Ron

Ron's shoes squeak on the linoleum floor as he races towards the massive boardroom in the middle of the Auror department. The noise grates in his ears and sets his teeth on edge, but it doesn't distract him the worry that he's going to get fired if he's more than a minute late. It's not every day you get called in front of the Head and Deputy Head Auror.

What a bloody great start to a Friday. A groan escapes his lips as a stitch forms in his side, tightening his muscles and making it harder to gasp for breath. Maybe he should just give up and accept his fate? Who wants to be an Auror anyway? The twins will always help him out if he needs a new job. Gritting his teeth, he digs his knuckles into the knot, trying to work it out and free his lungs as his legs push him even harder towards his destination. How is it that he can chase naughty wizards and witches to his heart's content, but when it's a life or death situation, his body wants to call it quits after only a five-second dash?

It doesn't help that this is the fourth time he's been late since he left Hermione's flat the morning after Halloween. Every single morning this week, he's strolled through the door at ten past, twenty past, even half past the hour he should have started. Not that it's his fault, not really. Ron has been finding it harder and harder to function as a normal adult male. Sex with Hermione and its after-effects flipped his entire world on its head. Nothing is right anymore, and Ron has no idea how he's going to fix it.

Not that he's had a lot of time to work it out.

He pushes the visions of Hermione writhing underneath him away from the front of his head, where they've been living rent-free all week. The recall of her moans distracts him when he's supposed to be working, tuning him out from all other conversations around him. Even his mother snapped at him three times to pay attention during dinner a couple of evenings ago. Not to mention that it was awkward as fuck hanging out with his family whilst sporting a half chub, and he'd been forced to make his excuses before he embarrassed himself.

To top it all off, yesterday should have been one of the highlights of his career. Ron has spent the best part of the year trying to find Bellamy, a dark wizard who has been Imperius-ing Muggle family pets and forcing them to attack their owners. And he finally got a chance to capture him, but he was so distracted by the memories of that morning that Bellamy had slipped right through his fingers.

All because of Hermione Jean Granger.

Now that he thinks of it, Ron deserves his upcoming bollocking. It'll be tough, but if he promises to do better, to turn a corner and change his behaviour, he's sure Robards and Potter will let him off with a slapped wrist.

Or at least, he hopes.

What's one more awkward conversation when it's been a week of them, anyway. From his mother prying into his love life to facing the truth with Verity, every encounter has been miserable as fuck and he hasn't even had a chance to see Hermione since he left her flat. Telling Verity about what he'd done had been bad, but he's sure the conversation with his best friend is going to be more horrific when he finally gets around to it.

Determined to make things right and riddled with guilt, Ron had apparated straight from Hermione's to Verity's and hammered at the latter's front door, ignoring the curious looks from her neighbours. He didn't care if they'd stopped what they were doing to watch. It's not like he was going to see them again, anyway.

Verity had yanked the door open, an unimpressed look on her face. A fire burned in her eyes, and he'd squirmed away from her, hyper-aware that he probably stank of stale beer and an essence that was full of Hermione and sex. But if Verity had noticed, she didn't say anything about it.

Instead, the corner of her mouth quirked up into a sneer as she drawled, "So the wanderer returns. Remembered you had a date, then?"

So much for hoping this would be easy. Not that he deserves a quick apology. With the guilt rumbling through his body, part of him hoped Verity would punish him hard for what he'd done. Maybe then he'd feel a little lighter.

"Y-yeah, I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have abandoned you."

To his surprise, Verity only shrugged and all her animosity disappeared from her face and voice. What the fuck. "Harry saw you leave and cared enough to come over and explain. It happens."

"But I should have called or texted when I had a chance. I just—"

"Got distracted by Hermione? I get it." His jaw must have hit the floor because a smile was on her face as she continued, "Oh, come on. I'm not an idiot, Ron. Anyone can see that the two of you fancy the pants off each other. I promise I'm not mad. I'd worked out when I saw the two of you dancing at Percy's wedding that I didn't stand a chance. Didn't stop me from trying, though.

"Anyway, I haven't been one hundred percent honest with you, either. I'd kind of hoped that by dating you, I might get the chance to get closer to George."

"My brother?!"

"Do you know any other Georges?"

"B-But he's married."

"I know." Verity sighed. "Guess me and you are both messed up in the head when it comes to the people we love. But what can we do about it?"

