A/N: Excuse me while we hang out in Hermione's head for the final section of this... Seemed like the right move, in the moment. Onward to Fluffland!

When he woke up, she was still lying on his arm but was already awake, propped up slightly on her elbow. She seemed to be studying the side of his face, before she realised he was staring back. Her eyes dropped from his jaw, and her cheeks flushed lightly. He reached up to touch his own face somewhat self-consciously, and her eyes flicked back to him.

"Sorry," she said, shyly.

"Huh?" He blinked, still coming out of sleep but feeling his nerves begin to awaken with the rest of him at her proximity, sleepy voice, eyes on him again…

"Nothing," she sniffed, confusingly, but then she reached up and brushed her knuckles against the rough skin across his jaw and briefly tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

His lips parted, not exactly sure what he intended to say, but she pushed against his arm to sit up, untucked herself from their blanket, and glanced over him.

"Oh." He moved to sit up, tucking his knees toward his body so she could pass by him to leave. He held their blanket gathered in his lap as she stretched, giving him an unintentional glimpse of a thin strip of her bare lower back.

He had been staring for a bit too long when she looked back over her shoulder… and caught him.

Ordinarily, he'd have blushed fiercely and frantically averted his eyes, hoping she'd just go away and that she hadn't actually noticed what he'd been doing. But, today… He swallowed and forced himself not to look away. He knew, after their conversation two nights previous, that she wanted him to notice her. He couldn't quite understand why - he didn't know what she saw in him, exactly - but he could let himself be unrestrained and overwhelmed by the fact that she did… that she wanted him. After all, he'd been spiraling out of control over her for years.

Just now, he couldn't do much about the heat that rose to spread across his face and down the back of his neck, but the corner of his mouth tugged up, and she seemed as surprised as he was by the fact that he hadn't looked away.

He expected her to blush, maybe smile back… and make an escape. But, she didn't.

She turned fully around and dropped down to her knees by his bed, reaching out for his face again with a determined look on hers. He froze, waiting… and she moved closer, tilting her head until he thought his heart would surely beat straight out of his chest… And then her lips reached the underside of his jaw, and the kiss she left there was not like the one last night - a gentle press of her closed mouth to his cheek before bed. Her lips were parted this time, and as he closed his eyes, swearing under his breath, he was sure he could feel her tongue on his stubbly skin.

He could have probably died, just then, and not have even noticed.

As the pressure of her mouth on him slowly decreased, he felt a desperation rise up, catching in his throat, and he couldn't let her go. His eyes shot open, her flushed face backing away from his, and he gripped her upper arm, dizzy by the sound of her shaky breathing.

She wasn't resisting, and shit, part of him wished she would… because every other part of him wanted to pull her back into bed, on top of him, holding her against his body and-

A tiny squeak floated between her lips on her next exhale, and he closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe… still holding onto her arm. He was far too close to kissing her, snogging her until neither of them could remember why they'd thought they should wait, in the first place. But it had only been a few days, and sod it, he couldn't make a mistake like that without thinking it through. And he was completely incapable of logical thought, at the moment. All he could do was lessen the temptation, remove his opportunity.

"Turn your head to the side," he asked, voice low and raspy. She sucked in a breath through her nose, and he could only hope she'd done what he'd asked her as he opened his eyes again. She had, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he lowered his mouth to that spot between neck and shoulder, eyes snapping shut again and actually sucking gently as she gripped the bed firmly, in front of her hips.

His uneven breaths through his nose were heating her skin, and he opened his eyes, finally dragging his lips against her a bit as he turned his head to rest on her shoulder. Her fingers found his side through his shirt, very lightly pressing into him.

"Better win the damn war today," he panted a bit, through slightly swollen lips.

She laughed, in that way that released so much tension, a bit too loud. He smiled and finally lifted his head from her shoulder, regulating his pulse by drunkenly staring off over her shoulder, then ducking his head so he wouldn't be tempted to watch her again as she stood and moved away from him.

"Do you need the loo?" she almost whispered, and he wondered, growing lightheaded again, if she knew exactly what she was asking… He'd maintained the bunched blanket over his lap, but he'd already admitted to how she'd affected him, before. And, just two nights ago, she'd actually felt how much-

"You go first," he requested, hoping this wasn't as selfish a thing to ask as he wondered if it might be. Fuck, imagining what she might do in there… And then, for him to be right there, in the loo, where she had been, right after her…

He sensed her nodding vaguely, in his periphery, and then he heard her leaving, finally chancing a glance up to where she'd just been. He vaguely wondered if Harry was still outside, feeling as exposed as if he'd just shagged her in the middle of the sodding tent, with a view of the morning sun glinting over their camp through the open flap at the entrance…

She was sitting on the sofa, legs tucked up, reading. She hadn't spoken much in the last few hours, and as he passed by her to slump back into the armchair, he tried to get a glimpse of the spine of her book. He could only vaguely make out some faded print about Dark Magic, but after a few more silent minutes, she let the book fall open across her lap and quietly rubbed her temples with both hands, closing her eyes.

