WARNING: vague mentions of abortion and less vague smut in this chapter.

Also, apologies in advance for Ron being a bit of a jerkface in this chapter. It doesn't last long, I promise.

Chapter 4

Ron had handed her the perfect opportunity to tell him that she couldn't turn him away no matter how ill she felt. He stood in her living room, waiting for her to speak. He seemed to know now anyway and just needed her to confirm it. Had Ginny really been unable to keep her mouth shut for more than five minutes, or had he figured it out all on his own? Maybe a combination of both.

"Come with me," she said, and she took his hand. It was sweaty and warm and shook ever so slightly, indicating that he was nervous.

He let her guide him to the sofa, where they both sat down. Ron didn't speak — he seemed incapable of doing so after his outburst at her door, probably disturbing the people in the flats surrounding hers. She herself had been woken from a light sleep when he'd seemingly kicked her door.

"Okay." She let out a breath and then sucked in another. "So, there's something I need to tell you, and… you're not going to like it."

He nodded, and she clasped his hands in hers tightly, a gesture that she hoped he took as comforting.

"Ron… last week, I was feeling a little off. I didn't think much of it initially, but as the days went on and I didn't get any better…" She shifted. "I'm pregnant." She said it quietly, gently, but he still tensed at the words. He pulled his hands from her hold and even moved a little away from her.

It was clearly not what he'd wanted to hear. He'd probably come here hoping she'd tell him it was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe he would have preferred to go on thinking that everything was just awkward between them, or that their friendship hadn't fully recovered from their night together.

From the way he buried his face in his hands, he probably would have preferred anything in favour of the truth.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything, but all that happened was his body shook with uncontrollable tremors. It was unclear whether he was crying or just really shocked, but the silence was too much.

"I… know this is a huge shock; it was for me too. And I want you to know that I haven't committed to any decisions yet. I wanted to tell you first, so you'd know, and then… decide."

Again, no response came. She watched him. He couldn't even look at her. And could she blame him? They were friends, they did friendly things with each other. They shouldn't have done anything that could result in her revealing that she was pregnant with his child. Three months ago, they had just been two friends spending time together. They had been friends who had dinner once a week, who planned some of their weekends together. It had been pleasant and carefree and… definitely not awkward.

"Please say something," she urged, his silence overwhelming her. What was he thinking? How was he feeling? She wished she could read his mind.

Ron lifted his head and she got her wish, for his feelings were clearly written on his face, plain as day. What she didn't expect was raw anger.

"This is your fault," he said, bitterness dripping from his tone.

"What?" she breathed.

"This is on you."

"Ron, I —"

"You may not remember much, Hermione, but I remember enough to know that you came to me that night. I never asked you to come back, it was never even on my mind. But you showed up at my house, throwing yourself at me. You caused this."

His words stung. She tried to tell herself it was his shock that was compelling him to say these horrid things — not to mention she knew what he said was true — but her instinct to defend herself overrode all that. She sat a little straighter.

"Well," she said icily, "I don't recall you doing anything to stop it. If my memory serves me correctly — and some of it does — you were as much a willing participant in what we did as I was."

Ron glowered at her. "You still came to me. You should have been prepared to not get pregnant if you so badly wanted to screw me."

"And if you were of a sound enough mind to make a decision, you should have said no!" Hermione snapped, anger bubbling inside her already awful stomach. She didn't want to get into an argument with him. She'd expected him to be upset when she told him, but not accusatory.

"And why would I say no?" Ron blurted. The moment he said it, he stiffened. She got the strong feeling that he hadn't meant to say that. He looked away from her, unwilling to meet her eyes.

Any retort Hermione had died in her mouth. She lowered her voice, staring at him despite his sudden refusal to look at her. "Why wouldn't you say no?"

No response came. She watched as his hands wrung together. He was distressed about something and she thought it was due to what he'd unintentionally revealed to her. Even though she couldn't quite make sense of it all.

"Ron… what's that supposed to mean? Did you want it to happen?"