Love. Ron had been ignoring the Erumpent in the room for a long time but now he is certain that's what he feels for Hermione. Has felt it for a long time, probably before they left school to go on the hunt. Why else would he make such a stupid agreement with an invisible old wizard about her safety?

He should be happy that he finally recognises it and is in a position to do something about it, as well as relieved about confessing to Verity, but an even darker gloom had wrapped around him instead.

Things had gotten so warped after having sex with Hermione and now he'd been used to boot. And of course, Verity preferred one of his brothers. It's the story of his life. Now all he needs is Hermione to admit her undying love for Bill and Ron will have the full set.

Why doesn't anyone want only him?

Skidding to a stop in front of the meeting room, he straightens his tie and shirt and pushes all the self-pity out of his head. Aurors rarely have to dress up, especially since their job is mostly physical, but Harry had mentioned it would be a good idea to make an effort. Although Ron complains about the work, he does enjoy it and he can't afford to be unemployed, especially with Christmas on its way. And he can't face working with Verity and the twins, not yet.

Plus this week is just a blip. He's determined to get back on track. Ron has his sights set on December's Employee of the Month award.

Ron takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Robards and Harry lift their heads at the same time, neither of them looking impressed at Ron's tardiness. That's another thing to apologise for then. He gulps and heads further into the room. Time to get this over and done with.

⁂

An hour later and Ron saunters out of the boardroom, swinging his hands at his sides. He's so happy that he could jump for joy, but Robards' eyes are still burning into the back of Ron's head so he should play it safe for a few more steps. The wanker will probably be keeping a closer watch on Ron for the next few months. Ron hates his boss. The sooner Robards retires and Harry can have his job, the better. Then Ron will have a cushty time of it.

Talking of his best friend, Ron is lucky Harry was in charge of yesterday's mission. His notes were enough to sway the situation to Ron's advantage. It's a good job someone had written up a report in time because Ron hadn't gotten around to it yet. That's something else he'll have to try and be better at, too.

If it hadn't been for Harry, Ron is pretty sure he'd be out on his arse.

Ron reaches a landing and faces the corridors in front of him. If he turns left, he could follow the squeaky flooring down to the atrium, where he could treat himself to a mug of fresh coffee and the biggest slice of cake the shop sells. In his rush, he hadn't had time to grab breakfast. A loud gurgle from his stomach confirms that the atrium is the correct choice.

The right corridor would take Ron back to his desk, where he has a mountain of paperwork to get through. As he debates his options, a heavy set of footsteps approach him, and before he can turn around to find out who's following, a firm grip takes hold of Ron's elbow and tugs him towards the third corridor.

Fuck, Harry is strong when he wants to be. Especially for such a short guy.

Harry shoves Ron into the office and slams the door behind them. A shiver of dread rolls down Ron's spine. He's hated this place ever since Harry got promoted to Deputy Head Auror. Like the git needs any other kudos inflating his massive fucking ego. It's just one more thing on the extra long list of why Harry is better than Ron.

Although, even Ron can admit that it's cool to have someplace to hang around with his best mate away from the watchful gaze of their colleagues and the odd fangirl that still manages to wriggle their way past the Ministry security trolls.

"Alright," Ron's best friend shouts, his green eyes wild with anger as he pins Ron to the door. "This needs to stop."

Shame creeps over Ron and his insides squirm like a bag of flobberworms, but he does not shrink away from Harry. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and tries to arrange his face into a look of nonchalance. "What needs to stop?"

"This stupid mood you're in. Letting Bellamy slip past your fingers. You've spent all damn year finding that asshole, only to miss the opportunity to get him into Azkaban. The Ron I know wouldn't do something that stupid."

"It was just a mistake!"

"No it wasn't. You've been distracted all week. You even turned down seconds from your mum on Sunday. Something's up, and if you want me to cover your backside again like that, then I need to know why."

Shit. Harry is supposed to be the oblivious one but even he's picked up on Ron's strange behaviour. With a sigh, Ron wriggles out of Harry's grasp and steps across the office, throwing himself into the nearest chair. The defeat washes over him, forcing him to sink further into the cushions. He's tired of fighting and isn't doing a good job at pretending that everything's okay anyway. Maybe it's time to come clean.

He runs his hand over his face before closing his eyes. The millions of different problems he's working through race through his brain, yet no words come to the tip of his tongue. Why is this so damn hard?

