"Thank you, Maisie. That will be all for the night."

Hermione gave the maid a kind smile as she ushered her out of the room, eager to get some calm for the first time that night. As always, dinner seated next to Cormac (her mother's doing, no question) had been absolutely unbearable, and she needed some peace and quiet to recover from a good three hours of restraining every impulse she had had to smack him. It didn't help that her mother had decked her out in one of those huge dresses that more closely resembled cakes again, a pink affair with chiffon, lace, and ribbons everywhere that might have been a curtain in another life. Hence why Maisie had been up in her room that night: the corset and the petticoat, attached together for that style of dress, were nearly impossible to deal with all on her own. But now that she was comfortably back in her white lace nightgown, her hair down and back to its natural bushy state, held back in a loose ponytail only by a peach-colored ribbon, she could unwind and try to put the horrible evening behind her.

She grabbed her book from the nightstand and, with a sigh, settled on the chaise longue by the window. It seemed sturdier since Ron had fixed it, and though the armchair by the hearth was usually much more comfortable for this time of night, the chaise longue was special to her, if only because she knew it bore the traces of Ron's hands. And when she had to be apart from him, for spaces that felt like eternities, to be near something his hands had touched was the smallest comfort she could get.

Her back relaxed and she reclined deeper into the chaise longue. This was what Hermione was made for: to curl up by a window, a good book in hand, in comfortable clothes, with the crackling of the fire in the background. Already she felt the tension of the evening evaporating.

She was becoming immersed in her reading when a tap against the window startled her. At least she thought it had been a tap, judging by the proximity of the sound and the unmistakeable clinking of the glass. She peered out the window, but seeing nothing, she decided it must have been a branch blown against the window, or something similar. Shrugging, she looked away from the window and went back to her reading.

She had only scanned a few more sentences before there it was again: the same brief, clear sound of something small hitting glass. She looked up from her book again, closing it over her finger to mark the page she was on. She frowned slightly: this was odd. She was still looking at the window when a third tap came, and this time she could see a round, coin-sized pebble hit the glass and then fall to the ground clumsily.

Now she set her book aside and knelt on the chaise longue to pry open the window's latch, her frown becoming more pronounced. "What's all this, then?" she muttered to herself as she opened the window, pushing the left and right panes outward so she could peer out from in between them.

She didn't see anything at first, but then another pebble came hurtling through the open window and into her room. Her eyes flashed to the source of the throw like a falcon snapping to its prey, but her gaze softened when she saw where it had come from.

"Of course," she said softly. "I should've known."

On the gravel path right outside the house stood Ron, a handful of pebbles in his left hand, his right one poised for another throw. His usual boyish grin was there as he spoke to Hermione, just loud enough so his voice would carry upward to her window.

"Thank the Lord you came out this quickly. I've been getting lucky with my aim. I didn't know how many more hits I could've nailed. I'd failed a few already, y'know."

Hermione leaned out the window just a little further. "Ron, what are you doing down there?"

"Can I come in?"

"Come in?" she said disconcertedly.

"Yes or no question."

"I mean, yes, but—"

She could scarcely say another word before Ron dropped the handful of pebbles back onto the gravel and began scurrying up the outer wall of Rosebury House, using the window ledges and carved finishes as footholds to climb upward. He was strong and agile, and it was only a few seconds before he was at Hermione's windowsill, worming his way in with a little help from Hermione's arms in pulling him into the room. He nearly toppled over and onto the chaise longue, but regained his footing to sway on the carpet.

"A bit of a rough landing, but thank you," Ron said, steading himself and dusting off his hands on his trousers.

"Ron, are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" Hermione whispered hurriedly.

"I promised I'd see you soon, didn't I?" Ron said, stepping closer to her and placing a hand on her waist. "I believe my exact wording was 'sooner than you know.' And I'm a man of my word, aren't I?"

"Yes, that is one of the scarce things I can't hold against you," Hermione said.

Then, as if automatically, her body lunged forward into a hug, both of her hands wrapping around Ron and clinging desperately to his back. Ron returned the embrace, squeezing Hermione tighter to him and letting his cheek fall onto the top of her head.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione whispered, her face buried in his chest. "I'm so glad you're here. The wait to see you is lethal."

"But it makes this all the sweeter, doesn't it?" Ron said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione only responded with a small, almost imperceptible nod. Ron held her tighter for a few seconds longer before loosening his grip and holding her by the hands at arm's length. "Now come on. We haven't much time."