Again, she got nothing from him except an increased tension filling the room.

"Ron —"

"You're changing the subject!" Ron snapped. "The point is, you came to me and you weren't prepared. And now… now this. You fucked up, Hermione."

"We —"

"No, you."

"I was drunk."

"So was I, but I didn't throw myself at you, did I? I was just about to get into bed when you stumbled into my living room —" He paused, frowning, Hermione mirroring his expression. There was a memory, she thought, that was desperate to break through her mind's barrier. The reason she'd come back to him...

She rubbed her head. There was an ache forming at the front. She hadn't eaten or drunk anything in hours, and she was completely exhausted from all the rapid changes happening to her body. She needed to get this sorted with him as soon as possible, and remembering everything would be the quickest and easiest way to sort it out. Why was her mind so desperate to hide aspects from her? She knew she'd come back, she knew she'd initiated it with him and he'd responded enthusiastically, but she couldn't recall what had made her throw herself at him. Had he said something endearing, had she just been lonely and searching for comfort? She really didn't know.

"Okay," she said shortly, "so I think you've made it pretty clear that this is not something you want —"

Ron actually laughed, and it was cruel. "For fuck's sake, Hermione, did you think I'd be happy about this? Did you think I'd jump up and down and spin you around all excited about having a baby with my best friend?"

"I thought you'd be more willing to take responsibility for it." She did her best to keep the hurt from her voice, though she didn't think she was very successful.

"I don't want a kid," Ron said flatly. When she didn't say anything, he looked at her with widened eyes. "Wait, you're not actually thinking about keeping it, are you?"

Hermione winced at the words. It sounded wrong to say it like that, but she couldn't deny that the very thought had not constantly been in her mind for the past week. Every time she had to rush to the bathroom, every time a smell she had once enjoyed made her want to vomit, she wondered if she could really go through with it.

She shook her head. "I don't know. But it wasn't going to be a decision I made without involving you. You'd hate me if I kept it from you."

Ron laughed again, but this time she heard his nervousness. "I feel sick," he said. "This can't actually be happening. Are you… are you really sure? I mean, have you…"

"I'm one hundred percent certain," Hermione confirmed.

"And, it's definitely… mine. Not anyone else's?"

"I don't really make a habit of one night stands, Ron," Hermione argued. "Who else could there be?"

"I don't know. I'd rather not involve myself in your sex life."

"It doesn't exist. Oh god, Ron." She rubbed her hands over her face. "I haven't slept with anyone since Steven broke up with me two years ago. You… you were the first since then." She laughed slightly. "Lucky you."

Ron scowled, rubbing his temples. "How did this fucking happen?"

"We don't have to go through with this," Hermione assured him. "In fact, it would make things a whole lot easier for both of us if we didn't." She paused. There was a pain in her chest, causing it to tighten up.

Ron nodded. "I think that would be for the best. We'll just deal with it. No one even needs to know."

Hermione fought back tears, trying not to let Ron see. She wasn't sure what she was expecting. She knew this would be his response, but maybe she'd been secretly hoping he'd tell her they'd do this together. After all, it was Ron. Who would be better than him to have a baby with?

"You look upset," Ron commented.

She sniffed. "It's not an easy decision to make. At least… at least not for me."

Some of Ron's resolve seemed to disappear after that. He patted her hand in a show of comfort. "I'm sorry," he said. "I realise I probably am not handling this all that well, but… we can't have a baby, Hermione. You know that, right?"

She nodded, blinking away tears. "I do know that. I love you so very much, but the thought of us raising a child together —"

Ron wrenched his hands away from hers for the second time that evening. He jumped to his feet, staring down at her as if she'd just grown a second head. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. His eyes blinked rapidly as if he was suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.

"What's the —" But her question died as her head suddenly exploded with a million images and words from four weeks ago.

I love you.

All the missing pieces of the puzzle were suddenly there and she could remember the night as if it had just happened. The reason for her coming back to Ron's flat, what she had done… oh, what she had said to him. What he had said to her, and how that had led to… well, now.

