A Note From The Author
When I wrote this, it was intended to be a two part story only. However, I think it could keep going. But I'll have to wait and see what everyone thinks of part two. If you like it, please R&R, and if you think I should write more, please let me know. Enjoy part two!

Because I Love You
Part II

Hermione stood in the sunshine outside the Burrow for a good thirty seconds, breathing deeply and trying to calm herself. It would never do to walk into the Weasleys' kitchen sobbing, throw herself down at the table, and cry her heart out.

It was a comforting thought that if she were to do so, Mrs Weasley would rub her back and listen to her, and the offer her hot soup or fresh bread or something else that was supposed to be good for the soul, and then charm away her red nose and puffy eyes.

Hermione took a final deep breath and prepared to step up the three stairs and knock, when someone burst out of the small cottage. A tall, red-haired, freckled someone.

'Hermione! I thought it was you. Why didn't you knock?' Ron was grinning down at her, blue eyes twinkling. Then his smile faltered, and the twinkle in his eyes was replaced with a look of concern. 'Hermione? What's wrong?'

She shook her head and tried to smile at her friend, sniffing hard as she did so. 'Ron. It's nothing. It's good to see you.'

His eyes searched her face for a moment longer, and then he smiled again and said, 'So, Apparition's working out for you. I was worried you might miss the window.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I almost did. Remind me to thank McGonagall for setting that up.'

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'Dad's still not too pleased with the Apparition barrier on the place, makes going to work a real pain, but,' he made a face, 'he understands why it's necessary. Plus, he won't argue with McGonagall.' he looked gloomy for a second. Now that Dumbledore was gone, Professor McGonagall was in charge of The Order. The gloomy look passed, and in a second he looked cheerful again. 'So, let's get you inside. Hungry?' He took Hermione's trunk out of her hand, and led the way up to The Burrow.

Hermione's mind flashed back to the thought of Mrs Weasley offering her hot soup and bread, and inwardly smiled. 'No thanks, Ron, I'm fine.'

'Good, 'cause you just missed breakfast.' he told her, flashing another grin over his shoulder as he pulled open the door.

Whether it was being back at The Burrow or just seeing Ron, Hermione felt better. She liked The Burrow; it was cozy and friendly, and it always smelled of good food. She liked spending her vacations there, laughing and talking and eating, but mostly she liked spending time with Ron.

She loved those few weeks of summer where it was just the two of them. As much as she liked having Harry around, it was nice to spend time with just Ron. At school, she often spent time with just Harry, but hardly ever with just Ron. It was always the three of them together. In the summer, when it was just the two of them, they seldom fought, and if they did, it was usually stupid and trivial, and forgotten after an hour apart, which Hermione spent sitting quietly reading or helping Mrs Weasley in the kitchen. Hermione loved the lazy flow of time, and how nothing at The Burrow was urgent or forced, everything just flowed along nicely and everybody – usually – got along.

Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen. Her round face broke into a wide smile at the sight of Hermione. 'Oh, Hermione, dear! You made it. It's good to have you. I must say, it's been rather quiet with only Ron and Ginny here. Bill and Fleur have gone to France to visit Fleur's family for a week, they won't be back for another few days.' She positively swelled with pride. She bustled over and pulled the girl into a warm embrace. She then held her out at arms length and surveyed her with a kind smile. 'You look wonderful, dear. Pretty as ever.' she glanced at her son, still holding Hermione's trunk and looking rather pink. 'Ron, take Hermione upstairs and show her where she's staying. You won't be staying with Ginny, dear,' she said to Hermione, 'you'll have your own room.' she waved them away upstairs, Ron still looking pink at the ears and leading the way.

They climbed the creaking, zig-zagged stairs, unusually quiet, until they reached the second landing. Ron pushed open a door and entered a small but immaculate bedroom. Hermione followed.

'Used to be Percy's room,' Ron said unnecessarily, as he set her trunk at the foot of the bed. 'He came and cleaned it out after Dumbledore's funeral. Started talking to Mum and Dad again, but he reckons he should really be living on his own now...' Ron plunked down on the bed, and the mattress springs squeaked. He stared up at Hermione.

She had followed Ron into the room, set her suitcases on top of her trunk, and stood facing the bed, arms folded. She was studying Ron, his red hair slightly longer than when she had seen him last, freckles darker from the summer sun, shoulders a bit broader. It was so good to see him again. Hermione noticed for the first time just how much she had missed him in their few weeks apart. She had never missed him like this before; sure, she was always glad to see him, but this time it was different. She had to fight the urge to rush over and hug him, to tell him just how much she had missed him. But instead she just looked at him, just enjoying being together again.

'So,' said Ron, startling Hermione out of her thoughts, 'are you sure you're okay? You looked, well, like you'd been crying. What's up?'

'It's nothing,' Hermione lied. 'I'm just...' she waved her hands, unable to thing of what she 'just' was .

Ron raised an eyebrow. He slid towards the head of the bed and patted the patch of faded quilt he had just vacated, an invitation to sit down.

Hermione sat.

