There was surely no sexier sight in the world than the one Ron was currently enjoying: Hermione, starkers, poring over the room service menu with the utmost concentration, the same slightly furrowed brow and unconscious bite of her bottom lip that had been driving him mad since Hogwarts. Some of their classes had been terribly boring, and he liked to attribute his lack of focus to that, but he was more often not studying his books because he was watching her instead.

"I think I'll have a salad," she said finally. "What are you having?" He barely heard her, mesmerized as he was by the dainty pale lines in her tan skin that showed where her swimming costume had been the day before. He flinched as she abruptly shifted, putting her face so close to his that their noses brushed. "Ron? Lunch?" Her eyebrows were raised in amusement, and he knew he'd been caught.

"Sorry," he grinned at her, not sorry at all. "I dunno, a burger and chips or something. Whatever." He slipped his arm around her waist to pull her closer, and she slid willingly back under the covers with him despite her subsequent protest.

"You know we have to actually order the food, right?" she murmured against his lips.

"In a minute," he replied, resuming their kiss. She kissed him back for a moment before pulling away abruptly. Ron frowned at her, already missing the contact.

"You still haven't told me about what you heard on the Ear last night," she said in answer, and he knew instantly that her focus had shifted. When there was knowledge to be had, that tended to take priority in Hermione's mind. Especially considering they had just shagged, which more or less eliminated Ron's most tried-and-true diversion tactic with her.

"Didn't get much detail," he replied, sliding back to prop up partially against the pillows behind him. "The man Berisha was talking to was American. Didn't get a name, though."

Hermione nodded. "That fits with what you thought about it being an international operation. What was the meeting about?"

"They're trying to get more people involved in whatever they're planning. Murray and Macnair were the two they mentioned."

"Macnair?" Hermione repeated, obviously recognizing the name as Ron had. "The executioner?"

"Hard to say without knowing more. Whatever they're doing, it'll be soon. A month or two, Berisha said."

"And you've no idea what they're planning?" Ron shook his head, and Hermione sighed as she slid out of bed. "So what next?" She tapped her wand several times on the enchanted order form before cracking the door open just enough to squeeze her arm through and send the paper flying like a Ministry memo.

Ron shrugged, watching her shamelessly as she returned to him. "Not much else we can do but wait. Keep listening."

"Hmm." Hermione tucked herself up under his arm, her bare skin pressing distractingly against his. "You said you had news, though?"

"Oh, right." Ron forced himself to focus, but before he could even begin, his train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Damn, that was fast." Hermione slid away again and grabbed the button down shirt he had been wearing the night before, wrapping it around herself in a poor imitation of modesty as she went to answer the door. She returned a moment later, levitating a steaming platter of food in front of her, his shirt now gaping down her middle as she walked. "Well, you were concerned about keeping up appearances in the room," Ron laughed. "That ought to do it."

Hermione winked and tossed his discarded boxers to him as she lowered the platter. "That was the idea. Are you going to eat, or are you going to keep staring at me?"

"Are you complaining?"

She bit her lip in that maddening way again and shook her head, but changed the subject.

"Come on, tell me what you were going to tell me before." She sat back down on the bed with her salad and folded her legs beneath her, giving Ron a spectacular view that he couldn't quite stop his eyes from drifting toward. "Ron," she scolded again, but she was positively beaming at him despite her best efforts. "Don't make me put my knickers back on."

"Ugh," he groaned, "please don't." She raised an eyebrow at him, her expression arranged in a cheeky smirk as she watched him pull his underpants back on before picking up the burger she had ordered for him. "I ran into Berisha on the beach."

"When?" Hermione asked urgently. "Just now?"

"Well, it's been a bit now." Ron nodded at the twisted sheets Hermione was still sitting on with a suggestive grin. She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Prat," she said lightly. "This morning, I mean?"

Ron nodded, his mouth full. "Don't reckon it was an accident, either."

"What makes you say that?"