Oh.

She looked up at him, wanting to say something — to tell him she remembered — but the look in his eyes kept her mouth closed.

Ron shook his head, backing quickly to the door. He suddenly couldn't get out of there fast enough. "I can't do this," he said. "It's not supposed to be like this." He wrenched the door open.

"Ron —"

But he was gone, the door left open and swinging slightly against his force.

She shook her head, swallowing down her tears. She remembered everything now, down to the minute details, and by the way he had left, she had no doubt that he also remembered just what had happened between them to have them wind up in bed together after his party afterwards.

…

Ron stumbled to his room, reaching out in the dark for the door to support himself.

Merlin, he was a mess. Just how many Firewhisky shots had George given them? Every time he downed one, another would appear in front of him. The more he drank, the louder everyone became. Music blared, people danced, and there was not a single sober person in the house.

Even Hermione, whom he'd called boring — or was it a prude? — for not drinking had to be guided to the Floo to ensure she got home safely. She'd impressed him. He'd thought her far above the rest of them, but she'd let herself go for once.

Tripping over something on the floor, he stumbled forward and caught the door just in time so he didn't end up flat on his face. He used the frame for support and pulled himself into a standing position and drew his wand.

"Lukmos," he muttered. Nothing happened. "Fumos?" What was the damn word he was after? "L-lumos."

A soft light at the end of his wand came to life, and he could finally see. "Ugh!" He shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness, waiting until they adjusted. His bed was crinkled, the pillows out of place. He frowned. Maybe someone had fallen asleep on it, or… maybe people had used it for other activities. He was too drunk to care either way.

He collapsed onto it, managing to kick his shoes off and undo his trousers. He was halfway through removing them when a thump distracted him. He sat up straight, wand lifted. Then he stood, but his trousers were still undone and when he tried to move, he stumbled and fell forward.

"Ouch," he muttered, before pulling himself up, along with his trousers.

His wand still lit and drawn, he moved back into the living room, immediately spotting a dark figure standing by his table.

"Who's there?" he called.

A face appeared — well, stumbled — into his view. "Just me!"

"Hermione! Fancy seeing you back here." He laughed. "How'd you get here?"

"Oh, you know… the Floo. Usual." She waved the question away and came closer to him. He didn't know who was more drunk, but considering she had never consumed so much alcohol in her life, it was probably her. Her bushy hair was askew, sticking out every which way. And she wore a lopsided grin that he'd never seen on a sober Hermione.

"The party's over," Ron told her. "Sorry. You're too early. I mean, late."

"I know." She moved even closer and he could smell the Firewhisky on her. He was looking through alcohol goggles, but he found her to be quite stunningly beautiful under his wand light.

"So, why are you here then?"

"Well…" Hermione paused, maybe expecting some kind of dramatic effect that never came. "I was home all alone, and I started thinking about a lot of things. All the secrets I have that I've never told anyone before."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"And, it made me sad. I cried for a bit. But then I got better and I thought again…" Another pause. "I thought… I have one secret I need to share with someone and who better to tell than my good friend, Ron?"

"Good friend Ron," Ron repeated, laughing louder than he should have at something that wasn't really funny. "Yeah, I'm your good friend Ron. That's me."

Hermione nodded, a serious expression on her face. "And I really needed to get it out, so I came here. I did trip over something or someone on my way out of the fireplace. I might have broken something too. Sorry. But if I tell you this secret, you have to promise not to tell anyone, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Ron agreed. He figured she probably wasn't going to remember they ever had this conversation in the morning.

You can't tell Harry, or Ginny, or Ron, or your mum, or Ron. You especially can't tell Ron this."

"Okay." Ron bit back a laugh. Merlin, she was adorable. Even more so when completely wasted.

"Okay…" Hermione drew even closer to him, standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear. Ron's skin prickled all over, like it always did when she was so close to him. Her hands pressed on his shoulders to stabilise herself. Her voice lowered to a whisper.