"Time? For what? Where are we going?"

"Just trust me," Ron said, leading her by the hand toward the open window.

His intention dawned on Hermione, and she held back for a moment, rooting her feet to the spot where she stood. "Now, wait just a second, Ron—"

"What? Afraid we'll get in trouble?" Ron said. "Trust me, Hermione, there's no one around. The grounds patrollers have turned in for the night, and the house is well on its way to sleep, if it isn't asleep already. And I just want to take you somewhere that I promise you you'll really love. Can you trust me on this?"

Hermione looked at him with intensity, feeling a protest build in her chest but unable to eke it out. Inside her chest, her usual caution battled her increasing desire to be close to Ron. It was something in Ron's eyes, wide and blue as always, that finally made her sigh as if in defeat: "Alright, we can go. But let me get a shawl and some shoes first."

"Good thinking," Ron said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. Hermione let go of his hand briefly and scuttled about her room, settling on a pair of black silk Chinese slippers embroidered with a rose. She then grabbed a peach-pink shawl that had been draped over the chair of her boudoir, finished in cream-colored fringes, and drew it tightly around herself.

"Alright, let's go."

Ron eyed her up and down, and a slight laugh trickled out of the corner of his mouth. "Nice shoes."

"Everything else has heels," Hermione said, already stomping past him and toward the window. "Now, will you lead the way?"

"Of course. Just look at how I do it, and then I'll be right down to catch you if you fall."

With that, Ron straddled the windowsill and peered down toward the gravel path he'd come from, before swinging his other leg over the sill and shimmying down the wall the same way he'd come up. Hermione watched him, paying close attention to where he set his feet and hands down as he descended, knowing she'd soon have to replicate it. It was no time before Ron was on the ground, looking expectantly upward to her window, once more.

"Now c'mon, Hermione," he said. "It's your turn."

Hermione tried to ignore the growing thumping of her heart as she, too, straddled the windowsill and moved her leg to start the climb down. Trying not to breathe too much, fearing that if she did she might lose her courage, she began the climb down, feeling around to try to find the same holds Ron had used. She had made it down a flight when she felt her foot slip from the window ledge it was perched on; panicking, her first response was just to let go altogether, and she nearly cried out as she fell to the ground. However, Ron was faster, swiftly stepping in with arms outstretched to break Hermione's fall with a well-timed catch.

"Thank you," Hermione said, her arms draped in a loose hold around his neck.

"Aren't you glad I went first?" Ron said. In their current position, Hermione held like a bride in his arms, their faces hung together almost close enough for their noses to brush.

"Very much so," Hermione said, tapping Ron's shoulder slightly to signal she wanted to be put down. Ron obliged, gently tipping his arms so Hermione's feet touched the gravel first and then she could stand upright. "It's these damn slippers," she said, lifting her heels. "No traction on them."

"Watch your mouth, Lady Granger," Ron said, ticking up in a smile when he heard her curse. "Or I'll be having to tell your mother."

"After you abducted me from my bedroom?"

"I'm under the impression that you came willingly."

Hermione smiled at him and pulled the shawl tighter around her, as it had come disarranged during her brief fall. "You said you were taking me somewhere?"

"Right this way," Ron said, taking her by the hand and beginning to lead her toward the south wall of the estate. Hermione followed his brisk pace, using the hand that he wasn't holding to keep her shawl in place. Ron moved swiftly, evading the pathway that could be sighted from the house and instead cutting through the grass. Hermione hadn't the slightest clue as to where he was taking her, but lit up when she spotted the little woodshed —where they had first met— coming up ahead.

"The woodshed?" she said. "Very thoughtful, Ron."

But Ron kept walking past the woodshed and toward the skirt of the woods right by it, venturing into the trees. Now Hermione was puzzled again.

"The woods?" she said, an edge of fright creeping into her voice.

"Don't worry, I'm not taking you in deep," Ron soothed her, steering her through the trees with all the confidence of someone who knew the woods well. "It's just a little farther ahead."

"What is?" Hermione said, but Ron hadn't lied, and the answer was soon right before her very eyes in the shape of a square, squat stone barn. It looked forsaken, standing solitary guard in between the towering trees, and its barely-slanted roof peered proudly above the top of the trees closest to it.

