Disclaimer:

The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this story, and is for entertainment purposes only.

This chapter has been revised as of June, 2005 and contains new content. It has also been modified from the original NC-17 version is located at Checkmated, and is rated R.

Of Hearts and Heroes

Chapter Eleven

Ron dusted the soot off of his pajamas as he climbed out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Butterflower Cottage. He surveyed the warm rustic room, a pristine throwback to two hundred years ago, except for the few bizarre Muggle devices scattered about. They looked ridiculously out of place.

Hermione had breakfast in this room. She used those foolish Muggle thingies. Maybe she even wrote Ron's letters on this table. And she was sleeping somewhere in this house.

He was going to see her in just a few minutes. All the air left Ron's lungs, as an anxious fluttering settled in his stomach. His hand trembled as he pulled Ginny's letter from Hermione out of the waistband of his pajamas bottoms, the one his sister had so thoughtfully left on the kitchen table.

Ron couldn't understand why he was so nervous. It was just Hermione for god's sake. His best mate, the one who he'd spent the last five years seeing almost daily. It was just Hermione.

He squinted at her neat and precise handwriting. The barmy girl had described the whole bloody cottage. She might as well have drawn a map. He smiled to himself. What would he do without her?

According to the letter, Hermione was sleeping in the loft and the stairs were… off the kitchen. That was convenient. Ron forced himself to take a deep breath as he made his way through the darkened room and up the stairs.

At the top, there was a single door. Ron held his breath and reached out for the doorknob. For a moment he faltered, his hand hovering mid-air. What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? He was about to sneak into Hermione's room in the middle of the night. She was going to flay him alive.

But filet or not, at least he'd get to see her. Taking advantage of the rush of desperate courage that filled him, Ron quickly turned the knob and slipped through the door, closing it behind him. When he turned and saw her, he almost wept just like the poncey fool he was.

Ron knew he missed her, but... God, how he'd missed her. He closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure she wouldn't disappear. It had been one damn long summer.

Hermione lay on her back on the narrow wooden bed, a halo of curls framing her peaceful features. It was a warm summer night and she had kicked off her quilt. Ron could see her bare feet and legs. She was wearing light-blue cotton short pajamas. They probably weren't supposed to be sexy.

Had she always been this beautiful? Surely not, how would he have got anything done over the last five years? He would never have been able to leave Hermione alone with another bloke. Ron was going to have to watch the smarmy bastards closely this year.

He moved toward her, watching her steady breath, reveling in each restless motion. She looked so alive. Ron should be satisfied with that and leave, but for some reason his legs kept moving in the direction opposite to the door.

"Ron," she muttered.

He froze. Bloody hell, he'd woken her. He should have left. He shouldn't have come. What was he going to do now? Shite. Shite. Shite.

But minutes passed and Hermione didn't open her eyes. "I couldn't…." she murmured, eyes firmly shut. Ron let out a breath of relief. She was only dreaming.

"Ron," she moaned, making his heart speed up to a frightening pace. "I wanted to come…."

Was she dreaming about him? Oh god, Hermione was dreaming about him. Was it a good dream? Please, let it be a good dream.

"Ron," she groaned, low and husky.

His eyes widened. Holy shite! That tone of voice… Was it a sex dream? About Ron? No way! Now, he really needed to leave. He should run out of this room and get himself back to the Burrow as fast as was magically possible.

Yeah, right. There was no way Ron was leaving without finding out what Hermione was dreaming about. Carefully, he sat on the edge of her bed. He didn't want to wake her. He just needed to gather a few clues. Hermione was flushed. "Ron, please," she said again.

The way she said it made him instantly hard. Could she really be having an erotic dream about him? Just the idea that Hermione would have any sort of sex dream was incredibly arousing, but for it to be about Ron? That was just…. Wow.

Hermione moved her head restlessly on her pillow, causing a curl to fall onto her face. Why did he have the urge to brush it away? Stupid, daft thing to do. He knew what happened when he touched her. He lost all control. But obviously Ron had already lost control, because his hand was sweeping her cheek, tucking a frizzy curl behind her ear.

The expected cascade came on quickly. He was acting instinctively. No voluntary control was left over his body. Her lips moved and he leaned closer to hear better, even as he told himself not to. He couldn't stop thinking that her skin was so soft. Was that natural? Ron had to feel it again.

As he laid his hand on her cheek her eyelids fluttered and Ron froze. In that moment, he wanted her to wake up. Wake up and talk to him. Rail at him maybe, but he needed to hear her voice. He had missed her so bloody much.