"Well, my secret is that for the longest time ever, I have really been kind of really really in love with you. Like, not just in love like we're great friends. But in a way where I want to kiss you, and have sex with you, and marry you and all that." She hiccuped. "And I've never told you before because that would be weird. But I'm drunk now and I thought it was a really good idea to tell you, so I am." She stepped back, smiling at him. "You're not going to tell Ron, are you? I travelled really far to tell you this."

Even in his drunken state, Ron was lost for words. While she grinned at him, proud of herself for saying what she'd said, his mouth hung open. She was in love with him? His heart soared at the words, his chest tightening as his feeble brain tried to process this new information. She loved him. She had feelings for him too.

She loved him too.

"Are you going to say something?" Hermione asked. "I just said I loved you…"

"Really?" Ron managed to splutter.

"Yep. Completely and utterly and madly in love with you. So in love it hurts. I really needed to tell you. The Firewhisky said I should. I pretend we're just friends, but really I want to do things to you." She giggled. "You know… sex things." Another giggle.

"I love you too." It came out barely a whisper, but she heard, for her face lit up in a wide grin.

"Oh, really? That's… great!"

Ron stared at her, the hand holding his wand trembling ever so slightly. He really wished he wasn't drunk for this.

"Okay, well… I guess I came over here to tell you that. And I thought that if you felt the same way — which I hoped you did — maybe I could kiss you."

She didn't leave time for a response before closing the gap between them. Ron didn't need time, though. His wand fell from his hand, consuming them in darkness, but there was so much brightness in that moment that he didn't need it. Her whole body was against his, her soft, sweet lips on his, and it was the greatest feeling in the whole world. Ten years of longing and desire for her was finally being fulfilled in the middle of his living room. His whole body was suddenly alert, burning; her arms tightened around him as she deepened the kiss.

He grabbed her, drawing her even closer to him. His hands moved up and down her body, eagerly exploring places that, until now, had always been off limits. She kissed him harder, tugging on his shirt as if she couldn't get enough of him. His feet moved as she pulled him. Was she taking him to his room?

Thump.

Her back hit a wall, but that didn't stop either of them. It just gave them more leverage. He lifted one of her legs, looping it around his waist and then pressed himself against her, pinning her entirely to the wall, his want for her obvious. It seemed to excite her, because she clawed at his shirt in an animalistic fashion; she was breathless as she attacked his face.

Was this really happening? Was this even real? Was he finally going to get to learn just what was under her clothes? To know if it was even better than his fantasies? Would he know for certain after tonight just why all of his other relationships had failed? It was her. It was always her. He only wanted her.

He wondered just how much he could get away with. He took a chance by sliding the hem of her dress up to her hips, being sure to drag his fingers along her thighs. She shivered at his touch, but pulled him closer. He stopped at her hips, fingertips sliding around to her inner thighs.

"Oh, God," she breathed against him. "Keep doing that."

So, she really did want this. Good to know.

He pressed kisses down her neck, extracting sighs of pleasure each time his lips touched her exposed skin. Taking another chance, he slipped one hand inside her underwear and waited for a response. She pressed herself against his fingers, inviting him to continue.

Who was he to argue?

He caught her mouth in another kiss and slowly, purposefully, began a gentle caress between her legs.

"That feels so good," she breathed, which turned into a whimper.

"You feel so good," Ron whispered in reply. "You have no idea just how good…"

He felt hands at his trousers, fumbling for the button to undo them. Desperate, wanting hands, owned by someone so intoxicated that they couldn't manage the simple task.

"I can help," he soothed when she cried her frustration, withdrawing his own hand from her and using it to undo the button.

Her leg dropped from around his waist and she pushed him forward, somehow guiding him through the door of his bedroom. She pulled him all the way over to his bed. They collapsed onto it just as the button of his trousers popped open.

He tore at her dress, ripping it off over her head. And then he went for her bra, flinging it somewhere across the room. He gave himself a moment to appreciate the view, nothing no longer left to his imagination.

