Author's Note: Thank you for all of your lovely reviews…and "lovely" is an understatement, but I'm running out of adjectives! Happy reading!

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Five:

As December melted into January, the evident was becoming more and more obvious: Shell Cottage was simply too small to hold the four of them. It was not the size of it that was small; it was the fact that the four housed in it could not keep everything under its roof. Ginny had trouble looking Hermione in the eye and Harry tried to make excuses every time Ron would walk into the room. It was simply the fact that they each knew what the other was doing when the lights dimmed and the doors were shut, and this knowledge consumed the little house, filling every corner of it.

Ron and Hermione had talked about it in hushed whispers late at night; Hermione had money from work that she had carefully been saving. Ron had saved some from the shop as well; he had begun training as an Auror, which did not reap very much, but as soon as he was through with his training he would be able to contribute. Hermione had gone to the bank after work a week back, and by careful calculations, they had concluded that they would have enough for a small flat.

The problem was telling Harry and Ginny. Hermione knew that they too felt uncomfortable, but she was still not looking forward to telling the two of them that they were so uncomfortable, they wanted to move out of Shell Cottage. It was awkward subject to bring up, and Hermione wasn't sure if Harry or Ginny would get offended by their desire to move.

The idea itself was sad as well. Shell Cottage had housed such wonderful memories; they had spent the idle days of summer here, and the echoes of their rejoiced freedom still emulated in the whitewashed walls. It was like losing a piece of her youth, leaving Shell Cottage. But as much as she loved it here, Hermione knew that they could no longer tiptoe around each other. Hermione and Ron had spent several nights hiding out in the bathroom since Christmas.

One Friday night at dinner in early January, Ron cleared his throat and everyone looked up at him, expectantly. Hermione found Ron's hand under the table and gripped it tightly, trying to help him as he embarked in what was sure to be a slightly awkward conversation. She glanced at Harry and saw him lock eyes with Ginny.

"Erm, we…Hermione and I…we've been thinking," Ron said quietly, his voice carrying in the silent kitchen.

"Really?" Ginny said, trying to bring some humor into the stiff silence in the room. "I thought that was just Hermione's job," she joked.

Ron gave her an angry look. "Ha, ha, how original. Actually, I am capable of thought as well. And we both have been thinking that it might be time to start something…different," he said, and Hermione saw Harry glance at Ginny again.

"We've been thinking the same thing," Harry said softly, his eyes fixed on the open window beyond them, the grey waves crashing on the rocks and falling broken back into the sea.

"Have you?" Ron said, slightly taken aback. "Well, then this isn't so bad after all, we thought you two would be offended," Ron said, audibly sighing in relief.

"Offended? By what?" Ginny asked curiously, her eyes flickering from Ron to Hermione and then back again.

"We've been thinking about finding a flat," Hermione said. She felt Ron's eyes on her as she said this.

"You're joking!" Harry said, his eyes flying from the window and looking at the two of them.

"No… why?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"We were thinking the same thing!" Ginny said, looking just as relieved as Hermione felt. "And we thought you two would be offended when we told you, seeing this is Ron's house and all."

Ron laughed weakly. "So basically we've both been planning on telling the other the exact same thing, and we've both been dreading that the other will be angry?" he said.

Ginny sat back in her chair. "That just about sums it up," she said, taking a sip of water and looking at Hermione. "Have you found a flat yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we wanted to tell you two before we started looking. Have you two found one?" she asked.

Ginny shook her head as well. "No, we're going to look this weekend; I don't have practice and Harry doesn't have work."

Ron rolled his eyes, "We were planning on doing the same thing," he said exasperatedly.

Harry laughed. "But what will happen to Shell Cottage, if we're both planning on leaving?" he asked, his voice turning serious.

Ron bit his lip, thinking. "Well, we didn't really talk about that, since we thought you two would be staying here…I guess one of us can stay here, since we were both thinking of leaving," he said.

