Your business

Ron was sitting on her step. She went inside over 10 minutes ago, but he couldn't seem to get his legs working yet.

He tried to take a deep breathe and recall every moment of their walk home, his apology, her confession and kissing her – again – but something was nagging in the back of his mind, raised voices were drifting through his subconscious as he sat contemplating on her step. Ron snapped out of it and began to listen more intently to the voices carrying through the doorway.

"What on earth do you mean?" he heard Hermione cry.

"Exactly what I said, Hermione. It's 11:30 at night – where in Merlin's name have you been?" his voice was raising with every word, losing control.

"I don't know what you're on about. I've told you I was out with my friends. Please Robert – you don't need to…"

But there was some sort of clatter and she was cut off.

What the hell was that? Ron's mind raced with the thought of that great prat taking a shove at Hermione, or charging at her, stomping around in his rage. His blood boiled as he intended to listen again…

"Robert please, I don't want to talk about this now – let's just…"

"JUST WHAT?" Robert roared, but apparently that was all he could manage and Ron heard him stomping about again. There was a thumping in his ears and his fists had involuntarily clenched, this couldn't go on like this without ending badly.

But what was he to do? Hermione had asked him to wait. She had practically rejected him, he had hurt her, and what if…

What if? Ron stopped himself. What if that troll hurt her and he was standing right outside the door? Ron laughed mirthlessly. No, he wasn't going to stand by anymore, hadn't that been what he had just promised her? He was going to stand up, to be better for her. Even if she didn't want him in the end, it didn't matter. He had meant what he said when he told her that he would spend the rest of his life loving her.

With that, Ron stood swiftly and knocked at the door.

Robert swung open the door so it noisily hit the wall after being released from his grasp. "Oh!" he laughed bitterly upon greeting his visitor. "Look who it is! What can I help you with Ronald?" Robert asked with a sneer.

"Listen mate if you have a problem you can talk to me about it, don't scream at her" the words tumbled from his mouth automatically as a string of anger coursed through him, his fists still clenched at his side.

"I wasn't yelling" he protested. "And if I were, it's none of your fucking business! She's my fucking fiancé!" Robert punctuated his last word with a swift shove, propelling Ron back across their porch and into the rail.

The shove didn't hurt but suddenly Ron's rage was too much to contain. Is that what he had just done to Hermione? Is that what the clutter was, this arsehole flinging her across the room? Fuck this…

Ron stood, looked at a grinning Robert in the eye and punched him square in the nose, causing him to stumble back through the door frame and crash to the ground.

Gods that felt good. Ron shook off the punch, Robert still lying barely conscious on the ground.

He peaked in through the door way, and saw Hermione standing wide eyed in the kitchen, watching the scene unfold. She almost looked as if she'd been petrified again, her body rigid and her mouth agape.

"Hermione – uh – I'm sorry about that, really sorry. I just – did he hurt you?"

Hermione closed her mouth but continued to stare, "Um – I'm, I'm fine Ronald, I'll be fine"

There was an awkward pause between them, and Ron couldn't help but grin at her awestruck face. He exhaled, feeling a weight lift seeing her standing there, shocked but alright.

Robert groaned, breaking the silence, and Ron jolted to life again.

"Um, Are you sure you're alright Hermione? If you want me to stay I will. Or I can take you to the Burrow, or Harry's or something?"

"No, that won't be necessary," she replied, "Honestly Ron, I'll be okay." She assured him with a nod.

"Alright then," he turned reluctantly, "I'll be going then, you know where to find me…"

Ron took special care to trod on Roberts limp ankle as he stepped through the door, gave one last wave and sauntered away from the house, to aparate home.