Ron turned to face her, and again his eyes searched her face. 'If anyone knows when you've been crying, Hermione, it's me.' She knew he was thinking of all the time they had spent fighting the previous year. 'Come on, what's the matter?'

She shrugged, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice and face. 'It's just – I mean... Every year, when we leave for school, or when I come here, I say goodbye to my parents. I should be used to it. But this time... it was different. Harder.' She shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged, facing Ron. She curled her arms around her body, usually a calming gesture, but it didn't help.

Ron nodded, but said nothing.

Hermione continued, 'I didn't think it would be that hard to say goodbye to them. I thought it would be just like all the other times... but it wasn't. It was like...' she trailed off. Her throat felt tight, always a sign that she was going to cry.

'Like you'd never see them again.' Ron's voice was soft.

Hermione could only nod, tears welling up in her eyes. Her vision blurred, until the faded quilt and the man sitting in front of her became a swirl of colour. She raised one hand to wipe her eyes, but as she lowered it, another hand caught hers in a warm and gentle grasp.

Ron ran his thumb across the back of Hermione's hand; the sensation sent a little shiver down her spine. It was a nice, gentle feeling. Ron's hands were lightly calloused and rough from Quidditch, which gave the gesture a masculine feel.

Hermione gulped and said in a low voice, 'I can't help but think, what if I never see them again? What if something happens to their house, or on their way to work? It'll be my fault for leaving them...' the thought terrified her.

Suddenly Ron's other hand joined the first, and two thumbs rubbed the back of her hand, her palm, worked their way around each finger. Sympathy was etched into his face as he watched her start to cry in earnest, shaking slightly. He wiggled slightly closer, so her hand was resting in his lap.

The pair sat still, as Hermione blinked and sniffed, still trying not to sob. Ron's touch was such a nice feeling. After a minute of Ron's thumbs tracing gentle circles over her hand, Hermione said, 'I'm so sorry, Ron. I feel like such a prat, crying all the time. It's like all I ever do around you is cry.'

Ron looked slightly indignant. 'You don't always cry around me! And you only did last time 'cause, well...' he shrugged, but Hermione knew what he meant. Dumbledore's funeral. He had held her then, when she had cried, and stroked her hair, much like the way he was now stroking her hand.

'Still. Crying on you. I don't know what you must think of me, Ron. If I were you, I'd think myself just a silly, whiny girl.' She gave a watery chuckle, feeling quite bad about sobbing to Ron.

'Hey,' Ron said softly. 'I would never – never – think of you like that. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you. I think if it was me, I'd still be outside, crying myself into a great watery mess.'

Hermione gave a half-laugh, half-sob. Ron pulled her towards him, cradling her against his chest.

'You want to know what I think of you?' he whispered fiercely, 'I think you're the most caring, loving person I've ever met. You're amazing. You're smart, and funny, and – and – beautiful.'

Silence followed his confession. All Hermione could hear was the fast beat of Ron's heart in his chest. But her sorrow was slowly being pushed out of the was, as it was replaced by something else, something...

'You really think I'm all those things?' she asked in a tiny, stuffy voice.

'Yeah,' Ron breathed. Hermione realized that his hand had momentarily stopped the stroking of her hair, which he now resumed, a little quicker than before. 'Yeah, I think that. I've thought that for a long time. I just haven't told you before.'

She pressed in closer to Ron, and the urge to hug him became unbearable. She folded one arm out from between them, and threw it around his shoulders, holding him tight. She breathed deeply, inhaling that fresh, musky, Ron smell she so loved. This was so much better than hot soup or fresh bread from Mrs Weasley.

Without warning, the hand that had been stroking her hair ran down her cheek and tucked under her chin, tilting her head back until she was looking straight into Ron's blue eyes. The expression that they held was one she had never seen there before. And then, as she was wondering just what that expression was...

He kissed her. At first lightly, lips brushing her own, and then with a little more force, a little more confidence, and then lingering, pressed against her own.

And something inside Hermione opened up, and poured out, and she pressed back, the hand around his neck running through his red hair, over his neck, his jaw... and the touch of his tongue against her lips parted them, and this was much more than a kiss, it was an outpouring of joy, it was utter happiness, it was love.

Love. She loved him so much, and love was the only thing in her mind as she pushed him back against the pillows, fingers in his hair and on his chest, feeling his own hands on her back, holding her close. This was it. This was why she was going to fight, this was why she wasn't going to stay at home with her parents and stay out of harm's way. This was what she would fight for. Love.

The kiss broke almost as suddenly as it had started, chests heaving and fingers still roaming. Hermione looked straight into Ron's eyes and told him, 'I love you, Ron.'

The look on his face was nothing but love. 'I love you too,' he said.

She found his hand and, fingers intertwined, settled her head onto his chest. 'Dumbledore said that love is the most powerful magic there is,' she told him. 'That's why I'm going to fight in this war. Because I love you.'

'And I'm gonna fight for you,' Ron said softly. 'For love.'

Hermione raised her head and looked the man she loved in the eyes. 'For love,' she repeated, and her lips met his again.