"You look fucking excellent."
The words were out of Ron's mouth before his brain had time to pretty them up. Still, Hermione seemed pleased, if the faint sweep of pink on her cheeks was anything to go by.
"Thank you. You…look nice too."
Ron offered her his arm which she took, gracefully curling her hand around the crook of his elbow. He was vaguely aware as they walked up the steps to the reception line that he should be talking more; telling her what to expect, pointing out people he knew. But honestly, he was still a little dazed. It was Hermione walking next to him but she was in Technicolour.
It was her hair that was swept back and studded with twinkly little crystals but rather than being brushed through and uncared for, the curls were soft and shiny, undulating romantically like some sort of fairy tale princess. It was her busy, tense body in the dark blue, almost black, velvet gown but bloody hell, it didn't look like that in a boiler suit.
And there was something about strapless dresses that set up a hum in Ron's bloodstream. Softly rounded shoulders, delicate collarbone, the length of exposed back. Hermione had a dusting of freckles below her clavicle that were just discernible through her tawny skin. Ron had never seen those before.
It occurred to him that she must have looked something like this on New Year's Eve; he could vaguely remember a long dress and pulled back hair. Honestly, he had been so caught up in his misery he had barely noticed and thank God for that. How would he have gotten anything done that night if she had blindsided him the way she was doing now?
Ron was still preoccupied by the time they reached the top of the line and Carl Noth.
"Ron! You made it! And who do we have here?" Carl was reaching for Hermione's hand before Ron could engage his mouth.
"Uh, Carl Noth this is Hermione Granger. She's Ottery's Head Curator. Hermione, Carl is Aunt Muriel's lawyer."
"Among other things," Carl winked and kissed Hermione's knuckles. "Enchanté Miss Granger."
Ron inwardly groaned and Hermione appeared a little taken aback at Carl's overt affections so he quickly guided her away, into the main room where he retrieved two glasses of Champagne.
The room was exquisitely decorated. Long, forked branches of pink Japanese sakura blossoms had been suspended over the ceiling, creating a blanket of flowers, and the stage and windows were draped in the same soft shade. The table linens were a dark Schiaparelli pink, the tables heaving with cut crystal candelabra and copper cutlery. The Chiavari chairs were tied with oversized ivory satin ribbons and here and there, gold heart confetti was scattered, making the carpet and the tables sparkle in the low, rosy light.
"This is quite something," Hermione whispered.
Ron found himself less impressed. "Yeah, it's pretty nice," he replied neutrally.
"Pretty nice? It's gorgeous."
He almost said 'You're gorgeous'. It was on the tip of his tongue, he could feel his mouth formulating the words. He stopped himself just in time.
Instead, he said something equally stupid. "So, does it match up to the Waltham Hotel?"
Hermione's eyes flickered quickly to his face before moving away again. She swallowed.
"It's very nice."
In a desperate attempt to ease the tension that had arisen from nowhere, Ron started telling Hermione dull, pointless backstory on the Noth Foundation and Muriel's connection to it.
"Will she be here tonight?"
"Muriel? God, I hope not. It'll be bad enough when it gets back to her that I brought a girl."
Hermione seemed amused at being referred to as 'a girl'.
"Why would she mind?"
Ron grimaced. "She has a mad notion about me and Carl's daughter Clemmie. Thinks we're a perfect match."
"And are you?"
"Well, she's a vapid, self-interested twat who thinks hardship is having to wait for next day delivery." He grinned. "So, no. I bloody hope not."
Hermione smiled in response. "And will she be here tonight?"
Ron cast his eye around the room before replying. "Definitely. She never misses a knees-up our Clem. Hopefully there's enough people here so we can blend in and avoid the little darling."
The reception wore on. Various people approached Ron and he courteously introduced Hermione to everyone. He left her with an old school friend of Bill's who wanted her opinion on the value of restoring a family portrait and went in search of more drinks.
At the bar, a row of pink Champagne margaritas stood in a line. He had no idea if Hermione would drink one but he lifted a glass anyway and ordered himself a beer. As he waited, he felt an arm snake round him and knew immediately that it wasn't going to be his date.
"You've been avoiding me Ron Weasley," Clemmie murmured, locked tight around his midriff.
"Clementine Noth. Good to see you again. You look nice."
"You didn't answer my question."
"You didn't ask one."