Hermione thought to herself. As much as she loved Shell Cottage, she was ready for somewhere new. This place would always be a part of her, but the thought of moving to a place that was just hers and Ron's was exciting. She glanced at Ginny and Harry and knew that they were feeling the same way.

"Well," Ron said, understanding everyone's expressions. "I was thinking – I'd have to ask Bill first – but I was thinking about seeing if Percy wanted it. He's still at the Burrow with Audrey, and he said things are a bit cramped. This place would be perfect for them; he told me he and Audrey want to focus on their careers for a bit, they don't want kids right away. Mum almost kicked him when he told her," he said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. A calm, peaceful place might be good for two workaholics who spent most days on edge about finishing reports and getting papers in on time. Though admittedly she could not see Percy lounging at the beach (such idle time was surely a waste) she thought maybe a little calm could do him some good. George constantly joked that Percy would get grey hairs before anyone else in the family.

"Well, it's settled then, that's one awkward conversation adverted," Harry said, grinning. Ron laughed in agreement, and then yawned widely. Auror training was long and grueling; it was eight o' clock now, and Hermione knew that he would be asleep within the next two hours. From across the table Hermione saw Harry blink sleepily, trying to stay alert and awake. Ron, a terrible morning person, usually arrived at work just on time, often counting on luck and fate to get him there when he was supposed to be. Harry, eager to please and rise in the Department, arrived at work with several minutes to spare, often starting the day a half hour earlier than his peers. Hermione could not help but admire his persistent drive.

"We should get to bed, especially if we're going to have busy days tomorrow," Ginny suggested, looking at the fatigue on the two boys' faces. Hermione nodded in agreement and began collecting dishes to wash. Ginny hastened to help her, carrying a stack of dishes to the sink and turning on the water. Once the table was clear, Hermione took a clean towel from the drawer and began drying the dishes Ginny washed. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, the sound of the water filling the quiet between them.

"I'm going to miss this place," Ginny said after several minutes of silence. Hermione jumped a little; she had taken the silence to think to herself, and she had almost forgotten that Ginny was standing next to her.

"So am I," Hermione agreed, handing a dish back to Ginny because she had missed a spot. Ginny rolled her eyes and scrubbed at the dish dramatically before rinsing it and handing it back to Hermione.

"I knew we weren't going to stay here forever, but still…I've grown rather attached to it all the same," Ginny continued, turning slightly to Hermione.

Hermione nodded. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. It's going to be exciting, finding a new place, but it's going to be hard leaving this one," she said.

Ginny made a little sound of agreement, "Do you know where you and Ron are looking?" she asked, handing Hermione a glass and then taking a bowl.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really. We're looking in London, because it'll be close to work, and it's a little isolating, being here in the middle of nowhere. We know we can't go anywhere too extravagant though, my salary isn't large, Ron doesn't make much now with training and all," she said.

Ginny nodded. "We were thinking the same thing; I make next to nothing since I'm second string, so we're basically working off of Harry's savings. It's enough to get somewhere nice, but he doesn't want to spend all his money," Ginny said, frowning as she tried to get a resolute bit of food off of a fork.

"Are you looking at flats in London?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly raised as Ginny turned the water higher, still fighting with the fork.

Ginny nodded. "Harry wants to be close to the Ministry, like Ron," she said, finally winning with the fork and handing it to Hermione.

Hermione nodded, because she didn't know what else to say. They lapsed into silence again as they washed the seemingly endless pile of dishes. After a long while of silence, Hermione heard Ginny laughing softly. She stopped her drying and turned to her, a look of confusion on her face.

"I don't understand, what's funny?" she asked, the damp towel clutched in her fist. Ginny turned to her, biting down on a smile.

"Listen to us, we sound like adults, talking about flats and work and living together," she said. "When did that even happen? When did we grow up?"

Hermione was silent for a little while, contemplating this. When had she grown up? She felt as if she had been grown up forever. She was always the responsible one, the sensible one, the one who knew what the right thing to do was, and did it even if the other option was more fun. Had she missed something? Lost something she never had?