"He invited us to a private dinner tomorrow night. Something about an investment opportunity." Ron held up air quotes around the words, and Hermione looked equally skeptical of the meeting's stated purpose.

"You think he wants to recruit us?"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe. Doubt he'd be completely forthcoming after we've only been here a couple of days, but I think he's probably feeling us out, yeah."

Hermione took a deep breath. "So what do we do?"

"We go," Ron said simply. "It's recon, nothing more. See what we can find out." She nodded, but he could tell she looked nervous. He sat down gently beside her and put a hand on her knee. "Look, I meant what I said last night. You could've just told me you wanted to shag and saved us both the headache—" Hermione gave him a playful shove at that. "—but if anything happens, or makes you uncomfortable, and you don't want to carry on with this, just tell me. You've got to tell me."

"Oh honestly," she scoffed. "We were both in Gryffindor, or have you forgotten?"

She was teasing him, but Ron wanted to make sure she knew how serious he was. Her comfort level was paramount, and besides that, if she was anxious about something, it could compromise their mission. "Yes, but I signed up for this career. You didn't. It's not a question of what you can or can't do, Hermione, because obviously you can do anything, it's just...I want to take care of you."

Hermione set her bowl aside and leaned into him, lacing her fingers behind his neck. "I know you do," she replied, the jest in her voice now gone. "And I know that you will. I trust you completely, Ron. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

There was a flicker of doubt in the back of Ron's mind as he slid his arms around her in return, slipping them beneath his shirt to splay his fingers across her back. He hated that she felt like she'd had to keep something, anything, from him; but then again, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with his feelings for her, either. Even now, as he tugged her closer and she swung a leg over him to straddle his lap, he could sense the things that lingered still unsaid between them. Hermione had been clear about her physical attraction to him, and if what he had said to her in return wasn't sufficient explanation, he knew that he had shown her that he felt the same; already his body was beginning to react to her again.

But it was more than that, wasn't it? It had to be more than that. He was pretty sure she had said something about feelings—though what feelings exactly, she hadn't specified—but his brain was going foggy with desire as Hermione gently pushed him down to the bed again and shrugged out of his shirt before following. There would be time to talk later. And clearly, Hermione had nothing more to discuss at the moment, either. Her body slid against his as she moved to kiss him again, the motion slow and sensuous now that the desperate sense of urgency from before had passed.

Ron wrapped an arm around the small of her back to maneuver them together fully onto the bed, and Hermione giggled as she nearly toppled off of him. Ron held her steady, his other hand rising to tangle in her hair as he pulled her mouth back to his. She practically melted into him, her lips moving against his with the same level of passion he felt for her. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, and she hummed in satisfaction before pulling away to rid him of his pants, the fire returning.

Hermione shot him a mischievous look before she leaned over and closed her lips around him. It wasn't technically magic, what she could do to him with her mouth, but it was as good as. Ron closed his eyes in an effort to cling to some semblance of control, but Hermione had him close to the edge in no time, and he grasped blindly for her hand. "You," he breathed heavily. Hermione let her fingers casually lace with his without ceasing her movements. "Shit, Hermione, you have to stop."

She looked quite pleased with herself as she lifted her head, but Ron wasn't surprised at all at the effect she had on him. They had been each other's first everything, and learning each other's bodies had been a joint venture; Hermione knew exactly what he liked, because he'd taught her, and vice versa. He knew the exact sound to expect when he touched her breasts, and as his fingers traced the triangular tan lines her bikini had left behind, the breathy little sigh that escaped her didn't disappoint. "Ron," she breathed as his thumb found her nipple.

"Yes, love?" he returned, the term slipping out unchecked. If Hermione was bothered by it, though, she didn't let on. A smile played at her lips as she straddled him again, joining them together effortlessly.

"I've missed this."

Ron pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm as she moved atop him, already picking up speed. "Me too." He wasn't sure where exactly that left them, but he felt like they at least had a place to start.