A/N: Sorry, still sick as a dog, and writing is hard at the moment. Am doing my utmost, please bear with me, and thanks for your reviews and encouragement. ~here comes the cold~ Shez … PS – Patience is a virtue, skeleton_in_the_closet, but you won't have to wait much longer. Sex stuff ahead. Think I've earned my R rating. S.

 ~

At breakfast the next morning, Harry and Ginny were quiet, and Ron felt decidedly awkward. Hermione seemed unconcerned – of course, she hadn't been close to walking in on her little sister doing the deed (for the second bloody time) last night.

"Are you OK?" she asked him at one point. He looked at her. Her expression was a mixture of puzzlement and questioning.

"Er – yes," he said, and thrust the Room of Requirement from his mind. "Fine. Harry?"

His friend paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"We bumped into Lupin last night. Didn't we 'Mione?"

"That's right," she said, after a moment's silence. "We did."

"And?" asked Harry.

"He said you missed an appointment with him and Dumbledore, and that if we saw you, we should remind you about it."

There was another silence, and then Harry continued eating. "Thanks," he said with his mouth full.

"Why didn't you go?" Ginny asked quietly, and Harry swallowed before he spoke.

"I didn't feel like it," he replied, in equally low tones. "So I didn't. Besides, I was with you."

Ginny bit her lip, and then nodded and turned back to her food.

"Well – don't you think you ought to have let Lupin know, then?" Hermione said.

Ron looked sharply at her, but she had her eyes on Harry.

"No, I don't think so," Harry said.

"Why not?"

"They just want to tell me more shit about Voldemort, and how I have a responsibility to defend myself, and all that rot."

"It's not rot, Harry," Hermione said indignantly. "They have a point."

"You try having everybody make their point to you, Hermione, and see how you like it," he snapped.

"What's going on?" Seamus asked, very cheerily, from the other end of the table. They ignored him.

"It's not about liking anything, Harry," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It's what you said, responsibility."

Harry eyed her, and then his plate. "You have no idea about my responsibilities," he muttered. Ginny put a hand on his arm, and he let her for a few moments before gently shifting it away. Then he stood and walked out.

"Oh dear," Hermione said.

"Thank you very much," said Ginny acidly. "Just when he was starting to settle down again, you have to stir him up."

"Ginny, I wasn't! I thought he should consider his actions and …"

"Spare the lecture," Ginny cut in, and left too.

Hermione turned to Ron, who shook his head.

"What?" she said, anguished. "I was just trying to help!"

"That wasn't helping."

"Now they all hate me."

"Don't be stupid. Nobody could hate you."

"Oh – shut up, Ron!" she said loudly, and nearly tipped her chair over as she left.

Ron finished his breakfast alone, wondering (not for the first time) how exactly things had gotten to this place.

~

It was a miserable day. Classes dragged interminably. Harry wasn't speaking to Hermione, and Hermione wasn't speaking to Ron or Harry. They sat as a silent, tense trio. A few times she opened her mouth, on the verge of an apology (to one or either of the boys, he wasn't sure), but never actually came out with it.

It was ridiculous. Even Ron, the eternally oblivious, could see that.

They had a quidditch practice in the afternoon, on Harry's insistence. They didn't do much real work, but flew over the pitch fairly aimlessly. Ginny and Harry had a talk by the goalposts. Trust quidditch players to sort their relationship issues above ground. In the end, Ron saw her say something, Harry nod, Ginny say something else, Harry say something and smile, Ginny smile, and then he chased her around the left goalpost. They seemed to be on track again, anyway, and for that, Ron was grateful. He couldn't imagine how uncomfortable the rest of the year might be if the two of them broke up.

In fact, Harry was so strangely himself at dinner that Ron had almost forgotten about Hermione's part in the argument that morning. He only realised that she still hadn't turned up when he reached for seconds, and didn't hear a word from her.

"Hey. Where's 'Mione?"

"What?" Ginny said, at the tail-end of a laugh. Harry had his arm around her and was murmuring in her ear. "Stop it," she said, and then looked at Ron again. "Sorry, what?"

"Have you seen Hermione?"