Hermione's eyes opened and met his. Ron hadn't realized how close he'd leaned in. She smiled a dreamy smile and it occurred to him that she wasn't fully awake. Then she reached up and put her small hands on either side of his head.

Ron had no idea what was happening. He had a brief moment of panic when he felt her pull his head down to hers. This couldn't really be happening. Hermione wasn't actually kissing him?

But then their mouths were pressed together and her lips were soft and full. Wow. Who knew that the feel of two sets of lips, pressed together, no movement, no finesse, could feel so bloody brilliant? Wow. This was actually happening.

Snapping out of his shock, Ron realized that Hermione wasn't pulling away. Move, Idiot! Terrified, he took his own advice and brushed his lips across hers. Just once. An experiment. Please, let this be ok.

She hummed, a soft pleased sound, which made Ron swell with pride. Well, he was swelling with more than just pride when she began to respond. Soon their lips were fluttering against each other's in a brilliant sort of rhythm that held no rhythm at all. Hermione lightly sucked at his mouth. Blimey, the woman was a bleeding genius.

All right then. They were really, really kissing. Ron had better make sure he didn't mess it up. He tilted his head to the side to try for a better angle, tangling his hands in her curls. He tried to remember every person he'd ever seen kissing, every moving picture in Mum's secret stash of novels, every dirty picture he ever stole from an older brother…He should be able to figure out what to do. Ron had visualized kissing Hermione often enough.

In the end, however, the feel of her responding was too much and he lost himself in the sensation. He allowed instinct to take over, permitting him to increase the pressure. And amazingly they started to move in tandem. Hermione's head fell back into her pillow and he followed. The kiss just kept going and he could help the moan that spilled from him.

Too soon, Hermione tore away from him and pushed at his chest. He fought it, not wanting to stop, wanting the kiss to last forever.

"Hermione," Ron said just to remind himself that it was really her, that it really happened. His eyelids opened slowly and found himself drowning in her incredible intelligent eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen. There had never been anyone this stunning.

"Ron, what are you doing here?"

Ah shite!

Hermione was sitting on the beach, her feet being lapped by the tide. A warm breeze blew her sundress around her knees and whipped her frizzy curls across her cheeks. The sun had long since set and she was alone. The world held that hazy unreal quality that led her to believe she must be dreaming.

She felt him before he touched her, before she heard him approach. "Ron," Hermione breathed, without turning. Such a lovely dream. She thought she'd stay for awhile.

"You didn't come," Ron said softly, his breath close to her ear.

"I couldn't---" Hermione tried to explain, turning toward him.

"Shhh," he murmured, halting her, as she felt his body sitting behind her. His arms encircled her waist, his legs slid on either side of hers. His cheek pressed tightly to her temple, keeping her face looking forward, out toward the ocean.

"Ron," she moaned, as she felt his lips slid across her temple, her cheek, her neck.

"I waited for you at the Burrow," he breathed against her skin.

She turned to look in his beautiful eyes. "I wanted to come---"

Ron interrupted her by seizing her mouth with his. He did that a lot in her dreams. It was lovely. Hermione moaned and her eyes fluttered shut as the kiss became more and more intense. He laid her back onto the beach.

Hermione groaned when his lips left hers. "Ron." She tried to open her eyes but they were glued shut. She tried to reach for him, but her arms were lead. All she could manage was a whimper, "Ron, please."

She felt him brush her hair away from her face and that simple touch was so much more intense than any that had come before. More real. Ron cupped her cheek. It was…incredible, but why wouldn't he kiss her again?

She wanted to see him. She needed to see him. Concentrating all her effort, Hermione managed to wrench her eyes open. Everything was blurry and out of focus. She blinked to clear her vision and found herself gazing into Ron' amazing cobalt eyes. Eyes filled with intensity and heat.

Bliss filled her at the sight of him. She knew she must be smiling like a fool. Still, she didn't understand why he wasn't kissing her. Well, she was tired of waiting for him. This time when Hermione reached for him her arms moved readily. She cupped his head in her hands and pulled his lips back to hers.

The contact was jolting, the experience more powerful than before, even though it was chaste in comparison. Before, when Ron had kissed her, he had seemed self-assured, practiced. He knew exactly when to move his lips. He had pressed forward with demanding confidence.

Now, his lips... They were timid and shy, applying the barest of pressure. Ron paused as if savoring the feel of her as he twined his hands in her hair. This… this was a first kiss. But that didn't make sense. They had just been kissing. Suddenly, Hermione was confused. What was going on?