Ron let go of Hermione's hand and headed toward the barn's door, a heavy wooden slab that creaked horribly when he pushed it open. "Ron?" Hermione said, taking small steps to where he was, as if she hadn't quite made up her mind as to whether or not she wanted to follow him. "Ron, what is this place? Why here?"

"Hey, what happened to 'trust me'?" Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'll give. What next?"

"Your bedroom escapade was just practice. We climb," Ron said, nodding toward the offset stones on the outer wall of the barns. Upon seeing the look of dismay on Hermione's face, he broke into laughter. "I'm just kidding, Hermione. There's a way up inside. Follow me."

With that, he ducked inside the stone barn, leaving Hermione to waver for an instant. "Up?" she said queasily, allowing herself a moment of doubt before she swallowed her fright and followed him resolutely in.

The inside of the barn was as dilapidated as the outside, with glassless windows and gaps in the stones that let in the moonlight that gleamed off the cobwebs hanging from every corner. The air was thick with the feel of dust, and smelled faintly of moldy hay.

"What is this place?" Hermione said, looking upward to take in the sight of the old building.

"Pierrot showed it to me in my tour of the grounds, back when I started working here, more as a curiosity than anything else," Ron said, taking a ladder off the far wall and setting it against the wooden slab that served as the barn's loft. "It used to be grain storage before a new, more convenient one was built by the stables some thirty years ago. This was just left here, and has weathered the years."

"Why here?" Hermione asked.

"If you'll make your way up, you'll find out," Ron said, gesturing toward the ladder.

Hermione eyed the wooden loft warily. "Ron..." she began.

"And don't worry, it's totally safe," Ron stepped in, assuaging her worries before she could even voice them. "The stone has protected the wood, and it's not rotted or rotting at all. It's as sturdy as it must have been when the barn was still in usage. I came by and checked earlier today, just to make sure." He paused then, and looked at Hermione. "Hermione, you can't possibly think I'd ever put you in harm's way, can you?"

"I have a car-and-mud incident to convince me otherwise," Hermione said, but she was already walking toward the ladder. Ron held it steady as she made her slow way up the rungs, and did not move until Hermione had hoisted herself safely onto the loft. Then he made sure the ladder was standing solidly before he began climbing up as well, joining Hermione up on the loft.

"Is this it?" Hermione asked. The barn looked the same from up here, just from a higher vantage point. "Is this what you pulled me out of my bed for?"

"Don't be dramatic, you were hardly in bed," Ron snorted. "And no, of course this isn't it. Now, hold my legs, will you?"

Hermione did as she was told as Ron knelt and leaned over the edge of the loft, heaving the ladder up and setting it on the loft. "Thanks," he said gruffly, standing up and grabbing the ladder again, this time setting it against a small opening in the barn's ceiling that somewhat resembled a hatch.

"I'll go first now," he told Hermione, turning over his shoulder to look at her. "So I can help you up. It's a bit harder, but the ladder should be safe."

Hermione had no time to ask him where they were going before Ron was clambering up the ladder and onto what Hermione could only assume was the roof. His legs disappeared from the opening, but it was only a few seconds before his head had popped back in.

"C'mon, Hermione," he prodded her again, the same grin returning to his face.

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes for an instant. "Only for you, Ronald Weasley," she grumbled, and then started toward the ladder, being careful to shake it or shift it as little as possible on her way up.

When her head peered out of the opening, Ron offered her a hand to help her up, supporting her as she pushed herself out of the opening and onto the roof, careful that her feet wouldn't tip the ladder over and leave them stranded up there. Then they'd have to climb down, and Hermione had had quite enough of that for one night.

Ron shifted to make room for her on the almost-flat stone roof, keeping a hand protectively on her back to keep her from toppling. There seemed to be no such danger, though: the roof had barely any incline that they could roll off of, and it was wide enough to leave enough safety room at the edges.

"Alright, Ron, we're up here," Hermione grumbled, again draping her shawl tighter around her as she criss-crossed her legs to sit. "Will you tell me what this is all about now?"

"So prissy," Ron muttered, stifling a giggle when Hermione whipped around to give him an angry look. "Look over there," he instructed, extending an arm to point outward.

Hermione followed the direction of his arm and felt her breath catch in her chest: in the direction Ron was pointing lay a small island of bright lights, twinkling and trembling in the evening air, nestled comfortably between the far-off trees.