She pouted. "Where have you been? Why didn't you come to Cornwall at New Year? We had such a nice time in Switzerland and then nothing!"
Ron tried to disentangle himself from her grasp, using his free hand to unfurl her arm, while trying to keep the flute in his other hand upright.
"Well, I've been busy. Castle doesn't look after itself."
"That's no excuse. There's loads of Weasleys. Surely you can take a break once in a while."
Ron stared at the barman as he poured the pint with excruciating slowness and prayed.
OOO
Hermione was enjoying herself a great deal more than she had anticipated.
She had said yes to Ron without really thinking about it. After all, he had invited her so casually. She couldn't exactly make a fuss about it.
Still, she had spent the time leading up to this evening a little panicked. Events such as these made her nervous; she didn't consider herself to be a great conversationalist in crowds and meeting a lot of new people at once felt uncomfortable.
She also found herself putting considerably more effort than usual into her appearance; buying a new dress, having her hair professionally styled. Tellingly, for her New Year's Eve date with Ryan, she had been perfectly content to do her own hair and wear a dress already in her wardrobe. She wouldn't dwell too much on the significance of that.
Now that she was here however, she felt calmer than expected. The dress she had chosen was appropriate compared to those around her and talking to Niall about something she was actually interested in took the pressure off immensely.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ron at the bar, examining something shocking pink in a glass. Moments later he was accosted by a pretty woman with long, pastel violet hair. The familiar way she groped and pulled at him suggested intimate acquaintance, though Ron seemed to be doing his utmost to untwine her advancing limbs.
As she observed them discreetly, Hermione saw Ron gesture to where she stood with Niall and she quickly tossed back her head and made some inane comment, appearing completely enthralled by Niall's family history tales. After a minute, Ron returned and handed her the pink concoction and Niall went in search of the bathroom.
Gently, she reached out and adjusted his bowtie. "You're a little crooked."
"I'm not surprised. I've just been manhandled by Clemmie. Honestly the woman's insatiable."
"I would have thought a red-blooded man like you would enjoy a bit of manhandling," she responded lightly.
"Depends who's doing it Miss Curator."
It was the first time he had used his pet name for her in weeks, months even. She couldn't recall having heard it since before the cider press. Since before the cider kiss.
"Shall we find our seats?"
Ron guided her through the throng of people, an easy hand on her upper arm. As they moved closer to their assigned table, she felt his grip tighten and his stride slow.
She turned her face up to him. "What is it?"
He looked down at her with an unreadable expression before saying, "Muriel's here. She's at our table."
Hermione asked, "Is that bad?" though she could sense that somehow it was.
"It's… annoying. She'll be… difficult. Look." He pulled her to face him. "Muriel's a bit of an old bat so if she says anything to you that's rude… well I won't let her say anything that's rude. She's got some twisted ideas and she thinks that being rich gives her the right to be a mean bitch. Just don't take anything she says seriously okay?"
Hermione nodded and allowed herself to be escorted to the table where Ron introduced her to Aunt Muriel.
The older woman adjusted her glasses as she drank Hermione in. Her turquoise dress and silk duster coat were immaculate and beautifully tailored and she wore them with the ease of some accustomed to luxury and fine things. Yet despite being elegantly coiffed, she had a frigid, brittle demeanour that left Hermione feeling that she went through life determined to be displeased with everything.
Her stare seemed to strip layers of skin from Hermione's face, rendering her naked and vulnerable. Regardless, she was polite, if frosty, and invited Hermione to sit next to her. Ron clearly felt this was a bad idea but Hermione gave him a minute nod of ascension and took the seat.
Throughout the initial courses, Muriel ignored her completely, choosing to focus on her conversation with the woman to her left. Hermione relaxed a little, contenting herself to listen to Ron's acerbic and witty remarks about various people around the room, muttered under his breath so only she could hear.
"Honestly, is there no-one here you actually like?" she murmured lowly as the waiter removed their salad plates.
"I like you. And that's one more person than usual at these things so I'll consider that a win," he smiled.
Before the main was served, Ron excused himself. Almost instantaneously, Hermione felt Muriel swivel round in her seat.
"So, Hermione." The two words sounded menacing. "You're the person that is taking care of the Ottery antiquities are you?"
"One of them. And I believe we've been handling a number of pieces from your personal collection."
Muriel nodded. "Indeed. I have sent a great many valuable things to be archived. I trust you are taking the proper care with them."