Ron moved his lips, and she forgot to think. The kiss was almost reverent, just the softest brushes. Pleased with the sensation, she moaned and carefully parted her lips, letting them glide. It was odd, even her lips didn't seem to be moving as surely as they had before.

Hermione found his bottom lip between hers and instinctively sucked. This seemed to encourage Ron and he groaned, tilting his head to the side. His mouth moved with increasing confidence, each successive slide was bolder, his lips wider, the tip of his tongue just grazing her mouth.

She tried to keep up, mimicking his movements, allowing intuition to take over. Hermione was getting warm all over. A strange, unfamiliar, ache was developing in her pelvis. One thought formed in her mind… This was quite the first kiss.

First kiss. This was her first kiss. With Ron. The reality of the situation washed over her, the stark vividness of the sensations she was feeling. This wasn't a dream, not any more.

Her eyes snapped open. Hermione was in the cottage at Torquay, in her bedroom…and Ron was really here. Really kissing her. Oh heavens.

Hermione pulled back from his lips, but Ron followed her. She gave in and allowed herself to just enjoy the feel and taste of him for a moment more. This was her first real kiss after all.

She heard Ron moan and it triggered a bolt of sensation that shot straight to an as yet unknown spot in her groin. The intensity of it frightened her, giving Hermione the strength to tear her lips from his and push his shoulders back.

He resisted her, wouldn't go far, but it was far enough for her to look at his face. Ron was flushed and breathing raggedly. As his eyelids fluttered open he sighed, "Hermione."

Her heart flipped over. The look in his eyes was glassy and intense, she had seen it before, but hadn't known what it meant. "Ron," she whispered, confused. "What are you doing here?"

Panic flashed on Ron's face. His eyes cleared and he sat up, pulling away from her, making her hands drop away from his hair. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have just kept kissing him.

Ron ran his hands over his face and through his hair, his eyes darting around the room apprehensively. Hermione drew her knees up to her chest, for protection. "God, Hermione I…" his voice was hoarse as he trailed off.

"Ron you're in my room, in the middle of the night, in Torquay. Why?" Hermione congratulated herself on how rational she sounded. Though she had left out the most important question. Why was he kissing her?

He met her gaze. "Hermione, I'm sorry for---"

Please, please don't be sorry for the kiss.

"---for waking you."

Hermione had to laugh. She smiled at him affectionately, her breathing returning to normal. "Ron, is something wrong? What are you doing here?"

He looked away from her, then stood up and started to pace. The attic room had a low ceiling and Ron's head almost grazed the rafters with each pass. He resumed his nervous face rubbing.

Hermione was starting to get uneasy about more than just the kiss. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. What could be so bad that it would bring him here, in the middle of the night? "Tell me what happened," she insisted. When he didn't respond she called, "Ron!"

He paused at Hermione's sudden yell. Looking at her, he shook his head frenetically. "Nothing. Nothing happened…"

She gave a laugh of disbelief.

"I just…I just had a nightmare again, is all. I needed to see you." Ron wouldn't meet her eyes.

Would a nightmare be enough to bring him here? And what about the kiss? Hermione took in his tired, agitated appearance and remembered what his nightmares were like back at Hogwarts. If they had worsened, Ron might be desperate enough to do something stupid. For example, sneak off to Torquay in the middle of the night.

"Ron." Hermione held out her hand to him. "Come here," she commanded softly.

As Ron stared at her, his lower lip began to tremble. Instead of coming over to sit next to her as she had intended, he stumbled to her and fell to his knees. He refused to look up. Hiding his head in his hands, he let out an agonizing sob.

Her heart shattered. Tears sprang to her own eyes, as she was infused with a sense of profound horror. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had seen Ron cry. In his dreams, yes, but not awake. Had she ever seen him cry? Surely she had.

"Please, Ron," Hermione entreated, her throat thick. She lifted his hands off of his face and he met her concerned gaze. The pain in his eyes was almost too much for her. He opened his mouth to say something, but in the end just shook his head.

Hermione couldn't find any words of her own so she wiped away his tears with her thumbs. She couldn't tell if it was the right thing to do because his breath hitched and he dropped his head onto her legs. Sobbing in earnest now, he clutched at her thighs and buried his head in her lap.

Hermione looked at the ceiling, fighting her own sobs. She knew she had never seen Ron cry like this. After a moment of internal struggle, she was able to gain control of herself, and she sifted her hands through shaggy ginger locks. "Shhh," she murmured, trying to be comforting, but knew her own voice was too anguished to do much good.