"That's the village," Ron explained, following Hermione's gaze. "Seen from above and from far away, of course. But there you have it."

The dazzling lights danced along Hermione's eyes, far enough away that they almost looked like fairies. "Ron, it's beautiful."

"I figured you'd like it better than stargazing," Ron said. "Especially because I can expertly point out the different places in the village, and I couldn't do that with any constellations or the like. I'm pants at astronomy."

"Shh," Hermione hushed him, placing a hand lightly atop his lips. "You're ruining it."

Ron considered protesting, but that urge quickly vanished when he caught a glimpse of Hermione's face: outlined in white in the faint moonlight, the amazement on her face looked almost ethereal, her small mouth agape with the same wonderment that filled her eyes. Seeing her like that, Ron could only smile, feeling warmth rise up in his chest at the sight of her.

Her gaze still trained on the village, Hermione shifted so she would be reclining against Ron, her back against his chest and her knees folded in. Adjusting to the new position, Ron encircled her with his arms; feeling her shift closer, Hermione let her head drop backward to rest on his shoulder, and brought her hands up to hang onto Ron's arms and press them closer to her chest.

"How did you know about this place?" Hermione said, her voice dreamy.

"I told you, Pierrot showed it to me—"

"No, I mean how did you know how lovely the village looked from up here? How did you find that out?"

"Oh. To tell you the truth, I thought about it after that infamous car-mud-incident day. I saw you enjoyed the village, and I tried to think of other ways to show it to you. Then I remembered this old place, and, well... here we are."

"Here we are," Hermione echoed him. Her thumb started rubbing small circles onto the back of his hand.

Ron let the pleasant silence hang for a few instants, enjoying the warm feel of Hermione against his chest and in his arms, the soft brush of her hair against his cheek and the weight of her head on his shoulder. He felt the rise and fall of Hermione's breath under his arms, and could almost feel her heart beating contentedly against him. "So, what do you think? Much prettier than just plain mud, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed and turned her head slightly to look at him. "Though I think my clothes are likely to end up in the same state, yes, it is. It is much prettier than just plain mud." Her voice dropped, low enough that it almost seemed a heartbeat. "Thank you, Ron."

She craned her head slightly upward so her lips could meet his, a chaste kiss that sent a delicious warmth coursing through Ron's blood. He adjusted his body to fit the kiss better, wrapping an arm around Hermione's back and letting his other hand settle on her cheek, where his thumb rubbed little circles, just as she had on his hand moments earlier. Hermione held the kiss before breaking away, her lips lingering and almost hanging on to his even as she pulled away. Then she just looked at him, her beautiful brown eyes flooded with so much emotion that it flowed downward and reached her mouth, which was curved into a sweet smile Ron knew was just for him.

Seeing her like that, with so much tenderness that it tugged at his heart with a force that almost hurt, Ron had the momentary impulse to tell her about McLaggen, and what Orlando had told him. Surely Hermione deserved to know that marriage was in the cards, right? Surely she deserved a heads-up?

But then Hermione burrowed into the crook of Ron's neck, sighing contentedly as she settled deeper into his hold. That was when Ron resolved not to tell her. If it was marriage after all, as Orlando had forecasted, then this was sure to be one of the last times he could spend with her. And when he looked back at it, he wanted it to be untainted. He wanted it to be a memory containing just the two of them. So, just as quickly as it had come, he let the McLaggen tidbit evaporate into the starred night. There would be time enough for that arsehole, he thought, more than time enough for him in Hermione's life. The present was wonderfully his, and his only.

Still, he couldn't help but feel his eyes water at the mere thought, and his chest trembled slightly with a held-back sniffle. If Hermione noticed, she didn't say anything; she simply cuddled closer to him, placing a hand on his chest in the same spot as she always did, the spot that felt perpetually empty to Ron now without Hermione's hand there to warm it. Ron responded to the touch by turning his head slightly and letting his lips fall onto her forehead, in a loose kiss that he didn't plan on lifting.

They stayed in their embrace for what felt like hours, looking out at the village as some of the houselights went out, the streetlights remaining as if determined to offer Hermione the beautiful view. It was a gust of wind that roused them back into reality, making them both shiver with its sudden chill.

"We should probably be heading back, shouldn't we," Hermione whispered into his chest, her intonation making it a statement more so than a question.

"Yeah," Ron said, his lips brushing against her forehead as he spoke.