"No. I thought you knew where she was."

"She didn't say anything to me."

"She didn't?"

"No. She's probably upset about this morning." Ron looked briefly at Harry, who sighed.

"Do you think so?"

"Yeah, I think so. She felt really bad."

"She doesn't have to. I overreacted. I'll go and apologise in the morning."

"Good. She's only trying to help."

"I know. But sometimes – well, sometimes I don't want Hermione's help."

"She can't help it," Ron said. His hand hovered over the shepherd's pie serving spoon, but he found, suddenly, that he didn't want any. "I'm going to find her."

"What, now?"

He nodded and pushed out his chair. "I'll see you later."

"Sure. We've got a DA meeting tonight."

"Oh yeah. I forgot. OK, see you there."

"Bye."
He strode out of the Hall. She could be any number of places – the library, her rooms – and he was pausing to consider where to try first when he heard the door creak open and wet footsteps on the stone floor. He turned, and it was her. It was pouring outside and she was soaking wet and shivering. She still hadn't seen him as she shut the door.

"Hermione," he called, and she spun about.

"Hey," she said weakly.

"Hey yourself," he replied, trying not to be angry and/or overprotective. "What exactly are you doing?"

"I went down to see Hagrid."

"And you couldn't think of a bloody water-repellent charm or something?"

"I left my wand in my room."

"You what?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said impatiently, moving past him and up the stairs.

"It does matter," he insisted, following her. "You can't just go off without telling us. And you can't go anywhere without your wand these days."

"I thought you didn't want us to change," she retorted snidely, and he moved up the next two steps so fast that he was suddenly ahead and facing her.

"I don't. But you should be careful."

She stared at her feet for a while, and then nodded.

"OK. Fine. I'll be more careful."

He came a step down, closer to her. "You must be freezing."

"I'm not too bad," she said, but a drop of water slid down her neck as she spoke, and her skin came up in goosebumps. She started upstairs, and he walked with her.

~

Hermione's room was the same as ever – books piled everywhere, and most things in their place, but with areas of vague disorder. She was fond of hanging things over the back of her chair, and of leaving shoes by the doorway. 

She went in first, and he followed, closing the door behind them. By now she was hugging herself to stay warm, and Ron would have dried her off with a spell, but (hypocritically enough) hadn't brought his own wand with him, and didn't want to tell her.

"Shall I fetch a towel?" Ron asked, as she went rummaging through her desk drawer for her wand.

"It's alright. I just have to – here it is."

"I'll get one," he said. "You'll still be cold."

He made his way into the bathroom. It smelt warm and soapy in there, and a little bit like her as well. Her toothbrush and paste were in a cup by the sink, and her towel was on a rack on her shower door. He picked it up and walked back into the room, about to say something, but the words immediately left him when he saw that she'd performed a drying spell on herself, and was taking off her still slightly damp clothes to put on pyjamas. Her back was to him. For a few seconds he stood exactly where he was, watching her, feeling ridiculous, unable to say a word as she pulled on her shirt, but then he forced himself to continue.

"Er – do you still need this?" he asked, holding out the towel, and she turned. Her top few buttons were undone, and he could see the necklace he'd given her glinting against her skin.

"Not really, but thank you."

"Aren't you going down to dinner?"

"Not hungry," she said, and sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. He put her towel on her desk-chair and moved to sit on the bed's edge beside her. She was still shivering, and he put his arm around her.

"Why don't you get your dressing gown on?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged.

"I hate when people are angry at me," she said, after a silence, and he looked quickly at her.

"What?"

"I said –"

"I heard. Nobody's angry at you."

"Yes they are," she mumbled. "Ginny and Harry, and you were, too."

"No I wasn't. You made that up. And Ginny and Harry are fine now." He leant against her briefly. "You know Harry these days. He's a mess – and so's Ginny with fretting about him. Why do you take it all to heart? You never used to."

"I don't know," she said. "I feel different now. I worry, all the time. I'm scared to argue now in case – oh, I don't know, in case the person I'm fighting with disappears the next morning and I never see them again."

He blinked at her. "That's a bit morbid," he said eventually, and she shrugged again, helplessly.