"I feel like I've always been an adult," Hermione said truthfully and Ginny laughing, giving her a knowing look.

"Well, of course you would say that. But really, when did our conversations turn into houses and jobs? We're still teenagers, we're not supposed to be talking about this," she said, throwing up her arms in defeat.

"I guess a lot of things changed…with everything going on and all," Hermione said softly. Ginny's smile faded a little, but she nodded in agreement. She finished with the last dish and handed it to Hermione, who dried it and put it away. The two turned off the lights and made sure everything was in its proper place before heading upstairs to bed, the conversation still echoing in each girl's mind as they said good-night.

***

Hermione forced Ron out of bed the next morning at ten o' clock, a time he deemed indecent to be functioning. Ginny and Harry hadn't woken up yet; they were going to look at apartments later in the day. Ron grumbled about this, complaining that it was unnecessary to be awake before the sun had risen (the sun had risen several hours ago, of course, but Hermione did not press this point). Instead, she turned a deaf ear to him until he had showered and became more agreeable; there was no point arguing with him when he was completely irrational.

They arrived in London at eleven, a bit later than what Hermione had wanted, but she did not dwell on this. The simple fact that they were looking for a flat – just the two of them – seemed to fill her up like hot air; she was incapable of being angry or flustered. She looked over at Ron, standing next to her on the sidewalk, his face slightly bewildered as people rushed by them on their way to work.

"I forgot there were so many people," he said as his shoulder was jostled by a very aggressive looking woman in a dark suit. Rubbing his shoulder, he scowled at her, but she had already moved past them. Hermione laughed in agreement; after spending a few months at Shell Cottage, she had forgotten what it was like being surrounded by people. It was nostalgic and overwhelming at the same time.

Being Hermione, she had done her research – and quite a bit of it – early, and she held in her hand a list of venues to look at. They were close to the first one on her list, so she took Ron's hand in hers and began to fight their way against the current of people.

The first flat looked promising; it was in a nicer part of the city and was relatively large, considering their limited budget. They looked through each room, Hermione's careful eyes scanning for anything that would stop them from renting the flat. The last room they looked at was the kitchen, which had a large window that opened to the next building. Ron frowned a little; the view was not ideal, but really, it would be hard to compare to the open sea. Hermione joined him at the window, looking down at the street several floors below.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide as he looked out the window. Hermione's eyes followed his and she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. On the same level in the next apartment building over, there was a man whose curtains were wide open, exposing…well, quite a bit. The man did not seem to find a need for any clothing at all.

"Absolutely not," Ron said shortly, turning quickly from the window, his ears very red. "I'm not going to spend every morning eating breakfast and getting a good view of some man's…business," he said, taking Hermione's hand and leading her out of the room. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The second flat was a few blocks away, and Ron refused to even step inside the room, because there was a spider on the staircase. The third flat looked over into a dumpster, and the smell was horrible. Waiting for the elevator in the fourth flat, a man standing next to them winked at Hermione. Ron immediately seized her hand and led them out of the building cursing under his breath, his ears bright red again. The fifth flat had paper-thin walls; they could hear a television set from one side and a crying baby from the other.

By the time they reached the sixth flat, Hermione was starting to feel discouraged and Ron was noticeably short tempered (he had been ever since the incident with the fourth flat). After this there was only one more apartment on the list, and Hermione closed her eyes as they stood in front of the door, hoping with all of her might that this one would be the one.

"Sixth time lucky, you think?" Ron asked as he opened the door and let her in first. Hermione let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

It was perfect. Hermione knew it the second they walked through the door. They would not be visiting the seventh flat. The air of the place seemed different; it was automatically homey and welcoming. The front door opened to the living room, which seemed to be the central part of the flat. The living room had a large bay window, which gave an excellent view of the River Thames. Off of the living room was a quaint little kitchen, painted a cheery blue. The bedroom also led off of the living room. It was a small, bright space with a pair of French double doors leading to a balcony. Ron stepped outside, and happily announced that there was not a single spider or scantily-clad man.