"Oh yes. I've arranged to have them stored individually…"
"And you and my nephew," Muriel cut in, keen to get to the point, "Are in a relationship are you?"
"No," Hermione answered carefully, "We're friends." After a pause she reiterated, "Just friends."
Muriel's wizened and pitiless face displayed her obvious distrust of this information but they were momentarily interrupted by the arrival of the next course.
Hermione glanced out into the room, searching for Ron. At any other point in her life, if someone had made her feel so examined and downright uncomfortable she would have given them exactly what they deserved. Hermione Granger was no pushover.
But the tenuous relationship the Weasleys had with Muriel and the money she bestowed upon them made her hold her tongue. She didn't want to upset Muriel and risk her taking it out on Ron or his family.
"How much do you know about the Weasley family Hermione?" Muriel said now, stabbing a piece of bloody ribeye with her fork.
"Not a great deal. I work for them so I wouldn't really consider it my business to know a lot about them personally."
"And yet Ronald brought you with him tonight. As his date."
Her words were measured and softly spoken but they felt tinged with venom. Conversing with Muriel was like walking through a minefield; taking any step forward was risky.
When she didn't answer Muriel said, "A valid conclusion to reach about them would be that they think and behave stupidly."
Immediately Hermione moved to interject.
"Don't interrupt me," Muriel snapped icily. "As you say, you don't know them at all whereas I have known them for years. Their whole lives."
Hermione pressed her lips together in a line, which seemed to placate the old woman.
"They have a heinous proclivity to marry for love, or whatever it is they like to say. Molly did it first of course, but unfortunately it didn't end there. William went off with a French girl. Pretty but came from nothing. Ginevra married an orphan she met at school and heaven knows what Charles is doing these days. There had been rumours of his marriage to a nurse. From Africa!"
Muriel set another square of steak into her mouth and chewed, her face the picture of disgust and horror.
"Isn't the point of marriage to be in love?" Hermione marvelled at how courageous she sounded.
Muriel carefully set her cutlery down, one at a time and sat back from the table. Her head revolved towards Hermione.
"Do you have any idea what it takes to maintain Ottery Castle Miss Granger? What sacrifices are made? The family are in substantial debt, to me and well as to their financial contributors. They can pretend not to notice, they can shrug it off in that sly way they do, but the fact remains, each day that passes is further testament to the thoughtless and conceited way they have squandered the family fortune. If they had any ability to generate income or invest it wisely, that would be a different matter…"
She tailed off before sighing resignedly.
"Their making a good match or 'marrying for money' as they uncouthly put it is not the antiquated, bygone notion they would have you believe. It's a necessity, for their survival. There are more important things than personal preference. That is a selfish notion."
Hermione forced herself to meet Muriel's eye.
"Why do you care?" she asked simply and Muriel seemed rather taken aback.
"You seem to have very little regard for the Weasley family; you seem to take umbrage with all of them. What does it matter to you if they fall to wrack and ruin?"
Muriel composed herself quickly, her dark, shrewd eyes roving over Hermione's features again.
"Molly may be a fool but she is my only family. And Ottery Castle may be an abomination now but it was my brother's pride and joy. Therefore, I will do whatever I must to ensure it survives. The Weasley family have no concept of the history and prestige of the castle so they don't understand my motives. But as you are a curator and therefore have some level of respect for great, old things, let me give you some advice."
She wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin before she spoke again, as though poisonous spittle had gathered there.
"This 'jolly' the family has been on will come to an end. Whether they end it themselves or I take matters into my own hands is up to them. But underestimating me, my influence and my purposefulness would prove to be costly."
Muriel's gaze travelled behind her and Hermione felt Ron's presence at her side. Muriel returned to conversing with the woman to her left without blinking, a snake returning to its resting place after delivering a fatal bite.
"What did I miss?"
"Not much." Hermione tried to keep her tone upbeat but Ron sensed something was awry.
"What is it?" he whispered, dismayed. "Is it Muriel? What did she say to you?"
Hermione made a lightning decision there and then that she would not mention the exchange with his Aunt, nor allude to it again. For all her bluster, Muriel had no real authority over the Weasley family and if they chose to go against her wishes, was she really likely to turn against them, her only family?
Hermione decided to take Ron at his word and not take what Muriel said to heart, therefore explaining the interaction would likely annoy him and spoil their evening, when there was no evidence this was necessary.