"You know you can talk to me, right?" A gentler voice speaks this time, and Ron risks opening his eyes. Harry settles in his big posh desk chair across the desk from Ron. After rearranging all of the stationery on the blotter, he peels his glasses off his face and wipes them. It's as if Harry is giving Ron time to organise his thoughts.

"I slept with Hermione."

There. It's all out in the open now.

Harry slides his glasses back onto his nose and leans back, placing both hands on his desk. "I know."

Red clouds Ron's vision. His hands curl into tight fists on his knees as he snaps back, "Of course you fucking do. My sister can't keep her mouth shut about anything, can she? Nosey fucking cow."

"Oy!"

For such a small skinny wizard, Harry can be scary when he wants to be. He's not moved and has barely lifted a finger, yet the power that emanates from him is enough to make Ron shrink back against his seat. This is why he's destined to be Head Auror as soon as Robards kicks it.

"That's not fair," Harry continues. "I went to Ginny because I was worried about you and Hermione. Both of you have been acting so fucking strange recently, and don't think I haven't noticed. I'm not as dense as you two think I am. And if you must know, it took me a while to get the information out of Ginny, and now I owe her a lot of favours. She really didn't want to tell me, okay?"

"Alright," Ron mutters.

"Alright. So what happened after you and Hermione…you know…finished."

Harry shudders and a small buzz of pleasure drifts over Ron. Now Harry knows how sick it makes Ron whenever Harry mentions his sex life. It's hard to hear about your sister doing it, isn't it, you git?

"Nothing happened."

"What do you mean, 'nothing happened'?"

"How is that hard to understand? Just before Ginny turned up with her ridiculously bad timing—which, by the way, she must have learned from you—Hermione kicked me out. She said I shouldn't feel obliged to stay just because we'd had sex. How am I supposed to interpret that?"

"You two are a fucking nightmare." Harry puffs out a hard, exasperated breath.

"I know."

A comfortable silence drifts between them. At first, the pair had struggled to talk about their relationships, sex, and other stuff like that, but over the years as they'd both matured and gained more experience, it got easier. Even if Ron has to pretend that Harry is talking about someone else and not his sister.

Although telling Harry about what had happened on November 1st has helped shift some of the tension from Ron's shoulders, there's still something heavy weighing on his mind. How is he supposed to fix things with Hermione? Heck, he doesn't even know if there's anything to fix anymore. The venom in her eyes as she realised that Verity was still in the picture after they'd shagged is still burned in his mind. He'll never get over that belittlement. Ron doesn't deserve any friends at all the way he treats them.

But since Harry is still sitting here, looking prepared to listen, Ron might as well get everything off his chest. After all, Harry and Ginny have been married for a while now, and are mostly happy, so he must be doing something right.

"Did—Did Ginny mention maybe how Hermione felt about it all?"

"Oh." Harry's quill slips out of his fingers and lands on the parchment, ink spreading from where the nib makes contact, but he doesn't say anything else. Instead, the specky git chews on his inner cheek, and Ron contemplates all of the ways he could kill the Boy Who Lived over his silence. All those times Voldemort had tried and failed to put the guy ten feet under, but Ron could finish the task in less than five seconds flat if Harry doesn't pipe up soon.

"Harry," Ron warns. "C'mon! You're supposed to be my best mate. I went on a fucking Horcrux hunt with you, even though you didn't have a fucking clue what you were doing."

"When are you going to stop using that against me?"

"Never!"

Harry holds his hands up in surrender.

"Fine! But you didn't hear this from me." He leans forward and lowers his voice as if he's worried Ginny's set up listening devices around his office. Ron rolls his eyes but matches his best friend's body language anyway, shuffling to the edge of his seat to get closer. "By the looks of it, Hermione is just as confused about the whole situation as you are. She thought you were only friends—"

"And she didn't want more?"

"I don't know. I think she's letting how mad she is about Verity cloud her judgement, truth be told."

"But nothing happened between me and Verity!" Ron shouts.

"Does Hermione know that?"

Shit. Ron sinks back into his seat, disturbing the bludger that's taken up a permanent residence in his stomach. It rolls around, churning up the massive lunch he'd eaten. Nausea climbs back up his oesophagus, and he swallows it down. He's a fucking idiot.

All those times he was trying to wind Hermione up by lying about how well his dates with Verity were going. All the times he'd insinuated they were going to have sex, or that they were more serious than they actually were, have come back to bite Ron on the arse.

"I'm a fucking idiot."

