Don't worry, dears- as promised, I go beyond Harry: "I think I want a sandwich!" We've got a significant number of chapters left before I feel this story is complete . . . and THEN, I shall begin my next fanfic, which I have three different and competing ideas for, and I will post to see which one garners the most interest later . . . for now, enjoy
Cheers
Jenna
51
Ron
His shoulders cracked as he rolled his arms backward, trying to stretch out the many kinks and pains in his back. Mione patted his back and hugged him to her, and his eyes widened as he realized that they both stank. He was definitely more putrid, but if she'd noticed, she didn't comment. Harry slumped out of the Headmaster's room, looking exhausted and relieved at the same time, and Ron knew exactly how he felt.
"So, food, then sleep?" he offered, and Hermione giggled as his stomach growled. Ron's stomach answered Harry's, and the three looked at one another before breaking into laughter. Ron's throat felt raw and the laughter hurt, so he stopped as soon as he could. Hermione wrapped a thin arm around his middle and they walked down the Great Hall, noting that Harry had turned and was slowly going up to Gryffindor tower. Looking at Hermione's sad, watchful eyes that lingered on Harry and then his sister, something clicked in place.
"OI! D'you want me to tell Ginny where you're staying?" he hollered, and Harry turned around, surprised, and shrugged.
"Yeah, but she doesn't have to come if she doesn't want to; I kind of need to sleep before I can handle . . . anything else," he finished lamely, looking at Ginny, who was sitting with her head on their mother's shoulder, the both of them shedding silent tears.
"Yeah, she's gonna be ready to kill you or shag you I figure," Ron replied wryly, noting Harry's longing glance. Harry looked at him in shock and Hermione gaped at him.
"What? She is moody, after all," Ron said, and then he proceeded into the Great Hall, leaving his surprised companions in his wake.
The tempting smell of buttery rolls and beef wafted towards him as the house elves had already set up a victory feast of sorts, though it was certainly not the usual end-of-year celebration. Families were lining the tables, some weeping; others comforting friends, and Ron's heart sank out of his body as his eyes rested on his brother lying on the table, covered by George's shaking head and arms. Percy sat next to him, whey-faced and tight-lipped, and Charlie had finally come out of his dazed state and was gripping Bill tightly, who was crying softly against Fleur's chest. The family had huddled around the body, his father the only one still standing, as though he knew he would collapse the moment he sat.
Mione seemed to sense him fading next to her, tears beginning to gleam in her eyes as well as she looked at his pained face.
"Let's get some food in you, Ron, you need to eat," she urged softly, even though he no longer felt like it. They sat at the table next to his family and Hermione put herself between Fred and him, which he was thankful for. A house elf came by, setting more baked potatoes on the table, and Ron grabbed two and filled a plate for them, cutting up the potato into bits and covering it with gravy and cheese. It was a mark of how devastatingly tired and sore they both were that Hermione did not tut at him for loading up his plate with heavy, fatty foods. Beef brisket and an entire side of ribs followed, and she didn't even roll her eyes.
Ron filled his mouth with green bean casserole, extremely glad that even in his current state, he could appreciate good cooking. Trying to brush aside the feeling that it was somehow wrong to en joy a good roast with Fred dead, he shoved a big bite into his craw, his lips chomping up and down, and Ginny let out a tiny sigh from beside him as she sat down and pulled a plate over. Ron filled up a glass of milk for her and smiled when Hermione murmured how thoughtful he was, and Ginny rolled her eyes.
"How's the ribs?" she asked low, looking utterly exhausted. Ron noted the streaks of damp, sore skin on her cheeks and brushed his own . . . they, too, were sore and red from crying earlier. Hermione had pushed him into the corridor to stop him from going after the people who had caused Fred's death, and though he was secretly glad now that he hadn't been able to kill anyone in his pained rage, he still felt the effects of wishing, in that moment, that he could rip apart any Death Eater that crossed his path.
Hermione sniffled beside him and he wrapped an arm around her. She was looking down the table at George, who was sobbing once more, loud cries muffled by the sweater Fred had been wearing. Ron gruffly cleared his throat, trying to hold back his own sobs that were threatening to come up. Ginny looked closely at his arm and then at Hermione, who met her eyes and nodded.
"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" Ginny smiled, her lips cracking painfully. Hermione shushed her with a small smile on her face, nonetheless. Ron looked bewildered from one girl to the next, and Ginny eyed him and then shook her head, exasperated.
"I'm telling her I'm happy you finally asked her out," Ginny explained, and Ron shrugged.