He knew he had to do more. He knew he could find optimism sometimes when the others were

lacking it. So, he stretched and got up, making his way for the rug at her feet and sitting on the floor. She opened her eyes, and he reached for her beaded bag, discarded next to her on the sofa.

"What do you need?" she asked, possibly a bit anxiously, but he wrote it off as stress from her being in way too deep with research again today.

"Books," he said, simply, and she raised a brow as he pulled out the first one he came across, settling with his back against the seat of the sofa, stretching his legs out along the rug.

He could feel her moving closer, leaning in over his shoulder. He swallowed, waiting.

"Most Macabre Monstrosities?" Her breath tickled his ear, and he froze for a moment.

"Why not?" he finally said. "This one's got that bit about Basilisks in it, yeah? Reckon I could do with reading it again."

"Well," she sniffed, "come up here. You'll be more comfortable."

"I'll be more distracted," he corrected, glancing over his shoulder to give her a sideways grin.

Harry walked in from the kitchen, sinking into the chair Ron had just vacated. But he said nothing, just closed his eyes, so Ron turned his full attention to the book in his lap, reading carefully. There was actually a moment, several minutes in, where he considered getting out a quill and parchment to make notes…

"I should start first watch soon," Hermione said, quietly, walking up to where Ron was now sitting on the sofa, having moved after dinner when she'd relocated to the kitchen table. "Come outside with me while Harry's in the shower?" Her eyes flicked to the loo where they could hear rushing water behind the closed flap.

"Yeah," he said scratchily, having barely spoken the last few hours, and he shifted books from his lap to the sofa cushions, standing and following her.

Once outside, she turned to face him, next to the small mound of charred branches and ashes of the previous night's fire.

"What's up?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Nothing," she admitted shyly, tucking hair behind her ear. "I just won't really see you tonight."

"Oh, yeah," he said, realising. They had opposite shifts, so they'd be sleeping alone. He glanced down and scuffed the toe of his trainer on the rough ground.

She took a tiny step closer, and he lifted his gaze to hers, smiling slightly. Working a hand free from his pocket, he held it out, and she took it, coming further toward him as he gently tugged her fingers. She reached between them and played with a fray at the bottom hem of his jumper, and then he was looping his free arm over her shoulders. She sighed and dropped her forehead to his chest. Her hand moved around to his back, sliding under his jumper, shaking slightly as her nails worked his shirt up, too. And, suddenly, her fingers were against his bare skin.

Her face was still tucked down against him, so he couldn't see her expression, but he could feel her hot breath through his clothing. He let go of her hand, but only to lift his right arm over her shoulder to join his left, diving his fingers under the stretched neck of her jumper. Her back was so warm, and he flattened his palm across her shoulder blade, closing his eyes and ducking his head over hers.

His mind ran back over a few things at random, landing on an image of her marching angrily away from him, clutching a small stack of books in her arms, just before last Christmas. She'd worn the same jumper she was wearing now, and he could picture the way her hair had bounced against the deep, green wool. He'd wanted to say a lot of things he'd known there was no way in hell he was actually going to say.

"Sorry I was such an arse last year." Well, he'd said one of them now, at least. He reckoned he'd come close, a few nights ago, only they'd been talking about Lavender. Now, he mostly meant how he'd spoken to her, the way he'd actually made fun of her... He felt sick just remembering.

"Hm?" He felt her shift a bit, her face turning against him.

"Just realising how shitty I was."

She lifted her head completely, and he pulled his hand out of her jumper to rest on her shoulder, instead, as she looked up at him.

"I know you didn't…" she swallowed, "mean it."

This was beside the point, in his opinion.

"You asked me to that stupid party I was daft enough to be worried about not getting invited to, and then I-" He stopped and sighed. "Well, you don't need me to tell you what I did."

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. He knew she couldn't tell him it was fine and be completely truthful. He'd acted out of jealousy and insecurity, and maybe they'd both been too afraid of how strong this thing was, between them… because it was certainly more than a bit overwhelming, being in love with someone he'd known since he was eleven.

