Disclaimer: The big sections of italicization of this story, are based off of the artwork done by Marta at I looked at the picture/s and created what might have been going on at the time. Props to Marta – the great HP fan art artist!!

This Time Around

Chapter 5

Loves Him, Loves Him Not

After the phone call she received the previous night, Hermione went to bed, trying to convince her self she does not love Ron. When she woke up in the morning, she went to her closet to check her coat pocket to find the slip of paper Harry handed to her in Flourish and Blots. She found it to be his phone number. After a shower and change of clean clothes, she called him.

"Uhhh, hello?" a groggy voice answered the phone, obviously he just woke up.
"Harry, I need to talk to you."

Hermione could almost hear him wake up instantly, "Hermione? Is that you?"

"Yes Harry, it is. Why did you give Ron my number?" she scolded him.

"Oh shove off Hermione! When I saw you in Flourish and Blots, I knew you wanted to talk to Ron. – "

"No I didn't!!" She shot back defensively. 'I did.' She thought.

"Hermione, you know you did. You haven't seen him for five years and five months. Don't tell me you don't have anything to say to him!?"

Hermione thought some more, "No I don't . . . oh . . ." It dawned on her. 5 years and 5 months ago was her wedding day, the wedding she disapperated on.

"'Oh', is right Hermione. You two need to talk. Get together – something!"

Hermione was breathing heavily into her phone. Her mind became full of disbelief, running back and forth if she really wanted to call the man, she fell in love with.

"What would I say?"

"Hermione, I don't know. Call him, I mean Owl him, whatever. Meet somewhere. Talk face to face."

"But Ron . . . I mean Harry –"

Harry smirked into his phone. "See, you can't take your mind off of him."

"Harry, you don't understand, I can't love Ron again, and besides, he has the Weasley temper."

"Other than that, you can actually love him? You love him Hermione. Owl him why don't you. I'm trying to get some bloody sleep."

"It's ten o'clock Harry."

She heard a huge sigh. "Right, Hermione. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye."

Hermione hung the phone on the receiver. What was she to do now? She can't let Ron know she still loves him, more or less long for him. Ron would go ballistic on her. He would start throwing questions at her about why she left him at the alter. Her conscious heart told her to owl Ron Weasley, while her mind told her no.

She pulled the slip of paper off her apartment counter. She looked at it again. There was an address sloppily written down on the piece of paper.

"Ro-on, stooop!" Hermione laughed as Ron blew gently into her ear.

"Relax, Mione. No one will come in here."

"We did."

"Shhhh," Ron said, placing a finger on her lips.

Ron and Hermione sat on one of the maroon velvet lined common room couches. Hermione's back up against one arm and Ron right beside her. His left hand flowed up her body, pushing back the brown curls from her face, and gently laid his hand on her warm neck. As his right hand interlocked with hers.

His face leaned in closer and the touch of his soft lips outlined the right side of her face, down her neck. Ron's right hand escaped from the interlocking hold and loosened the Gryffindor tie around his Hermione's neck. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of her white cotton shirt, and placed his cool hand on her warm chest.

His lips traveled back up her neck to underneath her delicate chin.

Hermione's brown eyes were closed, thinking of no one else she'd rather be with. Her right hand found its way going around Ronald's back, pulling him closer. This making his wet lips find hers, longing for their touch. They touched on and off, until his smooth tongue tickled her bright pink lips, asking for acceptance. She opened her lips just enough, and the kiss was locked; both eyes closed, neither daring to open and lose the sensation each one felt.

Ron's hand playing softly with her hair, and Hermione's hand holding on around his back to his strong shoulder, never wanting to let go of this moment, the man she is meant to be with.

Looking at the piece of paper, she kept telling herself. 'I don't love him. What is Harry thinking? I'm just going to owl him. No, I'm not going to do it.'

The address on the paper was obviously Ron's. She could do three things with it; One, owl him; Two, flew him; or Three, burn it in her fireplace.

"Bloody hell, what am I going to do with this?"

She went to her fireplace, started a flame, and reached up to the wooden mantel, to grab for the ceramic container of flew powder. She brought it down and looked inside, grabbed a handful and threw it in, saying the address clearly. The flame burst, then turned an emerald green. She reached over to the metal wood poker, tested the green flame. The end of the poker disappeared into the flame. She knew the flame was ready.

She pulled the poker out and placed it next to her. Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears, preparing for the journey. She took a deep breath and stuck her head in. All colors she knew swirled together, and felt herself speeding through a tunnel, until she felt her head stop.

She looked around, everything looked like Ron, cluttered and food everywhere. "Eh," Hermione shuddered.

Then she saw him. A rather tall boy with shaggy red hair walked out from what looked like a bathroom, into the living room. The boy rubbed his eyes and looked into the fireplace.

"What the bloody hell!" Ron practically jumped back two feet. Then he quickly walked over to the fireplace with Hermione's head sticking through. "What the hell are you doing! Get out of my fireplace!"

"Ron, just listen –"

"No, I'm not going to just listen. I'm going to completely ignore you, and hope to bloody god that you leave!"

"Ron, just –"

"Hermione, leave! How dare you try to talk to me! To bloody hell with y.. –" The green flame disappeared from his apartment.

Hermione pulled her head out of the flame.

"Well, it's settled. I don't need that. No . . . not going to try. It's not worth it . . ."

She stood up brushing her self off. She picked up the piece of paper off the floor, looked at it, then threw it into the flameless ashes.

Hermione walked into the boys' room. Ron was sitting on his bed, pillows strewn about him, working 'hard' on his potions essay. Hearing the door snap close, he looked up.

"Hermione! What are you doing in here?" he quickly packed away his parchment, quill and book on his trunk, next to his bed. "You can't be –"

Hermione's back was plastered up against the door, her hands at her sides, palms against the cold wood. Her eyes were intensely locked with Ron's green eyes. She slowly moved her hands up the door, her right hand finding the lock, click, then finding their way to her tie. She pulled it down, so it hung loosely, and unbuttoned the first two buttons.

"Hermione . . . you aren't . . . what . . ."

Hermione just stared intensely, walking quicker to him. She came to the side of his bed and pushed him down, so that way he was looking up into her eyes.

"Why . . . I mean . . . some . . ."

She put her fingers on his lips, leaning in. Her left hand playing with his red locks, tracing down his face, resting on his beating chest; his right hand resting by her shoulder. Her face came in closer and closer, eyes closing, head tilting, and like magnets, their lips locked.

Hermione's brown locks fell, tickling Ron's forehead, falling closer to the bed. His left hand held on to her cheek, receiving the warmth. She gently pulled her lips away, disconnecting from the immense feeling. She rubbed her hand over his forehead, his eyes still closed, she made her slow break towards the door. Fixing her tie and shirt, she unlocked the wooden door, and left the room.

As Hermione came from her trance, focused on the fireplace, she noticed an orange streak jump onto the counter.

"Crookshanks! Get off there! Come here kitty." She picked Crookshanks off the counter, and placed him on the floor.

She looked back on the counter, and there was the piece of paper with the address on it. Hermione turned her head toward the fireplace, and saw that the paper wasn't where she threw it, and then looked back at the address. She quickly took a piece of paper and started writing an Owl to Ron.

Ron

Meet me at my house, front steps, at 6:15 p.m.

HaRRy