as if they had never seen anything like him, and raced each other to get to him first. The younger kids pointed at his hair, while the elder kids reached out to touch it.
"These children come from all the corners of Australia. They are the witches and wizards born among the aboriginals. Nerang is a mentor for them during the first years of their training."
"But mister Bernstein," Hermione said, "Some of these kids look like they are barely eight years old. Are they allowed to do magic that early?"
"Yes," Bernstein said, "The aboriginals have never enforced an age limit to when a witch or wizard is allowed to start their magical training. Non-aboriginal Australians are sent to a school much like your Hogwarts after they turn eleven, but the aboriginals still mostly adhere to their own brand of magic."
After the initial shock, most of the children lost interest in Ron's hair and quickly returned to their what they were doing before. One of the children, a boy that could hardly be six years old, remained looking up at him though, and when Ron made a funny face, the boy laughed loudly.
In the doorway of the house stood an man. He was dressed in a simple pair of shorts, and a violently orange shirt with the image of a rabbit on it. He looked to be somewhere between his forties and his fifties, but Ron knew how hard it was to accurately guess a wizard's age after they passed thirty. His hair was dark, though a couple of gray patches had appeared near his temples. He had a beard that looked well-groomed.
"Hello," he said, beckoning them towards him, "I am Nerang, and you two are Ronald and Hermione. I am pleased to meet you."
That was a strange introduction, Ron thought, Obviously, Hermione and I knew who we are, so why state it like that?
As they approached the house, Ron noticed that the old tree beside it had markings on it. Some of the limbs were painted with ink, while others held carvings of words and pictures of animals and men. Hermione was clearly interested too, but as they moved towards Nerang, they passed the corner of the house, which hid the tree from sight.
Ron was right in thinking that it was difficult to guess the age of an older wizard. Nerang had a powerful handshake, like that of a young man. When he bent down to kiss Hermione's hand, Ron saw how flexible and stable he really was. Again, he wondered what age Nerang had.
"I am very pleased to meet you," he said, "Please join me inside, where we can talk more privately."
More privately meant seated on the couch next to another eight children, all of whom were looking at Hermione and him as if they had never seen an Englishman before. Come to think of it, Ron didn't really know if these kids ever had. The little boy that had smiled at him outside had climbed onto his lap, and was now looking at Hermione.
"My wife is out getting some supplies for diner. She will be here soon. Can I make you some tea?"
"Yes please," Hermione said, "That would be lovely."
Bernstein coughed. He was still standing in the entrance of the house. "I'm going to head back to the ministry," he said, "I'll be back for you after dinner."
"Thank you," Ron said, "For taking the time to get us here."
Bernstein merely tipped his hat in response, then turned and left.
Nerang turned out to have an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of the Aboriginal people. He told them many things about the past of his people, dating back to the time of the first people to come down from the Indonesian islands to the northernmost part of Australia. Ron was startled at the closeness and reverence they had towards nature.
"Our land is harsh, and sometimes barren," he had said, after Ron had asked them why they revered nature so much, "Sometimes, there is no rain for weeks. Sometimes, the sun wilts away the young leaves, leaving only the tough, elder leaves behind. We have survived only because of our respect and reverence of our surroundings. We do not kill if there is no need for it. We do not cut down trees to build houses. When the first of the colonists came, they wanted to take several birds back with them, to show the people of your lands. They did not understand that taking so many of the birds away from nature could disrupt what you call the cycle of life."
Hermione had nodded in silent agreement. Ron had a vague notion of the cycle of life being about species eating other species, and how it was all connected to each other. It was one of the things his home-schooling had lacked; muggle theory.
"We managed to convince them to only take a single bird with them, but it would prove to be one of the many differences of opinion we had with the settlers. Alas, that is when our history turns violent."
"Sir," Hermione asked, taking advantage of one of the rare moments that Nerang didn't speak, "Is it true that your magic is about dreams?"
"Yes," he said, "The aboriginals are dreamwalkers."
"Dreamwalkers?" Ron said, "Like, prancing around in the dark with your eyes closed?"
"No, Ronald," Nerang said, "We walk within the dreams of our people. Akuna, perhaps you can explain?"
One of the girls seated on the couch sat forward and cleared her mouth. It was distinctively like a preparation for an oral exam.
"The dream magic," she said, as if reciting a text learned by heart, "of the aboriginal people allow their witches and wizards to move through the dreams of others they are related to or have a bond with. After spending several years in training, they can find awareness in their dreams, at which point they can direct their dreams in varying degrees of efficiency, depending on the length of their training, and the talents of the wizard. After more years of studying, they can learn to step into the dreams of others, sometimes even of people they do not know."
Ron and Hermione shared a quick glance. Ron thought he largely grasped the concept. They were in control of their own dreams, and could share the dreams of others.