But he'd been more than an arse, and he knew it. Some part of him had even known it then, but it was too difficult to hold it back. He'd see her and then all of a sudden he'd imagine someone else's hands on her and-

"I'd've punched anybody else for talking to you the way I did."

The tiniest smile emerged, and she nodded.

"I know."

"Wanna have a go?" he suggested, only half joking.

"Hm?"

"Y'know, hit me a couple of times." But then he recalled her fists aimed at him a few weeks ago. "Oh, reckon you did that already, when I first came back."

But she wasn't really listening, lost in thought.

"I wasn't exactly kind to you, either," she said, "last year…"

"Pretty sure I started it…"

She hesitated for a long moment before finally asking…

"Why?" Her brows were furrowed in that adorably sad way that made him feel entirely guilty. He knew she'd wanted it not to matter, when she'd kissed his hand a few nights ago, but that was much easier said than done, especially now that he was talking about it again.

"Knew I'd have to answer that…" he sighed. He could get it out of the way, now, at least. He was ready for the row. It had been a few days… "A few days after you invited me to Slughorn's, Ginny told me you snogged Viktor Krum."

Her arms dropped instantly from around him, and her eyes widened.

"She… she what?!" Her voice lifted to such a high pitch that he winced from the sound, realising this might be a good bit worse than he'd assumed.

"I'm over it, now," he tried, but that was a lie. "Right… maybe not completely over, but-"

"He kissed me, once, the night of the Ball! I'll kill Ginny…"

He probably shouldn't have made this so much about himself, he reckoned, because he really had overreacted… and he was still doing so, right now, inside his own head. Only he didn't need to tell her about it...

"Sorry," he attempted, lost for what else to say.

She glared at him for a moment, and then she was pacing - stomping, more like - on the opposite side of the fire pit.

"You have no idea! Oh, why couldn't you have just-" she cut herself off, groaning. "I wanted to go to that bloody Ball with you, anyway! But he noticed me, he asked me, and I didn't think anyone would notice. I can't believe you- you…"

She broke off again, long enough to toss him a furious glare before resuming her stomping.

"I finally thought things were going well, last year. I worked up the nerve to ask you to that ridiculous party, and I hoped you- no, I knew you actually wanted to go with me! Why couldn't you have just dropped it? Honestly, Ron, are you serious?"

She looked over at him, again. But, this time, her red-rimmed eyes held a mixture of frustration and something that might have been regret.

"Because Viktor kissed me when I was fifteen?!" she cried. "We could have skipped all those horrible months if you'd just dropped it! Or- or asked me about it yourself!"

"Yeah, can you actually imagine me bringing that up? 'Oi, Hermione, tell me about that time you snogged a famous Quidditch-'"

"I didn't snog him!" she nearly screamed. He felt sure that Harry couldn't be deaf enough not to hear this conversation now, even if he was still in the shower. "It was barely a kiss, and I just stood there! I was so young, and I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing."

"Oh, and that's the only reason you didn't kiss him ba-"

"Ron, STOP."

He'd gone way too far, again. He had to pedal backwards, and quickly, to find what he really thought, the original intent of his apology and his confession.

"This is ridiculous," she sighed. "You only listen to the words I say when you can make them into something against you. Did you honestly not hear the rest?" Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her cheeks were a blotchy red.

"You're right," he agreed, directing his annoyance and frustration back at himself, something he'd gotten quite used to doing, recently. "I don't know why I'm being bloody defensive. Bad habit, innit?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, overwhelmed.

"It's no excuse," he continued, as she glared a bit more softly over at him again, "but the only reason I overreacted was because that ruddy Ball was when I realised you weren't just…"

"What?"

"With me."

She paused for a beat, blinking.

"With you?"

"Yeah, y'know…" He ran a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. "Before that, it was mostly the three of us, and you and me had Harry to worry about, together… and then we had our rows and it was all fine."

She raised her brows at him.

"But then I saw other blokes could just come up and get your attention, and it hadn't occurred to me like that before…"

She was too far away, and he didn't want to do this anymore.

"I'm not being fair, anyway," she finally sighed. "I did the same thing when you snogged someone else… I was really horrible to you."

"Can we forget about all that?" he tried, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. "It was bloody stupid, but it's over. Just wanted you to know I'm sorry. Don't think I said it properly before, in the hospital wing…"

His mention of the hospital had flashed some deep fear through her, and she moved around the fire, closer.

