Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

A/N: Written for Romione Week Day 6: AU. Inspired by Grey's Anatomy.

Romione Week - Day 6 (AU)

Nothing Like the Present

Inspired by Grey's Anatomy Season 5, episode 10 (Vent Room)

Healers clad in their signature lime green robes bustle about the open reception area on the ground floor of St. Mungo's in disorganized chaos. The busy environment can be overwhelming, particularly for a specific someone who prides herself on having it all together.

Hermione marches in the direction of the Welcome Witch, who peers up at her with apprehension. Many witches and wizards facing strange ailments still await treatment in the filled emergency room, and Hermione is livid that she hasn't been properly informed. She's further turned off by the receptionist's less-than-welcoming demeanor that rivals her own.

"Can someone please fill me in on why I wasn't notified that there are patients awaiting medical attention out here?" Hermione fumes.

Remaining tight-lipped, the Welcome Witch responds, "I'm sorry, Healer Granger. We were told that you've already worked your maximum allotted hours for the week and to pass the current cases off to other Healers."

Mild irritation works its way through Hermione's system. It is true that she has worked an exceptional amount this week, but she just can't fathom leaving the hospital when there are still so many people that need assistance.

"Was it Healer Stein? I bet it was. She's always trying to encroach on my patients."

"That's a loud accusation for someone who has just been told to take a break."

The deep, familiar voice from behind prompts Hermione to close her mouth.

Ron Weasley. The man she hasn't seen since he spontaneously kissed her mere seconds after he pulled an icicle out of her stomach a month ago.

Whirling around, Hermione fixes her steely gaze on the grinning redhead standing with his feet apart and arms crossed. "What? What are you even doing here?"

He checks his surroundings before stepping closer. "I'm just looking around — trying to see if attractive curly-haired brunettes are biting heads off receptionists on every floor, or if that feature is isolated to just this one."

A warmth coils in her belly, and she internally chastises herself for reacting to his attempts at charming her.

"You're a cheeky one, aren't you?" She narrows her skeptical eyes at him.

"Just figuring that out?" Ron raises his eyebrows. "Someone has a lot to learn."

The Welcome Witch shifts her gaze between the argumentative duo, eyes growing wide with mounting interest.

Hermione guffaws. "That's rich, coming from someone who hardly spent any time actually studying at Hogwarts."

A lopsided grin forms on his face as he tilts his head without breaking their heated stare. "How would you know what I did or didn't do at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger?"

A blush threatens to creep up her cheeks and she makes an attempt to deflect. "You're right. I barely even know you."

"Ah, to the contrary, I'd say we've gotten to know each other pretty well recently, don't you think?" Ron's suggestive remark intensifies the warmth on her face.

"I have no reason to believe you."

"Don't you ever just go off of a gut feeling?" Ron asks.

"I suppose, yeah." She looks over his shoulder, distracted by the commotion brewing between another Healer and an unruly patient who looks like he's sprouting a Mimbulus Mimbletonia from his head.

Ron moves his face so that he's blocking her view of the waiting area, much to Hermione's chagrin. "And what does your gut say about me?"

Fuming, she snaps, "It says that you're just the man who pulled an icicle right out of me without my permission."

"Ah. Just the guy?" He clutches his chest. "You wound me."

"The truth hurts."

"Need I remind you that you were the one demanding that I take it out in the first place. I didn't quite take you to be a liar, Granger."

Hermione releases a loud exhale from her mouth, making a move to slide past him. "This has been a lovely chat, but I must get back to work-"

"Ah, no you don't."

Ron catches her hand before she can get away, sending a jolt of electricity through her palm from the unexpected contact. Before she can protest, he's pulling her through the large open room leading towards the staircase.

"Where are we going?" Hermione demands, looking around to see if anyone is noticing her absence. She can't possibly be caught meandering around with a wizard on work time.

"Would you stop worrying?"

"I would if-"

"Do you trust me?"

"I-"

"Do you trust me?"

Although a part of her wants to say no, there's an even larger part — a more frustrating part — that wants to scream out yes.

Racing down a single set of stairs, Hermione finds herself alone in the basement of St. Mungo's with Ron, only mildly concerned about his true intentions. He guides her into a darkened room, bare of anything except for large ducts positioned in various locations around the space.

"What are we doing hanging out in a ventilation room?" Confusion settles between her brows.

"Wait."

"But I-"

Ron holds up a hand, sending her a knowing look. "Just wait."

Hermione opens her mouth to declare that she's tired of waiting, however when he removes his wand from his back pocket, her body stills.

"Ventus". A spiraling gust of wind emits from the tip of his wand into the vent below her feet before swirling back up and blowing against her body with a driving force that almost knocks her over.

Hermione lets out a scream as the air powers in every direction, tousling her tangled curls and creating a whipping motion against her face.

"Ron! What is this?"

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Ron shouts through the whirring of the air exhausting into the room.

With a flick of his wand, he releases the cool steam, bringing the room back to its original, quiet state, apart from the evidence of their disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.

Gasping, Hermione places a hand over her rapidly beating heart, trying to understand why she suddenly feels like a huge weight has been lifted off her chest, clearing her mind of any negative thoughts that frequently consume it.

"Feeling better now?" Ron studies her, taking one step forward until they are an arms-length distance away. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and she can't manage to quell the urge building up inside of her.

"Loads," she admits, although she still doesn't quite get why or how Ron knew that she needed that release.

"The wind makes us feel like anything can happen, like we can be anybody we wanna be, yeah?" Ron's voice is softer now, and Hermione finds herself strangely moved by his clear, wide-set azure eyes that travel along the intricacies of her face, as if he's trying to figure her out.

"Y-yeah. I suppose that's true."

She leans in closer, unable to resist the pull she feels towards him — unable to stop her gaze from visually tracing the contours of his mouth, letting out a small whimper as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

Just when her eyes flutter closed and she can begin to taste his breath, the air resumes like a gentle breeze taking over her body. The soothing wind provides freshness on her skin, rousing her to a wakeful state. When her eyes pop open, Ron is so close to her that their noses are almost touching, only just realizing that he's gripping her elbows to keep her from falling over.

Hermione's not sure if she's ever felt so confident and flexible as she does standing in the midst of circulating wind, like her entire world is changing and freeing her of any unwanted pollutants seeping into her daily life.

And, Good Godric, how did Ron Weasley know exactly what she needed better than herself?

The exhilarating feeling of letting go of all her inhibitions provides her with a sense of satisfaction as she waits in joyful anticipation for the next burst. As if Ron could read her innermost thoughts, the wind filters once more through the room, mixed with the raucous laughter bubbling between the two holding onto each other.

For Hermione, it's like she can breathe again, and Ron is the one supplying the oxygen she needs to survive. She's found her place of respite, and it's in the arms of the man who once pulled an icicle from her abdomen.

All rational thoughts leave her brain as she crashes their lips together in a frenzied snog, awakening the carnal energy inside of her. As his mouth folds over her bottom lip to kiss her back with just as much fervor, she lets out a loud moan while standing on her tiptoes to snake her fingers through his hair. Her body is humming with desire, like she's drowning in a single kiss as passionate air blows around them.

The wind serves as a reminder for Hermione to live in the present, and there is nothing like the present with him.