"Fuck," he murmured, cupping one of her breasts and revelling in the feel of it against his palm. He slid out of the trousers and she helped him with removing his shirt. All that was between them now were her — he noticed with delight — very lacy knickers.

He roamed across her body, exploring every part of her, desperate to learn. It was a shame that he was completely wasted because he wanted nothing more than to savour this moment. He found the places where she liked to be touched, and other places that had her pushing him away giggling. In return, she discovered exactly what tipped him over the edge and he had to pull away to stop her from finishing him off.

"It's not good?" she asked, dragging her fingers up his exposed stomach. Everything she did just felt so good. He was so sure this was a dream. Surely he'd wake up tomorrow with a throbbing headache and a killer hangover.

"Quite the opposite," he choked out just as she brought her mouth to his ear, her sweet, hot, Firewhisky breath teasing him with near kisses. "It's too good."

"Mmm, good."

He trailed kisses down her neck, biting in places, sucking in others. He continued further down, reaching her breasts, which he was quite fond of already. He played with them for a while, extracting a pleasing response, and then moved further down her body. He got as far as her belly button before she flinched.

"Too much too soon?" he asked.

"Just a little."

He crawled back up so they were face to face, him hovering over her. "How far do you want to go then?" He played with the elastic of her knickers, sliding them down ever so slightly.

She shifted beneath him, positioning herself in a very inviting manner. "I want to feel you inside me," she breathed.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, ripping the thin lace from her. He threw it away carelessly and then lowered himself into her. Her nails immediately dug into his back and she sighed.

He started off slow, knowing he was just that little bit more experienced than she was. But their bodies just seemed to meld together, perfectly in sync with the other. It was as if they already knew how to please the other without having ever tried before.

She felt so good. Definitely better than his fantasies. He'd wanted this for so long — hoped, dreamed, imagined that one day it would happen for them. And now it was, and it was perfect. She was perfect, and they were so damn good together that he knew they should have done this a long time ago.

Her playfulness earlier on was going to end things quicker than he would have liked, but any amount of time with her was incredible.

It didn't take them long to pick up speed. Whatever they did, it just felt right. They weren't friends, they were lovers. Lovers who had hid their feelings for the sake of their friendship, but they didn't have to now. Not anymore. They could be what they'd always wanted to be.

Something more.

"Oh, God, Ron," Hermione moaned, her fingers burying into his skin.

Colour exploded in Ron's vision as he reached climax. All it had taken was her saying his name to tip him over the edge. And by the way her body trembled beneath his, he could tell that she had reached it too.

"Fuck," he murmured, burying his face in her hair, pleasure coursing through every nerve in his body. "Fuck."

He stayed in her, listening to the rapid beating of her heart and enjoying her writhing body beneath him as she finished. He buried his fingers into her hair, riding out the last of the orgasm. He then lifted his head and gazed down at her.

"That," Hermione murmured, "was… great."

He slammed his lips onto hers, savouring her taste. His fingers entwined in her hair, and then he rolled off her, collapsing onto his back.

They laid in silence, their chests heaving up and down, sweat and other fluids dripping from their bodies. Great was an understatement. Great did not accurately describe that experience — at least not for Ron.

He waited for the regret that he thought would follow, but… it didn't come. It wouldn't come, because not once — not for a good ten years — had he looked at Hermione and thought of her as just a friend.

He hadn't just had the most amazing sex with his friend; it had been with the woman he was so desperately in love with, but until now, had not known how to express that.

She turned her head and smiled at him. "Do you think we'll regret this tomorrow?" she asked.

Ron shuffled across the bed, taking her in his arms. "No," he said. He pressed his lips into her hair, breathing in her scent. "No, I'll never regret how you made me feel tonight. I've wanted this for so, so long."

He waited for her to reply, but none came. A moment later, he heard the slow, even breathing that indicated she was asleep. He curled up even closer to her, holding her tight.

He'd never regret tonight, and he knew that he would never forget it either.

I never write smut lol, so I hope this is alright! Cheers to cheesy for helping me with this chapter! Much appreciated!