"I couldn't get to you," Ron murmured into her legs, making the tears that had pooled in her eyes spill over and drop onto his hair. "I tried so hard. They said you were dead, but I didn't believe them---"

"Shhh, I'm here now. You got to me. I know you'll always come…" Her voice cracked and died away. She curled herself over him. Burying her lips in his unkempt red mane, she kissed his crown. Then she found didn't have the strength to sit back up, so she stayed that way, bent over him.

After awhile, Hermione wasn't even sure what she was crying about, except that she couldn't stand seeing Ron like this. Maybe she just needed a good cry. She straightened up and smoothed his hair, marveling at how soft it felt. His sobs died down, and he moved his head to lie cheek down on her lap, his hands leaving her thighs to lightly circle her waist.

Ron sighed and for a moment he looked peaceful and innocent. There was no sign of embarrassment over his tears. Hermione lightly traced the lines of his face, his eyelids, hairline. Looking closer she took the deep bags under his eyes. "How long has it been since you slept?"

Ron smiled wryly. "How long has it been since we left the hospital wing at Hogwarts?"

She let out a long slow breath. "Oh, Ron, why didn't you say anything? We've exchanged dozens of owls."

All she got for an answer was a shrug. Hermione could have kicked herself. She should have known. She should have asked. She should have insisted that her parents allow her to go to the Burrow. "Can you tell me about the nightmares?"

He shrugged again, rubbing his face against the cotton of her shorts, the way Crookshanks did when he wanted attention. For a moment, Ron looked like the little boy on the train again.

"Are they always about me?" Hermione asked in a small voice. Ron squeezed his eyes tight and nodded. She swallowed, impulsively asking, "Do you want to stay tonight?" She held her breath and waited for the answer. She couldn't believe she had actually offered.

Ron finally lifted his head and really met her gaze. Heavens, she loved his eyes. She could stare at them forever. "Really?" he asked in a small, hopeful voice, searching her face. Hermione smiled shyly and nodded.

"But what about my mum?"

She took a deep breath, "No one knows you're here, then?" It was dangerous of him to come alone.

Ron shook his head. Hermione considered him carefully. "Ron, when you came over…" She bit her lip, feeling cowardly. "How did you get here?"

"Floo."

"What exactly were you going to---?"

"I was planning on slipping in here, seeing that you were all right and then Flooing home, no one the wiser." He smiled his heart-stopping, lopsided smile, the one with just a touch of self-reproach.

"Not even me?"

His smile turned guilty. "That was the original plan."

But instead there had been a kiss. Had Ron kissed her or had she kissed him? Where had the dream ended and the reality began? Did Hermione just take him off guard? Had he really wanted to kiss her? How were they going on as if something monumental to their friendship hadn't occurred?

Hermione wanted to talk to him, to find out what happened… But looking at his sad, weary face she just couldn't. "Stay. We can get you back to the Burrow in the morning before anyone knows you're gone." Hermione couldn't resist stroking his face.

Ron leaned into her touch, closing his eyes again. He nodded. Hermione took his hand and pulled him up and onto the narrow bed, gently guiding him so that his back was against the wall, under the window. She stretched out next to him. She tried not to think about the possible ramifications of inviting Ron into her bed.

"How will we wake up?" Ron asked sleepily, though he had already snuggled in and his eyes had closed.

"I'll set the alarm clock." Hermione reached over to do just that. It was difficult, as Ron wouldn't release her right hand.

"What's an alarm clock?"

Hermione smiled as she finished. "It's…" She turned back over to see Ron had already drifted off into sleep. She laid her head down next to his on the shared pillow.

The enormity of the situation hit Hermione. The kiss, Ron, a boy in her bed. Normally, all those things had a clear meaning. Romance. Relationship. Boys and girls, fancying one another. But their lives were anything but normal, and it was so very complicated.

It took Hermione a long time to fall asleep that night.

When Fred Weasley Apparated into the kitchen of his childhood home it was well after midnight. He hadn't planned on sleeping at the Burrow that night. However, after the traumatic experience of Apparating to his flat from a thoroughly enjoyable date, only to find his twin and said twin's girlfriend sprawled out starkers on the kitchen table… Fred really needed a little distance.

There was something about seeing one's twin in a sexual situation that went way beyond the ordinary familial heebie-jeebies. It seems, when the image of one's twin shagging his girl pops into one's head it is disturbingly similar to having a fantasy about shagging one's brother's bird.

Fred grimaced, trying to shake off the image. If Angelina wasn't still living at home, he'd have Apparated there to try and shag the image out of his head. That girl really needed a place of her own.