"Does distance matter?" Hermione asked, clearly interested in what had just been said. "Can you visit a dream of somebody on the other side of the world?"
"It becomes harder to do so as distance increases," Nerang said, "Apprentice dreamwalkers can often only visit people in their direct surroundings. True masters can visit anyone."
"How many of these masters are there?" Ron asked, feeling a little violated. If anyone could visit his dreams, he would have to learn not to dream about Hermione as much…
"A handful. Some even say there is only one true master left."
"Can you shield your dreams?" Hermione asked, "With Occlumency for instance?"
"Legilimency attacks the mind, but requires the subject to be awake. The sleeping mind works differently than a waking mind. Dreaming is more primal, less structured. Have you ever attempted it?"
"No!" Hermione said, sounding a little offended, "Of course not!"
"If you had, you would know that the mind is not read like a book, but like an union. There are layers, stacked onto each other, and by peeling away one layer, we expose the next. Occlumency allows you to add meaningless layers, or make them harder to peel away."
"In a dream, the mind fuses all the layers together, and stacks them in random order. A Legilimence would have a hard time trying to find meaning behind each layer. Let me explain with an example. Let's say I don't want to share my intimate moments with my wife." Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise and embarrassment. "If I were to fall asleep, the layers containing those memories might fuse together with my memories of my youth. Perhaps I would dream of meeting my wife when I was a little boy. A Legilimence would conclude that I might have met my wife at a young age, while I was in fact already past thirty when our paths first crossed."
He glanced in her direction. She had arrived an hour earlier, carrying several heavy bags. Many of the older children had taken the bags from her and stowed their contents in the small kitchen, while Nerang's wife introduced herself to them. She was now seated at a table cleaning potatoes for dinner. She smiled at him warmly, a genuine, loving smile that touched her eyes.
"But can't you shield your dream in any way?" Ron asked, "Can't you keep it private?"
"After some training, you can learn to identify oddities and changes to your own dreams. The mind has fused the layers, but the appearance of a dreamwalker is always an intrusion upon the layers of reality your mind has set for itself. Intuitively, you notice it, though most people don't react to it much. Those are the dreams that make you think to yourself: 'am I sleeping?'while you are still in the dream."
"A trained dreamer can signal these intrusions or additions to their dreams, and can heighten their awareness within the dream. They can choose to stop dreaming and wake up, or perhaps change the dream in some way that allows them to feel more comfortable."
They spoke more about dreaming during dinner, and immediately after. The dinner table had been crowded, with fourteen children seated around it, and with Ron and Hermione, and Nerang and his wife seated at the opposite edges. The meal was simple yet lovely; cooked bunny with potatoes and some vegetables. When Nerang told them it was rabbit meat, they had both looked queasy; neither of them felt very much at ease with eating an animal they had owned as a child. Ron was about to decline when Hermione prodded his side, reminding him to be courteous and at least try the food. Once he had taken a single bite, Ron dropped his objections: the food was great.
The little boy that had been on his lap all afternoon long was seated next to him, on the lap of one of the older girls. Ron found himself grinning at the kid more and more; he reminded him of himself at his age; naughty, but in a good way. The kid was covertly trying to steal the older girl's mean from her plate, but she guarded it pretty thoroughly; every time his fork came near her plate, she swatted it away.
After dinner, most of the kids huddled towards the television, flicking it on to watch a soap opera. Ron doubted if the younger ones really understood half of what the grown-ups on the television were talking about.
Nerang and his wife went outside. It was still winter, but the cold had not reached the clearing yet. The wind had died out, and wearing their coats made Ron and Hermione feel pleasantly warm. They strolled leisurely around the small lake, talking about the forest they were in and demonstrating how they used magic as a game to skip stones over the surface of the lake. When Nerang threw up a pebble and batted it away like a baseball player, he suddenly noticed something.
"Your wands," he asked, "are they bonded?"
Nerang and his wife had nearly identical wands. They were made of the same wood, and the markings on each was nearly identical. His was a little shorter though, and hers had an elegant twist near the base.
"Yes," Nerang said, while Hermione peered at his wand in clear interest. She had presumably not noticed before Ron asked. "I've heard that was quite uncommon in your country."
"It is," he replied, "We recently acquired a set after our original wands were lost."
"May I see them?" he asked. They both took out their wands, and Nerang studied them intently. "These wands are very fine!" he said after the inspection, "I am a bit of a wandmaker myself, but I can't compete with such quality work!"
"You are a wandmaker?" Hermione asked.
"Well, just an amateur really. The aboriginal people have been using bonded wands for centuries. Each family member is bestowed his or her own wand after their first display of magic aptitude. The wands of families that have more money or status tend to buy bonded wands at a shop, but there is a certain power to having a home-made wand made by your grandfather, father, or uncle that does not translate well to wands that are sold. Not to discredit your fine wands, of course!"