"I know. We live in morbid times."

"You shouldn't think like that."

"Well, shouldn't is no good to me, I can't help it," she snapped, and then bit her lip. "Sorry."

"Forgiven." He said nothing for a moment, and then had to resist the urge to stamp his foot on the ground as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Bloody Voldemort."

Hermione looked sidelong at him. "You know, you said his name."

"Yeah, I know. Just now."

"No," she said, and he tried to meet her eye, but she'd turned away again. "You said it before as well. You didn't even notice."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I guess the name isn't so important then."

"No."

There was another silence, longer this time. He felt somehow tense and was acutely aware of her body beside him, the scent of her drying hair, her knee against his. He had his eyes on the carpet now, and was on the verge of saying something just to keep the conversation moving when he felt her shift, and then kiss his neck, softly.

He didn't want to do or say anything anymore, in case she stopped, but she didn't show a sign of slowing down. She kissed his neck all over, and then his chin and his lips, her tongue touching his; she tasted like rainwater and salt.

Carefully, he moved so that he was facing her better, and slid one hand to the back of her neck, the other hovering for a while (he never knew quite what to do with it), before he placed it on her hip. He was a bit mad, almost, with wanting her, and he could feel himself trembling with the effort of restraint.

They kissed on and on, and then she sighed into his mouth and lay back on her bed, pulling him with her. Her hair fanned out in a mess against the covers, but he loved it, and put his free hand (the indecisive one) into her curls.

"Ouch," she murmured against his lips, and he took the hand away.

"Sorry," he breathed, but she was kissing him again, and 'sorry's didn't really seem important at that point.

This was different to the usual make-outs. He didn't know how to define the difference exactly – it was more on edge, less easy, more serious, and he had a feeling that they were going somewhere else with this.

He was half on top of her and began to undo her buttons, still kissing her, and so uncertain that when he had unbuttoned them all – still leaving her shirt to cover her – he raised himself up to look her in the eye. He wanted to ask if it was OK, but had lost the power of speech.

She couldn't reply herself, and just nodded once.

He took a deep breath and pulled her shirt away, and was struck with vivid memories of standing with her like this at Christmas. He couldn't even touch her. He just stared as she wriggled all the way out of her top, and tossed it onto the floor.

"Wow," he said faintly. She flushed red.

"OK," she said, and reached around him to pull off his shirt. He helped her get it over his head, and then stayed leaning over her. Very lightly, she ran her hands across the scars on his arms, from the brain-thing in fifth year. She'd seen them before, but never drawn attention to them, and they tingled when her fingers brushed against them.

Then suddenly everything was speeding up. His hands were at her breasts and he was throbbing all over. She was sighing again again and unzipping his trousers, and he was kicking them off and tugging at her pyjama bottoms, hands sliding down to her pale belly and thighs. He felt frantic and ready to burst, and she wasn't helping him, with her sounds and her movements and her hands everywhere.

By the time both of them were naked, Ron realised that he hadn't made absolutely, positively sure that this was OK. He was pretty sure it was. He was pretty certain she was doing this too, but if he was wrong, and she was going to regret it, then he'd regret it too. Merlin, he'd left it late, but better now than never.

"Hermione," he said gratingly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she murmured, and pulled him down so that his chest was against hers. He frowned furiously, trying to control himself, and managed to speak again.

"Sure?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure. I want to. Please."

That would have to do, because he couldn't hold on much longer. He kissed her mouth, and then her cheek and around her ear, when he remembered something else.

"What about – contraceptive charm?"

He saw her blush again. "I did it already," she mumbled, "when you went into the bathroom."

He didn't allow himself to think about this.

"God," he muttered. His hand swept across her stomach and downward and downward, and she gripped his shoulder tighter. He didn't really know what he was doing to her – in fact, he was working on hazy knowledge and improvisation – but soon she was gripping tighter still and sort of moaning, and he was so close to the edge himself that he was barely coherent.

"Can I …" he began, and she nodded immediately, and pulled him closer again.

He shifted slightly.

"Are you ready?" he asked. He felt the strangest urgency, beyond his own need, to make sure she was alright.