"I've never been so afraid than when I found out you'd been poisoned," she said, voice so soft now. "Except, maybe… when you were splinched."

He watched her as she moved even closer, and he was slightly hypnotised by her change in volume, the desperate caring in her tone. He'd been so relieved to see her by his bedside when he'd woken up after he'd been poisoned that he'd tossed out all the words he'd prepared, discarded, and prepared again over the previous month, hoping to reconcile with her, unable to cope with days and days and weeks and weeks without her.

"And yes," she sniffed. "Let's please forget about how stupid we were."

They heard Harry moving around inside, and Ron suspected he was making an unnatural amount of noise to cover their row. But it seemed to be over, though he didn't want to leave her.

"Let me get a blanket," he suggested, "and I'll stay out here with you for a while."

She studied him, and, for a moment, he thought she might suggest he stay inside instead, but then the corners of her mouth tugged up.

"Alright. But you've got to go to bed…" she paused, to consider, "in an hour."

"Yes, Mum," he grinned, making his way toward the tent entrance.

It was freezing out, and she wasn't going to admit aloud just how glad she was that he'd be keeping her company for a bit. She pictured leaning against his shoulder, his arm around her. But as she thought about his warm body next to hers, she was drawn back to the feeling of his mouth on her skin.

Hours ago, he'd been so close, and her heart had pumped wildly at the thought that he might not be able to restrain himself from kissing her, after she'd just kissed his jaw. She could still hardly believe she'd done it, in broad daylight like that. But, then, she'd been both anxious and far too excited about the prospect of completely abandoning their plans to wait and just going for it. And just as she had started to convince herself that he really might, he'd kissed her somewhere else, instead… and she'd never felt anything like that before. Not that he wasn't consistently making her feel things she had never, ever, felt before.

By the time he came back outside, she was focused so completely on the memory of his lips on her neck, two nights previous, that she didn't even hear him approaching until he was sitting next to her. It probably wasn't the smartest idea for him to stay here, with her, while she was too distracted already by the mere thought of him to do her watch properly.

"Hey," he said, in that maddeningly scratchy voice, and then he was draping the blanket he'd brought over her shoulders and his own, scooting the right side of his body so close to the left side of hers that she could feel the magnetic pull of his leg and his arm and his side and- "Harry's gone to bed."

She nodded vaguely, far too distracted by his hand resting on his knee. She wanted to reach out and take it, and she really knew that she could. So, she hesitated only long enough to convince herself to just do it… and then, she did.

Her fingers curved between his, but then he flipped his hand and meshed their palms together. As they stared out into the dark, his thumb moved over her knuckles, and then, he started moving his fingers out from between hers, enough to bring his left hand over, under the back of hers, running the tip of his right index finger along each of her fingers, down the center of her palm… She shivered, eyes dropping to watch.

After a few more silent moments, she got the impression he was examining something, his finger sliding up beneath her knuckles, then over the pad of her thumb.

"What is it?" she almost whispered, flashing her eyes up to his profile as he continued to stare down at her hand. He laughed and brushed his palm over hers, as if erasing a page.

"Just remembering palmistry bollocks from Divination," he admitted.

Her eyebrows shot up, but he was still gazing at her hand.

"Like what?" she asked, wondering why she suddenly cared.

"Nothing interesting, we just learned about minor lines in fifth year."

"And you actually paid attention?"

His eyes shot up to hers, accompanied by a sideways grin.

"Hey, I do listen in classes, occasionally!"

"I know," she confirmed, "but Divination? Thought you and Harry only continued that course for an easy grade…"

"Correct," he assured her, grinning fully. "But you can't help learning something after so many years."

"Well, what does my hand say, then?"

He sniffed and returned his attention to her palm, but her eyes remained focused on his profile for a moment longer, recalling how she'd woken up to his relaxed face, beautiful ginger stubble heavily peppering his jaw...

"Considering I failed the exam, I wouldn't really take my word for it, but.. I was looking for the intuition line," he explained, running the tip of his finger along the pad of her thumb again. She shivered once more at his gentle touch and finally looked down. "But I can't really see it. I've got it, which makes no sense, so I reckoned you might…"

"What's it mean?" she asked, softly.

"It's like," he began, licking his chapped bottom lip, "you can read people and know what they're feeling, sort of."

He adjusted his left hand underneath hers and moved his index finger further across her palm.

"But I think you've got a Ring of Jupiter," and he swiped the tip of his finger in a semicircle beneath her first finger, "which I'm pretty sure means leadership and intelligence, so… no surprise there." She could see him smiling, from the corner of her eye, her attention still mostly focused on his feather-light touch and his voice, close to her left ear, making her strangely lightheaded.