"I didn't really, she just kind of threw herself at me," he said, thinking back happily to their kiss, and Hermione huffed angrily next to him. His ears seemed to pick up on his own impending doom and he backtracked quickly.
"I mean, I would have, I still will- it's just the battle was going on, and we couldn't wait . . . romantic really, don't you think?" he asked Ginny, desperate for her to agree, and she laughed and started shaking as Hermione looked at him, trying to hold in her own suppressed giggles at his fumbling.
"Oh, sod it, you know I love you, Mione, let's just go upstairs," he moaned, his ears going red, and Ginny stopped laughing as Hermione turned surprised eyes at him. Ron realized what he'd said.
Hermione's eyes were round as saucers and Ginny had dropped her fork.
Silence fell over the table.
"Ron?" Hermione whimpered, looking at him in awe mixed with shock. "You really love me?" she asked, and Ginny went still, watching him like a hawk.
Ron rubbed his head, trying to cover his ears or his hair; he didn't know which one was redder.
"Yes, I do, I just . . ." he started, but Hermione shushed him with a soft kiss, cutting him off.
She was warm and soft, her lips caressing his like velvet, and he shuddered when her tongue just barely licked his bottom lip. He ran his hand up in her glorious hair, mangling her mane, and kissed her fervently; wanting to tell her everything he couldn't say with this kiss. It was different than their first one, gentle, more tender, and he felt her smile against him and open her mouth, deepening it.
"EWW, c'mon, I don't think when he said 'let's just go upstairs' that he meant that, Hermione!" Ginny's voice protested, and Ron slapped her with his free hand without looking up from his activity. Hermione pulled back, gasping in a breath, and he felt her breath out on his neck, sending chills up his spine.
"I do want to sleep," she said softly, looking up at him. "And I need to change and shower," she observed, wrinkling her nose. Ginny laughed and watched them leave, looking down the table with a sigh. Ron watched her and then pulled over the table, leaning low to speak to just his sister.
"Harry's upstairs, he's going to sleep- he's been up over a day, Gin, he needs to get some rest before he can see anyone," he offered, "but he wanted you to know he wants to see you, if you want to," and Ginny looked up, real appreciation in her eyes, and nodded.
"Thanks Ron," she said quietly, looking forlornly up the table at George, who had crumpled onto the floor as Fred's body was moved. The Aurors and mediworkers had arrived an hour ago, and Kingsley was directing a massive cleanup and organization of the dead. Fred would be resting in the corridor near the charms room so his body could be washed later and prepared. Ron nodded to his father and stopped, looking at Hermione who was waiting at the entrance.
"We're going to get some sleep, Dad. Is there anything I can do?" he questioned, looking down at his mother, who had quieted to silent grief. His father turned tired, weary eyes on him and shook his head.
"No, son, you've done enough; I'm proud of you," he said quietly, and Ron flushed and then moved up to see Mione.
The two began to climb the stairs until Hermione rushed back down for the second time to charm something for a House elf passing by, who grew disgruntled when she tried to talk him into accepting her sock. Ron laughed at her frustrated glare, "Well, that is a pretty hideous sock, Mione," to which she threw it at him. The resulting mock fight ended with an unsteady, weaker-than-usual Hermione falling down three stairs and twisting her ankle. Ron looked down at her, exasperated, her hair poofing up as she tried to calm it with her hands, and gripped her under her legs and behind her back, lifting her up. She let out a quiet "oh!" of surprise and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt so light- too light, he figured, and he made a mental note to keep piling her plate up for her.
He walked up the steps, slowly carrying her up and trying to ignore the pain in his legs as he neared Gryffindor tower. To his surprise, Kreacher stood outside the painting, rather than the Fat Lady, whom they had seen celebrating with her friend Violet in the Great Hall. Kreacher bowed low to them as he set Hermione down.
"Master is sleeping upstairs. He is tired and must not be waked," Kreacher warned, and the two of them nodded. Hermione pulled him to the girl's stairs and ignored his protests, waving her wand in a wide loop and then a complex figure-eight.
"Mione, I can't get up there!" he cried, but she shoved him forward up to the first stair, and he took a tentative step, opening his eyes wide when he wasn't ejected immediately. The stairs were still.
"Whha?" he gaped, and Hermione grinned a secretive, very sexy smile.
"I figured out how they worked back in fifth year," she smiled, tugging him up with a giggle. Ron's ears went red at the thought of how many times he'd have loved to know that little gem of a spell back in fifth year . . . bloody hell; she was pulling him up to the girls' side!