"Of course," Ron agreed. "Does the bond between your wands do anything special?"
"Well," Nerang said, "Obviously, that depends on the wands in question, and the abilities of the wandmaker, but there are some qualities we see very often. Most of them are obviously related to dreams. We often see wands that allow the family members to know if anyone is asleep, or awake. My wands have these markings on them. If my wife wands to send me a message or vice versa, they change accordingly. It is very useful when one of us is out shopping."
"You mean, when I am out shopping," his wife interjected, "And you suddenly get the munchies."
Nerang raised his hands in the air in mock surrender. "I give up. You caught me red-handed!" She chuckled.
"The worst is, I mostly buy what he wants too. I should really stop doing that."
Nerang kissed his wife on her lips. It was a passionate kiss that neither of them had ever seen two grown-ups do in front of them before. After a moment or two, Hermione discreetly coughed, at which point Nerang broke the kiss off.
"You two have bonded wands too," Nerang's wife said, "Have you been together long?"
Ron turned a violent shade of red, and Hermione coughed out a 'no'.
"About a month," Ron said, "but we've been best friends for over seven years."
"Yes," Nerang said, "I guess you don't have to be together as lovers very long to enjoy that aspect of bonded wands."
"I'm not sure if I understand," Ron said.
"You have – err – consummated the relationship?"
Hermione couldn't reply, she launched into a fit of coughing.
"I'll take that as a no," Nerang said, "I'm sorry if it sounds too forward to ask, but having a bonded wand does sort of change the game a little, so to speak, and I was only asking to make sure you were prepared for that."
"What do you mean, 'change the game'?" Ron asked. His face felt as though on fire, and Hermione was turning purple, though that could also be due to her coughing.
"Things are a bit more intense," Nerang said, "because the wands will naturally want to drive you two together. Feelings of lust and desire are heightened, inhibitions are weakened."
Ron gulped, and Hermione launched into a new fit of coughs. Nerang's wife took Hermione under her arm and guided her back to the house, while Nerang and Ron watched them go.
Feeling quite silly and ill at ease discussing these matters with a man he had just met, Ron tried to think of something else to talk about. Before he had a chance to ask if he knew the game of Quidditch, Nerang said: "I'm sorry if we offended you both, or made you feel ashamed. We were worried about the bond between your wands, and if you truly understood how deep the connection goes. We did not intend to pry into your personal life, and please don't feel in any way obligated to respond to anything you don't wish to share."
"Having been raised with a bonded wand," Nerang said, "gives me a bit of authority on the subject. I know how much of a challenge it is to share such an intimate part of yourself with somebody else. The changes it commits to your relationship, and the strengthening and blossoming of the bond as you grow closer together scared me at first."
"It strengthens?" Ron asked, feeling a bit foolish now. He hardly knew anything about the bond between his wand and Hermione's.
"Yes," Nerang said, "Over time, you share more experiences, and the bond between the two of you will grow. You said you had been best friends for a couple of years. That would indicate that the bond would already be quite strong. How long have you owned these wands?"
"A couple of weeks," Ron said.
"I see. The bond between the wands is weak at first. It takes time for it to grow stronger. When I first met my wife, we were very much in love, but the bond between our wands when we married was still underdeveloped. It took many years before it became as strong as it is now. Because you know each other quite well, the bond should grow stronger quickly."
Ron nodded. He already thought the bond between his wand and Hermione's was strong, but apparently, it could grow stronger still.
"One last word of caution," Nerang said, "before we drop the subject altogether for today. Speaking in general terms, one finds that the owners of a bonded wand that are lovers find it difficult to keep apart from each other. Like I said, the wands actively try to force you together to strengthen the bond as much as possible. It would be best to prepare for this as soon as possible. You may find that in the heat of things, preventive measures are often forgotten."
Bernstein arrived at eight 'o clock. They saw him coming from a mile away; the billowing plume of dust that rose behind his car was visible far and wide. Ron and Nerang had completed the lap around the lake, and Nerang had kept his word and had not begun about bonds between wands again, nor had the word 'consummated' been uttered by either of them. Instead, Nerang had casually told Ron a bit about the lake they were walking around, the trees of the forest, and what animals lived nearby.
"So," said Bernstein, "have you had a nice day? Been informative?"
"Yes, mister Bernstein," Hermione replied, as she hugged Nerang's wife. After returning from their walk around the lake, Ron and Nerang had found that the two women were sitting close together, talking in whispers. They had clearly taken a liking to each other.
"Ready to go back to the hotel?" he asked, "You both have an early appointment at the dental clinic tomorrow."
"Yes," Ron said, shaking hands with Nerang. He thanked him for his hospitality.
"Our door is always open for the two of you," he replied, looking at first Ron and then Hermione seriously, "If you want to know more about the aboriginal people, or wish to learn more about their magic, feel free to come by any time."