She smiled again at Ron, a real sunny smile that she reached deep for. "She said I looked fat in my dress."
"Nasty cow," Ron spat in response and Hermione felt her heart lift. "And a liar. You look amazing."
OOO
The band started quickly after the speeches had been made. Muriel decided it was time to leave and, with a backward look of disdain in Hermione's direction, requested that Ron walk her out. When he returned, he dropped into the seat next to her with a thud.
"Thank God she's gone," he said cheerily, taking a sip from his coffee cup. "Now we can enjoy ourselves."
His happy, lit up face vanquished the last, lingering gloom of Muriel's presence.
"I thought you didn't enjoy yourself at this sort of event," she teased, trying to ignore how handsome he looked at that moment.
"Not usually," Ron admitted, "But you're here so I say we grab that bottle of wine, get it down our necks and then dance. What d'you think?"
Hermione scrunched her nose. "Dancing's not really my thing."
"Bollocks. You owe me. No dance at the Christmas party if I recall."
"You remembered." She spoke before she had time to think. Time to remind herself that the reason they hadn't danced was because he was kissing someone else.
His face softened a little. "'Course I did. You promised. You can't break a promise to a Weasley. We have very long memories."
As he poured their wine, Hermione fought the sparks of excitement that bloomed in her stomach. Each time they rose joyfully, she batted them down with the image of Ron and Nicola pressed against the wall.
They were persistent though and they fought back with images and sensations of being kissed in the long grass on a warm October evening. He kissed you first, they reminded her.
'He called me an employee', she cautioned herself. 'He was reminding me of where we stand.'
"Have I lost you?" Ron waved a hand in front of her face.
"No, sorry. Spaced out for a moment there."
He handed her a glass. "Ok, we need to get you moving before you fall asleep on me."
"I'm not going to fall asleep…"
"Drink that. Then we dance."
On the dancefloor Ron was a tad more co-ordinated than Hermione had anticipated but his enthusiastic whirling and rocking still resulted in more than one crushed toe. By the time the music slowed to a gentle ballad, she was utterly exhausted.
"Time for a rest," she puffed, turning away, but Ron manoeuvred her back smoothly and lifted her hand into his.
"No chance. This is the actual dance you owe me."
"Then what have we just being doing for the past half hour?" she protested, even as she moved back towards him and into his close personal space.
"That was just warming up. This is the real deal."
His hand brushed over the velvet of her dress, coming to a stop on the centre of her back and her hand found its natural position, resting on his shoulder. They swayed out of time for a bit before syncing and moving together more intuitively. Hermione's eyes were level with the top of Ron's shoulder in her heels and she stared at the place where the black of his tuxedo jacket met the snowy white of his shirt collar.
He smelt like soap and she could see a minuscule red dot where his razor had drawn blood. Her hand felt heavy in his, though he held it as though it weighed nothing at all.
As the music continue to play, Hermione sensed their bodies moving instinctively closer as though magnetically drawn. Ron's hand trailed slowly and deliberately up her back, moving from fabric to bare skin and coming to rest at the top of her spine. There, it enclosed the back of her neck warmly, his thumb sliding in her hair.
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing slow. The background seemed to melt away; the music, the movement and chatter of the other couples, even the sway of her own body. What was left, what was elevated, was Ron's breath on her collarbone and his fingertips on her neck, the skin there so sensitive she could almost feel the ridge of each fingerprint.
She allowed the sensations to wash over her, her head filling with them. She could hear her heartbeat thudding quickly and thrillingly or was it his? Deep in her conscious mind she knew the dance had to end but getting back to the real world felt like swimming upward through syrup and she had to kick hard to surface.
With Herculean effort, Hermione opened her eyes and took half a step away from the heat emanating from Ron. Hoping he couldn't read her heavy-lidded expression, she looked up at his face. He, in contrast, looked alert, almost scared and as he tipped his head towards her she wondered what it could be he was afraid of.
The music kicked up again, becoming louder and faster and she took another step back.
"I'll just nip to the loo."
He nodded. "Sure. Great."
On entering the plushly furnished bathroom, Hermione saw that the three stalls were in use so she moved to the console table next to the sinks to examine her face. She pressed a tissue to her damp hairline and tried to slow her racing pulse by repairing the damage to her makeup, though the dim, amber light and mercurised mirrors were a hindrance rather than a help.
