Standard disclaimers apply!

I do not own Harry Potter. I have nothing to do with Scholastic, Warner Bros or Bloomsbury. I'm not JKR and I am certainly not making any profit out of this.

THE

There.

She could see him on the other side of the gate, laughing and joking with Hagrid. She wanted to run, but forced herself to remain at a brisk walking pace.

Had it only been three weeks? Not even that, but it felt like an age.

He just looked so GOOD.

Then he saw her and was grinning from ear to ear ... she abandoned the idea of decorum to fly into his waiting arms.

Warmth.

He was so warm and this was right where she was supposed to be.

"Righ' then, I'll jus leave you both to it," Hagrid chuckled.

Hermione lifted her head from the crook of Ron's neck – she'd been breathing him in – and said, "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Yeah," Ron sounded as if he was in a daze. "Have a good weekend, Hagrid."

Hagrid's beard twitched and his eyes crinkled at the ends. "Not as good as you two will, by the look o' it."

"Hagrid!" Hermione laughed.

Hagrid laughed too. "Yeh look happy to see each other, tha's all I'm sayin'." He made shooing motions with his enormous hands, nearly decapitating Ron in the process. "Now off with yer both, and mind yer no' late back on Sunday night!" Still laughing, he backed into the Hogwarts grounds, pulling the great gates closed as he went, then with a final jaunty wave he turned and made his way back toward the school.

Ron buried his face in her hair and hugged her tightly. "So good to see you."

"Yes," she agreed, wrapping her arms around him. "How are you?"

"I'm great now." He loosened his grip on her to step back a little and gaze at her happily. "Where do you want to go first?"

"I thought we might stop at Hogsmeade for a quick morning tea," she suggested.

"Merlin," Ron pretended to be horrified, "you want to go to Puddifoot's don't you?"

"What if I do?" She challenged, biting back a giggle.

"I suppose I'll just have to cope with it," Ron grinned suddenly, "but there's something that needs to be done first."

"What's that?" She let her eyes drift shut, savouring the feeling of his fingertips light on her temple and then tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione," he whispered against her cheek, and then slid his lips over hers ... lightly, gently, hardly there at all.

"I can still see yeh!" Hagrid's voice came floating toward them.

"Hmmm," she smiled slightly, "he has a point."

"Come on then," Ron chuckled, "let's go. Are you game for Puddifoot's? I've never been, but Harry says it's very pink and very lacy and the bastion of loving couples."

"Ginny say's they do a good scone," Hermione said as they linked hands and started toward Hogsmeade.

"Even better."

*

"Harry wasn't exaggerating," Hermione muttered in an undertone as they stood just inside the door and looked around with wide eyes.

"No, he really wasn't," Ron agreed, blinking in something akin to surprise.

"Good morning!" A tiny, round woman with a pleasant face, Madam Puddifoot herself, bustled toward them. "A table for two?"

They nodded silently.

She surveyed them with a friendly eye. "A cosy nook, I think. Yes, I've just the table for you. Come along then."

They followed her mutely to a tiny alcove tucked away in the far corner, and obediently slid into the cushioned booth.

"Two cream teas," she stated, beaming down at them.

"I ... uh," Ron glanced at Hermione, who nodded quickly. "Yes, thank you."

"Very good," the woman nodded her approval and hurried away.

"Well ..." Ron stared around, slightly gobsmacked. "This is ..."

"Cosy," Hermione supplied, stifling a giggle behind her hand.

"I was going to say pink and lacy, but it's cosy too," Ron agreed. "I hope you're hungry."

"Not particularly," Hermione grinned, "but I'm sure you're taking donations."

"No doubt." He took both her hands in his. "This table is tiny."

"It's perfect." She leaned forward slightly. "Don't you have something you need to finish?"

There was nothing light, nothing gentle, and nothing hardly even there, when they met in the middle.

Need.

She freed one of her hands and sunk her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck; needing to hold him in place until they were out of breath and gasping with sudden, delirious laughter.

With spectacular timing, perhaps born of years of catering to young lovers, Madam Puddifoot appeared with a heavily laden silver tray.

"Here you are dears," she said, placing a large-bellied, floral tea-pot between them. "You look capable of pouring, Miss Granger," she placed the cups and saucers in front of Hermione. "And you," she addressed Ron, giving him the large plate of scones, jam and cream, "look like you know what to do with these, Mr Weasley." Once again nodding her approval, she added, "Sing out if you need anything," and turned on her heel.

"Reminds me of Mum," Ron half-frowned. "You want me to pour?"

"Better not," Hermione looked amused, "who knows what might happen."

"Fine," Ron reached for a scone, "still warm, excellent. Probably just as well, all this matching stuff makes me nervous."

"Silly," Hermione smiled, "it's no different than any other tea-service."

Ron shook his head as he slathered the halved scones with cream and then dribbled jam over the tops. "Mum's got this one, but in blue instead of red and yellow. She only ever brings it out for best though."

"Really?" Hermione carefully put his tea in front of him. "Not your kind of thing?"

"Thanks," he passed her a plate of the prepared scones. "'Spose it's nice enough," he picked up his cup and studied it critically. "Fleur's got a set that's mostly white – you know that kind of white that's almost blue? She got one like that, but with a blueish green band along the top and a gold rim on the edge. I like that one."

"A bit more masculine, perhaps?" Hermione suggested casually before sipping her tea.

"Maybe," Ron agreed and took a large bite of his scone, looking suddenly amused.

"What?"

He just shook his head, his mouth too full to speak.

"Maybe you should try taking small bites next time," Hermione teased.

Holding his hand in front of his mouth, he snorted inelegantly and then swallowed. "Now you tell me," he mocked. "They're good though."

"Clearly," she took a small bite of her own. "Not bad," she agreed. "What was so funny?"

"We're discussing china patterns, Hermione." He took a swig of his tea. "China Patterns!"

Her lips twitched upward. "How very old fashioned."

"Indeed." He raised a brow. "What's next?"

Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "The next logical step would be picking out the linens."

"Hermione!" He gasped in a scandalised tone. "That's a bit ..." he dropped his voice to a whisper, "intimate, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured coyly, trailing a light finger over the back of his hand and glancing up at him through her lashes. "Linens are very ... lineny."

"Lineny?" Ron sniggered. "That's the best you can do?"

"Sorry," Hermione giggled, "I concede defeat."

"I am the master!" He raised his arms in triumph. "The Master of Hippogriff-Dung-Artistry!"

"You're the master of something, alright!" She agreed as they both fell about, laughing.

*

"When is your Mum expecting us?" Hermione asked as they wandered, arm in arm, through Hogsmeade.

"Not 'til tea-time," Ron told her as glanced in the window of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"So we've really got the entire day to ourselves," Hermione smiled with satisfaction.

"Good, isn't it?" Ron nodded. "What do you want to do?"

Random useless information!

Madam Puddifoot served their Cream Tea on Royal Albert "Old Country Roses", Mrs Weasley's set is Royal Albert "Moonlight Rose" and Fleur's is Royal Doulton "Biltmore". I have a "thing" about tableware. LOL.