Hermione stood in the middle of the living room, her arms wrapped around her waist as if she could contain everything she was feeling. Ron soon joined her, giving her an expression that mirrored how she felt. They had found it, their first home.

"I think this is it," Hermione said softly, and Ron nodded. He reached for her hand and took it in his, squeezing it gently. She returned the pressure, smiling happily and looking around the little flat.

She could practically feel the happiness beating in his pulse as she clutched his hand. She looked up at him, his blue eyes dark and shining as he observed the room around them.

"I think this is it," he repeated softly, confirming her. He squeezed her hand gently again, then released it, putting an arm around her shoulder and bringing her closer to him. She felt him as he leaned his head on the top of hers. She tilted her face up to his and he kissed her forehead.

"Welcome home, Hermione," he said, and she felt the world spin around her as the happiness flooded her brain, leaving room for nothing else.

***

Ginny and Harry hadn't returned by the time Ron and Hermione got back to Shell Cottage. Hermione started to make dinner; with Ron trying his best to help (the private lessons had not helped much, mainly because there was very little teaching in them). In the end, he gave up and kept her company, which she didn't mind at all. Since his talents for cooking were so limited, he found it incredible when she could do things without causing disaster, which meant he complimented her continuously on simple things like mixing salad without sending most of the lettuce over the edge of the bowl.

Harry and Ginny burst into the room at six o' clock, and their faces told Hermione that they too had found a flat as well. The chicken was ready, so they all sat down for dinner, Ginny so happy she could barely sit still.

"We found the perfect flat," Ginny said, bouncing up and down in her seat, "It's amazing!" she said and Harry nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"I don't think so," Ron said smugly. "You have to see the one we found. It took a little while, but it was worth it," he said, unable to resist the sibling rivalry, something he very rarely won at.

Ginny gave him a skeptical look. "Where's your flat?" she asked challengingly.

Hermione took out the slip of paper with the list of addresses. "55 Nichols Road, apartment fifteen," she read out.

Harry choked, and Ron thumped him hard on the back until he stopped coughing. Ginny sat there, her mouth half-open, her eyes wide in disbelief. Hermione looked between Harry and Ginny, her eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

Wordlessly, Ginny took out a small square of paper from her pocket and held it in front of her. "55 Nichols Road, apartment sixteen," she said in a hushed sort of whisper.

Ron groaned loudly. "You're joking, that's…"

"The flat across the hall from yours," Harry finished his sentence, still massaging his throat. Hermione sat dumbstruck, not knowing how to respond to this new information.

They all sat in a stunned sort of silence. Hermione remembered – with a sudden, dull jolt in the pit of her stomach – that the flat across the hall had been vacant as well. they were planning on looking in that flat after, but they had fallen in love with number fifteen, and had completely forgotten about it. Not that it would look any different.

"Well," Harry said after a painfully long stretch of emptiness. "At least I know I won't go hungry," he said, and Ginny threw her napkin at him.

"You had better knock," Ron said pointedly. Harry laughed it off as a slightly uncomfortable joke about his two best friends shacking up together, but Hermione knew better. She knew that Ron was very much looking forward to finally having a place where doors locked, Harry and Ginny could not butt in, and not to mention walls that were thick enough to block out sounds you never wanted to hear your younger sister utter.

***

The next week passed in a flurry of boxes, masking tape, and frantic searches for object that had been lost ages ago. They had been here for less than a year, yet they seemed to find belongings everywhere. Hermione had found – much to her amazement – a stack of forgotten comic books slipped in between the crack that separated the kitchen cabinet from the wall. She had returned them to Ron, who had said in utter bewilderment, "Where did those come from? I didn't even think I had them anymore."

Ginny had had a similar experience a few days ago. It was after dinner and she was getting last-minute packing in. She barged into the bedroom with a black t-shirt in her hands. She held it out to Hermione, who was vainly trying to reach something on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

"Is this yours?" she asked, holding out the shirt for Hermione to examine. She looked at it, and then handed it back to Ginny.

