Ch 7 So that's why we….

Hermione fell back on the bed, covered in sweat and heart pounding away in her chest. Her throat was sore from yelling so much, and it felt raw from the expletives that passed her lips recently. Her best friend, her lover, her husband lay half on her, having collapsed moments earlier.

Ron lifted his sweaty head from the pillow, still flushed and panting from exertion. "Bloody Hell, woman, you wore me out today! What's got into you?"

After Fred's funeral years prior, she never complained that her husband was larger than life. She loved his lanky mass crushing her into the warmth of the bedclothes, making her feel safe in no other way. She only loved the moments of utter emotional intimacy that followed more than the mind blowing sex. "I seem to recall that you got into me just now," she cheeked. "I didn't hear you complaining about it either."

"When could I? The moment I got in the door, you threw me into the wall burning my lips with a kiss. Before I realized the kids were nowhere to be seen, you were on your knees in front of me. What gives?

Hermione blushed from what prompted her aggressive behavior tonight. He needed to know why regardless how much the information embarrassed her. Their relationship and marriage were built daily on open communication and trust. She also worked hard to give him the respect he needed and earned. Deep inside of his core, where no one else would bother to look now, was a little boy with dirt on his nose who wanted to prove himself to the world outside of his brother's long shadow.

It took years until he realized she was his first cheerleader, and willing to fight his mother for him. Their relationship was better once he understood she forsook all others to marry him.

Bill is the famous curse breaker, now a director at Gringott's. Then there is Charlie, the Dragon Wrangler. Percy is a Director in the Ministry. Fred – Ron's Hero - is still toasted to this day. George, the Inventor, is the face of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. His shops dot three continents now. Ginny – star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and English Quidditch Hero – brought home the 2002 Quidditch World Cup home to England with her MVF performance. Three kids and ten years later, she is still chased for magazine covers. Her lesser known accolade was marrying Harry Potter.

Ron certainly lived up and surpassed his siblings in so many ways.

Ron Weasley – co-owner of WWW, inventor, and owner of rather lucrative patents. Captain Ron Weasley, Auror and associate supervisor of the Auror Corps. Ron Weasley, along with his wife and best friend, graced the front of a Chocolate Frog card – one of the youngest Wizards ever. Ron Weasley, icon to the next generation of underage wizards who wanted to just like him – a hero.

Ron Weasley, the self-doubting prat, who listened to evil and was stupid to believe the lies. Ron Weasley, the self-identifying traitor, for walking out on his best friends when they needed him. Ron Weasley, the coward, for not protecting his hero from getting killed in the middle of a battle.

Those moments, when the two sides of Ron Weasley warred with one another, made Hermione question her efforts to bolster her husband's self-esteem and self-worth. It hurt her when he was occasionally gripped with self-doubt. Those moments, growing fewer and far between, made her feel a failure because he was still susceptible to them. Those feelings never lasted. She rededicated her efforts, fighting with him and for him. Her best friend needed nothing less than her best.

Whenever he came close to stumbling, reliving those moments of despair and failure, she took over, and reminded him, through energetic and passionate lovemaking, that she chose him, that she forgave him, that she loved him, that she married him.

Today was not that day. Today was Caesar returning to Rome in Triumph – or Harry surviving Riddle a third time.

Ron rolled onto his back, taking his wife with him. He settled into his pillow, ginger on gold. The hair on his body stood out brilliantly against the muted gold sheets. The flush on his cheeks down his chest added to the burst of color.

"You're my best friend. I know you. If you were dealing with Mum, I knew something would happen. So I waited. Arthur sent an owl letting me know when Molly came out of the house. You also took longer to get home than I anticipated. When you didn't return immediately, I thought you might take a walk to clear your head. The look on your face when you walked through the door told me something had changed. It was relief, and victory."

The heat radiating from his freckled coated skin warmed her like the lust she felt earlier from him. She looked over at him, watching the blood flow through the artery in his neck, beating in time with his heart. The skin on his was unbroken where she had a scar, long since healed and pain free. It didn't keep her from running a finger over his skin, feeling the beat from it.

"If you had the best day of your life, I knew you'd still be conflicted, even if the kids didn't see it. You always are when dealing with Molly. So, I took charge and rode the Quidditch king to victory. I didn't think you'd mind in the least tonight."

"Hell no, you barmy wench. I love it. You can treat me like a lolly any time. I'm just curious why you blew me off while the kids were awake. You've not been that daring since we had Rose."

Hermione traced her finger down his neck onto his slowly cooling chest, feeling the miniscule hairs stand up in her wake. His continual auror training kept him lean and limber and powerful. Under her nail she felt the muscles twitch and watched them dance under her ink stained finger tips. Goose bumps broke out in her wake.