Behind her, a woman exited one of the stalls and she entered, dropping the lid of the toilet seat down and lowering herself onto it. Easing off her shoes, she examined the tender skin of her heels. No blisters yet but surely only a matter of time. Sitting back, she allowed the cool porcelain of the cistern to infiltrate her body and absorb some of its heat.
The light was slightly better in the toilet cubicle so she pulled out her little mirror and took a closer look at her eyes and cheeks, attempting to blend any areas that had been decimated by sweat.
Outside the door, she could hear the chatter of two women as they washed their hands and touched up their makeup.
"We'll stay another half hour tops, then we're out of here," one of them said, amidst the sound of compacts snapping open and shut and rifling in handbags.
"Defo. An absolute shit selection of totty this year. Thought you gave your dad a list?"
"I friggin' did!" came the animated reply. "Dunno what he did with it. Didn't see half the people on it. Here, spray the back of my hair will you?"
A pressurized hiss sounded. "Looks good. Well, there wasn't a single person here worth the price of this blow dry."
"Not strictly true. Ron Weasley's here."
Hermione's hand froze mid-blend.
"You aren't still chasing after him are you Clemmie? Good God, take a hint! He's not interested!"
"So you say. I happen to know otherwise."
"Oh really?" The other woman sounded less than enthusiastic.
"Yep. Couldn't keep his hands off me when we went skiing…"
"That was last year!"
"And I saw him tonight, checking me out. Those big, blue eyes undressing me every time I walked by. He's a filthy boy."
"Anyway," the second woman with some finality, "Even if all that is true, he's fucking poor."
"His family owns a castle…"
"Jesus Clemmie, you and that frigging castle! Just because they own a castle, doesn't mean they have cash. Which, I'm pretty sure they don't, by the way. I mean, they all have day jobs don't they? They're not exactly living it up."
There was an elongated pause and Hermione wondered if the pair had left.
Then she heard someone making puckering noises and Clemmie saying, "Well I don't care, even if he is poor. He's hot. And you know what they say about gingers."
Her friend sighed. "Nope. What do they say?"
"Absolute dynamite in the sack."
"They do not!"
"It's true! Red-headed boys are universally accepted as being the best lovers. Not to mention, larger than average."
The two woman giggled and Hermione felt herself smile, wondering what Ron would make of this.
"And you're going to find out are you?"
"Too right I am. Not tonight but soon enough. He won't leave me wondering for too much longer."
"He brought a date though, didn't he? Don't think I've ever seen him bring a plus one before."
Clemmie snorted. "She's his employee!"
Hermione cringed. There was that word again.
"She does something with the antiques at the castle. He's not interested in her, practically told me as much. He couldn't be could he? I mean she's an antiques expert. That's worse than a librarian."
Hermione almost laughed; librarian had been her second career choice.
"Trust me," Clemmie said conclusively, "That dried up hag isn't getting any from Ron Weasley."
Even as she winced, Hermione stood up. Her encounter with Muriel had left her with a vast amount of impotent rage and, seemingly, nowhere suitable to direct it. But perhaps not. Muriel might be off limits but this trumped-up harridan certainly wasn't.
Before she could give herself time to properly think it through and therefore to back down, she unlocked the door and stepped out. The two women looked up and stilled, which was gratifying.
Slowly Hermione walked to the sink next to Clemmie and methodically, laboriously almost, washed her hands, scrubbing each knuckle in turn. Once that was complete, she lifted a towel from the basket and massaged her wet hands thoroughly.
Clemmie continued to apply lip liner, her eyes flicking back and forth to Hermione in the mirror. Her friend had become overly preoccupied with the contents of her handbag.
Only once each digit, palm and wrist was dry did she walk to the little rattan bin next to the friend's elbow and set it inside. She strode leisurely to the door. Her heart pounding with adrenaline and sheer dumb bravado she turned back.
"I'll put you out of your misery shall I Clemmie?" Clemmie halted her application and looked towards her. "About Ron Weasley's sexual prowess. I believe you were wondering about it."
"And you would know would you?"
Clemmie's lip curled a little and Hermione lost any of the reticence she might have felt at what she was about to say next.
"Let's just say, you are bang on the money. In every respect. Ron Weasley is great in bed and more than adequately endowed. Massive even."
Dramatically Hermione yanked open the door. "Orgasms for days!"
The door slammed behind her satisfyingly.
Pulsing from the high, she returned to where Ron was lounging at their table.