"Yep."

"I—I think I love her, mate."

"Well it's about time you realised it. The rest of us have known that for a long time."

Ron could lean across the table and wipe the smug smile off Harry's face, but he doesn't want to waste his energy. Plus, it's been kind of cathartic saying those words out loud even though he's no closer to a solution.

"What do I do now?" he asks, wincing at the way his voice cracks over the words.

Raising his eyebrows, Harry leans back in his chair, his stupid grin growing even wider. "I know you and Hermione love not talking to each other, but don't you think it's time to try?"

It fucking sucks when Harry is right. Ron gulps, his hands shaking as he pushes himself to his feet. Hopefully, Hermione is in her office. He needs to speak to her, and fast.

Hermione

Tendrils of bitter coffee fill Hermione's nostrils as she takes a deep breath. She lets it out over the count of five before taking the offered cup from the barista. Today has been a nightmare.

One of the best things the Ministry ever did after the war was install a proper coffee shop in the atrium. Sure, Hermione spends most of her hard-earned wages here but it's a great place to hold informal meetings as well as get herself a twice-daily treat.

Though, maybe this one should have been decaf. It's already almost four, and drinking caffeine at this time is a huge risk, especially now she's getting older. But the lure was too strong to ignore, and she'll need the buzz to get her through her last meetings of the day.

Hermione's Centaur rights policy is finally getting its time in front of the Minister next month. It's been almost a year of her begging and pleading with his team to set her up with an appointment, as well as haranguing him at social occasions and only now has he agreed to it. There's a lot Hermione needs to do before that meeting; fine-tuning the wording, peer reviews, plus, she's hoping to get an understanding of how much the general magical population feel about the policy. That way, she'll be able to tailor her presentation to the Minister for maximum impact.

As she turns away from the coffee cart, Hermione's gaze drifts towards the ceiling, which is now missing its magical balcony. A shudder travels through her. She and Ron had gotten so close to kissing on New Year's Eve and now? Well, now their friendship is probably over. All because she was too turned on by Ron's musky morning scent and she let herself get carried away. She gave in to the desire that had been building all year, not even caring that he already had a girlfriend.

Tears prick her eyes, and she brushes them away. If only she had a time-turner. She'd do anything to turn back the time and find the courage to do what she wanted to do straight away. Her year might be ending a lot different than what she's barrelling towards now.

Yet again, she's going to be all alone.

With a sigh, she focuses on the crowd in front of her. Everyone's busy, with somewhere else to be, so nobody notices how downtrodden she looks as she weaves her way towards the elevators. Even the coffee in her hand is no longer the treat she was looking forward to.

"Hermione?"

Her feet freeze as her name sounds over the sea of workers. Even through the hubbub, she can recognise that voice. Not now.

"Hermione, wait!"

Others stop around her, and heat creeps over her cheeks. Ron steamrolls his way through the crowd, pushing colleagues out of the way. He ignores every shout of indignation, every person he might have potentially injured in his mission to reach her. If he's not careful, he'll get into trouble, although if Ginny is to be believed, he's already on a warning.

And—oh, Merlin—he's wearing a suit. Hermione's knees go weak at the sight of him. He comes to a stop in front of her, panting for breath. Even though his tie is wonky and the entire outfit is in need of a good ironing, a shudder of anticipation floods over her. The ghost of his calloused fingertips grazes over her stomach, around her neck, along her breasts and her entire body erupts into goosebumps. Who put a freezing charm on the entire atrium?

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Why are you dressed so smart?"

"What?" He glances down at himself as if he's forgotten what he's wearing. Immediately he reaches up to loosen his tie and a small pang of regret catches Hermione in the stomach. "Oh. Had a meeting with Robards and Harry. It's okay, though. Why are you down here?"

"Coffee." She gestures with her full cup.

"Oh."

Yet again, a strange awkwardness drifts between them, frosting the air around them. In the eighteen years they've known each other, they've never had so many difficult moments, but since New Years, she's lost count of the number of times she's been uncomfortable around him. And that's nothing to do with the fact he invades her head almost every hour of every day.

Her foot taps an impatient rhythm on the floor and a tut escapes her lips when Ron doesn't volunteer any other words. Although she'd love to be stubborn with him, to walk away or even wait out the chilly head-to-head until he breaks, she has a meeting in ten minutes and she had hoped to prepare for it beforehand.

"Was there anything in particular you needed to speak to me about? Or are you just here to waste my time?"