"Pure selfishness really. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you. It was a prime opportunity to blow your mind in the best possible way. Rose had her nose in a book and wouldn't hear us out of the room for ten minutes. Hugo was down for a nap and it was just dumb luck that he woke up a few minutes after we finished. It'd also mean that you wouldn't be impatient tonight, right?"

Ron looked down at his wife while she was tracing her nail across his nips in a figure eight pattern. Their first night together, she learned that he was extraordinarily sensitive afterwards – much like she was after her first moan. He loved making her moan his name, then taking the volume higher each time. Tonight was no different. 'Thank Merlin for Magic and the strength of Auror grade silencing spells. The kids don't need to know that their Mum is a screamer.'

"Honey, you can ride my broom anytime. You'll never hear me complain."

Hermione laid her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat while she continued to trace her fingers down his waist. Training and her cooking kept him lean. His mum's meals, which would last her three days if she ate like her husband, kept him with a normal instead of concave stomach. His stash of sweets, which he fought her on daily, kept him happier.

She ran her fingers through the ample ginger hairs below his navel, threading more fingers into his lower abdomen. The coarse hairs felt exquisite, even matted with sweat and sex. Between his mum and wife, along with his chocolate cookie rations, he was in prime health, physically and sexually. He demonstrated it tonight, enduring from her low moans to her high pitched screams before he finished as well.

"Hermione?"

"Yes love?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"The day of Fred's funeral."

Hermione stilled her hands, leaving one on his hip and the other on his hair covered thigh. Her continued silence was her question.

"Why that day? Why not wait until the trip to Australia? Or after you finished school? I know it was murder while we were apart that year. I loved your letters while I was away at training camp, since they kept me focused on what I was working for. But I also read what you weren't telling me – the detachment, the nightmares, the emotional outbursts, the time spent in McGonagall's office for the private healer sessions."

Hermione quit breathing. Ron rarely asked her what happened those cold lonely nights away from one another. Most of the time, she hemmed and hawed to brush him off. Some things were only meant for Ginny and Luna. How could you explain something that was a feeling, wrapped in emotion, tempered in pain?

'To hell with hiding' she quietly thought. She looked up from his abdomen, and saw his blue eyes staring back at her. In the low lights of their room, they looked like the finest sapphires, much like the ones on her fingers. He first surprised her with the engagement ring. He gave it to her at Christmas in front of his family. It was like her, so he said: delicate, petite, and absolutely beautiful. That ring never came off. He later said that he spent every knut he made while working for George his first year – which was a tidy sum – saying she was worth every knut he would ever earn. She cherished it most of all. This new ring, one of which she wore most days, was exquisite also. A diamond and blue sapphire anniversary band wasn't cheap either. She cried in front of the family, tears of joy that were shared by the wives. When she muttered why, he made her cry more. "I wanted you to have a proper anniversary gift. Twenty years of being friends should mean something."

She crawled back up his torso, settling her comfortably roomy hips on his, not bothering to hide what they both already knew and loved about one another. At 32, and two kids, her body was not what it was at 19. She was thankful for that. His wasn't either. She was thankful for that too.

"How much do you remember about that day, love? I mean, really remember about it."

"I remember shagging you for the first time, then again later that night. Not much else really. Why?"

She looked down, taking his hands, and putting them on her hips. Normally, she didn't mind when his fingers wandered to her bum, rubbing circles on her sensitive skin. This time wasn't it. She wanted him calm and focused.

"You don't remember the flower display you put around Kingsley's neck at the service?"

A flicker of recognition passed over his face. "Vaguely. I remember being upset."

"Do you remember that you were doing it wandlessly, or that you were displaying raw unrestrained, undisciplined magic?"

Another spark flashed in his eyes. "Vaguely. That day is so fuzzy."

"When I caught up to you on the fence at the front of the house, you were crying."

Mortification rolled across his face.

"You told me to come follow you, and we apparated into the house. I sealed the rest of the house above the ground floor. I didn't know what you were going to do. Each step I took up the stairs was shaky. Your unrestrained raw magic was threatening to tear the house down on us."

"I don't remember that."

"I know. You were so broken, raw, that you needed an outlet for your emotional chaos. When I caught up with you, you were destroying your room with your bare hands. You were well along when I stopped you."

Hermione took his hands, the ones that her own would get lost in, and placed them on her ample yet less perky breasts. His hands were a miracle unto themselves – powerful, gentle, calloused, and loving. The dichotomy of them never ceased to amaze her, even after so many years of friendship and love. He could wield magic that only Harry could handle, and yet those same hands held his newborn children like the treasure they are. His hands rescued strangers in danger on more than one occasion, getting burned, cut, broken, and yet they were the same ones that give unspeakable pleasure to her.