She nodded again. He took a breath, positioned himself, and then very carefully entered her. She gasped once and pressed her lips together, holding him.

"Are you OK?"

"It's alright," she breathed. "I'm alright."

He put a hand on the side of her face and moved inside her once, slowly. She closed her eyes.

"'Mione?"

"It's alright."
He moved again, and then twice more – and then he was gone, hopelessly and completely.

~

Afterwards, they lay back catching their respective breaths and Ron, feeling a bit awkward, touched her arm.

"Hey."

"Hey," she said, and turned her head to look at him.

"You're OK?"

"I'm fine. I'm OK. What about you?"

He hardly believed this still. "I'm – really, really OK," he said, and she smiled a bit.

"Me too," she said. "I'm actually really OK too."

There was a brief pause.

"Did it hurt?" he asked then, and she half-shrugged.

"A little."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," she said, and brushed his hair out of his face. "Don't be sorry. It was good things at the same time."

"Right," he said, even though he didn't quite get it. Her face was flushed, and her hair was a crazy mess, and she was beautiful. "I love you," he said, and meant it, as hard as he could.

"I love you too," she replied.

It was one of the most serious and honest moments of his life, lying there with her. It was almost surreal.

And it was a thousand million times better than worrying about whatever bloody Voldemort was up to, out there in the world.

~

They did it again, a little later, and afterwards he fell asleep with his arm around her. He woke once more, in the early morning, and she was asleep then too. Her eyelids fluttered slightly – she was dreaming. It was strange to see somebody sleep from so close, and kind of amazing.

He had a feeling, too, that he'd only heard about before. That feeling where you wish every morning could be like this, watching her with her eyes closed, her foot tucked up and touching your kneecap.

He drifted off, and then woke again at seven, with a sharp rapping on the door.

"Hey," he murmured, nudging Hermione. She was a sudden waker, opening her eyes right away and half-sitting, before falling back against the pillow.

"Hello," she said, and smiled.

"Hello. There's someone at the door."

"Now?"

"Mm."

"Who is it?" she called hoarsely, and it was Ginny who replied.

"It's me. Are you awake?"

"Now I am. Why?"

She paused. "Is Ron there?" she asked, reluctantly.

Hermione and Ron met eyes, and then he sat up and pulled his boxers on before padding over to the door. He opened it slightly, and Ginny was standing there, dressed and ready for the day. He felt tired just looking at her.

"What is it?" he asked lowly.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Really sorry. I spoke to Dumbledore at the DA meeting last night – he came, he wanted to see what we were doing – and he said he'd need to see you in his office in the morning. You didn't come to the meeting, and you weren't in your dormitory, and – well, I sort of surmised the rest."

"He wants to speak to me this morning?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"When exactly?"

"Now, pretty much. Before breakfast."

Ron sighed impatiently. "It's kind of a bad time," he protested, but Ginny just shrugged.

"I'm really sorry," she said again.

"OK, OK. I'll go get changed."

"I'll see you at breakfast."

"Thanks for telling me."

"That's alright." Now she allowed herself a near-cheeky smile, as she called out to Hermione. "Bye, 'Mione. I'll see you down there."

Ron made a face at her and shut the door, turning to look at his girlfriend. She was curled up under the sheets.

"Well, Ginny knows we – you know," Ron said, throwing himself down on the bed beside her.

"Mm. Which means Harry knows."

They looked at each other, and then Hermione kissed him.

"It was a good night," she said softly.

"I like falling asleep with you," he replied.

"Oh, that's all?" she said, feigning great surprise.

"The shagging wasn't bad either," he admitted, and then kissed her back. "It wasn't bad at all."

"Right," she said, breaking into a slow grin. "I thought so."

There was a brief pause, and then she touched his chin. "Better go see the Headmaster."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get changed too."

He watched her hop out of bed, and then had to drag his eyes away. He didn't want to get started up again too early. He went searching for his various articles of clothing instead, in the best mood he'd been in all year.

--

A/N: There you are, then. :) Now I'm off to watch the return of my favourite TV show, and then bed. Stay tuned. ~I'll be around~ Shez.