Request: Hey! love your writing! How about a fanfic with this prompt "Yeah, well if you weren't so drunk maybe I would." Xx thanksss

The weeks since the war have been challenging, blending into a never-ending loop of grieving and rebuilding the castle. It's difficult for Hermione to tell where each day starts and end, and she's starting to lose track of when she is. It hasn't been this confusing since the days of the time-turner.

However, now that the remaining funerals have finished, the magical community of Britain have decided that it's time to celebrate before they move on to the following stages of their lives. Against all odds, they have survived and to top it off; they defeated the darkness that had threatened the wizarding world for so long.

The Leaky Cauldron has thrown an enormous party, and it seems to Hermione that every single magical person she's ever met is here. Earlier in the night, she commandeered a barstool, and it is from there she surveys the scene. Although she tries to tell herself she's not looking for Ron; her eyes keep gravitating back towards the handsome redhead.

Since their kiss during the final battle, the pair have barely talked, which is preposterous considering they're currently living under the same roof. Hermione is sat in no man's land, desperate to discuss the next steps in their relationship, but unable to pin Ron down for long enough to get some quality, uninterrupted time with him.

Her heart skips one beat as she realises she's lost track of him, and Hermione desperately searches the bar, stretching up as tall as she can on her stool, allowing her an elevated view across the sea of partiers. Ron is holding court at a wide table in a dark corner of the bar, his words slurring as he tells the story of their escape from Gringotts.

His words madden her for two reasons. One—they agreed with Harry to keep their adventures from the past year just between the three of them to keep the real reason they were on the run away from the press. And two—she had been hoping to corner him at some point to have a serious conversation with him.

Deciding she's had enough, Hermione slips from her seat and marches across the bar. Ignoring the whistles and cat-calls, she takes hold of Ron's elbow and marches him outside. Ignoring the smell of vomit and the roar of the party that quietens as soon as the door shuts behind them, she pins him to the wall with such force; he slams against the bricks with a loud thunk.

"What the hell, Hermione?" He rubs his head with a frown. "What's gotten into you?"

"You Ron Weasley!" she shouts, unable to keep her temper in check. "You have gotten into me. You have been avoiding me since we left Hogwarts, and we finally have a chance to get together and talk, and you get drunk instead."

"Well, warning me you wanted a discussion might be nice."

"I shouldn't have to warn you!" She lets go of him, folding her arms across her chest and setting her hard stare on him.

"You're as mad as a box of chocolate frogs. You've been avoiding me! I'm beginning to think you only grabbed me for a snog because you were scared we might die. Ever since then, every attempt I've made to try and talk to you has only caused you to stalk off. You're always so bloody busy."

Hermione scoffs, "Hardly. Your family is always interrupting any attempt I've made."

"I just want you to kiss me again."

Hermione is like a dog with a bone when she gets mad, and she misses arguing with Ron like they used to when they were in school. Usually, he gives as good as he gets, but there's something different in him tonight. And then she remembers—the alcohol.

"Yeah, well," she fumes, "if you weren't so drunk, maybe I would."

She glares at him, her fiery gaze reflecting back at her in his eyes. Usually, they are as blue as the oceans, but tonight they are deep and dark. Their chests heave as everything that has gone unsaid between them taints the summer air, turning the warm breeze into ice.

Finally, Ron's face softens. She knows that look all too well. It tells her that he's tired of arguing, and he's waving a white flag. The ball is back in her court, and Hermione has to prepare to give in, too, before they cross a line.

"I'm not drunk," he says in a small voice.

"But I saw you with the firewhisky. And you were slurring your words."

"You know how I get when I'm excited. I had a few sips. That's it. I'm sober, tipsy at most."

Hermione lets out a hard puff of air. "We weren't supposed to be telling everyone the story of Gringotts."

"Hermione…"

"We promised we'd keep it between us."

"Hermione, please…" he pleads.

"Because if they knew the whole story, then Kinglsey would surely bring us in for question—"

"Oh, for fucks sake."

Hermione's final words are cut short as Ron steals them from her with a kiss. Like their first, this is hard and passionate, but the distance between them is too great. With a soft moan, she steps closer to him, and he immediately snakes a hand around her waist and lifts her from her feet so that she's finally at his height.

This time, though, there is more to it. Love pours out of him, sending warmth flowing through her body as she presses herself even closer to her best friend. It's everything she's been dreaming of since she started allowing herself to dream again.

Whimpering and gasping for breath, she pulls away and waits for him to place her back on the floor. As soon as her feet hit solid ground, she slides her hand up and over his chest, finally caressing his soft, freckled face.

"We still have to talk."

Ron sighs, but a smile creeps across his face. When he talks, his voice is low and deep. Excitement bubbles in her belly. "Okay, but can we also do more kissing, too?"

"If I knew that was the key to getting you to do what I wanted, I would have snogged you sooner."

"I am easy to manipulate, so that you know." Reaching between their bodies, Ron takes her hand and tangles their fingers together. It's a perfect fit as if they were made for each other. "Shall we get out of here? The Burrow will be quiet because everyone is here."

She pushes away the concerns that everyone will know that they've left together. Before, she wouldn't have wanted people to try and guess what they've been up to, but as soon as the thought invades her mind, she lets it go. She finds she doesn't care anymore. In fact, she'd be happy to shout it from the rooftops.

I JUST SNOGGED RON WEASLEY, AND IT WAS MAGNIFICENT.

"Yes, please," she squeaks out before digging out her wand and apparating them away.