A/N - shorter chapter, hope y'all enjoy
Chapter 28 - Three words; eight letters
As expected, the whole affair was quite difficult. Ron longed to be better, pleaded to know what to provide while he watched his mother break into sobs. But all he could do was offer his embrace, which was gratefully accepted by his grieving mum. After a strange yet somewhat nice evening of him and his brother's exchanging stories of Fred, whilst his mum and dad watched with sad smiles, they had all retreated to bed in plan of returning home tomorrow. Ron supposed it was strange to retell stories of Fred as if he was a person of the past, when only two days ago he was one of the present. Quite heartbreaking, actually.
Hermione delicately brushed the fringe out of Ron's eyes, breaking him from his reverie, as he realised she was lying half on top of him, looking concernedly into his eyes.
"Thank you," he said softly, smiling at her.
"For what?" she chuckled, secretly wondering if he actually craved some peace alone.
"Getting me to go down earlier," Ron answered simply, tracing random shapes along her pyjama sleeve. "Bet you're boiling in these long sleeves," he commented, a bit absently.
Hermione looked down feebly. She knew she couldn't hide her scar forever, but it was equally something that she didn't want to particularly showcase. Instead of saying anything, she shrugged, hoping that his delicate fingers wouldn't stumble upon the ugly mark.
But, of course, she should've known better than to think that Ron wouldn't notice anything different in her mood. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. I'm fine," she answered flatly, sitting up as naturally as possible, hoping to turn away and encourage Ron to forget about it.
Ron sat up too. "Are you sure? Is- are- have I-"
"No, you haven't done anything, Ron," Hermione answered, her tone softening. "I'm sorry, it's just-" tears stung her eyes and she willed them away, not believing her own selfish weakness right now.
Ron tentatively reached for her hand, taking one of hers in both of his. "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," he said, assuming that she was rightly frightened of suffering from the nightmares again.
Hermione bit her lip in contemplation, but as she watched Ron handling her with so much care and devotion, she knew that there was no contemplation to be had.
"I do want to talk about it," she stated. "But, can we go somewhere else?" There was no way that she could risk anyone else seeing the scar, as it would eventually trigger questions about how she had obtained it in the first place.
"'Course. Where do you wanna go?" he asked, getting up off of the bed with her hand still in his.
"Prefects bathroom?" Hermione suggested. It was a random thought, but she pondered that other places such as the library were either damaged, or being used as a makeshift dormitory for those who stayed back at Hogwarts.
They wandered down the corridors to the bathroom, hand in hand, trepidation rising within Hermione as she thought over the possible outcomes of revealing the scar to Ron. He hadn't given her a single reason to doubt that he would still treat her the same, and she supposed that maybe it was an overreaction to it on her part, but it made her feel self conscious and vulnerable.
The bathroom, surprisingly, was still intact. Golden and graceful as always. Quite contradictory to the state I'm in, Hermione thought.
And of course, there were large, revealing mirrors all over the walls, so Hermione opted to sitting up on one of the golden-top counters, with her back to any exposing mirrors.
Ron stood in between her legs, searching her face for any signs of what she was about to divulge in.
Hermione sighed, before sitting up properly and assuming a stance of feigned certainty and somewhat confidence.
"Right. I'm about to show you something… and it's not particularly pleasant, but that doesn't mean that I'm at all ashamed by it. I'm quite proud of it, actually. So frankly, I don't care if it's not the most appealing attribute you've ever wanted in a woman, Ron, because I didn't ask for it to be there, but it is, so-" she knew she was going off into a defensible ramble about nothing really, which was thankfully interrupted by a bewildered Ron.
"Why don't you show me what it is before you assume I'm going to judge you for it?" he asked with a teasing smile, having no idea what she was referring to.
She took a deep breath as their eyes locked. "Okay," she relented, reaching to pull her pyjama top off, revealing a thin white vest that seemed to consume all of Ron's initial attention.
Hermione rolled her eyes, although she couldn't help smile elatedly at the dazed look on his face as he drank in her appearance.
She pointedly cleared her throat, bringing them back to the point at hand. Ron looked back up to her eyes with a sheepish smile, but as Hermione leaned herself back to rest her weight on her arms, Ron's eyes immediately sought out the ugly, purple scar that bared itself to him.
His eyebrows raised worriedly at the sight, before his eyes met hers again, silently asking her to elaborate.
"Bellatrix," Hermione answered. "With her knife."
Ron sighed with contained anger as he looked over her scar again. But, Hermione interpreted his worry as disgust and frustration, which quickly angered her.
"I know it's atrocious, Ron, but you don't have to gape at it like that," she said with annoyance mixed with self consciousness, before trying to move off of the counter, but Ron stopped her by gripping her legs and keeping them in place.
"Who said it was atrocious?" he asked, waiting for her to move back against the countertop.
Hermione sighed and sat back, not able to look into Ron's eyes.
"Why did you hide it for so long?"
"Because I knew you would hate it!" she huffed, "it's disgusting. And I looked awful at Shell Cottage, anyway, and I just didn't need anything else to add to the revolting sight that everyone else was already presented with."