The heat from his hands sensitized her. She flinched when he rolled her nipples in them out of habit. She put her hands back on top of them, to cease his movements, and to quiet his touch. "I knew that you were like a phoenix on the inside, ready to immolate. Your teaspoon melted, and the replacement shot glass shattered from what you were experiencing. I'm not surprised that you had to find something to destroy."

Her husband looked lost in his own memories.

"I first loved you when you belched slugs for me twenty years ago. I fell in love with you well before the farce known as the Yule Ball. I went with my best friends, the ones I loved and was willing to die for, to try and save our world. Somehow, we did it, and paid a terrible price for victory: in sanity, in tears, in blood, and family." Hermione took a deep breath. "My best friend needed me, and He needed saving. When you went up the stairs, I chose to follow you. I accepted that there might be consequences. I thought you could hurt me terribly, whether physically or from a broken heart. I hoped it wouldn't happen, but there was no guarantee. What happened surprised me nonetheless."

Hermione felt the silence of the room, and heard the machinations of her husband's thoughts. What she used to call an emotional teaspoon was considerably wrong. It took years of marriage to realize he did think, and thought deeply. He had trouble articulating as well as she could. When he did, he was clumsy and coarse, and occasionally cruel, but brutally honest as he saw it. When she quit overthinking about what he said, and just listened, they actually understood one another.

"So you're telling me that you were prepared for anything I might do."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I could have laid my hands on you in anger, and you would have accepted it."

She blushed in surprise. "I doubt that you would have done that, but yes, I probably would have. I'll never know. You've never laid a hand on me in anger."

"I could have screamed at you like the fight after the ball, and you would have taken it."

"Yes, I would have. The only time I wouldn't have fought back. My boyfriend needed me."

Ron was quiet, thinking, while tapping his dexterous digits on her pebbled nipples. Just sitting like this was a torturous temptation for Hermione. "Were we by then? Your boyfriend, what I mean."

She looked down at her husband, letting the strands of her sweat soaked frizzy hair tickle his collarbone. She chuckled, shaking those same strands across his skin. "You might not have, but I was ready to be your girlfriend for two years. Hearing you while I was writhing on the floor kept me sane, gave me a reason to keep breathing. Seeing your beautiful blue eyes when I awoke from that last nightmare was worth the pain of twice broken ribs."

He blanched. "I did that, didn't I?"

"You did, but that was fine. Feeling that pain meant I was alive. Realizing why I was hurting meant I was sane. I didn't question until much later how much that murderer put me through, trying to break me. She chose me, to break me, trying break you. It nearly worked. I hated Draco for being a coward – he's barely worth the pity I feel for him – but my hatred for him was outweighed by my love for you. You kept me there, willing me to take that next breath. I had to protect Harry – there was no choice there – but I chose to protect you. If that had meant my death, I would have gladly done so."

He flushed again, remembering that conversation they had that cold May morning in his parent's dining room. That admission, the first time made in front of his family before she crumbled, changed the dynamic of their friendship completely. It was the first morning he realized she was what he needed: a living example of courage.

"The day of Fred's funeral, you told me –"

"I did. I thought I knew what you needed. You needed me, but you also needed forgiveness and understanding. No one else could give that to you."

Ron removed his hands from her breasts, moving them to the tops of her thighs. "You don't? I practically – "

"Bollocks and you know it. I told you to take me. What happened was inevitable. It wasn't like we weren't already as close as lovers by then. You needed me in every way. It was only a matter of time before we made love and I don't regret anything that day. I never have and never will."

Ron turned a fabulous shade of Weasley Red at his comment. Watching her bleeding slowly to death while Bill and Fleur rushed to save her life wasn't how he wanted to see her tits and bits for the first time. Holding her hand while she slept the first three days on their arrival wasn't how he originally imagined sleeping with her the first time. Hearing her cry in residual pain was the last thing he wanted to hear when he said "I love you." Feeling her impossible warmth and caress when she sacrificed her body to keep his sanity wasn't how he wanted to make love to her for the first time.

Hermione leaned into his face, taking his hands and placing them on her face. Her eyes never left his, shielding their world with her hair. She pressed her aching lips to his, conveying everything he meant to her in one scorching kiss, cut short by her personal litany, just for him. Her endearment was for his ears only, for his heart and soul, never for another. "You're my best friend. I chose you. Always. I choose you. Forever."