"What else?" she urged, softly.

"Well, you've got three bracelet lines, which is good." He ran the tip of his finger over her wrist, three times. "That first one's turned up a bit, but… yeah, I don't know if it means anything."

"What could it mean?"

"Maybe… something really difficult or painful, but we're living in a tent and fighting a bloody war, so that fits…"

She nodded, not really caring too much about the possible implications of the lines on her hand… She was simply discovering that she was absolutely mesmerised by listening to him explaining something to her. She recalled a similar thought from studying together, the few times he'd handed out a piece of knowledge he had that she didn't, particularity when it involved his childhood in the wizarding world. It had been similar when he'd explained his familiarly with Beedle's stories, but it had never been as captivating as this.

She wasn't at all bothered if he started reciting dictionary entries, at this point, as long as he kept holding her hand, touching her… and talking softly to her…

"What about this?" she asked, voice suddenly a bit hoarse. She pointed at what appeared to be a very light vertical line under her little finger.

He leaned the tiniest bit closer to examine it, and she smiled.

"S'posed to be lines for children, I think. You've got a second one, looks like. But they're faint."

He removed his hands from hers and stared down at his own left hand, flexing it as he held it up in the fire light to get a better view.

And then, for the first time since he'd started his lesson, she cared about what he was looking for. A lot. If he had chosen this moment to move back to his own hand, was he looking for the same lines he'd just told her about?

She watched intensely, but he seemed to be looking for several things, and she couldn't help asking.

"What do you see?" she trembled.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, returning to her hand. "We did readings on ourselves, so I can recognise the lines on my own hand better than yours."

He slid his left hand under hers and resumed the feathery movement of his index finger across her palm.

"Yeah, reckon that's all I can see, but there could be more, in better light."

"What about the major lines?" she asked, in an airy voice. "It's been awhile since I've studied them."

He paused, and then he started to smile, confusion etching across his slightly creased forehead as he turned inward to meet her eyes.

"Why the sudden interest in all this? I know you think Divination's nonsense."

She swallowed, half hating that he was onto her.

"Maybe… not all of it is," she attempted, weakly.

He continued to stare at her, his expression growing in scepticism. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I just liked listening to you explain it, alright?"

His eyebrows shot up under his fringe.

"Seriously?"

She curved her hand into a loose fist on top of his.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! Exactly what I've been doing for seven years…"

She sucked in a small breath, but then she shook her head.

"Actually, I figured that out a long time ago," she said, "but I always assumed you were teasing me."

"Reckon I was, at first," he began. "Though I don't think that's been the reason once ever since we were studying for O.W.L.S…."

Their quiet gaze was interrupted by the sound of twigs snapping, way too close by. They leapt to their feet, wands out in unison, Hermione's eyes staring forward into darkness, unblinking.

"It's just a deer, I think," Ron whispered, as they took a tentative step closer. And then, she could see it, such a soft outline in the trees as it retreated away, vanishing again from sight.

She let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Well," she sighed, lowering her wand, "I hate to say it, but you should go in. I'm rubbish at this with you out here… distracting me. A wizard or witch with a wand already out could have stunned us or worse before I'd noticed them."

"We're behind the wards," he reasoned, but she couldn't risk it.

"Why sit watch at all if we think this is safe? It's not. We don't know what could be out there or when someone could figure out how to reveal us. You-Know-Who's gotten through much stronger forces to get what he wants."

She knew he wouldn't argue against their safety, and he nodded almost immediately, resigned.

"Right. Sorry."

"Just go to bed," she smiled. "You should've already, anyway. It's late, and you won't get enough sleep if you don't start now."

He seemed to agree, though his forward movement suggested he wasn't ready to do it, just yet. When he reached her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and lowered his face to the top of her head. Needing no encouragement, she buried her face in his warm chest and circled both arms around his waist, breathing deeply, exactly twice, before he pulled away again.

But then, her curiosity couldn't let it go, and she snatched his left hand, opening his palm with both of her own hands. She ran her fingers over the lines she could see, squinting in search of those two, tiny vertical lines he'd found on her, just under his little finger. If she stared, hard, she thought she could actually see them. Her heart gave a fluttery little jump, betraying her logical mind, and she let go of his hand.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and she finally gazed up at him, desperate to know if he understood what she'd been looking for. But, if he did, her only indication was a lopsided smile and a muttered "g'night," before he retreated back inside, yawning.