"No, sorry, it's not mine," she said. Ron walked in just then, and Ginny held the shirt out to him.

"Does this belong to you?" she asked. Ron held the shirt out in front of him; it hardly looked as though it would make it over his head.

Ron rolled his eyes and handed the shirt back to her. "Yeah, that's my favorite shirt; I've been looking for it for ages. Where did you find it?" he asked sarcastically. Ginny turned a little red, but didn't rise to the occasion.

"Well, it's not mine and it's not Harry's, I've already asked. If it doesn't belong to either of you, then whose is it?" she asked, and Hermione shook her head, equally confused.

But there wasn't enough time to concern themselves with shirts that seemingly did not belong to anyone and comic books that had surfaced after years of disappearing. Ron was not very good when it came to packing; his preferred method was waiting until the last minute and hoping everything went smoothly. It was driving Hermione mad; she wanted everything planned and ready for when they moved out.

But no amount of nagging and arguments could get Ron to do it, which was why they found themselves shut in the bedroom at eight o' clock the night before they moved, with Ron running around, grabbing things at random and throwing them into whatever box he was closest to. Hermione, who considered this pandemonium her revenge, sat perched on a pile of boxes, watching as he ran around the room, looking stressed and muttering to himself under his breath.

"I told you that you should have…" she said smugly.

"Drop it," he snarled, cutting her off as he dropped a pile of clothes onto the bed.

Hermione crossed her arms. "There's no need to snap at me, it's not my fault you've waited until the last minute and now you've realized you actually can't pack an entire house in a night," she said loftily.

Ron paused in his marathon around the room, crossing his arms as well. "That's right, Hermione," he said. "Why don't you just remind me for the hundredth time that you are so much better than me. Because that's really what I need right now."

Hermione jumped off the stack of boxes, her expression a little wounded. This was not how she pictured spending her last night in Shell Cottage. In her mind, the lighting was dimmer and she wasn't wearing as much.

"Fine," she said, her voice rising too. "Fine, Ron." And that was all she could get out because she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She went to the kitchen, because she didn't know where else to go. She intended to make a cup of tea and skulk over Ron, but then she remembered that she had packed the mugs and the teabags earlier that day. So she sat at the kitchen table, feeling slightly stupid as she brooded by herself, with nothing hot and steaming to calm her.

"I'm sorry," said a soft voice by the door. Hermione jumped a little; she had not expected for him to come so soon. She did not say anything, he deserved that much. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked out the window to avoid looking at him.

Ron sat down next to her, resting his arms on the table and looking at her, she could feel the weight of his eyes. She continued to stare resolutely out the window.

"I'm sorry for being such a prat," he said, his voice respectfully softer and low. He stretched out his arm and put his hand over hers. She didn't pull away.

"Are you done packing yet," she asked, still looking out the window. It was taking all of her effort not to look at him.

"Yeah," he said a little sheepishly. Now, she couldn't help but look at him. She had hardly been gone thirty minutes, and by the state of their room, he would need twice that to finish packing.

"You can't be," she said disbelievingly. "There was still so much left to do."

"Ah, well, it turns out I'm quite an efficient packer when I don't have my… distractions," Ron said, grinning at her. Well, there was no hope now. Her anger was completely dissolved, but she didn't let him see. She wouldn't give up that easily.

"Distractions?" she asked rather coyly. She could see his ears had turned pink, even in the moonlight.

"I don't know how you do it, but you managed to look….sitting on that box…well," he said slightly awkwardly. "I couldn't pack because I – I couldn't stop staring at you," he said, and she smiled. No, she couldn't be mad at him now.