Ron pulled her face into his, crushing her lips to his. He reciprocated her passion. He wanted her again in every way she could give. 'Not yet,' said the little voice in his head he trusted most. He pulled out of the kiss this time. Cerulean eyes looked upon extra dark chocolate ones. "Hermione."

She couldn't look anywhere else, except in her husband's eyes. "Yes Love?"

"Do you regret how that happened? We should have had months, to learn one another, working our way to what happened. It's like we did everything backwards."

She leaned down to kiss him again, leaving rows in his scalp before pulling his hair slightly. He growled in appreciation for the feeling she gave him. He twitched in response.

"We were friends before we kissed."

"Well, sure."

She flicked her tongue out, running it along the edges of his lips, tasting the testosterone laced sweat on his upper lip. She nudged his nose with hers, trying to coax a playful eyeful from him. "You wanted me for a while, if I remember."

"I did," he replied back.

"I seem to remember that you wanted me so fucking bad," she cheeked.

His hands slid from her face, down her body to her arse. A firm squeeze on her bum told her all. "I want you every day and every way. That hasn't changed in almost twenty years."

She leaned forward, exposing her neck to his ministrations while she kissed his brow. His lips were a deadly weapon. The things they did to her and for her should be illegal. "What made you to realize I was your world?"

He growled, understanding where this was finally going. 'How'd she know I was dealing this? Brightest witch of her age lives up to the billing.'

He nipped her skin, tasting salt and vanilla. "That day in April when I knew I'd die without you at my side, or if you broke without knowing how I felt about you. That bastard -"

"What did I tell you when I woke from my nightmare," she moaned, barely coherent, "the one thing that kept you sane in camp and at work?"

It was the worst day of his life to that point. For three days, she woke the house with screams, reliving her waking nightmare. Three days she cried because she hurt terribly – even through the pain potions. His name off of her lips while she was stuck in a nightmare. Three days when he wondered if she was still sane.

Only when Hermione woke the fourth morning did he hear the words that healed his soul.

That unfortunately was eclipsed four weeks later. May 2, 1998 was his Worst Day.

An Epiphany hit him like a bludger. It wasn't even Fred. That was rotten too. It was seeing the furrows on Bill's face that broke his control. The monster's taunts echoed through his mind. Taunts that would be only echos for the rest of their lives.

He remembered that moment. She stood there that fateful day in May, four days later, while his emotions roared out of control. She embraced his actions, never protesting beyond half-hearted ones. She was his shining example of courage.

"Hermione," he growled through his teeth as they sunk into the sensitive skin of her neck at the crux of her shoulder. "No one but me, damn it!" he muttered through his lips. The one taunt from Greyback echoed in his mind, while he had the monster in his hands, seconds before he perished by Neville's destructive blast. 'When I kill you, I will fuck her to death. She's my prize, Ginger.'

The first time he did this was the day she gave herself to him. He marked her, claiming her for his prize.

The second time, that night after his parents were asleep and their room was sealed, did he do so again at her request. Greyback haunted her memories as well. That one spot above all else drove her mad with lust. "Mark me. Only you. No one else," she whispered in his ear, only for his ears. He did as she begged, and she dug those petite, short nailed ink stained fingers into his arms. That night, she left bruises. Over the years, those nails left more marks than Ron could count. Each one was worth it. "Mine!" he whispered.

His bite wasn't enough to draw blood, much less hurt, but to mark her as his own. A murderer scarred her neck above where he bit, but this was the one that she never let heal. Each time, it reminded him of the blood pooled at the base of her neck, where it bled from the wound.

She insisted that he do this, to remove the memories of that horrible day, and replace them with his own ministrations. "I'm yours!" she would whisper each time he found that one spot, the one he would claim every so often. Sometimes, it stayed so bruised that she had to cover it for everyone. The only ones who knew were Ron, Ginny and Luna, and her healer. Not even Harry was privy to this small bit of intimacy.

He remembered that moment, along with the one on the first of many best and bad days of his life. There was never another day that eclipsed 2 May 1998.

That was the first of many bad and best days of his young life.

For every bad day, he came home to a bushy haired, swotty mouthed know it all, and she gave him a reason to make it the best day of his life. She was worth living for, and giving his world for her. The baubles on her hands were a small price to pay for continued sanity and believing that people were inherently good. She inspired him, fighting against evil, and helped him realize the battle never truly ended.

"Say it!" she pleaded.

"I forgive you."

She rolled them on their king sized platform bed, feeling his weight press her into the warm rumpled bedclothes. Coherent thought went out the window when it came to her magnificent king coming home to claim his reward.

"OgdRon" she groaned all the way to her toenails. The sounds bounced around the cavernous room. 'I chose you.'