"I don't want to," Hermione grumbled, but she began untangling herself from Ron even as she said it. Every centimeter that her body moved away from Ron's made him ache.

"I don't want to either, but you're right," Ron said, shifting toward the hatch in the roof. "We should be getting back by now."

He started back down the ladder cautiously, and then held it for Hermione as she climbed back down onto the loft. They repeated the same procedure from the loft down to the ground, and then walked out of the barn with the slow air of two people with a spell lifting from them.

They made the walk back to the house in silence, hand in hand again but walking side by side now. Ron could feel Hermione's shoulder brushing against his arm as they walked, and leaned in closer to try to make those incidental touches happen as often as they might. Hermione noticed, and used the height difference to her advantage by pressing a kiss to Ron's shoulder right where at the level of her lips. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the slight pressure and evident tenderness of the kiss made Ron's heart soar, and through the remainder of their walk Hermione would turn her head every so often to pepper kisses onto his shoulder. Her other hand grabbed onto his upper arm, so even as they walked she was wrapped around him.

But Rosebury House came up ahead of them sooner than either would have liked, and with it came the dreadful realization: their evening was coming to an end.

"Well, milady, it seems like this is as far as we get," Ron said when they reached the woodshed, just outside of the forest. "Want to climb up again?"

"Absolutely not," Hermione blurted. Ron laughed briefly, a single syllable of a laugh.

"So what, then? Walk in through the front door?"

"There's always an open window in the library. And it opens up, so we can pull it open from outside," Hermione said, and now she was leading him stealthily toward the side of Rosebury House. "It's an easier climb, and then I can just rush upstairs. They're all certainly asleep by now. No one will see me."

"Let me help you in," Ron said, agreeing that it sounded like a far better plan than the difficult scaling up the outer wall and into Hermione's second-story bedroom.

They reached a window about a meter wide along the west wall of the house, and Hermione peeked in on her tiptoes, making sure the dim-lit room beyond it was indeed the library, before nodding. "This is it," she told Ron. Her hands grabbed onto a small knob at the foot of the glass, and when she raised it up, the window creaked open with little resistance. "Help me in, would you?"

Ron got down on one knee so Hermione could use the other one as a stepping stool to clamber into the library, which she did with little difficulty, Ron's hands outstretched to keep her steady and make sure she didn't tilt backward.

Once she was inside, she leaned out of the window, Ron's head just slightly below the level of hers.

"I guess this is where we say our good-nights, then," Ron said, his smile trying to disguise the dread those words caused him.

"I guess so," Hermione said. She sent a hand out of the window and caressed Ron's cheek tenderly. "Thank you for tonight, Ron. I had the loveliest evening."

Ron melted into her touch, but when he felt her hand withdrawing, he quickly caught hold of it, keeping it near his face. His eyes fixed on hers, and suddenly he felt like a barrage of emotion might come tumbling out of his chest. "Hermione," he called. She returned his look, her beautiful face expecting as she waited for him to speak. All of a sudden, though the words were right there, it became impossible for Ron to nudge them out. "Hermione, I—"

Luckily, Hermione's smile let him know she'd caught on. "I know," she said softly, her hand again brushing its fingertips against his freckled cheek. "I do too, Ron."

With that, she pulled her hand away, leaving Ron with only the phantom of it. From inside the library, she blew him a kiss, keeping her eyes on him as she pulled the window inward to close it again. He pretended to catch the kiss and brought his hand to his lips, giving her a little wave before turning around and disappearing into the night in the direction of the cottage circlet. Hermione watched him until she could no longer see him; then, she too turned around and proceeded to exit the library.

She tried to stay quiet as she went back upstairs, thankful for her soft, noiseless slippers for the first time that night. But when she reached the second floor, and the hallway to her room opened up before her, she found that she could not contain the soft, airy laugh bubbling up inside her. She was quiet as she let it escape her lips, sounding like no more than a stilted sigh, but it was all she could do to ease her heart a little so it wouldn't burst with happiness. Sure that no one had seen her, she remained utterly quiet as she made her way back to her room, opening the door slowly to keep it from creaking. She stepped a foot inside her bedroom and then glanced back out at the hallway, just to be completely certain that she had not been spotted. Satisfied, she stepped into her bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.

Out of the corner of a neighboring door, slightly ajar, two acrid green eyes bore into her closed door like daggers.