He started to rummage through his mother's cabinets. That was the advantage of home, full cupboards. He helped himself to a Butterbeer and performed a cooling spell on it. He drained it quickly and binned the bottle. Finding a platter of fresh biscuits, he grabbed a handful.

Now that he and George had moved out, there was always a plate of fresh biscuits. Ickle Ronnikins and Ginny-baby were clearly too coddled for their own good. Just because they nearly died every year around finals time didn't mean they should get special treatment. Just the opposite, they could use some toughening.

As Fred started up the stairs, he thought about how a nice prank on his baby brother could really brighten his night and take his mind off less pleasant thoughts.

Should he go with something classic and simple, maybe perform some beauty charms on his nails and face? Bubblegum pink always was Ronny's best color. The spider angle was always enjoyable, as well, when it came to his youngest brother. Though the real money was on a prank that somehow involved Hermione Granger.

Ron and Hermione's little dash for privacy across the train station didn't go unnoticed by Fred and his twin. They had stored away the knowledge. It was a highly valuable commodity that could be used for so many things, not just pranks. Blackmail, for instance, was highly undervalued.

But maybe something simple now. Perhaps, a voice modifying charm to make Fred's voice sound like Hermione. Maybe try to get baby brother to talk in his sleep. Give him some more ammunition. Fred rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The night was looking up.

As he neared the third landing, Fred noticed a rustling noise coming from Ginny's room. When he reached her door he noticed it was opened and that there was definite movement inside. What was she up to in there? Grinning wickedly, he pulled out his wand and quietly pushed open the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Ginny was unconscious, suspended in mid-air by what was probably a Mobilicorpus Charm. Her things were a shambles. Leaning over her trunk, going through her things, was a dark hooded figure.

Instinctively, Fred raised his wand, "Expelliarmus."

The figure was thrown across the room with a loud crash. Fred saw the swish of a brandished wand and ducked, missing the Stupefying spell that was thrown back at him. Straightening, he prepared to throw another spell, but it was too late, the Death Eater had grabbed a handful of papers and Disappeared.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and Fred spun, wand pointed at the entrance to the room. He breathed a sigh of relief to see his parents appear, wands at the ready.

"Ginny!" Arthur rushed to his daughter, lifting her and carrying her to her bed.

"Fred!" his mother said with her best admonishing voice. "What did you do?"

Her son rolled his eyes as his arm fell. "You're kidding, right? You're not seriously trying to blame me for this?" His mother's expression didn't change. "There was a Death Eater. He just Disapparated!"

A look of terror came over Molly Weasley's face. "Fred Weasley, if this is some kind of joke---"

"Mum!" he bit out angrily. "I would not joke about that and I would not stupefy Ginny!"

"Molly, calm down. We'll figure this out." Their father said softly as he carefully laid his youngest on her bed. "Enervate."

Ginny gasped, waking. Fred felt himself go limp with relief.

"Where's Ron?" Molly asked, desperately.

Fear rose again, Fred could only shake his head and shrug at his mother's expectant expression. Why did she think he'd know anyway? He didn't even live here anymore. She should be thanking him. If it hadn't been for Fred, Ginny…

"Do you know where your brother is?" Molly demanded again, making Fred jump.

"No!" he yelled back, feeling helpless as his mother turned and ran out the door. Her footsteps sounded on the stairs above them.

"Molly, wait!" Arthur called, shaking his head. "Sometimes, she has no sense. Fred go with her. There could be more." He turned to his daughter, smoothing her hair. "Ginny, dear, are you all right?"

She looked dazed and confused. She nodded absently. Fred blinked at her, frozen. She could have been taken. She could have been killed.

"Fred! Your Mother!"

Fred's eyes jerked up, but still his body felt like lead. He nodded slowly and started for the door. He was having trouble taking his eyes of his sister.

It took a piercing scream to set Fred into motion. God, Mum. Ron! He ran up the stairs, two at a time. His heart beating erratically, he stumbled into the room at the top of the stairs.

Ron's room was a shambles, much worse than Ginny's. Mrs. Weasley was on her knees sobbing. Fear was threatening to overwhelm him and Fred turned his body in desperate circles, trying to find… He didn't know.

Not knowing what to do, Fred knelt next to his mother and embraced her. He looked up to see his father stumble in, wide-eyed. Father's and son's eyes met in silent understanding and dread as the situation began to sink in.

The Death Eaters had gotten Ron.

Special thanks to kjcp and Texasmagic at CM for betaing this story