They sped off to the city of Brisbane a few minutes later, Ron having needed to pick up the little boy which was fighting his sleep to say his farewell.
"Perhaps we'll see each other in our dreams," Ron said to him, "when you learn to be a dreamwalker." The little boy nodded, then promptly succumbed to sleep.
The trip back seemed to be a lot faster, though Bernstein could hardly have driven any faster than he already had. The nearly crashed into several cars along the way, but there would always be some impossibly small opening the car would fit into that would cause them to hurtle along unimpeded. It was nearly nine by the time they arrived at the hotel.
"I will pick you up at eight-thirty, tomorrow morning," he said, after he had parked the car in one go, "It would be best if you were already finished with your morning routines by then."
"We will be ready," Hermione said. They bade their goodbyes and exited the vehicle. When they were halfway between the car and the entrance of the hotel, they heard Bernstein shout after them. "Don't forget to lock the doors!"
Ron was sitting on his own mattress, staring at the painting that hung above his bed. Hermione had told him she wanted to take a shower, and he had dutifully given her the privacy of her own room. Thinking of her showering in the other made him feel warm inside. She would be naked, he thought, and wet. He could feel his pants getting constrictive as images of last night flashed before his eyes. Hermione had been topless. He had touched her there. They had been riding each other's hips, the soft fabric of their knickers the only thing that separated them.
Was that what Nerang had wanted to warn me about? That soon it would not be enough? That we would lose our inhibitions and go at it like crazy?
The mere thought of it made him horny. He imagined Hermione in bed with him like they had been in his dream; naked. His hand reached for the bulge in his pants which he softly stroked. Merlin, I want her so badly, he thought, I just can't keep from thinking about her. He wondered if this was normal; if all young couples went through this, or if it was something that their wands were responsible for.
After a minute of rubbing himself, Ron knew he was nearing his climax. It took a considerable effort not to continue what he had started, either by finishing in the toilet, or into his pants. He was a wizard; he could make most of it disappear. He dragged his hand away from his crotch, and took out the deluminator for want of something to do. He could hear Hermione getting out of the shower. He clicked the top of the deluminator, and the lights in his room were extinguished. Clicking it again, the lights returned.
Clicking the deluminator reminded him of the cellar of Malfoy mansion. The others had thought of the lights as a source of salvation and had greeted it with joy. Ron had felt dread. Dread upon seeing the confines of his prison, while the girl he loved was being savaged upstairs. What had happened that day was by far his worst experience of the whole war, even eclipsing Harry's supposed death at the hands of Voldemort. Harry was his best mate, and the news that he had died had grieved him massively, but it didn't compare to the desperation he felt at having to leave Hermione at the hands of Bellatrix and possibly Greyback.
Hermione opened the door joining his room to hers. Her hair was in a towel. She was wearing what she had been wearing all day long. She sat down next to him. Ron wanted to plant a kiss on her lips, but she kept her head down.
"When you spoke to Nerang in private," she said, "did he speak to you about our wands?"
"A little," Ron replied, "He told me the bond would strengthen over time, and that it might be doing that sooner, rather than later."
"Calca (Nerang's wife), told me we would find it harder and harder to keep from each other."
"How – How do you feel about that?"
"I'm not sure," she said, "I know you so like the back of my hand, and I've wanted to be with you for ages. But I'm just not sure if I am ready for all of that yet."
Ron fidgeted with the deluminator. Was she trying to tell him she didn't want to be with him like that?
Clearly, his thoughts showed, because Hermione turned to him and explained that she did want to be with him, and that she was ready for certain things.
"It's just that final thing," she said, still trying to avoid naming the action, "It is something big, and important to me. And I want to do that with you. I just don't know if I am ready for it now. Sometimes, I think I am. I think about it a lot."
Ron took her hand in his. The difference couldn't be clearer: his hands were big and cumbersome, while hers were tiny and soft and smooth. Little orange hairs grew on each of his fingers, while hers were devoid of hairs. His nails were chipped and dirty, while hers were shiny and whole.
"Let's just see what happens," Ron said, "I've waited for years to be with you. I can wait a little longer. Bonded wands or no."
"Thank you, Ron," she whispered.
"I just hope I won't have to wait long," he replied, wagging his eyebrows. She appreciated his little bit of humour. After squeezing his hand gently, Hermione got up from his bed. She kissed his cheek, then told him she was going to sleep in her own bed.
"Tomorrow is going to be… emotional. I want to be well-rested."
She reached out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Ron was still seated on the bed as Hermione pulled him into an embrace. She pressed his head against her body. It ended up just over her breasts, and with one ear pressed against her, he could hear her heartbeat.
"I love you, Hermione," he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment. His thoughts about the dark cellar and Hermione's torture made him realize just how fragile these moments were. He was going to tell her he loved her every day!
"And I love you, Ronald."