"I was right though, wasn't I?" she asked, because she hated to lose an argument. "I was right, you should have done it earlier and then we wouldn't have argued and then we wouldn't be…"

Ron didn't let her finish, he leaned over the table and kissed her softly. When they broke away, he was barely holding back a smile. "Yes, Hermione, you were right. You're always right. After so many years, it really shouldn't come as a surprise," he said, teasing lightly. She opened her mouth in mock-anger, but stood up from the table, taking Ron with her. She led him back up the bedroom where everything was – miraculously – packed.

Ron pointed his wand at the lamp so that it dimmed a little. The sudden change of lighting sent Hermione's heart racing. She could feel it beating against her eardrums as she perched herself on the bed, drowning in the sea of white. Ron came and sat next to her, pushing back her hair as his lips found hers.

She could feel his hands on the edge of her shirt as he gently lifted it over her head, throwing it to the side as their lips parted momentarily. She took his lead, taking his shirt in her fists and pulling it over his head. She could feel his hands on the small of her bare back; there was something different about tonight. They were gripping her harder, passionately, his long fingers running up and down her spine.

She had her hands on her chest, and they began to move, seemingly on their own accord, lower and lower until they stopped at the waist of his jeans. Her lips still on his, she began taking it off, and he broke away from her, looking down at what she was doing.

"Hermione," he said, and there was something of a question behind the whisper. She looked up at him, into his deep blue eyes that seemed to hold more longing than she had ever known was possible. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She smiled fleetingly as she managed to get the buckle undone. "I'm sure," she said, tossing it over the side of the bed where it met his shirt on the floor. Ron's face split into a grin. He leaned toward her, tracing a pattern of kisses on her neck and jaw until they finally reached her lips.

Her pants joined the heap of clothing on the floor seconds later. Hermione felt so happy that her head began to spin and she felt dizzy. With her eyes closed, she momentarily forgot where she was and how to stay upright. She fell into Ron a bit, who broke away and looked down at her, concerned.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his hands running through her hair. She loved the feel of it. It was the best feeling ever.

"I…I just…" she said, but she did not know how to finish because there really were no words to describe how she felt. The sudden rush of emotions, the sudden rush of life; there was nothing she could say that could possibly tell him how she felt.

She kissed him slowly, her teeth brushing his lower lip as she broke away because she knew it drove him mad, and she knew it would make him moan softly, a sound that seemed to fill her heart and made her mind go black and fuzzy.

She leaned against him more, and he lost his balance, taking her with him as he dissolved into that sea of white. She did not pull herself back up, or make hasty, uncomfortable comments. She made no movement to move away and stop, and neither did he. Her heart was pounding so hard it blocked out the sound of the sea, and she wondered fleetingly if Ron could hear it.

After what seemed like hours, they broke away, Hermione placing one knee on either side of Ron so that she was…well, straddling him. She hardly had a moment to consider her audacity before Ron sat up as well, so that she was sitting on his lap, facing him.

"That," Ron said, "was honestly the best, the most wonderful…"

But Hermione didn't want to stop. There was a curious pulsing in her veins and she could not stop now. She pushed her hair out of her face and laughed softly, her fingers tracing swirling patterns on Ron's arm. He looked down at her fingers, then back at her face.

"Is it your goal to give me a heart attack?" he asked hoarsely. She laughed again and shook her head. "Well, if you keep on carrying on like this I'll be dead before we even have a chance to move into the flat," he said.

She paused for a moment, looking into his eyes. "So I should stop?" she asked, and her voice was slightly cracked as well.

Ron's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, no. Whatever you do, please don't stop."

She bit her lip happily and kissed him again, that pulsing beating wildly as her lips parted and his hands played with her hair. As time wore on they moved down slower and slower until finally, they reached that place where skin met lace.

She broke away, and Ron looked instantly regretful. "I'm sorry Hermione, I just…" but he did not finish because she was shaking her head.

"You – you want to?" he asked, and his voice came out horribly anguished and strangled. For the first time, Hermione realized exactly how long he had been waiting to do this. How long she had been waiting to do this.