When he saw her he started to speak but stopped short. "Jesus are you ok? You're shaking."
"It's just… yes I'm fine. Honestly."
She sat down next to him and took a glug of wine.
Ron's face was filled with concern. "What the hell happened? Do you want to go home?"
"No, no. It's ok." Hermione looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. Over his shoulder, she observed Clemmie and her friend exiting the bathroom, could feel the poison in their glares.
"On second thoughts. Yes, maybe it's time to call it a night."
Ron didn't need telling twice. Wrapping a protective arm around her, he walked her through the ballroom and towards the door. As they passed Clemmie's table Hermione stared straight ahead in case Ron might feel the need to stop and exchange pleasantries. But he didn't even acknowledge Clemmie's existence and they slipped into a waiting taxi.
Once on their way, Ron wouldn't hear of Hermione going home; he insisted they return the castle.
"The night is young. Plus, one way or another, you're going to tell me what happened after you disappeared to the bathroom."
Hermione groaned. "Nothing happened."
"Liar," he responded good humouredly. "I know the girls' toilets are a hotbed of gossip and intrigue. All sorts of mystical things happen in there."
OOO
"Best ice cream ever." Hermione spooned another scoop into her mouth to prove her point.
"Knew you'd like it. Much better than the tarted-up crap they served tonight. Right?"
They were sitting in the kitchen on the bench next to the stove, basking in its heat. Ron had released his collar and cuffs the moment they had arrived at the castle and his shirt hung loosely open and half tucked into his trousers, his bowtie long abandoned. Hermione didn't know why but, if anything, he looked more handsome than he had at the start of the evening.
Distracting herself, she pulled absently at invisible clips in her hair, wincing as she worked one free.
"Fancy hair is pretty but causes big headaches huh?"
Hermione made an affirmative noise and scratched her scalp. "My head has never seen so many pins or so much hairspray. I'll be picking little tiny grips out of my hair for weeks. I'm not cut out for glamour."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Ron muttered, swirling his spoon through the remnants of his ice cream, "I happen to think you scrub up very nicely."
At this she guffawed. "Thanks, but I can kind of see what you mean about attending these posh events. It's nice to get dressed up once in a while but I imagine it gets a bit samey. And you don't even know the half of it, being a man. Hair pins, strapless bras. Heels! I think I'll stick to boiler suits for the foreseeable future. Leave it until later in the year before you invite me to another one of these things. Let my scalp recover."
She tugged at a stubborn pin that was wedged at the nape of her neck.
"Hey, hey, hey," Ron said softly, sliding along the bench so he was next to her, "You will literally tear your hair out. Stay still and tip your head forward."
Gently, he pushed her hand out of the way and his nimble fingers threaded underneath the pin and began working it back and forth.
"Whoever put this in did not intend for it to ever come out."
His breath was hot and caused the hair on the back of her neck to crackle. Hermione held her hands together in her lap, digits plaited together so she couldn't move. Every so often Ron's knuckle grazed her skin and goose bumps cheered down her middle back.
When the pin released, he delicately extracted it and set it to one side before starting on another one.
"So," he muttered quietly, head bent to his work, "Tell me what went on in the bathroom. One minute you were fine, the next you were a juddering wreck. And don't say 'nothing'. Don't lie to a Weasley. We always know. Tell me."
For a moment she tried to find a way to tell him the abridged version, something that wouldn't involve giving him quite so many details. Ultimately, her brain couldn't work fast enough, preoccupied as it was with the sensation of his fingers in her hair- and she told it as it happened.
Ron was removing the last pin from the underside of her head when she reached the part about gingers and their supposed sexual expertise. Hermione lifted her head and shook out her curls to the sound of his laughter.
"Bloody hell, what is she like? It is true though. Just for the record."
He stopped laughing when he heard what Clemmie had said about Hermione.
"Venomous little bitch." His face was stony. "Next time I see her she's going to fucking get it. Entitled, spoiled, rat-faced little…"
"It's ok. Really," Hermione soothed, laying a peaceful hand on his knee. "I dealt with it."
By the time she had conveyed the final part of her tale Ron was laughing again.
"Yes Hermione Granger!" he enthused, giving her a high-five. "I love it! Not only did you hit the toad right between the eyes but- and this is my favourite bit- you made me seem utterly sexy and fuckable. Legend."