"I don't want to bother Harry. How about we get cleaned up?" she asked, and Ron nodded, trying to shake off the punch-drunk feeling that was overcoming him. Something told him that he would feel deep pain tomorrow when Fred's death really hit him, but for now, if she wanted him to forget about it . . . well, he could be persuaded.
Hermione tugged him into the girls' shower, which was the cleanest bathroom Ron had ever seen, despite the fact that the castle had recently been attacked. Hermione called Kreacher tentatively and he popped up beside them, causing her to shriek and Ron to draw his wand. Kreacher cowered, holding his hands over his face, and for the second time in his life, Ron felt a bit of horror pass through him. Harry had done that once. Harry must have been hit, too- just as Kreacher was shielding himself now, Harry had done before when being yelled at. White hot anger surged through him and he shook his head as Hermione calmed Kreacher and asked him to get them some robes and things. Kreacher sped off and Ron remembered Harry.
"Kreacher, who'll guard Harry while you're gone?" he asked, but Kreacher shook his head.
"Mistress will not let anyone bother him," he said cryptically, and then he disappeared.
Ron stepped into the shower stall and dropped his filthy clothes to the floor, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as he heard Hermione do the same in the stall next to him. He turned on the water, trying not to think about the fact that she was naked next to him, just a wall away. The hours he'd spent trying to cast a penetrable charm on the wall between the gents and ladies quidditch changing rooms had never been even a fraction this exciting. Mione, wet and soapy, on the other side of this wall . . . he gripped the shower rod and shook his head, and began to soap up his hair, wincing as his many cuts stung. He turned off the water, hearing her do the same, and let out a groan when he realized there wasn't a towel.
"Mione, where are the towels?" he asked, and she giggled in a very unHermone way before he rolled his eyes, forgetting she couldn't see him
"Are you a wizard or not?" she teased, and he grabbed his wand and conjured the biggest towel he could. Looking down at his attempt, he sighed.
"D'you think you could make me one?" he asked, drying off his arms and chest and wrapping it around his waist before stepping out to the bathroom.
"Why, can't do it yourself?" her voice teased as she walked out to the bathroom, and whatever taunt she had been about to follow with died as they looked at one another. Ron watched her eyes drift down his chest and felt a smirk growing on his lips. He cocked an eyebrow at her, smiling, and Hermione looked up at his face and reddened.
"Yes, well, it might be better if you had something a bit less . . ." she began,
"Mione, a bit less towel would be better for you, maybe, you seem to enjoying the show," he smirked, and she hit him and flushed if possible even darker.
"I meant a bit less revealing, you prat," she cut in, shaking water out of her hair and smiling as his eyes raked over her in her towel, which was long enough to reach just above her knees, but still showed an awful lot more Hermione than he was used to seeing with her t-shirts.
Ron felt his ears begin to redden at the tension growing between them. He watched a single droplet of water clinging beneath her ear slide down and he leaned over as she raised her wand, conjuring a big, fluffy towel for him, and licked it off her neck without thinking. He stepped back at her slight intake of breath and looked away, wishing he hadn't been so bold. She was sure to think him a pervert.
"Right, let's get dressed then," she murmured, handing him the towel and summoning the stacks of clothes beside the door that Kreacher had left. Trousers and socks soared into his face and when he pulled them down to fold them, he watched Hermione stuffing what looked like a bra under the jumper she'd summoned.
"I didn't look," he said sheepishly, and Hermione sighed and grinned, turning to enter the shower stall. Ron's mouth dropped and his entire body went rigid. He couldn't help it; a low moan escaped, and she whipped around, looking curious.
"What?" she asked, a smile starting on her cheeks.
"Erm, you might want to make a longer towel," he stammered, looking anywhere but at her face, and he saw her go slack as she realized what he meant from the corner of her eye. Hermione was standing stock still, horror written plainly on her face. Ron felt laughter bubble up inside him at her mortification.
"Oh, come on, Love, not like it's the end of the world, I mean, I've been admiring that view for years . . . just usually with your trousers on," he joked, seeing her begin to shake with laughter.
"Yes, well, I guess it's not that bad," she whispered, relaxing just slightly as he walked towards her and hugged her. Ron felt her relax more in his arms, and it took all his might not to let his eyes look down, knowing what he'd see.
"It's not like you won't see it in the future," she whispered hesitantly, and Ron stiffened, smiling into her bushy wet locks.
"Yes, I look forward to you conjuring smaller and smaller towels . . ." he started, but she shushed him with a light smack.
"You better not be looking down there," she said shrewdly, eyeing him as she pulled back, and Ron smiled wide, going in for the kill.
"No, I'm not looking," he smirked as his hand met its target and squeezed.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"
