**Grimmauld Place**

Hermione

Grimmauld Place felt different. She felt different.

Garth was gone.

Hermione thought she felt sad about it, but found herself kicking off her shoes in Ron's bedroom and flopping on his unmade bed in a loose limbed heap. Her dress was still uncomfortable, but at least she wasn't in public any more.

"You know, when we left this morning, I really thought…"

Ron was disillusioning the adjoining door, but he glanced back at her for a moment, and those blue eyes seemed to see her in some way that no-one else ever did.

"…actually, I don't know what I thought. I didn't think we'd both get dumped today…" she tailed off, suddenly feeling hot.

Dani had said they should have sex.

And they'd just come home, and here she was, sprawled on his bed, like always when it was just the two of them.

She always thought about it in colours, and she'd never told that to anyone, not even him.

In the aftermath, everything had felt cold and hard, like the metallic taste of the monkey bars in primary school. A dark gunmetal silver, isolating, freezing, and she had been trapped in panic, unable to focus, unable to sleep; lost.

Later, when he confessed to the sleep paralysis and she'd confessed to the insomnia, and they started sharing a bed, the colour had shifted to blue. Like the two of them were hiding out, on the bottom of the ocean, and everything was slower and softer and safer.

Eventually, the colour shifted again, back to the ordinary, as though the coloured lens had worn out, and it was just life.

Mostly.

There were the black nights when he wasn't ok at all, and she'd sit with him and lean her cheek against his back and breathe until it passed.

He used to apologise, but she'd apologised a few too many times for the panic, and the inexplicable tears, and so now he just said thank you, and so did she.

And they knew the maximum was one night.

One night apart was ok.

And they didn't fight any more. Or, rather, they did, but those nights they went to bed holding hands and not speaking. The I'm mad at you but don't you dare leave nights.

Sex had never been…

Hermione stared at him. The line of his shoulders. Those familiar hands. The slouch of insecurity.

She sat up properly and tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

She couldn't.

She couldn't imagine it, but her diaphragm was burning with the question of it.

What if?

She had loved him once.

What if she still did? Underneath it all. Underneath all the reasons that kept them friends.

Best friends who spend most nights in bed together. Who insisted on adjoining rooms. Who go on dates with other people, and come home to curl up together…

"Ron?"

"Mmm?" He sat down beside her and kicked his shoes off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He looked tired. He always looked tired.

"Do you think… is Dani right?"

Hermione watched his ears glow red, and the way the movement froze out of him briefly.

"About?" he was being cautious now. She'd scared him.

"I'm not saying we should have sex. That would be weird. But… I suppose, I'm a little curious. We could try… kissing, if you like? Or not. Up to you. Consider it an experiment. Or not. Up to you."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

"You can stop panicking," he said, somehow himself again, and taking her hand to squeeze it, "I'm not going to kiss you,"

Relief and disappointment.

Hemione squeezed his hand in reply, and leaned her head against his arm.

"We don't have to pick up Harry and Ginny 'til four. Do you want take a nap?"

"Genius."

And it was like always, the relief of it, changing into comfy pyjamas in the middle of the day, climbing into bed with him, cocooned and safe…

And overheating.

That was new.

"Ron?"

"Mmm?"

She couldn't ask again.

"Nothing. Never mind."

He let out a breath and opened his eyes. Those blue, blue eyes.

"It's… bugging me too. We'll just… try it, and move on. I'll yell at Dani later; she's ruined nap time."

"Yes. Yes, ok. So how do we…"

"I don't think we need a strategic plan,"

"I know, I'm not saying- I just…" Hermione wrestled with the covers and sat up. "I don't want to muddle it up with napping."

Ron stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

"Yeah." He sat up and considered her, quite gravely. "What if it goes well?"

"The… the, ah, kissing?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess we… discuss and reassess?"

He nodded.

"Ok."

All of a sudden, she really wanted to kiss him. She'd wanted to kiss him before, many times, but since the end of the war… it was like her heart wouldn't let her go there.

Hermione put her hand on his upper arm, and let herself get hit with a wave of heat as he ducked his head hesitantly to kiss her.

The world dissolved.

"You're crying."

"I'm not!"

Ron wiped tears off her cheeks to show her, and pulled a face.

Hermione burst into tears.

"I'm such an idiot! I've been kissing the wrong man for two years!"

She felt a jolt as he grinned that disbelieving lopsided grin of his, and it was terrifying and molten and thank god he was kissing her again and she was burning with want and belonging and a blaze of feeling.

Somehow, she wasn't quite sure how, the next time sensible thought entered her head, it was because he'd pulled away again, flushed and startled.

"Hermione!"

"I- sorry, I uh-"

"You just ripped my shirt!"

"Sorry!"

"Hey, if you want to tear all my clothes off and ravish me, I'm down with that," He was grinning at her, and it was all very hot, and very right, and the little spike of panic told her that if they didn't stop now, she'd never recover.

"I have a lot of feelings!" she blurted out, several octaves higher than her usual pitch. "About you, I have a lot of feelings. I can't do this as a fling. So, we- we should stop!"

Ron's expression sobered.

"This wouldn't be a fling."

"But you never…" Hermione caught herself before the rest of that thought escaped.

Ron rubbed his face, and gave her a look that suggested he was forcing himself to say something true. He let out a long breath.

"All my relationships are casual because none of them are with you."

Hermione stared at him.

The obviousness of that hit her like a drug. She grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, ignored the ripping sound, and kissed him again.