She nodded (speech wasn't coming as easily as it should) and she could hear Ron draw breath. "You're sure. You're absolutely positive," he asked cautiously, and there was so much care in every syllable that she could feel her heart breaking, pounding even harder.

"I've never wanted anything this much in my entire life," she said truthfully, and she rather thought she could hear Ron's heart breaking as well.

What he did next shocked her and made the pulsing in her veins beat even harder. He took her hands, which were around his neck, and gathered them in his. Then, he slowly placed them over his heart. She could feel it beating violently against his ribcage, and the beat was the exact same one as hers.

"You do this to me," he said softly. "Every single day, every single time I look at you, every single time I think of you," he said, as she felt his heart beat against his fingers. "I want you to know that," he said, his voice gravelly and deep.

She wanted to cry, because it was tender and sweet and so utterly unlike him. She wanted to cry because she could feel his heart beating hard against her hands and she could feel hers and the two beat together, as if they were the same, laced together by the waves of the sea beyond. She wanted to cry because she had never felt like this before. But she did not cry, because it would ruin the moment, and her brain was focused on not throwing herself on Ron and scaring him.

He took her hands and gave them back to her. She wrapped them around his neck, and again they fell back onto the bed, only this time it was entirely purposeful. Ron's hands were cupping her face as he kissed her, and she could feel them shaking slightly as they began to explore her body, running over her hip and her legs.

And then, she broke away, and it almost killed her to do it. Ron looked panicky as he looked up at her, some of her hair falling into her eyes.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stop?" he asked, his voice telling her quite clearly that this was the very last thing he wanted to do.

She did not answer his questions. "I love you," she said, looking deep into his eyes, finding him and holding him close to her heart.

His eyes got darker as his ears turned a little pink with happiness. "I love you," he said. "But if you keep on breaking this up I might have to throw myself off the cliff."

She laughed softly and lowered herself back down, which was hard to do because her arms were shaking. Her whole body was shaking with the rush of emotions coursing through her, and that curious pulsing that did not seem to ever go away.

Without their lips parting, Ron brought the covers around them so that all she could see was white and the red that was Ron's hair. They rolled over so that Hermione was looking up at Ron now. She felt as his hands ran from her hip to her waist, then up her arms and to her face, tracking the soft curve of her body. She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling. She let out a soft sound as Ron kissed her on the neck. She squeezed her eyes shut as he kissed her again and again, his lips finding the soft skin that made her shiver with happiness. They rolled over again, and Hermione was lying completely on top of him, and she felt his hands play with the lace that just graced her lower back. They were still shaking, she could feel it.

And she was undone, completely undone in the beauty and perfection of it all. And she could feel Ron's shaking hands on her back and her chest and her hair and everywhere. And she could feel the cool air as she arched her back, every part of her body touching every part of his. And she thought she might have died, because surly it was not possible to feel like this and still be on earth. And she thought that their small sounds that mixed in the air would never leave her ears, ever. And she wanted to scream or yell or shout out, anything to release some of this. And she could feel Ron's heart beating with hers as they groped at each other with the slow infatuation of having so much time and the fast passion of never having enough. And she had never loved so deeply, so wholly. And then she was alive. Not living, but truly, wonderfully, amazingly alive.

~*~

Author's Note: Ah, finally; the confirmation that Rose and Hugo were not test tube babies! I've been dreading doing it because it was honestly the hardest thing to write EVER. I wanted to say "and then it happened" but that would be SO disappointing and it really wouldn't do them justice. I wanted to save it for a meaningful moment; their last night in Shell Cottage seemed fitting…it was like a loss of childhood innocence or something. It was so nice coming home after taking the SATs and just writing with nothing academic to think about.

About the flats, I always knew they'd move out, but I thought it would be funny if they all accidently rented in the same building…kind of like "Friends" (I love the show). Is that idea alright?

On a completely unrelated note, I've written a one-shot called "What Happened in the Chamber". Yeah, the title's a bit self-explanatory. If anyone has a moment I'd love it if you could read/review it!

Reviews for this chapter would be amazing!!