Ron looked at her incredulously. "Well, firstly, I don't hate it. I don't think it's disgusting, and you did not look anywhere near awful or 'revolting' at Shell Cottage. You're so beautiful, Hermione, I don't bloody know why you can't see it, because it's the most obvious thing in the whole world to me," he began, but Hermione looked vehemently away, crossing her arms over her chest, even if her heart was touched by his words. Ron continued. "I don't hate it," he repeated, gently tugging at her arms so he could see it. "I hate how you got it," he said, beginning to trace over it delicately with his fingertips, causing Hermione to shiver. "I hate who gave it to you, I hate the fact that you went through so much pain to get it, and I really fucking hate that people see Muggle-borns that way, but I don't hate it. In fact, I love it," he said in a quiet, nearly hoarse tone, still tracing it gently. Hermione was watching him now, the threatening tears now ready to spill over. "I love it, because it's a part of you, and-" He paused for a second. "-and, I love you, Hermione," he finished, looking up into her eyes.
Hermione had a flow of tears steadying down her cheeks now, so overcome with emotions that only Ron could bring out of her. "I love you, too," she choked out happily, flinging her arms around his shoulders as she let herself calm down. "I love you so much, Ron," she muffled into his shoulder.
Ron's grin couldn't be wider, as he stroked Hermione's back. "I love you so much, even when you're bloody mad," he laughed.
"Hey!" Hermione replied in mock defence, before pulling back to look properly at his face. "You really don't think it's that bad?" she timidly asked.
"Once again, I'll never not be angry about what happened to you, but you're just as too-fucking-gorgeous for me as you were before it happened," he promised, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips as his grip on her waist tightened.
Hermione wanted to protest, argue that he was the one who was far too gorgeous for her, but the temperature of the room was soon becoming far too stifling for coherent thought to be processed, and it only took a millisecond for their lips to collide. Their fourth kiss. It was definitely more heated than the last two short and sweet ones. And, it was possibly even more frenzied and chaotic than their first one. But to Hermione, it was perfect. Ron was definitely much more experienced, and she reckoned it was the first and only time that she'd ever be somewhat, just slightly thankful of that fact as he led their kisses, gently lining her lower lip with his tongue. She opened her mouth automatically, and moaned into his mouth as their tongues made contact. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, hands wound in his gorgeous hair, while his hands travelled lower down her back, sneaky fingers finding their way under the thin material of her vest.
After arguably the best few minutes of the last ten months, they broke apart, both gasping for air. However, their bodies remained practically attached together. Hermione blushed, realising that their chests were very much pressed against each other, and she was quite sure that Ron could feel just how excited she had become through the cotton of his t-shirt, and the sheer material of her vest.
They stared lustfully at each other, breaths mingling with the proximity, before Ron's mouth descended upon hers again. They resumed their heated kiss, before Ron began to drag his wet, sloppy kisses down and across her jaw, causing Hermione to sigh contentedly. She even let out a moan as he found a particularly sensitive area behind her ear. Ron grinned into her neck, before gently nipping her skin, dragging his tongue over where his teeth had focused on. He brought his lips back to hers for a tantalising moment, before repeating his exploration on the other side of her face and neck. Hermione could do no more than breathe in pants, a whimper now and again escaping her lips as she tightened her hold around his neck.
Ron began to mumble how gorgeous she was into her skin, causing the blaze in her lower stomach to roar with want. "I love you," he mumbled into her neck. "I love you," he mumbled again, into her exposed shoulder. He then intertwined their fingers, yanking his own lips from her skin.
"I love you," he finally reiterated, pecking her lips. "But we should probably go, before I get too ahead of myself."
Hermione didn't say anything or even nod her head, because if she was honest, she would let Ron do anything he wanted right now. But, the annoyingly rational part of her brain reminded her that even though she would enjoy it, doesn't mean it was the right thing to move too forward right now. They had only been together for about twenty-four hours. And, actually, they weren't even officially together.
Breathlessly, she pulled her pyjama top back over her head. Ron looked at her, curiously. "You and Fleur are the only people who have seen it, and I'd like that to remain for a while, because once people see the scar I'll have to tell them about why I have it."
Ron nodded in understanding, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they made to walk back. Hermione leaned into him, closing her eyes as they calmly strolled back.
"Can't believe Fleur knew before I did," he joked, breaking the otherwise comfortable silence.
"Well, she was the one who helped me wash at Shell Cottage."
"Mm, I wouldn't have minded taking up that role."
Hermione chuckled. "Are you really that randy?"
"Coming from the one who was moaning my name aloud in the Prefects bathroom!" he scoffed, before imitating her by pretending to moan out his own name in a voice Hermione presumed was meant to be hers, although she couldn't believe he thought that was any good. She was also terribly embarrassed that she had done that in the bathroom, without even realising.
Blushing furiously, Hermione swatted him. "I hate you!" she laughed.
"Bet you do," Ron smirked, before kissing her forehead as they reached the Gryffindor common room.
They quietened down by the time they had pulled closed the curtains, casting a Muffliato before each clambering into bed.
"You know, technically, I said it first," Hermione mused as Ron yanked his t-shirt off, and she took off her pyjama top.
"When?" Ron asked, chucking his t-shirt somewhere as she folded her top properly and placed it on the floor.
"On the beach at Shell Cottage," she answered, settling down and lying her head on his shoulder, their legs entwining.
"Oh yeah," he yawned.
"Come to think of it, this time and the last time it was said was because I had gone off at you, acting dramatic and irrational, and you had been the wonderful one, saying all of these amazing things," she admitted guiltily, playing with a stray piece of cotton from his quilt.
"Maybe I've just finally worked out how we should communicate with each other,"
"I should be so lucky," she chuckled, leaning up and kissing him once on the mouth. "I love you."
Ron opened an eye groggily, "I love you, too," he said, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face as the hold his arm had around her waist tightened. Hermione smiled contentedly, resting her head back on his shoulder, thanking every lucky star that she had met Ronald Weasley.