His long arm pulled her towards him in a celebratory half-embrace.
Her smile widened in the face of his triumph. "I really didn't need to bother. She already thinks you're sexy and fuckable."
Ron's eyes seem to brighten on the last word and his face came nearer to hers, as though he were telling her a secret. "Yeah, but you were able to vouch for me."
His voice had dropped to a much lower resonance and Hermione was suddenly really aware that his right arm was still curled around her body, his hand cupping her elbow and his thumb resting on the soft skin of her inner arm.
"I didn't vouch for you," she replied thickly, the tone of her voice mirroring his. "I speculated. I lied actually."
One side of Ron's mouth lifted. "Not if it's the truth."
His thumb was making tiny, deliberate circles on her skin, each pass causing a hitch in her breathing.
Hermione wet her bottom lip and swallowed. "How would I know… if it's the truth?"
She expected him to come back with some witty remark, she held her breath waiting for it. So when instead, he chose to cradle her face with his hand and draw it towards his, until they were nose to nose, she exhaled faintly onto him. His lips parted, he breathed her in and then he captured her mouth with his.
It was a tentative, inquisitive kiss, asking all sorts of questions like 'Is this okay?' and 'Do you want this?'. They stayed in exactly the same position, side by side, Hermione cuddled under Ron's arm, neither daring to move in case it broke the spell.
Ron moaned softly as she met his tongue with hers; she felt the vibration of it through her jaw and her low belly clenched and released in response. The sensation of his desire for her was overwhelming erotic; heat crept from her flushed face to her abdomen and then lower, where it pooled and simmered.
When Ron eventually pulled away, he held her face close, so close she could feel his lips moving as he spoke.
"I wanted to do that the second I saw you in that dress."
"Why didn't you?" Hermione's voice was high and breathless.
"Dunno. Should have. But then I mightn't have heard you use the word 'fuckable', which would have been a great shame."
"The word 'fuckable'?"
Ron groaned and kissed her forcefully. "Don't. You have no idea what it does to me, your sweet little mouth saying dirty words."
She smiled against him. Somewhere, a clock struck two AM.
Hermione sat back a little. "God, it's so late. I should be getting home."
Even as she said it, she despaired at herself. Here she was, having just been on the receiving end of a kiss that reached her knees, delivered by a man she was intoxicated by and all she could do was play the coy Cinderella.
"Don't go. Please. Come upstairs with me."
She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, the tips of his ears tinged red.
"Not like that. Just come up and be with me. You've never seen the apartments. I'd like to show you where I live. Where I actually live."
As Ron ascended the back staircase, he couldn't quite believe he had Hermione's hand in his. Just as difficult to believe was the kiss they had just shared; the longing between them now ridiculously obvious.
He felt somewhat bashful as he showed her around the suite of little rooms, as though he was revealing some unseen part of himself. He pointed out the room he and his brothers had shared and the one Ginny got all to herself, still made up so they had somewhere to sleep if they stayed the night. They toured the old playroom and the kitchenette before finally arriving at the master bedroom.
The furniture was old but it matched; mahogany four poster bed, blanket box and desk. He was thankful that he had shed his inability to tidy his things away as a teenager; the room was free from clutter other than the tax return documents languishing on the desk.
Hermione walked to the window.
"You must have a great view from here."
"I watch you huffing and puffing up the path with things on the dolly," he replied grinning and she laughed in response. "I bought you a new one, by the way."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but he talked her down.
"Call it a Christmas present."
She smiled and then yawned in quick succession.
"Come and lie down."
Ron patted the bed. When she didn't immediately move he went to her.
"Look Hermione," he murmured, staring at her fingers as he knotted them with his, "This isn't the big come-on. Well it is sort of but we're not going to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Really, just having you here with me is enough. More than enough actually."
Her face softened and she allowed him to lead her to the bed. There, Ron unzipped her dress, taking care to move away and allow her to step out of it and climb into bed without him ogling her in her underwear. Only once she was safely under the sheets did he undress and get in beside her.
He lay still for a moment, gazing at the ceiling. Every fibre of his body bounced, straining to be closer to her but he wanted her to be able to trust what he said and not feel pawed over like some girl. She wasn't just some girl.
When she reached for him, though he physically ached with the effort, he responded slowly and considerately, accepting her into his embrace and replying to her cautious kisses in kind.
When sleep overtook them a little while later, they fell into unconsciousness intertwined.