Ron flinches at her harsh tone, but she doesn't regret it. At the end of the day, he's the one who cheated. Hermione has done nothing wrong.

"Yeah, actually there is. Uhm…" He huffs, puffs and sighs. Every noise that slips from his mouth that isn't a fully-formed sentence only stokes her flames of anger even more. As she's about to bark at him to spit it out or go away and leave her alone, he continues, "I'm an idiot."

Oh. Hermione wasn't expecting that. Sure, she agrees with him, but hearing it out loud disarms her.

"What do you mean?" she asks in a softer voice.

Merlin, is that all it takes for Ron to get back into my good books? No, Hermione must stay strong. Sure, things need resolving before it gets any worse, but she can't accept him back into her life with open arms. Not straight away. Though, since he was the one to wave the white flag first, she should at least hear him out.

"Me and Verity. Uhm…I might have, I mean. We may have pretended to be more than we were. I…kind of wanted to annoy you."

Ron lied! All this time, the angst and heartbreak he's caused Hermione reignites the spark of rage that he'd almost managed to blow out by being honest for once. Although she should praise him for finally coming clean, for showing that perhaps he does care enough to rile her up, that small glimmer of hope is washed away by the Fiendfyre raging through her body.

Her heart thumps in her chest as she spits, "Why?"

"Because I was jealous." He stares at his shoes as if they're the most interesting thing in the world. "Because I realised over the past few months that it's not Verity I want to be with. Truth is, I never really wanted to be with her. I just thought…"

The roar of her blood pounding through her ears blocks out the rest of Ron's words. That poor woman, being led on, being treated so awfully because she happened to get caught up in Ron and Hermione's stupid games with each other.

"...perhaps maybe, it's you."

What? Hermione's never been so confused in her life. What does he mean, it's her? Is he finally saying what she's wanted to hear since January? Could it be that he likes her too? No, no way. Even if that's what he's planning to tell her, it can't be like this. Not in the middle of the atrium with everyone listening in, and not during the busiest time of her career with things between them still awful.

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Plus, she can't even be sure that's what he's trying to tell her. Why did she stop listening, when she should have been paying attention? Usually, she's so good at focusing on the important things. Why has she chosen now to be so absentminded?

Ron lifts his gaze and gives her an expectant look. She has to say something or he might think she's been hit with an Obliviate.

"It's okay," she squeezes out, hoping it is the best retort for the part of his speech she missed. "We've both been idiots over this past year. I'm not sure what's gotten into us, but I want it to stop. I want us to go back to how we were…you know…before."

Before they had sex? Or before they agreed to this stupid holidate agreement?

The corners of Ron's mouth turn down and his face pales as he takes a step away from her. He wrings his hands and glances one way and the other as if checking who has witnessed their awkward conversation. Hermione looks too, but even if people are listening in, nobody gives it away.

"Yeah, right," he splutters out. "Before. Of course we can, if that's what you want?"

"It is."

"So… n-no more holidates?"

There it is again. This stupid holidate arrangement; the whole reason why they're in this mess. Hermione shakes her head and reaches out to rest her hand on his arm. She has to do something to show him she still wants to be around him, minus this stupid agreement. Ron is her best friend. That's the person she needs right now. "I was thinking we could start spending time as friends, and only that. That's what I meant by 'before'."

A smile spreads over his face, although it doesn't quite meet his eyes. Same, Ron. "As friends? Yeah, that would be good, actually. Perhaps we should go for a drink or something soon, too? Or maybe you could come to Mum and Dad's bonfire party tomorrow? They'd love to see you again."

"Perhaps." Her wand vibrates in her skirt pocket, signalling it's time to leave for her meeting. "But work is really busy at the moment, so I'm not sure what free time I've got. I'm sorry, I have to go."

His entire face crumples, his gaze zipping back to his shoes as he shrugs. "Oh. Okay."

"See you."

Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, Hermione walks away from Ron. The awkwardness that has remained between them throughout their conversation follows her through the atrium and as she reaches the elevators, she risks a glance back. Ron stands in the middle of the crowds staring after her, a huge frown on his face and his hands shoved into his trouser pockets.

Hermione's stomach flips. It's enough to bring a fresh onslaught of tears to her eyes, but there's no way she can turn up to her next meeting all blotchy eyed and soggy. She could have handled that conversation a lot better, and if anything, Ron is further away than he's ever been.

Bugger.